#loads of heart attack cases

[couronnez]

//@udovaintomyheart Thanks AGAIN <3

Now I want to write Medical Drama featuring Vasily. Anyone up for roleplaying that? I promise I WILL write a canon and modern fic about it, too!

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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[letoasai]

dp x dc Chronos

An idea that’s probably been touched on before but well.. once more! 

~

It had begun with a meltdown. Being a fifteen year old was tough. High school was the time in your life where you were picking up life skills without even knowing it. Social skills, study habits, responsibilities stacked on responsibilities. It all seemed rather unfair when their brains weren’t done developing yet or… whatever Jazz had been telling him one afternoon. 

The point was, being a teenager wasn’t all making memories and messing around. It was hard. Add on dying to that work load and things got complicated. Add on a ghost portal that allowed ghosts to come and go as they pleased when you were the only one that could safely stop them and things got stressful. 

Parents that were trying to kill you…went without saying. 

Become a king of a realm by fifteen, and see how you handle the sudden workload. Danny had been holding up fine, until he wasn’t. Until a particularly loud boom in his parents lab from whatever their latest torture invention was cause a tremor of fear to shoot up his spine. In an instant, panic was sparked. He wanted to leave, he thought about it often, but how could he just leave Amity Park behind? Would it be better outside of his parents house? Could he live alone?

The fear latched onto his core, and not being able to relax in his own haunt was apparently counterproductive to a healthy, happy halfa. 

Before dying, Danny hadn’t been familiar with panic attacks, now, they weren’t entirely uncommon. One moment he would be overthinking in his bedroom, the next he’d be on his bed or the floor curled up in a ball. Tears flowing and throat clogged, he would sob under the weight of his responsibilities in silence. He doubted his parents would notice, but he hated to worry his sister. Being quiet was a must.

It was one of these episodes that had led to Clockwork appearing in his room, lifting Danny up into his arms like a child without even a weak protest. A post-it was left for Jazz so she wouldn’t worry and the king was returned to the Infinite Realm for a night. 

That was the start of Danny spending time in Clockwork’s citadel any time he was feeling overwhelmed. Being outside of time, he was given the time to relax, sleep, or study. It lessened the burdens of trying to be a normal high school student, hero, and king all at once, or at least gave him a safe place to crash. 

At least once a week, Danny made his way into Clockwork’s lair, long since allowed to enter on a whim unless expressly told otherwise for a day or two. For all Danny was king, he did his best not to interrupt Clockwork’s work and he knew beings from other dimensions popped in from time to time. 

If Clockwork didn’t want him meeting them, he was going to take his opinion to heart and make himself scarce. 

Danny wasn’t sure why he got the privilege to hide behind the ghost of time but he didn’t shun the offer. Any chance to get some sleep was a good one when he had ghosts like Skulker or Johnny waking him up at three in the morning with their bullshit. 

Danny floated over a sofa, backpack forgotten on the floor and books hovering around him. The crown that hovered above his head kept going back and forth between being covered by ice or green flame. It seemed to do what it wanted like a living creature. 

Danny had his own room in the citadel now but he was positive the sofa was put in Clockwork’s viewing room just for him. 

He slept there more often than not. 

“Hey Clockwork.” Danny called. He’d be ignored if Clockwork was deep into peering into the past for future, but would otherwise get an answer. “Can i ask you a question?” 

In the time it took Clockwork to turn to face Danny, his age had altered subtly, five or ten years younger than middle aged. 

Danny had always thought Clockwork had three ages he shifted between. His child form, middle aged adult, and old man. The longer Danny stayed in the citadel though, he learned that wasn’t the case. 

He’d seen Clockwork go from an old man, to a man about twenty. He’d slowly shift younger and younger through his teens until he stopped in his child form. Danny had seen the opposite too. Clockwork as a young preteen growing into an adult in the span of a breath. Dark circles would appear under his eyes and laugh lines etched into his face of a much older man but Danny wouldn’t have called that form elderly. 

It was fascinating. 

“What can i do for you, Majesty?” Clockwork asked, a hint of a smile already curing his lips. He likely already had the conversation they were about to have memorized. 

Danny groaned. “Can’t you just call me Danny? Majesty is so… so…” 

“Accurate?” 

“Bleh…” Danny muttered, slowly floating until he was upside, but his book turned with him so he could continue to look at it. 

Clockwork only laughed at him, that soft noise that said he was amused at Danny’s plight, but Danny was far from offended by it. 

“You’re the master of time, right, but were you the god of time too?” He pointed at his textbook, crown on top of his head doing slow flips. “Chronos?” 

“Ah,” Clockwork chuckled, arms crossing over his chest. His de-aging had abruptly stopped and he instead started growing older again. “Indeed. We are the same.” 

“Really?” Danny perked up and went back to skimming his book while rotating in the air. The edges of his wispy hair were looking like smoke. “So you were an ancient Greek god? That’s cool.” 

“Yes and no.” Clockwork said with a shrug. “Time is a funny thing. I was there, of course but more in the capacity of their stories. I predate the Greeks.” 

“Huh,” Danny hummed, growing quiet again as he read a little more but Clockwork didn’t return to his parade viewing. He instead waited for Danny to continue. “So wait, you were one of the first… titans.” he read. “Cool.” 

“Yes.” Clockwork agreed, “That was a very long time ago now.” 

Danny quirked a brow at a line in the book and glanced back at Clockwork. “‘Destructive and all-devouring’, huh?” 

“I was young.” Clockwork agreed, not bothering to deny it. “We all have that phase.” 

“Uh huh… How did this rule of yours coincide with Pariah Dark?” 

Clockwork grew older still, his beard starting to grow. He also relaxed into a floating/sitting position. “They didn’t really. Much of what you are reading is a mortal human interpretation. If you think stories in your high school become exaggerated, you should hear the true origin stories of the ancients sometime.” 

Danny was snickering. “I’d actually like that but none of them like talking about stuff like that. Did you really eat your kids?”

“Something to that effect. I’m afraid i was not a very good father. I was at a very different place in my life then.” Clockwork said. He didn’t sound particularly proud of it, but he didn’t look broken- hearted either. 

Danny didn’t quite get it. Clockwork had basically been his ghost guardian long before he’d even known that was a thing. He probably would have just assumed Clockwork would make a good dad. Then again, being a ‘present’ dad was probably tough for the god of ‘time’. 

“Hm,” Danny hummed and flipped the page while floating right side up again. He rubbed at his face, the constellation freckles across his cheeks twinkling. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Danny muttered, clearly reading through a paragraph. 

Clockwork’s shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter. It wasn’t usually this easy to coax Danny into doing his homework. 

“You died. Zeus kills you. Did Zeus kill you? Your son?” 

“Yes.” 

There was a moment where Danny’s face warped into something like grief before it disappeared, suspicion forming in it’s place. “Did you know that was gonna happen? Did you let Zeus kill you to maintain a good time line? Did you know you’d just be the ghost master of time?” 

Clockwork just smiled and shrugged. 

“Ancients!” Danny cursed. “Are you serious? You were looking that far ahead already? Even then? That’s insane.” 

“I have not confirmed or denied anything. On the other hand, we all have our talents.” Clockwork mused. “Does this knowledge entertain you?” 

“I mean, it’s cool.” Danny muttered again. Clockwork wasn’t usually so chatty but he was more likely to tell him past things opposed to future things.

He went back to reading and Clockwork went back to his viewing clocks. It was only a few minutes before Danny spoke again. 

“The Elysian Islands. Are those in the Infinity Realm?” Danny asked, “They sound familiar.” 

“Yes.” Clockwork mused. “And before you ask, Zeus didn’t actually have anything to do with them and Pandora would get huffy at the mere mention of it.” 

“Are other gods in the infinite Realm?” 

“Some, but not many of the ones in your book there.” Clockwork said, twirling the staff in his hand. Danny could tell he was doing something along the time stream but Danny had no idea what and he didn’t ask. He was not looking to get sent on another timeline errand. “There are other places where they reside. Some even living. Those in the realm however, are your subjects.” 

“Oh.” Danny muttered, getting the same sour look he got when he was reminded he was king. 

Clockwork lowered his staff, done with his chore. He hovered closer to Danny now, ruffling his hair and dislodging his crown which spun around of its own accord on top of Danny’s head. The sentient accessory very much attached to its new wearer. “If there are any in the Infinite Realm who find you lacking, you need not pay them any mind. Pandora, Fright Knight, or Frostbite would be more than happy to deal with them. You have every right to be here.” 

Danny just grunted. Peer pressure was hard enough at school. It was worse in the Infinite Realm. “I’m not looking for fights.” 

“You do not need to prove yourself. You’ve done that enough. You must merely be you to succeed. You are balance, and balance in life will find you soon enough.” 

“Awe, you haven’t said anything cryptic to me all day. I was starting to get worried.” Danny muttered, a smile tugging. 

“I would never make you go without.” Clockwork said with a fond roll of his eyes. He was so old now that his beard nearly touched the floor. 

“Ancients forbid.” Danny muttered, snagging his book out of the air. “Wait, did you say there were some living? Wait.” His mind whirled to a previous school assignment. “Isn’t Wonder Woman’s dad supposed to be Zeus. Is Wonder Woman your granddaughter?” 

Clockwork just smiled and ruffled his hair again. “Don’t you have homework to finish?” 

“Oh Ancients! She is. Classic deflecting. Holy crap.” 

He let himself drop onto the sofa, over dramatic with his realization. “You have ties to the Justice League!” 

Clockwork did sigh that time. “A charming notion, i suppose.” 

“You’ve as good as admitted it!” Danny grinned, pleased to have learned something new. Had it been anyone else, he might have thought he learned something Clockwork didn’t want him to know. Clockwork knew everything though and only let slip what he wanted to. 

“You are a hero yourself, Danny. No need to be enamored with the League.” Clockwork turned to go back to work, eyes scanning screens before him. 

“Yeah but they’re real heroes.” Danny grumbled, opening his book again. Clockwork’s lack of response meant he wasn’t going to answer that line of thinking. “Fine…” 

The two of them were left in a comfortable silence for a few minutes more until Danny broke it himself. Even though Clockwork knew it was coming, he still jumped when Danny gasped harshly from excitement. 

“Saturn! You’re Saturn! Saturn is like, one of my top three favorite planets!” It was the pure joy on Danny’s face that had Clockwork laughing this time. 

“You would have a top three.” 

“Of course i do!” 

The door had been flung open for him to now talk about space and precisely why he had so many favorite planets specifically. Clockwork let him, happy to let one of his obsessions take its course. Talks about space banished all thoughts of the Justice League and ‘real heroes’. 

Danny knew he’d have to take his history books with a grain of salt. Eaten children or no...Clockwork had always been a good guardian to him. ~~ I might add on to this...  It’s almost like Danny was reading the same wiki page on Chronos that i was... lol 

Part 2  and Part 3 

[reidsdimples]

Confetti 🎉

Spencer Reid x bau!Reader

Just cute 💝

“It’s not too much! How could it be too much?!” Penelope exclaims as she tosses confetti onto and around Spence’s desk.

You frown, especially because she picked the tiny confetti that finds its way into everything. Spencer will hate it.

“You just wanna torture him,” you shake your head and grin.

“You remember that time he filled my office drawer with those spring loaded snakes? Nearly gave me a heart attack! He gets what he deserves in the form of too much confetti love,” she quips as she dumps the smaller confetti into his drawer.

“Baby girl, you have your own office. We’ll never hear the end of what you’re doing to the kid,” Derek cuts in and drapes an arm over her shoulder.

“Shh! He’ll be here any minute!” Penelope says.

“Lights out, he’s in the elevator,” Hotch says more stoically.

The surprise party probably could have happened anywhere. But he would be least expecting it in the bullpen and as a result of a late night text from Hotch.

You crouch down and fiver nervously with the horn noise maker thing. Emily drags JJ behind a desk as the elevator dings open.

Spence pauses before opening the glass door, suspicion painted over his soft features. He glances through the glass briefly, furrows his eyebrows like he does when he’s thinking, and sighs.

“He’s suspicious,” you whisper to Penelope who swats your arm.

Just then Rossi exits the elevator. Your saving grace and plan B in case he decided to back out.

“I wonder what Hotch has for us,” he smiles knowingly at Spence before ushering him through the glass door. You can tell he so wanted to back out.

“SURPRISE!” The team jumps out with a roar of noise makers and clapping.

“Happy birthday Spence!”

“Happy birthday kid!”

An onslaught of attention is turned towards him and he sweetly smiles and takes it all in.

“Wow I didn’t expect this,” he lies. “Thanks everyone!”

“Happy birthday, you,” you nudge him sweetly. His face lights up when you talk to him, causing your heart to flutter.

You’re starting to think this crush isn’t just one sided. You hope, anyway.

Spencer kind of took you under his wing when you arrived at the BAU six months ago.

“It’s everywhere!” Spencer exclaimes upon inspecting his desk and drawers.

The team collectively points at Penelope who smiles wide with pride.

“That’ll teach you to put spring loaded critters in my desk!” She teases.

Spencer bites his lip and nods in a touchè manner and you find yourself smiling almost too hard. His cheeks are reddened and it always so cute.

Pizza is delivered and cake is cut while everyone socializes. You see that Spence occasionally turns his attention to picking confetti off of his desk, it seems to really bother him.

While he and JJ converse with Rossi, you decide to start emptying his drawers so you can dump the confetti out. It doesn’t take very long, mostly folders and a few fidget toys are scattered within them.

You’re dumping out the second drawer when he appears.

“What are you doing?” He asks and sits on the edge of the desk.

“It seemed to really bother you,” you answer as you tried the contents of his drawer.

“I’m pushing the meeting to ten am tomorrow, go home and get some sleep!” Hotch instructs the team abruptly. It was one am so there was a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Spence smiles. “I can do the rest tomorrow.”

“No it’s okay, I don’t mind,” you insist. “Go home and get some sleep. It won’t take long.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Emily hugs you and then JJ.

“See you guys!” You wave them off.

Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Penelope leave in tandem. Penelope offered to help you clean the confetti but you told her to go home, she had already decorated the entire office. You could clean it up.

“Shouldn’t you be going,” you point to the elevator closing on the rest of the team.

“No I’m going to help. You can’t get rid of me so don’t even try,” Spence teases you playfully.

You huff a small laugh, smiling to yourself as you shake your head. He’s so cute.

“Huh?” Spence says suddenly. Wait, did I murmur something?

“What?” You turn to him, flustered.

“I swear you said ‘so cute,’” he tilts his head as he pops a balloon in his hand. You jump at the sound.

“I- uh- no,” you stammer. Your cheeks heat which is a dead give away.

“You’re stuttering, your breathing increased, your face is red… you’re lying,” he seems amused.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” You slap his arm with an embarrassed smile. You rush past him back to his desk to keep cleaning.

The next few minutes drag on awkwardly, neither of you knowing what to say next. Spence seemingly having little experience in the flirting department.

“Okay fine, I thought it was cute that you insisted on staying and helping despite the mess driving you crazy,” you cross your arms and lean against the wall.

You watch him closely as he turns his head toward you from where he’s leaning over his desk. His long hair and sharp jaw line causes your heart to skip a beat. His brown eyes meet yours as he articulates what exactly he’s going to say.

“You think I’m cute?” He asks, standing to his full height with all of his attention on you. No I think you’re fucking drop dead sexy but sure cute works. A small grin plays in his lips as he awaits your response.

“It’s a crush, really a small crush. And I’m sorry. It’s so inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said anything,” you ramble off and turn away from him.

Something about admitting this makes him intimidating. Especially because he’s walking towards you, fixated and silent. The gears turning in his big giant brain and you have no idea what he’s thinking.

“I like you too,” his voice comes out hoarse, a near whisper and he’s right behind you.

You turn back towards him as he pushes his hair back, he swallows hard, his face and neck now colored pink.

He’s nervous, disheveled, adorable.

You push yourself up on your tiptoes and kiss him quickly, just a small kiss. It shocks him, his eyes widening. His tongue runs across his bottom lip and then he’s grabbing your face in his hands.

He kisses you softly, sweetly. Your hands run down his arms and tangle into his shirt. You’re against the wall and his kissing you slowly, as though to take in and taste you completely. His soft lips taste better than you could have imagined as you push your tongue out to find his.

Shit.

The moment goes on in perfect passionate kissing and touching. His hands find your waist, your hips, your lower back, and your body comes alive for him. Small breathy sounds escape as you both fight for air and dominance in the kiss.

Finally you break it, pulling back and looking up at him. His lips are slightly swollen now, his pupils blown wide, and his hair messy from your hands.

“Happy Birthday, Dr. Reid,” you whisper against his lips before kissing him again.

[anantaru]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 + 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

୨୧ pent up frustration feat. dottore : childe : heizou : cyno : scaramouche : diluc x fem! reader

୨୧ WARNINGS: n.sfw : they‘re frustrated

𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄

"don't make a sound, i dare you to disobey me tonight."

in all honesty, it wasn't unusual for dottore to be rough with you, relentless without an ounce of pity, but tonight was a different story and you noticed.

of course, he mostly worked alone because he preferred it that way, yet today he just had to be pissed off by his co-workers, absolutely loathing it whenever he has to see all their faces, the bunch being a complete sharp thorn in his eyes, not seeing any value in any of them.

he forcefully pushed your hips into the mattress, slipping himself into your tight pussy without giving you a chance to actually get used to his length. The raw drag was slightly painful and had you shudder, your heart race increasing with it thumping in your chest.

in any other case, dottore wouldn't have let you a lot of time to adjust yourself to him anyways, yet still he'd wait for it, only a bit, a mere second, which wasn't viewable tonight, at all.

"fuck." he's swearing now, which wasn't the norm, he was usually pretty reserved and didn't let anything get past the huge wall he built in front of his emotions.

but fuck, with the way you were flexing and curving around his girth, how you were sucking him in all sloppily as he greedily buried himself into your warmth, finally getting that release he very much yearned for.

"how tight you are, don't tell me you missed me."

with that, he was lowering himself to look at you with mischief, grinning down as he rocked his erect cock back and forth, slightly wiggling his hips whenever he was fully sheathed in you which had you in a tight grip, your soul craving for him to crush you already.

his arms were broad and protecting, with his emotions speaking on a different level, is menacing chuckle was just loud enough for you to hear and take in. His lips attacked the thin flesh of your neck, flattening his tongue to lick all the way down your collarbone without stilling his hips on you, working in tandem.

the sounds of sex were embarrassing to hear, delicious but lewd, yet dottore was much louder than any other times you were intimate with each other.

he really needed to let go and you were the best person to do that with, tonight he groaned and couldn't surppress another one coming right from his throat.

you jumped a little when smacked himself in deeper, his cock was massive and heavy in you, rubbing all the right places in your spongy walls with punctuated thrusts forward until you were nothing more than his little play toy.

your head spinning with the growing heat only dottore managed to arouse in you, watching himself disappear as he pleasantly twitched in you, a million other things come rushing through his clever mind on how to make you beg tonight.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

childe settled his head comfortably in between your legs, his eyes growing with his pupils becoming dilated, covering almost the entirety of the blue in his eyes.

he didn't expect to see you, especially tonight, the work load of his had been piling up over the weeks with the jester only sending him to various more places, not having a moment to catch his breath even if he tried.

"you don't know how happy i was when i saw you today."

he greeted your precious cunt, that of course, belonged to him, with a tiny kiss on your clit, rubbing the tip of his tongue over the sensitivity. Why were his hands shaking? childe honestly didn't know, maybe it was the excitement to finally have you again.

"how happy were you, tell me."

giving him a taunting look with pleading eyes, you pressed his head into your pussy, tugging on his orange hair and massaging his scalp. His love was all the more consuming and so rarely without anything else.

"so so happy baby, let me show you how happy i was." the tenderness he yielded was deceptive, unresisting and sharing his pleasure.

he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you close, beginning to shake his head feverishly while having his tongue out, smearing and drinking in your sweet essence he very much was addicted to you.

the sharp blows of arousal he managed to coax out of you actually made him stagger, priding himself on what he managed to induce in you.

your whines fell on deaf ears, truly, your hands clenching against his head as you rutted yourself into his needy tongue, his rough, hard strokes perking your nipples up and having them erect while they bounced in tandem with his schemes.

you couldn't help yourself as you began to play with yourself in front of him, twirling and rubbing your buds to take in and archons, how attractive you were right now. Ajax groaned into your pussy and closed his lips around your clit, suckling and hollowing his cheeks while adding the tip of his tongue to drive into the flesh.

the attempt to keep himself from groaning audibly with every step, since he wanted to listen to your sobs a bit more, ultimately failed when he moaned and slurped aloud.

the feeling of the twist of his smooth muscle curving up between your legs had you exposed, bare and inflamed your skin into a frenzy of flayed nerves.

a fine grit that was scrubbing you raw from the inside out, ajax couldn't wait to sink into your wet cunt with his heavy cock later on, head empty with his eyes flown wide.

you smiled happily and full of relief as you heard him moan again, being fond of the little sounds he gifted you with as you stroked and fondled with your breasts, putting on a show for your dear boyfriend, his eyelids falling shut as he lay there, letting him have his way with you.

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

after a tiring day full of solving cases, heizou was more than delighted when he finally had you close to him with you sitting on his face all comfortably, chasing your release, the tight, stretching fullness growing inside him. 

"more, give me more."

he's groaning into your pussy with the vibrations of his voice swirling into your veins like an electric current full of lust and desperation. Your hole clamped down hard and then slowly relaxing again, before clamping once more, overwhelming you.

while flicking his tongue over you, he made sure to massage your behind, squeezing and wiggling the soft flesh of your ass while simultaneously digging you further into his mouth, the need to touch himself was massive but pleasuring you like that had its own advantages.

you groaned when he abruptly drove his tongue into your sobbing hole, feeling you stretch open just a bit and just enough for him to tongue fuck you into cloud nine. Heizou was vastly skilled, so ruthless and restless whenever he was frustrated, whenever his job took the best of him and didn't let him rest, didn't let him fuck you just how he wanted.

he pulled himself back only for a bit, to tease you in his own way:

"is that all you can do? i said i want more." settling back into the cushions, he slurped your bittersweet juices, twisting his tongue in and out of your pussy as you arched your spine back, the constant flex of your hips having you sore.

"fuck, heizou, please." upon hearing you beg, so frustrated too, heizou deducted that you were close, so close it probably pained you already, his clammy hands, soft and damp on your secure ass to wiggle you back and forth.

bucking into his mouth, you continued to call for him in a couple of strangled moans, bouncing up and down his wet muscle in staggering shivers. Clenching onto his hair you took a deep breath, holding the air in your lungs as your stomach began to be filled by butterflies, your climax approaching you in a heavy shock, flashing your agony.

with your head now clouded in pleasure, you cummed hard, near overflow, soaking the man underneath you with your slick yet that's what heizou wanted and craved for in the first place, the taste of you was the very thing he yearned, his muscle trembling with his cock twitching in his tight work pants.

𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐎

"you know i can't hear you if you hide your moans like that."

a mile-wide smirk was visible on cyno's lips as he traced his hands over the curve of your ass, letting them dance and trace over your bare back, muscles contracting each other.

he settled his heavy cock in between your ass for once, wrapping one of his hands around his shaft to stroke himself, spreading the pre cum over his length until fully coated, the pleasure in him dissolving into a deep, glowing ache.

he hissed in between pants and his body was sore, the recent events in sumeru had his body on a thin thread, thoughtless, eyes glassy and hooded with saliva dampening beneath his chin.

cyno was tired and exhausted, but also so fucking desperate and frustrated for your loving touch. His free hand lingered on your flesh, squeezing your ass before aligning himself with your heat, at last dragging his raw cock past your hole combined with a big groan when you swallowed him whole.

bouncing you back and forth, you fell under his spell, crying his name out on all fours, "cyno.. so big." you hiccuped at his thick length being buried in you, scattered and fitting oh so perfectly, basically made for you. hot, thick and throbbing in the insides of your pussy.

his swollen cock slipped deeper as you greedily took him all, clenching your hole tightly around his girth when his thrusts stuttered, eliciting a groan form deep inside his throat with your skin burning.

"fuck love, you're so tight. i have to admit, i needed this."

cyno wanted to fuck your body until you gave out on him, keeping you hypersensitive, not to mention he needed to burn the frustration right into you so you could soothe and caress his skin, how sweet it would be to have you like this forever.

you circled your eyes in the back of your head as the wave of pleasure hit you, whining his name one more time when you climaxed, your cunt gushing around him so easily and well, gasping.

cyno's lips were left open, agape, experiencing how hard you sucked him as he grasped onto your ass, stilling his hips on you with his balls now flushed on your behind, the tone in his voice growing a bit lower.

he watched in between your bodies as your wetness slicked up his thighs, dripping wet when his seed plastered into your abused pussy, the sheen liquid mixing into one when cyno abruptly pulled out, turning you on your back in a single motion, restless and barely out of breath at all.

setting of into another room for spasms, "i want to look at you now."

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄

hoisting your body on top of his, scaramouche watched you straddle him, his static, charming eyes laced with pure joy and bliss.

"I really need this right now." his eyebrows scrunched together, there was a rolling note of intensity in his words, indulgent, aroused eagerness.

with that, he admitted it in a somewhat unusual tone, "so you better not mess this up." oh, there it was, the tension unwinding with his words turning back to its normal tone.

you suppressed a giggle, running your hands carefully over his pale chest in a worshipping caress, before aligning yourself with his throbbing cock which was swollen and drooling full of his fluids, stomach lurching together with the warm air filling his lungs.

before pushing him in, you slicked back the foreskin, at last sitting down and fully grabbing him, teetering back and forth.

the sight of scaramouche lolling his head back was arousing you, his hands tracing down the natural curves of your body and shamelessly thrusting up within your core.

how captivated he was with your being, watching you bounce up and down his cock through his thick lashes. With your tits throbbing in tune, it was such a sinful sight to behold.

how amusing, your nipples were hardened in the centre, coiling the sensitivity in your nubs.

Scaramouche licked his lips before pulling you down, wrapping his mouth over your own as he kissed you, hard. He was that vulgar, that brass, you grabbed him tight and whimpered at the unyielding girth of his heavy cock. Naturally, you obliged to his kisses, deepening your connection while rubbing yourself fiercely into him.

he was that vulgar, that brass, you grabbed him tightly and whimpered at the unyielding girth of his heavy cock, the agonizing overload of his swollen tip on your squishy walls had you in a tingling clasp.

"faster, go faster." mostly, there was no begging in his vocabulary, you were his and he ordered you to behave, as always, expecting you to beckon to his requests.

your whimpers expelled from your throat, unconsciously wrapping your hand around his neck to suck on his tongue. It was, of an unusual kink he found out about the other day, but scaramouche utterly adored it when you choked him, when you knocked the breath out of his lungs while riding him starvingly.

the glimpse of his eyes settling back was enough to make you cum, throbbing and flexing your muscles around his sloppy cock as you cried out once more, writhing and being so unbelievably loud you were sure someone must've heard you both.

"fuck, fuck." his mouth was dry, like the desert, words dying in his throat.

whenever scaramouche climaxed, he did it accompanied by swears, hissing and gritting has teeth as he watched his cock disappear within you when finally pushing his seed in, blowing his load into you and archons did he cum a lot.

his back was prickling with sweat and perspiration and the soft tissues in your abused cunt pulsed against him in an uneven rhythm.

further, further, he wanted to impale you further but he couldn't reach you anymore.

his seed was was spilling everywhere, making a mess of your bare bodies while holding you close with the additional stickiness. The wet trail kept connecting you even after you shuffled back, showing him the mess he made when you lowered yourself to his lips, whispering against the shell of your ear.

"happy now?"

mocking his words from before, he rolled his eyes at you, suddenly bleeding his skillful fingers into your skin to knock you into the mattress, now towering over you.

"not at all."

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂

kissing down your neck, diluc drove his fingers into your clenching hole, taunting and making you yearn for more, all the more pleading with his flushed expression, signaling the desire he held on making you cum on his fingers.

playing with you was one of his favorite activities after a long day,  the sweet torment of having your shirt draped up against your chest with your hard nipples on display, aching at the coil in the centre.

mostly, the play of intimacy you both participated in was loads of quickies and fondling, diluc was mostly busy so he couldn't properly take time for you whenever he wanted, turning him, of course, very much frustrated in the process.

honestly, he could watch you for hours, just the sight of it lit his loins on fire, wrapping you around his bigger body when he added another finger into you.

sloppily you took him all, greedily drenching three of his digits with your fluids now as you spread your legs further for him, unable to do so with the painful ache on your thighs yet you tried, his thrusts practically rolling into your stomach.

"don't overdo it, you're doing well for me."

you nodded and sobbed into his embrace, your nostrils being filled with his addictive scent and the faint linger of sweat around his collarbones.

the swirling of your juices on his fingers turned him on, very much so, the swell of his bulge growing and throbbing against your body when you cupped it abruptly, grinding your palm into his groin, tugging just tighter and tighter.

diluc hummed in satisfaction, terrible of need for a release, being thankful to get a tiny bit of salvation as he rutted himself into your hand while simultaneously scissoring your drenched cunt, rocking his palm into your core.

"diluc- im so close.. please make me cum, please."

the agonizing pulse he drew on you had your cheeks flush with warmth, a tone that kept rising yet never reaching an apex accompanied with gasps and moans echoing through the hot room, the scent of both diluc's cologne and sex colliding together.

"whatever you, my love, ask for, you get."

his words made your heart swell and flutter, sinking your hips as though overwhelmed of the intensity he was going for now, diluc just had to rub away that incessant itch in you.

with your pleading sounding desperate, he took your thigh in his hand to spread it forcefully, retracting his hand to repeatedly rub them into your sweet spots, swallowing right back into your greedy body.

diluc gasped as he felt you crush onto his digits, gushing on his skillfulness with your cunt vibrating at your welcoming orgasm.

your hands flew to crawl them into his back, digging your sharp nails on his pale skin and kissing him starvingly as the both of you moaned into the kiss, the squeeze and release laced with intimacy.

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

One thing (among many) that Midst does incredibly well is that the narrators use character death as a narrative tool expertly. Every death in the series does something and each death tends to have a narrative weight that's proportional to the narrative weight the deceased character had while alive.

Stationary Hill's Postmaster and Agatha Ledge are both minor characters whose deaths, while they are felt by the characters who knew them in universe, mostly serve to highlight the danger the other characters find themselves in, as the Moon Tearror hits Stationary Hill and the remaining Breach members (and Jonas Spahr) are plummeting through a razor-sharp mica field respectively. Meryl Concord is likewise a fairly minor character whose death serves both to mirror her brother Atticus's* (more on him later) and usher in the final phase of the conflict against Weepe by showing the how dangerous the heaving mass of tearror unleashed from his puppeteered body is. All these deaths serve to establish the lethal stakes of the situations each death occurs in, but are ultimately not dwelt upon too long by the narrative. This works because these are minor characters; they had little enough presence that the story can swiftly move on in their absence without feeling like a disservice to them.

Milton Fleit Sr. and Imelda Goldfinch are both antagonistic characters who ultimately die fairly ignoble deaths that the narrative doesn't dwell too long on, largely because, as the finale itself points out in regards to Imelda, none of the living characters we follow care enough about either of them to dwell on their deaths. But despite his both their deaths are heavily symbolically loaded. Milton Fleit Sr. dies in the same moment that Valor dies and the Trust begins bleeding out. Imelda Goldfinch dies in the moment that all her scheming to get Weepe in control of the Trust because she believes the Trust needs a man like him to lead it comes to nothing because Weepe at this point is a dying, broken man aggressively lashing out at everything around him. The narrative spends little time dwelling on the deaths of the characters themselves, and that works despite how important of a character Imelda in particular was, because it serves to highlight that ultimately, both of their lives, spent devoted heart and soul to the Trust, came to absolutely nothing because the Trust died with them.

Atticus Concord, Fuze Peabody, and Kozma Lazlo are important secondary characters whose deaths end up as catalysts for major plot developments later in the story. Atticus, in his attempt to blackmail Weepe and Saskia over the Black Candle Cabaret's role in the Breach route, ended up both murdered by Weepe and providing him with the means to facilitate his raise into the upper echelons of Trust society (in the form of his meticulously documented notes on every Breached employee of the Cabaret). His death is also the reason Meryl enters the story and avenging him is the reason she stabs Weepe and in doing so directly shapes the final confrontation between Midst's three protagonists. Fuze's murder after informing Phineas and Spahr via letter that he had information about the Trust's most infamous murder case resulted in Phineas' attack on Sherman in the Cabaret, Phineas impulsively running off after Tzila in a desperate bid to avoid Spahr saying he'd failed, Sherman selling Lark out to the Trust, and the Trust's focus throughout season 3 on finding Lark in order to solve to the economic crisis caused by Midst's moon exploding. Kozma's death at the hands of Weepe after threatening the Upper Trust is the trigger for the Breach's attack on the Central Vault, which is what ushers in the final act of the story. It is also the moment in which we learn that before he was Moc Weepe that character was a Fold Baron whom the other Barons, spearheaded by Kozma, attempted to murder by throwing him into the Fold Depths in a mica sarcophagus.** These characters were all major drivers of certain aspects of the plot in life, and they remained so in death, with each one of their demises having ripple effects that lasted through to the end of the story. The deaths of all three of these characters were also very heavily telegraphed. Weepe threatens Atticus on their first meeting with death if he's fucking with the Cabaret, Fuze is introduced as a man who is going to be murdered before too long, and Kozma's death is foreshadowed in the episode icon for "Baron", which shows someone's red blood in Weepe's pump apparatus.

The two most plot-central characters to die***, Moc Weepe and Saskia del Norma likewise had their deaths telegraphed to the audience in advance of them actually happening, with the narrators describing Weepe's happenstance first meeting with Imelda Goldfinch as spelling his doom and the way Saskia looks at Sherman, and tells him to go on without her at the end of "Shindig" signalling that something major is happening with her other body in the Highest Light and that whatever it is is not good for her. These deaths also were both given a lot of narrative breathing room. Saskia's death is in many ways the primary narrative subject of not only "Ghosts", the episode in which she has her final confrontation with Weepe before expiring, but also "Shindig", the episode that showed us why she made the choice to shred the remaining explosive beads at the cost of one of her bodies (and eventually her life). This post here is a great breakdown of how key an episode "Shindig" is in understanding Saskia and her motivations at the end. As mentioned above the narrators called Weepe's doom as early as season 1, and in many ways the entire series was a slow build towards his demise, especially after Imelda's actions (and Spahr's inactions) in "Inside" lead to a drastic worsening of his Fold condition. Weepe's immanent death hangs over "Ghosts" as much as Saskia's does, as Mother Trauma says, Saskia doesn't have long, but neither does Weepe. The finale also takes time out of the frenetic pacing of the final battle to have a quiet moment with the last remaining exhausted flicker of Moc Weepe, to show that above all else he is just tired and wants to finally rest. These deaths are given a lot of time to sit and settle because these are central characters, and their deaths have as much narrative weight as their lives do. As well, in Saskia's case, she remains central to the plot after her death, as it is what drives Weepe into the despair fueled rampage that he spends the final two episodes of the show in, and it is in her name that the Stationarians charge Weepe and the Company.

Every character who dies in Midst has their death count for something, in a narrative sense, but how much that death is doing is proportional to the weight the character had in the narrative while alive, and that helps make each death feel appropriate, narratively earned and appropriately impactful.

*Meryl Concord is Weepe's last onscreen victim, just as her brother is his first, and they both die the same way, being horribly dissolved by the Fold strain in his blood.

**The word "sarcophagus" is also used to describe what Lark creates to contain the leaking Fold from Weepe's corpse. Moc Weepe began and ended in a sarcophagus of glittering material, the first which excited Fold and the second which calmed it.

***It's debatable whether or not Lark's fate counts as "dead", as it seems she more became a permanent part of the Fold than anything else. Regardless, the pattern still applies, Lark's acceptance of the Fold and it's acceptance of her has been a part of her arc from the beginning of the show, and the moment where she joined it was another quiet moment in an action packed finale that was allowed to breathe and settle with the audience.

[minihotdog]

Caught Red handed // Part 2

Summary: Soap Catches His Roommate Reading an Erotic Novel AGAIN

Part 1

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!Reader

a/n: I've been sick as a dog and I'm not the happiest about how this one turned out so I'll write a soap fic with a little more punishment in the future when I don't feel like my insides are melting

c/w: P in V, biting, aftercare

word count: 2k

***

Johnny made it clear that he didn’t want to catch you reading dirty books again, but you’re only human. Your newly discovered love for the genre made it impossible to stay away. 

You picked up a new one at the bookstore, this time with a more discrete cover. The summary described a romance between a woman and her soldier husband. It was a love that stands the test of time and struggle as he changes from the horrors he’s seen. Upon getting home and settling down to read it, you quickly discovered that wasn’t the case. The book was downright rancid, a crime almost. You’d gotten comfortable in your PJs and fuzzy socks excited to dive into the story only to receive a figurative slap to the face.

He was so desperate to breed her. His rough and violent thrusts almost put her head through the wall.

“Be my good little wife and take my load.”

“When I come back you better be holding my kid in your arms waiting for me to put another one in you.”

Your hand was over your mouth as your eyes scanned every sentence multiple times to ensure you didn’t pull them from your imagination.

You couldn’t help but imagine Johnny as the character. The author went into detail about the male character sitting and watching his high school sweetheart, turned wife, undress for him. How his thick thighs took up the entirety of the chair and his cock rested to the side atop the dense muscle, all you could see was Johnny with his evil little smirk and shaggy hair he’d grown out on leave.

The jangling of keys on the other side of the front door rips you from your fantasies. You jolt upwards and run towards your bedroom to stash the book in your nightstand. You’d been sleeping with Johnny in his bed so there wasn’t a possibility of him accidentally stumbling on it.

You waltz out of your room coming face to face with Johnny. You jump, clutching your chest with a squeak.

“Johnny! You scared the shit out of me!”

He looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Wha’ are ye up tae?”

“What?! Nothing, just getting a heart attack from you.”

He fakes a quick step towards you and your arms instinctively shoot to the walls blocking him. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving your lips a peck. He rests his forehead on yours.

“Yer hidin’ somethin’ an’ I’m gonnae find out wha’ it is.” He squints at you before turning into the kitchen.  

Damn it! Why did I do that?!!

You try to keep an eye on Johnny to make sure he won’t go snooping, but the moment he wraps his arms around you the book is completely forgotten. The two of you cuddle on the couch to watch reruns of old shows together. He runs his hand up and down your side kissing down your shoulder. He settles on your waist and his thumb caresses the little bit of exposed skin. He nibbles on your neck and slips his hand under your tank top taking a handful of your breast.

“You’re worse than a dog in a rut!” You slap his hand away.

“Cannae help masel’ when I’m wi’ ye, bonnie.” He whines, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hips grind into you and he lets out a groan.  

“Johnny, I haven’t showered today.” Your complaining falls on deaf ears as his arms wrap tighter around you. “Let me goooo!”

“Fine, if it makes ye stop fussin’.” He huffs as you sit up. He crosses his arms making a high-pitched ‘hmphf’. 

“I’ll be back, hun.” You lean down to give him a quick kiss.

Johnny waits for the shower to turn on before springing into action. He tosses the blanket to the side and tip-toes down the hallway determined to figure out what you’d been hiding earlier. He enters your room and begins looking around. He opens your closet, makes a mess of your desk drawers until he stumbles over to your nightstand. He pulls the drawer open and discovers the dark-covered book you tossed in there. The cover looked innocent enough, a soldier walking hand in hand with a woman in a pink sun dress. He flips the book over to read the summary. His eyes scan the text and he lets out a quiet ‘awww’ before opening it to a random page in the middle. 

“Jesus Christ, bonnie, wha’ are ye readin’ now?” His eyes go wide for a moment and he sucks his teeth.

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel before walking into his bedroom. You pick through his dresser for your clothes. He insisted you move some of your clothes to his room but they quickly got buried under his. You pick out your favorite striped pj shorts and an old shirt of his that you cut into a crop top. You walk out of his room heading back to the couch only to be stopped in your tracks when you notice the door of your room wide open and the light on. 

FUCK!

You quiet your footsteps and slowly peek into the room. You see him sitting on your bed, drawer open, and a very familiar object in his hands. You decide that the best thing you can do is hide but as you shift your weight onto your back foot the floor creaks.

“Bonnie!” He calls out. The stern tone in his voice makes you jump. “Come ower here.” You silently freak the fuck out before poking your head through the door.

“Yes, honey?”

The look on his face pulls you into the door frame.

“Wha’ did I tell ye no tae be readin’ the kin o’ books?”

Shit. He’s mad.

His accent gets rougher and you know for a fact that he’s not happy with this discovery.

You’re quick to defend yourself.

“I swear I didn’t know!” You blurt out. “The summary was so cute I didn’t think it was gonna be like that.”

He looks down, closing the book before looking back at you.

“Ye jus’ bought it? Didn’t ye open it up afore haund?”

His eyebrows furrow. His intense gaze burrows into you waiting for an answer. You chew on your bottom lip. He was always able to get the truth out of you. He knew you couldn’t stand being at the receiving end of his glare. You begin fumbling your fingers.

“I may have read a chapter at the store.” He throws his head back with a groan upon hearing the confession. “BUT, it wasn’t like the rest of the book, I swear!”

His jaw clenches for a second and he shakes his head.

“Oh bonnie, wha’ am I gonnae dae wi’ ye?” He mutters as he stands, shaking the book at you before tossing it onto the bed. He calmly walks towards you. He towers over you and one of his hands tangles itself in your hair pulling just enough to make you look straight up at him. 

“Yer a pure bad lassie. Cannae even heed simple orders.” 

He suddenly takes you by the arm and walks you into his room.

“Nasty wee thing,” He growls, forcing you onto the bed. “Can’t follow directions. Hidin’ things from me.” He sucks his teeth as his hands rush to yank your shirt off. He gives you no time to reorient yourself before he pushes you onto your back.

He climbs onto the bed and straddles you gripping your wrists in one hand. He grabs your chin forcing you to look up at him.

“Needy fuckin’ whore, aren’t ye?”

“Johnny, I’m sorry.” You whine trying to break out of his grip.

He scoffs, “We’ll see about tha’.”

He yanks his sweats off. You watch him closely hoping that he’ll change his mind about this punishment. His size becomes more apparent with the anger radiating off of him. 

“Baby, I promise I won’t do it anymore.” He ignores your pleas. Your eyes trail down and you see he’s rock-hard. He lays his weight on you biting at your neck. His bare cock presses against you over your shorts. His free hand goes to your breast, pinching your nipple and rolling it in his fingers. You half-mindedly grind against him.

“Oh no, Lassie. Yer not getting what you want just yet.”

He kisses down your chest capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue plays with the sensitive nub. He slides his arm under your thigh, bringing one leg to his waist. His fingers run over your clothed cunt and he groans.

“Yer soaked. My wee slut is so wet fur me.” His voice rasps. His mouth moves to your other breast. Your nails dig into your palms when his teeth graze the nub.

“Baby, please,” You cry out, needing to feel him inside you. The ache was becoming too much to bear and he was so close. His scent only helped to cloud your brain and the heat radiating off of him was setting you ablaze.

“So impatient.” He taunts as he pulls away to work your shorts down your legs to reveal the wet patch on your panties that had become transparent. He chokes out a moan at the sight,

“So fuckin’ wet.”

He slips his fingers underneath the fabric at your hips and in a swift motion pulls them until they rip. You gasp, eyes shooting down at him. He’d never acted this way in bed, he’d usually undress you with a thousand kisses, making sure his lips touched every bit of exposed skin until he reached where you wanted him most, he’d slow down for a moment and place a kiss on your clit before devouring you whole and leaving you with soul-crushing orgasm before the big finale. This time he restrains himself leaving your hips bucking for his touch. In this moment, you missed your sweet and caring Johnny.

“I know wha’ ye want, bonnie.” He looks up at you with his little evil smirk. “I’m not gonna treat ye like my princess when yer not actin’ like one.”

Before you can protest his fingers begin playing at your entrance. He slides two of his thick digits into you. Your breath hitches feeling the calloused skin inside you. He pumps his fingers, curling them into that special spot.

“So tight.” He breaths out, occasionally flicking your clit with his thumb. You want him inside you so bad your head is spinning. He lowers his head dropping his tongue to your clit, he couldn’t help himself, his head belonged in between your legs and he couldn’t fight that.

He continues moving his fingers in and out of you, grazing your g-spot each time. His tongue circles your clit and you throw your head back into the pillows. Your pants fill the room, your wrists aching.

“Johnnyyyyy.” Your back arches as he speeds up. His eyes almost roll back listening to your whines.

He feels you tighten against his fingers, waiting for the right moment. 

“Hmmmm.” You tighten around him once more and he pulls away from you, denying you of your release. Your head shoots up and he’s sucking the wetness off his fingers. He chuckles at the frustrated look on your face.

“That’s not fair!”

“Oh, but it is, only good girls get tae cum.”

He leans over you on his elbow grabbing a handful of your hair. He pulls your head back, the pain forcing a whine from your lips. “No woman of mine will be readin’ filth about another man.” His lips graze the side of your face. “I’m the only man ye should fantasizin’ about. I’m the only one who’s cock ye should be thinkin’ of.”

“You are! You’re the only man I think about!”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

He slides himself into you and your body tenses up at the intrusion. He coos at you as you try to adjust to his length. He forces your head to the side and his lips are on yours. He deepens the kiss attempting to capture your tongue with his. He uses the kiss as a distraction to slide the rest of himself into you. He buries himself to the hilt and you gasp into the kiss. He moans softly, breaking away from your lips and resting his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of being inside you was almost too much for him to bear. So warm and wet, the nerves on his cock fire off when the tip finds your soft cervix.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” He pants into your skin. “This pussy is pure sin.”

He gathers himself before he begins moving. He slides in and out of you and your lips part slightly, eyes clamped shut. He releases shaky breaths, the tightness making his head spin.

“O’ fuck!” He thrusts slowly, pulling away slightly to enjoy the view of him disappearing inside you. His free hand grabs your waist to keep you from sliding away from him as his pace picks up. Your mind goes blank, the stretch of his cock is intoxicating. His thrusts jolt you upwards forcing whines from you. 

“Johnny, please let me touch you.”

“Promise me no more of those fuckin’ books,” He breaths into your necks.

“I promise, I promise, I promise!” You chant. Your voice comes out pathetic and desperate. He releases your wrists, his arms sliding under your body to wrap around you. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging into his skin. He pounds into you relentlessly, your eyesight blurs, and your back struggles to arch against his weight. 

His name falls from you in a chant mixed with small gasps. The bed creaks loudly as his hips slam into the underside of your soft thighs. Your legs wrap around his waist, hands grasping at him for dear life. He moans into your neck, his rasps hitting your skin along with his ragged breaths.

“Oh god, Johnny!” Your mouth hangs open. The feeling of him filling you up so perfectly leaves you almost in a trance-like state, unable to think or form a single thought. 

“Ye take me so well, bonnie, don’t ye?”

He tightens his hold on you, the tight squeeze around his cock has him almost drooling. Your warm velvet walls test him every time, he uses every bit of strength he has to not finish too soon when he buries himself inside you. His tip kissing your cervix shoots pleasure through the both of you. He swears little invisible hearts circle his head every time you whimper out his name.

He digs his teeth into your neck, marking you. “Mine. All mine.” He groans into the now red flesh. He frees one of his arms from under you and begins massaging your clit begging to feel you clamp down around him. 

“Bonnie, ye feel tae good. Cum on my cock, ye been a good girl.” You moan in response. “Gonnae fill ye up nice and deep. Ye want tha’?”

You nod frantically. Your pussy flutters warning him of your impending orgasm. He continues his pace as he whispers pure filth into your ear. Telling you how much he loves your pussy, how you belong to him and only him. You try to warn him but it hits hard and fast, before you know it you’re a mess beneath him. Nails dragging down his skin leaving red lines, your pussy spasming around him pulling over the edge.

He ruts into you shooting thick streams onto your walls. You feel him twitching inside you as he thrusts his cum deeper into you. “Take it all, bonnie.”

He continues thrusting, dragging out your orgasm. Your pussy clamps down on him milking him for all he’s worth leaving you twitching from the overstimulation.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He slows his movements letting out a deep breath before locking eyes with you. A goofy smile appears on his lips causing you to giggle. He mummers a “C’mere,” before kissing you sweetly. He slides out of you slowly as he caresses your thigh.

“Let’s get ye cleaned up,” He plants a kiss on your forehead before wrapping his arms around you once more and lifting you onto his lap. He slides the both of you off the bed and carries you into the bathroom putting you down gently on the counter. He turns the shower on and while the two of you wait for the water to heat up he peppers your face with kisses. 

He carries you into the shower letting you steady yourself on your feet before pulling you to his chest. The warm water runs over his shoulders flowing down your back. His lips brush the top of your head.

“I love you, bonnie.” He whispers.

[starlight-write]

lee!Vox and ler!Alastor fic??? 🤔🤔

Stalker

Requests: Open

Summary: Vox's little obsession with stalking his nemesis lands him into a bit of trouble.

Pairings: Lee!Vox, Ler!Alastor (Mommy Issues)

Warnings: Tickling, Swearing

Words: 1666

——————————————————————————————

It was a common understanding for most of Hell’s residents that you’d have to either be brave or stupid to be caught on the streets of Hell in the middle of the night, especially alone. Unless of course you were powerful enough to be considered a threat yourself.

Fortunately, our favorite TV Overlord was a perfect mix of powerful, brave, and stupid.

Vox whistled to himself as he walked out the doors of the antique shop, having just planted a shit load of spyware in case that bastard tried to interrupt another one of his broadcasts.

Velvette had given him an earful that afternoon going on about how he was "obsessed" and "borderline psychotic" referring to his recent attempts at gathering intel (not stalking thank you very much) on his enemy.

"He's a threat to our image! The two of you should be thanking me!"

Their little argument sparked when Velvette noticed the pathetic little man had spent a concerning amount of time in front of his gigantic screen wall. Having sent multiple drones that week to spy on the hotel and its residents.

While he still hadn't found any useful information on his nemesis, just knowing where that bastard was at all times was enough to calm his nerves.

Still not stalking.

The Overlord strolled down the sidewalk with his face buried into his phone checking for updates from the drones.

He noticed one of them was offline, only returning a black screen. Vox swiped furiously on the device, heart racing as he tried to figure out what the FUCK was going on?!

Vox picked up his pace a little bit, his screen buried in the other screen, not at all aware of his surroundings.

The man was to consumed by his panic to realize he was being followed before it was too late.

Vox screamed when he felt someone snatch his arms before dragging the man into the dark alleyway he was just about to pass by.

The creep managed to drag him a good distance down the alley before he came out of his shock enough to fight back.

The man twisted, turned, kicked, punched but only managed to free himself once he let off a good amount of electricity. However, his attacker recovered quickly and a fight broke between the two.

Thankfully not a long one. Soon enough, four tendrils emerged from the wall and wrapped around each of the man's limbs before yanking his body and pinning it to the wall.

Vox grunted and emitted more of his electrical shocks before realizing these things were immune. The tendrils had him pinned several inches off the ground with both arm on each side of his screen. He pulled and tugged at the bonds before realizing how monumentally screwed he was.

An annoyed sigh prompted him to look up at his attacker. Only the small light from his screen allowing him to identify the other.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Alastor stalked towards the other, his menacing smile never faltered as he stared daggers into the trapped man.

The demon stopped mere centimeters away from Vox's face before delivering a quick punch to the wall right next to the other's screen causing the brick to crumble.

"Were you a fucking formula baby or some shit?!" Alastor hissed, stepping away slightly. "Did your mother deprive you of attention that bad that you have go around seeking it from everyone else?!" The demon snarled, seemingly pulling Vox's missing drone out of nowhere as he threw it in front of his feet.

"That's besides the point-" He said. "I MEAN-!"

Alastor snatched the other man's tie forcing their faces together again. "What exactly were you hoping to find, hm? Do tell because I'm dying to know what intel could possibly be valuable enough for you to get your soul torn to shreds over."

Vox smiled down at his captor, completely unfazed by the threat. "HA! You don't scare me, Alastor. Besides, there's nothing in that crappy hotel that was worth seeing anyways. All I saw was shitty improv skits and a bunch of half-assed attempts at redemption. The whole place is one big-fat-fucking-joke, which makes sense considering your clown ass is running the show."

Alastor felt his eye twitch but released his hold on the other's tie, causing his neck to snap up and bang his head on the brick wall.

"That mouth of yours is going to be the death of you, my friend."

Vox shook his head, trying to get his bearings once more. "Don't call me that. And let me go already, I'm not telling you anything."

"What else is there to tell?" Alastor asked, picking up the discarded drone. "You've already proven yourself to be quite desperate for my attention, I figured the best way to punish you for this little stunt is by giving you exactly what you want." Alastor stared the demon down as he crushed the drone with his bare hands.

Vox laughed. "Oh, I'm soooo scared! What are you gonna do? Bore me to death with your little- AAH!" Vox screamed when he felt the other's hands grab his waist.

"Not exactly." The demon laughed.

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT. NO-!

A million memories suddenly flooded Vox's mind. Memories of laughing his guts out under the other demon. Memories of their their little 'fights' that occurred when one or both of them were bored, which Vox always seemed to lose. Memories of Alastor completely losing his patience and tickling Vox mercilessly until he was in tears.

Alastor smiled, relishing in the sight of that cocky smirk being wiped off his rivals face. The demon snickered as he tightened his grip around the other's waist. "Oh Vox, did you really think I would forget? You've begged for my attention countless times like this before, remember? I know exactly how to shut that big mouth of yours~"

Vox started to squirm, the hands weren't even moving yet but just the thought of it sent tingles through the demon's skin.

"Wait- hehA!- Wahait! th-This is sihilly. C'mon, surely yohohou can thinkik of a better wahahay to- AAAHH!" Vox shouted as those hands began slowly pinching up and down his sides.

Alastor chuckled, softly raking his fingers along the other's sides. "I don't think so, old pal. You've had this coming for a long time now."

Vox shook his head as much as he could, given what little space he had. Failing to suppress his giggles as he tugged furiously at his restraints.

"fuhuhuhuck- no- no plehehehease! wahahahahahait- wahahait a minute!" Quiet, panicked giggles were forced from his throat. Remembering how unbearable the softer tickles proved to be, Vox squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth but still couldn't hope to block out the unbearable tingling sensation.

"Begging already?" Alastor teased. "That's no fun. You know we're just getting started right?~"

Vox cursed at the teasing. Unintentionally emitting electric sparks due to his flustered state. Alastor remembered how easy it was for the man to overheat and took the teasing down a notch. Instead switching tactics and opting to scribble viciously under his arms.

Vox blue-screened for a split second before letting out a high pitch squeal. Full on cackling at this point while he desperately tried to pull his arms down.

"AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!- HOLD ON- HOLD OHOHOHON!!! WAHAHAHIT AHAHAHALASTAAAAA- PLEHEHEHEAHAHA-"

Alastor had that self-satisfied smile he always wore whenever he got what he wanted. Vox hated that smile.

"Oh come now Vox~ You're well on your way to be one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell! Surely this can't be all it takes to break you~"

Vox's screen began to glitch and the whirring of the fans became audible as the man began to overheat.

Oh, right. Teasing is a no-go if we want to continue.

Alastor sighed. Well, if talking was too much for Vox, maybe he'd prefer something else instead~

The hands suddenly removed themselves from underneath Vox's arms and moved to either side of his head. The Overlord was to busy cooling down and catching his breath to realize that the other was positioning his face at the crook of his neck.

The feeling of sharp teeth gently nibbling at his neck was enough to snap him back to reality and into another hysterical fit.

"nononONO!- WAHA-AAAIIEEE- WAHAHAAAAA- AHAHAHAHA!!"

Vox cackled and screamed at the intense feeling. Fighting with everything he had to free himself from his bonds, panic flooded his systems at the feeling of being hopelessly trapped and completely at the other's mercy.

To which, of course, Alastor had none.

The demon could feel the heat radiating from the TV demon's systems and knew the poor, pathetic man didn't have much fight left in him.

Deciding to go for the kill, Alastor repositioned his hands at the other's hips and began squeezing rapidly while also blowing a few raspberries at his neck for good measure.

Yeah, Vox literally didn't last half a second.

No screaming. No cackling. No fighting. The demon's screen just glitched brutally before going black and his body instantly went limp.

Alastor pulled back and looked at his victim for a moment.

"Well, shit." He sighed.

He'll admit, he'd been itching to do that again for some time now but it seems he got carried away and the fun got cut short.

Oh well. He was sure there would be a next time.

Alastor grabbed the other's phone and released his body, letting it drop gracelessly on the floor of the alleyway.

Charlie had taught him the basics of how to work one of these things and thankfully Vox was cocky enough to not enable a password on his device.

Assuming the contact name "Doll-Faced Bitch" was one of his colleagues, he sent a photo of Vox's limp body as well as the location before tossing the phone away and heading back to the hotel.

Someday, he'll learn not to mess with The Radio Demon.

But hopefully not anytime soon.

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Attack!

Panic or heart attack implied. You be the judge.

Characters: actual psychopath/ serial killer Whumper, simp Whumpee CWs: restraints, electrocution, male whump, eyeballs (?), murder, it's pretty dark, you have been warned!!

“Push your ankles against the legs of the chair.” He unrolled a length of duct tape. 

Whumpee’s smile dropped. He wrinkled his eyebrows, puzzled, and stared open-eyed at the larger man skeptically. “More?”

“It’s for the thrashing.” He reasoned. “Like I said, you need to be completely still if you’re gonna get high.”

“This is really weird.” Whumpee dismissed. But if this is what it took, fine. He’d go along with it.

Whumper wrapped the tape around his legs and ankles, securing them to the legs of the narrow wooden chair.

Now that his ankles were tethered down in addition to his wrists, Whumpee couldn’t move anything but his head.

“Good, good. You’re a trooper. Getting excited yet?”

“Not really.” Whumpee said flatly. In truth, being tied to a chair had excited him, but certainly not in the way Whumper was inquiring about.

“C’mon. It’ll feel really good once it gets going.” Whumper cracked a smile “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The scholar crossed the room to the couch that was heavy with clutter; books, equipment, and garbage it looked to be. The entire basement had a stinking, foul odor, Whumpee wondered if it was coming from the junk piled high on the sofa.

Whumpee tried rolling his wrists and ankles to loosen the tape securing him to the chair, but they were wrapped snugly in their duct tape cocoons.

“God damn this is uncomfortable. Argghhh! My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.” 

Whumper disregarded Whumpee’s objections. The man grabbed a silver and black case resting on the cluttered couch, popped the latches open and removed a camcorder box. He unfurled a roll of canvas containing a tripod. 

Apprehension settled over Whumpee as he watched from his chair, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. A rancid smell in the air made him recoil. “Can you smell that? It kinda stinks down here.”

I should really stop complaining, Whumpee thought to himself. He didn’t want to annoy Whumper, much less offend him. He considered himself lucky that Whumper had even chosen him, of all people, to assist with his thesis project. 

Thankfully, it seemed Whumper didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on assembling his recording gear.

Whumpee felt a pit in his stomach. Whether he was being annoying or not, he reminded himself that he had to make his boundaries clear before they did this thing.

“Hey. Hey. Whumper!” he yelled to get Whumper’s attention for the first time. “Remember what I told you, I’m gonna to tap out after twenty minutes. Hard stop then, okay?” Whumpee said emphatically. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Whumper silently loaded a roll of film into the camera, snapping the plastic compartment closed with a click. He pressed the power button and framed Whumpee in the center of the video screen.

“...and now,” Whumper hit the red recording button. “We are officially ready to begin.”

Whumpee’s breathing increased. He had anxiously awaited this moment since he agreed to it days ago. Whumper had been so happy he volunteered to help with his project, he reminded himself that this was a small sacrifice for the greater good, this was the first step towards forging a real friendship. And if he played his cards right, maybe something even more.

He steeled himself and summoned every last ounce of courage from the depths of his being.

“Oh shit, I forgot. Safety first.” Whumper retrieved the object he’d been fingering in his pocket. A short leather strap. “I have to put this in your mouth--”

“What is th--!” Whumpee tried to interject.

“--so you don’t bite your tongue.” 

Whumper already grabbed a handful of Whumpee’s hair and tilted his head back before he could protest. The bound man jerked his head back and instinctively pursed his lips closed. Whumper attempted to push the strap past his lips but they were closed tight.

“Wha — STOP! Stop it!” gasped Whumpee, breath ragged and nerves shaken by the sudden assault. “Fuck. What the hell was that??!”

Shit. Too heavy handed. Impatience always got the best of Whumper.

“Heh, sorry, sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry?! That was fucked!!”

“I’ll be nice this time. Promise. Here. Now bite.”

Whumpee looked at the man incredulously and sighed, but bit down on the gag obediently. He had to stay in Whumper’s good graces, he’d come all this way. Plus he really didn’t want to bite his fucking tongue off.

“Comfy?”

Whumpee firmly shook his head no.

“Well you look like a million bucks. Ya ready?”

Whumpee’s sigh was muffled by the strap of leather trapped between his teeth. He was completely immoble and incredibly uncomfortable, with absolutely no control of his body beyond his mouth and head. To add to his discomfort, a looming putrid odor hung in the stale basement air and the anticipation of being electrocuted made him nauseous.

His cheeks burned and he prayed Whumper didn’t notice him blushing. Whumpee reminded himself: he was going to be fine, Whumper wouldn’t hurt him, and he was lucky to even be there.

“I’ll start with the calf.” Whumper commented, touching the cattle prod to Whumpee’s leg. His breath audibly quickened.

“Easy. Shh. Relax.”

ZAP

It felt like all of the air, light, and sound had been sucked from the room and replaced with searing pain.

“Mmmmmmph!” His leg jerked upwards involuntarily, if he wasn’t tied to the chair he’d have kneed himself in the jaw. A biting soreness ran from his toes to his hip even after Whumper pulled the cattle prod away.

It was intense, the most blinding agony Whumpee had ever experienced. But now that it was over, Whumpee felt strangely... good?

Whumpee spat the strap from his mouth, and the saliva-coated leather fell on Whumper’s shoulder. The slimy gag slid down the taller man’s shirt like a snail leaving a path of slime, and plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

“Oh shit!!” Whumpee cackled as Whumper rose to stand. “My bad, my bad.” He felt delirious, but amid the chaos of his mind there was a course of energy that left him invigorated. He giggled at the trail of saliva that glistened against the larger man’s black sweater.

Whumper glared at the discarded leather gag on the floor. His eyes shot back to the human filth sitting in front of him. He exhaled slowly. A tempest of rage brewed beneath his calm.

“There is some kind of weird pleasure, I guess.” Whumpee offered, “I see what you mean. But it hurts like frikin’ hell.” Whumpee started laughing again and turned to Whumper. “I wonder what pervs actually use this to get off. Maybe we should think of a safe word.” He giggled.

What, like this was supposed to be some fucking sexual exercise? 

The very concept made Whumper want to gag.

Playtime was over. 

His vision went red. It was time to end this fucker.

Whumper retrieved the roll of tape and wrapped it around Whumpee’s mouth, circling his head once, twice, three times.

The man under him struggled to fight against his motions, bobbing his head and trying to bite at him as he layered his face in duct tape. But the ambush happened quickly, and Whumpee was powerless to stop him.

Whumper felt like all the duct tape in the world couldn’t silence the miserable brat.

The large man rolled the dial on the cattle prod to maximum voltage out of curiosity. Holding the device against Whumpee’s skin, he administered white-hot pain directly into his forearm. The small man heaved in his narrow wooden chair and nearly fell backwards.

Whumpee screamed. He screamed so much that his yells bled into one another. If his mouth were free it would have been the loudest he’d ever shrieked, but under his adhesive gag he could never eke out more than a muffled MMMmph!

Whumper pushed the device deep into the flesh of his arm, stabbing the prongs into him with so much force it nearly drew blood. Whumpee thrashed wildly, the excruciating electric shock traveled up his arm all the way into the deep veins of his neck.

“Mmm. Mmm-mmph!!” Whumpee hummed into the tape that sealed his lips. He awkwardly blinked to get the moisture out of his eyelashes, which were heavy with tears. It was all he could do at this point: blink.This was the only thing he could control in the entire world right now.

“What was that? Use your words, Whumpee.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re crying now? We’ve barely warmed up!”

Whumper took his captive’s chin in his cold hand and tilted it back to get a good look at his face. Tears rolled down Whumpee’s cheeks rapidly and his breathing was rugged and quick. He averted his eyes from the larger man’s intense, hungry stare.   

“Time to come clean, Whumpee. I know you’ve been stalking me all years. The way you’ve injected yourself in the background of my life--” A remorseful tear ran down Whumpee’s cheek.

 “--what, you didn’t think I noticed? It’s not like you were subtle about it. You’re like a fly and shit, your presence is a constant annoying buzz in my ear. So I thought, what’s the best way to kill an insect?”

“Do you know, Whumpee?”

Whumpee groaned.

“Zap ‘em.”

Whumper retrieved a box cutter from his pocket. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned, pressing the blade from its plastic sheath. The knife found the neckline of Whumpee’s shirt where it traveled down his torso, digging into his flesh in places. Whumpee sliced the shirt into jagged strips and let them fall to the ground, one by one. 

Whumper took a moment to admire the pearls of blood that seeped from the shallow gashes he made on Whumpee’s bare torso. He stepped back to ensure everything was in frame of the camera’s viewfinder.

“You only have yourself to blame for this one, Whumpee. I mean who the hell volunteers to get electrocuted?” The scholar grinned wickedly.

He thought they were supposed to be friends, he thought he was helping him with his project…

“I’ve never even been to college. Didn’t even graduate high school, not that I needed to. Did you know that, Whumpee?” Whumper rounded the corner so he was out of Whumpee’s sight, not that he could see much through his watery vision. “I was pretty convincing though, wasn’t I? You didn’t make it easy on me, with you stalking me for so long.” Whumper came back, holding a heavy metal object and thick rubbery wires. “I appreciated the challenge at first.”

He sat the car battery on the floor at Whumpee’s feet.

“But now it’s annoying. So I came up with this solution.” Whumper retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his teeth.

“I had to do a little practice with Big Bertha over here.” He said with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Whumper tapped the car battery with his foot. 

“Winston was fucking old as hell-- you remember old man Winston right? The fucker up the street with the dog that bit me that one time?”

Whumper raised his eyebrows at his captive, silently demanding a response. Whumpee didn’t realize. He nodded his head, sniffling.

“One little zap and boom, he was gone. You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been like two, maybe three minutes? I don’t know. It was disappointing.” Whumper lit his cigarette.

“But his eyes did shoot out of his face, which was pretty funny.”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His muffled cries intensified, he shook his head violently. Snot ran down his tape-covered chin and he was screaming bloody murder into the sticky adhesive that silenced him.

Whumper’s fingers grazed his hot wet cheek.

“I kept one of his eyes. And you know what I did with the other?” A sinister grin crept across his face.

“Fed it to his dog.”

Whumpee was reduced to a puddle of wailing mucus.

“All that to say that the old man actually did teach me a little something about electricity. So I went to the library-- like a real goddamn scholar-- and I did a little research on how to control this shit. Check it out: this is an alternator and this one is a voltage regulator.” He presented the two small devices. 

“You want to know why I went to all this trouble?” He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Because, Whumpee, I don’t wanna just zap you like a mosquito. I want a real show.”

“And you’re going to give me one hell of a show, too, because this gear was fuckin’ expensive.” He glanced at the bifold doors to the closet. “At least Winston picked up the tab.” 

Whumper crouched down to assemble the parts of his machine, leaving Whumpee helplessly taped to the chair, awaiting his impending doom. Tears welled in his eyes and he was silently thankful that they blurred his vision almost entirely, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as his life was literally fried out of him. All he could see through the haze in his eyes was the steady, rhythmic pulsing of the camera’s red recording light.

Whumper rose to his feet, his full focus fixed on Whumpee, who shivered in place.

“Now then,” he declared, ashing his cigarette. “Let’s get started for real this time.”

[blu3fiish]

Incorrect quotes but it's Grunkle Stan

Tim: And here we have rock that looks like a face rock. "The Rock That Looks Like A Face."

Damian: Does it look like a rock?

Tim: No it looks like a face.

Duke: Is it a face?

Tim: It a rock that LOOKS like a face!

-

Dick: [Loading up plate with marshmellows]

Dick: [looks up to see money on a fishing line in front of him]

Dick: Right. Haha. Like I'm gonna fall for that.

Dick: [goes back to collecting marshmellows]

Dick: [lunges at the fishing line and misses]

-

Steph: Y'know. Studies show that keepin' a ladder inside the house is more dangerous then a loaded gun.

Jason: That's why I own 10 guns. In case some maniac tries to sneak in a ladder.

-

Bruce: Ugh. This line is taking forever.

Bruce: .... Time to use my old man powers.

Bruce: [Slaps hand over heart] AHH I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK!!

-

Cass & Duke: [Painting paper to look like money]

Jason: You call that Ben Franklin?? He looks like a woman.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: September 20/24

Happy Friday everyone!! It's a super special one today, as it marks the END OF YEAR FIVE OF WEEKLY FIVE FICS FRIDAY POSTS!!!

That's TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY LISTS FOR BOOSTED FICS!!!

I can't believe I've done this for five years weekly, and I hope you've enjoyed them all that time! I'll post up the masterlist tomorrow for Year Five, so in the interim, make sure to give this week's fics some love! Enjoy!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Debris by Monkeysock (M, 15,094 w., 14 Ch. || First Person POV Alternating, Case Fic, Sherlock Whump, Flashbacks, Guilt, Waiting, Hospital, Angst) –Sherlock becomes trapped under a load of debris when a building collapses on top of him. He waits for rescue. Everyone is different, they only know what they know. In the aftermath, everybody has a story to tell.

RECENT MFLs

Little Slices of Death by Enterthetadpole (E, 994 w., 1 Ch. || Friends To Lovers, Horror, Humour, Happy Ending, Case Fic, Romance) – Sherlock Holmes gets involved in a case where the victims and crimes that are eerily similar to the works of a certain horror author stories. Will he solve the case before the people around him die around him?

I Meet You There, and We Go by irisbleufic (E, 6,370 w., 4 Ch. || Alternate Universe || Aftermath of TGG Pool Scene, Grief/Mourning, Supernatural Elements, Established Relationship, PTSD, Neurodiversity, Disability, Character Death) – "I dream of what it's like," [Sherlock] says with difficulty, and the words taste right in spite of the fact that everything else tastes wrong, "when we leave this place." John is quiet for an unbearably long while (too quiet: no humming, no breath) before he lets his forehead drop to rest against Sherlock's, smudge of ash and grit and sweat mixed with something far too heavy to be tears. He presses one hand over Sherlock's heart, and there's warmth again. The promise dazzles him. It stings. "What's it like?" asks John, finally, his voice thick with the promise of rest.

The Scientific Method by NovaWasTaken1 (T, 11,883 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Divergence, Doctor John, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Headaches / Migraines, Sick Sherlock) – Dosing former drug addict Sherlock Holmes turns out to be just a little more complicated than an aerosol spray. An AU of Hounds of the Baskervilles, in which Sherlock's reaction to being drugged winds up being a little more than an anxiety attack.

Secondary Exposure by thesardine (T, 18,841 w., 7 Ch. || Whump, Tags to Be Added) – After twenty years, the killer who abducted John as a child has resurfaced. Now John and Sherlock must track him down before he claims another victim, and at the same time navigate the shifting nature of their relationship.

[heathersdesk]

My grandfather was killed in a hit and run accident in 1978.

His mother and sister struggled with life after that. They decided to go on a trip across the United States together to get away from things for a while.

I discovered this trip when I was going through photo albums and suddenly saw a place I recognized.

The Salt Lake Temple.

They went to many places during that trip. But there was something truly special to me that, in one of the worst seasons of their lives, they ended up at the temple.

I served part of my mission at Temple Square. I was waiting for a visa to Brazil that I began to think was never coming. I had a truly horrendous time in the MTC babysitting a district of Elders who spent weeks on end bullying me and tearing down my self-esteem. I was told directly by someone, I forget who now, that I was being sent there to recover. And when I realized that the mission had no young Elders in it at all, that it was only Sisters and senior couples, I came to appreciate what that meant.

I had so many wild interactions there with so many people. Some of them were strange, like the guy who viewed the Book of Mormon as proof of alien interactions with humans. There were moments of heartbreak, like the woman who was in tears at the Christus statue who attacked us when we checked in on her. There were moments of pure delight, like when an LDS family with two young daughters came to that same Christus statue. The oldest girl, no older than 4 or 5, squealed "JESUS" and ran to the Savior's feet, little sister in tow. Whenever I hear someone mention the teaching to become as a little child, she is exactly who I think of.

There were also moments that were meant solely for me, like when I met the first Sister to ever be called to the Boston mission I had hoped to go to to wait for my visa. Boston has a large Brazilian population, many of whom are members of the Church. I had begged in prayer to be sent there and was told by other people it wouldn't happen because "Sisters don't go there." I had an entire conversation with the woman who was going to be that change. It seemed cruel to me at the time, dangling the carrot of something I wanted right in front of my face. In time, I've realized it was so I would remember that God does miracles and is aware of the desires of my heart, even if it means I don't get what I want. Someone needed to exercise enough faith to push that door open for women. I put my full weight behind it, and I can be just as proud that it opened for someone else.

But some of my favorite people I met there were people who just made me laugh. I met a Jewish convert from New York who told us his conversion story, how what drew him in was the Plan of Salvation. He summarized it in a New York accent in a voice I can still hear in my mind: "So you're a god, eventually. But can you pay RENT?!"

One of my favorite people I met was a Scottish convert named Agnes who was doing the Mormon trail across the US, beginning in New England and ending in Utah. She was a much older woman and told us all about her pilgrimage, and how she had cuddled with the oxen at the baptismal font in the Manhattan New York Temple. (I've been there. You enter into the baptistry on face level with them, or did the last time I was there.) She shared her testimony with us, and I'll never forget what she said.

She explained that the story of Joseph Smith was really hard to get her mind around. It truly is an insane set of asks: angels, gold plates, polygamy, and all the rest. She talked about how she came to accept it—not through any kind of empirical evidence or proof, but through faith and what that looked like.

For her, it was the recognition that being LDS was the best way she had ever encountered to live an excellent life. She said that the worst case scenario she could imagine is one where God would say to her, "You know that whole business with Joseph Smith was a load of crock, right? But you lived such a good life, I have to let you in anyway."

That has always stayed with me. Agnes was one of many people who came to the Square looking for something. I saw people come there looking for faith, or a fight, and truly everything in between. And it's only now that I'm older and wiser that I see something clearly now that I couldn't see then.

Agnes didn't need to come to Temple Square to find faith. She already had a tremendous amount of faith. She, and many others, were looking for conviction. I was at Temple Square long enough to learn you don't get that from a place. While a place like Temple Square can illuminate the possibilities for conviction through the lens of history, it doesn't bestow that conviction through contact or proximity alone. Conviction is made from the materials of your own life and your own choices. Your will, how firmly you place yourself into an immovable and unyielding position, is the measure of your convictions. It comes from within.

Faith is the decision to believe in what you cannot see, and what cannot be proven objectively. That never goes away. Nothing we experience in life, no place we ever visit, will create a shortcut under, over, or around that decision to believe, to trust in God. Faith, at its core, is a decision. The ability to continue making that decision over and over again, under all species of hardship and opposition, is conviction.

Where Jesus walked is nowhere near as important as how Jesus walked, and with whom. The same is true for all of us. Our walk with God might never take us anywhere near a temple because of where God has called us to go. But we are the holiest dwelling places of God on earth—not any of the buildings we've made.

Be a holy place of living faith wherever you are, whatever your circumstances may be. Worship God, no matter what places you can or cannot enter. There is more than one way to access a temple. One way is to enter a place that people invite God to dwell. The other is to become that place. There can be no separation from God where communion never ceases. It is the refuge that is unassailable by others for as long as the person wills it so. The torch within will not go out.

The temple is not special because it has some holy essence that springs forth out of nothing, to passively be absorbed by others. The temple is special because it directs people to Jesus Christ, who is the giver of healing and peace. The temple is just a building. It's Jesus Christ that is the true power behind it all, whose objective is to make you, me, and every person you know the holiest creature you've ever beheld. You are the end goal.

[litnerdwrites]

I want to talk about the Valkyries

So, I love the Valkyries. Their friendship is everything, and frankly, the best part of the series. However, I've never really liked the idea of them being warriors, and I want to hear some thoughts and opinions on that.

It all comes down to this single sentence; “"There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives. Amren told me that yesterday."”

To me, Nesta's strength lies in her other skills and abilities. She was raised to marry a Prince, so there's no doubt she's far more educated than most in her station. She proved that she has a good head on her shoulders and heart in her chest when she calculated the cost of evacuating humans from the mortal lands bellow Prythian, which goes beyond the number of ships, mind you.

She'd have to calculate the cost of the ship, the sailors to man them, the cost of security to protect the refugees in case the ships are attacked, which would mean the cost of weapons made of ash (which we know is rare since the fae burned many of the ash trees long ago), the provisions of sailors, provisions for guards, provisions for refugees, medicine for those who are sick or elderly, the time it would take to sail from the continent, load up the ships, and then sail back, etc. It's not easy, and there are a lot of factors to take into consideration, but Nesta did it and presented it to The Mortal Queens, who might have executed them for siding with the fae or even just speaking back to them, with not a single ounce of fear.

Nesta endured her mother's abuse, and didn't let it make her resent Feyre and Elain, instead, fuelling her desire to protect Elain and allow them both to find happiness in their marriages, something which we can presume is rare based on the little information and context we have for the human lands, despite it not necessarily furthering her family, while not bothering to do so for herself.

Nesta won the heart of a duke before even stepping onto the dance floor, had Eris dancing in the palm of her hand, arguably before dancing with him, and her idea to distract The King of Hybern, when Rhys didn't consider it until she brought it up. Nesta united the High Lords. Not Feyre. Not the IC. Nesta. After witnessing her father's death, and having all her trauma come crashing down on her, attended a meeting with strangers, both humans and fae, at her sister's behest, then kept herself together long enough to make it back to Velaris and to her room.

Feyre takes strength and inspiration from Nesta and her steely resolve, in times like The HL meeting.

Within a single year, she forced herself to overcome her fear of bathtubs, alone, while enduring the criticism and verbal abuse of the IC. She endured that nightmare Solstice, dinner parties and other events with them watching her like a circus performer. She endured her so-called mates' abuse and the abuse he allowed his family to show her, leaving her completely alone. Nesta didn't throw herself into the river or try to commit suicide, as far as we know, during this time, and gave everything to keep her head above water.

Let nobody tell you that Nesta Archeron isn't a strong ass woman.

I think this is why her becoming a warrior bothers me. Her courtier and dancing skills are shown to help her thrive in a place like the CON, a place the IC hates and the narrative paints as being full of scheming, evil, deserve to rot in hell, asshole fae nobles. This is a disservice to Nesta's immense talents and skill in navigating these situations. to be exploited, and painted as something that is synonymous with the 'evil' of The CON.

Also, I think that certain parts of the CON's culture is similar to human culture, in some ways. Between that and Nesta telling Bryce about how she's okay with being fae because of immortality, I think SJM is doing a disservice to humanity and it's culture. Nesta's insistence on holding on to her humanity when she points out things like how Solstice isn't a human holiday, or how fae have regard for human custom or manners (twice), and even her modest style of dress is something I love about her character.

I hate how it feels like, that for all Feyre claims both the human and fae lands are her home, she's disregarding her human culture, and Nesta is being forced to as well. Assimilating into fae society doesn't mean that she has to abandon her culture, and I think it would've been great to see more human cultures and customs, even if they didn't have holiday's or religions, being integrated into the IC. Meanwhile, Feyre's only response is to try it, because she might like it, which I think is also incredibly insensitive. Feyre and the IC have essentially indoctrinated Nesta, and wiped her human values and traditions from her life.

Her so-called mate was also the one trying to make her train since ACOWAR, without regard for human customs and how much she values them. It's like none of them care for their human heritage, and want to abandon that piece of her all together. For all he claims to love her and her fire, he doesn't care for where it came from, and who she was before he moulded her into his version of a perfect mate.

Amren is the one who told Nesta that she doesn't have to be a warrior, and that's based on the strength Nesta displayed as part of her human upbringing, implying that, even then, she is strong without the ability to end lives. Yet, she's also one of the strongest advocates for Nesta being forced to train.

If exercise of some kind is what they think she needs, why not dance? Elain is aware of how much Nesta enjoys it, and given her repeated protests about being around Cassian, why not get her a dance teacher, outside the IC, and have her learn dances from different courts or places on the continent? It's something she enjoys, and gives her a chance to learn more about the world out there, while developing many of the skills she's been trained with since birth.

I don't want to hear anything about Nesta 'choosing' to be a warrior. She merely accepted her fate, knowing it was that, or certain death.

Honestly, I think I might have been more okay with the warrior thing, if she wasn't consistently exploited by the IC. Or if I wasn't convinced that Rhysand would treat the Valkyries as an extension of his military.

Speaking of the Valkyries as a whole, I think they have so much potential that's being wasted.

Why must they be warriors? Why not a group of healers, and diplomats, and dancers and explorers, and scientists? Why not have them as a way for Nesta to fulfil her own dream of seeing the world

I've made my stance on Rhysand's so-called attempt at equality in Illyria very clear in this post (where I talk about why Cassian would be the worst father ever), but the gist of it is that throwing women swords, and forcing them to be soldiers isn't equality. Giving them the same opportunities and education to chose to be a warrior, librarian, baker, blacksmith, teacher, merchant or whatever is the start of equality.

That's not to say that they can't be warriors too. It just irks me that it's all they are. That's not to say I dislike all fmcs who become warriors, though I do think that there's an overabundance of them. Why must being a warrior be what defines The Valkyries. I don't see how that makes them different to another military unit, even though Nesta is likely to be the only one expected to act like a real soldier.

The narrative makes Nesta a warrior with her other skills and passions being just a smaller part of her character. I think it should be the other way around. I think she, and The Valkyries, deserve to be more than warriors.

I feel like Emerie would be the only one who'd want to be a full time warrior out of the main three Valkyries. Even then, it's mostly due to how ingrained it is to Illyrian culture.

The concept of Nesta helping the Priestesses heal is perfect for her character, based on what we've seen her do for civilians and victims in the past. This is why I believe The Valkyries would've been more interesting if they took a humanitarian (kind of) approach to things. Helping women who are oppressed, like Illyrian women, or those in The CON, follow their dreams and escape abuse.

The IC call themselves The Court of Dreams, so wouldn't having The Valkyries be the ones to help the underprivileged start on the path to fulfilling their own dreams be poetic? It would give her a chance to travel too, if she went across Prythian or even to The Continent.

Stepping back from The Valkyries for a moment, there are many strong FMCs that aren't warriors at all. Personally, I think Stephenie Garber writes them best.

My favourite Evangeline Fox. I think she's the strongest FMC I've read/watched because her strength comes from her kindness, and belief in true love, even when the world is trying to prove otherwise. She refuses to give up hope for a happily ever after, and fights through impossible odds with her wit and heart alone for her love.

I also love Scarlett's resolve and quick thinking. I honestly think she's a lot like Nesta in some ways, when it comes to protecting her sisters (though I think Feyre is a bit like her at time s too). I'm impressed by the lengths she'd go to for those she loves, and her resolve when she decides that she deserves better than what someone's giving her. I love Donatella's determination, and decision to use other people's low opinions of her, and ideas of her being just another dumb blonde, choosing instead to use it to her advantage and prove them wrong out of spite.

I love Tohru Honda and her resolve to be kind and compassionate to everyone, even those who don't deserve it. She assumes ignorance or accident before malice and continues to strive to be better, for herself and for others. Her kindness and compassion is what inspires others around her.

I love Sophie's resourcefulness and bravery in Howel's Moving Castle.

I love Winter from At The End There Was You, because of how kind and chatty she is. How she choses to believe that the good can outweigh the bad and never stops asking questions or being curious.

Even jumping back to SJM for a moment, I love Bryce, not because she can weald weapons, but because of how resourceful, kind and witty she is. I love how she uses her femininity and others' low opinion of her to her advantage. Yrene was my favourite character in TOG, and I loved Tower of Dawn because of her. Some of my favourite moments with Aelinare when she's being girly with Lysandra. From chatting and sharing chocolates, to playing with Evangeline, or having some form of girl time (most of which are in QOS).

The Valkyries had the potential to be more than just, the now, stereotypical, strong, warrior FMCs.

“"There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives. Amren told me that yesterday."”

I think this quote should've set the president for The Valkyries. Looking back at this, I think it's less The Valkyries that I dislike and more the fact that they're warriors. I wish it played more into that quote, rather than giving us the same old story about finding strength through fighting. Personally, I think solving disputes between nations through words and dancing, or discovering the cure to sicknesses, or even bridging the gap between two sentient races sharing a world (humans and fae) all while fulfilling your dreams is more impressive than swinging swords around and ending disputes with death.

If there really needed to be some semblance of warrior like training, why not lower the intensity to self defence? Do something like Yrene and start teaching women self defence and educating them in reading, writing and maths. Give them the opportunities to better their lives and create futures for themselves. Make them about empowerment in whatever ways others feel comfortable, not just by becoming warriors.

TLDR: I think the Valkyries, namely Nesta, being warriors, first and foremost, is a disservice to her character and to the strength of women who find empowerment through other means. “"There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives. Amren told me that yesterday."” is what Amren said in ACOWAR, as quoted by Nesta, and I think that should've set the tone for The Valkyries. The worst part is how her own so-called mate doesn't respect that about her. I do want to hear other thoughts on this matter though. Do being warriors suite The Valkyries? Does it suite Nesta or her story?

[howlsofbloodhounds]

When I revisit the fight Killer and Ink+Cross comic Rahafwabas made and see how Killer single handedly punched Ink to the ground in a swift move. This made me wonder if Killer holds in most of his strength in battles for it to become more interesting. (like when Killer uses his bone attacks, it doesn't send a strong force into the air basically minimizing his attack) Killer might have targeted Ink intentionally, knowing Inks powerful because of his role of protecting the AU's. Completely ignore Cross's existence altogether, only using a weak attack by throwing bones at Cross upon noticing Cross's eye glow red, anticipating Cross would attack at that moment. Perhaps perceiving Cross as pathetic, likely due to Cross being a relatively new sans at the time, lacking detailed knowledge about him.

It made me think that Killer's more physically stronger with his fists instead of his magic and would target the ones he views as stronger before going for the weaker threats.

Thank you for sending this ask anon I was actually drafting up something similar last night but I’ll just say it here.

I think people underplay killer’s skill and strength far too often. This is guy that single-handedly took all three of the Stars by himself canonically without a single injury or pause, man was bored out of his mind, and all he wanted was for dream to give him a better fight. anything.

and all of that was just a ploy by nightmare. a deliberate choice because he wanted to show dream how easily he could have him killed before he called off his attack dog. killer is literally a killing machine. imagine bro with cross’ Royal guard training.

I honestly imagine that killer is completely capable of doing shit like punching straight through walls and yanking his next victim straight through. I can perfectly see him pulling a Winter Soldier move and doing this shit, pulling bro right out the window and tossing him into traffic before punching straight through the roof and yanking out the steering wheel.

He definitely does that shit and also punches straight through people’s chests and crushes souls and hearts with his bare hands in Stage 4.

I imagine the only reason he restrains himself in Stage 2 is because it’s not that fun. He doesn’t waste his time with those he finds weak or boring—often just resorting to using his Gaster Blaster if he just wants to get it over with or (in the case of Killer vs Swap), he is breaking down and switching into Stage 1.

I’m not surprised at all if he first identifies the strongest opponent—the one who could be a challenge—and targets them first. Not only because it’s logical, but because it’s fun.

Literally fighting to near death is more like a game for Stage 2. It’s fun and it’s exhilarating. I’d imagine he’s been waiting quite awhile for someone who could be an actual challenge to his strength and abilities, and is willing to hold himself back and prolong a fight if that means it’ll be more entertaining.

Of course this comes with the flaw that he tends not to take the fight or his opponents too seriously. Most aren’t any genuine threat to him, especially if he can still Save, Load, and Reset while out in the rest of the Multiverse.

There’s a reason Nightmare only really needs Killer to get shit done. He is literally a killing machine, and his mind is just as sharp and lethal. (Which is why I personally like to hc that Dust and Horror’s additions were more for Killer than for Nightmare, although the big boss certainly has to gain some use out of them.)

His Determination means he’s not going to quit a fight until one of them is dead (and maybe not even then if he can still Reset) or until he’s called off. This is the guy that canonically had an arm cut off once, barely had any visible reaction (buddy is dissociated asf bruh), and claimed to be “absolutely fine” when questioned if he was okay by Nightmare.

I’d imagine one reason why Stage 4 is so dangerous for Killer himself and likely leaves him extremely disoriented and exhausted after is because Stage 4 does not have Stage 2’s logical reasonings or restraint and cannot be called off.

Stage 4 will likely be so Determined to kill anyone and anything nearby that’d it’d completely tear the body to shreds and run it into the ground to complete the task.

Stage 4 is fighting to kill. Stage 2 is fighting for entertainment, and to entertain.

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter eight: twenty stitches in a hospital room

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER SEVEN: LOOMING ON THE HORIZON

warnings: language, blood, mild gore, heavy angst, mentions of bullets, mentions of murder, lots of panic, mentions of anxiety

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: ah hope you guys like this chapter!! I'm off to my prom today -- my exams ended a week ago so am relieved, and this next week I'm gonna be starting revision for my driver's theory test so posting may be extremely inconsistent! hope u enjoy so far :)

The jet ride there is insanely quiet. Bucky is next to you after having put on his tact suit — highlighting his gorgeously thick thighs and wide shoulders, and you find yourself unable to breathe, watching him flip knives before stowing them away, and swinging a rifle over his shoulder.

Quite literally dressed to kill. You shouldn’t be attracted to a man steeped so seemly in violence like it’s his first love — you know the implications it can lead to in practise. But you just can’t look away, you’re too far gone. Maybe it’s the fact that you know he’s too pure — his heart is too set in its righteous ways for you to be scared of him, to doubt his purpose and intentions even as he wields deathly weapons.

But the thing that kills you the most are his eyes. So brilliantly, softly blue, watching you watch him. Why do you think he’s showing off so much? He could quite easily just shove all his weapons in his tact suit, but he chooses to flip the knives and play with the bullets to be loaded on his rifle, especially when it earns him that feral look in your eyes. Like if there wasn’t a mission he had to disappear on in a few minutes, you’d jump his bones and finally make the move he’s desperate for you to. 

You don’t even notice that he’s caught you, too lost in the nimbleness of his fingers and the confidence of his stance. And then you touch down, just outside the forest of Anastasia’s estate. It’s time to go.

You immediately jump up, out of your seat to stand near Bucky, while him and Nat recount the codes for danger and the plan of attack. You zone out, watching him command a team turning you on like never before. What is it about him? He’s firm, he makes sure everyone’s on the same page and all of a sudden your panties are in a bunch. You try to swallow it down, nodding along when he gestures to you as the standby team, ready in case of any scratches and bumps. And dear God, he almost loses his train of thought when your eyes meet, too lost in your beautiful face and staring at him like you’re starving for his affection. For…other things of his too. 

But he gets through it. And then, he rushes over to you, to say goodbye. You feel the tears welling in your eyes, scared at what the next few hours hold for the two of you. For the rest of the world. He grabs you by your hips, while your hands end up around his middle, resting your head on his chest. It isn’t enough, and the gnawing feeling in your stomach isn’t going away.

You decide to be a little selfish, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He pulls you in tighter, pouring every ounce of unspoken love into the embrace. “Come back to me in one piece, will you?”

“I’ll always find my way back to you.” Your eyes close as you stifle a sob, but he knows. He always knows, somehow. He decodes you, no matter how intricate you make the key.

As you part, something changes. Maybe it’s the tears glistening in your eyes, maybe it’s knowing he might not come back. He can’t help himself, and you don’t have it in you to stop it.

His hand winds up on your cheek, caressing it. Your eyelids flutter at the warm touch, and then his lips fall onto yours.

It’s electric. It’s fire. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, even as your hands weave into his hair, desperate to deepen the kiss but—

Nat coughs behind the both of you, and you realise everyone’s just watched this sacred, supposed to be private exchange. You move away, blushing and rushing to cover yourself as if you’ve been caught naked, muttering a quick “sorry” and unable to make eye contact with anyone. 

Well, there’s no point in denying the rumours now. 

“Nurse, you’ll have loads of time to do that when we get back, okay? We need the Sergeant here to stay focused.” She’s only teasing, but you stutter through an apology.

“Oh, sorry! That’s not—” The only person you can stand to look at is Bucky, and you don’t miss his pink cheeks, and the joyful sparkle in his eyes. He was right, he thinks, his heart beating just as hard as yours is. You do have feelings for him. The motion of your lips against his were enough confirmation.

He touches the tips of your fingers, a silent promise of a later discussion. A later progression. You smile at him, mouthing Good luck. 

I’m too skilled for luck, doll, he mouths back and you chuckle, finally feeling lighter. Why were you so scared? Like you could ever doubt his mercenary ability.

But even so, the hour he’s away from you burns in your chest, lead coating your diaphragm and pulls it down. You wonder what he’ll say about the kiss when he gets back. Maybe he’ll dismiss you, say it was something done in the heat of the moment, where he wasn’t sure if he was going to die. Maybe he’ll tell you how he feels the same for you, that the fire that’s turning your ribs to ash has spread to burn at his heart, and you’ll spend the rest of your days entangled. You lose yourself in the sweet daydream for a while, playing with the necklace he’d gotten you on your day out. It’s a simple gold one, that perfectly compliments the necklace you are already wearing, but this one has an emblem of a wolf on it. Bucky’s signature, resting just above your heart. 

And then everything goes to shit.

“Shit. There’s open fire. Romanoff’s vitals seem to be strong. We need to get ready to open the Quinjet hatch,” one of the SHIELD agents frantically calls out, spurring the other into action. You feel like your entire world is crashing down amidst distant booms and yelling. Your heart aches as it beats, slamming away like its hellbent on hurting your ribs. 

The SHIELD operatives move, pressing buttons as you and the other nurses on hand spring into action, laying out the stretchers and assembling the tables full of bandages. But nothing can prepare you for the sight that awaits.

Natasha stumbles on, covered in blood, and— Bucky. He’s leaning heavily on her shoulder, splatters of blood everywhere from head to toe, dripping off of him onto the pristine metal floor. You can hear his ragged breathing from across the Quinjet. 

You run to them, words barely leaving you. “Nat, Buck. What happened? I— Are you both hurt?” His head lifts just the slightest at the sound of your voice, feeling like he’s finally safe now. 

“I’m fine, just a few bruises Denise can take care of. Bucky’s taken the brunt of it, three—no, four?— shots to his stomach, he’s bleeding out like crazy, Nurse. You gotta take care of him.” You nod frantically, the ringing in your ears only increasing, and you let your body move on autopilot. If you get too caught up in your feelings, then he’ll die for sure. And the world can’t afford to lose him, let alone you. Oh God, it would absolutely—

“Hey Buck, it’s me.” You take him from Natasha’s hold, calling Denise to come tend to her as the Quinjet takes off, meaning you have an hour in the air to do any essential surgery on him. “Let’s get you on a gurney, okay?” He relaxes and lets his eyes close at your smell and touch, knowing more than ever that he’s in safe, capable hands.

“Hey, hey no. You gotta stay with me, Buck. Until I patch you up. Can you do that for me?” He nods, letting out a grunt. His head thuds back against the stretcher, which in reality is just a thin metal table, and you quickly whip off your thick cardigan to place under his head like a cushion. The last thing he needs right now is a concussion.

“Good boy. Now, just relax for me, that’s it.” You try and keep the tremor out of your voice, but you’re sure you fail. You gently run a quick hand through his hair to soothe him, grabbing the large scissors you’ve kept in the metal tray.

And you talk him through every step, from cutting open his tact suit to checking to see is any vital organs of his are hit. You ask him to describe the pain, seeing as the wounds aren’t closing and he seems to be in more and more pain with each passing second. His blood is warm, and incredibly sticky. Deep maroon, so much escaping it looks almost black on your hands and against the front of the both of your clothes. You’re trying your best to keep him together, to keep yourself together. You were so good at it, but something about seeing the man you might be falling in love with so close to death…all your learnt sympathy and calmness has gone down the drain.

“Burns like hell, doll. You gotta put me down I can’t—“ His face is pale like he’s deathly sick and it hits you. Bullets coated in acidic poison of some sort, maybe Hydromanias? You have the course for Up to Date Poisons: Symptoms and Signals scheduled for tomorrow, and so you can’t say for certain.

“No, no, we’re not putting you down Buck. You’re stronger than that. Luckily you’ve only hit flesh, all the vital organs are intact. But I suspect you’ve been poisoned Bucky, and I think I know what it is, based on your complexion, breathing, and heart rate, it seems to be Hydromanias, but strong enough to counteract the serum. It’s— it’s almost like they knew you would come… I need a quick sample of your blood just to narrow it down, is that okay?” He nods frantically.

“You’ve got a lot of spots to choose from, you—you won’t even need a needle.” He tries his best to smile as you take the sample and quickly plug it into the Sample Reader — one of the newest tech developments in Stark Tech. It’s supposed to take all the necessary readings for blood like platelet and white blood cell count, and for any abnormalities, then dispose an antidote to any detected foreign cells to it’s designated machine, which happens to be right next to the pilot’s seat. It’s a marvellous invention, seeming like it was conveniently designed for this exact moment. And your hunch was right, it is some sort of poison.

Then a loud ding from across the room, as you’re holding Bucky’s wounds closed. “Good to see you still have a sense of humour, love.” You yell at one of the nurses to bring the antidote over, while still making sure Bucky’s awake. 

“Well done, Bucky. You’re doing so well for me, just drink this, will you? It’s the Sample Reader’s antidote, it identified the poison as Hydromanias. Once you’ve done that, we can begin to patch you up, okay? That’s it, good boy. You’re doing so well for me.” You praise and coax him into doing as you need him to. 

His pupils dilate and lips part, breathing steadying as he lets out a sigh of relief, a few tears slipping down his face. “That feel a little better, baby? Yeah? Can I patch you up now?”

“Y-Yeah. Please.” His voice sounds so weak, you know you’re losing him to the dark side, the temptress of death poised with a blade kissing his throat, whispering in his ear to just give in. You have to goad him back to you, to keep his eyes open.

“Alright Buck, I’m not gonna lie this next part is going to hurt. I’ll have to sterilise the wound and then stitch you up, but the good news is, it won’t take me more than ten minutes. Can you put up with it, sweetheart? Ten minutes?” You nod, trying your best to keep calm.

“For you…an eternity.”

“Well lucky for you it’ll only be ten minutes, huh?”

“I can last longer than that.” He smirks at you, and you feel the catch in his breath when he tries to suppress a wince.

“Well, you can impress me with your stamina once you’re better, yeah? Just keep those pretty eyes on me for now, baby. I’ll get you a towel so you don’t break those teeth.” You gather the supplies, running over in your mind a million times how to tie a surgical knot. You look around, searching for a cloth to put in between his teeth. 

You’re the only nurse still tending to a patient, and you notice Denise, assistant Nurse to the Avengers Tower, sitting down, after having just patched Nat up, who’s currently clutching her head and wrapped in bandages.

“Denise, can you bring me a towel, please?” She doesn’t quite like you, seeing as you got the position she’s coveted for ages before you even set foot in the country.

“We don’t have one, boss. They’re all used.” Your eyes widen in panic, and Bucky catches on.

“Don’t need a towel, doll. I—I can take it.” 

“Darling, you know I don’t doubt you, but the poison’s done quite a lot of damage. You have about the same strength level as an average human right now. We need to get you a—Oh fuck it, just bite down on my hand.” You usher Denise over, trusting her the most to stitch up a gaping bullet wound. 

“W—What? I can’t, doll. Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“Fuck it, Buck. I trust you, we don’t have a towel. Just bite down on my hand. I can deal with it later. You need something, or your teeth with shatter.” 

And you see his eyes, so desperate to close, so eager to just give in. You press the side of your non-dominant hand against his lips. “Bite down, baby. We’re about to start.” You nod at Denise, encouraging her to start. 

“Come on, open your mouth, Bucky. Be a good boy, and open your mouth.” Now that you’ve passed on the responsibility to patch him up to someone else, you focus your full attention on him, your other hand coming around to stroke his hair. He complies, teeth just resting ever so gently against your skin. 

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to start, bite down as hard as your need, okay? Nod for me if you understand.” He nods eagerly, pupils blown wide as he watches you. When the first swab of cotton drenched in disinfectant makes contact, a pained groan leaves him as his teeth dig in slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep your hand firmly in place, in his warm, wet mouth…

And then he bites down hard, groaning even louder as Denise continues to tend to him. You try your best to keep your face straight offering more praise.

“That’s it, Buck. You’re doing so good, Denise is almost done with disinfecting your wounds, aren’t you.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m just about to start stitching.” 

And then the antidote kicks in — known famously to make any area of the body where the poison is present burn even worse than Hydromanias itself. Bucky’s teeth dig in deeper, staining his mouth red as his eyes screw shut. The pain is burning you, sharp as a knife and hot as a flame, and you feel yourself shaking, internally assessing your own damage as you stroke Bucky’s hair, his hand latched around your wrist and gripping tight. 

“Just a few more minutes, Buck. Just one more wound to go, hey, hey, I know it hurts, but just hold on, okay? You’re doing so well for me, come on Buck, open those pretty eyes.” At this point, you have no idea what you’re saying, the pain in your hand overtaking almost every single one of your senses, as blood begins to drip down the sides of his face as he can’t let you go, his eyes fluttering. 

He complies once again, bright blue eyes burning through you as you offer him a watery smile, and you feel his entire body shake. He’s definitely not going to last much longer. And then Denise ties up the last stitch, you counted fourteen. You estimate you might need six, but his teeth clench even tighter when he slumps in relief. 

Denise all but runs away, taking the bloodied needle and cotton balls away with her.

“Well done, Bucky. You did so well! You’re all done, I’m so proud of you, I know how painful that must’ve been, but you stuck through it. Good job.” You pat his forehead as he lets out a shaky exhale and releases your hand. You grab a cup and encourage him to spit out the blood and offering him some water. “Right now, when we touch down, we’ll put you in the infirmary under surveillance for 12 hours because of the poison, okay?” 

“Y-Your hand…I—“

“Don’t worry about me, pretty boy. You can rest now, everything’s okay.” His eyes close, and you see him fully relaxing, still gripping tight to you hand.

And then you collapse, letting yourself fall onto the floor, trying your best to not lose it. All of the feelings of the past hour or so resurge, the anxiety, the gnawing pain at the state of him, the uncertainty as you touched his wounded, broken body. You’re relieved he’ll live, but distraught that he might end up in a coma. 

You can’t even explain exactly how it feels, to have your heart severed at a harrowing sight, and then to have to keep it together in front of everyone. You're absolutely hysterical

You don’t even register being pulled off the floor and your hand disinfected, stitched and wrapped in copious bandages, too busy sobbing. 

It feels like every tragedy in your life has decided to present itself now. 

When the Quinjet lands, when they take him away, you follow. Somehow, you feel like it’s your fault he’s ended up like this. If you hadn’t distracted him by kissing him before he left, maybe the bullets wouldn’t have hit him. As you watch them hook him up to a monitor and take another blood sample to use as data collection for the efficacy of the Sample Reader, you can’t help but wish you could’ve kept to yourself and waited until after, and then maybe he would be okay, he wouldn’t—

“Nurse, you’re a hell of a woman, you know that?” Nat’s voice comes behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. You run to her, sniffling and wrapping her in a tight hug, careful of her bumps and bruises. “I’m so glad you’re both alive, and you’re okay, Nat. I love you,” you sob against her fiery hair.

“Hey, we’re okay. You healed Bucky, you got us here in one piece. And I love you too.” She pulls you away to wipe the tears off your face.

“And you just let him bite down on your hand like that? I would’ve let his teeth shatter and not even pay for his veneers, you’re a better woman than me.” She laughs, and you sit down next to her. She recounts exactly what happened, that the intel was fake and how the place was practically swarming with HYDRA scum, and they both fought valiant and killed several and several men before getting what they needed. But Nat holds up her necklace, telling you she did it. 

“Oh God, once the both of you are better we should go out for drinks, to celebrate. Who knows what valuable information you’ve gotten into our hands.” You smile, and for the first time in hours it reaches your eyes.

“You should try and sleep, Nurse. You look tired as hell, and so am I.” You shake your head.

“No, I want to be awake when Bucky gets up, he’s killed people today. God knows what kind of headspace he’s in. I need to be there for him. I’ll let you sleep, though. Good night, Nat. I’m glad you made it home.” She smiles in response, a yawn quickly taking over.

You drag a chair over to Bucky’s bedside, admiring his sleeping face. You’ve never seen him sleep before, always buried in his chest or his face hidden away against your heart. He looks so beautiful, face not looking bogged down by worries or past trauma. You miss his eyes, though. Ever brilliant, ever blue, and not looking at you, for once. 

You touch your hand, noticing spots of red through the bandage. You carefully refresh your own bandages, noticing you did indeed need six stitches yourself. And then it hits you, the way you acted in front of the other nurses, who you're supposed to command come tomorrow. You need to draft an apology, and are almost too lost in thought trying to construct what to say, when you hear Bucky’s strained voice, fogged over with sleep.

“Doll.” Your breath catches in your throat, yet again.

He’s safe. He’s finally safe, and it didn’t kill you. 

NEXT PART

[moonyswritinq]

I can’t wait to read your fics! Your writing is awesomeeee!

Can we know whatchu got in the inbox already plsssss?

(Btw I just discovered your blog but it’s so cooooool!)

😍

* REQUESTS ARE CLOSED FOR NOW ! *

thank you so much! it really means a lot to me to hear that <3

and for sure, I'll tell you what I got, in no particular order. I've written what the ship is, the form it's going to be written in—if it's decided (which can be subject to change if you have opinions on it)—, context to it and its status if it's started. I also added some projects that I haven't had requested but are working on, just in case you are curious about that (because I realised I had not updated about them for about a year, so sorry).

MASTERLIST, TAG LIST, REQUEST RULES

Dead Boy Detectives

Charles Rowland:

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — based on the song 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo : finished

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is short and alive

Charles x male reader, oneshot — Charles pines for reader and doesn't know how to confess his feelings

Charles x gn reader, headcanons — just cute headcanons : just started

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — established relationship, alive reader who is psychic/has powers

Charles x male reader, headcanons and oneshot — Charles with an s/o who is European (prob Italian)

Charles x alive! gn reader, oneshot — how Charles would react to Crystal and Niko's roomate (reader) getting hurt on a case

Charles x alive! gn reader, oneshot — Charles is worried the reader will get hurt if they help on cases, so in retaliation they stubbornly put on loads of iron jewelry to keep him from stopping them

Edwin Payne/Paine:

Platonic Edwin x sibling! gn reader, oneshot — reader has been wandering the earth as a ghost in search of their brother, and accidentally run across him in a small town in America : finished

Platonic Edwin x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is a witch and Edwin does not trust them in the beginning, but they end up with a sibling relationship

Edwin x psychic! alive male reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is the opposite of his partner Edwin; energetic, outgoing, impulsive, and often gives him ghost heart attacks trying to prevent him from dying

Monty the Crow:

Monty x gn reader, prob oneshot — non-native reader (prob French) that struggles with english and Monty thinks it's cute/reassures them

Monty x male reader, headcanons and oneshot — vampire gothic reader who shows affection in strange ways and loves to listen to Monty talk

Monty x gn (maybe male) reader, oneshot — painting Monty's nails black in a tender and intimate scene

Monty x ghost!gn reader, oneshot or headcanons — Monty goes after the wrong ghost

Monty x male (or genderfluid) reader, oneshot or headcanons — Monty has a crush on reader but feels guilty because of Esther's plan

Thomas the Cat King:

Thomas x male reader, oneshot — enemies/rivals to lovers where reader is more of a dog person so you know it's going to be lots of tension : just started

Thomas x ftm reader, prob oneshot — a fallen angel reader who got hurt and gets reassurance and help from The Cat King

Thomas x male reader, prob headcanons — reader is stoic and ace, yet not sex-repulsed, but The Cat King has to work differently to gain his affections than through his sexuality

Thomas x gn reader (or x Edwin), oneshot — a poor soul narrowly avoided Esther's capture and takes refuge in The Cat King's palace

Thomas x male reader, oneshot or headcannons — enemies to lovers with the Cat King and the Dog King (reader)

Thomas x mage!gn reader, oneshot — the reader is Edwin's descendant and helps out on cases, always thinking about the two ghosts and never about themselves. The Cat King notices this and helps them unearth some repressed desires

Painland/Payneland:

Charles x Edwin, prob oneshot — friends to lovers in a non-modern AU where they didn't die

Charles x Edwin, oneshot — Charles realises his feelings earlier and says he loves Edwin back in that scene

Edwin / The Cat King:

Edwin x Thomas, oneshot — Edwin finds himself paying a lot of attention to cats in London, though he hasn't figured out why, which is something The Cat King notices and decides to send him a little something to remind Edwin of him

Edwin x Thomas, oneshot — the rest of the Detective Agency find out about Edwin's relationship with The Cat King and chaos ensues

Miscellaneous:

Dead Boy Detectives x male reader, oneshot — reader has powers and works with the detectives on a case

Poly Edwin x Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — established relationship with fluffy moments between the three : may not be written (don't love poly but we'll see)

Dead Boy Detectives x supernatural!male reader, headcanons — the boys get a crush on the feminine presenting supernatural being and then finds it out he's a man

Platonic! Edwin x gn reader x Thomas, oneshot — part two of Runs in the Family, The Cat King finds out Edwin has a sibling and shifts his attention : may not be written (there will be NO incest)

Lord of the Rings

Legolas Greenleaf:

Legolas x male reader, oneshot — reader and Legolas drink way too much at a pub, ignoring any onlookers and opting to share a dance together : not requested

The Marauders

Regulus Black:

Regulus x ftm reader, oneshot — fluffy scene, maybe dysphoria comfort

Regulus x male reader, oneshot/series — academic rivals to lovers that resolves with a lot of tension at a Slytherin party : not requested, almost finished

The Maze Runner

Newt:

Newt x male reader, prob oneshot — Newt is very protective of reader, could be in the Glade or in the Scorch Trials or in the Last City

Newt x ftm reader, headcanons and oneshot — best friends to lovers and everyone in the Glade knows about them

The Umbrella Academy

Male Original Character, series — with a charismatic & overdramatic who flirts with everyone, multiple ships : not requested, but a long work in progress

Outer Banks

JJ Maybank:

JJ x male reader, oneshot — reader is a surfer and manages to impress JJ enough to get invited to a party, where they play truth or dare and silly things happen : not requested

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes:

Sherlock x male reader (or oc), oneshot — reader is a genius, autistic, and a cat person, and help Sherlock with one of his cases, thus earning his attention immediately : just started

Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

Obi-Wan x male reader, oneshot — part two of Caught in the Moment, which would be the aftermath of them finding out about Obi-Wan and the reader's relationship during a joint training session

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson:

Eddie x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — shy reader who needs to let loose, Eddie takes it upon himself to show them a good time and they really come out of their shell

Eddie x male reader, oneshot — reader stumbles onto Eddie's magasins which are bookmarked with people that look suspiciously like reader, so gay confession ensues : may not be written (original request too lewd so I changed but don't know if I'm inspired enough to write it)

hope this helps if you want to request something or just to see what's to come in the near future :) you guys have really put me to the test and to work and I appreciate it more than you can believe. if you cannot see a request you've made her then I will not write it, sorry (prob bc it went against my rules or was too sexual).

if you want to encourage me to write faster/more a good way is to read, like, reblog, and comment what I have already written. I loooove feedback and encouragement