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suckmysupernatural · 4 years

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Sunshine - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2226

Pairing: Sam x OC Sunny

Series Summary: The Winchesters meet a cheerful hunter named Sunny, who quickly captures Sam’s attention. Little do any of them know what lies in store when Sunny gets invited to join the brothers. Who can say how Sam, Dean, and Sunny will be some training days, a handful of hunts, romantic dates, a kidnapping, and one vengeful demon later.

Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean meet an upbeat hunter with incredible skills

Warnings: show-level violence, language

A/N: I’m so excited to finally be sharing this series with you guys! 2 1/2 months of writing and it is seeing the light of day. A big thank you to @emptycanvasposts for beta-ing and helping to correct my many, many grammar mistakes. Also thank you to @erin-fox-winchester for hyping me up and giving me amazing notes that made this series so much better.

A/N 2: I’m now doing a forever tag list!!! Send a message, ask, reblog, or reply and I’ll add you <3

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The sleek black Impala raced down the road towards Norfolk, Virginia. Sam and Dean had been alerted of a vampire nest in the city, so they decided to make the long drive from Lebanon. Sam was passed out in the back seat as Dean rocked out to classic rock music to stay awake. They had been on the road for a total of 20 hours, stopping once at a motel for sleep. Dean looked down at his phone, checking the directions; he nodded to himself, satisfied with the results.

Ozzy Osborne’s “Crazy Train” suddenly blared from the speakers, Dean turning up the volume to wake up his brother. This was Dean’s version of an alarm clock, and boy was it alarming. Sam jolted upright, looking for the source of the sound. After realizing it was just his brother, he brought his hands up to his eyes in an attempt to rub away the grogginess Sam felt.

“One hour out, man. You hungry?” Dean asked over his shoulder, chuckling at the brother’s reaction to the noise. Sam awkwardly climbed into the front passenger seat, his legs getting caught under him and almost causing him to tumble face-first into the dash. Dean bit back another laugh upon seeing the taller brother’s struggle, only to be met with a glare.

“Yeah, I could use some food,” Sam responded as he tried to suppress a yawn. The two brothers continued their journey in relative silence, nodding their heads along to the music. Before they knew it, they were passing a sign welcoming them to Norfolk. As soon as a diner was in their sights, Dean pulled into the parking lot. The brothers went in to eat, taking their time as they knew that the vampires wouldn’t be a problem until nighttime.

“So, I was looking for a place the nest might be. There is an abandoned house on the south side of town. All of the victims were within a ten-mile radius of it. I’m thinking this one is open and shut. We can head there tonight and take ‘em out. Thoughts?” Sam offered up his research to Dean as they settled down in a booth. Dean looked over the map that Sam had marked up with the locations where each victim went missing and was found. It all seemed to point to the old house. Nodding, Dean agreed. It was nice when they didn’t need to go searching.

They made the plan to set out for the abandoned house just before sunset, letting themselves relax as they ate their meals.

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The sun had just set as the brothers approached the house. As soon as they saw the multiple cars parked out in front, they knew they were in the right place. No one had owned the home in years, and usually squatters didn’t drive BMWs.

The two men could hear the commotion from inside as soon as they reached the porch steps. They held their machetes up, prepared for whatever was going to happen. Or at least, they thought they were ready for anything. The front door swung open, revealing a vampire attempting to run from the house. Before either brother could make a move, the monster’s head was swiped clean off. The body dropped, revealing a woman that had both brothers in shock.

She had a machete in hand, but other than that, her appearance didn’t line up with the classic hunter look. She had on bootie heels that added an extra couple inches to her height, although she was still a lot shorter than both of the brothers. Her jeans were tight and she wore a loose floral shirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, out of her face but still stylish. The strangest of all was the smile that grew on her face as she saw the brothers.

“Oh, hi! You guys must be hunters,” she said to them cheerily, her eyes looking down at the machetes in their hands. Dean wore a confused face, not used to cheery people, especially cheery hunters. Sam, on the other hand, was transfixed by the woman that stood before him. She was beautiful, and that smile, god that smile. It was so perfect that he was surprised that it didn’t twinkle like in cheesy cartoons.

“Um… yeah,” Dean said, realizing Sam was not going to say anything. “I thought there were like 6 or 7 vamps in this nest. The number of deaths…”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded simply, “it was six. So, do you two have names to match those handsome faces?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond when he saw movement behind her. Both brothers were about to warn her of the threat but she gave them a quick wink before twisting. She moved fluidly, slicing perfectly through the remaining vampire’s neck.

“Make that seven. Anyways, names?” she asked again while wiping her machete off on the now-deceased vampire’s jeans. She started walking towards them; her demeanor still bright. The brothers both looked at her in shock.

“Um… I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam. Do you mean to say that you just took out seven vamps all by yourself?”

“Well, nice to meet you, Dean, Sam, and yes I did,” she responded, offering her hand to shake. “The name’s Sunny.”

“Sunny?” Dean asked, his eyebrow raised as he shook the woman’s hand. It fit perfectly with her upbeat attitude. It was almost hard to believe that this woman was real.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname. My friends started calling me Sunshine, you know, cause I’m so positive. It didn’t take long for it to become shortened to Sunny. It’s what everyone calls me,” Sunny flashes another smile to the brothers. Sam clears his throat, finally speaking.

“So - um - Sunny, wanna go grab a drink with us?” he asked, trying not to make it sound like he was trying to pick her up. Even though that was definitely what he was trying to do. He was drawn to Sunny and didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. Dean looked over to his brother and poorly attempted to suppress a grin. It was rare to see Sam so flustered over a woman. Hell, he didn’t even know how long it had been since his brother had a date.

“Sure, sounds great! I’ll follow you guys,” she smiled. The three hunters walked back in the direction of the Impala. It wasn’t until they passed a cluster of trees that Sunny started to break off from them. Behind the foliage was a bubblegum pink car that seemed to match the woman’s personality perfectly.

“Holy shit is that -” Dean’s eyes were wide.

“A 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood? Just like the one Elvis had? Yes, it is,” Sunny smiled with pride. The car was her most valued possession and she loved to see people’s reactions to it. Turning from the brothers, she climbed in and started the engine. Dean bit back a moan at the sound, looking over to his brother.

“Marry her, Sammy. Just fucking marry her,” Dean said, his tone serious. Sam rolled his eyes as he started to walk towards the Impala. It didn’t take long for the brothers to get in and pull onto the road. This time, however, Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off of the side mirror, the pink car following not far behind them.

Soon they pulled into the bar’s parking lot. Sam had found one on his phone, giving Dean directions. It was nicer than their usual stops, not some roadside biker bar. He had a feeling that wasn’t Sunny’s scene. The Cadillac pulled up into the spot right next to the Impala, Sunny climbing out and gently closing the door. The three of them walked into the joint and were immediately met with the smell of booze. It was a familiar scent for them, the hunting life and alcohol went hand in hand. Dean made a beeline to the bar, leaving Sam behind with Sunny.

“What can I get you?” Sam asked her. She flashed him one of those heart-stopping smiles before responding.��

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned,” she said. Sam nodded, leaving her to join his brother. Sunny found an empty table and sat. It didn’t take long for the brothers to return, Sam with her drink and a beer in his hands and Dean with a whiskey neat. Sam hands Sunny her glass as Dean speaks up.

“I’m surprised, didn’t take you as an Old Fashioned gal,” Dean points out. He had thought she would have gotten a sugary drink that requires a tiny umbrella.

“Just because I’m feminine doesn’t mean I can’t handle my alcohol. I am a hunter after all,” Sunny laughed, bringing the glass to her lips. She wasn’t surprised by his question as it was one that most men tried to use as a pick-up line when she went to bars alone. “And I think it's a bit obvious by now, but I’m full of surprises.” She winked, causing Sam to almost choke on his beer. Sunny was definitely something else.

The three hunters all nursed their drinks until Sam asked the question that both men had been wondering since they met her.

“Okay, so how did you do that back there? Take out that many fangs? And that one that came up from behind you?” Sam blurted out. If it had been either of the brothers, they would’ve been outnumbered and blindsided. The vampire had moved silently, not doing anything to reveal its whereabouts.

“Oh, that. I felt the air shift,” she said like the answer was obvious, taking a sip.

“Wait, what?” Sam asked as both brothers looked at her, completely confused.

“So you know how we always have to be aware of our surroundings? Always on high alert? Well, I’ve managed to hone that in, taking the nerves out of the equation. I am fully aware of every part of my body, every sense. Sure, the vamp might’ve been completely silent, but as he moved near me the air was softly pushed in my direction. I could feel it on the back of my neck, so I knew he was right behind me.” Both brothers absorbed the information, surprised by the woman that sat across from them.

“So, you’re just a human?” Dean asked bluntly. It was hard for him to believe she didn’t have secret powers. The question made her throw her head back in laughter.

“Yes, Dean, I am 100% human. I just don’t do things like most hunters,” she shrugged. Sam was in awe of her. She had such calming energy to her, he never wanted to leave her presence.

“Can you teach it? Your technique?” Sam asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Honestly? I’ve never tried it. I rarely meet other hunters and most of them are men who assume I’m afraid to chip a nail. If they want to underestimate me, that’s fine. I just let them take over and move on. There are plenty of monsters out there,” she said. It was surprising to hear, as she was obviously a fantastic hunter. Dean and Sam had barely seen her in action but they knew it to be true. To think that others thought she was just a pretty face was frustrating to Sam.

Sam looked over to Dean and Sunny quickly noticed that they seemed to be having a conversation with just their eyes. They were brothers, so this wasn’t surprising. It was something she used to do with her sister. It only took a couple of seconds before they both looked back at her.

“Why don’t you come back with Dean and me to our bunker? We would like to learn from you if that’s alright. You’d have a room to stay in and everything. That is if you want.” Sam was trying to not to keep his hopes up. There was no reason for this woman to follow two strangers and agree to train them. Looking into her eyes, he knew that he could get lost in them. She took a minute to think it over, taking a sip of her drink.

“You know what? Why not? It’s not every day you get such an interesting offer. I can’t even remember the last time I worked with anyone,” Sunny accepted.

“Wait, you are just going to come with two guys you barely know?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you both know that I could kick your asses in a heartbeat,” she stated simply. Both brothers exchanged a look. She was probably right. This decision seemed like the right one for Sunny. She usually didn’t trust male hunters, expecting them to be sexist assholes. These two were different, though. Dean seemed impressed by her skills, shocked only that she was human. He didn’t seem to care that she was a woman.

Sam was something else entirely. She could tell that he genuinely was curious about how she worked. There was something about him that made her trust him. Maybe it was the kindness in his eyes or the way that he spoke to her like she had some sort of wisdom to impart. Whatever it may be, she had a feeling that the two of them were going to get along well.

It also didn’t hurt that he was quite handsome.

Chapter 2 ->

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minteyeddemon · 4 years

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"Fight Me”

I was listening to Simon Curtis - Flesh while writing this hhhh I love that song.

V x Liah; Smut, fighting, biting

***

There was an anger radiating off him, like a wave of heat she could feel on her skin from her standing position against the wall. She could see the leather of his glove flexing with how tight his grip was on his cane, the muscles in his arms incredibly tense. She had a feeling if he squeezed it any harder, he would snap it in two.

She moved from her spot, and made to sit next to him, scooting closer into his side. The wave of anger dulled very little, as he looked at her from his peripheral.

“You do not need to ask, Liah. I am fine.”

She gave him an obvious frown. “Sure don’t look fine, V," she said point blank, not taking her own eyes away from his.

His mouth formed into a thin line, his gaze set straight before him, staring into clearly nothing; but the previous hour could be seen clearly replaying over and over in his mind.

He and Dante had gotten into a pointless and useless argument, that led into an attempted fist fight between the two men, V's cane being tossed to the side in exchange for bare fists. The demon hunter managed to get the poet in a headlock, teasing him for his failed attempts to take on the bigger man. In a flame of rage, V summoned Griffon, who immediately flew at Dante, pecking him relentlessly on the top of his head with claws attempting to rip up his skin. The fight was eventually broken up by Nero and Nico, who both pulled Dante out to join them on a mission, and forced V to stay and stew over the fight.

She could see his mind reeling and decided to lean forward, tilting her head to be within his line of sight. She could see the lower lid of his eye twitch, trying not to look towards her. Noting this, an idea brewed in her head, and she grinned at him.

“How about you try fighting me this time.”

That had his attention, as his jade eyes immediately flickered to her face. “Fight you?”

She gave him a smug smirk. “Yeah. Me.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, but it didn’t deter her grin at all.

“And what, pray tell, kind of fight do you wish to have with me?”

Her smirk spread more, as she stood and crooked her finger for him to follow her. Without hesitation, he stood from his seat and followed her up the stairs, to her bedroom. Once he closed the door behind him, she grabbed him by the lapel of his leather jacket, pushing him onto the bed, pinning his hands by his wrists above his head.

"Prove how strong you are to me, Shakespeare," she teased, using her legs to pin his, her grip on his wrists tight and pressing.

The dark smirk that spread across his lips made a shiver roll up her spine. He shifted a knee beneath her, managing to move her to her side with a rather loud surprised noise, and flipped to have her on her back. Her hands were still around his wrists, but he used the leverage to pin her arms to her chest.

"Sure you want to challenge me, firecracker?"

“Do I look like I back down from a challenge?”

Before he could reply, she rolled her hips upward against his, distracting him if only for just a moment; but that was all she needed. His grip loosened just enough for her to push him up, knee to his stomach for leverage to knock him off her so she could get up from the bed.

He stood up from his tumble off the bed, a dark gleam in his eyes as he faced her. He rolled his shoulders, his fingers flexing as he stared her down.

“Using your appeal on me. How crude,” he shot at her, knowing full well she enjoyed riling him up like that.

With a cheeky grin, she gave a slight shrug. “All’s fair in love and war.”

He chuckled, chin tilting up a bit as he ran a hand through his hair. His muscle tensed with the action, and she tried her best not bite her lip as she looked him over.

“I will win this war,” he hissed, than moved so quickly she couldn’t react; he shifted behind her, grabbing her by the wrists with one hand, the forearm of his free arm wrapping around her neck. This brought her back flush against his chest and she gasped when his arm tightened around her throat.

"The little mouse continues to tease the cat, and will soon lose its tail," he whispered by her ear. He turned her and forced her forward onto the bed, pushing her face down into the mattress. His grip was still tight on her wrists while he used a foot to spread her legs for him. "Oh how beautiful you look in this position, my firecracker," he breathed, and his free hand came down hard on her ass. She gasped at the contact and tried to struggle free from his hold, but to no avail.

"Ah ah," he tuted her, giving her another hard smack. "You are now at my mercy, dear. You prodded the bull far too much." His free hand came up underneath her and cupped her middle, eliciting a small whimper from her at the barely there contact. His fingers deftly worked the zipper of her jeans and popped the button just as easily. "You wished for me to fight you yet now are nothing but putty in my hands. How quickly the fire burns out in one so brazen."

She looked back at him suddenly, and moved her leg to wrap around his hip, pulling him flush against her bottom. The sudden movement made his grip loose and she pulled free, turning over to grab him by the lapel once more and flip him on to the bed. He laid there, upside down for a moment, while she managed to climb off the bed.

"Hey Mr. Poetry, you really need to learn to not let your guard down."

He huffed in frustration and spun off of the bed, lunging directly at her this time. She tried to dodge but his movements were always much quicker; he grabbed her by the throat and rammed her into the door, pinning her between his body and the wood frame.

"You try my patience with your little games, Liah," he growled out by her ear, fingers squeezing her wind pipe slightly. She gave an airy laugh, attempting to be defiant as well as trying to calm her racing heart. "But I thought you enjoyed my games, V. Just look..." Her hand came down to cup him through his baggy black jeans. "You're hard as a rock..."

He groaned at the sensation and rutted slightly against her hand; but his own remained tight at her throat. "You still try me, darling. I guess it's time for this game to come to an end."

Using his hand at her throat, he guided her back towards the bed, and resumed their position of her face down on the mattress, her ass slightly in the air. He gripped her hands behind her back once more, and with his free hand untied the laces of his vest, pulling the string free. He used said string to tie her wrists together, keeping her stuck in her position and she couldn't break free. He stepped back and shrugged off his coat, rolling his shoulders as they were freed of the heavy leather. He returned to his position behind her and gripped her jeans, tugging them down until they were at her knees, her panties following suit.

"Such a sight," he sighed, taking in her glistening cunt, his fingers tracing her labia teasingly. Her whine was muffled by the mattress as she turned her head to look back at him, watching him toy with her. His other hand was working at his belt, unbuckling it slowly as his fingers continued to glide along her folds, slipping in ever so slightly to brush her clit for the smallest moment. She heard the undoing of his zipper, and he tugged his own jeans down just enough to free his cock, giving it a few pumps as he slipped his finger into her tight entrance. She keened at the sensation, rolling her hips back to get any semblance of friction from him.

His smirk was wide as he looked down at her, pumping his cock in time with his finger inside of her. He slipped in a second one and began to scissor them within, making her writhe under his touch. His smirk only widened.

"Concede that I win this 'fight' and you will receive what you wish."

She looked at him with lust in her eyes, darkening the emerald around her pupils. "You win, V. You always win. Please...fuck me..."

His eyes seemed to roll back into his skull as he inhaled sharply, letting it out on a low growl as he surged forward, plunging his cock into her with fervor. He paused and waited for a few pulses of her walls around his shaft before he picked up a slow pace, taking his time in fucking her. She keened and tried to roll her hips back against him, but his hands kept her in place. "Patience, firecracker. Let me draw out this victory."

She whined but nodded, letting her head slump forward onto the mattress as his fingers worked up her back, pressing her down roughly by the shoulders. His thrusts became hard despite their slow pace, and the mattress rocked with each one. He leaned forward and placed his chest over her back, covering her completely. His mouth found her neck and his teeth marked her skin, biting down so hard she was sure he had drawn blood. "This is my prize. None shall have it but me," his voice rumbled against her back and she nodded, a high moan leaving her as he hit her cervix.

With another growl, he continued to bite along her neck and shoulder, leaving blooming red marks that were sure be blue and purple come the next day. Marks of his triumph and possession of her. He pulled back slightly and picked up his pace against her, his fingers finding purchase in her hips and digging into the flesh there to hold her flush against his middle. Her nails were digging into her palms now as she felt everything in her beginning to tighten, ready to snap at any moment. Just the right push of his hips would send her careening over the edge. He could feel her walls tightening around his cock and pressed forward, rutting his hips roughly against her and relished in the feeling of her releasing around him, her walls fluttering and milking him until he also followed suit, filling her with spurt after spurt of his cum.

Once the initial high of his orgasm wore off, he leaned forward and freed her wrists, allowing her to fully move and lay properly on her side on the bed. He followed and laid along side her, taking her sore wrists in his hands and giving them the gentlest kisses. He knew they were going to have those angry red marks for days; but at the same time, he was happy she allowed him to go that far.

"Thank you," he mumbled into her hair. She pulled away a bit to look up at him. "For what?"

"For this little...fight you planned out for me. It helped to...release that pent up frustration that was brewing in me."

She smiled warmly at him and kissed the tip of his nose before cuddling into his chest. "You know I am always the best at helping you 'release pent up frustration'," she teased, and simply pinched at her bottom, before chuckling right along with her.

#devil may cry #devil may cry ns/fw #dmc v #oc liah #v x liah #fanfiction #fanfic

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emoboijk · 4 years

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knj | till death

In the demon world, arranged marriages are business transactions. But this isn’t that simple. —demon au, arranged marriage au, non-idol au

01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 :: 07

2,635 words

gif credit

Inside Namjoon's head, there is nothing but rage. He feels like an animal throwing itself against the bars of its cage, trying to shake something, anything loose. He directs every ounce of power he has at regaining control of himself and he feels only a smidge of progress.

That, and Taemin's teeth nibbling at his earlobe.

Namjoon's eyes stay straight ahead and his body remains immobile. He's glad his body hasn't turned because it means he can keep his eyes on you. He's trying to catalog your and Yoongi's injuries but he finds there are too many to count. He focuses on the men standing behind you both, memorizing their faces. He makes plans to return the favor ten-fold. He wants to clench his fist or jut out his jaw, some small act of defiance, but his body won't move.

"Namjoon here," Taemin purrs, his breath fanning hotly against Namjoon's neck, "made a blood oath with me." Taemin's body curls around the side of Namjoon's possessively, his nails digging into Namjoon's bicep and his teeth running along the pulse point in his neck.

Namjoon tries to ignore it. He can't really feel it anyway. Whatever control Taemin has over his body has also numbed him.

"Idiot," Yoongi grumbles, glaring defiantly at the dark-haired villain clinging to Namjoon. One of the men standing nearby immediately steps forward and hits him in the back of the head. Yoongi sways forward, finds his balance in the chair, and leans back. Turning to the side, he spits blood on the greenhouse floor and licks his teeth. His eyes still have that defiant edge.

"He's not wrong, my love," Taemin giggles, "Giving your blood to an 'enemy'?" Taemin's shoulders shake with laughter before he moves to stand in front of Namjoon. He cups his cheeks in his hands softly and says, "It was just a ploy, hmm? You wanted to come back to me. I know. I figured it out." Taemin's eyes sparkle gorgeously and it sends Namjoon spinning back to when this all began.

The greenhouse was almost new back then. Almost new and hardly used. Ever since their first kiss—baking in the sun, poolside in jean shorts, cherry popsicles melting over lush lips—they'd been sneaking out here to be together.

Taemin always rushes in headfirst, twirling amongst the flora like a Disney character and practically glowing. He has his arms spread wide, whispering that he loves him and he feels safe and he's happy, looking back at Namjoon who lingers at the entrance.

The memory hits Namjoon so suddenly it steals his breath. He comes tumbling back to reality at the sound of your voice.

"How are you controlling him?" you spit, your voice is powerful and vicious. Like a knife, it cuts through his sentimentality. Your face is serious and pensive and angry. He's screaming and clawing and trying to move.

His pinky twitches.

"I'm not telling," Taemin sings, swinging back around to face them, winking at you, "Let's just say it took quite a bit of research." His voice goes up at the end of the sentence because it's all just a game.

"And what do you hope to accomplish?" Yoongi growls from beside you. He's bathed in shadows and the moonlight that does hit him casts him as haggard and bloody. "Blood magic won't make him love you again."

Taemin hisses at him, his eyes losing their playful sparkle and turning deadly serious in a matter of moments. A guard hits Yoongi in the back of the head again and he clatters to the floor, the side of his head smacking the cement with a crack that stops your heart.

"Yoongi!" you scream, wrenching yourself forward in your chair to no avail. Your bindings won't give, and a guard clutches your shoulder to bruising and slams you back into your seat.

"Anyway, I guess we should be on to the main event," Taemin says, his voice sugary again. He faces Namjoon once more, his expression so similar to the one he used to wear.

They're in the fields behind the main house and the grass is so tall it hides them, laying on their backs with their fingers intertwined. The sun bakes their skin golden brown and turns Taemin's hair auburn. Namjoon rolls to hover over him, both of them out of breath from laughing and kissing, thinking that this will always be the way it is. Always tasting spicy cinnamon and sugary vanilla.

"Forever and ever," they whispered. Forever and ever.

The memory stings. It had been a couple of years before you and he had met. And he really had thought it was true, forever.

But things began to unravel, as they often do. Taemin began to unravel.

"Okay, so now, kill her."

Taemin's voice is like steel, slipping beneath Namjoon's skin and slicing. It makes Namjoon snap back to focus, the memory vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

Namjoon stands stock still. Fighting, now, to stay immovable.

Taemin sighs and runs his hands through Namjoon's hair, "I know you're in there fighting this," he says softly, "but once you do it, everything will be better. We'll be better. Forever and ever."

Something in Namjoon's stomach lurches unpleasantly at the realization that he doesn't recognize those eyes anymore. Something in them has turned dark and twisted in a way his Taemin was never capable of.

When Namjoon still doesn't move, Taemin's voice loses its softness and gains an authoritative edge, "Do it." The sound compels Namjoon past the point of disobeying; it's as though his blood has turned against him.

Inside his head, Namjoon's movements feel mechanical, he throws the entire force of his mind against them. Nothing.

You watch him approach with your heart in your throat. You don't really recognize him. His movements are so fluid that they look alien. Your Namjoon is a giant with long limbs that he's barely in control of, a perpetual look of thoughtfulness in his eyes, a soft smile reserved for you… This Namjoon is blank, an imitation; he's nothing at all.

He stoops down until your eyes are at the same level. Before you can take in another breath, his hand is around your throat. He stands to his full height and holds you above him like it takes no effort at all. You gasp for breath.

His fingers around your throat feel familiar and you're surprised that, this close to death, those kinds of memories surface. You watch his face for a flicker of his real self, think you see one in the very depths of his eyes, and whisper, "It's okay," because what else can you say. You're going to die. But it's not his fault.

That's what finally breaks him. It's okay. Namjoon, gripping the steel bars that are keeping him caged in his mind, breaks when he hears you say those words. "No it's fucking not," he screams in his head.

Control comes back to his limbs too fast and his knees buckle. You fall against him, both of you folding into each other as you land harshly on the ground. You can feel his breath against your cheek, and feel the anger brewing beneath his skin. One of his hands reaches out for you and grabs your wrist; it takes you a moment before you realize he's checking your pulse.

Satisfied, he rises slowly. His hair is falling into his face but you can see his eyes are blacked out. More surprisingly, there are long fangs now crowding his teeth, poking out over his lips. He spreads his hands wide and you see his nails have grown into claws, and sharp horns are sticking up from his head. In the blink of an eye, large, leathery black wings rip through his shirt and spread open.

You lose your breath.

"Stop," Taemin commands. But Namjoon rolls his shoulders, the joints in his wings cracking menacingly. He turns to him.

"Stop," Taemin says again, but this time it's a whimper.

Namjoon has never felt this powerful before. The wings are new. He hasn't conjured claws or horns since childhood. His rage is feeding his power and it's coming off of him in waves. And he doesn't care; his vision is red.

Usually, Namjoon's power sits just beneath his skin like a current of energy, one that he keeps at bay with an incredible amount of restraint (that took an even more incredible amount of practice). Right now he's like a live wire; the casing's been removed and he is nothing but raw power.

He stretches his wings behind him to their full span, cracking his neck as he grows used to his new appendages and this new surge of demonic energy. When he looks at Taemin he wants nothing more than to reach into his chest and pull out his heart. He wants to tear out his jugular. He wants to watch him burn.

You're so caught up in watching him that you don't realize Yoongi's free of his restraints until he's undoing yours. You jump at the feeling of his fingers against your wrists, startled by his bloody face and rasping voice, "We have to get out of here."

You roll your shoulders and rub at your wrists, wincing at the strain. "I can't leave," you say like it's obvious.

Yoongi looks at you like you're stupid, "Are you kidding me?"

You roll your eyes in response, "I'm not leaving him, Yoongi."

The room is getting warmer, like twelve o'clock on a summer day, and it takes you a second to realize it's coming from Namjoon. He's burning through demonic magic at a lightning speed and it's shedding off of him like the sun.

Yoongi wraps his fingers around your arm and pulls, "Come on," he huffs, "Look, he's like a …atom bomb right now. He could go off at any moment."

You wrench yourself from his grasp, "Why do you think I'm staying?"

Namjoon's hands close around Taemin's throat and squeeze. There's a flash of childish innocence in Taemin's eyes, but Namjoon is far past caring.

Burns appear on Taemin's skin from proximity to the demonic energy and his windpipe gives beneath the forces of Namjoon's grip. Namjoon doesn't blink.

It's the most demonic you've ever seen him.

"Namjoon!" you scream.

You're afraid if he doesn't stop now he won't come back. You're afraid of losing him.

"Namjoon," you sob.

You force yourself to a stand, fighting through the demonic energy that makes your eyes sting and your skin blister. You whisper his name to anchor you, to tether him to you. You move forward till he turns.

He looks almost like a medieval painting. Horns and wings and claws. But his eyes are familiar, inky black pools like starless galaxies you could lose yourself in.

"It's okay," you whisper, reaching out to him. "It's okay," you say again as you reach him, fingers pressing gently to his jaw and his cheeks.

His brow wrinkles at the touch, a distinctly human expression overtaking his demonic form. The back of one hand wipes your cheek softly. You're crying.

Namjoon falls to his knees and with him all the magic. Taemin is on the ground and whatever was keeping him alive is gone now.

Namjoon has collapsed into you, but you can feel his breath against your neck so you know he's going to be okay. His hands are around your waist like a life preserver, and you can feel the scrape of his fangs against your skin.

"It's okay," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair just to prove to yourself that he's still here, he's still yours. "Just keep breathing," you whisper, tears falling down your cheeks without your noticing. Behind him is what remains of Taemin and you have to close your eyes. It's so horrific. Your eyes and nose sting with the smell of burning flesh.

You only open them when you hear footsteps. Jin is leading the charge, stomping in at a heavy run, skidding to a stop when he sees the scene. "Oh my god," he whispers, covering his mouth with his hand. Shortly after him, Yoongi limps in, leaning heavily against Jeongguk. And then ten seconds later, Hoseok follows with a large group of security.

"They're all…" Jin starts.

"…dead," Yoongi finishes, finally giving in to his exhaustion and collapsing against Jeongguk's side.

"Outside," Hoseok says, "Medics…" He speaks in short bursts, unable to form full sentences while he can barely process what he's seeing.

You take a deep breath and move your hand to cup Namjoon's face. His eyes are still entirely black, and his fangs still long past his teeth. You can feel his claws press harmlessly against your sides.

"Okay," you whisper, stroking his cheek softly to erase his pained expression, "You have to come back now, okay? For me."

Namjoon leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, nodding slightly. His body grows tense in your grasp and you can see his chin jut out in concentration. Slowly, the fangs retract, the wings disappear…when he opens his eyes, they are the soft brown you know so well.

"Hey there," you whisper.

"Hey," he whispers before passing out.

When Namjoon wakes up his head feels as though it's been split open, his back feels broken, his hands ache. His whole body feels completely spent and rundown. He blinks against the lights of the hospital room and groans involuntarily against the pain in his head.

"Oh my god," he hears. Your voice is tear-soaked and relieved, but he recognizes it immediately. You materialize at his bedside and grip his hand tightly, "Hi," you whisper.

"Hi." He smiles when you lean down and press your lips to his chastely.

There's a long moment where you both just look at each other, relieved that you've both survived, that it's... over. Your eyes are watering and you blink, laughing lightly, "I...I should probably get a doctor."

"No, don't go," he says, almost in a whine like a child.

"Okay," you grin despite yourself. Forgetting his wounds, you lean your head against his, pulling away sharply when he gasps in pain.

"Why does my head hurt so bad?" He mutters.

"Oh," you smile, "um…" you pull a compact from your purse and hand it to him.

"Oh shit," he says, watching his own expression in the mirror. There are deep purple bruises around his eyes, two perfect circles still healing in his forehead.

"Horns," you whisper, trying to keep yourself from giggling.

"So, my back…?"

"Wings," you nod, smiling fully.

Namjoon chuckles too, reaching up to stroke your cheek, "Guess I was pretty upset." He smiles softly and you turn your face to press a soft kiss to the center of his palm.

"Careful," a voice says from the doorway, "don't scratch her, Wolverine."

You both turn to see Yoongi, bruised but smiling, and Jeongguk pushing him into the room in a wheelchair. Namjoon's eyes flick to his own hands and he immediately curses at the long, sharp claws. He throws his head back onto the pillow in frustration and groans.

"I tried to trim them myself," you blush, "but they kept breaking the nail files."

"Yeah," he sighs, his eyes still closed, "sandpaper is the only thing tough enough."

"I'll ask Lisa to pick some up," Jeongguk chuckles.

"How long was I out?" he wonders, eyes moving to the three of you in turn.

"About a week," you say softly.

"And Taemin?"

There's a long, awkward silence before Yoongi says, "Let's just say it makes the bone-breaking incident look like child's play."

"So he's dead?"

You nod solemnly, looking down at your hands. Gently, Namjoon fits his into yours, squeezing. "We're safe."

author’s note— i know this took forever and a day, i hope it was worth the wait

epilogue ↝

for more of my works check out my m.list

#emoboijk #bts #bangtanbuds #hyunglinenetwork #kim namjoon #namjoon #rm #rm x reader #namjoon x reader

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melodiouswhite · 4 years

Text

Live forever - Ch. 03

(A/N: This chapter involves transphobia, conservative Catholicism and a normally nice character being a dick)

All was well for a while.

He and the Flamels travelled around Europe and it was fun, despite the trouble they ran into from time to time.

Thirty years after meeting, they were in England and staying with the famous alchemist John Dee.

He wasn't an immortal like them and they had no intention of sharing their secrets (or even their real identities) with him.

But he was interested in the Englishman's books, so he copied them, whenever Dee wasn't there.

A lot of it contained knowledge of alchemy as well as black magic. Many of the notes were disturbingly accurate and he made note to seize Dee's books as soon as the man passed away. No one but him should ever see all the dark knowledge hidden in there.

He didn't trust John Dee as far as he could throw him.

That was hypocritical, as he himself was a quite shady figure, but he couldn't help it.

“Why so glum, young man?”, Dee questioned one morning, as they were having breakfast.

He smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing major, Professor. I just have those moods from time to time. Nothing to be concerned about.”

That was a half truth, as he did have mood swings quite often. The fact that they almost always came with intense abdominal pain one week every month didn't exactly help either.

Dee and the Flamels had already begun to suspect things, which made him even more careful than he already was.

Perenelle seemed to be especially suspicious, which made him nervous. After all, she was a very astute woman. But she remained silent, which he was grateful for.

It had taken even himself quite a long time to come to terms with what he was. So long to realise that he wasn't insane (at least not in that regard), not a phony, not possessed by a demon.

And if it had taken him so long, how would the Flamels react, once they actually found out? Sure, they had accepted his practising of black magic and even his preternatural gifts.

However … despite being alchemists (a very unhallowed profession) and comparatively tolerant, they were pious – and very Catholic. In fact, they had already run into a lot of trouble here in England for just that. But that wasn't the problem. Even though the Flamels were far ahead of the times, they were still children of the 14th century and that leaked through from time to time. Especially Nicolas could be rather … judgemental sometimes (Perenelle not so much, she was just a bit prudish).

They were just your average, clean-cut old couple.

An immortal, average, clean-cut old couple practising dark alchemy.

Which made the whole thing even funnier.

Nevertheless, he was determined that they shouldn't find out, lest he'd lose the only friends he'd ever had.

Of course they found out, because that was inevitable, when you spent decades living with two immortal alchemists.

Predictably enough, he had forgot to lock the door one day and even more predictably enough, the Flamels had burst in on him getting dressed.

Just as he was in the process of binding his chest, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel stumbled in.

“Jean, you won't believe what – WHAT THE HECK???”

He hurriedly covered himself, but it was already too late.

Perenelle didn't seem very surprised.

But her husband promptly flipped his wit. Before he could throw a fit, however, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Let us leave, so he can dressed in peace.”

“He?!?”, Nicolas hissed, but a look from his wife silenced him and she pushed her husband out of the room.

The younger man, now finally alone again, sank onto his knees and ruffled his hair in distress.

“Fuck …”

He took longer than usual to get dressed, to buy himself time to come up with the explanation he now had to give them. After a few minutes, he gave up. They probably wouldn't listen to him anyway, so why bother.

At that opportunity, he also began to pack his things.

With the way Nicolas had just reacted …

When he finally came downstairs, the Flamels were sitting at the table, looking at him expectantly.

He sighed and sat down.

“I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“Absolutely”, Nicolas agreed coolly. “When were you planning to tell us that you're a woman?”

His eye twitched. “Never, because I'm not a woman!”

The blond opposite him inhaled sharply. “You're still trying to keep that up, after we have seen it?”

“Nicolas, let him explain …”, Perenelle began, but her husband cut her off (which wasn't like him at all): “Stop calling her a 'he', Perenelle, when-”

Now it was the German necromancer's turn to cut the other off: “Since when do you snap at your wife for using the correct pronouns? I am not a 'she'! I never was!”

“Yes, you are!”, the Frenchman snapped back, “Look, I have no problem with a female alchemist or a witch – I wouldn't be married to Perenelle, if I did – but stop pretending to be a man! You're not one!”

“Yes, I am!”, the younger one snarled angrily, “I'm just as much of a man as you are!”

“You actually believe that?! You're either possessed or confused!”

“Nicolas!”, Perenelle protested, but it was too late now.

Both men were blinded by anger and unwilling to listen to her voice of reason.

“So this is what you think? That I'm a madwoman blinded by the Devil into believing to be a man?! Or that I didn't like the miserable life as a woman and chose to crossdress, so I would finally have rights and male privileges?! Well, I have tidings for you: I am mad, but not in that regard! My mind is perfectly sound! Is it my fault that I was born into the wrong body?!”

Nicolas Flamel's eyes narrowed: “The Lord doesn't make mistakes. If He chose for you to be a woman, then-”

“Well, if God doesn't make mistakes, then this was a really cruel joke on his part!”

“How dare you defile the name of the Lord! Speaking of names, what is your real one?!”

“This is my real one! Johann Georg Faust is my actual name and I don't give a damn, if you like it or not!”

“Oh really?! Well, I don't believe you anymore, after you have lied to us for decades!”

“Nicolas!”, Perenelle tried again, but was – once again – ignored.

He stood up, furious. “I wasn't lying! I didn't tell you, because I knew you would react like this! Why do you anyway?! You have never minded my sorcery or necromancy or my telepathic or prophetic abilities and you're making a fuss over this?!” He opened his arms wide and gestured at himself. “Fine, I have a woman's organs! So what? That doesn't make me any less of a man! Why do you insist that it does, when your wife accepts it, like a reasonable adult?!”

Nicolas took a deep breath: “Well, not everyone can have Perenelle's angelic patience! But it doesn't change the fact that you hid this from us. Speaking of which, how can you be so calm about this, Perenelle?!”

The brown-haired woman shrugged: “I have known. Figured it out decades ago.”

“What?!”

“Think about it, mon cher mari¹. How skittish he is, that no one should see him naked. The mood swings and abdominal pains he has once a month and how he always washes his clothes himself during that time frame. And how desperately he has been looking for a way to change into another human change too, rather than just into animals. How defensive he is towards ambitious women, crossdressers or effeminate men – basically towards everyone who doesn't act like the broad masses do. How he drinks cold and strong waters to make his voice deeper. I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Her husband's eyes twitched. “So … everyone but me has known that she is actually-”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a she!”

He threw his arms up in frustration. “You know what, I give up. I'm sick of trying to explain myself to you, if you refuse to listen.”

Angry and upset, he went back upstairs and finished packing his things.

Just as he had finished packing, Perenelle came in. For a few seconds she looked surprised, that the room was suddenly so empty, but then she realised: “You're leaving?”

“Yes”, he hissed and put his gloves on. “If your husband won't accept me anymore, I don't see any reason to stay.”

“My husband will come around”, she tried to placate him.

“Not in the near future”, he muttered and slid into his fur cloak.

“Please don't leave”, she pleaded, “It won't be the same without you. You're like a son to me and once my Nic has calmed down and gets a clear head, he will be more open and accepting, I know it. He always is.”

But the German alchemist shook his head. “He doesn't want me to hang around anymore and I don't want to deal with his intolerance. I'm returning to Germany.”

The Frenchwoman realised that she wouldn't persuade him to stay and gave him a tight hug.

“I believe that you're a man”, she told him.

Something about that made his lower lip tremble and his eyes sting. But he composed himself and hugged back.

“Has anyone ever told you, that you're the best of women?”

“My husband tells me all the time”, she chuckled.

He smiled and let go. “Well then. À bientôt², for we will meet again someday. Say goodbye to your husband from me. Oh, and if you plan to stay with Dee until he dies – which will be in another ten years³ – please be so kind and burn all of his books on black magic. They mustn't fall in the wrong hands. They're in a hidden chest in his study, under his desk. You'll have to push it away and look under the floorboards.”

She nodded. “Will do.”

“Thank you. Good luck, Perenelle.”

Then he left.

It was only weeks later, when he was standing on the rail of the ship from Dover to Calais, that he allowed himself to hurt.

As he looked back to the English shore, something strange happened: he wept.

Huh. I have never cried before.

---

1) mon cher mari = French: my dear husband

2) À bienôt = French: See you then/see you later.

3) John Dee died in 1608 (or 1609, it’s not quite clear).

#dr faustus #johann georg faust #nicolas flamel #perenelle flamel #john dee #tw: transphobia #tw: religious discourse (kinda)

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cyi-can-you-imagine · 5 years

Text

Starved (chapter 21)

Chapter 21 - Lost

“Saaaaammm? Sammy? Saaammmyyy…”

He could hear his father’s voice, but couldn’t tell where he was. The room was dark. Suddenly, a light came on and the room came into view.

He was sitting on his bed, just as he remembered.

Dean was beside him, unconscious, horrible purple bruises on his neck. Sam recoiled when he looked up and saw his father sitting beside him. He tried to back away, but he was unable to move.

“Yeah, I told you that you were mine, Sammy”

“Don’t call be that!” Sam spit out.

John grinned.

“Ok, Sammy. Well since Dean went ahead and did me the favor of turning me into a demon, I’m in charge now, alrighty? I’m gonna tuck you away for a while, now son. I’ll let you see and hear what’s going on though, that’s fair. But I’m in charge. I’m gonna be the best Sam, don’t you worry. Dean will totally believe it’s you. I know you inside and out, remember, Sammy?” he reached out and touched Sam’s cheek.

Sam just swallowed. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

“Trust me Sammy. I promise. You’ll experience things…differently. Sleep now, Sammy. I’ll wake you up when the fun begins.”

John snapped his fingers. Sam was enveloped in darkness.

***

“DEAN!! DEAN!!” The pounding on the door was getting louder.

“Kick it open!”

Two kicks later, all three adults were in the room.

Sam was curled in a ball at the top of the bed, his still naked body covered in blankets. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Below him was Dean. He had very large purple bruises on his neck. He was stretched out sideways at the bottom of the bed. His eyes were closed. His chest was not rising and falling.

“Is he breathing?” Bobby asked frantically. Rufus put his ear to Dean’s chest and listened.

“Yes, he’s breathing, but barely.”

Braven slowly wiggled his fingers and a baby blue mist came from his fingers and moved to settle over Dean. The mist floated inches above Dean’s mouth. He took a deep breath, inhaling all of it. Slowly, Dean began to breathe more deeply. He blinked his eyes open. He sat up and rubbed his neck where the bruises were. Confused, he looked from one person to the next.

“Bobby? What ha-“

Bobby reached up and hit Dean in the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idjit! Why the fuck did you lock the door?” Bobby yelled.

“I’m sorry Bobby, I just wanted to…”

“Yeah I know what you wanted, boy. But right now all y’all need protection. Locking doors ain’t safe.”

Dean blushed and sputtered, “No, it wasn’t…I mean I…no, I made some tea and I wanted to not be interrupted, but…John came and…” he looked at Sam sadly, “He strangled me until I passed out.”

Rufus patted his pockets, looking for the booklet, and swore,

“Dammit Dean, some of these are really potent. Which one did you do?” His voice was insistent, worried. “It’s important Dean, I need to make sure of what you did.”

Dean showed him which one he’d made and that he was 100% sure he’d followed it exactly. Rufus deemed everything safe, with Braven concurring. And Dean getting a stern talking to about messing around with spells you don’t understand.

Dean looked at Braven and nodded. “Thanks…uh, for saving me.”

Raven just nodded and tipped the rim of his hat. Exactly like Bobby’s, Dean thought.

Bobby nudged Braven. “Tell Dean what you were telling me downstairs.”

Braven dug into his pocket and showed them the familiar picture of the scar John had. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, that’s what Sam has.” Dean nodded.

“But he doesn’t.” Braven shook his head “Look again.”

Dean looked from Sam to the picture and back again.

“It’s…backwards?”

Braven nodded. “Rufus noticed it yesterday.”

“Does that mean something?”

Braven nodded, a smile forming on his lips. It means it’s breakable. As in not irrevocable. We can undo this!”

Without warning, Sam flinched as his eyes turned black. “Not on my watch!” he yelled in Sam’s voice as he lunged forward.

However, there were four men who were able to hold him.

Bobby tied him down while Rufus, Braven, and Dean held him. Dean fought back tears as he had to shove his brother down twice before Bobby could secure him to the bed.

Suddenly, Sam stopped thrashing and just cried out, “Dean, help, please! I’m holding him back now, Let go!” The men let go and Sam sagged a little on the bed. He remained bound, however.

“Sammy? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. It’s like he isn’t strong enough. He just can come through a little bit, hold me back, but I can…I can still fight him.”

Bobby looked skeptical. “Just for now Sam, I’d like to keep you tied up, ok? For everyone’s safety, ok? Just in case?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, but nodded. He pulled on the ropes, testing their tightness.

“He got mad when he heard it was breakable.” Sam muttered. He didn’t look up

“Well, it is, but we need two things. The witch that cast the spell, and we need a non-familial to break it.”

“Non-familial?” Dean asked.

“Yeah anyone but family – and really close friends, too. So…nobody here. Not even me, I’m not a stranger anymore to you Sam. I has to be someone you don’t know. And they can’t know what or why they are doing it. It must be completely innocent.”

“How the hell do we do that?”

“Well, that’s the easy part. The tough part? We need to find the witch.”

They painted a devil’s trap on the ceiling. Bobby, Rufus, and Braven set out to find the witch. Braven used a location spell and is almost certain they can get to her. Dean waited with Sam.

After everyone was gone, and they were alone, Dean went upstairs with yet another cup of tea. This one was brewed by Braven before he left, who added an extra protection spell which, after swallowed, would be locked in for seven days. Guaranteed no nightmares. Dean knew Sam would appreciate that.

Sam stayed tied on the bed. Dean saw him instinctively reach out to him when he walked in, but unable to get close. Sam let out a small sob. Dean sighed and set down the tea. “I’m so sorry baby. You know I don’t want this for you. You know it’s just to…”

“Just to stop me from turning into dad and killing you, yeah.”

“Hey, come on now.” He tucked his finger under Sam’s chin, drawing him closer.

Dean leaned in and kissed Sam on the forehead. “Let me hold you, ok?” He lay down on his back and pulled Sam close. He was scared. Sam was here, right here in his arms…but so was his dad. Sam said he had control, but they needed to be careful. But Dean sensed no hesitation as he ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. So he wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly. He fell asleep feeling content.

***

Sam sat up and looked at Dean sleeping peacefully beside him. He smiled as his eyes blinked black.

“See, Sam? Told ya they’d believe me. Whimpering, scared Sam. I made a very good impression, yeah? Enough for them to loosen these ropes. He pulled his right arm in tightly and easily ripped the ropes from the bed. He untied himself the rest of the way and stood up, setting the ropes next to Dean.

He quickly and quietly slipped on a pair of Sam’s jeans from his duffle. He buckled the belt and noticed Sam had gained a little weight. He ran his hands down his torso, admiring himself in the mirror.

“Yeah, Sammy, I can see why he wanted you, too. This is…this is nice…” Sam ran his hand down his stomach, stopping at his belt. He carefully teased the skin above then hem. “Oh yeah, that’s good...Later, though. No time now.”

When he finished getting dressed and tried to walk out the bedroom door, he was stopped by something unseen. “Son of a bitch,” he said, looking up. He merely closed his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. He jabbed his head to the right quickly. A crack appeared in the ceiling that ran down the wall a few feet. He turned back to Dean and laughed. “Too easy.”

John paused. “Sammy? I’m gonna let you tell your brother goodbye. But if you say or do anything else, I will possess your brother instead and make him break your neck. Do you understand?”

Inside, Sam acknowledged. John let him take control, but left one hand on the wheel.

“Goodbye Dean. I love you so much.” He kissed Dean on the cheek and John immediately pulled him back into the darkness. “That’s it. All done.”

John wandered around the house, whistling to himself. Since Sam knew where things were, John did too.

He picked up several supplies, including a few f Bobby’s guns and several bottles of whiskey. He picked up Rufus’ book along with some other books from Bobby’s library.

“I suppose I gotta feed you now, since I need you to live,” he said out loud as he looked in the mirror again. He took what he could from the pantry and kitchen. He left scarcely anything useful for the rest of them.

He found a useable car among the many Bobby kept on his lot. It was a pile of crap but it would get him out of town, where he could steal another car easily. Much more easily now that he didn’t have another person to drag around beside him. Yeah, this was perfect, John thought as Sam’s hands grabbed the steering wheel and he drove off into the night.

***

Dean woke up to an empty bed and a pile of ropes. His cell phone was gone.

The cup of tea, now cold – and still full – sat on the nightstand.

He was alone.

“Sam?!” he jumped out of bed. He ran down the hall, swinging open doors. Dean ran around the house, crying out, over and over, “No! No, not Sam, no. Sammy, please be here, please. Sam. Sam, no. No! No!” But there was no response. He looked outside, up and down rows of cars. He stopped dead when he saw the fresh tire tracks and an empty space where a Corolla used to be. Dean fell to his knees in the mud.

His brother was gone.

Starved taglist:

@charliebradbury1104, @sammys-dimpless, @adsp-wincestj2, @vania-montoya, @ netaelex, @bobbie3939 @mtngirlforever @dontknowmyname215 @j2sunflowerbaby @ alex2029

#CYIDaddy #wincest #weecest #angst #Starved

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randomfandomimagine · 6 years

Text

The Only Exception (Castiel x Reader)

Character: Castiel

Fandom: Supernatural

Categories: Reader Insert, GenderNeutral!Reader, Demon!Reader, Soulmate AU

Title: The Only Exception

Requested by anon:

Can you do an imagine for Castiel from SPN for a Soulmate!Au where the first words they speak to each other is written on their wrist? So reader is a demon who is extremely well-known by both angels and demons as the most fearsome demon. But when Cas meets them, reader is actually somehow a pretty sweet demon who has no control over their fire power and just sets everything on fire by accident? Cas and reader meet and reader accidentally sets his coat on fire the moment they meet?

A/N: Since the requester didn’t specify a gender for the reader, I’m using gender neutral pronouns. Anyway, hope you all enjoy! ;)

Castiel looked down to his wrist and tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what that new marking was. It had to be something that only happened to humans, because he had never heard of anything similar happening to angels.

Concerned, the angel turned to his friends in the hopes that, with their human experience, they knew something about his sudden condition. As soon as he approached them, Dean nodded his head at him as a greeting.

“Dean” Said Castiel with his deep voice. “I have a problem”

“What is it, Cas?” The aforesaid replied, feeling how his brother Sam watched the scene in silence.

“I have this… mark” Slowly, the angel rolled up the sleeve of his brown trench coat to reveal his wrist, almost scared to upset the skin even further. “It appeared suddenly, and I don’t know what it is”

Dean’s brows furrowed in concern as he carefully examined the words etched on Castiel’s wrist, but soon enough he relaxed at the sight of it upon a closer examination. In fact, and much to his angelical friend’s dismay, Dean chuckled.

“What is it?” Sam curiously asked, standing up and getting closer to them.

“It seems like Cas here has a soulmate” There was a subtle hint of playfulness in Dean’s voice.

“Really?” His brother laughed too, all the more amused at the angel’s puzzled expression. “Wow”

Not many times had Castiel come across that term, but he definitely was vaguely familiar with it even if he didn’t quite understand the concept yet. However, he observed the brothers in confusion as he tried to understand what was so funny about it.

“What does that mean?” Castiel insisted, seeing as they were so amused.

“It means that someone out there is destined to be your true love” Sam explained with a big grin plastered on his lips.

Castiel’s blue eyes fell over Dean, who smirked and nodded to confirm Sam’s words.

“So is this marking harmless? Am I alright?” The angel asked to make sure.

“Yeah, you’re fine” Dean patted his back. “Those are the first words they’ll say to you”

While Sam and Dean left him alone to his own thoughts, also laughing and gossiping amongst them, Castiel stared at the words written on his wrist. He tilted his head to the side again and squinted his eyes, trying to imagine the scenario in which they could be said.

The words were ‘how ironic’.

After a month passed, Castiel had nearly forgotten about the words etched on his wrist. They had just become another mark on his body, like the mole’s on his vessel’s skin. Surely, he still had questions, such as… Was that alleged soulmate meant for Castiel or for Jimmy, the vessel? Either way, was his soulmate another angel or perhaps a human? What could be their story? How did those words come to be the first one they ever spoke to him? Naturally, he had no answers for any of those questions. So he tried to forget about the whole situation altogether.

Another case, another hunt. This time, Sam and Dean were having difficulties finding the source of the problem. They called Castiel, who gladly met with them even if he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t really help. It was no angels business. In fact, it looked like something having to do with demons, but not ordinary demons, but powerful demons such as Knights or Princes of Hell.

When Castiel told this to his friends, they both seemed unenthused by the idea.

“Great” Dean said sarcastically, taking out his phone from his pocket. “Guess who we have to call now…”

“Crowley…” Sam replied in the same resigned and exasperated voice.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way” Castiel sighed. “This is bigger than us”

“Are you kidding me? A freaking Knight of Hell?”

“Or a Prince of Hell”

“That isn’t helping”

“Hey, Crowley” Dean immediately said as soon as the King picked up, walking away to be away from the noise. “Got a question for you”

“What do you think, Cas?” Sam asked the angel, seemingly concerned. “Can we take this demon?”

“I would hope so” Castiel frowned. “Otherwise it would be like Abaddon all over again”

“Got it” Dean was back and saving his phone. “We got a lead”

“Well?” Sam asked him, hopeful.

“It might be a Prince of Hell, but Crowley told me about someone who can help us find them”

“Who?”

“Another demon, Y/N”

“Y/N?” Just like Ruby or Meg, Y/N was a well-known name.

“You know that Y/N?” Dean was surprised, since he hadn’t really heard it.

“Yes” Castiel nodded solemnly. “Y/N is a powerful demon”

“You say it like you know them” Sam commented, watching the angel’s absent expression.

“I don’t” Castiel looked at the taller man. “But I have heard about them, it’s a fearsome demon. Hopefully they will help us”

“Fan-freaking-tastic” Dean rolled his eyes as they all walked back to the Impala. “Just what we needed, begging to a demon”

Castiel followed in silence, being overcome by an unknown sensation. Knowing they were to summon Y/N and meet them… It made him… nervous. He knew as soon as he heard the name, but they had no other choice. So the angel tried to wrap his head around the situation and resign himself to do what had to be done.

The three friends exchanged restless glances as Dean dared to light the candle, finishing the summoning spell. Then they waited impatiently, expecting to see the demon appear at any second.

Soon enough, a figure appeared before their very eyes, materializing from thin air. Dressed in all black and with an attitude, Y/N cocked a hip to the side and gave them an annoyed look.

“Well” Y/N’s eyes fell over the pentagram drawn in the ground. “If it isn’t the Winchesters and the angel Castiel”

Sam loudly gulped at the realization that Y/N already knew who they were, and it looked like they had been waiting for the trio to summon them. Dean subtly reached out for his knife, ready to step in even if the demon was trapped in the pentagram.

Castiel wanted to pipe up, overwhelmed by the silence. And also because Y/N staring at him was making him uncomfortable. But he found that he was speechless.

“Do you know why we summoned you?” Sam asked instead.

“You’re clueless and need my help” Y/N shrugged coolly.

“So you gonna help us?” Dean asked, still wary.

“No” Y/N replied coldly, without thinking twice. “Not unless you let me out of this stupid cage”

“Why would we do that?” Sam let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Um… because you need me?” Y/N huffed in outrage. “If not, I can just be on my way”

Seeing as none of the three reacted, the demon raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand, ready to snap their fingers. A smirk grew across Y/N’s face when Sam, Dean and Castiel jumped in anticipation.

“That’s what I thought” Rolling their eyes, Y/N reached out to take out a small blade from their pocket. “Here, in case I step over the line”

Seeing as none of them dared to walk closer, thinking it might be a trap, the demon rolled their eyes again and tossed the blade away from reach until it landed on the floor with a metallic sound.

“Good demon” Muttered Dean, genuinely impressed with that random act of kindness.

“Will you let me out now?”

“We don’t feel too inclined to do it, no”

“What’s the worst that could happen? I gave you my weapons, and I can’t possess you because of your stupid tattoos”

The three of them exchanged restless glances one more, uncomfortable with the amount of information Y/N knew about them. To the Winchester brothers’ surprise, Castiel stepped up.

The angel picked up the small knife that Y/N had surrendered and used it to scratch the paint to break the pentagram and hence the circle that imprisoned the demon.

“Cas!” Dean complained, taken aback by his actions.

The angel couldn’t defend them himself, but there was something that moved him to do it. An impulse, an instinct. Something told him they could trust Y/N, that the demon truly meant no harm.

“I come in peace, people” Y/N jokingly held their hands up.

Sam took a step back, moving his hands to the waist of his jeans where he kept his gun. It wouldn’t kill the demon, but it would slow it down.

Y/N stepped out of the broken circle and immediately the brothers took out their weapons, Dean carrying his demon killing knife and Sam his gun. It only made the demon smirk in amusement.

Y/N patted Castiel’s shoulder passing by and something unexpected happened. The both of them gasped.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, protective of his angelical friend. “What did you do to Cas?!”

“Nothing!” Both Castiel and Y/N said at the unison, albeit in different tones. The demon in defense and smugness and the angel to comfort them.

Yet they both had felt it, a strange and intense sensation that shook them to the core. Something important, something more than a physical reaction, almost like their souls had shuddered.

Castiel, fearing that his hypothesis was correct, remained silent. But he knew. And so did Y/N, who grinned as while staring at him, finally dedicating him the first words.

“How ironic…” Y/N said, still smugly and amused.

Castiel had played out that scene a thousand times in his mind. He had heard those words being spoken in his head a thousand more, yet he never expected that. He thought his soulmate would speak those words in awe, in excitement and surprise and thrill. Not smugly and nearly with mockery. Not to mention that he would have never thought his soulmate would be a demon.

“No” Was all he could muster, unable to accept the situation. “It can’t be”

“I think yes” To demonstrate it was true, that there was no mistake, Y/N rolled up the sleeve to reveal the words written in their wrist: ‘no, it can’t be’.

“What’s happening?” Dean mumbled behind them.

“Is Y/N Cas’s…?” Sam uttered, watching the scene in shock.

“I was wondering why my soulmate would say ‘no’ when first seeing me” Y/N rolled down the sleeve and sighed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, handsome”

“If you hurt Cas…” Dean was quick to step in to defend his friend.

“I won’t!” The demon exclaimed, offended. “Why would I hurt my soulmate?!”

“I don’t trust you” He insisted, watching the demon up and down.

“Okay, take this as a sign of good behavior” Y/N pulled yet another knife out of their pocket and gave it to Dean.

“You lied to us!” The aforementioned exclaimed, abruptly taking it.

“Hey, in my defense I wasn’t planning on using it” Y/N walked away from Dean, eyeing him and his brother, and positioned themselves next to Castiel. “Calm down, big boy, if I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve already”

“A nice demon?” Castiel muttered, carefully watching Y/N with his piercing blue eyes. “You must be the only exception”

“Maybe I got tired of being bad and wanted to try being good for a change” The demon shrugged innocently.

“Yeah, right” Sam huffed behind them.

“Although it isn’t as easy as I thought, it doesn’t always work out…” The demon sent Castiel an innocent glance, flustering him slightly.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to intervene to put an end to that.

“Okay, enough flirting, will you help us or not?”

“As long as you let me get to know my soulmate better”

All glances fell over the angel as he uncomfortably stood there. He unequivocally felt that connection to his soulmate, the desire to stay close too. Nonetheless, his soulmate was a demon and he didn’t quite trust demons. Even if Y/N did seem like a surprisingly nice one despite the sarcasm and smugness.

When Y/N got closer to Castiel and hugged him out of the blue to reinforce those words, the angel tensed up. Yet the feeling was incredibly grounded and human as an internal warm sense of happiness spread across his vessel and shook him to the core once more, in the best way possible.

The warmth only increased, and he was starting to think that Sam and Dean would feel it too since it was so intense. It was starting to spread to the outside too. To his surprise, the brothers yelped and when he looked down, Castiel realized that external warmth was actually fire.

“Crap, sorry!” Y/N had broken the hug and extinguished the flames. “Didn’t mean to do that…”

“A clumsy demon?” Dean mocked Y/N. “That’s a first”

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” The demon, however, acquired a carefree attitude despite the fact that they set Castiel’s trench coat on fire.

“You didn’t do that on purpose?” The latter asked, convinced by the guilt reflected in Y/N’s eyes.

“I might have been ‘born’ not too long ago, at least considering the demon lifespan” When the angel tilted his head in confusion, the demon elaborated. “I don’t entirely control my powers, okay?”

“That’s hilarious” Sam was grinning, but frowned when Y/N glared at him.

“What’s it to you?” In response, Sam held his hands up in surrender.

“Are you in or are you out, Y/N?” Dean insisted, losing his patience.

“I’ll help you” Y/N nodded. “With the condition that you let me go with you… And with Castiel here”

“This is gonna be great” The older Winchester did not like the thought of not only having to put up with a demon, but also with their infatuation with Cas.

As he motioned over to the car, both Y/N and Castiel got into the Impala, sitting closely together in the back seat. None of them would admit it, but they were filled with a strange excitement as a journey together awaited them.

Tagging: @thisismysecrethappyplace, @overpowered-insanity, @suenami3, @lonerlulu

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tuxiedjabberwock · 5 years

Text

Ft Big Bang - Smoke Always Follows Fire (Fairy Tail fan-fiction)

My piece for the @ft-bb Fairy Tail Big Bang event! Partnered with @h-eartfilias as my artist!

This is actually a part of the full story - I plan on making it multichaptered after all. It’s Rated M w/lime and features Edo!Nalu so read at your discretion

Mini fires from all over the school, of which he’s taken blame for, leads Natsu to the real source: Lucy Ashley. She counter-threatens him to reveal his underage circuit driving, and the game continues when they find more and more secrets to hold over the other. Soon enough, they’re in deeper waters than expected.

Although completely unintentional, fire always seemed to follow Natsu, and so as he ran down the school’s green with his bag bouncing on one shoulder, heavy textbooks in the other, he was distracted by the sight of it curling from a small building’s open window. So distracted, in fact, that he skidded to a stop, his sneakers scuffing against the wet crosshatched stone of the path as he spun around and warily stalked towards the source. For once, there was a fire and he wasn’t at the source—he had to look, even as his heart pounded out of his chest and his cowardice screamed for him to turn back and get to class before he was late.

The building wasn’t marked, but it was in the vicinity of the Art and Design section, so he believed it was one of those classrooms. And as he peered through the window, he spotted several literature-based posters pinned on the wall. English Composition, probably, he thought, daring to lean closer. And what a dare it was, as a slender but strong hand snapped out from inside and seized the color of his white polo shirt. He shrieked in alarm, eyes bugging out from his head. The owner of said hand quickly pulled into his peripheral, but all he could see were eyes like smoldering coals.

“—Oh,” said his accoster shortly, and a moment later he was released to the ground. His possessions scattered over the grass and he stared on with open-mouthed gasps as she met his gaze, arms crossed over her ample chest. Very short blonde hair pulled into a side ponytail adorned her head, and her face, while beautiful, was marred with a scowl. Pinched between two of her black-painted nails was a lit cigarette, the source of the smoke. “I thought you were someone else,” she said as means of an explanation, taking a drag. She never broke eye contact.

“I—uh—you—” Natsu stammered, but he couldn’t get any sensible words out.

“You’re that Natsu Dragion kid, aren’t you?” One hand curled into her cheek. “I’d recognize that dye job anywhere.”

It was on his tongue to say that no, that was actually his natural newborn hair color, but his tongue didn’t want to move to form the words.

“Don’t talk much, do you?” She raked her eyes over his frayed stonewashed jeans and long-sleeved polo. “Great. Makes this easier.” Removing the cig and pinching the tip between her nails, she tossed the butt into the trash and leaned close to him, close enough for him to count each golden-brown lash. “Say a word to anyone about this, you’ll be ashed faster than one of my fags. Well?” she said when he didn’t respond, baring her teeth.

“A-Affirmative!” Natsu said in a voice far too high-pitched to be his own. She snorted and turned her nose up.

“Who fuckin’ says affirmative?” She dusted off her black sweater and smoothed the folds of her far-below-regulation pleated skirt. “Whatever. Scurry away. I don’t want people to walk by and think we’re having a tryst.”

And as Natsu beat his hasty retreat—without scurrying, he might’ve added with a smidge more courage—he wondered how a top ditcher like her knew the word tryst.

——————

He saw her again the next week, and this time he discovered her name was Lucy Ashley. He knew because at the start of his mid-semester class, she loudly responded to the call of her name.

“I’m here, as you can see, Four Eyes,” she told the poor professor.

When Natsu’s name was called, he meekly responded upon feeling her eyes burning into the side of his face.

Like her, he was hoping never to have a second confrontation. Luck, on the other hand, would speak otherwise.

After class, he was alarmed to see her standing a way’s away in the hall beckoning him with a finger and a sugary smile. Fitting considered her insides were corroded and rotten. He stalked after her, still balking, and into another empty classroom, where she promptly locked the door and barred it with her body.

(Granted, she was a whole foot shorter and probably thirty pounds lighter, but he did not want to make a joke of the situation.)

“Are you stalking me or something?” she said, a nasty skew to the corner of her mouth. Her lipstick was the color of blackberries, and Natsu couldn’t help noting it matched her nails, but stood out stark as death against her pale and blonde complexion.

“N-No! Of course not!” Why would I be a glutton for punishment? “I just, uh—it’s, err, coincidence?”

“Coincidence,” she repeated. “Events which act in synergy by nothing but a casual connection.” He balked a little more openly as she set her hand on her cocked hip. She wore a denim skirt this time with ripped leather tights that certainly didn’t come that way, and a cut-up band t-shirt with a grey sweater hanging unbuttoned over her slim frame. “Although, since we never so much as breathed the same air before, I doubt this is a coincidence, Pinky.”

“W-Well…” Natsu’s words failed him and he took a step back. Lucy’s eyes narrowed and like a predator, she matched his step with two. They continued towards the other end of the room when (expectedly, since he wasn’t quite looking where he was going) Natsu pitched over a desk, overturning it and hitting the ground with a loud noise. He opened his mouth for a pained shout when Lucy’s hand suddenly clapped over his lips.

“Quiet,” she said under her breath. Natsu’s heart didn’t take the advice, pounding like a war drum, but he didn’t speak, and soon he detected the sound of footsteps. They passed after a moment, but Lucy remained unpleased. “They’re bringing security,” she said in a low voice. Her next action was hauling him up by the elbow and nearly dislocating his shoulder. God, she had a good right arm. “You drive?”

No, nonono. “Um, that’s not—it isn’t—I don’t r-really—” She released him and was next to the window in a few quick steps, hoisting it open and swinging through. The doorknob clicked and in a fit of nerves Natsu followed.

“Lookie there, Pinky’s playing truant,” Lucy said as he caught up with her. She moved quick for someone in platform boots.

“P-People will start thinking I’m a d-delinquent,” he said anxiously as they approached the parking lot.

“Maybe they’ll think you finally got that stick in your ass surgically removed.”

Natsu, amid going towards his car and pulling out his keys, gave her a scandalized look. Lucy was unrepentant as she circled the vehicle. “Uh-huh. ’02 Mustang. Wouldn’t have taken ya for a speed demon.”

You’d be surprised. “I, uh, I’m not.”

“Well anyway, in exchange for my not kicking your ass and letting you get off scot-free, you’re giving me a ride home. I guess you’re a notch above the shitty people on the train.”

“I-I-I’m sorry, b-but I—I j-just can’t—” The side of her fist hitting the roof startled him up, and he looked to see her dark expression.

“Drive, or else.” Natsu complied faster than he would like to admit, and quickly unlocked the car. Lucy slid in first, crossing her arms and legs and glaring at the dash. Gulping, Natsu took the driver’s seat. He was in his right mind up until the door clicked shut. “Well?” Lucy said, looking at him with a raised brow. “Are we going anywhere soon?”

“You didn’t say the magic word.”

“What?” Her brow arched further when Fireball Natsu gave her a flat look, hands locked behind his head.

“Let’s see… You threatened me over your folly, then dragged me into a classroom, and hijack my car for a ride. You got a nice face, Sugar Tits, but that ain’t a payment.”

“—Excuse me?” Lucy let out a little incredulous laugh before her hand snapped out to fist in his collar. “I don’t know where you’ve been hiding your pair this whole time, but it better get back in hiding if you know what’s good for you.”

“How about you listen?” In one move, Natsu grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her forward over the center console, bringing them face to face. He held her tight enough to bruise and said in a dangerously low voice, “You’re in my car. You don’t get to give orders to me in my car. Get that through your blonde skull.”

Lucy stared him down just the same, but her breath was coming a little quicker. Anticipation, or fear? Either way, he liked a fight.

“And you don’t make things happen snapping at me. The magic word’s a place to start.” He tossed her back and her back hit the door with a light thump. Lucy braced her hands against the seat and dash and made to move forward again.

“Quit fuckin’ with me, Dragion!”

“Another word of advice.” He turned the car on, threw it in drive, and laid on the pedal. The Mustang lurched forward and he made a sharp turn into an emptier section of the parking lot, throwing her back against the door again. “Always wear a seatbelt, eh?”

“So, what do you call all that?” Lucy said once she regained her bearings, giving him a murderous look. “An act? You’re damn near professional.”

“No, not an act. I wish it was.” He barely slowed before entering the main road and weaved through the early afternoon traffic with old experience. “It’s more than I want to explain to you anyway, Sugar Tits.”

“Okay, fine. You’ve made your stupid point, Dragion. Stop the car.” He ignored her and turned onto the highway where he really put the pedal to the metal. Lucy went flat against the seat with a surprised breath.

“Fireball. Call me that.”

“Fireball…” She scrutinized his face with narrowed eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked. He never disguised himself on the circuit, only wearing a pair of goggles that just about every other racer did, but he didn’t need to: people naturally saw no connection between the wimp-ass Natsu and the fastest man on four wheels, Fireball. “So, you race. Illegally, I should add. Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Looks can be deceiving. I, for instance, thought you shitted rainbows, and look at us now,” he said very dryly. Lucy snorted.

“Well, Fireball, I don’t think you’re in a spot to talk about my smoking. You’re no law-abiding citizen either.”

“Then we have an agreement: neither of us blab.”

“For now,” she said darkly. “But for this, you can bet your ass I’ll find something else to dangle over you.”

“How about those tits?” He could hear her teeth grinding and grinned at the sound. “The main girl in my life’s my car, but I don’t mind making room for another.”

“Shove it up your ass.”

“It’s not my ass that’ll be on the receiving end, sweetheart.” Instead of responding, she whipped her head around to the window, but not fast enough for him to miss her blush. Well, well, it seemed like he found the trick to shutting her up. He was in a much more pleasant mood as he took the next exit to a rest stop. The overly large parking lot only had a couple worn buildings, a gas station and convenience store, before falling away to forestry on all sides. He hit the brakes where the little dirt road turned to asphalt. “And here’s your stop.”

“You’re shitting me. This is on the other side of town from my stop.”

“Heh. You must think I care.” He unlocked the doors and gave her a grin. “See ya, Sugar Tits.”

He continued grinning until five minutes later, she realized he wasn’t budging and grudgingly exited the vehicle. “I’ll get you back,” she said again before slamming his door shut. Then she strode off with her head high and Natsu leaned out the window to watch her retreating behind.

“And a good fucking day to you too!”

——————

For the next week Natsu fought to not even breathe the same air as Lucy Ashley. He was mortified over how he treated her as Fireball and terrified she would find another thing to blackmail him with on top of the unsolved fires around the school. So, he buried his head in his books during class and beat a hasty retreat as soon as the professor dismissed them. It worked until he was confronted by a thoroughly pissed-off Lucy (which, to be fair, might have been her default state, but this time she was extraordinary beyond normal standards).

“Boys’ bathroom, now.” She had cut him off in the cafeteria’s line almost literally breathing fire. Natsu’s fingers tightened around the plastic tray.

“I, I haven’t p-paid yet—”

THUNK!

Natsu had a bit of a memory lapse, and next thing he knew he was on the ground with his cup of Jell-O staining his blue shirt and the blood rushing to his left cheek. Lucy’s fist was still raised as she said in a very tight voice, “Move your ass, Dragion.” And she spun on her heel and swept past the curious onlookers.

“H-Hey, Natsu?” Someone came from behind and pulled him back to his feet. Natsu turned to see Gray offering him a glass of iced water.

“Thanks…” He pressed the glass to his swelling cheek.

“Who was that? And why is she so upset at you?”

“I…we…well, she met F-Fireball,” he said, averting his eyes. It was mostly true anyway. Gray’s eyes widened.

“Ooh. Yeah. Makes sense.” He looked at the cold Jell-O seeping through Natsu’s shirt. “Want one of mine?” Not particularly, since Gray’s shirts were super thick and (to normal people) it was ninety degrees outside, but it was somewhat better. “I have to meet her in the restroom.”

“So she can get the other side of your face?” Gray gave a dubious squinty-eyed look.

“Well, if I don’t go, she’ll do it for sure. If I do…w-well…it’s unlikely.”

Lucy was leaning against the wall with arms crossed when he entered the restroom. She wore a baggy tunic shirt over denim shorts and combat boots, one of which immediately planting itself in his stomach. Natsu’s back hit the door behind him, then his skull when Lucy grabbed him by the neck.

“You should know,” she said, her breath coming heavy, “I don’t like being made an ass of.”

Instinct was a funny thing: there was no cowardice involved in it, just knee-jerk reactions honed by years of environmental factors. Natsu’s hands went out and tangled in her loose hair, and he used his elbows to push against the insides of hers, breaking her grip and pulling her head forward and into his at the same time. He headbutted her hard and she stumbled backwards when he released his grip in shock. The blood drained from his face at the sight of her startled expression. This was nothing he could blame on Fireball.

“L-Lucy, so-sorry, I’m sorry, I just—”

The lights abruptly cut out, bathing the windowless room in darkness. Natsu heard Lucy’s footsteps retreat from him before she let out a yelp on the other side of the room.

“L-Lucy?”

“Stay back th-there!” He started. Did she just…stutter?

“Lucy, I’m r-really sorry about—”

“I said s-stay back there, Dragion!” So it wasn’t his imagination. Certainly, his actions didn’t have her so terrified—if so, she wouldn’t have retaliated for what Fireball did to her. But the only other factor in that situation was…the power went out. So…?”

“U-Um…sorry, I’m overstepping boundaries, but, err, are you…scared of the—”

“Not another word!” she interrupted in a shrieking voice. Immediately after, the lights returned. He blinked until his eyes adjusted and saw Lucy pressed against the far wall and crouched under a sink, her hands clasped over her head. She was trembling, he could see that even from a distance, and her eyes were red. “Just…shut up,” she said in a shaky voice. He pressed his lips together and moved forward.

“I…I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t make fun of you like this…if that’s what you mean…”

“Yes, you would, because you’re a shitty person.” She rolled her eyes and added, “Well, everyone is. Just know, if you so much as breathe word of this to anybody—”

“I won’t.” She gave him a hard look and he returned it with a placatory one. He had incentive to do so—disregarding the Fireball thing, he was still at fault for the brushfires around the school—but there was just something so inherently dirty about exploiting her weakness. That was more up Igneel’s alley to do, and Natsu had long since sworn to do the opposite of his late father in everything. “U-Um…it’s gotta be wet under there, so don’t you wanna, uh…” He offered a hand and she slapped it away hard.

“Move.” He gave her a wide berth to crawl from under the sink and get to her feet. She didn’t spare him another glance when she stomped through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Well, Natsu thought, hand still out in front of him, now she really hates my guts.

——————

Ironically, Lucy was the one to ignore Natsu the following few days. He didn’t like leaving things as they were, but he also didn’t like setting his ass up for a good kicking. As it were, faith was determined to keep bringing them together in the unruliest circumstances.

“One part of the project requires you to pair up,” Professor Gryder said once the last of the information sheets were passed around. “And you’ve already been paired by a random algorithm. I’ve already posted the sheet on the bulletin board outside.”

“Well that really sucks the fun from a group project, don’t you think?” Levy Ström said in the most derisive voice possible. Natsu heard Lucy click her teeth.

“Each of you will spend a day with the other and analyze their interactions and habits. By the end of the week, you should have a reflection prepared: does this person act based on societal influences, or by their own free will? With that, class is dismissed.”

Natsu watched Lucy from the corner of his eye as she grabbed her binder and dodged past him on her way to the door. He never really thought about it, but he began to wonder what she was doing in a Sociology class as he packed his notebooks away.

“Fuck no!”

It said something that Natsu didn’t even flinch at the sound, quietly slipping his backpack on and making to creep past the crowd around the bulletin board outside. Once he heard Lucy scream again and burst into the classroom, he dared sneak a peek at the groups.

—

NATSU DRAGION & LUCY ASHLEY

—

Okay, hmm, yeah, that made sense. Hearing Lucy’s muffled vitriol from the closed classroom, Natsu decided to air his grievances later. If Professor Mine even possessed a head after today.

“Natsu, will you be alright with such an uncouth young…lady?” Cana Domènech was entirely the opposite of Lucy: conservative, refined, and thought “oh my gosh” to be her swearing quota for the day. She looked at him with concern when he let out a little nervous laugh.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll, uh, I’ll survive.”

“Well, I do wish you the best of luck.” Cana gave him one more sympathetic look before leaving. Natsu heard the door open behind him and looked to see Lucy in noticeably lower spirits than before. She met his eyes and clicked her teeth, tossing her head to the side.

“I’m not big on the idea—” Obviously, “—but I have to pass. So, let’s go.”

“L-let’s g-go?”

“Did you not read the stupid paper?” She fluttered said paper in front of his face. “Analyze each other’s societal interactions. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather get this done sooner than later. I don’t want to spend a second more with you than I have to.”

“B-B-But, me, I don’t think th-that’s a, that that’s a g-good—” His words died off at her look. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll have to deal with…you know…Fireball.”

“Sooner than later.” She raised an expectant eyebrow and he sighed again, gripping the straps of his bag.

“Al…Alright.” She followed him to the parking lot and stood aside a bit awkwardly as he anxiously slid inside.

“Well, Sugar Tits, you coming in or what?” Fireball asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Lucy rolled her eyes to the sky and practically threw herself into the seat. “Glad to see you’re eager,” he said as he put the car in drive. Lucy barely flinched this time when he laid on the gas and cut onto the street at speed. “So, what’s a respectable young lady like yourself doing in a Sociology class?”

“It’s a stupid elective that I’m regretting more and more by the second.” She folded her arms and fell back into the seat with a frustrated sigh. Natsu looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Any particular reason we’re not doing your part first?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Sugar Tits, that reasoning’s not gonna fly with me.”

“Stop with the Sugar Tits shit already, limp dick.”

“My mouth, my tongue, my car, my rules. Don’t blame me if those jugs are the most appealing parts of you. I can look at them and still feel some semblance of hope for womankind.” Said jugs were encased in a thin black tube top that did nothing to hide their volume or save them from Fireball’s roving eyes.

“Seriously, do you take improv classes? I don’t get how you can be such a pushover normally and then cart around a record-sized pair when you get behind a wheel.”

“I’m an enigma, Sugar Tits. Get used to it.”

There was a slight itch of trepidation as Fireball headed onto the row of dark side streets he called home. But at the end of the block was a building that shone a little brighter than the boarded-up adult stores and bail bond places surrounding it. A place built upon legends of the past and which would continue creating legends well into the future.

“Aren’t you a little young to be going to a bar?” Lucy said derisively as he pulled into the parking lot behind the place.

“Not a bar. Home.” He put the car in park and turned it off. She recoiled a bit at his somber tone.

“This run-down old place?”

“That’s what you call it.” He let out a sigh and smiled a bit. “Well, Lucy, time to head into the belly of the beast.”

Lucy’s burning gaze followed him out of the car as he shrugged his things higher on his shoulders. This was the only place he felt as in-control as when he was in his car—not that he thought it’d last with Lucy breathing down his neck. Lucy fell in step behind him as he walked around to the front entrance. “B-Be ready,” he said under his breath as he pushed the door open.

“What?” Natsu sensed something flying and ducked in time for a beer bottle to miss his head and fly over Lucy’s. She spun around to watch it hit the street with comically wide eyes. “What in the flying fu—”

“Move it or lose it, Dragion!” Jet shouted. Natsu shrunk backwards.

“S-Sorry, I was just—”

“Still apologizing? I don’t know who’s more of an eyesore, you or Elfman!”

“Jet, stop bothering my brother,” Lisanna Stonestrider said, resting a hand on the crying Elfman’s shoulder and shooting Jet a glare. It didn’t affect him too much, and she turned to give Natsu a warm smile. “Welcome back.”

“H-Hi, Lisanna.”

“Ooh, Natsu, you’ve brought a girl.” Mirajane said it very casually but it had heads turning anyway. Natsu turned a deep red and did his best turtle impression when someone let out a loud laugh-whistle.

“I’m Lucy,” she said, startling him a bit with the sound of her voice. She had her hands on her hips and was standing with her feet apart and chin raised just high enough to squint down at all of them. “And know that next time a bottle comes flying at my head, it’s going up somebody’s ass.”

“It’s going to be your ass this time, Max,” Warren said. Someone whistled again, then the previous conversations bubbled back into the silence. Natsu went to sit at the bar and Lucy followed him, perching herself with crossed legs on the stool.

“I’m Mira,” the barmaid introduced, smiling at Lucy. Lucy, as per her dignified nature, snorted.

“Do you shit rainbows or something?”

“P-Please don’t,” Natsu muttered, folding his hands atop the clean wood countertop.

“I’m used to worse coming from these people’s mouths.” Mira, that’s not a thing to happily admit to. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

Lucy slid her hands across the bar and her eyes narrowed as she peered around the clientele. “Is there an undercover cop here…?”

“No, no,” she said with a laugh. “Whatever happens in Fairy Tail stays in Fairy Tail.”

She still seemed incredibly dubious, so Natsu slowly raised a finger. “Can I get a fireball cinnamon whiskey?” Mira hummed softly as she took a glass from under the bar and filled it halfway before sliding it over. Lucy still looked as if she expected cameras to pop out at any moment, but she slowly slid back in the seat. Natsu didn’t get to the glass before Lucy snatched it and downed it all in one go. “Can I get another?” she said, ignoring Natsu’s indignant yelp.

“For a friend of Natsu’s, of course. He doesn’t have many, outside of us,” she said as she refilled the glass. Natsu flushed under Lucy’s subsequent scrutiny.

“For how much of a turtle he is, doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well what about you? You’re hiding behind a lot of vulgarity.” Natsu jumped when Lucy slammed the glass down mid-drink, splashing the whiskey all over the countertop.

“Don’t act like you know me!” she said in a voice that bordered a growl. Mirajane held Lucy’s gaze for a long moment, and Lucy was the one to back down in the end.

“It’s none of my business anyway,” she said breezily, retrieving another glass and pouring Natsu’s share, along with refilling Lucy’s and swabbing the mess she made.

“Damn right it ain’t, Princess.” Lucy knocked back the glass with marked aggression before slamming it down yet again. Wisely, Natsu retained a Sugar Tits-related comment as he slowly sipped his drink.

“Sup, idiots?” The door banged open and Levy sauntered in, flanked by Gray and Cana behind her. Sitting down with Jet and Droy created a new course of ruckus in the place and Natsu almost missed Wendy and Romeo sneaking in. She caught his wave and responded with a half-smile and a hair flip; Romeo turned away and hunched a bit more, but Natsu caught a bit of a smile before he did. He’s getting better.

“You bring little kids in here too?” Lucy nodded at Romeo as Wendy led him to a booth seat. He squared his shoulders and gripped his glass with both hands.

“W-W-Well, it’s, err—he’s, I-I’m—all of u-us, actually…we, uh, we…” His stammering peaked with his anxiety and Lucy let out a loud groan of frustration. Mira rested a hand atop his.

“The upper level has a few bedrooms; he stays in one alongside Natsu.”

“You guys…live here?” Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked between them. Mira’s smile hadn’t dimmed, but her eyes darkened with a bit of grief.

“It may seem like a dingy bar to most people, but to us, it’s our only home.” Lucy’s lips parted and she craned her head back to take another long look at the people of Fairy Tail. Young, old; grizzled, bright-eyed; weak, strong; happy and joking, depressed and silent… Her eyes returned to Natsu, but there was no outright malice this time.

“Your only home?” she asked in a voice so soft it was nothing but earnest. He tipped his head in a nod. She put her hand to her mouth and stared, seemingly at a loss for words. Natsu gave a little sheepish smile and shrugged a shoulder. She blinked a few times to clear a suspicious sheen from her eyes, then pushed away from the bar. “We’ll do this another day,” she said quietly, and took a deep breath before rushing past the tables to the door.

“Natsu?” Mira asked quietly, bringing his eyes back to hers. She regarded him with a concerned look and he laughed a bit, though not with humor.

“W…We have a funny relationship,” he said, finishing the last of his whiskey. “Unintentionally exchanging secrets. This time, though…I think this was too much this time. I don’t know, Mira.” He sunk forward until he could rest his head in his arms, and Mira’s hand gently combed through his hair. Well, she got her payback for last time, plus change…

——————

The next day was a Saturday, which meant no class and no Lucy. He just almost pushed yesterday’s happenings from his mind as he came to Aicha’s Autos for his usual weekend shift. He was supposed to open, but when he arrived the garage door was already rolled up and a sports car was waiting with an open hood. He peeked around the corner to see Metallicana reclining in a folding chair, the top of his coveralls loosened around his faded Guns ‘N Roses t-shirt. He was drinking a bottle of Guinness and grinned when he saw Natsu, waving him over.

“I thought I opened?”

“Yeah, well, I had a little extra time. Wanna drink?” He nodded at the small cooler next to him. He had about as many qualms as Fairy Tail with underage drinking—not that Natsu minded. It was the “drinking on the job” part that made him uneasy.

“I-Isn’t this a job here?” He gestured to the sports car. Metallicana shrugged.

“’s all done save for the test drive, and anyway client’s not comin’ ‘til tomorrow.” Grinning, he pulled the driver’s key from his chest pocket and let it dangle from his fingertip. “Just up and down the block so’s I can make sure the frame’s right an’ straight.”

“Just up and down the block…” His fingers twitched and he realized he was leaning forward towards the key. Metallicana laughed not unkindly.

“Haven’t been racin’ in a while? Don’t usually see ya so antsy.”

“The police got some sort of tip and have been swarming around the usual spots, so the people in charge have to find a new…venue…” He was distracted as his phone received a notification. To his utter surprise, it was a text from Lucy.

Finished the report. Come check it out.

Below that was an address not too far from the auto shop. Natsu knew the area: a lot of open road and torn-down homes, leaving plenty of unpurchased lot space. It also was a wonderful place for festering crime, since it lay far from any police station. He might’ve been looking too deeply into matters, but the locale sounded a little too coincidental for his liking.

“Natsu?”

“E-Err, yeah, test drive.” He took the keys and pocketed his phone. “Up and down the street. Got it.” He excused himself and locked the hood before sliding into the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine turn, heard the gears in his mind whir to life as he reversed from the garage.

She ran away, he mused, stopping in the street and heading straight down. Beats me as to why, but she ran. I don’t know what she wrote, but it somehow leaves a pit in my stomach anyway.

He rounded the corner despite his promise to move up and down the street and cruised along the quiet suburb. Whatever she has to say, I can take it in stride. I don’t regret joining with the Fairy Tail gang—they’re a hell of a lot more my family than that old prick. His hands tightened around the wheel. And as pleasant company as Sugar Tits is, she’ll be in for a heck of a time trying to pull me from my family.

He lost track of time circling the neighborhood and caught himself as he drove past a gas station. Glancing at the meter, he realized he used up a few gallons in his reverie. He stopped to fill the tank and bought himself a root beer at the convenience store. Well, regardless, he thought as he popped the cap, taking a long gulp. I won’t know until I go there…and I can only hope it’s good news. W-Well, as good as it can get considering Lucy.

By the time he returned to the garage, Metallicana was working on an SUV. Natsu parked the car on the dirt lot outside and honked once to catch his attention. As he approached, he spotted a suited man about his age sitting against the wall. He had dark curly hair and red eyes that sized Natsu up as he came over.

“Pink hair. Mr. Dragion?”

“Um…y-yes?” Metallicana slid out from under the car with a sigh, dropping a wrench and pulling his long auburn hair from his grease-stained face.

“That’s Gajeel, my son,” he said without delay. “And this is his shitshow he calls a car.” The SUV was old for sure, but Natsu couldn’t see the big deal with it.

“Nice to m-meet you, Mr. Aicha.” He offered a hand and Gajeel again appeared to size him up before shaking it. His hand was calloused and his grip was firm.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Don’t say nothin’ too incriminatin’ ‘round him…it’ll be all over the headlines come daylight.”

“I don’t, um, I don’t understand.”

“I’m a reporter for Magnolia Times,” Gajeel said. Natsu nodded slowly.

“That makes sense…”

“My father has also told me much about you, Mr. Dragion. That you’re his most reliable assistant, and that you’re the most pleasant young man he’s met.” Natsu let out a nervous laugh and ducked his head to hide his blush.

“Mi…Mister Metallicana gives me too much c-credit.”

“Nah, yer just too deprecative,” Metallicana said airily, leaning his back against the car. “Anyway, Natsu, met any girls lately?”

It was something he asked fairly often because Natsu was “that age” according to him—whatever that meant—and now the question made him flush a deeper scarlet and trip over his tongue. “I, err, I don’t, I h-haven’t—”

“Ooh!” He grinned and his wine-colored eyes glittered. “She got big tits?”

Natsu choked on his spit while Gajeel face-palmed. “That’s not…socially acceptable to say.”

“Well, I said it. Does she?”

“She—she—yes,” he admitted in a mutter.

“Congrats!” Gajeel sighed.

“S-S-She’s not, she’s not m-my girlf-friend or anything…!”

“She single?”

“Father, act your age,” Gajeel said once Natsu covered his red face with shaky hands. Metallicana let out a hearty laugh.

“Alright, alright… Let’s finish up his car so’s real customers can have their turn.”

Despite his words, it was a pretty quiet day once Gajeel left with his repaired SUV (and some choice words on Metallicana’s part; seriously, the old man had a mouth to make a sailor blush, yet there was nothing but endearment behind the coarse profanities). By two o’clock, Natsu’s shift was over, and it was time to face Lucy yet again.

“I’m leaving, Mr. Metallicana…”

“Right, see ya Mo—two beers?” Metallicana raised a pierced eyebrow as Natsu shut the cooler, cradling the bottles in his other hand.

“I need the support… See you Monday.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The tension coiled and formed a pit in his stomach as he headed towards the indicated address. He had already knocked back the first beer at the halfway point, and he was nursing the second one when he realized he was close. It wasn’t enough to impair his driving, not by a longshot, but it fooled him into thinking this was maybe a good idea.

Lucy’s house was entirely average with two stories, a garage, and a tree out front. It looked too innocent for someone determined to give him hell. He parked in the empty driveway and went up to ring the bell. He stood awkwardly on the porch for several minutes, shifting from one foot to another and feeling like some kind of trespasser, before the door swung open. She stood there and blinked at him dazedly, not saying a word, and the silence melted Natsu’s anxiety a bit.

“Good…afternoon,” he said. Lucy inclined her head to one side.

“Yeah,” she replied softly. She wore an extra-large grey hoodie and tights underneath, a surprisingly simple and unassuming outfit choice, but if she was at home, what did he expect? “Come on.” She turned inside and left the door open for him. He self-consciously removed his sneakers before entering, making sure to drop them beside the door after shutting it behind him.

“You, err, y-you finished it early. The report,” he said lamely as he followed her past the unused-looking living room to the stairs.

“I thought it’d be harder than it was. Turns out I was wrong.” She shrugged and Natsu balked internally at how sedated she appeared. The stairs led up to a carpeted hallway and she took him to the door at the very end. Opening it, Natsu was bombarded repeatedly with the thought of Lucy’s room Lucy’s room Lucy’s room. Band posters, gun show ads, and social propaganda posters covered every square inch of the wall to where he didn’t know its color, and while the rectangular room could barely fit a work desk and a twin bed, a record player and small bookshelf made the place fit to burst.

“Cramped,” he said without really thinking, and immediately clamped his mouth shut after.

“But lived in, unlike the rest of this dump.” She took the comment in stride as she slid past everything with practiced ease to sit cross-legged on her bedspread. Natsu awkwardly stood in the doorway until she gave him an expectant look. “You gonna start sprouting leaves there or what?”

“N-N-No, I, uh...nothing.” He bowed his head and sat at her desk, which was crammed with untouched journals, bent and dog-eared poetry books, and mismatched puzzle pieces. Lucy picked up her notebook from the bed and flipped to a random page.

“Listen up,” she said, then started to read: “Natsu is a weak-ass who couldn’t take candy from a baby. Hell, he’d probably be jacked by the baby. Point is, he’s a noodle.” Already he felt like going home. “He’s spinelessly compliant for the most part, and when he’s not he’s an insufferable prick. But not as insufferable as his family. He’s gutless, but he wouldn’t speak out against another person, or hurt them anyhow. All of Natsu Dragion is a good person, and that’s free will.” She dropped the notebook in her laugh and looked at him with a huff. “Well?”

Natsu gave her a gentle smile. “Lucy, I think you’ve missed the point of Fairy Tail.”

“What?” She looked at him crossly, which he took in stride.

“They’re not burdens I have to bear, they’re my family. We’re all family.”

“Pretty rude-ass family you got there.” He winced; he couldn’t argue for the most part.

“They’re not…well…they’re not the most optimistic people, not anymore, but we have this…this…” He tried and failed to find the word and gave up. “You don’t really understand us past the surface.”

“Dragion, I know shitty adults when I see ‘em.” He could only smile again, which she didn’t take as pleasantly. “You’re makin’ fun of the wrong person,” she said, getting to her feet and cracking her knuckles. Natsu instantly went on the defensive.

“N-N—I didn’t m-mean it like that, no!” The door opened downstairs and Lucy straightened as if by an electrical shock. Her expression changed and she marched purposely from the room and down the hall. She didn’t tell Natsu to follow, but he felt at a loss and trailed behind like a stray puppy anyway.

She returned to the living room where Natsu was surprised to see an older woman strewn on the sofa like she simply didn’t have the energy to go further. Her blond hair was long and silky and streaked with grey, and when Natsu went around, he saw her in an unkempt server’s uniform. Lucy walked past, combing her fingers through the woman’s hair as she went to the kitchen. The woman didn’t respond.

“U-Um, L-Lucy, it’s not my place to ask, I know, b-but is she…?”

“It isn’t your place,” she said tonelessly, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it from the tap. She set the glass down on the coffee table still with no response. Natsu swallowed.

“M…Maybe she should go to a h-hospi—”

“This ain’t anything new, okay? Come morning, she’ll be perfectly okay and ready to do it all again.” She pushed her fringe up and Natsu frowned at how exhausted she sounded. She glanced at him over her shoulder, then looked at the wall. He followed her gaze to a photo featuring the woman with less grey hairs and a blond, mustached man holding a laughing little girl. “Sorry if I insulted your family or whatever, but as you can see, I don’t have a splendid example of a stable one. Not anymore.”

“Lucy…” She opened her mouth, then abruptly shut it and walked out the front door. She sat hard on the porch and pulled a cigarette from her pocket. Natsu glanced at her mother again, who still had her face buried in the cushions with no sign of life, and slowly walked out to join her. He grimaced a little at the smell of smoke as she took a long drag but didn’t complain. “Is she…ah…drugs?” he asked, fully expecting a tirade in response.

“More like drunk off her ass,” she said without looking at him. “She’s been doing it for six years now. Can’t hold down a job, can’t hold down a conversation… If not for our relatives, we would’ve lost Papa’s house a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you get help?”

“She’s the one who has to get help. It ain’t for my lack of trying, me and the rest of our family.” She threw the half-finished cigarette to the concrete walkway and ground it under her sneaker.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t make Papa sick, you didn’t turn Mama into a chicken, what do you have to be sorry for?”

He looked her right in the eyes. “I’m sorry we both have broken families.”

“I thought you love the people over at that bar.”

“I’m not talking about them.” She gave him a curious look and he fidgeted with his fingers. “My father…wasn’t the n…nicest person. Not to my mom or me. He wanted her to ‘listen like a wife should.’ He wanted me to ‘grow up an’ be a fuckin’ man.’” He laughed even though nothing about it was funny. “He was… Igneel was a mean, manipulative, and secretly cowardly sunovabitch. And now he’s dead.” He choked on the word dead and almost suffocated at the memories it brought. He doubled over and saw Lucy reaching for him from the corner of his eye, and he bolted to his feet to throw up in the grass. “S…Sorry,” he muttered when he was done, dragging his hand across his mouth. Lucy was on her feet and staring at him with wide eyes.

“He was killed?” she asked. The word hit Natsu like a blow and he had to fight to not vomit again.

“Y…Yes, he was killed.” He sat on the grass and pulled his knees to his chest, gripping them and failing to stop his trembling. Warm, he felt warm then and he felt warm now—feverishly, dizzily warm. And his mother’s quick words in his ear; he didn’t understand then, but in the aftermath, they engraved themselves in his soul. The warmth persisted; it was years before he could sleep without twisted nightmares of that day forming.

Lucy came up behind him and her hand rested in his hair, gently tangling in the strands. Her hand was warm too, but it didn’t make him feel faint and anxious; it was grounding, pleasant, and it made him feel a bit stronger.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the reason he’s dead, are you? What do you have to be sorry for?” He laughed bitterly until Lucy’s hand moved to his shoulder and she crouched behind him. Her words dragged him to a pensive stop.

“I’m sorry we’re both broken people.”

——————

“This is a cruel world. You have to be crueler to survive.”

“Spend the rest of the week sleeping outside. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

“I’m the father! It’s my job to make sure things are in order, that my son becomes a man and my wife keeps in line. That’s the father’s job.”

“If you don’t like me, get out. Life’s gonna fuck you in your little pussy and you’ll come running back anyway.”

“If you don’t like fighting, you’re gonna get mauled. That’s the rule of thumb.”

“If you don’t like me, do something about it.”

…Do something about it? To his father? To the “head of the house?” It was a pipe dream at best, a dangerous fantasy at worst. But…but…

“Mom!”

Like a dream, like a fantasy, he made it reality.

——————

Natsu had a headache when he woke up the next morning, and the sunlight streaming through only made it worse. He groaned and turned into his pillow.

“Natsu…” He peeked one eye at Romeo as he struggled to climb on the bed. Natsu sat up and helped him the rest of the way. “Who’s the girl?” he asked with a little tilt to his head. Natsu rubbed his neck and yawned.

“Lucy— Huh? Why are you asking now?”

“Well, she’s here now.” Natsu stared dumbly for a few seconds until Romeo repeated himself.

“She’s what?” He pushed Romeo aside and jumped to his feet. “D-Did she say why?” He was about to leave before remembering he was in his boxers. He ran to the dresser and rapidly sorted between their clothes (ugh, he had to organize that thing one day).

“Nope.” Romeo was sitting cross-legged on Natsu’s bedspread rocking back and forth. “But she told me I’m perspicacious. I think it means cute.”

Natsu was too engrossed in getting dressed to argue no, it did not mean cute, it meant he was probably being a know-it-all little shit to her. He picked a blue collared shirt and a pair of jeans. “Does this look fine?” he asked before remembering he was talking to a seven-year-old.

“Why does it matter?”

“N…No, well, I guess it doesn’t.” He smoothed his shirt automatically and Romeo inclined his head.

“You’re acting weird, Big Brother.”

“Me? Weird? No, nonono. I’m neurotic all the time. Typical Natsu, right? Aha!” He did an uncomfortable smile that made Romeo grimace.

“Maybe you should lie down again.”

“I’m fine.” Despite his words, Romeo followed at his ankles as he went to clean up in the restroom and then marched purposefully downstairs. It was still early on the weekend so many of the adults were asleep; only Mirajane, Gray, Cana, Wendy, and Juvia remained in the bar, lounging around or helping clean up from the busy night. Lucy was on a barstool turning side to side with her head lolling onto one shoulder. She wore a school sweatshirt cut to just below her breasts and high-waisted jeans. Her hair was loose and wet from a shower.

“Natsu, your friend is back,” Mira said as way of greeting, giving him a not-so-subtle wink and grin. Natsu flushed and tried to hide in his shirt.

“Yo.” Lucy sat up at the sight of him and smiled. It wasn’t huge and blinding by no means, but it was genuine, and it got Natsu smiling in return.

“H…Hi.”

“Slow burn-ass romance,” Juvia said quite loudly, deepening Natsu’s flush and getting a glare from Lucy. Then her face changed to a sinister smirk.

“Yeah, you know what? I’m totally in love with Pinky. So, like, you should let me in on you guys’ secrets, considering I’m gonna be stickin’ around.”

“Yeah? Kiss him.” Juvia again, and her smirk was ten times more sinister. Natsu felt Romeo tugging on the back of his shirt but ignored it in favor of some wild-eyed boggling. Seriously? She isn’t going for that. She’s not. She isn’t going for that for real is she? She wouldn’t just—oh—oh yeah nope she’s totally kissing me.

Lucy had grabbed his face with both hands and pressed her body flush against his to snatch his lips. He could taste her green apple lip gloss and the mint toothpaste on her breath. And…and…shit. He thought only four wheels and an engine could do it, but the kiss, whatever the circumstances and reasoning behind it, stoked the fire in his belly to a roar. He grabbed her forearms, backed her against the bar until she was almost bowing into it, and deepened the kiss. In response to his heat, she melted in his grip, and Fireball relished the little mewls she made as he explored her mouth with his tongue. He wondered what sounds she would make when he explored her body, when he explored her—

“Eww,” Romeo said before Wendy shushed him. Natsu pulled away in a rush, his face sporting a shade of red not even on the spectrum. Lucy was still leaning against the bar and supporting her body with her hands, staring off into space.

“It’s not nice to interrupt people when they’re snogging,” Wendy told him. Romeo didn’t respond and directed his attention to Lucy.

“Big Sister, wasn’t that gross?”

Lucy snapped out of her fugue and turned to face him. “Uh, well— Big Sister?” She began weirdly fidgety, but suddenly looked at Romeo with wide eyes. Romeo nodded from where he sat on Wendy’s lap and Lucy broke into a wide grin. “Big Sister knows how to handle herself in the face of creeps,” she said, putting extra emphasis on her new title.

“I…I’m a creep?”

“Well, you’re trying to get with Big Sister,” Romeo said quite matter-of-factly. Wendy patted his head.

“Lucy’s not our sister.”

“Not yet,” he said, “but she likes Big Brother.”

He was only a kid and his words left Natsu mortified all the same. He ducked his head and asked Mira for a couple glasses of fire whiskey. “You’ve a very adorable wingman.” Lucy grinned at Natsu and he slid a glass her way, sitting next to her.

“I don’t mean it offensively, but why did you come?”

“No offense taken. Well, I want to know more about you. And, well, you kinda fled the other day.”

“Yeah. Um. Sorry that I…fled. It was…” scary, terrifying, horrifying, traumatizing, “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s another thing we have in common: we’re excellent runners.” She took a sip of whiskey and set the glass down quietly. “Not really a good thing.”

“No, it’s not.” He took a sip as well and sighed. Mira, who had disappeared for a moment, returned with a plate starring a mushroom omelet for Lucy.

“I didn’t pay for this,” she said. Mira winked.

“Breakfast is on the house today.” Natsu gave her a squinty look knowing it was bullshit and she giggled before going back to the kitchen. Lucy pushed it around a bit before cutting in and taking a bite.

“Wow. This is, like, orgasmic.” She proceeded to stuff her face with it and make very unladylike noises at the flavor, making Natsu warm for an entirely different, not so unpleasant reason.

“U-Um, Lucy, m-maybe you should…not…should not make those…s-sounds.”

“Shove it.” And she was back to the Lucy he knew. Honestly, he was a little relieved for it.

“A-Anyway…there’s not much more to learn about me. You can talk to my friends here?”

“Seriously.”

“Ooh, yes, I am very curious to meet the girl Natsu’s making out with.” Natsu started when he realized how close Wendy had gotten, leaning over the counter with her cleavage in his face. “Nice to meet you, Big Sister. My name’s Wendy.”

“Hmm? Yeah, pleasure’s mine or something.” Lucy looked at Wendy’s tits, then her own, then noticed Wendy was holding Romeo’s hand. “Little brother,” she said, then smiled. Romeo turned his face into Wendy’s legs and she ruffled his hair.

“He’s a little uncomfortable around people.” She jerked her chin at Gray and Cana’s table. “Gray is the human cocoon over there. Nice guy, but he wears too many layers. And Cana is—”

“Oh, yes, I know Cana,” Lucy said with a not-so-pleasant tone of voice. “I’ve seen Gray around. Hard to miss.”

“Well then, you’re already partway there.” She tugged a lock of Lucy’s hair and stopped to gawk. “Your hair is really soft. How do you get it like this?”

“Don’t really know.” She let Wendy play with the strands and Natsu wished he could as well without it being too weird.

“Wakaba and Macao are a couple of the oldest regulars. We don’t know what they do when they’re not here though. Mira’s the barmaid and chef; she and Levy room together. Jet and Droy, Juvia, Cana, Laki, Warren, Nab, and Max are the early-birds around here; they start early and you usually don’t see them until the evening.”

“So who’s the owner?” It was an innocent question that instantly dimmed the bar’s mood. Wendy bit her lip, Natsu averted his eyes, Gray stared at his hands, Juvia clenched her fists, and Cana’s eyes turned glassy. Romeo was the one who answered.

“He was um, he was extra-diction.”

“Extradited to Russia some years ago. He’s been imprisoned ever since.” Lucy turned to where Mira was standing, her head lowered and eyes distant. “We never found out what he did.”

“If he did anything,” Juvia said.

“Gramps had the kindest heart of anyone around. We can’t imagine him committing a crime so serious they’d drag him transnationally,” Gray said softly.

“Because he wouldn’t,” Wendy said with finality. “And we’ve never stopped fighting it.”

Lucy looked between them all before her eyes landed on Natsu. He nodded. “And we won’t ever stop."

“Family…” She shook her head and straightened, throwing her hands in the air. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?”

Wendy smirked. “Ever play King’s Cup?”

Lucy did not in fact play King’s Cup, and Natsu, while not speaking up, loathed the aftermath. Since Romeo and Cana couldn’t participate, they sat on the side as Mira set one table with six glasses, filling five of them with Guinness, and set a deck of cards next to the empty one. They took their seats and Natsu was the first to pick up.

“Queen,” he muttered, turning it towards everyone. Juvia, Lucy, and Wendy grabbed their glasses and drank.

“Okay, okay.” Wendy set the emptied glass down and took a card, flipping it out. “Seven.” Gray was the last to put his arm up since he had so many layers to work with, so he drank.

“My turn.” Juvia had a wicked smile as she took her card and flashed the 5. “When Lucy drinks, Natsu drinks twice as much.”

“Seriously?” Natsu cried. It went unnoticed as Gray drew.

“Nine.” He thought for a moment, shivered, then said, “Cold.”

“Sold,” Lucy said.

“Uh…gold,” Natsu said.

“Mold.”

“Told.”

“Bold,” Gray said. Lucy hesitated for a second and Wendy grinned.

“Let’s go, Big Sister.”

“Hey, sometimes you hafta know when you take a loss gracefully, as women do.” Natsu gave her a look as she gulped her beer and slammed the glass down. Graceful, my a—

“Natsu, aren’t you forgetting something?” Juvia said. Natsu drank down his glass and the following glass when Mira refilled it. On Wendy’s turn, she drew 3, so she drank three. Juvia drew a King and the guys drank. Gray drew an Ace and everyone raised their glasses. Lucy choked before Natsu was done, and she had to take another glass as punishment; duly, Natsu drank two glasses after. He was racking up five total, and on an empty stomach, he was past his limit.

“Alright, Bimbo-gami, take this.” Lucy held up her card, a 2, and Juvia gulped her glass. “Geddit? Bimbo with those tits, and a binbōgami is bad luck.” For how drunk she sounded, her intelligence was still impeccable.

“M’kay, my turn.” Natsu grabbed a bunch of cards by accident and let them flutter back to the table until he was left with one. “That’s a 4. Gray, yer gonna take two, an’ I take two.” They did their drinks and Gray, at the end of it, started peeling away some jackets.

“It’s hot as hell in here,” he said with a grimace, tossing his topmost layers to the ground and leaving himself in a black turtleneck. The game continued until there were two dozen empty beer bottles clanging around, Gray was down to his skivvies, Wendy was passed out cold and the warmth was reaching new heights in the pit of Natsu’s gut.

“Okay, okay, so’s I gotta 10,” Juvia slurred, holding up the card. “I say you guys gotta name your top pick fer hot an’ heavy sex. F’me, a kiddie pool.”

“Chocolate parfait.” Lucy gave a crooked smile and swirled the last dregs of beer around in her glass. Her shirt had ridden up the last time they raised their hands and she wasn’t in a state to notice; the hem sat at the crest of her black lacy bra.

“Natsu, ‘s on you.”

“Sugar Tits,” he said without missing a beat. She looked at him with a confused murmur and he grabbed her wrist, getting to his feet and pulling her up as well. “Let’s go fer a ride.”

“Too drunk,” she said, stumbling along behind him as he went to the backdoor. “Yer too drunk off yer ass, Dragion.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t drive, stoo-pid.”

“Who said ‘nythin’ ‘bout driving?” He slammed the door open and burst into the sunlight where he pulled her along to his car. It took a moment of fumbling with the keys before he got the passenger door open, and he forced the seat forward and pushed her into the back. He shut the door and settled between her raised knees, kneeling between her legs.

“Natsu—” she said, then was cut off when he devoured her lips in a searing kiss.

“M’mouth tastes like ass,” he said once he pulled away, pinning her wrists against the seat. “Let me taste something better.” He kissed the junction of shoulder and neck before sucking the same spot, earning a long and delicious groan from her in response. Her body proved enjoyably receptive as he continued showering her neck and jaw with attention. She trembled like a purring engine, spurring to life when he handled her just so.

“N-Naat…suuu…” Her breath hitched when he gave the back of her ear a long, slow lick, then she cried out as her body bowed outwards. He grinned at the sight and straightened, releasing her wrists to fumble drunkenly with the buttons of her jeans.

“Mm. One part I haven’t tasted yet…”

——————

Often times Fireball wondered Laki’s story. He only saw her in the dead of the night in a fishnet top and denim shorts, and she never spoke to him; her presence began with a swing of her arm and ended as he crossed the finish line. His eyes narrowed against the glare of the streetlamps to catch the swing now.

Three…two…and go.

He hit the gas and sped off in time with his two opponents. There was nothing else, nothing but the moonlight shining from the leaves surrounding the thin roads at the city limit, the sound of the engine, the night air crisp and clean in his throat—

“Mm…smells like sex in here.”

“Wonder why?”

“You’re a coy asshole.”

He gritted his teeth and clenched the steering wheel a bit tighter. He walked himself into deep shit with Lucy, he knew that well. The problem was finding his way out again while loathing every step he took away from her. He couldn’t…he could stand her knowing his petty problems, but the big secret… No, she couldn’t learn of that. forget the consequences involved, he didn’t want her to walk from his life as she surely would.

His reverie made him fall behind a driver and he laid on the gas to regain his head start. Regardless of his activities with a certain blonde, he had to win. Not so much for the money, which he earned a fair bit of from Metallicana, but the peace of mind a simple victory brought. Without that, he’d probably be as self-destructive as his old man.

They finished a lap as they circled past Laki and the cheers of the onlookers chased Natsu along the track. The adrenaline fueled the fire in his belly and he depressed the pedal as far as it could go, gaining a burst of speed on the straightaway. The next road led into a sharp curve and he caught it at a slow drift that carried him too close into the opponent’s BMW. The cars ground against each other as the road straightened and the BMW, with better positioning, shoved Natsu towards the grass on the side. He lost his traction and speed and lost a lot of ground in the race.

Dammit, dammit! Get your head out of your ass!

He got back on the road but finished the lap in last place. The third lap, too, he was a couple cars’ length from the others. His jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt. I have to get ahead. Push, push, nothing matters but the race, the wind, the sound of the engine, the taste of the night…Lucy’s lips taste sweeter than the night—

Police sirens weren’t a foreign sound in the neighborhood, but they came so close Natsu immediately hit the brakes, skidding to a stop on the dirt alongside the other two. Cop cars materialized from the night and everyone in the vicinity disappeared save for the drivers. Natsu watched the closest car as the doors opened, revealing a striking figure with short hair the color of fresh blood. Nightwalker.

“Make this easier on yourselves and exit the vehicles now,” she said, making no effort to hide the pistol strapped to her hips. The three of them stood up from their seats and put their hands in the air, none happily. Corporal Nightwalker’s eyes raked over them, sharp as blades. “Reitei Lyon, Sorano, and—” Her eyes narrowed on Natsu. “Natsu Dragion.”

“A-Ah…” He flinched back at the fiery intensity of her gaze, falling back into the driver’s seat. Nightwalker’s officers advanced on the other two while her sights remained on him.

“Don’t try to run. There’s no corner of Edolas you can run to now.” Her boots kicked up dust as she walked towards him, purposefully but at a moderate pace, knowing she had him on lock. He stared with wide eyes and his heart feeling like it would jump out any second. “Your street racing has reached its climax.”

Street racing. Street racing. Despite himself, relief flooded his veins and he put up no fight as she cuffed him. She mentioned his car would be impounded and the cost of bail, but it was small change. His most serious offense had yet to come collect, and he was relieved. After all, what would Lucy think of him knowing he killed his own father?

#ft bb #fairy tail #fairy tail big bang #natsu x lucy #ft fanfiction #ft oneshot #natsu dragion #lucy ashley #edo nalu #romance #angst #hurt/comfort #lime

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lynne-monstr · 6 years

Text

Flufftober Day 11: Heart

ao3 link

A warlock’s heart is not safe in his own chest.

It was an old adage, taught to every warlock child from the cradle. The fate of their kind.

Centuries of research had brought them no closer to understanding why their hearts suddenly turned to stone in their chest. Calcification, they called it. For some it happened young. A tragedy, people would whisper in the shadows, while being grateful it wasn’t them or their loved ones. Most went centuries with no sign of the ailment, only to go to sleep and never wake up.

Magnus had studied the phenomena for years, soul-sick from watching so many of his people fall ill to the ailment. It was his research that paved the way for a solution. It was both his greatest accomplishment and his greatest failure.

If a warlock’s heart wasn’t safe in their chest, they must give it away.

Eventually, entire industries sprung up. Secure facilities where a warlock could store their fragile heart. It was a cold and clinical process, leaving behind a chill that never went away. But it was better than the alternative, the ticking time-bomb of a calcified heart. Only the extremely brave (or the very eccentric) risked keeping their own hearts in their chest anymore.

The lucky ones never had to visit such places, they simply gave their heart away, kept warm and loved and cared for by another.

Magnus lived with the perpetual chill of cold storage. He had tried to give his heart away once, and it was a mistake he never intended to repeat.

The chill remained, despite the balmy heat that refused to give way to autumn’s crispness. He rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.

“You’re always so cold,” Alec remarked, taking both of Magnus’ hands in his. Raising them to his face, he gently breathed on their joined fingers.

The warm air was a balm on his cold skin but all too soon it was gone.

Magnus smiled faintly. He never told Alec about his heart, though he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d figured it out on his own. Alec was highly intelligent, with access to the Clave’s public records on warlock afflictions and remedies. Kind and considerate as he was, he likely wouldn’t bring it up until Magnus did.

(The Clave's official position stated that it was the demon blood that caused the heart calcification. That the warlocks’ own heritage slowly poisoned the human part of their body. A punishment from Raziel himself for wielding the power that they did.

The first time Magnus had read that particular dossier, he’d set the paper on fire.)

Around them, Prospect Park was quiet, save for the chatter of the ducks along the water. Magnus took his hands back as they continued their walk, electing instead to slip one into back pocket of Alec’s jeans.

Before he could change his mind, Magnus patted at his chest with his free hand. “Well, you know what they say about the heartless,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “As cold as we are empty.”

Alec’s steps stuttered in surprise. “Whoever said that’s an idiot. You’re the fullest thing in my life.”

Warmth curled tight in Magnus’ chest as his breath caught, the way it always did when Alec said things like that. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, he had found someone who would accept the safekeeping of his heart. Who would care for it and shelter it and bring warmth back into his life.

Centuries of caution held his tongue, and he said nothing as they continued their stroll through the park and eventually stopped for a magically conjured picnic lunch.

(Camille had laughed in his face when he presented his heart, her voice ringing like a bell as she asked him whether he was serving her dinner. The very next day, he sought out the most expensive, exclusive facility in Paris for an immediate appointment. He’d been heartless ever since.)

Magnus had made up his mind, and that should have been the end of the matter. Unfortunately, the rest of him hadn’t quite gotten the fire message. For decades he had pushed any thoughts of his heart out of his mind, locked them up and thrown away the key.

They rushed back over him like a torrent.

When he was curled up on the couch with a cheap mystery thriller, Alec beside him intently studying the primer on warlock magic he’d asked Magnus for. Or on a dinner trip to Portugal, the candlelight throwing shadows against Alec’s throat as he tipped his head back and laughed.

He thought about it every time they stripped each other of their clothes, until there was nothing between them but mumbled I love you’s mouthed across bare skin.

There was no escaping it.

Against all sense, Magnus wanted to give his heart away again.

He had it all planned. Burgers in the East Village. Drinks and billiards at a gem of a bar on Avenue B that he’d been meaning to show Alec. Lastly, a relaxing, nighttime stroll before portaling back home where Magnus would fix them both a cocktail and ask him—

“Would you be the one to hold my heart?”

And of course, Magnus managed to make a mess of it.

Water dripped in streams down his face from where he just stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The blissful heat of scalding water was already giving way to the familiar bone-deep chill.

Alec stood in front of the mirror, toothbrush in his mouth. Foam overflowed around his lips as he choked on air. Frantically, he turned the tap on, rinsing his mouth with water before turning back to Magnus.

They hadn’t even made it to dinner and the plan was in ruins.

Alec’s eyes were wide in shock and Magnus despaired.

Of course Alec wouldn’t want to take on such a heavy burden. When would Magnus stop being so stupidly impulsive? Even locked away in the highest security warlock vault money and reputation could buy, his traitorous heart managed to screw up everything.

The entire plan was a mistake. He always did this, fell too fast and too much and sent the people he loved running. And sure enough he did it again. And not in the fun Britney Spears way, he thought with an edge of hysteria. In the way that was sure to be the first fission that eventually drove he and Alec apart.

Oh, it wouldn’t happen tonight. It wouldn’t even happen this month. But surely, the weight of Magnus’ desires would become too great to bear. A stream of tiny drips that eventually eroded mountains.

The magic of his displaced heart buzzed frantically in his chest. It was a far cry from the racing heartbeat he’d never again possess, and Magnus almost crumbled.

He waved a hand, desperately trying to collect himself. “Never mind, Alexander, I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m s—”

His words ground to a halt as Alec placed a finger in front of his lips. Hovering, but not touching.

“I just—you just—I was surprised, is all,” Alec continued, a hint of color coming into his cheeks.

Magnus felt pinned in place, unable to move or speak. Is this how Alec felt that night after they healed Luke? So desperately wanting, yet fixed eternally in his own mind?

Alec’s stroked a thumb across his cheek. “You can ask me anything.”

Beyond his outstretched hand, Alec no longer looked panicked. Rather, his entire face exuded warmth and love. Hope blossomed in Magnus’ empty chest.

He let his eyes slip shut. The hand on his cheek burned like a fiery brand, cutting through his fear and his doubt. Alec had seen the worst in him before, more than once. He’d seen the ugliest parts of Magnus and still told him he was beautiful. He couldn’t understand what it was Alec saw that made him say that, but he was beginning to believe that Alec believed.

So he took a breath and asked again. “I’d like to give you my heart, if you’ll take it.”

Alec had toothpaste on his chin, but his smile was the most beautiful thing Magnus had seen. “I want every part of you. Heart included.”

In that moment, Magnus could have portaled to the moon, powered by nothing more than his love for the man in front of him.

The ceremony required surprising little preparation, considering how much it had changed warlock society. The final step was retrieving his heart from the facility he’d left it at over a century ago. He returned to the loft holding a specially warded box, packed away beneath additional layers of protective spells.

The magic in his chest churned in restless agitation, no doubt recognizing the heart it was tied to. It made Magnus feel restless, too. Or maybe that was nerves. He could barely remember what it felt like before he became heartless. The cold was all he knew anymore. What if giving his heart away was a mistake?

Those few warlocks that had done so described it as the height of peace and happiness to be so close to a loved one. They claimed it was a warlock’s true state to give their heart away, and that was the real reason they turned to stone otherwise. Magnus wasn’t sure he believed that, but he supposed he was about to find out.

Alec appeared in the doorway, and there was no more time for doubts.

Picking up two shot glasses from the coffee table, Magnus passed one over. If he was going to drink a foul-tasting potion, he was going to do it out of a decent glass.

“Is this going to taste as bad as that martini you made me the first time?” Alec asked, eyeing the glass and its viscous contents dubiously.

“Worse,” Magnus said cheerfully. If the night was a total disaster, at least he’d get to see Alec make his adorable alcohol grimaces.

“Lucky me,” Alec mumbled, scrunching up his face and preparing to drink.

“Cheers,” Magnus said, clinking his glass against Alec’s.

With one last look at each other, they began. It mostly consisted of Alec walking circles around Magnus as he cast a short yet intricate spell.

All too soon, it was done.

A heat blazed in Magnus’ chest where there had been nothing but ice cold for so long, pulsing as it curled around his ribs and crept down his arms and between his toes. It was a blaze he hadn’t felt since before he had paid another warlock to take his heart away, over a century ago.

Except this time it was better. His heart had found its true home.

“Oh.” Magnus gasped. and saw his awe reflected in Alec’s eyes. He could feel Alec’s presence in front of himself, the new sense as strong as the sight that showed Alec in front of him, hands cupped in front of him holding Magnus’ pulsing heart.

Judging by Alec’s reaction, the new awareness was mutual.

“Bring my heart to your chest.” Magnus couldn’t muster more than a whisper. “The magic will do the rest.”

And Alec, his brave and loving Alexander, did it without hesitation.

The magic flared yellow around them, bright and blinding. When Magnus blinked away the spots from his vision, Alec’s hands were empty. His heart was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he was terrified it didn’t work, that magic itself had deemed him not worthy of Alec’s love.

Another wave of power washed through him and he gasped. When it passed, it took the strange sense awareness of Alec with it. There was no time to be disappointed in the loss, however, because at that moment the humming of sterile magic within his chest was replaced by a steady, familiar thud.

Magnus nearly wept.

A heartbeat. His first in so, so long. He’d been missing the sensation for such a large part of his life and had been utterly convinced he would go the rest of his days empty and cold.

He hadn’t expected Alec. Alec, with his soldier’s hands and his open heart that was big enough for two. Who looked at Magnus like he was something worth cherishing. Who warmed Magnus by his very presence.

He reached out, tentatively placing his palm over Alec’s chest. The hard muscle there was achingly familiar. Magnus had traced it with his eyes and his hands and his tongue more times than he could count. But the gesture was brand new this time. His heart now beat under Alec’s strong chest, kept warm and safe by his body and his love.

The steady thud of Alec’s chest now beat in time with his own.

“I suppose it would be cliché of me to say that you hold my heart,” Magnus said, a smile stretching across his face as the reality of what they did sank in.

Alec laughed as he pulled Magnus close, fitting their bodies together. “I’d give you mine if I could.”

A wave of emotion lodged in his throat as Alec bent to place a kiss on his forehead. Magnus was used to protecting others, and bending all his considerable power to safeguard those who needed help. He wasn’t used to the feeling of being protected.

But standing safe and cared for in Alec’s arms, that’s exactly what he felt.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fanfic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #flufftober #sorry if this one is a bit weird #but that's what i immediately thought of when i saw the prompt #and yes for the record alec walking circles around magnus is deliberately drawn from jewish wedding traditions #he gave him his heart that's basically a wedding #lynne writes fic

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no5collabsproject · 6 years

Text

So Let The River Run... A Mature Ed Sheeran Oneshot

Extended A/N: So, yesterday, Ed and Eminem blessed us with the video for River. Which features Dark, Pissed off, Wet Ed. And then it sorta spiraled into a stream of consciousness by Miss @naughty-teddy-innit and your Best Bitch Angst QUEEN, @tea-and-toblerones

Trigger warning (?): This takes a deeper turn then you might expect, it’s dark and intense, a little smutty but now you’d expect, and features anxiety and depression themes, sort of, but we’re REALLY proud of it. We hope you love it. Please feel free to bless us with all forms of feedback, We LOVE it. Xoxoxo

So Let The River Run....

@tea-and-toblerones AKA Miss Nanna: “Okay I would just like to say teddy in the river mv? I would like him to just tackle me in a bear hug and it spin into a fuck.”

You wasn't sure what had came over him but you could tell he was pissed. His entire presence screamed furious, done, ENOUGH. Nothing had been easy for him lately, pressures building, trusts broken, life simply overwhelming, and it looked like a line had been crossed. Shattered.

His furrowed brow. His flared nostrils, his balled fists. He was soaking wet, his cinnamon curls plastered flat to his forehead, and you assumed the thunderstorm outside had caught him. His broad chest heaved, his stride was determined, quick, and he was in your space in no time. His hands gripping your shoulders for dear life, his lips crashing down onto yours were your only clue as he guided you up against the wall.

“Not even one fuckin’ word. Not until I make you scream.“ His voice is an impatient growl in your ear, causing shivers to run down your spine.

He spins you around, pressing you up against the wall. Not exactly with what you would call force but with a certain intensity. But even in this moment, as one strong hand palms and kneads your ass, the other hand directing you to look back at him, he takes that split second to lock eyes on you. A brief of twitch of his eyebrow, as if to say “Yeah?”, because that is an assumption he would NEVER make. You bite your lip, giving him a small swift nod, grateful that he wasn’t lost enough to forget, before turning back to the wall.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling them away from the wall just a bit. He tore your skinny jeans down to your ankles, none of the usual care and thoughtfulness he normally exuded, just impatience. Anger almost? But at what you could only guess. You step out of them as his foot came down between yours, sweeping them farther apart. His fingers find your core, vigorously stroking, plunging, working in and out of you, a frantic effort to work you up, to ready you for him. Usually he's caring and takes his time, putting your needs first, his enjoyment obvious, but not this time. He hits that one spot that makes you see stars, and it’s not a moment later that you feel him, hard, pressing himself roughly against your entrance. There’s none of the usual to this needy, pissed off fuck. Not the pause; the pause where he always, ALWAYS waits to make sure you’re ready. Not the ghosting of his soft lips against your skin before he thrusts into you; his way of imprinting “I love you” into your flesh no matter what kind of sex was to follow. This was different, almost unsettling. His only need, to bury his cock so deep inside you it erases everything. Every slap of his warm skin against yours, every muted gasp and muttered curse that falls from your mouth when you two are joined, the sanctuary your snug warmth provides his aching body… It’s his outlet. His cure.

His hand finds your hair, gripping it tightly as he pushes himself into you with no warning. His normal moans, gasps, are replaced with fierce, almost possessed grunts. Every swear, every gasp only adds fuel to the intense fire that’s prickling under your skin. You weren’t used to this, this no eye contact thing. Sex for him was about the connection, even when you weren’t face to face when you started, at some point, he’d make sure you were. Seeing the pleasure build behind your eyes was one of his favourite things, watching you come apart at the seams, and then losing it himself as you held onto each other for dear life. Not this time. This wasn't the loving, caring sex that you were used to. This was nothing more than a way work out the storm that was brewing inside him.

The sharp snap of his hand coming down on your ass took you by surprise. You gasp, your muscles tightening in anticipation, clamping down on him hard which earns you a satisfying growl. The words “AGAIN Teddy…” were dancing on the tip of your tongue but you just managed to refrain from vocalizing it since he’d ordered you to remain silent. There was a pause but he must have sensed that your reaction was a good one, because another sharp slap left its mark on the curve of your asscheek, the sharp twinge of pain mixed with pleasure so fucking good.

His hand snakes around you, holding you firmly against him as he fucks his frustrations, his emotions, his...pain? into oblivion, into you. His growls had morphed into full blown screams, cries laced with anger that you couldn’t comprehend, what was this? His movements were becoming faster and less controlled, not that they really had any control to begin with, and you knew he was fast losing control of whatever it was ...of everything.

You reach back, needing to anchor yourself, somehow, and your hands find his head, fingers sliding against his damp curls. Your touch, your hands tangled in his hair, it's almost enough to ground him in spite of his fury.

The Teddy you know... He's still there, a tiny bit of him slipping back in as he desperately wraps one strong arm around your middle, crushing you against him as he buries his face in your shoulder, and his cock as deep in you as he's ever been. It's as if he's anchoring himself to you, his port in the storm.

His sudden outburst, a garbled cry, the scream of “FUCK” that was issued as a roar of not even ecstasy, but pure unfiltered emotion; was it desperation, loss of control, anger, whatever it was, it was NOT what you’d come to expect from him when the two of you came together. His fist slams into the wall above you as he sinks every ounce of himself into that scream, and every bit of himself into you. All the pain he had been feeling. All the doubt. All his insecurities. Every bit of him was in that release, and your orgasm, or lack thereof, was suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

You feel him sag against you, his hot breath dancing across your damp skin. He slides out of you as you break away from his strong grip to steady yourself. You can feel the warmth running down your leg as you card your fingers through his damp curls.

He never doesn't make sure you come first, he’s always, always attentive and thorough and puts you first, but he's so beyond that, so over whatever demons are raging inside him, so lost in you, that you don't even care. You can feel his body shuddering against yours, shaking, not just from the tremendous orgasm that's ripped through him, but from everything else that's he's just released along with it

He's not catching his breath well, he's still beyond words, and you can tell he's struggling beyond what he can deal with alone. Your heart is breaking for him, and before you can utter a word, his added weight causes you to lose your balance, falling against the wall. Before you both go down, you right yourself and slowly, carefully sink down to the floor, pulling him down with you into the soft pile of the fluffy carpet. You gently pull his head to your shoulder, wrapping your arms around his shaking body as the two of you sag against the dark blue wall. And you wait. Silently, still not speaking, not a word, just letting him ride out his emotions as you card your fingers through his now fluffy curls.

"... I'm a right prick." He manages, his voice flat, his head still tucked into your embrace. His warm hand finds yours, the one currently tangled in his hair, and gently removes it, entwining his fingers with yours. He lifts his head from your shoulder, and his beautiful blue eyes lock onto yours. God. The pain that echoes in them.... It's not okay.

“ I'm so…. So fuckin ‘ sorry…. “ He falls silent again, lost in his own mind.

You continue your silent support, not knowing what to say to help take the pain away. You just continue to hold him close, your grip tight as you press your forehead against the soft curvature of his own, and you do the only thing you know how to do. You just... be there. With him, holding him, in the hope that he’ll realise that you will ALWAYS be his constant.

"Ed..." you finally whisper, your hand still wrapped tightly in his. Your other hand cups his scratchy, damp cheek, tilting his face so that he can see you as you try to find the right words. He struggles to meet your gaze, as though ashamed, but you’re not having it.

"It's okay not to be okay. You know that right?" You speak softly, but vehemently, never breaking away from his gaze. "You'll work through this. Actually. No. Fuck that. WE will work through this. I'll be here so you won't be alone. "

His eyes meet yours and you could see the wetness that had gathered not quite to the point of tears, but still present. His hands are suddenly cradling your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His face pressing against yours.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.” His thumbs are brushing gentle paths along the dip and curve of your cheekbones as shakes his head. “Jus’. Don't go, Kay? Please. I need….” His words melt away and you’ve never been kissed this tenderly, so softly, his touch infused with everything he felt but couldn't put into to words.

He pulls you to his chest, and you can feel the steady, calm beat of his heart against your cheek, reassuring and strong, and you’re just so glad he’s here with you. Hearing your words, and feeling your promise.

“I'm right fucking here Ed. Right here. And I’m not going anywhere.” Your words, sharp and filled with promise and vehemence, wash over him, and you can feel his whole body let go as he realizes that you ARE his constant.

And you stay like that. Just like that. Holding each other, wrapped around each other, on the carpet, against a dark blue wall, and you don't let go.

Because neither of you ever will.

#Ed Sheeran #Ed sheeran oneshot #Ed Sheeran Blurb #River #Ed Sheeran fanfic #Ed Sheeran fic #Ed Sheeran fanfiction #ed sheeran angst #Oneshot #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #collab #Listening to Eraser Extended while writing this did NOT help #Code Ginger #Teddy Sheeran #Ed Sheeran Smut #Sorta #Hope you guys love this

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chrysanthmilk · 5 years

Text

a guide to being death: chapter 3

by staccato

“Death is very, very tired of its Master’s strange wants and whims. This is the last time it does something he wants.”

aka: a apocalypse fix-it, featuring a master of death who has been reincarnated into a winchester. things can only go up from here.

chapter 3: dean crawls out of hell

read it below, or on ao3

Harry spent the next month trying to track down any of the other three Horsemen, which is hard work, okay, since they don’t have a physical form, shut up Julian. Famine, Pestilence, and War all rely on their respective rings to inhabit a human body, which was currently impossible, as those pesky little things were still being used to trap Lucifer in his Cage. Harry, on the other hand, was Death, a being that had existed for as long as God had. A ring wasn't going to change that.

(Nevermind the fact that Harry didn’t even give Chuck his true ring, just a copy of it, weaker and smaller but still strong enough to hold Lucifer. Harry supposed he’ll give that one to Julian when Lucifer inevitably broke out.

Because he will. The first seal had broken, and the rest will fall like dominoes. There were over six hundred of them, after all, and the demons only have to break sixty-six of them. There was a chance that they might be stopped, but only if the angels protect the seals with everything they had. As of now, however, Harry knew that that was not the case.

Of the hundred or more garrisons that operate, only three were sent to retrieve Dean’s soul; the others were called back, in preparation for the final battle that the angels were certain will occur. And why wouldn’t it? They’re actively assisting the demons in breaking the seals, which means Lucifer will be released soon enough. No one had seen halo and wing of Michael since even before Harry’s fall, but that’s okay. He’ll show up eventually—he’s the obedient son, after all. And Dean and Sam Winchester will obviously fall over themselves to say “yes” to their hosts. They’re only mud monkeys, and as such, they wouldn't dare to refuse. No, they will feel blessed for having been chosen by fate to play these roles. Sorry, what is this thing called Free Will?

(Sometimes, Harry pitied the angels.))

The point is, by the four month anniversary of Dean’s death, Harry has only narrowed War’s location down to a region, not even the exact country. Nevertheless, he paused his progress to pop into a store to buy two bottles of Deans’s favorite beer, before going to Dean’s grave and settling down. He shoved one of the bottle into the dirt near his legs.

“Cheers, you jerk,” he said.

Harry popped the cap off of his own beer, and took a swig; scrunched his nose at the taste. He can just hear Dean calling him a girl for not liking the taste of beer, the drink of a real man. Involuntarily, he rolled his eyes in reply.

After a moment, he spoke, “I’m sorry, you know, for not getting you out of there. But if anyone knows who I am, or what I’m capable of…it’ll bring a host of troubles.”

He snorted at the inadvertent pun, but the cross remained silent.

“Alright, fine, so it wasn’t that funny. Still, I am sorry. Here, I’ll finish the rest of this shitty beer to show you how sorry I am.”

Harry finished the rest of his shitty beer, and smashed the empty bottle on the ground beside him. The glass shattered upon impact, shards rebounding and slicing his arm open. Harry watched impassively as red drops of blood welled to the surface, and one, two, three managed to fall before his skin knitted itself back together, pushing out the glass fragments in the process.

He turned around, preparing to return to the Balkans, when the Angel Radio suddenly boomed with a triumphant voice:

“DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED!”

The declaration was made by Castiel, whose voice Harry had become intimately familiar with, as the angel was the leader of one of the garrison charged with freeing The Righteous Man. He has dutifully reported their progress every day for the last month decade.

Harry breathed out a sigh, relieved. His decision to leave Dean’s freedom to the angels had been a difficult one. Despite what he had just said to Dean’s grave, he had seriously considered just saying fuck it, abandoning the plan Julian and he had painstakingly drawn up, blowing his cover, and diving down there to rescue Dean. His conviction had only wavered for each second longer the angels stayed in Hell.

He’s got a saving people’s thing, after all.

But that was unnecessary now. Castiel had done it. He had rescued Dean. Now all he has to do was put the soul back in Dean’s body—

Harry’s eyes widened, and he’s barely had time to fall forward, arms covering his head and eyes screwed tightly shut, before he felt Castiel ascend from Hell and land on Earth, sending ripples of purifying energy—grace, to be exact—to the surrounding areas. Even with his status as Death, Harry still feared that he’ll go blind. Castiel didn’t attempt to hide his powers at all.

Then, as soon as he appeared, he was gone, leaving Dean’s soul behind.

In his body, trapped six feet under.

Harry lifted his head, blinking blearily at the unmoving patch of dirt.

The angels really didn’t think this through, did they?

It took a while for Dean to break through his wooden coffin and the ground, and even longer for him to convince Harry that, yes, he is actual Dean Winchester, very human and very alive and no, he has no idea how or why that’s possible

(Harry is good at acting, alright? Besides, if he isn’t suspicious about Dean's miraculous resurrection, then Dean will get suspicious because of his lack of suspicion, then he will tell Sam about his suspicions about their brother, then Sam will tell Ruby, who will tell Lilith, who will tell whichever angel she is working with, and that’ll bring a whole host of problems onto his head.

Pun very much intended, this time.)

Harry refused to let him drink any of the beer until he’s eaten something, so they go to the nearest convenience store, which is fortunately deserted. He grabbed some food while Dean go to the restroom to wash his face and hands, and everything should be fine except Dean returned with a pale face and his shirt sleeves rolled to his shoulders.

There was a raw, raised hand print on his arm.

For fuck’s sake, Castiel, Harry thought, exasperated. There was no need to be this possessive. Everyone already knows you were the one who saved him.

“I think a demon yanked me out,” Dean said.

Harry stared. That could not be further from the truth, he wanted to says, along with damn, Castiel, your plan really backfired.

Castiel seemed to agree, and decided he should correct Dean's assumptions immediately. His true voice, when he spoke, reverberated with power, becoming stronger the longer Dean remained ignorant of his words. Finally, he seemed to realize that his efforts were futile, for the ringing disappeared. The building stopped shaking.

“So maybe not a demon,” Dean gasped out, still crouched on the floor with his hands over his ears. “But still, something with bad mojo. You saw what they did to my…to my grave.”

“Why would they save you, then?” Harry asked, carefully standing up and picking the glass shards out of his clothes. Thank Chuck for leather jackets. They’re virtually indestructible.

“To uphold their end of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” Harry repeated, before he realized what Dean was implying. “You think someone made a deal.” At Dean’s pointed look, he quickly shook his head, “I didn’t do it.”

“Sam, then,” Dean decided, and Harry would scoff at him for being so presumptuous, except the thought had crossed Harry’s mind more than once. “Where is he?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him for months. He’s alive, though,” he was sure of that. The reapers had been instructed to inform him if his brother’s soul was ever reaped.

“You didn’t keep an eye on him? Harrison—!”

Harry cut Dean off before he could continue his tirade. As a human, he had agreed that their youngest brother needed to be protected, but now that he has regained his memories, he has come to the realization that they were way, way, way too co-dependent on one another. Sam was a full grown hunter now, for fuck’s sake. He was completely capable of making his own decisions, good or bad, and doesn’t need to be watched by either of his two older brothers. “He was dead set on striking out on his own. And you know him. He’s more stubborn than the two of us combined.”

Dean grimaced, and finished the last of his energy bar. “Fine. Come on, there’s a payphone outside.”

“Or, you could just use mine?” Harry suggested, retrieving his phone from his jean pocket. “Because I really doubt that you remember his number from the top of your head.”

Dean glared at him, but didn’t refute his statement. He grabbed Harry’s phone and scrolled through his contacts until he landed on Sam’s name, and pressed the call button. An alert tone beeped.

“We’re sorry,” a recording said. “You’ve reached a number that has been disconnected.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He swiped up Harry’s contact list and clicked on another name. This call is picked up immediately.

“Harry?” Bobby’s voice sounded through the speaker, “Something wrong?”

“Um, maybe,” Harry replied before Dean can say anything. “Listen, I was at Dean’s grave today, and, uh.”

“And?”

“I found him. Alive. I found him alive.”

There was a pause. “This ain't funny, kid,” Bobby warned.

“He’s not kidding,” Dean interjected. “It’s really me.”

There’s a click. Dean and Harry glanced at each other.

“He hung up, didn’t he?”

“To be fair, you wouldn’t have believed yourself, either,” Harry pointed out.

“This is definitely your fault,” Dean told him with a light shove. “If you hadn’t pulled all of those pranks on him when we were younger…”

Harry huffed. “Like you didn’t help me with every single one of them?”

They grinned at each other fondly. Dean, of course, was the first to look away. “I guess the only thing we can do now is go and reveal myself to him.”

“You make it sound so dramatic,” Harry said sarcastically, because if there was ever a time to be dramatic, this was it.

“Shut up, imp,” Dean called back, stepping out the door, no doubt heading towards the white car parked outside. Harry was sure it hadn’t been there when they first arrived. Well then. He supposed he should thank the angels for not forcing them to walk all the way to Sioux Falls. “Come on, we’ll have to hurry if we want to get there before it gets dark.”

Harry rolled his eyes—headlight existed for a reason—but followed after him.

Just like he had always done.

#harry potter #supernatural #apocalypse fix-it #fanfic #ao3 #agtbd

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impala-dreamer · 7 years

Text

A New World

SPN FanFic

~The day everything changed.~

Reader, OMC, Sam, Dean

1,780 Words

Warnings: ANGST. Blood, Injury, Death.

A/N: I have no idea what this is...

Black eyes burned in your mind. Black eyes. How could someone have pure black eyes? Your heart pounded, threatening to break free from it’s cage as you ran through the house, desperate to make it to the door before he did. Your mind was a jumble of thoughts, everything was wrong; it was like a nightmare come to life. How could this happen? What was happening?

A second before you hand closed around the doorknob, a giant hand gripped your hair, tugging you backwards with such force that you slammed into the staircase; the wind pushed from you lungs as you fell to the bottom step. Pain spread through your shoulders and down to your legs where you had made contact with the hard, polished wood. Your boyfriend came towards you, kitchen knife in hand, eyes like coal. The scream that bubbled forth from your stomach was cut short by heavy fingers as he closed his hand around your throat, blocking all noise and hope for air.

Michael lifted you up with preternatural strength until your feet were dangling above the floor. Your hands flew to your neck, clawing at his fingers, trying to break free. He laughed at your attempt and turned you easily in one hand, slamming you into the wall beside him. Your head cracked into the plaster and the edges of your vision blinked white.

Still holding your throat, he brought the tip of the blade across your cheek, cutting into the top layers of skin just enough to draw a bright red line. You felt the trickle of warm blood as it slid slowly down your face. Your eyes were wide, fear shaking through every inch of you. Your boyfriend grinned and bent his neck down to you. His tongue ran across the cut, lapping at the mess he had made. He stood back up and licked the last drop from his lips. “Oh, I’m really gonna enjoy this,” he said, his voice sending another wave of chill through you. It was his voice, the voice he used to say ‘I love you’, the voice he used to calm you, to excite you; but it was all wrong.

Tears sprung from your eyes as you struggled against his hand. It was useless, he was too strong. You were going to die. Without reason or explanation, you were going to die by the hand of the only man you’d ever loved.

Again he brought the knife across your skin, this time swiping it across your collarbone; the exposed flesh opening under the blade’s firm pressure. You cried out; a weak, pathetic, wordless cry that fell unanswered through the empty house. No one was coming for you. Why would they?

Giving up all hope, you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to see the blackness anymore, didn’t want to see your lover’s lips curled into that devilish smile when he plunged the knife into your heart. You just wanted it to end.

Maybe you prayed, it was hard to tell. Your thoughts soared in a thousand different directions, a hundred lists of things you’d never done, a thousand faces you’d never see again, a million questions that would never be answered. The tip of the cold metal blade pressed hard into your chest, slowly making it’s way through your flesh, cutting into you like you were nothing. The pain spread like a wildfire through your system and again you screamed. This time, your pleas were heard.

Your eyes shot open as the front door was kicked in, but your vision was blurry; shock and lack of oxygen setting in to finally pull you under. Your heart leapt when you saw the man, just a tall silhouette against the fading afternoon sun; but someone was here. Someone had come to help you.

The newcomer wasted no time. He ran forward, yelling at Michael to release you. His fingers only tightened around your windpipe; never moving his onyx eyes from your face. He wanted to watch the lights fade, wanted to see the moment your soul was set free.

A second later everything stopped. The hand on your neck loosened and Michael’s face crackled with bright orange and gold light. He screamed and crumpled to the ground, dragging you down with him. Your head hit the floor and everything went black.

A scream woke you before you even opened your eyes; your own voice piercing through your unconsciousness and ripping you awake. You looked up into hazel eyes that smiled sympathetically at you. You tried to move away, your legs kicking at the floor, but there was nowhere to go; the man’s large hand held you down as he pressed a bandana to your chest.

“Hey, hey, you’re gonna be fine. Just relax.” His voice was deep and soothing; he spoke softly, with a kind tone that told you he’d done this before. “What’s your name?”

Your eyes darted back and forth across his face, trying in vain to understand what had just happened to you. “Y/N,” you finally managed to say. Your voice scared you, it was shaky and raw. You coughed and cried out as the movement pulled at your wound.

“Y/N,” he smiled. “Beautiful name. I’m Sam Winchester. Everything’s going to be OK. You’re safe now.”

You shook your head, “But… his eyes…what…” Your questions were lost beneath a flood of tears that broke free, choking you as the trauma returned to you. “Is he dead?”

Sam frowned, his eyebrows knitting with concern. “Yes, Y/N. I’m sorry. Michael was possessed by a demon. He was going to kill you.”

“A what?” You pushed at his hand and sat up slowly, leaning back against the wall. You looked around, Michael’s body was gone, just a pool of dark blood remained where he had fallen.

“A demon. We’ve been tracking him for a few days. The girls that went missing this month, he’d been…” Sam paused, stopped by the look of panic in your face. He shook his head and gave you a tiny smile. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.”

“But…”

The door opened again and another man walked in. He wiped his hands on a rag and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. “We good?” he asked Sam, giving you a quick glance.

Sam cleared his throat and looked at him over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he answered and turned back to you. “You think you can stand?”

You nodded and took his hand, letting him help you to your feet. Your head spun and you swayed, but Sam’s strong hands held you steady. You took a deep breath and fought back your tears. “What do I do now?”

“We’re gonna drive you to the hospital and they’ll fix you up,” said the other man, giving you a small half smile and a nod.

Sam led you outside, his arm across your shoulders, and his hand gripping yours. His weight across your back was comforting and you let your mind go blank; it was all too much to try and comprehend at once. This man had saved your life. Michael was dead. Michael was a demon. Demons are real.

You pulled away suddenly, your body reacting to the panic in your mind. “Demons!” you yelled, your voice flying through the open air. “Demons!”

Sam reached for you again, but you pulled back, your legs telling you to run. “Y/N,” he held his hands out in a calming gesture, trying to get you to relax. “Let us take you to the hospital.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you! You just murdered my boyfriend! He tried to kill me! Demons? Demons!”

“Sam, calm her down man.”

“I got it Dean,” Sam snapped, eyeing the other man quickly before turning his attention back to you. “I know this is a lot, believe me, but just come with us, I’ll explain everything in the car. Please.”

You nodded, agreeing silently. What choice did you have? You were bleeding and they had a car. You walked past Sam towards the shining black Chevy parked in your driveway and eyed the other man who stood by the driver’s side door. “And who are you?” you asked finally.

The man sighed and opened his door. “Dean Winchester, nice to meet you. Get in.”

The hospital wasn’t far, but Dean drove slowly, the broken road making you wince and whimper in pain every time the car hit a bump. Sam was half turned around in the front seat, explaining to you gently about the world you’d just been exposed to. Monster were real. Vampires and werewolves, angels and demons, they were all real. People like he and his brother hunted them, keeping the supernatural world underwraps so that people like you didn’t have to worry about it. He went on and on, giving you the big picture stuff, letting you know that despite what had happened, you could move on and go back to your normal life; people did it everyday. You didn’t believe that. How could you move past this? Michael was your life and he was gone. What was left? How could you go on with normal life after you’d seen what you’d seen?

Sam walked you to the emergency room doors, stopping before the automatic sensor opened the entrance for you. He put his hand on your shoulder, calling your attention up to him.

“I’m really sorry this happened to you, but you will be OK. I promise.” He smiled sadly.

“I’m not really sure how that’s possible Sam, but… thank you. You saved my life.”

He pressed his lips together and looked down, “I understand. Listen,” he said, pulling out a card from his wallet and holding it out to you. “This is my number. If you ever need anything, even just to talk about it, call me.”

You took the paper and looked it over. “Agent Bonham?”

Sam laughed, “Yeah, well, the number is real at least.”

You watched as the Impala pulled away, the Winchesters leaving your life as quickly as they had entered it. Your fingers fumbled with the card for a moment before you shoved it in your back pocket. Maybe you’d call him. Maybe you’d throw the card away as soon as you got home. Honestly, you didn’t know. You had no idea what would happen next, couldn’t even begin to imagine where you’d go. The only thing you knew for sure was that your life, your normal, happy, regular life was over. For better or worse, you’d been given a glimpse at a new world and there was no way you were closing your eyes to it.

Forevers: @1-800-misha @27bmm @amanda-teaches @applepie-and-angelwings @arryn-nyxx @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @ayeeitsemry @bea789 @because-imma-lady-assface @babypieandwhiskey @blanketmadeofstar @brewsthespirit-blog @britt-spn @buckysmetallicstump @bulletscrossbowpie @charliebradbury1104 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @chelsea072498 @chumi-la-chula @cici0507 @clairese1980 @collectivekiera @cosmicpeanuthologram @createdbybadappreciation @cyrilconnelly @dannnyphantomm @dancingalone21 @deadinside-muser @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @demonangelimpala @docharleythegeekqueen @dustycelt @evansrogerskitten @evyiione @faithfulpanicmoon @feelmyroarrrr @flowermisha @freaksforthewin @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @gemini75eeyore @ghostkitty1103 @hamartiamacguffin @impalaimagining @im-super-potter-locked @inmysparetime0 @jealousbitxh @jpadjackles @jotink78 @kristaparadowski @kas-not-cas @katrodriguez99 @lavendellove @likesiriusly @love-kittykat21 @luciisthebest @maddieburcham1 @mamaredd123 @meganwinchester1999 @megansescape @mija-novella @milkymilky-cocopuff @mogaruke @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrswhozeewhatsis @my-life-is-here-soo @myfand0msandm0re @mysteriouslyme81 @naadestiel @notesfromalabprincess @notnaturalanahi @obi-wan-my-only-ho @overcastmisfitkid @pain-of-artifice @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @petrovadixon @pinknerdpanda @poukothenerd @riddikulus-obsessions @riversong-sam @sam-winchesters-long-locks @sandlee44 @sarahgrace-1989 @scxrchy @smoothdogsgirl @spectaculicious @spontaneousam @summer-binging-spn @superbasementflower @supernaturallymarvellous @supernaturalyobessed @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @trexrambling @thecynicalnerd @the-latina-trickster @therewillbeblood @tom-is-in-my-tardis @typicalweirdbookworm @thegreatficmaster @vine-colored-assbutt @whatareyousearchingfordean @wi-deangirl77 @winchestersmut @wvnchxstxr @xxthevampirediariesexpertxx @yearoftheweasley @youtubehelpsmesurvive @yvngkinggchristyy

#spn fanfic #angst #sam winchester #dean winchester #reader insert #reader angst #demons #stuff #no clue what this is honestly

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foreverlilaclies · 7 years

Text

Softly Creeping

It had been weeks since Lestat had burned down Louis’s house. Weeks since Louis had seen his Maker. The last he had heard was that Lestat had managed to regain his body as well as a new fledgling. Louis tried not to dwell to much on that last part. Lestat had been furious with Louis after he had refused to turn him. No doubt that if Louis had been in his home when Lestat had shown up, he would have been in danger of burning with it. Armand had been firm with keeping an eye on Louis. Lestat had not kept his anger a secret and that put Louis in danger. Lestat’s threat could have been as hollow as he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that he had threatened Louis. So Armand and Marius had kept Louis with them, both offering him protection.

Louis had his own room and he tried to keep as quiet as he could. With all his belongings destroyed, he was left to rebuild again. Marius had loaned him several books and Louis tore through them with vigor. Armand came to him that night, asking if he wished to hunt together. Louis knew that Armand didn’t want to leave him alone. Not with Lestat out there, but Louis wasn’t worried. He knew Lestat. So, Louis was left tot his own devices and spent the evening with a book in hand. It was late when he heard a faint rustling noise coming from outside the room. The door had been left open, but Louis could see nothing in the hall. When the noise sounded again, he stood from the chair and set his book down. Louis turned to the source of the noise, stepping forward.

“Armand?” He called out. “Marius?” A figure stepped through the threshold, steps graceful and quiet. Louis recognized them immediately. That blond hair and grey eyes that seemed to pierce through Louis. He stood in the doorway, simply staring at Louis. He was dressed well enough; wearing blue jeans and a dark jacket that contrasted wonderfully with his golden hair.

“Louis.” Lestat greeted coolly and walked forward into the room. He was once again back in his body and seemed to revel in it. Louis had relaxed slightly at the sight of his Maker. Lestat could have been silent if he had wished to. He had wanted Louis to hear him. He had been waiting to catch Louis alone, watching in the shadows as Armand had finally left their shared house to hunt. Louis brushed his hair from his eyes, feeling self conscious under his Maker's intense stare.

“Lestat.” He murmured. “I didn’t know you were in the area.” He watched as Lestat strode across the room, pace slow, taking in the lack of scenery in Louis' room.

“I have only just arrived.” He replied, voice soft. His fingers trailed over the binding of one of the books, not looking at Louis. There was an edge to Lestat’s voice that Louis easily recognized. He was still upset with Louis. Perhaps him coming here could give Louis the opportunity to actually speak to his Maker.

“Lestat I-“ He began and Lestat’s eyes cut into him as his generous mouth suddenly turned into a snarl.

“You refused to help me.” Lestat cut him off, his tone like ice. Louis stared at the blond, eyes narrowed slightly. “I came to you, seeking your aid and you turned me away.”

“I wanted to give you a chance at an actual life.” Louis argued softly, eyes sadder than they had a right to be and the sight of them had Lestat snarling.

“That wasn’t for you to decide!” He spat at his fledgling, flinging a book against the wall with a defining bang. Louis watched as the book was split and pages drifted to the wooden floors.

“Wasn’t it?” Louis replied wearily, rubbing the side of his head in exasperation. “You were given a second chance at life. I was not about to take that away from you.”

“So you condemned me to die instead.” Lestat sneered in reply and Louis scowled, annoyance flaring in his chest. Lestat would never understand. He had been given a chance to live his life. And hadn't Louis warned him before? But Lestat never listened and still expected him to bend over backwards to help him.

“How can you be so dramatic? I wasn’t about-“ Faster than Louis could have blinked, Lestat had moved forward and grabbed him, shoving him against the wall. Louis shoulder connected painfully with the counter, but he showed no physical reaction.

“You don’t get to decide my reaction! I came to you with one request and you couldn’t even do that for me!”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Lestat. If you’re still so worked up about this then perhaps you should just leave.” Louis replied coldly, moving to walk past his Maker.

“You don’t get to walk away from me again.” With a snarl, Lestat took hold of the back of Louis’ neck, hauling him forward and towards the door and dragging him down the hall. Louis stumbled and nearly fell, trying to keep up with Lestat’s quick pace. He had never seen Lestat this livid. He had seen him angry before, but it had never been directed at him. Lestat dragged him through the house and down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Louis struggled in the blond's grip, snarling at him to release him. Lestat flung him into the kitchen, and Louis moved to flee his Maker. He nearly made it out the door, but Lestat was faster.

“Lestat! Let go of me!” Louis struggled in Lestat’s grip, but his Maker had always been stronger than him and his grip tightened on his fledgling.

“Shut up.” Lestat snarled, shoving the front door open and dragging Louis down the front steps. Cold dread filled Louis as his Maker continued to drag him down the sidewalk. A fear he was not used to feeling around his Maker and lover soon filled his chest. He struggled again, arm thrusting out to shove the blond, Lestat grasped his hand and twisted it painfully until an audible snap filled the quiet evening air. The Creole cried out in pain, arm tucking against his chest as Lestat pulled him into the street. Lestat was going to hurt him. His Maker was actually going to hurt him.

“Armand! Armand!” Louis cried out into the night, hoping that the other vampire was close enough to hear. Lestat struck his fledgling sharply in the mouth, cutting him off.

“You think calling him will help you?” He replied, wrapping an arm around Louis’s torso and hefting him up. Blood dribbled down Louis' chin and he spat a glob of it onto the floor.

Any other words Louis could have spoken were cut off as Lestat took off into the air, his grip on Louis punishing. He flew into the sky and Louis clenched his eyes shut, both from the sharp wind and the fear of being in the air. Lestat flew up high above the tree line, up towards the clouds. When Louis chanced a glance down he was greeted with the twinkling lights of the city far below. The sky was clear, and the earth was illuminated in yellow light. Firm fingers took grip of Louis' chin and turned him to stare into his Maker's eyes. Louis stared at him in confusion and fear, not sure what the blond was planning. Lestat suddenly kissed him, teeth biting into his lip and drawing blood. Louis kissed back, hesitantly, tasting his blood. When Lestat pulled away from the kiss, his face was covered in gore and his smile was that of a demon.

Lestat’s hold on Louis loosened and all at once, his Maker released him. Louis couldn’t even manage a scream as he plummeted through the air, hurtling towards the earth. The air was loud in his ears as he fell, his long hair in a disarray and whipping through the sky. He didn’t know how far he had fallen before he was roughly and suddenly grabbed by his already wounded arm and yanked back up. He reached for Lestat, ignoring the burning sensation in his arm as he tried to cling to his Maker. The angel had quickly been replaced with the devil, and his lover had transformed into his executioner.

“How does it feel, Louis? To be powerless in your own body?” Lestat snarled at his fledgling and wrenched his arm back from Louis’ grip. The air was cold this far up and Louis could barely make out the lights from the city below as Lestat rose higher.

In the times where Lestat had brought Louis flying before, he had always held him close. An arm secure around his back and his other hand remaining firm against Louis’s shoulder. There had been no need to truly fear the flight, as Lestat would never had let him fall. Now he held Louis by his arm, dangling him over the earth and straining the muscle there until Louis was sure it would pop. He fought to gain leverage, practically clinging to Lestat’s arm.

“Lestat, please!” Louis’ voice was strained with terror. He looked away from the lights below to stare up at his Maker, imploringly. Lestat simply gazed down at Louis, eyes colder than the air that whipped at his face.

“I begged for your help. I begged you and you turned me away. I swore I would have my revenge. If I dropped you, do you think you would be powerful enough to survive? Or would you finally die as you always wished to?” Lestat replied. He held Louis over the open air. If he let go again, Louis would plummet to earth. Could he survive such a fall? He didn’t have the strength other vampires possessed. Even if he managed to survive the fall, how wounded would he be? Would he be left to lie, broken in the dirt and unable to run when the sun returned in the morning?

“Lestat…” Louis’s voice was shaking violently. Still in shock from the first fall. Lestat clicked his tongue, gazing towards the half moon that hung in the night sky.

“Pathetic,” He murmured in his fledgling’s ear and once again released Louis. This time a scream managed to tear from Louis’ throat as he fell, body tumbling through the open air and towards the earth. The sharp air stung his eye, causing them to tear up, and once again Lestat caught him and hauled him back up, his body jerking from the whiplash. Louis sobbed, reaching for his Maker in a desperate attempt to stop him from dropping him again.“Your life is literally in my hands. As is your death. And you had the audacity to deny me? I would have torn the world apart to help you. And you couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger for me.” Lestat mow spoke calmly, voice barely audible above the roar of the wind. Louis sobbed, chest heaving as he clung to Lestat’s hand.

“You always thought the worse of me. Well, here it is, cheri. Perhaps I should let you go again?” He spat out cheri as if it were an insult.

“No! No, don’t!” Louis pleaded, not caring how pathetic he sounded. He couldn’t handle the torment any longer. He couldn’t handle Lestat’s cruelty. Lestat’s free hand dove down and grasped Louis by his neck, lifting him up so Louis was at eye level. His Maker studied him for a long while, Louis knew he looked pathetic. His face was streaked with blood tears and his hair a wreck. Still, he used his uninjured hand to reach imploringly for his Maker and tormentor. His fingertips touched Lestat's cheek, trembling against the cool flesh.

“Lestat-“ He began and Lestat chuckled, shaking his head.

“Talking will not help you, Louis.” The blond mocked, wagging the finger of his free hand with a condescending sneer. This man had been his lover. His protector and guide. Now he was the monster that Louis had always feared. And that fact scared him more than anything. Lestat was really going to kill him. All those years of fighting and reuniting had all led to this. Louis allowed his eyes to fall shut, not wanting to watch Lestat drop him again.

“Lestat, release him.” A new voice suddenly spoke up and Louis jerked in Lestat’s grip, catching Marius in the corner of his eye. Lestat turned his head towards Marius, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Marius could see Louis clinging to his Maker’s arm as his feet dangled helplessly over the darkened sky.

“Bad choice of words Marius. And this is between Maker and fledgling if you don’t mind.” Came the clipped and sarcastic response.

“You don’t want to hurt him, Lestat.” Marius argued calmly, carefully watching Lestat’s grip on Louis. “You have your body back. You are yourself again. There is no need to harm Louis.”

“He would have left me to die!” Lestat snarled, teeth bared. His grip tightened on Louis’s neck, fingers turning white as he strained. Louis’s eyes clenched shut, clinging to Lestat’s hand.

“This is your fledgling, Lestat.” Marius stated softly, holding out his hands towards the pair. “This is your Beautiful One. You would never hurt him.” Lestat snorted at Marius’s argument, shaking his head. His blond hair blew in the air. He turned sharp eyes to his fledgling.

“He’s proven that he’s nothing more than a rat. Just like the vermin he enjoys feasting on.” Lestat replied, acid dripping from his tongue. Louis clutched at the hand holding him, his eyes far away. Marius knew he was running out of options. He had to get Louis to safety.

“The fall could kill him. Could you live with yourself if you let him die?” Marius argued and Lestat sneered at this.

“Seeing how I’m not exactly living, I think I’ll do just fine.”

“And if he doesn’t die?” Marius prompted sharply, looking to Louis. “If he is too wounded to move, you would leave him for the sun to finish him off. Do not make me fight you Lestat. If I have to, I will.”

"You think I can't fight you?"

"I don't doubt your abilities, Lestat. But I am not willing to let you kill your fledgling. I have always thought you a vampire with honor. Don't ruin that with your anger." Lestat could match Marius in a fight, but Marius would kill Lestat if necessary.

Lestat stared at Marius for a long moment, his face devoid of any expression. He gave no indication if he was going to give Louis to Marius or drop him. For a moment, Marius feared that he would be forced to fight Lestat. If Lestat released Louis, would Marius be fast enough to catch him? Finally Lestat’s mouth set into a thin line and he looked to the city. Louis chanced a quick glance at his Maker who met his eyes with a long stare. Lestat's eyes traveled over Louis' face, mouth pursed thoughtfully. Marius didn't dare move, not wanting to provoke the blond.

“Take him.” Lestat finally muttered and shoved Louis towards Marius. Louis arms flew around Marius’s neck and he clung to him, body trembling violently. Marius’s hand moved to cup the back of Louis’ neck, the other secure around his waist. His eyes moved to Lestat who did not look at the pair, his sharp eyes now fixed elsewhere. "Keep him away from me. I want nothing more to do with him." Lestat's voice was flat and devoid of any emotion. Marius felt Louis shudder a silent sob against him.

"Lestat-" Marius began, but the other simply shook his head.

"He will turn on you too. Just wait." He snidely muttered, eyebrows narrowing into an almost menacing glare. Quickly, the vampire took off down towards the city, leaving Marius and Louis behind him. Marius closed his eyes with a soft sigh, cupping the back of Louis's head and murmuring an apology in his ear. Marius slowly lowered back down to the earth, holding Louis close as the Creole clung to him. For a moment they were suspended through the air; alone with their thoughts. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt Louis's knees buckle and they both knelt in the grass, Marius holding Louis safely against his chest, resting his chin on Louis' quaking shoulder.

"Shhh, Louis. It's over now." Marius murmured into Louis' ear. The younger continued to weep into Marius's shoulder, trembling and sounding as if his very heart had been taken. Was it the fear from the torture at Lestat's hand or Lestat's parting words that hurt more? Louis did not speak, but his eyes opened and were glossy as he stared over Marius's shoulder. Marius reached forward with a gentle hand and brushed stray blood tears from his cheeks. His face was covered in dried blood and it made Marius' heartache. "Let's get you cleaned up." He finally offered in a soothing tone and Louis looked towards him, expression suddenly closed off as he offered a stiff nod. He allowed Marius to help him stand, the elder wrapping an arm around his waist. He took in the state of Louis' arm and his face broke into a distressed frown. He did not speak, simply allowing Louis to lean against him as they made a slow trek back to Marius's home.

Armand was there to meet them upon their return, his eyes fixing intently on Louis.

"Louis..." He murmured, stepping forward and reaching for Louis who cringed away, green eyes looking towards Marius imploringly.

"I'd like a shower...if that is okay?" Louis nearly pleaded.

"Of course." Marius nodded and Louis all but fled into the house. Armand stared after him, brows furrowed in distress, obviously wanting to help him but unsure on how. He had heard Louis' scream for him, but Marius had refused to allow him to go after Lestat and worsen the situation. Armand hated being left in the dark.

"What happened out there, Marius?" Armand demanded, rounding on his Maker as soon as Louis was out of sight. Marius did not answer, knowing that Armand would surely go after Lestat if he were told. And while Louis might have been spared Lestat's rage tonight, Armand might not walk away as lucky. Instead he reached and gave his fledgling's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He walked by the eternal youth, suddenly feeling his age. He could feel Armand's eyes following him all the way to his room.

In the shower, Louis sat in the tub, allowing the water to beat down on his hunched back. He wept silently, unwilling to allow Marius or Armand to hear him at his lowest. He had not bothered undressing, his clothes soaked through and clinging to his skin. He did not notice when the heated water turned cold or when the water turned off as Armand finally came to bundle him to sleep.

Dawn was nearly approaching when Lestat finally returned to the house he shared with David.

"Lestat?" David called out in relief when he spotted his Maker finally return from his hunt. He had been gone for much longer than normal and David had been worried about him. Lestat walked into the kitchen, his mouth covered in dry blood. Lestat was not someone who normally made such a mess when hunting, so the sight gave David pause. He stood from the kitchen table as Lestat approached him. Before he could speak, Lestat reached him and gripped him by the back of his neck, dragging him forward and kissing him roughly. David could taste blood on Lestat's lip, but it wasn't human.

"Lestat, what's happened?" He asked finally, voice filled with confusion. Lestat gave no answer and instead strode off towards his bedroom, leaving David standing bewildered behind him. Lestat did not speak to him again and when the sun approached, Lestat was already in his coffin.

Lestat stared at the lid of his coffin, unable to sleep and thoughts muddled. He could hear David shuffling to his own coffin. When the death sleep finally began to approach, Lestat allowed it to take him, Louis' face the final thing on his mind as his body finally shut down.

#loustat #Lestat De Lioncourt #Louis de Pointe du Lac #vampire chronicles

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