tagged by like a thousand folks in my brief time out of the tumblrsphere for wip day so uhhhhh here i am! come to tag you all back. because i am a heathen
tagging @shallow-gravy @faithchel @vasiktomis @scungilliwoman @blissfulalchemist @lilwritingraven @adelaidedrubman @chyrstis @amistrio @henbased @belorage @jackiesarch @commandobarnes @shellibisshe and anyone else who wants to play, i am SURE i missed tagging someone!
under the cut bc multiple things bc i've been gone, i don't know how to pick, spoilers, etc and so on
supernatural au where john is trying his best to win win win (no matter what) (get a bite in before banging it out)
John makes a low noise. His hands go back to perusing all the skin he can reach under her robe. “Will you let me bite you if I dress up as a vampire tonight?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” he groans, “I’ll dress up as a vampire—”
“You already are one!”
“—and you can be my victim. The vampire bite will be impressively real.” He noses the slope of her jaw and rumbles, “There’s a contest, isn’t there? I’m competitive. We could win. And I could make you feel so good.”
witching hour snippet where helmi considers going full batshit on john
The air departed his lungs in a comedic whoosh from the impact. Pain splintered up his chest. He only managed to refocus his gaze just in time to see her leveling a gun at him.
“I should blow your fucking brains out,” she bit out venomously.
John’s said, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth, “Well are you gonna?”
Her lips pressed together in a vicious grimace. Her fingers tightened on the grip of the gun.
“Nah,” he slurred, “you need me.”
“Wrong,” Helmi snapped. “I need someone sad and pathetic to filet. If you mysteriously don’t survive the trip, I’m sure one of your brothers will cut it.”
and some emotional terrorism from what we know is happening in the next chap (or so) of no temptation/no glory
“Don’t cry, cara mia. Say it back.”
She doesn’t want to. Suddenly, the wedding ring on her finger and his shirt on her shoulders feel heavy, like they’re pulling her down, down, down, and she wishes that it would so that she could fold up and disappear.
If she says it, she’ll be accepting something terrible.
“You know I hate to ask twice.”
“I love you, Santi,” she manages out. “I love you, I love you--mio amato, I love you--”
“Good girl. I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’m on my way to pick you up, si?”
It almost feels normal. It almost feels like she really is just away, at the lake house, getting some time alone after a stressful few days. And then tomorrow, she’ll eat her breakfast out on the porch facing the lake while it’s still a little chilly outside, and Santi will come and pick her up; he’ll tease her about wearing his shirt, and lean over and kiss her and say, don’t you feel silly about worrying, now?
“Okay,” she says. “Okay, Santi, if you promise--”
“I promise, amore, I promise. I love you. Get some sleep, yes? And tell baby Viola I say goodnight.”
Gutted. Emptied. Hollowed out. “We don’t know the baby is a girl,” she protests weakly.
“I can tell.”
She laughs, the sound bleak and ringing empty when it comes out of her. Euphemia closes her eyes tight and breathes in deep. “Okay, yes. I will tell baby Viola goodnight from her daddy.”
It’s the coffee talking or maybe the later night but is it to much to ask for a Dom Will or Dom Frankie? I know I’m rambling again. I’ll go gotta finish up my writing bye now my doves.
