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givemeweasley · 3 years

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Witchy Wednesday Pt. 2

George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, and there’s talk of assault it’s not too graphic but it could be triggering to a few

A/N: Here’s part two!! Enjoy it and don’t forget to comment if you do :)

Witchy Wednesday Pt. 1, Witchy Wednesday Pt. 3

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After managing to get dressed, you’d made your way down the Great Hall to have breakfast. It was odd being George. For one, you were taller. Your limbs were longer and everything seemed to be easier. The walk to the Great Hall took less time with your long legs, and you weren’t as exhausted when you got there.

Seven flights of stairs didn’t seem so difficult when you were in George’s well built body.

“Earth to George?” Fred called with a broad smile on your face. You tuned back into the conversation and looked around for George before remembering you were George.

“Huh?”

Fred nodded over to the door. “Look who just walked in.”

You turned to see the last person you wanted to see. Long red hair and soft bangs. Two pretty blue eyes and a soft smile that was pointed at you, you realized. Susan Bones was pretty, but you knew she was a snake beneath that smile. And worse? She was walking towards you.

You flipped around to look at the real George who was in your body. “George! What do I say?” You whispered beside you.

George only smirked. “I don’t know! She’s a she demon!” George’s voice raised about three octaves as he mocked you in your own voice.

You glared.

Fine. We can play this game.

“Hey Georgie!” Susan squeaked, a broad smile on her face.

You smiled back and slid down the bench, creating a spot between you and George. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him frown and glare. But you were on a mission.

“Sit! I wanted to talk to you about something.”

George’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but Susan cut him off. “Of course, Georgie! How could I say no to my Yule Ball date!” And with that she plopped onto the bench beside you.

The sickeningly sweet tone of her voice made you want to vomit, but you were going to make George regret wanting to take her to the ball.

You slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to you. She smelled like lavender and honey, which isn’t a bad scent, unless it’s so strong it’s painful. But you pushed through.

“So what did you want to talk to me about Georgie?” She batted her eyes at you. You tried not to roll your own.

“Well, I was just wondering if you would want to be my-”

“Can you pass me the salt?” George shouted interrupting me. Susan blinked, glancing at him before turning her eyes back to me.

“Continue, Georgie.”

“As I was saying, I wanted to know if you-”

“Do you guys think that Polyjuice Potion could be permanent if you added the right ingredient?” George leaned forward on the table glaring at you. You knew what he was trying to do, but you wanted him to suffer a little longer.

“Excuse me, Y/N but we’re trying to talk.” Susan's voice was practically dripping with honey as she spoke to George. Then she turned back to you. “Please go on, sweetie.”

Sweetie? You shook your head.

“Do you want to be my-”

“I really do need some s-” George let out a grunt and based on Susan's sweet smile, she had kicked him underneath the table.

But then she did the last thing you were expecting. She cradled your cheeks in her hands and pressed her lips to yours. She tasted like cherry lollipops, which happened to be your least favorite. You tried not to throw up in her mouth, but you did manage to shove her off.

“I accept, Georgie! I would love to be your-”

“Well! Would you look at the time!” George shouted, standing up. “I do believe I promised George I would- uh show him my… my new idea for his products!” George’s small hand wrapped around your larger wrist and pulled until you were standing next to him beside the table. And before Susan could say a single word, George tugged you straight out of the Great Hall, Fred and Angelina’s laughs following you the entire way.

As soon as you passed the threshold, you reached your free hand up to wipe your mouth.

George tugged you all the way to the courtyard before stopping and turning to face you, a furious look on his face.

So that’s what I look like when I’m mad. Huh.

“Rule number two! No kissing! Rule number three! No dating! Rule number four: don’t go messing up each other's lives in the span of two days may I add!”

“We can switch back at any time, George.” It was odd to look down on him for once. But it made you feel slightly powerful.

“Not a chance.” He crossed his arms. “But do not go around kissing anyone.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned back against the stone of the wall. “Don’t act like you didn’t want to kiss her anyway, you’re just mad that I did it first.” What you wanted to say is she’s a shit kisser anyway and tasted gross.

George took a step closer to you, so close you could feel his body warmth. “No actually, I don't. The only person I want to kiss is-” He broke off and all the anger left his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to ignore the knots your heart was weaving itself in at the thought of George wanting to kiss someone. “Is who, George?” You whispered.

George stepped back and shook his head. “Forget it.” With that, he turned his back and walked away.

------

You stood in front of the toilet. Staring down into it’s white depths, dreading what was to come.

“I can’t do this.” You said quietly. But your bladder was about ready to explode and you knew if you held it in any longer you would pee yourself.

“Just pull down your bloody pants and pee!” Fred shouted from outside the door. You winced.

“How do I… ya know… aim?” You called back.

“You hold your dick and aim it! Think of it like a water gun!”

The blush on your cheeks was prominent, especially given how pale George's body was. “But I don’t wanna touch George’s… thing…”

“It’s called a dick, love. If you’re gonna use it for a few days, call it by what it is. Now quit stalling and go pee!”

You sighed, you really couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m sorry, George.” You whispered quietly enough that Fred couldn’t hear through the door before slowly sliding the zipper down on George’s pants.

You took in a deep breath before pulling the pants and boxers down. You felt the coolness of the air hit you, but you tried to ignore it. You simply looked up at the ceiling, tilted your hips forward and released. For good measure you closed your eyes too.

After holding it in for so long, it felt wonderful. It was also pretty convenient to pee standing up. It would be more convenient if you weren’t so terrified of seeing George’s...dick.

Finally, you finished which brought on a whole new set of problems.

“Do guys wipe?!” You shouted out the door.

You heard the loud tired sigh of Fred. “Not usually no. Just give it a shake and be done with it.”

Give it a shake? Are men barbarians?!

But you also didn’t really feel like touching it so you wiggled your hips a little before reaching down, eyes still closed, to pull up the pants.

When they were all secure you then opened your eyes.

And wished you didn’t.

There was pee everywhere.

On the floor. On the seat. On the wall behind the toilet. Everywhere. In fact, the least amount of pee was actually in the toilet. You decided maybe peeing standing up wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

Luckily, you were a witch. So you pulled out your wand. “Scourgify!” And the mess was gone.

“Bloody hell did you just use the cleaning spell?! What did you do in there?!” Fred shouted. But you ignored him and washed your hands, thankful the stressful ordeal was over. You dried your hands quickly and opened the door to an incredulous Fred. He looked over your shoulder before looking back at you.

“Next time, I’m not coming for a pep talk. I don’t care if you were Victor Krum in my brothers body. That-” he pointed behind you, “was nasty.”

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “Coming from the boy who doesn’t wipe.” Shouldering past him you made your way out of the bathroom and down to the Gryffindor common room.

“It’s not just me!” Fred shouted from behind you.

“What’s not just you?” George asked, leaning back on the common room couch. Gently, you sat down next to him, throwing your shoulder across the back of the couch. You suddenly understood why guys did it so often. The back of the couch was right at shoulder height, and it was just nice to spread out.

Fred sat down next to you, looking across to look at his brother in your body. “Wiping.”

George sat up at that, a bright look in his eyes. Slowly but surely you were getting used to seeing your own facial expressions on your own face. Understanding that this was how everyone else saw you was sobering. “You mean you finally peed?”

You threw your head back against the couch feeling George’s short hair flop against your forehead. “Ugh. Yes. Can we not talk about it?”

George leaned up to your ear. “Did you like what you saw?” Your hand whipped out and slapped his chest. Hard.

So hard in fact that you forgot you were in George's body and he was in yours. A loud cough left him as he reached up to clutch the place you hit him. Immediately guilt flooded your system. One hand reached up to cup your mouth while the other reached out to touch his shoulder.

“George, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I forgot how strong you were. I’m so-”

George was wincing still rubbing his chest but he looked at you with a small smile. “You think I’m strong?” He winked.

You desperately tried (and failed) to keep the blush from rising to your cheeks. Guessing by George’s smile, he had already seen it by the time you tried to cover it with a reply. “I know you’re strong George. You forget I’ve lived in this body for half a day already. I feel like I could lift a house.”

Fred laughed. “He can’t. He’s already tried.”

You opened your mouth to ask, but George cut you off.

“That’s a story for another time, love.”

-----

It was the next day, you were sitting in the library trying to find any information about body switching when George came marching up to you. It was a good thing the library was near empty, because George looked positively livid as he slammed his hands down on the table.

“Can I help you?” You raised a brow.

“We need to switch back.”

A laugh bubbled out of your lips. “Ready to give up so soon, Weasley?” But your smile dropped when George glared right at you. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t you he was mad at though. You barely even noticed the oddity of staring into your own ferocious eyes.

“Switch us back.”

You sighed looking down at the books before you. “George it says there’s no way to do it, it’s like a curse that we have to follow the rules of-”

“Dammit, Y/N!” His hand slammed down on the table making you flinch.

“What happened? Why do you want to switch back so badly?” You reached to touch George’s hand still gripping the table.

“I want to pummel McLaggen and I’m not doing it in your body.” He said it under his breath. So low you wouldn’t have heard it if it hadn’t been in your voice’s higher octave.

Your back straightened as you understood his words. “George?” Your voice was soft.

But he wouldn’t look at you, you could tell he was still fuming. “He pulled me into a broom closet.”

You breath hitched. “George, look at me.”

After a moment, he turned. His eyes still were burning, but at least he was looking at you.

“What happened?”

He took a deep breath but shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Your fingers curled around his own. “It’s my body, so please tell me.”

George sighed but nodded. He pulled out the chair across from yours, his other hand still safely snug beneath your own, and sat down. “I was trying to find you and he found me first. He tried to get me to come with him to an empty classroom and when I kept hinting that I needed to find you, he pulled me into a nearby broom closet. And-” George took a deep breath but you could practically see the steam coming out of his ear. “He kissed me. Tried to feel me up.”

“George-”

But he continued. “So I pushed him off of me and punched him. I ran straight here.” His eyes dug into yours. And you wanted more than anything to go back to your body. The separation of having your body assaulted and not being able to protect it felt- more vulnerable than you anticipated.

But then you remembered that George had protected you. He kept you safe.

George’s eyes darkened. “But I want to be able to beat him at my full strength.” You frowned but his hand gripped yours. “Not saying you are strong, sweetheart, but I want to do it myself. In my own body. So he knows just who it is who’s beating him.”

“Thank you.” You murmured. He lifted your hand and pressed it to his lips. His eyes even softened a fraction.

“Anytime, love.”

You felt a slight tug on your hand and ever so slightly, you leaned forward. Then you remembered who’s body you were in. And who was in yours. You immediately snatched your hand back and cleared your throat.

“Anyway. So. Um. Right.” You pointed at the books in front of you. “This is basically some sort of curse. It’s often done for people who are fighting. Like family members or-” You cleared your throat again. “Lovers. Or even friends. It says here that it’s supposed to be a spell translation of walking in someone else's shoes.”

“Well how have those people broken the curse? Is there an antidote?”

You shook your head solemnly. “Unfortunately no. The type of magic this requires is solvable but you can’t undo it. The only way to switch back is by finding the true argument but our argument was about McLaggen and Susan. And I’m obviously not going with him now.”

You looked up to see George grimacing and rubbing his neck. “Which there’s something I need to tell you.” You raised a brow. “You were right. About Susan.”

Your jaw dropped.

“She cornered me this morning and basically bit my head off. Saying me and George are soulmates, when we’re dating I’ll make sure he dumps your ass and she went on and on about essentially everything a girl could be insecure about. Your hair, your body, your academics, your friendships. She really ripped me a new one.” You refrained from smiling but it truly took all your willpower.

“So what did you say?”

“I told her I was going to tell George what she said.”

You rolled your eyes. “She would’ve just told you to do it. That he wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

George winked and pointed at you. “Exactly. To which I said, we’ll see and then I walked away.”

You smiled. “So that should solve it then. We’re not fighting about Susan or McLaggen. We’re in agreement. Right?”

George nodded and smiled. “I believe we are.”

A second passed.

And then another.

A few minutes passed after that.

And still you were in George’s body.

You looked at George helplessly, but he only had a small smile.

“Guess I better go figure out how to walk in heels.”

Taglist: @huffledor-able541 @sarcasticallywitty15

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#George Weasley x reader #George Weasley fic #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley #gw #x reader #Harry Potter fic #Cormac Mclaggen #harry potter

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poison--ivory · 3 years

Text

Get Back Up Chapter 3

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and nightmares

Anthony didn't know who that slim figure in the doorway was, but he didn't like him. Especially with the way (y/n)'s body flinched when his arm swung around her waist, reeling her into his chest. Her hands came up just in time to put a little barrier between the two, at last his strength broke her blockade and caused her to fall into his grasp. Yet, she still adores that sweet smile on her lips, her gaze fixed on the man holding her and in that moment Anthony couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why (y/n) is so caring to people.

When she enrolled into culinary school and had that roommate, a complete slut and a backstabbing bitch who made her life a living hell, (y/n) still treated her with respect and wanted to befriend her. In the end that bitch turned her back on her at every twist and corner. But, Cherri and him worked their magic and soon after her social life at that school went further down the toilet. (Y/n) found out a couple of days later and didn’t like how we handled the problem. However, she thanked us for thinking about her and to show her gratitude, took us out for lunch that day.

Yet with the help of the nightstand lamp he could see a bit in the dim room and he could’ve swore he saw the faint hue of red on her cheeks. However, in this case the man latched on her, didn’t look like he loathed her, on the contrary he held such adoration in his eyes when staring at her. It was when his eyes trailed over to him is when they turned hard and distasteful. The hate that seeped through his skin and consumed his frame, he could tell that this man didn’t see him in a light that a normal human should. His gaping stare was more on the lines of a predator staring down his prey, Anthony knew what danger lingered behind that leering look and that made him. . .uneasy. He tried to match his gaze with a harsh one as well until a split and sharp pain rang throughout the left side of his head. So, he took his gaze off the man and took a big gulp of the tea, which at this point the hot tea that was in his cup was slowly getting lukewarm and the position on the bed made him feel really exposed to this weird fucker.

He hated feeling weak and defenseless in front of folk and despised the way this new guy stared him down. Squaring his shoulders, even though it felt god damn awful to move right now, but he didn't want to take any chances with this questionable guy, even if (y/n) married him.

Motioning with his strong enough arm, he motioned to the brunette that just intruded in on their conversation.

"So, uh. . . Who the hell are you?" (y/n)'s eyes widened, rapidly shooting her head back and forth between us and to be honest he really didn't care if he sounded rude. He just wanted to fuck with him, just for the shits and giggles and it seem to phase the man for short second. “(Y/n) didn’t tell me she married a pimp and a good looking one at that.” Her eyes were the size of headlights which was pretty amusing, but he was gauging for more of a reaction from the menacing man standing next to her.

“Anthony!” Her voice raised a couple octaves before lowering it down to whisper, really broadcasting her motherly side right now. “You shouldn’t say something like that, especially for a first impression.”

He wasn’t gonna muster up any type of energy of fake kindness just to suck up to this son of bitch, not for (y/n) either.

“What, first impressions are for insecure high schoolers who need validation on whether they look pretty or not. Besides, he hasn’t told me off yet, so relax toots.” The corners of her mouth stretched out into a flat line and I could already sense her screaming ‘I’m done with your shit’ before she could even say anything. “Come on, (y/n) a little bit of harmless flirty won’t kill anyone and besides he seems fine with it.”,puffing out his chest the burning agitated growth in his lungs flared up, but he kept up this bouncy exterior to appear far from an injured animal.

“Don’t you worry my dear I only came downhere to see how you were doing this morning, yet found you here with. . .this. . .effeminate fellow.” Words fell through clenched teeth, leaving a dark atmosphere to fill the room. (Y/N) finally sensed the tone of the room and, so she latched on to her man's arm guiding him out the room.

“Come on, Al let's give Anthony some space,” a quiver in her voice and her anxiously attempting to pull his body towards the door, “he’s in very poor condition, right now and you & him bickering is just making it worse.” Successfully shoving him out the door, and before leaving she gave him a warm and soft smile. The door slammed soon after, he could still hear their bickering through his dazed and groggy state. Footsteps grew distant as they carried on down the hallway, voices muffled behind the walls in a way comforted Anthony. Compared to his home life he would wake up to his dad arguing with his mother or one the other family members that dropped by in the morning, he would slothfully fall out of bed knowing that the constant screech match wouldn’t end for an hour or maybe even longer on a bad day. Nonetheless, he drew comfort from the low conversation happening down in the next room. Laying on his side turned to face the door, not knowing if (y/n) was going to come back in with her bright smile, he could even go for a fake one. But, no matter what he tried to think of he kept emulating that bizarre man hovering over him with his overbearing and suffocating aura.

Anthony was so in thought that he didn’t even realize his mind was drifting off to sleep, his body sinking into the soft linen warmed by his body heat in cased in the thick stacks of blankets. He entered REM sleep in a matter of seconds, Anthony was back at home sitting at the kitchen table in his childhood apartment. His mother rushing back and forth, like a chicken with her head cut off, she ran around preparing for tonight's dinner. My sister Molly sat in front of the t.v. watching a cartoon show, Niss was leaning on the wall, his heated gaze directed towards the door, waiting for someone. The sun outside was, so bright and cheerful compared to our bleak apartment, outside he could’ve sworn he heard children laughter mixed with shoes hitting against the hard cement. A narrator or a small voice enters the enclosed space of the kitchen, his mother unfazed from the new voice speaking. He didn’t notice it before, but the voice seemed to be talking like they were speaking for a while now. They sounded like a chorus of different people talking at the same time, so serene, but assertive? As the voices were speaking it slowly grew darker and rougher, increasing in strength and volume ‘til the point of static rang against my eardrum. His head burst from the high frequency of the many voices, this time they spoke separately making it hard to concentrate on a single non existent body. The pain got so unbearable to the point of grasping at his own head and trying to cover up anything that led to him hearing this ear shattering noise. But, as soon as it started it soon ended, leaving a sharp pinging noise in the air, his face was wet from tears that stung his freshly scratched cheeks. A thump of a door swung shut, his brother moved into the kitchen swiftly, dad traveling in behind him. Taking a seat right in front of Anthony, he avoided eye contact with his dad trying to gain his mom’s attention, but she glued her face to the floor not even looking to meet his gaze when setting the plate of food on the table. His dad’s gaze was directly on him, the voices started speaking up again, yet this time it was only one particular, familiar voce.

It was his own voice talking back at him.

“Ya have to help her.” He automatically thought about his mother who gets hit every night by his father, but she died years ago. The dead don’t need our help anymore after they’re six feet under. “She needs your help, even if she feels safe.” He wasn’t following, he was mostly leering out the window, hating the freedom most people had when he was growing up. He listened to himself warn him, but something he said stuck out the most to him.

“He’s never going to let her go, he’ll kill her once he’s satisfied with her companionship. But, the demon has the yearn to feed on flesh and will get his way. You need to be sneaky and clever or he will kill you. Just like the others.”

The room fell in darkness, and he was surrounded by slippery stone walls. Looking up to the dark sky, rain water hit his face and he could barely see the outline of a silhouette peering over the walls of the cramped cylinder space. Anthony didn’t know why, but he called out for help, yelling til his throat was sore trying to yell over the loud rumbling of thunder. A bright flash of lightning flew across the sky, giving light to the figures' features and what he saw made him freeze in terror. What was supposed to be his eyes were clocks, his teeth were yellow and sharp, his mouth stretched out from ear to ear and his face looked like it was peeling from small creases of wrinkles. Flowing red and black hair soaked from rain pressed against his face, the man made his spine tighten. He couldn’t move, and what made his fear rise was his small chuckling, right then his head spun a full 360 and his limbs bent at weird angles as he slowly descended down the wall. He only stopped once situated, Anthony felt tears sting his face again, crying harder when he started moving directly towards him, and he hated the feeling of being trapped in this inescapable small and tight space. He was half way down, before he stopped again his smile growing even larger than what humanly could be done. The stretching of his skin left small bits chipping off and landing on his face, too afraid to even take his eyes away from the beast he kept the flesh on his terror stricken face. His mouth gaped open, strings of saliva stretched and fell and right when his gaping jaw was wide enough he let go of the wall allowing his disfigured body to fall straight towards him. His body was engulf in a warm encasing of hot flesh, turning his world dark once more.

Anthony woke up with a jolt the adrenaline in his veins kept the pain at bay as he rushed to the otherside of the room, before going to the door swinging it nearly off its hinges. He darted down the hall, with tears rushing down his face. He needed somebody to be near him, right now even if he felt like a child in the process he wanted, no needed comfort. Warmth radiated from the kitsch as he turned to see a whole family sitting down for breakfast. Three kids stopped eating to stare back at him, (Y/n) shooting straight out of her chair, he could only hear static right now, but he could see her face full of concern written all over it. Yet, the only thing he could keep his attention on was that brunette with the ever stretching smile.

#hazbin hotel human au #Angel dust #hazbin hotel angel dust #human angel dust #human alastor #nightmares #angel dust's family #human husker #hazbin hotel au #hazbin alastor #demon alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor being a jerk #alastor being alastor #sober angel dust #husker hazbin hotel #angel dust human

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too-scared-to-do-this · 3 years

Text

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Sander’s side fanfiction

Wordcount: 1304

Ships: still just prinxiety

TW: mentions of blood, cursing, injury, post-operations stuff talk kinda, imprisonment, a lot of panicking and distress - which kind off resembles an anxiety-attack but not really. I think I’ve got all. As always, if I missed anything, let me know, please. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. :3

Summary of the whole story: They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Not only does time not work in Hell, but apparently physics doesn’t either. Because no matter how Virgil looked at it, there was just no way this weird figure could’ve fallen straight onto him from the place he was situated at.

He was climbing the throne from the back. Reaching from the side. So please explain to him, how the hell was he able of falling fall over and landing directly on top of the king?

Either Hell was truly that massed up, or this person was just unconventionally clumsy.

Virgil didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though. He yelped and pushed the stranger off. Which resulted in poor Roman landing on his back on the hard ground. Broken stalagmites and new once that were just growing out pushed into his back, his head hitting a particularly sharp one.

Dull ache spread through his whole body. “Aw…” he groaned weakly, reaching for his head. Carefully trying to lift himself into a sitting position, the voices around him started to come back to him.

Someone on his right was barely breathing, short fast breaths not enough to satisfy their lungs. And someone on his left was laughing their ass off.

Roman frowned at the general direction of the laugh. This was not funny.

And why was everything so hazy? His vision was fogged and blurry and his hearing muffled and muted down. And oh god, his head!

He pulled his hand away. Even this out of focus, he could make out the big red splotch that covered his palm. Well, this is just great!

He had to get out of there before these things could lock him up, but the room was starting to spin and his eyes got kind off heavy… He just wanted to lay down… just for a little bit….

“Startup immediate! Let’s fucking eat him!”

Well at least that’s what Roman made out of what the creature on his right said. And that didn’t sound like the most pleasant thing. He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. He had to get up! He had to run!

In reality, what Virgil said was: “Shut up, you idiot! They’re fucking bleeding!”

Panic seeping all the way to his bones he rushed over to the distressed stranger. This wasn’t good! He couldn’t leave them to just bleed out!

Remi paid his master’s stressed-out state no mind. He was too preoccupied leaning over, just barely standing - laughing so hard. “And?”

Virgil couldn’t believe this! “Remington! Go get the fucking healers!”

When Virgil got distressed and needed people to listen, his voice pitched down a few octaves and doubled over. Demons called it his Monster voice.

In this particular instance, the Monster voice was nothing compared to the way he roared at the servant.

He immediately shut up and ran off to find help.

The king was left alone with a very woozy, barely conscious and scared to death Roman. “Oh shit! Don’t die on me...! Please...!”

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Could he touch the creature? Should he touch them? What if they have a broken rib or something?

They ended up just awkwardly hovering over the wounded figure.

Meanwhile, Roman didn’t even know what was going on. His mind was too foggy to comprehend anything. He just sat there, willing himself to think the one thought he needed to think.

But what was that thought again?

Some-Something about… running?

Yeah, yeah that…

He… he wanted to run. From what...?

Nobody seemed to be nearby… So why did he want to…

Wait, what did he want again…?

Oh, right. Sleep…

Virgil’s hand-hovering came to an end the moment the med-team stepped into the hall. “Your Majesty.” the demons all bowed.

“Stop bowing and get this Human to the med-bay! Immediately!”

“Yes sir.” the main healer nodded shortly and rushed over to the thief. The rest followed.

The devil let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and fall back against the throne. It was going to be okay now. His healers are the best in the under-world. They’ll take care of them.

He watched as they took the now unconscious figure away. Remi walked up to him, not-bothered as always. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just left it to bleed out.”

Virgil was too tired for this. His mind was going three miles per second and he just needed to calm down… He turned his cold gaze at the demon. “You’re a mind reader. Figure it out.”

That shut Remi up. No matter how much fun it would’ve been to see the Human suffer, hearing what ran through his king’s head wasn’t fun at all. He wasn’t about that. “I’ll be throwing down damned souls into the pit. If you need me, just call my name, babe. Byeeeee!!” And with a finger-wiggle wave, he left the room.

Virgil didn’t feel like getting up. The ground seemed comfortable enough for now. (There wasn’t much of a difference between it and the throne anyway.)

A Human being. A living, breathing, Human flashbang. He hasn’t seen a living specimen in… He doesn’t even know when was the last time one stood before him.

And now there was one in his med-bay. Antichrist, this was bad!

What is he even supposed to do with a creature like that? Besides torture, obviously. Sweet mother of evil!

The devil sat there, contemplating un-life until one of the healers walked into the hall.

“Your highness, the Human has been dealt with. We stopped the bleeding, and stitched up the wound best we could. It is still unconscious, though, so we locked it in one of the cells, temporarily.”

“Thank you, Lucius. Let me know when they wake up.”

“Yes, sir.” with that, the servant left. And Virgil finally climbed back on that uncomfortable throne. He pulled his phone out, and started scrolling through Tumblr once again. Things didn’t seem so boring anymore.

Roman came to a few hours later - not that he knew how much time had passed. What he knew though, was that he was in a dark cell guarded by two demons. Even through his hazy brain he could understand the situation he was in - he was a prisoner. ”Oh, holly mother Teresa!” he freaked, standing up and rushing over to the bars. Well, more like he stumbled...

“You have to let me out! Come on! You don’t understand! Let me out!” he gripped the cold stone bars.

One of the guards looked at him, then exchanged looks with the other. The second nodded and left, leaving Roman with a very angry looking demon.

He gulped. “Mr. Ehr, Miss- am… I… ah, please let me go…?”

The guard didn’t even glance at him.

Well, this was going well.

The second guard entered the throne hall and bowed down deep. Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’ve been telling you for thousands of years to stop bowing! It’s betting annoying.”

The demon straightened up immediately, nodding ashamed. “I apologize, your evilness.” Another eyeroll. These titles were getting better by the decade.

“What’s up, Derius?” he leaned on the arm-rests, razing his eyebrow.

“The prisoner woke up.”

Oh. Oh shit. Okay. Okay... “Are they okay?”

“It seems fine. IA bit out of it and scared, but that is to be expected. We did just imprison it in an environment completely different from his natural habitat…”

Virgil nodded, feeling his heartrate spike and slow again. They were all right.

Then an idea popped up in his head. Slowly, a grin pulled at his lips. Remi wanted fun, didn’t he?

Virgil could be fun. (Now that he knew nothing serious was happening with the Human.) Virgil could be very, very fun. He bit his lip and looked up at the guard.

“Bring me that thief.”

-----------------------------------------

Iiiiiiii can’t even believe it!

Another part, right the next day? I’m kicking this block’s ass, y’all! :D And look where we are! Remember that first anonymous comment that started all this?

But hey, I really hoped you enjoyed it. :3

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. If I have an answer I’ll gladly share it. And if I don’t, you just helped me come up with another addition to the story ;D

I’ll be back with a new chapter as soon as possible :)

(I wasn’t kidding when I said this was becoming my new hyper-fixation XD)

Bye, for now <3

Tag list:

@alice-only-me

#of the devil's head #demon/thief au #prinxiety #ts virgil #ts roman #ts remi #ts sleep #remi aka sleep #virgil sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #Sander's sides #tomas sanders #anxiety sanders #creativity sanders #Sander's sides fanfiction #what else should I tag?

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turtlepated · 4 years

Text

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 3 -

[TW: brief, loose description of a panic attack. Just tread lightly! Don’t wanna upset anybody!]

Tag list: @sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip

----

At my pronouncement Beetlejuice whipped around to face me so quickly that his head actually spun on his shoulders like a top for a moment before he stopped it by clapping both palms to either side. There was also an audible record scratch followed by complete silence. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, jamming a finger into his ear and wiggling it vigorously as though a blockage may have caused him to mishear me. “I said I’ll marry you. If you want, that is.” He blinked slowly a few times, his mouth opening and then shutting again. His brow furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing as he fixed me with a doubtful look. “This is a trick, but I’m not sure how.” Despite the complete absurdity of the situation, or maybe because of it, I laughed through my nose at the blunt certainty in his statement. “No trick, you have my word.” Beetlejuice scoffed incredulously and I recoiled from the spray of saliva, wiping the wetness off my cheek. “Nice try, dollface,” he sneered, pacing around me so that I had to turn to keep him in sight. “I’m not fallin’ for that one.”

“But I really mean it,” I insisted. “You said you wanted life, right?” Eyes still narrowed, Beetlejuice gave a jerky affirmative nod. “Yeah…?” “And the only way for you to… become alive is to marry a living person?” He turned his head, fixing me with a mistrustful side eye. “Yeah…?.” I nodded along, shrugging one shoulder as though it were the most casual suggestion possible. “So then, why not marry me?”

I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, his expression softening from skepticism into slack-jawed surprise and back again as he debated internally. I watched, amazed and curious, as shoots of different colors flared in his hair like a neon sign: purple and red and blue and yellow. After taking a long moment to think it over, he looked back at me with eyes wide and round.

“Why?” he asked, his raspy voice so quiet it came out like a croak. My throat tightened and I had to swallow hard to force the feeling back down. No one had ever looked at me with that kind of vulnerability, no one had ever spoken to me with such bald openness, and I wondered if he was even aware of just how transparent he was in this moment.

I flashed him a lopsided smile, relieved when my lips didn’t tremble and the burning in my eyes subsided. “You said you were tired of being alone,” I explained, taking a deep breath and mustering my courage. It was my turn to be open. “I am, too. So… let’s get married.” His brows knitted together, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought, his tongue darting out to wet his parted lips. “You’re… you’re serious?” I nodded firmly. “That way, neither of us has to be alone anymore.” From above and behind us, someone cleared their throat. Beetlejuice turned to look and I leaned sideways, peering over his shoulder at the man on the platform. He was still sweating bullets and pale as milk, but he was trying to smile in a friendly way that ended up more of a grimace.

“It just so happens, I’m ordained,” he announced. “I could marry you right now!” At the podiums, Delia let out a sharp cry of alarm. “Otho!” she chastised, aghast. “What are you doing?!” “Oh, shut up, Delia!” Otho nearly shrieked, his voice ratcheting about an octave higher. “I can’t die in Connecticut! Mr. Ghost Demon, sir, if you’ll let me down I’ll gladly perform a civil ceremony!” Beetlejuice beamed, his previously serious and rather melancholy demeanor wiped away as easily dry erase marker off a board. With a snap of his fingers and a tremendous puff of brilliantly green smoke, the scaffold and gallows disappeared and left Otho standing on solid ground, his hands patting himself down all over as if to make sure it was still in one piece.

“Anything can happen in a live show, folks!” Beetlejuice said into his mic, turning once again as if addressing an audience. “We’ll be right back with the wedding of the century! Eat your hearts out, Will and Kate!” Tossing the mic carelessly over his shoulder (it landed somewhere with a shrill scream of electronic feedback) Beetlejuice reached up and began fussing with his bow tie, smoothing the ruffles down the front of his green polyester button-down shirt. “Let’s get this show on the road, Skippy! What’s first?” he asked, practically bouncing over to Otho and slinging an arm around his shoulders like they were old school friends. Jumping and uttering a tiny frightened sound, Otho cleared his throat and took a moment to compose himself before turning on a winning, charismatic smile of perfectly white teeth. While they worked out the particulars, Delia and the Maitlands converged on me like a flock of extremely concerned birds.

They all began speaking at the same time. “You don’t have to do this!” Adam insisted, whispering vehemently so Beetlejuice wouldn’t overhear. “He’s right, we can figure something out together!” Barbara agreed. “We can’t let you go through with this!” Delia tittered anxiously. “He’s a demon!” “He’s dangerous!” “His vibes are atrocious!” I raised my hands in a supplicant gesture, trying to get them to calm down when I felt a cold, clammy hand take me by the elbow. “Shake a leg, babes! It’s showtime!” Beetlejuice tugged me resolutely after him to where Otho stood with his hands clasped loosely in front of him like a very posh reverend. The specter had undergone another wardrobe change, now wearing a somewhat shabby and extraordinarily garish tuxedo of red crushed velvet, his verdant hair slicked back flat against his head. It took a very long moment for me to realize that since pulling me away from the three distraught sympathizers, Beetlejuice had been talking animatedly.

I had thought that I was making, if not a rational decision, then the only logical choice I could make. Now that the moment was upon me, I found that I wasn’t quite as at peace with the whole arrangement as I’d thought I was. Beetlejuice’s words, which were still issuing from his mouth at a startling rate, did not penetrate the cottony fluff that seemed stuffed in my ears as he steered me forward. Was this what getting cold feet felt like? I wasn’t sure, I’d never been engaged before, I’d never been anything before. What had I gotten myself into?

Beetlejuice pulled me up short beside him, turning and glancing me up and down. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself. “Just a sec, doll. Needs a little…” He trailed off, snapping his fingers and enveloping me in a puff of red smoke. It cleared a moment later and I looked down at myself to see that I was now clothed in a long-sleeved dressed of frilled layers with a high, lacey collar. It was also bright red to match his tux. At my right side, Beetlejuice grinned toothily and took my hand, tucking it into the crook of his left elbow and turning us both to face Otho. “All right, sunshine,” he said, grinning ear to ear and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Do your stuff!”

Otho’s eyes darted from Beetlejuice’s to mine, his mouth pulling into a thin line and his eyebrows rising marginally as if to say, “Sorry”, and then he cleared his throat and began to speak. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today before these witnesses to join this… erm…man and this woman in wedded bliss!” Behind us I heard scrambling footsteps, craning back over my shoulder to see Delia and the Maitlands rushing forward as if to put a stop to the proceedings. Without turning, Beetlejuice made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his free hand and the three of them stopped suddenly as if they’d collided with an invisible wall. “Can we just, uh, skip to the important parts?” he asked/instructed the reluctant officiant. Flustered and put on the spot, Otho’s mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times but he did as he was asked.

“If you’ll both just sign your full names to this marriage certificate,” he said, withdrawing a flat leather pouch from an interior pocket of his jacket. He opened it, rifled through for a moment, and pulled out a single slip. “Got a pen, pal?” Beetlejuice asked, plucking it deftly from Otho’s fingers as he dove into another pocket in search of a pen. When Otho produced a pen, Beetlejuice gestured for him to turn around and pressed the certificate to the man’s back, signing his name on a line at the bottom of the document before presenting the pen to me with a flourish. “M’dear,” he said with an enormous rakish grin. I watched my hand reach mechanically forward and take it from him but it wasn’t acting on any conscious input from me. I raised the pen to the paper and wrote my name on the dotted line. Otho spun back around, Beetlejuice insistently stuffing the paper back into his hands. He read the document carefully, shot one last sorrowful look at me, and added his own signature to the final line before shoving the pen back into his pocket without replacing its cap. “Very well then. Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth; do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, and forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?” Beetlejuice was beaming at me, his hair such a vibrant shade of green it was practically glowing. “I do!”

I blinked dumbly, momentarily thrown by the unexpected normalcy of at least part of his full name as Otho turned at last to me. “And do you… yada yada yada, so long as you both shall live?” he asked, cutting an anxious glance to Beetlejuice who was making an impatient “hurry it up!” gesture. I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound, my mind going totally blank. I could hear muffled thumps and voices behind us, as if Barbara, Adam and Delia were trying to get through whatever invisible barrier Beetlejuice had erected between them and us. My eyes turned to the expectant face of the man beside me. Beetlejuice’s eyes were fixed on me, his grin slipping slightly as I kept my silence. I heard myself say the words in my head before they made it to my lips: “I do.”

Exhaling quietly, Otho concluded, “Then by the power vested in me by the state of whatever, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Without further adieu, Beetlejuice slipped one arm around my waist, grasped the back of my head with the other hand and crushed his mouth against mine as he spun me dizzyingly around, dipping me so severely I gasped against his lips, sure that I was about to hit the floor. But he held me up with apparent ease, cantilevered at a steep angle to the floor, and took my gasp as an opportunity to slip his chilly tongue into my mouth. The scent and taste of him flooded my senses; damp soil and stagnant, mildewy water, dead leaves and the sickly-sweet odor of long-wilted flowers. It was wet and melodramatic, slightly musty and interspersed with an almost painful press of teeth. He was also making no attempt to be quiet about it, moaning lewdly against my mouth.

How much longer was he planning this to go on, I wondered? Laughing softly through my nose, I figured I might as well play along and raised my hands to his face, cupping his jaw. His bristly scruff was rough against my thumbs as I ran them up and over his cheeks, my fingers coming to rest in the short, thick hair at the base of his skull. A jolt passed through him as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and his eyes snapped wide open. Just as quickly and easily as I’d gone down he swung me upright, separating from me with a sound like a plunger being pulled from a sink. We looked at one another in silence for a beat, my eyes rising to the top of his head where I could swear strands of his hair were turning a soft cotton candy pink. Clearing his throat and averting his gaze, Beetlejuice lifted his hands up to his face. He spread and wiggled his fingers, rotating them at the wrist to scrutinize the front and back of his palms. “Huh,” he grunted, underwhelmed. “That seems pretty anticlimactic.” “Was something supposed to happen?” I asked. He gave a noncommittal, one-shouldered shrug. “I mean, I thought so, but maybe-”

Beetlejuice cut himself off with a sharp cry, doubling over, his face crinkling as if in pain and his hands pressed flat against his chest. All of us jumped back, alarmed, unsure what to do as he let out a strangled gasp, curling further in on himself, staggering unsteadily and grunting, his eyes pinched tightly shut and his teeth bared. After a moment he relaxed, head hanging down, trembling arms braced against his thighs as his back rose and fell in deep, shuddering breaths. “Wow,” he said, somehow even raspier than before. “That was a thing.” Blowing out one last hard exhale he righted himself, hands on his hips. “So! When do we eat the cake – oh….” Beetlejuice froze in place, his mouth a tiny o, his eyes the size of saucers. “What was…? There it is again!” He dashed the few feet over to me, so fast I thought he might bowl me right over, seizing one of my hands in both of his and mashing my palm firmly against his chest. “Do you feel that?!”

I stiffened at the unexpected closeness and contact, but I tried to figure out what he was talking about. Truthfully, I didn’t feel anything at all at first, but when I concentrated I did indeed distinguish a rhythmic thump. “Your… your heartbeat?” I asked. A harsh gasp tore from him, his face going totally slack in shock. “I have a heartbeat?” he repeated numbly. “I’m… alive?” He let out a bark of laughter, then another, then launched into a full-on bout of hysterics ranging from deep belly laughter to high, tittering giggles as he flung both arms around my waist, lifted me up and spun me around, so overcome by his elation. “I’m alive! I’m aliiiiive! Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ve never been so happy!” With another loud gasp he stopped again, the skirt of my dress swinging around us as he plopped me unceremoniously back on my feet. “I’m happy!” he said, the word coming out as a reedy squeak.

His joy was so contagious I couldn’t help smiling myself. Even the others, glancing uncertainly to me and one another, were looking at the very least hopeful that maybe it was smooth sailing from here on out.

It was not.

“Oh God, what if it doesn’t last?” he whined, twisting his hands together anxiously. “Oh God, it’s gone! The happiness is gone! What if it never comes back?! Now I feel bad! Ugh, why does it feel like I swallowed a bowling ball? And like somebody melon-balled out my heart?! That’s not fair, those feelings don’t even go together! Now I’m mad!” We all stood stupefied by the intensity and speed of his emotional 180. He rounded on us in a fury, charging towards no one in particular and raving about how society failed to teach men how to properly process their anger. The others clustered loosely together, safety in numbers after all, and I stepped toward him, laying a hand lightly on his arm and making a soft shushing motion with the other. He stopped when I touched him, chest heaving, jaw clenched, eying me hard. “Just take a deep breath,” I urged, taking care to keep my voice as calm as possible, demonstrating for him the long slow inhale through the nose, the long slow exhale through the mouth. “Try it,” I said when he looked doubtful, still practically panting but at my insistence he begrudgingly copied me, sucking in a huge lungful of air and puffing his cheeks out. We exhaled at the same time and repeated the exercise and I was relieved to note the tension draining out of the set of his shoulders and the forearm which I still had my hand curled loosely around.

“Better?” I asked. He grumbled something under his breath. All eyes turned in the same direction then as a door opened in the wall, emitting drifting mist that glowed faintly green. Lydia emerged from the murk, followed closely by the tall man who had run through after her, presumably her father. Both of them stopped dead, faces freezing into nearly identical masks of confusion as they took in the scene before them: Delia and the Maitlands huddled, Otho hiding behind them, while Beetlejuice and I stood together in ostentatious red wedding apparel. “What the hell?” said Lydia, her father too befuddled to reprimand her for the swear. The door swung silently closed of its own accord behind them, awkward silence filling the room until I cleared my throat. “Are you Charles Deetz?” I asked. Charles Deetz nodded mutely. I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave. “Hi. I’m your neighbor. I brought your mail.”

Delia raced forward then to Charles and Lydia, flinging her arms around them while the Maitlands kept their distance for the time being, turning their attention to myself. “What’re you gonna do now?” Barbara asked, trying not to make it obvious that she was talking about the now no-longer-dead demon standing next to me. I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t even stopped long enough yet to think about what would happen now. “I… have absolutely no idea,” I admitted, turning to see that Lydia had pried herself free from Delia and had marched over to Beetlejuice. She stopped right in front of him, glaring defiantly, arms crossed over her chest. “That was a crappy stunt you pulled,” she said matter of factly. Beetlejuice, unimpressed by her demeanor, held his ground. “Don’t gimme that, half pint. You started it!” he growled back. Lydia’s glower faltered, replaced with total incomprehension. “What? What are you talking about?” Beetlejuice pointed triumphantly, nearly poking her in the face as he said, “See! There you go again!” She batted his hand away and considering his shaky handle on the whole emotions thing, I thought it best to intervene before things got out of control. I looped my arm through Beetlejuice’s and steered him purposefully away from the irate teen and towards the door. “Come on, honey, we don’t want to overstay our welcome.” Charles and Delia, who’d been cooing and fussing at one another, seemed to remember their unexpected guest at that point and called after me. “Wait!” Charles began, bringing himself up short, unsure of what to say. “Will you… be all right?” He shot a quick glance at Beetlejuice as if to add “with him?” I felt Beetlejuice tensing again next to me, leaning into him and laying my other hand against his bicep. “We’ll be just fine. It was, er… very nice to meet you all!”

With that, I opened the front door and walked out with a husband in tow. As we descended the steps, from inside I heard someone, it sounded like Delia, shout, “Congratulations!”

-----

Ah, weddings. Tears, emotions, full blown meltdowns and threats of physical violence...

Thanks for reading! Up next, domestic bliss with the Juice man! PFT!

If you’d like to be tagged, gimme a shout!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x self insert #my writing #Pate writes #The Handbook

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bowlegsandbiceps · 4 years

Text

otp question meme #5

Who is most likely to carry the other?

“I’m fine.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice ricocheted through the forest and Dean winced before toppling back down onto the deadfall he’d just tried to rise from.

Dean was panting, feeling blood pulse at his temples as his brother knelt down to examine his ankle, large hand closing around it gingerly.

“’EY QUIT,” Dean bellowed, black crowding at the edges of his vision, stomach rolling and the Grand Slam he’d bolted down for breakfast threatened to come back up.

"You can’t walk on that.”

“Can.” Dean grunted grabbing on to Sam’s shoulder again attempting to hoist himself up.

"We should call Cas-”

“NO!” Dean nearly lost his balance again, instinctively dropping his foot to the ground to catch himself and the noise he made was involuntary, legs nearly crumpling but Sam’s arm around his back kept him up.

“Come on, Dean. Don’t be stubborn.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket then frowned. “No signal.” Sam looked at Dean expectantly.

“If you don’t have a signal I don’t either, genius.”

Sam’s bitch face dimples made an appearance. Dean would find it funny if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not vomiting. “Call him.”

“Did you not hear me-”

“No, Dean. Call him. Angel radio.”

Dean’s face screwed up in indignation. “NO! You call him.”

“He doesn’t come when I call him.”

Dean scowled. “Just... let’s just... go back to the car.” Dean shifted his arm around Sam’s shoulder, steadying himself on his one leg, ready to move when Sam did.

“Are you kidding me?” Sam pulled Dean away to look at him but kept him steady with a hand hooked around his bicep. “You think I can haul your ass five miles through the forest with a broken ankle?”

“What good are all those push-ups if you can’t haul your big brother around.” Dean clapped Sam hard on the chest. “Let’s go.”

They made it a mile before Dean lost his breakfast, two before Sam’s pace started to slow but at the two-and-a-quarter mark Sam lost his footing and they both went down. Dean’s shout sent a flock of birds into flight from nearby trees and he stayed down, unmoving the leaf-littered forest floor holding him armless.

“Cas?” Dean looked up, finding his brother pushing himself to his knees. The dork actually folded his hands. “Castiel? We need your help-”

“No, we don’t.”

“Dean’s hurt.”

“I am no-”

The flutter of wings and displacement of air sounded behind them, Dean wincing as his ears popped. He worked his jaw open and closed, sticking a pinky in his ear and jiggling it.

“What happened?”

A warm hand covered Dean’s ankle, a gentle heat that hurt but not enough to squirm about. Castiel was crouched next to him, tan coat pooling on the ground around him, tie askew as always. Dean tried to push him away.

“I said ‘m fine! Sam help me up.” Dean held out a hand and Sam’s displeased dimples made an appearance again, hands on his hips as he loomed over both men.

"Cas I know Dean’s being a real dickhead right now and you’re not on speaking terms but-”

“Why am I the dickhead??”

“We’re still about 3 miles from the car and if you could just heal him up that would-”

“I can’t heal him.” Castiel stood, wiping his palms together.

Sam looked alarmed. “What? Why?”

Castiel looked around, his eyes squinting and there was something otherworldly about him then, intelligent eyes holding multitudes. “This is old land.”

“What do you mean old land?” Dean peered up at him, one eye squinted against the watery sun behind Cas’s head giving him an accidental halo. The angel ignored him, continuing to scan the area, unmoving. Dean sighed. “Sam, what’s he mean old land?”

Sam’s brows drew in worry, his eyes on Castiel. “I think... I think it means that it’s enchanted somehow.”

"Ancient. Charged. Undisturbed and familiar to creatures who’ve existed for millennia, centuries before humans.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean in a passing glance but didn’t hold.

“And that neuters you?”

Castiel’s head whipped to scowl down at Dean and Dean fought a smirk. Castiel’s jaw clenched, looking back out into the trees. “We should go.”

Castiel leaned down and for a moment Dean thought he was going to touch his ankle again so he braced for the pain. What he didn’t brace for was being scooped up into the angel’s arms like he was no heavier than a sack of potatoes.

“What the fu-” Dean’s arms scrambled, circling around Castiel’s neck for stability as his feet kicked feebly, resisting the hold at first but the pain that sudden movement caused had his head thumping against Castiel’s collarbone, fighting off the creeping darkness once more.

“Come along, Sam.” Castiel strode ahead leaving Sam to scramble behind him.

Dean kept his head down, temple resting against Castiel’s neck as he scowled. He was tense in Castiel’s arms, unyielding in his stubborn pout but he didn’t miss the gentle throb of Castiel’s pulse starting up. The angel took a breath and let it out of his mouth and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get your blood going on my account,” Dean muttered, feeling the steady thud of it against his own ribs.

“I’m only trying to make you comfortable.” Dean snorted. Castiel shifted him gently in his arms, situating the crook of his elbow more firmly under his knee and Dean was able to loosen his calf muscle, Castiel preventing the jostle of his injured ankle for him now. “You’re the one who said not having a heartbeat and not breathing was creepy.”

“Since when do you care?” Dean grumbled uncurling his arms from around Castiel’s neck to fold them over his chest. Dean felt Castiel’s arm tighten around his ribs.

“I have always cared for you, Dean. You being a stubborn jackass doesn’t change that.”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn jackass.”

“Well, I’m certainly not.”

“You know what?” Dean tried to wiggle and Castiel stopped looking down at the man in his arms. “Put me down. I’ll take my chances with the old land creatures.”

Castiel’s brows scrunched. “You’ll be eaten. Or worse.”

Dean’s mouth popped open. “What’s worse than being eaten?”

Castiel’s eyes were a warning and Dean felt himself shiver, subconsciously shifting more towards Castiel’s chest. “We need to keep moving.”

Dean grumbled, allowing one arm to loop around Castiel’s neck again but only because it made him feel more secure and he had something to hold onto in case the angel were to drop him. Castiel snorted and Dean scowled, wondering if Castiel was listening in.

“Sam?” Dean called weakly, lifting his head to try and see his brother.

“RIght here.”

Dean felt his brother’s hand on his forearm at the back of Castiel’s neck briefly before it went away but Dean could hear the sound of Sam’s boots crunching through the brush behind them.

“Something happens you get Sammy out,” Dean mumbled under his breath and he pretended not to notice the roll of Castiel’s eyes.

“Of course.”

Time passed as Dean fought to keep his eyes open, the sun now high overhead. He could hear Sam puffing behind him, knew his brother’s hair was wet with sweat. He was pleasantly warm but not overheated.

“Cas.... are you... are you temperature controlling me?” Castiel shifted him in his arms but didn’t answer. “You... I...” Dean snorted and let his head hang back. “You’re not talking to me but you go out of your way to regulate your own body temperature so I’m comfortable?”

“I’m not ‘not talking’ to you. You’re not talking to me.”

“No,” Dean shifted to look up at Castiel and Cas shifted his hold so that Dean was sitting up higher and they were now face to face if Castiel turned his head to the side. “You were the one who disappeared with no warning the morning after-”

“Excuse me.” Castiel stopped abruptly and Dean fought the cringe at the holy fire behind the angel’s eyes, reminded once again that angels are warriors of god and Castiel had led battalions into war for millennia. “You were the one that disappeared."

“What?!” Dean’s voice jumped an octave. “No, I didn’t.”

“I woke up and you were gone. You’d been gone for a while.” Castiel began walking again, shifting his shoulders, his mouth set in an unpleased pucker. “The mattress was cold.”

Dean heaved a sigh. “Cas. You idiot.”

“Don’t call me an idiot, Dean. I may be unfamiliar with certain customs but I know what being ghosted is.”

“Cas. I went to get coffee and danishes. For you.”

Castiel stopped again, looking at Dean and his head tilted. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“In that case I’ll make sure the creature over there doesn’t eat you.” Castiel turned his head, calling over his shoulder. “Keep close, Sam.”

Dean felt his brother’s hand` snatch a handful of the back of the angel’s coat. “What is it, Cas?”

“It’s not of import. It won’t bother us.”

"Wait, Cas! Wait dammit!” Castiel finally halted looking at Dean expectantly. “We can’t just leave some....some human-eating monster out here.”

Castiel looked at Dean as if he were trying every ounce of the angel’s patience. “You two are the first humans to set foot in this forest for eight-hundred years.”

“What?” both brothers demanded at the same time.

“It’s right off a highway!” Sam insisted.

“It was charmed to keep humans out. I’m assuming that because both of you have been vessels to angels and demons and, well frankly, died on numerous occasions you’ve likely been exempt.”

“We... we aren’t human?” Sam’s voice was small.

“For the purposes of the enchantment warding this forest, it seems not.”

They were silent for a while then, the brothers each contemplating their own humanity before Dean forced himself to shove it down and away, looking up at Cas again.

“So, what angels are safe from whatever goes ‘bump’ on old land?”

Castiel fixes Dean with a deep blue stare, eyes fathoms deep and ancient beyond comprehension. Dean felt warm, the blue flame of Castiel’s grace flickering before fading back again. “No, not intrinsically. But things that go ‘bump’ as you say, dare not intervene where I tread.” The levity in Cas’ voice made Dean shiver. “You are safe with me.”

Dean nodded and after a moment tucked his face into Castiel’s neck, the angel’s arms tightening around him.

#otp question meme #i answer these myself because it's fun #destiel #shut up heather

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 5 years

Text

Hand in Glove - Chapter 27 | Ben Hardy x OFC

A/N: ask game is ON until Sunday. While I’m writing, please send asks for the characters. Not only do I love your questions, it helps me stay in the zone. Also, updated my writing playlist because some songs needed to be added and I do what I want.

Warnings: Slight/implied smut, shit gets a bit weird, nothing unusual.

Word Count: Less than 4K, which is lovely, because I seriously thought this chapter is like a standalone novel.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 , Chapter 15 , Chapter 16 , Chapter 17 , Chapter 18 , Chapter 19 , Chapter 20 , Chapter 21 , Chapter 22 , Chapter 23 , Chapter 24, Chapter 25 , Chapter 26

"Fiercely and forever, Jones."

Ben and Annie leaned into each other, their foreheads pressed together. Annie sat in Ben's lap, one hand wrapped around the column of his neck, the other around his broad shoulders. Rocking them both back and forth, Ben let out the most confusing noise - something between a sob and a laugh.

"I don't even have an engagement ring to give you."

"I don't want one." Annie opened her eyes and looked at him through her lashes,close-up. The reality of what had just happened settling in. "I don't want a wedding."

Ben's eyes opened and stared into her own. "Come again?"

"I don't want this to be a big deal." Annie didn't break eye-contact. "I don't want people to know we're doing this."

"So no one's allowed to know we're getting married, then?" Ben leaned back, his arms relaxing around Annie. "Why?"

"It's nobody's business."

"I'm pretty sure our friends and families will want to celebrate this." Ben scoffed.

"I don't give a flying fuck, actually." Annie shrugged. "They're not doing this. We are."

"Are you sure about that?"

"About what?" Annie raised an eyebrow.

"That we're doing this. It doesn't sound like we're doing this." Ben started to push Annie off him but she clung on. "Are you ashamed of our relationship or something?"

"Of course not."

"So you just don't want people to know we're doing this?" Ben was incredulous. "For no reason? Just because?"

"If people know," Annie started, carefully choosing her words, "if they're involved - if they're invested in it - and this all falls apart, just imagine how much fun they'll have watching us crash and burn."

"Huh." Ben bit the inside of his cheek. "So, what, we elope? Tell no one? You won't take my name?"

"We'll get legally married. No big, fancy event. No tux and wedding gown." Annie explained. "No invitations. No paps. Just us."

"So we'll be the only ones to know we're married?"

"Well, no. We could tell family and friends after the fact." Annie shrugged. "We can exchange rings if you want. I'll take your name. All I need is a little hyphen next to mine."

"Right." Ben chuckled bitterly.

"What?"

"Nothing." he shrugged and pushed Annie off his lap.

"What is it?" Annie asked, still sitting on the floor, as Ben got up and looked for his smokes.

"Nothing. Everything's fine."

"It clearly isn't." Annie stood up as well and blocked the front door. "Talk to me."

"Do you really want to get married, Annie?" Ben asked as he reached for his jacket from the coat rack, "or are you just -"

"Yes!" Annie cried as Ben put his jacket on. "Yes!"

"Just without anyone knowing?"

"Ben, think about it." Annie crossed her arms. "You're getting seriously famous. Internationally. You're the best looking man on earth. Do you know how many people will wish us nothing but the worst? How many people will -"

"Who gives a bloody shit?!"

"I do!" Annie squared her shoulders. "It'll take us 29 days to get married from the day we give our notice."

"I can't bel -" Ben stopped mid-sentence, "wait, how do you know that?"

"I checked."

“What do you mean?”

“I checked what the process is.” Annie shrugged. “Because this is something I want to do. With you.”

Ben looked up at the ceiling and scratched the side of his nose, scoffing.

“Wait,” he said when he looked down and took in Annie’s puzzled face. “You actually checked that? When?”

“In the car. Before I drove home.”

“So when you said you’re ‘not sure’ if you want to get married, before?”

“Yeah, I lied.” Annie cringed. “Mostly to myself, if that’s any consolation.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Ben shook his head in awe. “29 days?”

“29 days. But we have to give notice. Only then we can start counting down.”

“Do we need documents or something?”

“I guess. Didn’t check that far…” Annie bit her bottom lip. “I got kind of freaked out with myself for looking it up in the first place.”

“I’m not following.” Ben started to take a fag out of the box. “Can you move, please?”

“Ben, I never wanted to get married. Growing up with my parents, seeing what marriage was like?” Annie explained. “It was like having an out-of-body experience. I was looking it up and looking at myself doing that and just flipped. I walked up to our stoop ready to kick your head off for changing me and turning me into this… This… thing! But then I saw you and -”

“You know your parents aren’t the best example of a healthy marriage.”

“Yeah. But when I saw you, it’s like our entire relationship played over in my brain.” Annie’s cheeks started reddening. “Fuck-marry-kill. It hit me. I want this. I’ve wanted this since before I even realized I want this.”

“You are so bloody weird.”

“I know.” Annie grinned. “But I do want this. I really, really want this. But on my terms.”

“What about my terms? They don’t matter?”

“Not when you’re not around much... No.” Annie smirked.

“You cheeky little dwarf!” Ben dropped his cigarette box and picked Annie up, throwing her body over his shoulder and smacking her bum. “Fine. Fine. We’ll do it on your terms.”

###

“Cut!”

Jamie and Annie exhaled and slumped their shoulders, their royal stance relaxing. They knew another take was coming and stayed in place. Jamie put a loose strand of Annie’s hair back where it should have been while Annie adjusted his costume.

“So? Elvis has left the building?” Jamie asked, looking at his poor attempt at fixing Annie’s hair and hoping no one will notice.

“Yep, left in the middle of last night.” Annie kept her voice low and her face straight.

“Is everything… you know,” Jamie frowned, “alright?”

“We’re getting married.”

Jamie choked on his own spit and started coughing frantically.

“Wrong pipe?” Annie asked with a lopsided smile.

“You’re getting -” he realized how loud he was and composed himself, “you’re getting married?!”

“Legally, yeah.” Annie nodded slightly. “Nothing big.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Annie said and rolled on her feet, rocking from her toes to her heels, stretching her arms back. “I know. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Wait, what?”

“Action!” the director yelled.

###

“Hey, buddy.” Ben smiled and put the phone on speaker as he wolfed down his lunch. “How’s the tour?”

“Ben Cardy is having a blast, lemme tell ya.” Joe’s words slurred slightly.

“Are you drunk?” Ben put his sandwich down.

“One would say that I could possibly be, yes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“We’re going to a karaoke bar!” Joe announced. “I’m Winnie The Pooh.”

“Of course you are.” Ben chuckled. “So, I see you’re having fun without me.”

“Meh.” Joe shrugged. “What else is happening? How was the weekend?”

“Annie and I got into a bit of a messy fight.” Ben recounted. “Almost broke up but then we sorted it all out and now we’re going to get ma - haaaaaah -”

“Ben?” Joe’s voice rose an octave. “Hello? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben shook his head clear, “we’re going to get… Um... Marigolds. For our garden.”

Ben’s eyebrows knotted as he thought about what he just said.

“Marigolds?”

“Uh-huh. Annie wants ‘em.” Ben smacked his forehead and pursed his lips.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, anyways.” Ben was suddenly in a rush. “I better get going. Have fun without me!”

“Are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Yep. Everything’s perfect. Talk soon!”

Ben hung up the call and groaned. This is a secret he’s going to struggle to keep.

###

“Cut! Right! Great job, you two!” the director called out, finally giving Annie and Jamie their lunch break.

“You’re getting married?!” Jamie wrapped an arm around Annie and hissed. “What?!”

“Yeah.”

“And I can’t tell anyone because…?”

“I said so.”

“What?!”

“Yep.” Annie popped the ‘p’. “So, there’s that.”

“Annie, are you going through a psychotic break? Are you hearing voices and seeing things? Are you… are you high right now?!” Jamie put both of his hands on her shoulders, scrutinizing her face for any sign of insanity or intoxication. “Can you hear colors? Taste voices?”

“I’m not -” Annie started. “What?!”

“Exactly!”

“Why are you freaking out?” Annie raised an eyebrow, her head tilted curiously. “You’re allegedly engaged, too. Shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Allegedly?” Jamie blinked at Annie.

“C’mon, Jamie.” Annie took one of his hands and led him towards the trailers. “It’s a PR stunt. Everybody knows.”

“Pardon?”

“What, we have a huge fight, and you go on a whole mental meltdown,” Annie looked over her shoulder as she tugged him along, “and suddenly you meet Alison -”

“Madison.”

“Madison.” Annie corrected herself, rolling her eyes. “Right. Anyways, Madison suddenly pops out of the blue?”

“You are so…” Jamie stopped in his tracks. “I can’t even begin to -”

“What?”

“You’re definitely high on something.” Jamie snickered and brushed past her. “Go get help, Annie! Addiction is a disease!”

“Fuck off!” Annie laughed and flipped him off before she chased after him.

“You met her! She babysat your demonic little lovechild!”

“I wasn’t saying she’s made up, I was saying your engagement is a fraud.”

“It’s not a fraud.”

“When’s the wedding, then?”

“November 25th!” Jamie shot back.

“Of what year?” Annie smirked, tongue-in-cheek.

“Get over here!” Jamie pulled Annie’s hand and shoved her into his trailer, laughing.

Neither of them noticed Clara and Mike standing near the vending machines and staring at them, out of ear-shot but definitely within sight.

###

“Dr. McCarthy,” Annie’s voice cracked slightly as she tried to stay comfortable and relaxed, legs spread wide open, “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Hypothetically,” Annie started, “if we were to remove the IUD, how long would it take for the effects to… Er... Stop?”

“Hypothetically, of course,” Dr. McCarthy said with a knowing smile, “for someone your age and without any health conditions… Anywhere between four to six months, technically.”

Annie looked at the fluorescent ceiling lights as she tried to do the math - Rory’s 7 months old now, which means Annie will be fertile again when Rory is 11 months old, and if she conceives quickly, that means Rory will have a baby brother or sister before she’s even two years old.

“Oh.” Annie finally said, frowning. “What are the chances of that happening? Conceiving right when that timeframe of four months ends?”

“That depends on so many factors, really,” Dr. McCarthy rolled her chair back and took off her latex gloves. “Are we still hypothetical?”

“Of course.”

“Considering it only took one time for you and Ben to conceive,” Dr. McCarthy started, “I’d say your chances aren’t bad at all. Then again, when actively trying for a baby the stress and anticipation of it alone can affect conception and then - who knows?”

“Is it alright if I call Ben and put him on speaker phone while we discuss this?” Annie fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt.

“Go ahead.” Dr. McCarthy smiled and brought over Annie’s backpack.

Annie fished around inside and pulled out her phone, quickly calling Ben.

“Hello?” Ben’s voice came through.

“I’m at Dr. McCarthy’s -” Annie started.

“Is something wrong?” Ben cut her off.

“No, why would anything be wrong?” Annie groaned. “I asked her about taking the IUD out.” Annie waited for Ben’s response, but was answered with silence and the noises of traffic and passers-by. “Hello?”

“Are you pulling my leg right now?”

“She most certainly isn’t!” Dr. McCarthy chimed in. “I was just explaining to Annie that it could take four to six months to be able to conceive again but it depends on many, many factors. Stress is a big one of them.”

“I see…” Ben urged her to carry on.

“So even if we do take it out, there’s no guarantee you’ll have another right after that timeframe of the effects wearing off. Could take as long as a year, even.”

“Oh!” Annie sounded chipper. “Well, then!”

“I really wouldn’t advise messing with your hormones like that, Annabelle.” Dr. McCarthy sighed. “Once I remove this, you’ll have cramps, mood swings, spotting…”

“Take it out.” Ben said.

“Ben!”

“What?” he laughed. “Take it out. We’ll forget it’s not even there. If a baby happens -”

“Stop talking!” Annie commanded. “I’ll call you when I get home?”

“Take it out, doc!” Ben said hurriedly before hanging up.

“Well?” Dr. McCarthy looked at Annie expectantly. “What’s it gonna be?”

###

Ben laid on his hotel bed, drumming his fingers on his belly and wiggling his toes. He knew Rory should be asleep by now, and waited for Annie’s call, his phone right next to his body. When it finally rang, a huge smile appeared on his face as he took the call.

“So you were lying about not being ready for another baby, too?” Ben purred smugly.

“Oh no,” Annie’s smirk was audible. “I’m not ready for another baby.”

“So you didn’t take it out, then?”

“No. Not just yet, anyways.” Annie’s voice was like liquid sunshine for Ben. Even though she said something he wasn’t happy about, he couldn’t help but feel at ease. “After you’re done with this film, we’ll discuss it again.”

“That’s more than I could ever ask for.” Ben played with the strings on the waistband of his sweatpants. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not ruling it out altogether.” Ben bit the tip of his tongue. “Not pulling another Annie…”

“Oh, sod off.” Annie rolled her eyes.

“I almost blurted out we’re getting married.” Ben confessed and shut his eyes tight, prepared for impact. “Ended up telling Joe we’re getting marigolds for our garden.”

“Marigolds?” Annie scoffed.

“Well, what was I supposed to say?!” Ben quipped.

“Mangos? Magic 8 balls? Macchinettas?” Annie suggested. “Maine-coon-fucking-cats?!”

“Oh. Those are good options.”

“Ben, you swore on your own life and you best believe I will kill you if you tell anyone about this.” Annie hissed.

“I know.”

“I told Jamie.” Annie said. “He’ll help us hide it. You’d better not say a bloody word to anyone. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Annie.” Ben sighed. “Are you done yelling at me, now?”

###

Clara walked into Jamie’s trailer to find Annie lounging about, flipping through a magazine, in regular clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Clara asked. “Thought you finished filming for today hours ago.”

“Jamie is treating Rory and me to dinner.” Annie said, not looking up from her magazine. “Might as well wait for him here and go pick her up together. Then straight for dinner.”

“Huh.” Clara crossed her arms.

“What?” Annie flipped the page.

“You’re so… chummy.” Clara noted. “Thought you two hated each other and were only friendly for appearance’s sake.”

“I don’t hate Jamie. Never did.” Annie laughed, eyes fixed on the glossy pages in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“What?” Clara seemed shocked by the mere question.

“This is Jamie’s trailer, why are you here?” Annie finally looked over at her best friend. “Need something?”

“Was going to borrow a smoke, actually.” Clara said with a huff. “Is that alright with you, your majesty?” Annie gestured with her hand and shrugged. Clara found Jamie’s pack of smokes and took one, hesitating before leaving the trailer. “Is everything alright with Ben?”

“Sure,” Annie nodded. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

###

“Cut!” the director called, breaking Annie’s and Jamie’s kiss. They were re-doing a scene from one of the earlier episodes that came out ‘wonky’. They kissed passionately and abruptly stopped for an hour now. They couldn’t help but burst out laughing every time the director called out ‘cut!’. Their lips were raw and puffy.

“Can we please end this already?” Jamie cried dramatically.

“Oh, as if you’re suffering!” Annie snorted.

“Touch ups!” the director ordered and Annie and Jamie stood still like dolls, getting their make-up fixed.

“They seem to be enjoying this…” Clara mused from behind the monitors.

“What’s that?” Mike asked, distracted by a cute intern walking by.

“Look at them.” Clara nodded at the two. “Lovey-dovey all of a sudden.”

“They’re just getting along.” Mike shrugged. “Let them live.”

“They never just get along.” Clara bit her thumbnail. “Not like this.”

Annie and Jamie got back in their places, making funny faces at each other while the lighting crew worked it’s magic. When everything was all set, the director called ‘action!’ - and Annie and Jamie were kissing with fervour, once again.

Clara watched them through the monitor and squinted, her mouth puckered up as she tried to make sense of this new situation. Jamie’s hand worked it’s way up Annie’s waist and cupped her breast, making Clara gasp with realisation.

“She’s cheating on Ben!” Clara whisper-screamed at Mike. “Oh my God!”

“She is not -” Mike started and then watched the make-out session unfold on the monitor. “Oh. Crap. That’s...”

###

“Gwil?” Annie answered her phone in utter confusion. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah! Just, you know, missed my Banana.” Gwilym said, a weird cheeriness in his voice. “How’s Rory?”

“Great! She’s just starting to stand up without holding onto anything for, like, split-seconds and -”

“Oh, that’s great!” Gwilym cut her short. “And Ben?”

“You probably talk to him more often than I do.” Annie noted. “I should be asking you that question, not the other way around.”

“Funny.” Gwilym scoffed. “So… Everything’s good, then?”

“Gwilly, you’re starting to creep me out.” Annie sat down on the closest chair she could find, her dress rustling. “Is everything okay? Are you cry-baby-drunk again?”

“What? No!” Gwilym retorted. “I’m fine! Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah?” Annie furrowed her brows. “Oh no. Is this the onset of Dementia? I know that as you get older it’s a condition and all and you’re basically elderly but -”

“Yeah, you’re just fine.” Gwilym laughed. “Anyways, everything’s great. I’m not drunk. Don’t have Dementia. Just… wanted to check up on you, I guess.”

“That’s nice. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Banana. Call me whenever!” Gwilym almost commanded. “Anytime you need to talk or vent or -”

“Gwil, what’s going on?”

“Just… if you need me, I’m right here, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, now.” Annie lilted.

“Bye, Banana.” Gwil said before hanging up.

Annie put her phone on the table next to her and stared blankly into the air in front of her. She didn’t even notice Jamie walked up to her until he stood mere feet away from her, snapping his fingers to wake her from her odd trance-like state.

“Gwil just called,” Annie looked up at her read-headed co-star and, now, confidant, “asking if everything’s alright with Rory and Ben and me...?”

###

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. Annie had just finished a scene with Mike and felt absolutely knackered. She didn’t even see Ben standing around behind the monitors until she physically almost walked right past him, tired and dazed. She stopped in her tracks and looked to the side, a big smile lighting up her face.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Picking you up so we could go take Rory home and have some us time.” Ben held his arms out for Annie to walk into. “Long week?”

“So long. Re-shoots abundant and Clara is acting very, very iffy.”

“Iffy? How?” Ben rubbed Annie’s back as they hugged.

“Not sure…” Annie released Ben from her embrace and took his hand. “I need to change out of this and then we can leave.”

“Actually… we still have a whole hour before Rory’s pickup time...” Ben smirked and pulled her back to him, his chest flat against her back and his voice sending shivers down her spine. “I have a better idea, your majesty.”

###

Clara was just on her way to her car when she passed by Annie’s trailer and heard moaning. Looking over at Jamie’s trailer, she noticed all lights were off and that it seemed desolate. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and adjusted her tote’s straps.

Muttering to herself, she walked over to Annie’s trailer. Now was her chance to catch Annie and Jamie in the act and tear into them. Let them know that they are both making the worst mistake of their lives. That she’s going to tell Ben and… What’s-her-name. That she’s not going to keep their little secret anymore. That what they are doing, although very characteristic of them both, is a super shitty thing to do.

She tiptoed up the three steps and took a deep breath. Then, she reached for the handle and barged in.

“Alright, arseholes!” Clara started before screaming like a banshee.

Ben was stark naked and thrusting, his head thrown back in pleasure, his tongue sticking out between his teeth, standing behind Annie. One of his feet on the coffee table, the other on the floor. Annie, still in some parts of her costume, was bent over, holding onto the leather sofa armrest, in complete disarray.

“What the fuck? Ben!” Clara eyed him. She scanned his figure, from head to toe. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

“Clara you have to stop walking in to people’s trailers like that.” Annie fumbled for something to cover herself and Ben with. “What the bloody hell?!”

“I thought you were here with…” Clara’s voice drifted.

“With who?!” Annie snapped.

“I just -” Clara shook her head. “Never mind. Sorry for, uh, interrupting.”

###

“We will, we will rock you...” Ben sang quietly, bouncing Rory gently in his arms twice and giving her bum a soft pat. “We will, we will rock you...”

After fifteen minutes of bounce-bounce-pats, Rory finally fell back to sleep. Ben grabbed the baby monitor and went to his and Annie’s bedroom, pleasantly surprised to find her awake and typing away on her laptop.

“So, I took a day off for errands and such on Monday,” Annie said without looking up from the screen, “just to get everything clarified and figure out exactly what we need to do for the marriage thing.”

Ben put the baby monitor on the nightstand and collapsed onto the bed beside her.

“Annie,” he started, rolling over on his back. “When you said Jamie was helping us hide it…”

“Oh, right.” Annie smiled devilishly. “So, the plan is to make everybody think there’s something going on with Jamie and me.”

“Aha.” Ben propped himself up on his elbows. “Why must everyone think that something is going on with you two?”

“Because that will give me the perfect excuse to leave early and not hang out with Clara as much.” Annie explained, pulling the laptop screen down. “You know how nosey she is. She gave you a great demonstration earlier.”

“So when she barged in -”

“She probably thought I was with Jamie.” Annie’s eyes widened with realisation. “Oh my God. Gwilym.”

“Not a name I’d ever expect to hear my wife call out in our bed.”

“No, shut up. Twat.” Annie laughed. “I meant the phone call. He called me all concerned and -”

“You think Clara might’ve said something?”

“She did scare you into thinking I’m breaking up with you when I went to Jamie’s last week.” Annie shrugged. “Remember? ‘Start praying’ and all?”

“It would be so much easier to just tell everyone -”

“Ben, for the love of God, stop talking.” Annie said, clamping Ben’s mouth shut with her fingers. “We’re doing this on my terms, otherwise you’re not getting another baby.”

“Oh, that’s low.” Ben mumbled through closed lips.

#########

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @xgoingdownx @qweenly @violetpond @sweeterthancheese @drummerqueenrmt @westansstuff @justgivemethekeys @blondecarfucker @cheeseedreams47 @deacy-dearest @pinkmarvel @onceuponadetectivedemigod

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goddessofthundathighs · 5 years

Text

I. O’SHEA THE INSATIABLE

Evan, aka Disappointment #3 in O’Shea’s phone, panted over her, sweat dripping onto her face. The bed shook and the headboard clapped loudly against the wall. His eyes were screwed shut, his breathing heavy and his grunts gorilla-like. O’Shea looked out from under his arm into his slim floor-length mirror. Her face was of pure disappointment. This was punishment dick. She was punishing herself with weak dick because she'd scared away another real prospect, Damien Jones. Damien was 6’2, chocolate with tattoos, a bright smile, a good job, and better taste in shoes. All of those things rarely came together well. It was smooth sailing until she let Bennie out of the cage. Who was Bennie? Bennie was the unquenchable demon between her thighs. She remembered that fateful night in vivid detail.

“Wait, wait!” the man called out in a panicked voice. He and O’Shea had been going at it for almost two hours and after 5 Earth-shattering orgasms, she was still begging him for more.

“You gotta calm down babygirl. Give me a second, dick machine broke.”

“What you mean broke?” she inquired, crossing her arms over her chest. “We haven’t seen each other in two weeks, Damien. The dick machine should be primed and prepped for go time.”

“It was, two hours ago. You gotta let me rest.” She groaned in exasperation as her small body flopped back down against her satin pillowcase.

“Daddyyyy,” she whined in the innocent voice she knew he couldn’t resist. “Just let me suck it one more time and I promise I’ll be done.” He raised one eyebrow, not sure if he believed her or not, but quickly lost that train of thought once he felt her tongue licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft. That one little action lead to two more hours and countless more orgasms until he pinned her to the bed to stop her from touching him again.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you girl, but you dangerous.” She only giggled in response, knowing that it was no longer her that was running the show. Bennie had been present and accounted for ever since he called her his little nasty bitch as she sucked him off on the drive back to her house. As they pulled up to her place, Damien let out a heavy sigh puffing his cheeks as he released himself in the back of her throat.

“Yo, we gotta cool off for a minute,” Damien stated once the car had stopped moving.

“Why?” O’Shea questioned, thoroughly confused.

“You’re a real cool girl with one of the dopest personalities I’ve encountered in a while, but your sex drive is way too damn high and if I’m being honest, it’s a little unattractive.”

“Unattractive?! Most niggas would kill for a woman to serve pussy up on a silver platter anytime and anyplace.”

“Yeah, but I’m not most niggas. See you around.” With that, he sped off into the California sunset, leaving O’Shea somehow even more horny than before.

Evan finished with a loud grunt, spilling himself into the condom. Finally, O’Shea thought to herself. Before she could fix her lips to ask him to drive her home, he was asleep, passed out beside her like he’d just worked a 15-hour shift at a Nissan plant. Shea rolled her eyes as she pulled her clothes back on and waited for the Lyft back to her apartment. This would definitely be their last encounter.

“Why you so uptight?” Skylar asked O’Shea as she drug her feet into the toy shop. Dr. Skylar Greene was an expert in the female anatomy and owned the biggest adult toy store in California. She’d hired O’Shea to be the creative director to her new sex toy line.

“I’m just sick of whack niggas delivering whack dick. I haven’t had a decent orgasm in months and it’s not from lack of trying.”

“Have you seen a therapist?”

“I’m not crazy, Sky.”

“No one said you were. Here, go see my best friend. If he can’t cure you, then you’re a lost cause.” With that, Skylar handed Shea a business card and wandered to the back of the store saying something about inventory. O’Shea twirled the card in her hand for a bit before sticking it in her pocket. She’d make an appointment later.

Before Shea knew it, it was almost midnight and she was still huddled at her design table in the back of the shop. Skylar had liked the idea of a ribbed toy so much that she had her start designing the prototype asap. She yawned and stretched before grabbing her purse and keys and heading out the door, sure to lock up behind her. Morning came and she found herself still in the clothes she wore to work the previous day. After a quick shower and the rest of her morning rituals, she fished the business card out of her jacket pocket and dialed the number.

“Dr. Stevens’ office, how can I help you?” a young woman called from the other end of the receiver. O’Shea took a deep steadying breath before speaking.

“Yes, my name is O’Shea Powell and I’d like to make an appointment.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Powell. Dr. Greene has already spoken to Dr. Stevens and if you’re free this afternoon, he has a 1:00 appointment slot open.” Gee, thanks Sky.

“That’s perfect, I’ll be there.”

“Alrighty, Ms. Powell. See you this afternoon.” With that, O’Shea sauntered to her closet to find something to wear. She settled on a black bandeau top with black leggings and her black So Kate Louboutins. She completed the look with tan duster and her black Prada sunglasses. She wanted to look sexy, but not desperate. She followed the directions to his office, noting that it was approximately 10 minutes from the toy store. Guess these two really are close. She parked her Porche in the designated area before making the journey to the 11th floor. The secretary greeted her immediately.

“Ms. Powell?”

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, I’m Harper, Dr. Stevens’ secretary. Dr. Greene is already inside and they’re expecting you.” O’Shea nodded and walked into the lavish office. It was decorated in all black with gold and white accents. African-themed art littered the east and west walls of the office while his degrees and photos of him and Skylar occupied the wall behind his desk. He sat atop the desk dressed in navy blue slacks and a white button up. A navy bow tie and navy Louis Vuitton loafers completed the look. His dreads were neatly braided to the back of his head and gold wired glasses adorned his face. Skylar had mentioned how good looking her best friend was, but she neglected to mention that he looked as though God and all of the angels handmade him, taking their time to make sure that he was perfect.

“Ms. Powell, nice of you to join us.” His voice caused an instant flood in her panties. It was deep and rich like bourbon. She smiled sweetly at him, before sending a look to Skylar. The two were definitely going to have a talk about this later.

“Well, I’ll let you two get to know one another. See you at work tomorrow, Shea,” Sky teased before sauntering out of the office. She knew she’d made the right decision in recommending O’Shea to Erik. He, like herself, was an expert in sex and the female anatomy and he just so happened to be single. She knew that if his treatment was successful, not only would Shea be saved from wack dick, but she’d also have a lifetime companion.

“So what brings you in today, Ms. Powell?”

“What, you mean Sky didn’t tell you?”

“Oh no, she did, but I’d like to hear it from your mouth.”

“Well, as of late I’ve been having trouble achieving orgasms. I know what I like and I know all of the things necessary to get me to that point, but nothing seems to be working. I’ve scared off all of my usual dick appointments because they say that my sex drive is too high and it’s unattractive, which I find absolutely ridiculous.” Erik nodded as she explained, occasionally writing things down in his notepad.

“Toys?”

“Tried almost every toy known to man, including ones I’ve personally designed.”

“What are your kinks, Ms. Powell? What turns you on?” O’Shea smiled a devilish smile before answering.

“Well, to be honest, I like a lot of things.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, I like choking, dubious consent, saliva or spitting in my mouth and pussy, ddlg, voyeurism, edging and orgasm denial, collaring, face fucking, cream pies, blasphemy, and any and all forms of public sex just to name a few.”

“Blasphemy?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Being that inappropriate things turn me on, I’m super big on religion play, sex in church and sex while wearing religious paraphernalia.”

“Oh so you nasty nasty?” He inquired with a smile, his gold bottom canines peeking from behind his full bottom lip.

“You could say that.”

“And what about name calling?”

“Degradation can be very sexy when done right, Dr. Stevens.” He nodded with a smirk as he wrote more notes.

“So you like to be called a little nasty bitch and shit like that?” He asked, looking up from his notebook. It took all of her willpower not to moan out loud. There was something about the way her favorite pet name fell from his lips coupled with the way he looked at her that made her core heat.

“Y-Yes,” she replied, her voice much more shaky than she intended.

“Don’t get all shy now,” he teased. “You’ve already told me what a little nasty bitch you are, might as well keep talking.” His voice dropped an octave and O’Shea was ready to drop her panties. Though she knew he was triggering her on purpose, she allowed it.

“I’ve got something I want you to try,” he spoke, reaching behind him while still holding her gaze. “My cousin designed this toy in Wakanda. It’s been tested to make its user cum within the first 30 seconds of use when paired with this lubricant. I want you to use it and report back to me in a week, understand?”

“Yes Da— Dr. Stevens.” He chuckled, his voice still deep and seductive.

“I can be Daddy if you want me to be, Ms. Powell, but it’ll cost you.”

“Cost me what?” she inquired, completely turned on and close to cumming from just his conversation.

“You’ll find out if this doesn’t work for you,” he retorted with a wink and a sly smirk. “Until then, this is your prescription and I expect you to fill it. Each and every inch of it,” he said, placing his index finger under her chin to guide her gaze back to his.

“Can you do that for me?” She nodded.

“Words, Princess.”

“Yes, Dr. Stevens.” Her voice was soft and needy, a sure sign that she was close.

“Good girl,” he purred, ghosting his lips over hers. “See you next week. Harper, send in my next client,” he said into the intercom system, pulling O’Shea from her trance. She could already tell that this wouldn’t be the last she saw of the good doctor.

—————————

@ledouxange7 @vikkidc @bartierbakarimobisson @raysunshine78 @amethyst1993 @trevantesbrat @kaykay0829 @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @forbeautyandlife @tntnv @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @madamslayyy @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @thehomierobbstark @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @yaachtynoboat711 @blowmymbackout @youreadthatright @beaut1fulone-blog @bugngiz @amirra88 @chefjessypooh @post-woke @theogbadbitch @im5ftbutmythroat66 @queengodiva619

#vanity writes #my shit #erik stevens #killmonger smut #daddy erik #killmonger fic #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black oc

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doginshoe · 5 years

Text

The Draconian Huntress XI

summary: In a time where there is an impending war to come, Lucy sets forth to find the draconian people in order to shift the tides against the demon King Zeref that threatens to take over Fiore.

part 11 of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10

read on ff.net here

Natsu vs Gajeel

Lucy couldn’t believe just what was unfolding before her.

It was unbelievable how many people had filled the colosseum in such short notice - like this was a common occurrence in The Draconian Kingdom.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, even as people still filed in through the large gates, as the ominous drum beat thundered throughout the arena.

It called the people in as the match drew closer to a start - the anticipation becoming so thick that even the archer was being swallowed by it. Her heart rate picking up as a knot formed in her belly and her hand clutched at the fabric of her skirts.

“Nervous?” Laxus called, and Lucy looked up to the tall blonde Commander by her side. He stared her down, almost a look of pity on his face.

She looked away from him, her brown eyes being drawn back to the grounds below - the Sanguis Pit. They washed over the grounds, mainly the gaping holes that littered the open space and the blood stains that were splattered across the large stone walls that stretched high above the fighting pit. It looked as if two armies had clashed here… Large armies with Giants and Orcs amongst the battalions.

The destruction was too chaostrophic for meager duels between men. There were even scorch marks that ran up the wall and even into where the civilians sat in the lower levels.

Her stomach twisted again.

“Just what sort of fight is this?”

She deflected his question with one of her own, yet that already gave Laxus her answer. It wasn’t often that outsiders beared witness to a Draconian pastime that dated back to their early ages. It was carnal and savage, just as if they had reverted to the dragons that bestowed their powers upon them. It was why he had asked for them to leave their smaller companion behind to wait with their Healer Grandeeny. He knew she had the wits and care to make sure the little girl was distracted.

“De provocatione ad Throni,” Laxus spoke in the old draconic tongue. “The challenge to the throne,” he paused as he looked to his princess who’s eyes were nearly burning holes into the ground and the dark haired male who looked uneasy beside her. “It’s a battle to the death.”

The winter sprite looked up, disbelief clear in his eyes as Lucy’s shoulders stiffened.

“You’re really going to let someone kill the King?” Gray piped up, exasperated, “I mean I don’t like either of them, but to have a death match with your own King… that’s insane.”

Laxus didn’t even bat an eye at Gray’s ignorance, his expression like stone. “The King is the strongest Draco, only second to his chosen mate. If the King is killed in combat then he was not fit to lead to begin with. That is our way.”

“Even I took up arms against Natsu,” Laxus added, which earned him an even wider eyed stare. “It was when Layla had ran with you and King Igneel had disappeared. Natsu, by expectation, was raised to the throne.”

He gave Lucy a pointed look before he turned to look at ‘The Blood Pit.’

“He was a boy and I was just a few years his senior. It was foolish but I fought with him. Yet, I never challenged him to the Sanguis.” He paused as his blue eyes stretched over the arena, taking in the destruction that marked it’s exterior and gave an opening to the pain and death that had wrecked the old colosseum.

“If I had then, I wouldn’t be standing here today.” His voice held weight with the last line, the blonde commanders eyes pulling away from the pit.

“That’s-” Gray started, but Lucy had cut him off. Her voice interjecting in a loud hiss that sent the winter sprite taking an innocent step away from her.

“It’s barbaric.” She looked back to Laxus. “I’ve known people to be cruel, but slaughtering those around you to get to the top? It makes me sick.”

“Those words ring a bell,” a croaky voice joined in, “I believe they were the same one's your mother used when she had first been let into the Sanguis to witness a proelio mortem between two drakes.”

The trio of warriors turned to the old man that entered the royal tier seating - the Advisor.

Laxus bowed his head, yet Lucy and Gray remained still - apart from the displeased look growing on the archer’s face.

“Lord Yajima,” Laxus greeted, but the old man waved him off.

“It has always been ironic; the history of the Heartfilia’s and the Draconians - bound to us by an old oath, yet always disappointed in our actions.” Yajima walked slowly to the edge of the balcony, his eyes connecting with Lucy the whole way. “It is almost as if their predecessor cursed them to live a life of misery rather than saving them as she intended.”

Lucy’s thin brows pulled down. “What do you know about the history of my family?”

“I’m the advisor of the Kings and Queens. It’s my duty to know the Kingdom and its history. In fact, I remember teaching it to you when you still ran about these castle walls.” He spoke before halting by the large rail that surrounding the top tier and slowly raised his hand, bringing the entire crowd to a hush. “But, I’m afraid I can’t retouch on our lessons right now. There is much more important matters at hand.”

The drums slowly faded to a low beat, the dull thud repeating in a monotonous rhythm that slowly declined in octaves.

“Wait-” Lucy called and reached for the old advisor, but a large hand captured her shoulder, halting her movements. She looked up to Laxus and he shook his head.

“It’s not time for that. Natsu is the one who needs you right now.”

Lucy’s face contorted into one of anger. “What? Get off-” she yelled as she threw herself from his grasp but Laxus only pulled her back again.

“When you’re Queen you’re going to find out everything you want to know,” Laxus voice turned into a quiet hiss, “but if Natsu loses today then that’s not going to happen.”

Lucy's eyes widened as he turned her to the arena.

“You’re his mate - his life - as he is yours. Haven’t you sensed it? Feelings that aren’t your own.”

Her mind flashed to when she had first seen Natsu. The excitement and flush that had first dawned on her before her fear finally took over.

“When they step into the arena, your faith in him alone can be his strength. It’s all up to you if he wins or not. That’s why he ordered for you to be here.”

The drums died on a quiet thump and the silence fell over the colosseum, yet it barely lasted a second before Yajima pulled his hand down and the first gate crashed to the ground. A figure walking out in a steel suit of armour - but it wasn’t like any of the knights she had seen.

The steel was jagged, like waves, and consumed nearly all of his face. The thick metal stretched over his arms where the waves carved out more, the edges beginning to glint like sharp swords all the way down to his hands that were left free. However, Lucy could tell it wasn’t a vulnerability in the armour as it gave way to the scales that climbed up his hands and the claws that extended from his fingers.

Gajeel let out a roar and his black wings expanded from the space where his armour didn’t reach, where it then wound down to make thick shields for his legs. The only place on the armour that wasn’t made of steel was on his stomach, where it became a crystallized form of the black stone; the material that the walls were made from.

He looked to be impenetrable. Yet, Lucy knew that it was weighing him down. The only fault of such quality armour that seemed to defend as well as attack, and while Gajeel looked strong, there was only so much movement he was allowed.

He planned to finish this quickly.

The archer felt the twist in her gut again as the crowd boomed out a loud cheer. The drums picking up as Gajeel stepped further from the gate and into the centre of the blood pit. She flicked her eyes to Laxus again and he only gave her a stoney gaze that Lucy couldn’t decipher. She noticed he wore it often.

When she turned back to the crowd it was growing quiet again and she took a step closer to the rail, her hand coming up to tight around the bar as she kept her eyes on the other gate. If what Laxus said was true, then she needed to give her strength to him. Not only to get her answer, but for the war that was to come. It was Natsu who agreed to fight against Zeref and if Gajeel were to kill him now then there wouldn’t be any assistance to aid Erza.

Not to mention she doubted that the Lieutenant would even keep herself, Gray and Wendy alive.

Natsu had to be the victor and so Lucy swallowed hard.

“Try not to be nervous,” Laxus spoke up from behind her. Yet, Lucy couldn’t help it bubbling up in her stomach as her knuckles turned white from her tight grip.

“He’s right,” Yajima added and she jerked her head towards the older man that was by her side. “You are twined together. Everything you feel he feels. Everything you sense, he senses. Natsu can even feel the beating of your heart at this moment. Although, it might not be as strong for you, the drake is completely overwhelmed by their mate when their in close proximity.”

“Your anxiousness will become his anxiousness, so try not to let the feelings overwhelm you. I’ve seen Draco’s fall in this arena from a distressed mate.”

Lucy shook her head, “but how can I? His survival is dependent on everything.”

“Draw it from him.”

The blonde looked down as the hum of the crowd began to fade. There was uneasiness coursing through her entire being. Just how could she stop it by drawing it from something she hadn’t even been aware of before?

Her brown eyes look up as Gray leaned on the railing beside her, his hand reaching out to rest on her arm.

“If anyone can do this then it’s you, Lucy,” he encouraged. “Even if you can’t feel whatever they’re talking about, you’ve seen and fought in battles that had cost everything before. Just breathe.”

Gray smiled and Lucy couldn’t help her lips twitch up at the corners of her mouth. With a soft nod she turned her eyes back to the gate before closing them, her chest heaving with a deep breath as the colosseum died to silence once again.

When she opened them again, the gate dropped - the flare sparked and Lucy felt a rush of adrenaline fill her veins.

The audience took a collective gasp as Natsu leapt from the darkness of the passage, his wings expanding in a fiery display as he kept himself stationed in the air. With each beat of his wings, Lucy found herself resembling them to a burning flame - the chaotic reds and oranges, streaked with an angry purple becoming a bonfire of colour.

His abdomen was dawned in a golden array of metal covers that came all the way up in a point to his solar plexus where two chains then stretched out to join with the metal that garnered on his chest, and then flared out to create heavy padding on his shoulders. His gauntlets carried the same waveform as Gajeel’s armour, the edges also sharpened to a deadly blade and capped with the dark stone. On his lower half he wore loose beige pants that met shin pads much similar to his gauntlets.

Lucy noticed his head was left unprotected, as two horns rose out and curled like a demon. His face was nearly completely covered in dark lilac scales and that stretched over his arms and down his back where they met his wings. When his eyes met hers they were golden rather than his usual olive green.

They nearly took the air from her lungs as he stared down at her, his gaze looking savage and wild before he turned it to his opponent. The entire arena stayed in silence as the two drakes glared at each other - the anticipation in the blood pit turning to tension as they locked gazes. It wasn’t until Gajeel let out a short laugh that the arena could stop holding their breath.

“What’s wrong, Salamander? Lost that fire of yours already, Ghi-hi?” the drake sniggered as his own wings expanded behind him. The jet black colour a stark comparison to the array of warm tones amongst Natsu.

Gajeel stretched out his arms as he grinned, “Or maybe I just haven’t hit the right nerve yet. He rolled his shoulders, the steel clanking against steel as he shifted his position before leaping into the air towards Natsu.

“I’m sure this will fire ya up,” he yelled and pulled back his fist that came barreling towards the King at unimaginable speed.

Lucy’s mouth dropped as Natsu pulled to the side, the punch just barely grazing his shoulder, the armour scraping all the way up Gajeel’s gauntlet. It wasn’t possible, she thought. A man of that size with all his armour to move at such a speed… It wasn’t human!

The crowd roared as Natsu spun in the air as he turned, his leg coming down to deliver a blow to the top of the dark haired male’s back. Yet, he made no signs of even feeling the kick as he twisted and aimed another blow to Natsu’s head - the punch inches from his face before he grabbed hold of Gajeel’s hand.

“And to think I thought ya were going easy on me with that first hit,” Natsu grinned and his eyes glinted as he squeezed down on the other drake’s hand, steam rising from where their skin met.

“You bet I was. Thought ya weren’t paying attention to me cause you’re too busy staring at that Lady Heartfilia, Ghi-Hi,” Gajeel smirked as he pushed his fist harder into Natsu’s grip. “Is only right for me to give my opponent a little wake up call.”

Natsu brought up his own fist and swung it toward the dark haired draco, who caught it just as swiftly. “Watch yourself, Gajeel. I mean, we don’t want this fight to end too quickly, now do we?”

Gajeel knocked his forehead against Natsu’s - a trickle of blood beginning its descent down to their eyebrows. His lips twisted into a wicked smile as he gave his snarky reply.

“No, I guess we don’t.”

#fairy tail #fairytail #nalu #natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #ft fanfiction #Nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #Nalu fanfic #gajeel redfox #laxus dreyar #gray fullbuster #the draconian huntress #my writing #doginshoe

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dontshootmespence · 5 years

Text

Supernatural AU: Episode 6 - Shadow

Part 3

Meg, or what Sam thought was Meg, passed in front of the car so he ducked down and waited for her to pass before getting out and following her down a couple of dark alleyways. He wished he didn’t feel so creepy, but such was the job. Every step he took confirmed the suspicions that had slowly been creeping up on him since he’d seen her at that bar.

After a few blocks, Meg passed on old theater and entered a graffiti covered door to what looked like an abandoned warehouse. He allowed the door to shut, waiting a few seconds before he followed after, doing everything he could to remain as quiet as possible.

When he got inside, he found himself wondering what this place had actually been before it got condemned. Rusty metal surrounded him and the coppery scent of blood filled his nose. Who knew what the fuck had happened in here since it was abandoned? In order to keep out of her line of sight, he found an elevator shaft, at least that’s what it looked like, and cemented his footing, climbing up the rickety metal toward his destination. Each step sounded like a drum to his ears and he cursed himself for being so loud. If she was calling one of those things, he could be dead in an instant.

He kept climbing until he felt like his fingers were going to fall off, but he found renewed vigor when he saw a room with a table in the center - a black magic altar he’d seen many times before. Around the table stood mannequins and rusted bars and barrels full of scrap metal that all left Sam with an immense sense of unease. With rapt attention, he watched her lift a silver goblet and recite an incantation. “I don’t think you should come,” she said. “The brothers, their sister. They’re here. I didn’t know and-“ She got cut off, but Sam couldn’t hear by who. A few seconds later, she assured whatever she was speaking to that she would remain where she was and do as she was asked. “Yes, Sir. Yes, I’ll be there. Waiting for you.”

That couldn’t be the daeva right? Something or someone else had to be giving her instructions and she was using the daeva as a weapon? Whatever was on the other side of that goblet was another wrench in their already unsteady plan.

After ending her conversation, she placed the goblet back on the table and blew out the candles, watching as the wisps of smoke disappeared into the air before leaving.

With the slamming of the door, Sam climbed through a gap in the rusted bars and underneath a hunk of chains to snake his way into the room. The blood and bones and goblet were all there, but this time the symbol accompanied it, the blood still fresh and wet to the touch. “What the hell?”

------

Sam bounded back into the motel room in a huff, the door slamming against the wall so loudly it startled Dean and Bobbie mid-conversation. The two elder siblings ran outside, not realizing it was Sam at first. “Dude, I gotta talk to you.” Her brothers said simultaneously. Bobbie had no idea what was going on. Dean hadn’t gotten that far yet.

“Sam, what’d you find?” Bobbie asked. Both of her brothers were in a frenzy – more than usual, so something was out of the ordinary, even amongst the supernatural.

Meg was calling the daeva. “I knew it,” she spat. “I’ve had a bad feeling about her since we met her.”

“Sam’s got a thing for the bad girl, who would’ve known?” Dean teased, hissing as Bobbie smacked him on the back of the head. “What was that for?”

“Not the time, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes, pacing the floors from the window to the bed as Bobbie and Dean walked around in other directions, all so full of nervous energy that it was either pace around the room or go out guns a blazing and shoot something. “What about the silver bowl?” Dean asked. “What was that about?”

“It was like a witch with a crystal ball. She was talking to someone or something through it.”

“The daeva?” Bobbie stopped in her tracks, muscles tight as her mind moved faster than her body could comprehend.

Sam shook his head. “No. They’re brutal, no holds barred. Whatever she was talking to was someone giving orders, someone she cared about or looked up to. There was a reverence in her voice. And whoever it is will be at that warehouse.”

Just as Bobbie was about to ask Dean what he was planning on telling her before, a look of recognition flashed across his eyes. He bolted across the room to the files he’d somehow gotten from the police officer he drank under the table earlier in the week. “Shit.”

“What?” She and Sam asked simultaneously.

He’d pulled a favor with her – what that meant Bobbie didn’t want to think about. “We missed a connection between the first two victims.”

Sam and Bobbie sat across from him, pulling the files toward them. Bobbie did a double-take between the files and her brother before he spoke. “Where was the first victim from?”

Scanning his files, she saw two words that made her stomach sink: Lawrence, Kansas.

Meredith was adopted and she’d been born in Lawrence too. “What the hell does this mean? Could they have something to do with Mom?”

“Possibly,” Sam sighed, his eyes fixed far off in the distance. He wasn’t allowing the information to penetrate, but not in the same way Bobbie was. She could feel an overwhelming sense of dread, but Sam…he had a hint of hope about him – like this could all be over soon. She only wished she could have his hope. “Meg could’ve been talking to the demon that killed Mom…”

Bobbie placed her head in her hands and swallowed the urge to scream. Granted, she wanted to find the thing that killed their mother, but getting close had always seemed impossible. “But how do the daevas fit in?”

“No clue,” Dean said confidently. “But I say we go trash the alter, grab Meg and get the information we need out of her.”

“We can’t. She can’t be tipped off. Especially if she has the power of these daevas on her side.”

When Dean found the information originally, Bobbie had delved deeper. Sam was right. Going after these things all gung ho was a mistake that would get them all killed, even if her overwhelming desire at the moment was to shoot something. If the daevas or Meg had any knowledge of what killed their mother, she wanted it writhing and bleeding and screaming for relief under her fingertips, but she wouldn’t be able to make that dream come true if Meg was tipped off and fled. And if her brothers were hurt in the crossfire it wasn’t worth it. “We need to know what’s showing up to met her.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Dean paced the room yet again. “If this is actually connected to Mom, we shouldn’t do this alone.”

Bobbie knew what he meant, but she had zero interest in talking to their father – not with how he’d left things recently, or ever really. “You call.”

Without another word, she left the room, tears stinging at her eyes as she tried to focus. Sam followed close behind. They needed to start raiding the trunk of the car. None of them really had an idea of what they were up against.

------

Upstairs, Dean dialed John’s phone number again, unsurprised when it went straight to voicemail. “Dad, I’m in Chicago with Bobbie and Sam. The thing we’re up against…” he hesitated, not believing that they could possibly be this close. “We think it might have something to do with Mom. 1435 West Erie. There’s a warehouse there. Please…if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.”

As he hung up the phone, he wondered what would happen if he did get the message, his mind wandering to what Bobbie would do when she saw him again. She was so full of rage and while he was mad, he didn’t understand the depth of Bobbie’s anger for him.

When his brother and sister returned, Dean shook the uncertainties from his mind, astounded at the sheer amount of weapons they’d brought up. “Got enough? Overcompensating maybe?” Trademark deflection by Dean.

“We have no idea what we’re going up against,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “We should be ready for anything.” He didn’t want this life, but he had great intuition for it. “We have holy water, any weapon we could think of that might even do damage if not kill, exorcism rituals from nearly six different religions. If we don’t know what to expect, we should expect everything.”

All three of them delved into the horde of weapons, cleaning out barrels and ensuring that none of them were stuck. Safeties needed to be off. They needed everything taken care of beforehand. In the midst of it all, there would be no time.

Silence passed between them, the streets outside buzzing with people but bathed in a serene moonlight – like them, world alight with uncertainties and possibilities yet surrounded by the blissfully ignorant. “Big night,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “Nervous?”

Dean avoided looking at either of them but emphatically denied being nervous in the slightest. “You?”

“No.” Sam’s voice went an octave higher than it would normally. He was full of shit. They both were.

When they glanced her way, she spoke her truth. “Of course, I am. And you’re both fucking idiots if you’re not. I raised you better than that.” She wasn’t about to debate with them now – make them admit that they were in fact nervous – they had too much on their plates right now. If they lived through this though, Bobbie planned on having a good talk with them both. Strength wasn’t the absence of fear, it was resistance in the face of it. They were afraid, but neither wanted to admit it out loud.

“What if we found this thing tonight?” Sam asked, a smile crawling across his face.

Dean clicked back the barrel of the gun he was holding and switched it out for another. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“But seriously, imagine it,” he breathed. “We would find this thing tonight and it’d be over. I could go back to school and start living a normal life again.”

Normalcy was all Bobbie wanted for him, but she wasn’t so naïve to believe it could be true. “I’d sleep for a month.”

“That too. Then I’d go back to school.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably where he stood. She had Dean wanted the best for Sam, but more than any of them, Dean really held onto the good memories, the times where they felt like family, and he wanted that again. When he hunted with his siblings, he was in his element. “You wanna go back to school?”

“Yea, of course. What’ll you do when this is over?”

“It’s never gonna be over,” Dean replied. “There’ll always be something to hunt.” Sam turned toward Bobbie to try and get her to knock some sense into him but all she could do was shrug. Knowing what they knew, she couldn’t sit back in good conscience while people got hurt; it didn’t matter if she deserved normalcy just as much as her brothers.

Sam couldn’t understand. Maybe his brother and sister were just older so everything felt more ingrained, but he wanted to be normal again. He’d had it and it was glorious. “But there has to be something you want for yourself-“

“Yea, what I want is for you to leave after this is all over.”

“What’s your problem?”

A tear sprang to the corner of Bobbie’s eyes as she continued to fiddle with the guns. They only had each other. Why did they always have to fight? “Why do think we drag you around everywhere?” Dean asked, his knuckles turning white against the grip he had on the dresser. “Why do you think Bobbie and I came to get you at Stanford?”

“Because Dad was missing. Because you wanted help finding the thing that killed Mom.”

“Yea, but it was more than that.”

Bobbie prayed that Dean would actually tell Sam the truth. It probably wouldn’t change anything because if there’s anything a Winchester was it was stubborn, but keeping it all in was bound to make him explode sooner rather than later. “Me, you, Bobbie, Dad…we’ve been through crap, but we’ve had good moments. We could have those again. We could be a family again.”

Bobbie cursed their father for his vendetta. If he’d just let it go, they could’ve had a family – the normal life that Sam wanted, the family moments that Dean deserved. The idea of what could’ve been had it not been for John made her blood boil and she cursed the world that she still loved him.

“We are. But we can’t be what we were before.”

“We could be,” Dean said dejectedly, swallowing against the knot forming in his throat.

Sam’s memories were much more tainted. “I don’t want them to be the same. I’m not gonna live this life forever. Once this is over, you’re gonna have to let me go.”

Dean would fight it. Bobbie would do as he asked, but that didn’t mean she’d like it.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13 @ties-n-suits @demonlover87 @kennybud @shittyafblogwnopoint @pleasantlyfadingpeace @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name

#ocappreciation #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobbie deanna winchester #born to fire #shadow #s1ep6 #dontshootmespence

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tired-college-student-writing · 6 years

Text

New Developments

Summary- Mark wasn’t expecting a call right after 3 am, but in Ethan’s defense he had a good reason.

Part 1

Part 2

Mark rolled over with a groan as his phone went off. It was only 3:09 in the morning, why was he being called? He picked up the vibrating phone, squinting at the picture of Ethan on the phone, what was Ethan doing calling him this early?

“Hello?” He asked groggily as soon as the facetime connected, taking in Ethan’s panicking face.

“Mark!” the younger man said hurried eyes flashing to something past the phone, “Hey, uh I kinda need help, your help. I don’t know what’s happening and it’s uh You’re the only one I really could think of calling-”

“Easy Ethan,” Mark said sitting up, feeling much more awake than before, “Slow down, what’s happening?”

Ethan opened and closed his mouth a few times before tapping the phone and flipping the camera around. Mark’s eyes widen as he saw, well Ethan across the room, eyes focused on the clock as he mumbled to himself arms crossed tightly over his chest shoulders hunched forward.

“Is that?”

“Yeah,” Ethan’s voice was shaky from behind the camera, “I don’t know what to do. He’s not exactly like I imagined but…”

“The Iplier’s aren’t what I expected either,” Mark finished throwing his blankets off and standing up, “I’ll call the Office and get some of them to come help. I’ll be over soon,”

“Okay,” Ethan said switching the camera back around, “Thanks for doing this,”

“No problem, dude,” He reassured Ethan with a slight grin, “Just be careful until we get there okay? We don’t know if he’s dangerous yet or what his powers are,”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Ethan agreed, “He seems pretty docile right now, but… he is supposed to be my dark ego.”

“We’ll figure this out,” Mark said with a slight laugh, “Welcome to the joys of being a ‘Creator’ as the egos call us,”

“I regret everything,”

Mark couldn’t help but giggle at the groan from his friend, “Join the club, blue boy. Don’t worry, unlike me you have a seasoned pro helping you out.”

“Thanks, Mark,”

They smiled at each other as they said their goodbyes and Mark dialed another number as he pulled on some clothes.

“Fischbach,” the snarl that greeted him made him snort, “there better be a good reason for you calling this early,”

“Trust me Dark,” He soothed the demon, “there’s a very good reason. Do you think you could come and maybe bring some of the others to Ethan’s apartment?”

The creator could practically hear the brow raise, “Why?”

“Turns out Blank picked up a decent about of traction since Ethan put up DDLC,” Mark replied smoothly as he slipped on his shoes.

“Ah,” Dark’s voice held a hint of shock as Mark grabbed his glasses, “Danger levels?”

“Ethan was too nervous at his appearance to really figure that out. Powers are also unknown,”

“Alright, I’ll bring Doctor Iplier and Bim. Between the four of us, we should be able to deal with anything that might come up.”

“Alright,” Mark said, agreeing with the choices, “ I’m leaving now so I’ll be over at Ethan’s in about twenty minutes. Have everyone over there by then?”

“Agreed,”

Mark was walking up the stairs to Ethan’s apartment when the shadows in front of him thickened. It thinned to reveal his three egos.

“Gah!” Bim shivered, “I hate your shadow travel,”

Dark smirked and just finished walking up the stairs. Mark patted Bim’s shoulder as he passed. They reached Ethan’s door, which was thrown open before Dark had the chance to knock.

“Thank god,” He breathed, “I mean I don’t have anything against you guys but I honestly wasn’t expecting… this is so weird…”

Doc and Bim let out laughs as the group brushed past him, “It’s alright Ethan,” Doc said, “This is a major shook for you were sure. You’re reacting better then Mark did when the first five egos showed up.”

Bim nodded, shooting a cheeky grin at Ethan, “Oh yeah by the time I showed up Mark just groaned and took me to the Office,”

“Can you really blame me?” Mark asked with a tired groan, “A psycho, a demon, a sadistic author, a doctor and a killer search engine. Why not add a cannibalistic game show host on top of it all?”

“It’s not cannibalism,” Bim grumbled, with a fond roll of his eyes.

“Ah yes, human eating demon game show host,” Mark snarked, “That makes me feel so much better,”

Dark hummed, a reminiscing smile splitting his face, “I can still remember the high pitched scream that you released when I appeared. I honestly thought I ended up in a small girl’s room until you started swearing like a sailor that just fell overboard.”

Mark just huffed as the other egos laughed and Ethan cracked a smile, “A demon is standing over my bed just glaring down at me at 4 in the morning. I’m supposed to react how exactly? Geeze, give me a break. We’re here to help Ethan not make fun of me.”

They all sobered up at that.

“Right, where is this dark ego exactly?” Dark asked turning to Ethan.

“Bedroom, he seems fixated on the clocks and keeps counting for random things,” He said, gesturing in the vague direction,“It’s kinda confusing since I don’t remember ever thinking up that aspect of him…”

“Egos aren’t the exact extension of the creator's thoughts,” All the Iplier’s chimed in unison as Dark lead the way to Ethan’s bedroom.

“426 seconds since entering before finding me,” They heard being mumbled before Dark even opened the door. In the room stood a sickly looking copy of Ethan.

The boy rocked himself lightly as he continued to mutter to himself to quietly to be heard, dark soulless eyes staring blankly at them.

“Hello,” Dark greeted, “You’re Blank correct?”

The young ego blinked at them before raising a finger and pointing at Dark.

“3D,” He whispered, before moving his finger towards Doc, “Sleepless,” next it was on Mark, “Not mine,” then Ethan, “Mine,” and lastly it settled on Bim and the newly made ego tilted his head to the side squinting slightly. Finally, he grinned softly as he settled on a word, “Cute!”

Bim blushed, startling slightly as Mark tried and failed to hold back a snort. Ethan giggled lightly.

“Uhh,” the shorter man laughed sheepishly, “I always imagined he’d like associating games and have OCD so I guess that explains this… but he’s not really showing signs of the other stuff I imagined for him,”

“He’s new,” Doc whispered back as Dark stepped closer Blank, “Sometimes it takes a while for the new egos to get oriented and show all their traits and powers. Yan, for example, laughed hysterically and tried to attack everything that moved for the first 16 hours he was alive before calming down into the ego you know.”

“Blank,” Dark attempted again, “We need you to come with us so we may work out arrangements for you,”

“No!” Blank screeched, air blurring around him as he glared at the dark ego, hunching into himself more, “Don’t trust you. 235 seconds to make me uneasy,”

Mark pulled Dark back before he could say anything, “Don’t,” The stern command from his creator cause Dark to wilt slightly.

“We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Doc tried only for a crack to appear by in the wall next to Blank.

“Blank?” Ethan squeaked making his ego straighten about, face relax.

“2874 seconds until Mine talk directly to me,” Blank gazed sadly up at Ethan, “I don’t like the Not mines, make the not mines leave,”

Ethan squeaked, looking over at Mark and the others pleading for help. Bim bit his lip but stepped forward hesitantly.

“Hey,” He greeted with his usual charming smile hoping to come off as non-threatening as he could, “it’s alright Blank. We’re just here for moral support as Ethan was really nervous to meet you. Ya kinda scared him this morning~”

The room held its breath as they waited to see how Blank would react. The new-born ego cocked his head again, innocently blinking up at Bim.

“258 seconds for Cute to speak to me,” Blank’s announcement made Bim blush again, but the baby ego smiled softly, “ Trust Cute. Need to apologize to Mine,”

“It’s okay, Blank,” Ethan said lightly, “Just scared me a bit. Do you think you could come with us to the Iplier’s place so we can work some stuff out?”

“Is Cute coming?” The innocent question earned a few chuckles and a flustered whine from Bim. Ethan nodded, smile widening.

“Yeah, Bim will be coming with us. He can stay with us until we get everything settled, right guys?”

Dark nodded, smirking at the reddened face of his fellow demon, “Of course. I’ll have Yan and Oliver help Wilford with your normal workload as you help our newest friend get settled into his new life,”

Blank smiled a big dopey grin that looked overly like Ethan before scuttling closer to Bim, “Will cute stay with me?”

Bim gulped, cheeks nearly cherry red now, “Only if you want me too Blank. Dark and Doc are usually better at this than me,”

Blank frowned and shook his head, “Trust Cute. Cute has prettier light, softer.”

“Light?” Mark asked looking over at Ethan. The younger man shrugged.

“I had an idea about him seeing and manipulating souls at one point. I kinda scrapped it, but I guess it stuck around,”

“Oh, this is going to be fun to work around,”

Ethan leveled a glare at Mark, “Like you have any room to complain about bad ideas for characters. We have a whole house full of questionable character choices out of your head,”

“He’s not wrong,” Doc broke in smirking, “We’re a horrific mix of horrors. One would have thought you’d learned after Dark and Wilford,”

“See your tulpas even agree!”

“Bickering started at 917 seconds,” Blank groaned holding his arms tighter around himself, “Don’t like bickering. Annoying.”

Bim laughed slightly, placing a hand on Blank’s shoulder, making the shorter man jump slightly and gaze up at him with mild curiosity.

“Yeah it’s a bit annoying,” Bim agreed, “But you get used to it after awhile. They all mean well,”

Blank nodded, ears reddening as he looked away from Bim, “If Cute says so,”

“You,” Bim started, clearing his throat as his voice came out an octave too high, “You can call me Bim you know Blank,”

“But you’re really cute,” Blank said as if it was a fact, “Like really really cute. Cute as a puppy,”

Bim cleared his face, glaring at his other egos as they laughed, the two creators barely holding in their laughter, “Shut up guys,” He muttered, before he lead Blank from the room, “Let’s get you back to the Office. I can make use breakfast,”

“No human meat, Bim!” Doctor Iplier called, chasing after them, as the purple mist appeared around their feet, “We don’t know if Blank is human based yet or not,”

“I’m not going to put human meat into pancakes, Doc! Cut me some slack!”

“Pancakes? Pancakes good?”

“Yeah Blank,” Bim smile was audible, “Pancakes are really fluffy and sweet! I’m sure you’ll love them!”

“Sweet like Cute!”

Mark and Ethan broke as the three egos vanished leaving Dark standing next to them as they laughed, tapping his toe as he waited for them to pull themselves back together.

“So uh…” Mark wheezed out, “Pretty clear Blank is really gay for Bim,”

“Like Bim isn’t being equally head over heels for Blank!” Was the breathless giggled response, “Oh god that was the last thing I expected from my dark ego showing up,”

“I don’t think Bim expected it either.”

After a long moment, the two creators gathered their wits and allowed the exasperated Dark to transport them back to the Office.

They landed in the clinic were Doc and Bim was convincing Blank to let the game show host wait outside the clinic for after the Doc’s checkup was complete.

“Okay,” Blank said with a slight pout, “But Cute come here first.”

Bim raised an eyebrow, but took a step closer to the dark ego, “Yeah Blank?”

Blank leaned in and pecked Bim’s cheek lightly before pulling back and turning to Doc with a serious set to his jaw.

“Okay, ready now.”

Doc just nodded bitting the inside of his cheek as he ushered the others out.

Mark grabbed the frozen Bim and pulled him out, Ethan snickering as they left, only for the humans to devolve into laughter once more after the doors shut.

“So is this considered crankiplier?” Ethan asked cheekily making MArk howl and shake his head.

“N-No,” Mark corrected gripping the stitch in his side, “The fans ship the egos as separate entities from us so there will be a brand new ship name created before long!”

“Mark,” Bim whined as he came out of his stupor, “Why the fuck did you make me so bi that I can’t function?”

The laughter increased more as the pair fell over.

#Markiplier #secretmarkiplier #Bim Trimmer #Blackgameplays #Bink to come #Bim is Bi AF

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lady-thor-foster · 6 years

Text

Take Me Home // Thor x WOC AU P1

Pairing: Thor x WOC

Word Count: 2k+

Warning: Angst, smut, alcohol mention, drugs mention, unprotected sex (WRAP YOUR WILLY BEFORE YOU DILLY)

A/N: This was actually posted on my teen wolf blog but I loved the story so much that I adapted it to Thor because I felt like it would fit really well. Don’t worry, the final chapter is already written and queued up for next week so you don’t have to wait a million years for me to post again lmao. I hope you like it!

Inspiration: “Take Me Home” ~ Jess Glynne

“Came to you with a broken faith, Gave me more than a hand to hold Caught before I hit the ground Tell me I’m safe, you’ve got me now

…

Could you take care of a broken soul? Oh, will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?”

Next Chapter

Another night of getting shitfaced and absently fucking some already forgotten person. Another night of pretending my life isn’t spiraling out of control. Another night of pretending I’m not a complete failure while all my friends are out graduating college, getting married, having families and living their dreams. Another night of temporarily drugging my demons and pretending I don’t hear them scream. Another night of struggling to hold my head above the water; it’s another night of failing to pretend my problems away.

Every voice around me is muffled. The party shows no signs of ending soon. People are attached by the face and hip in every corner; I’d see more modesty in a brothel. Navigating the sea of alcoholic debauchery, I manage to find my way to the front porch. The cold air bathes my overheated skin and for one small moment, I can breathe. I lift my thick curly hair from the nape of my neck and close my eyes to savor the fleeting peace. Opening my eyes, I fumble in my jeans pocket for my phone. It’s 2:48am. I can barely focus. With nothing but sheer drunken will, I locate the one name I’m always looking for. Thor Blake. Sleep is beginning to overtake me; my eyelids have never felt so heavy. Pressing the call button, I bring the phone to my ear. It rings twice before a sleepy voice picks up.

“Hello?” How does one person bring me so much comfort? Even in my drunken stupor, his voice resonates in my soul. Thor is home.

“I need you,” I whisper. The scent of rain fills the air and the wind blows in warning.

“Where are you?” He’s completely awake now. I can actually hear him rushing out of bed to put on pants. His keys jingle softly in the background. He’s coming.

“Strange’s. There was a party. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.” My throat constricts and my chest fills with an aching emptiness I might never be able to fill.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” The line goes dead and a sigh of relief escapes my weary body. Sinking onto the porch bench, the party rages loudly in the house behind me. I look up at the moon with sleep laden eyes; so full and beautiful.

Lying down, I try to take small comfort in knowing I’ll see him again.

It’s been 3 years since I broke up with him. It was the worst decision I ever made, but I did it for him. It killed me every day. He deserved better than me; the broken girl with no idea how to make her dreams come true. Eventually he started dating again. Jane seemed like the best thing that ever happened to him…until she died. I saw him at the funeral. I’ve only ever seen that look of despair on his face once, the night I stupidly shattered his heart because I was afraid he’d leave me. It was the worst decision I ever made, but I thought I was doing it for him.

I don’t remember calling him. I don’t remember passing out on that uncomfortable rickety bench. I don’t remember Thor picking me up, kissing my forehead and tucking me into the front seat of his car. I don’t remember making him pull over and vomiting on the side of the road. I don’t remember him making me drinking my favorite Gatorade to keep me from getting too dehydrated. I don’t remember him carrying me to his shower and helping me wash the night away. I don’t remember him drying me off, dressing me and tucking me into his bed. I don’t remember him whispering “you’re safe now” into my ear as I fell asleep in a bed full of heartbreaking memories. But he does.

I’ll never forget the haunted yearning look on Thor’s face when I woke up the next morning. He must have been watching me from the doorway as I slept. His side of the bed was bereft with cold; I was alone last night. I’m not surprised at all. Sitting upright, my hangover bitch-slapped me. I groaned and clutched my head in my hands.

“There’s aspirin on the nightstand.” His voice, normally filled with sunshine and love, was devoid of emotion. I looked up. Gone was that desperate look; he wore his stoic mask beautifully. The ache in my chest hurt more than any hangover ever could. I missed him.

“Thor? How did I-?”

“You called me last night drunk off your ass. I found you passed out on the bench in front of Strange’s house. What if something had happened to you? What the fuck were you thinking!?”

His anger was majestic. The way his cheeks flushed with red made the blue of his eyes stand out strikingly. If I squinted, I could almost see steam coming out of his ears. I didn’t even care that he was yelling at me just as long as he kept talking to me. I missed him. I winced as his voice gained another octave. He noticed. Looking at me sheepishly, he sat on the farthest corner of the bed from me. That haunted look was back. Another knife sliced my chest as the weight of breaking his heart settled over me. There seemed to be no mercy from the consequences of my actions.

“I’m sorry.” The simple fact that he felt he had to apologize to me spoke volumes. I’ve never met anyone with a greater capacity for love.

“Please don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right; it was foolish of me to get wasted like that. Thank you for coming to get me.” Something shifted in Thor. His mask of stoicism slid back into place and he stood up. Turning his back to me, he headed towards the master bathroom.

“I have to get ready for work. You can stay here if you wish; your clothes are on top of the dryer.” He closed the door behind him and I hugged my knees to my chest.

Gathering my strength, I pulled the comforter from my body. Looking down I was surprised to find he’d dressed me in my favorite red shirt of his. I couldn’t believe he kept it. The cotton fabric felt so soft against my body; a thousand tender kisses and feather-light touches caressed my brown skin. The sound of the water running graced my ears and I headed towards the bathroom. Not stopping to consider the consequences or the high possibility of his rejection, I walked in.

Thor didn’t notice I was there until I’d stripped, stepped into the shower and wrapped my arms around his waist. For a fleeting moment he allowed himself to relax into me. For a fleeting moment, we were us again. I missed him. Detangling himself from my grip, he turned around to face me. Tension hung thickly in the air as neither of us said anything. Water gently poured down this face; he was beautiful. His gaze swept my body and he sighed heavily. Before I had the chance to react, his lips were pressed firmly against mine and his hands were tangled in my hair. Heaven: that was the only way to describe how it felt to kiss him again. He was still my home. I bit his bottom lip and he moaned into my mouth. Moving his hands from my hair to the back of my legs, he picked me up and locked my ankles behind his back. Only Thor could make my body burn this way. I gasped as he slid himself into me, filling me perfectly. His lips moved to my neck where he sank his teeth into my skin. God, he felt so good. He pinned me against the shower wall and we rocked into each other. The hot water only fueled our anguished desire. With every thrust, kiss, bite, and moan we poured ourselves into each other. Sex with Thor was always intense but this was something else entirely. It was like everything we couldn’t say had somehow been unleashed. Every sorrow, wish, hope and love filled us both. He pulled away and met my gaze.

“I love you.”

I wasn’t sure who said it but in this moment it didn’t matter. We both felt it. I clutched him tightly as a furious orgasm tore through my body. His thrusts lost their rhythm as he emptied himself into me. We were connected by something more powerful than either of us could understand. This was more than lust, more than love. With one last kiss, he pulled himself out of me. The empty feeling made me ache to have back immediately. He handed me the bottle of soap and turned away. We showered in silence. The weight of our broken hearts weighed heavily in the air.

He didn’t look at me as we dried off and dressed. He actually went out of his way to avoid my gaze. I don’t know what hurt more: him ignoring me or knowing that I deserved it. Thor tossed me another one on his tee shirts, grabbed his camera bag and headed for the door. He turned back and paused momentarily.

“I’ll be home at 7pm. Your key is still on the hook by the front door.” Without another word, he hoisted has bag onto his shoulder and left. The slam of the front door reverberated through the apartment and I was alone again. I crawled back into his bed, my hangover a distant memory.

“What do you mean she’s at your apartment right now?” asked a very confused Darcy Lewis.

Thor was currently sitting at a bar with two of his closest friends, trying to figure out what exactly do with the fact that you were back in his life. He was suddenly glad he didn’t tell them he fucked you in his shower.

“Okay, what is the point of her?” he asked. He rolled his eyes at his annoying friend and took another swig from his beer.

“She makes a good point, Thor…why is she in your apartment?” Brunnhilde questioned. The bar they were sitting at suddenly felt stifling. Feeling claustrophobic, he downed the last of his beer and sighed heavily. He’d always hated alcohol but, in moments like these, he could understand why his father drank himself half to death.

“I couldn’t bear to see her leave just yet,” he whispered. Thor was at war with himself. He shouldn’t have kissed you. Kissing you again awakened a part of his soul he fought so hard to bury. It might shatter him if you left again…when you left again. He shouldn’t have had sex with you in his shower. Getting to lose himself in you even just for a little while soothed his aching heart that always seemed to miss you. It might shatter him if you left again…when you left again. He shouldn’t have let you stay. Seeing your face in his apartment again made it feel so much more like a home. The realization that you thought he turn his back on you after screwing you in the shower this morning sucker punched him. He shouldn’t have left you alone.

Even though last night was the first time he’d seen you in a long time, he knew you were struggling. When you lost your mother last year, he went to the funeral. You were the only one standing there as they lowered her into the ground. You didn’t cry. He studied you from a distance as you stood in silence while watching her grave be filled. When it was done you walked away, downing a flask. He meant to go up to you then, but he wasn’t sure you’d want to see him. He was the only one who knew how abusive your mother had been to you. She was an angry, bitter woman who lashed out at everyone. When her illness finally took her, you were the only one who seemed to care. He loved you for it.

As the months went by, it became harder and harder to pick up the phone and dial your number. He’d heard from your mutual friends that you’d taken to partying heavily. He was terrified of receiving that phone call that said you shared you mother’s fate. After Jane, he couldn’t bear to lose another person he loved. When you called last night, he was so relieved to hear your voice. You were his home. He shouldn’t have left you alone.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Brunnhilde

“I wish I knew.” Darcy and Brunnhilde nodded in understanding. They knew you were more than just an ex for Thor. You were, and still are, the love of his life. Thor flagged down the bartender to pay his tab. He had to face you sometime.

“Alright ladies, I should be getting back. Thanks for this.”

“Anytime, buddy. You know that.” Brunnhilde pulled him in for a hug and Darcy patted his shoulder in encouragement. Grabbing his things, he headed to his car.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t follow him? They could kill each other,” Darcy told Brunnhilde.

“They’ll be fine. They’re soulmates.”

Tag List

@emilyevanston @arrow-guy @morgandakotaq @avengersandlovers @fangirlingisloud @melonshino @myluvislikewow @daisykane535@palaisaurus64 @quicksilverbells @zuni21798 @thesaraaaaahpfan @itsmarshalltime98 @rebelslicious @nbaku @seargantbcky @mypanda-kun @redgillan @anotherotter @melaninmarvel @blackgirloneshots @brandnewberettaa @cheekylilspaff @memyselfandmaddox

#thor x reader #thor x woc #thor x oc #thor odinson x reader #odinson x reader #my fics #foster writes

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akirakurusuimagines · 6 years

Text

Kink: Knifeplay I/II

(I’m re-submitting this once again in case Mod Joker didn’t receive it the first time.

Hah? What’s this? Am I posting once again after sweating bullets over my first five posts? Why yes, yes I am, actually. You may be wondering what started my musing for this particular post. Well, I was scrolling through certain kinks anons asked Mod Joker, and one of the first ones to jump out at me was the knifeplay kink, so… That about sums it up. I ask only for your prayers because, once again, I will require a long soak in holy water and maybe confess my sins (for once.) for this one.

Yes, knifeplay is the main kink mentioned, but I tossed in a few others as well, i.e., sensory deprivation/blindfolded, some brief mentions of orgasm denial, some dirty talk, and some light bondage. That’s it, I think. I might toss in some more as I go along, but those are the ones that first came to mind. This is something to help tide you thirsty Akira/Ren lovers over until I post the fourth part of You Need Proper Punishment. I seem to have hit a bit of a mental snag with it right now, unfortunately. I know how I want it to conclude, but getting to the end is where I’m drawing a blank.

One final note. I may post more drabbles like this, if my creative juices are flowing. I think I’ve rambled on enough for now, so I’ll do my best to quench the thirst of you lovely anons and Mod Joker once more. Again, I thank anyone who reads this in advance. I hope you all enjoy this little writing snippet as well. You thirsty dears got two and a half pages worth of spiciness for this part. I’ll post the second bit as soon as I can, which will be sometime today, hopefully. Love y’all~! <3)

When you brought up the suggestion of Akira tying you up, he laughed at you.

When you suggested he should blindfold you as well, he cocked an eyebrow, an amused smirk curling his lips.

When you said you wanted to be denied the right to orgasm unless he wanted you to, he voiced a breathy chuckle.

When you said you wanted to hear the most sinful filth whispered to you in your ears, flecks of marigold shone in his onyx eyes.

However, when you suggested introducing something new to your nocturnal rounds of rough love-making, the flecks of marigold were replaced with specks of carmine. Akira’s eyes were swallowed up by ruby red, the smirk still curling his lips as he slowly removed his rounded glasses, setting them aside on the nightstand next to your bed.

You were pinned to your bed in record time, your wrists pressed to the comforter, held in a single hand above your head as Akira pressed his lips to yours as his free hand trailed down to your collarbone, unfastening the first two buttons, tugging the collar of your night shirt down a bit to expose a teasing glimpse of skin.

His warm lips trailed open-mouthed kisses up your bare abdomen, pausing every second kiss to allow his lips to linger against your skin before slowly continuing to make his way up. The shirt and sleeping shorts you had been wearing were all but torn off of your skin within the first five minutes of his visit, mere moments after hearing your spicy suggestions. Your bra had been unclasped, soon joining the first two articles of clothing, tossed off to the side as though they were trash, pressing you to the covers of your bed as he claimed your lips in the first of many hot kisses.

You could feel a smirk tugging on the lips of the demon of a man, quite literally so, as he stopped when he reached the swell of your naked breasts. The fingers that gripped a hold of your hips lazily danced across the hem of your lacy, see-through underwear, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Despite his hands gently gripping your barely clothed hips, despite his fingers dancing across the thin, bow-tied straps that held the flimsy piece of clothing in place, Akira didn’t give away any hints of wanting to remove the lacy underwear. Yet.

Instead, a breathy chuckle whispered over the sweaty skin of the valley between your breasts, leaving a shudder in its wake as a tingling sensation shot up and down your spine. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant; far from it, actually. The difference between Akira’s warm breath and your bare skin created a brief chill that caused a small, sudden gush of moisture to gather in the crotch of your underwear. Your shudder didn’t go unnoticed by the smirking incubus, his red eyes boring into your gaze as he kissed his way up to your lips, planting a slow, sensual kiss to your mouth before leaning away.

“What a naughty girl you are… If only your family and friends knew what you were like in bed in the dead of night, nestled safely in the comfort of your dreams… If they only knew what aroused you, and sharing your desires, your bed with a demon like myself at that… They’d be shocked, wouldn’t they?” Akira hissed just inches from your blushing face, his warm breath brushing across your flushed cheeks.

“What do you think, love? Should I tease you mercilessly in front of everyone you know?” Akira’s lips practically kissed your own as he talked, peppering your rosy cheeks and jawline with kisses.

“Wouldn’t that be exciting? Your family, your friends… Your classmates, teachers, and acquaintances seeing you in this state? Or would you prefer being fucked by me instead, bare as the day you were born?”

Your blush darkened at the lewd suggestions Akira was proposing, if such a thing was possible. The mere thought of your family, friends, teachers, your acquaintances seeing you being screwed by Akira embarrassed you as much as it intrigued you. You felt a tingle of coy arousal as it lit a fire in you. A chill danced up your spine as your blush darkened at the thought; you wouldn’t know whether to feel embarrassed at being screwed senselessly, or to be too consumed by lust to care about the many eyes that would be watching you and Akira.

“…I’m kidding, of course,” Akira spoke after a brief pause, smirking at your blushing bride cheeks, his carmine irises betraying a hint of mischievous teasing as he stared into your shining doe eyes.

“Remember, love, that only I can see you in the state you’re in right now,” the ruby eyed incubus said, still smiling as his fingers resumed their languid dance across your scantily clothed hips.

You drew in a shaky breath as his fingers inched closer, closer, closer to the thin, bow-tied straps that kept your lacy, see-through underwear secured to your hips. You swallowed as Akira’s hand slipped past the thin straps that were on your hips, his fingertips ghosting over your heated skin as his hand slowly descended to the damp crotch of your underwear. A husky chuckle left Akira, a laugh that was as smug as it was pleased, the corner of his lips curling as he caught wind of the hitched breath you took in.

“You’re so wet right now, sweetheart. So warm. So moist,” Akira crooned into your ear, eliciting both a gasp and a shudder from you as he cupped your moist womanhood in the palm of his hand, a finger teasingly prodding your entrance. The incubus’ crimson eyes bore into your shining eyes, the cornea pricking as the first hint of warm moisture gathered.

Akira voiced a few “tsk’s”, watching you squirming in the palm of his hand, quite literally so, enthralled by the erotic show you were putting on for him, and only for him. Slowly, he pushed in his forefinger, the small, very small, part of him that was a sadist enjoying the sight of seeing you blushing, on the verge of tears, unconsciously bucking your scantily clad hips, rocking to the slow, gentle, teasing rhythm of Akira’s finger as he inserted a middle finger.

“Such a lascivious woman… Allowing someone like myself to fuck you with his fingers like this. You like this… No, you love this, don’t you? You love being teased like this, don’t you? What a greedy, insatiable lover I have,” Akira hissed in your face, his warm breath fanning your cerise cheeks.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t reply. Your mouth was open, but no words left you. You were breathing in and out, shakily, drawing in one shuddering gasp after another as a whimpering moan was pulled from you. The ruby eyed incubus chuckled, his crimson eyes swimming in mirth as a breathy laugh wafted across your flushed cheeks.

“Darling,” Akira spoke calmly, his voice dropping a few octaves as a tantalizing purr clung to the edge of his words as they were uttered, his free hand raising to cup the side of your head. Akira entangled his fingers through your hair, gently tugging your head back.

“When someone asks you a question, what do you say…?”

To coax you into replying, Akira flicked his wrist while shoving his fingers further inside your dripping core, successfully pulling a noise that was between a wanton moan and a surprised squeal from you.

Gasping for breath, a pleasant shudder shook you, ceasing your shameless rutting into Akira’s hand, not having expected it all. Thanks to the smug demon cradling your head in his hand, you couldn’t look away. You could only watch as the noiret’s ruby irises shone for a few moments, but not with malicious intent. You swallowed a gulp; you recognized that look. Behind the demonic eyes that stared back at you, there was a flicker of a surprisingly human emotion: sincerity.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d kiss you until your lips were plump and swollen.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d worship your body in bed, taking special care to slowly strip your clothing away, admiring every bump, curve, and blemish you possessed, kissing and adding extra touches to whatever it was you deemed ugly about yourself.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d fuck you senseless, asking for a second round so long as you agreed to it. You were sure to be sore, tired, and severely lacking in energy the following day on such evenings.

Akira was sincere whenever he felt like teasing you, edging you on the precipice of pleasure, only to deny you the right to orgasm. Whether it was with his fingers, his lips and tongue, or a combination of the three, there was nothing better than listening to your pleas, your whimpers, begging him to please, please let you orgasm.

“You said you wanted to be denied the right to orgasm tonight… Unless I wanted you to, correct?”

“Yes, Akira!” You blushed; you hadn’t meant to raise your voice like that.

Akira blinked, surprised for a few moments, before he laughed.

“…Well, love… I admire your persistence, but… Are you sure? I will be utterly merciless when you voice such shameless desires…”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head.

Akira frowned. He didn’t appear to be convinced, picking up on your unvoiced hesitation.

“…I will ask you again. You are sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you uttered a verbal reply, nodding your head firmly. To prove your point, to prove that you weren’t going to back out now, you raised a hand, running your fingers through the noiret’s hair before bringing him into a kiss.

Akira hummed, seemingly pleased at the action, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, but prying away just as you opened your mouth to grant his tongue permission to delve past your lips. He smirked at the light glare you shot him, snickering at your scowl.

“Prepare yourself, Treasure. I will be sure to ravage you tonight.”

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not-a-space-alien · 6 years

Text

Earth Helps Back, Part 1: A Dreadful Partnership

Hello friends! I am very pleased to share the results of my collaboration with @nemeankitten! I wrote the fic, the two pieces of art are by nemean as are some of the headcannons used! Hope you enjoy!

Title: Earth Helps Back

Summary: When Aziraphale and Crowley finally receive punishment for trying to save the Earth, they find unexpected help from new allies who decide it’s time for Earth to repay the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 30k

On AO3

WARNING: THIS FIC CONTAINS GORE AND TORTURE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. this particular chapter also has a rape trigger warning

Somewhere on Earth under the gentle light of a full moon, a huge, celestial figure swaddled in white robes and six pairs of wings waited. Impatient is not exactly the right word to describe its stance, the shift of its feet, the way it peered at the treetops. It was more…expectant.

The Metatron did not often come down from Heaven, but he had made a habit of never refusing a summons.

There was a sound nearby like a horde of locusts all taking to the air at once, the throbbing hum of a million pairs of tiny wings beating out of synch. Beelzebub materialised directly from the shadows, stepping over the brush to face the Metatron in the middle of the clearing.

Beelzebub’s hand rested on the scabbard of his sword. The Metatron was armed with nothing more threatening than a rosary, but nonetheless the Voice of God looked unperturbed. “You asked for a meeting?”

Beelzebub buzzed disgustingly. Barely distinguishable in the half-light, his skin seemed to be moving faintly.

“We beg you to make this as fast as convenient,” the Metatron hummed. “So we do not have to look at your repulsive face for longer than is necessary.”

“Fine,” Beelzebub snapped. “If your conztitution izz really zo delicate. I have a great need to dizcuzz what happened at the rebellion of my mazter’z zon, the boy Adam Young.”

The Metatron moved a hand to his veiled face, smiling politely. “That’s not my jurisdiction, I’m afraid,” he said softly. “Adam Young belongs to Hell. We have no authority over him, beyond what is written in God’s plan about his role to play in Armag—”

“Yezz, I know,” Beelzebub said, and flinched to dislodge a fly crawling over his eye. “It izz not about him; it izz about the two who aided him.”

The Metatron’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes. Those two.”

“The one from our zide is a demon of temptation named Crowley,” offered Beelzebub.

“We know who they both are,” said the Metatron, face locked in a perpetual ghost of a smile.

Beelzebub sneered, revealing a cockroach that had been perching on his teeth. “If you know zzo much, then you muzt know why I azked you here?”

“Mmm, afraid not,” said the Metatron mildly. “So if you could…?”

Beelzebub huffed in an annoyed way and plopped down on a log. He took out his sword and started to wipe it down, despite the fact that it was not dirty. In truth, he just wanted to avoid looking into the Metatron’s eyes. “Heaven and Hell are not azz different azz everyone likez to think, you know.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” said the Metatron, voice flat. “Heaven and Hell are as different as night and day. One is pure, holy, and—”

“All right, all right,” said Beelzebub. “Zpare me the grandiozze monologue. I don’t care. My point izz, both of uz need order and obedienzze from our zubordinatezz to function. And if we don’t have it, order will collapze.” Beelzebub stopped polishing his sword and looked up at the Metatron. “Or am I wrong about that too?”

The Metatron hesitated. He did not want to agree with Beelzebub about anything, but he also did not want to lie.

“What happened at Armageddon waz the rezult of dizobedienze,” said Beelzebub. “Crowley and hiz angelic partner in crime threaten to turn the natural order on itz head.”

“I’d say Adam Young already did a pretty thorough job at that,” said the Metatron.

“They openly questioned uzz to our facezz, and with an audienzze!” Beelzebub said. “No demon in zix-thouzand yearz haz ever had the audazity to do that to me. Haz any angel?”

The Metatron was silent.

“We muzt ztamp thiz out az bezt az we can. Get it under control before it goezz any further,” said Beelzebub. “It will give otherz ideaz. Neither Heaven nor Hell will profit from the collapzze of zupernatural order. It’z true that Adam Young is the real culprit. But we can’t touch him. Leave him to our dark lord Zzz…Satan.”

“Your dark lord,” said the Metatron wryly.

“We can’t touch Adam Young, but we can touch thoze two. If we deal with them appropriately, it zhould give the otherz an idea about the conzequenzez of rebellion. Get them properly zcared again.”

The Metatron crossed his arms. “And you’ve called us here to discuss it because…why? You want this to be a joint effort?”

“You muzt punizh the angel while I handle Crowley,” said Beelzebub. “We can’t juzzt do one. They feed off each other. They help each other.”

“They do seem….inordinately fond of each other,” said Metatron. “We had noticed that.”

“There hazz been conzern it will make otherz in our rankz queztion the rulez,” said Beelzebub. “And queztion their zzuperiorz. On both zidez. It would be mutually beneficial to ztamp it out together. And…” Beelzebub sheathed his sword and stood. “I’m zzure you wouldn’t be averse to doling out a little perzonal attention to Aziraphale after what he did. You muzt have been punizhed for failing to ztart Armageddon as inzztructed, correct?”

The Metatron’s eyes widened, and his face contorted into anger. “How do you know about that?”

“Becauzze,” said Beelzebub, oozing forwards. “I wazz alzo.”

The Metatron managed to return his face back to a blank mask. “Maybe demons are motivated by things like the desire for petty revenge, but angels have no such inclination.”

Beelzebub smiled wickedly. “Mmm-hmm. I am zzure.” He took another step closer. “But if you were to, zzay, punizh your zzubordinate, and if you were to, zzay, do it a little harder than ztrictly nezezzary, would anyone zay anything? Would anyone care?”

Metatron stared at him.

“Doez anyone really care what happenz to Aziraphale and Crowley?” said Beelzebub.

The Metatron thought very, very hard. He had been uncomfortable with the state of affairs since having his understanding of the Ineffable Plan questioned at Armageddon, and he suddenly realised a very satisfying and clean way to stamp out the seed of rebellion he had sensed growing in Aziraphale. “No…” he chimed. “I suppose not.”

“I want to talk to Beelzebub.”

For what felt like the thousandth time that day, Crowley tugged at the manacles on his wrists, but he only succeeded in once again pulling the sharp metal to dig into his wrists. He had been blindfolded since coming in and had no idea the circumstances of his confinement, but the other demons who had been assigned to torture him were doing a bang-up job of making him loathe every single thing he could hear.

He was laid out on something cold and made of stone, and his arms were bent back and locked in a painful position, and that was basically all he knew.

“He wants to talk to Beelzebub,” said a snide voice. This prompted titters of laughter from elsewhere in the room. Judging by the sounds alone, there had to be at least four other demons in the room with him. The attention being paid to him made him more nervous than the eventuality of torture, in a way.

He wished he could at least see them. He didn’t recognise their voices, but knowing their identities might have given him an edge in trying to talk his way out of this. But no, they had gone straight for the damn blindfold.

Crowley shifted, wishing they had at least let him keep his clothes on. “B-Beelzebub summoned me. He said he needed to talk to me about something. I don’t think he’d be happy to f-find out you kept me from—”

He broke off as a hand seized him by the hair, dragging him forward until his arms hyperextended, chains taut. He felt a warm hand on his stomach.

“If you think Beelzebub doesn’t know exactly where you are and what’s happening to you,” said the same voice, “then you’re even more foolish than you look.”

The hands released him, and he fell back onto whatever hard surface was underneath of him. He tried to control his breathing, but he was starting to spiral into panic. “He said he wanted to talk to me—”

“Obviously you are not familiar with the way Lord Beelzebub communicates,” said a second voice, which prompted another round of snickers from everyone in the room.

Crowley shifted again, struggling to find a position that minimised his discomfort.

He felt something sharp prickling at his lower back. “S-stop that.”

“Lay him flat,” said a third voice. “I have an idea.”

Ideas from Hell were never any good, in Crowley’s opinion, unless they were from Crowley himself. However, Crowley doubted the idea happened to be Unchain him and let him go immediately, which was the idea he currently thought was the only good one.

The chains shifted slightly, and a pair unseen hands forced him onto his back, pressed against the cool stone.

“Spread his legs.”

Crowley groaned as clawed hands dug into his thighs, pulling them apart. “W-wait,” he said, trying to kick out, but without much success.

He heard the sound of metal on stone, a fire igniting, and something sizzling.

“Oh fuck,” said Crowley, voice jumping up an octave. “Wait wait wait wait—”

“I don’t think he likes the sound of that,” said one of the voices, and there were more laughs.

“There’s been a mistake somewhere, I know there has,” said Crowley as quickly as he could make his mouth form words. “If I could just talk to Beelzebub I’m sure he’ll clear everything up. If you could just—there’s been a—He said he needed to talk to me urgently.”

“You’ll speak to Beelzebub in due time,” said another voice. “But he’s a busy man.”

“We’ll take good care of you in the meantime,” said another voice, and a pair of hands pressed down on his shoulders, stifling his wriggling.

He heard the sound of hot metal again, and then a pair of footsteps coming closer to him.

“Fuck,” wept Crowley, “wait, please—”

As soon as he felt the scorching pressure between his legs, Crowley flailed and screamed and tried to break free, but the claws holding him down sunk in deeper.

All intelligent thought was scrambled in his brain, blotted out by the white-hot pain racking through him. The metal pushed in deeper, slowly, like a vicious simulacrum of a gentle lover.

Crowley thrashed to the very limit of his physical capability. “Please! Stop!”

“Aww, stop?” said a voice. “But we’re just getting started. We have so many fun things planned for you.”

Crowley had excused himself partway through the evening, saying he had an urgent message from his higher-ups that he should probably see to, though somebody knows how much he’d rather stay here drinking, but you can only ignore them for so long, you know—

Aziraphale bade him good night, then went upstairs to find his own urgent summons from Heaven on his desk almost simultaneously. The parchment sent an ominous feeling through his stomach, but he ignored it, because lying to himself about his feelings was one of the things Aziraphale did best.

Sure that everything was going to be fine, he went up to Heaven as commanded. He found the Metatron waiting for him exactly where indicated.

The Metatron smiled at him as he came into sight. “Aziraphale,” he said softly. “Good to see you. Thank you for coming up so quickly.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale. He really did feel a rising sense of unease like a tidal wave beating over him, telling him he ought to run, but once again he forced it down.

“Please follow us,” said the Metatron. “There’s something very important we need to talk about.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale.

The Metatron led him through Heaven, beating his wings gracefully, moving almost completely silently. Aziraphale desperately wanted to ask for details of what this encounter was about, but he was thinking back now to the last time he had spoken to the Metatron and thought he probably shouldn’t do anything else to get on his bad side.

The Metatron didn’t seem particularly upset with him. But then again, it was rare for the Metatron to seem particularly feeling any way about anything.

Aziraphale soon found himself escorted into a plain white room with a plush couch. The door disappeared behind him as he entered.

The Metatron extended one hand and motioned to the couch. “Please lie down, Aziraphale.”

“O-okay,” said Aziraphale, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

He lay back on the couch. Immediately, the Metatron’s aura surged outwards, and Aziraphale’s entire corporation went slack, his head lolling. To his supreme alarm, he could not re-engage any of the connections to his body.

He lay there completely paralyzed, feeling the Metatron’s aura rolling over him, prodding and examining him like a pinned insect.

Aziraphale’s body continued breathing on its own. His eyes were the only thing he could move, and they flew around the room wildly, but all he could see was the ceiling, bright and harsh. He tried again to take control of his limbs, but he slid right off where he had been previously been able to connect to them, as though he were clawing at a newly closed door with no knob.

Slowly, the Metatron’s half-obscured face moved into his field of vision, smiling that polite smile. “Tell me something, Aziraphale,” he said, and fresh horror washed over Aziraphale as he felt the Metatron’s aura constricting his like a snake. “What exactly compelled you to talk back and humiliate me in front of Beelzebub? In front of the Antichrist? In front of Heaven’s legions?”

Aziraphale, of course, could not answer. The Metatron’s lip twitched in what might have approached a laugh, if the Metatron had had any sense of humour. “I’m sorry. I was just curious. But I suppose curiosity doesn’t have much use in the grand scheme of things, does it?”

Aziraphale felt the Metatron’s icy aural fingers prying into his corporation. He retreated deeper inside himself, withdrawing his angelic essence from his body’s extremities, balling up in his core, shrinking away from the invasion.

He felt the Metatron’s presence in his body, pressing against him, and he tried to pull away, to regain some sense of autonomy. But the Metatron tapped at his metaphysical form with one tendril of glowing aura, and there was nowhere to retreat.

Tell me, Aziraphale, said the Metatron. Or rather thought at him, because now Aziraphale was disconnected from his body’s senses and he couldn’t see nor hear the Metatron’s physical form, only the part of it that was intruding on him. Did you forget that there are consequences for your actions? Have you forgotten exactly what kind of power I have over you? Do you think you can do whatever you please without suffering for it?

Aziraphale bounced back and forth between the edges of the corporation, but Metatron was blocking the way out of it. And Aziraphale felt sharp, cold hands stick in his mind, grabbing him.

Out of all the possible thoughts that could have drifted to the surface of his mind, Aziraphale was a bit surprised at the one that materialised. It was, Crowley would never do anything this horrible to me.

The Metatron, appendages wrapped around Aziraphale like a spider, seized the thought and tore it out from him.

The action sent a chill of white-hot pain through Aziraphale, and he pulsed and tried to cry out, but the only outlet to express his agony was his communication link with the Metatron, who of course already knew.

Go on, said the Metatron. What were you saying?

Where Aziraphale’s last thought should have been, there now seemed to be a gaping hole. He could feel the Metatron absorbing the bit of glowing aura he had just torn off Aziraphale, the thought sinking down, lost forever.

What…what are you going to do to me? Aziraphale asked.

He braced himself, cowering, stuck in place, as he felt the Metatron rifling through his conscious mind, like ungentle hands dumping out the contents of a desk. Oh, I’m simply going to remove everything I find that’s inappropriate for an angel in your position.

Wh…what?

I hardly think anyone would deny it’s best for the Heavenly Kingdom, said Metatron. And if it just so happens to cause you a bit more suffering than strictly necessary, well…that’s what it means to be a servant of Heaven, yes? Suffering cleanses the soul.

What are you talking about?

Aziraphale tried to pull away again as the Metatron went deeper, pinning him to the wall and forcefully tearing out the memory of drinking with Crowley just before coming up to Heaven.

You’re a piece in a well-oiled machine, Aziraphale, said the Metatron, with another yank at Aziraphale’s essence. You’d do well to remember that. Anything that is not useful will be…burned away.

Aziraphale whimpered as he felt the Metatron tearing out huge swathes of his memories, his personality, his will.

Please no, said Aziraphale. Please…

He yelped as he felt a particularly precious memory yanked away, the time he and Crowley got drunk in the back room and Crowley convinced Aziraphale to try and stop Armageddon through reminders of sushi and snuffboxes.

I don’t want to forget him, said Aziraphale, absolutely panic-stricken, feeling everything about who he was slipping away like sand through a sieve. I don’t want to forget about loving the Earth. Please. Mercy.

Oh, you’ll remember, said the Metatron, and no one in history had ever heard his voice drip with such dark, sadistic delight. You’ll remember that you used to be close with him, and you’ll remember how much you used to enjoy Earth, but you won’t remember why. And you’ll remember just enough to feel sad about it.

The next few weeks passed as a blur for Aziraphale. He had no conception of the time passing or where he was, in a fog until he looked around and hazily noticed that he was standing at the gates of Heaven, with no memory of how he had gotten there.

A pair of crossed arms draped in ropes blocked his gaze. His eyes drifted upwards until he saw the Metatron’s face, looking at him expectantly, as though waiting for an answer.

Aziraphale let his eyes wander all around. He was trying very hard not to cry. He was trying very hard to remember one single coherent thing about himself. There was a ragged hole where he thought his personality was supposed to be, as though he were an electronic device that had been factory-reset.

“Well?” the Metatron finally prompted after a few moments.

Aziraphale let his gaze drift back up to the Metatron, feeling completely lost, adrift at sea in a rowboat without a paddle.

The Metatron bent down to force Aziraphale to look into his eyes. “Have we made our point effectively, Aziraphale?” he said gently.

Aziraphale returned the stare blankly. His eyes started to rove again. The Metatron snapped his fingers in front of his face and said, “No, look over here.”

Aziraphale did so.

“We will repeat ourselves,” said the Metatron. “You will contact the demon Crowley one more time, to tell him that you will not talk to him anymore, and after that, he will be a target to kill on sight. Additionally, you are not to eat anything besides daily bread or drink anything other than communion wine. And you’ll be summoned here for another visit if your devotion to your angelic duties does not show marked improvement. You are to purge all Earthly attachments. Do you understand?”

“B-but…” said Aziraphale, the protest dying halfway between his brain and his mouth. He couldn’t remember what he would miss by following those orders.

Metatron let his face slip into a scowl. “Earth is not for your enjoyment, Aziraphale. You are not there to enjoy it. Demons are not there for you to befriend. Humans are not there to be friends with you, either. You are a servant. That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be. Now. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes safely on the ground.

“Good. Now return to your post.”

Aziraphale spread his wings and drifted back down towards Earth. The action caused none of the feelings of homecoming that it usually did, but Aziraphale couldn’t place what was off. He just felt a certain hollowness in his chest.

Crowley lost track of any sense of time. All demons know how to handle torture as a general rule, since it comes with the job, but this was unlike anything that had been done to him before. He was sure they must not have been aware of the full effect of what they were doing, because surely not even Hell would inflict this kind of agony on anyone knowingly, in so many different ways, and for such a length of time.

Crowley had been tortured before, but he had never, ever sincerely wished that he could die, never in his life before this.

The thing about being immortal is that you cannot die even if you want to. And certain causes of death, when brought about without the actual death at the end as a release, will simply drag on and on in a stasis, unable to be resolved, teetering on an unnatural boundary just before death, but unable to cross over.

For example, a being who can technically survive without breathing, but for whom holding their breath eventually does become painful all the same due to the sheer physiological needs of their vessel, could be held suspended at the threshold of drowning for a theoretically infinite duration.

Or for however many weeks, months, or years one’s captors deemed appropriate.

Beelzebub strolled down Hell’s dark stone hallways, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction in his work and the work of his underlings. The sound of water lapping against a cave wall grew louder and louder as he moved.

His boots clacked against the stone as he reached his destination. A pit filled with water lay in front of him, and a simple line of rope drew up from it to a hook in the ceiling, which connected to a winch right by his foot.

Beelzebub just stood there for a moment, basking in the dingy environment and listening to the cold water dripping and slapping against the stone.

Finally, he turned the hand crank on the winch, and the rope started to draw up slowly. Eventually, the end of the rope appeared, tied to a pair of bruised wrists.

Beelzebub let his victim rest like that for a few moments, with just his arms above the water, air so close and yet so infuriatingly impossible to reach. The hands started making a grabbing motion, and the rope shuddered with tension as the weight it held moved around.

Beelzebub relented and turned the winch the rest of the way. Crowley’s head appeared above water, dark hair plastered down his face, and he immediately retched violently, body shaking with the effort of clearing his lungs, vomiting water and then desperately sucking in huge gulps of air.

Beelzebub squatted down so that he could lock eyes with Crowley, who was still chest-deep in water. Crowley’s golden eyes, filled with fear, flickered up to his superior’s face.

“Have you learned your lezzon?” said Beelzebub. He smiled, and a fly crawled over his lips.

Shivering and heaving, Crowley looked down at Beelzebub’s feet.

Beelzebub frowned. “Crowley. Anzwer me.”

“Yes,” Crowley said quietly.

Beelzebub’s frown deepened. He put his hand on the winch and started to lower it back down.

Crowley immediately came to life, thrashing and screaming. “Yes! Yes! Fuck! Yes!”

Satisfied, Beelzebub turned the winch all the way up so that Crowley’s body came up all the way out of the water. The weight that had been tied to his legs to hold him down came up next, and Beelzebub grabbed it and dragged him over onto solid ground, untying him.

Crowley shuddered, trying to stand on his own and failing miserably. Beelzebub grabbed his arm tightly, layering another bruise on top of his already impressive collection. The bigger demon hauled him up, then leaned right into his face.

“Do not queztion me again. Do not dizobey Hell. Do not even think about humiliating me like that ever again.”

“Yesss,” panted Crowley, head resting on the wall, feeling utterly drained like he had never had before. “Yesss. Pleassse. Anything.”

Beelzebub held out a small scroll. “Here are your inztructionz. Now get out of my zzight before I change my mind.”

Crowley took the scroll and staggered out as fast as he could.

1. The only contact you will have with the angel Aziraphale will be aggressive in nature. You are to kill him if the opportunity presents itself.

2. You are not allowed to sleep.

3. You are not allowed to eat or drink anything other than water.

4. You are not allowed to engage in sexual activity with others or to masturbate, and you are not allowed to manifest genitals, except when it is necessary for a mission given to you by a direct superior.

5. All activities you carry out while on Earth will be directly for the advancement of the Kingdom of Darkness. You must provide accountability and justification for all activities. You will be monitored periodically to ensure your reports are accurate. Your use of miracles is being monitored and you will be required to provide a written justification for each use and how it contributes to your current project for the glory of our Dark Master, Lord Satan.

Failure to follow these guidelines will result in another visit to Hell to answer for your motivations.

Those were the contents of the scroll. It seemed like an awful lot of words to say If you try to do anything for enjoyment, I’ll beat the shite out of you.

Crowley’s immediate instinct was to grab a bottle of wine and get smashed as fast as inhumanly possible. The irony was not lost on him.

He managed to claw his way back up to Earth at three in the morning, smelling of brimstone and blood and looking like literal and metaphorical Hell. The only humans he saw were a couple who rushed to cross to the other side of the street when he limped into view.

He wanted to go back to his flat, but he was afraid whoever was monitoring him would take issue with him having even that modicum of comfort.

So he just stood there on the dark street, wishing that it was raining so he could tell himself these weren’t tears on his face. He slipped his mobile out of his pocket and dialed Aziraphale’s number.

“Hello?” answered a voice, sounding faint and vague in an unfamiliar way.

“Angel,” said Crowley softly. He was shocked by how hoarse his own voice came out and realised dully it must have been from all the screaming.

“Oh, hello,” said Aziraphale foggily. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been in Hell.”

“They only let you out just now?”

“Yeah.” The tears dripped from his chin. “Aziraphale, I think it’d be best if…i-if we didn’t see each other again.”

There was a very long pause on the other end. Then: “I think so too.”

“So,” said Crowley. “That’s it, then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Crowley sniffled and was about to hang up, then put the phone back to his face. “For what it’s worth…”

“Yes?”

“I liked it. Our arrangement. It was good.”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale choked out. He just barely managed to resist adding my dear on the end in case the Metatron was listening, as though his voice wasn’t thick with sadness, as though it wasn’t damn obvious to anyone listening what his feelings were.

“I…had fun,” said Crowley. “I mean, I thought it was nice. Being friends.”

“You think we were friends?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You think people like us can do that? Have friends? Real friends?”

Crowley looked up at the sky. He didn’t think he had any tears left. He had put on a blank, emotionless mask. “No…I suppose not.”

He pulled the phone down, when he remembered the wording of his instructions. Aggressive in nature.

He put it back to his face and said, “I’ll kill you if—”

The phone was already on a dial tone. He was glad Aziraphale hadn’t heard that part. And he hung up, tossed the phone onto the sidewalk, and walked off into the night.

#good omens #my writing #not my art #nemeankitten #my good omens fanfic

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allumetterouge · 6 years

Text

I am writing, which feels almost nostalgic. Incidentally, this story is one I’d promised @careamorran ages ago...

Anyway, still need to think of a title before I post this on AO3, so if you’ve got a good idea, let me know! ;D

Summary: Hunted by the people who saved him, Jason crosses the country, bent on revenge against the person he loved only to get betrayed in return - Now with dragons wyverns.

Also, totally gonna be JayTim. No surprises here <3

[Not yet on AO3]

Ra’s men had been following them for three days when they finally attacked in the tunnels. Talia ran at Jason, screaming to move. With a quick slice of his knife, he silenced one of the men and took after her.

“We have to get to the western entrance." Talia's breath came out in trained intervals but her eyes looked around frantically. Panic was settling in and Jason cringed.

The western entrance was their last hope. A shaky Hail Mary in comparison to their original plan, as it was rigged to blow up behind them. It would cut the League off from civilization for however long it would take them to take care of the rubble, but Talia and Jason would have to cross the mountains, which would take way longer than they had been willing to plan for. It was way more dangerous, too, with the cold killing most of the men who had tried the mountain pass during this time of the year.

“Less talking, more running,” Jason said. Gripping the handle of his weapon tighter, he pushed himself off the wall he had been resting against. Instead of following his own advice, he pushed Talia past him and kneeled down.

“What are you doing!”

“Giving you more time.” The knife cut into the cave’s frozen floor easily, Jason’s magic making sure of that.

“Stop that, you’re coming with me.” Talia stopped, her voice almost an octave higher than normal. She was freaking out and Jason knew exactly why. She had good reason to fear her father’s men.

The red cloak pooled around him as he drew the sigil in the dirt, his muscles straining. Jason didn’t want to think about it. Didn't want to think about the effort it took to create this little thing. This sigil should have been easy.

“I’m going to Gotham.”

“Jason, stop. We’re losing valuable time.”

“Then go,” he spat over his shoulder. The sigil started glowing under him, finally active.

Talia bowed down to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” she said, her mouth a thin line when she closed it. This was the person who rescued him, the person he'd obeyed all this time. And now was no different.

The corridor opened into a cliff that clung to the mountain like ivy. Muttering curses, they balanced along the narrow trail, leaning onto the mountain for support. There was no need to keep their voices down, what with the Serpent River thundering beneath them.

“Up there,” Talia pointed out, and as Jason followed her hand, he saw a small group of people cling to a platform up ahead. “They’ll take us to--”

-- “Gotham.”

“Jason, no.” Talia turned half-way, pressing her back against the wall. “We talked about this. You’re in no condition to face the Lord Protector.”

“That’s what your father said.”

“And that’s about the only thing he isn’t wrong about!” She whirled around, almost losing her footing, but balance had been beaten into her for most of her life. Literally. Jason knew she would never fall, yet he still reached out to steady her.

The gravel slipped under their feet with each step and a sudden drop of energy had Jason falter for only a moment. He took a quick breath while his lips curled into a smile. Ra’s’ men had activated the trap he’d set earlier, depleting some of his magic. As annoying as it was to feel such a sudden weakness, it was nice knowing the sigil had been set off, turning the tunnel into a fleeting inferno, a small detonation, just long and hot enough to deter their pursuers or seriously hurt one or two of them, even, if they were lucky.

Talia looked back over her shoulder, furrowing her brows. “Why did you stop? We need to leave. Now.”

“Don’t rush me.” Jason barked, adjusting the cloak around his shoulders. “Magic takes its toll.”

“We need to get going.”

“Gotham isn’t running away,” Jason argued. Evaluating their situation, he set his mind again on the idea to fight. He loathed to run and keep running. There was no way he'd be able to get his revenge with the League still breathing down his neck. “They’ve already fallen into one trap - we could beat them here. Really hurt your father for once.”

Baring her teeth, Talia resumed a brisk walk up the mountain. “We’re not going to fight them and we’re still not going to Gotham.”

“You’re not my mother, Jason screamed over the noise of the thundering river. “I will put this reptile down and no one will stop me. Not you, not your father, not anyone.”

Jason refused to follow. Those were Ra’s’ elite and they had them already set up perfectly. Fighting them now when the assassins were injured and had to come at them single file? While they had neutral room to retreat behind them and knew exactly what was coming? There was no reason they shouldn’t face them right here, right now - and then get their revenge without having to look out for assassins. Revenge against the Lord Protector, against the one man they both had loved and who had betrayed them in return.

Talia turned on her heel, her eyes wide as she screamed. With a sudden burst of speed, she grabbed Jason's arm, slipping between him and the mountain wall. When her shoulder pushed into his sternum, he stumbled, too shocked by the haunted look in her eyes to react, to do anything but keep his gaze fixed on her face. This was the person who'd saved him, the first person he remembered for a long time. The friable ground gave under him, gravity pulling at his unbalanced body while his remaining breath left Jason in a desperate scream before the depths of Serpent River engulfed him.

Once upon a time, there was a boy, adopted by the Lord Protector and loved by the people. A boy with a talent for charms and enchantment - the common man’s magic. Gotham’s Lord Protector had grown fond of him, had loved him as a son and had given him his name. A few years ago, that boy had vanished. Bereaved of her son, Gotham wore mourning ever since.

Once upon a time, Jason would have believed that tale. He now knew better.

Facing a fire, he could feel its warmth when he woke. Blinking slowly, he fought the blurry picture that took shape before his eyes. While he had been out, darkness had fallen.

Feeling nothing but soft fur against his naked skin, Jason swallowed the rising panic. He needed his cloak and he needed it now. His limbs felt numb, but his heart was hammering against his chest when he pushed himself up to look around. Whoever had undressed him must have put his clothes somewhere. Must have taken them off to warm him up, not knowing Jason wouldn’t get warm without his cloak; it had been the first thing Talia had drilled into him: losing the cloak meant losing his magic. Meant slow but sure death.

And Jason knew death. Knew it well and good.

His lungs still burned when he took a steadying breath. The resulting cough wracked his body, pushing sour tasting water through his lips. He ignored the images, the darkness closing in on him and the pressure trying to pull him under again. Instead, he looked for the light, concentrated on the fire until he had to blink the dancing lights away from his eyes.

This was was a good place for a camp, some even ground under an overhang. Serpent River slithered past it in calm windings, making Jason realize just how far he must have gotten. The river had dragged him way past the mountains, farther away from the Demon’s lair - which was good enough for now.

Beside the fire were a few bags, a small bundle of clothes and a collection of branches that were bound together in a makeshift frame holding Jason’s clothes.

With a curse, Jason fought to push himself up when his knees buckled under him. It wasn’t far, but it felt like a tremendous effort just getting to his feet. Rationally, he knew his body was still weak from almost drowning and who even knew how long his magic had evaporated without the cloak.

“You looking for this?”

Jason whirled around, one hand instantly going to the tattoo on his wrist. His breath stocked and he had to blink. He had expected a person, not... this. Not this ominous figure holding his cloak in its claws.

There was no mistaking the steaming breath slipping past flews, past the sharp teeth of a bipedal drake.

“I’ve been told to watch out for this. It’s your weapon, right?”

“Who told you-- I--” Jason clenched his teeth. It took him ridiculously long to move his hand, describing a small circle around the tattoo. While he needed the cloak back, he wasn’t out of magic just yet. The sigil started to glow, the light dipping into the veins under his skin. If the creature was to attack now, Jason would be fast enough to dodge the instant the other moved.

“Woah, hey, wait.” Holding up the cloak between them in a placating gesture, the creature took a step back. The voice sounded rushed, almost a little shrill.

Firelight flickered over scaly skin, reflecting off the sharp edges of its head. Jason still did not know what to make of its appearance, but he took its obvious distress as a win.

“Put it down.”

Taking a hesitant step, the creature followed suit. They threw the cloak on the ground between them and retreated again. With a strange noise, they crossed their arms over their chest and turned their head to the side.

Only when Jason had wrapped the red cloth around himself again, he felt warmth return to him. - As well as the realization that he had been naked the entire time.

Fighting against the heat in his cheeks, Jason studied the creature closer. His wrist started to burn and he would soon need to stop feeding the sigil magic - but not before he was sure he could let his guard down just yet.

Sure, the light had been bad and Jason really had had other things on his mind, but the blush on his cheeks intensified as he listened to the distinct clatter of metal and leather. The creature rolled their claws on their arm, keeping their head turned away. And as embarrassing as it was, Jason finally saw their appearance for what it was: an intricate armor; light but made to look deceptively lizard-like.

“I--” Jason stuttered. He pulled the cloak tighter around him before brushing his fingers against the inside of his wrist. He wasn’t dead yet. If the other had wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t have woken up and he wouldn’t have gotten his cloak back that easily. Not that it couldn’t still be a ruse. Ra’s' people had been after them and it was likely Talia had sent her men after him, too. Now that she had turned on him.

“What do you want?”

“How about we start from the beginning?” The claws clinked against metal as the helmet was removed. Matted, disheveled hair stuck to his forehead, framing a face that Jason would have imaged on the son of a noble, not some weird guy dressing up like a lizard. The boy’s lips moved into a smile and Jason couldn’t help but watch them move around his words. “I’m Tim,” he said, cocking his head.

Feeling the wind brush between his legs, Jason wished he had put on some more clothes before Tim had removed his helmet.

“They call you the Red Hood?”

“That’s right.” Careful not to let Tim out of his sight, Jason moved back to where his clothes were still drying beside the fire.

The kid followed suit, seeming unperturbed by Jason’s display of mistrust. “So, how should I call you?”

“Red Hood. My friends call me ‘Hood’”

“Oh, that’s just stupid,” Tim said, standing next to him while Jason removed his pants from the rack. “That’s like calling a guy ‘pants’. I have this friend who burns through socks like he’s walking on fire - what would you call him? Holey Socks?”

“Do we know each other?” He hissed. The kid was cute alright, but he was acting way too cozy.

Tim shrugged, picking at a coat hanging on the frame. “I just saved you. Dunno ‘bout you, but I don’t usually kiss strangers. Kinda want to change that if we’re about to spend time together.”

Stumbling over his pants, Jason winced. It took a few more tries to put the garment on, but he sure as hell would not take another look at the kid without pants. Not when he--

“Kiss?”

“You weren’t breathing.” Tim avoided his eyes, but his ears burnt bright red. Prodding the coat, he let Jason dress in peace. His helmet soon found itself on the ground beside Tim's feet and his teeth tugged off the claw-like gauntlets.

“So--” Jason cleared his throat-- “what’s with the freaky outfit?”

“It’s not freaky.”

“It kind of is.” Lacing his boots, Jason finished putting his clothes back on. Now that he had his cloak back, the warmth returned steadily as the charms that prevented his magic to evaporate started to click in. He, at least, had very practical reasons for his wardrobe.

Sitting down where he had woken up, Jason watched Tim fiddle with his armor before he kicked his helmet closer to the fire and came to sit with him.

“Cass likes it.” Tim shrugged.

“And Cass is?”

“Out, getting food.” The kid folded his arms over his knees. He stared into the fire while Jason let his words sink in. They were not alone. The boy wasn’t traveling alone and whoever was with him might not be as hospitable as Tim was. He needed to get his bearings, but his lungs still hurt.

Taking another look around the campsite, Jason thought about his options. With the Serpent river this calm, he had to have been dragged far from the demon’s lair. Far enough to be safe. Probably. But Ra’s men would not stop hunting him and neither would Talia’s.

“So where are we anyway?”

Tim pushed a log back into the fire before answering. “Not far from Clearpeak. Maybe a day’s time, walking. Shorter if Cass’d be well.”

From what he could tell, Jason had lost most of his belongings. But the cloak was still with him and everything else could be replaced in the long term. The village of Clearpeak, though, meant he was on the wrong side of the mountains. Far enough from Ra’s, but even further away from Gotham.

Tim looked up, smiling. The fire painted shadows on his skin and reflected off the metal parts of his armor. Most of it was leather, Jason realized. Leather and dulled metal that easily looked like the thick skin of the drake he had imagined earlier.

“What happened?” he asked.

'What happened?', indeed. Jason pulled his cloak tighter around him. He had fled. Had trusted Talia to get him out of the lair, had trusted and believed her every word. A shiver ran down his spine when he remembered her betrayal. She had tried to kill him.

Jason swallowed against the cold lump in his throat. Of course, she had. No matter what had happened between them, she would always love the Lord Protector more than her own life. And certainly more than Jason.

“None of your business.”

Groaning, Tim threw his arms in the air. “Yeah, sure. Next time you’re drowning, I’ll just let you float. Go ahead. I won’t butt it. It’s not my business.” He hissed the last words, his breath coming out in a small, visible puff.

Jason blinked. “You’re magic?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “As much as my parents would love that, no. I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

Not bothering to reply, Tim stood, stretching his legs while he kept his hands on the ground. Unfolding to raise his arms high above his head, he continued the movement in a way that spoke of training that had become a habit. “I’m going to look for Cass. She should've been back by now.”

“Wait,” Jason held a hand up. Whatever training Tim had gone through, Jason himself had had years with the League. He knew when someone was stalking a site. Knew what it looked like when a shadow moved just the wrong way, what it sounded like when nature became to quiet. Quiet in a way it only became in the presence of a top predator. Like right now.

Tim followed his movements, warily. His posture didn’t seem alert, but apprehensive at least. Jason could deal with that. Whatever was closing in on them would not get the drop on Jason. No way. Ra’s men could not have found him yet, could they?

Activating the sigil on his arm a second time today, Jason prepared for the worst: Talia. They had been waiting for them and Talia had surely gotten to her men by now. Who knew how long she had wanted him dead, how many of her men had just been waiting for the order to strike. And they were just as dangerous as the rest of the League.

Just as Jason was about to stand up, Tim whistled lowly, a chuckle following the sound the moment their stalker broke through the bushes. Hundreds of pounds of reptile swooped down on the boy, giant wings unfolded partly as the dragon pushed past him. Rising on its hind legs, the beast pushed its chest out, winged arms expanding to their full 15 meters as it faced Jason.

- And Tim laughed. The noise changed into a strange shrieking sound, that had the beast look back towards the boy. It seemed to listen to him, reluctantly lowering its wings until the claws on them scraped the ground.

“Jason,” Tim said. “Meet Cass.”

Regulating his breath, Jason tried to will his heart to stop beating a Polka against his ribs. “Cass... is a dragon?”

"Wyvern," Tim said, petting the beast that reached almost twice his size, crouched on its arms like that. "She's sensitive."

“I thought you said you had no magic!”

Tim rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “Wyverns aren’t magic, dude.”

#JayTim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Cass Cain #Talia al Ghul #dragon AU #or whatever the final name will be

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poutypanic · 7 years

Text

Monster Hunter* Chap 6

Trigger Warnings! Plz read tags, and summary.

Chapter Summary: Okay so big trigger warnings for attempted rape, and some pretty bloody violence! Proceed with caution. This chapter is VERY plot heavy. Mercy is the worst. An old flame comes back into our Readers life. This was inspired by a comment left by cell007 on the last chapter. <3 After that there's some literal sexual healing. Hope you enjoy!

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10702710/chapters/26191587

It’s that time again. Hanzo’s gone and you’re left to be babysat by the dragons. Though they’re not as pent up anymore. In fact, they fell asleep in the bedroom hours ago. Didn’t budge an inch when you got up to go for a walk. When the demon is away, you always have so much down time. More than you usually know what to do with. Finding new parts of the castle is an interesting way to pass the time. The place is so big that you never fail to find new pathways and rooms. When you get bored, you’ll probably find your way back and take a nap with the dragons. You’re supposed to be resting anyway.

Finding new undiscovered sections isn’t a hard task. All it takes is one different turn down an unfamiliar hall, and you find yourself in new territory. You wander into an old dojo. Use the back door to find a different court yard you hadn’t seen before. It looks to be a shooting range, for archery and guns. As evidenced by several old bullet holes where it would seem amateurs had missed their targets.

Nothing holds your interest here, so find yourself continuing onward. Into what at first you think is another garden. But it soon becomes clear that this is no garden; it’s a cemetery. There are only two large stone monuments. Each has freshly burned incense and flowers. There are more names engraved into one tombstone than the other. You curse yourself, because you can’t read them and therefore can’t snoop.

You become a bit transfixed by the one with more names. The older looking one of the two. You stand staring and pondering. You don’t end up thinking about the grave. Instead, end up using it as a focal point to help you center your thoughts.

What you’re thinking, is that this isn't so bad anymore. And sometimes, well, a lot of the time, you find yourself enjoying the demons company. He's witty, snarky, and doesn't hold back in conversation. He seems to actually admire your promiscuous background. When you're finally on his level. If you manage to make it there. Maybe the two of you can really raise some hell together, and the thought of that excites you. Makes you look forward to the future. You miss stirring up mischief. Leaving broken hearts and egos behind in your wake. You and Hanzo could do twice the damage and have twice the fun.

“Curious, are you?”

Your body jolts, and you spin around, finding Mercy sitting on top of the tombstone you weren't paying close attention to. Legs crossed and a dangerous smile on her face.

“When the hell did you get here?”

Mercy shrugs, scoots off of the tombstone, and gently glides to the ground. She nods back at the grave.

“Do you know what these are? Or rather who they belong to?”

You barely hear her questions.

“Does Hanzo know you’re here?”

Mercy shrugs again. You take that as a no. And start to wonder if you’re in danger.

She slowly eyes you up and down. Thinks for a moment and then takes a step towards you. You immediately take two steps back. You would have taken more, but your back is now up against the grave stone. She rolls her eyes at you and spins around. Saunters over to the opposite stone and places a finger against one of the names. She looks back over her shoulder at you.

“This one was the first.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hanzo accidentally killed this one. He was a baby demon. Didn’t know what he was doing.”

Oh. This is shocking to you. It had never crossed your mind exactly what he had meant when he had said to you ‘It is amusing, that you think you will be leaving me. Alive or dead.’ The grave suddenly carries a lot more weight. Exudes a bigger presence in the small courtyard. It feels ominous and tragic.

“He buried them?”

Mercy rolls her eyes at your pitiful tone of voice, “Cremated, but yes.” Then points at the second name, “This one died from the first sickness.”

If Mercy wants to run her mouth, you’re not going to stop her. So you don’t say anything and just listen.

She points to the third name, “This one.” She pauses to chuckle, “Now this one was very religious. Thought Hanzo was the literal devil. Killed themselves before the first sickness could sprout.”

Then she points to the last name, “This one was another one that succumbed to the change. Too weak to get past it. Boring, I know.”

“Whatever you say, Mercy.”

Then she glides her finger over the smooth blank area next to the last name.

“Your name will go right here. Number five.”

That last comment offends you. Sparks anger in your belly. You cross your arms and glare at her.

“I think I’m doing just fine. I’ve made it this far. I’m not dying. Hanzo is going to have a major problem with you being here uninvited. You should leave.”

She returns your glare with her own, “Oh I’ll go, but not far. Don’t want to miss the show. Won’t be able to tell the tale of your death to the next one if I do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She doesn’t answer you. Only disappears behind the tombstone and doesn't reappear again. Then you hear something off in the distance. It’s foot steps. Someone wearing shoes. So definitely not Hanzo. Your stomach twists, and your heart starts to race. It can't be. But there's no mistaking it. The foot steps are accompanied by a persistent jingle of spurs. You eye the entry way of the cemetery. Eyes starting to brim with tears.

Then he appears in the door way. An old flame. Jesse McCree. With his cowboy hat low on his head and a sinister grin on his face. He takes a few steps forwards into the cemetery, takes his lit cigarillo out of his mouth, and tosses it onto the ground. So disrespectful. Then again, he always was.

"Well, hello darlin'. Long time, no see. How you been?"

You're in stunned silence. Your mind is working far too fast for you to catch any coherent sentences. All you're able to think is, this is bad. Very, very bad. Jesse was not one of the monsters you had left on good terms. He just might have been the worst break up of them all. Though that's always been up for debate in your mind.

"Strange findin' you hiding out in a place like this. Real fancy."

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, now, sugar; don'cha remember?" He taps the side of his nose, "I gotta real keen sense a smell."

You know that’s true, but that answer is also bullshit.

He looks you up and down, "You sure are a lot shinier than I remember you bein'. You been taking vitamins?"

"What do you want, McCree?"

Jesse’s expression goes from fake cordialness to dark and pissed off. His lip turns up as he holds up his arm. Waives mechanical fingers around. A memory floods back into the forefront of your brain. You're trapped in a small basement. He’s been keeping you down there for weeks. He had fooled you. Lured you in with false charm and sweetness. McCree wasn’t careful nor mindful. Especially when he was transformed. You had nearly died from his treatment far too many times for your comfort. In your memory, you manage to find an old machete. You have it clutched tightly in your grasp. And with a swift swing, you’ve got a howling beast that's writhing in pain. This allows you enough time to get away.

"I was thinking somethin' along the lines of an eye for an eye. But more like I'm thinking your gonna need to give me somethin’. You know, in exchange for what you took. It's only fair."

“I technically didn’t take your arm. I left it with you.”

“Oh, your hilarious.”

Every muscle in your body is tense. Spring loaded and ready to go. Your mind in trying to pick through all of the places that Hanzo could have stashed your weapons. You’re going to need to defend yourself. But then you remember, idiot, you’ve got the dragons. McCree’s animal instinct picks up easily on when his prey are about to run. Knows that you’re about to make a sprint for the castle and your protectors. His voice has a sudden drop in octaves.

"You better not run, sweetheart." He takes in a few breaths, and his voice goes back to normal, "Or I'm gonna have to get real nasty, real fast."

“What do you want."

"Your gonna give me some pups."

Over your dead body.

“There's plenty of bitches out there for you to breed, McCree."

"But none of them have broken my heart quite like you have, hunny.”

McCree takes off his hat and tosses it to the ground. Starts to unbutton his shirt. Kicks off his boots. All while keeping a steady eye on you.

“Now I ain’t stupid. I know your gonna make me wrangle you. I’m just offerin' you one chance to be a good girl. Come on now. Walk outta here with me.”

That’s not going to happen. And you're a heart beat away from bolting. Could you even give him what he wants anymore? With your new body on the cusp of being supernatural? These aren’t things you say out loud. They wouldn’t help you convince McCree to leave. They just might convince him to kill you. 'Cause if he can’t use you, then nobody can.

As his shirt falls off of his back the muscles in his shoulders start to quiver rapidly. You know what that means. Now's your chance. It’ll be brief. He turns fast, but you have got to go now or never. You run for it. And not long after you start running, do you hear the terrible growls and rumbles coming from McCree's changed werewolf form.

He’s already hot on your trail. You don’t dare look back. Won’t risk losing your momentum or tripping over yourself trying to get a gander at him. You know exactly what he looks like right now. A large and lanky combination of man and wolf. Long limbs carrying him faster than you’ll ever be able to out run him. But you're still going to try.

The good thing is, he’s loud. Every slam of his claws on the ground reverberates through the halls, and his growls are even louder. The commotion will surely get the dragons' attention soon. At least you’re hoping so. They’re your only chance.

You’re barely half way through the shooting range when he catches up with you. Tackles you onto the ground. He’s got so much momentum that he can't keep himself from sliding away from you. Your head cracks against the concrete, and you see stars. Your vision blurs over and blood starts to run down your face.

You actually manage to get yourself back up onto your feet before McCree pounces again. You're lucky that your muscle memory is working in your favor at the moment. You get out of the way without needing to think about it. Then he comes for you again, teeth bared and fur bristled. This time you use your elbow to land a harsh blow against his jaw line. You’re much stronger than you know, because the werewolf actually falters. Yelps and stumbles a couple of steps to the side.

McCree’s hunched over. There is one new thing about him. Something you hadn’t expected to see. His mechanical arm changed with him. Acclimated to suite his werewolf body. That’d be fascinating and neat to you if you weren't afraid for your life.

His whole body is shuddering as he looks up at you and smiles. Blood coating one side of his teeth. You’re in for it now. This time when he pounces, you’re not at all ready for it. You’re back on the ground. His bulky body dwarfing yours entirely. You try to get up, but it’s short lived. McCree uses one long and angular clawed hand to slam your torso back into the ground. He shoves his muzzle into your neck and takes a long deep whiff.

“Fuck, darlin, I’ve missed the way you smell.”

“Get the fuck off me, McCree!”

You make an attempt to shimmy and crawl your way out from under him. But you’re met with an open mouth and sharp teeth around your neck. That quickly puts a stop to your advancing. With your life in his mouth, McCree is able to guarantee you will stay still. He easily pulls up your robe. Shredding it up in the process. He forces your hips up to meet his crotch. Two big hands grip your torso and keep you there. His erection pushes out from within him and rests against your back. McCree releases your neck from his jaws so he can croon,

“I’m gonna get you so full of me, baby. Let’s make some pups.”

The part of you that knows you're in trouble is screaming, No, please stop. While the budding succubus within you is crooning, Give it to me. You resign to it. Close your eyes and brace yourself for the rough entry. But then you hear the growls of the dragons. Comforting, but still terrifying. One of them tackles McCree. He’s still got a grip on your torso, and as he’s being torn away, his claws dig deep. They rip away skin and draw blood, causing you to scream.

The shooting range plummets into utter chaos. With two large pissed off and protective dragons fighting off the intruder. You should take this opportunity to resume fleeing. But this is a scene you can’t tear yourself away from. No matter how much your body hurts or how dizzy you find yourself feeling.

McCree is fighting like hell. Giving the dragons a real problem to deal with, but he still doesn’t stand a chance. The moment he gets one dragon off, the other is back on him. Mercilessly sinking their teeth into his flesh. Thrashing their heads around like rabid dogs. Threatening to tear away the one flesh arm he's got left. And this time he’s going to lose it from the shoulder down.

You hadn’t realized you had been slowly backing away. Eyes still glued to the brutal rough and tumble. Your feet with minds of their own are taking slow and careful steps out of the shooting range. Then you back into a familiar, hot, and muscle rich wall. Hanzo places a hand onto your shoulder. And you can already see that something is different. His hand is bigger. Nails much sharper, almost blending into his fingers. Looking like one entire seamless unit. Long dangerous razors. Shiny and lethal.

When you look back at him you have to look up much more than usual. What you see is a demon much closer to the descriptions the bar patrons had given you the night you agreed to come here. Even though he is frightening, he’s still far from ugly. He’ll never be ugly to you.

With his long angular horns protruding out of his forehead. Those canines you always thought were so honed before are… massive. Looking to be made for tearing and gnawing. All of the angles in his face are even sharper. Veins in his arms bulging and straining against his skin. His hair almost looks like thick black smoke. The Hanzo standing before you looks like a true creature of hell.

And you’re practically starting to swoon from the sight of him. Or maybe it’s just the blood loss.

The dragons are still making a howling mess out of McCree. Hanzo’s attention skirts from the blood running down your face to your arms that are clutched around your sides. Bringing your attention back to your wounds. You pull your arms away. Coated in red. Blood still seeping into the fabric of your robe. The aura around Hanzo vibrates, and you can sense the anger coming from it.

Hanzo’s voice sounds distorted. Not at all like it’s coming from his own mouth,

“Don’t worry, my pet. You will live. Your wounds are easily remedied.”

Then his attention is back on McCree who’s being held to the ground by powerful jaws around his neck. Much in the same fashion that his were around yours. The other dragon has his flesh arm at a painful bend behind his back. He's bleeding heavily from many gashes and bites.

“They have this handled, don't you think?”

“Yeah, they got it.”

Then he points to himself, “So this would seem a little dramatic.”

You shake your head. You couldn’t disagree more. Are you going to get to be that intimidating? God, do you hope so.

“I love it.”

Hanzo seems tickled by that. “What are we to do with this mutt?”

Hanzo leaves your side and makes his way towards the dragons and McCree. McCree has to strain his neck in order to get a look at the demon that is advancing on him. He’s still smug. Even with blood seeping over his teeth and down over onto his jaw. It’s not surprising. He’s overconfident to a fault.

“This your new squeeze, babe?”

You ignore him. And McCree realizes quickly that he is going to have to try and talk directly to Hanzo if wants to live. The imp hadn’t warned him about this. Had only briefly given him warning about the demon. She hadn’t made him out to be a formidable threat. Looking at him now, McCree’s thinking if he gets out of here, he’s going to need to get his hands on that imp. She certainly didn't mention the large feline-like dragons that don’t seem to take any damage whatsoever. These cards were always stacked against him.

“You aware of the type of bitch you got on your hands?”

Hanzo doesn't answer him. Just squats down, places his elbows onto his knees, and cocks his head to the side. Looking at the werewolf likes he’s a detective looking over a murder scene. McCree keeps talking, this time trying to go for an appeal.

“You know. Me and you could make an honest woman outta her. Really give her the discipline she needs.”

Hanzo stands back up, “What’s mine is mine, and I don’t share.”

He comes back to you. Both of his hands cradle your face. Well, more like your entire head. Two sharp thumbs resting on either side of your eyes. Your eyes fall closed and your mouth drops open. His energy already is making your head feel better. Now all you can focus on is getting more. Give me more. Give me all of it. And right now. I need it.

McCree makes one last attempt to get away from the dragons that imprison him. He reverts back to his human form. Slips out of the grasp of the jaws on his neck, yanks his arm away from the other one, and runs. The dragons immediately follow in pursuit.

You expect Hanzo to disappear before your eyes. But he’s not going to. He’s going to let the dragons handle it. If the dog can manage to get away from them, then so be it. He’ll have to earn his right to walk away from the grand mistake he’s made.

You slip out of Hanzo’s grasp. Press yourself against his body. Mouth open wide. Kissing and licking all along his upper stomach. Needy little sounds are coming from you. Hums and moans. His name whimpered over and over again. You find yourself begging,

“Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“Never again, pet.”

You get your arms wrapped around him as much as you can. Hanzo is being patient. Lets you dote of over his body. Not minding that you are finding solace there. He lays a hand against your head, wraps his arm around your waist, and locks you in. You start biting and running your teeth along his skin. He tastes so good, and you can’t get enough of it.

You want him inside of you, just like this. You push away from him, and he lets you go. You lay down on to the ground. Lift your hips and spread your legs. Presenting yourself to him.

“I’m all yours. Take care of me, please.”

Hanzo lets his pants fall to the ground. Drops down to his knees and sits back on his thighs. Grabs you just under your calves. Yanks you into his lap. You lock your legs around him. Lift your hips up and down, grinding your desperate cunt against his cock. The demon watches as you start to hyperventilate. You’re an absolute mess. Hair matted, body caked with blood, and dirt covers your arms. You look ravishing, and it’s making him feel carnal. While at the same time, he can't wait to take his time cleaning you up. He lives to take care of you.

You go still as he positions your hips and slides himself inside of you. Bring you all the way down. A groan of pleasure and relief coming out from between your clenched teeth. He leans forward only slightly, and he’s already looming over you. A baleful, hulking, and stunning monster. He places his hands down on either side of your waist, and you immediately grab onto his wrists. Unable to meet your fingertips together. Hanzo rocks into you, barely pulling out before he pushes back in. His cock pushing past your limit in painfully slow successions. When you look at yourself, you can see your tummy bulge out with each push.

Your robe inches the rest of the way open, the blood stained fabric falling at your sides. The wounds on your ribs already looking like meager scratches, and your head isn't pounding anymore. When Hanzo’s pace doesn't start to pick up the way you want it to, you tug on his wrists and whimper. Hoping he’ll get the hint without you having to risk sounding like you’re demanding something from him. Though right now you’re feeling like you’d like a rough reaction. So you risk it.

“When’d you start being so gentle? Fuck me, Hanzo.”

“I know when I’m being baited, pet.”

Then he starts to go even slower. Drags himself farther out of you. Looks down as he pushes himself back in. Only giving it some gusto at the very last moment. Slamming the last bit of his shaft inside of you. This goes on for what seems like forever. It feels torturous and blissful at the same time. Massaging your warm walls ’til they are quivering and coming around him. Yet still, you are aching for more.

You want it rough and you want it fast so badly a small sob breaks its way out of your chest. You try to distract yourself by running your hands up along his arms. Tracing his veins with your fingers. Focusing on the way they pulsate from your touch. When the last of your wounds heal up, and your skin is back to being flawless and smooth underneath all the blood and grim, Hanzo gives you what you want.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he takes your wrists and slams them down onto the ground. The action makes your arms sting with that pleasant painful pleasure that you love to receive. That Hanzo knows how to give to you so well. His grips becomes tighter the harder he fucks into you. Loud animalistic grunts coming with each thrust.

Your mouth hangs open and your eyes start to roll back into your head. You come again, but this one is silent. Your pleasure caught up inside of your throat. You should always be careful what you wish for. Now that he’s gotten going, he’s not stopping, no matter how many times you come. Or how sensitive you are becoming. He keeps pounding into your cunt ’til you can feel slick dripping down onto his thighs, and you’ve lost track of time.

When he does finally become still, something happens that’s never happened before with him. He knots as his seed continuously fills up your womb. Making your insides feel full and hot. The bulge in your belly becomes even more pronounced, and Hanzo loves the way it looks. The sight gives him different more paternal kinds of desires and needs. Hanzo flips over. Takes you with him and lays back while you straddle his hips. Knot still swelled up inside of you. You make no moves to remove him from you. Just flatten yourself against him and rest your head just below his pecs.

As your mind starts to come down from the adrenaline and the sex high, you start to wonder if McCree made it out alive. Or if after this nap you're about to take your going to wake up to the dragon's carrying him back in, piece by piece.

#hanzo shimada x reader #hanzo shimada #poutypanic writes #attempted rape/pretty bloody violence/belly buldge #female reader

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