#a sliver of happiness for a lifetime of pain

[lovebugism]

Hi bug!

For the domestic prompts,

#12 with Eddie?

thank u for requesting lovie! hope you like it! — you and eddie are friends with benefits, but he wants something more. you don't realize that you do, too, until he wants to see other people (fwb, idiots in love, angst, mentions of smut 18+, 1.7k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Sticky and still twisted in the sheets, Eddie reaches out for you.

His fingertips dance across the slick skin of your shoulder, just barely. You pull away like you always do — sluggish and dismissive, like it’s instinct to deny yourself of his affection. And even though it isn’t the first time you’ve rejected his softness (not nearly, not even half), it still aches the same.

Eddie laughs it off like he’s always had to. It’s easier that way.

“Wanna go get food, at least?” he asks with a soft chuckle. The color of the boyish sound matches the faint yellow glow of your bedside lamp — golden.

With your eyes still closed, weighed down by the post-sex honey, you shake your head into the pillow. “No, I’m good,” you mumble, then writhe and stretch beneath the blanket like a cat. 

Your eyes flutter open in time to catch the pained look on Eddie’s face. His features are blurry with bliss and exhaustion, screwed slightly like he’s flinching from your words.

“I can’t really feel my legs right now, so…” you joke with a quiet smile instead of telling him that no, you can’t go out to eat because that’s basically a date, and that’s not what this is. You think you’ve repeated that spiel enough for a lifetime.

Eddie knows this, but he appreciates that you care enough not to hurt his feelings.

A crooked grin tugs at his swollen pink lips. His pale legs swing over the side of your bed as he reaches for his boxers, left forgotten on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He stands to tug them up his hips again.

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have any food in the kitchen, would you?” he wonders, glancing at you over his shoulder. His chocolate eyes twinkle when he flashes you a teasing grin. “Something other than chips and mac and cheese, preferably.”

“I think I have some leftover takeout in the fridge,” you answer with an absentmindedness that Eddie’s gotten used to by now. You care about him, but only so much, and not enough to make a big deal about any of it.

“Ah, leftovers,” Eddie repeats with a whimsical sigh. “The epitome of romance.”

You snort a faint laugh and prop your cheek on your fist. “Well, I’d cook for you, but I wouldn’t wanna give you the wrong idea.”

“Hey. C’mon. I’m, like, Feminist Numero Uno, alright? I’d happily be your housewife—” He cuts himself off with a laugh when you reach for a pillow. He flinches when you half-heartedly swat him with it.

“That’s what I’m talking about! We’re not dating, Eddie!” you say with a sweet laugh that only halfway lessens the blow of your words. “You’re not my housewife— you’re not my anything!”

You have to remind him of that a lot. He has these moments, where he wants to get all sweet and cuddly and play boyfriend with you. As far as you’re concerned, the affection is supposed to stop when your clothes are on. That line’s a whole lot blurrier for Eddie.

He doesn’t know when he’s supposed to stop loving you because he loves you all the time.

The stinging returns. There’s a million crackling orange embers in his chest, where he’s pretty sure his heart is supposed to be. You’ve stolen it, though, with no intentions of returning it. Eddie’s happy to let you keep the wretched, bleeding organ of his. He likes that you’re holding it. Even though your nails are digging crescent shapes into the delicate thing.

“Right,” he murmurs, then clears his throat when his voice breaks. “Yeah.”

“Maybe instead of eating my stale leftovers, you call Chrissy and invite her out to dinner?” you offer with an absentminded shrug, turning onto your stomach and kicking your feet up behind you. Your legs poke out from beneath the thin sheet, showing the faintest sliver of your ass. 

Eddie takes great care not to look at you. You’re so pretty it hurts — hurts ‘cause he can’t have you.

“I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Maybe. ’S probably a better idea, huh?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve teased him about Chrissy. She’s the prettiest waitress at Benny’s Burgers — hell, all of Hawkins, even — and she’s crazy sweet on him. Any other day, he’d argue back and forth with you about it. “She doesn’t like me,” he’d tell you, “She doesn’t even exist to me when you’re around.”

No, this isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Chrissy, but it’s the first time he isn’t detested by the sheer thought of being with anyone other than you.

You falter. Just for a moment. “I mean, duh— all my ideas are better than yours.”

“You really won’t be mad if I take Chrissy on a date?” Eddie asks you, bending at the waist to tug his black ripped jeans over his long, pale legs. His chocolate eyes twinkle with expectancy. He wants so badly for you to say yes.

You won’t humor him with any of that, though. 

“‘Course not. We’re not dating, so… I don’t really have a reason to get mad.”

Distantly heartbroken, he nods. “Okay. Good.”

“It might be better, actually,” you confess, trying hard not to stare too long at his happy trail when his milky white hands button his pants. “You know, if we both start seeing other people.”

Eddie freezes. “What? Like— breaking up?”

“Well, there’s no breaking up involved.”

“Right… ‘Cause you’re not my girlfriend.” 

The words taste like vinegar leaving his mouth.

They shouldn’t sting you like they do. 

You try to smile, anyway. “Exactly. Look at you, Eds— You’re finally getting the hang of it.”

“So, what? I see Chrissy, and you see…?” he trails off, turning away from you to search for the Metallica t-shirt he wore on the way over. He finds it on your bookshelf, likely from where he’d flung it over his shoulder in an attempt to make you laugh.

“I don’t know. I guess, I can see if Steve’s free. He’s usually a reliable fuck.”

Eddie glances at you, doe eyes narrowed. He’s trying to analyze you — to gauge whether or not you’re being genuine or if you’re bringing up your ex to hurt him. Maybe it’s both. It’s sort of what he’s doing to you now, anyway.

He’s only half as genuine as he is angry about the whole thing, but he’ll burn alive before he lets you see how furious it makes him feel.

He scoffs a bitter chuckle and tugs his shirt over his head. “Well, have fun with King Steve, I guess.”

“As long as you have fun with the princess,” you tease with too sweet grin.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” 

That’s all he says — in the place of any real goodbye. Most times, he refuses to leave your apartment until he’s smothered you in a thousand kisses. He hopes the lack of him makes you ache, that you’re grieved by his leaving just as much as he is.

You are, but you won’t let him know it.

You know you won’t have any fun without Eddie. You’re praying he won’t have any fun with Chrissy either — lest he falls for her and her pretty eyes and how kindly she treats him. But fuck, he deserves that. He deserves someone who doesn’t have a physical aversion to affection. He deserves a whole lot more than you.

He should go out to meet Chrissy, but you stop him before he’s got his hand on the rusted doorknob to leave.

“Eds, wait!” you call from the bedroom, plucking his leather jacket from the back of your desk chair and running into the living room with the thin top sheet clutched to your chest.

The boy turns around, eyes as wild as his hair. In a fleeting moment of irrational hope, he thinks you’re about to ask him to stay — to eat your leftovers with him and let him love you. But then he sees the jacket in your fist and tries to ignore the searing knife you’ve plunged into his chest.

“Can’t forget this,” you tease with a glimmer in your eye. “Cheerleaders dig the leather jacket, you know?”

Eddie squints when he takes it from you. His sly, halfway-forced smirk matches your own. “And how would you know that?”

“I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods as he slides the jacket over his shoulders and arms. “That’s fair, I guess. Thanks for looking out.”

“‘Course,” you shrug, all nonchalant about the whole thing. You’re kissing the breath from his lungs a second later, leaning forward to knock your nose with his and smother his plush pink mouth with your own.

Eddie freezes, shocked by the sudden act of affection. 

You were never one for goodbyekisses — “That’s for people who’ve been together for two months or two decades, Eds,” you’d giggle while he’d sprinkle pecks to your nose, mouth, and cheek. “Not for people who only meet up to fuck.”

You’d always been more to him than that, but it hurt you never saw him any different.

But here you are now — kissing him stupid and staining his tongue with your taste before he’s shoving it down Chrissy Cunningham’s throat. You want him to taste you all night. You want him to remember you even when you’re not there. Because god knows this asshole’s gonna be on your mind all night.

You pull back from him after a few long moments, with swollen lips and heavy eyes. You trap your smile between your teeth and wrap your arms around yourself, keeping the sheet bunch up there even though he’s seen you in much, much less.

“Call me later, and let me know how it goes, yeah?”

Eddie, gone sufficiently dumb after being kissed so ardently, just nods for several agonizing seconds. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever,” he babbles with a rosy, freshly kissed mouth.

You turn on your heel and head back to your bedroom. Even when you disappear behind the shut door, Eddie stands in place — like he’s waiting for you to come back out and do the charade all over again.

The shower faucet hisses faintly. It knocks him from his daze, tells him he’d better take the pieces of you when he can get them instead of constantly sitting in wait for them.

On his way home, he tries to remember Chrissy Cunningham’s phone number. He knows there’s a six in the beginning, a three somewhere in the middle, and two sevens towards the end. 

He can’t think straight anymore.

You’re on his mind, on his mouth, and on his fingers.

There’s no use in thinking about anything but you.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 4·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N: Hey guys! I managed to get this chapter out early coz I am so hot and amazing at everything my social life is at an all time low and we have Easter break. Some foreshadowing if you guys can guess, but keep it to yourselves for now. Mommy issues y/n? That’s a first 😨😨😨😨. This chapter is also Lucifer basically being: “No, you’re so sexy haha don’t cry”

Also, the slow burn is burning now! YAYYA 🎉

Playlist:

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Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

You sit on the patio of your home, feeling as though you’re rotting away. 

It’s been 5 days since Adam’s full blown out tantrum, but it feels like it’s been 5 lifetimes. 

A cockatiel lands on your table, its bulging inky eyes staring at you, vying for your attention. 

You laugh, and give it some crumbs of your leftover toast from breakfast that you couldn’t bear to finish.

The bird eats them graciously, and flies away, you watching enviously. 

Oh, how you wished you were that bird. Carefree, and not trapped in the gilded cage that you are in. 

If only… 

Bzz bzz

Your phone rings. The contact Mom glows on your screen. 

Unwillingly, you swipe right. 

“Hey mom, what's up?” This woman never calls you, unless there are three instances; she needs you to get her something of monetary worth, wishing you a happy birthday/any other significant holiday, or-

“Darling, there's something I need to talk to you about. A little birdie told me that you've been stepping out of line recently~” 

Ah yes. The third instance. The times when your actual fucking personality shows, even for a sliver of a moment, and how it  could potentially hurt your ‘relationship’ with Adam. 

“Mom, it's not that big of a deal. I just was feeling rough recently, and-”

“Well it doesn't matter what you feel does it? What matters is that you honour our family. Being married to Adam is what's best for you. You acting outwardly is seriously jeaprodising your relationship, and I am just trying to help you stop before it's too late,” Your maternal figure’s sing-song-like voice turns sharp in an instant, like it could cut through butter. 

“You were always a wild child, a disappointment, I am trying to help you-”

You interrupt. 

“How are you helping?! Belittling me, treating me as some sort of– some do Ill?! I have tried, given my whole entire fucking life, trying to please you in every way, but somehow, it's never enough! And when I do fuck up, suddenly I'm a failure in your eyes?!” 

Silence.

“You better mind your language young lady,”

“NO! I will NOT mind my FUCKING LANGUAGE. I will  swear when I want to, and I will do whatever I FUCKING WANT! I AM DONE WITH YOU AND YOU- YOUR WAY OF THINGS!” 

You press the end button, calmly. 

You storm up to your bedroom and closed the door. Calmly.

You look at the bookshelf, always so perfectly clean, scarce of dust. 

Perfectly clean, no imperfections. 

You let out a cry of irritation and just start throwing out books, ripping the pages of each, crumpling sheets of paper, sobbing hot angry tears while doing so. 

When that was done, you just bring the entire bookshelf down with a bang, and you stomp on it until you feel a sharp pain in your foot, surely that's a splinter right there. 

You stumble over into your bed and scream and cry in your pillow, amongst the mess.

You submerge yourself in your pillow even more, until your anger numbs away, leaving you with a throbbing pain in your head. 

Absolutely drained from your outburst, you drift off. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Everywhere is foggy. 

You look around, looking for anything of use, when your attention is turned to a glowing light, placed on a rusted pedestal. 

Since it's the only thing that piques interest, you touch the fluorescent ball and yelp when it scorches your hand.

“Ow,” you pull your hand away and decide to look for anything else. 

As you trek through the nothingness, you  feel like you're being tugged down by an anchor, or treading through quicksand. 

Suddenly, the ground gives way under your feet. 

You’re falling. 

The cold air whistles through your ears. 

You try to fly with your wings, but nothing; it feels like they have been ruthlessly ripped from your body.

You feel as though you're being stretched, squished and deformed like play dough, until you hear and feel something cracking. As you fall, you look towards the light. 

At the entrance of the hole, there are many, unidentifiable figures, just, staring at your downfall. 

You want to scream and cry for help, but it feels like your mouth has been cemented shut. 

A faint noise calls your name, which sounds closer and closer each time as you fall helplessly. 

You make a successful-ish attempt to turn on your stomach. 

In your horror, you see a halo, cracked and muted of its previous glow. Your halo.

Not that far below you, there are hot red coals. 

Oh God. 

The voice becomes louder and closer and you hit the ground with a scream. 

You jump up, to find yourself back in the dump that is your bedroom, slicked with sweat. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! Are you alright?” Emily, who was tentatively paving the way to get to your pathetic self. 

“Emi, hi… Yeah, just eh, rough day,” you smile weakly at the Seraphim, who’s concerned expression shows that she doesn't believe you, but she doesn’t want to put you under pressure.

“What’s all of this?” Emily motions to the wrecked room.  

“Adam pulled a tantrum again?” 

“Huh? Oh that, nono, sorry uhm,” you pause to clean the room as it was with the snap of your fingers.

“Why are you here Emi? Do you need something?” You wipe your eyes, but your bloodshot eyes are still apparent. 

“No, I just wanted to hang out with you, but I can come back if it's a bad time,” The Seraphim stumbles over her words as she looks up at you, slightly flushing.

“No, no you can stay. I’m just a little bit shaken up, but yep you can stay. Uhm….” you trail off. 

This place is feels really constraining

You need an escape. 

“Hey Emily, wanna go on an adventure?” You put on a face of newfound enthusiasm. The Seraphim just had that effect on people.

“Of course! But er, where?” 

“Shh, it's a surprise, now let's go!” You push Emily into the portal you made and go in yourself. 

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Woah, this is what it's like?” Emily says as she looks around the hellish landscape like a lost puppy.

She snaps out of it when you drag her out of the way of a thrown carcass headed towards the both of you. 

“Yeah, let's head inside,” You manoeuvre her into the hotel. 

The lobby is more populated than your last visits to the establishment, though all faces are familiar. 

“Emily, meet Angel, Husk Alastor, Charlie, who you know already, and-” Your voice dies down in your throat at the sight of the Demon King, with his strapping jacket and top hat. 

What is going on with you today? 

“And Lucifer,” You motion to the King, who gives you both an acknowledging nod. 

Your heart misses a beat. 

“Well uh, there's one more but I don't know where she is… WOAH NIFFTY!”

The little scamp runs towards the Seraphim with a knife about to stab her with malicious intent. 

“Niffty, no. No stabbing any more angels we talked about this,” Angel grabs the knife from the housemaid and throws it in the trash can. 

“Ugh, not a bad boy,” Nifty grumbles and begrudgingly rushes off to god knows where. 

“Well everyone, this is Emily, not sure if Charlie has told you about her but-”

“Is she your kid?” Angel asks. 

“I’m sorry, what? Oh no, no she is not my kid pff,” you say. 

“Huh,”

“Well as I was trying to say, Emily here is another person on our side,” You give Emi an encouraging squeeze of the shoulders. 

“Well this is quite the improvement. Salutations! Pleasure to meet you,” The radio demon greets himself, extending his hand to shake Emily's. 

She takes it, though cautious. 

She turns to Charlie and warms up to the amicable face. 

“Hi, Emily, er obviously you know who I am,” The princess of Hell welcomes her, as some of the other Hotel residents go off doing their own thing. 

“Oh yes. Y/N told me about you, obviously we've met before, but under less casual circumstances,” Emily scrambles for conversation. 

Obviously, they need a little push to loosen up with each other. 

“Charlie, maybe show Emily the garden? Or maybe the entire hotel for that matter. Emi here has been dying to have a look around,” 

“Oh yes! Let me show you some of the suites, I decorated them myself,” Filled with giddiness, Charlie beckons the Seraphim upstairs.  

Emily turns to you, unsure. 

“Go on, don't worry, I'll be waiting here!” You give her a persuasive smile and shoo the pair upstairs. 

Now you had some time to kill…

“Hey!” 

“Agh!” You jump at the voice of Lucifer. 

“Geez, am I that scary?” He laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Pff as if-” You snicker and give him a playful shove back.

“Anyway, how've you been? How's the old rusted machine been?”

“Are you always going to make digs and remarks at my husband in an attempt to get all three of his wives in your pants?” You raise an eyebrow sarcastically.

He sighs, feigning sorrow. “You know me too well. I thought it was the perfect plan, but clearly I'll have to tune it a bit,” The demon rattles on, but your brain fixates on the one word he said. 

Perfect. 

Something you try so, so hard to be, but apparently isn't enough for your mom. 

If your mom doesn't love you as you are. 

Well, what's to say anyone can? 

“Well, what do you say, Butter-Duck? You have to find a nickname for me, but I'll call you that regardless, hmm?”

His question brings you back to the conversation. 

Which, leads you to ugly, fat tears. 

Lucifer’s face contorts into panic. 

“Wait, I'm sorry, it's was a rubbish nickname, sorry I thought it was funny-” He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“No, no it's not that,” You rub your eyes, your voice croaky. 

“The reason is quite silly, really, it's fine, I'm just being stupid hahha,”

Lucifer is not convinced. 

“Listen, you helped me out the other day, and even though I'm not good at this comforting stuff, please, at least let me listen,” He gives you a weak, gorgeous smile, one that is enough to make you stop crying about. 

Okay, it's really becoming an issue of you being distracted by…

Him.

“Well, just an argument with my mom; basically just her saying how much of a disappointment I am and-” your voice creaks.

“And?”

“And I suddenly just don’t feel like her daughter,just a burden she has to put up with, and then what’s the point of all of this if you're not perfect,” 

And breathe. 

You put your face in your hands. 

“I’ll never find love,” 

“Hang on, but isn't Adam your husband? Don't you love him?” 

“No, I don't. It was a marriage purely organised by my parents. Completely transactional,” you mutter dejectedly. 

“Shit, that really sucks. Listen, I know it's hard to hear, but you need to hear it. Nobody is perfect. No one. That's what makes people interesting. And your mom wanting you to be that is far from perfect of her. Not sure if you're aware, but we're in Hell, right now, amongst many people who are basically morality rejects. But you, you're a Winner. Not in the physical sense, but also metaphorically. And for what it's worth…” Lucifer takes a moment to mull over his next words. 

“Many people love you, like Charlie and, that Seraphim, Emilia?”

“Emily” You amend. 

“Anyway, that's besides the point. The point is that you have many people that adore you, and that's what matters most,” Lucifer comes closer and stiffly puts his arms around you, which you return. 

“Thank you, Lucifer,” You sniffle into his shoulder. 

“No problem, anytime. You are my friend after all,” He gently smiles.

Your heart flutters. Friend? As in, person he considers more than an acquaintance? 

“So, what's this about a Butter-Duck?” You tease. 

“What? I thought it'd be a cool nickname for you,” He huffs. 

“Alright, alright… Let me think of a nickname for you then… Lulu!” 

He grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds like a name for a baby products brand!”

“Oddly specific, but if it annoys you more, all the better!” 

“Ugh, you're like worst than some sinners here I swear,” 

“Who said Angel’s can't be jokesters too?” You give him a wink. 

He coughs, a rosy red complexion appearing on his face.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Emily and Charlie come back into the lobby, to you and Lucifer making small talk on the couch. 

“Ready to go?”

 Emily nods. She goes to hugs Charlie, which is reciprocated. 

“Well, I’ll see you around?” You squeeze the demon’s king hand. 

He looks at you, and nods, hesitant to return the gesture, as if you were glass. 

“Yes, I will,” 

As you and Emily leave to make your way back to Heaven, you could've sworn you heard Lucifer whisper three words. 

“I love you,” 

You turn back with a questioning expression, but all that was on his face was nonchalance.

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 2,194~

Taglist:

@dionysusismypatrongod

@glowymxxn

@froggybich

#Spotify #lucifer x reader angst #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel edit #hazbin angel dust #hazbin emily #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin angst #slow burn #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writerscommunity

[7sevenrings7]

So Much (For) Stardust - Stolitz (Explicit)

The hold Stolitz has on my SOUL is INSANE. PLEASE, somebody, just let them be happy! *sobs*

So...let's let them have some Good Friday smut. As a little treat.

WARNING: This fic is explicit and is intended for those aged 18+. Fic includes fellatio, ass play, and bondage. Unrelated: Brief and non-descriptive mentions of an apocalypse.

It's definitely not as wild as I could have gone (given the couple), but I wanted to explore the softer side before going into their kinks. Definitely not the last fic of these two.

This will also be posted on ao3 early next week (along with a x reader Hazbin fic if you're interested in those). The prophecy at the beginning will be an integral part of that x reader fic. I was fascinated watching "The Circus" to hear that prophecies were under Stolas's purview and wanted to explore that.

In another life, you were my babe

In another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime

What would you trade the pain for?

...I'm not sure.

When Hell usurps Heaven

Earthbound its ruler be.

When Heaven quells Hell

The door with no key

Shall present itself

Unto humanity.

And when both fall

So soundlessly

Two stars remain

In shattered realms:

The Light of Lucifer and

The Mourning of Morningstar

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest…reality.

Stolas could still feel the snaps of Lucifer’s shoes as he stalked from the mansion tattooed onto his skin. 

He could never determine when a prophecy would come to him. He could force it - well, kind of - if information was needed. But the harder he tried, the less what arrived made any sort of logical sense.

That he had not tried at all - in fact was actively begging the universe to offer Lucifer only the most straightforward and simplest of answers - haunted him.

I did not sleep with that imp, your grace.

Ozzie saw me there, yes. Unfortunately, I think there may be some sort of misunderstanding. You see, I was just…

You’re a rule breaker, sire. So let’s rewrite the rules! Who’s to say I can’t marry my Blitzy? We’re already FAR more acquainted than Stella and I EVER would be. From one fallen to temptation to another…let me have this. Let me be happy.

Okay…so he was never actually going to use the last one. Fantasy was one thing. Political suicide was another. 

But he also hadn’t planned on spewing the most damnable prophecy that had ever fallen from his beaked lips. One that had come as sure as sin without any of the pleasure.

It did not help that it was the 14th.

Clawed feet dug into the plush red rug in front of his lounging chair that he felt drawn to for the simple fact of wanting something present should he faint. Stolas gasped for air, his hand clutching at nothing and everything all at once as his fingers ruffled through the feathers of his chest.

Where in the Hell will we go?  Stolas frowned, his upper set of eyes shutting against the stray thought as he caught the lower set of eyes began to tear up. What’s safety in the middle of the fucking apocalypse? 

He did not have to ask himself what the rattling of his brown-gray walls meant. As he always did, Blitzo snatched up the window and slithered into the room just as sly as any snake.

“‘Sup, slut” said Blitzo, standing to his full height in front of Stolas. “Ready to take this ‘D’ train to ‘P’ Town? Like…like Pleasure Town. Pleasantville…nah, that’s gaggy. Pound Town! Oh Christ on a stick…why’d it take me that long to get there? It was right there! Could have helped a guy out there, Stolas.”

Faced with his beloved and his ridiculous humor, Stolas found his breath growing even despite the shake in his very bones.

“Blitzy,” he warbled, words seeming to fail him.

“Hm?”

Those yellow eyes stared up at Stolas expectedly and he could not take the slightest of spaces between them any longer.

With a swiftness Stolas gathered Blitzo up in his arms to clutch him against any sliver of skin he could find. It was not an easy endeavor - Blitzo immediately began to wiggle and jolt his head to and fro in annoyance.

“It hasn’t even been that lo- eek!” Blitzo exclaimed, his hands carding through the feathers on Stolas’s chest to give his mouth room to breathe. The touch, as always, served more like fire to Stolas’s blood. “LET ME BREATHE!”

“No,” said Stolas, voice still weighed with sorrow. “No, Blitzy. I need you to listen.”

“List-ng,” mumbled Blitzo.

That Blitzo’s gun was what his hand reached for when Blitzo slid a hand down Stolas’s arm escaped Stolas entirely. He could merely feel his cheeks redden and his groin grow pleasantly hot.

“I received a prophecy today…for the King of Hell,” said Stolas.

“Ah shit,” said Blitzo, perking up and putting his arm stiff by his side. Stolas made a small “mmph” at the loss of contact. “Lucifer? Like the Lucifer? Like the holy fuck…FUCK ME, DADDY…Hell’s Daddy Baddie Bofanawahnahdingdong?”

Squinting at Blitzo as if trying to understand the workings of his mind, Stolas tilted his head. “...yeeeesss?”

Blitzo’s eyes seemed to shine before he wore a strange, almost pondering expression.

“Is he as short as the tabloids say? Because I say that he’s a Short King ™ but noooooo…Moxxie says he’s soooooo tall and that he’s soooooo seen him in person. Like sure, Mox. An absolute nobody like you has seen our supreme ruler without melting into the pavement like a sour strawberry shake. Lick my ass, bitch boy.”

Though Blitzo was not speaking directly to him (that much was clear…it was the little white-haired imp that Stolas had come to know as “bitch boy,” after all), Stolas could not help but smile at his antics. 

“I suppose that would depend on the height of the demon meeting his majesty,” said Stolas plainly.

Blitzo pouted.

“Don’t poke holes in my theory,” he said, whipping his tail lamely against Stolas’s arms still holding him feet above the floor. “Fucking rude.”

Laughing a warm laugh, Stolas snuggled Blitzo into the curve of his neck.

“To answer your question…short.” With a pause, Stolas regarded Blitzo with a hooded look. “Better be careful, Blitzy…you know how I love my short kings…”

That he was referring to Blitzo himself went without question…at least Stolas assumed that it did. The look of confusion on Blitzo’s face made Stolas frown. He took a hand to rub his thumb in a caress across the end of the scar under Blitzo’s eye.

Despite a stray moment of frustration in his brow, Blitzo stiffened entirely before smiling wide.

“You trying to tell me that I could have lost my shameless cum slut? Not much of a threat when I fuck you so good, babe. Speaking of...”

Goetia were practically weightless. It was a fact - a cold one that Stolas did not care to remember when he was busy drooling over the strength it took for Blitzo to flip back before hoisting him into the air. He tossed Stolas onto the waiting and well made bed. 

Stolas landed on the comforter with a laugh and a slight bounce. “Ha ha ha! Hm…but Blitzy…you forget what a world of depravity that you’ve launched me into. A toy or two might be all it takes to replace you.”

The dark of the room prevented Stolas from seeing Blitzo, but he could definitely feel those gold eyes on him.

He could also make out the telltale sound of clothes hitting the floor.

Cold, mirthless laughter filled the room.

With a leap only an imp as impish as Blitzo could make, there he was…crouched on the foot of the bed. Those eyes of his narrowed even as Stolas drunk in the view. The splotches of white dancing among the red. The lithe chest and the promising outline between his legs.

The cowboy boots Blitzo always wore and always refused to take off.

When Blitzo spoke, it was with a hiss befitting his forked tongue.

“Be useful for once and restrain yourself.”

Stolas frowned. There were parts of Blitzo’s life that he simply did not talk about. Hurts that Stolas seemed to commit without being quite certain of what he had done. 

And the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt the one he loved. So he settled into a role he knew Blitzo approved of.

“Yes, daddy,” Stolas practically purred. “I’m so sorry for being so…mouthy.”

That seemed to improve Blitzo’s mood if his smile and his slither up the bed were any indicators. With politeness, Stolas made to forget and ignore the scratchy slip of Blitzo’s boots on his satin sheets. 

Handcuffing himself to his headboard was not a task completely unknown to Stolas. It was, however, unavoidably awkward. 

“If you’re so sure that you can have so much pleasure without me…let’s remind you what I can do without all the bells and whistles. See how your smug ass likes that.” Blitzo was close enough now to clasp Stolas’s light chin in his large hand and lean forward to whisper. “Mouthy. Real cute. I’ll show you mouthy, your majesty.”

The nasty tone in Blitzo’s voice was definite cause for concern…

…but not quite as much as the imp literally ripping the clothes from Stolas’s body.

“OH!” Stolas exclaimed, his wrists already the sweetest type of uncomfortable. “Oh, Blitzy, yes!”

The blush that colored Stolas’s cheek was like a drug to get high off of. He certainly felt high as all four eyes danced in delight with the dark of the canopy bed swirling around him. After Lucifer had left, Stolas had found his cape and his crown discarded in some hallway or room in his grief. So the red tunic he wore was the very first to go. He thrust his chest toward Blitzo desperate for contact.

Blitzo simply moved to catch Stolas’s beige trousers in his digging claws. They came off without protest - without need for the speed with which they were thrown. 

Stolas’s blush deepened when he realized his thick tongue had been sticking out of his panting beak.

“Look at you,” said Blitzo, his tone both appreciative and aggravated. “Prettier than any Moan-a-Leeso.”

That Blitzo had no idea what the hell he was talking about was evident.

But his intent meant enough. Meant enough to make Stolas stretch and sigh and savor the burn of the restraints despite wanting nothing more than to grab hold of his lover.

“You…think I’m that pretty?” Stolas ventured.

Blitzo managed a nod before his tongue caught Stolas’s.

The Goetia could have cried.

Kissing Stella had been nothing like this. He had once wondered what anyone found fascinating about romance when kissing her was the same as kissing a cardboard box or the back of his hand.

But Blitzo? Oh, Blitzo made him burn. Made him want to be lost in him forever. Made him want to be reckless and reasonless and all the things he had been warded against as a child. 

Too soon Blitzo was pulling away with Stolas following him as far as his restraints would allow.

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Blitzo haughtily. “You’re making me forget where I was…my little dick-straction. Oh yes…”

Blitzo was sure to caress and clasp at every bared bit of feather that Stolas had on display as he made his way down the dark lord’s body. The plush feathers of Stolas’s thighs quivered when Blitzo carded his fingers through them.

That he was already hard was a battle Stolas lost mere moments after seeing Blitzo. But the first reverent twist of Blitzo’s hand on his cock made Stolas choke on air. 

For his part, Blitzo waited until all of Stolas’s eyes were squarely back on him before smirking.

“Being mouthy,” said Blitzo.

Being with Blitzo was like experiencing every vibrant bit of life all at once. It could be overwhelming and only the slightest bit overstimulating. Both seemed apt descriptions of Blitzo’s tongue twirling the head of his dick as if it were the last lollipop in Hell. 

This imp would be the end of him.

“FUCK yes,” Stolas exclaimed.  

What Blitzo did not fit into his mouth, he shoved into a hand instead. His fingers curled and quickened at such a lovely rate that Stolas did not quite think to care where Blitzo’s free hand was. 

Then a finger pressed soft but steady against the feathers of Stolas’s backside.

Stolas knew the way he spread his thighs wider at the sensation and raised his tail feathers would be considered brazen. The act of nothing more than a common whore. 

But maybe whores were onto something when it felt this damn good. 

Being that Stolas knew Blitzo was coming over, he had naturally prepared himself accordingly. But in the rush to the bed, he had forgotten the lube. Words were trying to form into sentences in his brain to warn Blitzo…but then the curiously gentle swirl of Blitzo’s finger left the round of the hole he had finally found.

It was soon replaced with Blitzo’s tongue.

One hand still working the Goetia’s dick, Blitzo allowed the other to hoist one of Stolas’s long legs into the air as he slowly but surely licked and lapped and lounged within the other’s ass. The crudeness of it all made the feathers on Stolas’s chest practically burst forth as he squealed in delight - pleasure and pointed avoidance of responsibilities clashing into the sweetest sensation. 

Tongue snapping up suddenly, Blitzo chuckled when Stolas groaned in protest. 

“What’s the matter? Not so easy to replace now, am I?”

The force and the bite of those words caught Stolas off guard, made him blink almost drunkenly down at Blitzo. “What? Blitzy…I could…I could never replace you.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across Blitzo’s face. None landed quite right or for any more than a moment. But when you had four eyes to catch details, you caught enough. 

Shock.

Sadness.

Searching…but for what?

“Well…that’s…” Something like a cough or a wheeze escaped Blitzo. “Oh fuck me…that’s…good.”

Before Stolas was able to say more - to ask what would possess Blitzo - his Blitzy - to assume he was replaceable, the imp had lowered his mouth back lower than low. The pressure of that tongue - thin though it was - seemed too much at first. Unpleasant. Stolas grimaced and was about to ask to shift positions when the dual tips of Blitzo’s tongue ran against that spot.

“FuuuuuUUUUUuuccckk-KH!”

With a mind like Stolas’s, quiet was hard to be found. He always had to be ready to perform his duties at a moment’s notice. There were wars to stave off…faraway stars to map…dreams to bring to reality or to immediately crush. It did not matter if he was simply lounging with a lovely red wine and a good book…his thoughts always persisted.

Now, with his dick thrusting weakly into Blitzo’s warm hand and his mind scattered by the sheer sensitivity of his ass, the only thoughts in his head were of that delightfully crimson cutie pie giving him the most divine of pleasures. 

Any discomfort was soon forgotten as Blitzo bobbed his head and let the wet heat of his mouth graze between Stolas’s legs before falling back further again. 

“Yeah…yeah make me wear your tongue as a fucking plug,” Stolas rambled loudly, both humiliated and turned on by his own words.

Blitzo, gracious as ever, obliged. 

Normally Stolas’s stamina would allow for more fun, but after an exhausting day and being called “pretty” by Blitzy, he was desperately welcoming the build of pressure at the bottom of his stomach. It did not help that Blitzo’s fingers were now focusing on the head of Stolas’s cock in jerks that spoke of well known weak spots.

“Blitzy…Blitzy, please…I’m so close…I’m so…!”

The speed with which Blitzo switched his tasks - set his mouth to Stolas’s cock and two fingers into Stolas’s ass - was astounding.

Stolas could barely appreciate it for the peak of his pleasure striking him all at once…tearing down the trappings of a prince and making him putty in his lover’s mouth. 

Oh how he longed to stroke Blitzo’s jaw as the imp swallowed his cum. 

The moans from Blitzo as he lapped at Stolas’s dick did nothing to quell this want.

“Touch you,” rasped Stolas, inhaling sharply. “Want to…touch you.”

Pulling the softening cock from his mouth, Blitzo frowned. “Too damn bad. Now stick out your tongue…”

Though he quickly and dearly missed the fingers that had been stroking the inside of him, Stolas giggled almost maniacally. “Fuck yes! Yes! Come to me, Blitzy!”

Sorrowfully, Stolas’s beak did not allow him the abandon he would so adore to have when providing fellatio. But there were always ways around this. One particular gag Stolas had found in a luxury sex shop in the Lust Ring usually helped to give enough range without putting Blitzo in harm’s way. 

Tonight…tonight he needed him so desperately that he would forego his pride to give Blitzo what he needed.

Presented with the gorgeously long red cock that he so loved, Stolas stuck out his tongue as far as he could…then past that.

“Christ, we’re eager,” Blitzo chuckled. “Say ‘ahhh,’ baby.”

Stolas could not say anything at all and instead made an awkward humming noise before feeling the weight of his beloved settle onto his tongue. He certainly must have been a sight…all-powerful dark lord of Hell second only to the Sins and their families themselves…reduced to craning his mouth wider than wide to worship the dick of an imp. 

The rhythm, thankfully, was soft but steady. Blitzo moved his hips slightly as Stolas’s tongue lathered up and down his dick, his balls, his…

“OHohohohoheeeee! That kind of tickled,” Blitzo giggled.

Heart pounding in his chest, Stolas stopped himself from embracing his darling imp to preen on him until his heart’s content. He’s so raw and real and rippling with sex…oh, Blitzy. 

Salt and sweat. It was the taste of fine wine…of ambrosia…of something so indulgent as to be gluttonous. 

Oh FUCK…I never called Bee back about the quarterly reports…ah…later. Busy now.

Blitzo’s hand came up to tug back the feathers at the back of Stolas’s head and Stolas writhed beneath him.

“That’s right,” said Blitzo encouragingly. “Suck daddy’s dick just how he likes it.”

Horror sent chills down Stolas’s spine when he let out a horrible slurping noise as his tongue rounded that red cock over and over. It was unattractive and gargling…embarrassing in its earnest enjoyment.

But then Blitzo was mumbling…was saying things that sounded strangely like “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

So Stolas continued. 

“FUCK me…fuck me,” Blitzo grunted, his hips snapping quicker to meet Stolas’s wild rhythm. 

It was the clutch of those long fingers against Stolas’s skull that let him know his effort was about to be rewarded. He thought of their last roll in these same sheets…how Blitzy had sat his cute little ass right onto Stolas’s face and use that blessedly long tail to jerk Stolas off at the same time.

A repeat would be marvelous…but perhaps later…now…now I just want it to be about you, Blitzy.

In the quiet seconds before Blitzo came, the two locked eyes. Trembling, Stolas dropped his gaze while willing his tongue to continue even as the burn at the base of his mouth cried out.

Little longer…little longer…don’t you dare take this away from him…you can do it…

Colorful strings of curses filled the air as Blitzo finally came. Stolas tried to shoot him a wanton look even as he lapped at the cum being shot down his throat.

But Blitzo glanced away, his breathing ragged. 

It might have hurt if those hips had not gone backwards to remove himself from Stolas’s grasp before the imp collapsed onto the Goetia’s body.

“Mmmmhmhmhm,” Blitzo moaned. “Daddy want sleepy now.”

Laughing a loving laugh, Stolas gave into temptation and preened - his beak shuffling and clacking against those large horns. “Get some sleep, Blitzy.”

Seemingly beyond tired, Blitzo rolled off of Stolas and onto the empty side of the bed.

His side of the bed, Stolas corrected himself quickly.

…if only.

Several moments of silence passed. Stolas gathered his breathing and slid his hands from the restraints with practiced ease. 

He was almost too afraid to turn his head to look at Blitzo. The imp was still there - his weight equivalent to little more than a small dip in the bed.

But if he looked…would Blitzo remain? Or would he disappear like a dream?

Like so many times before?

Stolas heard Blitzo snoring and his heart sunk and rose all at once.

“I’m so scared, Blitzy,” said Stolas softly, sweeping the line of secretive. “I have absolutely no idea what any of this means and…and all I know is that I saw you. During the prophecy. In the madness of a planet’s end…it was only for a moment…but I’d recognize you anywhere.” 

The chuckle that hung in his chest was hollow and forced.

“I…I want you to come with us…with Octavia and I.” Stolas smiled when a loud snore bubbled and popped from Blitzo’s mouth. “You can even bring Loona and your two little imps from the agency. I…I haven’t quite figured out where we’ll go…but for as long as I’m able, I’ll protect you.”

He turned then, confident in Blitzo’s sleep. The imp was turned with his back facing Stolas - bare and spiked and intoxicating.

But now…now was not the time for that.

Scooting carefully and quietly, Stolas laid a hand in the space between the two. When he clutched at the sheets, he might have been doing so to keep himself from touching Blitzo once more. For there always was the promise and panic of the next time.

The next time…

“I don’t know…I can’t…I think…”

Blitzo stirred in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Stolas eyed him, hopeful. But Blitzo did not wake.

Inch by tiny inch, Stolas shifted to Blitzo until he was flush against his back. Although Blitzo swatted at him at first, he soon settled. Stolas had been rigid yet still - trained in years of proper decorum and terrified of waking the imp.

If Blitzo woke up, he would leave.

If Blitzo left, Stolas may never see him again.

He can’t be your bird in some gilded cage, he thought woefully. Blitzy would hate that…but if he could…if he would just…

What Stolas wished Blitzo to do, exactly, he could not lay a finger on. 

Like him?

Love him?

Marry him?

Or, perhaps, he thought, relaxing into the bed and Blitzo and all the bliss of the night, I’d just like him to stay.

Blitzo never had, of course…stayed after one of their rendezvous. Had come close and had even fallen asleep before. But Stolas knew far too well it never made a difference. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. He shouldn’t…Hell, he shouldn’t be doing this to begin with.

Yet just when Stolas began to frown, he felt what at first seemed like vibrating from Blitzo. Slightly alarmed (and only slightly aroused), he glanced over Blitzo’s shoulder trying to make sense of the senseless situation when it struck him.

Purring.

Blitzo was purring in his arms.

Despite himself and his own horror-filled prophecy, Stolas grinned a wide grin and cuddled into one of Blitzo’s horns.

Maybe - just maybe - this could be enough.

Maybe - just maybe - this should be a new beginning.

Maybe - just maybe - this time he would stay.

…maybe.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #stolas goetia #blitzo x stolas #helluva boss stolas #blitzo #stolas x blitz #smut #fanfic

[thoughtssvt]

Far Beyond Eternity

cw : sad topics, negative thoughts, mentions of death, comfort

It'd been a while since something good happened to Suguru. It was about time he started wondering when it would end like all the good things in his life

wc : 850

A/N: nothing really happens that's sad, suguru just thinks sad things and satoru is there to comfort him! this is a happy piece I swear! not proof read tho, oops. sorry for any mistakes!

It wasn’t their first time sneaking out after curfew. It was, however, their first time sneaking out after they shared their first kiss. Though, maybe it’s better to say after they became comfortable kissing each other with no restrain. They kissed all the time, annoyed the hell out of Shoko, got scolded countless times by Yaga to have a little self control.

They just couldn’t help it. Especially not now. Not while the moon shone so gently down on them and the breeze was so soft that it slipped beneath their uniforms, kissing their skin and wrapping its arms around them in a comforting hug. Not while Suguru’s rainbow dragon droned a comfortable pur, deep in its chest as it slithered steadily in the air for them. Not when he looked so pretty.

Satoru pulled back in a soft pant, reaching to tuck the dark sliver of hair behind Suguru’s ear, breath hitching at the realization that Suguru was staring at him as hard as he was staring at Suguru.

Suguru’s hands were much more callused than Satoru’s, but he didn’t mind. It still felt good against his cheek, thumb running back and forth against his blush. Satoru was prettier than the moon, Suguru thought. Eyes more captivating than the limitless sky, more precious than the depths of the ocean.

And he loved him.

He loved him.

He loved him in a way Suguru never thought he could be loved.

With his whole heart. So deeply and boundless. And it came for free.

Suguru didn’t have to beg, he didn’t have to give himself up in his entirety. The love between them just became and it engulfed him, filled him up so full that sometimes it was nauseating, but it was his and theirs and it was them.

Sometimes Suguru didn’t know what to do with it. Sometimes he woke up and after the feeling settled that this was actually real he asked himself when it would finally come to an end. Everything must come to an end, right? Even love.

He’d ask himself whose fault it would be. Maybe it would be mutual. Maybe they’d drift apart as the seasons passed. Maybe, just maybe, for them the world would be kind. Maybe their love would end in death. It would be no one’s fault, they wouldn’t decide to close the chapter, the seasons would pass and their love would grow stronger. Only death could break them apart. Though, even that thought terrified him.

He turned his head to look at Satoru where he was now laying next to him, arms crossed and tucked under his head, legs bent, one knee crossed over the other.

“Satoru,” He gulped, “I can’t live without you.” He’d said so suddenly. It had surprise and confusion spreading across Satoru’s face. “Please let me die first.” Suguru rasped, so small and delicate like he didn’t want the world to hear his plans.

For a split second concern knit his brows tightly together. Pain and anxiety spread through Satoru’s chest, but seeing the same feelings on Suguru made his dissipate. He knew Suguru. He knew this wasn’t about anything that was coming any time soon. Suguru was just a worrier and he’d already endured five lifetimes of hurt before meeting Satoru. He knew his boyfriend just needed reassurance. He needed to know that what they had would last. That it wouldn’t end like all the good things that came before.

“I’ll bear that for you because…” Satoru sucked in a deep breath. “Suguru, if we live to be 100… how could I possibly fit all my love for you in 83 years? So you go on ahead– but not too soon, okay? Because there has to be something after this.” Even in his uncertainty he managed a stable smile. “Meeting you has made me believe it.” Satoru sat up, turning to face Suguru completely. Suguru could see the cogs turning in his boyfriend’s head along with a growing type of excitement. Like all their worries would be washed away. If he said this then it’d be set in stone. “I don’t know if we’ll get another lifetime or if we’ll be reincarnated as ice cubes or if we’ll just meet together in whatever paradise is, but i know that my love for you will reach far beyond eternity.” He said it with such sincerity that Suguru would have believed that this was a guarantee after death. Although he trusts his boyfriend with his life this wasn’t something that would go away over night. It did ease the uneasiness, though.

Suguru couldn’t help launching himself at Satoru, cupping his face with two rough, callused hands, pulling him close until their lips intertwined. The wind massaging their scalp, ruffling their hair, reminding them to be wishful children filled with youth. ‘Sneak out in the middle of the night, get scolded for kissing too much, talk about the future of endless possibilities,’ it said as the moon illuminated their hearts. Reassuring them that in darkness it’ll be there to light their path for whatever is to come to them.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #getogojo #stsg #gego #goge #sugusato #satosugu fic #comfort #soft #satoru gojo #satoru x suguru #gojo satoru #gojo jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #satoru #jjk satoru #gojo #geto suguru #suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk suguru #geto #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen satoru #isn't the moon beautiful #it is

[liyazaki]

the twist of a knife

"I am the knife. I am all blade.” -Clementine von Radics

falling down symbolism rabbit holes isn't really my bag. unless it's laid out for the audience in crystal-clear terms that "yes, X was indeed meant to mean Y" (by the writers or the script itself), I don't dedicate much mental energy to those elements in my fiction.

but something about that knife- the visceral image of Pete gripping it by the blade for dear agonizing life was haunting me. I kept circling back to the opening conversation on the bed, and the moment where Vegas' rage went up in smoke- and again, that knife. then it hit me.

like knives forged just so, no one can hurt Pete or Vegas quite like they can. and not just because of their mutual vulnerability, their love, for each other- like @ellaspore said to me, how deep they get under each other's skin.

it's their fundamental struggles, their shame, who they are at their core: if people can be 'made' for each other, Vegas and Pete were also made just so to perfectly hurt the other.

the first blow came from Vegas. lying together in the afterglow, of all the things Vegas could say, he said: "you're just a fool." just four words- pretty benign-sounding, all horrible things Vegas has said before considered.

Pete didn't have some explosive reaction, either. and that makes sense- a quiet knife slipped between the ribs is too exact, too surgical for all that. instead, Pete turned his face slowly away from Vegas, suddenly lost in his thoughts- while Vegas, still grinning in lighthearted ignorance, followed his movement with his hand, stroking Pete's face. Pete's far away now, though, his gaze focused on the ceiling.

we start to see the damage when we cut back to Pete later. Pete- who just last episode was chastising Vegas for "being stupid" for hurting himself- now slaps himself in the face. "I don't like it. so why didn't I say no?"

the killing cut was delivered when Pete's worst fear- that all of this loss and fear and pain was for nothing- was confirmed by Vegas' attack. there was no righteous rage left in Pete, hollowed out by the realization that he "has nothing left."

in his compassion, in his curiosity about this wounded, broken man- he's afraid he's lost everything. who he is, what he stands for, his self-respect, his pride- he's been stripped bare. not just by everything Vegas has done to him, but by the depth of his feelings for him in spite of it all.

that one little phrase, those four little words from Vegas cut to the heart of Pete's fears: he's not only lost it all, some of those things against his will- but the rest was by his own submission. his own volition. the definition of a fool.

on the other beautifully-tragic side of the coin, Pete cut Vegas at his emotional knees in a way no one else could. even after abusing Pete, beating him, treating him so inhumanely- darkness can only run from the light for so long. Vegas found a sliver of genuine happiness just by having Pete in his sphere.

after a lifetime of wretchedness, of thinking this misery is all life has to offer, that there's no way out- Vegas' world started to crack open for the first time in that room.

seeing Pete completely lose his joy, his humanity, his will to keep going- and knowing that he was the one that caused it- was the only thing that could snap Vegas out of his rage. and it was the reality hitting of losing him that nearly broke Vegas. he is the monster- just like he always feared.

it's also not just the idea of ruining this man he's come to love- it's the ruination of hope. of a different way of living, existing, being. no one else could deal as deep of a blow- even though Vegas himself is really the one that dealt it.

and yet- and yet. just like the agonizing way Pete let that blade cut deep into his palm, invited it, even- they can't help but hold on to the sweet agony of their connection. even after freeing himself from his imprisonment, Pete is breaking apart. Vegas is leveled, shattered by his grief. they weep, they mourn- the cuts bleed.

sometimes, love is as much about grief as it is joy- to know that in a world that hurts so deeply, so frequently? the most vulnerable, aching parts of you are at another person's complete mercy.

that they hold your heart in their hands, and you can't just take it back. there's rage there, sometimes- shades of desperation, too.

horrible, beautiful, cruel, agonizing love- like the twist of a knife.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche ep 13 #vegaspete #biblebuild #bible wichapas #build jakapan #kinnporsche meta #kinnporsche analysis #kp meta #tonanons #tuserfaiza #usernuria #userjap #tosnimeat #kp edit #vegaspete meta #kinnporsche*

[lilac-whump]

Nightmare's Shadow Part 6- Painful Truth

A very fun chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Cw: emotional whump, slavery referenced, lady whump (nothing physical or graphic this chapter), fantasy whump

Masterlist / Previous

“Inrissa?” Nevaeh breathed the word, but her stance didn’t relax and her blade was still between them. Inrissa hadn’t even touched her blade yet.  Because this was Nevaeh. Unmistakably. And she could never raise a hand against her. 

“I thought you were dead,” Inrissa said. She felt like her heart had cracked open and all of her grief was spilling out like blood. Nevaeh was alive. And she was right here.

“Well, I thought you’d still be…” Nevaeh said, shrugging instead of finishing the sentence.

“I got out,” Inrissa said. Obvious. But what else was there to say? She wanted to say everything and found herself saying nothing. Her entire world had just been made brighter, but a sliver of uncertainty was working its way in. Why didn’t Nevaeh look happy to see her?

Nevaeh shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. Inrissa could only guess what she was worried about, or who she was worried about.

“I..” Inrissa reached out towards the other woman then pulled her hand back. “I’m glad to see you.”

Nevaeh’s face softened a fraction and Inrissa’s heart eased.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Inrissa,” she said. “How…did you..?”

“I’m traveling with the Elite Guard,” Inrissa said. Nevaeh raised her eyebrows.

“Really? Impressive.”

Inrissa felt a surge of pride at the praise. 

“Perfect,” Nevaeh continued. “I can’t talk right now. But I can meet with you in…two days. Tell Larkspur you have a meeting with Katrina in the usual place. She’ll be able to find me.”

“Alright,” Inrissa said. She wanted to say so much, to ask questions, but she had no idea what Nevaeh was dealing with. She couldn’t bear the thought of causing her trouble, not when she’d just gotten her back from the dead. “I’ll see you in two days.”

Nevaeh nodded, then disappeared around another corner. Inrissa didn’t try to follow her. She let her go into the city. Disappearing from her life. Inrissa’s lungs shuddered with fear, that that would be the last time she saw Nevaeh. Again.

Sweat slicked her palms and she rubbed them against her pants, slipping back into the crowd on the street. The enchanted stone on her necklace chimed.

Inrissa tapped the stone lightly and the message from Absalom came through, giving her directions to the place where she could meet back up with the Elite Guard. 

Prometheus’ Firstofrged workshop and forge. Well, at least she would be at her intended destination finally. Two days. 

If it was going to be that long, maybe by the time she saw Nevaeh again she could be truly free. Inrissa’s hand brushed against the cold, harsh metal of her collar. She had been so young when she’d been collared. A shudder ran through her at the memory, the brutal violence, the callous removal of her horns on the same night. That night had changed her. Broken her.

Would removing the collar change her, too? Surely, but how much? The damage of a lifetime couldn’t just be wiped away. Inrissa had no idea who she would be when the collar was removed. 

—--

The Elite Guard had gathered in Prometheus’ workshop, but Natala hadn’t returned with them. Her duties held her in the Palace for now, to Inrissa’s disappointment. She glanced to Larkspur. Nevaeh knew her personally, at least, under a different name. Was Nevaeh even her real name?

Inrissa pushed the thought away. She would get her answers from Nevaeh in two days. Interrogating Larkspur about it would necessitate explanations that Inrissa wasn’t ready to give. All of her resolve for exposing her secrets would be needed if she was going to confront Firstforged and ask for his help. 

The anticipation of the conversation she dreaded had made it impossible for her to absorb what the rest of them had been discussing once she had arrived. With every breath she felt like her collar was constricting more tightly around her throat. Inrissa stood with her arms crossed, her nails digging into her skin as she stared at Prometheus. Studying him.

The uncertainty planted in her chest by Nevaeh mixed with her ever seething anger and bubbled to a boiling point. Fear permeated all of it. 

If she could trust them, she would confront Prometheus with everyone present. In case he turned on her, in case he wasn’t what he pretended. But if that were the case, why would his friends side against him to help her? No.

She would get him alone. She waited as the others trickled out, heading into the city to attend to their personal business. But this was Prometheus’ forge, his personal business was here. Which meant so was Inrissa’s. 

Finally, they were alone. Prometheus glanced at her awkwardly. Inrissa cracked her knuckles and straightened her posture.

“Firstforged,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Alright,” he said. He put down the tools he had picked up to give her his full attention. Inrissa couldn’t tell if that should comfort her or frighten her.

“I..I need…your help,” Inrissa forced the words out. Her hands started shaking and she couldn’t stop it. A tremor crept into her voice, and Prometheus’ brow furrowed. Inrissa tried to swallow the fear but there was nowhere else for it to go. This was it. Once she told him there was no going back. If it went badly, she could ruin her chances of finding refuge anywhere in the Empire. 

“The reason…I knew who you were…” Inrissa stammered, cursing herself for the weakness coming through her voice. “I..look, I was looking for you. When I went to the Glade. It was to find you. Because…the reason I know you…”

Inrissa took a deep breath and dropped her illusory disguise. Letting her true face show, her charcoal skin, the silver scars, the broken horns. And around her neck, the thick metal collar with a silent bell. She reached her trembling hands up to her neck, tracing the ridges of Prometheus’ symbol, now glaring at her from every corner of the workshop. 

“I need you to take this off.”

She wished she had some speech, some leverage to use against him, but there was nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to bargain for this. To be allowed to exist like everyone else, like a person should be able to exist. Everything was such a fight, she couldn’t- no wouldn’t- humiliate herself by pleading, by offering something up. If she had to, she would threaten him. But for the moment it took everything she had just to let him see her for who she was. 

Prometheus fell to his knees with a heavy thud, staring at Inrissa. His eyes were fixed on her neck. On the collar. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice strangled. Anger spiked through Inrissa’s turmoil and she scowled.

“What do you not understand?” she spat, one hand itching towards her dagger. “I want you to take the damn collar off!”

“How…how did this happen?” Prometheus asked weakly. Rage roared in Inrissa’s ears and she stepped up to him, their eyes level while he was on his knees.

“You trying to tell me you didn’t make this? That your hands didn’t forge this?” she hissed.

“No,” Prometheus confessed, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I did. I…that is my work.” His shoulders shuddered and Inrissa growled.

“They…used my work to…what? Make…slaves?”

Inrissa grabbed his chin and forced him to meet her burning gaze. 

“I was already a slave when I got this,” she spat. “This is a muzzle. A control.”

The look on his face was stricken. A horror Inrissa knew in her gut couldn’t be faked. His ignorance only served to enrage her further.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you didn’t know?” Inrissa roared. She put her heel to his chest and put all of her force behind it, kicking him backwards to the ground. “How could you not know? This is your work, didn’t you bother paying attention to what you were making?”

Releasing her anger felt good. She let it pour out from her like waves of steam, filling the room with heat. She stepped over Prometheus, ready to push him back down or draw blood when he fought back.

But…

Then he didn’t.

Prometheus Firstforged let himself be kicked to the floor and just…stayed there. He turned his face back towards her and tears were cutting tracks down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice crystallized with defeat and sorrow. Anguish. The anger inside Inrissa swirled, clouding her vision. But she couldn’t take it out on Prometheus. Not now. Not like this. Not with a blade. 

Inrissa let out a strangled scream and turned away from him, her tail whipping behind her then curling around her ankle. 

“Whatever,” Inrissa said. “Just take it off.”

She blinked hard to clear the tears and haze of fury from her gaze. Prometheus didn’t answer her so she turned back towards him with a scowl. He could be pathetic, he could be sad and ignorant, fine, but she would get what she came for. He wasn’t putting up a fight like this, if he was as broken and guilt ridden as he acted then he should jump at the chance for any redemption.  She met his gaze and he flinched. 

That gave her a taste of satisfaction that was drowned out by the horrible revelation in his next words. 

“I don’t know how.”

#nightmare's shadow #fantasy whump #lady whump #emotional whump #old friends #cw slavery #prometheus is not having a good day #inrissa is having an emotional day #excited for you all to see where this leads #whump

[hippestglitch]

A Piece Is Enough

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Length: 1,409 words

Rating: Gen

Characters: Warrior of Light/Emet-Selch

Summary: You didn't expect there to be anything left after Hades' defeat. But there was. And you would be damned if you were going to forget it there in the middle of that forgotten city.

Tags: Angst, Echo flashback, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers. Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), POV Second Person, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Takes place immediately after the Hades fight

AO3 Link

You didn't expect there to be anything left.

There had been nothing left behind with Nabriales. Nor had even a sliver of auracite remained when you defeated Igeyorhm. Lahabrea was a whole other matter entirely; every last drop of his aether guzzled down by that power-hungry primal's sword rather than being trapped in a far-too easy to shatter crystal like the other Ascians. Not a scrap of dark cloth, not a single wisp of any of their essences had remained behind.

But that was then. And this was now.

Now, you stood atop the ruined capital building of what was once some mockery of Amaurot, the long-twisted wreckage of those spires and skyscrapers dotting the landscape far beneath you, glinting darkly in the sunlight cutting through the gloom that smothered this place only minutes prior. Solus, no, Emet-Selch, no… Hades had given you the hardest fight in your lifetime before you bound him in auracite and shattered him into pieces. After the battle, he had appeared in the garb of the Ascian he was and told you, implored you to remember him and his fallen city before vanishing into the Lifestream.

...But not all of him.

Sitting there on top of the building with you was a shard of that auracite only about an ilm in length, the once white surface of the crystal tainted a purple so dark and deep that it seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The color of a mockery of royalty.

The color of your enemy.

Gazing into its tiny, devouring depths, you wondered what you were going to do with it; you certainly couldn't just leave it there for someone to find like what happened with Nidhogg's eyes. For the briefest of moments, you considered treating it like any other shiny bauble you had taken from the primals you defeated; fashioning it into an elaborate trophy or memento like lesser men would wild game.

You dismissed the notion almost immediately. Such a fate would be unbecoming for someone so… human-like, someone so very close to mortal that he had tried and failed to bridge the gap countless times over the centuries.

Instead, still pondering, you bent down to pick it up and froze as soon as your fingers made contact with the smooth surface, your free hand flying up to clutch your head as all-too familiar pain exploded from deep within.

"Stop this immediately!" The annoyed, all-too familiar voice was the first thing that reached your senses in the fuzzy, dream-like haze brought about by the Echo. Drifting through the airwaves beneath the voice of the man who had just died before your eyes was tinny, but upbeat, jazz, filtering through a radio in another room. His hair may have been completely white and he may have been wearing the heavy, shapeless robes of Amaurot, but you could tell the man was Hades by his unmistakable voice and golden eyes, though the way he was attempting to squirm away from and lightly flail at the other person in the room was very unlike what you knew of the Ascian.

"Come on, Emet-Selch!" And just as you recognized Hades, you were able to tell precisely who the other masked, robed person was… despite how long you suddenly realized it had been since you heard such joy, such happiness in your own voice. They… You were leaning in towards Hades even as he unintentionally did his best impression of a pet hearing it was bath time, your hands reaching to attach something to his ear. "It'll look so goood on you!"

After a few moments, you managed to attach the thing to Hades' earlobe despite his incessant struggling and, as he straightened back up in defeat, you, the present you, were able to tell that it was an earring, the self-same teardrop-shaped earring that you always saw him wearing.

"Only one?" The pout was all-too evident on both his face and inflection. "After all that hassle, you saw fit to only gift me one earring?"

"Oh, now you desire it, Emet-Selch?" A chuckle, free from the crushing burden of being the Warrior of Light and Darkness. "I was not sure you would like it, so I only made you the one, but I can certainly make a matching one if you want it." A tilt of a hooded head, a mischievous smile crossing lips. "You look very good wearing a small piece of me… though I will admit to being biased."

"A small piece of you, hm…?" A hand that you know crushed countless mortals and commanded armies in the future reached up, cradling the earring with gentleness you didn't think Hades capable of. A smile curled his lips, tenderness mirroring his touch as he raised his hood back up over his head, the fabric evidently having fallen during their little tussle.

"I suppose I can accept this."

And then you were back in the here, back in the now, head aching, able to feel how your lungs expanded and contracted, how your blood rushed through your veins. Every return from an Echo vision left you uncomfortably aware of your meaty body, the sensation of having working flesh feeling brand-new.

But you didn't dwell on the feeling. Not this time.

Instead, after a couple moments to regain your bearings, with a gentleness you no longer thought yourself capable of after all the bloodshed and all the loss, you took the shard into your grasp and tucked it safely away in one of your pockets before slowly starting to make your way out of that ruined city.

You knew what you were going to do with that sliver of crystal now.

It took you a while to gather the remaining materials, certainly. You wanted gold that was just the right shade—not too shiny and not too dull, and you quickly lost track of the otherwise priceless chunks of the stuff you painstakingly pried from the earth only to discard. Eventually, however, you managed to find a piece that suit your specifications, much to the relief of the local miners, surely. Then there was the adhesive, the strongest you could get your hands on. Such a material was hard to find even amongst gatherers, so you reluctantly turned to someone you knew could get their hands on anything imaginable, Rowena. After a bit of haggling and lightening your pockets of some Allagan bits and baubles, she sent you on your way with a glob of adhesive.

And finally, with materials in hand, you made your way to Ul’dah.

You could craft anywhere you pleased, yes, but something this special required a delicate hand and a trained eye… and after all she had helped teach you over the years, you hoped Serendipity would serve as both in addition to your own skills. She, of course, was happy to oblige, overjoyed at your mere presence in the goldsmithing guild after so long apart. When you pulled out your materials, she took a keen interest in the shard of auracite and rambled on about possible guesses as to what it could be and how she’d love to study it further, but a muttered explanation that you would rather not discuss details about what you had brought with you quickly fielded off any further questions.

She had enough respect for you as a friend and fellow goldsmith to offer you that, at least.

After showing her the design you had in mind, you began to grind away at the raw ore you had, whittling it down bit by bit to suit your vision. By your request, Serendipity offered no suggestions about the design, only speaking when there was any possibility of you ruining it. Once you had the gold shaped, you took up the piece of auracite, hesitating slightly as the worry of another Echo flashback flitted through your mind; here would be a horrid place for one. When none came, you mentally breathed a sigh of relief before using the adhesive to attach it to the gold the same shade as Hades' eyes. Once it was set, you delicately lifted it and slipped it into the hole in your left earlobe. Gazing into one of the mirrors set around the guild, you could dimly hear Serendipity exclaim about how you had made yet another masterpiece, but you didn’t really process it, only having one thought in your mind.

A small piece of him… to remember always.

#Drabbles #ffxiv #emet selch #Emet-Selch #Fanfic

[what-to-imagine-next]

09-25-2022

Thirty Seven Days Until My Ex’s Birth Day, I Am Ever Closer To Killing Myself.

Its been weird, living that is.

I still extremely love him, stephen. And its honestly really fucking sucky. Part of me wishes for the sliver of a chance to even have him in my life again, even if it means watching him fall in love with another who he’d truly be happy with. Even if every extra second of knowing him is going to cause me an ever lasting pain. Even if I never get to be happy. And part of me really still wants one of two options. Wait out for the date I have in my mind, wait and wait every painful second and every terrifying moment of continuing this existence so when I get to that date it’ll finally be over. Finally free. Finally. Gone. Like I was meant to be. Or two, do the same but move, change my name, my look and personality. Become something I’m not for the happiness of others, and then disappear agajn permanently. And Honestly. Thats all I can see myself doing in this lifetime. Even if I never get another shot. Even if it means the sadness of others. Maybe I could be selfish. Maybe I could not care for once. And end every painful minute.

I’m sorry to any family I may hurt. I’m sorry to any friends who may hurt. I’m sorry to any around me who may hurt. But I’m not sorry for doing it when it comes. Because its been weighing down my mind for eleven years, and when the days comes in two thousand thirty, it will have been just over nine-teen years. And then I can be free. Though I dont wish my moms death, I partly hope shes not around for it. It would truly break her. But I’m so tired. Even the good days are exhausting. The bad days are millions of times worse. And I just want to be free. Cause I know even with therapy, even with self love, even with medication, even with a new start in life. I will never be free in my lifetime. And I have accepted that. All I hope is that all you around me, if you were still even there when the day comes, can accept it for even a fraction of what I can.

I love you stephen, I’m glad you chose yourself, I’m sorry I ever ruined you, met you, and loved you, I’m sorry I didnt keep you away. I’m sorry I was right about how awful I am. But thats okay. I’m not okay but thats okay. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re loved. I hope you’re happy. I hope your hopeful. I hope, just maybe, that you’d love us for one more kiss, one more hug, one more moment of joy, but I know the world around humanity is a cursed place of turmoil, hatred, and profound idiocy. I love you. I miss you. I will ever be grateful for you. Even now. My idiot love.

God I hate myself, and everything makes sense.

#rant #i hope youre doing okay #mentally drained #life #i’m sorry #weakness

[romanoffsbish]

The Mystery Stark (Series)

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader (Besties/Platonic)

Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (Besties/Platonic)

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader (Sibling)

Summary: Tony's sister that disappeared from his life when she was five reemerges. Tony's less than thrilled as he blames her for what became of their parents. Y/N's been trapped with Hydra and she was discovered by Nick Fury during an infiltration by SHIELD. She agreed to join the Avengers, but as long as he hid her true origins. She knew of her brothers resentment, and chose to accept it and all the negative to come with it being as the teams loyalty is to him. In the end she loved him more than anything, and she would never want to bring him pain. However a select few redheads are wary of Tony's warnings as they observe Y/N. Deeply curious how someone as soft and caring from behind the scenes could be the danger he made her out to be. What happens when the truth comes out? Love interest: Natasha Romanoff

I do not own the characters besides Y/N, all rights reserved to Marvel.

TW: Mature Themes, Sexual themes, Violence, Blood, Gaslighting/Manipulation, mention of torture/abuse towards children. Toxic family dynamics.

Chapter 1: Where it all Changed

Chapter 2: Warm Welcomes

Chapter 3: The Dirty Truth

Chapter 4: Sneaky Redheads

Chapter 5: A Delicious Start

Chapter 6: A Rocky Finish

Chapter 7: Are You Okay

Chapter 8: The Little Things

Chapter 9: You Ready?

Chapter 10: Stinky

Chapter 11: Decisions to be Made

Chapter 12: Suit Up

Chapter 13: Co-Pilot

Chapter 14: Showtime

Chapter 15: Tick…

Chapter 16: … Tick …

Chapter 17: … Boom

Chapter 18: Lost in Translation

Chapter 19: Trapped in a Memory

Chapter 20: The Aftermath

Chapter 21: Imagine Me & You

Chapter 22: I Do

Chapter 23: Truth’s Out

Chapter 24: Home?

Chapter 25: Protective Mode Activated

Chapter 26: All

Chapter 27: My

Chapter 28: Firsts

Chapter 28.2: All Our Firsts 🥵🔥

Chapter 28.4: Taking Care of You

Chapter 29: You’re Home!!!

Chapter 30: Malen’koye Der’mo

Chapter 31: We Are Farmers

Chapter 32: Shine Bright

Chapter 33: Atomic Reunions

Chapter 34: I Got You

Chapter 35: All I Ever Wanted

Chapter 36: If The World Was Ending…

Chapter 37:… You’d Come Over Right?

Chapter 38: Another One Bites the Dust

Chapter 39: Never Got the Chance

Chapter 40: This House is NOT a Home

Chapter 41: Mind Games

Chapter 42: Sliver of Hope

Chapter 43: Don’t you Dare

Chapter 44: See You in a Minute

Chapter 45: Battle of a Lifetime

Chapter 46: Soul Link

Chapter 47: You’re Real?

Chapter 48: Forever With You..

Chapter 48.5: …It’s All I Need 🥵

Chapter 49: Girl’s Night

Chapter 50: Wanda-Zilla

Chapter 51: No Egg Rolls? All Problems!

Chapter 51.5: Honey… 🍯🥵

Chapter 51.7: … Mooning 🌚🥵

Chapter 52: Ya Lyublyu Tebya

Chapter 52.5: Our Happy Ending ❤️

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #black widow #natasharomanoffxyn #natasharomanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasharomanoffpov #avengerspov #gxg #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha x fem!reader #black widow imagine #stark reader #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #black widow pov #black widow x you #black widow fluff #black widow smut

[hellion-writes]

Surprise Conversations

Pairing: 10th Doctor x reader (intended as platonic)

Pronouns used: They/them (gender neutral reader)

Summary: When life isn’t great for you, a strange man talks to you when you’re at your lowest. 

Word count: 2,345 (edited)

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, self deprecation

(A/N): Wrote this as a sort of vent/comfort within the span of 3ish hours and it’s currently 6:30 in the morning. This takes place sometime between Martha and Donna. Enjoy and ignore the awful title and writing pls

    ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was always behind you, looming over your shoulder and breathing down your neck with saccharine addled air. You breathed in that oxygen against your will; sometimes that was the only way you could get through the day. Other times, it was the thing that ruined your perfect day. 

It whispered in your ear whenever you made a mistake, no matter how small. It only started yelling whenever you started to decline, escalating to screaming when you were at your worst. You could swear that your eardrums were tattered beyond belief and that you could hear the remnants of the voice in the back of your mind whenever it wasn’t there, but you just chalked it up to the pains of growing up and becoming an adult. 

You listened to it sometimes. You listened to it when it told you that you were a failure for getting anything besides a perfect score on a test. You listened to it when it told you that you were incapable of love when you and your childhood best friend started to drift apart. You listened to it when it told you that slashing at your skin with the razor blade you had unscrewed from a handheld pencil sharpener would solve your problems. And for the most part, you felt as if it was best that you listened to it. 

There were times that you ignored it, though; this was usually whenever it’s ideas were too drastic for the situation. It called for you to jump when you came across ledges and bridges. It beckoned you towards the knife block and commanded you to stick them all in your abdomen. It wants you to jump onto the rails whenever you are boarding a train. 

Ignoring it was hard, but doable when you didn’t have anything to stress out about. A couple of cuts and you’d be good to go for the day. It would be silent. 

That was until things started to pile up. Bill due dates were getting closer and closer, friends were increasingly leaving, your debts were growing larger and larger, and your family was basically nonexistent in helping you with your problems. So you decided to finally give in and listen to everything the voice told you to do. 

You found yourself at your favorite part of the city you lived in: the bridge overlooking the ocean. It had a perfect view of the moon and it’s beams glistening on the ever moving waves. It gave you some comfort that things would continue after you would be at your end. It was beautiful and you’d be damned if you didn’t at least have something to see before you died. 

You were sitting on the ledge, feeling the salty sea breeze raise the goosebumps on your skin. Your grip on the metal bars was tight, almost as steely as the beam itself. Your feet dangled over the abyss limply. 

“Hey.” A voice broke through the quiet, making you jump out of your skin and almost lose your grip on the bars. “Sorry,” they awkwardly coughed. A figure came to a seated position next to you, dragging your eyes off from the waves below. 

The first thing you registered about him was the gravity-defying hair slightly being shifted by the breeze. In the back of your mind, you wondered how much gel he had to use to get it to stick up like that. The second thing you noticed was the way he looked at you. His eyes were expressive, probably more so than the average person. They were a deep brown color, the pupil almost blending in with his iris. 

“So, I assume you aren’t out here for a little stroll?” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes and gave you a sliver of a smile. You shook your head and returned to looking over at the ocean. He sat with you in silence for a moment before he spoke up, “what’s your name?” 

“Why do you need to know?” 

“I like meeting new people,” he shrugged. “If it makes it easier, I’ll tell you mine: I’m the Doctor.” 

“Doctor who?” You asked skeptically.

“Just the Doctor,” he grinned widely. 

“Well Doctor, it’s strange that you’re making small talk with someone sitting on the ledge.” 

“Like I said, I like meeting new people… Nice day outside, isn’t it? Or should I say night?”

“Yeah,” you hummed quietly. Silence enveloped you both once more, only the sounds of each other’s breathing and the occasional shuffle being heard whenever one of you moved. It was starting to unnerve you, so you decided that telling him your name wasn’t going to do any harm. “(Y/n).”

“What?” He asked quietly.

“(Y/n). That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” you sighed out the last phrase. Normally, you would’ve said it with a large grin and happiness exuding from your every feature but you just felt numb. 

“(Y/n),” he said slowly, as if getting a feel for your name, “that’s a lovely name. It suits you, you know. Nice to meet you,” he stuck a hand out towards you and gave you a smile that almost melted the numbness that froze you. You stared at it for a moment before slowly moving to grasp his hand in yours and give it a firm little shake.

“Likewise,” you mumbled. He jumped slightly when your cold skin met his warm hand, looking at you in alarm. 

“You’re freezing,” he said before shrugging off his trench coat and laying it across your shoulders. An instant warmth enveloped you, making you unconsciously lean into the warmth. He was warm, incredibly warm. When your nose brushed against the collar, you caught a slight whiff of cologne and… something that you couldn’t place your finger on. Maybe apples or grass? Or a mixture of the two, you didn’t ponder on it. The Doctor was warm and he smelled good. 

“Well being cold is the least of my worries right now, Doc,” a small chuckle left you. You gestured at the water below you wordlessly. It was then that you noticed his slightly beaten up off white converse shoes. “Nice shoes by the way. Not my definition of dress shoes, but at least you aren’t running around barefoot. I respect it.” 

“Thanks,” he grinned, wiggling his feet in the air slightly, “they’re my lucky pair, haven’t failed me yet.”

“You know, you could use a magic eraser or something to get those dirt stains off from them.”

“Why would I do that? These stains are memories,” he pointed to a slightly purple spot. “This is when R- an old friend accidentally ran into trouble with some nasty things.” He pointed to a small grass stain, “this is when I was running with Martha.” 

He had a fond smile on his face as he started to tell you stories about his adventures with his friends. There was Martha, the brilliant doctor (also a doctor, interesting) that almost matched his intelligence. Then there was Sarah Jane, a gifted journalist with a knack for discovering and defending the truth. K-9. Romanas I and II. Peri. Grace. Susan. Kamelion. It was as if this man had lived several lifetimes. 

“It sounds like someone’s lived quite the life,” you mused when the conversation fizzled out. 

“I have,” he nodded, an almost hidden wistfulness in his tone. “Now what about you? I feel like I’ve been hogging the conversation.”

“No, you’re fine; I liked hearing about your friends. As for me, well my life’s just not important.”

“Not important,” he scoffed. “Impossible. I’ve never met anybody who’s life wasn’t important. Everybody has a story, what’s yours?” 

You were silent for a moment before you took a deep breath. What’s one more hour of conversation? It wasn’t like you had any time constraints. You diverged into sharing some aspects of your life, just the small things that wouldn’t normally make any normal person bat an eye at. 

But the Doctor wasn’t a normal person.

You didn’t mean that in a negative way, no far from it. He actually was invested in what you had to say, not just politely nodding along. He asked you questions about what you were talking about, subtly pushing you to elaborate further. Soon enough you both were laughing like you were old friends catching up with each other. If anybody drove past you both, they probably would have thought you both were insane. 

“You actually did that?” He asked incredulously through his snickering. 

“Yes, I was a gullible kid. Not my fault that I’d do anything for a quarter and a cool looking rock,” you smiled and leaned your head against the metal bar behind you. “Everyone thought I was going to become a geologist when I got older with how much I’d hoard rocks in my room like there was no tomorrow. Made Mum cross with me for bringing dirty things into the house, but she never found the stash I had in the basement. I actually think that they’re still there, hidden in a box collecting dust.” You sighed and tightened your grip on the bars, “there’s no appeal in rocks when you grow up and see that the little sparkles and colors in them are just… imperfections that should be ignored.” 

“The little imperfections I see in rocks,” he began, pinching a small bit of loose concrete between his pointer finger and thumb and brought it up to his face to examine it. “Are the things I refuse to ignore. They’re charming and separate it from being just a hunk of slate you find in a rock garden.”

“I feel like that’s some sort of analogy.” 

“That… wasn’t what I was intending, but I do suppose that it could be one.” He turned to squint at you, placing the rock back onto the ledge next to his thigh. You squinted back at him, wondering what was going through his head. A smile ghosted across his face before he laughed to himself. 

“What?” You asked him.

“Nothing,” he chuckled, “it’s just that we’ve talked all night.” He jutted his chin towards the sun rising over the horizon casting oranges and pinks onto the water in place of the moonlight that resided there previously. 

“We have,” you said in surprise. The sun’s rays warmed you slightly, but you didn’t want to move away from the shelter of the trench coat. It gave you a strange sense of comfort. You both watched the sun rise out of the ocean and take its place high in the sky. Traffic started to bustle as people started their morning commute to work, some craning their necks in their cars as they drove by to look at you and the Doctor. None stopped to talk to you. 

“Say, (N/n),” he started.

“(N/n)?” You asked as the corners of your lips quirked upwards. The nickname made you feel warm inside, it felt nice. 

“Yes, (N/n); I think it suits you well. Anyways (N/n), if you were to choose a time and place in all of time and space, where would you like to visit the most?” 

“Anywhere? Like, even on a planet trillions of light years from Earth?” You asked him, watching him nod curtly. “Yes, but there are some rules. You can’t interact with your past self or change a point that was destined to happen. Wars, deaths, births, things like that.”

“Ah, so the general movie rules of time travel?” He grumbled to himself (something along the lines of ‘those are wildly inaccurate’) before he nodded once more. 

After a bit of contemplation, you supplied him with your answer. A spark in his eye appeared, similar to the spark he got when he talked about his friends but slightly different. He slowly got up and stretched his lanky limbs out, cracks coming from the joints and small groans leaving him whenever the stretch was apparently good. 

He looked down at you and, with a grin, extended his hand to you. “(Y/n), would you like to come with me? See that place you wanted to see?” 

You found yourself staring at his hand for the second time that night. Thoughts of stranger danger circulated through your mind before you realized that if he wanted to harm you in any way, he would have done it by now. He wouldn’t have talked to you for hours on end, making you feel like you had a small sliver of yourself back again. 

Why not? One little detour couldn’t hurt; you had a good feeling about going along with him. 

You grabbed his hand and allowed him to pull you up to a standing position. He gave you a small lift so that you could hop over the barrier before he catapulted his body over it. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, he led you away from the bridge. You both got strange looks from the people driving past, but you managed to ignore it when you burrowed yourself deeper into the trench coat and he brought you closer to him. He led you to an old navy blue police box, much to your confusion. 

“Well, Mx…”

“(L/n),” you supplied.

“Well, Mx. (L/n), welcome to the TARDIS.” 

One trip turned to two. Then three. Then four. Then several more. It became normal to come home from work to see the man waiting for you comfortably in your small apartment, brightening up whenever you walked through the door and asking you excitedly about what you had in mind for your next adventure. 

Soon enough, the voice became something that would only come to you on your bad days, becoming largely dormant in your mind. Whenever you had a bad day, you finally had someone to confide in. Someone that wouldn’t judge you, someone that wouldn’t tell you that you were being overly dramatic. 

The Doctor was different from the normal person; he was the Doctor and you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

#10 x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #tenth doctor x reader #doctor who reader insert #gender neutral reader #suicidal reader #hellion writes doctor who

[jimlingss]

Moirai [Finale]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 [Finale]

➜ Words: 8.6k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You don’t know why you were so afraid of dying.   It happened once before. You didn’t even have time to prepare yourself.   Maybe you were so petrified because you were left feeling an empty void inside of yourself last time. You never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, never got to reach the happiness you wanted. You were filled with numerous regrets. Not for the things you did. But for the things you didn’t do.   But strangely enough, for the second time, you don’t feel such sadness.   Perhaps because your death this time has purpose. Perhaps because you know it wasn’t wasted. Taehyung gets to live, he’s safe and that in itself is worth sacrificing for. You wonder if this is what love feels like.   For being so afraid of dying in this lifetime, there was not an inch of hesitation when you risked it again.   “Anastasia.”   But you aren’t dead. Just on your deathbed.   You can hear Lucy sobbing beside you. She’s noisy, practically giving you a headache, but truthfully, your heart aches to hear her. Until the very end, she proves to be one of the most sincere people in all of Ashea.   “Please...please, wake up.”   It’s hard to open your eyes. Your left shoulder aches terribly and you feel feverish but chilly at the same time. Even with the heaviest blanket overtop of you, you can’t help shivering. You wonder if your wound was infected. If you caught something else. If you’ll make a recovery.   It’s hard to lay and rest peacefully when you know someone’s made an assassination attempt on Taehyung. It might happen again. It might happen when you’re laying here. But even so, perhaps your connection to Taehyung will save him. This darkness inside of you just might consume his injuries and hand it to you instead. If so, you’ll readily lend your life to him again.    It’s your destiny as his protector. You don’t mind.   “Lucy...you should rest.”   You can vaguely hear Jungkook’s voice and you force your eyes to open a sliver. Their figures are blurry.   “No. I want to stay here a little longer.” Her voice is firm, no longer as timid as it used to be.   But Jungkook still coaxes her otherwise. “You haven’t slept and the Duke and Duchess have come. They’re waiting outside. We can watch over her.”   You watch as their forms fade away, Jungkook guiding the girl out. Soon, your mother and father are entering the room, steps slow, their voices kept quiet. Your vision starts to sharpen and the bed dips as your mother sits next to you, her expression impassive while she takes your hand.   She realizes you’re awake when your fingers twitch and her head whips over to you. “Anastasia. Anastasia,” she calls again and lowers herself to whisper, “You can make it through this.”   Your eyes manage to open and your cracked lips move— “I’m sorry.”   Her blank visage is ruined by the slight furrow of her brows. “What for?”   “I can’t be the crown princess.” The words are mumbled out of you, barely steady on a single breath.   “You still can.”   “No.” You weakly shake your head. “Even if I live, I...can’t.”   “I’m...sorr...y.” The sincere apology utters off from your lips — they’re your dying words.   You’ve never apologized to them in your life. You never felt the need to apologize to anyone aside from Taehyung. But marrying Jungkook, keeping the family safe, it’s all they ever wanted from you. Yet, you can’t fulfill their only wish.   “Anastasia.” There’s a rough tug at your arm and you wince. Your mother’s eyes are wide, mouth lopsided, she looks...frantic. It’s the first time her impassivity has been spoiled. “Get up. Get yourself back together. It would be worthless if you die here. Everything you’ve worked so hard for will go to waste. I’ll be angry if you keep talking about giving up. Get up right now!”   She doesn’t accept the apology. She doesn’t acknowledge it.   “Elanor.” Your father grabs your mother’s shoulders, pulling her away from trying to tug you upright. “Elanor! Stop it. Calm down.”   “She was sick so many times before as a child and she still lived! She’ll live here too, Herrick.” She whirls around and seizes your father’s collar in tight fists, but then sobs break through her figure. “Stop acting like our daughter is dying!”   “I know, I know.” He embraces her. “But if we want her to live, she has to rest. Remember what the healers said?”   Your mother nods into his shoulder and your father stares at you.   There’s not enough strength in you to stay conscious, so you black out against your will moments later. But you swear you feel him squeeze your hand before he leaves.   //   Taehyung cracks open the door fifteen minutes after three. The hallway is shrouded in darkness with only a tiny sliver of the moon’s luminescence that will wane away tomorrow. His breath was hitched and only with no one in sight was he able to slip into the shadows.    He feels like a child again, having to lurk in the castle’s corridors. But he had to see you.   Taehyung comes to your bedside where you’re fast asleep. His left hand grips the arrow that had pierced into your flesh, hard enough that his knuckles turn white, that his entire fist shakes.    The silver tip is decorated with loops and ornate designs. He stared at it long enough that the pattern is embedded beneath his eyelids. But for now, he sets the arrow down on your bedside and lifts his hand to hover over your body.   Taehyung frowns. He recognizes the dark magic over your soul.    He should've seen it, should’ve tried to use his magic to detect it when he had the chance. Not now when it was too late. When it’s suddenly so obvious. The magic spills out of your skin when Taehyung beckons it forward, consuming the room into pitch blackness that chokes him. It’s as if your soul has been encased in it, so thick that he doesn’t know where the magic ends or begins.    Taehyung tries to break it, to shatter the magic apart and dissipate the shards. But when he touches it, there’s a spark. A golden trace, like lightning on a stormy day. He sharply inhales as it stings him and he notices your brows furrow.   The man quickly seals the dark magic up again. He wonders who did this to you.   His right hand tightens on the pink handkerchief frayed at the edges. He kept it all of this time. There just hasn’t been the right moment to give it back to you yet. But he knows they’ll be a day.   He’s counting on it.   Taehyung murmurs an incantation underneath his breath, a healing spell that has your expression easing again. A soft breath escapes the seam of your lips as if you’re soothed from pain.   “I’m sorry.”   You hear what sounds like Taehyung’s voice inside your head.    He has nothing to apologize for. You’re the one who did him wrong, who pushed him away, who made him out as someone to be feared — you saw him as the villain before he even became one.   But when you awake, there’s no one there.   //    The next morning, you start to feel better again.   Your body feels less like a heavy cage against the mattress. Your shoulder doesn’t ache with each movement and your fever has faded away. In the following days, the healers are taken aback at the change but start to become more optimistic, and Lucy smiles with tears in her eyes to see you conscious. You’re well enough to at least be able to sit up too.   “Has anyone visited me?” you ask a maid who’s come by to replace your clothes.    But the young girl shakes her head. “Is there someone you want to see, Lady Anastasia?”   “No…”   As if you were speaking of the devil, another attendant enters the room. “Lady Anastasia, there’s someone here…”   The corner of your mouth upturns and you immediately lean forward. But instead of the person you were hoping for, it’s dark-hair and doe eyes.   Jungkook smiles and the two girls leave a beat later, giving the pair of you some privacy. He knows you well enough over the years to see your disappointment. “Were you expecting someone else?”   “Of course not,” you scoff, leaning against the headboard.   “I’m glad to see you better enough to mouth off again.” Jungkook grins and takes his seat on the chair beside you. “But there’s something we should talk about, Anna.”   “What is it?”   “The engagement ball is coming up.”   You stay silent.   “The advisors think we should do ahead with the engagement after this incident. There’s some suspicion this had something to do with you being kidnapped and there’s an investigation going on, but the advisors think it’ll be reflected poorly if the royal family doesn’t take responsibility for your injuries.”   There’s a pause. A quiet simmer. The corner of his mouth quirks gingerly.   “Surprisingly, the Duke and Duchess haven’t said anything about it.”   You burst out laughing. “For once.”   Jungkook’s smile is short lived. He inhales a deep breath and hesitates. You’ve never seen Jungkook so careful in choosing his words before, but you have a feeling of what he wants to say. “Anna. I care about you, I do. You’ve been a friend since we were children. But I don’t think I can go through with this marriag—”   “Stop,” you interrupt and he looks up. Your eyes meet and you smile, taking his hand. “I’ve always said I wouldn’t stop you, Jungkook.”   He nods and whispers, “Thank you.”   You hold hands, smiling at him. “You’ll always be a close friend of mine.”   No matter what path this universe goes down, Anastasia never ends up with Jungkook.    And Y/N doesn’t either.   It’s impossible when you have someone else who can beckon your heart with a simple gaze.

Half across the castle, Taehyung enters the throne room.   It’s decorated with a red carpet, chandeliers, and a throne at the end that sits above all, looking down at the rest. It’s imposing as it is grand. But before he can come closer, the knights refuse him. Their partisan weapons block his way, a criss-cross that doesn’t give him an inch to move.   “Let me speak to the King.”   “The King is occupied,” one of them states plainly.   “Let me speak to him,” Taehyung raises his voice and steps closer.   The old man on the throne hears the ruckus. His ears perk and his attention is taken. His deep timbre bellows down the hall— “Let him through.”   Only then at his allowance is Taehyung able to walk down the carpet. His strides don’t halt until he’s at the bottom of the staircase.    The King doesn’t wear an expression, but Taehyung knows there’s quiet disdain underneath it. A reserved contempt that he tries to mask for appearance sakes.    He made the same face at his mother’s funeral.   “What have you come here for?”   Taehyung throws down the arrow in front of him, the arrow still stained with your blood.   The King’s brow quirks. “What is the meaning of this?”   “Someone who doesn’t know magic wouldn’t be able to see that this is striking silver. It’s material only used by the palace’s arrows.”   “It must’ve been stolen.”   “But I found them,” he quiets. “I found the person who fired the shot and I fed them a truth serum and they confessed to me.” Taehyung lifts his head and steps closer to the throne. “You did this, didn’t you?”   The deep timbre of Taehyung’s voice resounds through the hall. The scowl he holds carries a deeply rooted loathing he didn’t know he had within him. “You tried to kill your own son.”   “How dare you try to accuse the royal King!” His fist bangs against the armrest and it rings in Taehyung’s ears. His face is twisted in appalment, the shout that tears through his throat is spat out. “You would rather believe a servant than the King?!”   “Why do you lie to me?”   He is used to their scorn, their contempt and hatred. Taehyung knows. He has endured this treatment for a lifetime, since the moment he took his first breath. But when it comes to you…   When it comes to you, Taehyung can shut his eyes and still see the moment you took the arrow for him. The arrow inflicted by his own father. It’s been burnt to memory — your expression, your words, the blood that poured from the gaps of his fingertips. It’s been seared to mind.   He was the one who put you in harm’s way when he swore to himself he would never ever let that happen. He vowed that he wouldn't see you until he became strong enough.   So he stands his ground. Not for his own pride, dignity or his injustices.    But for you. A reason that is greater to Taehyung than all other reasons.   “You let my mother die and now you’re trying to kill me—”   “Silence! You dare stand there and accuse me.” The King abruptly rises to his feet, pointing down at him with a shaking hand. His face is reddened at these allegations, a reaction so tense it can only prove to be true. “You are nothing but an orphan boy! I don’t have a son like you! Guards!”   Three knights storm through the throne room. “Arrest him for treason!”   The King has commanded the castle at his will, marionette dolls without even needing to tug the strings. As easy as ringing a bell. Or calling a dog.    They have always had it easy. A life of luxury that knows no suffering. The deeper the blue shade of blood, the stronger the status. As if heroes are born instead of having their title earned.   “Why?”   The guards are three steps away, armours clanking, hands outstretched. But darkness sweeps from Taehyung’s shadow and consumes the room, bleeding throughout. He’s not sure where it comes from, doesn’t pay mind to recognize that it’s your dark magic lent to him, but it pours out of his skin, thick enough to choke on.   “Why?!” Taehyung shouts from the pit of his stomach, past his gritted teeth. He demands to know, he aches for answers. If all this pain is because of his dirtied birthright — the only thing he couldn’t control and perhaps the only reason he isn’t loved. “Why did you do this?!”   “Guards!” The King manages to call out in the midst of his wheeze and they finally get to Taehyung, hands snatching his arms, ripping them from their sockets. The darkness dissipates. “You dare use magic against the King?!”   “Is it because I threatened your favourite’s son’s position?! Is it because of Jungkook?!”   Taehyung thrashes against the guards. He was a mistake manifested, a reminder of the errors of the King’s ways. His existence taints the pristine reputation of the royal family. But why—   “Why did you do this to her?! Why did you get Anastasia involved?! She's innocent!”   “That girl will never be yours,” the man spits from his place by the throne, mocking his audacity to covet his brother’s fiancée. “And if you dare to use magic against me one more time, then I’ll make your wish come true. She will be killed next to you.”   His jaw clenches. Wrath seethes beneath his skin.   The guards yank at him. “Move!”   The grand doors slam shut.   //   Something is wrong.   You can feel it — you’re cold, chest aching, experiencing dizzy spells. But it’s not from the wound in your shoulder that’s already closing. You haven’t felt this way since you were young and you were bedridden without explanation. You can only hope it passes quickly like it did then.   But the maid notices you pressing against the left side of your chest.   “My lady?”   You look into the vanity mirror where the young girl stares at you worriedly. “Are you alright? Prince Jungkook already told us that if you weren’t feeling well, you don’t have to attend the ball.”   You wave her off. “It’s fine.”   She hesitates but then nods, swiftly brushing out your hair to pin half of it up. You’re dressed in a gray gown, a simple ensemble with white flowers decorated sporadically through your hair as if you sat beneath a blossom tree. You’re glad you don’t look sick on the outside.   You’re tired of being cooped up inside of your room all day. Laying in bed is only so much fun after two weeks in a row. Not to mention, tonight is important. Jungkook will be making the announcement of dissolving your engagement. It’s the whole reason a ball was set up in the first place. There’s no better time to do it than in public — that way no advisor or even the King will be able to stop him.    But most of all, you’re afraid if you don’t leave, you won’t be able to see him.   He hasn’t visited and it’s not like you can call for him with the current state of your status and his own. But you still need to talk to Taehyung.   You need to tell him the truth.   The moment you arrive at the ballroom, your eyes immediately start to sweep the surroundings for brown eyes, dark hair. Your smile is softer than your usual forced one. He has to be here.   “Lady Anastasia!” A viscountess greets you. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well. I heard about the awful incident.”   “Yes, well, I’m much better now.”   “It sounded so frightening!” Another says, “I wonder who could’ve done such a thing!”   You nod and before you can get completely swarmed by the elites feigning concern, you curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me…”   “Anastasia!” Luckily, a familiar girl comes through the crowd to save the day. Her eyes are bright and her smile is wide. Some mutter at how she dares to call you so intimately, but you pay no mind to them. Lucy looks like she wants to hug you, but for appearance sake, she merely takes your hand. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? I didn’t know if you were coming, so I was planning to visit you and—”   “I’m fine, Lucy. Thank you.”   The girl nods, and rescues you. You can tell it was intentional with the way she guides you out of the sea of people and you’re appreciative. You lean on her for support while looking around for Taehyung. You turn your head in each direction, eyes scrutinizing every person, but you can’t find him.   “Anastasia, I have something to tell you.” Once the two of you are in the corner of the room that allows for a private moment, Lucy shifts to you with anguish reflected in her eyes. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start, but I was denying it since the last thing I wanted was to hurt you. You’re my greatest friend and I love you more than anyone, so if you tell me to leave and never come back, I will in a heartbea—”   “Lucy.” You squeeze her hand. “Jungkook already told me everything.”   Her eyes are wide, brows lifted. You know.    She lowers her head in shame. “I’m sorry.”   The corner of your mouth pulls. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”   You expected this to happen. You have been waiting for it since the beginning. So it doesn’t break your heart like maybe it should. And maybe part of the reason is because of one person.   You frantically ask her what’s been plaguing you, “Lucy, have you seen Taehyung?”   “His Highness?” She shakes her head. “I haven’t.”   It’s odd. He’s always been there. Anywhere where you are. You could turn around and see him.    The mellifluous violins suddenly stop. Conversations simmer down and you hear a clearing of the voice in front of the room. Jungkook steps up the stairs in his princely attire and commands the attention of the crowd. “I have an important announcement to make.”   He looks at you and smiles, nodding his head. Jungkook’s lips part to speak.   All your efforts have been put into this one moment. A peaceful annulment of your engagement, the beginning spark of your freedom. After this, you’ll find Taehyung. You’ll find him and—   “I also have an important announcement.” The King rises from his throne, smiling at his son, and all turn towards him.   That moment’s been stolen away.   Jungkook’s smile falls. Lucy frowns. You step forward.   “I did not want to soil this good day, but now that everyone is gathered, it is only proper to announce that evil and treachery has once again been dispelled away from this empire.”   There’s a clamour. A ruckus of silver armour clanking against one another. Heads turn towards the back entrance where curtains have been drawn. And your breath hitches at the sight.   Taehyung. Finally, you see him, but rope wraps around his trembling wrists and he’s dragged in by two guards without regard for his well-being. The sea of people split and he’s tossed down in front of the throne. He winces upon impact, but no one helps. No one bats an eyelash.   Murmurs immediately spark throughout the room.   An advisor comes forward, reading from his scroll. “His Royal Highness, Taehyung, has been arrested on grounds of treason and attempted regicide committed against His Majesty.”   “Isn’t that the eldest son?” — “The bastard son.” — “Treason?” — “How could he do something like that? To his own father?”   You push a few aside, coming closer. “Taehyung.”    Jungkook comes down the steps, mouth drawing open. Lucy is frozen in her spot.   “There has been evidence found of his Royal Highness practicing the dark arts which has been banned in all of Ashea due to its dangerous and intrinsically evil nature.”   The malicious whispers swell, fear tangible in people’s eyes as those in front back away.   “His Highness has also dared to accuse the royal King of conspiracy. He endangered his Majesty’s life and attacked the guards of the palace, threatening the entire stability of Ashea.”    There are gasps. You shove someone aside to get past them.   “Therefore, as the punishment fits the crime, he will be sentenced to death immediately.”   No. No!   The King’s voice booms throughout the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins. “Let this be a reminder that justice is blind. That my own blood will not be spared of crimes committed against the empire. But let this also be a celebration.”    The King inhales a breath, his shadow looming over Taehyung, his expression full of contempt. His status is as powerful as the countless eyes narrowed in around him. “Today marks the end of tyranny. Today is the end of evil. Today is the beginning of a new era, full of prosperity led by the Crown Princess and the Crown Prince, the only son I have.”   Thunderous applause erupts. It’s deafening with the vigour of a hundred.   Taehyung’s condemnation has been made into a spectacle, a show for the empire, merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities. No one sews doubt. No one dares to think of it. Not when this is merely a bastard son without title, status or wealth. It is not worth believing anything aside from the royal monarch.   In just a few words from the King, Taehyung has been the empire’s villain.   It’s pandemonium. The back of Taehyung’s collar is grabbed and he’s brought up to his bruised knees. Jungkook shouts— “Wait!”. But the Prince is held back by two guards who apologize to him, not allowing another step forward, not allowing him to interfere. But you’re within reach.   You push people aside, fighting against the current of the crowd. You’re so close, you can see him. You can see him looking at you. “Taehyung!”   He smiles at you and your breath hitches in your throat, a painful lump swollen at the bottom.    Your chest aches enough that you nearly crumble to your knees.    You watch as his arms are restrained, face ripped away from your direction. You see a female attendant approaching with a golden tray balancing a porcelain bowl of emerald liquid. It’s poison. The same way his mother died. And they force it in his open mouth, pouring it down his throat.    He chokes on it, sputtering.   “Taehyung!”   The scream is torn out of your blood-curdling throat. Animosity curls hot and surges from the depths of your soul like a blazing inferno. It’s a hatred befitting of a villainess that has seized your entire being and turned the universe into shades of crimson until it’s all you can see.   “Stop it.”   It’s a choice.   You know now that it’s presented to you. A choice between goodness and Taehyung. Between self-preservation and Taehyung. Between a peaceful life and Taehyung.   But you’d choose him every time.   “Stop it.”   Your hands wrap around the sword handle of the guard trying to control the frenzied crowd. The metal whistles as it cuts through the air and he staggers back. You use the entire strength of your body to push past the guard. “Stop it!”   You swing manically until the attendants and servants shriek. Until the bowl slips and shatters on the red carpet, poison spilled like blood splattered. Until they’ve gotten away from him.   Heavy pants escape your lips and you’re faced with horrified expressions of countless. There is no hero to save Taehyung. There has never been a hero to save the villain.   The sword in your grip clangs to the ground. You lurch towards Taehyung and pull his collapsed body into your arms, crying out his name, clasping his cold cheek in your palm. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at you like he should, doesn’t speak your name carefully like you want him to.   “Why?!”    Anger oozes from you through the form of hot tears slipping from your eyes. You raise your pupils to the mighty King, teeth gritted, his own condemnations on your tongue. “His mother was poisoned by the Queen and no one thought to comfort him. He grew up alone. Fending for himself. And even now, his other father…And for what reason?!”    Darkness bleeds from you. It sweeps from your shadow, pours out of your skin and plunges the entire castle into a thick darkness within a blink of an eye. The dark magic weeps from your soul in the form of a violent wind that has whipped through your hair. The flames of the candles suffocating to death, blazing fires are snubbed to ash and the silver moonlight is brought to an eclipse.   “Being born isn’t a sin. Taehyung hasn’t hurt anyone!”    Your voice tearing from your throat echoes above the shrill screams of sheer terror, ear-splitting to the senses. There is chaos of women around you grabbing fistfuls of their ballgowns and running blindly, men aimlessly trying to escape and bumping into one another. An undignified stampede.   “Help me!” — “Mommy! Where are you?!” — “Someone save me!” — “Please! Let me out!”   The walls and ceilings of the palace begin to tremble, specks falling down like the snow of December. The chandeliers swing from their golden chains, crystals clanging together.    The King stands from his throne, shouting madly but no one hears or follows his command. Your parents are frightened, yet they still stand by and call out your name, only to no avail. The four walls around the room start to crack, splintering in tens of paths like a mirror colliding against the concrete. And the darkness becomes overwhelming. It consumes your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilled on oil. It wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely.   You realize this is the end.   You and Taehyung still became the villainess and the villain. You couldn’t escape that fate. You were stupid to think you could have any semblance of control. Everything was inevitable.   You hug Taehyung to your body as heart aching sobs wreck through your frame. No matter how hard you try, you can’t keep him warm. You can’t stop the cold from taking him away.   The little changes you made wasn’t enough to alter the final ending.   It was never enough. Nothing’s really changed.   The last traces of darkness embedded in your soul spills over. “Anastasia!” And somewhere in the cacophony, you hear Jungkook and Lucy scream your name.    It’s funny how even with this horrible ending, you don’t resent them whatsoever. If anything, it’s an irony that the two main protagonists are the only people who know your true nature and Taehyung’s. They’re the only pair that believes in you, that knows Taehyung isn’t a villain.   You hope they can be happy together.   You hold Taehyung in your arms and before you can be absorbed in darkness, the both of you glow. His skin and yours illuminates like stars on a night sky, burning a warm light. Your brows furrow, the last of your tears shedding down your cheeks and then your breath hitches as a shade of emerald wisps floats from Taehyung’s parted lips.   You recognize the colour — it’s the same as the poison.   ‘I once knew a woman, a kind but poor woman.’ You get it now. ‘She wanted to do anything she could to change the predetermined fate of her unborn child.’ You finally understand as the priestess’ voice rings inside your head like a death knell. ‘She did a ritual to search for a soul that would protect her son.’   The black magic is saving Taehyung. The poison is being drawn out of his body. But you’re the trade-off.    The darkness will devour you to save him.    You quickly hug Taehyung closer to you, embracing him against your body. The darkness is consuming your being, but you’re not afraid. You don’t feel scared whatsoever.    This is your purpose after all, the reason why your soul is here in this universe. This is where your thread of fate entangles with Taehyung. It’s your final act as his destined protector.    Darkness swallows you.

It’s an empty void of pitch black. An abyss of nothing.   There’s a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time.   Yet it feels a bit different from being dead. Or at least from what you can remember. It’s as if you’re somewhere between the boundary of life and death. Your consciousness is still sharp and in-tact instead of being hazy. And you feel very much like Y/N and Anastasia rather than just being.   Your suspicions that this isn’t death is confirmed when you can make out a figure in the distance. It’s a line of light tracing a body and as you come closer, you’re able to make out a woman.   She’s dressed in simple attire, a gray dress that has fabrics layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow, and there’s a charcoal shawl around her shoulders. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you.   “I’m sorry I put you through this.”   Her voice is soothing. It sounds all around you and awakens a memory of when you were seven, when you saw her at the garden, when she offered you her kindness. And now that you’ve seen her again, she looks so much like Taehyung. The yearning in your heart is painful.   “I just wanted to save my son.”   “I know.”   “But I didn’t realize that if you died, everything would repeat.” The corners of her mouth upturns into a grieving smile, her gaze saddened. “Taehyung would have an even stronger reason for revenge.”   Blood drains from your face and you can hear it above you — Taehyung’s haunting voice, the many future paths and possibilities that you had tried to prevent.   “You killed her!” — “She was the only person I ever loved!” — “All I wanted was to be with her!”   You’ve failed. Even more than the original story. Your existence made things worse for him. It brought the empire to ash by his hand.   “I...I’m sorry.” You look at her, voice heavy in your throat. “I was given the chance to know everything, to live through it all, but I still made the wrong choices in the end. All of them. It never amounted to anything. I lost to fate.”   “It’s not your fault, Y/N.” Taehyung’s mother closes the distance with three steps and her hand lifts to tenderly cup your cheek. The pad of her thumb wipes away your teardrop. “I am thankful you were the one who was there for him.”   She vanishes before you before another syllable can be uttered from your lips. The particles of her body dissipate in thin air as if her appearance was just an imprinted memory embedded in the magic. You grasp the space in front of you and realize that it’s empty, that you’re alone.   “No,” you scream. “I-If I could do it again, I’d redo it all.”   The last remnants of magic in your soul tingles at your fingertips. It’s wielded in your complete control. And a thought strikes you. Your soul has manipulated space and time before. In this abyss...you can restart it. You can begin it all over again. You can make up for your mistakes.   You would start on that night. That night he came to your balcony. ‘I was going to take that secret to the grave, but I can’t stand by and watch you like this. I love you. Be with me.’   You would answer him with a yes. You would take his hands—   But no. It wouldn’t be enough. You need to keep turning back time.   Before the hunt and the feast. The debutante ball, the night of the Solar Festival eight years ago. Before the funeral and the moment you came to him. You need to save Taehyung’s mom.   “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.” — “Your son?” — “Mom?”   If you returned to those days, you would’ve been quiet. You would’ve complied. You would make it so he never had to see you, so you two would never have to meet.   You wouldn’t allow yourself to exist.   As the memories plague you and time twists backwards, you realize that all those coincidences were never coincidences. The first meeting. The funeral. The Solar Festival. The reunion. It was fate.   But you can sever the thread. You can erase yourself from the story.   “Anastasia! Wait!”   Your wrist is taken and you’re suddenly yanked back into a firm chest before time can be moved to your will. A gasp pulls from your lungs and your eyes lift to meet brown ones. He found you.   “Don’t do it.” Taehyung’s grabbed a hold of you. He’s materialized into this limbo, but his skin is translucent, barely held together by his own magic. He gazes at you and begs, “Please.”   “H-How are you here?”   “I would never let you go so easily.”    It must run in the family — mother and son alike fighting against the laws of nature to alter fate through sheer will.    Taehyung’s found you through his magic, traveled realms and universes to follow you into this state of uncertainty between life and death. You don’t know if you feel happy or sad, or even laugh at the fact that no matter what you did, Taehyung still became a powerful magician. But you know he’s weakened, that he can’t be here for long. He is still on the side of life after all. There’s only so much time left before he’ll be forced away.    He’ll return. And his fate might be worse than it was before.   “I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I don’t want you to die.”   Taehyung pulls you into him. His arms wrap around your frame and he tightly embraces you. Your face presses into his shoulder and he sighs against the strands of your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t change anything. Don’t go back. I don’t want to get rid of these memories.”   “But your mom.”   “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “It’s okay. I still don’t want you to change anything about you or me. What’s done is done. Just come back with me. You saved me so let me save you.”   “No one gets to decide what happens to us, other than us.” He promises, “I won’t let it happen.”   The urge to trust Taehyung runs deeper than your despair and doubts. So you inhale a deep breath and nod. No matter what happens, you’ll be together.    Taehyung smiles against you and before he slips from the realm of nothingness. The darkness around the pair of you disappears. You grab onto him tightly, bracing yourself and once you open your eyes, you find yourself returned to the ballroom, the dark magic no longer present.    It’s vanished from your soul. It doesn’t linger in the room. People are no longer screaming.    Instead, they pant, pressed up against the farthest side of the room, still shaking from fear. Fragments of the disaster still dwell by the debris, the broken chandeliers, and the cracked walls.   The King is disheveled and anger is aflame in his eyes. He inhales a heaving breath and then points to the both of you, bellowing, “Arrest them!”   But no one moves.   Taehyung keeps you in his arms and faces his father. “All I ever wanted was to be loved. And I finally found the person who can do so unequivocally. I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”   Your eyes meet your parents who make no efforts to stop you. They stand still, expressions impassive yet warm at the edges. Then your eyes stray to Lucy and Jungkook, apologetic.   Before another word can be spoken, Taehyung disappears with you.   It happens in a mere blink. Like the Summer breeze whisking away dandelion seeds to the far off meadow, a iridescent soap bubble in the azure sky popping. The both of you are gone.   Just like that.    You vanish in thin air with only traces of Taehyung’s magic left behind.   Instantly, there’s a ruckus — a clamour from the people. The King’s face crumples and reddens, and he shakes with an unadulterated fury. His voice booms throughout the room as he commands the guards. “Find them!”   But they never do.   And for that, Jungkook is relieved.

The King falls ill. 

It happens shortly after the incident that soils the reputation of the entire empire and spreads across the lands. A tale of a forbidden love between villains — the Forgotten Prince and the Crown Prince’s fiancée. A story that warns children of dark magic and straying off their destined path. And it’s whispered from traders and merchants to the elite of nearby kingdoms.    For the rest of the months that the King is alive, he tries to search for his first son.   “Your Majesty.” A knight bows.   “What did you find?”   There’s a held silence. “The trail has gone cold.”   The King’s hand curls into a tight fist and he turns, snatching the golden gauntlet off the table to hurl it at the knight who flinches. The gauntlet slams into the floor, skidding off in the room and as the King huffs dryly and moves away, another knight arrives. He immediately bows.   “On with it!” he barks.   “The traces of magic have vanished. The Magicians of the Tower cannot trace it. They’re nowhere in sight, Your Majesty.”   The old man staggers on his feet. He presses his fingers against his pounding temples and before another shout can surge through his lungs and throat, he tilts and collapses onto the ground.    The golden crown clatters off his head.   “Your Majesty!”   It’s a twisted irony.    All of Taehyung’s life, he’s been neglected and ignored. Pushed to the corners of the castle — unwanted, unheard, unloved. But when the King is on his deathbed, the healers unable to cure him of his maddened anger that’s strained his health, Taehyung is all he looks for.   “Father.” Jungkook is at his bedside, kneeling with his brows tightly knitted.   The King turns his head and a dry wheeze chokes out of him. With his last breath, he asks, “Whe...re...is….T...ae...h...y..u..ng?”   The question is left unanswered.    He dies with his eyes still open, cold hand slipping out of his son’s, arm dropping over the edge.    Jungkook’s breath hitches in his nose, his eyes stinging painfully. But he shuts his lids tight and musters strength. In the next moment, he stands and turns to face the grieving advisors behind him. His voice is firm. Unwavering. “Announce the King’s death and prepare for an edict.”   The men exchange expressions. “What will the edict be, Your Majesty?”   “Anyone who sees my brother and harms him shall be executed under the crown.”   When Jungkook reigns, he undos all the indictments made by his father. It’s a surprise to all, an act difficult to understand to Dukes and commoners alike, but Jungkook clears Taehyung’s name alongside Lucienne de Liza Helena who becomes Queen in the following Spring.    Peace is once again brought to the empire of Ashea in the coming years.   Slowly but surely, the tales of the Prince’s Fiancée and the Forgotten Prince metamorphosizes from the tragic story of villains to children folktales of sacrifice and star-crossed lovers, an ancient mystery never solved.   There are those who wonder if they perished together in a meadow. And those who believe that the pair are perhaps still alive and wandering the lands hand in hand together.

[Epilogue]   “Cheyenne! Is that eggs?”   The young maid looks down at her tray. “Ummm….”    “What did I say? Her Majesty will get sick if she smells eggs!” The older girl quickly takes it away from her and puts it down. “Do you want to get into trouble?”   “I forgot, I swear!”   “You should be lucky that I caught you in time, and that the Queen is so forgiving. But if His Majesty saw…” She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have any of it. Not when Her Majesty is in such a fragile state.”   She nods and the two of them quickly head back to the kitchen. But surprisingly, the head maid tells them there’s no need to deliver breakfast to Her Majesty’s chambers. They instead follow orders to hang up the sheets in the west courtyard. But on their way, the younger stops when her friend beckons her over. The conversation is only a minute before she’s catching up to the older girl.   “Slacking already?”   The younger maid pouts. “No. Kaylein was just telling me about the strange people.”   “What?”   “Did you not hear? There were two strange people who came earlier into the castle. Apparently they’re healers from a distant land.” Her eyes light up as she connects the dots. “That must be why Her Majesty isn’t having her breakfast!”   “Well thank goodness.” Her eyes dart around and she lowers her voice. “Ever since it was announced she was with child, everyone’s been worried about her health. Even the King doesn’t look like he’s slept well in months.”   The younger nods enthusiastically. “But this means Her Majesty will be safe, right?”   The older girl smiles. “Let’s hope so.”   ...   Half across the castle, Jungkook marches down the corridor in determined strides and eyes set firmly to the doors at the end. He’s already dismissed his annoyingly persistent advisors and every castle worker knows better than to interrupt him when he’s beelining straight ahead. No one disturbs him as they rightfully shouldn’t, and he gets to the chambers, opening the door only slightly to slip inside.   Inside, there are two cloaked figures, forms draped in complete black.   Or at least until they turn and Jungkook sees brown eyes with a meaningful expression and another with a mischievous grin who scoffs, “About time, Your Royal Majesty. Or should I say, late as always?”   Jungkook didn’t miss that sarcastic tone. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.   “When did you get here?”   “Ten minutes ago. You should be lucky we entered properly. I almost told Taehyung to just teleport us inside to save us the walk.”   “Well I’m glad you didn’t.” The corner of Jungkook’s mouth curls. “Or else my knights might’ve thought you were intruders and cut off your heads.”   “Psh. Uh-huh. If they can even catch us.”   “Shush, you two,” Taehyung commands and you glare at him playfully.   The man turns back to the Queen who’s upright in her bed and his hands hover over her. Her eyes are shut and she glows for a moment before the light dissipates. When it’s done, she sighs softly in relief and colour seems to return to her features.   “Thank you,” she murmurs and opens her eyes.   “How is she?” Jungkook rushes to her side.   Lucy smiles, clasping her hand on top of his. “I’m fine, Jungkook.”   “She should be better now,” Taehyung confirms. “Her energy was off balance and her mana was disordered. But she shouldn’t feel so tired anymore. It looks like the future heir is a magical user.”   “How lucky.” You press your nose into the crowd.   Jungkook ignores you. “So she should be okay now?”   “For the time being. Of course, I’m not a midwife so she should follow their instructions and rest.”   “See?” Lucy stands up while holding onto her swollen stomach and her husband rushes to help her. But she waves him off and hoists herself onto her feet. Lucy’s become a lot firmer since you remembered, her kindness almost matronly now. It might be from the experience she’s gained or how she’s going to be a mother soon. But you weren’t wrong when you thought she’d make a beloved Queen all those years ago. “You heard him. There’s no need to fret, Jungkook.”   “I know, I know. I just can’t help it.” He sighs and looks at his older brother. “You should stay.”   “Jungkook—”   “We don’t know when we’ll need you again. All those healers are useless compared to you. It’s better if you’re here. The Magician’s Tower would be happy to have your magical talents and it’s only right if Anna is here too.”   “We already talked about this.”   You add in, “We have this conversation every time.”   Jungkook gives the two of you a look. “Then maybe it’s time that you start considering it.”   “He’s right.” Lucy comes and takes your hands within her’s, holding them gently. “Stay with us, Anastasia. I miss you and I want to talk to you often.” Before you can jump in, she beats you to the punch, “and not just through letters. The palace will always welcome you. The people will open their eyes with time.”   The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is this a command, Your Majesty?”   She sighs softly with a smile and lets you go. “You know it isn’t.”   Lucy’s gotten older — all of you have. You’ve grown into your frames, matured, and are no longer children unaware and afraid. When you come here with Taehyung and see them, it makes you feel like you haven’t made such bad choices all along. That perhaps, things weren’t as bad as you once thought.   “Stay with us,” Jungkook insists, coming to hold onto Lucy to support her.   You look at Taehyung and exchange expressions. Your answer will always be the same.    “We can’t. You know we have a new home now.” You come to Taehyung’s side and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. The pair of you know it’s time. You can’t stay for long. “You can always come visit us. I promise the forest isn’t that bad. Taehyung’s already chased off the wild beasts.”   “I did.” He looks down and grins at you.   “At least think about it,” Jungkook sighs. He looks a bit tired and worn, but in spite of the heavy duties placed upon him as King, he’s coping well. Better than expected.   They might thank you and Taehyung each time you visit, but you have more than enough reasons to be grateful to the two of them. It’s because of Jungkook and Lucy that the Devereux house is still standing. You’ve seen them from afar — your parents look happy in their retirement, and Joan and Edith are still very much employed and gossiping about the latest scandals together.   It’s because of them that the guilt and burdens have lifted from you.   But even if you are indebted equally to each other, you can’t grant his wish.   “You know I’ve never liked castle life, Jungkook.” You loll your head to the side. “Our daughter has a bad habit of collecting ladybugs too, so I don’t think she’d suit it either.” You grin when Jungkook glares, recalling the first meeting back when you were children that you’ll never let go. “I just wonder who she gets her troublemaking personality from.”   Taehyung’s brow cocks.“Obviously from you.”    You look up at your husband and your smile softens. “Your daughter almost set my hair on fire yesterday using nothing but her hands.”   “She’ll make a talented magician,” he declares proudly.   You scoff and look at the two monarchs who are best fitted for their positions. “We shouldn’t leave her for long in case she floods the rooms again. But we’ll come when the boy’s born.”   The pair of them turn to one another and your mouth draws open. “Guess I ruined the surprise! Sorry! But it’s a boy! Congratulations again.”    You quickly laugh much to Lucy’s amusement and Jungkook’s surprise. Taehyung shakes his head as if he knew he should’ve just kept it to himself.    Before another word can be said, the pair of you disappear again. Right into thin air.   //   The wooden box of mementos are full of objects and trinkets, little memories made across the lands before you settled in the perfect forest bordering the meadow. But above it all is a neatly folded pink handkerchief that’s frayed at the hem from age.    You still can’t believe he kept it for so long. But you look at it with fondness.   It was the first right decision you’ve ever made.   “Taehyung.”   “Hmmm?”   “Would you believe me if I told you I came from another world?”   He’s quiet for a moment. “I would.” Before you can ask why, he says, “You were the only one who sat next to a crying kid underneath a tree without even knowing them.”   You laugh and he smiles, leaning in to plant a soft kiss to your lips as the midnight oil burns.   The cottage is quiet with your child fast asleep in the next room. The forest is tranquil too and as thick as the darkness is outside, it’s nothing but comforting.   “Do you ever want to go back to that world?” Taehyung asks after a moment.   You look at him, smile tender. “Why would I when my purpose is to be with you right here?”   This is all you wanted in two entire lifetimes — a long and fruitful life, full of peace and happiness.   And it’s only the beginning.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung x y/n #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #LET'S GOOOOOOO #thank you for everyone who read every word of this series #I hope you enjoyed it!!!!!

[themangolorian]

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Request for @the1maddest1hatter my absolute love who has been so completely and totally patient with me and understanding and i’m so glad i was able to finally finish this and post it for you finally, and i hope it’s everything you were hoping for and more. thank you so much for not giving up on me - this was so fun to write and i’m glad i finally got it to somewhere i’m happy w/ it. i love you! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Warnings: some slight violence.

You weren’t often in the habit of getting yourself involved in the business of others. But when you’d seen imperial guards chasing the cloaked and armored figure across the square, you figured you had no choice.

The fleeing culprit looked more than capable of taking care of himself, but the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So, interrupting the elaborate dance you’d been performing in the middle of the market, you twirled and flipped expertly until you were between the guards and whoever it was they’d been chasing. The distraction was enough. Still dancing and trying to suppress a smile, you saw the end of the figure’s cape disappearing around a corner.

The guards cursed violently your way but shouldered their way roughly past you in pursuit of the disappearing figure. What was more, your ruse had drawn the attention of the crowd of shoppers in the square, most of whom assuredly also had no love for the Empire. Before long, the cylinder you’d put in the square was full of credits.

But then-

Someone gripped your elbow painfully from behind, someone else your shoulder. Striking out to escape, you accidentally turned over the cylinder, spilling credits everywhere.

Loud shouts, haranguing from the crowd, assaulted the imperial guards who had returned empty-handed, the figure no doubt having escaped.

“What kind of dancer do you think I am?” You lilted sarcastically with more confidence than you deserved considering you were being detained.

“Keep your conniving trap shut, scum.” The trooper at your back rammed his baton into your lower back and you could hardly suppress the yelp of pain as you crumpled.

The protests from the crowd were easily deterred when the guards drew their high powered blasters and before you knew what was happening, you were being dragged away in durasteel binders. You cursed under your breath at the imperial guard who scooped up your hard-earned, now easily lost credits.

That was when the Madalorian had swooped in and, helped by the element of surprise, along with what was clearly immense skill, had taken out the guards - freeing you.

“What are you, a trooper gone good?” You’d joked, gesturing at his armor, though you knew it bore little resemblance to a trooper’s. He’d only grunted, focusing instead on freeing you from the binders.

But inevitably the guards had been almost instantly replaced with another unit who’d wasted no time in opening fire. The Mandalorian had dragged you along by the binders you were still trapped in. He managed to dart out of the way of every blaster shot aimed your way, hauling you with him as he went.

By the time you found yourself ensconced in the safety of his ship and as he blasted away from the planet you’d briefly called your home, your heart was beating too fast and you were laughing too hard, out of both panic and glee at the escapade, to question the new reality you found yourself in: on the ship of a stranger whose face you’d yet to see.

But that had been long ago enough by now that it was but a distant if happy memory. The Mandalorian, a man you’d thought so strange at first, had offered to drop you off on any planet of your choosing. And you’d truly meant to leave, but event after event had transpired, all revolving around the Empire’s chase for the child in the Mandalorian’s care, someone you’d also found strange but had now come to care for excessively.

You’d kept putting off leaving and then one day it had just stopped coming up. Though neither of you spoke of it, it now seemed a given that you were a staple in their strange little family.

“This is a good place to set up camp for the night,” the Mandalorian was saying, pulling you out of your reverie as you stared at the suns setting distantly in the sky past the horizon of the sea spread out beneath the cliff just beyond where you stood.

You turned absently and smiled at his visor. You had yet to see his face, even now, but by now he knew just how much you loved the seas, as few of them as you’d gotten to see in your lifetime. The choice of campsite was intentional, providing you with a breathtaking view of this particular planet’s suns-set.

Your heart stiffened painfully as you smiled sweetly his way. The man you’d gotten to know had been nothing like you’d thought he would be when you first met him, as intimidating as he’d seemed. He was gentle and generous to a fault, kinder than most souls you’d ever known.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat, breaking you from your stupor once more, but when he spoke, he too sounded emotional. “I’ll build the tent. Do you want to see how many rations we have left?”

You’s meant to answer but several things happened in succession. Din flinched then unholstered his blaster faster than you could blink. For one staggering moment of horror, you thought he was aiming it at you. But then the cold bite of metal was sharp at your throat, a strong arm coming around your middle firmly before you could react to any of it. A strangled cry left Din’s helmet.

“Where’s the target?” A raspy voice hissed at your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to struggle, despite the idiocy of that act. Your hands shot to the man’s wrist around your neck and you threw your body back in the hopes of escape. But he was like a brick wall and did not budge, did not even react to your attempt as if you were little more than a bug beneath his shoe. It took you a long moment to process the fact that you were in danger of losing your life.

“Let her go,” Din spoke in a cold, threatening voice, “and I’ll let you live.” The blaster in his grip did not waver.

Your blood ran cold when your captor only chuckled. “Give me the location of the child, and I promise her death will be painless.” He flicked the sharp blade at your throat and you gasped involuntarily at the pain, felt a warm trickle of blood running down your neck.

You saw Din’s grip tighten around his blaster, knew he was calculating the odds of shooting your captor without harming you. But you knew Din too well now, knew what conclusion he would reach. But if you were a lost cause, you were free to do whatever it took to ensure that Din was not. To ensure both his safety and the safety of the child.

Thoughts of the craggy, rocky surface at the bottom of the cliff just behind you nearly made you shudder; your fear of heights was almost blinding, but you fought through the distress that would have paralyzed your entire body with fear. Din and the child were, after all, more than worth it.

The standoff continued as if the world had come to a standstill though the breeze continued to blow past you, the chirping of animals continued in the jungle you’d emerged from and, distantly, the breaking of waves on the rocks below did not stop.

Just as you meant to make your move, your captor was yanking your arm back and up until- a sickly crunch sounded and you screamed in pain, trying to muffle your own hurt so Din would not be goaded, but you saw only black for several seconds and your knees almost crumpled beneath you. The slight sliver of brainpower you had left in the moment told you to propel yourself backwards. Your captor, off balance from the movement of breaking your arm, staggered back with you, now just at the edge of the cliff.

“No,” Din shouted, his voice strangled, his blaster faltering now. If he shot, he ran the risk of hitting you. And the knife was still clutched at your throat.

Your captor hissed and tightened his grip around your throat in retaliation, and you struggled to breathe for a few moments. “Move one more muscle and I’ll throw you over the ledge,” he barked at you before loosening his grip. The knife had cut into your neck again, drawing more blood.

Your eyes never left Din’s visor. You could not, of course, see his eyes behind it, but you could will your thoughts and feelings into your own gaze, directed as it was at him. In the brief second you had left, you tried to express with your eyes alone everything you’d never had the courage to tell him before.

Then- you pretended to crumple in your captor’s arms, ignoring the way the knife cut at you again in your new position. He cursed, trying to straighten you. You used the moment in which he was caught off guard to propel him backwards with all the strength you had left in your body. At the same moment, you heard the sound of a blaster.

There had been the smallest part of your brain that had been sure you might be able to catapult him off the edge without going with him. But that had been a fool’s dream.

You lost your breath as you tumbled backwards off the cliff’s edge, unable even to scream.

Your captor had already lost his grip and distantly you heard his scream behind you as he fell. Though you were falling fast to the rocky depths below, you felt suspended in the air, suspended in time, trying to cherish only the last sight you’d had of Din as he’d surged forward hoping to catch you before you fell. You closed your eyes before you hit the icy surface of the unforgiving waters below.

******

Din had seen your intent the moment it had entered your eyes and had immediately been filled with nothing but pure dread. He ran through the possibilities as quickly as he could, but it hadn’t been fast enough. He’d shot the blaster only a second too late. And though the shot had found its mark in the heart of your captor, you’d gone over the edge anyway.

Another strangled, inhuman cry left Din’s lips as he leapt forward towards the cliff’s edge. He reached the peak just as your body disappeared beneath the surface below. This time he took no time to think. He dropped his blaster and dived gracefully off the cliff’s edge, trying to use his momentum to fall into the same area of choppy water where you’d disappeared, blessedly far enough away from the rocks that would have killed you instantly.

The icy temperature of the water barely registered beyond Din’s suit as he flipped his helm’s light on. Din tried not to panic when he saw nothing but empty, rough waters. Cursing within his helmet, he propelled himself further downwards, searching desperately for the sight of you. He began to breathe unevenly as water filled his helmet and knew he would soon have to surface. He could not, he knew, surface without you and expect you to live.

That was when he saw a flash of the bright skirt you almost always wore. He could have laughed with relief that you dressed so flashily. Then he was propelling himself through the water. His heart began thundering again when he saw your face blank, your eyes closed, unconscious.

His arms came around your chest and then he was battling the rough water upwards, breaking the surface and pulling you along with him. The water immediately drained from his helmet, allowing him to breathe. The weight of his armor and the strain of holding you aloft made the journey back to the rocky surface difficult, but adrenaline at the thought of the mere possibility of losing you drove Din faster.

He pulled you along with him up onto a rock above the breaking waves. He ripped his gloves off, one hand fluttering down to check your pulse, the other at your nose to see if you were breathing. When he realized you were not, he did not hesitate-

Din wrenched off his helmet and dropped it carelessly on the rock beside him. He fought the feelings of panic wrenching through him as he leaned down, pinched your nose between his fingers and put his lips to yours. He’d dreamed so many times of your lips on his, but never like this. He cursed himself distantly for never acting on his desires before, for letting his fear dictate his feelings for you, which were clear here at the possible end of it all.

Then he was pumping his clenched hands down on the center of your chest before putting his lips back to yours, trying to breathe you back to life.

“Come on,” he was saying roughly, “come on.”

***

Suddenly, you began to cough and heave, water trickling out of your mouth; your eyes fluttered open briefly. They closed again but not before you’d seen the stranger bringing you back to life. A beautiful, chiseled face. A man with plush lips, dark stubble and a mustache. Deep soulful brown eyes.

You struggled to breathe in, struggled to hack the remaining water from your lungs as you half sat up. The stranger held his arm sturdily at your back.

“The Mandalorian,” you managed to speak through racking coughs, “is he alright? Where is he?” In your panic, you had not stopped to think who the stranger might be or how you’d arrived in his care.

The man did not respond, only clapped you on the back several times, trying to help you cough the water out.

When your eyes fluttered open again briefly, they landed on the soaking cape, hanging over the stranger’s shoulder, seemed to finally see the beskar shoulder piece. You gasped, choking briefly on the water still trapped in your throat.

“What-“ But then he was fitting the helmet swiftly back over his head. But not before you had seen the anguish in his gaze.

Immediately, you berated yourself inwardly. You should have kept your eyes closed. You should have- but you could not have known.

“Din,” you tried, but you silenced yourself, knowing he must be kicking himself.

Quiet and stoic as the day you’d met him, he lifted you into his arms, letting you hitch yours around his neck. Despite what had happened, you cherished being in his arms, curling into his chest, your head pounding from the fall, from your near death.

You were weaker than you’d realized and lost consciousness in Din’s arms again barely registering that he’d activated his jetpack.

When you awoke, you were cozy and warm and wrapped up in a swathe of blankets, your wet clothes gone. You blinked at the ship’s hull above you. You were back on the Razor Crest.

“Grogu,” you managed through your drowsiness.

“He’s alright,” Din’s voice came from the alcove just to the side of his bed, which you were now laying in.

You breathed a sigh of relief, but your breath hitched when you remembered what had occurred, what you’d seen, what Din had done.

“Din,” you breathed against your will. Likely he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, as remorseful as he no doubt was. His creed for your life? What a paltry exchange.

The thought brought tears to your eyes. As well as the thought that Din could only hate you now. How could he not?

But then he was at your side, his gloved hands hovering over you. “Are you alright?” Concern so deeply evident in his voice that it only made you want to cry harder.

“I-“ you managed, your voice choked. You grasped his hand since he held it there just at your eye level, and he sunk down to one knee, tightening his grip around your own. “Din, your creed.”

For just a single moment, he stiffened, but then took a shaking breath and relaxed. His other hand came up to stroke your forehead, then your cheek. “Don’t think about it. Just rest.” His voice was more gravelly than usual.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat, distantly noting the bandages he must have applied to the wounds you’d sustained at the hands of your captor. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch, worried if you kept them open, he’d leave your side. But his gloved hand continued its steady stroking of your cheek.

Tears threatened to spill from behind your closed eyes anyway. At the tenderness of it all. Of Din’s ability to forgive the unforgivable. Of what your presence in his life had caused him to forsake.

“You should have let me die,” you croaked before you could stop yourself. It was far from the right thing to say, but you meant it.

His breath hitched under his helm, and his fingers froze at your jaw, his other hand clenching yours tightly. “Don’t say that,” he muttered gruffly, his voice choked. 

Din was more emotional than you’d ever heard him, but you were sure it was because of the betrayal of his creed; you could not fathom that his grief might have anything to do with the fact that you’d almost died.

You spoke through the painful tightness in your throat. “I’m not worth it- You shouldn’t have- I’m sorry I caused this-“

You stopped talking when he released your hand to cup your whole face between both his hands. You opened your teary eyes in surprise but, of course, saw only your weepy reflection in his visor.

Din’s gloved thumb rubbed just beneath your lips. “I…I couldn’t- let you die.” The words seemed a struggle and he let them out haltingly - not as if he didn’t want to say them, but as if he didn’t know how. “I…” You heard him swallow beneath the helmet as your eyes darted all around his visor, wishing you could see his current expression, wishing you’d never seen his beautiful face at all. But then- “I care…about you…more than I can-“ He cut himself off, as if fearing he’d said too much.

You merely stared, hardly able to believe your ears. He couldn’t mean… Could he feel the same… The thought was too unbelievable to truly consider.

His grip on your face loosened. “I…” He sounded suddenly uncertain. “I understand you don’t- feel…the same. I just…”

But then you were gripping his wrist before he could withdraw his touch. You heard a sharp intake of breath beneath the helmet and realized your fingers had met the skin of his wrist. Your eyes fluttered sideways, drinking in the sight of his perfect skin, scars and all, just there beneath your fingers. When you brushed his wrist with your thumb, he let out a sigh and his hand tightened around your face. Your eyes darted to his helm then back and then you were leaning sideways and pressing your lips to his wrist.

You felt his pulse jump beneath your lips as you pressed another kiss to the inside of his wrist. When you looked back up at him, his helmet was tilted as he seemingly stared down at you.

“If-“ You licked your parched lips, swallowed with difficulty. “If I close my eyes, will you- Can I-…” You’d never found yourself, chatty as you tended to be, at such a loss for words. “Can I kiss you?” You managed. He froze and you opened your lips to take it back, terrified you’d said the worst thing you could have in the moment. But when he shifted to move, you lost your breath, wondering-

He went to take off his helmet without waiting for you to close your eyes.

“Wait,” you gasped, shutting your eyes tightly, just as you heard the whoosh of air that must have meant he’d acquiesced.

“You don’t have to-…”

And it was your turn to stiffen. The modulator had always been a given, and you’d never really thought twice about what his voice might have sounded like without the digital disruption.

It was husky and crackly, soothingly deep.

You found your breathing going shallow again when his hand, now ungloved, was back at your cheek.

“My creed,” he started, his voice rumbling somewhere deep within your chest, affecting you deeply. “My creed dictates that I- protect….my clan.”

Your breath hitched again, impossibly so.

“The promises I made when I received the helmet,” you heard a heavy thunk as he apparently put the item in question down. “There is more to my creed than just the helmet. A Mandalorian who cannot keep…his clan,” Those two words again; your stomach flipped of its own accord each time he said them, at the thought of what he might be implying. “A Mandalorian who cannot keep his clan safe…is not worthy of the helm he would wear.”

You startled when his bare finger ran across your lips soothingly.

“Grogu…” he began again, slowly, as if weighing the words. “Has seen my face. Do you know why?”

“He’s your son,” you breathed against his fingers, reveling in the way your lips brushed his fingers as you spoke.

“Yes,” his voice cracked on the syllable, but only just, and when he spoke again, he’d recovered. “My family. My clan.”

You swallowed hard again through the lump in your throat, pursing your lips to speak, to deny what you thought he might next say, not because you didn’t want it to be true, but rather because it was the only thing you wanted to be true and were too afraid that it was not to even entertain the thought. But his finger hovered just over your lips once more, silencing your attempted protest.

“You didn’t make me break my creed,” he promised. “I’ve been wanting to- I’ve wanted to see your face…for so long.”

You made a noise of protest now. “You see my face all the time.” Indignant when he got what you didn’t every single day.

“Without the helmet. Not through a visor.” His voice was heavy again, emotional.

It was not until then that you realized what he’d said. He’d wanted to see your face too. He-

“You-“

“You can open your eyes,” his voice was soothing, encouraging even.

“Are- are you sure?” You managed finally.

He let out a low chuckle that set your heart to racing faster than it did even when you were dancing nonstop in city squares. “I’m sure.” It was a promise.

You opened your eyes and your sigh was involuntary. You drank in the sight of every sharp angle and soft line of his face hungrily. His eyes were tender, but as he leaned down, there was a kind of hunger in them too.

This time, when your lips met, it was a different kind of life you felt him breathe into you. 

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #my stories #request #the1maddest1hatter #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando #mandalorian #reader

[llvstrouslux]

I Spy You- Part 1

Genshin Spy AU

3…

The loud music and the sound of people cheering from the rooftop can be heard all the way to your hotel room. As the darkness surrounds you in your little room, the sliver of light from the closed curtain allows you to see a man sitting in front of you. His smile is cheerful and full of life, you can see the excitement in his eyes.

2…

You can hear the people upstairs screaming even louder. The man leans towards you. You give him a soft smile, he chuckles unknowingly of what will happen once it's midnight.

1…

“HAPPY NEW YEARS!”

You can hear the people screaming on the top of their lungs, the music becoming even louder. This is the perfect chance. As the man leans in towards you expecting a New Years kiss from his lover, he is met with a sharp pain in his chest. Your smile is innocent as ever as he stares in shock at you. You stabbed him in the heart.

“Y-you…why?” His voice was filled with sorrow…aww it looks like he’s gonna cry. Perfect.

You lean in close to him, you whisper in his ear making sure he hears you.

“Because I can.” You smile, while you look back at him, his face is full of disgust. Like as if this man never did anything heinous in his life.

“Oh don’t give me that look old man, you knew karma was gonna bite you.” You narrow your eyes at him.

You noticed his breath was beginning to slow down and how his eyes keep closing and he forces himself to keep awake. He was a no good man, if anything he was a disease to anyone who he is threatened by. Such a disease needs to be exterminated, and you were the right one for the job.

“Honestly I can’t believe how easy it was to make you fall for me.” You look at him to see if you got a reaction from him. But all he gives you is a blank stare. His breathing is becoming ragged.

“When we first met you basically begged me to stay by your side, were you really that lonely and pathetic that some random girl flirts with you and you suddenly want to marry her!” You narrow your eyes at him, still no reaction from him. It’s obvious he’s slowly dying. You feel somewhat cruel being so mean to a dying man. But then you remember. He did worse. Way more worse than you will ever do in your lifetime.

You sigh, still hearing the loud music and the laughing of the people upstairs. You sit up from the couch you sat on, and turn to the man who is now laying down on the couch lifeless.

“Damn, and I thought you were a fighter.” You were surprised he let go that easily to say the least. From the few months you were with him trying to make him head over heels for you, you thought it would take more than a knife to the heart to kill him.

You stay frozen, as if the man in front of you was gonna come back from the dead and take him back with you to the underworld. But as you stay still looking at the dead body you snap out of your imagination.

“Well…mission done I guess.” You walk away from the couch and to the large bed in the hotel room. Your tiny purse which the now dead man got for you the day before was on the bed. You rummage through your purse to find your phone.

As you finally find it you quickly go call a certain number.

You hear the cell phone ringing and a click.

“Hello this is Violet speaking.” You talk in a whisper as if anyone would hear you from all the commotion that is happening outside.

“Oh agent Violet, are you already done with your mission?” It was a soft, sweet voice on the other line. It was refreshing hearing it from all the other ruckus you hear around you.

“Yes I am, to be honest it was quite easy. And I thought this was a top tier mission.” You hear a giggle from the other voice in the line, such a soft voice belongs to your hard working co-worker, Ganyu. You begin to pace around your room talking to Ganyu. While on the phone you have established that your mission was over and for the clean up crew to get the body.

“Well I guess that was all I hope I can take a break from all the missions.” You sigh, now starting to feel exhausted.

“Well I hope you can take a break (Y/N), I know how hard you’ve been working.” You can tell she’s feeling sorry for you.

“Oh and (Y/N).” She started talking in a whisper.

“Happy new year!” She says proudly you can tell she is smiling.

You pause, silence now takes over.

“….thank you Ganyu, happy New Years to you too.” You say your goodbyes to Ganyu and hang up the call. You're always too busy to celebrate such things like news years. You smile to yourself, surprised that a little thing like someone saying happy New Years can make you smile.

You start packing up your things and head to the reception of the hotel. As you head out of the hotel you go back to the dumpster.

You take out your phone and throw it onto the ground with all the force you can. And to make sure it’s really destroyed you start stomping on it. After putting all your might into destroying a nearly $1,000 phone, you use your shoe to sweep off all the pieces to random places around the dumpster. You would never want what ever happened to that man to lead back to you. Even though your agency was always made sure there was no evidence and no lead to anyone.

You could never be too careful anyways.

[Authors note: this is my first story I ever posted on here, so yeah I’ll be making more parts😅]

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #ganyu x reader #ganyu

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 7 Hound Dog - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

The biggest thanks to @tebdundy for the amazing editing, I was literally jumping out of my seat, it was amazing. Thank you for everyone for pushing me to get this chapter out! Next chapter will be one step further. Enjoy!

WARNING: 18 + NSFW including masturbation, fantasies and angst

You’d been on the Bebop for two weeks. You had only bagged a couple of minor bounties, making much less of a contribution than you had hoped for, but a contribution nonetheless. The crew had gotten used to you. All except one.

And he wasn’t planning on getting used to you anytime soon.

Spike lay on the couch in the living room, meditating on the cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Music played softly through his headset, a sultry, meandering jazz melody. He had the ship to himself for the day. Jet and (y/n) were running some errands, Faye had gone shopping, and Ed and Ein were doing their own thing, probably leaving a trail of chaos and destruction.

(Y/n) and Faye had tried to convince Ed and Ein to stay on the Bebop, but Jet came to their defense. He argued that they needed to get out now and then, or else they would go crazy. Spike didn’t have the heart to tell Jet it was far too late for that. Spike stayed behind to “watch the ship”. Privacy and solitude were rare on the Bebop, so he jumped at the opportunity for a relaxing day alone.

He had been spending most of his time in his room since you had been living on the ship, so he was happy to spend some time in the common areas. Once you got back, he thought, it’s back to my room I go.

It was nice to have a change in scenery. He was getting tired of taking his meals and smoke breaks in parts of the ship that you didn’t inhabit. He knew it was childish, but Spike didn't want to interact with you. He had decided to avoid you, counting down the days until you left the ship for good.

Spike tried to justify why he didn’t want to be around you, but in reality, he didn’t know. He kept thinking back to the night of the fire. You were only supposed to be a short fling, a one-night stand and nothing more. It seemed like you both understood that and were happy with that arrangement. You had both been egging it on. He didn’t care about you hunting the bounty on Faye, that was hers to worry about.

With something that’s only supposed to last for a night, there’s no point in getting attached. There’s barely any room to get attached anyway. But now, you were near him, a whole ship filled with lots of literal room to get attached. He had to push you away before anything could start.

Even after all these years trying to be completely numb to everything, especially human emotion, it pained Spike to hurt you. It got even worse when he would catch you staring at him. It was the same look you had when you lost your ship. Confused, but full of longing. He never acknowledged you. He just turned his head the other way.

After he closed the door to his room, he could live in his thoughts, feel his emotions. If he thought about you around others, he’d imagine they could peek into his head and see how much you were on his mind. The memory he spent the most time on was the first day you were on the Bebop.

You came down the stairs wearing his shirt and old shorts, asking about lunch. A few buttons were undone, revealing your collarbones and just a tantalizing sliver of your chest. The shorts showed off your alluring legs, which looked supple and soft to the touch. Your hair was messy, sticking out in all directions, and you were rubbing your eyes sleepily. Spike was so grateful that he was alone in the living room, that he got this memory all to himself. You were truly a sight, both elegant and adorable at the same time.

He craved to see you like that again. You were always attractive, but this one specific memory was one he loved. He imagined you sleeping next to him looking like that, with your arms wrapped around his torso and lost in pleasant dreams.

Stop it.

Opening his eyes, Spike stared at the ceiling. Feelings that were so hated, so feared, were coming back. He had succeeded at repressing them for a while after his departure from the Red Dragon Syndicate. Freedom came at a cost. Spike learned that people would do anything to save themselves, even if it meant cutting and running from the person that “mattered” most to them. It was a memory he tried to forget, but a lesson to be carried for a lifetime.

That was it. Why he pushed you away. He had no trust in you. You would be gone soon anyway, so there was no reason to put effort into getting close.

Spike put out his cigarette and grabbed his radio. He trudged up the stairs to his room, wishing he could avoid the inevitable emo self-therapy session. He was so used to bottling up his emotions that thinking about his dilemmas out in the open felt like a crime. If he didn’t get it out now, it would bother the hell out of him until he blew up at some poor, unsuspecting victim.

Letting the door close behind him, Spike plopped his radio on his desk. Shrugging off his jacket, he laid back on his bed to think.

He had been hurt before, so many times. It happened to him so often in the past that another heartbreak felt overdue. Spike knew that but kept thinking that it would be different with you.

You were already different from the others. You kept to yourself, didn’t argue with Jet or Faye. You were a model crew member. You wished everyone, including Spike, good morning and good night. You followed the rules and did as you were told. After a hunt, you still brought home food to everyone, even when you had lost the bounty. You were kind and caring and great to be around and beautiful...

Spike sighed in frustration. It was getting harder to deny how much he wanted you. He groaned into his pillow. Sitting up, he realized that just laying there wasn’t going to help anything.

I need relief, he thought. Even if it was only for a second.

Reluctantly, Spike indulged in fantasies about you. It was a nice pastime in moments of stress, though he realized it was going to be hard to get rid of this habit after you left.

Spike saved his fantasies for himself, like a treat. He wanted to savor every sweet, delicious, moment all to himself. Oh god, he was desperate for more. Everything about you, your voice, your body, even the way you walked, turned him on.

You seem stressed, Spike could hear you say. I can help with that, you whispered.

Spike knew what he needed to do to ease this tension. He glanced at the clock. You and the crew wouldn’t be back for another hour. Plenty of time to do what he needed to do.

What could’ve happened if your ship hadn’t caught fire? Spike thought.

The memories of that night kept coming back. Your hands trailing down Spike’s chest were constantly on his mind. The pressure of your fingertips, the hazy look in your eyes, your flushed cheeks, and your wet, intoxicating lips begging for his... Too much to bear while laying completely still.

A haze settled into Spike’s head, blurring his thoughts. He needed more.

What could happen if no one was on the Bebop when you came down wearing his clothes?

Spike would pick you up, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. Marching to his room, he would throw you on the bed, slamming the door behind him. Prying your legs apart, he would want to taste every drop from your aching, wet pussy. Your sweet, soft moans would bounce off the walls, his name dribbling out of your mouth like honey. He could only imagine how you would beg for him to pound into you, your tight walls clenching over his rock-hard cock. Gripping onto your hips, he would spank your ass, listening to you cry out for him to let you cum.

Cheeks hot from his lustful thoughts, Spike lifted his hips to wiggle down his pants to his ankles. He palmed himself through his underwear, imagining that it was your hands instead. He could already feel his cock throbbing, begging to be played with.

He tugged his underwear down, letting his cock spring free. Spitting into his hand, he lathered his saliva all over himself, from the base to the head. Pumping himself, Spike dove deeper into his imagination. He would love to see you riding him, the thought of your pussy moving up and down on his cock and the sight of your tits bouncing sent ripples through Spike.

Huffing softly, he winced and groaned, his hand never tiring to find his orgasm. God, if you were here, the number of positions and rounds he could go. If given the chance, Spike would fuck you until the end of time. He desperately wanted to touch you. He wanted to feel the softness of your tits, to feel your nipples harden at his touch. Or his fingers rubbing your sensitive clit, your pussy desperate to cum on his cock.

“I-I just wanna..” Spike moaned softly, letting his daydreaming slip into reality. He imagined his pleasure as your own, the thought of your head bobbing up and down on his dick brought him closer to cumming. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of his cock, precum already spilling out.

He imagined the feeling of your tongue flattening to lick and swirl around him, licking from the base to the tip and taking all of him to the back of your throat. He would watch you take him, while your hazy eyes gazed up at him. With his fingers tangled in your hair, he would guide your head to the speed and pressure he wanted.

You would look so pretty with his cum spilling out of your mouth. Watching as you tried to catch your breath, he wouldn’t be able to resist tasting himself on you. God, that was hot to think about. He surprised himself with thoughts like that. Spike hadn’t felt like this in a long time and certainly had never thought like this before. You awoke new fantasies and kinks inside him, and he wanted to see what else you could do.

He imagined running his tongue over your sensitive clit, pinning your shaking legs to the bed. Flipping over so you could ride his face, smothering him in your wet pussy. Running his hands down your sides feeling the heat of your body against his.

Picking up the pace, Spike sucked his breath in through his teeth, warmth slowly building inside of him. All he could think of was falling right over the edge, losing himself in his pleasure.

He was getting so close, the height of his bliss sky high.

“Oh yes, (y/n)...” Spike moaned. Fuck holding all of it in, he thought. Every single room on this ship is going to hear and know who was making him feel good. He winced, unable to stop loudly repeating your name over and over.

He was so close. Every scene, fantasy, and memory came crashing down, flashing behind his eyes all at once. A ball of ecstasy rolled down Spike’s spine, through his stomach, and into his cock. He wanted you to feel this with him, for this feeling to last forever. You both reaching orgasm, the crescendo of intensity reaching its peak.

“G-god, (y/n) I-I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

“What the fuck?”

Spike had been so focused on his fantasy, he hadn’t heard the door opening. He didn’t notice you standing in the doorway, shocked to see him playing with himself while moaning your name. Your jaw was slack and your cheeks were bright red, embarrassed, and trying to make sense of the scene in front of you. Stunned, you incredulously repeated yourself.

“What the fuck?!”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Spike fumbled with his belt, desperately trying to pull his pants back up. “(Y/N), I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were-“

When he looked back up, you had disappeared from his doorway. The heavy door to your room slammed shut, the clank echoing through the hallway.

This was definitely not a daydream.

#fanfiction #faye valentine #90s anime #cowboy bebop #jet black #spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel #see ya space cowboy #radio free mars

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #star wars #angst #probably should edit this #obi-wan needs a hug #and some therapy too #post order 66 #revenge of the sith #prequel trilogy #star wars prequels #one shot

[amwritingmeta]

15x20: Oh fuck it’s actually really good. Dammit Dabb.

So I slept. And waking up the first thought in my head was... but there is this open ending with them all in Heaven and Cas not a stated angel even, just a helper to Jack...

And then I felt the need to watch the episode again. Because of how I’ve said, perhaps not for always, but often enough, that this show of ours was never about Destiel, was never about Dean and Cas’ love story, and beginning to hope that the ending would be focused on them... it wasn’t fair. Not really. And I remembered reading somewhere that a big chunk of the internet accepted Cas’ death as final, and seeing posts to that effect and thinking LUDICROUS and NO WAY and knowing all along that it could all be denial on my part.

And oh boy was it. 

I know there were plenty of us who kept that hope alive, and I’m thankful for you, but I made myself believe that he’d be back because I couldn’t imagine he’d die like that, or that the love story would end unreciprocated like that. And I guess, in a way, it still did, BUT... in another way, it really didn’t. 

It’s not enough. Subtext is not the representation I’ve always hoped for, but it wasn’t just erased either. And we got as much as we could get, because obviously Dean being textually bi and us getting an I Love You out of him was just never going to get green lit by the studio.

I’ve always believed the writers would’ve gone there if allowed. I think Cas’ love declaration underlines that they would’ve. But they weren’t given the opportunity, and I’ll lament it until the end of time, but it is what is.

What we did get, though, is quite beautiful. No, listen, IT IS.

There’s the emotional substitute Miracle Dog, getting so much LOVE from Dean, which I know most of us all went the big awwww at, no matter what we thought of the rest of the ep. 

There’s the healthy way Dean is dealing with the loss of Cas, and of Jack, knowing that pain will never go away, and accepting it. Accepting it because he’s feeling worthy of moving on without them. He’s no longer attaching his self-image to the perceived failure of protecting others. He’s letting them go, believing that they may meet somewhere further down the road.

But looking at the finale for what it is, rather than for what I wanted it to be (cardinal sin omfg my emotions really ran away with me and I wish I could’ve been more level headed and come on here with this positivity and calm) (but) (no dice) (anyway) it’s just beautiful how Cas is in the background, not waiting, not really, because he’s busy preparing Heaven and fixing his home in ways that will actually mean peace AND freedom when the brothers are done.

Something Cas would not have been able to do if he’d not fallen in love with Dean. If he’d not gone through his journey. I mean. Those implications are highly satisfying. 

Last night all I could think, ALL I could think, was that it’s not ENOUGH.

But it has to be. Because it’s not dismissive. It’s not erasing anything. It’s the same subtextual thread we’ve always been pulling on, and it’s there for us to continue to pull on, and that’s a goddamn gift.

I wish that 15x18 hadn’t been quite so in our face “kill your gays” buuuuuuuut that’s if you’re surface watching, yeah? Cas isn’t dead, for starters, and everyone was, obviously, brought back when Jack took Chuck’s power, so even if it wasn’t visually established that Stevie and Charlie are back and thriving, it’s narrative fact that they must be. What it is, more than anything else, is what I read it as to begin with: a love letter to the love story, where we get the subtext of couples loosing each other so strongly stated that there’s no way we’re not meant to understand that Dean losing Cas is within that exact same context.

We didn’t get textual Destiel, but we did get the love story textually confirmed through Cas’ declaration, and we did get it subtextually confirmed, not hinted, subtextually confirmed through all those other couples losing each other, that the love story EXISTS there, on that level, for us. 

Oh guys I feel so sad that I was so SAD yesterday. Why didn’t I just take a breath?? Guys, guys, guys, there’s such BEAUTY.

And Jensen.

Jensen in how he played that death scene. Jensen who kept it so even, so gentle, so... brotherly. These brothers have been through hell. Dean ending this way... it’s a travesty, but it also means he meant to go to the place where he doesn’t have to hope to see Cas again--because he will see Cas again.

And why didn’t Cas come right back to Dean once he was out of the Empty, why did he go off with Jack to fix Heaven?

I would say that it’s another underlining of Cas’ independence, and this his entire focus isn’t Dean, but, of course, I would assume the thought of Dean is ever present, and the rearranging of Heaven is as much about making sure Dean gets that freedom, as well as that peace, once he’s done as it is about Cas simply not being able to stand for souls being trapped in their memories anymore. Cas knows how to fix Heaven. I mean... that’s a fucking gorgeous and highly satisfying ending to his individual arc. And he’s with Jack!

Like. I mean. That implication that Cas is fixing Heaven with Dean at the back of his mind is quite head-exploding to me. And yeah, sure, that’s how I’m interpreting it, but all the ingredients for that delicious pie is left right there for us in this ending.

What about the legacy issue? What about found family? What about Dean finding happiness in death? What about Dean opening himself up to love?

Yeah, it’s not without issues, depending on how we interpret these things. Do I believe Dabb set out to write an offensive, horrifying, deeply problematic ending to this show and pretty much hand it over to the side of this fandom that has always been the... well, shall we say, less stabile? 

No. I kept saying yesterday that I just didn’t understand what happened, I didn’t understand why our writers room would choose THIS ending, I couldn’t fit the pieces together. That was on me, not on them. Get me?

Interpretation is deeply subjective. It’s personal. And it’s tainted. Always tainted, guys, and there’s no way around that. It’s not perfect and it’s not absolute and all the writers can hope for is that their core message will get across strongly enough to avoid misunderstanding.

I misunderstood the intention yesterday because my interpretation was tainted by what I wanted and felt I needed from this narrative.

For years I’ve refused to put expectation on the story because I know what that does to one’s perspective. It’s futile to engage with hopes and wishes on a deeper level because the show will never deliver exactly what you want. It’s delivered stuff in the ballpark enough times for me to dance alongside it, but to place so much expectation on this finale was just... oh man. Bad. 

I take full responsibility. :)

What about the legacy issue?

The legacy is that you live the best life you can and you end up in happiness, with the people you care about. You LIVE. Nothing about Dean’s death is prescribing dying to get what you want. We have it established that Dean is not suicidal in any way, that he’s mentally stabile and that he’s carrying on without Cas, even though he thinks about him. Not living would make the sacrifice pointless.

What about found family?

Found family was meant to be a part of this ending, but due to COVID (I’m assuming along with everyone) we didn’t get a collection of oldies and goodies at the Roadhouse. We got a father figure to signal the father/son thread that this finale was pulling on, a thread always tied so tightly around Dean and Sam and underlined for us in this episode. The codependency finally broken because they were ready to let each other go. Not forever, because that would’ve been tragic, but for now.

What about Dean finding happiness in death?

The implications of Dean having to die to be happy are quite dark, I know that, but he was never going to hang it up. Not entirely, right? He would never be able to rest on Earth. And he’s always afraid. So instead of spending a lifetime alone, growing into a crusty Bobby (who lost the love of his life too early too), Dean got to go to the place where his happiness actually is. He got to go where Cas is.

I mean, that’s my interpretation here, but rather than set both brothers up with a love life and families and all that, we got a Dean who’s lost the love of his life and is dealing with that loss as best as he can, but who is also ready to go when it’s his time. He wasn’t expecting it to be right then, that day, and he says as much, but he’s ready. As long as Sam is ready to let him go. And Sam isn’t, but he does, and Sam deals with that loss, and finds his way into life and living and loving and happiness in a way that Dean simply wouldn’t have been able to. Because he lost the love of his life.

And Dean waited for Sam to show because of course he would. Sam was the only thing missing: Cas, and Jack, and everyone else Dean has ever loved and cared about, were already in Heaven. For the show to go on, Sam had to return too.

Hope.

That hopeful ending that I, and so many, many of us, have always wanted. Sure, everyone’s DEAD, which, you know, bummer, but they are at peace, they are together, and they are done sacrificing, bleeding and dying. Isn’t that remarkable? Isn’t that the greatest reward? Love and happiness and togetherness. Forever!

And for this fandom, we got what we hoped we’d get, right? An ending open enough for us to keep returning to this narrative over and over and over.

Let me formally apologise for the despair of yesterday. For all of you still feeling it, I send you so much love. Know I understand, I honestly do, but I hope, perhaps, some of these words will offer a sliver of comfort.

So, this is first impression based on second watch of 15x20 positivity. Let me know if anything hits right or hits wrong and let’s talk. <3

#spn meta #spn 15x20 #dammit dabb #positivity #spn finale positivity #spn finale #destiel #dean #sam #cas #jack