#supernatural multi-chapter

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG SERIES MASTERLIST

Main Masterlist || On AO3 || On Wattpad

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic.

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Disappointment

Chapter 16 - Impairment (working title) 13/06

Chapter 17 - Retirement (working title)

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

WIP WEDNESDAY (20/02) Chapter 16

Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️

If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

[bespectacledgiraffe]

Like A Prayer (On My Knees)

by Duffy on ao3.

A Supernatural case-fic, rated M, 37k words in 7 chapters.

When Jody Mills calls, the boys come. Even when it’s actually a friend of Claire in need of help.

A secret wedding went haywire, and left the brides deeply traumatised and injured. Their attacker is a man of God from a hundred years ago. Forced to play lovers to draw out the vengeful ghost, Dean and Castiel not only unearth the very first victims of the man, but also feelings that got brought to the surface by a touch of hands, and some fake spoken vows, that blurred dangerously with reality.

UPDATES EVERY SUNDAY

🏷️ tags Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Characters, Case-Fic, Slow-Burn, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Holding Hands, Salt And Burn The Bones (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Third Person POV, Emotional Rollercoaster

Chapter One: A New Case

04.05.2025

[aventuras-de-andre]

i always feel terrible reading destiel fics written before november of 2020 because oh baby. baby girl. you had no idea. it fully reads like the found footage bit in horror movies or a blog filmed right before a natural disaster.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

found a good multi-chapter Sam fic in ao3, you won’t hear from me for the next 2-3 weeks <3

[thelonelynova]

Teehee! We’ve reached chapter 20! Thank you all so much for the support I’ve gotten on StarDust Tears! You’ve all kept me motivated and encouraged to keep writing with all of the kind comments and support! Thanks for all of the support! I also have a Destiel fantasy fic planned that I’m going to begin writing along side this one.

[everyforkedroad]

Love So Dark - Covers and Aesthetics

I made a few covers and aesthetics for Love So Dark, my ghost story/paranormal/myth retelling. A huge inspiration for this fic came from Mile Phakphum's Men's Folio photoshoot. Here's a link to the shoot below:

Men's Folio - The Story of Mile Phakphum in Three Parts https://www.mens-folio.com/112279/the-story-of-mile-phakphum-in-three-parts/

If you like paranormal/supernatural romances that has elements of the classic ghost story, reincarnation, and soulmates, all based on Greek and Norwegian myths, check out Love So Dark on AO3.

[kimium]

Chapters: 6/? Summary:

Modern AU. Supernatural Creatures and Powers AU.

"Glancing around, Owain noted where the other people were in relation to him. Everyone remained a reasonable distance, all glued to their phones or in conversation with one another. Not ideal, but not the worst. Anything flashy would be unwise; a real tragedy he couldn’t shout and defeat monsters as if he were a ranger in a Super Sentai.

With a sigh, Owain began to chant the prayer Father Libra had taught him all those years ago in that stuffy, rosemary and lavender scented room, and pointed his index finger at the Risen. Then, like a child playing “cowboys” Owain tilted his finger slightly backwards.

“Bang,” he whispered."

Risen are a threat to the world, but sadly remain unseen except to a chosen few. Owain takes his responsibility seriously (except the part where he wishes he could be a little flashier) and doesn't realize that this responsibility will land him two boyfriends. (Perhaps he should thank the Risen?) OR: Owain uses his coffee as a weapon and has a meet cute moment. Exactly like a romance novel.

~

Hello everyone! I’m sorry this chapter took so long. There were parts that just weren’t working for me. I managed to work them to do what I wanted (finally)! I hope you like this chapter! Let me know!

[destiel-more-like-im-dead-again]

Guess who’s doing whumptober

[hinadori-chan]

also if anyone wants to ask questions about my drafts i do really like them a lot even if i can’t finish them right now and would love to talk about them 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[snicketverse-fic-finder]

[Current word count: 10,427] [Chapters 7/?] [Still updates]

🗣️Main characters: Klaus Baudelaire 📚, Quigley Quagmire 🗺️ and Fiona Widdershins 🍄

🫂Main relationship: Klaus & Quigley & Fiona

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences ⬆️

Warnings: Creator chose not to use archive warnings, Graphic Depictions of Violence⚠️

Fic Type: Multichapter 📚,

Crossovers&Fandom fusions (with ‘Dead Boy Detectives’)🌎🔁🌍,

Angst and Humor🖤😂,

Character Turned Into a Ghost 👻 ,

Psychic abilities🔮,

Supernatural Elements 🧙

Fic Description: ‘Klaus (a sassy Edwardian ghost) teams up with Quigley (an enthusiastic but secretive ghost from the 80s) and Fiona (a psychic who may or may not be possessed) to solve a mystery in the town of Stain’d By The Sea.

They get a LOT more than they bargained for.

Or:

The ASOUE characters in the dead boy detectives universe. (Also featuring some ATWQ characters).[You don’t need to have seen ‘Dead Boy Detectives’ to understand this fic.]’

I’ve been really into editing lately so I decided to be extra and make a trailer for my asoue/dead boy detectives fic ✨✨✨😎🙌

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 7

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: SMUT including knotting, claiming, and marking; language, references to past sexual abuse, fluff, Dean being an overprotective alpha, soulmate bonding

A/N: *Holdsbreathandhitspost*

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out. 

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No. 

Not if. 

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard? 

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear. 

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet. 

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear. 

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

It was mid-afternoon when he pulled up in the expansive car park the next day. Dean had chosen a space at the back of the lot, leaving at least two free ones in between the Impala, and nowhere near the return bays. The last thing he needed was some asshole being careless with their cart and scratching Baby’s sleek paint job.

He shifted the stick into P, shut her engine off, and released a loud, drawn-out sigh, before turning to you and your smiling face. It was the only thing making the inevitable onslaught of other people and his first ever venture into Walmart worthwhile. 

If he had his way, you’d be sitting out front of a secluded Gas n Sip. There was nothing wrong with gas station snacks and take out. At least that’s the argument he’d used against you. Needless to say, he’d failed. You had the doe-eyed look down pat and gave even Sammy a run for his money.

The leather squeaked beneath him as he reached over you and opened the glove box. He dug through the fake IDs and old maps that had no hope of leaving the small compartment anytime soon and retrieved his 1911, tucking it into the waistband of his pants like usual. When he sat back up, he found you staring at him in disbelief. “What?” he asked.

“You’re taking that?”

His jaw tightened. “I always carry it with me. You know that.”

“Yeah, but…we’re getting groceries. What are you expecting to happen in a grocery store?”

“Nothing.” Try everything. “But you can never be too careful.” Wolves like Garth had to buy their raw steaks from somewhere. Not that the ordinary bullets he’d pre-loaded into the gun would kill anything other than a human. They’d slow the rest down, though. That was enough for him, and he’d keep telling himself that.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, searching for the door handle.

Before he could squeeze his fingers against the cool metal, however, you had reached for his right and tugged at his arm. “You can wait here if you don’t want to go inside. I’m happy to—”

“Nope.” He gave one very forceful shake of his head. “Absolutely not.” There was no way he was letting you out of his sight with your impending heat. Screw his rut. 

Your pheromones had been changing by the hour, making you smell the sweetest and most enticing you’d ever been. His inner alpha was driving him crazy, and had done the entire drive, chanting, ‘Mine,’ ‘My omega,’ and now it told him to ‘Bring the machete.’ 

If only he could. 

‘I can’t hide a blade that big under my clothes,’ he reasoned. Although the demon knife wouldn’t hurt. It was a shame opening the trunk, with the devil’s trap on display in a place like this was bound to raise a few eyebrows. He did not want to draw any more attention to you.

Fuck. This was gonna be worse than hell. The rearview mirror was full of bodies and cars coming and going, and that was just the outside of the gigantic building. 

Who knew how many more people were still inside? Plenty by the stench of it.

It was too late to change his mind, though. He looked at you, holding your purse all ready to go on your lap. Frowning when it finally dawned on him that of all the things you had to wear today, you’d chosen a dress that accentuated your curves. 

He’d appreciated the view at lunch, but that was at a small town diner, somewhere off of route eighty-one. Now it was a different story, but you were clearly excited and while he didn’t for the life of him know why, he couldn’t just demand you waited here instead. That was as bad as you going in alone.

“C’mon,” he said, and climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him with the usual creak and groan.

Dean would rather chow down on burgers than run for ‘fun’ like Sam. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. But on that day, in the middle of the Sioux Falls Walmart’s parking lot, he jogged even though he wasn’t being chased for the first time in his adult life, scooting across the gravel to intercept you before you crossed the safety of the meaningless lines.

Your eyes traced over him, studying him with a wry smile, your scent spiking along with it, as did his interest.

He could hear your heartbeat if he listened carefully. It thrummed in his ears as quick as his was, but unlike him, you seemed to contain it well. 

“Just think of it this way.” You patted his chest. “The more we buy, the longer we won’t have to leave Jody’s cabin.”

Now that was something he could get on board with, and though he thought it impossible in a place like this, his own mouth grew wide, drawing his blood back up and away from the conspicuous semi he was sporting.

The change didn’t last long.

“Woah.” He gripped your hand tighter and yanked it, making you stop. That fucking douche in the station wagon had come way too close to the curb for his liking. “Watch where you’re going, jackass!” he spat. His head following the rear bumper, oblivious to the other “dangers” the car park held.

‘She was almost hit.’

‘She’s fine.’ 

Your thumb moved to stroke the tops of his knuckles. “It was nowhere near us, Alpha.”

He turned to you with a furrowed brow at first, only picking up on your discomfort from his death grip when your other fingers started squirming under his. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

Your arm retreated with a shake of your wrist and he went for your lower back instead, guiding you with a gentle nudge and an extra look left for any more assholes who didn’t know how to drive.

The automatic doors opened as you both stepped onto the oversized mats and Dean beelined for the shopping carts grouped together on the side. Naturally, he needed to push yours. He’d be a purse-bitch if he had to, too. Anything to stop himself from acting rash and ripping your arm off again.

He let go of you, and yanked one out, swinging the steel trolley around with ease as if he were figure skating with it and reached for your waist when he had the thing facing in the direction of a second set of automated doors. The place was like airport security. 

“Are they gonna let us leave when we’re done?” he whispered to you.

“Not if you break something with that.” Your hand came up to his shoulder and tugged on his flannel, veering to the right while pointing to a large sign that said fresh produce. “Come on. I wanna go here first”

Great. Vegetables. Not to mention the abundance of people wandering around there and the just as many aisles and fruit he’d never seen before.

How many apples did you need?

Because you passed by red and green ones, mountains of them, and even then, they were apparently all different. Grandmas. Mount Fuji’s. What the hell did golden delicious mean and would it go into a pie?

You stepped away from him to look at a display that was labelled Pink.

They weren’t like any ladies he’d ever seen. The colour didn’t come close to anyone’s, including yours.

In each subsequent aisle after, Dean was both awestruck and dumbstruck at the amount of variety the place had. 

You led him past an entire rack of peanut butter, through a row of refrigerators that had him breathing out cold air from his nose, and he was still in doubt over what was in those cans that claimed to have a whole chicken in them. He was thankful you hadn’t stopped there to find out.  

Soon enough though, your cart filled up to the point he found himself playing Tetris with its contents after discovering Walmart also sold booze. 

Even if he didn’t drink it all on account of his rut, the case of his favourite beer he’d selected was coming with you and he was determined to make it work, with only a single banana being harmed in the process as he rearranged it all for a third time. He ditched the fruit on a shelf displaying margarita mixes and the two of you headed for the cashiers, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

He’d become a pro at steering the metal cage, though honestly, he could drive anything, and he was proud to say, you could leave the store as he’d had no accidents and no alpha had been harmed for looking at you.

Yet.

“Are you sure we need all this stuff?” he asked as you passed another couple with only half the things you had.

“This coming from the guy who had two slices of pie on top of his burger at lunch?” 

Point taken, he supposed, but you’d eaten just as much. You’d had more than him, come to think of it. Lunch, breakfast, the night before. So when you patted his stomach, and he looked down at you grinning at him, he couldn’t help but return a knowing smile.

“You’ll thank me later,” you said.

He knew he would. In more ways than one. 

Still on your way to the front, you passed the nesting department located opposite the cash registers. Of course, it was just another convenient ploy to gain some extra impulse buys from naïve omegas who hadn’t realised they needed that new blanket or another stuffy until they saw the giant pile of fluff.

To Dean’s distaste, you were also won over by the gimmick and he was pulled along for the ride. 

Yes, he was annoyed. He wanted to get you home, maybe taste your pink lady before things really started, and definitely not add more crap to your cart. But he couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your hands glide over every piece of fabric that piqued your fancy. 

Your fingers preened the threads. They stroked the tassels and the weird little fuzzy balls that stuck out like skin tags on an old person. Everything was falling into place, and he pushed all his grumbles aside.

Soon. Tomorrow at the latest, you would be his officially.

But while your inner omega delved into the world of fuzz and all things fluffy and he stood back contented with watching you, an elderly alpha whose back would snap if the wind blew at him too hard was also eyeing you as you picked up a certain colourful blanket that looked very familiar to Dean. 

The fucking perv was hanging around, preying on omegas such as you. He had to be. And he had the nerve to walk up to you and ask your opinions on the thing, as if he was interested in buying one. 

You humoured him, but Dean? He saw right through him.

So did the dick in his head. It was sending messages to his pants and his fingers flexed over the plastic handle of your cart, pulling his knuckles in and out of focus under his taut skin.

“I’ve had this before, but I used it in the living room when I wasn’t nesting too,” you said. “I find it holds scents better—”

As the old guy’s arm reached over to touch the blanket you were holding, Dean stepped in. That was too close for his liking and his inner alpha snarled, “She’s mine,” leading to the more sane version of himself, regretting not bringing the cart closer so he could push him with it. The floor was waxed enough for the wheels to slip and be blamed for any accident.

“This is your alpha?” the Master Roshi wannabe asked, looking Dean up and down. “But you haven’t—”

“Your nose works just fine, asshole,” Dean said through his teeth. “We’re here to get supplies for it, so fuck off.”

Dean turned his back on him and focused on you. His blood was boiling and had he been anywhere else, and that dick been any younger, he would’ve clipped him one. 

As it was, he could feel the old guy still hanging behind him and he dared not turn around for fear of really doing something.

He took the blanket you were holding from your hands and inspected it before placing it on the edge of the pile. It wouldn’t do now that he’d put his mitts on it.

Your mouth opened, about to protest, but Dean flashed you a grin, picked up another that he pulled from the very centre. “It holds people’s scents, yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then this is the one. Only touched you and me,” he said.

He was about to place the bundle on your piled shopping cart when he saw you pout. His hesitation, giving you the chance to pluck it out of his hands and into your arms where it stayed as he paid and drove, taking you to your final destination. A little cabin about thirty minutes north of the small city.

The first thing Dean noticed when he opened the door to Jody’s cabin was the pungent smell. “Is that…lavender?” he asked. His arm balancing the precious case of beer he’d found at Walmart.

“I’m surprised you know what it is.” You chuckled.

So did he, but it wasn’t like he selected the shampoo Sam bought. He just used whatever was on the shower shelf at the time and now recognised the word along with the purple packaging that meant the same flavour old folks and museums liked to spray in their bathrooms was contained inside. 

This didn’t suit Jody, though. She was a badass, and sure she enjoyed chick flicks and bubble baths (he assumed, because who didn’t), but… “She’s too young for this crap,” he muttered as he ran his free hand over the wall, searching for the light switch. 

At first, nothing besides the place smelling like grandma seemed out of the ordinary, but as he readjusted his load and stretched his bow legs over the threshold, it wasn’t the moaning of the floorboards underneath him from the weight of the glass bottles and their contents that caught his attention. It was the spots of something on the floor further inside.

Blood is what his mind went to. What else would a hunter with his skills think? 

Jody had become rather renowned for her side profession and could’ve pissed off a few dicks. Plus, this far into the woods would be an ideal location for wolves or even a nest to squat, and this town had seen its fair share. 

Of course, that wouldn’t explain the stench, or the fact she’d left the key for him under the mat and would’ve noticed something was amiss already, so unless whatever potential threat who was presumably squatting liked pot-pourri and hoodoo, it was a far stretch. 

Then again, witches? Maybe. But also, fuck, not again. Especially when he was this close to going into rut.

Dean looked over his shoulder and, “Wait here,” he said, moving only when your head acknowledged the instruction. 

Those same bow legs carried him down the wide hallway, his free arm kept right next to his side, ready and waiting to draw his gun. If it came down to it, he’d risk the booze, but he soon realised he didn’t have to. Whatever was scattered on the floor cast shadows over the wood grain and smelt just as nasty as the lavender.

The light from the entry wasn’t enough to see clearly even with his keen eyesight, so he lunged the case onto the small dining table with a thump and a tinkling from the glass and searched for another light switch.

Click.

The exposed bulb overhead flickered on, and Dean’s eyes went straight to the ground to be met with… petals? Red ones? 

Huh.

“S’okay, sweetheart. You can come in now. It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

Your steps across the floorboards barely made a noise over the crinkle of plastic from the shopping bags you carried. 

Dean strode over to you, pried the handles from your fingers, and lifted them up beside the casing of beer.

“Flowers and wine,” you said, and Dean flicked his head in the direction you were now headed.

On a small coffee table in the centre of a brilliant brick fireplace and a couple of old couches, two bottles of the stuff and what looked like a card had been placed. 

You picked the piece of folded paper up and read it aloud. “Congratulations, and enjoy your time alone together, J.” You handed the note to him as he approached with a sly smile. “We should buy her a gift before we leave town as a thankyou.” 

“More shopping? We got all that stuff so we wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

While he was snarking, he scoped out your home for the next week, maybe two, noting the floofy pillows that would suit your needs for a few scenarios. 

“Later. Not now,” you said, and his arm pulled you close, wrapping tightly around your waist.

“It’s a nice idea.” The other scooped between you and shucked up your dress. “Enough about Jody. How’re ya feeling?” he asked against your mating gland, inhaling your scent. Sweet apple, spicy cinnamon, and a touch of whisky nipped at the edge of his throat. “Any changes?” 

Dick’s marks had completely gone. As had any traces of what he’d done to you and Dean was met with options. The right side, or the left for his claim. Maybe even both.

You leaned back with a quirked brow as his fingers ran over your underwear. “Not yet.”

“But you’re wet.” He brought you closer. You weren’t the only one excited. He found the elastic of your panties and slipped inside, skimming through your folds and your warm channel.

“Shouldn’t we get the groceries,” you said, but there was a hitch in your voice at the end when he dipped his middle finger further again.

“Can wait.” He breathed into your ear, pulling you closer to the fireplace and his lap on the couch.

Soon one touch led to another, and despite the many things that still needed to be done around the place before you settled in for the night, they were long forgotten, along with the rest of your groceries in the Impala. It was cold enough out in the woods that an hour wouldn’t hurt, and he would deal with the sigils and logs for a fire later. 

Dean wasted no more time sinking into you, meeting each rock of your hips for a thrust on the worn sofa by the fireplace, clothes still on. 

Best. Decision. Ever.

Even though the wooden frame creaked under your weight and he felt the need to plant his boots firmly into the shaggy rug beneath them to keep the thing upright.

His hands snuck up your dress and cast aside the cups of your bra to knead your slick covered tits. Your panties, pulled to the side, created an extra layer of friction as the elastic caught on his growing knot. 

An ever better decision than he thought, and he sat back, enjoying the show and the little gasps of pleasure you gave him when your clit hit his pubic bone at the perfect angle and ground against it.

“Dean, fuck.” Your hips buckled with one forceful slam.

“Feel good, baby?” He knew you were close. Your muscles fluttering around him and the fresh wave of your juices coating his twitching balls kinda gave it away. “You gonna come on my cock? Let me knot you?”

You were too lost in the moment to answer him. He didn’t care. He revelled in your grinding, how you were growing desperate, and by the way your eyes sparkled when he spoke of his knot.

“Alpha. Need your—” But you didn’t finish your sentence because your body finished on him. 

The climax ripped through you, drawing tremors from your legs, tickling his thighs and lower stomach. 

His hands took yours and pulled them to his neck, soothing your taut arms from your wrists to shoulders, grounding himself in the process. 

His balls were heavy, his sack on fire. Your cunt had sucked his knot inside and the pulses and trickles of your release had his instincts screaming to plough into you. But he wouldn’t. Not yet.

When his fingers moved to your hips and raised them up so that only the tip penetrated your core, your forehead dropped to his. Sweat mixing with sweat. Panted breaths warming his cheeks and lips. 

“Think you can give me one more?” he rasped.

Your laugh was airy. It came out as a shudder. Your skull rocked against his as you shook your head with it, and your hair tangled into his short brown tufts.

“Yeah, you can.” His eyes stared into yours, bouncing emerald green off of the pearly white that surrounded your own vibrant irises. 

His hand moved to stroke your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, and Dean’s chest swelled with pride. 

“Yeah?” he asked with an air of confidence and pressed harder over the sensitive nub.

Your walls clamped around him again, just as he’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you cried.

As much as he loved the idea of you begging him for it, the pressure down below was reaching boiling point, and he knew a couple of thrusts would do it for him. 

He lifted his ass off the cushion, and sunk halfway into you, tipping the sofa by the weight of his shoulders alone. His fingers on your hip gripped tighter, bruising the flesh below, as he steadied himself and in one fluid motion slammed you and him back down into the seat.

The furniture groaned in protest. 

Your moan was more of a high-pitched cry, and when he raised you up and down again and again in a vicious pace, and his thumb continued to press into your overstimulated clit, it turned into the best version of his name he’d ever heard.

“Omega,” he grunted. 

Your pussy was an inferno. That heat, the friction from your panties and your folds rubbing against him, and the vice-like crush from your inner walls on his shaft soon had him seeing white behind the eyes, leaving his other senses to pick up the slack. He felt each drop of blood pump through his body, from his ears to his knot. 

When it popped and thick, creamy waves of his release flooded your insides, dousing the flames, he swooped in for a searing kiss. 

Your lips were tart and sweet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’d been sipping that wine already or chowing down on strawberries, but he’d sat across from you at every meal that day and watched you like a hawk at Walmart so he knew exactly what you’d done and eaten. “Tell me that’s your heat coming on,” he said when he slumped backwards to look at you. 

“Likewise.” Your fingers twisted through his hair. “You feel warm, Alpha.” 

Dean’s boyish chuckle was breathy. “Sweetheart. It’s a house fire down there and that ain’t on me. I already tried putting it out.” 

You didn’t let him down. Your snort was adorable, and he gave you his best cheesy grin in return. 

His inner alpha was not so light-hearted, however, and even after it had gotten its fix and his knot was still very much stuck inside of you, it continued to grumble in the far reaches of his mind, wanting more.

The chant that he should claim you was growing old. He fucking knew that, but while your heat was close, it just hadn’t set in yet, and chomping down on your mating gland now was gonna hurt you unnecessarily. No. Dean would wait, focusing on what you needed in the moment, like any good mate would.

His hands moved to your thighs, grazing his fingers over your sweat lined skin. It was heated, and you shivered at the new sensation, but he wasn’t surrounded by copious amounts of slick and you seemed to have no discomfort. That was part of it, right?

“How’re you feeling?” he said again, and your whole body tensed. Even your inner walls, that had relaxed some, squeezed him tight once more.

“You really wanna know all the nitty-gritty details?” Your eyes narrowed on him. Your frown only deepened the intense gaze you were pulling, and Dean swallowed.

“You’re my mate.” He flashed a grin. “Claim and paperwork pending.” And when you shook your head and sunk into his chest, his lips brushed over your hair, moving his arms to wrap around you and pull you in tighter. “Tell me.”

“Fevers coming,” you mumbled. “Probably smell different?”

He sniffed the air. The usual cinnamon, a touch of vanilla, plus the apple and whisky, sex, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on infiltrated his nostrils. Your scent was still as intoxicating to him as it had been the very first day you met. “You smell good,” he said, realising how terrible that sounded only after it had spewed from his mouth.

“I should hope so.” You swatted at him, and he hummed in amusement.

“What else?”

“Back aches. My whole lower half, actually.”

On that, Dean moved his hands and began kneading your heated flesh where he could only guess the worst discomfort was. He may not not have claimed someone, but he’d helped the odd omega through their heat, and he knew a thing or two.

“Here?” he asked, but your purr and a contented sigh answered him, and he smiled with reverie.

You fell asleep on him after that, allowing the impending fever to take over your body. He’d have preferred you to have eaten something or even made a trip to the bathroom, but he reminded his inner alpha that you both knew what you were doing.

Not that it was listening.

As he dead locked the back door and drew the last of the salt lines at the base of the wooden frame, it whined, and had Dean looking down.

“You scratched the circle.”

Yes, he was standing on the devil’s trap he’d drawn earlier, but there was not a scratch in sight.

“It’s fine,” he said, not bothering with internal thoughts, though his ears did prick for any hint he’d disturbed you in your sleep. He turned himself around to peer at your form on the other side of the room, but you were still on the couch where he’d left you.

Even from here in the kitchen, he could see the sheen of sweat on your forehead and your cheeks, now a different hue. Your oncoming heat had indeed brought on a fever and he knew when you awoke it would be game time.

The groceries had been brought in, beers sat in the fridge, and he’d even moved the mattress from the master bedroom and set it down before the roaring fire he’d started in the fireplace.

His body and mind were prepped, too. He just wished things would hurry along because you and the flames weren’t the only things heating up the room.

The tip of his cock was a painful red. It was swollen and oozing pre-cum, and though he’d emptied himself into you a couple of hours earlier, as he opened the fridge door and leant down to retrieve a beer, a few drops left his slit and dribbled down his shaft to pool at the dip above his knot.

Fuck. He was overflowing now.

He’d almost come twice in his pants from your scent alone, and after the second occurrence, he ditched them, choosing to wear just his boxers and undershirt.

He reached down and wiped his hand over the soiled underwear, hissing from pleasure and pain as his palm swiped over the sensitive head. But when more leaked from his slit, he gave up and removed them instead, leaving them on the floor to clean up later with the spill.

He grabbed his drink and shut the door, turning back around to find you sitting up, staring at him, and time stopped.

You were awake…

And he was…

“Omega.”

The switch somewhere deep inside of him flicked, and he found himself falling into a familiar place in the backseat of his mind.

Dean was no longer in control of his body, but he still saw, heard and felt everything. His heartbeat, his feet padding across the floor, and the irises in your eyes as he drew closer, sparkling from the flicker of light in the fireplace.

And when your voice said, “Alpha”, just as his had been replaced by the low rumble he knew as well as the back of his hand, yours had changed to a softer, more melodic version of the one he recognised as yours.

You were on him the second he stepped up to you. Your fingers wrapped around his agitated cock, and Dean’s growl reverberated low in his chest as the sweet flavour of apple flooded his senses. “Omega. Mine,” his alpha rasped.

He could practically taste you on his tongue. He could certainly feel your heated skin on him as you worked his length, but the massaging did little to douse the flames in his pulsing sack, and his slit continued to weep.

“Alpha,” you purred, as his seed created a trail down onto your hands. 

‘Fuck.’

Dean licked his lips and grabbed at your dress, yanking at the fabric to get you free. He wanted to see you. To feast his eyes on your breasts and, more importantly, bury himself in your dripping cunt again and again. 

His hands pawed at your neckline, growing flustered when it didn’t budge, and red marks from the edging cutting into your skin from his tugs appeared.

“Let me.” You touched his cheek, nodding your head with assurance when his alpha glowered with his pride. 

The thought of needing assistance and less friction on his hardened flesh had his temper rising. “Fine,” he spat. “But hurry up.”

Your breasts pushed towards him as you reached behind yourself to undo the zip. Each click of the metal prongs being pulled apart met his ears, but it was far too slow for his alpha’s liking and soon Dean was pawing at the garment again. 

Once it was loose enough, he plucked it from your body and threw it along with your bra and panties over his head, corralling you where he saw fit.

He planted your chin, chest and calves into the mattress. He forced your rear into the air, presenting your glistening folds, much to his delight. The copious amounts of fluid Dean had imagined earlier engulfed your entrance and laced the inner creases of your thighs.

His nose honed into your centre, breathing in the tangy slick as he ran his lips through yours. The pad of his thumb found your clit, and it flicked against the small bud, eliciting moans, whimpers, and gasps, all stroking his ego. All urging him to continue.

When you shuddered, his mouth curved at the sides. His alpha taking everything it wanted from you, pulling more and more of your release from deep within your body. His dick throbbed at the sight.

If you were making a mess, he’d created an oil spill. Pre-cum continued to leak from his tip, and soon even he was begging the beast in control to do something about it. 

‘Claim her. Make her ours.’

He’d agonised over claiming you since you’d met and now that the opportunity presented itself, he didn’t wanna draw it out any longer. He needed you in more ways than one, and the alpha obliged. 

With a feral smirk, his fingers ran back over your folds, earning another whimper from your lungs and another wave of slick to surge from your body. The same hand came up and took hold of himself, pumping once, twice, three times, before lining up and ramming into you. 

Your hips buckled at the intrusion. Yet when he pulled out again so that only his head sat warm and snug inside, you inched back onto him, demanding his attention.

“There’s my beautiful omega.” He chuckled, as you continued to drag your pussy over him. “So perfect, and still hungry for more.” His fingers dug into your hips and he pushed into you again, giving you what you both wanted. “You need your alpha to knot you, baby girl?”

Your response was to moan, and the sound urged him on. “Yeah, you do,” he grunted. His thrusts, hard and fast. “You need your alpha to put out the fire.” 

Every piece of him enjoyed the view of you taking him in, from the tip to his swelling knot. Your walls kept squeezing and pulling him in deeper. “So fucking good ‘mega. Gonna fill you up and make you mine.”

He relaxed his grip on you and crawled up your spine, pushing your body down further into the mattress, and himself further into you. “Say it. Tell me you wanna be mine.” 

“I wanna be yours,” you said between pants, and Dean groaned against the edge of your hairline. He was so close to your mating gland, he could taste the sweet blood below the surface. 

He pulled your hair to the side and traced his tongue over the delicate skin of your neck, licking and sucking a path to his goal. He inhaled your scent when he found the pulse point and rubbed whiskey and leather and a hint of buttery pastry onto you before his teeth moved to scrape over the sensitive flesh. His body froze above you.

The canines broke the thin barrier first, and when his incisors sunk into you next, the metallic warmth of your lifeblood rushed into his mouth and trickled down his throat. 

As he swallowed, and continued to press his bite into you, a wave of electricity spread over him. Every nerve, every hair, every drop of sweat tingled and while his arms and legs grew heavy, his head lightened and memories long forgotten climbed to the surface and flashed before his eyes.

Amongst them, Bobby’s death, and his time in hell before it. The agony of losing Sammy to the cage when Dean knew what awaited him. The mark taking over his life and losing people because of it. Their screams. Their cries. The hatred as his own weapon carved into them. The Steins, Abbadon, Randy.

But then the voice of a female overtook them. One so familiar, yet one he couldn’t quite place. Her pleas cut him deep, churning his insides as if each organ were drowning in a sea of acid.

“No, no. Please don’t.”

“I swear, I’ve never seen him before.”

“He just helped me, that’s all.”

“Baby, please.”

The more he heard her words, the more his face cut into Dean’s memories, and “Ritchie, stop! Please!” stood out amongst all else.

That’s when he realised who the cries belonged to. The tears, the pain, the dread. They weren’t his, they were…

…yours.

Brilliant green eyes stared back at you as your alpha licked at the wound on your mating gland. He’d started thrusting again, and while the pressure deep in your gut begged for his knot and his essence, your mind was more focused on those eyes.

Their sparkle that you’d come to know was lost, faded, and full of pain. He was being tortured. Fire and chains reflected in them and on his freckled skin, marred by blood and scars so fresh, you couldn’t place them from what was before you now.

Dean was hurt. He was—

“Sammy!” he yelled.

“The mark isn’t gonna kill me,” he spat.

But when you tried to call out to him and soothe the ache you felt, he couldn’t hear you because your inner omega was in the driver’s seat. And while she cared for you as much as you did for her, for Dean, she was more concerned with the alpha’s thrusts. With mewling. With encouraging him. With drawing his knot in.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are ✌️

I've been agonisingly waiting for this one, and I do hope you were surprised. I’m rather proud of the POV switch up. We will still get in Dean’s head, but we’ll also be in hers which is perfect for what’s about to come.

Remember how I keep mentioning not to get too comfortable, well, here we are. Do you think they'll pull through all this new information?

The next chapter will potentially be triggering for some readers. Mentions of pregnancy loss is included amongst what we've already seen and explored, but things are going to come out in more details including how extensive Dick’s abuse was.

Chapter 8: Disconcerting 11/04

You.

You weren’t supposed to be a part of that chapter in his life. He’d planned to keep you at a distance from all of it. He…

He.

He looked up so that he wouldn’t see your face through the kaleidoscope of colours that his wet eyes brought with them. “I—” All he could do was squeeze you tighter.

“Dean. It’s okay.”

He still didn’t have the words to continue his apology. Nothing could ever make up for what you’d seen, and his voice caught in the lump that had manifested in his throat. By the time it did reach the surface, it sounded more like that of a small child, then that of a grown man.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“S’not. This is what I was trying to keep ya from.” 

He was dangerous. He was a grunt. He was mud on the sole of his boot, and you? He’d brought you into this shitty life of his. “It’s bad enough you had to go through what Dick did to you. But he did it ‘cause of me. I’m poison, and if you hadn’t met me, you—”

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[worstgenerationloser]

, , Why can't I just spend the night? ' '

Pairing... One Piece Multi x Female! Vampire! Reader.

Posted... January 28th, 2025.

Updated... February 9th, 2025 (CH1 coming near the end of March!)

Bites... 0.

Timeline... Medieval Fantasy.

Contents... Graphic descriptions of blood and violence, heavy sexual themes, use of alcohol and other recreational drugs, death, use of manipulation, sexual uses of magic and witchcraft, slight cannibalism, angst and arguments, slight depictions of mental illness, and surprisingly— romance.

Introduction...

You are a vampire. Long ago, there were tales of your insatiable bloodlust shared across the lands, you had acolytes who worshipped you as their deity— or so you thought. After having been betrayed and forced to slumber, you wake up and search for answers... and warm bodies to feed off of.

Who is the best bite?

Nico Robin, an archaeologist who stumbled into your castle. She's lucky you're somewhat nice.

Portgas D. Ace, a passive-aggressive werewolf. He's annoying.

Monkey D. Luffy, Ace's little brother. He's pretty gullible.

Aokiji Kuzan, the man almost as cold as you. What is he, exactly?

Shanks, a well-known adventurer around the world. You're jealous of his success.

Benn Beckman, also a well-known adventurer, and Shanks' closest friend. Shanks trusts him with his life.

Silvers Rayleigh, a retired old guild master. He's onto you.

Dracule Mihawk, a fellow vampire. He keeps to himself, mostly.

Vinsmoke Sanji, a young runaway prince. He thinks he's being subtle about finding you attractive.

Nami, a navigator for the Fleur Kingdom's Marines. She wants to see the world and map it all out, Robin is helping her.

Roronoa Zoro, a vampire hunter. He's one of the few people who know vampires still exist.

Usopp, a cowardly elf who lives alone. He's searching for his father, who supposedly joined the adventurers guild.

Doflamingo, an incubus in disguise. He's worked his way up in the rankings of the kingdom, and he won't stop until he's at the top of the world.

Eustass Kid, a demon of old reborn into a new body. All he craves is chaos and death, and maybe a bit of you.

Sabo, the angel who hangs around werewolves. Even though you're technically a distant relative of a demon, he's kind to you— is it a facade?

Trafalgar D. Water Law, a doctor who has made significant contributions to the medical field. He's taken a liking to studying anatomy of supernatural beings.

Chapters...

Prologue... "Original Sin."

Featured Character(s)... Nico Robin, Dracule Mihawk, and a whisper of Vinsmoke Sanji.

SFW.

Chapter 1... "Offer the life."

Featured Character(s)... Portgas D. Ace, Nico Robin, Monkey D. Luffy, and Sabo.

NSFW.

Chapter 2... "I wanna be your dog!"

Featured character(s)... Portgas D. Ace, Monkey D. Luffy, Silvers Rayleigh, and Sabo.

NSFW.

Chapter 3... "I wanna get down with you."

Featured Character(s)... Portgas D. Ace, Monkey D. Luffy, Silvers Rayleigh.

NSFW.

[panerasbox]

🌙 For this I'll burn 🌙

Genre: Dark Fantasy | Supernatural | Romance

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary: The house on the edge of town is quiet. Too quiet. And so is Agatha Harkness, who has a way of making you feel like you’ve known her far too long…

Word count: 1,249.

Rating: Mature (18+)

CW: Dark themes, manipulation, power dynamics, sexual content, violence, emotional distress, explicit language, psychological tension.

A/N: This is a multi-chapter story, so there’s more to come! Not all of the CWs come into the beginning of the story, but overall, the rating is M. I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit.

(updates) i will be continuing this story on A03! thank you <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65263927/chapters/167897428

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ The Prologue

The house on the edge of town was always quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, heavy and suffocating.

You hadn’t meant to end up here. You were just passing through—another town, another temporary hiding place, another name that wasn’t really yours. But something about the crooked roofline, the ivy twisting up the walls, had drawn you in. Or maybe it was the woman who opened the door before your knuckles could meet the wood.

Agatha Harkness didn’t ask questions at first. She simply let you stay in the guest room—the one with the cracked window, the air thick with strange herbs drying from the rafters. She offered tea that tasted like ash and honey—bitter and sweet all at once. Her gaze always seemed too sharp, as if she was watching you even when her face wore an air of casual disinterest.

You weren’t afraid. Not exactly. But there was a reason you never slept deeply. Your senses always remained alert, attuned to the creaks of the old house and the subtle shifts in the air.

Her words came in riddles, her voice a low purr or a sharp snap depending on her mood. Her smiles, when they appeared, rarely reached her eyes. It was a game, you knew that. A game with layers of civility, with unspoken rules you couldn’t quite understand but were desperately trying to learn.

And then, one night, the storm hit—right when you were reaching for the front door. The air outside crackled with the scent of ozone, the wind howling through the trees. Thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows, and the lights flickered and dimmed. Just as your hand touched the doorknob, Agatha appeared behind you, silent as smoke.

“Going somewhere?” Her voice was dangerously calm, like the stillness before the storm.

You didn’t turn, your hand still on the cool metal. “I need air.”

“It’s practically a hurricane out there, darling.”

“Good.”

You tried the knob again. It didn’t budge. Locked fast. Deadbolt.

“You locked it?” you said, finally turning to face her. She was standing too close, her presence like a weight pressing into your space.

“I asked nicely the first few weeks,” she murmured, taking a step forward. “Let you play house in my little sanctuary. But you’re not here by accident, are you? And I confess, I’m tired of pretending.”

Your heart thudded. There was a pressure in your chest, your throat tightening. “What do you want from me?”

Her expression softened for the briefest of moments, her eyes darkening with something you couldn’t place. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Her fingers brushed your cheek—too cold, too deliberate—sending a shiver through your skin. You recoiled, instinctively, but she didn’t pull back.

“What’s that face? You look like you’re about to cry,” she whispered, almost tenderly.

And you were. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from fear, but something deeper. The weight of lies, the stolen moments of desire you couldn’t admit to yourself. The loneliness that had become a constant companion.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, hating the tremor in your voice.

“Like what?” she asked, feigning innocence. It was maddening.

“Like you know me.”

Her hand dropped from your face, the softness of the moment vanishing in an instant. “Maybe I do.”

The storm raged outside, and the lights flickered again, before plunging the room into darkness.

You were shaking. She could see it, of course, but she didn’t move. The silence between you was oppressive, the kind of quiet that thickened the air, pressing down on both of you.

And then, without thinking, without meaning to, you reached for her hand. Not because you trusted her—no, not even close—but because, terrifyingly, you wanted to.

Her hand was cold at first, smooth and impersonal. Then it warmed, impossibly, as if the very moment itself had altered it. Solid. Real.

“You’re shaking,” Agatha observed, her voice low, without concern—only a statement of fact.

You wanted to lie. To say it was the storm, the cold. Anything but the way she made you feel.

“I should hate you,” you managed, your voice rough. “But I don’t.”

Her lips curled into a faint, almost amused smirk. “But you don’t.”

You couldn’t speak—you couldn’t form the words. The truth hung in the air between you, a damning weight that you couldn’t shake.

Her hand left yours only to press against your chest, directly over your heart. You could feel the frantic pulse beneath her fingers.

“Still alive,” she murmured, dark amusement coating her voice. “That’s something.”

Your throat tightened, an uncomfortable knot forming there. “What are you?”

“Complicated,” she answered, her lips brushing your neck—not quite a kiss, but a promise—or a threat. It was impossible to tell which.

“And you’re not exactly simple, either, sweetheart,” she added with a slow burn.

You didn’t stop her. In fact, you let her. You should’ve protested, should’ve remembered every reason she was dangerous, but there was something magnetic in the way she pulled you into her orbit, something sharp and thrilling.

She backed you against the wall, and you let her. Your body moved without thought, without permission, guided by instinct.

One hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up towards hers. Her breath was hot against your skin, her voice low and dangerous.

“Say stop,” she dared, the challenge in her words unmistakable.

You didn’t. Couldn’t.

And then she kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fierce, a slow burn that had been simmering just beneath the surface. It was power, hunger, and a dare to meet her. Her mouth pressed against yours with a force that took you by surprise, commanding, until you parted your lips with a gasp, and she swept in, her tongue tasting, claiming.

When she pulled back, you were dizzy, breathless. Furious. At her. At yourself. At the vulnerability you couldn’t shake.

“You’re just playing,” you gasped, scrambling to form words, to restore control. “This is a trick. Another game. You don’t care. You can’t.”

Her smile faltered, but only for a moment. She stepped back, looking down at you with an icy gaze.

“I could’ve erased you,” she said flatly. “First night you showed up, looking like you were drowning. I could’ve taken every memory from you, made you forget who you are, turn you into something quiet. Obedient.”

She tilted her head, studying you, waiting for the question you’d been too afraid to ask.

“Did I?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” Her word was final, a shackle wrapped around your chest.

You wanted to scream. To push her away. To demand answers. But instead, you whispered the question that had been haunting you all along.

“Why me?”

Agatha’s gaze flickered over your face, as if weighing something heavy. Then she leaned in, her mouth brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Because you’re dangerous too.”

And without warning, her lips were on yours again—rougher this time, no control, only hunger. The storm had nothing on the fire she ignited inside you.

The kiss was an exchange. Power. Hunger. Need.

And this time, you didn’t pull away.

You pulled her closer.

You let her take. Let yourself want.

Because, whatever this was—whatever dark, intoxicating thing you’d stumbled into—it had already begun the moment you stepped through her door. Neither of you were leaving it behind now.

[gallavichthings]

Hello and welcome to Gallavich Week 2025!

This year we're back to one-word general prompts and I hope you're ready to get creative!

Gallavich Week 2025 will run 15-21 of June. As always, all kinds of work are welcome, as long as they are original. Please read the guidelines after the break before posting.

Day 1 (June 15) - Sports

Day 2 (June 16) - Lights

Day 3 (June 17) - Laughter

Day 4 (June 18) - Pain

Day 5 (June 19) - Riding

Day 6 (June 20) - Rainbow

Day 7 (June 21) - Free

CREATING AND POSTING GUIDELINES (After the break)

How do I participate?

You don’t have to subscribe to anything or announce what you’re doing, you just have to post your work on the appropriate day and tag me on the body of the post using @gallavichthings. It’s important that you tag me properly so that I can be sure to see your post and reblog it.

What types of works are accepted?

Any kind of original fan work is accepted, including but not limited to: fanart, fanfiction (no minimum words required), graphics, gifs and gifsets, videos, and fanmixes. Yes, meta and polls are also accepted (though I do request that you either try to keep them within the theme for each day or post them on the Free Day).

When can I start posting?

I’ll always make one initial post for each day, at 12am GMT. After that, post away!

Can I still participate even if I don’t have a Tumblr account?

Absolutely! Just submit something here (http://gallavichthings.tumblr.com/submit).

Can I post on other social media platforms?

You sure can, but I only have Twitter, which I don't check that often anymore, so I do encourage you to post here as well, so it can be seen by more people.

Is there an AO3 Collection?

Yes, right here. Participation is not mandatory though, and you can rest assured this Collection will not be deleted.

Can I post something that I’ve already posted before?

No, sorry. The works should have been created specifically for GW. You can, however, create a sequel or a different version of a previous work.

Can I post something that is not in English?

Of course. Just make sure that it is original, or that you have the original author’s permission (and, in that case, link to the original too).

Can I make R-rated works?

Yes, just please give any necessary warnings and tell us the rating at the very beginning of the post. If the post is visual (like a fanart or a gifset), it would be nice for you to also tag it accordingly - Tumblr now allowes you to select if a post is deemed for mature audiences or not. It’s not mandatory, but if possible put it under a Read More here on Tumblr and under a spoilers mark (so it’s not instantly visible) on Twitter.

Can I post something that’s AU?

Sure thing! Tag it accordingly though, both for those who want to avoid it and for those who’d like to find it.

Can I post supernatural works, mpreg, or genderbends?

Yes! But if it’s a fic, please include it in the warnings.

Can I post more than one work?

Definitely! The more, the merrier. You can post as many works as you want, on as many days as you want, be it one post per day or ten on the same day. Anything goes!

Can I post on more than one day? Do I have to make something for each day?

Again, the more, the merrier! You can post on only one or all days if you wish!

Can I make one work that fits two or more themes?

Sure thing. I only ask that you post it on the day of the last theme included. For example, if you are posting a work that includes the theme from Day 1 and the theme from Day 4, post it on day 4 (just make sure to tell me that it includes both).

Can I write a multi-chaptered fanfiction?

Yes, and you don’t have to post everything either. When you do, just be sure to include either a masterpost, or the links to the previous chapters in the beginning.

Can I include other characters/pairings in my work?

Yes, as long as Gallavich is still the focus.

What if I can’t finish on time?

The Gallavich fandom is ALWAYS happy to see new fan material, so just post it when you’re done and tag me, ok? The same goes for people who can’t finish a work on the assigned theme day; you can still post it on a different day during GW, just make it clear which day it was made for.

[milaswriting]

Update. — 3rd October 2024

Well, helloo. If you're following me and reading this then...you must really hate me for my lack of activity on this blog. I apologise for that. Doing a masters degree really kicks my ass, and leaves me with no time to write. But Golden has never been dead or abandoned, it's very much always at the forefront of my mind.

And, for that pure reason, I know it's a story I haven't been 1,000% happy with so the story is going through some major changes. Probably, the first is that it's being rewritten. A (somewhat) new plot written with whole new software—we're making the move to Twine.

My reasoning; I've spent over a year learning the coding which makes me want to rip my hair out. I get to have a lot more ownership over my work, the customisation options are stellar, and you guys will get to read it for free.

The reasons for rewriting has been because I want to fix the cringey writing from when the story's first demo was released. It's mostly from the earlier chapters, but then the thought of plot changes came to me and I wanted to implement those. Realistically, the majority of what's being rewritten is what I had planned for book two—so I'm just bringing that forward. I'll update the synopsis closer to the release of this rewrite.

The changes (which can be subject to change): I'm getting rid of the university idea (though you can still choose careers that are related to those degrees from the options that'll be given) (e.g., if you liked the nursing student option, then your MC can work as a nurse). I'm thinking that the MC will already know about the supernatural world to some extent—there'll still be a lot of suspense and mystery and things to unravel, that was always going to remain. And, in this rewrite, my thought is that the MC and the gang will be working at a multi-agency organisation — called The Everbrook — where the aim is to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals. To make the world run smoothly, so to speak.

The ROs are the exact same! No changes to that—the only change is that them and the mc will somewhat know of each other already. The genre is the same. MC is still as they are, a Lehsian socialite with a pretty (yet peculiar) birthmark. The parents will have much, much less of a role, but they'll still be mentioned here and there.

This seems like a load of word vomit, but I feel like these changes will improve the story. I'm hoping that it'll make MC less of a spare part in the story, allowing them to have more autonomy in the supernatural universe, especially with their enhanced skillset.

I've done the customisation in terms of the UI layout for Twine already, and it should be mobile friendly too. With that done, I've started writing and I'm a few thousand words in. A lot of what I've written in the ChoiceScript version can still be used, but also getting back into writing a story from scratch is something I'm looking forward to.

I feel like this is a bittersweet thing because yay to a new and better story, but also the time it's going to take to get it out. I'll debate whether to release the whole ten chapters, or do a few chapters at a time, like splitting it up into chunks (releasing three chapters now, and three chapters later on).

Another reason as to why I've taken so long to mention this, other than learning code and the rewrite, is just the whole process of this being a little nerve-wracking. The whole thought of a rewrite of something I've put so much effort into is scary, but it'll be worth it.

I'll accept any questions you've got, and I'll create an FAQ regarding all of this too. But, most importantly, you're in the loop of how this is progressing. I really appreciate everyone's kind words about this story: loving the ros, re-reading it, still sticking by my writing—it means a lot. So, thank you and I hope the future of this story is what you want and more.

PLANS.

Finish introductory scenes.

Finish chapter one.

WORD COUNT.

2.2k (rewrite)

[everyforkedroad]

For the covers of Love So Dark, I had to edit several images, some of which I didn't end up using or I used only in part. Above are some of my favorite ones. Many images are of Mile because he is the supernatural figure in my fic and therefore required the most editing.

For the roses, I referenced the images below, using the one on the left in the graphic.

As for the in-between place, where Anakinn and Porsche were able to meet, I used these images as references (photos are not mine):

Porsche wears a chain in much of KinnPorsche. It was easy to use his necklace as a stand-in for his mother's. The style of the chain worked because it was simple, much like everything else in Porsche's life.

To see the covers used in the fics, click on this tumblr post.

To read Love So Dark, head over to AO3 by clicking here.

Happy reading!