#the tags possessed me and this was my exorcism

[malk1ns]

this post and its tags gave me brainworms that i had to purge so that i can properly focus on SGE for the next month, so…

overstimulation, forces orgasm, and crying during sex. blame @yabagofmilfs. i hope you like it!

It’s too hot in the bedroom.

Sid’s lake house in Nova Scotia is usually cool—breeze blowing in off the water and big trees shading over the roof and the patio mean that it stays comfortable even on warm days. Sid keeps the AC on for the sake of the gym, but it’s set to 70, otherwise it gets too cold when the sun is down.

The humidity this week has been oppressive, though, and the air still, and even with the thermostat bumped down to 68 the second floor of the house is too warm, especially in the bedroom with its south-facing windows that get sunlight all day.

“Sid,” Zhenya gasps. His vision feels foggy, just as humid as the shimmering air over the lake outside, blurring at the edges. The wood paneling on the ceiling looks warped, and Zhenya’s breath feels hot as he pants. “Please, Sid, can’t.”

“You can,” Sid says, voice almost kind. “At least one more, bud, I know you’ve got it in you.” He crooks his fingers and rubs, and Zhenya jolts, but he can’t tell if he’s moving towards or away from the touch.

He’s sore. Sid’s been fingering him for what must be hours now, the slow maddening buildup he prefers when it’s the offseason and he has time to spread Zhenya out over beds across North America and Europe and really take his time, and Zhenya’s already come twice; the first one so gradual he was begging for relief by the time Sid relented and jerked him to completion, and the second one so quickly after it almost hurt.

And Sid’s not done yet. Not by a long shot.

“Are you crying?” Sid asks, and Zhenya blinks, trying to focus. Sid’s moving, keeping his hand where it is but stretching alongside Zhenya on the mattress, studying his face. “You are. Already?” The press of his fingers against Zhenya’s prostate is brutal and unrelenting, and Zhenya feels pinned under Sid’s regard. “You know you’ll thank me for it later.”

“No,” Zhenya says, rolling his neck so he’s facing away from Sid. He’s shivering like he’s cold, thighs shaking as Sid works him over, and the lazy sweeps of the ceiling fan do nothing do relieve the heat. “No, don’t, you—”

“Shh,” Sid says softly, dropping a kiss on Zhenya’s shoulder, and then he pulls his fingers free.

Zhenya whines, clenching around nothing, overwhelmed at how empty he feels, but then Sid’s hands are on him, rolling him onto his side and pressing up against him. Sid runs hot, and their bodies skin-to-skin like this is almost too unbearable.

The sound of Sid slicking up his dick with lube is almost obscene in the quiet room; Sid always uses so much, always groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt when he gets a hand on himself, and all Zhenya can do is squirm as he waits.

His whole lower half feels like it’s throbbing, like a bruise he can’t stop pressing on, like the place a tooth used to be that he can’t stop tonguing. His dick is barely hard, smeared with come at the head from his first two orgasms, but when Sid slides into Zhenya’s body, barely giving him time to adjust to the stretch, it twitches, sending a shockwave of pleasurepain up Zhenya’s spine.

“Stop,” he sobs, but he doesn’t mean it, and Sid knows that, gentling him with a hand on his stomach.

Sid feels enormous inside him. Zhenya’s oversensitive, and every pass of Sid’s cock over his prostate, every thrust, makes him shiver and shake in Sid’s arms.

He cries out when Sid’s hand closes around his dick. It’s too much, surely he can’t again, but then Sid’s stroking him, pressing murmured words into his back as he runs his fingers up and down Zhenya’s shaft, squeezing at the head the way Zhenya likes.

Zhenya sobs as he hardens in Sid’s grasp.

“Attaboy,” Sid grunts. “C’mon, let me see it. You can do it, baby, give it to me.” His hand tightens past the point of pleasure, and Zhenya wails and tries to curl into a ball as he comes. It feels like something is being ripped out of him, and his dick hurts, twitching through an orgasm that’s almost entirely dry.

Almost, but not quite.

“You’ve still got some left,” Sid says, lifting his hand and pressing his fingers to Zhenya’s lower lip. Zhenya opens his mouth obediently, letting Sid feed him his own come. “Gotta get it all out or you’ll just be begging for it later. Hold still, baby, and I’ll take care of you.” He pulls his fingers free and gets a hold of Zhenya’s hip, holding him hard enough to bruise as he fucks into him harder, panting hotly against Zhenya’s neck and practically flattening him forward into the bed. He’s not gentle, he’s not careful, and all Zhenya can do is lie there and take it.

“Fuuuuck,” Sid finally groans, hips stuttering forward as he comes. Zhenya can feel Sid’s balls against his own, and Sid’s sweat is dripping off his chest down Zhenya’s back. They’re disgusting, and Zhenya wants to marinate in how this feels all day.

Sid stays in him until he can’t, letting his dick slip out with a sound that makes Zhenya want to hide. He sounds sloppy—loose—wet with lube and come and fucked open by Sid’s fingers and his dick. When Sid rolls him onto his stomach and parts his cheeks to get a better look, Zhenya tries to kick him away, but his legs are heavy and tingling.

“Nice,” Sid says, voice low and dirty and appreciative. “You look pretty sore, bud.”

Zhenya lets himself relax. Three times in one morning is surely enough; now, Sid will go get a washcloth and some lotion, and he’ll clean Zhenya up and give him a massage, and then they’ll go lie out on the deck in the shade until Zhenya feels human enough to shower.

“I better kiss it better,” Sid says instead, and the touch of his tongue to Zhenya’s used hole is so sharply good that all Zhenya can do is writhe and press his poor, abused dick into the mattress and hope Sid finishes him off quickly.

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[kantraels]

technically kenzie isn't their real name. they don't really remember though so I can call them whatever I want

larger piece under cut vvv

[smutoperator]

Dear Priest

Naoi Rei x Male Reader

Tags: balcony sex, choking, creampie, demons, facefucking, footjob, mating press, older man, peeing, priest, possession, (lots of) pussy fingering, rocking the bed, sexorcism, squirting, taboo, titfucking, vibrator

Word count: 3701.

"Dear priest, I have a confession to make. I'm so horny today, I can't even stand straight." These were the first words you heard in the confessional that morning. "Go on," you replied, a little confused. "I think I need an exorcism; my legs are shaking, and I think a demon possessed me," the person said.

You opened the door of the confessional, and a cute Japanese girl appeared. Her situation looked quite bad; she trembled in front of you before unleashing an attack in a demonic voice: "I need sex," she said, in a very altered voice.

Her possession looked quite bad. You felt like you couldn't fix her problem. She needed a special treatment. "I'm going to take you home and expel that demon out of you," you told her. "PLEASE!" she screamed.

You took Rei into your car and drove fast into your home. The demon inside of her made her sweat and squirt all over the seat of your car. You had never seen a case like that before and knew you had a tough demon to fight. 

"Don't touch me," Rei said as you two got to your home. "I'll need to, otherwise the demon won't get out. Open your legs, please," you told her. Rei did so. You touched her wonderful thighs and gave them a slap. "Don't hurt me," she reacted. You didn't listen, touching her panties, which were extremely warm and wet, and finally, her big tits, before placing your thumb in her mouth. You could feel her body heat was truly extreme. "It looks like we'll have to take those clothes off," you told her.

You turned the water in your bathtub on, preparing it as Rei took her robe off. Her tall body, sexy thighs, and huge tits were already a massive turn-on. Rei started taking her bra off, giving you the perfect view of her boobs. Next, she turned around and took her panties off, showing you her perfect ass and sexy, meaty Japanese pussy before getting in the tub.

"God bless you," you said, kissing Rei's beautiful feet a few times. Adding a solution to the tub, you tried to neutralize the demon inside of her. Rei seemed to feel better, as things were looking more stable inside her body. You massaged her shoulders, trying to get her more comfortable. Rei tried to relax, but as you started touching her big tits, from time to time, the devil inside her still made her shake.

"Put your tongue out," you ordered to her, stretching her mouth with your finges as you used your holy spit to counter the demons coming out of it. You took your pants off and pissed on the tub. "What are you doing?" Rei asked. "Chill out; my holy piss added to this solution will make it easier to take that demon out," you told her.

After dumping nearly a half-liter of piss into the tub, you asked Rei to get out and wash herself. Rei agreed, taking the towel and going to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and her now naked body was still warm. "You're such a fucking whore," the voice coming out of her mouth said. It was the horny devil. "You need to be disciplined for your naughty thoughts; that priest is going to use you like the slut you are," the demon kept whispering in her ear.

Rei returned to your living room, looking at you with bloody eyes. You touched her body and whispered in her ear. "Get out, devil," you said. Next, you touched and sucked her boobs. Your kisses felt like they were trapping the demon further inside her instead of helping. But maybe that's what you intended. You pulled your cock out and slapped it on Rei's feet, getting hard immediately. "Looks like that demon is helping me," you poked her.

Rei reached and started using her feet to please your cock. Her toes touching your shaft were a huge turn-on for her. Rei played with your cock, having fun as she used her feet to massage it and admired your growing throbbing tip.You just watched, letting the possessed girl enjoy herself as your cock kept growing bigger and bigger.

You took your shirt off, feeling Rei was transferring her body's heat into yours, taking control as you moved her feet around your shaft. You licked her toes, tasting your own cock from it as she had just rubbed them on it, gifting her mouth your cock as you started fucking her face. "Get out, you fucking demon," you said as you finished the initial facefucking, slapping her tits shortly after.

More facefucks followed. The demon was now completely trapped inside Rei's sexy body, as you pushed it back inside with your massive shaft reaching all the way down her throat. "Look at you, such a cute slut," you tell her, slapping her face. 

You choke Rei and push her towards one of the chairs in your living room. She tries to fight back, but you show her who is in control. "Do it as I tell you; slide down," you say. Rei lies her head on the bottom chair and stretches her tall body up to the couch. You spread your legs between the chairs and feed her cock, enjoying filling that cute Japanese face at will and slapping it all over her face.

"Don't close your legs; I'm shutting your mouth so the demon gets expelled through your pussy," you say to her. You cover Rei's mouth with your balls, getting the perfect view of her body as you sit on top of her like a king on his throne. You grab Rei's hands and move them so she can jerk your cock off. "Squeeze it, squeeze it," you order as you use Rei's incessant honrniess to your own pleasure.

Rei twists your cock between her soft hands, licking your balls under your body. You pushed her lower body in your direction. An evil energy seemed to be heating up under your body as the demons orbiting around Rei's body got back inside her. You ducked your body down and started eating her pussy, which looked extremely wild with so many evil spirits inside. A few licks, and Rei was already squirting all over your face.

"That's truly a satanic pussy," you said as you kissed it. "Oh, fuckkk," Rei moaned as you started massaging her cunt. "The harder you squirt, the more the demons will come out," you told her.

Rei made sure to squirt as hard as she could, as the massages in her pussy had her body contorting. Quickly, you stuck multiple fingers inside it. "Ahhhhhhh, please, don't hurt me," Rei screamed as your hands seemed to act like another devil, making her even hornier and sensible. She clinged to your cock, trying to cope with the intensity of your finger as she coated her juices all over your living room's floor.

Rei wanted to take a break, but you were having none of it. "Come here, you won't leave until I finish the job," you told her, grabbing the Japanese cutie but her massive honkers. You kissed her as one of your hands touched her tits and the other one fingered her already extremely wet pussy. "Ohhhh, please, make my pussy cum," she said. "Don't talk, bitch, just follow my orders; when I fuck you, you must keep your mouth shut," you say to her almost as if the demon had also possessed you.

You cover Rei's mouth, muffling her moans as you keep touching her pussy harder and harder, fisting your whole hands inside it and then slapping it. Rei feels like a sick girl with a massive fever, as you take advantage of her weakness to play with her tits, slapping your cock between them before you start titfucking those massive melons, something you wanted to do the moment you saw them for the first time. You treat Rei's big tits like your personal toy, sliding your cock multiple times between them before you give it for her to get fed like a good girl.

"Ohhh fuck, you suck my cock so good, such a perfect, devilish slut," you say to her as Rei bobs her head all over your big dick. "Want to take it deeper? Then come here," you say, putting Rei to your side and diving her head against your shaft all the way down. After all, if there is one thing Rei loves is to dive,.

As soon as Rei gags on your cock, you slap her face with it. Rei quickly gets back on it, giving you a very sloppy and sexy blowjob. "Good girl, or should I say, evil slut?" you tell her. When Rei dives back, you relentlessly fuck her face, slapping her tits every time she gags, as you pound her throat harder and harder each time, but Rei also seems to get stronger, adjusting to your hard thrusts and getting very sloppy as she engulfs your cock balls deep in her mouth.

"That took quite long this time," you praise her after Rei takes a couple minutes to gag following a hard facefucking. "Are you enjoying yourself?" you ask her as Rei gives you a big smile. "Yes, father," she replies. "Tell me what you are," you ask her. "I AM YOUR WHORE," Rei screams.

"Good girl," you kiss Rei and put her on your lap, now massaging her ass and giving her cute butt some spankings that make her moan, wrapping your arms around her as you poke your finger inside her asshole. "Fuckkk," Rei says as you toy with her butthole, eating it out for a couple minutes before getting her back on her feet, but keeping the massage on her fuckholes going while choking her.

Rei can't stop moaning as she struggles to stay on her feet. You grope her tits and stimulate her in every way possible, kissing her neck as you put your fingers back in her cunt and your throbbing cock hits her navel. You had waited long enough, lifting Rei's tall body with ease and pushing her close to you as you slid your big cock in her wet pussy.

Rei laughs as she bounces on your cock, you two having a very intimate moment as she gets carry-fucked. "Oh my God," Rei moans, trying not to fall down as you hold her with all your forces, using her as your perfect and very warm cocksleeve. Without ever pulling out, you push Rei's body towards your couch and start pounding her.

"Oh fuck," Rei says as your move takes her by surprise. And fuck indeed is what you're going to do to her starting now, using Rei's meaty Japanese pussy to your cock pleasure as you take deep thrusts inside it. Rei spreads her legs as you tap her vaginal entance. "That's a good girl," you say, eating her out as she looks hornier than ever. 

More hard fucking ensues as Rei is completely pinned into the couch, her legs up in the air as your cock is bulging hard under her as you stretched her pussy out. It might be a vanilla missionary position, but you know how to fuck and please her. Rei starts wondering if you're really a priest, as you seem to have done it multiple times, fucking her like many guys before you couldn't. 

"AH, AH, AH," Rei moans faster than she raps. You're truly in love with this possessed Japanese slut. A cute girl with long legs, big tits, and a naughty devil inside her seems like a gift from God, or Satan, if you know what I mean. 

Rei prays to God in front of you, but as your cock slaps her pussy and lands deep into her cervix, it feels more and more like her prayers are being answered by the devil. You put a fist in her mouth, making sure her possession lasts for long, shutting her holes down in every possible way. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," Rei screams as your hands push the demons back in her pussy and you finish trapping them with your spit.

"OH FUCK," Rei screams as you get back in her pussy, her legs now fully spread as she invites your cock to pound her hard and fast, her big tits bounce like crazy at each thrust, with you making sure to reach all the way down the trenches of her devilish cunt. "Your hands are so evil, but they make me feel so good," Rei says as they finger her pussy before you use them to slap her thicc thighs once again and make her scream.

"OHHHHHHHH," Rei screams as you use her to fulfill one of your most perverted fantasies. Fucking a Japanese girl on a mating press as if you were in a real-life hentai. Her pussy gets stretched out to the fullest as you attack it extremely deep. She yells every time you hit her cervix, turning her into a fleshlight. 

You choke Rei and fuck her like an animal, groaning as her pussy gets attacked, and you shove the demons even deeper in her body, making sure they stay there as you fuck her face harder than ever as soon as you pull out of her pussy, then slap your cock in her cute face, repeating the process multiple times until you turn her face into a mess full of spit and her body into a nest of horny demons.

"You seem hornier than ever," you say as you push Rei's body sideways in the couch and give her a rough but very passionate spooning fuck. She smiles, enjoying the way you use her pussy. Your cock is truly making her ascend to heaven, or, depending on the perspective, descend to hell.

You guide Rei into your bed, her getting on all fours as soon as she is on top of it. You fuck her from behind, much to her excitement. "YESSSS, YESSSSSS," she says with a big smile on her face as you get on top of her and make her cheeks clap before fucking her sideways while groping her big tits. "YOU FUCK ME SO GOOD," she moans as you wrap your hands all over her body. It seems like you are the horny demon now, and who can blame you? No one can resist a tall, thicc, cute, and sexy Japanese girl with big tits like her.

Rei gets fucked in every position in your bed as if she were your bride on a honeymoon, looking at you with naughty eyes and never wishing to leave that bedroom. Now you two are like two sinners possessed by the devils of hot, steamy sex, fucking each other in the most baby-making way possible. Rei gets pounded, groped, choked, and fucked nonstop and loves every second of it. It truly makes a difference having sex with a much older and mature man, it turns out.

Rei dives balls deep into your cock before you use that lube from her saliva to bang her tits once again. "I have a job to finish; get it as hard as possible," you suddenly remember, after many minutes's lost into the lust of Rei's hot, young, sexy body. "We have to go outside," you tell her. "That demon is not gonna leave by itself," you continue.

You take Rei to the balcony of your apartment. "What a view. Such a nice place you have, in the most expensive district in Seoul. Guess you didn't take any vows of poverty," she says. "The only vow I took was to use the horny pussies that come at me until I cum," you reply. 

You lift Rei's legs and fuck her at the balcony, her clinging onto every support as you pound her while she looks at the view from such a big height. You pull her hair and clap her cheeks, trying to instill fear in her as you pound her. "FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she moans as you stretch her mouth out. "GET OUT, YOU FUCKING DEMON," you scream as you continue the pounding and slap her ass.

"Don't you fucking move," you order to Rei, bringing a vibrator to put in her pussy while she is pinned to the edge of the balcony. Rei starts to squirt, her right leg sitting on the top of the balcony as you twist the dildo inside her pussy, feeling as if you pushed too many demons out and needed to bring them back. After all, the hornier she gets, the better.

You fuck Rei with the vibrator, leading to her nearly losing her balance. But she loves it, giving you a sexy smile as you double-stuff her, the vibrator in her pussy, your fingers in her asshole. She cums all over the toy; even with one of her legs stuck at top of the balcony, she no longer fears anything. 

You give the vibrator for Rei to taste, using it on her mouth as she licks it as if it were your real cock. "You're so kind, feeding your little whore," she says. "Feeding? No, I am just teasing; this is what I'm gonna feed you," you tell her. "Now bend over," you say, pushing your cock back in her pussy as you hold her body pinned against the balcony. Rei laughs as you grope her bouncy big tits. If only priests could marry, because at this point she truly wants you to make her your wife.

Rei drops back on her knees as you fuck her face hard with her head hitting against the glass on the balcony. Gagging and choking all over that cock and making a sloppy mess, Rei continues to laugh, and you continue to fuck her little Japanese whore face until you finally decide it's time to finally take the demons out.

"Sit on my dick," you tell her as you sit on the chair, your throbbing pole pointing hard and waiting for her meaty pussy. Rei quickly follows, riding it as you grab her ass and grope and suck her tits. She rides it quite well; it seems like her experienced groupmates have taught her really well, especially Wonyoung. Rei moves on your cock with great pace, even better after you slap her ass, getting you closer and closer to unleash your holy cum as she tilts sideways and puts you on the edge with her riding.

You climb out of the chair and fuck Rei against the balcony, enjoying the danger as just a glass wall separates the Japanese slut from falling down. She kisses you, enjoying the pounding as she can only think of her dear priest. "Shhhh, don't let the neighbors hear you," you tell her. But Rei doesn't care; she just wants you to fuck her for the rest of her life. 

"OH MY... GODDDDDDDDD," Rei screams as she looks at the beautiful view from the sunset, her head sticking out of the balcony as she gets pounded, her tits hitting the glass and making her even hornier. The night is approaching, and she ponders if the demons inside her will get even hornier, as she couldn't even sleep the day before with them morphing into crazy horny creatures that took full control of her body once the sun goes down.

Rei laughs as you keep fucking her like a relentless machine. You're a hard man to please, but Rei seems to be doing her best efforts. But nearly 40 minutes, and you haven't shown any signs of slowing down. Rei starts to feel like you might be running out of time to exorcise the sex demons inside of her.

"OH, PLEASE USE MY PUSSY TO MAKE YOUR COCK FEEL GOOD, YESSSSS, AHHHHHHH," Rei moans as you keep the pace, fucking her from behind nonstop and making her big tits bounce hard and grabbing her hair. "YES, YES, YES, DON'T STOP," she screams. And indeed, you don't seem to plan to stop; after all, she is so cute and fuckable.

"I need your fucking cum, please," Rei begs. Little did she know you had already planned everything. As the sun starts to leave the view and the dark creatures of the night start to rise, you fill her pussy up. Rei is relieved. Suddenly, it feels like all the demons in her body are gone. She spreads her legs, letting you tuck the semen on the edges of her pussy all the way down, as you then take a bit of it and use it to draw a cross in her forehead. "May the holy cum take all the demons out of you," you say, as Rei is suddenly no longer horny.

"My job here is done; now get the fuck out," you rudely say to her. Rei wants to thank you, but in the end, sex is just a profession for you. Get pleased, and it's enough. New girls come to you every day after all.

On the next day, Rei tells her inner circle of friends about her experience with you. They are truly baffled, but very curious. "You really fucked a priest?" Stayc J asks her. "Well, yeah," Rei replies. Later, she returns to your church but can't find you, leading her to ask one of the nuns.

"The priest is busy performing a baptism," the nun tells Rei. As she's always been a curious girl, she finds the place where the baptism is taking place. She just didn't know you were baptizing a pretty young girl's forehead full of your cum.

It was Rei's best friend, J.

Rei looks at the agenda next to her, the page with the bookmark being the one from yesterday and today. She sees her name as the last girl from yesterday on the priest's agenda, and then a list of many familiar names scheduled for today with a note next to them.

J: facial Joy: anal Wonyoung: creampie Liz: passionate sex Gaeul: domination Yujin: thighjob/anal

"Oh my God, I think I spread the horny demon into my friends," Rei says.

But did she really?

[rosiesthehat]

wrap me in your arms like i'm made of glass.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Tags: possessed!reader, exorcism, self flagellation / self harm, disordered eating, mommy issues, hurt/comfort!

Summary: You've been fighting an evil spirit on your own for months, until an angel falls on your doorstep, and you no longer have to fight alone.

Author’s Note: This one is sort of dark, ee!! Sometimes a girl just needs to write an exorcism, I guess!! This is my first go of anything horror/angsty, so uhm.. it might be kinda bad. This is also on my AO3!!

It hates the cold.

As do you.

Yet somehow, as you lay by the flung-open bay window, watching the tiny, crystalline flakes fall to cover your once-blossoming hydrangea bushes, you feel your head silence for the first time in weeks. The lightweight blanket draped over your knees isn’t much help to fight the tremble in your fingers, which are wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate— you’ve been falling victim to your sweet-toothed cravings lately, considering this very well may be your last chance to do so.

The television across the room hums whatever country music variety show is on this early in the morning; a few cars pass by outside, splashing up muddy sludge into your front yard. You can’t help but wince at the action. You once dedicated so much time to perfecting your lawn, just for all of that hard work to become irrelevant in a few short hours. It’s probably been decades since this town last saw any snow. You’d never seen so much as a cold rain in your few decades of living. It seems that Hell’s finally frozen over. It’s a shame you never paid attention in church long enough to find out what to do in such an event.

You’re feeling weak. This isn’t a new sensation. Weeks’ worth of sleep interrupted by family photos flung off of walls in the middle of the night truly does begin to take a toll on a young woman’s body. Not that you ever had much energy to begin with, what with the early mornings spent tending to horses and late nights attending to sick barn cats.

It’s quite shocking just how much energy a demonic being inhabiting your body saps up.

It only takes a few minutes, lounged by the window and focus blurring out on the white mounds of snow, for you to loll off to sleep, cocoa spilling onto your favorite quilt, but you’re not lucid enough to notice.

It’s a very gentle knock at your door that rips you from your slumber. Your encounter with whatever beast has been haunting your every move has made you an incredibly light sleeper. At this point, you could be woken by a light breath against your face. You believe you already have, a few times now.

It’s incredibly difficult for you to stand from your position on your once pristine, now chocolate-stained sofa, but you make it upright eventually. The blood comes rushing to your head at the sudden swing upright, your feet heavy against the cold hardwood floor that you never bothered to buy a rug for. Your feet were calloused enough, there was no need for comfort for something already so broken.

You cling desperately to the heavy front door that, by some act of God, you manage to swing open.

The light you’re met with is blinding. You’re not sure if it’s the sun’s rays beating off of the snow and directly into your eyes, or if the woman at your doorstep just naturally emanates such a light.

“Hi there.” Her voice is so kind and warm that your entire body feels like you’ve been sat next to a fireplace. Once your eyes fully adjust to the light surrounding your savior, you notice that her face holds a slightly bewildered look, but like she’s trying to hide it. To remain professional, to not let you in on the fact that there’s quite literally a demon hanging over your shoulders.

You take her outstretched hand in your own, shaking it weakly, and as you do, her expression is replaced by a frown. “I’m Loraine Warren,” She hums, wrapping another hand around yours, seemingly trying to bring heat to the five icicles you call fingers. “and you’re freezing.” You muster up a lackluster smile, ruminating in the warmth from the hands wrapped around your own for as long as she’ll allow. Your visitor doesn’t pull back until you do, to let her into your home.

Mrs. Warren has clearly not come prepared for this entirely unforeseen snow, seeing as she’s dressed in a plaid, tea-length dress, with only a light cardigan hung from her shoulders. There wasn’t a single weatherman on any of your very limited channels that had predicted this sort of weather this far south of the Mason-Dixon.

“Thank you…” You begin, leading the taller woman to your living room, where you practically fall to your position on the sofa again. “For coming to meet with me, Mrs. Warren. I’m so very appreciative.” Your eyelids are heavy, and your cheeks hurt with the strain of a smile, but you still force yourself to engage as delicately as you can with this woman, both for the beauty that you find so enticing, and for the fact that she very well may save your life.

The affliction you’d been suffering for the past few weeks of your life… you weren’t entirely sure what it was. At first, waking up standing in the kitchen and holding a knife to your own throat was something you could pass off as a traumatizing night of sleepwalking. The sudden headaches and physical aversion to reading your leatherbound, heavily annotated bible made you think you had suffered a concussion from falling out of bed one too many times.

Seeing the Warrens on your favorite morning talk show was what led you to raise your own suspicions. The way they spoke of a young girl in Poughkeepsie who had begun levitating in the middle of the night, who began seizing when she was read the word of God… You couldn’t help but see the similarities.

You couldn’t have possibly called the demonologists sooner.

On the phone, you spoke to a man. He was much heftier with the way he spoke, clearly the extroverted salesman of the team. He seemed skeptical, and unwilling to leave his home in New England, as he had every right to be. You very well could just have the flu. But you knew, deep down, that you didn’t, and it had to be them. It had to be. You had no other hope of surviving against your oppressor if you had to fight it alone.

Your frantic begging must have been loud enough for the people close to Ed Warren to hear, because as soon as you finished your rambling about how miserable you were, a distant, soft voice came from the other side of the phone.

Ed, listen to her. She needs us.

The line then went muffled, he had placed his palm over the receiver in hopes to hide the fact that they had begun arguing about you. You couldn’t quite make out what was said, only that the woman, Lorraine, very much wanted to come to visit you, and Ed did not.

It was as if by miracle that Lorraine showed up at your door only a day after your phone call.

“Please, call me Lorraine.” The older woman returned, standing above you. “May I ask why you have the windows open? It’s just so nasty out there… it may affect your health, sweetheart.” There’s a little glimmer in her eyes when she presses the back of her hand against your forehead, which, much to her surprise, was just as cold as your hands.

A stubborn frown returned to her pink lips, and Lorraine quickly closed the two windows behind you.

“The cold helps.” You say plainly as Lorraine moves around your vintage furniture to close the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“What do you mean?” She returns to your side, placing your quilt atop your knees and finding another to cover your shoulders. She then sits on the sofa next to you, delicately maneuvering herself underneath your blanket as well.

You blush a little, hiding your face behind the large mug that you’d once discarded.

“This… thing. Whatever’s inside me… it hates the cold.” You reply, staring down at your feet, which wiggle to regain the feeling that the cold air had taken away.

“How do you know?” The clairvoyant muses, reaching up to pet the hair that’s turned into a mat behind your head. You’ve had a horrible go of taking care of yourself lately, with things as simple as brushing your hair disappearing from your mind for days at a time.

“It started snowing just last night… Since then, it’s been quieter. I’ve been able to take control of my life again, at least a little bit.” You hum, leaning into her touch, which has dropped to press comfortingly to your shoulder. “But as soon as I lit a fire, tried to get warm, it all came back. The chaos. The… evil.” You shudder to remember the noise that’s filled your head for the past few days. The screams, the whispered urges to harm yourself and others. It’s like you’ve been sent to your own personal Hell, like God finally punished you for the way that you look at women like Lorraine. 

“You’re a very perceptive girl.” Lorraine offers you a smile, and you find that it may not only be the cold that calms you. Her presence has offered you more solace than any pain killer or chamomile tea has offered you in your entire life.

You try to giggle, try to accept her praise, but her warm touch, paired with your general lack of sleep, has made it truly impossible for you to remain at all upright. You slump over, dropping your cocoa once again, head landing on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“I believe you.” She whispers quietly, maneuvering your shoulders so that your head lays on her lap. The words are all you’ve ever needed to hear. To be assured that you’re not going crazy is all you need in order to finally fall asleep, and the hands that press warmth into your neck and forehead are the best medicine you could take.

You fall asleep in less than a second, your ears muffling all the noise in the room, yet you can still hear your visitor humming along to the tv as your muscles relax into the sofa.

♱

A soft whine escapes your lips before your eyes open. It’s a combination of bright light and tugging at the back of your head that wakes you up, and as much as you detest being stripped from the best sleep you’ve had in at least month, you feel rested enough to accept it.

“I’m so sorry. Keep sleeping, little one.” Your brain fights to register who the voice belongs to, but judging by the fact that you’ve only received one visitor in the past weeks, and the fact that no visitor you’ve ever met has had such a honey-coated voice, you remember right away. It’s Lorraine.

It’s Lorraine, and the light tugging you feel is a comb being pulled through the hair that hasn’t met such a thing in far too long. You’re hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing that the state of your hair must make you look so pitiful, like a child that can barely take care of herself. You hide your face in your hands, whining once again, hiding from the yellow light of a lamp above you, and from the fact that you look such a mess in the presence of one of the most well-kempt women you’ve ever met.

“I’m all done.” She purrs softly, running her fingers through your now untangled hair, tucking it behind your ear. You sit up, face beet red as you do so. You’re sure you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life.

“Thank you…” You stutter out, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I just… haven’t in quite a while. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.” You glance up at her, eyes squinting to view the porcelain skin adorned by a smile. Lorraine Warren must truly have the kindest heart in the entire world to spend time taking care of someone she’s only just met.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She says quite firmly, pressing her hand against your cheek, and you can feel yourself becoming addicted to her touch. “I want to take care of you.”

You feel a warmth in your cheeks, and a certain tingling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard these words before, and the last time anyone had earnestly taken care of you was… well, you don’t really remember. It was probably in your early childhood, but even then, you weren’t too sure.

The butterfly wings in your stomach are quickly replaced by a different sensation, a large growling that just about reverberates through the living room. You’re filled with another bout of humiliation, and grip your stomach tightly. You’re also not too sure when you last ate.

A ginger hand presses against your stomach as well, and it dawns on you just how close to the older woman you’ve become. She’s pressed against you so much that you’re nearly sitting in her lap, and her other arm is wrapped around so very tightly around the small of your back. Lorraine is quite the touchy woman, and you couldn’t be more appreciative of such a character trait. You lean into her hands greedily, head tilting over to rest on her shoulder once more.

“Can you stand?” She hums, pressing her cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You nod slowly, not quite too sure that you’re telling the truth, but if Lorraine wants you to stand, you’ll stand. And you do, pushing hard into the ground, thankful that before all of this mess you were at least regularly active, and your body was fairly well maintained from throwing bales of hay.

“Good girl.”

The words make your knees go weak, weaker than they already are, and you falter a little in your steps. You thank God that Lorraine has such a strong grip around your waist and is able to keep you upwards.

“Show me your kitchen?” The clairvoyant asks softly, and while you do just as you’re asked, her steady gaze washes over each little family portrait, each corn husk doll, even the sunhats you’ve worn so much that they’re full of holes. One may see her wandering eyes and find her to be a terrible snoop, but Lorraine is doing her job, gathering every piece of evidence she can to use against your demon. She wants to know everything about your past and present so that she may rid you of this retched thing.

She gets no clue as to what suffering has conflicted this household from the photos of a quite happy family hanging from your walls, but she can sense it in the way the house creaks with her every step. There’s an evil lingering in these walls, and Lorraine can feel it.

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s even any food that’s still edible.” You speak gruffly as you arrive in the kitchen that overlooks your barn that was once such a brilliant red, and now stands with peeling paint and water damage. It’s a proper metaphor for your own status. You haven’t been in this room in many days, and the sight of wilting flowers and rotting vegetables depresses you immediately.

“I’m sure I can make do.” Lorraine shoots you that oh-so very reassuring smile once again, and leads you to sit at the dining table that’s only ever been set for one. “When was the last time you ate?”

It’s a dreaded question. A question that, once again, you don’t have a clear answer to. You think the last thing you ate was a handful of boiled peanuts… or was it oatmeal? Lately you had only had incredibly unpleasant dreams about food, and your brain has been so occupied by so many voices, that sustenance was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m not sure.” You muster in response, and Lorraine’s frown returns once again. She’s not mad at you, only furious at the creature that’s taken hold of you, keeping you from living a healthy life.

“You need to keep yourself fed.” Lorraine speaks softly, peeking out from behind the cabinet she’d begun rummaging around in. “Communing with the being, and an eventual exorcism, will take a lot of energy.”

She speaks so calmly about something that is so terrifying to you. You weren’t raised Catholic, and didn’t know much about their traditions, but the interview that you had watched of the Warrens spelled an exorcism out to be one of the most dangerous, mortifying acts that one could participate in. You trust Lorraine entirely though, and are filled with the knowledge that if she has to do such a thing, she will treat you delicately, and cause as little harm to you as possible.

It's only a few groggy minutes before there’s a plate laid in front of you, and by some act of God Lorraine has found another chair to sit in. She’s pulled up right next to you, and while you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t chosen to sit across from you, her choice is very welcomed. The heat from your plate warms your face, and you press your hands against it in hopes that they’ll warm as well.

“It looks delicious.” You look up to the women through your heavy eyelids, weakly grabbing hold of your fork to start lifting potatoes to your mouth. “I can’t believe you were able to make this so quickly! Thank you so very much.” You smile to her, licking your lips, stomach so very grateful to the woman beside you.

“I’ve always been a good cook. My husband is never very appreciative of my skills.” She laughs softly, but you can tell it’s something that truly upsets her. If you were lucky enough to live in a home with Lorraine Warren and have her food for every meal, you consider yourself to be in Heaven. From your short conversation, Ed didn’t quite seem to be a wholly grateful man. “You’re not married.” She then says, taking a sip from the old whiskey glass that’s now filled with water.

Her words are more observational than questioning, and it causes a twinge of discomfort within you. You’d always been questioned for your spinster-like nature, women in your church always wanted to set you up with their sons or nephews. You’re such a pretty girl, they’d say, why on God’s green Earth aren’t you dating anyone?

It was impossible to tell them that you’d never want to marry a man, even if someone held a gun to your head.

“No…” You reply awkwardly, and the word turns into a yawn, leading you to cover your mouth with one hand. “I’ve just… never met the right person, I guess.” You huff, kicking your elbow up on the table and resting your chin on your fist to keep yourself propped up. Who knew something as simple as lifting a fork to your mouth would be so difficult. “Or… Well…” You start again, feeling almost too comfortable in Lorraine’s presence to share a little more. “I’ve just, never really been interested in anyone.”

When you drop your fork to your plate with quite the dramatic tink, that same loving hand returns to your lower back. Lorraine has taken your fork between her perfectly manicured fingers, and lifts another bite towards your lips, which you not-so-gracefully accept.

“Well, that is a shame.” The brunette responds, and though you can’t see it, there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. She seems to be a bit too pleased by your loneliness. “I do hope you’ll find someone soon. You are so deserving of love.”

You’re not sure if you’re deserving, but you’re damn well desperate for it.

Lorraine continues to feed you, lifting small bites of vegetable to your lips while whispering her gentle praises after each bite. Your face is now permanently pink, with each of her cooing words turning you into a little mess beneath her. You’re connected at her hip once again, legs tangled around each other under your gingham tablecloth. You’re so very lucky that you never receive any visitors, for you deign to think of anyone’s reaction to your little displays of minute affection.

“I was hoping I might stay with you here. I always find it more helpful to fully integrate myself into the lives of someone I’m helping.” She hums once you’ve finished all of your food, and she can move onto her own. You lean against her shoulder once more, eyes closed, yet you’re completely awake. Her sentence is entirely shocking, yet you’re completely excited by it, and couldn’t possibly accept her request quicker.

“Yes, of course!” You hear the over-enthusiasm in your voice, and hope you haven’t come off too strongly. You sit up to meet her gaze, blushing just from the way she looks at you so sweetly. “I only have the one bedroom, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I can wash the sheets, and you can sleep there! I spend most of my time on the sofa anyway, I’m happy to sleep there.” You nod cheerfully, hoping with all of your heart that she’ll not be too deterred by your excitement.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiles, lifting her hand to gently pet your hair, her fingernails grazing your scalp in a way that sends a tingle down your spine. “I’ll take your bed, but only if you’re in it as well. If that’s alright with you, of course. I just want to keep an eye on you.” She winks, and it’s that moment that you feel your soul leave your body. You choke on your own saliva, coughing a few times. You’ve been sitting so close to Lorraine today, that you shouldn’t feel so strange about sharing your bed with her, yet it brings a worried feeling to the pit of your stomach. When you explore that feeling more, you’ll find that it’s really excitement, and a desperation to sleep next to another body that you’d never knew you had.

“That’s fine by me…” You stutter, trying to hide the eager smile that’s threatening your lips. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, your hands finding their way to some fabric, not knowing if it’s the tablecloth or your shirt or maybe Lorraine’s skirt. Whatever it is, you grip it tightly, trying to force all of your delight on an object rather than voice it. “It’ll be good to share each other’s’ body heat… it gets so cold at night even without the snow…” Your voice is trembling a little, betraying how fast your heart is racing.

You’re ready for the sun to go down now.

But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and Lorraine fills it with questions about your family history, about your experience with this malevolent being, and just about your daily life. She wonders what it is that you do for fun in such a small town, and you feel shy to admit that you rarely leave the house except to go to church. That leads her to talk about her own religion, and it’s so mystifying to hear her speak about her passion for Christ. She speaks in such a profound way, like she’s spent time as a pastor, though you’d never once met a female pastor. Lorraine is certainly a better speaker than all the old men that lead prayer at church and quote the same bible verses into monotony.

She proudly shows you the rosary around her neck, explaining the story behind it with the most adorable sparkle in her eyes. When you take the metal in your hands, wanting to share in her passion, it burns. Burns like you’ve just pressed your hand flat into the cooktop of an oven. You recoil in pain, but when Lorraine attends to your palm, there’s no sign of a burn.

“It… It stings.” You whine, looking down at your hand in disbelief. You’ve never felt such pain, and the fact that it’s not left a visible mark is messing with your head so much that your eyes begin to well with tears.

“I know it does, sweetheart. I know.” Lorraine hums, holding you tightly, lifting a thumb to wipe at your tears. “Ointment won’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s the spirit reacting through nerve induction. It will go away soon. I promise.” The demonologist quickly stuffs the rosary down the neck of her blouse, wanting to hide everything that causes you pain. Lorraine hates to see you in such a state, and though you don’t comprehend anything about this spirit, her brain is working overtime to plot a strategy to rid you of this beast.

You sit together for another half hour, Lorraine consoling the pain that has long since disappeared thanks to her sweet whispers and distracting stories. You nearly fall asleep on the sofa once again, and she can see it, so without having to ask, she takes you up the stairs and to your bedroom.

“I’ll just go down the hall to get myself ready for bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.” She hums, pressing an innocent kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. Watching her walk away from you shatters your heart into a million pieces, but you know she’ll come back through the doors quickly. You trust Lorraine’s promise.

I need to change before she gets back, you think, but your body simply won’t allow you to move.   You’re stuck to this bed, to this soft mattress that you once so adored, but now only fear for the horrible dreams it brings upon you.

You sit in this fear, for how long you’re not certain, before Lorraine returns. Her hair is combed through yet still has that lovely, silky wave to it, and she’s dressed in the prettiest white nightgown. She looks like an angel, in shiny white linen. She’s just missing the wings and halo. You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, seeing her in this state, a state which she’d probably only ever been seen in by her husband. You feel so scandalous, like you should avert your gaze, like God is going to find you sinful for looking at her like this, but your eyes are locked onto this heavenly body in front of you, and you can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I—” You begin, hands gripping at your shirt, trying to indicate to her that you’re upset with yourself for not getting dressed in her absence.

Lorraine only tuts at you, placing down her bag before rounding to your side of the bed. She helps you stand, and begins through your closet, looking for a nightgown for you to wear. Much to her chagrin, however, all she can find is dirty jeans and some oversized t-shirts, which makes her feel pity towards you, but also causes a small giggle to escape her lips because she finds the clothing choices so adorably fitting for a young farm girl. She settles on the least stained of all of your shirts before returning to your side.

“May I?” Her voice is low, knowing that you’re the only person in the world that needs to hear her. When you nod, she pulls your blouse over your head, and she develops a blush of her own to find that you’re not wearing anything beneath it. You try to hide, snaking your hands around your chest, a new warmth between your legs as you realize that Lorraine’s hands are wandering over your body, the pads of her fingers lightly prodding your exposed skin.

“You sweet thing. You just need someone to love you.” Your savior hums, delicately examining all of the bruises that cover your skin. You’re not even sure where they all came from, just that they developed fast. A few concern you more than the others: the ones shaped like fingers and teeth marks. They never hurt at night, but the fear that strikes you every morning when you reveal a new marking in the mirror is something that you never want to feel again.

Lorraine presses another small kiss to a bruise on your shoulder before helping you pull the sleep shirt over your head. She reluctantly, yet with the complete confidence that she’s carried herself with all along, pulls down your pants in one swift motion. You’re back in bed before you know it, Lorraine tucking you in tightly and making sure you’re perfectly comfortable before taking her own place beside you.

Your brain is rushing, not with the demonic thoughts that you’ve had all this time, but with so many feelings that you never knew existed before meeting Lorraine. You feel horribly antsy, like you have enough energy to run laps around the house. You miss the tiredness that had been affecting you earlier this morning, it was going to be quite difficult to sleep tonight.

“I’m so very glad you came to help me.” You whisper, voice shaky with nerves as you turn on your side to face the woman who’s already turned towards you. You can feel how close your bodies are, yet they aren’t touching, and your brain is working overtime to decide if you should close that space between you.

Luckily, Lorraine is making all of your decisions for you.

You feel the soft skin of her legs first, when they wrap around yours, holding them still. Her right arm is next, draping over the curve in your waist so gently, yet she has the firmest grip on you, like she won’t let you leave even if you tried. You’d never try.

“I…” You start again, shifting even closer to Lorraine, placing your hand on her chest so you can feel her heartbeat. You pray she can’t feel yours, for its beating is so quick it’s probably quite dangerous, and you’ve already worried her enough. “Since you’ve been here, my brain has been so… still. So quiet.” That’s not entirely true, as the angelic woman in front of you has only replaced all of your thoughts, but it’s close enough. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She whispers back, voice so low and gravelly with her own sleep, so that you have to lean even further forward to hear her, and your noses nearly touch. “I haven’t done my job just yet.”

You tense, suddenly filled with worry about what will happen when Lorraine eventually does what she’s come here to do. If your still-burning pain from merely touching a symbol of the Lord is any indication, you’re in for a wellspring of hurt when you wake up in the morning.

As for now, though, you’re completely safe, protected by your guardian angel, and you can sleep soundly for the first time in far too long. You fall asleep under Lorraine’s grasp far quicker than you’d like, as you’d really prefer to stay awake and really cherish the soft circles she’s rubbing into your flesh, but your eyelids fall shut on their own accord.

Lorraine, however, stays up a bit later, watching your face for any sign of nightmares, wandering hands exploring your curves as if looking for clues, soothing you into the deepest sleep of your life.  

Lorriane wakes groggily, yawning while rubbing at her eyes with balled-up fists. She notices first that it’s still not light outside, that she still has time to sleep. Though she won’t, because a panic rips through the woman when she registers your absence. She shoots straight up out of bed, body moving to wrap herself in one of your mother’s old house coats faster than her brain can function. It’s on sheer instinct that Lorraine wraps the rosary around her hand and stuffs her small Bible into her pocket.

She races through the creaky old home, feet freezing against the hardwood floors that whine with each of her frantic steps. Lorraine shouts your name and is only met by her own voice echoing back at her. She searches each room of your house, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She whips open cupboards and is even sure to peek into your attic, which you haven’t so much as thought about since inheriting the home.

A worry is settled across Lorraine’s face when she makes it into your kitchen, but her expression turns to true fear when she sees that the lock on your back door has come undone, and the door isn’t settled into its place in its frame. She searches for any pair of shoes she can find and settles for a pair of boots that barely fit her feet, but their steel toes will at least protect her from the elements. She’s shivering, and her eyes are watering so much that the tears turn cold against her cheeks. The demonologist places a hand over her chest, gripping onto her rosary for a moment, bracing herself for the cold, before she slings the door open and steps out into the night.

The snowfall has picked up tenfold, and there’s now a little under a foot of snow packed onto the ground. Lorraine pulls the small cotton coat around herself tightly, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she blinks back tears, searching for any sign of life. When she looks down, there’s an obvious set of footprints: kicked-back snow heading in the direction of the old, forgotten barn.

Lorraine follows your shoeless prints, still screaming your name into the void of night, her voice strained and muffled in the silence that surrounds her. There isn’t even the typical wee-hour birdsong that too frequently keeps you awake. No cars on the road make their habitual noise, no cows bellowing from across the street. Only the exhausted screams of a woman so frightened for your survival.

When she arrives to the barn, finding safety from the wind in its high walls, feeling so close to dropping to her knees and praying that she had never fallen asleep in the first place, Lorraine spots you. A frail, half-naked body illuminated by one flickering, dangling light that allow the older woman’s eyes little vantage.

She’s filled with relief that she’s found you, but that relief only lasts less than a second before she’s filled with dread. Dread that something is horribly wrong. Dread because you’re dripping with a slick, dark, shimmering liquid.

Lorraine falls to her knees beside you, taking your near-lifeless face in her hands.

“What have you done to her?” She yells, voice harsh and gravelly. She’s speaking to your demon, to the thing that has taken control of your legs and marched you out to this barn, that has treated you like such an animal.

You’re barely conscious, losing the internal battle to keep control of your own mind. All you can do is lean your pained body into Lorraine, trying to give her some sort of message that you’re still there, that you’re still swimming in your own mind, trying to breach the surface.

The clairvoyant asses your injuries, wiping the tears at your eyes and her own. Thankfully, the only damage is done to your back, the lashes across your spine that fuel Lorraine with so much hatred. When your shaking hands lift the riding crop to lay even more agony against your tender flesh, Lorraine wrestles it out of your tight grip and throws it aside, far out of your reach.

“We have to do this now.” Lorraine’s voice is significantly kinder, her hands holding your head close to her chest. She sits in her own fear for a moment, building a strategy to get this thing out of you once and for all. She whispers a prayer, and the words hurt your head, fill your brain with a terrible, searing scream, but there’s simply nothing you can do to stop it. Your livelihood now rests at Lorraine Warren’s feet.

Lorraine stands, guides you upwards. She’s shellshocked by the fact that she’s about to take on a task that she had never solely performed before, and it’s caused her knees to walk unsteadily. She takes the housecoat off and guides it over your shoulders, face twinging as she lays it against the open wounds of your back, but she’d rather you feel pain for a small moment than have your delicate skin come into contact with the weather. The woman ties the coat tight before picking you up, carrying you back through the strong winds, shoes clumping down on the piling snow.

When she replaces the darkness of the sky with the darkness of your home, Lorraine places you down on the sofa where she had once sat with you. You sit in a crumpled state, arms limp, though they fight to wrap around your body, subconsciously seeking heat. You’re impossibly cold, and the longer your toes sit with minimal blood flow, the angrier your beast grows. Your shivering only grows worse when Lorraine throws open the French windows behind you, allowing the snow to come in through the screens and settle in your hair.

“I know it hurts.” She whispers, trying to find some sort of life behind your glassy eyes. Lorraine has forced herself into seriousness, closed her tear ducts and is carrying herself professionally. She knows that treating this with any level of emotional attachment could be suicide for the exorcism, and though the near love that she’s developed for you still lingers at the back of her brain, she has to silence it, she has to save your life before she can worry about you anymore.

Sniffing back the wetness that’s come from the cold air beating against her face, Lorraine finds the Bible still sitting in the pocket of the coat draped over your shoulders. She holds her left hand against your forehead, and the cross casts a warmth against your face that you lean back to fight against, though you’re not sure if it’s of your own action or that of something else.

Lorraine begins reciting a prayer in Latin, that you’d surely be swooning over had you been at all conscious. You’ve nearly lost your battle, your body completely limp against the pillows, as though you’ve lost all muscle mass in less than a minute. You’ve lost all awareness of the situation and now exist only in your own mind, trying your damnedest to regain control.

Each word Lorraine yells with a cracking voice causes a new pain to emerge somewhere within your body, and the pain consumes you so much that you fall over, landing in a fetal position against the cushions of the sofa. Lorraine’s hands want to reach out to soothe you, to press their warmth into your blue skin, to replace your pain with her loving touch, but she restrains herself. She knows that you must feel this pain, that it will drive the presence out of your body and back to the Hell that it emerged from.

“I need you to fight it.” Lorraine interrupts her own prayer to press her forehead against your own, fingers gripping your jaw like her life depends on it. “Don’t give in, don’t let it take you.” She calls, holding the weight of your head in her hands, feeling how much authority you’ve lost over your own body. “Please, fight. For me.”

You’ve already done your fighting. Though you’ve been so horribly affected by this presence in your home, disrupting your livelihood, your sleep, your will to live, there’s not really been anything impacting your will to live at all in years past. You’ve simply been existing in this plane, doing your chores and going to church, following your routines for no reason other than it’s what you’ve always done. Your routines that are so set in stone that it took a demonic presence to shake them up. But you’ve had no one to share your routine with, no one to cook for, no one to compliment how beautifully your flowers have grown. You’ve had no one to fight for.

Your life is not one worth fighting for.

Lorraine Warren, however, feels the opposite. The way she’s holding you so tightly, on her knees in front of you, begging you to stay alive… though you can’t see it, aren’t cognizant enough to hear her begging, you can feel it. There’s a warmth against your chest that’s keeping your heart beating, and a light behind your eyes that’s pushing you to keep going.

So you do. You do as Lorraine asks, and the last little bit of willpower you have musters up into your fingers, and you grab onto Lorraine’s shoulders with an anemic grasp, trying to pull her closer. You force your eyes open, though it’s so very painful due to the rosary still swinging in view, and look up at Lorraine’s worried features. More than anything, you’re filled with hatred that you’re the one to cause her this anguish, that she shouldn’t be so concerned over a life as meaningless as your own.

It's the most beautiful smile you’re met with that causes the final push, that forces your beast out of your mind and into the wind that’s still blowing melting snowflakes onto your already freezing body. A sudden relief fills your body, the power over your own actions that brings back the feeling in your muscles. You sit up, blinking slowly, reliving the past few minutes over and over as you regain a full level of awareness that you’d been left without for the past months.

Lorraine allows you your time to rejoin the living world, slamming shut the windows behind you and throwing several blankets over your freezing body. She drops back to her knees to assess you once more, seeing the color back in your eyes and the warmth rising back to your cheeks. She had seen you in such a terrifying, corpse-like state that she’d surely soon have nightmares about, so the fact that your eyes were finally locking onto her own was an answered prayer.

You eagerly wrapped both arms around the woman’s neck, holding her as close as you can, thanking her over and over again, until the stinging on your back takes the brunt of your attention.

“Don’t thank me. It was all your own work.” She hums, trying to find anywhere she can hold you without wrapping her arms around your back. Lorraine then stands, settling on petting your hair, looking around for any other sources of heat that she may impress upon you. “Do you have any fire woo—”

She’s cut off by the swift action of your standing up, an action that she would surely advise against had she had the option to. But her lips are unable to protest, because they’re met by your own. You’re shocked by your own straightforwardness, and though the fear that she’ll run away and call you a freak is very prominent in your mind, you feel so swept up in thankfulness to this woman, so swept up in love, that the only thing you feel like doing is kissing her.

You internally thank God that she’s not pushed you off, and instead, once the initial shock wears off, Lorraine’s hands are gripping your cheeks and are tugging you forward into her. Though you’re near hypothermic, the warmth that radiates through you when you wrap your arms around Lorraine Warren’s waist is something truly heavenly. You can feel the ice melting away from your fingers and toes, even though you still stand within a house that’s currently running below freezing.

You try to stay attached to Lorraine’s lips for as long as you can, as long as she’ll allow, and as desperately as you both are to stay in this state, Lorraine’s overall concern for your health reigns supreme, and she pulls away to once again ask her question. You giggle softly, hiding your face against her chest, hoping she hasn’t seen how overjoyed your smile is. Though if you were to pick up your head, you’d see that she dons a similar expression.

You direct Lorraine to a closet, and she returns to build a fire. She sits you down right in front of it, and for the first time in far too many days, you feel warmth against your face. You’re not too sure just which direction that warmth is coming from, whether it’s from the fire or the woman sitting next to you, carefully washing the horrible scratches along your spine, but you feel a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all of your years of living. A warmth you never want to go away.

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Bonus Track #2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader 

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (18+)

AN: Did I say two parts? I meant three lol. (It got too long, I’m sorry.) 

Word Count: 4,300 Tags/Warnings: Angst, supernatural shenanigans, death…

Bonus Track #2: One Last Hunt

“Okay, try not to panic,” Sam said. Dean had him on the phone while he sped through town in the Impala. 

“I’m coming now, but I won’t get there for a few hours,” Sam said. “My flight leaves in 20 minutes.”

“Thanks, man, but I can’t afford to wait,” Dean said. “She fucking disappeared. I don’t see her anywhere…I’m gonna have to start at her job. That’s where she first took off from.”

“How did she seem this morning?”

“Fine, I guess. I left before she woke up,” Dean said. He still felt guilty about the fact that he didn’t bother waking you up to say goodbye. 

“Okay, yeah, start at the museum,” Sam said. “Let me know what you find, and I’d loop in Bobby. Probably Jack too.”

“Bobby’s meeting me there…but we don’t need to bring in Jack yet.”

“Dean, he’s her dad—”

“This isn’t his thing. It’s ours,” Dean said firmly. “If it’s a demon, I’m gonna find her and exorcize that son of a bitch.”

Sure enough, Bobby met Dean at the museum where you worked. The old man was worried, Dean could tell, even if he wouldn’t say it. But he knew the drill: now they had a job to do.

“I’ll go in first, flash my badge,” Dean said. “Meet me in the library.”

“Roger that,” Bobby agreed. 

Dean had a decent rapport with your boss, Jerry. When he explained that you were actually missing, Jerry was concerned for your wellbeing instead of irate that you’d taken a very valuable book from the museum. 

It gave Dean a theory to lie about on the fly: that you’d been mugged and taken hostage, presumably by someone who might’ve wanted to steal the ancient text. 

“How ancient are we talking exactly?” Dean asked.

Jerry gave him a look. “Ancient Egypt.”

He showed you the inventory log on the new shipment you were supposed to compile into the system. The title missing from the rest was called The Eye of Ra. 

“All right. Thanks, Jerry,” Dean said. “Anything else you can tell me about this book?”

“It’s a recording of the great deeds of the Ancient Egyptian gods and goddesses,” Jerry explained. “It was said to be touched by Ra himself.”

Touched by Ra, Dean mused. Ain’t that just fucking swell. 

Whatever happened to you, Dean knew it was because you touched that book.

For the next few hours, Dean and Bobby worked together on deeper research in the library. Now that they had a starting point, Bobby was able to find some intel. 

“The Eye of Ra was actually a nickname,” he said, earning Dean’s attention. “For Sekhmet, their goddess of war.”

Dean’s brows furrowed at that. “Why’s it never the goddess of peace and fucking tranquility?”

“Among other things, she was the daughter of Ra,” Bobby said, raising a wry brow. “And she was known as the bringer of plagues and death…and sometimes healing. Go figure.”

Fucking hell, Dean thought sourly. This was getting worse by the minute. 

“Okay, what does this have to do with the book?” he asked. Though he had some idea.

“Well, she ain’t been alive in a millennium. But she had a husband. The god Ptah, a craftsman,” Bobby said. “According to this, when he was eventually killed, she sealed her soul away until she could find a way to rescue him from the underworld…I’ve gotta think she sealed it in that book.”

Dean sighed, rubbing the now aching spot between his brows. An ancient Egyptian goddess was most likely possessing his fiancé. 

And it was much worse than it sounded on paper.

“Okay, which means she’ll be looking for a way to bring back her husband,” he said. “So how do we find her?” 

Just then, the police radio buckled to Dean’s belt sounded off. When he listened closely, his eyes grew wide. It was a report of five murders committed at a nearby gas station. 

Dean pulled up to the local 7-Eleven. Bobby was on the way, but he’d been caught up in traffic while Dean was allowed to use his police siren to his advantage. 

He then used his badge clearance to get behind the yellow tape and over to Jack, who was still on duty. 

Dean stepped inside the gas station and surveyed the brutal scene: the nice old man who owned the place, plus four patrons were lying dead. 

Their skin was covered with boils.

Jack wore a disconcerted frown along with his crossed arms in his police jacket. 

“It’s almost…biblical,” he remarked. 

Dean knew just how right he was. Jack seemed to know that too when he glanced over.

“Is this your kind of thing?” he asked. 

Dean nodded. “I might know what’s going on here. Let’s check the security footage…but no one else can see it but you and me.”

Jack nodded, leading Dean to the back of the store. Jack was shocked by what he found in the footage. Dean watched grimly, but not surprised as you came into the frame. You tilted your head at the owner, who seemed to ask you something. 

You raised a hand, and with a flare of magic, everyone in the station was cowering and screaming as a plague of boils covered their bodies, and eventually ended their lives. 

“Christ,” Jack gasped. “What the hell—”

“It’s not her,” Dean told him. “She’s being possessed. I’ll handle this, Jack. Just make sure this footage gets buried, along with whatever prints she might’ve left behind.”

Jack barely had time to agree. As if that kind of thing was so easy. He called after Dean as he took off out of the station. 

Dean didn’t see Bobby yet when he got outside, but he didn’t have time to wait. 

However, he did spot someone familiar hanging out in front of the department store across the street. Dean jogged across and raised a hand to flag down Jessie Deluca. 

The kid was gnawing on what looked like a melting Butterfinger. He groaned in annoyance when he saw Dean coming.

“Not you again,” he muttered.

“Yeah, me again,” Dean said. “You been standing out here long?”

“Look, grandpa. I’m just chillin’ here,” the kid sassed. It sparked Dean’s irritation, as well as his impatience.

“I don’t give two shits if you’re contemplating the great Butterfinger Heist of 2008, all right?” Dean pointed back to the gas station. “You see that?”

Jessie’s expression faded from some of its assholeness, becoming more solemn. “Yeah, I heard someone died or something.”

“That’s right,” Dean nodded. “Did you see anyone walk out of the station?”

“No,” Jessie said. But Dean could tell it was a reflex, not the truth. 

“Listen, Jessie. I need your help,” he said, more earnestly. “I’m trying to find someone. So if you know anything, I need you to tell me right now. Please.” 

Dean stared down in the kid’s brown eyes. Eventually, Jessie relented. 

“When I came out of the store here, I saw some business lady walk out. I think, after it had all just gone down,” Jessie confessed. “She looked fine.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “Okay. What’d she look like?”

“Uh…black skirt. Great legs,” Jessie said, his lips curving a little. Dean raised a brow. 

“Anything else?” he asked wryly. 

“White blouse, heels…actually, she kinda looked familiar,” Jessie added as he thought harder about it. 

“Good. Now tell me what direction she went in,” Dean said. Jessie nodded and pointed him down the street. 

“I think she went down there. I saw her turn the corner.”

“Where? What street?” 

“Dude, I don’t know!”

“Then show me,” Dean insisted. He grabbed Jessie by the shoulder and guided him forward. The kid looked annoyed, but he begrudgingly agreed to lead him down the street. The two of them walked brusquely, with Jessie trying to match Dean’s longer strides. 

Dean glanced over at his companion, who was still working on his Butterfinger. 

“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t covered in chocolate?” he asked. Jessie didn’t look at him when he shrugged. His winter jacket hung off his skinny shoulders, making him look ten rather than thirteen. Dean’s heart twinged.

“Listen, next time you’re itching to knock over a department store for KitKats, come by the station,” Dean said. “Find me or my partner Jody Mills. Or even my boss, Jack. We’ll get you a burger or something.”

Jessie briefly looked up at him, but all too soon, his gaze returned to the ground. 

“What do you care?” he said. 

“Maybe I know something about having to fend for yourself,” said Dean. “Sometimes going hungry, not knowing when somebody’s gonna come back for you.”

Jessie’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer, but Dean hoped he’d gotten through to him.

Jessie led him around the corner at the street he thought he saw you turn down. He and Dean didn’t have to walk too much farther before he found you through the window of a bakery, of all things. 

“What the hell?” Dean muttered.

He pulled Jessie to the wall by the window for safety, but both of them snuck a peek inside. 

You were once again wielding magic to spread a plague of boils across an entire room of screaming, agonized patrons just trying to get their donuts and cream pies. 

Jessie started to utter a cry of alarm, but Dean quickly covered the kid’s mouth with his hand and pulled him back to his side. Dean waited, stock still, until the screaming inside the bakery subsided.

He looked down at Jessie and raised a finger to his lips. Though he was scared, Jessie nodded. Dean led him around the corner into an alley beside the bakery.  

“What…the fuck was that?” Jessie hissed. 

“Keep your voice down,” Dean warned. 

Then suddenly, it donned on the kid as he looked up at Dean. “Oh, shit. That’s your freakin’ girlfriend.”

Dean let out a sharp sigh. “It’s not her…exactly.”

He knew Jessie didn’t understand. Dean sighed again and grasped Jessie’s shoulders. 

“Look, you’re right to be scared. There’s something evil in there…that’s why I’ve gotta save her,” he said. “Now you, you’re gonna run. And don’t look back until you’re home, got it?”

After a moment, Jessie nodded shakily. Dean nodded back, patting him firmly on his shoulders. 

“Good man,” he said. “Okay, scram.”

Jessie seemed reluctant, like he felt some type of way about leaving Dean behind. But at Dean’s encouraging look, Jessie took off running. Dean hoped he headed straight home.

Then, rolling his shoulders, Dean braced himself. He drew his gun, which was filled with silver bullets. He didn’t think it would work on an Egyptian goddess, nor did he want to pull a gun on you. But for the threat of it alone, he would have to draw it with the safety on. 

He entered the bakery, where you were perusing the selections with a dispassionate look. All around you was death. 

But you perked up when Dean entered, eyeing him curiously in recognition. 

“Feelin’ a snack?” he asked. 

“I have been asleep for a very long time,” you replied, holding up a pastry. “What is this confection?”

“Cherry Danish,” Dean supplied. “You’re Sekhmet, right?” 

Your lips twitched. “You know of me?”

“I do now,” he said, carefully stepping further into the bakery with his gun pointed down, avoiding stepping on the bodies. He noticed the book you left closed on the counter. The goddess saw him noticing. Her gaze cut to him in amusement.

“Why’d you kill these people?” Dean asked. “Didn’t bow down at the right angle?”

“Among all of my brothers and sisters, I alone was favored by my father,” she said, “because my job was to balance the world, between life and the afterlife.”

Sekhmet brushed her fingers against a glass case, and with a small spark of magic, the glass cracked into thousands of fractals, but didn’t shatter. 

“And I did exceedingly well at this,” she said. “Though I see that my work has been undone. This world is rife with imbalance.”

“Mass genocide. Nice,” Dean quipped. “But that’s not all you want, is it?”

Sekhmet’s head tilted at him with reluctant interest. 

“I heard you’re looking for your husband, who went an offed himself,” he added. 

The goddess’s lips pursed and she slapped a hand on the glass counter, making it shatter. Dean turned and shielded his eyes with his arm. By the time he recovered, Sekhmet was coming around the counter. He took a few cautious steps in the opposite direction.

“My husband was unjustly slain by the very people who once worshipped us in droves,” she said, her tone exacting and harsh. Her eyes, however, were heavy with fury and pain. 

“He was an artist. A creator in purest form…his talents were wasted on this abomination of a world,” she said, with disgust at her surroundings. But as soon as her anger came, it diffused into exasperation. 

She picked up a glazed donut and took a bite, crossing her arms. She hummed in delight, making Dean’s brows raise. 

“Well, I can help you find him,” Dean said. It was a bluff, to be sure, but it still earned Sekhmet’s attention.

“Can you?” she asked in amusement. She didn’t believe him. Yet. But she drew closer to Dean, tilting her head just so. All the while, Dean inched towards the far end of the counter where The Eye of Ra had fallen to the ground. 

“And after, you let my girl go,” he said.

“You know of a way to reach the Underworld?” Sekhmet’s gaze roamed over him in disdain. “Unlikely.”

“Well, I’d call it a gate to Hell. But same difference, right?” Dean quipped.

The second he tried to reach down for the book, however, Sekhmet pinned him in place with a vibrant amber coil of magic. Dean grunted as she forced him to the ground, onto his knees between the bodies of a young man and woman, likely a couple. 

The goddess stopped in front of him, looking down at his face with interest. 

“Dean Winchester, as you are called. I understand why you continue to display such reckless judgment, all but throwing your very life at my feet,” she said. Her lips curved knowingly. “I hold your lover, correct?”

She harshly grabbed his cheek in her hand, and Dean glared in response. She seemed to ponder something as she considered him.

“Soon to be your wife,” she realized.

And Dean had a feeling she was in your head, sorting through your thoughts and memories like any demon would. He didn’t know what was worse: the thought of you being awake in there, unable to fight this bitch’s hold, or if Sekhmet had completely taken over your body and shut you away. 

“Just let her go,” Dean said, almost pleading. “You can have me. I won’t even fight you.”

“Such self-sacrifice,” she said. “The only noble act humans are capable of.”

Before she could decide whether to kill him, or keep him for further amusement, the front door of the bakery swung open.

Bobby came in first, followed closely by Sam and Eileen. 

Bobby was holding a damn crossbow, which he aimed and shot off at Sekhmet. It was a warning shot, just grazing her shoulder. But it burned her with a sting of flesh that made her hiss in pain. She glared up at Bobby, and after grabbing the book before Sam could, she disappeared in a whirlwind of magic.

The coil holding Dean in place shattered, allowing Dean to catch his break and get to his feet, with Sam’s help. Dean had to admit, it was good to see his brother. 

“You okay?” Sam asked. Dean reached over and pat the other man’s shoulder. 

“I’m good,” he said, though with a sigh that belied his weariness. “Hey, Eileen. Thanks for making it to the party.”

The pretty brunette offered him a sympathetic smile, rubbing his arm. “We came as soon as we could.”  

Dean nodded and turned to Bobby, who still held his crossbow. He wasn’t happy about the old man shooting at you, but he recognized that it had saved his life.

“Why’d that thing hurt her?” he asked. 

“The arrow’s dipped in a potent mix of salt from the Dead Sea…and Egyptian wine, among other things,” Bobby replied. 

Dean frowned in confusion. “Why the fuck?”

“According to the lore, Sekhmet could be subdued with alcohol,” Sam explained. 

“Great, we’ll just get her drunk and all our problems will be solved,” Dean quipped dryly. He grabbed the radio from his belt. His gaze returned to the dead bodies on the floor with dismay. 

“I’ve gotta call this in. Bobby, get the security tapes.”

After Dean finished calling in the deaths to his precinct, he shared a disheartened look with Sam, who grasped his shoulder in support.

“We’re gonna find her, all right?”

They regrouped at Bobby’s house once Jack took over at the bakery. Now the three men and Eileen were congregated in the living room, trying to decide on their next move. 

“You told her about the Hell gate?!” Sam said incredulously. 

“Damn it, Dean!” Bobby slapped the coffee table in exasperation. 

“All right, lay off! I was improvising under fucking duress,” Dean snapped. “At least we know where she’ll probably go next, assuming she finds out where the gate is.”

“She’s a goddess, Dean. One of the oldest and most powerful in ancient history. I’m sure she can figure it out,” Sam said, rubbing at his tired eyes.

And, as Dean remembered, Sekhmet was rooting around in your head. She’d find the gate for sure.

Eileen looked between the brothers, clearly worried. Sam had told her about what you, him, and Dean had gone through to close that damn gate to Hell last year. 

“So how do we stop her?” Dean asked. Without hurting you, was implicit. Bobby heaved a sigh.

“We gotta burn that damn book,” Bobby said. “But we’ll need to be smart about it.”

So that was how the four of them ended up driving to southern Wyoming. They stopped along the crossroads by the train tracks, and ventured in on foot into the very clearing where their final battle against Yellow Eyes took place.

Dean thought he’d be able to put his past behind him, but the universe clearly liked to kick him in the balls.

Evidence of this came when he saw you standing at Samuel Colt’s gravestone. Or rather, the goddess Sekhmet. 

She was expending large forces of magic to try and open up the gate to Hell. The book that bound her soul lied on top of a nearby headstone.

Dean gestured for Sam, Eileen, and Bobby to hang back and fan out, while he stalked forward. He’d changed out of his police uniform in favor of his familiar jeans, shirt, and a red plaid shirt, hoping that at least would help you focus on him, wherever you were deep inside your mind. 

But he called out to Sekhmet from a (relatively) safe distance away. 

“Are you stupid or something?” he mocked. 

Sekhmet paused in her magic wielding. She craned her head over her shoulder at him in annoyance, with amber rings illuminating her eyes. 

“There’s only one thing that can open up that gate, and I’ve got it right here,” said Dean. 

He pulled out the Colt from behind his back. 

Sekhmet’s gaze narrowed on the gun, then at Dean with a slow smirk.

“Why, by the gods, should I trust your foolishness?” she asked. 

“Because we’re about to make a trade,” Dean said. “The gun for my girl. You let her go, or you’ll never see your husband again. In this world, or the next.”

Dean pointed the gun at her and cocked the safety back. She didn’t have to know the barrel was empty. 

“You cannot harm me, even if there was ammunition in that weapon,” Sekhmet replied knowingly. 

She turned to him and reached out with a magic-fueled hand, but before she could grab Dean, Sam shot his own gun. 

It deployed a net of rope that twined around her frame and held her in place. It was soaked with the same concoction Bobby shot her with in the bakery, and it made her fume with outrage.

It didn’t completely weaken her though. Her hands were still free to fling Sam and Bobby away from her with magic. 

She then turned to grip Eileen, who was nearly able to steal the book. And the goddess sent Eileen across the clearing, breaking a headstone as she fell. 

Sam had been trying to pick himself up from the ground, but he gripped at his chest, feeling his soulmate’s pain. He scrambled over to her prone form on the ground and checked the cut along her hairline. 

“Eileen,” Sam called, pressing his hand to her cheek. He had one eye on her, and another on his brother. 

Because meanwhile, Sekhmet had broken free of the ropes holding her captive with a cry of fury. 

Just in time to grab Dean by the throat when he tried to surprise her from behind. She forced him down to his knees and smirked in satisfaction as Dean struggled against her hold.

He called your name, trying to reach you through the goddess’s hold on your mind.

“She is gone from this world,” Sekhmet taunted. “This is but a vessel for my eternal soul.”

“I don’t fucking believe that,” Dean choked. “If she was gone, I’d know it. Deep in my bones I’d know it.”

Her mouth twitched, but she seemed to enjoy the idea of slowly choking him to death. Or maybe, something was holding her back. Dean could only hope it was you, trying to break through. 

He looked into your eyes and tried to find you through the cold disdain of a goddess.

“Whatever happens, I’m not letting go,” he gritted out. He held tight to your wrist, on the hand wrapped around his throat. 

“I love you, you know that?” he said. “From the start…you closed the door in my face when I tried to kiss you. Teased me. Never took my shit. But you never left me either. No matter how hard it fucking got, you kept my feet on the ground. You never called it quits…‘cause we never say goodbye. Right, baby?”

Slowly, slowly, Sekhmet’s hard exterior faded. The amber rings of magic receded from your eyes, and the woman he loved was there again, softening your face into shock and horror. 

You released your grip on Dean. He stumbled to the ground as he coughed and gasped for precious oxygen. 

He straightened enough to grab your hand. You reached out for him instinctively. 

“Dean,” you said with shaking effort.

“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he said. He turned back to see his brother helping Eileen to her feet. “Sam, the damn book!” 

Sam snapped to attention and quickly looked for The Eye of Ra. It had been knocked over from the headstone onto the ground. He grabbed it and fished out a lighter from his pocket.

Dean’s attention turned back to you when you squeezed his hands.

“I can’t hold her for long,” you said tremulously. Your whole body was shaking. “She’s so damn strong…”

“It’s okay, we’re gonna fix this,” Dean said, brushing your hair back from your face. 

You closed your eyes and gasped. But when you opened them once again, they were hard, and glowing with magic. 

Sekhmet tossed Sam away from the headstone. 

Dean tried to hold her back, but she backhanded him hard. Sekhmet followed where he fell. She reached out and gripped him by the neck again, this time choking him with a vengeance. 

But then she gasped, as if in pain. She turned her head and found Sam with the book in one hand, and a lit match in the other. As the book started to burn, Sekhmet weakened. 

Dean caught her before your body could hit the ground. 

Sekhmet released a shaking breath; she gazed into the dimming sky, painted in its golden, amber hues, and knew that her soul was dying. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. 

Dean almost felt sorry for her. Or maybe it was the sight of your pained, weeping face that tugged at his heartstrings.

“You’ll just have to join your husband this time,” he said.

Sekhmet’s lips trembled, but she nodded. “This world was never made for us…but we shall soon be together for all eternity.”

She looked up at him with a rueful smile. 

“You understand,” she said. “A soul bond can never be destroyed.”

And with that, the haze of magic drained from your eyes as your body went limp. 

Dean’s brows furrowed with worry as he called your name. Behind him, Sam helped Eileen draw near with a limping Bobby. All three watched with worry at Dean’s side…until your eyes opened, revealing their natural hue. 

You took in a tremulous breath. “Dean.”

His eyes burned with emotion, but he closed them as he held you tight. All he could do was press his lips against your forehead in relief. 

You clung to him right back, for as long as you needed to. 

AN: Fun fact — According to Egyptian mythology, the only thing that could stop the goddess Sekhmet from ending humanity with bloodshed was by getting her drunk on beer, which had been dyed red to simulate blood (which she also liked to drink, apparently). 

Egyptians (the survivors) would drink beer mixed with pomegranate juice and get drunk to celebrate not being killed dead. (Woo!)

Anyway, let me know if you enjoyed Part 2! All the fluff is coming in the finale of Part 3, very soon…

Next Time:

Dean brings you home. The two of you figure out how to move on from here...

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[sam-is-my-safe-word]

Demon Dreams

Demon!Dean Winchester x Jensen Ackles

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Non- AU, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Season/Series 10, Character Bleed, Jensen Is Not Okay, Jared is Jared, Jared Is Worried About Jensen, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Is An Asshole, Emotional Manipulation, Identity Crisis, Possession, Sort of? - Freeform, Wet Dreams, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Strangulation, Exorcisms, Sexorcism If You Will,

Word Count: 3,201

Summary: Jensen is no stranger to character bleed. But it's not meant to take over your life like this, right?

Notes:

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "you fed my demons" "you created mine" square.

Okay, this is the most fictional thing I've ever written lol. This is an utterly fictional Jensen set in an AU with no wives or children. I am not implying for one single second that anything in this fic actually occured. Nor am I implying Jensen is gay or bisexual. Please don't sue me lol. Also, first time writing RPF/RPS. Still feel some kinda way about it. Be gentle with me (even though I am not gentle with you, my dear readers)

Endless thanks to my beta @runawaydr3amerao3 for all her help in making this so much better than I could have & for her comma wrangling <3 Endless thanks also to @talltalesandbedtimestories for getting me involved in this whole bingo thing & cheering me on <3

Jensen is no stranger to character bleed. It’s happened before. Some characters are just too heavy. 

It’s happened with Dean a few times. Hard scenes that invade his dreams for days afterwards. Character arcs that refuse to leave when he sheds Dean to put Jensen back on and leave him snapping at everyone. 

This is different, though. This is like the character has taken on a life of its own in his head. 

Jensen is no stranger to sex dreams either. He’s a healthy guy in his mid-thirties with no long-term partner and a job that takes up almost all his life. 

Jerking off at 3am because he woke up hard from a dream of some faceless someone riding him like a mechanical bull, and his alarm is going to go off in just over an hour and he’d really like to sleep a little more and sleep won’t happen until he deals with his cock, is just another part of life. 

This is different as well. This isn’t a faceless stranger. He knows the person haunting his dreams. 

Intimately. 

Jensen has dreamed about Dean lots of times. He’s an old friend. 

This is not his Dean. 

~~~

Demon Dean was a challenge. He started out fun to play, a nice mix-up. A chance for extended scenes with Mark, to let out Dean’s inner asshole. A sex scene - awkward - and a fight scene - awesome. The black contacts weren’t fun but overall it was a good time. 

Up until filming the third episode, when he had to act against Jared again, and suddenly Demon Dean wasn’t fun anymore. Then it was hard. Then it was fighting against every acting instinct that came with ten years of Dean, ten years with Jared. 

Not Dean, Sam’s brother anymore; Demon Dean, Sam’s enemy. It was a hard headspace to get into. Chasing Jared around the bunker with a hammer was brutal. He couldn’t even truly lose himself in the character because he still had to direct everyone else. 

Then it was over. Just three episodes and he was free to lose the murder shirt and style his hair properly again. 

And he’s proud of his work. Especially ‘Soul Survivor’. It’s always a challenge to balance actor and director, but he’s thrilled with how it turned out. He made Demon Dean a true threat to Sam, and as long as he doesn’t examine that too closely, it’s okay. 

But it’s been a couple of weeks since they finished ‘Soul Survivor’, and Jensen is still waking up sweating after dreams about black eyes and the words ‘do it’ ringing in his ears. 

~~~

Look, Jensen is a perfectly sane guy. He has a great handle on his mental health, knows the signs of when he needs to reach out. Hell, after ten years of helping Jared, Jensen would say he probably knows more about mental health than most people who don’t actually suffer with mental health problems. 

So while he knows that his dreams of weapons, black eyes and the thrill of the chase are just character bleed, he also knows that he needs to be aware in case they develop into something serious. 

But nothing he knows tells him what to do when he starts to look forward to his dark dreams. 

Jared might be able to help, though. 

So a few days later, when he wakes up hard and aching after dreaming about Demon Dean fucking his throat raw - all while holding a knife to it - after he’s taken care of the problem, he texts Jared - once he’s washed his hands, of course. 

It’s still early, but Jared gets up hours before he needs to, to work out and walk his dogs and generally become a person. A far cry from Jensen, who falls out of bed after four snoozes of his alarm and downs coffee until his eyes open. 

Jensen: You up?

Jared: Yeah, lol. Why are YOU up?

Jensen: Can’t sleep. Can I ask you something? 

There’s a pause and Jensen thinks maybe Jared’s sitting down or something. No one asks to talk at 3:30am. He isn’t expecting the phone to ring in his hand. 

“‘Lo.” 

“You okay? Not like you to be up at this time, never mind asking if you can ask me something.” 

This is exactly what Jensen didn’t want. Now he has to try and explain himself with words instead of text. 

“I’m okay. Just�� Do you even dream about Sam?” 

Jared lets out a small laugh; Jensen can hear the relief. 

“All the time, man. All the fucking time. You don’t dream about Dean?” 

“Yeah, I do. I mean… like, weird dreams about Sam?” 

Jared hums. 

“I had a recurring dream that he kept showing up to my high school graduation and glaring at me. Like I was an asshole for finishing school, y’know.” 

Jared chuckles.

“Or when I’ve gone a little too hard on the candy and there’s Sam, staring at me from across a table with a pile of salad in front of him. Like, okay, dude. You’re a health nut, I’m not. That kind of weird?”

God help Jensen, Jared is going to make him spell it out. 

“Not exactly…” 

Jared must hear something in his voice because he starts to laugh, far too loudly for the time of day. 

“Ohhhh… that kind of weird. Jackles, you pervert, you.” 

This was a terrible idea, why did he even message Jared? He’ll never live this down now.

“No, not like- I mean, that kind of weird but not… Stop fucking laughing, Jared.” 

Jared has gone from laughing to belly laughing; Jensen can hear him fighting for breath. 

“I’m sorry...”

“You’re not.” 

“No, I’m not. This is too funny. Hollywood hot-shot Jensen Ackles all in knots at 3am because he had a wet dream-” 

“I fucking DID NOT!” 

He did, though, night after night. 

“Why are you blushing then?” 

“I’m no-” 

Damnit, he is. He can feel his cheeks heating up. 

“It wasn’t a wet fucking dream, Jared. I’m not thirteen, for chrissakes. It was just a weird dream and it kinda freaked me out.” 

“A weird sex dream, you mean.” 

“Yes.” 

Jared is still laughing but it’s starting to die down now. 

“Okay, calm down. Yes, I dream about Sam. Yes, sometimes they’re weird. Yes, sometimes they’re sex-dreams-weird. Hell, I dream about fucking Sam more than I dream about fucking anyone else.” 

Jared sounds perfectly at peace with this revelation, and if it was regular Dean that Jensen was dreaming about, he might get it. 

“I mean, it’s either dream about fucking Sam or dream about fucking you . I’ll take Sam any day.” 

Jared starts fake gagging and Jensen is over this entire conversation. 

“Okay, good talk. Thanks, Jared. I’ll see you in a little while. Let’s just forget this ever happened.” 

“Wait. You know I’m only messin’ with you. You can talk-” 

*Click*

Well, that was a waste of time. Jared sounded sincere at the end, but Jensen is too embarrassed to even try to talk now. Hopefully by the time he has to face Jared in the car, Jared will have found something else to talk about. 

~~~

Jared was smart enough not to bring up the early morning phone call, and after a brief hug and a nod, they were all good. 

Demon Dean, though? He’s dining out on the call, milking Jensen’s embarrassment for all it’s worth. 

It’s a special kind of humiliation when someone is three fingers deep in your ass and you’re moaning like a whore, and they bring up an awkward 3am call you had with your best friend a few days ago. 

“So you think this is weird, huh?” 

Jensen never doubted Dean’s swagger was well earned, but Demon Dean turns it up to eleven. Jensen hasn’t come this hard since he was a teen, and it’s part of the reason he looks forward to these damn dreams, even though they freak him the fuck out. 

“‘Cause you sure seem to like it.” 

Demon Dean twists his fingers and Jensen howls.  

“You like being here, at my mercy. You like when it hurts, when you’re scared. When I take it.” 

Jensen’s hips buck. God, he’s so close. 

“This is where you should be. That pretty face needs to be sucking cock or face down in the sheets.” 

Jensen isn’t eighteen anymore, he’s not new to the scene and insecure about himself. He knows he’s a good actor, a good director, a fucking professional. But something about Demon Dean cuts through all that and suddenly he’s a kid again, doubting everything. It makes him even harder. The pitch black eyes and the waves of menace rolling off Demon Dean make Jensen legitimately scared of him, even though he knows it’s just a dream. 

“Does it feel weird , Jensen?” 

Jensen can only moan in response. It’s so fucking good. 

“Answer me!” 

There’s the cold and heavy weight of a hammer pressing into his Adam's apple, and when Jensen opens his eyes, Demon Dean’s own ice black is all he can see. 

“N…no.” 

He’s rewarded for his answer by a hard thrust in and upwards. He’s right there, he can taste it. 

“N…no.” 

Demon Dean mocks him. 

“No, it doesn’t look like it, either. Looks like you’re having a blast. Cunt so tight around my fingers. Looks like you’re right where you should be.”

Jensen can’t breathe. 

“Say it. Say you feel right here, cunt stuffed full of me.” 

“I…”

“Say it, Jensen. Or I’ll stop.” 

“Fuck. Fuck… I feel right.” 

“That’s it. This is what you’re good for, isn't it? Just a pretty boy to get fucked.” 

“Ju-just a pretty boy to get fucked. Fucking… please!” 

Demon Dean smiles coldly. 

Jensen wakes with a groan, hips still thrusting into the mattress as he soaks the sheets.

More laundry. He should buy more sheet sets. 

~~~

Jared pulls Jensen aside a couple of weeks after the call. They’re out with some cast and crew from that week's episode, just relaxing, having some drinks and blowing off steam after a difficult shoot. 

Jensen really doesn’t want to be there, doesn’t want to be anywhere, really. But he couldn’t refuse, not without prompting more questions. So he paints on a smile, sticks to beer and tries to let the conversations happen around him without getting involved. 

Jared must notice his discomfort and grabs him on a trip to the bathroom. 

“You alright, dude?” 

Jensen sighs internally. He doesn’t want to do this. 

“I’m fine, just tired, y’know.” 

Jared cocks his head a little; looks at Jensen too closely. 

“You wanna get out of here? I’ll split an Uber with you?” 

God yes. But then it will be questions on Monday and he can’t with that. 

“No, I’m good. Besides, you’re having a good time. You don’t gotta leave on account of my old ass.” 

Another head tilt, Jared really can be a puppy at times. Normally, Jensen adores this caring side of his friend. But he’d give anything to have that focus aimed away from him right now. 

“Jen…” 

“I’m fine! Okay. I’m fucking tired, it’s been a long week. Let’s just… get another drink or something. Okay?” 

Jensen didn’t mean for Dean to come out of his mouth then. It happens, but not usually in temper like that. Jared holds his hands up in surrender and lets Jensen walk past him, back to their group. 

~~~

He’s on his knees, Demon Dean’s cock buried in his throat. It hurts, he can’t breathe, but it feels so good. 

“Fuck, that’s it. Choke on it. Gonna get that throat all fucked out.” 

Jensen moans and digs his fingers into Demon Dean’s hips. 

“Gotta help you find Dean’s voice somehow. Know you’ve been having trouble with that.” 

Demon Dean runs a hand through his hair as he says it and Jensen forgets to be offended.

“That’s it. That’s it. Pretty mouth on my cock. Just like it should be.”

~~~

Something isn’t right with Jensen. Everyone can see it. He’s just not present anymore. Not totally at least. He gives it his best on set, but he just can’t seem to find the right headspace anymore. Scenes that he would knock out in two takes, max., are taking six/seven/eight now. 

Jared is beside himself with worry. 

“Jensen, please. If you won’t talk to me, talk to someone, anyone. Please!”

“I’m fine, Jay.” 

Weary smile. Tired eyes. 

“Jensen. Is this about those dreams you were having?” 

“No! Of course not. Anyway, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Jen…” 

“Night, Jared.” 

~~~

“I should just keep you here, Jensen. In your mind with me, all the time. Think how good it would be, nothing to worry about. Just pleasing me.” 

“Please…” 

“So fuckin’ pretty. Made to be laid out on silk sheets and just fucked . Over and over and over. This is where you should be.” 

“Fuck…” 

“Too much pressure out there. Acting, directing, managing your life. Wouldn’t you rather stay here, just us?” 

“Yes. Fuck yes. With you.” 

~~~

It comes to a head during the filming of ‘The Executioner’s Song’. An absolutely pivotal moment for Dean, and Jensen just cannot get his head in the game. Everyone is frustrated, including Jensen. 

But as always, it’s Jared that breaks the spell in the end. 

“C’mon, dude. Get it together. I’m sick of redoing this scene.” 

It’s said with humour, but Jensen can hear the tension and frustration underneath. 

The words spill out of him, without thought.

“I think I’m gonna quit…” 

Jared just looks at him, slack-jawed. There’s silence for a minute. Thankfully they’re in a quiet corner of the set while the crew resets the equipment… again. 

“What?” 

It’s said so softly, Jensen almost doesn’t hear it. 

“I think… I’m not cut out for this. I should quit. This isn’t what I should be doing.”

Jensen says it calmly, as if he’s pondering what to have for lunch. But when he looks at Jared again, he’s floored by what he sees.

Jared is crying. His eyes are full of tears, one is tracing its way down his cheek. He’s clenching his jaw, but Jensen can see the wobble. Jensen is reminded of filming ‘All Hell Breaks Loose Part II’, wiping away the stray tear that fell as Dean mourned Sam. 

It’s like the fog lifts from Jensen’s eyes. He realises what he just said. 

“Jared…” 

He reaches out to touch his friend, but Jared turns and walks away without a word. 

Jensen just watches, unable to move, as Jared goes to the crew and tells them he needs to go home. The director tries to beg Jared to stay, saying they’re already so behind schedule - a glance in Jensen’s direction at that. Jared is unmoved, though. Jensen hears him say that even if ‘he’ - meaning Jensen again, of course - can get it together, they won’t get anything usable from him today, and he’ll be back on set bright and early tomorrow to get it done. 

Shame, hot and sick, fills Jensen. What has he done… 

Jared has already left by the time Jensen gets his things together. The car that usually drives them both to and from set is waiting for him, though. Jared had said he was going to make his own way home. No one wanted to argue. 

The ride home for Jensen is smothered in thick silence. Not even a goodbye is exchanged with the driver when they pull up outside Jensen’s apartment building. 

What has he done…

What has he let himself become? 

He spends the evening drinking bourbon from the bottle and stopping himself from calling Jared. Even with the early finish, it’s still late - by normal standards - and he’s tired from the day. The bourbon speeds the process along and it’s not long before his head is hitting the pillow. 

Jensen is well into the dream before he realises this is one. It’s almost like lucid dreaming, these nightly visits with Demon Dean. But he’s never tried to control them, just takes what Demon Dean gives to him. 

Tonight, though, tonight he sees through the veil. So to speak. 

Demon Dean is above him, watching him with those blank, black eyes and that cold smile, distorted by the grimace of effort he’s putting into fucking Jensen as hard as he can. He’s got two fingers buried in Jensen’s mouth at the same time and he’s spouting the usual shit, but this time, Jensen knows it’s shit. 

“God, wish I could fuck your mouth and cunt at the same time. Both so fucking tight and pretty.” 

He thrusts deeply and Jensen groans around the fingers before spitting them out in disgust. Demon Dean doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Fuckin’ perfect here, right where you’re meant to be, getting this tight hole fucked sloppy. Just what you’re good for.” 

Jensen snaps, or breaks free. He’s not sure. 

With a roar of anger, he bucks his hips upwards, uses the momentum to shove Demon Dean over onto his back. Jensen goes with him, ends up straddling his waist, feeling Demon Dean’s hard cock resting against his ass, no longer inside him. 

With the demon beneath him, Jensen raises a fist to punch him, break his nose, his cheekbone, his jaw, anything. But those depthless black eyes and that cold fucking smirk stop him. Demon Dean would welcome the violence. Jensen is not a violent man, not unless he has to be. 

He has to be here. Has to take back control in the only way Demon Dean understands. 

He wraps his hand around the throat beneath him, squeezes just a little. Just to test. 

“You fed my demons long enough. No more.” 

The laugh that comes from below him is a little strained, a little wheezy. Jensen brings his other hand up, wraps them both around Demon Dean's neck, thumbs crossing over the Adam's apple. 

“Fed your demons? Jensen, you created mine.” 

Jensen squeezes. Hard. Tight. His arms shake with the effort. The face beneath him goes red, then purple. But the body never fights to break free. The hips under him squirm and thrust. 

Tighter. 

Harder. 

Jensen is sure something is going to pop, unsure if it will be him. 

Right as his arms are about to go limp, unable to hold the tension anymore, he feels the cock behind him twitch, kick and then shoot hot over his ass. When he looks into the face under him, the eyes appear to roll back. 

But instead they just morph to green, the same green eyes he’s seen in the mirror every day of his life. 

His hands fall from his own throat and the body under him takes a deep breath. 

Not Demon Dean anymore, only Jensen. 

Jensen wakes with a shout, his hips churning into the sheets and mattress below him, cock still spurting cum into his boxers. 

He’s soaked in sweat and when he realises what woke him - strangling Demon Dean and watching him morph back into Jensen - he feels new cold sweat break out all over him. 

Is it over? Is he free from Demon Dean’s spell? 

He needs to call Jared… 

But first, where did he put those new sheets?

[maddestmewmew]

HI IF ANY FNAF FANS ARE READING THIS THE TAGS ARE HERE FOR BLOCKLIST NOT FOR. TRYING TO REACH FNAF FANS…THERES NO HATE UNDER THE CUT ITS JUST ME BEING REALLY FUCKING CONFUSED ABT FNAF LORE

ok now thats out of the way. JESUS CHRIST have i just entered a fucking. rabbit hole?? OH MY GOD??? i was a massive fnaf fan in my preteen years, as was everyone ever in the 2010s..ive dialed back my enjoyment of it, ill watch playthroughs of the mainline games and ive seen the movie but thats kind of it. this being relevent bc i watched an into the pit playthrough, and then saw some tweets about it. MOST of them i understood, until i hit a tweet talking abt some kid named andrew?? and how hes not an sci??? and i was like Hold On. maybe its been some years but i cant be THAT behind can i. i know all the important names..michael afton and cassidy and charlie and what have you..

so i look up the wiki for this kid andrew, and it leads me to a story about a ghost kid attatching himself to william aftons spirit and torturing him and shit. i was a bit confused bc like. isnt that cassidys thing? but Whatevs. also the stories seemed weirdly bizzare to me, like not in a hateful way but like. why is william afton getting an exorcism. anyway it brings up a couple (A LOT) of names i dont understand, but what my brain latches onto is this kid jake, who is described as forcing andrew to Stop torturing english willy, at the cost of Now Hes Stuck Possessing An Endoskeleton. okayyy this is fnaf to me. i didnt know this but its abt what i expect from five nights at freddys.

so i head to jakes wiki out of curiosty, and find out he is from, no joke, one of the most fucking depressing stories ive ever read? i dont mean in terms of fnaf, i mean, FUCKING EVER. JESUS. CHRIST.

its like. in the middle of a fazbear frights book. fazbear frights being these scary stories to tell in the dark type books where its collections of spoooky stories that will shape the minds of children everywhere, but like. fnaf themed.

this story is called “the real jake” and i Highly reccomend you read the wiki instead of hearing it from me like. fourth hand. like im retelling a retelling here. but if you want that ultra telephone sypnosis, here you go:

“the real jake” follows a nine year old boy who is bedridden. with cancer. his mother is dead and his father is overseas. jake is taken care of full time by a nanny, margie.

jake likes to talk with a boy in his cupboard, named simon, who is really his father over the phone, through a walkie talkie. at first, jake and “simon” talk about what jake has done that day, but jake cannot leave his bed, so jake gets frustrated that all his stories are so mundane and depression. so one day simons like, okay, tell me what the REAL jake has done. and its a little game of pretend, where jake tells these silly little stories about what the “real jake” did that day. one day, jakes friend tries to get him to sneak out to go to the arcade, and tries to get him there by dragging him in a wagon, but jake is too weak to make it to make it to the wagon and collapses and throws up, and he explains to margie he wanted to be the real jake for a day.

at some point jake and margie are playing chess, and jake gets super frustrated that he cant see straight. margie calms him down and jake tells her that he loves her, causing margie to break down, and then she Later Finds Out The Doctors Are Ceasing Treatment For Him, which makes margie realize she loves jake as a son.

AND THEN MARGIE GETS THE CALL THAT JAKES FATHER WAS FUCKING KILLED. and she has full custody of jake. she cant bring herself to tell him his father died, so she says simon wont be able to visit for a while.

AND THEN JAKE FUCKING DIES.

AND THAT IS IT. THAT IS THE END OF THE STORY . THEY JUST MOVE ON AFTER THAT. HOLY FUCK??? IMAGINE BEING LIKE 9 AND PICKING UP THE LATEST FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDYS BOOK AT THE SCHOOLASTIC BOOK FAIR AND THEN READING A STORY ABOUT A LITTLE BOY COPING WITH HIS CANCER AND THEN FUCKING DYING ALONE. FREDDY FAZBEAR WASNT EVEN THERE.

[dimalry]

The fandom is so lucky to have you! We appreciate having you here and all that you contribute to it ❤️❤️

1. What brought you into the fandom?

2. What character(s) do you feel the most connected to and why?

3. Out of all of SJM’s books, which one means the most to you and why?

4. Out of all of the SJM couples (fanon, canon, endgame, etc) which one means the most to you and why?

Keep doing you ❤️

Stop it, sweet anon! Don’t make me blush 🤭

1. Well, I guess it‘s acosf, specifically Gwyn that got me in this fandom. I had seen some fanarts of her so I was kind of reading the book for her. Finishing Acosf and the bonus chapters, I went to social media to see what people thought of her and the rest is history…

2. I have many, but I‘ll just give you 3:

Lucien- I relate to him on a personal level (Bad friendship experiences). I also love how he’s still a sweetheart and a gentleman despite the missfortune that keeps happening to him. And I‘m a sucker for angst and angst is Lucien’s middle name.

Chaol- He‘s one of the few Sjm males that I can really understand. I love his flaws, he feels very human and it is are relief to read from his pov compared to other Sjm males. His book is the most beautiful Sjm book.

Nesta- She‘s always been the most interesting and complex female character in the Sjm world to me. I don’t agree with some of her actions, but she isn’t the nasty hag the narrative always claims here to be. I get why she’s angry at times- heck I would’ve been too! I‘m disappointed with how her story went, but her book surely made me angry for her.

3. Tower of dawn. I LOVED Chaol‘s healing arc and his romance with Yrene. I was listening to „love story“ by Indila and i was really in the moment til I got to the end of the book. It was a good time.

I don’t know how to explain it. That book just holds a special place in my heart along with Assassins Blade and Heir of Fire 🥰

4. Gwynriel. I‘m weirdly obsessed with them and their potential is enormous. While I thought the little gwynriel moments in acosf were cute, Az’s bonus chapter sealed the deal for me and provided me endless ideas of how their story could continue. Their moments weren’t romantic at all, yet they open a path to endless possibilities and I. love. it.

However, my weird obsession with Gwynriel didn’t start til I read King of Scars, scrolled through the Zoyalai tag and ate up some Gwynriel headcanons, to which an image of a certain Priestess preparing an exorcism for a certain sinner, possessed by a demon pops up in my mind. The next morning I turned on my laptop to listen to movie reactions and drew this.

Dare I include more? Elucien. They’re my second fav ship. I closed Acosf with a dislike for Elain because of Nesta and while I was content with Lucien, I just didn’t care about them as a ship. Few months later and I decided to check out the Elucien tag. I read some analyses of Elain & Lucien, read some fics ( this, by the beautiful @gingerwritess ,was my first Elucien fic) and I started to see Elain & Lucien in a new light, as a couple and individually. Now Elain is such a lovely, interesting and mysterious character to me and I fricking love Lucien. I got over the whole sister- drama.

And Elorcan. They’re 😘👌

This was fun! Have a lovely weekend, dear anon. 🥰

[serickswrites]

could you add me to the tag list for Eyes Like Fire? also, how to you organize all of your WIPs and tag lists? i can barely keep my few WIPs untangled in my head

- @eyehartart

Hello, friend! I absolutely can add you!

Ok, so the tag list is the easy part because I only tag people who reblog, comment, or reply to a post (the likes are just beyond my brain at this time), and of course if people message or send an ask for me to add them. As for how I organize all my WIP, it's a really shitty system, but I have a notebook that I put all the stories I want to continue in. I put one per page and I put the general plot (like how many parts, what happens in each part) and then when I'm ready to write it, I put it on a word doc (or sometimes they sit in my drafts on tumblr depending on my mood). My notebook is a bit of a monster right now because I have filled it, so I have loose pieces of paper, post its, and notebook paper jammed in it because I refuse to get a new notebook to fill until I finish writing all the pieces in it. I used to have multiple notebooks at a time, but that was really stressful. I highlight a story once it's completely written and I put paperclips on the top of the pages that still need to be written.

I also keep notes on my phone because if the idea strikes and I don't have my notebook with me I have to write it down somewhere. It's really not a good system, but it works for my brain. I continue pieces on request, or if I see that it's getting good traction and I wouldn't mind continuing it. More often than not though, when I post a piece, I already know (and have likely plotted) that it has multiple parts--usually because I envision the ending and have to work backwards.

I hope this answered your questions! In the mean time, please enjoy another 'Eyes Like Fire', which, fwiw, is actually not fully plotted. I am lowkey pantsing this one lol

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Warnings: destruction, mayhem, unconsciousness, magic, binding

Villain hadn't moved from where they lay. Hero slowly crept forward. They didn't have any salt, but they couldn't let Villain get up and continue on their rampage. They had to do something.

The demon seemed unconscious, Hero realized as they pulled out their phone. They didn't need salt, but they needed something to bind Villain so they could no longer attack the city.

Hero scrolled until they found a binding spell. They quickly skimmed the spell, reasoning that they would remember it more once they got going.

"I'm not going to let you destroy my home. I'm going to stop you. And send you back to where you came from," Hero muttered as they grabbed the chalk they always kept in their pocket.

The spell was simple, draw a circle of power, draw the binding, say the incantation, and then, boom, demon would be trapped and bound. Hero worked quickly. They couldn't risk the demon waking up. Didn't want to risk. They didn't know why Villain had fainted and they weren't about to question this boon. They just needed to stop the demon.

They stood back to admire their handy work. They had drawn a crude circle around the demon, large enough that they didn't have to get too close--Hero remembered something about their ability to possess different bodies if another body touched their current body. Hero felt bad for whatever person this demon had possessed. Once they bound the demon, they would look up the exorcism spell. One thing at a time.

Hero quickly muttered the spell, they had to do this before the demon woke up. They had to work quickly. Villain groaned as Hero muttered the final word. Villain blinked up at Hero, their eyes glinting with the reflection of fire deep within. Hero had never seen a demon with eyes like fire. "What--" Villain's words suddenly cut off as the magic took its course.

Hero was ready. They had beaten a demon! But as they watched Villain rise and step out of the circle, they realized they had made a mistake. This wasn't a spell that would bind Villain to the circle. This was a spell that bound them to the spell's caster.

"Oh fuck," both Hero and Villain said in unison as they realized what had gone horribly wrong.

Tags: @wankusbonkus@st0rmm@pigeonwhumps @eyehartart

[thecomfywriter]

📽️Clickbait Title Tag Game 📽️

Heyyo! I'm a bit late sorrryyyyy

Anyway! I got tagged in this by a few people. Shoutout to @the-letterbox-archives @the-golden-comet @drchenquill and @theink-stainedfolk. I'm finally on it. And boy oh boy... yall better buckle in for this. I'm going to do ALL my wips. Even the ones that are still in the hiatus drafts

So, without further ado... Let's get into it

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Throne of Vengeance (ToV):

Volume 1:

getting emotionally attached to a literal mass murderer (oopsies! 🥰)

Volume 2:

watch me enter my villain arc 😀 (these are the consequences of my actions)

Light of the Flame Series (LotF):

CoS:

accidentally becoming an accomplice to murders i (technically) didn't commit (SOS)

GotN:

emotionally neglected child goes rogue and conquers an entire enemy territory

EoJ:

spiralling into my ✨insanity era ✨ because a serial killer killed my mother and now i want revenge

MotT:

oops! i accidentally stole the throne from my older sisters

SoC:

oh no! the nation i abandoned ended up as a warzone!

LotF:

literally gambling with the gods to save my best-friend-who-im-totally-not-in-love-with (trust me)

The Chronicles of Elayza (CoE):

tSS:

STORYTIME! i got drunk and ended up in the middle of a pirate conspiracy

tLW:

help! i'm stuck in the middle of the monster-ridden ocean (they made me WALK the PLANK)

tAV:

washing up on an island filled with beautiful women... what could go wrong (spoiler alert: EVERYTHING)

tBC:

getting eaten by a whale and kidnapped by a bunch of mermen (life hates me)

tHC:

escape a hospital with me! (i have 32 stab wounds and should be on bed rest)

tFO:

reuniting with my ex-best friend who stabbed me 32 times (EMOTIONAL)

P:

watch me get an exorcism! (i'm being possessed by the god of chaos)

The Inkarnyus Series (TIS):

E1:

i'm technically a tyrant, but i've brainwashed everyone int thinking i'm a good person

E2V1:

help! i've been isekai'd into a literal hellhole nation right before my finals!

E2V2:

my older sister's sexy bodyguard might like me back-- what should i do? 😜

E3V1:

embarrassing myself on live television so no one can foce me to become a princess

E3V2:

so... i'm a princess. now what?

E3V3:

someone pissed me off so not only did i wage war against them, but i... got engaged?

E4V1:

yup. i knew it was too good to be true

E4V2:

waging war on my fiancé because he fumbled the bag

E5V1:

i lost... the battle! but i won the WARRRR, BITCHESSS

E5V2:

all my exes in a ballroom together-- who do i dance with (btw, i'm married)

E5V3:

my sister-in-law might hate me... idk (she tried to kill me 4 times now)

The Adventures of Neha and Serina (AoNaS):

B1:

bullying a supervillain and gaslighting a sailor into thinking i'm a mermaid

B2:

enacting my plan for reverse-colonization (it actually worked???)

B3:

STORYTIME! my sister got abducted by a sadistic octopus! 💀🐙

B4:

trying to escape a time loop (HARD MODE)

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Okay phew! that was long, but fun :)

Bro, i should've been a 2016 youtuber frfr. LOOK AT THOSE TITLES

Gorgeous.

ANYWAY... Per usual, i'll be tagging the TCW crew and the last 10 people that interacted with my posts. If you want to be added to the TCW tag list, interact with this post here.

TCW Tags List:

@lunaeuphternal @the-golden-comet @renasdoodles

@drchenquill @zackprincebooks @wyked-ao3 @satohqbanana

@toragay-writing @the-letterbox-archives @kind-lion

@mysticstarlightduck @agirlandherquill @storyteller-kara

@dahliaontherun

Last 10 people to interact: *

*i really hope yall are actually writeblrs. something, i can't tell because there is a lot of writing reblogs, but not a lot of wip content??? so ignore this if you're not actually a writer who wants to share their own work! :)

@lortar @willtheweaver @finickyfelix

@empressxmachina

@saturnshai @waterdeeparchivist @teenageanimepositivitycookie

@iriscottage @sizzlingpaperlover @the-galaxy-aint-green

Happy Writing!

[displayheartcode]

wip tag

thank you,@thenicestthingiveseen and @takearisk-ao3 for tagging me!

List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

for the first time in a while, sans any inbox prompts, i have no fic wips. wild. anyway -

THE MIDWEST HORROR IDEA: a half-vampire collides with a figure from his past at college, creating new risks as they explore the Bridgewater Triangle with their friends. [Adult, supernatural/horror, M/M main romance, still has no outline and only vibes]

DARK ACADEMIA GHOST IDEA: a young girl returns to her boarding school after surviving a near-death incident, but learns that the place is haunted by vengeful ghosts who want to use her. [YA, mystery/occult, F/F main romance, has an outline]

SIR ORFEO RETELLING: a photojournalist is trapped inside a gothic manor with a cursed soldier and his very good dog as something old lurks beneath the land. [New Adult, romantasy/gothic, queer M/F main romance, somewhat outlined]

SPARROW SHORT STORY SEQUEL: the continuing adventures of a grumpy witch and her possessed crush in Brooklyn [New Adult, paranormal romance, queer M/F main romance, somewhat outlined]

LESBIAN TAM LIN: three girls are drawn into the mystery of their town that forces them into a dangerous reenactment [YA, urban fantasy, F/F main romance, first draft is around 50k words]

what i'm looking forward to -

anything, really. i've dabbled with horror, and as a fan of buffy the vampire slayer and supernatural, it's great to dive deep into the genre. it's one-part love letter and one-part exploration of monsters and trauma! i'm also craving more disabled queer romances!!!!!!!

other than waiting to see how many people realize that i borrowed heavily from amherst college for the setting, i want to show why i love the trope Came Back Wrong. it's a metaphor for mental health, a tool to explore characterization, a way to haunt yourself!

i love twisting tropes, especially when it comes to gender! the usual romantasy archetypes are turned around - the girl is dark-haired and tormented while the guy is young and naive

i'm excited to explore more of the magic because i've drawn a lot from diasporic practices. i have growing sources about plant use, exorcisms, and more! i love research!!!!!!!!!

i wrote this draft back in...2019. it was my first full story in ages, and a lot has changed since. i know if i look at it with clearer eyes, it would read like holly black fanfic...

tagging: open to all!

[teecupangel]

i have no idea what's going on i just saw an au idea about dc and assassin's creed n suddenly all my senses are alerted hello hi please do let me know more about it hi

Join the club. I don’t know what’s usually going on, I’m just writing what my mind comes up with when I’m given all these absolutely fantastic fic prompts XD

For those wondering:

The “Desmond gets adopted by Batman” idea that started this.

The “Desmond gets punted into the DC ‘verse and follows Constantine because he has no other plans” idea that spawned from that.

Slightly connected: the "Desmond becomes BFF with the Devil" (the Netflix show) idea where I remind everyone that Edward Kenway’s mocap and voice actor is John Constantine which has this little addition.

(Since we can go anywhere with where the hell in DC lore Desmond gets punted to, we’ll focus this AU after John leaves the Arrowverse but we’ll be keeping everything vague-ish so you guys can decide which DC ‘verse you’d prefer this to be in)

More unorganized Desmond in DC ‘verse with special focus on John Constantine’s ‘sphere of influence’

John’s leading theory is Desmond is possessed by various demons, maybe even a legion, and he’s letting Desmond tag along because it’s obvious that Desmond is still in control (most of the time) so John’s curious about this ‘anomaly’.

Also, the fact that his name is Desmond and he used to be a bartender makes John believes this is some kind of sick joke orchestrated by a high-ranking demon or one of his many enemies.

He still believes Desmond is an innocent who got wrapped up in all of these so he’s trying to help… in his own John Constatine-ish way.

Which includes (from @escapism-and-disassociation) muttering Latin exorcism chants like it’s a normal conversation and Desmond (using the knowledge he got from his Bleeds) just stares at him tiredly and continues their conversation before John started doing his exorcism in Latin just to screw with John.

John also tried making Desmond read the actual exorcism chants and Desmond just reads them in a tone of a Renaissance noble so bored with learning Latin and just wanting to go outside and play.

Many of John’s allies also think Desmond is possessed and it doesn’t help when Desmond likes screwing with them by changing his language midsentence on purpose and getting them to believe he’s ‘speaking tongues’.

Desmond treats all these theories of him being possessed with a shrug and a “yeah, sounds about right” because, in a sense, that is what the Bleeding Effect feels like at times.

Desmond and Chas like to hang out whenever John does his thing and they have nothing to do. Chas’ wife thinks Desmond is a good influence on Chas. Desmond is absolutely not since he’s been teaching him Ratonhnhaké:ton’s takedowns.

Speaking of Chas, Desmond and Chas do wonder if Desmond’s laser beam would work on him. John had to forbid the two from trying it out “for science”.

Zed has been having premonitions of Desmond even before Desmond got thrown into their world. One of them includes her painting of the exact moment that Desmond died in his original world. Another is a painting of Desmond that she insists was the painting of a god.

John has a lot of theories about it ranging from the main demon possessing Desmond used to be an old god or a demon who once pretended to be an old god to maybe Desmond is destined to be a god and the demons inside him are stopping that.

Desmond believes the god thing is a reference to how he would have been seen as a god back in his world if he had let the world burn.

Either way, Zed doesn’t like to come into contact with Desmond because she always gets this intense burning sensation before her psychic abilities kick in and she sees visions of Desmond’s life back in his world.

John likes to use Desmond as bait. Desmond doesn’t mind. His Bleeds does though.

John thinks Desmond’s Bleed of Edward is making fun of him, having the same accent and tone as him but drunker.

John can’t stand Desmond’s Bleed of Altaïr because he mainly asks so many questions and still finds a logical ‘scientific’ explanation to every mythical thing they encounter.

On the other hand, Desmond’s Bleed of Ezio tires John because that man likes to ask about God and how heaven works and…

In a nutshell, John prefers it when Desmond takes control.

To be fair, John is okay with Desmond’s Bleed of Ratonhnhaké:ton because Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t bother with small talk and focuses on the task at hand.

John likes Desmond’s Bleed of Haytham the most though because Haytham is polite but with a sharp tongue.

[darknesseddiem]

𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖀𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝕯𝖔𝖜𝖓, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖞. 𝕬𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗?

Warnings: +18 MDNI, SMUT, violence and dark content (wait for more updates).

Updates: October 1st.

Wanna be tagged? Click on the link of my TAGLIST and choose the option "Kinktober".

Collab with @bvtbxtch

Hidden in the shadows of despair and agony, evil lurks in search of a small gap to lodge and slowly consume the remnant of souls, while sinking its filthy claws into poor, defenseless hearts in search of happiness. 

Walking among the living are the servants of the dark lord: hunters of corrupted souls, angels of death seeking redemption and the worst ones, lying sinners who turned into black shadows, forgotten by the macabre past and cruel time.

In this collection of stories, the dark and cruel side of Hawkins will be told in the rawest and most violent form.

“When the sun lays down on its orange mantle and gives way to the silver of the moon and the white of the stars, evil roams the earth freely, bringing out the darkest side of everyone with it."

Hellfire: The menu - Brat Tamer + Age gap with Chef! Older! Eddie.

Mio Cacciatore - Marking Kink + Dubcon with Mafia! Eddie.

Alkaline - Hypnosis + Spell with Demon! Rockstar! Eddie.

Ghost Mission: 086 - Enemies to Lovers + Uniform Kink with Ghost! Eddie.

The devil's Tongue - Body Modifications + Pain Kink with Tattoo Artist! Eddie.

The Hawkins Massacre - Body Worship + Manipulation with Serial Killer! Eddie.

Earl Vronsky - Daddy Kink + Authority Kink with Vronsky! Eddie.

The Wolf Inside Me - Monster Fucking + Little Red Riding Hood! Reader and Werewolf! Eddie.

The Curse of The Snake - Primal Kink + Breeding Kink with Gorgon! Eddie.

The blue Astrazynia - Sex Pollen + Elf Soldier! Eddie and Human! Reader.

The Angel I Corrupted - Corruption Kink + Size Difference with Angel! Eddie.

The Captain's Song - Hypnosis + Uniform Sex with Captain! Eddie and Siren! Reader.

Eddie Munson: The Exorcism - Hunter/Prey + Soul Possession with Possessed! Eddie and Nun! Reader.

The King of Waters - Tentacles + Double Penetration with Sea Monster! Eddie.

Secret Mission: The Warning - Spanking + Humiliation with Spy! Eddie.

Tagging: @bvtbxtch @ediewentmissing @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @bimbobaggins69 @eddieandbird

[elhuei]

Writer Q&A | Tag Game

Thank you to @mthollowell-writes for tagging me! 💞You can find their original post here! :)

1) What motivates you to write?

(Stories are like ghosts that haunt my thoughts and writing is the only way to exorcize them) I'm motivated to write the kind of books I want to read + the sort of characters I want to read! Not enough black lesbian girlies in fiction so I gotta do my part by releasing them into the wild 💅🏾

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I'll share the first few paragraphs from Little Infernos! Its old + I shared it before but it lives in my head rent free <3

Possession is an impossible skill to grasp. The doctor told her as much. “Think of yourself as a ghost,” he’d said, with a chuckle and a thin-lipped smile. Play pretend. A game to take her mind off the terror of stealing back her body from whatever’s taken it the night before. Remember, start small. The tips of a finger, a big toe, maybe even a whole pinky, if she was feeling so bold. Slip back in, one part at a time. This time, Dante is sprawled out in a bed of Ponderosa pine-needles. Bitter moss and loamy soil weighs down her tongue, pebbles rolling hard behind her throat. Aftertastes of pondweed and eelgrass. A ring of trees loom overhead, peaks fading into a dark and stainless sky. She moves her right index finger first, dragging in a breath of dirt and timberland air as she revels in the prick. Something small. Next is her left finger, then her pinky and middle. Soon, she is grabbing a fistful of earth and leaves and morels, propping herself up on empty arms. Another fight to push herself back into her body. The thin-lipped doctor says it’s sleep paralysis. Her father says it’s demons, the ones which drew her to Beau. Web M.D. also says sleep paralysis, so it must be true.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Hmm Dante from Little Infernos! She just like me fr (in an alternate universe where I'm a little freak who has little freak things happen to her.) Since I focus on my fantasy projects so much I don't often get to explore more contemporary characters. I love Dante because she's the kind of black girl we don't often see in media (shy, quiet, introverted, ✨feral✨) and I get to aspects of myself in her that I can't quite replicate in my fantasy wips.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Worldbuilding! I love building out worlds for fantasy projects, and thinking about all the little intricacies that go into developing a fleshed out world. It's super time consuming, and if I don't reign myself in it can become a never-ending process, but it's so much fun regardless.

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Hmm I think I'm fairly good at scene/setting descriptions! Ironically enough I do suffer from White Room Syndrome during first drafts because I tend to focus more on dialogue/character interactions, but during editing I think I do well setting scenes + making the worlds I'm writing about feel alive.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I love how friendly and encouraging everyone is! We're all here to write our silly little stories and obsess over our silly little characters together :)

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I used to use Scrivener to compile all my worldbuilding notes (personally I don't enjoy drafting in Scrivener lol) BUT I've recently started using Notion and I love it so much! Very easy to use and satisfies my urge to make all my notes ✨aesthetically pleasing✨ Its like having secret wip pages just for myself and I love it sm <3

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I love the magic system I've built for A Killing of Kinfolk! Mayhaps one day I'll make a more in depth worldbuilding post but tldr; all living things have magic (Kin) within them, some people can wield Kin while others cannot. A person's magic (regardless if whether or not they can wield it) essentially works like antibodies, protecting from outside sources of magic. Casting/using magic on another person is always going to be a painful, invasive, and if prolonged, deadly process. This makes the most prominent use of Kin, healing magic (Mendwork) extremely difficult. Healers have to work slow and meticulously to ensure they exert enough Kin to heal their patients without too much pain or further harm. There are other schools of magic within AKOK (seedweaving, bonewielding and banework) but Mendwork is by far the most complex and interesting to me. I really liked the idea of a magic system that's actively hostile to its user—a healing magic that hurts just as much. Very fun <3

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

READ! I feel like this is overused advice but I know all my worst writers block moments come when I haven't read anything in a while. I'm trying to be better about reading regularly and revisiting old favs when I get stuck to inspire me and remind me why I want to write.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

I'm continuously inspired by writers such as @coffeeandcalligraphy , @fluoresensitive , @yvesdot & @seasteading, and I have to shout out @aninkwellofnectar , and my beloved @harehearts for being such kind and supportive writeblr friends 💞

I'll no pressure tag: @cuntylittlesalmon , @serenanymph , @thepixiediaries , @meerawrites & @tragicbackstoryenjoyer + anyone who'd like to join in!

[coolcataetheryte]

Title: Say You Love Me (2, 3, 4, 5)

Pairing: Joker(mWoL)xThancred

Word count: 2,824

TW: brief sexual assault (non graphic but you have been warned)

Summary: Thancred and Joker have a misunderstanding. When Joker goes out to find Thancred and apologize, he has a run in with an unsavory stranger! Will Thancred save him?

Tags: vierapril prompt 11: longing, like so much longing, mutual pining, gonna go with hurt/comfort, angst, boys being oblivious idiots. I may do a part 2, i should just start writing dollar store romance novels

Background info: This is part of my Magical Heroes AU in which the WoL and scions are all magical boys/girls. It’s not about that, but it is mentioned. I imagine events happen a bit differently, but again not super important to this story. I think enough context is given, but if you’re confused, sorry about that lol. This is set right after the end of ARR soon after Lahabrea was exorcized purged from Thancred’s body. PS Joker is kind of a big crybaby like Sailor Moon. PPS I have no clue where they’re staying, so just use your imagination. Fancy inn somewhere I guess.

“You’ve been crying.”

Joker jumped at Thancred’s words.

“Should you be up?,” he asked, hurrying to his side.

Thancred gave him chuckle, “I'm perfectly fine to walk around.”

Joker’s hands hovered just inches from Thancred’s arm. He lowered them, and took an awkward step back. “That’s good then..”

“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” said Thancred. “None of it was your fault.”

“I know but,” Joker fought back the tears threatening to fall once more, to no avail. “I should've noticed. I should’ve known you were possessed and helped you sooner. I-”

“It isn’t your fault,” Thancred interrupted. “Please, Joker.. I hate to see you so distraught over me.”

Joker tried to take some calming breaths but he couldn’t stop the tears. What if he had lost him? The thought of losing any of his friends was awful, but losing Thancred? That would be unbearable.

“Did you mean it?,” Thancred asked suddenly.

Joker looked at him in confusion, rubbing his eye.

“Did you mean it,” he repeated. “What you said before. The thing that brought me to my senses and allowed you all to banish Lahabrea from my body.”

Joker was thankful his skin was dark enough to mostly hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. The shock that Thancred remembered stopped the tears.

“I.. well.. yeah,” he hesitated. “I love all my friends.”

He averted his gaze as he said it, hoping the explanation would be enough for Thancred to drop it.

“I see,” Thancred said after a beat. “Of course.”

The Viera refused to believe there was disappointment in his friend’s voice. He was probably relieved more than anything.

“Yeah, so,” Joker laughed awkwardly. “That’s what I meant. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.”

Thancred shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m lucky to have a good friend like you.”

The words struck Joker right in the heart.

“I don’t suppose you’d say it again,” Thancred asked. “I don’t often hear it.”

Joker blinked at him.

“Say you love me,” he clarified, hiding his own pain behind a teasing smirk.

“Uh, sure. I mean.. if you want me to," Joker hoped he hid his embarrassment well. "Um.. I love you.”

He was getting hot. He needed to get away from Thancred right now, before he did anything that would ruin their friendship. He didn’t know where to look and he worried he seemed insincere. He rubbed the hem of his shorts between his fingers, hoping he’d leave on his own now.

Thancred's smirk had changed to a sad smile, but Joker was too preoccupied to see. “Thank you, my friend.”

Joker’s heart was beating hard and fast. He desperately wished to hear his friend say the same words back to him in a different context. But that was it, they were friends. There wouldn’t be more.

“I hope you’ll be able to stop crying for me soon,” said Thancred as he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

It had come out louder than he meant it to, but Thancred didn’t seem bothered when he turned back to face him. A moment ago, all he could think about was putting a bit of distance between them, yet now, suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart.

“I, um,” Joker stammered, now messing with the hem of his top. “I think I'd like it if you kept me company. I don’t really like to be alone, but the others aren’t really around or they’re busy so..”

Thancred nodded. “I’d like that, too.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, Joker still working the fabric between his fingers. His face grew hot again when he felt Thancred’s hand over his.

“You’ll rub your fingers raw like that,” he said softly, pulling Joker’s hand away from the material.

“Nervous habit, I guess.”

“Nervous? About what? Me?”

“Only because I still worry about your condition.”

“My condition is fine. Promise. Now don’t make me worry about yours.”

He placed a gentle kiss on Joker’s hand before letting go. Joker almost felt his soul leave his body. He tried to hide how his heart soared in that tiny moment, but it was pounding so hard he felt faint. He swayed just enough that Thancred instinctively reached out to steady him. The places his hands grabbed Joker’s shoulders felt like electricity, which in turn, made him even more faint. His knees gave out, Thancred’s arms the only thing keeping his knees from hitting the ground harshly.

“What is it,” Thancred asked urgently. “Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m just tired,” he half lied, trying not to panic while being so close to him. “I guess I have been worrying too much.”

“We better get you in bed. I think you should lie down. Your pulse is very hectic. I’ll have someone look at you.”

Arguing would only make it seem suspicious, so Joker didn’t. Instead, allowing Thancred to help him to his room. But the prolonged contact was only making him more dizzy. He was completely, undeniably lovesick for this man. The entire situation was utterly embarrassing. He closed his eyes.

Thancred laid him in bed, fighting the urge to stroke a soft, blue ear. He studied his friend’s face closely. It had bee a long time since he'd seen him untransformed. He had forgotten the makeup was not part of his magical warrior glamour. The pink around his eyes was his own doing, as were the indigo lips. It all simply became more defined when he invoked his transformation, enhancing his beauty even more. The nails, however, he’d noticed were decidedly not raspberry colored.

So that is part of the glamour, he thought to himself. He realized the moment Joker’s condition took a sudden turn was when he’d kissed those lovely fingers. Joker’s face was completely flushed, and his breathing was still rather heavy.

“I hope I'm not somehow still under some kind of corruption,” he said. “Or having some kind of lasting effect that could hurt you. I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have touched you.”

Joker opened his eyes, cheeks burning. “No. No, it isn’t that. I promise."

“I should have someone check. You rest for now.”

A hand gripped Thancred’s sleeve.

“Please,” Joker cried. “Don’t leave. I’m really fine. I’m just.. I'm just being ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thancred tried to search Joker’s eyes but he kept them downcast. “I need to understand so that I may help you.”

Joker finally met his gaze. Seeing the worry, he realized he should hide it no longer.

“I..,” he began. “I get like this any time I’m close to you. My entire body starts to burn up, and I feel out of breath because my heart races so fast it could run away entirely.”

Thancred thought was beginning to understand, but he needed actual confirmation of his theory. He needed to hear Joker say it in no uncertain terms. He didn’t dare assume. Not with him.

“Why?,” he prodded. “Do I make you uncomfortable? When did this start? When I obtained the necklace? It could be your light warning you that something is still wrong.”

“No, it’s not that,” Joker’s voice was becoming more desperate as he forced himself to sit up.

“Then what is it? Please.”

Thancred had already moved a bit closer. He glanced at his lips, trampling the urge to kiss him. He was yearning for Joker to simply say what he so eagerly hoped his trouble was. He watched the purple eyes grow wide, then dart away as Joker pulled back.

Thancred felt a twinge of pain in his chest. He was wrong then. The hand holding his sleeve had slipped away.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “I’ll let you rest.. And keep my distance.”

With that, he left swiftly, barely even giving Joker time to process his words. Joker hated himself for losing his nerve. Now he had hurt his friend. He must have thought he hated him or was afraid. He sighed sharply and dropped back onto the bed and covered his face.

“I’m such a coward,” he spat to himself.

Hours had passed while Joker simply stared at the ceiling, willing himself to get up, find his friend, and make things right. They were warriors. This should be nothing compared to what they’ve faced, but telling Thancred his feelings was more frightening than any monster. However, losing Thancred as a friend was a fate far worse than death in his mind. At this rate, he was going to lose him whether he told him or not. He finally dragged himself out of bed. It was late, but he knew Thancred would be up. Especially if he was upset.

He tried Thancred’s room, but it was empty. He searched all over the inn for him but found no trace. He wouldn’t have decided to put so much distance that he’d leave, would he? Joker hurried outside. It was quieter, but it wasn’t so late that the streets had fully died down. He closed his eyes and listened, his ears fully alert atop his head. He caught the sound of his friend’s voice; he knew it anywhere. He hurried toward the bustling tavern. As he approached, he heard another voice alongside Thancred’s. One he didn’t recognize. He stopped when he came into view. He was flirting with a woman. She was awfully pretty and was giggling at something he’d said. Joker’s heart sank. His eyes burned with fresh tears threatening to fall. There was a painful lump in his throat, and he was gripping his own shirt tightly.

Of course, he thought. This was Thancred’s nature. He could have anyone he wanted. He was a natural flirt and not once had he flirted with Joker. Telling him the truth would only make it awkward. If Thancred had wanted him, he would make it clear. Right?

He’d backed himself into the alley. It didn’t seem like Thancred saw him. He was thankful for that.

Suddenly, he felt his collar yanked harshly. His yelp was lost under a sudden burst of laughter from a group of patrons. A large man threw him against the wall, pinning him. He was much taller than him and broad. Not like a Roegadyn, but likely someone who did very heavy labor for a living.

“What’s the matter, little bunny?,” the man slurred. “Someone stand you up? Don’t worry, I'll keep you company tonight.”

Joker’s head was reeling from hitting the wall. His reaction time was slowed, but the feeling of the man’s tongue sliding along his throat and up to his chin, plus one of the man's legs groping between his own was enough to bring it back. He shoved the man hard, making him stumble back and knock against the wall opposite of him. He was stronger than average, but without transforming he was still at a disadvantage if the man grew angry. Luckily, it was enough to send the man running.

Somehow, no one seemed to be wise of what almost happened. Thancred included, still flirting away.

Standing next to a large crate for cover, he pressed his back against the hard, stone wall and slid to the ground slowly, not caring at all about how his clothes drifted up and the likely scratches he’d have because of it. He slumped into his knees and sobbed. One hand rubbing frantically where the disgusting man’s tongue had been. It took everything in him to keep his crying relatively quiet. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, but there was no way he could just walk away right now. His legs felt like jelly, and the rest of him was numb. He didn’t notice the streets quieting further as the night grew later.

His ears perked at approaching footsteps. He curled further against the crate and wall, covering his nose and mouth to quiet his breathing. He wished he was invisible, or that at the very least the person passing by would be oblivious. He couldn’t be caught in such an embarrassing position.

To his horror, the boots stopped directly in front of him. Even worse, Thancred’s face came into view as he quickly knelt down to his level. Joker wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by the ground.

“Joker, what happened?,” there was distress in his voice. “Did someone attack you? Who was it? I swear on the twelve I'll find them and make them pay! Are you hurt?”

That valor was one of the reasons Joker had fallen for him in the first place. And for him to be so observant and caring after Joker had made it seem he didn’t want to be near him just hours ago. Without a thought, he threw himself into Thancred’s arms, who immediately held him protectively as he scanned the area for any predators.

“Come, let's hurry back to the inn,” Thancred urged, standing them and keeping him close when he began to walk. “They could still be-”

“Say you love me,” Joker breathed into his ear, stopping him in his tracks. "I.. don't often hear it.. and I think I need to right now.."

His voice was shaking. His heart was still gripped with pain and fear, but with Thancred acting so dauntless, he couldn’t help asking for it. Maybe he was taking advantage of the situation, and he’d feel guilty for it later, but right now all he wanted was to pretend they could have more than friendship.

Thancred pulled back just enough to look at him. “What was that?”

“Please,” Joker gasped, his eyes glancing at Thancred, then looking away. “Please.. s-say you love me..”

A warm palm held Joker’s cheek as Thancred hesitated.

“Thancred,” Joker pleaded, his voice breaking.

The slightly taller man brought Joker’s head to his shoulder, holding him closer than before.

“I love you,” it was nearly a whisper.

Joker sobbed. “Again.. please.”

It was louder this time. “I love you.”

Thancred’s hand stroked the blue locks soothingly as Joker continued to cry. He could feel his friend trembling. Rage was building within him. He swore he’d find the one that had hurt the one he cared for most.

“Thancred..”

“Yes, what is it? What do you need?”

“Don’t let go.”

He kept his arm around Joker possessively as they made their way back to the inn. Thancred’s eyes were like daggers. Anyone still walking the street practically leapt out of their way. No one dared approach them in the lobby; even the other scions steered clear. They’d get the story later, when the murderous energy was no longer radiating off of Thancred.

He helped Joker to his room for the second time that night. He sat with him on the bed. He smelled a faint waft of alcohol on Joker instead of the usual, pleasant, berry pie aroma that was his signature. The flames of rage ignited even stronger.

“Tell me who did it,” his voice had a bit of a growl to it. “Describe him. I’m sure I'll find him if I transform and hurry after him, right now.”

Joker shook his head. “Please don’t leave. Don’t let go.”

He truly was scared. He truly didn’t want Thancred to leave him alone. His usual emotions when Thancred was near were muted by the fear. He leaned against him.

“Alright,” Thancred relented, hugging him close again. “I won’t let go. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe, my light.”

Thancred slumped back to lay on the bed, bringing Joker with him.

“Say you love me,” Joker whispered.

“I love you,” there was no hesitation this time. “Until the end of the world.”

Joker lifted his head to look at him, trying not to seem too hopeful. Thancred’s eyes met his with resolution.

“I love you,” Thancred said again.

Joker breathed a quivering sigh and laid back down on Thancred’s chest. His arms were trembling as he squeezed tight, but Thancred’s were unwavering around him.

“I love you,” Joker sniffled.

Thancred rubbed Joker’s back and said it again. They lay there repeating the words to each other until Joker finally passed out.

Joker awoke with a start the next morning. Thancred’s arms instinctively clutched him tighter, though he was still asleep.

The previous night’s incidents came rushing back and Joker felt the embarrassment and guilt tenfold. He attempted to pry himself away but Thancred’s hold was solid. The struggle caused him to stir awake.

“Sorry,” he said, releasing him. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m ok,” Joker’s voice was hoarse.

He finally moved away from Thancred, too embarrassed to look at him.

Thancred watched him carefully. “Still a bit shaken?”

“A little,” it wasn’t a lie.

Thancred took a deep breath, the rage building again.

“Did you mean it?,” the question left Joker’s mouth before it even registered in his mind.

The same question Thancred had asked him last night, before this whole thing began. He looked at him, wide eyed and unsure, and instantly, Thancred’s rage melted away.

He pulled Joker closer gently. “Yes.”

Joker’s heart once again beat loud in his chest.

“Say you love me.”

Thancred kissed his lips like he'd been aching to since the previous night.

“I love you.”