#i would let him do unspeakable and unimaginable things with me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

safertokiss · 4 years

Text

Hate the Game, Love the Player

A/N: Let the fun times ensue! I really liked this prompt and a story kinda just wrote itself in my chaotic brain so here we are. I relate to this prompt greatly, I will admit, so it was extremely easy to channel. Anyways, thanks for reading and life’s a party.

Prompt: "spence i fucking hate chess. i just like spending time with you." (Anonymous)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and SMUT

Word Count: 4k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

Spencer Reid. Spencer Fucking Reid. What a man.

You had been pretty much in love with the resident genius since the second you stepped foot into the BAU for your first day over a year ago. You could remember your first meeting plain as day, the way he stuttered out an introduction while a bright blush covered his entire figure, the way he fiddled with his hands to stay grounded in the moment. You had found the whole interaction very adorable and had decided in that moment that your heart belonged to him.

You guys had hit it off almost immediately, surprising absolutely no one on the team, and a beautiful friendship quickly bloomed between the two of you. While you certainly loved being his best friend and colleague, you were stuck.

As more and more time passed with Spencer at your side, you couldn't stop the feelings you harbored for him from dramatically increasing. You had always read those stupid, sappy romance books that, more often than not, revolved around a close friendship being troubled by one half of the duo catching feelings for the other. Even worse were the stories where they didn’t end up together. You hoped that that wasn’t going to be the case for you and the doctor.

Of course the feelings weren’t just one-sided. It was blatantly obvious to pretty much everyone on the team, yourself included, that he felt the same exact way about you, and while the knowledge of his affection was encouraging, it didn’t amount to much because you knew he wasn’t the type to admit his feelings outright, especially to a female. Since there was no way in hell he was going to make the first move, you had been trying your hardest to make your advances as obvious and clear as humanly possible, hoping that at least one of them would finally lead to more. You had reached a point where you were so desperate you were willing to do the unspeakable for him. It was time to do the completely unimaginable.

“Hey Spence!” You watched his body jump slightly before swirling around in his chair to make eye contact with you, giving you a perfect view of his figure. He looked especially good today for some reason and you suspected that had something to do with your sudden willingness to go through with the one thing you had hoped you would never have to do. “Yeah?”

Oh boy here we go, now or never. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to maybe teach me how to play chess sometime? I’ve been meaning to learn how for quite a while now.” You certainly didn’t miss the way his face lit up with excitement at your question, quickly confirming that you had had the right idea and made the right decision asking.

“R-really? You’d actually want to do that? Oh wow, I’d love to teach you sometime! Maybe uh, if you want of course, you could come over tonight after work and we could start then. I’ll even um-I’ll even try not to win so you could have some fun! Oh um-uh not that you wouldn’t be able to win on your own, it’s just that-”

“Spence, slow down”, you said with a chuckle, unable to contain the smile that covered your lips. “Tonight sounds great. I’ll meet you at your place after we get out of here, ok?” The stupid childlike grin that spread across his face was intoxicating and made you somehow fall even deeper in love with him. It was honestly baffling that someone as seemingly perfect as him could actually exist. God, how you hoped the two of you would at last grow some balls tonight and do something, finally putting that built-up tension to rest. Well, hopefully not to rest. You certainly wouldn’t mind it sticking around forever, as long as he was by your side to ease the borderline torture whenever it reared it’s ugly head.

“Ok uh-yeah that sounds awesome! S-see you tonight then. Oh and don’t forget to bring earplugs for when you inevitably get tired of hearing me explain the complexities of the game for the thousandth time”, he shyly added at the end. You didn’t even attempt to stop the lighthearted snort that escaped at his words. Like you could ever possibly grow tired of listening to him? That’s a big, fat negative. Giving you one last wide grin, he spun back around and began working on his files again, leaving you vulnerable to the not exactly innocent thoughts swirling around in your head.

You were going over his house tonight, the two of you would be all alone. Sure, you had been over there plenty of times before for various reasons, but this felt significantly different for some reason. Maybe that was down to the fact that you fully intended on making some kind of move tonight, in turn, hopefully, making your intentions completely clear to him. You had no definite way of knowing how far things would end up going later, but you certainly had a preference of where you wanted things to end up. Too many days had been spent pining over the young doctor, and at this point it was the only thing you could think of that would satisfy your desires.

Would he even want to though? As close as the two of you were, the topic of sex or anything even remotely sexual never seemed to breech into your conversations, as much as that disappointed you. It wasn’t exactly that you were worried about him not being into that kind of stuff, it was more of a deep rooted insecurity that often made you question whether or not he would ever want to do something of the sort with you. You quickly pushed the thought out of your head, deciding that the only way you were ever going to know for sure was if you worked up the courage to make some sort of significant advance in his direction tonight.

Eventually ignoring your raging inner thoughts and returning to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but check the clock every few minutes, anxiously counting the minutes until you were able to leave this place and get to his.

~~~

You had all but sprinted out of the office earlier once your shift had come to an end, rushing to get to your car so you could leave.

The excitement that had been pumping through your veins was intoxicating and made you question all the seemingly silly nerves you had felt building up throughout the day. What was there to be nervous about? It was just chess. However, as you pulled into his apartment complex’s lot, you realized that it was so much more than just chess and the nerves came rushing back through you like a fucking tsunami.

You didn’t even want to discuss the way you felt right now, perched directly outside of his apartment, dazedly staring at the wooden door. Was it too late to just turn around, go home and forget that this whole damn thing ever even happened. A lucid fever dream, that’s what this could be if you just left.

No. You wanted and needed this. Here’s hoping Spencer did too.

You cautiously raised your fist before gently knocking on the rough surface a couple of times. You were able to hear some slight movement from inside and just as you were taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down a bit more, the door swung open, an equally nervous and excited looking Spencer now standing opposite you. God he was so pretty.

“Hi”, he quietly spoke, his eyes absentmindedly sweeping across your frame. You were easily able to detect the anticipation that radiated off of him in waves, the same feeling emanating from deep within you as well. “Hey Spence”, you breathily whispered, a shy smile gracing your lips.

After a brief moment of just silently staring at each other, Spencer snapped out of his apparent stupor and awkwardly angled his body to the side so you could come inside, gently shutting the door behind you. Immediately after entering his apartment your eyes drifted to the kitchen, noticing that he had somehow managed to cook dinner for the two of you in the very short time since you guys had gotten out of work, him leaving the office slightly earlier than you did. The kind gesture made you feel warm inside, the situation as a whole feeling amazingly domestic.

“Oh my god. Spence, you really didn’t have to do all this. It smells amazing!” You watched the young doctor ripen into a tomato at your words, feeling your desire for him deepen even further. He blindly followed you as you made your way towards the kitchen to investigate his hard work, passing by the fancy, little chess board you had always ignored before on the way. “It’s no problem at all Y/n, can’t have you learning on an empty stomach right?”, he teased as you let out a light giggle at his thought process. “I suppose you are the doctor here”, you answered with a joking tone. “Shall we then?” Suddenly feeling much more comfortable in each other’s presence, the two of you quickly ate, Spencer’s cooking completely blowing your mind.

“Ok as amazing as that was Spence, I believe it’s chess learning time!” You succeeded in portraying genuine excitement at your statement, simply opting to instead think about all the possibilities of what could happen, rather than the game itself. The evident excitement that exuded from his slim figure was more than enough encouragement for you to get the ball rolling and waltz over to the mahogany table, promptly assuming your position across from him. “All you Reid, I’m completely at your mercy.” You saw him swallow hard at your choice of words and found yourself slyly smirking at his reaction. Quickly clearing his throat, he jumped right into things.

“O-ok so basically to start off there’s um-six classes or ranks for the pieces. You have the pawns, the rooks, the knights, bishops, kings and queens and uh-each different rank has their own move set or “abilities”, if you will. Before every game there’s a specific order that they…”

You tried. You really, really tried to focus on what he was saying, but there was no stopping your mind from wandering to more pressing matters. For example: how unbelievably hot he looked rambling excitedly about one of the most boring things on the planet. He made you actually look forward to playing. In all honesty, you already knew how to play the dreadful game, thanks to years and years of mandatory family bonding time with your dad when you were younger. Spencer didn’t need to know that though.

Eventually his instructional spiel had come to an end, the two of you now having moved on to a couple practice rounds to get the hang of things. You hated fibbing to him about your previous experience with the game, but it was well worth it to see the way his face lit up with every word that fell from his lips. After engaging in several “practice” games, Spencer had deemed you suitable for the real deal, offering to still help you along the way if you needed it, for which you thanked him.

The first few trial games that you guys played through went by pretty smoothly and while you were nowhere near beating him, you were able to hold your own weight fairly well. Sure, you had had previous experience from your childhood, but it had been so long you found your skills were kind of rusty and they presented themselves as such. The longer you both played the more you remembered, reaching the point where you were actually rivalling him and giving him some sort of competition. You could see how impressed he was with you, but there also seemed to be some layer of pride boiling underneath the surface. While you loved his reactions to your “newly” acquired skills, things were going much too slow for your liking and you knew exactly what to do.

“How about we up the stakes a little bit, hmmm?” He looked up at your words, a curious look crossing over his features.

“What did you have in mind?” You watched him visibly gulp at the suggestive smirk that slowly adorned your face. Momentarily ignoring his question, you began to reset the board, the clinking of game pieces being the only sound filling the apartment, that and Spencer’s bated breath as he waited for a response.

“Ok, I’m sure you’ve heard of strip poker before?” You watched him hesitantly nod his head in agreement before continuing. “Well how about we play some strip chess, make things a bit more exciting, yeah?” The speed at which a blush overtook his features would’ve been alarming to anyone else on the planet, except for you of course, who found it utterly adorable.

“I uhh-I y-yeah, sure. Sure! We can do that. It sounds kind of...fun? What um-how would that work exactly?” You gave him a bright smile at the evident eagerness laced within his words before explaining your thought process on specific rules for the game.

“Well I’m thinking that we don’t have enough layers on to remove something everytime we capture an opponent’s piece...soooo..maybe every two pieces captured by the other person you have to take something off? Yeah that sounds like it should work. Good?” You watched him seem to mull over things quickly in his head before nodding with slightly more confidence than he had exuded before. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Around twenty minutes later, the two of you were stripped down to the bare minimum, you in just your panties and bra, him in his boxers, both of you finally seeming to understand the weight of the current situation you were in. You certainly hadn’t expected to give Spencer this big of a run for his money, but you were glad you were able to best him at least a few times. However, depending on the next few moves, you guys were so close to crossing a line that neither of you could possibly come back from.

Unfortunately, while you were too busy worrying about what was about to happen, Spencer had cornered one of your pieces and captured it, making it his second piece of yours captured since the last article of your clothing had come off. His head jerked up towards you as he realized what his small victory meant. Shit. Were you really about to expose yourself to him, willingly at that?

Yes. Yes you were.

Spencer watched with wide eyes and labored breathing as you slowly reached behind your back to undo the clasps on your bra, the material falling forward slightly, until you removed the straps making the lacy garment come off completely, sending a shy smile in his direction. You swear you saw his eyes darken as they widened even further at your bold movement, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of your bare chest right there in front of him. Unable to think about it too long and suddenly emboldened by his reactions, you quickly made your next move while he was basically hypnotized by your tits. Maybe this could work to your advantage after all.

Realizing that the boy genius wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, seemingly too invested in his personal peepshow, you snapped your fingers in front of his face to grab his attention. His eyes immediately snapped up to meet yours, embarrassment coating his face as he cleared his throat. “Oh I-um-sorry. I was a bit d-distracted”, he nervously chuckled, aware he had been caught ogling your body like a horny teenager, not that you minded in the slightest.

You could easily tell how frazzled the young doctor still was as he took his turn, making a move that there was no way in hell Spencer would have ever made with a clear mind. An excited smirk graced your face as you registered what he had just done. And based on the way his eyebrows furrowed, it seemed as though he had too. No fucking way.

“I uhh-uhh...shit. I-I um…”

Making sure to maintain steady eye contact with him, you slowly leaned over the table, your breasts pushing together perfectly to compliment the show you were putting on, and confidently made your final move.

“Checkmate.”

As the two of you sat there just staring at each other, you noticed his breathing becoming more and more labored, his eyes completely black with desire, yours probably looking the same.

Fuck it, let’s go.

The speed at which you shoved the board clean off the table and climbed across it into his lap was astounding, immediately smashing your lips together as you successfully straddled him. He moaned into your mouth at your eagerness and it only egged you on further, roughly tugging on his hair as your lips moved in synchronicity. Reluctantly prying your lips away from his, you stared directly into his black orbs, your chest heaving.

“I want you.” You watched his pupils dilate at your words, a low groan leaving his lips.

“I want you”, he reciprocated with sincerity in his tone. Moaning at his agreement and admission you desperately reunited your mouths as he swifty lifted you onto the mahogany table, stepping in between your welcoming legs so your bodies were as close as possible.

You both needed this. Badly. It was inevitable that at some point the two of you would finally snap, mutually ravaging each other in the most animalistic of ways. It was like a switch flipped inside the two of you, totally disregarding the way you normally acted on a day to day basis. Honestly you had no idea Spencer had it in him, this feral, primal side of him. But you fucking loved it.

As soon as he stepped between your legs and reconnected your lips, his large hands pawed at your chest, squeezing the pillowy flesh like it was his favorite hobby. The moans pouring from your lips only fueled him further, his grip becoming noticeably stronger. Letting his hands roam wherever they pleased on your body, you raked your own up and down his chest, bright red streaks left behind in their wake, making him groan uncontrollably.

“God Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Since the moment you walked in I haven’t been able to control myself around you. You drive me fucking insane.” His words only increased the veracity behind your moans as you reached down to palm him through his boxers, which weren’t doing much to hide his rather large excitement. He threw his head back with a groan, his mussed hair protruding in every direction possible. “Spencer pleaseee!”, you begged, desperate for him to touch you and give you more. You needed more.

Seemingly getting the hint, he immediately ripped your panties off before roughly thrusting his fingers into you, exploring your heat eagerly, moaning at the overwhelming warmth and wetness surrounding them. You cried out at the intrusion, instantly latching onto him, your nails digging into his back as your body arched into him. Your reactions drove him insane, his digits consistently pumping in and out of you, making your whole body tremble as you felt your release speedily approaching.

“That’s it baby, let go.” As soon as the words left his mouth, you felt yourself completely tense up before releasing all of the tension in a blissful moment, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. “Spencer!” He watched with hooded eyes as he pushed you over the edge, evident pride rushing through his veins. The fire inside of you came rushing back, reigniting every inch of your body, craving for more.

You tugged on the hem of his boxers, trying to convey your desires, watching him get the hint fairly quickly and hastily remove them before stepping back between your legs. Surging forward you latched your lips onto his and wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively tethering himself to you and urging him to continue. You could feel him hot and heavy against the inside of your thigh, but it simply wasn’t enough, him seemingly thinking the same thing, soon feeling him position himself against your throbbing core.

Both panting with anticipation and desire, he looked up into your eyes, searching for any kind of sign that this was for sure what you wanted. You frantically nodded your head, a desperate gleam in your eyes. “Please Spence! I need you!”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, the young doctor let out a feral growl before thrusting his entire length into you on the first stroke. You both whined out at the feeling, latching on to each other like your lives depended on it. “Holy shit, Y/n. You feel so fucking good.” His words triggered an unnecessarily loud moan to escape your throat, feeling yourself unwillingly tighten around his cock. The pace he set was brutal as he pounded you into the table over and over again.

That stupid chess table. You could confidently say that this was worlds better than any of the many games you had both played earlier in the night. If things worked out your way the two of you would be doing this a lot more often instead of playing chess.

Even though the two of you had only been going at it for a fairly short time, you could already feel your climax speedily approaching and, based on the way he kept scrunching up his face, you’d guess he wasn’t very far behind.

“Spencer please! I’m so close, baby please!”

The guttural groan that escaped him was sinful and ignited your insides with a fire that you didn’t even know existed within you. As he roughly thrusted into you, your body slamming against the hard surface below you, you felt yourself quickly tumble over the edge, your vision going spotty at the intensity of your orgasm. The way you screamed out his name and clenched around his cock was too much for Spencer to handle, him following you closely behind and filling you up completely with his seed.

The two of you held onto each other desperately as you waited for your bated breaths to return to normal, a light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Giving you a soft smile, drastically different from the man who had been inside you moments ago, he carefully removed himself from you before walking to the kitchen to get some towels. After cleaning the two of you up, he gently picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, both of you settling immediately under the sheets, clinging to each other.

As Spencer softly played with your hair in the comfortable silence, you could feel the two of you giving into the slumber that was calling out to you. However before you gave in, you needed him to know how you truly felt.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I fucking hate chess. I just like spending time with you.” He chuckled softly before responding.

“I like spending time with you too.”

Taglist: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @watermelonstyl @goldnratio @cheyxminds

#cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencerreidsmut #smut #fluff #cm smut #mgg #matthewgrayguber #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fic

645 notes · View notes

itsleah728 · 3 years

Text

Thank you for the request: @Savannahhead4 (on Wattpad)

A/N: I kind of added more details then you exactly requested but I couldn't help myself 😂 I hope you enjoy non the less. Also just a note that this story jumps around a bit (not much though it's still easy to follow)

!!!!!!!!!WARNING: THE FOLLOWING STORY HAS SOME MAJOR GORE, MURDER, AND DARK THOUGHTS ARE MENTIONED QUITE A BIT!!!!!!!!

NO ONES POV

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how you died and he lived. How he had to watch you suffer before the former Count finally ended your life. He had to witness you being brutally tortured. He watched as you were stabbed over and over and over again. Your limbs were torn to shreds and your guts were spilled. He will never forget the petrified look in your eyes when you could no longer breathe air due to the un human amounts of blood rising in your throat. His own throat still feels sore from the screams he let out, just trying to get to you. He failed you. He failed at protecting you, you were dead because of him. Your disheveled body and your flowing blood is forever embedded into his mind. He can't help but cry whenever he remembers detail for detail what happened to your poor soul on that dreadful day.

FLASHBACK

READERS POV (2nd person)

All was well, you and Muriel were wandering my through the woods taking a break from it all. It was a nice day with a cool breeze. You're hands were connected which made you feel special considering Muriels hatred for human contact. You both idly chat for a while until you both hear rustling in the bushes. You, being curious as ever decide to check it out.

You sneak over to the bush and at first see nothing until a gold arm darts out of the bush and pulls you forwards. You stumble from the force of the pull but quickly gather your bearings. You let out a startled cry when you see Lucio standing in front of you with the most murderous gaze you have ever seen. Your cry must have alerted Muriel because he is suddenly by your side once more looking at Lucio with hatred and confusion. "What is the meaning on this Lucio?!" You can't help but ask the Count. Lucio starts pacing and rambling "it's nothing personal MC but I have plans, big plans and you my friend will simply get in the way. Therefore I have no choice but to get rid of you." "Excuse me" Muriel finally decides to speak up as he quickly stands taller. Lucio doesn't respond he only lunges towards Muriel and quickly stabs his clawed fingers into his leg. He lets out a small yelp and collapses to the ground.

You know Muriel will no longer be helpful in this fight so with all of your strength you summon up as much magic as you possibly can. Lucio tsks and states "this, this is exactly why you can't be around.... it's your horrible magic." "Enough with the chat Lucio let's get this over with." "Yes dear let's" is all Lucio states before a sword is through your stomach. Everything that happens afterwards is a blur. You feel pain in your stomach and you think you've been stabbed more than once. The pain is unimaginable, you feel the blood forming in your throat. You think you can hear Muriel cry out for you but you quickly pass out from the pain. Everything hurts until you feel nothing at all.

PRESENT TIME

MURIELS POV (1st person)

That had been weeks ago, Asra had a funeral but no one knows what truly happened that day. Lucio decided to spill lies and tell everyone that you simply were attack by a bear..... what bear could do such unspeakable things. I can feel the pain and anger slowly eating at my soul. I know you wouldn't want me to get revenge but it is impossible not to. Any man would go insane seeing what I saw. I decided that Lucio would do this to no other person again and so I prepared, I prepared to kill the Count.

SMALL TIME SKIP

Days have past since I first decided that getting revenge was the way to go. Even in the short time span my mind has gotten darker with images of what I could do to the Count. Images of me brutally murdering him the same way he did to you. I could no longer take these thoughts so I decided that tonight is when my plan would take action. Asra doesn't know of my plan but that doesn't matter anymore, the only thing that matters is revenge.

SMALL TIME SKIP

Night has fallen and I make my way to the castle. Sneaking in should be simple, I'm used to staying in the shadows anyways. I approach the castle gates and see two guards standing post. 'Thought this would be harder' I think as I sneak around behind the unsuspecting men.

When I reach behind one of the guards I quickly slit his throat and move to the next before he can call for back up. I quickly take care of both men and continue my way into the castle.

The castle has little to no guards which makes my way to Lucio much easier than expected but of course the simple ness never lasts. When I reach Lucio's chambers I see around 5 guards stationed outside. 'He must have knew I'd want revenge.' Thankfully this is no setback for me. 'I think the Count had forgotten about my gladiator past that he himself had put me through' I muse to myself. I ready myself to attack and quietly dash from out of the shadows. Two men quickly spot me and are taken down just as fast. One other brave soul decides sneaking up on me will be the best approach, only for him to end up with a bashed in brain. The last two guards try teaming up together. One flanks right and the other flanks left. I can see the man on the right is slower than the one on the left. With this in mind I quickly stab the man on the left and then the one on the right. Both men fall to the ground in pathetic heaps, the sobbing only fueling me more. With no more guards in my way I open the door to the Counts chambers.

The room is dark with only a pale dim light coming from the moon. Surprisingly the Count had not woken up from the cries of anguish occurring outside his door. I make my way over to the unsuspecting man and lay my large palm over his mouth. His eyes shoot open and he starts to struggle. Lucio finally sets his eyes upon me and they widen almost comically. He starts to squirm again when I lower my head to his ear and manically state "you killed my one true love and now you will pay."

Before Lucio can even protest I swing my blade into his stomach. The sound it makes is like music to my ears. Blood instantly pouring from the wound. I drag the blade through his stomach and quickly pull it out. He tries to run away but the gaping hole in his stomach is making the task quite difficult. I drag the blade from his forehead to his eye creating a small cut. "The fun hasn't even begun my friend" I state before plunging the blade anywhere I can get my hands on.

SMALL TIME SKIP

Blood. Blood everyone and it is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed. Your screams are replaced by his. Sorrow replaced by freedom. Which can only mean that you can finally Rest In Peace.

A/N: I'm not a psycho I swear 😂 no but honestly this story ended up way more gory tha

#the arcana headcanons #the arcana lucio #lucio x mc #lucio x reader #count lucio #muriel #the arcana courtiers #the arcana #asra headcanons #countess nadia #nadia x mc #consul valerius

27 notes · View notes

lordrethandus · 3 years

Text

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 22

Taboo ( @daily-writing-challenge )

World: Warcraft

Content Warning: Blood and Disturbing Imagery

Zolaar sat alone in the darkness of his living quarters, staring intensely at the slab of raw elk meat he was given by his companions; the blood of the carcass slowly dripped through the funnel below, filling up a goblet he managed to keep with him all the way from Quel’Thalas. The Warlock pulled his mask off to reveal the grotesque mess of warped and discolored skin that he once called his face; his grey lips peeled back to flash his snaggled teeth, while his trembling hand tapped against the table. He let out a sharp sigh once the blood of the meat finally subsided, nearly filling the goblet to the rim; quickly he snatched it toward him, only to knock his head back while he poured the blood into his awaiting jaws; it had been too long since his last feeding, perhaps even longer until his next- but like all things, sacrifices must be made. His black tongue squirmed around in the goblet until he was sure he had consumed every last drop, feeling the warmth of his meal sit like a rock in his churning stomach.

“Zolaar? Are you in here?” Gonthar spoke from the outside of his chambers, shortly before bashing his meaty fist against the door. “I’m coming in.” The Warlock frantically pulled the drained meat off its suspension, tossing it into a nearby cabinet. The Sunwalker entered the dark room with a hand on his claymore, catching a glimpse of the elf’s face as he pulled the mask over his head.

“Y-yes, Gonthar? How can I help you…?” Zolaar asked, standing up as straight as he could; the tauren noticed the goblet sitting idle on the table, but something about the fiendish eye engraved along its side dissuaded him of inquiry.

“I’m making sure everyone is pulling their weight around here.” Gonthar narrowed his gaze at the warlock, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m assuming you aren’t just sitting in the dark, whispering to some unspeakable evil?” The fake laughter that slipped through his mask only unnerved the Sunwalker, convincing him that Zolaar doesn’t laugh often.

“No, of course not.” The Warlock skittishly walked around the table he was standing next to, furtively running his inky tongue against his jagged teeth. “I’ve been waiting for one of my… projects… to give me promising results.” He gestured toward a large black cauldron near the corner of the room, causing Gonthar to gaze at it suspiciously.

“And what’s in the pot?” he asked, before immediately regretting the question. Zolaar lifted the lid, causing it to belch a smoke that quickly crawled along the ceiling toward the tauren; the stench was unimaginable, forcing Gonthar to stagger back as he covered his nose and mouth. “Earthmother’s mercy… what the hell is that?!”

“This…” Zolaar started, seemingly unfazed by the pungent stench while he reached in to stir the liquid inside with a ladle. “Is that tauren’s head Sir Ijiro brought back with him during his hunting. By boiling it, I can extract the fel magic infused within…”

“Why would you do that?!” Gonthar gagged, as his eyes began to water.

“I can create a curse that will help weaken the fel tauren should they attack us.” Zolaar explained, trying his best to speak clearly while the Sunwalker seemingly started dying from the smell that violated his senses; fortunately for the Warlock, he lost his sense of smell ages ago. “If I can discover whose blood they drank to create their pact, I can help ward off these tauren… or perhaps slay the pit lord directly, freeing them. If you could ask Sir Ijiro to get me more specime-”

“I’ll do that- keep up the good work.” Gonthar nearly stumbled out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him as he looked for the nearest bush. Zolaar let out a nervous sigh of relief, setting the lid back onto the cauldron. “That was reckless.” He thought to himself, returning to his chair. Shame washed over him once again, filling him to the brim with sadness. The dark magic he meddled with warped and twisted his body beyond recognition; but they were not ready to see what he had become yet. Nor were they ready to embrace what needed to be done.

He needed to keep his grisly appearance a secret, lest they put him out of his misery for good.

#dwc2021 #day222021

4 notes · View notes

otome-silvynne · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Saeran's After End

Okay I think I've finally got my thoughts together enough to write this lol. I will try to keep it as organised as possible!

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SAERAN'S AE

TL;DR - I loved the amount of work put into this AE. The CGs and new sprites were absolutely stunning (not the hands) but I wasn't a huge fan of some of the writing choices.

Okay let's start this mess of a post with what I liked about the AE!

The new CGs, sprites, and emojis. I loved every single (positive) CG even though the art style changed a lot. Some of them were so cute I wanted to cry and Saeran's new sprites fit him really well I think. Though the crying one made my heart hurt 🥺

The length. Cheritz went above and beyond when it came to the length of the AE. I was really expecting it to be episodic like V's but the fact that it's a mini route was a cool surprise!

Calls/texts. The Cheritz team added a tonne of extra calls for this AE and though I've only seen the ones my friends have shared, there are some super cool ones that add interesting perspectives on the plot.

Good End/Normal End. I have some issues with the plot which I'll get to in the next section, but I really really loved the good end and normal end for the AE. They were both so heart-warming but I do think that a combination of both would have been the best ending.

Jumin Han. This poor poor man went through so much during this AE but holy crap did it make me love him even more. He really had some amazing character development and even though he was in a crisis, he still did everything in his power to help Saeran and MC and I think it really showed just how deep his loyalty goes. I love him.

Okay so this is where I get kind of ranty. Apologies in advance.

I find the plot of this AE to be unideal in... many ways. Though it was satisfying to finally have it after waiting so long I really wish they had done some things different, so let's get into it.

V. My #1 issue with the writing is what they did to Jihyun's characterization. It just really was not fair in the slightest and in my opinion it wasn't entirely accurate to him. (Feel free to call me out for being biased, I have role-played as this man for years now.) V and Saeran are actually tied as my favourite characters so as you could guess the prologue for this hurt me so so so bad. V never seemed like the type of man to turn on his friends like that. Not even for Rika or his obsession with her - he has always made shitty decisions or has been mysterious, but he would never betray them like that and he was never straight up evil like he sometimes seems to be in this. That man was not Jihyun to me - it was like he was a stranger.

Guilt tripping. There are multiple moments in the AE where they mention that "maybe V wouldn't have turned out that way if he met someone like MC" and it's kind of bullshit. It feels like they're blaming the player for choosing Saeran over Jihyun when they really shouldn't be - both are amazing characters and there is no reason the AE should have that kind of undertone at all. I might make another post about V if anyone wants to hear my opinion in more depth lol.

Forgiveness/Healing. Cheritz hasn't always been the best at portraying trauma and we know this but I felt like I should mention it anyway. This AE takes place two weeks after the end of Saeran's route. Keeping this in mind, every single interaction he has with Rika in the AE is just... unimaginable. For years he was brainwashed and manipulated by that woman and yet it seems like he feels nothing when he sees her again even though she has done unspeakable things to him. Realistically he would have felt fear or hatred or anything at all. I understand they said he healed a lot but completely getting over it? In two weeks?? I don't think so man.

PM/The agency. I feel like the focus should have been on them a bit more during the whole thing. A lot of the focus of the writing was on Rika and V when they were the least of the RFA's problems - they were dangerous and outright insane, but they wouldn't have killed anyone like the other antagonists.

Pain. Out of every single piece of media I've ever consumed - game or otherwise - this is the only thing that ever gave me physical chest pain from how upsetting it was. It made me so anxious I could not sleep at times and generally stressed me out lol. Some would probably see this as good writing or something impressive but it just felt awful for me because of how long we waited for this to come out. I was looking forward to seeing Saeyoung's rescue and everyone living happily (which is sort of the point of an AE, right?) but there was just so much heartache in between that it almost didn't feel worth it when I finally did get to the end.

BR End. I'm sure you all know the one lol cough collar cough cough and lord why on Earth is it so incredibly easy to get by accident? I got 100% on all three days when I played and still got it anyway - it sucks man. I had to start over and go through all of the stress mentioned above again and it wore me down. That being said, I do like how you're free (and expected) to be suspicious of Rika and V instead of forgiving them for literally drugging the entire RFA and making deals with criminals. Thanks man. Wish we didn't have to see them and the PM forgiven in the end anyway though :)

Okay /rant lmao. Obviously this is all a shortened version of my thoughts and it's still pretty long but I'm glad I could at least express this much. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this and I'd be glad to discuss more with other fans through DM or something and see other opinions. If you're interested you could message me here or @silvynne and if you read this far you are probably insane but also awesome so thank you.

#otome #mystic messenger dlc #mystic messenger #saeran ae #saeran ae spoilers #ray ae #ray ae spoilers #my post #text #long post #cheritz #saeran choi #mysme saeran

30 notes · View notes

too-scared-to-do-this · 3 years

Text

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter ten - Eyes full of clouds

Sander’s sides fanfiction

Wordcount: 2105

Ship: prinxiety (It’s time, guys!)

TW: cursing, vague mentions of past abuse, scar description (just light), mentions of eating Humans, chasing, kind of degrading humanity at some point (related to the story) and that’s probably all. If I’ve missed any, just let me know :3

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

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

Chapter ten - Eyes full of clouds

Well, let’s just say, Roman’s walk didn’t turn out the way he would have hoped for.

He somehow ended up accidently walking down a hallway full of three-headed vamp-dogs. Six pairs of eyes of at least ten creatures followed his every movement. Roman froze. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. “Good doggies…”

The dogs started barking monstrous barks and Roman went screaming the other way.

Throwing open a door blindly, he found himself in another room full of indescribably horrifying creatures with limbs of all sorts and twelve eyes too many. Well, the dogs were at least gone…

And then every single one of their eyes blinked in unison. There and then Roman decided that, yap, they all wanted him dead. And started running again.

Murmurs and terrifying whines left the many mouths as they reached out to grab the poor thief. Roman barely survived! (The idiot tripped and almost went face first to the ground.)

But he made it. Into yet another hallway of unspeakable horrors.

“This was not a good ideaaaaaaa!!!” he cried, throwing the dagger at the monsters chasing him.

It didn’t even reach the beings. Let alone the fact that it somehow flew at them sideways.

How could Roman screw up a simple walk this much?!

Screams and screeches filled his eyes as he barreled down hallway after hallway, door after door - somehow gathering an even bigger mob to be chased by.

“Where is that fucking guard when I need him!” Roman cried again, panting. “Devillll!!!”

This was supposed to be fun! And it wasn’t! It wasn’t fun at all!

Door became less and less frequent. Roman, even in his distressed state somewhat recognized the path he was walking.

He’s been here before!

And that means… there should be a door! Right abouttt…. here!

He turned towards cold stone. “Shit!”

Roman was ready to run again, but turns out the thing was just a couple steps to the left. “Yes!” he panted.

Grabbing onto its handle he threw it open and shut it as fast as possible. Back leaning against dark wood.

Angry voices were coming from outside the room. Roman really hoped they didn’t see him coming in here…

They were far enough, weren’t they?

Then everything fell quiet.

There were no more voices, no more stomping. No movement.

But Roman couldn’t be sure they left so he slowly pulled the door ajar and peeked out.

He came face to face with one of the deformed faces.

Roman slammed the door shut with a scream.

And that combination of noises was enough to scare Virgil out of his not-so-peaceful sleep. He bolted upright in his bed, eyes wide and heart racing. “What happened?!”

Scanning the whole room in the matter of nanoseconds, he went from crack in the wall to crack, from the closed bathroom door to every piece of furniture he owned. His stormy gaze finally settled on the distressed creature in his room.

The Human was shaking. Eyes wild and hair mussed all around, heaving. “They-They-They- THEY TRIED TO EAT ME!”

Slowly he backed away from the door, inching his way towards the bed.

Virgil sat speechless. It was too early for this… Roman was really dumb… None of the demons ate Humans. They are known to be very chewy meat - nobody wants that shit in their mouths. On top of it all they supposedly taste bitter.

The tired demon rubbed his eyes. “What do you mean, they tried to eat you?”

Roman turned with a flourish, meeting Virgil with his crazed gaze. “Exactly what I said! They tried to eat me!”

Virgil just lowered his eyes. This whole thing must have been a giant misunderstanding. “Hey, liveling.” he yawned. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?! Those monsters just tried to devour me!”

And while Virgil did see the Human throwing his arms around dramatically and did register the complete terror on his face, he was just too tired to deal with it.

He leaned forward, grabbing Roman’s hand firmly. The thief’s panicking came to an abrupt stop. Breath caught in his throat. What in all hell was happening?!

And yank! Ro found himself in bed next to the Devil.

The demon - now purposefully oblivious to the confusion on the liveling’s face - pulled the cowers over himself. Partially covering the sitting being as well. He buried himself deep into the warm embrace of the blanket, nose even deeper in the pillow and mumbled: “Nobody wants to eat you...”

Which came out more like: “Novovywanssthoeathue…” Or even more distorted.

Either way, Roman didn’t understand any of it.

With furrowed eyebrows, he prepared to ask the most intelligent question he could think of. “…what?”

Virgil grunted. He needed sleep! He’s been up for… well time doesn’t really exist here, so there’s no way to tell how long. But certainly longer then he usually was! And that is saying a something!

He huffed into the pillow, and groped around for Roman again (slapping him in the process). Grabbed his arm again and pulled him down. And now they were both laying.

Virgil didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t even lift his head. Instead, he lifted the sheets and let them fall onto the both of them. He snuggled in cozy, and finally let his body relax.

That is, he would have done that, if it weren’t for those green eyes drilling holes into his head.

Roman was so taken aback, he couldn’t even thing straight. There he was, the cutest guy he has ever seen, laying so close to him.

And he still couldn’t get over the fact, that just a minute ago he was nearly devoured.

Blanket covered the Devil from head to toe. Literally not even a hair-strand was peeking out. Only the eyes and nose would be visible, if it weren’t for the pillow and the hand that covered them. Seriously! How could the dude even breath?! Did demons even need to breath? Come to think of it, does Hell even have oxygen?

It must have, otherwise Roman would have suffocated by now.

Bet Devil-guy here, could answer all those questions.

But he seemed so peaceful, laying there. Well… maybe not peaceful. But less king-like.

Roman sighed. Why must the biggest evil in the world be that charming? (Phha, he knew how wrong that statement was. The Devil wasn’t even evil. At least, not to him.)

So he laid there, watching the cocoon in front of him. Thinking about everything that’s been happening. And once again, he came back to the fact he was just chased down many hallways by a mob of angry creatures.

He shuddered.

Virgil couldn’t take it anymore. Any longer and he’d literally have a hole in his head. So he let out a deep tired sigh and turned slightly. Just so his words would be more intelligible. “Your safe with me… I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

It might have definitely been his drained brain talking. Virgil knew he will regret this when he wakes up. But, it was already said, there was no taking it back now. And he was drifting off anyways. There was no point obsessing over it.

Roman laid speechless. All his life he’s been taught not to trust anybody. Because everybody he ever trusted failed and hurt him. Yet he still was a very trusting guy… even though he knew it was naïve. And now, for the first time in his life, he felt the words ring true.

As he watched the sleeping demon, he couldn’t help but be baffled by humanities stupidity. They call this creature the vilest of all, yet they hurt and torture each other in ways unimaginable even to Hell. Their greediness and unseizing want caused people like him and his mother to suffer. To have to resort to steeling and causing even more wrong.

They called the Devil evel, yet never bothered to look at their own reflections.

Maybe it was a mistake to believe a demon. Maybe it was the stupidest thing Roman has ever done. But so far, this creature’s words were the first that he truly felt he could trust.

He was safe.

Roman apparently fall asleep. Because when he woke up, he found a soundly sleeping demon on his chest.

Somehow, it didn’t faze him. (Well maybe there was a tint of red on his cheeks, but that’s beside the point!).

What did faze him though, was how the hair that usually covered half of his face was now hanging over the other eye. Revealing the secret, he’s been trying to keep.

The devil wasn’t kidding, when he said this wasn’t a Human skin. Five more eyes really didn’t belong in the general construct of a human body.

He would be surprised, but at this point, he didn’t think that was possible anymore.

This just kind of made sense. He was a demon after all - the Devil. It had to be shown somehow. He wondered why he didn’t find it weird from the beginning honestly - all the otherworldly creatures ruled by a human. But well, Roman really wasn’t known for his strong brains.

There was a scar running across three of them. Cutting from the middle of his cheek into his hairline, where it got lost. He wondered if it was a part of the look, or not. And if not - what happened to the guy?

“My father. He didn’t like me very much. Didn’t think I was worthy of the throne.“

Roman gulped. How long had he been up?

And, shit, was his voice hot after sleep! What the hell?!

Virgil moved around just slightly - because let’s be honest, no matter how embarrassing this situation was, it was too damn comfortable to break it up.

All six of his eyes fluttered open, looking straight at Ro.

Roman gasped quietly. “Nobody even questioned his motives. He was the Cruel king for a reason…” V shrugged.

The thief’s heart clenched. The three eyes, the scar ran over… were blind. How could anybody do that to someone? He was so angry at this supposed father!

Roman’s deadbeat of a father at least left when they were little, but this… Whoever was the Devils father, he was the one people called vile.

“It doesn’t hurt if you’re wondering.” V mumbled. He wasn’t sure what was running through the thief’s mind and that distressed him.

For the first time in his life, he was truly scared. What if Roman was disgusted by him? Would think he’s weak for not standing up to his father? He has no clue who his father really was! What if he’d start fearing him again? Would he hate him now? He would deserve it… He is the embodiment of all evil, after all. His captor. The big scary Devil that would never let him leave. What if…

“Do you know you have storms in your eyes?” Roman smiled, lifting his hand up to brush the hair away from V’s eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

He was furious, yes. But right now, there was a Devil on his chest that seemed more vulnerable than he’d been in who knows how long. (Millenia maybe…)

And Roman was always good at talking up a shitstorm.

Virgil blinked up at him. Was he for real? Was this really happening?

He tried to say something, but words failed to leave his lips. So instead, he just shook his head. Because no. Nobody has ever said that to him. Nobody has looked him in the eyes for such a long time… Not since his dear mother.

“You have all these clouds in them, that swirl around creating shapes so mesmerizing I could watch them for years and never get bored. When you get all serious, they darken as if lightning would strike in them any moment. This one for example -“ Ro ran a gently thumb over Virgil’s cheekbone, under his one eye. “Has dark grey clouds. But this one -“ he pointed at one of the other ones. “Is green. And that’s purple. And these…” he traced the top part of the scar carefully. “…are the most beautiful white I’ve ever seen.”

Virgil didn’t even know he started crying until a tear slipped down his cheek and onto Romans shirt (well his, but who cares).

“You’re so dumb, you know that?” V mumbled, trying to cover up his sob-y voice and watery eyes.

Roman just chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

Yeah. He’ll kill that motherfucker that hurt his demon later. Right now, he’s got a vulnerable Devil to care for.

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

We’re nearing the end guys :3 And the fun’s just about to begin. BJ

Also, another part? Two days in a row? What’s happening! :D

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this :)

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@vpow

@a-formless-entity

@lovelivingmydreams

@alice-only-me

#of the devil's head #Virgil the king of hell #ts virgil #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #Roman the thief #ts roman #roman sanders #creativity sanders #thomas sanders #Sander's sides #prinxiety

19 notes · View notes

shadowywerewolfqueen · 4 years

Text

Hellscape

For Suptober Day 28

Warnings: Graphic Gore/Violence

Black and red, everywhere you looked those were the only two colors that could be seen. The buildings, the people, the land, they were all burnt and bleeding wherever the eye could see. Smoke trailed endlessly through the air, covering the land in soft ash and filling the lungs with the toxic fumes. Even though the light of the sun never shone, the temperature was scorching, easily hot enough to peel the skin from bones. The land was a barren and scarred wasteland, unfit to support even the smallest form of life.

Yet, Hell was full of life. Hellhounds roamed the land and stalked the night, looking for any scrap of meat they could find to fill their bellies. Demons, damned and corrupted souls, also called Hell their home. Demons were those who, during their mortal lives, had chosen to let evil fill their hearts and therefore committed unspeakable deeds. Villains of all sorts roamed the land, forced to spend all eternity paying for their sins. They were tortured: their bodies burned, their skin filleted from their bones, forced to relive their worst nightmares over and over until they were driven insane.

Some demons were lucky enough to escape torture and instead became torturers themselves. They welcomed the new souls to Hell, chained them to a rack, and broke them before throwing them to the hellhounds. These demons reveled in their ability to cause pain and suffering. They took great joy in hearing their victims scream and beg for mercy. They felt truly alive when they sunk their hands into open wounds, and blood turned their skin a dark crimson. They would slice and dice, break and grind their victims bodies in ways that were unimaginable. Then at the end of the day, they would magically heal their victims just so they could repeat the torture the next day.

Dean Winchester had lived in this hellscape for forty years. He had been dragged to Hell when he had chosen to sell his soul. Thousands of demons had found their way to Hell for the exact same reason, although Dean’s choice was more noble than most. He had traded his soul for his brother’s, choosing to bring Sam back from the dead rather than live without him.

For thirty years of his time in Hell, Dean had laid on a rack, having his body cut and broken over and over. Every last bone in his body had been shattered, every inch of skin had been pulled from his bones, and every single organ had been ripped from his body before being shoved back inside. Through it all, he had been awake, forced to experience the agonizing pain of having all of his nerve endings burned alive. He had begged and pleaded for unconsciousness to take him, but his torturer had laughed in his face and told him that would be a mercy. Mercy wasn’t found in Hell.

At the end of every day, Alistair would approach Dean and offer him freedom from the pain. All Dean had to do was crawl off the rack and pick up the whips and knives himself. For as long as he could, Dean had sneered and told Alistair to stick it where the sun shines. Finally, unable to bear the grueling agony any longer, Dean accepted Alistair’s deal. Dean slid from the rack, grabbed the next soul that entered Hell, and strung it on the very rack he had been on.

The first soul was the hardest. Dean picked up a knife, and his hands shook so bad, the blade fell to the floor. He stared at the naked woman, and what was left of his heart, broke. She begged and screamed, pleading with him to let her go. Dean grabbed the knife and walked up to the edge of the rack. He took a shuddering breath and lifted his hand, his eyes closed as he brought the blade across the woman’s thigh in a shallow cut. He flinched at the scream that split his ears.

Behind him, Alistair laughed maniacally before saying, “That’s it Dean. Listen to her screams, aren’t they music to your ears?”

Dean shook his head. “I-I ca-ca-cant,” he stuttered.

Suddenly, a hand was gripping his hair and pulling his head back. He cried out, fire racing along his skull. “You will or else I will throw you back on that rack and dismember you so thoroughly there won’t be anything to put back together. I will tear you down to the very fibers that make you up,” Alistair snarled.

Panic filled Dean and squeezed his lungs so tightly the air left his body. He licked his dry lips and stared defiantly at the demon above him. Alistair dug his nails deeper into his scalp, and he could feel blood starting to trickle from the wounds. Alistair’s eyes flickered to white, and a shudder traipsed through Dean’s body. He had fought too long, and he was too weak to fight the powerful demon any longer. His shoulders slumped as the fight left him. “Fine,” he bit out.

Alistair threw him forward, back towards the woman. “Now finish what you started. Make her bleed; make her pay!”

The woman jerked at her restraints, even though it was futile. “Please, please don’t do this! You don’t have to! Just let me go! PLEASE!”

Dean ignored her, wrapping his fingers tighter around the blade in his hand. He held his hand up, ready to strike, but he couldn’t do it. He remained frozen, the woman looking at him with panic filled eyes. He jumped when a hand wrapped around his own. He struggled against Alistair, but the demon was too strong. He forced Dean’s hand down, making him thrust the blade into the woman’s thigh. Alistair dragged Dean’s hand down, the blade cutting through skin and muscle as if it was butter. Once the cut ran from the top of the woman’s thigh all the way to her knee, Alistair pulled Dean’s hand up.

“Now, make the next wound on your own or you will find yourself next to this hag, and I will have great fun in destroying both of you,” Alistair growled as he sunk his fingers into the wound and squeezed the bleeding flesh. The woman thrashed and howled, her screams echoing inside of Dean’s head.

Dean let out a shuddering breath and looked away from her, knowing what that excruciating pain felt like. His head was jerked forward and then he was looking into Alistair’s solid white eyes. Dean shuddered as the blood from Alistair’s hand stained his chin and dripped down his neck. “Hurt her now Dean. This is your last chance!”

Dean tore from Alistair’s grasp. In the blink of an eye he brought his hand up before slamming it down, burying the knife to the hilt in the center of the woman’s stomach. He turned a deaf ear to her howls as blood bubbled up and flowed over his hand. Dean gazed at his fingers as they were covered in the thick liquid and fought not to empty his stomach over the woman.

Dean was disgusted with himself at how easily he had hurt her. He had been a hunter; he had saved people from monsters and now he was turning into one. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he watched the blood continue to seep from the wound. His eyes traveled up the woman’s body to her face. Her lips were held tightly between her teeth as she cried, and her eyes had rolled back into her head. Dean’s hand loosened every so slightly on the knife, starting to consider going back on the rack. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t turn into the very thing he protected the world from.

“Again, Dean, again! Torture her until there’s nothing left… just as I tortured you,” Alistair said from behind him, glee obvious in his voice.

Anger grew inside of Dean as he thought of all the torment Alistair had caused him. He tore the knife from the woman’s stomach and brought his hand down in rapid succession once, twice, thrice, uncaring where the knife plunged into her body. She screamed as the blade pierced her hip, breast, and stomach. Blood poured from her wounds freely now, and Dean’s hand and arm were dripping with it. His clothes and face were splattered, but he didn’t care. He brought the knife down again, and his hand shook once more as he let the bloodlust consume him.

He pushed every moral and ethical thought he had to the back of his mind. He couldn’t continue to torture the woman if his own moral code got in the way, but he also couldn’t survive going back on the rack again. He would go insane if he had to spend one more day being shredded into pieces. He jerked the knife up and brought it up to rest on the woman’s cheek. He let the emotion drain from his eyes as he slowly dug the point into her cheek. Despite her cries, he continued to press the blade in deeper until it drove straight through her cheek and into her mouth. He then slowly turned the blade until he had cut a circle into the woman’s cheek. He pulled the blade back, the skin and muscle still stuck to it. His eyes were cold and his lips stretched in a grim frown as he stared at the sobbing woman.

“Very good Dean! You show quite a bit of promise,” Alistair exclaimed as Dean plucked the meat from the knife and dropped it to the floor. “Keep it up Dean and we’ll make a demon out of you yet!”

Every soul afterwards was a little easier than the last to inflict pain on. Over the next ten years, Alistair instructed Dean on different tools and how to use them to inflict the maximum amount of pain on his victims. He taught Dean how to prolong and maximize the agony by cutting in certain places. He showed Dean that sometimes lots of small wounds could be even more painful than large wounds.

Dean lost count of how many souls he tortured, of how many wounds he inflicted and how many screams he caused. Even if he was no longer on the rack, his world had narrowed down to an endless cycle of blood and gore. As soon as he was done with one soul, another would take its place. Dean was glad he never got a break, though. He had learned that when he had free time, his thoughts wandered and that was dangerous. His wandering thoughts took him to Sammy, and he knew if his brother saw him now, he would only see the monster Dean had become.

One day, an alarm call echoed throughout Hell; angels were invading. Dean paid the alarm no mind, his mind completely focused on the soul in front of him. He watched as the man squirmed, and even though Dean still didn’t enjoy the torture, he was long past feeling remorse for his actions. For a decade, he had been free of the rack, and he refused to go back on.

He picked up a saw from the table and slowly approached the quivering man in front of him. “Please, don’t do this! Let me free and we can run away or-or we-we could take over Hell! Yeah, we co- we could rule,” the man blabbered.

Dean barked out a laugh. “Do you really think I’m foolish enough to believe that two damned souls such as ourselves could overthrow the rulers of Hell? We wouldn't even make it past the hellhounds,” Dean said before bringing the saw down, cutting right through the man’s leg. Dean watched dispassionately as the man’s severed calf fell to the floor, and blood gushed from the wound, splattering Dean’s entire upper body in the process.

“FUCK! FUCK YOU,” the man screamed as he writhed in agony.

Dean ignored the man and moved to the other leg. Just as he was about to chop that one off, a blinding white light filled the room. Dean dropped the saw as his eyes were scorched, not having seen true light in four decades. He fell to the ground as he clawed at his burning eyes, tears falling down his cheeks.

He shouted when a hand touched his shoulder, searing the flesh beneath. “Dean Winchester, I am Castiel and I am here to save you,” a thundering, low pitched voice said from behind him.

Dean dropped his hands and looked up at the creature standing over him. It was a human man with thick black hair and bright azure eyes. Behind him were large black wings, many of the feathers burned to the rachises. As Dean continued to stare at the man, he noticed something. The man’s face and body were flickering between his human form and another larger, much more alien like form. Dean caught glimpses of gray leathery skin, taloned feet, and long, sticklike fingers. He also made out three heads: a puma, a zebra, and an owl. The already massive feathers tripled in size and glowing blue eyes could just be made out on the edges.

Dean scrambled back away from Castiel. “Get away from me,” he shouted. “I don’t know what you are, but Alistair will kill you!”

“My companions are keeping the demon distracted as we speak. He will not hurt you any longer. Now, we must go, before any demons show up,” Castiel explained.

“I can’t leave even if I wanted to,” Dean argued. “I sold my soul, and I know what that means. I don’t know what you are, but I’m sure you don’t have the power to pull my sorry ass from Hell.”

Castiel looked at Dean, his head tilted slightly. “I am an Angel of the Lord, and I assure you my power far surpasses what is needed to pull a single human soul from Hell.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “No, you can’t be! No angel would come to save me!”

Castiel stalked forward. “You are the righteous man and the angels have work for you.” He reached out and scooped Dean up in his arms, his hand falling once more against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean tried to struggle, but it was useless, the angel was far stronger than him. He watched in amazement as Cas spread his wings wide, and with a few flaps, they were shooting up. Dean took one last look beneath him, unbelieving that he was leaving the monstrous hellscape.

He looked back towards the angel when he heard a single sentence called out. “Dean Winchester is saved!” In the next instant, Dean slipped into unconsciousness for the first time in forty years, his last thought, “Thanks Cas for saving me.”

#suptober20 #My writing #Dean meets Cas

16 notes · View notes

67midnightwriter · 4 years

Text

Angel Down

A/N: I wrote this for @impala-dreamer Make Me Feel It Challenge, and it took a little longer than expected, but I really hope you consider it worth the wait! Thank you @thoughtslikeaminefield and @boondoctorwho for the read through, and the amazing aesthetic.

W/C: 2,887

Dean x Cas

Warnings: Angst, Heartache, Gore, Nightmares, Soul-Crushing

Summary: Cas takes on the Mark of Chuck, and Dean makes him a promise.

It wasn’t something that had hit him out of nowhere, a life-changing bolt of lightning sent from Zeus. Rather, it was something that came second nature, a reaction rather than revelation, akin to how the human brain knows instinctively to take in oxygen. Dean had heard somewhere you couldn’t successfully drown yourself, and while he had never tested that himself, he knew trying to stop loving Castiel would feel about the same, and that he had put to trial. Time and time again they had pushed each other away, been torn apart, lost to the other, but in the end, they came back together.

“It has to be you.” Cas’s gruff voice was loud compared to the soft clinks of spell ingredients hitting the bowl. Dean huffed, not answering an unspoken question he refused to acknowledge. He tore herbs mechanically, losing himself in the instructions on the aged paper to his left. Cas reached out and laid a hand on top of his, and Dean noticed his own hands were trembling. “Dean.” The tone was soft and commanding, tearing Dean’s gaze from his hands and directing it to deep blue eyes. “Promise me. It has to be you.”

“It’s not going to come to that Cas.” It can’t come to that.

“Dean.” Cas’s hand grasped Dean’s wrist, warm and grounding.

Dean’s throat burned with the effort of holding back a sob. He willed his eyes dry, staring holes into the countertop, unable to meet Castiel’s gaze without a complete breakdown. The weight of the silence caused his shoulders to sag, unspoken words pushing in on him from every angle.

“Okay.” The word was vile on his lips, clinging to his throat, but he forced it out. Cas smiled softly at him, and Dean clung to it, a life preserve in an ocean of uncertain, doomed outcomes.

————

Dean’s fingers traced the raised scar on Castiel’s arm as it lay draped across his abdomen. The dark pressed in, heavy with the thoughts racing around his mind. The scar was warm, and for a moment Dean imagined it was throbbing beneath his fingers with a heartbeat all its own, a living thing he could kill. He bit his bottom lip to stop its trembling, hyper-aware of Castiel lying awake beside him, despite his deep and steady breathing.

His arm burned with phantom pains, his own Mark five years gone, and he tried to match his own breathing to Cas’s before the panic and anxiety could lock its claws into his chest. He knew that he should be happy; Chuck was locked away, the world once again lay blissfully safe and ignorant at the feet of the Winchesters, but now his world was in danger. A time bomb lay beside him, locked and loaded, with an invisible countdown and an inaudible tick.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was tender, whispered into his ear in the dark. “Something is bothering you.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying to force down the irrational emotions threatening to overflow. He inhaled, slow and deep, holding his breath, grasping at the illusion of control.

Castiel shifted, and Dean knew he was propped up on his elbow, blue eyes piercing through the darkness and searching his face. Dean let go, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he exhaled through his nose.

“What is it?” Cas reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder.

Dean could easily predict the way Cas’s brow always furrow when he’s confused, the way his head always tilts, his eyes squinting; and he couldn’t stop the desperate laugh that dissolved into a sob. He was reminded of all the times he’d glance over while they were watching a movie, or the stolen glances in the rearview mirror while they were on a case and he’d just made a comment that Castiel doesn’t understand — the ones that seem to happen fewer and fewer as they spent more and more time together.

“I’m so sorry Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked, the final wall crumbling beneath a tidal wave of pain.

He couldn’t stop the flood, couldn’t hold on anymore as the words tumbled from his lips.

He reached to anchor himself to the solid body beside him.

“It shouldn’t happen like this. You shouldn’t have to fight this. I shouldn’t have to… to lose…” Dean tightened his grip, his tongue unwilling to speak the unimaginable.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas lowered his body back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shuddering form and pulling him close. He pressed his lips to the side of Dean’s head as he cried against his neck, murmuring assurance and wordless comforting sounds.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he cried; it seemed like a lifetime had passed, and in the inky blackness of the windowless bedroom, time was but an illusion.

“Do you remember the time I used the Leviathans to become God?” Cas whispered into the dark once Dean had begun to calm.

“As if I would ever let you live down the first time you nearly destroyed the world by yourself.” Dean couldn’t see Cas, but he knew that he was smiling.

“What about the time I became human?”

Dean didn’t verbally answer, merely shifted uncomfortably. It hadn’t been one of his finest moments.

“Or the time that you carried the Mark? The time you were a demon? The time Lucifer killed-“

“What’s your point Cas?” Dean’s voice was heavy again, but he didn’t have it in him to cry anymore.

“We’ve been through tough spots before. We’ll get through this one. I have faith in you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean felt Cas shift until he was leaning over him, and Dean could feel that look Cas gave him, a mix of pure adoration and unwavering faith, the one that Dean didn’t believe he deserved, the one that said Cas believed the stars were merely the sky’s imitation of the freckles dusted across his nose, the one that made Dean shiver.

Because in that look, a being who had been around to see the world spun into existence saw Dean as the most beautiful creation. Dean swallowed with what he was sure was an audible click, a vain attempt to choke down the lump in his throat.

“Promise?”

Dean felt like a child, a frail paper doll, like one wrong move would tear him into unfixable pieces. Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s, and Dean lost himself in the steady warmth, the presence of him, the constant. With a thousand touches Castiel promised, until Dean’s mind stopped racing, until all Dean could think about was now, until he slept.

———

Dean clutched the boy to his chest, putting himself between the child and the danger. He pressed the boy’s head in the crook of his shoulder, murmuring comfort that was drowned out by the screams coming from behind him. He rocked back and forth, whether for his own comfort or the boy’s he wasn’t sure. The boy’s name came to him in a flash of thought — Dylan — and he collected himself enough to remember to warn him as he felt the telltale change in the atmosphere of the room, a crackle of static that he could never be sure was actually sounding or just imagined.

“Close your eyes, Dylan. Close your eyes.”

Dean squeezed his own eyes shut, pressing Dylan’s head even tighter to his neck, and suddenly the world was red beneath his closed lids. He felt a warm, thick splatter against his back, heard the droplets splash across him in the sudden silence. Dylan was crying, but alive, and Dean held on to that as a win. Dean cracked his eyes open, blinking away spots as the glow in the room faded. He looked over his shoulder at Castiel, internally wincing as he stood in the center of the room, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes and Mark still white with diminishing power.

Dean shook away the thought that bringing Cas on hunts was like bringing an A-Bomb to a water gunfight. He pushed away the uncertainty of whether or not the use of power was helping Cas control his urges or making them worse. He studied Sam’s pale face, the terror in his brother’s eyes that he prayed wasn’t mirrored in his own.

The whiskey made it easier to pretend. The way Castiel touched him in the dark made it easier to believe. How Castiel still loved him made it easier to lie.

———

The girl was screaming, and Dean knew she wouldn’t stop. He had learned long ago, in the ghost of a deeply buried past, that when a person was skinned, they never stopped screaming. He watched, transfixed, as her muscles flexed against the bonds that held her, shiny with still pumping blood. Her eyes rolled in her head, desperate for lids to clamp shut, but they lay upon the dirty, bloodstained floor, nothing more than two pieces of flesh upon a pile of stained ivory skin. He could see a red hair ribbon still tied around her soft brunette curls, now flowing out of a deflated scalp.

Her eyes locked on him, unbridled terror giving way to a focused desperation. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but she had no tongue or lips left to form words. Fresh drops of blood splattered on the ground as she groaned, and it was a sound Dean didn’t need words to translate. He was back in training, standing before Alistair’s victims, learning the most unspeakable talents, his gut twisting at the ease with which he wielded these weapons, guilt laying heavy on his shoulders at the desperate need for praise.

Please, please kill me before he comes back.

But they weren’t in Hell, Alistair was dead, and this time Dean’s hands were empty. Clean and empty.

A door shut behind them, tearing her stare from Dean, her screaming starting again at their company. Dean turned, the blood draining from his face as he took in the familiar suit, the deep blue eyes, the Mark bright red against the skin of a forearm that had cradled his head on countless nights.

Dean jolted awake, his heart galloping in his chest, his blood cold, the screams still surrounding him. His screams surrounding him. Dean clamped his mouth shut, teeth digging painfully into his bottom lip as he forced himself back into reality. He reached out for Cas, adrenaline shooting through his veins as his hand fell on a cold bed.

Dean threw the sheets back, stepping into a pair of boxers and grabbing his robe on his way through the door. The slaps of his bare feet echoed down the empty halls, quickening as his mind played over the worst of what he might find, his most recent nightmare included. Every empty room, every unanswered call pushed him faster, until he finally came to the room he avoided the most. Inside was another Ma’Lak box Castiel had insisted they build, and here Dean found him, sitting next to it, eyes, hand, and Mark glowing as he added or strengthened its wards yet another night.

Dean let out the breath, the ever-building pressure of anxiety deflating with it. He clenched his fists to stop the tremble of fear in his hands.

“Dean?” Concern softened Cas’s voice, and Dean’s shoulders dropped a little more. Here was his Cas, the Cas that made it easy to pretend, the angel that cushioned the lies. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I just…” Dean stumbled over his words, unwilling and unable to admit his fears completely. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

The silence between them was thick. Castiel opened his mouth, looking from Dean to the Ma’Lak box, an explanation on the top of his tongue, and Dean pleaded for him not to speak. They were tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, and Dean was certain that with any wrong word it would trample him.

“Would you like me to come back to bed with you?”

Dean’s knees felt weak with relief, and suddenly the box seemed like a looming monster. He felt as though it was sucking the air out of the room, and he wanted to rescue Cas from it, take him far away from here, but he knew it brought Cas a sense of comfort, to be warding and rewarding his tomb.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping much anymore anyway. I’ll be in the kitchen with some coffee.”

He left the room without waiting for a reply, forcing himself to walk calmly away from the room.

Sam found Dean in the kitchen, a mug of cold coffee between his hands. The clock on the coffee maker read 6:03am, and Dean had watched every minute of the last two hours tick by wasted, felt them drip through his hands like water. Yet he was utterly unable to move, to read, to be of use. He watched another minute tick over, felt another pebble of guilt land on his shoulders.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice was cautious because Sam’s words were dangerous. Sam was sharpened rationality, and Dean had no armor left.

“We were supposed to have time.” Dean’s voice was low and level, his knuckles white around his mug.

“We still have time, Dean.”

Another lie, another false hope. They hung like strings in the air, and Dean was tangled in their web, not sure anymore if he was unable to get out or just unwilling. The truth danced on top, ready to devour him where he lay entrapped. Dean lifted his mug and brought it down hard on the counter. He felt the crack, watched helplessly as his coffee began to seep out, drop by drop beneath his hands, pooling on the cool steel before spilling off the edge.

He felt like he was watching a supermotion of his angel, losing himself drop by drop out of a crack that wasn’t his fault, no matter how hard Dean tried to keep him together. He held on, willing the coffee to stop until the mug was empty. He shook the foreshadowing from his mind, and he cleaned up his mess, just like he promised.

He walked out of the kitchen, dirty cracked mug in hand.

Sam said nothing.

———

Dean was waiting for his love to run out. He was waiting for that moment he would look at Cas and no longer see his future, no longer see stability. He was waiting for the guilt to subside, but instead he was drowning.

“Would you condemn the world for the love of two people?” Sam had asked one night after Cas had electrified an entire lake to kill a Rawhead, and then resurrected all of the fish.

“It’s Cas.” Dean had answered, as though it in itself was an answer.

“Not anymore, Dean.” Sam watched Cas over Dean’s shoulder, and even still Dean could tell Sam’s eyes were focused on the Mark. “Not anymore.”

Still Dean waited, searching in vain, barely holding a monster at bay with lies, building walls out of plaster filler instead of stone. He pushed and prodded until they were standing on the edge, and then he jumped. He jumped without fear, because for so long Cas’s wings had been there to catch him. But broken wings do not fly.

The grit on the ground bit into Dean’s palms as they took the brunt of his fall. It smelled strongly of iron, and cooling blood was gathering in puddles around them. Dean heaved himself back on to his feet, gaining his balance moments before Cas slammed into him. He hit the wall, his head thudding against the concrete and causing dark spots to dance across his line of sight.

Cas’s hand wrapped around his throat, and began to squeeze. Dean stared into the face before him, the face of a monster. There was nothing left of his Cas, the real Cas. He had pushed him on for too long, begged him to keep up the lie, but now he had to face the truth.

“Cas,” he choked, gasping, “I’m so sorry.” Castiel’s skin gave with a pop as the knife slid in, the potion on its blade immobilizing him long enough for Dean to get free and snap the Archangel shackles into place. “I lied.”

———

Hearts don’t break, Dean Winchester has learned this just as he learned that ghosts can’t cross salt rings, demons can’t drink holy water, and shifters can’t wear silver.

He knows life would be easier if they did.

Souls break, minds break, wills break. But hearts? They take a lick and keep on beating. They bleed, and ooze, and crack, but they never fully break. They ache deep inside, in a place where even the burn of whiskey can’t reach. Sometimes time can scab the wound, heal them until only a fine scar remains as an ever-constant reminder, just another line in the story of life.

But not all wounds close; some keep seeping, pump after pump pushing out drop after drop, each thump an agitation to an ever festering jagged hole, right up until the end. Dean watched his reflection appear on the water, a ghostly image of someone he didn’t know how to be.

A tear dropped from Dean’s cheek and chased the metal box, just another drop in the ocean.

Taglist:

@impala-dreamer @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-idjit-95 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @missjenniferb @tumbler-tidbits @maddiepants @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @cracksinthewalls

#Destiel #DESTIEL ANGST #angst #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #dean x castiel

90 notes · View notes

watchingtheroad · 4 years

Text

Be Your Run-To

Damen struggles in the aftermath of his injury and the reality of losing his remaining family. Laurent helps him cope.

Post-Canon | Hurt/Comfort | Mourning | First Time Bottoming |

POV Switches: Damen >> Laurent >> Nikandros >> Damen

Damen watched as Laurent dissected another letter from Arles over his makeshift desk at Ios, a table and chair he had dragged into what was now Damen’s office space. Laurent loved it for the massive library attached. He had already brought in an entire new shelf on which he would display the books he planned to read separately from the ones he did not. It was very charmingly involved.

Damen loved it for the memories of his childhood—sitting on the King’s lap and reading as a boy, growing and studying alongside him as he worked at his desk—and hated it for the exact same reason.

Reality was strange to think about, stranger for it to be so. That was his father’s desk. His father’s books. His father’s rooms. His father’s throne. His father’s crown. His father’s city. His father’s kingdom.

His father was dead. His brother was dead, buried in the royal crypt with family rather than treated as the gullible traitor he proved himself to be.

Damen had thought he could save them both, will them to life and reason.

He had been wrong.

Grief crashed over him in inconvenient waves in the weeks immediately after his own injury and Kastor’s bitter end. It was different without the constant drama of plotting against the Regent and running around the continent with Laurent. Forced to endlessly sit and heal, Damen had time to dwell in his misery—entirely too much, arguably, that drained him to exhaustion in moments meant for rest—all while continuing plans to stabilize his own government and attempting to solidify an official unity with Vere.

It was quite a lot of work, investigation and tedious conversation: drafting documents, arguing more treason and laws, deciding which policies would be adopted kingdom-wide or remain independent to either Akielos or Vere. The matter of slavery was the most pressing to attend to, and one on which Damen and Laurent vehemently agreed. Total abolishment was the goal. It was a matter of implementation, and not every kyros in Akielos was as amenable to change as Nikandros.

They spent the majority of their days in grueling meetings once Damen was lucid, which began at his bedside, then expanded to common rooms as Damen grew stronger. Laurent had done an invaluable job at handling things when he was not, but there was still substantial progress to be made. He had named Nikadros Kyros in Ios, summoned the few, trustworthy members of the Veretian Council, new appointments included.

It added another layer of difficulty on both sides, given Vere’s chaotic political climate and Kastor’s treason. It was hard to know exactly all the places evil had touched their kingdom, and Laurent’s extended stay in Ios was a disadvantage in finding out and achieving true peace for Vere. None of the Veretians in Ios liked it there, and none of the Veretians in Vere liked that their future King was still away. Laurent’s focus should have been that, not shouldering Damen’s burdens beyond necessity.

As it was, Laurent refused to be parted from him until he was well again. Damen had been adamant for some time that he was well again, despite some moderate discomfort during his deep breathing exercises and soreness that lingered with certain movements. He seemed to be singularly convinced of that. Even Nikandros was on Laurent’s side, a rarity of astronomical proportion.

Under different circumstances, Damen would’ve already progressed his training to more rigorous levels, used physical exertion and pain as a distraction for everything else, then pushed through until it became tolerable. The lack thereof was making him incredibly irritable, but Laurent insisted he take it torturously easy, fretting about him every step.

From the look on Laurent’s face, it appeared whoever wrote the latest letter from Vere was returning the favor in making one irritable.

“What’s the matter?” Damen asked.

With reluctance, Laurent said, “I have to leave for Vere. The people have started congregating outside Arles, which I suspect is diplomatic phrasing for rioting. Resistance from the Regent’s leftover filth. Fucking brilliant.”

Innocently enough, Damen noted, “Going back sooner would have eliminated that.”

“Just what I wanted to hear, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice like the edge of a knife. “Thank you for your helpful counsel.”

“Laurent, I didn’t mean—” Damen started, then stopped, closing his mouth with an internally audible clack of teeth. He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I only meant that Vere needs to see its King. They’ll settle as soon as you enter the city.”

“Do you want me to go so badly?” Laurent asked. “If it will help, you can say it. Let us not pretend I haven’t been worrying you mad.”

“You haven’t,” Damen fibbed.

He had, at times, but only regarding certain things. Being fussed over had never been something Damen was particularly keen on.

Damen said, “You’re the best part of every day I live.”

The former did not make the latter untrue. Their stolen moments were the only thing that kept Damen holding himself together. The source of his foul mood wasn’t Laurent; his concern came from a place of love, Damen knew well enough. It was the circumstances, a result of sadness and lethargy and days and days of complete uselessness that Damen was unaccustomed to and despised to his core. It wasn’t fair to lay his frustrations on Laurent simply because he had nowhere else to aim them, but it’s what he had done.

“Am I?” Laurent asked, the prick self-deprecation clear and sharp. “You haven’t even pretended you want me to stay to spare my feelings.”

Laurent was talking nonsense. Damen ached to erase the doubt in his voice. He went to him, yielding before crossing completely into Laurent’s space where he sat at his table. It was clear when Damen needed to tread more carefully, when Laurent’s defenses were momentarily raised. Damen fancied himself safely inside them, not out in the cold. Still, he waited, until a nearly-imperceptible nod and a softening of eyes gave him the permission he sought.

He slid Laurent’s chair away from the table to better get at him, kneeling in front of him on the floor. Laurent looked at him as though he might break during the mere act of kneeling, but thankfully, held his tongue.

“Laurent, I don’t want you to go,” Damen explained. “These cuffs on our wrists?” He held Laurent’s hand in one of his, and with the other, let his fingers trail across gold. “Everything they stand for, I want. You, I want. But I don’t want you to stay here to the detriment of Vere because you think I need to be watched like an invalid. I am fi—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re fine,” Laurent stopped him. “You’ve said that since the moment you very nearly bled to death under my hand, through every complication. Are you so stubborn you cannot see you’re the least reliable regarding your own condition? Your physical state is not my only concern—” Laurent took his face in both hands, his touch gentle as he leaned forward to press his lips to Damen’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ve not been yourself, Damianos. I’m worried about your mind, your spirit.”

Damen clutched Laurent’s wrists, letting out a ragged breath. The whole truth spoken aloud unsettled him to the bone, made everything he fought to bury swell up inside, threatening to burst through his skin. His voice was strained, on the verge of disproportionate emotion, “It’s not you, Laurent. I swear it. It’s me. I’m—”

Broken.

He thought he had been managing, that the moments of shared happiness between them would disguise the torment in his heart.

Laurent cradled Damen’s head to his chest, and Damen’s arms found their way around him.

“You’re grieving, Damen. Your opportunity was stolen from you after your father was killed. It’s perfectly normal to need that time now, after everything. When Auguste died, I—” Damen sensed Laurent hit a wall and bear through it in the next breath. “It took months for the agony to subside enough that I felt I could breathe again.”

It only added to Damen’s guilt.

“Your brother was good, Laurent—” And I took him from you, Damen thought. “Mine tried to kill me more times than I’m likely aware of to accurately count. And my father— You hated my father. He was a ruthless conqueror, and I worshipped him in blissful ignorance.”

“My opinions about Theomedes are irrelevant. He was your father, your only living parent, your King,” Laurent listed, pressing a kiss to his hair, then another. “What you feel is acceptable, no matter how conflicting…There’s no proper strategy in mourning, my love, but you do not have to do it alone in silence. I am here.”

Damen felt his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t known were trickling free. He buried his face in Laurent’s chest, a choked sob escaping with his words. “It’s impossible to be here, Laurent. Everywhere I look, I see them. I feel like—”

An imposter.

Laurent was the last person who needed to hear that from him. Damen had been groomed for kingship his entire life and felt fraudulent when faced with it now amidst his sadness, particularly having evolved so drastically from who he last was in Ios. Even so, he couldn’t fathom having it thrust upon him as a boy as Laurent did, his grief unimaginable and obstacles unnumbered, the unspeakable abuse he endured.

“Tell me,” Laurent coaxed, his fingers moving in soothing strokes against his scalp. “Let me inside this head of yours.”

A deep, steadying breath.

“There are times I feel Ios doesn’t belong to me. It’s as though my father’s still here, alive in every hall and chamber. I’m so far from the Prince Akielos once knew,” Damen confessed.

Laurent lifted Damen’s head to meet his eyes, delicately wiping beneath them with his thumbs. His smile was soft, compassionate. His eyes shone with love Damen felt unworthy of receiving.

“Damianos, my King,” Laurent said, with a reverence in his voice that throbbed in Damen’s chest and ached through his ribs. “You are twice the leader and ten times the man your father and brother were. Not all change is unwelcome. If you stepped onto the balcony now, Ios would chant your name in the streets. Not your father’s. Not Kastor’s. They adore you. I adore you. Your effortless confidence, the power you hold in your body and words… I aspire to it. Your brother played at ruling. You were born to it. Akielos is yours. These ghosts won’t haunt you forever.”

His words were fleeting warmth wrapped around Damen’s body. He longed to feel it deeper, for them to speak to something solid inside him and hold.

“You’re kinder than I deserve,” Damen said. Then, eager to shift the conversation away from himself, split open as he was, he returned, “It was born in you, too. You’re brilliant, Laurent. I’ve never known a mind like yours. Arles will receive you with open arms, whenever you choose to return. I’ve seen how your people look at you.”

They had lined the streets of every town in Vere, ecstatic to catch a mere glimpse of Laurent as he rode through on their journey to Akielos. If there was residual unrest in the capital due to the Regent, Damen imagined the faction was small.

“If it hasn’t been ripped apart brick by brick before I arrive,” Laurent mused, with an exaggerated sigh. He caressed Damen’s face from brow to jaw. “You look exhausted. Let’s have a hot bath, shall we? Wait for me in your chambers, and I’ll attend you? I have one thing left to do here.”

Damen nodded. That did sound nice.

He shifted to stand, pausing to kiss Laurent on his way. His breath caught, lips trembling as the kiss deepened. His emotions were all out of sorts. Nothing meant more to him than making Laurent happy, merging their lives into one as Damen felt bound to him. He wished to feel better, and he wished to do it beside Laurent.

“Thank you, Laurent… Hurry to me,” Damen said, and because it was all he could muster while keeping his composure, he hoped it conveyed everything he meant.

[THE REST IS HERE]

#captive prince #Capri #damen x laurent #cp fic #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #first time bottoming #hurt/comfort #post kings rising

59 notes · View notes

etlunainmorte · 4 years

Text

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

***

🌙 To You Who Rejected Me 🌙

***

"Now, where could that thing be?" Griffon mused to himself as he flew high above the shores of Delphi, looking for that vital something that his master lost when he dived into the ocean to escape those fire - wielding Elves attacking him. The demonic bird has been searching for almost an hour but, with no such luck. "Honestly, it could turn up just about anywhere!" He complained in utter frustration. "This is hopeless!"

The bird was about to give up on his search when he noticed something gleaming at the corner of his eye. He looked down and squinted those golden eyes of his until he finally saw the thing. Indeed, it was right there, washed up on the shore and almost covered with sand and sea weeds.

There it was, V's antique metal cane!

"There ya are!" Griffon flew down to fetch the thing, at the same time shooing the sea gulls that were trying to claim it as their own like it was some kind of a rare sea artifact, almost fighting over it. "HEY, I SAID, SHOO!" The familiar screeched once more as he let out a weak electrical current to scare the noisy birds away, and it worked to perfection.

"Hoho! Thought I'd never see ya again!" Griffon opened his talons wide, ready to pick up V's cane,...

"What in the - ?!" The bird muttered the moment his talons came into contact with the metal cane. It felt somehow hot, and not just warm. He was not sure whether his eyes were playing tricks on him but, the thing did seem to glow. And finally, the metal cane seemed to tremble a bit against his talons, like it was alive. Sentient.

Still hovering above the sand with V's metal cane in his talons, the demonic bird squinted his eyes in suspicion. Master and familiar alike knew that the cane was nothing but an old piece of metal, and not a source of any kind of power, demonic or not. An aid for V's,... disability. Nothing more.

However, despite that, Griffon could feel something coming from the cane. Like it was emanating some form of unknown power. He just knew it deep within his core.

But, being unimaginably tired after what happened last night, Griffon ignored the cane, ruffled his feathers, and flew back to where Dante and his master were.

"I'm heckin’ tired." Griffon uttered as his wings took him to his destination - the ruins of Apollo's temple. "I'll let Shakespeare deal with ya."

"Your foot seem fine to me, V." Dante said for the third time since morning.

"I could've sworn I felt this,... excruciating pain when I was attacked,... "

"Well, your foot seem,... fine to me!" And that was the fourth time since morning. "Look, V: you're a son of Sparda. Maybe the Demon blood's finally kickin' in and healed your wounds?"

And to this, V only shook his head. It's impossible for him, after all.

No matter how much or how intense Dante stared at his brother's allegedly injured left foot, he just couldn't find anything wrong with it, save for the missing pair of the poet's old gladiator sandals, and the frayed, almost tattered end of his pants, like something burned it. If anything, to Dante's eyes, V only seemed to have lost the other pair of his unspeakably tacky footwear. And a good riddance to it, if he may add! To the legendary Devil Hunter, it seemed so difficult to move and fight Demons with such footwear. And he would never deny that fact, despite knowing that he could hurt his brother's feelings for having such a questionable taste in fashion.

On the other hand, to V, it was an entirely different story. For, only last night, he swore his foot got burned badly due to the attack. So badly and so painful, he was actually scared to look at it.

And now, as he looked, no, stared, at his foot with disbelief, he couldn't help but feel utterly mystified. First, there was this strange presence that saved him from the enemies, and now this.

It's as if nothing happened to his foot, at all!

And honestly? V could not believe his sheer, dumb luck.

Or, was it even luck?

After all, since those Elves, and her, entered their lives, V and his brother experienced nothing but the unusual. The unknown. And he felt that he must learn to accept such things. Get used to them, so to speak.

V pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and knitting his eyebrows as a helpless sigh escaped his parched lips. Well, there's no use raking up the past. They must focus on the present. They must focus on the now. And for now, they must focus on getting to the Elven world in one piece. The portal led them to Delphi of all places, and V knew it meant something. They were getting really close to their destination. And he knew they would face an even greater danger when they get there. Well, it's not like the Elves would give them a warm welcome or anything. They're still wanted persons, after all.

Opening his eyes once more, he noticed Griffon flying towards them, finally carrying his lost metal cane. He gave a weak smile as the loyal familiar gave the cane back to him and landed on his waiting arm.

Then, V noticed something strange. So did Dante.

"No wisecracks or something?" Dante asked the demonic bird as he crossed his arms and tapped his boot on the ground.

"You do seem a bit quiet." V added, raising his eyebrow as he looked at his familiar.

"Ahh, V," Griffon stuttered, unsure how to begin. " ... didn't ya notice anythin',... weird?"

"Pardon?" The poet asked as Griffon's eyes wandered to the metal cane in his right hand.

"That thing!" The demonic bird squawked.

"Ugh, now what - ?" Dante began when a woman approached them, getting their attention and making them drop their conversation, much to Griffon's frustration.

"Can we help you, lady?" With a flashy grin, the younger brother graciously asked the woman, who was smiling nervously as her eyes went back and forth from him, to V, to the strange avian on the poet's arm.

"I, ahh,... " The lady stuttered, not sure how to address the situation.

"Yes?" And Dante didn't seem to help with the situation, at all. The woman became somewhat more nervous than before she approached them.

Inhaling through her nose and clearing her throat, she began. “Yes, well," She said, pointing at Griffon with a trembling finger. “The other guests are getting anxious of your,… ahh,… pet bird."

"Is that so?" Dante answered with a boisterous voice. "Don't you worry a thing about our pet bird! You see, he's a rare - "

“I see. Don’t worry.”

All of a sudden, V heard a clear and distinct voice, overlapping with the woman and his brother's voices.

“These are my loyal,… companions. They would bring no harm to any of the innocent people here. That,…”

V's hands went up to his temples as he tried to distinguish and trace where the voice was actually coming from, when the voice itself took over his hearing, drowning out the other voices, and all the other noises going on around him.

“I can assure you.”

The lady let out a helpless laugh, then nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.” She hastily moved away from Dante to give herself a safe distance from him and Griffon and clumsily pointed at the breathtaking horizon. “Well, now, enjoy your stay here at Delphi!”

The woman, being proud of herself for handling the difficult situation, walked away with a huge smile on her face. And Dante, being a huge flirt, started following the woman.

However, when his brother stepped away, V noticed something taking his place where he stood.

V's eyes narrowed for a second for what he saw. He closed his eyes, rubbed the tiredness and fatigue off them, and opened them once more. However, despite that, the strange figure was still there.

V saw,... himself.

And he, the other him, was drinking in the beautiful sight of Delphi's ruins around him.

“So, V,…” He heard Griffon ask all of a sudden. “Are we going to look for that thing there?”

"I'm sorry - ?" V turned to his left to look at Griffon but, the demonic bird was nowhere to be found.

“Not this time.” V turned towards his other self at the sound of his voice and noticed Griffon, himself, flying towards him. “For now, I need to take a rest and reflect upon our journey, so far.”

V almost fell off the old bench he was sitting on.

That voice,...

... it really was him.

But,... how?!

“The Yamato really does wonders, huh?” the Griffon who was with the other V said, then chuckled, ruffling his own feathers in delight with tiny shakes. “Who knew it would go directly to you and not to that kid Nero?”

"The Yamato?" His other self whispered as V followed him and his familiar on their way towards the ruins of Apollo's temple. What has the Yamato got to do with all this?

“For one thing, I’ am the rightful owner of the Yamato, not the boy Nero.” The other V answered as he skipped some rocks along the pathway that led to the ruins of the temple. “I think it was fitting that it answered to me. But, as grateful as I’ am that it was returned to me,” he said, stopping at what looked like the remains of an altar. “I must not abuse my fragile body by using it over and over to transport us. You see,” He began tracing the remains with the tip of his cane. “It consumes way too much of my,… demonic power. I must be wary of that fact.”

Of course, V thought as he observed what the other V was doing. I don't have,... that much demonic power.

“Aha, so that’s why we had to hitch that stinkin’ bus ride with that awful bitch! Didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut!” And the other Griffon sounded less rude, either.

“Now, be nice to our little human.” V reprimanded the demonic bird. “We will ’hitch’ on the same vehicle on the way back.”

“Ugh! Not again,…”

V watched in amusement how this other Griffon threw tantrums. However, his other self drew V's attention back. He was looking at the altar with an unreadable expression, tracing the edges of the marble altar with his cane.

Then, all of a sudden, he started reciting the few lines of a poem that was very dear to him. It was,...

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

His mother's favorite poem,...

V closed his eyes and recited the old poem along with his other self.

“She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

His eyes closed, his senses surrendered to the vision before him, he allowed nostalgia to take over his entire being. Of his mother reading this same poem to him, of her tales about a Princess named Cassandra who was gifted by the God Apollo with the curse of predicting the future,...

... of this hidden gateway of Delphi where she went to after being rejected and stoned by her own people,...

V opened his eyes, feeling something pulling him back from his reverie to the present, like a powerful force.

It was then when he was greeted by the sight of a morphing demonic entity right before his other self, who he assumed was one of his familiars.

He watched in awe as the familiar morphed into multiple pulsing dark vines that filled the entire altar. Him and his other self took a step back as roses of all shapes and sizes sprouted from the dark vines, and when his other self pulled something from the largest rose, his eyes grew wide with shock.

It was the Yamato, only it was glowing in a very unusual way.

V wanted to listen more, to know more, to watch what happens next but, the vision itself began getting blurry as their voices became more and more warped, like a disrupted signal of an old television. The vision, and the voices, warped and warped, until only a distorted and blurry version was left. And before the vision entirely vanished, V saw his other self raising the sword,...

... and slicing the air before him, creating a portal that led him somewhere,...

"V!" He heard Dante's voice from afar, like he was being called by him from the other end of a long tunnel. "V!" He felt a strong hand go down on his shoulder, making him turn around. "What are you doing? I was looking all over for you!"

The poet could barely believe what just happened. He was back, and he felt like he just woke up from a very long dream.

"I, ahh,... " V stuttered, turning back to the altar and seeing nothing there.

"Hey, V," Griffon, who just landed on his waiting arm, asked. " ... are you okay?"

"The gateway,... " The poet uttered, the vision he saw still crystal clear on his mind.

"What gateway?" Dante questioned.

"There's a gateway here." V reiterated as he walked closer towards the altar where his other self vanished. "It was opened using the Yamato."

"How did you know that?" With a raised eyebrow, Dante asked in confusion. "And besides, even if that's true, we can't really use the Yamato. I mean, it's with its owner on the other side of the globe right now."

"We can't rely on Vergil this time, I know." V answered as thoughts and ideas ran through his head like an unstoppable drill. "But, what if the gate,... was left open? What if it was never closed?"

Dante's mouth fell open at the possibility. Only a slight drawback made him close it again and shake his head in disapproval. "But, I see no gate here! All I see in this place are rocks and statues and ruins and tourists everywhere."

V turned to Griffon, who drew back at the intensity in his master's facial features. "Do it."

"Do what?" The familiar questioned.

"Distract the people while I look for the portal."

"How could I do that?! How am I - ?!"

"Alright! I'll do it!" Dante offered, turning away from them and walking away from the altar as he began singing something. And it's working. The tourists, especially the ladies, started listening to him and flocking before him. "I'm lying alone with my head on the phone, thinking of you 'till it hurts,... "

V grabbed this opportunity to look for the portal. He can't be wrong, the vision can't be wrong! They must get to the Elven world and he would do whatever it takes to get there.

He will do whatever it takes to get to her and fix this huge mess that was messing with their lives,...

It was then when he noticed something small and gleaming right before him. He reached out a single finger to touch it, and lo and behold, the small gleam made a tiny ripple that reflected so many bright colors. Like a prism. Another touch of his finger produced a huge ripple, revealing its true nature in all its entirety. Indeed, it was a gate. In the form of a curtain that was seemingly made of glass that reflected light like numerous precious gems.

"Whoa! That looks so unreal!" Griffon, who watched the entire thing with curious eyes, said in awe. "How did you know all this, V?!"

"I'll explain later." The poet answered. "For now, we should press on."

"I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you - " Dante sang with much gusto, wowing his audience, when he suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He stopped singing and turned around to see V beckoning for him to come join him and Griffon. The Devil Hunter turned back to his audience, made an incredibly believable shocked expression, and pointed at the sky. "Thunderstorm! Incoming thunderstorm! Run and hide for your lives!"

The people instantly believed him, scrambling and running all over the place to shield themselves from Dante's imaginary thunderstorm. The younger brother took this opportunity to join V.

"How in the world - ?!" Dante began questioning at the sight of the translucent gateway but, he was cut short as Griffon went behind him and started pushing him towards the gate.

"I'll explain later! We must hurry!" V ordered, then went through the curtain, looking as if he just vanished into thin air.

"Let's get goin', lover boy!" Griffon squawked, grabbing onto Dante's shoulders with his talons.

"I swear I need to go to therapy after all this." The Devil Hunter said as he, too, went through the curtain and vanished.

***

🌙 Finally! And this one took longer than expected. Enjoy!😁😁😁❤❤❤ 🌙

🌙 Thank you so much to these lovelies, @dreaming-gamer , @la-vita and @thottyonmainsquid .❤❤❤ 🌙

***

A few moments later, Dante arrived at the other side. But, his path was blocked by V, himself, who was standing still, his back turned away from him.

"You alright there, V?" Dante asked as he scratched his temple in confusion. "Aren't we - ?"

"Yes, we are." V cut him off, raising his metal cane and using it to point at something before the two of them. "We have finally arrived."

The younger brother followed V's line of sight, and what he saw before him simply took his breath away.

"Holy mama - !" Dante breathed in awe at the marvelous sight.

***

🌙

***

#devil may cry 5 #dmc 5 #vitale #to you who rejected me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 2 #the translucent gateway

25 notes · View notes

highqueenofelfhame · 4 years

Text

if i had a soul to steal - twelve.

as always before we get started: thank you to my sun and stars @starseternalnighttriumphant (who happens to be sitting next to me) for literally being the only reason I get anything done and get things even a little organized. she helped me map out this chapter and part of the next and i don’t know what i would do without her. if you’re not following her - you should be, and you should be reading her fics by clicking here to go to her master list. my favorite is bad intentions because i’m a slut for rowan calling aelin Golden Girl.) anyway, lets jump right into it.

It was late. A few hours past midnight and Rowan had finally succeeded in soothing Aelin to sleep after the shocking revelation that had shaken the both of them. Now, he stood in front of the conspiracy board she had so cleverly crafted with pictures and string and handwritten notes that were crumpled and smudged with ink.

Rowan tried to imagine what it was like for his wife to have such thick blank spaces in her mind, massive walls of obsidian that kept her from remembering what had really happened to her. And to think she had killed someone. Rowan knew it had to have been with good reason— Aelin wasn’t a murderer, she was—

A blood curdling scream had him flying to the bedroom. The gun at his side was drawn and pointed as he all but kicked down the door and swept the room but the only threat seemed to be whatever it was that Aelin thought she was seeing or hearing or feeling.

“ROWAN!” Her eyes were wide and wild. The way she was screaming was raw and primal that whatever threat she perceived had to be shaking her to her absolute core. She screamed his name again, the sound inhuman. It was purely animal the way she was screaming for him, the way she was begging the invisible threat to let him go. That she would do anything, anything—

“Fireheart,” he said as calm as he could, despite the flame roaring through his veins. Carefully, he placed his gun on the table and approached her, hands out in front of him defensively. “Love, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me?”

“Rowan?” Broken. Both syllables of his name were broken as she sobbed, and reached blindly in the direction of him. “Did he hurt you? What did he do? I said I would— I said —” she sobbed again when her hands touched his abdomen and her forehead fell to rest on his chest. The way she was speaking told him that she wasn’t here, not really. Aelin was somewhere else entirely, somewhere that he couldn’t pull her out of until she was released from the hold her mind had taken over her.

“Tell me what you see, love. Tell me what you hear.” Rowan took her face in his hands gently and tilted her head back to look at her, to really look at her. Devastation and exhaustion was written all over her features, features that were drained of color. Even her eyes— those brilliant Ashryver eyes— seemed dim and almost empty. This nightmare, this hallucination, whatever it was felt entirely like the real thing to her, he realized. “Can you see me?” She nodded, brow furrowing. “Tell me what you see. What you hear. And what you feel.”

“It’s cold. Sometimes it’s so hot that I can’t breathe but today it’s— can’t you feel how cold it is? I feel like I’m going to freeze to death,” her voice was barely a whisper, eyes following the trail of something Rowan could not see. Where he touched her arms, her hands, she was clammy. Her skin was cold and damp like her body was struggling to regulate itself.

“The floor—”

“What kind of floor?” He hadn’t meant to cut her off but it could be important information.

“It’s concrete. It’s— I— it’s all concrete. You don’t see it?” Not as important as he would have liked, but she could believe that she was in the room he found her in. She was frowning again as her glassed-over eyes scanned the room, scanned what she knew to be hard and damp concrete when in reality she was kneeling on a soft mattress in the middle of their cabin in the woods. “It’s—”

But then she stopped talking and froze up completely, screamed Rowan’s name like she was about to lose him so he did the only thing he could think of that might possibly ground her. He grabbed her face and kissed her— a slow and sweet kiss that had her tight muscles melting under his touch.

“I’ve got you, love. I’m here. We’re okay.”

“We’re— I’m going crazy,” she breathed, pressing her face into his neck and squeezing her eyes shut. A sob shuddered through her body. “I’m going out of my mind. I’m going absolutely insane and you were there Rowan, you were there but you weren’t there and I wasn’t here but I was here. What happens if I get stuck in the inbetween? What happens if I lose myself completely and can’t see my way out and you’re not around to pull me out of it? What happens then?”

Rowan didn’t have an answer, and he hated it. Hated that his wife, his love, was going through such unimaginable things. Hated that being pulled out of the tank seemed to be just the beginning when it came to her story and he so desperately wanted to just end it but he didn’t know how. There were no leads on who was doing this to her, every time she tried to remember a face it as just blank. There was nothing there, as if he had sawed his way into her memory and taken the most pertinent pieces that would lead to her innocence, that would lead to her being completely and truly free.

~*~

It was a very specific fear to be scared of your own mind. To be trapped inside the cage that was your head, to not be able to escape the pain. She was a faerie trapped in an iron box, a prisoner in shackles. It was even worse when there were holes of time you couldn’t make up, holes of time where you had apparently murdered people, and not be able to remember even a second of it.

Over and over she found herself asking how she would ever come back from this. How she could ever step out of the darkness, how she could ever bathe in sunlight when she was covered in layers of oil and grime from years in captivity. Tonight had only proved it, that she would wake to unspeakable things, that she should remember unspeakable things and feel them so vividly as if she were still locked twenty feet underground in a cement hole.

How could she ever trust herself around Willow? How would she know that she wouldn’t hurt her if they slept in the same bed or napped on the couch? How could she ever trust herself to be a good mother when PTSD wrecked her so hard on a daily basis? That she tried to fight her own husband on occasion because she couldn’t tell fiction from reality?

Aelin nuzzled her face into Rowan’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and snow, breathed him in until it grounded her where she lay in his arms.

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. They were in a cabin in the woods. Not unlike the cabin she had been kept in where she had been tortured and nearly drowned to death until Rowan had pulled her out.

Aelin thrashed once in Rowan’s arms and his grip immediately tightened around her.

She was in a cement room, locked inside a tank. She had murdered at least one person. She was drowning in a tank. She had murdered a man. Blood, bright and sticky on her hands, smeared along the concrete—

No. No. She was in a cabin. In the woods. With Rowan. Deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Deep breath.

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. They were in a wood cabin in the woods just past the border of Terrasen and Adarlan. Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius was her husband. They had a daughter named Willow, who was the perfect mixture of the two of them.

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius and she would not be afraid.

~*~

Nightmare after nightmare seemed to plague Aelin for the first two hours of sleep until she finally seemed to fall into a deeper state that allowed Rowan to relax. Half the night she thrashed in his arms, only for him to tighten his grip. He would not allow anything to hurt or harm her under his watch ever again. Not even her dreams.

So when she whimpered and shook, he held her tighter, he kissed her brow, he whispered long forgotten songs into her ear that she loved so much until finally, hours later, she fell into a restful sleep. He knew because that damned wrinkle between her eyes was softened— not gone, but softened like it never was when she was awake these days. The wrinkles of her forehead weren’t present, she wasn’t frowning. The curve of her lips was almost happy, and he couldn’t help but press the softest of kisses to her mouth with an effort not to wake her.

He failed, because her eyes fluttered until they opened, but she smiled and tilted her head back slightly in request for another kiss that he was more than willing to give her. When he pulled back she rubbed her eyes sleepily and turned to glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Her voice was gravelly, if a bit raw from screaming so much earlier. Rowan shifted and grabbed the last bottle of water from his side of the bed and handed it to her. She drank it all in almost one go.

“I need to go into town for more supplies. I was going to wait until you woke up.”

“You can go now. I’ll be okay,” she said, tucking her hands beneath her head and looking up at him with tired eyes. Rowan reached out and trailed his finger down the bridge of her nose, over the shape of her lip. When she caught it with her teeth, the laugh that he huffed out was involuntary.

“I don’t want to leave you.” While your nightmares are so horrible was what he didn’t have to say, she likely knew it was what he meant. But she shrugged, waved a hand dismissively, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

“I’ll be fine for a few hours,” she whispered against his lips. “And I will prove how good I am when you get back.” Desire spread through him and he kissed her again, deepening it by sweeping his tongue into her mouth and rolling on top of her but she shoved him off with a loud cackle. “I said when you get back you horny asshole.”

Rowan chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to the base of her throat and said, “We have years to make up for.” But he got out of bed anyway.

It was early morning, and with the mist shrouding the woods he knew it would be a little chilly so he dressed to be warm, ending his ensemble with a beanie tugged low over his ears. Before he left, he leaned down to kiss her again but found her already sleeping, and instead left a kiss on her forehead, silently praying that good dreams would keep her safe until he returned.

~*~

Being an hour away from the cabin while in town had started to drive him crazy, but they had been low on food and Aelin had guzzled the last bottle of water so supplies had been a desperate need. While down in the little village, Rowan grabbed food and water, first aid supplies, and even a few different changes of clothes and undergarments in the likelihood that they would need to do laundry at some point, but he didn’t want to have to spend money they didn’t need to at a laundromat. Rowan had hopes of getting her name cleared and taking her home before they became that desperate.

Almost as soon as he drove through the clearing of trees he could tell something was wrong.

Before he even had the car stopped he noticed the front door cracked open, knowing that Aelin wasn’t dumb enough to leave it open even if she just wanted fresh air. Open doors were easier to sneak into than closed ones, and regardless of why it was open now had ice freezing Rowan’s veins until his blood stopped pumping.

He didn’t bother turning the car off, just threw it in park and ran inside. The fallen pine needles had him slipping on the terrain but he didn’t let it slow him down too much even when he nearly crashed onto the ground. A gun in each hand, he cleared the first room before bursting into the bedroom. Relief and fear flooded him all at once.

For standing at the foot of the bed was Aelin, covered in blood and silent tears with a shaky gun pointed at Fenrys Moonbeam.

@city-of-fae @maastrash @stormymeow @nish247 @shyvioletcat@highladyofnothing-yet@schmlip-scribble@abigailmadeline @a97girl@legallyhermione@illyrianbeauty @starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @hey-its-grey @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea @the-bookloving-girl @vartinehd @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @dreamcatchersimss

#iihasts #if i had a soul to steal #iihasts12 #rowaelin #rowaelin au #tog #tog au #throne of glass #throne of glass au #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius

143 notes · View notes

okleonard · 3 years

Text

TWO MONTHS. the most agonizing two months of his life. barely sleeping , barely eating. the only thing he could possibly think about was HER. he spent all of his time planning what he was going to do when he found amber -- when he found his father. the unspeakable things he had planned for him would make anyone’s skin crawl. his worst nightmare for the longest time was that his dad would find him , but lately , it had morphed into something different. even before she was taken , his nights were filled with images of amber & the horrible things his father would do to her if he ever found out about her. he never thought that it would come true, not in a million years. he was NAIVE to think this. he had underestimated his father , and now he was paying the price.

he stared blankly at the screen of his phone , his fingers wrapped too tight around the small device as his knuckles were turning white. a text , from an unknown number , displaying coordinates and a time. he had no doubts in his mind that the message was from his father. his whole body was shaking , seething with rage. today was the day. he was prepared , of course , but was he ready ? was he really ready to see what amber had to endure for the last sixty days ? if how he was raised was any indication -- he felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. he pushed those intrusive thoughts out of his head , focusing on the task ahead. he was fully armed , with enough ammunition to take out an entire militia. his father was no idiot -- he’d have his fair share of armed guards, but leo was prepared for just about anything. he’d ran through every possibility he could think of , every outcome , good or bad. he was determined to get amber out of there in one piece , even if it killed him.

he arrived at the location early , much too anxious to wait any longer. part of him , the part who hadn’t slept in three days , wanted to just barge in , guns blazing. the last shred of sanity that he had left stopped him. he had to make his father think that he was going to do this on his terms , even if he had a plan of his own about how things would play out. the message also stated that he come alone , and he listened , to some degree. no way was he coming without a backup plan , though -- which meant hiring a team of highly skilled, professional assassins. you know , in case things got ugly. they would wait for his signal , and while he was getting amber out of there , they would take out everyone standing in their way.

the place wasn’t at all what he expected. it was a small , inconspicuous house at the end of a long dirt road. the only thing that made sense about it was the fact that it was secluded , almost hidden among miles and miles of trees. somewhere nobody would hear her scream. chills ran down his spine and he shook away the thought as he got out of his car , looking like someone straight out of the special ops. dressed in all black , armed from head to toe complete with a bullet proof vest. he kept his hand on his holstered gun as he approached the house , his eyes sharp as he searched for all visible points of entry. as far as he could tell , it was shockingly unprotected. he hadn’t seen anyone , not even on his way in. it was more than a little unusual , so he would keep his guard up.

he knocked twice with his free hand before standing back , his stance defensive as his trigger finger itched to spill blood. someone he didn’t recognize answered the door , no doubt one of his father’s many henchman. he stood aside and welcomed him in with a gesture of his hand , but he said nothing. leo walked slowly past the man , keeping an eye on him as he did. he wouldn’t let anyone get the drop on him , especially not when he was this close to getting her back.

his eyes wandered until they landed on a familiar face , one that he’d been aching to forget since the last time he’d seen it. all of the anger he’d been swallowing for the past couple of months came out just then as he crossed the room , grabbing his father and throwing him against the wall. “where is she?!” he hissed out. he was quick to pull out his gun , pressing it to his temple so that he might take him a little more seriously.

“now , now , leonard... there is no reason for that kind of hostility. amber’s doing just fine. better than she’s ever been, i might say. she’s back in that bedroom, there. see for yourself.” his smug grin made leo’s skin crawl , but the mention of amber made him loosen his grip. as much as he wanted to blow his brains out right then and there , he didn’t deserve it. to die so quickly. he let go of him , but didn’t put his gun away -- not yet. he had to be sure that it wasn’t a trap. he aimed it in front of him , slowly walking toward the bedroom , his finger hovering over the trigger. his hand was shaking.

the overwhelming relief that washed over him when he turned the corner was unimaginable , seeing amber sitting peacefully on the bed in the middle of the room. almost as if no time had passed at all , as if she’d been preserved since the moment she was gone. it was too good to be true , he knew it. something was off , something was wrong , he could feel it in his bones. he inhaled sharply and holstered his gun , nearly running over to her. “amber?” his voice shook , and he reached out to touch her hand , surprised when she recoils. “it’s me, it’s leo. you’re going to be okay. i’m gonna get you out of here, okay? don’t worry. it’s all over.”

( @ambcrking )

4 notes · View notes

foreverwayward · 4 years

Text

“Wayward Hearts” Season 4 Chapter 1: Lazarus Rising Part 1

Masterlist

Word Count: 7.5k+

Content Warning: angst, language, violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

Torment, agony, suffering; the only words Dean Winchester knew anymore. The taste of iron destroyed his senses and filled his nose. Dean was drowning in his own blood as it filled his aching throat. Unimaginable and blinding pain ripped him apart from the inside out.

And suddenly...it all stopped.

In complete darkness, Dean gasped for air. His lungs burned briefly as life returned to them once more, his heart jolting back to life.

Disoriented and scared, Dean breathed heavily, unsure what form of torture awaited him next. He was lying down, his arms close at his sides.

As he tried to move, Dean realized he was trapped. The hunter’s instincts immediately kicked in and he reached into his pocket to search for something to help. His hand felt cool metal and he grasped it, knowing exactly what it was.

He flicked his lighter open and the flame sparked alive. Dean’s ragged breathing continued as he looked around only to find himself in a wooden coffin. His newly revived heart pumped in his chest and echoed in his ears. Dean trembled, his weak muscles aching at any movement.

“Help!” Dean tried to call out. His is voice too hoarse to make much noise at all and he coughed at the strain. “Help! ...help!” he cried faintly. As he panted, Dean knew no one was coming.

With what little strength he had, the hunter began to pound on the pine above his head, causing bits of dirt to rain down on his face. Dean had only one option...up.

His weak hand gripped at one of the wooden planks above him. Grunting and straining, he finally ripped the panel off as an avalanche of earth filled the coffin.

In the middle of a grassy field, a simple wooden cross was planted. It was completely still in that corner of the world as a desperate hand burst out of the dirt, followed by another. It took all Dean had in him to begin to force his way out of the grave.

As his soil-covered head found the surface, Dean gasped out for oxygen. The humid, warm air was a shock to his senses. He groaned out, his face scrunching in fatigue and pain as he pulled the rest of his body from the coffin and out of the ground.

Finally free, Dean fell onto his back in the tall grass, his chest rising and falling out of control. He closed his eyes as the sun warmed his skin and the hunter fought to steady his breathing.

Shakily, he forced himself to stand and his eyes squinted as they adjusted to the glaring light of the world around him.

As he looked around, Dean found himself standing beside his own grave in the center of what looked like ground zero of a powerful blast. Around his crude headstone was a large, perfect circle of dead forest trees lying on the ground with even their roots ripped up from the dirt.

Dean was back, but what ripped him from Hell? What unspeakable evil escaped with him?

------

Through the hazy, wet heat, Dean walked down an empty road. He wiped his sweating brow against his forearm with his button-up shirt tied around his waist. Dean was still weak, and every mile felt longer than the last.

As he continued on, the pavement led him to an old gas station; the first sign of civilization in what felt like a lifetime. It was small with a single phone booth out front, two gas pumps and an abandoned car.

Once at the door, Dean knocked on the glass over the sign reading ‘CLOSED’.

“Hello?” he tried to call out in a raspy and tired voice. When no one answered, Dean rolled up his outer shirt over his right hand before breaking the glass on the door. The shards shattered into the quiet gas station and the hunter quickly unlocked the bolt to rush inside.

The cooler in the back called to him as he fumbled towards it. Flinging the refrigerator door open, Dean’s eager hand snatched a water bottle and forced the cap off, letting it clatter to the floor. Desperate, he gulped down the water feeling his body sigh. He gasped at the final guzzle and leaned against the fridge to steady himself.

He turned to look around him and noticed a stack of newspapers and took the top bundle. As he studied it, the ‘Pontiac Daily Gazette’ was dated for Thursday, September 18, 2008.

“September…” Dean read to himself, taken aback.

There was a sink and mirror tucked in the back of the humble gas station. Dean turned on the faucet of the dingy sink, splashing cool water on his dirty, sweaty face. Using his outer shirt again, he dried himself off and exhaled out as he leaned against the worn porcelain.

Dean stared up at his reflection with curiosity. He lifted his fitted black t-shirt, unnerved at what he might find as he exposed his chest.

Awful memories flashed through his mind as he remembered the night the Hellhounds had ripped his body into pieces. The pain of his death felt so fresh that he could have sworn that he could still feel the demon dog’s claws in his skin.

But, to his surprise, Dean looked at his unblemished, unscarred chest in that faded gas station mirror. He turned his left shoulder to the glass and pulled up his sleeve, wincing at the burning pain. Dean revealed a large, raw handprint burned into his flesh.

He knew something had brought him out of Hell and nervously imagined what awful thing had the power to do so.

Dean glanced around again and grabbed a plastic bag. Hungrily, he tore into an energy bar and practically moaned at the taste of food once more. Dean’s eager hands collected more bars along with several bottles of water and stashed them in his bag.

Stopping in front of a magazine stand, he grinned slowly for the first time. On the stand was an adult magazine-- ‘Busty Asian Beauties’. Dean picked it up and smirked as he briefly flipped through the pages before stuffing it into his cash of finds.

At the counter, he set down his goods and hit a single button on the register. It immediately popped open with a ‘ding’ and the hunter snapped his fingers in satisfaction.

As he looted the cash, the TV to his left flickered on, only showing static. Dean shut it off, only for the radio to his right to turn on with a loud white noise.

Not wasting a moment, he scurried to another stocked shelf nearby and grabbed a carton of salt. Dean quickly opened it and began to pour a line of salt along the windowsill.

A high-pitched single tone began and he clutched his left ear in pain as he continued to set a barrier. As it continued, Dean dropped the salt and crouched to the floor, groaning in absolute agony as his hearing was pierced by the sound.

The window above his head shattered at the deafening noise as it raged on. Explosions of glass surrounded Dean until he threw himself away from the windows, landing hard on the ground. Covering his face as best he could, he waited out the phenomenon that held him at its mercy.

As the final small pieces of glass trickled down around him, Dean peered up anxiously. His knuckles were bleeding, his head pounding, and the pain of his ears had him checking for blood. Dean cautiously stood up once more as he looked out the destroyed front windows that had been completely blown out.

That was when Dean grew even more concerned. Whatever had pulled him out, may now be hunting him.

Dean’s pockets jingled with coins as he fisted his hand in to grab money for the phone booth. He paid the machine as fast as possible, dying to hear a voice on the other end.

He dialed a number and only heard an alert tone.

“We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected.”

Hanging up, he tried another number he knew.

“We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected.”

Frustrated, he hung up again and attempted a third call. It rang once before it was answered.

An annoyed but familiar and gruff voice spoke. “Yeah?”

The first person he had heard since coming back made Dean’s heart leap. “Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“It's me.”

“Who's ‘me’?”

“Dean,” he replied earnestly.

A dial tone sounded and Dean looked at the phone, confused. He hung up the receiver and dialed the same number.

“Who the fuck is this?” Bobby asked angrily.

Almost pleading, Dean told him, “Bobby, listen to me.”

“This ain't funny. ...call again, I'll fuckin’ kill ya.”

The tone sounded again and a defeated Dean hung up the phone.

He turned to see the old, beat-up white car parked outside. It was then that the hunter’s eyes lit up with a gleam of hope.

Moving as fast as he could, Dean effortlessly hotwired the car as the engine sputtered to a start. He immediately hopped in and was ready to hit the road.

The car kicked up dirt behind it as Dean peeled out and drove away from the gas station.

------

A loud pounding on the front door of Bobby’s house had the old hunter begrudgingly go to answer. As he opened the door, his eyes met with Dean’s. He looked winded and apprehensive as he smiled cautiously.

Bobby stared back at him, suspiciously with wide and confused eyes. Though he wasn’t a praying man, a part of Bobby prayed every day to a God he didn’t believe in, that the boy he called ‘son’ would come back from the dead.

“Surprise,” Dean said softly.

Taking a step back in shock, Bobby fumbled over his words. “I--I don't…”

“Yeah, me neither.” Dean stepped inside and gave a light shrug. “But here I am.”

As Dean grew closer, Bobby lunged forward at him with a knife in hand. Dean grabbed his arm and twisted it around to stop him, but the old hunter broke his grip and backhanded him in the face with a closed fist.

Dean grunted out at the impact as he stumbled backward from the blow. “Bobby! It's me!”

“My ass!”

Shoving a chair between him and a wrathful Bobby, Dean held his hands out in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and...you're about the closest thing I have to a father.” Slowly, Dean tried to stand up straight with trepidation. “Bobby...it's me.”

Bobby lowered the knife and stepped forward, hesitating and almost afraid. He placed a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder and for a brief second, Dean finally felt alive. The touch of someone he loved filled his soul and brought his scarred and traumatized mind back into a moment of sanity.

Though the moment didn’t last long as Bobby’s expression filled with rage once more. He slashed at Dean again with the large blade but was quickly subdued and disarmed by him.

“I am not a shapeshifter!”

“Then you're a Revenant!” Bobby yelled as he struggled against Dean’s hold.

Shoving Bobby away, and having taken the knife, Dean held it out in front of him as a sign of good faith. “Alright. If I was either, could I do this--with a silver knife?” He rolled up his left sleeve and grimaced at the thought before slicing his arm above the elbow. A line of blood appeared and trickled down his forearm as Dean still tried to catch his breath after the tussle.

“Dean…” Bobby was in disbelief, his mouth somewhat agape.

“That's what I've been trying to tell you,” he panted.

The old man almost began to hyperventilate as he broke in emotion. Bobby grabbed Dean and pulled him in for a tight hug, squeezing him with all the love he wished he had shown him before he had gone.

Holding back his tears, a heartfelt thought passed through Bobby’s mind. “My boy…”

Dean returned the sincere hug with enthusiasm and utter relief on his face. He was finally home.

They finally pulled apart and Bobby’s voice cracked. “It's--it's good to see you, boy.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“But…” the old hunter shook his head incredulously. “How the hell did you bust out?”

“I don't know. I just, uh--I just woke up in a pine box--” his words were interrupted by a sudden splash of water in his face.

Dean paused as the holy water Bobby had thrown at him dripped down his then soaked and exasperated expression. He spit out the liquid that had gone into his open mouth, trying not to get frustrated. “I'm not a demon either, you know.”

“Sorry,” Bobby shrugged. “Can't be too careful.”

The two went further into the house and Dean wiped his face with a towel he had grabbed from the kitchen.

“But...that don't make a goddamn lick of sense.” Bobby just shook his head, rattled and slightly unnerved by it all.

“Yeah. Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir.”

As they stood in the study, Bobby went behind his desk that was covered in empty bottles of liquor. “Dean, your chest was ribbons--your insides were slop. And you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit--”

“I know, I should look like a ‘Thriller’ video reject.”

“What do you remember?”

Dean draped the dishrag over his shoulder. “Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then...lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that was it.” Bobby sat down, his face still in shock. “Sam's number's not working. He's, uh--he's not…”

“Oh, he's alive, as far as I know.”

“Good…” Dean paused and his face changed to one of concern. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘as far as you know’?”

“I haven't talked to him for months.”

“You're kidding! You just let him go off by himself?”

“He was dead set on it. I tried to stop him, but...these last months haven't been exactly easy, you know. For him or me...or Riley.”

Dean’s heart sank at the mention of her name. He licked his lip anxiously and asked, “is she with him?”

Before Bobby could respond, the sound of a car approaching caught both of their attention. It went quiet as they paused and a car door slammed shut.

Dean heard a dog bark and he felt his nerves spiral out of control as Finnick pushed past the still slightly ajar screen door and rushed in.

The dog went to Dean with a happy wagging tail, but the hunter didn’t bend to pet him with his wide eyes set on Bobby. There was only one reason the golden retriever would be there.

With his nervous heart beating hard in his ears, Dean charged to the front door with long strides. His face was twisted in emotion and anxiety as his breathing became erratic.

Blowing through the screen door, Dean rushed onto the porch with his eyes set on the dirt road leading up to the house. There was a pang in his chest that threatened the air he breathed when he saw a familiar black Mustang parked out front.

But it wasn’t the classic Ford that made him weak, it was the auburn-haired woman leaning against the driver side door. Her arms were folded across her chest as she stared out at the horizon over the sea of scrap metal. She seemed distant, with the light she once radiated drained from her face; an empty and vacant expression had taken its place.

Dean’s heart stopped as he watched a sudden breeze blow past her, throwing her long hair behind her and she inhaled deeply. She was like a glimpse into heaven after an eternity in darkness.

As if something had hit her like a ton of bricks, Riley’s body stiffened and she hesitantly turned towards the front porch. There was something calling to her, or someone, and her eyes welled.

Once her focus had landed on Dean, she gasped softly as her hand clutched at her chest in shock.

Riley stood motionless, just staring back at him and Dean drank her in. Somehow, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. That brief moment was even more powerful than seeing her for the first time that fated morning in Lawrence.

With his boots stomping against the wood with every step, Dean walked down from his spot on the porch, though his gaze never left hers. He only made it a few feet before he stopped, worried that he would scare her.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Dean uttered, barely getting his words out as his eyes filled with emotion.

Everything inside of Riley screamed at the sight of her lost love, though no sound escaped her lips. Still, she mustered what courage she had and hesitantly made her way toward him.

“It’s me…” he said sweetly. “Riley, it’s me.”

A tear fell from her shocked face before she took a shaky step forward. The two grew closer together until there was only a small space between them. They stared into the other’s eyes and Dean smiled through a nervous breath.

Riley reached up with a trembling hand to finally make contact with his cheek. As Dean leaned into her touch, it was enough to make him break and his lips trembled as they connected. That magical bond they had always shared came flooding back and it sucked the air from them both. It was like a piece of their souls had found their way back into their bodies and they were whole once again.

Exhaling a sharp and shaky breath, Riley gazed into his eyes. “...Dean.”

“Yeah...it’s me.”

There was no question in her mind who he was, there was never another person that brought her to life the way he did.

Riley grabbed Dean to pull him in for a starved and needy kiss. He immediately reciprocated and wrapped his arms around her, melting into the warmth she covered him in. She whimpered against his lips as Dean’s hands tangled into her hair to hold her close. The passion that swelled between them was like magic.

They breathed raggedly as they pulled apart, tears softly falling.

“How…?” she asked in a broken voice.

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Riley threw her arms around him, wrapping him in a powerful embrace. Her fingers practically dug into his back, desperate to feel him. “I don’t care. I don’t care how it happened.”

He returned the hug as deeply as he could. Dean buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes as he inhaled her scent while she nuzzled into his chest.

The sound of his heartbeat was the most beautiful song she had ever heard, a melody she refused to allow to go silent ever again.

Riley couldn’t help it as her voice cracked and almost went into a whisper trying not to sob. “I missed you--I missed you so much.”

Dean took her jaw lovingly as he held her eyes locked onto him. “I’m never gonna leave you again.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips and the two smiled, giggling under their breaths with incredible joy as they hugged again.

With her face buried into Dean’s chest, Riley wept with relief. He kissed the top of her head, trying to hold back his own tears as they seeped from his eyes.

The two stood on the dirt road clinging to each other with the warm sun shining down on them.

For the first time in four months, the two found a moment of peace. Solace washed through them as their hearts collided, home once again in each other’s arms.

------

Later, back inside Bobby’s home once more, the three were still dumbfounded. Though happy to be back together and reunited, Riley, Dean, and Bobby knew that things were far from over.

“How’d you know it was him?” Bobby questioned Riley as he looked at the couple unable to part from each other.

She looked up to touch Dean’s face again, staring into the forest green eyes she thought she’d lost forever. “...I’d know him anywhere.” Dean kissed her forehead and their moment passed. “I just still can’t believe it. I mean...we buried you.”

“Yeah. Why did you bury me, anyway?”

The two turned as Bobby answered for her. “I wanted you salted and burned--usual drill. But...Sam and Riley wouldn't have it.”

“Well, I'm glad they won that one.”

“They said you'd need a body when they got you back home somehow. But that's about all I could get outta Sam.”

Suspiciously, Dean looked between the others. “What do you mean?”

“He was quiet...real quiet. And then he just took off--wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Glancing down at Riley once more, Dean questioned with an almost angry expression, “...what did you two do?”

“Dean…” Riley shook her head and licked her bit her bottom lip trying to find the words as Finn jumped onto the old couch and laid down. “I won’t lie to you. I--” she felt herself about to cry again but sniffled it back. “Dean, I tried everything to get you back. I tried to make a deal, but no one would make the trade. I tried to find the Trickster...hell--Sam and I even tried to open up the Devil’s Gate again. None of it worked.” When Dean’s gaze turned darker, she swallowed hard knowing she had disappointed him. “I know. I know, you’re probably angry but, Dean I couldn’t just do nothing...”

Dean drug his palm down his face trying to soothe himself. “Okay. Okay...I get it. I’m not saying I’m happy about it--at all. But--” he tucked her hair behind her ear. “At least you’re okay.”

“But…”

“But, what?”

“I don’t know what Sam may have done.”

“You haven’t been with him?” he asked almost shocked.

She shook her head. “Not for nearly three months now. We, uh--we lost touch.”

“Lost tou--” Dean couldn’t even finish his sentence. How Sam and Riley had split up was beyond his comprehension. “Dammit, Sammy,” he muttered. “It had to be him. But, whatever he did, it is bad fuckin’ mojo.”

Bobby shrugged. “What makes you so sure?” Though he had been worried about Sam for months, all Bobby wanted was to bask in the moment of having Dean back again.

“You should have seen the gravesite,” he told him. “It was like a goddamn nuke went off. And then there was this--this force, this presence. I don't know, but it--it blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then this…” Dean stripped out of his jacket on his left side and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the branded handprint in his skin.

With his brow scrunched in both uncertainty and curiosity, Bobby slowly stood and walked over to him. “What in the hell?”

“It was like a demon just yanked me out...or rode me out.”

“But why?”

“To hold up their end of the bargain.”

Riley looked at Dean’s burn with shock as she studied it. “You think Sam made a deal, don’t you?”

“It's what you and I would have done.”

“Alright,” Bobby started. “I’ll, uh--I’ll go put on some coffee.”

As he left, Riley’s focus was still on the mark on Dean’s arm. She gently ran her fingers over it as Dean watched her loving touch.

A bright light flashed in Riley’s mind like a blinding bolt of lightning and she gasped at the jolt.

“Sweetheart, you alright?” Dean’s eyes darted back and forth between Riley’s with worry as she blinked rapidly trying to readjust. “You saw something...”

Left dumbfounded, she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “I’ve never felt anything like that before, Dean. Whatever this is, it’s powerful as hell. ...we need to be careful.”

------

Dean had finally gotten a chance to clean himself up and was beginning to slowly feel like himself again. Riley and Bobby waited nearby as he made a call, as he sought out a lead on Sam.

“Yeah, hi. I have a cell phone account with you guys, and, uh--I lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me.” Dean listened to the operator on the other line. “Yeah. Name's Wedge Antilles. Social is 2-4-7-4. Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, he crossed over to the laptop on the table nearby.

“’Wedge Antilles’,” Riley chuckled from the couch as she pet Finnick. “That nerd.”

Intrigued, Bobby followed Dean. “How'd you know he'd use that name?”

“You kiddin' me? What don't I know about that kid?” Typing in the web address for ARC Mobile, Dean began his search. While it loaded, he noticed the stash of empty bottles of alcohol scattered across the room. “Hey, guys? What's the deal with the liquor store? You been throwin’ parties without me?”

“Like I said...last few months ain't been all that easy.”

The room went quiet while Dean held Riley and Bobby’s gaze. Dean knew the feeling of needing to drink the pain away all too well. “Right.”

The laptop beeped as it displayed a city map with a blue arrowing pointing to a starred location. The locator read:

263 Adams Road

Pontiac, Illinois.

“Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois.”

Riley got up and hovered over his shoulder, staring at the screen and then pointing to a spot close by. “That’s right by where we buried you.”

“Yeah. Right where I popped up. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?”

It was then that Riley could feel it, the walls that Dean had built in his mind once again. She couldn’t get a read on him no matter how hard she tried. Either he was disconnected after all that had happened or Hell had done irreparable damage to his tattered soul.

------

Dean, Bobby, and Riley walked down a dingy and poorly lit hallway as they stopped in front of the last door. Finn was close at their side, happily following them along. The door was marked by a red wooden heart carved with the room number, 207.

As Bobby stood at his side, with Riley hanging back with her faithful canine companion, Dean knocked.

As the door opened, a young and incredibly attractive woman answered. She had long dark hair and was smaller in height like Riley. The strange woman had on only underwear and a tank-top as she looked back at them expectantly.

“So where is it?” she asked.

Dean glanced over to Bobby, confused. “Where's what?”

“The pizza...that takes two guys to deliver?” The woman peered over the men’s shoulders and her face brow arched seeing Riley behind them.

“I think we got the wrong room.”

Sam stepped into the light behind her; he was grim and focused with his hair damp after a recent shower. He was in a t-shirt and jeans, not looking like himself at all. “Hey, is--” Stopping dead in his tracks as he saw Dean, Sam swallowed in shock as his eyes flickered between him and Bobby.

The corner of Dean’s lip curled seeing his little brother again. Quietly and heartfelt with joy, he said, “heya, Sammy.” He walked into the room with Sam still completely silent and the woman stepped aside to let Dean in as he went to his brother.

Sam pulled out a knife and lunged at Dean with anger in his eyes. The woman screamed and Dean blocked the attack as Bobby pulled Sam away, gripping him around the shoulders. Sam struggled against his hold, wanting to destroy whatever creature was imitating his dead brother.

“Who are you?!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Like you didn't do this?!”

“Do what?!”

Still clinging to the desperate young hunter, Bobby tried to soothe him as Dean watched with welling eyes. “It's him. It's him. I've been through this already, it's really him.”

Sam stared at Dean as the struggle slowly faded from his body. “What…”

Advancing cautiously and meeting his stare, Dean teased, “I know. I look fantastic, huh?”

Bobby let go of Sam who looked on the verge of tears. The distance between him and his brother made his heart ache even with only mere feet keeping them apart.

As he quickly moved forward, he pulled Dean into a desperate hug. They embraced for several seconds, heavy with emotion and trembling as the two brothers were reunited once more. Bobby looked on with tears in his eyes seeing his boys back together.

Pulling apart, Sam pushed Dean back at arm’s length to look at him alive and well, no longer torn in the ways that had haunted his dreams for months.

Riley waited quietly in the hall, clearly moved by seeing her family all together.

“So...” the woman started hesitantly in the awkward silence. “Are you two like...together?”

Just remembering again that she was there, Sam answered, “what? No. No. He's my brother.”

“O--oh...got it. I--I guess...look, I should probably go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Sorry.” Sam waited for her to dress again and led her to the door.

“So, call me,” she told him as she peered up at the Winchester with a smile.

Still rattled, Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sure thing, Kathy.”

With disappointment at his response, she corrected him, “Kristy.”

“Right.” As she began to walk away, Sam saw Riley leaning against the wall in the hallway.

She forced a small smile. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey…” he said offering the same expression.

Riley waited until he motioned for her to come in and then followed the others inside as Sam shut the door behind them.

Sitting down on the velvet ottoman of the tacky motel room, Sam welcomed Finn with loving pats as the dog excitedly went to see him. “Hey, buddy. How are ya?”

Dean was standing nearby, glaring down at him with his arms crossed. He, Bobby, and Riley were ready and waiting for answers.

“So, tell me,” Dean began with irritation in his voice. “What'd it cost?”

“The girl?” Sam smirked with a breathy laugh. “I don't pay, Dean.”

“That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back--what'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something a hell of a lot worse?”

“...you think I made a deal?” he asked as he peered back at his brother.

Across the room, Bobby sat on the couch like an angry father. “That's exactly what we think.”

“Well, I didn't.”

Intensely, Dean pushed on. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.”

“So, what? Now, I'm off the hook and you're on--is that it?” He began to saunter over to Sam, fully believing a deal had been struck and it enraged him. After everything Dean had been through, the thought of his brother being next on Hell’s list made him physically sick. “You're some demon's fuckin’ bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this.”

Sam stood angrily. “Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, alright?”

Not able to take his lies anymore, Dean grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt and demanded through gritted teeth. “There's no other way that this could have gone down and I know Riley didn’t do this. Now tell the truth!”

“I tried everything!” Sam barked back as he pushed Dean off. “That's the truth. Riley and I even tried opening the goddamn Devil's Gate. And yeah, I tried to bargain, Dean, but none of those motherfuckers would deal, alright?” His tone changed as he felt a sob choke in his throat. “You were rotting in Hell for months--for months, and I couldn't stop it. So, I'm sorry it wasn't me, alright?” It was clear Sam felt he had failed his brother when he couldn’t save him and the guilt was slowly eating him alive like a parasite. “Dean, I'm sorry.”

With a nod of understanding, he relented. “It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you.”

Jumping onto the bed, Finn curled up to Riley to rest his head in her lap and she ran her fingers through his fur. She was relieved that Sam hadn’t been able to make a deal after worrying about him for months.

Riley discreetly wiped a small tear from her eye before it fell and pulled herself together. At least she finally knew he was safe.

“Don't get me wrong,” Bobby started as he stood to join the boys. “I'm gladdened as hell that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question.”

As he completed the old hunter’s thought, Dean asked, “if he didn't pull me out, then what did?”

------

The tension that had been swirling through that zebra print motel room had finally died down. Though there were still too many questions that remained unanswered.

Sam passed out bottles of beer as the hunters talked it all through. Bobby sat at the table, while Dean had his arm around Riley holding her close at his side on the sofa.

“I still have way too many questions,” Dean started as he popped open his beer. “For one--Sam, what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?”

“Well, once Riley and I figured out we couldn't save you, we started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback.” Sam and his sister shared a solemn look. Nothing was the same between them, that much was clear. “But, uh--we were both pretty messed up after everything and weren’t really handling things well.”

“I can’t believe you two went after that bitch on your own,” Bobby scolded. “At least Riley had the good sense to call once in a while.”

Dean noticed something and frowned with curiosity as he went to investigate.

“Uh, yeah--I'm sorry, Bobby.” Sam knew Bobby was right. He had been reckless and out of control since he’d lost Dean. “I should have called. I just…” he stopped and sighed as he melted into his chair. “I just wasn’t myself.”

Picking up what he had found, Dean turned to his brother showing off a pink-flowered bra. “Oh, yeah…” he added sarcastically. “I really feel your pain.”

Sam let out a breathy chuckle as his brother sat next to him. “Anyways, uh--I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left--booked up here.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“...when I busted out.”

Finally taking part in the conversation, Riley leaned onto her legs with her bottle in hand. “Dean, you don’t think these demons are here because of you, do you?” He shrugged with an unsure look as if to say anything was possible at that point. “Okay, say you’re right. Why though?”

“Well, I don't know. Some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow.”

“How you feelin', anyway?” Bobby asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean much since he had been back. He was constantly studying him, needing to understand.

“I mean--I'm a little hungry.”

“No, I mean--do you feel like yourself? Anything strange, or different?”

“Or demonic?” Dean’s tone was annoyed, almost insulted; though Bobby just shrugged. “Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I'm me?”

“Yeah. Well, listen. No demon's letting you loose out of the goodness of their bleeding hearts. They've gotta have something downright nasty planned.”

“Well, I feel fine.”

Unless she was talking directly to Dean, Riley kept quiet for most of their meeting. Not only was she still reeling from him coming back and constantly being flooded with emotion, but the feelings of those around her felt like she was drowning--except for Sam.

Riley watched him carefully, still looking for a hint of what had changed. Trying to connect with him was like trying to speak into an empty void. The Sam that had been her brother and best friend was beyond her reach and it saddened Riley in unbearable measure. Sam had his secrets, that much she’d known for some time. But, with Dean back, those secrets began to worry her even more.

“Okay, look,” Sam started. “We don't know what they're planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help.”

Bobby took a swig of his beer and wiped what may have remained off his mustache. “I know a psychic--a few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking.”

Eager and needing answers, Dean was happy to accept the offer. “Hell yeah, it's worth a shot.”

“I'll be right back.” The old hunter stood to leave and groaned tiredly. He took his phone out of his pocket and headed out of the room as he dialed.

When Dean stood, ready to go, Sam quickly got up as well. “Hey, wait. You, uh--you probably want this back.”

Reaching into his collar, Sam pulled out a black cord necklace as Dean’s amulet came out from under his shirt. Sam placed it in his brother’s hands and Dean looked down at, touched that his brother had been wearing it since he was gone.

“Thanks.” Dean immediately put his necklace back on with a sigh. He remembered how much he had treasured the small gift and having it back brought him incredible joy.

“Yeah, don't mention it.” Unable to leave the question unasked, Sam gathered his courage to say what was on his mind. “Dean...what was it like?”

Riley watched closely, listening and wanting to know his answer as she got up to gather her things.

“What, Hell?” Dean questioned, sounding aloof to the topic. “I don't know, I--I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing.”

Nodding, a sigh of relief left Sam. “Well, thank God for that.”

“Yeah. Hey, uh--you two go ahead. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

“Sure.” Sam and Bobby began to head out as Finnick followed, though Riley lingered behind.

Dean had gone into the bathroom and flicked on the light. As if he had walked in on a massacre, the walls were blood-red and Dean’s heartrate quickened once left alone with his thoughts.

The flash of crimson was then immediately gone.

Dean stared at himself in the mirror and ran a hand over his chin before leaning forward onto the sink.

Sudden horrific memories ripped through him and he shook in fear as his skin crawled. Flashbacks of his beaten and bloody body crying out in agony and horror took his breath away. Loud shrieks pierced his mind and felt like blades in his ears. There was an eerie sound of suffering that there were no words for. It was a cry that not even the darkest of nightmares could comprehend.

“Dean…?”

Turning to the soft voice behind him, the screams faded. Dean blinked himself back into reality, confused and afraid as a worried Riley stood at the door.

“...you alright?”

“What?” he asked, still disoriented. “Oh, yeah. I, uh--I guess I’m just really tired is all.”

Riley didn’t believe him for a second but knew pushing the matter would do more harm than good. “Okay. Uh--let’s head on down. They’re waiting for us.”

“Yeah.” Dean feigned a smile even though he knew there was no fooling Riley.

But still desperate to clear his mind of the horrors that plagued him, he closed the space between them and peered down at her. As Dean played with the hair that fell over her shoulders, he looked into her eyes and softly chuckled under his breath. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Wanting to be whatever he needed, Riley let Dean in and comforted him with waves of love that felt like gentle ocean water washing onto the shore. “You sure you’re okay?”

Dean took her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips. He sighed into the warmth of her skin and his body relaxed. “I got you, don’t I?” With one loving kiss, Dean brought their foreheads together.

“Always.”

“Then I’m good.”

As the two pulled apart, they shared forced upward curls of their lips as Riley turned to leave. The loss of her closeness brought the haunting memories back into the forefront of Dean’s mind and he clenched his fist, trying not to tremble.

He may have been ready to leave Hell behind. But Hell wasn’t ready to let go of Dean Winchester.

------

Once all four of the hunters had met up at the motel parking lot, Bobby led them all down a set of concrete steps to the lower lot with Finn in tow.

He pulled out his keys as he spoke to the others without a look. “She's about four hours down the interstate. Try to keep up.” The old hunter got into his beat-up car and started the engine as he waited for Riley and the boys to be ready.

“I assume you'll want to drive.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Sam grabbed the keys to their beloved Impala before tossing them to Dean.

Dean couldn’t help his excited chuckles as he grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He approached the Chevy and ran a hand along the side lovingly. “Hey, Baby, did you miss me?” The familiar sound of the squeaking doors sounded like home.

Getting into the driver’s side, Dean settled in with a sigh. His attention turned to an iPod plugged into the stereo and his face fell as he gave the gadget a dirty look.

Sam got into the front, smiling at his brother’s reaction, while Riley hopped into the backseat with Finnick.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean asked.

“That's an iPod jack.”

“You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up.”

With a scoff, Sam smirked. “Dean, I thought it was my car.”

Dean sneered and exhaled his frustration as he turned the key in the ignition. Jason Manns’ song ‘Vision’ began to play through the speakers. He rolled his eyes and glared at Sam again, looking pained and disgusted with his choice of music.

“Really?”

All Sam could do was shrug innocently in response. Dean then ripped the iPod out of the jack and tossed it back into the back seat.

Riley caught the discarded technology and smiled to herself. Dean was definitely back.

------

As Baby followed Bobby’s tail lights down the dark highway, Sam, Riley, and Dean talked things out with it just being the three of them again.

“There's still one thing that's bothering me,” Dean told them. “The night that I bit it. Or…got bit.” He laughed at his own wit, enjoying how clever he was. “How'd you two make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you both.”

Sam shifted in his seat to look at both of his partners as Riley leaned in. The two still had no answers for what really happened that night. “Well, she tried. She couldn't.”

“What do you mean, she couldn't?”

“She fired this, like--burning light at us, and...didn't leave a scratch. Like we were immune or something.”

When Dean glanced back to his girlfriend through the rearview mirror, Riley shrugged.

“I mean--we were just as surprised as she was--if not more so,” she explained. “She hauled ass outta there after that.” Finn had fallen asleep in Ri ley’s lap as she rubbed his ears, comforted by his presence.

“Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?��

“Dead for all we know. Haven’t heard anything from her since.”

Dean bit his lip, not sure if he wanted to ask the question on his mind. “So, Sammy...you been using your, uh--freaky ESP stuff?”

“No,” the younger brother retorted.

“You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got...immunity--whatever the hell that is. Just wondering what other kind of weirdo shit you've got going on.”

“Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish.”

“Yeah, well, let's keep it that way.”

Sam clenched his jaw as he struggled not to lash out at Dean. “You know, you don’t ask about this stuff when it comes to Riley’s abilities. Why is it always with me that you pull this shit?”

“You know--” stopping mid-sentence as he felt himself getting worked up, Dean sighed. “You know it’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?!”

As Dean scoffed, Riley ran a hand through her hair and it cascaded around her face as she tried to find the words. “Guys, please…can we not?”

The car fell silent as Sam turned to stare out the window as he brooded. He held a bit of resentment toward Dean for treating him and Riley so differently.

If Sam was being honest, maybe his resentment was more towards her than anyone else.

------

It was early the next morning by the time the hunters had reached their destination. They parked in front of a small house with flowers outside the slightly faded white porch.

Bobby knocked on the chocolate-colored door and didn’t have to wait long before a woman opened the door with a smile. She was in her thirties, strong and beautiful with a ready smile. The woman’s figure was toned, in jeans and a tank top. Her dark hair made her green eyes pop; eyes that would call any sailor to his death.

“Bobby!” She grabbed him into a hug, lifting him briefly off the ground with a playful grunt.

Sam, Dean, and Riley shared a look, surprised by the intense personality of Bobby’s friend.

“Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes,” Bobby told her with a matching grin.

She stepped back and drug her eyes over Sam and Dean; up and down as if appraising them both. Pamela had hunger in her gaze, and her instant dirty thoughts of the brothers made Riley grimace.

“So, these the boys?”

“Sam, Dean. This is Pamela Barnes, best damn psychic in the state.”

Feeling flattered by Pamela’s obvious attention, Dean replied, “hey.”

“Hi,” Sam said awkwardly with a smile to match.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm,” the psychic chuckled. “Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual.”

“If you say so,” he retorted.

Pamela’s attention shifted to the female hunter and she took a minute to study her as well. The golden dog at her side panted with a wagging tail. “And you must be Riley. Heard a lot about you.”

With a curious look, Riley asked, “from who?”

“I have my connections.” She smirked at the smaller hunter but almost in a flirty manner. “I don’t think I need to tell you what it means to be ‘a rare individual’, do I?”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever answers you got.”

“Hmm,” Pamela nodded with a curl of her lip. “Well, come on in. The furry one is welcome too.” The psychic ushered them in, and once they had all gone inside, she closed the door behind them.

In the foyer, the five made a small circle as they immediately began talking.

Bobby was ready and eager to get things moving. “So, you hear anything?”

“Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why.”

“So, what's next?”

“A séance, I think. See if we can see who did the dirty deed.”

“You're not gonna…” Bobby paused, skeptically. “...summon the damn thing here.”

“No. I just want to get a sneak peek at it--like a crystal ball without the crystal.” Pamela smiled as she walked through the group and headed into the parlor.

Dean and Riley shared a look and the two shrugged.

“I'm game,” he added before quickly following behind their new ally.

The séance room was painted black with odd art sparingly on the walls. It went dark as Bobby closed the thick velvet curtains while the others stood by waiting.

Finn found a spot in the corner and curled up to rest as he waited.

Pamela spread a black tablecloth over a small table covered symbols. Sam, Riley, and Dean watched warily as she worked.

It wasn’t until Pamela squat in front of a dark-colored cabinet that Dean really paid attention. He cocked his head as he read the scrawled tattoo across her lower back that peeked out from under her shirt. ‘Jesse Forever’

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re looking at, Dean Winchester,” Riley whispered as she gave him a playful shake of her head. “Shame on you.”

He looked like the cat that caught the canary and he fumbled through his thoughts. “I wasn’t--I mean, she--I was just…”

Riley chuckled under her breath. “It’s okay, Dean. I have eyes and I’m just as guilty for staring.”

“Really?” Dean seemed excited almost at her words, turned on even.

“No!” she snarked back at him with a laugh. “Ya freak.”

Dean was embarrassed and his face went a little red. The whole thing was far too humorous for Riley, though she tried to hide it.

Wanting to ease her boyfriend’s curiosity, Riley asked the burning question in the room. “Jesse, huh?”

Pamala laughed. “It sure wasn't forever.”

“His loss,” Dean said plainly.

As she stood back up with several pillar candles in her hands, the psychic stopped in front of Dean with a seductive smirk. “Might be your gain.”

She passed by them, going back over to the table and Dean turned to his partners with a lowered voice. “I think she’s into me.”

Sam scoffed with a fat smile. “Yeah, she would eat you alive.”

“What can I say?” he asked, peering over to Riley with a hooked brow. “I attract formidable women.”

“Damn right, you do,” Riley teased as she moved passed Dean, giving his backside a quick smack.

He jolted at her touch and seethed as he watched her move away. Riley was sexier than any woman that could make a pass at Dean. The girl knew how to drive him to the brink of insanity and the sudden movement in his jeans made him lick his lips.

Seeing Dean’s primal urges grow, Sam frowned. “Ew.” He too left and joined the others at the table.

Dean cocked his head, lost in a dirty thought and smiled before following.

With everyone gathered at the table, the group readied to commune with the supernatural. Six lit candles sat at the center of the table over the cloth which had a painted symbol; the flickering flames the only lights keeping them from utter darkness.

“Right,” Pamela started. “Take each other's hands.” They all began to do as they were told with Riley and Dean on opposite sides of her. The instant Riley and Pamela’s palms touched, the psychic looked into the hunter’s eyes. “Oh, honey...” There was intrigue and fascination in her voice. “What are you? You’re something new altogether, huh?”

“New?” Riley questioned.

“There’s something as ancient as time itself in you, but it feels--” she stopped as she thought to herself, trying to soak in the energy from Riley, hoping to understand it. “Like something no one’s ever seen before or will ever again.”

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

Pamela chuckled to herself as she took Dean’s hand. Her grin grew as she turned back and forth between the couple. “I don’t believe it.”

Dean glanced down at her hand and then back to her face. “What?”

“I heard it was real, but never saw it myself. The two of you--you have a certain connection, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” he answered, meeting Riley’s eyes with a smirk. “Yeah, we do.”

“...you’re soulmates.”

Riley cocked her head back, incredulously. “I mean...I don’t know if we believe in that kinda thing.”

“No, it’s not the whole ‘there’s one perfect person for everyone’ bullshit you hear about. This is bigger...on a cosmic scale. The entire universe had to align perfectly for you to find each other. It’s more than love, it’s fate--destiny.” Pamela shook her head and scoffed a laugh. “I didn’t buy it either until just now when I was channeling you both through me. The energy that flows between you, it’s like...magic.”

The couple stared at each other, their expressions perplexed as they were at a loss for words.

“Alright,” Pamela said clearing her throat. “Let’s get this show on the road before these two start fucking like bunnies.” Both and Sam’s and Bobby’s faces recoiled. “I need to touch something our mystery monster touched.”

Dean looked around, nervous, then took off his outer shirt. Pulling up his left sleeve, he revealed the brand. Sam stared at the scar for the first time and it shocked him to his core.

As she laid her hand on the burned flesh on Dean’s arm, Pamela exhaled and closed her eyes. “Okay.” Following suit, the rest shut their eyes as well. She began to chant in a firm but steady tone. “I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.”

The television nearby flicked on as static blared through its speakers.

Riley’s face scrunched as she listened to a faint and hushed whisper. “What the fuck is that?” she uttered.

Finnick whined and tucked his tail between his legs as he rushed to her side to hide under her chair.

“I invoke, conjure, and command…” Stopping her incantation, Pamela asked, “Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy.”

“Castiel?” Dean’s eyes were wide with nerves, knowing the destruction that came with this creature’s appearances.

“Its name.”

“I think we need to stop,” Riley told her with a shaky breath. “Pamela, it’s a warning--it’s warning you to stop.”

Ignoring the young hunter, the psychic went on, her voice like a threat or demand. “I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face.”

The white noise continued to drone on and the table began to shake violently. “Stop, Pamela!”

“I almost got it! I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!”

Suddenly, the candles flared up and grew several feet into the air. Pamela began to scream with terror on her face. Her eyes flew open and were filled with white-hot flames as her open mouth shrieked in fear and agony.

The psychic collapsed as the fire in her eyes was snuffed out; the rattling, white noise and flaring candle flames dying out.

Bobby was able to move quickly and caught her as she fell before he gently lowered her to the floor. “Call 9-1-1!”

Sam scrambled out of his chair and into the next room as Riley and Dean crouched over Pamela and Bobby. She was conscious but bleeding from her eyes with large circles of charred skin encompassing them.

As she opened her lids, the others jumped to see her eyes were gone, leaving only black empty sockets.

She sobbed. “I can't see! I can't see! Oh god!”

While she tried to tend to the injured woman on the floor, Riley turned to the sound of the whisper once more.

“...be ready.”

------

Season 4 Chapter 1: Lazarus Rising Part 2

Wayward Hearts Taglist: @waywardmoeyy @00slayer @adoptdontshoppets @arctusluna @salt-n-burn-em-all @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @becs-bunker @squirrelnotsam @x-waywardaf-x @death-unbecomes-you @themoonandotherslikeit @wndamaximov @flamencodiva @aaspiringhero @gemini0410 @love-nakamura @klinenovakwinchester @cemmia @deans-baby-momma @paintballkid711 @da5haexowin @a-manduhhhhh @winchestergirl82 @spnbaby-67 @sandycub @bunnybaby121115 @erins-culinary-service @lauravic @moonxdance @knights0fkylo @panicatthewestwing @screechingartisancashbailiff @wiredandwayward @the-children-of-the-stars @rosey1981 @mylovelydame21 @titty-teetee @walkingchemicalfire @saaamsayshi @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @itsafreakingtouque @teddybeardoctorr @janndishsstuff @irelandsharpie @dracosassismine

51 notes · View notes