#burn the witch packs

[inkskinned]

for the longest time my family used to host one of the biggest haunted houses on my block: elaborate, themed amateur haunts that pearled out along our lawn for one-night-only. spinning circus wheel-of-terrors and walkthrough alien crash-landings and spiders that arched over our driveway, leaking venom onto your feet.

we didn't have a lot of money; and honestly i don't know how we afforded what we did have. there were not going to be pneumatics or projectors or any supply over 20 dollars - and even 20 was a stretch. we were lucky, and we lived in a town that had a "swap shed", where people would drop off any banged-up-but-usable items that they wanted to get rid of. the whole year, my family would pick over someone else's discarded fans and lights and weird decorations, asking each other - what do you think? for halloween?

we would strip the motors out of rusted fans and spraypaint vases and saw broom handles in half and apply a very thick coat of cardboard and duct tape to everything. for our pirate year, i made the mistake of individually drawing woodgrain onto each strip of cardboard that made up the ship. i then gently painted and distressed the "boards" so they'd each have lichen and cracks and unusual patterns. i hid eyes in the knots and shaped skulls. you couldn't see any of it in the dark, even under our "spotlight" (someone's target-branded workshop flashlight).

i have a lot of very strange skills as a result. i know how to make a flying ghost appear both physically and in the mirror. i know how to make a witch's brew that stirs itself. i know how to burn and cut and paint until there is an iron throne you can sit on, or an alien brushing your ankles, or a hearse trundling along. i can't say we ever made it beyond our local newspapers, but we tried so hard that the town would regularly shut down our street.

i can't put any of these skills on a resume, and i haven't been able to put them to use for a while. i live in an apartment, there's no lawn for me to decorate. for years i've wanted to do an alice in wonderland theme, and have been collecting ideas like coins in a fountain. at other houses, i am transfixed by 12 foot skeletons and paper mache spooky lanterns; easily wooed by the knowledge of how much time people put in.

someone asked me once - so what was the point? and why didn't you guys charge anything to show up?

in truth, we probably needed the money. for years there, we were a 1-meal-a-day kind of a family. i was being polite earlier up in this essay: we furnished both our house and our halloweens using things left a recycling center. we live in new england and still didn't turn on the heat until the end of november, no matter how low the temperature.

every year we would collect donations for unicef and other charities. on an average year, we would collect enough to pay for our food for weeks. every year, without fail: we donated every penny.

this endeavor took months to plan and design and execute. we had to organize any volunteers and check safety and hope-for-the-best. it took at least 24 hours to set up, a week to take down. the motors and fans and lights all had to be packed tight. the cardboard would scatter, pangea in the rain and sleet. i remember picking up a plank from that pirate ship, the paint blown clear off, all my hard work completely erased. a new kind of driftwood.

if this was a poem, and not a memory, i could wrap this up prettily. i could say that these skills landed me a cool job in the haunting industry or that it taught me the value of friendship and responsibility. but i actually think it's something better, something very pretty: there wasn't ever a moral to it.

the night was a long one. yes, there were assholes, people who broke stuff. but mostly it was just kids like us in cardboard costumes, dressed as an incredibly niche kind of truck. good parents who were friendly and laughing. teenagers who slunk in at late hours, wide-eyed and secretly delighted; who asked us can i help next year? like, do y'all take volunteers, or whatever? every year more people came, and told their friends, and offered to pay. and every year we said maybe next year and meant absolutely never.

we did it because it was enough to love something, and to make that love visible. we did it because there is very rarely an excuse to have fun. i think maybe especially, for me - we did it because every year, there was one first "customer" somewhere around 3-4PM, while we were still putting on the final touches. the sun would still be up, and we were frazzled and always-running-late, and these kids saw our vision unfinished in the bright light of day.

something about their parents murmuring say thank you and telling my mom this setup is so sweet while this little kid would grin up at us, dazzled by our artistic mediocrity. the fall air and the chill and their coat-over-a-panda-princess-costume. that first phrase of the night awkwardly managed over a pair of overly-large vampire teeth: a beautiful and excited trick or treat!

#wholesome #happy halloween #writeblr #just something to maybe warm ur heart in these times #my parents also usually let me take nov 1st off #this is the first year in like 20 years im not taking it off bc it became like a family holiday #i regret not taking it off but alas. capitalism.

[elucubrare]

What are your biggest turn-offs when reading/watching historical fiction or retellings of myths?

this is really complicated - i can put it in two boxes, both of which are packed very full.

disconnection from the material reality of the past

when characters display a very specifically modern mindset (about social issues especially, but other stuff too)

(I also get bothered by some kinds of modern language - I don't mind it when, idk, an author uses "sensible" with the modern connotation of "practical" and not the 18th century "emotional" or "empathetic", but "yeah" or "okay," or even, as i found out when someone used it in medieval fantasy, "holy shit" will get on my nerves.)

there are modern things where (made up example!) a character who's supposed to be a cook will talk about making caprese salad for a fancy restaurant in December, and someone snarking on the book will say "yeah, right, they should know better than to make something that depends on a fresh summer vegetable!" and even with greenhouses, that's pretty fair. and that's even more extreme in the past. it's 1650 in Verona, it's December, you cannot obtain fresh tomatoes. i don't think this means that people in the past were, necessarily, more emotionally or spiritually in tune with the cycle of the year, or the labor it took to get clothes, or furniture, or any other material item, and of course wealth can insulate people from some of that difficulty, but it does mean that the seasons had more direct impact on people's lives. It's possible to, for example, buy clothes ready-made, but for anything fancy, it's more likely that it'll be made to fit if it's new, or altered extensively and painstakingly if it's not. that means that tearing or staining a fancy dress isn't just an issue of looking bad - you can't just replace it, and you probably won't throw it out - you figure out how to reuse it. those concerns of access to material goods are just a lot closer to the surface of the world than they often are now.

my objections to modern attitudes about the world are not that people in the past 100% accepted the views of their contemporaries - there were always people who didn't, and it makes sense that a protagonist would be one of them. but people wouldn't phrase those objections in the same way that modern people would - say your main character doesn't want a woman accused of being a witch burned. "God's power is such that the Devil cannot give this woman the ability to sour milk" is most likely going to be more persuasive to the crowd than "witches aren't real." and sometimes that's rough - it's not super fun to read about a Roman with Roman attitudes about provincial wars, or slavery in the city, but I put something down because a Roman character said (in internal dialogue) that he was disgusted to see that a man had been tortured because "Romans simply didn't do that." Historical Romans did do that, routinely - a slave could not testify in a law court unless they had been tortured. Even with distasteful things like that, I'd much rather it just be glossed over than to have them say the "correct" modern thing. It just makes it feel too much like the theme park version of the culture.

Both of these are because of specific things I come to historical fiction for - I want that sense of alienation, the gulf of experience. I hate that most historical fiction (and fantasy set in semi-recognizable periods) characters don't really care about Honor, except as a joke, because I love when characters organize their lives around arcane rules and systems that cause tiny things to escalate into blood feud. I just think they're neat! I like it when people's worldviews are shaped by their lack of scientific certainty about what causes crops to fail! If I wanted to read about people who thought and acted like me, and had lives that were mostly similar to mine, only cooler, I'd just read contemporary fiction.

#my thoughts on...

[alphabetboyluvr]

PALLADIUM - MYG

title credit: palladium- greyson chance

pairing: dilf!yoongi x reader // friends to lovers, slowburn, eventual smut

synopsis:

min yoongi is urgent.  in the way he bites his nails down to the bed, and the way his sore fingers type out desperate sentences just minutes before deadlines, he is urgent. how he prepares jaehyun’s day bag before grandma comes by, and how he double checks everything is packed, he is urgent.  the requests for you to watch over jaehyun each and every deadline day are, always, predictably, urgent. but the way min yoongi falls in love with you is slow. gradual. tepid. until, like everything with min yoongi, it becomes urgent.  

wordcount: 3.2K

note from holly: this was a prompt from a winner of one of my kofi quizzes! was supposed to be a drabble but now we are looking at a lil three parter. no smut in this part, just setting up our dynamics <3 yoongi is a boy dad! idc! argue with the wall!!!!

PART TWO // PART THREE

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent," Yoongi pleads across the bakery counter. Nails bitten down to the bed, he's got bags underneath his eyes. Hasn't been sleeping well these days. Hasn't really been sleeping at all.

"I told you last time—"

"I know, I know," he sighs, pushing off of the countertop and pacing a few steps away, raking a stressed palm through his long, dark hair. Dishevelled, he hasn't had it cut in a while. You'll never tell him, but you think it looks better this way. "Look, it's the last time. I promise. I just really fucked it this time."

With a raised brow, you fold your arms over your chest. The apron beneath you bunches a little awkwardly, but you've never cared much for composure around Yoongi. Have simply known him too long and seen him through too many clumsy stages of life to be bothered. 

Tipping your head back, you exhale a sharp breath from the very depths of your lungs. 

"You are so lucky Jaehyun is an angel baby," you eventually say, shaking your head as you reluctantly agree. "What time do you need me?"

"Deadline is at midnight," Yoongi says, "So whenever you can get to mine, really. Mum has him till seven, but then she's got Bitch'n'Stitch—"

"Hey," you scold. "My mum goes to that knitting group, too."

"I'm not calling her a bitch—but I've heard their conversations," Yoongi reminds you. He swears they don't actually do any knitting (as if they haven't handmade half of Jaehyun's closet). Thinks they spend the entire time gossiping. And while yes, they do do a lot of gossiping, they can multitask. Unlike him, apparently. "But fine. She has her knitting group at seven."

Yoongi will never simply call it a knitting group, if he can help it. 

Bitch'n'Stitch is his go-to, but he's also partial to Stitching Hour. 

Last week, you'd just gone on a rant about how it's inappropriate to insinuate that all women of a certain age from your small town are witches—"Women used to get burned at the stake, Yoongi. Burned!"—so he knows better than to say it out loud today, even if it makes him laugh whenever he thinks about them knitting on broomsticks.

"I'll probably be outta here at just gone six," you tell him. 

It's the late shift, so you're responsible for closing and cleaning up, but after two years of part-time work alongside your studies, you're a dab hand. Can action off every item on the to-do list in record time, and to a standard even your boss can't achieve. 

You're wasted on a small town like this, but someone's gotta do it. 

"That's fine," Yoongi nods. "I just need to straighten this essay out and get my citations done. You can go as soon as I'm finished—and hey, you can order takeout. I'll pay."

Knowing Yoongi, he's probably surviving on instant noodles, and spending all of his money on Red Bull and Jaehyun's meticulously planned diet. 

Jaehyun's been off formula for about two months, now, and Yoongi is terrified of feeding him the wrong thing. By the looks of his slightly skinnier-than-usual frame, he's the one in need of a good meal.

And so, as you're doing your final tasks of the day, you don't bin the breads that need to be chucked. Instead, you bag them up. All of them. The pastries, too. Will just have to hope Yoongi has freezer space.

By the time you make it home, you've only got ten minutes to spare for a quick shower before you need to rush to Yoongi's. You'll be a little after seven, but it's fine. You've resigned yourself to staying at Yoongi's until midnight, now. 

It's how it usually goes. 

He'll work up until his deadline, rewriting and revising paragraphs that are perfectly fine and need no alterations. His own worst critic, you know that he really doesn't need to stress himself out like this.

Still, he does. You think he'll always be this way—at least, he was in high school, and he remains to be this way, even in university. Too much of a habit has been formed. It's ingrained in the ridges of his brain. Pink and permanent—just like the pout on his lips as he opens his apartment door for you later that evening.

Forearm tucked under Jaehyun's pudgy thighs, Yoongi cradles his son into his side, as a look of relief relaxes onto his face. It's a stark reminder of why Yoongi stresses himself out so much. 

You can afford to make mistakes. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.

Yoongi doesn't have that luxury anymore. Hasn't done for a while, now. Won't ever get it again—or at least, not for another seventeen years.

"Hey," he whispers, then casts his eyes down to Jaehyun's sleepy head. Nestling into Yoongi's shoulder, Jaehyun's dark hair now has a little length to it. Much like his own, Yoongi is refusing to cut it. Another thing he's scared of getting wrong. 

The subtle nod Yoongi gestures towards Jaehyun is a request for you to be quiet. 

You're familiar with his paternal habits by now; the behaviours he exhibits only when he's wearing his invisible 'Dad' hat.

He tucks back against the door, letting you walk on through and into his apartment.

Shoes off by the door, Yoongi locks up as you shake off your jacket, and hook it on the empty peg in the middle of the rack.

Small and a little dark, Yoongi hates his home. Is strapped for cash, so turned the open plan kitchen and sitting room into a studio-type set-up. Has his bed where a sofa should be, and manages to cram everything somewhere. His desk, his small keyboard, his clothing rail that he really needs to reorganise. A bunch of his things are in storage. 

Jaehyun's room is what once was Yoongi's. It's got the most natural light, thanks to the window placement, not that it matters at this time of night. The curtains are drawn, playmat full of yellows and oranges scattered across the floor. Beside it, is Yoongi's laptop. The screensaver is running, and it's pretty obvious he'd been playing with the little toy octopus sprawled across the keyboard instead, when you had arrived.

"Bit late for nap time?" You question quietly as you pop your phone on the charging pad Yoongi keeps on the dresser.

Nodding, Yoongi gently rests his son down in his crib. These past couple of days, everything has been a little out of sync. He feels guilty—like he's failing—but the pressures he's been putting on himself are just getting far too great. He's doing the best he can, but it always feels like it's not enough.

But Jaehyun is loved, and sheltered, and provided for. Yoongi is doing all he can. He just still isn't sure he knows how to be a dad.

Which is silly, because as you watch him stroke across the dark hair that sits flat to Jaehyun's scalp, quietly monitoring his condition, you think that Yoongi was made for this. Is far more paternal than you are maternal.

Truth be told, you don't like kids all that much.

Your idea of a fun evening doesn't typically involve hanging out with an infant, and yet you'll do it for Yoongi. Of course, you will. Have known him for too long and have been through too much with him to not help him.

Plus, you really do adore Jaehyun. Sweet as can be when he sleeps, he really does look just like Yoongi at that age—or so you gather from the baby pictures you've seen a dozen times over at his parents' place. It's easier to count which features they don't share. Saves ever needing to do a paternity test, not that Yoongi would do one anyway.

Jaehyun is his kid. A little bit of DNA wouldn't change this fact, not in his eyes.

It worries you. Not because you think Yoongi isn't his father—again, they're too alike to not be related—but in case his mother decides she wants to play an active role in Jaehyun's life. You fear that the 1% of doubt could come true and tear any legal right away from Yoongi. You're not really sure how the courts would work it all out, but you doubt they'd side with him. 

Yoongi was never meant to be a father. Not now, at least. The outcome of a one-night-stand, Jaehyun's biological mother didn't realise she was pregnant until it was too late. Had no real choice in the matter. Was also nearing the end of her tenure in law school. A kid was not—and remains to not be—a part of her plan. 

You know the documents were signed. Legal rights, shit like that. Know that she must have an understanding of the law far greater than Yoongi. Just hope she hasn't done anything that will fuck him over in the future.

Still, it's not a topic of conversation Yoongi likes indulging in, and so you don't push, no matter how much you'd like to know the details. 

"Let him sleep," Yoongi eventually sighs, before sinking down to lie on the rug. "Better he rests while I'm working—and plus, he slept through till five-thirty this morning."

"Till sunrise?" You chirp, a little surprised but conscious of keeping your voice down. 

Yoongi nods, face rubbing against the carpet. "He's basically a teenager."

Rolling your eyes, you reach down for his wrist to drag him to his feet. He's got an essay to finish. 

"Shut up," you smile. "You've barely stopped being a teenager."

Sometimes, it makes you a little sad to think that Yoongi is missing out on his early twenties—but then you glance across to Jaehyun and know that he's not missing anything. Just experiencing different things. That's all. 

"Don't remind me," he grunts, lamely getting to his feet, letting you pull him down the hallway as you swipe the baby monitor that lives next to the charging pad. You'll come back for your phone later. 

"C'mon, gotta finish your essay. Can't be a DILF unless you get this degree."

"Untrue."

"You'll just be a D without a good job," you tell him. "DILF's are always suited up."

"That's simply not true," he doubles down. "I've been told I'm a DILF at least, like, six times. Maybe more."

Definitely more. If he knew the way girls on campus spoke about him? God, his head would be so big he wouldn't be able to walk through doors.

But for now, you shoo him back through Jaehyun's bedroom door and to his sitting room-come-bedroom. The apartment isn't large. A baby monitor isn't needed, yet one is set up by Yoongi's bed, regardless. 

And so, as Yoongi knuckles down with his work, you flop onto his bed, and take prime babysitting position—though you're pretty sure you'd get fired if you ever got under anyone else's sheets on the job.

But it's late, and you've worked a long shift. You're only gonna rest your eyes for a moment. A second. A fraction of one, even. Just to hydrate them a little. Replenish your—

You're out like a light.

The curse of Min Yoongi's bedsheets. You really should have known better. It happens every damn time. You know this. He knows this. 

Yet when he eventually wakes you, neither of you mention it.

"Hey," Yoongi mumbles as he gently nudges your sleepy body. Flopping down beside you on top of the duvet, his exhausted eyes close instantaneously. 

"I'm going, I'm going," you grumble into his duvet, half asleep but knowing that you should go and check on Jaehyun. 

The baby monitor hasn't made any noise to wake you, and Yoongi's just been with him for the last twenty minutes, quietly watching on as he slept. Is pretty confident he's gonna sleep through again tonight. 

Reaching out to pat you down, Yoongi doesn't really acknowledge the way he accidentally taps your ass. Nor do you. Just sort of pretend that he didn't. Pretend that it didn't make your heart race a little.

"S'fine," he says, voice muffled by his need for rest. "He's still sleeping. Just checked on him."

"Sure?"

"Mhm," Yoongi nods, the sound of his hair smooth against his sheets. "You gonna crash here?"

"You all done?" You question right back. Shuffle, and his hand lazily moves with you. His wrist now rests on your hip, and you both pretend like it's normal.

"All done," he confirms. "Was late, so I've lost ten percent, but whatever."

For someone who stresses himself out as much as Yoongi does over his grades, as soon as he's hit the submission button, he just ceases to care. Has a 'what'll be, will be' attitude towards it all. Part of you wishes he would adopt that mentality when he's actually writing his essays.

What you don't realise is that it manifests from the same fear. 

He panics and panics and panics before a deadline—and then is so worried about his grade that he just pretends like they don't exist.

Too sleepy to care at this moment in time, Yoongi's placement of his wrist on your hip becomes more intentional. Deliberate. 

It's not like you're a stranger to the weight of Yoongi's arms draped over your body. Not like it's the first time—it's just every time it does happen, you swear it'll be the last.

It never is.

And it's not like it's anything illicit. Not anything you shouldn't be doing. Nothing that takes you beyond the realms of friendship—but it does threaten the integrity of your oldest connection to another human outside of familial ties. 

So every time Yoongi gets a little too close, or you find yourself lingering a little long on his words, you tell yourself to stop. That this is just a symptom of the dry spell you've been going through.

"Are you staying here tonight?" He asks.

Again, it wouldn't be the first time. Have been having sleepovers with him since you were kids. Ghost stories, midnight feasts. Sneaking out to the park to find UFOs and stopping by the corner shop for snacks. 

Once high school hit, it was deemed unwise by your parents. Open door policy. 

You'd been furious. Outraged that your privacy was being taken from you, and being told it was for your own good.

And so sneaking out the park became sneaking in windows; films watched with headphones on, dinner eaten in your bedroom under the guise of a melodramatic teenage strop, but actually shared with the boy from two doors down who knew better than to deceive your parents.

All innocent. Nothing that required a closed door. Those escapades were saved for—or wasted on—other people. Either, or. Neither you nor Yoongi gave it much thought. Why would you?

Friends, is what you were. What you are. What you always have been.

Which begs the question: why the fuck is Yoongi looking at you like that?

But then the wrist of Yoongi's resting on your hip becomes his hand. The grip becomes intentional. The stillness of your body comes not from tiredness, but from trepidation. 

"Do you want me to?" 

"It's late," he husks, thumb stroking against your hip as if that's what friends do. "You're off tomorrow, right? Don't need to go home?"

"Right."

"Well, then stay," he shrugs, loosening his grip to roll onto his back. The ceiling is far less interesting than you are, but he has to stop looking at your lips and wondering if they taste like the strawberry lip balm you'd tossed on the side cabinet earlier. "Makes sense."

"Stay?" You question as if he still needs to clearly outline that, yes, he'd like you to stay. "And do what?"

"Sleep," he dryly replies, because it's the obvious answer. Because it's what you should do. You're tired. He's tired. Jaehyun is asleep in the next room over.

"Sleep," you nod. "Sounds good."

Domestication becomes you in times like these. A toothbrush sits in an old glass on the top shelf of Yoongi's mirrored bathroom cabinet. The rest of the shelves are pretty much empty, but he always puts it up there. Says it annoys him anywhere else.

"Surely it's more annoying having to get it down for me every time I crash here?" You banter with him as you lean against the back wall of his bathroom, waiting for him to retrieve it. 

Plucking it from the glass, Yoongi is swift with his movements, and the way he wets the brush, puts a pearl of toothpaste on the bristles, then hands it back over to you.

"Doesn't bother me," he shrugs, turning back around to shut the cabinet. When he does, he's greeted with your eyes in the mirror, and a feeling in his stomach that should bother him. 

See, the D in Yoongi's DILF actually stands for dependable (although occasionally dickhead also fits). He likes being asked to do things. Likes being helpful. Useful. Knows that he depends on you far more than you do him, and so he does this to settle the score. 

You help him pass his exams, and he helps you keep good dental hygiene habits. A win-win situation. 

Leaving you to finish washing up, Yoongi does the final checks of his apartment. Bolts the door. Turns out the lights. Makes sure Jaehyun's day bag is packed for tomorrow with his Grandma. Adds the day's clothes to the laundry pile. Stands in the doorframe of Jaehyun's room to just simply watch his son exist for a little while longer. 

He loses track of time doing this. It's a nightly routine, so you think he'd get used to it, but he never does. Still can't fully comprehend that a living, breathing creature relies on him for basic survival. 

Sure, he hides your toothbrush away, and puts things out of reach for you just to get you asking him for help, but this is different. He cares about nothing more than making sure Jaehyun is surrounded by abundance: love, shelter, food. Everything the world has to offer, Yoongi wants for his son—and that's why he's working so damn hard to make sure it happens.

There's a tenderness to how Yoongi strokes your back when you stand beside him. He's far gentler than he used to be. Benevolent with age. Isn't the same kid who used to chase you around his parent's yard with a worm in one hand, and a pile of mud in the other. 

"C'mon," you whisper, walking away because you know you need to break the contact. "Let's rest."

Yoongi nods. Is slow as he tears his gaze from his son, but just as stoic as he watches you saunter down the hallway and into your bedroom for the night. His bedroom.

You slip out of sight, just in time for Yoongi to exhale the air in his lungs. His sigh is full of unspoken words. Uncertain terms—and as he follows you down, he wonders how many more secrets will bloat his lungs throughout the night.

#bts fanfic #bts x y/n #bts x reader smut #bts fic #bts x you #bts x reader #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi #yoongi #myg x you #myg x reader #myg smut #myg #byholly #yoongi oneshot #dilf yoongi

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 1

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied, competence kink)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for the incredible feedback, beta, and comments. As always, I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you also to @write-and-buried for her TLOU knowledge and constant support, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this one over and making me confront how much Joel Miller has rotted my brain 😉 Enjoy!

—

SPRING

The copse of trees surrounding you is dense, and from the overgrown path you’ve been following by groove alone, you almost miss it. A flash of muted, dingy blue in a sea of green. 

“Hey,” you call to him. “What’s that?”

He turns, his features and body already taut with a practiced, ready tension and when he sees your face isn’t one of concern but rather curiosity, he relaxes. Walking over to you, he follows the line of your finger with his eyes. 

At first, he sees nothing. Just a wall of clustered vegetation: sturdy trunks that hide behind branches heavily weighted with rain, the floor beneath them obscured by ferns that brush against your legs and growth that softens your footsteps. His eyes catch on something too angular for the setting and he frowns, focusing on it. 

Barely visible in the distance and seen only through the filtered sunlight that catches the sharp edge: a moss covered roof. A structure, isolated like the two of you. 

He glances over at you for a moment, reflexively reaching back for his rifle. 

“Let’s take a look.”

Weapon out with his steps steady and slow, he approaches the cabin with a careful, defensive slink. As it slowly comes into view, you brace yourself for any type of movement. Second nature to now activate the constant thrum of self preservation inside you, you check for visible traps as you follow him, your eyes flitting between the building and the ground. 

A specific sort of tension fills the air when something is close: you know that feeling now, have become so sensitive that it can wake you from dead sleep the second you feel it. Like a sixth sense forced to emerge due to evolution, you focus on it and feel none of that tension here:  just the trilling sound of birds, the soft crunch of pine needles underfoot and the peaceful silence of total seclusion.

Joel catches your attention with the jerk of his head, motioning to stay close.

You approach the front of the cabin together. His hands white knuckle the gun, the butt tucked tight against the worn strap of his backpack where it curves around his shoulder and as his fingers flex in anticipation, you hold your breath. 

There is a weighted beat as you wrap your hand around the knob and turn. 

In the end, it’s all for nothing - the cabin you find, after roughly working the warped door open, is abandoned. 

–

It’s like a time capsule in the middle of the woods. 

A thick layer of dust covering everything, motes of it swirl lazily in the beam of Joel’s flashlight as you wander from room to room. His boots scrape against the floor with heavy footfalls, the two of you silently surveying the causally cozy and completely still disarray: a moth bitten handmade quilt thrown over the back of the couch, outdated magazines in a stack on the counter, cobwebbed toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. Bookshelves packed with faded spines, grime covered windows, dead plants in pretty pots lining sills. 

Someone loved this cabin once. 

Used to your partner through circumstance by now, you anticipate an order to scavenge for everything you can carry and then move on, so you’re surprised when he sets his pack down on the floor and lets himself fall back onto the couch. A cloud of dust bursts into the stagnant air, his hands coming up to wearily scrub his face. They rake through his damp, messy curls as he closes his eyes before laying his head back and letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“This should do for the night,” he says. “Could stay until the rain lets up, at least. Be nice to sleep on something other than the ground for a change.”

You nod in agreement, rolling out the kink in your shoulder you woke up with. Your eyes drift over the exposed line of his tanned throat, lingering on the hollow just above his collar. You force yourself to look away. “Yea, the beds didn’t look too bad.”

There had been two of them, across the hall from each other and the idea of a mattress - no matter how old - had you yearning to climb into bed already. Nothing saying you can’t, you reason with yourself. Not when time is more of a concept than anything else these days but the gnawing hunger in your stomach immediately disagrees, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten. 

“I’m gonna go look for some food,” you tell him and he hums in acknowledgement, seemingly indifferent. 

Not really expecting to find anything of substance, you feel a swoop of scarce felt joy when you discover a cache of canned goods in the pantry. A treasure trove. 

“Hey Joel,” you call, wiping your thumb over a peeled, dried out label. “I think I found dinner.”

He doesn’t answer, most likely asleep given his ability to succumb whenever and wherever he can when he gets a moment and you take several, bringing them over to the counter. Brushing away the dust that sticks to the labels, you survey your choices: baked beans and peaches, two of each. Just what you would expect at a lake house. 

Letting him rest and holding the beans in your hand and a spoon you find in another, you take bites straight from the can as you wander down the hallway of the cabin, looking at the pictures on the walls. Using the heel of your hand to wipe away the dust that covers the glass, smiling faces emerge from the fog. You study them one by one, slowly chewing. 

They look like stock photos you used to see in stores: generically bland smiles, posed to perfection. An elderly couple with their children of various ages, a large family gathering photo, parents with children sitting between them. You try hard to picture those people here: sitting in the living room, sleeping in the bedrooms, playing outside. The concept seems too foreign to grasp, too far away to be real and you take another bite of food, pushing away the sudden unbidden reminder of similar photos you once had in your own home, now lost. 

You hear the couch protest as Joel gets up, coming to pass you in the hallway. He stops for a moment behind you, looking to see what you’re staring at and when he sees what it is, he frowns. Letting a deep sigh escape him, he keeps moving down the narrow space and with his pack in his hand, disappears into a bedroom. 

–

Wanting the safety of his nearness and given that it’s the only other bedroom, you set up across the hall when you’re done eating. Placing your own worn pack on the floor, you start to methodically strip the mattress, shaking out the bedding. Minimal creeping mold darkens the seamed edge of a mattress in otherwise good condition and you flip it, hoping for the best. Shaking out the pillow to make sure there is nothing hiding in it, you take the pillowcase with you, wanting to air it out on the deck now that the rain has stopped. 

Wanting to do the same for him, you walk into the bedroom he’s claimed and even though he’s not in there, it already feels like an invasion of privacy to be standing in it. His pack slumped on the end of the bed a visual claim, you grab his pillow off the bed and start to tug off the case. 

What does he look like, sleeping in a real bed? Does he bunch the pillow or tangle himself in the quilt? When he gets up, is there a rumpled form left behind, still warm with the heat of his body pressed into the sheets?

For all the time you’ve spent with him, the majority of Joel is a mystery to you. He gives away more than he knows, but that’s still not a lot. You knew of him back in the QZ: his broad frame a hard one to miss, his reputation even bigger and while your paths rarely crossed within the borders of those high walls, once you set out, it was hard to stay out of his orbit. 

His handsomeness drew your eye initially, but it was his usefulness that made you stay in his shadow. His determination to fight for his own made you feel protected by proximity, even more so when he extended it to you. 

Had to, once your group got picked off one by one. 

You had been thankful, in a sick way, that he was the one that remained. The best one. The most ruthless one. A ruthlessness you admired, then revered, then thought about at night as you tried to drift off to sleep. 

Without needing to sleep clothed to protect himself from the elements, does he still sleep in them, or will he be in less? If so, how much less?

Sharply snapping the pillowcase in the air, the sound brings you back to the present and you shake away the thoughts, leaving the room. 

“Whatcha got there?” He’s sitting on the couch, a can of peaches in his hand and when you face him, you have to look away from the glistening juice on his lips. 

“Oh, I was going to hang these outside, see if I can get some of the dust smell out.” Your nose crinkles and he smirks, taking another bite and shaking his head. 

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

You shrug, taking a seat in a chair by the woodstove. Leaning forward to inspect it, your chair wobbles; the front leg rotted. 

He nudges his chin in the direction of the stove when you open its door. “I thought about lighting it, but we better not. Don’t want the smoke showin’ people someone’s here.”

You nod, sitting back in the chair. “I can’t believe what a good find this is. There’s all sorts of stuff. I found some clothes in the closets, some more blankets too, if you need one.” 

You watch him chew, his jaw flexing under the salt and pepper of his beard.

“There is more food where that came from, if you’re hungry. The pantry is pretty full.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, taking another bite and you glance towards the windows that run the length of the room. A miracle none of them are broken, thanks to the secured tarp that lined the outside. 

“I think I’m gonna clean some of these and see if I can get a better view.”

“Cleanin’ the windows, doin’ the laundry. You lookin’ to move in?” His teasing tone is a dry one, and you smile, shrugging.

“Just so we can see what’s out there. In case someone comes.”

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finishes the can, drinking the juice. 

“Well don’t wear yourself out too much,” he says, standing with a soft grunt of pain. “We ain’t gonna be here that long. Not worth makin’ it all homey.”

He sets the can down on the counter, grabbing his bow and supplies off the surface. You watch him check his stock of arrows before reaching back to feel for the knife strapped to his belt.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find us something for dinner.” He gives you a look, his eyes quickly sliding down over your form and then back up. “Yell if you need me, okay? I’ll stay close.”

You nod, holding his eyes for a minute and when he goes, you use the pads of your fingers to wipe clean a clear circle on the window. 

A creek lines the edge of the property, one that you didn’t even hear from the path with how thick the vegetation is and you watch him walk down along the edge of it for a moment, his head bowed. His hair is lighter in the sun, ruffling slightly in the wind and you keep watching until his form disappears behind the trees. 

–

Searching the cabinets methodically for anything of use while he’s gone, you find them buried deep in a junk drawer, sealed inside a faded, dirty ziplock. 

Seed packets. A lot of them. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, opening the plastic pouch. You handle each pack delicately, spreading them neatly and carefully out on the counter and marvel silently at the whole vegetable garden you’ve found in this tiny bag. The haul would be worth more than you can imagine back at the QZ, but the potential for it is even higher here, in this dim kitchen, with that patch of moist, fertile soil outside. 

You pick them up one at a time, sorting them by recommended growth timelines and a thought takes root in your mind; the paper packets eventually gathered and put neatly back into the bag. 

You let it stew the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. As the sky dims, then darkens, as he comes back with a skinned rabbit and cooks it, as you both sit in the living room after dinner, your dirty plates resting on the coffee table between you. 

He’s sprawled on the couch, his arm behind his head with his thighs spread wide and the denim around his thighs is molded tight; his other hand resting limply against the inside of his thigh. When his eyes close, your eyes drop from his face to his hand, and then back up again. 

“So I found something today,” you begin, and he answers with a slow drawl, content and full. 

“Oh yea? Anything good?”

“Really good. Like, something really, really good.”

He opens his eyes then, looking over at you with a tilt of his head. 

“Well? You gonna tell me what it is?”

You draw one of the packets from your pocket, holding it in your hand and he sits up immediately, leaning forward on his elbows to reach for it. 

“Careful,” you warn, scared some will leak out of the thin, dried out paper. 

“You found these here?”

“Yea, in a drawer. In the kitchen.”

You can tell by the way he is looking at them that he knows their value. His hands hold them more tenderly than you thought his hands capable of, and he flips the packet over, reading the front. 

“I would kill for a fresh squash right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as he studies the front. 

“Well…” you start, suddenly unsure of your idea when he brings his eyes back up to your face. It’s intimidating when he looks directly at you normally, but you feel it tenfold now. He’s always been the one to call the shots, his experience in this world outweighing yours and while you’re nervous to throw yours out there, thinking of the alternatives nudges you forward.  

“I was sort of thinking this afternoon. About this place, and about these seeds.” You pause, looking away for a moment and then back at him. “About us, maybe staying here.”

He immediately frowns, scoffing to discourage the idea. “You can’t be serious. Stay here?”

Though you expected it, his immediate dismissive tone flares annoyance in you. 

“Where else is there to go, Joel?” you ask, your voice gaining confidence. “Be serious. Every settlement has been a nightmare, every place we’ve tried —“

He shakes his head, cutting your argument off. “I said we could stay for a night, not stay forever goddamnit. We’re like sitting ducks out here, just waitin’ to get killed. In the middle of fuckin’ no where —“

“Exactly!” you say louder, before bringing your voice down. “Exactly. We didn’t even see this place from the road. Not even from the path off the road. Who is going to find us here? No one knows about this place, or else it would have been looted ages ago. The tarps hid it, the trees block it, the –”

“And then what, huh? The second we light that wood stove, it’s gonna give us away. Even so, what then when someone wandering down that path sees the same thing we saw, and they decide to come take a look for themselves? They are gonna see everything we have – everything you’re suggesting we start – and they are gonna kill us for it.”

He pauses, the next statement forcing you to look at the ground. “Just like we would have done if we found someone else here. Just like we do.” 

You say nothing, letting the words hang in the air. 

“Just —“ you pause, looking down at your hands. Flashes of the last few months play back in your mind: the hangings, the strict enforcement of rules for all made to benefit the few, the bleak apartment you live in. This mission, all the things you’ve seen along the way, all the fear and terror you’ve felt and how the only person who has ever made you feel safe since the Outbreak began is sitting right here in this room. 

If ever this could work, it would only work with him. 

You bring your eyes back to him, pleading. “Aren’t you tired of it? So restless, always fighting against everything. For everything you have. Aren’t you sick of it, Joel?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” His tone is clipped, but you can tell he’s thinking. He glances at his watch, the broken face staring back at him. It’s been broken for as long as you’ve known him, but he’s always treated it as carefully as his weapons, his supplies. You can see him illuminated by the moon profile in your mind, his fingers skating around the face as he kept watch, or brushing it with his thumb to delicately keep the dirt off. Seeing your opening, you take it. 

“I’m not saying forever,” you press. “Hell, I’m not even saying a month. But let’s just stop for a second. Let’s… just stop. Nothing says we have to go back there. We could be dead, for all they know.”

He brings his attention back to you and placing his hands in his pockets, he straightens his spine. “Probably will be, sooner or later, if we stay here.” He looks you directly in the eye, holding your gaze. “It’s not just the supplies they’ll take. They’ll want way more than that.”

You raise your chin, ignoring the tightening of fear in your chest. He hasn’t let that happen yet, and even if it's foolish to believe, you know he won’t let it happen. When he sees you’re not going to answer, he sighs. 

The lantern is bright between you, illuminating the room in a soft glow and his deep brown eyes study you. His expression is stern, like he wants to say no…but he doesn’t. 

“It’s a dumb idea.” His statement is said with resignation, but with the authority of the last word and deciding not to push it any further tonight, you stand. 

“Well, good thing it was just an idea.” Glancing over at the seed packet, you chew your bottom lip while he watches your face with a frown and your voice gets softer, quieter. 

“I’m gonna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

—

He isn’t there when you wake up, and finding his bow gone, you know he’s out hunting again. 

You wander over to the coffee table to pick up the packet of seeds you left there last night when you see a book facedown next to it. Like he was reading something he found on the shelves after you went to bed, and left it there. 

Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, a smile unfurls at the edge of your mouth and you sit down on the couch, opening it to the first page:

The Basics of Gardening

#joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[aphrogeneias]

before dawn — one-shot

pairing: kas!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: it's been days since you watched your boyfriend die in the upside down, and since then, you can't sleep. things change when you encounter a visitor in your kitchen late one night.

word count: 3k

warnings: angst. themes of dealing with grief and loss. possession (kas in eddie's body). mentions of blood and injuries. a tiny bit of body horror. smut (+18). dubcon (reader is into it but still scared). choking.

author's note: this is based on an old, abandoned work of mine and inspired by the kitchen scene in "jennifer's body". it was also written for the prompt "spiritual possession" in my 2023 kinktober list.

The clock on your bedside table marked 3:03 AM when you decided trying to sleep was futile.

Outside your window, Hawkins still burned. The blue light of the witching hour bled through the curtains, bathing your room in darkness, but still tinged with the red that came from the ground, particles rising up the atmosphere. The city had been burning for days, shrouding everything in fire and smoke, turning your home into a ghost town, and your life into a living hell.

Grief and guilt ate on your insides like worms, which was only fitting, since you've been letting yourself rot in your room after the dust settled and everyone else seemed to move on with their lives.

You stayed at that upside-down, twisted version of the Forest Hills Trailer Park watching him die, over and over and over again. The scene played behind your eyes everytime they shut, and you could still feel his warm blood on your hands, his last words echoing in your ears. You never thought you would have to live without Eddie Munson, but having him be ripped out of your life in such a cruel way was more than you could handle.

Your friends made an effort to visit almost every day. When they were not volunteering at the shelter that was installed at the High School gym, Steve and Robin came over to keep company, and even though they were a little unsure, a little clumsy when trying to help you with keeping afloat, you were grateful for their company. Nancy and Jonathan came over often too, being better at helping you clean and making sure you were eating, always bringing something from Joyce, who had told you multiple times you could stay with them, but you politely refused each time.

The fact was that you could have left with your parents when they packed up and went to stay with the rest of your family across the country, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave. Not when you didn't know what was next, it was only a matter of time until he showed his face again.

Eddie had shown you enough horror movies for you to not know that the big bad never truly died at the end, not really.

The memory of him ached as you stared at the ceiling, swallowing back the tears that rose up your eyes. Images of him, lying beside you on that same bed, after staying up too late, watching those ridiculous movies full of gore he convinced you to watch — not that you could ever say no to him, especially not when he flashed you those puppy dog eyes of his. You knew that part of the reason he did that was because you got extra clingy afterwards, letting him cuddle you tight to his body until you fell asleep. Sometimes, if you let yourself go, you could still feel his weight on top of you, his steady breath on your neck, long hair tickling your skin.

You were dragged out of your trip down memory lane by a loud crash coming from your kitchen.

Gasping, you sat up, startled. You were already hyperaware, ready to jump into action at any time, and loud noises put you on edge easily — but this was coming from inside your house, downstairs. The noise didn't stop, clattering around, as if someone was fussing with the doors and cabinets.

It was impossible, since you'd been alone for a couple of days.

With the confidence of someone who had nothing left to lose, you stood up on shaking legs, trying to steady yourself. Trembling hands grabbed the baseball bat that was hidden behind your bed — a gift from Steve, who insisted you couldn't always rely on the butterfly knife you kept in your pocket — and made your way out of the door.

Halfway through the stairs, a voice called out your name.

You recognize that voice, you'd know it anywhere. It was the voice that you heard every night in your dreams, the voice that used to sing to you, to spin grandiose tales just to make you laugh.

Except that it wasn't real, it couldn't be.

Angered by whatever creature that was mocking the memory of your late boyfriend, you marched forward. You knew you could be walking right into a trap, and that one of Vecna's many specialties were his mind tricks, but at that point, you didn't care anymore. He had taken Eddie from you, and now he was dangling him in front of you like bait.

As if your heart wasn't already shattered into a thousand pieces.

You steeled yourself before fully coming into the kitchen, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

Crouching on the tiled floor, covered in both dried and fresh blood, covering his chin and chest. was something that resembled your boyfriend. It had his body, still dressed in his Hellfire Club shirt, only now it was shredded, and black jeans, old white reeboks stained in black dirt and blood. It had his face, only now it was pale and gaunt, brown eyes completely gone, irises shining an unnatural shade of yellow.

He called your name again and you gripped harder onto the bat, holding it with both hands and brandishing it in front of you, a silent threat. Standing, he lifted up his hands, rings shining in the moonlight that came through the window.

"Whoa! That's not how I expected to be welcomed back, sweetheart."

You didn't answer. All you could hear was your own heartbeat, ringing in your ears as it threatened to escape your ribcage. Your whole body seemed to shake, but you stood your ground, determined to chase away the living nightmare in front of you.

"Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're not real." You gritted between clenched teeth.

"I am real! I promise I'm not tricking you. Just… put the bat down, okay? I'm not gonna hurt you." He repeated. "You know I would never hurt you."

Eddie — or the thing that looked like Eddie — took a tentative step forward, slowly. He looked as disturbed as you were, and a little sad even, his lips turned down into a frown. It was strange to think that, but he seemed fragile, hurt.

"Stay where you are."

"Baby…"

"Don't call me that! You are not real." You raised your voice this time.

"Let me explain, please?" He pleaded. It looked like he was restraining himself, as if he had to make a lot of effort not to go ahead and touch you. "I had nowhere else to go, and… and I missed you."

His voice trembled, along with your resolve.

Still holding the bat with one hand, you outstretch the other, signaling for him to stay away. He looked and sounded like your Eddie, but you didn’t know if you trust what you were seeing at all. Not after everything you’d been through.

“Stay here, okay? I’m gonna… I'm gonna go get some help. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He simply nodded, going further back into your kitchen, partly obscured by the darkness, which made his yellow eyes shine even brighter. You walked backward until you reached the kitchen entryway, and turned to run up the stairs and into your room, stumbling your way through the dark house.

You fell to the floor when you entered your room, dragging your trembling frame through the carpeted floor, trying to keep your breathing steady. Getting the walkie-talkie from your bedside table, you sat down, leaning your back into the side of your bed, and called out for anyone who might have been listening.

No one answered.

Dread filled your every nerve. Sepulchral silence filled the house as you made your way back downstairs, your limbs still trembling with every step. It was almost ironic — of course no one answered. Of course your undead boyfriend, or whatever thing was mimicking him, was yours to deal with alone.

It was a conflicting feeling. Eddie had never given you any reason to be afraid of him, despite what others believed about him. Now, the image of him made you sick as you saw him again, standing with his back to you in your kitchen.

As he turned around, you flicked the light switch, turning on the bright kitchen light. Not your boyfriend, but the shape of his eyes were the same, and his full lips, now pale after all the blood he lost, turned downward at the sight of you. You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but fear still coursed through your veins.

Tears burned behind your eyes as you addressed him once again, "Eddie?"

You realized he was really trying to keep his distance, staying with his back pressed to the counter, and keeping his hands where you could see them. "Yeah?"

"How do I know… How do I know that you're really you?"

It took a while for him to answer. His tired body slumped forward, his tangled hair falling over his eyes, eyes that never met yours as he started speaking.

"You were wearing this red dress the night I saw you for the first time, and I couldn't take my eyes out of you. I was too chicken to talk to you that day but I went and made you a mixtape. Even tried to have Harrington give it to you because I was too scared to do it, didn't want to see you reject me to my face. He convinced me to do it, and when I finally did you said…"

"...About fucking time."

Your lips trembled with raw emotion, and you could barely keep yourself on your feet as you lunged forward, and Eddie met you halfway. You dirtied yourself with mud and blood as you took him in your arms, and he squeezed you to him like you were the only thing keeping him together — you probably were, just as his solid presence pressed to your body did to you.

You both sobbed, kneeling on your kitchen floor, the cold tiles digging into your knees. You didn't let go.

The rest of the night was spent almost all in your bathroom.

Your mom's carefully picked floral tiles got stained with blood while you maneuvered Eddie around the small space, getting him out of his soiled clothes, and cleaning him to the best of your abilities under the warm spray of the shower.

You'd put a chair under it so he could sit, as he wasn't able to keep himself up for too long, but he was able to tell you, though still a little confused over the details, about what had happened to him.

Something pulled him out. He wasn't sure what, and he's sure it wasn't any of your friends — which you confirmed it wasn't, since Dustin was forced to leave him behind. He felt himself be dragged through miles until he was thrown out of a gate, one of the many that had been opened in the last few days, and when he was conscious enough to stand, he walked here.

You didn't have time or the energy to dig deeper into the logistics of it. The what and the how and the why. You'd do that after you finally got a good night of sleep with your boyfriend miraculously home for the first time in almost two weeks. Safe and sound, like he was supposed to be.

Relief deflated your previously tense body like a popped balloon. After you washed him and bandaged his wounds as best as you could, you got him in bed, and he passed out before you could even get him under the covers. It didn't take long for you to do the same.

Darkness was the first time you saw when you woke up again, a couple hours later. The second thing was a pair of yellow eyes, like a predator stalking in the night, right above your face.

A gasp left your lips as you tried to lift yourself from the mattress, but a hand pressed to your chest stopped you. "Uh-uh. Stay right there."

"Eddie?" You whispered, voice shaking with ice cold fear. "What are you doing?"

He tilted his head, and you could see him more clearly now that your eyes had adjusted to the dark of your room. Behind him, leather like wings unfolded, taking space in your bedroom. The hand pressed to your chest, and the one beside your head, had short, but sharp claws that weren't yet digging into your skin.

You whimpered and trembled under him, dread paralyzing your tongue.

"Not quite. A part of him, yes. He doesn't know it yet, though. It will be our little secret." He bent down, running his nose over the soft skin of your cheek. He still sounded just like Eddie, but there was a graveness in his voice you'd never heard before. "Can you keep a secret, dear?"

He didn't wait for an answer — whoever he was. The same hand that pressed your chest to the mattress beneath you rose up, grabbing your neck. "I asked you a question."

"Y-yes. Yes." You breathed out, closing your eyes. Still, you felt him smile against your face.

"Good. Good girl." His face kept going down, until it reached your exposed neck. He buried his nose in it, breathing you in, and humming deep in his chest at the scent of you. You could feel his lips there, barely brushing your skin, but still raising goosebumps all over your body.

His voice was right below your ear, then. "I just need one small favor from you."

"What do you want?"

"I've been hungry. Starved, darling. I imagine you know how that feels. Your boyfriend here hasn't been a good host, refusing to feed. A disappointment, really. I needed to take matters into my own hands." While he spoke, the thumb that rested over your pulse point caressed the skin there, stroking in slow motions, "I just need a taste. Something to quench my thirst, if you will."

A deep flush rose from your insides, heating you from your tummy all the way to your cheeks. Your blood, he meant. You knew that's what he was implying, but it felt surreal.

"You like that idea, don't you?" He brought his attention back to your face. When he smiled, his sharp canines made their first appearance. "You're an interesting one. I see what the boy sees now."

"Will that help Eddie? You… feeding? On me?"

"If I'm strong, the boy is strong. Trust me, you're gonna need that strength when the time comes."

"What do you mean…"

You weren't able to finish your sentence. His hand went to your jaw and held it in place, puckering your lips and impending your speech. He touched his forehead with his, and looked deep into your widened eyes, "All I need is a yes. That's all I need to hear from you right now."

Without thinking, you nod. You were lost in the unnatural color of his eyes, in the deep register of his voice. The world melted around you, and you stayed there, staring at your ceiling, as his face went back to your neck, and after a brief moment, his fangs pierce your skin, puncturing your pulse.

Everything stopped. Your back arched from the mattress at the feeling of it, and your whole body shakes. His tongue is there too, suckling the blood that falls from the twin wounds, and it didn't stop. Your vision was blurred, your mouth closed shut, no sound left your lips except for the small whimpers you were too scared to even release.

It was too much, and worse, it felt good. The invasion of his teeth into you, his tongue on your pulse, the adrenaline in your blood. You felt ashamed, but you felt alive. Almost involuntarily, your hips writhed on the bed, and your hand went to his hair, pulling it slightly.

He removed his mouth from you, but not before licking a fat stripe to collect the blood that pooled there. "It's okay, sweet girl. I'm almost done. Relax for me."

You had no time to respond. His teeth were piercing you again in a second, and this time you let out a moan, and you had no mind to be self-conscious about how loud it was, because one of his hands traveled under your shorts, but over your underwear, and cupped your mound, letting you grind on it.

Dizzy and lightheaded, and still, you came embarrassingly fast, flooding your cotton panties with warm, sticky slick, riding it out on his rough digits. He rose from your neck, but didn't remove his hand from you.

"That's it, love." He whispered, "See? Felt good, didn't it?"

You could barely keep your eyes open, but he was still above you, studying your face closely. His hand, the one still inside your shorts, moved to pull your panties aside, and collect the wetness there on the tips of his fingers.

He brought them to his lips, and moaned when the taste hit his tongue. "Thank you."

That was all you heard before you felt yourself slipping from consciousness. In those few seconds you were able to hold onto it, you felt his lips lightly touch your forehead, and then, nothing. Silence overtook your tired body.

Outside, the early birds began to chirp, but darkness hadn't ceased, yet. It was always darkest before dawn.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #kinktober 2023

[ghouljams]

Home [Chapter 6]

Prev Part

Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, f!oc cameo(Witch), sea travel, grief, kidnapping(sort of)

Summary: Again you find yourself at the mercy of the Vikings' will, moved without your consent to a place you'd rather not go. You must be going mad, somehow it all reminds you of home.

Packing up camp takes less time than you’d thought, though you suppose many hands make light work. Your hands aren’t saved from that work either. Despite decidedly not being a viking you’re directed to assist with collapsing and packing tents. Mactavish points out where to store them on the ship, before picking up crates and barrels with a soft grunt. You resent being given the easy work, relegated to burden before you even set out, but you would resent being given anything harder too.

Working with vikings. Your blood boils at the thought, but you have no other way to go. With no pressing medical needs you’re treated the same as every other man in the crew. You’re not sure whether to resent that fact or laugh. Are you a woman or aren’t you? Are you surrounded by wolves or are you taken into their burrow? Will you find hands shoved under your clothes, or won’t you?

You stick to Mactavish, try not to be underfoot after the first viking you bump yells at you. The men are all preoccupied with carrying their burdens, if it weren’t for Mactavish you might see threads of escape. You might have taken the chaos of packing the ship as your best chance to get out of here. But Mactavish seems to welcome your company, chattering away as he directs you to grab crates and load the long boat. His hand is firm on your back, always touchy even when it’s not called for.

“Is nae a long journey,” He explains, “jus’ across the straight. We’ll be there before ya ken it.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how excited your viking counterpart is at the prospect of going home. If it were you, and to some extent it is, you wouldn’t be so eager to part with your homeland. As you see it Mactavish may as well renounce the tartan he wears over his shoulders, eager as he is to be a viking. You don’t have much choice in where you go, but you’ll be damned if you’re eager to leave. 

You’re employed, that’s it. You work or you die. You catch the captain’s eye as Mactavish shows you where you’ll be stationed for the journey. He tips his head to talk to the viking in the skull mask, his attention off of you as quickly as it had found you. Mactavish catches you staring and sighs.

“He’s just nervous about ya runnin’.”

“As if you wouldn’t strike me down before I left camp,” You mumble, your eyes following the trails of axes and swords where they sit on the hips of the men loading the ship. Mactavish winces. You don’t see how it could mean much to him, you’re just extra cargo, another mouth to feed that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Ah wouldnae,” Mactavish tries, you push past him. You’re uninterested in empty promises, in words that have the same substance to them as the air they whisper through. He would, he just needs to be given the order and your life is forfeit. Wants disappear when viking’s greed is on the line.

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him, you’re already stolen, you’ve nothing to return to, what reason could you have for running? You’re the only woman on the ship, and for who knows how long. That’s reason enough to run. There’s space to run on land, but at sea? You pause, frown at the rocky beach below your feet. You’d be better served dead than passed between oars. 

The fears of women, you have no sane way of voicing them to your captor. Mactavish hands you a bag, the contents of it shift with strange shapes as you find your hold. It’s smokey, smelling of meat and brine. It grounds you a little. You clear the anxiety from your mind and glance out over the sea, trying to find the other side the way you used to when you were small.

-

You’re reminded almost immediately that Mactavish owns you as the longboat pushes off the shore. You’re caged between the wall of the ship and your least favorite viking, his words bouncing around your head as he directs men to row. “My catch,” “my watch,” “prey.” He calls you that again in a hushed tone,

“Dae ya get sea sick, Vaenn?”

You ignore him, turn your head to rest it against the wooden wall of the ship. There’s little for you to do on the ship but wait. You patch a few blisters on the youngest vikings, and tend to the fever that’s brought on by a night of rain. Mostly you find yourself with Mactavish pressed to your side. Big and warm, sturdy when you try to push him off. His eyes are stormy each time you look at him, the clouds parting when he turns to meet your stare. 

He pulls on smiles like an old pair of shoes. They’re well worn, practiced to his face, but they never reach his eyes. You wonder what he must be thinking. You try to drown out that curiosity with a different one. What are you meant to do when you get to shore?

Four days of sailing and the only thing you’ve come up with is: doctor. You suppose there must be more vikings, more warriors returning from different pillages, that need patching up. You can’t imagine what that must look like, a whole village of brutes. You wonder if they kidnap all their women, or if you’re a special case. 

Exhaustion weighs on you. The rocking of the boat, the unease in your stomach around sleeping with so many strangers nearby, you find little rest and in the short grabs of it you jerk awake to the heat of fire. Your grief has started to numb you, or perhaps that’s the ocean’s chill. Mactavish fixes his fur around your shoulders more tightly, checks the heat of you with a cool hand against your cheek. You wonder if he even has the capacity to worry for others. A man that would turn away from the screams of an entire village is a man that holds no one but himself in his heart. You turn away from him more often than not, feel the frustrated curl of his fingers before they’re dropped in a fist to his lap. 

You can see it every time you close your eyes, so you don’t. You can hear your own sobs ripping from your chest, can feel the strength of Mactavish’s arm around you, in your dreams. You don’t sleep. What’s lost can never be regained, and now you slip further from it. Your skin is cold and your stomach churns with the waves. You tuck your resentment close to your chest, and nurse it with bitterness.

You’re not going home. You don’t have one of those anymore.

-

You’re startled awake by a familiar melody, words you know from your mother’s tongue. You mutter her name, still addled by sleep, and split your eyes open. Mactavish is studying his hands beside you, digging his short nails into the calluses at the base of his fingers. His voice is low, but the tune carries. The usually noisy ship seems to hold its silence. In the dim grey light of dawn you wonder if it’s just the two of you awake.

The only two souls alive that carry the land’s proper tongue.

And yet he mutters it, the words of the lullaby said under his breath, breathed through the chopped melody that leaves his lips. He doesn’t even seem to pay attention to it, his eyes focused on his hand’s work more than the tune. You listen to the sharp pick of skin, nearly louder than the familiar tune, and try not to move. 

“-found the trial o’ mountain mist, but ne’er a trace of baby o,” He hums, his lips twitching with pain as he digs his nail too deep. Mactavish looks up towards the bow of the ship and you follow his eyes as best you can, watching Gaz and the Captain speaking in quiet tones.

Gaz holds a telescope to his eye, nodding and directing course when he brings it down. The air waits for them. There’s a near silent beating of wings, and the captain holds out his arm for a black bird to perch on. He strokes its beak with a finger, the creature clicking pleasantly before it alights again, back the way it came. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. The threat of land never closer than it is when the Captain turns to the ship and announces,

“We’ll be sleeping in beds tonight, lads.”

Mactavish smiles to himself, his head bowed, while the rest of the crew cheers. You don’t share their excitement.

-

The port you dock in is nothing like you expected. Mactavish offers you a hand to help you off the ship, and though you reach for it instinctually, you ultimately spurn the gesture. You’d rather make a fool of yourself tripping over your skirts than take help from that man. Again you see his fist clench, dropped heavily to his side as he stares at the space you used to occupy. The skull faced viking directs the unloading of cargo, barking orders to the others while you look out at the town.

It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no dismal hopelessness to the buildings that dot the grassy landscape. Women and children move between the houses without fear, and market stalls exchange their goods for coin under colorful banners. In the distance you can see sheep grazing, men fish along the shore, farms and gardens dot the landscape. The dirt path that winds around town works its way inward, all roads leading to the center, a longhouse built up on a hill. It reminds you too much of your own home. Bigger perhaps, but twisting the knife in your heart as clearly as your mother’s face might.

A viking carrying a heavy crate bumps you from your observation, and your arm is caught by another. You give a shout of surprise, looking around for Mactavish and finding the Captain instead. He all but drags you along the dock, his grip firm and unyielding even when you struggle against it. You’re deposited in front of a woman. There's darkness under her eyes, runes in coal over her cheeks, and bone woven into her red hair. She smiles at you warmly, and you jerk back away from her. 

There’s something unnerving in her smile, in her movements. 

Her brows draw together, concern coloring her expression. The black bird that you’d seen greeting the ship rests on the staff she’s holding, its beak clicks curiously at you. You ignore it. Birds like that are only good for eating.

“One Læknir,” The Captain presents you, he says something else, a word you don’t understand that makes the woman laugh. She looks more alive when she laughs.

“You are-” She seems to struggle for the word, your language ill-suited to her tongue, she asks the Captain something uses that same word “Læknir” and he responds with his correction:

“Healer.”

“Healer,” The woman finishes, you glance at the captain and give a small nod. She speaks to the captain again, speaks past you, you try not to take offense. You’re starting to get the feeling this woman isn’t used to people let alone talking to them.

“Need a translator?” Mactavish’s voice jolts you from your thoughts, too close beside your ear. He grins when you glare at him. The woman seems almost relieved to see him. She speaks to him now, and you hear him say it again:

“My catch, Völva, I’ll watch ‘em.” His eyes dart to you as you bristle. The woman, the Völva (you heard him use that word before, you file it as a proper noun, a title maybe), glances at you as well.

“You stay with -” She says a word and you frown.

“Soap,” Mactavish fills in, leaning to murmur it by your ear.

“Soap,” You confirm, “I’m staying with the lye.”

“You’re stayin’ with Mactavish,” The Captain tells you, no hint of amusement in his tone, it startles you still to hear your own tongue so proudly fallen from his lips.

“Not a proper name,” You grumble.

“Needed a bath when we caught ‘im.” The Captain sniffs, “If he’s smart he’ll give you one too.” You stiffen, any humor you may have found in the nickname lost with those words. You don’t look at Mactavish, at Soap. You keep your eyes on the Völva. She must understand that they can’t force you into lodgings with a man. She tips her head, smile blank. You can’t hold her gaze for long.

“You wanted responsibility,” The Captain pushes you towards Mactavish, “there it is, your catch, your watch.”

You suppose it makes sense, you stay with the person that caught you, but it still drops like a rock in your stomach. Mactavish may speak your language, but as far as you’re concerned he’s a viking through and through. You’re not safe with him, not safe in this village. Mactavish settles his hand on the small of your back, and leans close for a third time, his voice is softer but still rings like a death knell.

“Let’s go Vaenn,” He must take your hesitance for exhaustion because he adds, “it’s nae far, then ya can rest.”

You very much doubt that.

#x reader #cod x reader #x oc #cod x oc #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #slow burn #enemies to lovers #sort of #one sided crush #soap mw2 #soap cod #viking!soap #f!reader #oc: witch #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #viking au

[yeonzzzn]

✨capturing magic: park sunghoon

a vampires bleeding series: four / seven

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader word count: 5.3k

synopsis: your witchy presence causes an uproar with sunghoon, him not enjoying the idea of you being anywhere near him. as you struggle to regain your strength and magic, the banter between you and sunghoon continue grow along with the pull of fate.

genre: strangers/enemies to lovers, vampire!sunghoon, photographer!sunghoon, witch!reader, angst, some fluff.

warnings: mentions of blood and death, swearing, y/n has long black hair and facial piercings, stubbornly cute sunghoon ♡

☾ jungwon(1) | jay(2) | jake(3) | sunghoon(4) | sunoo(5) | niki(6) | heeseung(7) ☽

“YOU BROUGHT BACK A WITCH?!” Sunghoon snapped, his jaw clenching tightly. 

“Yes!!” the dhampir snapped back, “We couldn’t leave her there to die!!” 

Sunghoon was filled with anger, blood boiling. 

“Let's all calm down…” Heeseung spoke up, placing a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

Sunghoon slapped his hand away, “Hyung, that dhampir bringing this witch here will put us all in danger!!” 

“This witch is one of my best friends!” She yelled, “I wasn’t going to leave her, end of story!” 

Sunghoon scoffed, “Yeah, and if we all die it’ll be the damn dhampir’s fault.”

“Hey!” Jake yelled, getting in his best friend's face, “That damn dhampir is my mate, watch your words. She’s in our pack now.” 

The room fell silent. Sunghoon figured he would have connected with the dhampir, the tension between the two was too obvious. 

“And for the record,” Jake said, taking a step back away from Sunghoon, “I’m the one who said to bring the witch here. We need information once she wakes up.” 

Sunghoon looks away from his friend, looking at the witch lying unconscious on the couch. 

He knew Jake was right. In order to stop Dorian, they needed any information possible. 

Sunghoon releases a breath, “Fine, do what you want with the witch.” 

And with that, Sunghoon stormed off. 

—

“Easy does it,” Heeseung grabbed your hands, helping you sit up.

It’s been exactly a week since Dorian burned down your village and killed your coven. You were the only surviving member. 

Your heart ached for those you’ve lost, but you knew their souls were somewhere free from the cruelness of this world. 

Most of your burns have healed from your recovery spell, but you still ached with each movement, making it harder for you to move. On top of that, your right leg was broken. And no recovery spell could make that heal any faster. 

The vampires have shown you kindness for the most part. One in particular doesn’t care for you much. 

Once you were completely sat up, you thanked Heeseung. 

Jay knelt down beside you, looking at the bandages that covered your arms, slowly lifting them up to look at your skin. 

“We can probably remove the bandages,” He said, lifting more of the bandage up to get a better look at your skin, “The only thing is, there’s a lot of scarring.”

You nodded, “Recovery spells can only go so far.” 

Jay removed the bandages, relieving the scars. You didn’t realize how bad they actually were until you looked directly at them. 

Flashbacks to the fire came back, shaking you to the core. You dropped your head into your hands, begging for the thoughts to go away. 

“Y/N,” your best friend drops beside you, her hands set gently on your shoulders, “what’s wrong?” 

Her voice alone was enough to snap you out of it, you quickly looked up at her, giving a nod, “I am fine, the scars just…” 

She sighs, “It brought back the memories?” 

You nodded again.

A scoff happened from across the room. You immediately glared in its direction. 

Sunghoon leaned against the wall, arms crossed against his chest, his black hair falling against his eyes. 

“Got something to say, bloodsucker?” you hissed.

Sunghoon raised a brow, “You gonna put a hex on me or something, witch?” 

You gripped the blanket that covered your legs, “I just might!” 

He chuckled, pushing himself off the wall. He smiled just enough to show his sharpened fangs and cracked his knuckles. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jungwon snapped, looking between the two of you, “This situation isn’t ideal, but we all have one goal in common, so please for the love of everything put your differences to the side and shut the fuck up.” 

Sunghoon sighed, retracting his fangs. 

“Good boy, listen to your leader.” you gave him a wink. 

“Y/N,” Jungwon warned. 

You sighed and relaxed your body. You were powerless in your current situation. 

A pack of vampires and two humans were your only source of protection at the current moment. Your coven was destroyed. This is all you have right now. 

Sunghoon scoffed, then stormed out the door into the night. 

“Do you think you can make it up the stairs to bathe and sleep in a bed finally?” your dhampir friend asks, giving you a soft smile. 

You removed the blanket, and more burn scars trailed down your left leg, while the other was covered in a cast from your knee down. 

You pulled your shorts down, trying to hide the scars. 

“Hey,” Jay’s mate kneels beside your friend, her soft hands taking yours, “These scars are proof that you survived, don’t try to hide them.”

You wanted to protest, to shout that she doesn’t understand what it meant to survive after what you went through. 

But then you noticed the scars on her neck. It didn’t take long for you to recognize that those scars were caused by Dorian. That __ survived almost being killed by him. 

You forced a smile, “These scars don’t just show that I survived, they show what I also lost.” 

“Then you’ll carry them with you forever,” she gives you a soft smile, “It’ll be a reminder of what Dorian has done, and what will be done to get back at him.” 

She was right. You gave her a smile back with a nod. 

Jay pulled his mate up and to his chest, wrapping her in his arms, “__ always knows what to say.” 

Their bond pulled at each of them. Jungwon pulls __ to him and Jake pulls your friend to himself. Sunoo, Niki, and Heeseung had smiles watching their pack. 

You too had a smile. You could feel the bond they shared. Their vibes and how their energies matched. 

You looked at your friend and Jake. The way he held her so tightly and her head in the crease of his neck. 

Your heart danced for them. You knew how much losing her first mate did a number on her. But you truly believe Jake was meant to be hers completely. She just had to go through some bullshit shit first. 

Eventually, you had enough of the love birds, positioning yourself to stand up. 

Your recovery spell healed your broken leg enough that you were able to stand up straight and still walk…but just barely. 

Your half-blooded friend noticed your struggles, releasing herself from Jake to help you up the stairs and into the bathroom. 

The reflection you saw in the mirror haunted you, a burn scar covering your left eye and up the side of your forehead. The recovery magic healed it enough that it was a light pink. 

A sigh escaped your lips, as you turned and faced away from the mirror. 

You cleaned yourself up, washing away the couch bum life you had for the last week. 

You were so glad to finally be able to sleep in a bed. Archer was nice enough to run to the nearest supermarket to buy you extra clothes, bed sheets, and other witchy essentials to have here. 

Your new room was filled with plants and crystals and a few books that Jake was able to salvage from the fire. 

You tried to stay awake to read, but your eyes failed you. After not sleeping in a bed for over a week, it was way too comfortable. 

—

You stood in front of the mirror, pulling your long black hair behind you and into a braid. Your bangs pull out perfectly down the sides of your face. 

Your half-blooded friend brought you some jewelry to wear, which you were ecstatic about. 

Witches can’t go without jewelry, right?

You pull some rings onto your fingers, then dangle earrings into your ears. 

A perfectly black hooped nose ring suited your nose and a lace choker around your neck and a short silver bar on your eyebrow. 

You pulled a white cropped tank top over you and a black baggy pair of cargo pants and black boot, and black cast boot on your right leg to match. 

A beautiful light brown cardigan made the outfit even more perfect. 

You did a three-sixty in the mirror, finally feeling and looking like yourself. 

You stared at the scar on your eye. You traced your fingers over it, feeling the rough skin. 

Dropping your hand back at your side, you turn and walk away from the mirror. 

The kitchen was lively, and laughter from your new friends echoed up the stairs as you made your way down. 

Jay stood at the counter flipping pancakes and bacon, a bag of blood attached to his lips. 

The two humans stood behind Jay, begging him to hurry with breakfast and Jay tried his best to shoo them off. 

Jake sat with __ on the couch. She ate a bowl of cereal while Jake drank his own bag of blood. 

Sunoo, Jungwon, and Heeseung sat at the kitchen table with a map in front of them discussing the layout of the area. 

Niki also sat at the table, backpack in his lap, and sipping on a bag of blood as if it were a juice box. 

You giggled and walked over to the table, “You really are stuck in a seventeen-year-old body arentcha?” 

Niki rolled his eyes, “Unfortunately.” 

Heeseung checked his watch, “Off to school.” 

Niki groaned, throwing his head back against the wall, “This fucking sucks.” 

You softly smiled at the younger, “I’ll walk you out.” 

Niki stood up, throwing the backpack on. 

You went to the fridge, grabbing an apple and a bottle of water. The piles of blood bags filled the bottom shelf. 

Seeing the bags reminded you that one bloodsucker in particular was missing. 

“Where’s the idiot bloodsucker at?” you asked anyone who would give you an answer. 

Jake perked up, “That idiot bloodsucker has a name,” you shrugged your shoulders, and Jake sighed, “He’s outside doing his photography.” 

Your dhampir friend smiles at you, “Worried about him, Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes, “He annoys me.” 

She smirked at you, “You look pretty.” 

You toss your braid over your shoulder, “Of course I do, part of being a witch is also being charming.” 

The vampires groan, which you expected. They might be being nice to you for the moment, but witches and vampires still don’t get along. 

You grabbed a blood bag along with your other items and closed the fridge. 

You patted Niki’s back, “Come on baby bro, let’s get you off to school.” 

—

Sunghoon sat up in a tree, camera in hand, and snapping photos of the open land. 

The morning sunrise hit the land perfectly. He changed a few filter and lens settings, finding the perfect combination. 

His mood changed once he heard the door to the house open, sensing Niki and you stepping out of the house. 

Sunghoon turned around, watching as you waved Niki off, him going into a full sprint and gone within seconds. 

You took a bite out of the apple in your hands, looking around until you made eye contact with him. 

Sunghoon glared before turning his attention back to his camera. 

“You lack a lot of manners bloodsucker, ya know that?” 

Sunghoon scoffed, looking down at you who was now underneath him. 

“Why do you care about my manners, hmm?” 

“Haven’t you heard? We have a common goal, gotta act like friends, don’t want Jungwon to snap our necks, right?” You loved teasing him. You loved how irritated you made him and how you knew exactly what to say to get under his skin. 

Deep down you really wanted to get along with all the vampires, Sunghoon was just the only one not budging. 

Sunghoon ignored you, his jaw clenched as he held the camera back up. 

You whistle at him, his eyebrow rising. 

Sunghoon was fixing to snap, “I know for a fact you didn’t just whistle at me like I am a dog.” 

“Look at me then.” You said. 

Sunghoon looked back at you, a warm smile on your face. 

You tossed the blood bag up to him, Sunghoon catching it. 

“You haven’t eaten yet, right?” 

All Sunghoon could do was stare at the bag, his tough exterior relaxing. 

“Thank you,” was all he could say. 

You smiled even brighter, taking another bite out of your apple. 

Sunghoon drank the blood as you finished off your apple and drank your water. 

“Can I see your work?” You asked, finally breaking the silence. 

Sunghoon glared at you again, “Why do you care?” 

You sigh, “Because believe it or not, we are kinda stuck with each other, soooo.” 

Sunghoon rolled his head, running a hand through his hair. 

He knew you were right. 

“You won’t put a hex on me if I come down, will ya hex girl?” 

You glared at him, “No you idiot!” 

Sunghoon smirked, “Sassy much, hex girl?” 

“Continue pushing my buttons and you’ll see, bloodsucker.” 

This small banter admittedly made Sunghoon happy. You were the first person to get under his skin and make it crawl, but returned every ounce of energy he gave out. 

Sunghoon flung himself down from the tree, waving you over. 

One by one, Sunghoon showed you all the photos he took this morning. 

“These are really beautiful, bloodsucker,” you said, patting his shoulder, “But it’s missing something.” 

Sunghoon once again glared at you, “Missing what, exactly?” 

You smile, pointing at yourself, “A model!” 

Sunghoon furrowed his brows at you, “I don’t need you in my photos hex girl, might put a curse on them.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Come on, just snap a few pictures.” 

Sunghoon wanted to protest, why should he take photos of his enemy? 

But with the way you looked right now, Sunghoon knew with the sunrise and open fields, you would be a perfect fit. 

He nodded, “Fine.” 

You smiled, skipping away from him. 

Sunghoon lifted his camera, snapping a few photos of you skipping. 

You stopped and quickly turned around, the biggest smile on your face. Sunghoon snapped that as a photo, his stomach doing flips. 

The way your lips curled as you smiled. How the sun brought out the color of your eyes. The way your hair fell and blew in the wind. 

Sunghoon stared at the photo. You were so beautiful. 

“Hey!” You snapped Sunghoon out of his trance, “Are you going to stare at the camera or tell me how to be a good model?” 

Sunghoon smiled, “Just…be you.” 

You thought about it, deciding to make a joke, “What if I do Wanda Maximoff poses? Like Scarlet Witch Style?”

Sunghoon blinked at you, “Can you actually do magic like that?” 

You glared at him, “No! I’m a witch, not a superhuman.”

Sunghoon glared back, “Well, I didn’t know what all you witches can do!” 

“Just think of us witches as hippies, just that we don’t smoke a shit ton of weed.” 

Sunghoon chuckled, his hand clenching his shirt from his laughter.

“What is so funny?” You tried to not laugh as well, but his laugh was contagious. 

“Just the way you explained witches,” Sunghoon took a deep breath, “I’ve only ever been in contact with witches who use darker magic, you’re the first who doesn’t.” 

You studied him and his smile, his natural fangs being present with his smile. 

You haven’t seen him smile at all since you met a week ago. 

You walked towards him, stopping directly in front of him. 

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes down at you, “What are you doing? Get away from me.” 

You sighed, “There’s that tough exterior.” 

You placed your hand on his cheek, he pulled away, but reached back for him, connecting your palm to his skin. 

Sunghoon’s heart was racing at your touch, his jaw locking together. 

You breathed in, “You have such a tough exterior, but are so caring and soft underneath it.” 

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “Stop using your voodoo shit on me.” 

“Sunghoon.” 

It was the first time you actually called him by his name, and oh did it do numbers on him. 

He made eye contact with you, and immediately after, you backed away from him. 

Sunghoon knew why. There was a spark of electric energy that shot through the both of you, that small string slowly getting tied, but being still loose. 

He shook his head, not letting it tighten. 

“I’m going back to the house.” Sunghoon quickly turned and walked away, leaving you. 

You touched your chest, looking down at the ground. 

“What the fuck was that.” 

—

Sunghoon spent the rest of the day locked inside his room, flipping through the photos he had taken earlier that morning, stopping at the one of you. 

His heartstrings were being pulled. The moment of the string being attached to the both of you came back into his mind. 

“I can’t mate with a damn witch, it’s impossible,” he whispered to himself. 

But the more he looked at your photo, the more his heart called to you. 

He turned the camera off, set it on the bedside table, rolled over, and fell asleep. 

He woke up at the sound of footsteps walking down the hall. 

Sunghoon stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. 

He checked the time off his phone, rolling his eyes at the time. 

Sunghoon quickly got out of bed, sliding his sneakers on before walking out of his room, seeing the door to your bedroom was open. 

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “What the hell is she doing?” 

He found you outside by the pond sitting on the ground. Glass bottles filled with herbs sat in front of you, and a small fire was lit to your right. 

“It’s three a.m.,” he yawned, “why the hell are you outside at three a.m.” 

You turned and smiled at him, “I’m doing witchy things.” 

Sunghoon scoffed, “I already figured that, hex girl. I’m asking what exactly you are doing.” 

You turned back to the herbs, slowly mixing them together and setting them into the fire. 

“Don’t you know the witching hour is three a.m.?” 

Sunghoon shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “Yes, isn’t that when your powers are at their strongest? Just like us on a new moon.”

“Exactly,” you sang, “My powers are only stronger for an hour, plus the protection barrier I put around the house was fading due to my injuries from the fire. I need to revamp my recovery spell as well, so these scars go away.” 

Sunghoon’s heart pulled towards you even more, you were sacrificing so much to protect everyone, to protect him when he does nothing but be an ass towards you. 

You stood up, brushing the dirt off your sweatpants, “The barrier on the house has been fixed, so yay!” 

Sunghoon nodded.

“But I ran out of herbal recovery leaves, so I need more of that to remove all these burn marks.” 

You started to walk away, only for Sunghoon to grab your arm.

You raised a brow at him, noticing how serious his face looked at you, “What?”

Sunghoon walked closer to you, tracing his fingers over the massive pink scar on your face, “You’re beautiful as you are,” his fingers moved over every inch of the scar, before moving down your cheek, his palm cupping your face, “You’re so beautiful, scars and all.” 

Your heart raced. He thought you were beautiful? You thought he hated you. But you couldn’t help but feel that tug to him, and notice his energy was matching that tug. 

“What is this feeling?” You asked, “This energy that’s flowing between us? It wasn’t there before today.” 

Sunghoon reached for your hand with his free hand, his eyes meeting yours, “It’s the string of fate.” 

You looked at him confused, “String of fate?” 

“When vampires meet their mates, a string of fate ties them together,” Sunghoon took a deep breath in, “And I think we might have a string of fate tying around us.” 

“Is that another way of saying we are soulmates?” You made a grossed-out face at him, which earned you a glare. 

“Don’t look at me like that hex girl, you act like it’s a choice.” 

“Is it not?” 

Sunghoon shook his head, “Trust me if it was, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.” 

“Must be spine-chilling knowing your string of fate is probably being tied to a witch.” you teased him. 

Sunghoon half smiled, biting his lower lip, “You know for someone who was the head witch of your coven and village, you sure don’t know a lot about vampires.” 

You rolled your eyes, finally pushing his hand from your face, “I was only recently appointed as head witch, it’s not something I wanted.” 

Sunghoon squeezed your hand, “It’s like Jungwon being our leader, I don’t think he thought he was fit enough.” 

“Jungwon is doing fanatic, better than I was.” 

“I bet you were fine—“

“If I were fine,” you took a deep breath in, “Then Dorian wouldn’t have found a way to break the barrier over my village and wouldn’t have burnt down to ashes and killed my whole coven.” 

Sunghoon pulled you to him, embracing you, “I am so sorry they didn’t get to you in time. The moment Dorian would have been near Jake we would have known, we would have been there in seconds and…” 

“And what, bloodsucker?” 

“I could have saved you and your coven.” 

You looked up at him, “You hate me, hate witches, why do that?” 

Sunghoon took a deep breath, pushing your long hair behind your ear, “I would have gone to protect Jake, he’s my best friend after all, but I would have met you sooner, and could have prevented what happened.” 

You stepped away from him, tears filling your eyes and not wanting him to see it. 

“I couldn’t have stopped what happened, but I can do something now to protect you and my pack.” 

You made eye contact with him, once again feeling that string of fate, it pulled your hearts together, you could feel and see the red energy wrap around the two of you, but you could also feel Sunghoon’s heart trying to reject it. 

“We can’t be mates, you won’t allow it.” 

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “Stop using your voodoo on me.” 

you scoffed, “I’m not using voodoo! I am using my—“

“Just shut up and come over here and kiss me.” 

You stared at him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You chuckled, “What?” 

“Y/N,” your heart stopped at hearing how beautifully your name rolled off his tongue, “I am fighting to push out that string of fate. Anytime I’ve thought about who my mate would be, I never once pictured it would be you. Yet here you are in front of me. We are total opposites and two different types of creatures. And if you go back into that house and ignore this fate, then we will continue this back and forth. But if you come over here and kiss me, I swear I’ll be good to you.” 

God damn that string of fate and god damn this vampire. 

You rushed to him, standing on your tiptoes to reach his lips. His hands found your waist. The red energy of this fate tied you two into a knot. Bonding you as mates. 

“Goddammit, hex girl,” he whispered in between kisses.

“Goddamnit, bloodsucker,” you whispered back. 

Sunghoon sat against the tree, with you between his legs. Back against his chest and his arms wrapped around you. 

You leaned your head against his chin, watching as the sun slowly peaked over the horizon. 

“How long were you the head witch?” Sunghoon asked, taking your hands in his. 

You sighed, “Only two years, I was next in line but I didn’t want it.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Sunghoon was curious. Witches were something totally different than vampires, dhampirs, and even werewolves, their way of life was completely in the opposite direction. 

“I didn’t feel as if I was ready,” you leaned more into him, “I don’t have as many years on me as some of the other warlocks and witches in the village.” 

“And what time period are you from exactly?” Sunghoon teased. 

“I saw the Salem Witch Trials happen.” 

“Gosh you’re so old!” he teased you more, planting kisses on your cheek. 

“Oh shut up!” you shoved your back into his chest, “I can NOT believe I am stuck with you until the world ends.”

“Get used to it, sweetheart.” 

You both laughed and leaned more into each other. 

“Can I take a photo of us?” Sunghoon asked, “I want to capture this moment.” 

You nodded and he pulled his phone from his pocket. 

“No camera?” you teased. 

“Phone cameras work just as well.” 

You looked into the phone's camera and gasped, “Oh my god! I can see your reflection!” 

Sunghoon dropped his arm and rolled his eyes, “Shut up with your stupid ass jokes and take a nice photo with me, hex girl.”

You decided to stop teasing him and smiled into the camera. 

Sunghoon stared down at the photo of the two of you, the happiness he felt, he could see it written all over his face. 

“You know, I’ve never captured something as beautiful as you.” 

You looked up at him, “And I’ve never thought I’d have my own personal photographer to take model photos of me.”

“God you’re so annoying.”

Hand in hand, you followed Sunghoon back to the house. 

Everyone was awake and stopped everything they were doing in shock at the sight they were seeing. 

“Who would have thought,” Jake teased.

Sunghoon tried hard to fight back his smile, “Shut up.” 

Everyone laughed and joked along. 

You were happy. 

The moment you bonded with Sunghoon, you felt the same bond with the others, including your best friend and the humans in the pack. 

It wasn’t like your coven, but the bond was still there. You belonged somewhere again. 

You looked up at your mate, his smile working numbers on your heart. God you loved him so much already. 

But Sunghoon’s smile faded, and so did the other vampire's smiles. 

The room fell silent. The humans and you are both confused, clearly not being able to hear what they are hearing. 

“Something isn’t right,” Heeseung said quietly. 

“Sunghoon?” you take your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand tightly.

Before Sunghoon could open his mouth to speak, you sensed the other presence. 

You dropped your mate's hand, and slowly back away. 

You looked at your half-blooded friend, she was already looking at you. 

“Dorian...” you whispered, “He broke the protection barrier.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, “Guys what do we do?” 

Before any more could be said, you and __ were running towards the door.” 

“No no no!!” Sunghoon and Jake both yelled, grabbing ahold of you and her. 

“Jake, fucking let go of me!!” she screamed. 

You also fought off Sunghoon’s grip on your arm, “Let go of me!” you hissed. 

“I am not letting you go out there!” He snapped.

You managed to get out of his hold and were out the door. 

“Y/N!” Sunghoon yelled, going after you. 

__ released Jake’s grip and was following behind. 

Everyone else was right behind. 

Dorian stood at the edge of the pond, two women standing at his side, and a black portal opened behind him. 

You clenched your fist and you stood in front of him at a distance. 

“Dorian!” you hissed. 

“I see you survived being burned,” he laughed, “You unfortunately didn’t get the fate as your coven did.” 

“How dare you speak of them!” You took a step forward, only to be stopped by Sunghoon getting in front of you. 

Sunghoon glared down at Dorian, his rage hitting its peak. 

Dorian laughed, “Oh this is too good! Two enemies mated? This pack continues to surprise me.” He glances over at your best friend with Jake also at her side, “Ahh, nice to see you again, __. I also see you’ve mated again.” 

“Shut up!” the dhampir snapped, “Don’t you dare bring him up!! You murderer!!” 

Dorian’s laughter grew louder the more he made eye contact with each member of the pack. 

Jungwon and Jay have death grips on their mates. Their eyes narrowed and their jaws clenched.

“I would love to stay and chat up with you guys, but I only came for two of your mates, and that is all.” Dorian looked at the women at his sides, “Ladies will you do the honors?” 

The women both smiled and disappeared. 

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, those two weren’t like normal vampires. 

“He used magic..” you whispered, “He figured out how to read the spells he stole from my coven.” 

Dorian’s laughter filled the air and it only made Sunghoon rage even more. 

With one blink of an eye, one of the women was at Sunghoon’s side, and then she was gone. She reappeared back at Dorian’s side with you in front of her, a knife pressed against your neck, the sharp edge making a cut, a small stream of blood dripping down. 

The other woman reappeared with the dhampir at Dorian’s side. 

As if on command, Sunghoon and Jake both rushed forward. 

They weren’t thinking clearly. Their brains fogged and only had their sights on their mates. 

Heeseung made it in time to grab Sunghoon, pulling him back, and Sunoo for Jake. 

“GIVE HER BACK!!” Sunghoon screamed, “FUCKING GIVE HER BACK TO ME.” 

“Sunghoon calm down,” Heeseung shouted, “He’s going to kill them both if you take one more step.” 

Sunghoon stopped fighting Heeseung, but Sunoo struggled to keep Jake at bay, until Heeseung repeated the same words again, causing Jake to fall to his knees. 

“Good,” Dorian said, “Would have been a shame to kill your mates in front of you.” 

“What do you want with our pack members!?” Jungwon snapped a low growl leaving his lips when he yelled. 

“I have some unfinished business with them,” Dorian stared down at Jungwon’s mate, causing Jungwon to press __ even closer to him, “I have some unfinished business with all of you actually, but Y/N and this dhampir are more important. They have something I need.” 

Sunghoon went to take a step, just to be stopped by hearing your whimpers as the knife was pressed harder against your neck. 

“Now then,” Dorian turned and faced the portal, “We shall be taking our leave then.”

He stepped through the portal, the women slowly following behind him. 

Sunghoon and Jake tried fighting Heeseung and Sunoo again. 

Both scream out for their mates.

Sunghoon felt powerless as he watched you disappear through the portal, quickly closing up after you stepped through. 

The last thing you saw was the tears that filled Sunghoon’s eyes. 

Once you were gone, all Sunghoon could do was fall to his knees, his fingers dug into the dirt as he stared down. 

The sounds of Jake’s cries muffled out. 

No one ever told Sunghoon how it would feel to have your mate taken from you, to feel the distance of how far they were. The loneliness of them not being at your side. 

Sunghoon couldn’t hold in his rage as he let out a yell until his voice was gone and his throat sore. 

The last thing Sunghoon remembered was Heeseung pulling him off the ground and dragging him into the house. 

—

Everyone sat in silence the next morning. 

Jake sat in the corner of the living room, knees to his chest and head on his knees, tuning out the world. 

Sunghoon stared down at the photo of you he had taken with his camera. His hands shook. 

“Dorian is going to pay.” Sunghoon said, breaking the silence, “I am going to make him pay for the things he’s done and get my mate back.”

#myiceprince #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #reader x sunghoon #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #strangers to lovers #enemies to lovers #vampiresbleeding #yeonzzzn writing

[hawkeyetrained]

All Over Him

Dean Winchester x reader (established relationship)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: language (like 1 i think), mention of blood and cuts, stitches

Summary: The boys come back from a hunt injured. Dean gets a little jealous when Sam gets the attention first.

Word Count: 853

Sam, Dean, and I were working a small salt and burn case in a town about three hours from the bunker. “Something easy.” Dean had said when we packed up to go. I was in charge of research this time, needing more time off from hunting due to a messed-up shoulder I got on the last case. Long story short, the witch was stronger than we thought, and I was thrown through a wall, my shoulder taking the entire hit. Dean instantly benched me until I could work without wincing from pain, leading to my curled-up position on the motel bed with the TV on and some random movie playing, even though I was reading my own book, relaxing in my pajamas with one of Dean’s flannels wrapped around me and rolled up to my elbows.

So, when the front door slammed open and two mountains of men came barreling in, both bleeding but one far worse than the other, I was on my feet. “The hell happened?” I half yelled, shutting the door, and throwing my hair into a bun in order to help my boys.

“Damn ghost got the jump on Sam. Took a shard of glass to the shoulder, got hit a few times.” Dean dropped his baby brother onto his bed as I grabbed the first aid kit from my bag.

“Go take a shower so I can see your cuts, De.” I told him, already starting to work on helping Sam. I sat myself beside Sam, pulling his shirt down in order to see the cut on his shoulder from the glass. “Damn Sammy. You’re gonna need stitches.” I quickly grabbed the needle and thread before handing Sam the whisky bottle from the bedside table. “Gonna need it.” Sam took a large swig from the bottle then handed it back, allowing me to pour a little on the wound to clean it.

Sam hissed in pain and his fingers twisted into the back of Dean’s shirt I was wearing. I started the stitching and made sure to be as careful and gentle as possible, keeping the stitches straight and even like my mother had taught me years ago. Dean had come out of the bathroom around the time I had moved to cleaning the cuts on Sam’s face. The older Winchester got dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a simple grey shirt. He had a glare in his eyes that was directed to his little brother and that he didn’t have when they came in.

“Ok.” I finished cleaning the last cut and picked up my trash, being careful to keep all the little pieces of glass in the tissues. “You’re good to go. Be careful with those stitches so you don’t rip one.”

“Thanks.” Sam released his hold on my shirt before he stood and took off for the bathroom to shower. I tossed my trash away then moved over to the other bed with the oldest Winchester laying across from it, favoring one side of his body.

“Dean? Can I look you over?” I asked as I sat down with my supplies.

“Why? You and Sammy looked pretty comfy over there. Sure, you don’t wanna go check on him again?” Dean had a venomous tone to his voice.

“The hell his wrong with you?” I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest. “You never let me check you first. It’s always Sam so I’m used to going to him first. He had glass in his wounds.”

“You didn’t have to be so close to him.” My eyes widened at his words. He was jealous of his little brother. “He didn’t need to be holding you.”

I took this time to gently toss a leg over his hips and sit in his lap. “Dean, baby? Sammy is like the big brother I never had. He was hurting and needed something to ground him.” My hands slid up his chest as I spoke, drawing a sigh from his lips. “Can I check your wounds now?” Dean nodded ever so slightly.

I repeated the process with Dean, getting him to sit and take a drink of whiskey to mask some of the pain that will come from cleaning his wounds. He didn’t let me move more than a few inches in order to get supplies, keeping me in his lap as I cleaned his cuts along his face and then checked the ribs he had been holding. “So, what’s the diagnosis doc? Will I live?” Dean asked as I finally packed away my things.

A smile crossed my lips. “Eh, there’s a possibility, but that all depends.”

“On what?” Dean played along.

“On if you take me out to breakfast tomorrow morning, just you and me.” Dean pulled me down to lay with my head on his chest and his arms around my hips, the blanket resting just above our legs.

“Of course.” He placed a long kiss to my head as Sam re-entered and flicked the lights off for bed. “Love you.”

“Love you too, De.” I snuggled into his side further as sleep engulfed me.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural imagine #spn #spn imagine

[deanwinchestersbabygirll]

Needed you pt1

-warnings// fluff, a lotta angst and implied smut

-a lil summary// Dean acts like an ass, Castiel saves the day yayyy

Castiel x reader

word count//1626

(gif from Pinterest)

"You're such an asshole Dean! I have every right to go on this hunt the same way you and sam do!" You demanded frustrated by the way Dean was banning you from the hunt, so what if you matched the witches victims, you've been a hunter just as long as they were having being brought into it by your parents

"The answers no Y/N we're not risking it!" Dean yelled packing his weapons in his duffel bag as Sam stood silent watching the fight take place not knowing what to do, you rolled your eyes crossing your arms over chest

"it's my life Dean and I can take as many damn risks as I want, especially when it comes to hunting" you yelled back at him your face growing redder by the second

Dean turned to face you his face full of anger "it's not your life I'm worried about, if Sam and I are worried about saving your ass every damn hunt we're gonna wind up dead and I ain't letting that happen so either shut up and research or find someone else to hunt with!" Dean yelled before grabbing his bag

You felt your eyes burn with tears taking in what he just said, Sam grew angry at the comment and he stepped forward to his brother "what the hell is wrong with you Dean" he was angry you were there friend for years knowing them since you were kids, you were family to them, well to Sam at least

"what Sam it's true, she doesn't pull her weight! how many hunts have you gotten bit or stabbed or shot at because Y/N needed help? At least Cas helps out!" Dean said storming out the motel door towards the impala

Sam sighed and turned to face you, taking note of the tears streaming down your face, he pulled you into his arms his large hand cradled the back of your head as your cried into his chest "just ignore him Y/N he's just being a jerk, you do everything for us I mean you've saved our lives more times than I can count, just sit this one out till I figure out what's making him lash out" Sam said and you knew he was right, being anywhere near dean would kill you right now

You nodded against Sam's chest sniffling as you pulled away "I'll be okay you head on out" Sam gave you a sad look and placed his hands on your shoulders "please don't leave just stay here, order takeout and we'll be back in 2 days tops" Sam said, he know you like the back of his hand considering you guys were best friends for over 15 years and he knew you would be thinking of packing up and heading off by yourself

"Okay I promise sweetie I'll wait right here, now you go be safe and come back in one piece" you said giving him a quick hug "I will don't worry about me, hey look if you get bored maybe call Cas he wouldn't mind keeping you company" Sam joked nudging your arm knowing of your feelings for the handsome angel

"Yeah yeah just you head on out" you joked pushing Sam to the door shutting it and quickly doing the locks, once you were alone you let your back hit the door as you slid down holding your head to your knees as your cried, you felt so worthless like you were nothing but a burden to the boys, even Castiel, you appreciated Sam's comfort but it didn't ease the pain.

Looking up from your huddled position when you heard a flutter of wings and low and behold the celestial was stood staring at you confused "you're crying? Who's done this" Castiel asked as he nearly down to your level placing his hand on your knee "I'm okay Cas really don't worry about it" you spoke quickly freaking embarrassed having been caught crying

Castiel gave a look as he squinted his eyes, taking in your features "if it's made this upset of course I'll worry about" Castiel said taking your hands in his pulling you up to a standing position, he placed his hands on your face as he gently wiped your tears away "please tell what happened honeybee?" He begged making you break into tears once more

You and the angel sat on the bed, his arm around your waist holding you to him as you told him about your fight with dean. Castiel was tense as you spoke feeling completely enraged towards the older Winchester "he shouldn't say things like that to you" Castiel was said as he twirled a strand of your hair, helping to calm your breathing

You eventually fell asleep on Castiel's shoulder as you both lay on the bed sitting against the headboard, Castiel stared at your sleeping face noting the red tones on your raw cheeks, he pulled out his phone and hit deans contact, normally he would go to where the boys were, but you looked so peaceful he didn't want to disrupt that

"Hey Cas what's up?" Deans gruff voice came from the phone "well I'm not happy considering I found Y/N crying alone " Cas replied annoyed

Dean sighed before answering "just stay out of it Cas it's not a big deal" Castiel only grew angrier at this "yes dean it is, how could you say that to her" cas whisper yelled down the phone "it's between Y/N and i so just mind your own damn business!" Dean yelled before hanging up the phone, Castiel let out a frustrated sigh and placed his phone on the night stand.

A few hours later you woke up to the feeling of fingers moving slowly through your hair, you looked up from your place on Castiel's chest "hey you stayed?" You questioned knowing the angel didn't need sleep "of course, you were upset I wouldn't leave you alone when you're upset" cas said as if stating the obvious

"That's really sweet of you cas I really needed a friend tonight" you leaned in giving the angel a hug which he was hesitant to reciprocate, still getting used to human antics

"I'll always be there when you need me" he said pulling back from the hug gently his blue orbs staring into your eyes "th-that means a lot Cas thank you" you stuttered out feeling awkward his intense stare at you.

Castiel placed his hands either side of your face, he battled an internal thought, before you could ask him what was wrong, he was leaning forward capturing your lips in his own, you were shocked at first Castiel had never shown interest in you other than friendship

Once the shock had worn off you kissed back immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you, after a few minutes Cas pulled away from the kiss "I uh w-what was that for?" You questioned still enchanted by the way his lips felt on yours

"Sam and I talked, he told me what it meant when I felt a fluttering sensation in my abdomen when I was with you and how I should talk to you about it" Cas said his striking blue eyes staring into your own as he spoke

"Are you saying you like me?" You asked and Cas leaned forward giving you another small kiss before pulling back once more "I find myself falling for you more everyday" Cas said and you smiled feeling your heart beating a thousand miles an hour "I really like you too Cas"

You leaned forward pushing cas down to the bed as you captured his lips in a searing kiss and straddled his hips, he ran his hands from your waist down to your thighs as he gripped them tightly "I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you" you said panting as you pulled back slightly only to move your kisses down his neck

He groaned when you nipped at the spot under his jaw "your the only human I have ever felt feelings for Y/N" cas said as his hand grasped your ass holding you close to him as you grinder your hips down softly against his growing your shirt off your body leaving you in your black lace bra as you kissed your way back to his lips.

Breathless you lay against Castiel's bare chest, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat "that was pretty amazing" you murmured against his skin, Castiel ran his hand up and down your waist “yes I quite liked it, I would like to do it again” Castiel replied

“Oh really?” You asked, Castiel nodded “yes, but only with you” Castiel said, you smiled looking up at him as you moved to leave a kiss on his kiss swollen lips “I’d really like to do that again with you too Cas” you said as you cuddled back into his side.

It was later and the room was in complete darkness, you slept soundly against the angel who remained awake, staying determined to protect you if any evil came lurking through the night, a buzzing coming from the phone that lay in your bag, it was seemingly unnoticed by the angel as he was too focused on the feel of your bare skin against his

It was a message from Dean…

‘Hey sweetheart, listen I’m really sorry for how much of an ass I was to you before leaving, I didn’t mean any of it, I know that’s no excuse, I think we should have a talk when Sammy and I come back, just us, I want to talk to you about some things.’

___________________________________________

THIS IS FROM MY OLD PAGE @aesthetic-babyyy

#dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester smut #sam winchester angst #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel smut #castiel fluff #spn #spn fluff #spn smut #spn angst #supernatural #supernatural fluff #supernatural smut #supernatural angst #fluff #smut #angst #bobby singer #chevy impala #claire novak #jody mills #imagine

[shotmrmiller]

Ahhhh here we are.

A sinner's thoughts

Masturbation, heavy religion theme, Ghoap!!

Catholic Johnny who dutifully goes to mass when he's at home with his family. He recites his daily prayers every day without fail, kisses the crucifix pendant that dangles from his neck, right under the collar of his shirt before every mission, and knows what is expected of him once he's done serving the country— settle down, find a nice, bonnie lass at church to marry, get a dog and buy a beautiful home for his children to grow in.

What isn't a part of his plan is to end up on all fours in his bed as he fists his leaking cock at the thought of his LT, Ghost. He can physically feel the look Jesus is giving him from the crucifix he's nailed to that hangs on the wall.

His cheeks positively burn but he can't differentiate if it's from the scalding arousal that courses through his veins or the blistering shame that rolls in his gut. His family would be utterly disgusted with him if they knew of the raunchy thoughts that pass through his head whenever he lays his eyes on Ghost. The barrel chest Johnny wishes he could rest his head on. Strong, muscular arms that he wants wrapping around him, in a lover's embrace. Waist so wide, he yearns to feel the burn of his inner thighs as Ghost settles between them.

Johnny's also had the misfortune of seeing what Ghost is packing. It hangs from the weight, it's as thick as Johnny's wrist and long— 8 inches. The fact that it's also uncut makes saliva pool inside of his mouth.

He knows better. He should be better. But he's only human, and what flashes behind his eyelids not even he can stop— not that he wants to, either.

Johnny thinks of the time Ghost grabbed him by the arm as he pulled him out of the line of fire. The rough, coarse fabric of his gloves, that were covered in dirt and dried blood. He wants to feel them grazing his scarred flesh, even skim over the fresher wounds he's got. He wants to run his slick tongue right on the zygomatic bone of the skull mask as Ghost rubs both of their cocks together in his large hand.

Johnny tightens his grip around his cock almost painfully, wishing it was Ghost touching him instead. His hand is smaller than Ghost's, but it does the job well enough. He sits up on his haunches and uses his free hand to cup his heavy balls as he continues to stroke himself, smearing his desire around his swollen head with his thumb while concurrently fondling his sac.

His head dips forward, eyes clenched as he feels the somewhat familiar tug at the base of his spine. The hand around his balls starts to roam lower, inching down little by little. This is unchartered territory; he's never explored his own body like this because it's been instilled in him that sex is a means to an end. It's supposed to be about cock in pussy until he finishes, and he and his wife clasping their hands together in orison— praying it takes.

But this new sensation has the course hair in his arms rising on end, it's sublime. Timid fingertips skimming over the sensitive skin of his perineum. He doesn't want his cock in a hole, he wants a cock in his hole.

Johnny's never touched himself back there but that's never stopped him from looking up porn for it, during the witching hour— when the devil comes out to play so be sure you're asleep by then, his ma always said. But he can't do that, not when he's out on a mission in a foreign country, nor when he's in a safe house with the rest of the 141, waiting for exfil. It was during those times that he fell to temptation when the snores of the group reverberated against the walls, yet he couldn't sleep a wink. He'd pull out his phone, only when they were sure that they wouldn't be in danger over using one, and look up videos with men that resembled Ghost the most.

He craves for Ghost to spit on the furl of his arse, and gently push a finger in, maybe two, just like he's seen, but too afraid to do it on himself. He wants to bite down on his pillow at the stretch, wants his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when Ghost finds the gland that'll have him coming in seconds.

Johnny's cock twitches when his fingers reach the crevice of his arse because he wants. He wants, he wants, he wants so badly that he'd almost give up anything for a taste— a morsel of the fruit that hails from the tree God told humanity to avoid at all costs.

The burning in his loins slowly begins to spread, slithering through his body like tendrils of liquid fire flowing over his nerve endings. He grips the middle of his aching length that weeps from the tip and starts to roll his hips, fucking himself into his hand.

Ecstasy licks up his spine, making him fall onto one hand as he arches his back. He thinks back to the times that Ghost called him by his name, his real one. The gravelly voice that says his name with an authoritative tone in his Mancunian accent, orders him around like a dog. A faint whimper falls past his thin lips when the flared head of his cock accidentally touches the bedsheet once, thrice— the material scraping his nerves raw.

He's so close, he knows it. His flushed, sweaty skin is starting to tingle, a gentle prickle starting from his round shoulders down to the very tip of his socked toes. Johnny can barely hear the slick, lewd noises coming from his cock or the springs of his mattress creaking over the thrum of his blood rushing in his ears, the heart that beats in his chest sounds like it's in his head.

Johnny squeezes even harder, the edges of the pain instantly curling into pleasure, and everything freezes. Time, space, his very existence. A moment that feels like an eternity—

God forgive him.

His back bows, his forehead pressed onto his bed as he comes violently. His loud groan is stifled by the mattress, cock spurting rope after rope of warm, thick seed over his sheets. There's a ringing in his ears that's got nothing to do with the mild tinnitus he's already got, spots flashing in his blurred vision, a vignette along the sides of it.

Johnny's drooling, mind hazy, brain turned to mush as he rides his high. He trembles with the aftershocks, the occasional twitch that seizes him as his soul settles back into his body.

He sluggishly pulls himself up off the bed, breathing harshly, raggedly, and unsteadily lowers himself to his knees on the edge of it— mouth already shaping the words he's about to say.

"Heavenly Father, O Lord Almighty, hear my prayer..."

#call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #ghoap smut #johnny soap mactavish smut

[justalilpearlie]

AITA for torturing my soulmate after he ditched me?

I know how the title sounds, but bare with me for a second.

So for context, a couple months ago I (27F) was put in a hunger games sort of death game with a couple friends where we'd have a random amouth of lives assigned to us and the last one standing would win. We could gift eachother lives or trade with them. To make it short, I got 6 lives, putting me in dark green, but my ally (28M), let's call him S, got 2, and was on his yellow life. So we partnered up and I ended up gifting him TWO of my lives this season, and we became best friends.

The problem started about a month ago, after he won last season and we moved into the next one, yet another death game, this time with only 3 lives each, however, there was a twist. Basicly we were all soulbounded to another person there, and when one took damage their soulmate did aswell.

Everyone went on their own separate ways, looking for resources to start off and testing if anyone they met along the way was their soulmate or not. I did this aswell! And ended up sticking around my friend M (33M). We separate for a little bit, and when I find him again M asks me if I wanna go to the NETHER with him. Worst. Mistake. Of. My. Life.

But I thought "Yeah, a quick trip to the Nether cant hurt, as long as we're careful, our soulmates wont mind!", thats where I was WRONG. Once we got back we called over everyone else in the server who hadn't found their soulmates yet, and two people quickly arrived, S and C (42F), both of which were my friends and allies from the first season! M made us play a little game called "Lost and Bound", or would've if we hadn't figured out early who my soulmate was, when a goat attacked S.

Turns out S was my soulbound and C was M's! And they weren't very happy about our little adventure. They called us cheaters, told us we abandoned them, said they'd be eachothers soulmates, and practically broke up with us… in a soulbound way? They also claimed to HATE us for just a small Nether trip. I was heartbroken I'm ngl. My two best friends and past allies, abandoned me just like that, and claimed I was the cheater!

Not only that, but M was quick to ditch me aswell! He even said he blamed me for it. After that I was left alone with my precious dog Tilly (??F), I built a tower alone since I had nobody left with me. But guess what? Everyone started calling me a WITCH and S stared acting like I was some sort of "crazy ex girlfriend".

This is where I feel like I might've been wrong with how I acted. So my other friend, lets call him R(41M), gave me the idea of taking small amounts of damage to "torture" S. I know its bad, but I was very angry at him for what he'd done and said at the time. So I took R up on it and accepted his powdered snow gift, I'd chill on it often to "tickle" S and scare him a little bit. I'd do this almost every day, sometimes standing next to a cactus aswell once I got one.

But in the end, M, C, S and I teamed up together until we all turned red. From then on I kind of went all in at C and might've sent my pack of dogs after her… and of course killed M in the process. Then S told me to meet him where it all started, before blowing himself up with tnt to let me take the win.

It's been a bit since that happened and we're probably gonna start another of these games soon. I've forgiven him for what he did, and it seems like he did aswell, but… I cant help but feel a bit guilty for all that pain I put him through. AITA?

Edit: I also forgot to mention how C tried to burn my dog?? So I was also very pissed at her about it.

#trafficaita #trafficblr #traffic smp #double life #pearlescentmoon #scott smajor #zombiecleo #inthelittlewood #am i the asshole #aita #life series #goodtimeswithscar

[tianasimstreehouse]

Occult Recipebook

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble.

INTRO

Occult gameplay is up there with one of my favourite ways to play. Food is a part of our Sims lives, and should also be for occults so that they can cook up their preferred foods.

This Occult Recipebook is a collection of custom recipes (food and drink) for Occult Sims in the Sims 4.

I have started off this occult culinary journey with: ✨SPELLCASTERS✨

I have plans to later create foods for each occult life state, so I will keep adding to the recipe book.

“Spellcasters” as a life state can be played in so many different ways: they can range from gnarly evil witches who practice black magic and eat bird entrails, to happy little fairies who live in cottages surrounded by woods and flowers! I have tried to include a little bit of everything in the recipes I have created. These foods are a mix of fairy, fantasy, green garden witch, apothecary, or black-magic sorcerer etc. 

They effect Spellcasters and/or human Sims in many weird and wonderful ways.

E.g. Nettle Tea which helps teenagers suffering with acne, Milk Thistle Biscuits which leave the consumer with prickly thistles in their tongue, and Eye of Newt Soup which most Sims will find disgusting but which Spellcasters will happily slurp up.

RECIPES

39 new recipes for your Spellcasters!

~ Realm of Magic is required for these recipes ~

**there's a fair amount of pack-integration, and be sure to read the pack recommendations on the Patreon post for each recipe** to make sure nothing is missing or glitching.

Meals Dandelion Salad - increases SCs gardening skill, fills PlantSims' hunger Nettle Soup Soft-Boiled Golden Eggs - makes Sims glow and glitter Pumpkin Pasties Pomegranate Halves Eye of Newt Soup - makes other Sims feel sick Valerian Root Pie - other Sims won't like this dish Elderberry Jam Toast Toadstool Soup - inspires SCs, normal Sims won't like this dish Salamander Stew - other Sims won't like this dish Spiced Honey Bread - SCs will gain all skills faster Raised Newt Pie - makes other Sims feel sick Dragon Livers - Werewolves will love these and normal Sims won't Raised Phoenix Pie - Sims will randomly breathe fire for a while and feel confident

Desserts Milk Thistle Biscuits - chance to get uncomfortable thistles in tongue Huckleberry Jam Cream Puffs - makes SCs playful Fairy Bread Soul Cakes Huckleberry Pie Juniper Berry Jam Biscuits Honeycomb Cakes - SCs will gain all skills faster Valerian Custard Tart Toadstool Cookies Cursed Cookies - wouldn't recommend eating these... serve them to enemies! Eating one may leave the SC eater cursed. Good Sims will sense the evil inside and get sad Canning *Requires Cottage Living Canning Skill Gooseberry Jam Elderberry Jam Rosehip Jelly Drinks *Bar/alcoholic drinks require Mixology skill, and a Bar. Acorn Coffee (*coffee machine) Pumpkin Juice Willow Bark Tea - A home remedy to cure most illnesses, food poisoning etc Sage Tea - soothes stress and anger, SCs are focused and improve logic skills faster Nettle Tea - helps teens suffering from acne Lavender Tea - makes Sims flirty Mugwort Tea - reduces fear or panic Butterbeer - gives SCs confidence Mandrake Ale Nettle Wine Dandelion Wine Elderberry Wine

INFO & DOWNLOAD (early access): https://www.patreon.com/posts/79514896?pr=true Milk & Cookies: Now! Sugar Cookies: May 24th Public: May 31st

Pro tip for Windows PC users: Please make sure to delete the MACOSX folders/files that can appear after you extract the mod's files, otherwise the game may throw an error and not load at all.

TRANSLATIONS Polish - ❤️ Daisy1728, find their translation over here French - ❤️ Heidi / LuniverSims, find their translation here

#ts4 custom foods #ts4 occult #ts4ROM #ts4 realm of magic #the sims 4 #ts4 custom recipes #ts4cc #ts4mods #tianasimscookbook #recipe grimoire #ts4 occult cookbook #ts4 occult foods #occult recipes #ts4fantasy #ts4 cottagecore #goblincore #ts4 gameplay mods #gameplay mod #ts4modding #ts4 cc #ts4 witches #RoM

[aesthetic-babyyy]

Needed you~ Castiel Novak imagine

Warnings// fluff, a lotta angst and implied smut

Word count//1626

(Gif from Pinterest)

"You're such an asshole Dean! I have every right to go on this hunt the same way you and sam do!" You demanded frustrated by the way Dean was banning you from the hunt, so what if you matched the witches victims, you've been a hunter just as long as they were having being brought into it by your parents

"The answers no Y/N we're not risking it!" Dean yelled packing his weapons in his duffel bag as Sam stood silent watching the fight take place not knowing what to do, you rolled your eyes crossing your arms over chest

"it's my life Dean and I can take as many damn risks as I want, especially when it comes to hunting" you yelled back at him your face growing redder by the second

Dean turned to face you his face full of anger "it's not your life I'm worried about, if Sam and I are worried about saving your ass every damn hunt we're gonna wind up dead and I ain't letting that happen so either shut up and research or find someone else to hunt with!" Dean yelled before grabbing his bag

You felt your eyes burn with tears taking in what he just said, Sam grew angry at the comment and he stepped forward to his brother "what the hell is wrong with you Dean" he was angry you were there friend for years knowing them since you were kids, you were family to them, well to Sam at least

"what Sam it's true, she doesn't pull her weight! how many hunts have you gotten bit or stabbed or shot at because Y/N needed help? At least Cas helps out!" Dean said storming out the motel door towards the impala

Sam sighed and turned to face you, taking note of the tears streaming down your face, he pulled you into his arms his large hand cradled the back of your head as your cried into his chest "just ignore him Y/N he's just being a jerk, you do everything for us I mean you've saved our lives more times than I can count, just sit this one out till I figure out what's making him lash out" Sam said and you knew he was right, being anywhere near dean would kill your right now

You nodded against Sam's chest sniffling as you pulled away "I'll be okay you head on out" Sam gave you a sad look and placed his hands on your shoulders "please don't leave just stay here, order takeout and we'll be back in 2 days tops" Sam said, he know you like the back of his hand considering you guys were best friends for over 15 years and he knew you would be thinking of packing up and heading off by yourself

"Okay I promise sweetie I'll wait right here, now you go be safe and come back in one piece" you said giving him a quick hug "I will don't worry about me, hey look if you get bored maybe call Cas he wouldn't mind keeping you company" Sam joked nudging your arm knowing of your feelings for the handsome angel

"Yeah yeah just you head on out" you joked pushing Sam to the door shutting it and quickly doing the locks, once you were alone you let your back hit the door as you slid down holding your head to your knees as your cried, you felt so worthless like you were nothing but a burden to the boys, even Castiel, you appreciated Sam's comfort but it didn't ease the pain.

Looking up from your huddled position when you heard a flutter of wings and low and behold the celestial was stood staring at you confused "you're crying? Who's done this" Castiel asked as he nearly down to your level placing his hand on your knee "I'm okay Cas really don't worry about it" you spoke quickly freaking embarrassed having been caught crying

Castiel gave a look as he squinted his eyes, taking in your features "if it's made this upset of course I'll worry about" Castiel said taking your hands in his pulling you up to a standing position, he placed his hands on your face as he gently wiped your tears away "please tell what happened honeybee?" He begged making you break into tears once more

You and the angel sat on the bed, his arm around your waist holding you to him as you told him about your fight with dean. Castiel was tense as you spoke feeling completely enraged towards the older Winchester "he shouldn't say things like that to you" Castiel was said as he twirled a strand of your hair, helping to calm your breathing

You eventually fell asleep on Castiel's shoulder as you both lay on the bed sitting against the headboard, Castiel stared at your sleeping face noting the red tones on your raw cheeks, he pulled out his phone and hit deans contact, normally he would go to where the boys were, but you looked so peaceful he didn't want to disrupt that

"Hey Cas what's up?" Deans gruff voice came from the phone "well I'm not happy considering I found Y/N crying alone " Cas replied annoyed

Dean sighed before answering "just stay out of it Cas it's not a big deal" Castiel only grew angrier at this "yes dean it is, how could you say that to her" cas whisper yelled down the phone "it's between Y/N and i so just mind your own damn business!" Dean yelled before hanging up the phone, Castiel let out a frustrated sigh and placed his phone on the night stand.

A few hours later you woke up to the feeling of fingers moving slowly through your hair, you looked up from your place on Castiel's chest "hey you stayed?" You questioned knowing the angel didn't need sleep "of course, you were upset I wouldn't leave you alone when you're upset" cas said as if stating the obvious

"That's really sweet of you cas I really needed a friend tonight" you leaned in giving the angel a hug which he was hesitant to reciprocate, still getting used to human antics

"I'll always be there when you need me" he said pulling back from the hug gently his blue orbs staring into your eyes "th-that means a lot Cas thank you" you stuttered out feeling awkward his intense stare at you.

Castiel placed his hands either side of your face, he battled an internal thought, before you could ask him what was wrong, he was leaning forward capturing your lips in his own, you were shocked at first Castiel had never shown interest in you other than friendship

Once the shock had worn off you kissed back immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you, after a few minutes Cas pulled away from the kiss "I uh w-what was that for?" You questioned still enchanted by the way his lips felt on yours

"Sam and I talked, he told me what it meant when I felt a fluttering sensation in my abdomen when I was with you and how I should talk to you about it" Cas said his striking blue eyes staring into your own as he spoke

"Are you saying you like me?" You asked and Cas leaned forward giving you another small kiss before pulling back once more "I find myself falling for you more everyday" Cas said and you smiled feeling your heart beating a thousand miles an hour "I really like you too Cas"

You leaned forward pushing cas down to the bed as you captured his lips in a searing kiss and straddled his hips, he ran his hands from your waist down to your thighs as he gripped them tightly "I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you" you said panting as you pulled back slightly only to move your kisses down his neck

He groaned when you nipped at the spot under his jaw "your the only human I have ever felt feelings for Y/N" cas said as his hand grasped your ass holding you close to him as you grinder your hips down softly against his growing your shirt off your body leaving you in your black lace bra as you kissed your way back to his lips.

Breathless you lay against Castiel's bare chest, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat "that was pretty amazing" you murmured against his skin, Castiel ran his hand up and down your waist “yes I quite liked it, I would like to do it again” Castiel replied

“Oh really?” You asked, Castiel nodded “yes, but only with you” Castiel said, you smiled looking up at him as you moved to leave a kiss on his kiss swollen lips “I’d really like to do that again with you too Cas” you said as you cuddled back into his side.

It was later and the room was in complete darkness, you slept soundly against the angel who remained awake, staying determined to protect you if any evil came lurking through the night, a buzzing coming from the phone that lay in your bag, it was seemingly unnoticed by the angel as he was too focused on the feel of your bare skin against his

It was a message from Dean…

‘Hey sweetheart, listen I’m really sorry for how much of an ass I was to you before leaving, I didn’t mean any of it, I know that’s no excuse, I think we should have a talk when Sammy and I come back, just us, I want to talk to you about some things.’

____________________________________________

Hi everyone, I’ve been a little inactive as I have decided to make a new account because I unfortunately cannot remember the password to this account, i will tag it here and I promise I will be producing lots of supernatural one shots…. Possibly including a part 2 of this that may turn into a dean imagine… I’m a dean girl sorry also Maybe some marvel too, thanks so much for the support on this account, don’t worry I won’t delete what I have now, I may repost on my new account but for the people that have liked my work thus far I will keep it right here!

My new account is @deanwinchestersbabygirll

I will also tag it on my main profile, thanks again, enjoy this little Castiel imagine ❤️

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #dean x reader #dean winchester #castiel x reader fluff #castiel x reader smut #castiel x reader #castiel #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester smut #sam winchester angst #sam x reader #sam winchester #angst #supernatural smut #smut #fluff #bobby singer #charlie bradbury #chevy impala #imagine

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 2

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied through lack of life experience, competence kink, hunting)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: a truly endless amount of thank you’s to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who took SO MUCH TIME to make this actually coherent, and @mourningbirds1 who always asks the best, most inspiring questions. I love you both ❤️ Enjoy!

Chapter One

--

He shouldn’t be encouraging this. 

He shouldn’t. 

His head bowed, his steps careful as his eyes scan the forest floor for animal tracks, he had thought the wide open forest and a temporary relief from your close presence would help clear his head, but it doesn’t.

The bright optimism in your eyes flits through his mind, the confidence in how you told him about the various plants you chose to start with and why, the content smile on your face as you went about your tasks this morning. Cleaning out the old pots, filling them with fresh soil, setting up an area in the kitchen near the window to keep them safe. 

He should have said something then, but he didn’t. 

Should have said no to begin with, but he couldn’t. 

The night you had suggested the garden, he watched you leave the room and felt the urge to call you back, but like many urges he has where you’re concerned, he resisted. Hated himself for immediately shutting down your idea, but reasoned that you were too naive for your own good anyway. 

It makes him angry, your hope. He wants to stomp it out of you, harden you like he’s been forced to harden, solely because it will give you the best chance at survival in this world. 

That’s what he should do, but the second he had found himself unable to say no, he laid bare a dormant part of him that he had been denying for a while: another piece of him that wants you to keep that innocence. Unable to fathom how you’ve kept it this long, he wants to protect it, like those seeds. Keep it tucked away from the ugly world, save both it and you from waste and ruin. 

He hears the whisper of ferns brushing against each other, sees them moving out of the corner of his eye, and he crouches low, listening. Reaching back, he pulls an arrow from the pack he has on his back and, keeping his eyes on the bush, notches it in his bow. 

He waits, still and silent. 

He had stayed awake long into that night, thinking about how you were right. Every settlement is a nightmare, FEDRA no better than the free cities, smuggling a dangerous game that would most likely end in death the longer he kept on doing it. It’s not something that had really bothered him before – the thought of dying – but that was when it was just him. 

For you, it didn’t sit right. 

For you, he can’t let that happen. He won’t. 

He had gotten up from the couch to pace, mindlessly scanning the bookshelves as his brain ran through every scenario. Stopping on a gardening book, he had decided that if you wanted to make it work, then he was going to do it right. Keep some of that innocence of yours while also being smart about it. 

It’s not that you couldn’t hold your own. He has seen it before, but there is still so much that you don’t know. The sole idea of staying in this cabin betrayed your naivety, highlighting what he had already been fighting with himself throughout this entire trip: teach you, so you’d be ready, or keep you from it, so it wouldn’t be your burden to carry. 

If you are going to stay here, that changed things. 

He should teach you basic skills: how to hunt, how to set traps, how to properly handle a gun if you need to. You could do it if you had to, but you aren’t great. Inexperienced, at best, and as he waits there in the grass, he makes a mental list in his head of the topics he should cover. 

Maybe if he focuses his energy on teaching you those things, he can stop thinking about what it would be like to teach you other things. Not that he knows if you need teaching in those areas, but the idea had taken root weeks ago in his dreams and refused to let go. 

Waking up hard and aching every morning, trying to close his eyes and will it away — being ashamed of those thoughts though unable to stop them from happening, he shoved them down deep, just like he shoved you away.

Or tried to, anyway.

Impatient, harsh, taking advantage of how intimidated you are of him, he’s been gruff and dismissive, but you followed him all the same. Sticking to him like a shadow because of the protection he offers and he knows that’s part of the problem. The real reason you bleed into his dreams every night, because you’re constantly around him and on his mind every hour of the day.

A sort of misplaced attraction due to proximity alone, just like your own is due to his protectiveness - that’s all. 

He has protected you, and he still does. He will protect you from what’s out there, including himself.  

He sees the flash of shine, the animal’s eye catching the sunlight, and his fingers react on instinct, letting the arrow loose.  

Finding its target, the plant stops moving.

–

“I was good with my hands, but I was never good at that.” Joel gestures at the pot in front of you, leaning against the wall as he watches. “I always killed ‘em all.”

You laugh, gently tamping down the cool soil with your fingers. “You? Big bad Joel Miller? There’s something you’re bad at?” 

You haven’t seen it. Not yet, anyway. 

A small smile curls under his mustache. “Hard to believe, I know.”

Late afternoon sunlight streams through the now clean windows, and you shake your head at him, reaching into the bucket next to you. Pulling out another fist full of loose soil, you sprinkle it over the surface of the pot.

“Well, good thing I was always good at it.” 

You were. Had once thought it a relaxing, mindless hobby. Houseplants all over your apartment, you had found it fulfilling when something bloomed and blossomed and grew. Loved the delicate sloping vines, the broad leaves that reached for the sun, the endless shades of green. 

This new version of the world holds growth as well, but it isn’t the same. It is chaotic and overwhelming, plants and roots and whole trees sprouting from beneath the concrete, overtaking whole structures as it takes back what once belonged to it. You find beauty in it still, but sometimes the growth is disgusting and horrifying – when it’s the unnaturally colorful warning of fungus instead of plants, and when it’s a body buried underneath instead of a building. 

Pouring a little water into the soil, you think about the tiny red watering can you had, the reminder of the mundane action that used to bring you so much joy weighing heavy on your chest for a moment as your hands wipe together to brush off the dirt. 

He pushes off the wall and steps closer — always stays close, even inside, just in case. 

The swirl of his protective presence is a heady one, and you’ve become so used to it that you feel a perceptible absence when he’s not in the cabin. The same orbit pulls you unconsciously into his direction now, tilting your body to the side so he can get a better look. 

“This one should bud fairly fast, according to the packet,” you say, trying hard not to noticeably breathe in his warm scent. He doesn’t often get this close, and you hold as still as possible to encourage him to stay. “Then we can move it outside.”

He says nothing, his skepticism apparent through his silence, and you turn your head, looking at him. The wiry patch of gray that gathers at the edge of his jaw calls out for your touch, the light strands threaded among the dark, and you keep your eyes on it for a moment, tearing them away when he looks at you. His eyes focus on yours, a pull of something filling the air between you for a weighted beat, and then he shifts his gaze back to the pot. 

“We’ll see.”

You roll your eyes at his ever-present pessimism, opening your mouth to ask him what he had meant about being good with his hands before since he’s never talked about before with you, but he stands, talking first.

“I was thinking this morning,” he starts, leaning against the wall again. “I should teach you how to hunt.” He pauses, his expression shifting into something more resolute. “I’m going to teach you how to hunt.”

You look up at him, wide eyed and questioning, and he meets your eyes again for a moment before looking away, directing his words at the floor. 

“You should probably know how to do it, if we’re gonna stay out here. Just in case something happens to me, and I can’t do it.”

Your face goes still at the thought, and he backtracks, “Like if I get sick or something. Can’t get outta bed.”

“Knowing you, old man, you’ll be faking. Anything to stay in bed longer.”

He huffs, amused. “It’s a pretty comfortable one, I have to admit. It’s been nice not sleeping on the ground.” 

The beds are better than the ground for comfort, but you liked the ground for safety. Better to have him close should you need him, and you assume he feels the same way, given the way he conveyed his displeasure with the distance wordlessly, insisting the doors stay open at all times. 

“We better go before the sun goes down, try to get more than I got this morning.” His eyes flick over to the hallway. To your open door, the privacy of your room just beyond. 

“Sure. Just lemme get dressed.” 

Standing to carry the pot over to the window sill, you arrange it just so, right next to the other seedlings, and when you turn to head towards your bedroom, you feel his eyes on you until you’re out of his sight.  

–

Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk behind him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you follow without question. You’ve followed them for months now, those shoulders ones that you’ve seen damp with rain, covered under the taut drum of his flannel, tight and tense in unfamiliar territory and now, relaxed and loose, as he walks over to the now still bush.

“Did you get it?”

He nods in your direction, crouching with a soft grunt. “Yea. I got this one, next one is you.”

“You’ve always done it,” you grumble to yourself, watching the path. Your heart aches for the animal, but you’d never admit that softness to him. You know you have to eat, but to see it happen, to be the one who kills something so innocent - that’s a whole other matter. 

You should be used to it by now. But while you have been able to justify killing people as a means to survive, knowing they would do the same to you if given the chance, you still get slightly squeamish about doing it to animals just minding their own business.

“You wanna stay out here, you’re gonna have to learn sooner or later.” He reaches down, grabbing the small, limp rabbit by the ears, and it hangs dead in his grip, not as heavy as he hoped. He stands and turns, leading you deeper into the woods. 

Your fingers catch on the feather light branches of ferns, everything a wash of muted color as dusk descends, and it’s peaceful in your mutual silence, the woods around you alive with its own sounds. 

“We can wait here,” he says, stopping at the edge of a small clearing. The leaves of the trees rustle in the wind, a rabbit popping out long enough to hide behind some tall grass nearby, and he crouches low, your body automatically following his lead. 

“Normally you wanna keep walking. You can scare em’ out of the bushes that way. Rabbits, you let em’ know you’re coming. It’s deer you gotta stay silent for.”

You plant a knee in the moist earth, dampness creeping through your jeans, and he fixes something on his bow. Your eyes rest on the skillful way his fingers move along the bow string, the size of them compared to the delicate wood. 

Satisfied, he holds it out to you with an expectant look. 

“Show me how you’re gonna hold it.”

Unsure, you hesitate before you take it from him, but he waits patiently all the same. You’ve never held a bow before and when you look down at it for a beat too long, he shifts until he’s right next to your side. 

“Like this,” he says quietly. 

He positions your body how he wants it, the practiced weight of his hold guiding you into place, and you let him do it, trying to ignore the increasing thrum of your heart. Something stirs deep in your belly, arousal beginning to bud and unfurl, and then his calloused hand is sliding down your forearm, wrapping your fingers around the bow. 

“Hold it up, and look with your dominant eye. Like when you shoot.”

You test it out, closing one eye and then the other, the tip of the arrow visually landing directly in the middle of a thicket of tall grass. 

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his drawl curling low in your ear and a shiver rolls through you under your jacket, your fingers starting to tremble. He sees it, placing his hand on top of yours with a reassuring squeeze, and you hold your breath. 

“They always come out at dusk,” he says softly, the husk of his voice matching the low lit setting. “That and right away in the morning.” He glances at you with a smirk. “Thought you’d prefer this with how you like to sleep in.”

You can’t turn your face to look at him, lest your mouth brush his, and so you breathe out a laugh instead. 

“Very funny,” you whisper. 

Your leg cramping slightly in your tense position, you shift a little and he places his hand on the small of your back to steady you. 

“You wanna look for something shining in the dark. Their eyes, you’ll be able to see them. They reflect whatever light is around, and you’ll see it flash if you’re patient.”

You keep your eyes trained on the spot, a slight rustle to the brush, and focusing there with intensity, you wait, slipping into a sort of trance. His closeness is intoxicating, the solidness of his hold still pressing lightly into you, his voice a gentle, guiding murmur as the woods grow darker around you. 

His voice lingers in your mind, catching on every ridge, embedding itself and playing on a never ending loop. He’s spoken more to you today than he ever has, and every word has been a piece of useful information - things you’re trying hard to hold onto, but he’s making it difficult with how overwhelming his presence is. The way he’s guiding you with that soothing, low voice makes you think about what other things he can talk you through in the middle of the quiet night. 

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and he looks from the bush to you, a frown pulling between his brows. 

The grass rustles again, and between the blades of ferns, you see it - a sudden flash of something shining.

“There,” he whispers urgently, prompting you to let the arrow loose, but you don’t. Instead you find yourself hovering on the edge, hesitating just long enough for the animal to sense you, and it moves suddenly with a thrash, bounding away. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What happened? Why didn’t you shoot?”

You look at him, the words pulling you from your head. Your eyes are hooded with want, your mouth slightly parted and his own gaze narrows in something akin to recognition, but it disappears from his face before you’re sure. He stands, getting some distance between the both of you. 

“Nevermind. It’s fine.” He won’t look at you, instead letting his gaze rest somewhere out in the field, and your head clears as the thick tension you felt earlier dissipates into thin air, vanishing into the twilight. 

“I think you’ve had enough for today. We can uh – we can pick up tomorrow. It’s getting dark anyway.” He stands there for a moment, weight shifting from one leg to the other while he taps the edge of his thumb against his thigh, and then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone. 

–

Choosing to dress the rabbit he shot earlier alone down by the water, you prepare everything else inside. You watch him make the pit, his thighs taut in their crouch as he prepares it to burn hot and low, and when he’s done cooking, you eat together in relative silence. 

He hasn’t said anything about your lesson or about picking it up tomorrow, but the way he won’t meet your eyes has embarrassment and shame coursing through you. Becoming a burden to him is something that you can’t afford and taking his avoidance of the topic as disappointment, you are stewing on apologizing when he clears his throat, sitting forward with his forearms resting on his knees. 

“I’m gonna set some traps tomorrow. I think you should help me, so you know where they are.” He brings his eyes up to yours for the first time since he’s come inside. “And so I can show you how to set them.”

Relief washes through you, and you nod, agreeing “I’m sorry, by the way. About earlier.” He frowns in confusion, and you clarify. “With the rabbit. Sorry I didn’t shoot. I’ll – I’ll try harder next time. Focus, like you asked.”

You had been focusing, just on the wrong thing, and his frown gives way to a look of understanding.

“Don’t worry about it. Your first time holding a bow, wasn’t it? Wasn’t expecting you to actually make a kill or anything. Just wanted to get you used to it.”

Second chances are something you aren’t often afforded, but here it’s different. Here, you can take your time and learn without the pressure of death as a consequence for your mistake, and it’s like he knows it too, with how understanding he’s being. 

He stands, preparing to do his usual checks for the night while you gather the dishes and place them in the sink for washing tomorrow. He grabs his rifle from the counter, leaving the cabin to walk the perimeter and then comes back in with a stomp of his boots on the rug to check every lock, scanning the forest through the window before he tells you he’s going to turn in for the night. 

“Goodnight,” you say, settling in to read on the couch. 

Delighted to find a bookshelf in nearly every room, you had spent the last couple of days going through the titles, selecting the ones you wanted to start with and reorganizing the shelf in your room to store them.

Assembling your own personal library, Joel’s face had been amused as he watched you, and you had thought maybe he would say something to discourage it. At the very least make a teasing comment, but he had held back.

Victory was yours later when you spied a worn western on his bedside table, the paperback lying open, face down.

You read for about an hour, your eyes eventually burning with tiredness in the low, flickering light of your lantern, and deciding to also turn in, you glance at that western when you pass by his bedroom. 

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

His broad back facing you, his shoulders are a steady, slow rise and fall. He shifts, rolling onto his stomach and the t-shirt he’s wearing strains tight across his torso as he bunches his pillow, adjusting it under his head. You see a sliver of his back in the darkness, a slice of it beneath the hem of his shirt, and the dip of his spine leads downwards, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still on your mind.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

His broad back facing you, his shoulders are a steady, slow rise and fall. He shifts, rolling onto his stomach and the t-shirt he’s wearing strains tight across his torso as he bunches his pillow, adjusting it under his head. You see a sliver of his back in the darkness, a slice of it beneath the hem of his shirt, and the dip of his spine leads downwards, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Satisfied that he seems to be okay, you crawl into your own bed and with your door open and lying in the darkness, you drift off to the sensation of firm, warm velvet skating under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

#joel miller/reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[suugarbabe]

Lover (II)

[Chapter 2]

this is the final part do not ask for a third pls

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: ~1.8k

Warning: none

You were fighting to keep your eyes open. Normally you loved charms, loved learning new spells and mastering ways to mess with the boys. But the stress of your other classes was keeping you up at night. 

Mattheo knocked his shoulder into yours, “You still with us, love?” You made a soft grunting noise in response, earning a chuckle from him. He pulled on the sleeve of your robe until your head fell to his shoulder. 

He let you lightly snooze like that until class was over, tapping your nose several times until you stirred, “Wakey wakey, princess.” You sat up, eyes shooting open, “W-what did I miss?” 

Pansy snorted beside you as she packed her bag, “Just all of charms. Don’t worry, Matty boy let you take a nap on his shoulder.” She winked at Mattheo, who only glared at her for the teasing. 

You didn’t notice this interaction as you were covering your face, groaning, “Teo, why did you let me sleep during class?” 

He sighed, “Maybe because you’re the smartest witch in charms class and you needed a break. You’re stressing yourself out, all the lads can see it, too. They’re just too afraid to tell you to your face.” 

You grinned at this, “I like that they’re a little afraid of me.” Mattheo laughed, leading you out of the classroom and down towards lunch, “They’re a lot afraid of you, love. And I know you like it you little psycho.” 

You punched his arm playfully. Despite you not nearly being strong enough to inflict pain on him, Mattheo grabbed his arm, displaying a large pout. 

You entered the great hall together, making your way to your group of friends. Enzo barely let you both sit down before he started talking, “You both attending the party tonight?” 

Mattheo looked at Enzo like he had two heads, “Do you know who I am?” 

Enzo nodded, “Yeah, good point.” He turned to you then, “Y/n/n? Party?” You smiled, “Course, Enzie. Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Mattheo felt a stirring in his chest, like a bubbling, or burning when you used your nickname on Enzo. His face must have displayed his inner feelings because Draco leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Careful cousin, your little green monster is showing.” 

Mattheo turned to him, “What are you on about?” Draco smirked, “You’re jealous. That Y/n is being sweet to Enzo, of all people.” 

Mattheo’s shoulders relaxed a little. Draco was right, he was being ridiculous. Enzo was like everyone’s child, you were just being sweet to him because that’s how you were. 

“What’re you gonna wear, y/n/n,” Pansy always tried to get you to dress the most scandalous at parties, especially one’s your house hosted. Usually you just opted for something simple, but tonight, you were on a mission. 

“I was thinking maybe we could get ready together? Maybe you can even pick an outfit out for me, Pans?” Pansy was giddy with excitement. 

Mattheo’s cheeks grew warm just thinking about the outfit Pansy might pick out for you. Pansy was a confident woman and, thus, wanted every woman around her to feel as confident. Mattheo thought you were beautiful, no matter what you wore. However, you usually stuck to more moderate clothing choices. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to handle it if Pansy dressed you in anything remotely similar to how she went to parties. His head might explode on sight. 

“Oh that’s the one. Yes. You have to wear that one, please, y/n/n,” Pansy was fawning over you in the outfit she had made you try on. You had on a pleated leather miniskirt with a velvet cropped tank top that was the prettiest emerald green. 

You did a little spin, “You don’t think it’s too much? You know I don’t usually dress up like this for parties, or in general.” 

“Yeah, I know. But Mattheo will be absolutely drooling over you when you come down in this.” Thankfully Pansy was digging through her jewelry and didn’t see the way the blood rushed to your cheeks. “W-why would I want him to do that?” Your voice came out more cautious than you would have liked, wanting it to be stoic and nonchalant. 

Pansy gave you a knowing look in the mirror as she clasped a silver necklace around your neck, “I see the way you look at him, love.” 

“I don’t - I, erm, what I mean is- ugh, fine, yes, okay.” You were a stuttering mess, not able to hide the truth so you just admitted it. 

“I fucking knew it!” Pansy was bouncing on her toes now. You shushed her, “Calm down, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way about me. Just sees me as a…friend.” The word felt like vinegar in your mouth. 

“I think you should talk to him about it,” Pansy said it so casually, like she suggested you ask him about potions homework. 

You couldn’t help but scoff at her, “Are you mental? I could never risk our friendship like that. He told me the other night at the lake that I was his best friend. Emphasis on the friend, Pans. That’s all I am to him.” 

“Right,” Pansy’s tone told you she was not convinced, “You mean to tell me the boy who who willingly carried you on his back to a ‘special spot’ that’s just for the two of you, who took time out of his night to sit with you while you were freaking out, who laid with you to watch the bloody stars over the lake and then carried you all the way back to the castle and tucked you into bed, only sees you as a friend.” 

Pansy shook her head as she walked into the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror again. Observing the way the skirt fell to your mid thigh. Would Mattheo like that? Would he see you and, as Pansy put it, ‘drool over you’? The other things she said played in your mind. How differently Mattheo seemed to treat you. You never really put two and two together. 

You had always figured it was because you were the first girl in the group that he was nicer to you. He was always affectionate with you, giving you long hugs, kisses on the forehead. Holding your hand to stop you from nervously biting your nails. 

He was always there to calm you down, rub your back and hold you when you cried or someone broke your heart. Always promising to hex anyone that did you wrong. You always told him it was unnecessary but one look at Theo or Draco and it would get taken care of somehow. 

You found yourself sat next to Lorenzo on one of the love seats in the corner of the party. Your group had formed a circle, Mattheo sitting across from you. His eyes seemed to never leave you, whether you were aware or not. He was watching closely to every move Enzo made, making sure he kept his hands to himself, appropriate distance from you. 

He was paying so little attention to the game he didn’t even realize that the bottle had landed on him. “Truth or Dare, cousin?” The smile Draco was adorning was not one Mattheo was fond of.

“Erm, truth.” Mattheo figured this would be the safer choice, but soon learned it was anything but.

Draco leaned back in his chair, glancing around the circle until he met your gaze, then turned back to Mattheo, “When are you and Y/n going to admit you’re in love with each other.” 

You nearly choked on your drink, causing Enzo to pat your back viciously while trying to hide his laughter. The entire circle seemed to agree, but you and Mattheo were quick to deny the allegations with a chorus of “he doesn’t see me that way” and “she’s way too smart for me” with some “we’re literally best friends”. 

The group was not happy with either of your responses, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Pansy toward the broom cupboard while Theo and Draco dragged Mattheo. You both were shoved into the small closet, leaving very little room between the two of you. 

The door was slammed shut while Draco muttered a locking charm. “You two are going to stay in there until you admit your feelings for one another,” Theo shouted. Pansy’s voice was heard next, “I’m tired of you two ignoring it, just bloody admit it.”

The floor was suddenly the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You both were silent, avoiding the other the best you could. You could hear the music blaring through the closet door. You flicked your wand, casting a silencing charm. 

“Sorry, music was…hurting my head,” You spared a glance at Mattheo only to find he was already looking at you. Mattheo’s eyes were one of your favorite things about him. Where everyone else just saw brown, you saw honey and autumn leaves. When he looked at you his eyes were soft, flecks of gold dancing within them that reminded you of a flame. 

You opened your mouth to say something the same time as Mattheo, but where you were at a loss of words Mattheo’s seemed to pour out of him.

“Y/n/n, I love you. Like really, truly, all encompassing in love with you. Merlin, I have been for years. And I know you don’t feel the same but-”

“I do,” you had to interrupt his ramblings, he had to know the truth. 

“What?” 

“I love you, too, Mattheo.” 

He took a tentative step closer, like he was making sure you were real. Making sure you really just echoed his confession. Your back was to the wall as he cupped your cheek, his other hand gently gripping your waist. Your hands were flat on his chest as you looked up to meet his eyes again. 

His body seemed to work faster than his mind as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Years of passion coming out in a single moment. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. 

You were so enthralled with each other that neither noticed the sound of the door unlocking until it swung open, cheers and whistles of encouragement from your friends bringing you both down to reality. 

“Bloody finally!” Blaised shouted, causing you and Mattheo to look shyly at the floor. The rest of the group shouted a mixture of congrats and relief that you two seemed finally together. 

Mattheo stepped out of the closet first, holding out his hand for you to take hold, “C’mon, lover. Let’s rejoin the party, yeah?”

#lover #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fic #golden era #harry potter