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javierpinme · 3 years

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Little Volcano

Chapter 1:

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!mercenary

Word count: 2.3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only so minors this is not the series for you)

Chapter warnings: aged sexism, Pero and reader have a meet not-cute 😌, they just got off on the wrong foot from a misunderstanding, reader defends herself against a drunk like the badass she is, talk of family loss, there’s alcohol, and that might be it.

Summary: He has a scar over his eye and your hand twitches with a need to trace the line as you dismount your horse. It suited him perfectly along with a scowl that you somehow don’t mind. It isn’t until he speaks however, your opinion changes.

A/N: I have @lowlights to thank for encouraging me with this and giving my butt the necessary kick so thank you, my foodie soulmate. ❤️ And to the lovely friends who let me word vomit about this series.

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The tavern is louder than most of the nights you’ve spent here for a warm meal and a jug of ale. Just enough to bring a pleasant buzz, but not enough for you to not be aware of your surroundings.

Even with your blatant warning of sheathing your sword when walking into the sound of harsh laughter drowning out the music that’s being played; you still knew better as a woman to keep yourself on alert in case any drunks dare to interrupt your meal. Armored or not.

The hilt of the dagger is familiar on your fingers as you twirl the sharp blade into the aged wood of the table between bites of your bread and cheese. You make a point to sit in the back corner to keep an eye on whatever character walks through those doors.

So far tonight it’s drunks looking for something other than ale to fill their bellies with or those who can’t tell the difference between the brothel further down the road and the women that serve them here. You witness one that pulls a bar woman into his lap after she gives his table another round and before you can finish the thought you lift yourself up from your table under the spell of the sweet brew.

You grab your dagger not quite sure of what your plan is but whatever you were about to stupidly do was interrupted when the door slammed open; sunlight spilling inside the dark tavern from behind the man that began sauntering towards another table. The temporary distraction is enough for the frightened woman to weasel her way back behind the safety of the bar.

You chance a brief look at the long-haired man and determine he is not a familiar patron from the last few days, returning to your table to resume eating your meal in silence and placing your blade back on the table now that the threat is over.

You’re finishing your food when you catch from your peripheral view two pairs of feet that walk and stop right in front of your table. “There a problem, wench?”

You look up to one of the men that had pulled the bar woman into his lap along with a fellow patron that had been at his table. Bile rises up your throat either from the smell that had made its way from him to your table or the sheer size of the man now that he’s standing directly in front of you.

Your teeth grit and one of your hands clenches into a fist not from the name he called you, always having an inherent respect for whatever jobs other women held to survive. While doing any jobs yourself that have been asked of you for coin whether for protection of another or the ending of a life. At the end of the day you're all servicing someone.

“No. I am eating my meal in peace.”

You begin to sober up quickly once you realize what situation you could more than likely find yourself in from your own doing—already attempting to scrounge up an exit strategy in your head that doesn’t stain the floors any more red than it already is from past brawls.

The drunk leans into your space with a sneer and places his hand too close for your comfort on the table. He opens his mouth to deliver whatever patronizing comment he came up with in his inebriated state and you grab your dagger with practiced precision, slamming it on the table without your eyes leaving his. Standing up to level with him even if you have to tilt your chin up a little higher to meet his aggression head on.

His eyes widen as he looks down to see the blade stabbed into the wood right between his index and middle finger before he shakes off the fear and shifts into one of hostility and anger. He sloppily lunges at you before a hand on his chest blocks his path and the same man from earlier slowly becomes a wall between the two of you.

“My friend. You do not want to do that.”

You don’t have to be facing him to feel the anger rolling through him in waves and it’s confirmed when the drunk takes a step back, delivering one last comment no doubt about your appearance before leaving to return to his table with a defeated slump.

Your savior turns around to face you and the tension in his shoulders deflate with a grin. If you were anyone else, you could understand how a woman would swoon in his presence after what happened. He eyes the dagger still on the table and looks at you with an unasked question and you nod your head once allowing him to pull it free and admire the hilt.

He turns the blade to appreciate the sharp edges and meets your eyes again with excitement. “Beautiful craftsmanship. Family owned?”

“Passed down from my father.” If he catches the change of tone in your voice he doesn’t say anything about it.

He returns the dagger back to you and motions his arm towards your table to ask for permission to sit. You sit back down, nodding your head and he takes a seat from across you.

He brings his one hand on the table and taps the wood in deep thought, coming to some unknown conclusion and introduces himself. “My name is William.”

You introduce yourself in return and learn that he is a traveling mercenary just like you earning coin wherever he can along with another mercenary. He tells you about his time spent out East in the search of black powder, skipping most of your questions about it.

“We could use another like yourself. You’re talented with a dagger and I assume the sword you have sheathed on you.”

The corner of your mouth ticks up to convey your many experiences as a mercenary and pause when you remember one part of his story.

“What happened to the rest of your group?”

He taps the wood again to spare some time to think through his answer and chooses simple honesty instead. “They died.”

Your eyebrows raise and a scoff comes out before you can prevent it. “Then I do not know if I want to join you.”

You get up to walk away and he raises his hand with a look you can only describe as pleading. “The bigger the coin the more people we need. We would be stronger in a group and we split our wages fairly.”

You pause and think through your options, reminded of the lack of coin in your pouch after burning through it for food and drink. “Who or what killed them?”

“We all have our secrets, but you would be safe traveling with us. What killed them in the East will not happen to you.”

Under any other circumstances, you would not be convinced but there’s something about the sincerity in his blue eyes that causes you to blindly trust his word. You agree to follow him back to where his fellow mercenary and him are staying when you learn they also do not have enough coin to sleep under a roof for the night.

The two of you walk to the stables attached to the tavern and saddle on your horses to ride to their camp. Even with just meeting him you find yourself trusting the warm mercenary that defended your honor in your time of need.

“So. The other one.”

“Tovar.”

“Yes, Tovar. What’s he like?”

His responding laugh brings unease in the pit of your stomach and when he notices he shakes his head to dissolve any doubts. He scratches his chin with his free hand not holding the reins of his horse.

“His strength is anything with a blade. Just as yours is and he does mean well most of the time, but he is not to everyone’s taste.” You pick up on his hesitancy on the last part of his sentence and decide to give the grumpy mercenary the benefit of the doubt.

Surely he can be trusted when so far William has given you no reason not to trust his judgement.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence on the way to their camp, the sound of Pike’s hooves clacking on the cobblestone shifting to soft ground as the town fades from distance behind you. From above the trees you see a thin trail of smoke to point you in the right direction and hope you can reignite it now that the sun is setting.

You have to strain your ears when you hear faded grunting from some ways ahead of you, but when you turn towards William his unconcern brings you at ease and you release your grip on your sword. You should be concerned about how easily you’ve trusted this stranger in such a short amount of time, but he reminds you of someone dear in your past.

The first thing you see once the camp comes into view is how broad he is, facing away from you and using an axe to split wood to thankfully build another fire. You greedily take that moment to admire his features. William announces both of your arrivals and Tovar turns around—strong is the first word that comes to mind.

He has a scar over his eye and your hand twitches with a need to trace the line as you dismount your horse. It suited him perfectly along with a scowl that you somehow don’t mind. It isn’t until he speaks however, your opinion changes.

He walks to William, turning away from you to shield his whisper, but still too loud for you not to hear it. “Amigo, where are the men you said you would get from the tavern?”

A scowl of your own builds on your face at his issue with you being a woman.

“What? I won’t stop you from going to brothels if that’s what concerns you.” You fail to bite your tongue and keep the seething tone out of your voice.

His shoulders tense at your accusation and that’s not the problem. He has a respect for women no matter what they do to live in this world.

It’s the fact that he knows he won’t be able to focus on a job when you look like that. He spotted your sheathed weapon as you stepped off your horse, obviously capable of defending yourself, but your tongue puts a fire in his belly and his scowl deepens.

“Do you even know how to use that?” He knows it’s a low blow when he points at your sword, but it’s a knee jerk reaction.

“Would you like to find out?” You seethe and grip the hilt of it in warning.

He snarls from your threat, his teeth baring themselves to you and whatever answer he had prepared was interrupted when William steps in as a bridge between the two of you.

“No fighting amongst ourselves. Tovar, she is talented with a blade. Just as you are.”

You ignore the scoff from the Spaniard for William’s sake, but when he moves backwards to allow the two of you to make amends it’s a staring contest–the both of you refusing to apologize for your actions. The tension so thick you can slice it in half.

He storms off to finish splitting the wood, heavy grunts of what you perceive as annoyance with each swing of the axe. William lets out a defeated sigh, asking you to help hunt for dinner and leave Tovar to his brooding.

After your hunt is successful you arrive back to camp with a fire started from your reluctant companion and set up your bedroll close to the flames to keep warm for the cold night.

Silence falls between the three of you as you eat until William fills it with a question that you had hoped he wouldn’t ask.

“What is the history of that?” He points to the dagger you have next to you for protection and you take a deep breath.

“It was my father’s as I said. I grew up on a heavily wooded land with a lot of animals surrounding it and my father and brother tended to the farm that was in our family. One day poachers trespassed our land to hunt for whatever it was they came for but instead they came across my father and brother. And they-”

You trace the grooves on the hilt to ground you and stare into the flames. “A lot of blood has been spilled on this blade. It is mine because there is no one left.”

Tovar watches you from across the fire, the familiar ache of when he lost his loved ones long ago rearing its ugly head in you. He observes the fierceness in your eyes as you relive your haunted past that rivals the flames in front of you. A mirror of each other.

William clears his throat and huskily speaks. “I am sorry for your loss.”

He offers you some reprieve by telling you about their journey to the East that he didn’t share before. A tale of searching for black powder and killing monsters you have never heard of. If it weren’t for the look they both share in their eyes, you wouldn’t have believed them.

A welcomed quiet takes over again other than the crackling of the flames and the occasional screeching of an owl. You close your eyes, your chest heaving in a deep breath, and allow the warmth of the fire to comfort you until your guard is up front and center again at the sound of his deep voice.

“Your sword.” You narrow your eyes at him, still on edge from your confrontation not too long ago.

“I’d like to see it myself. After we ride.”

And as you adjust on your bedroll to sleep for the night you wonder if you can even make it that long.

#pero tovar #the great wall #pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x f!reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

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Come Back Home (Bucky x reader)

Come back home

Bucky x reader

Word count: 3,061

Summary: You were getting worse and were afraid to hurt Bucky, but unable to hide it. Instead of talking it out, you ran away. Embarrassed and afraid, you avoid the calls and voicemails from the man you left. But one night, you can’t help but listen to them, and you need to hear his voice.

Warnings: depression, reader blames herself, Bucky blames himself, anxiety attack, lots of tears, lots of fluff and comfort

I actually got this idea from @thelifeof.jana on TikTok, she posts different scenarios with comfort characters and I wanted to make it into a fic.

Tags: @buckfics @buckys2thicc @abitgryffindorky @stucky-on-spiderman @thatfangirl42 @thundering-barnes

A/N: It’s nearly finals week and it is CRUNCH TIME so I’ve been writing when I can, I apologize for the sporadic-ness of it. Thanks for sticking with me!

A/N 2: I left a few things to interpretation, such as a nightmare. Insert what you want, I know everyone has different experiences and I wanted this to be as relatable to as many people as I could. I also left out when y/n gives an address because 1) I don’t know New York and 2) It’s likely somebody’s address in real life so...interpretation.

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Your phone began ringing, piercing the otherwise silent house and startling you

Answer it.

You stared at the phone, taking a deep breath.

Ring

You picked it up and turned it over, closing your eyes and letting a breath out.

Don’t answer it.

You looked at the screen again, seeing the name of your favorite person.

Bucky…

Ring

Answer it

No.

Please, I wanna hear his voice.

I can’t

Ring

Letting a breath out, you put the phone down and sat on the floor next to your bed, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Then you were left in the silence once again.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, waiting a few more seconds for the next noise. Sure enough, your phone made a sound, notifying you of yet another voicemail.

Another addition to your library of ignored messages.

You picked up your phone, clicking to see the messages you never listened to.

25 unheard messages. All of them from Bucky.

Your finger hovered over them for a moment, allowing yourself to ponder listening to them. But you sighed, closing your phone and placing it back on the nightstand. You couldn’t listen to them. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to resist calling him back. And you couldn’t take that risk.

You’d spent this much time without him. Once you heard his voice you’d be spilling everything to him. Just like you used to. Which is why you left in the first place.

Bucky was special to you. He always had been. Despite all the trauma he’d gone through, he was still kind and gentle. He had been the one to pull you out of the dark place you were in at the time. He was always there to talk to you, listen to you, or help you take care of yourself when you just couldn’t anymore. He’d sat through many of your panic attacks and calm you down if you had a nightmare, just as you would for him. He would drop anything for you, you always came first.

And that was the problem.

He did too much for you, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. This man had already gone through so much pain and suffering and was finally getting better. He was going out more and the nightmares happened much less often. You were grateful for the love he gave you, and you loved him more than anything.

Which is why you couldn’t bring him down anymore. So, one day when he was out on a mission, you had packed up your few positions and left him a note.

Bucky,

I just wanted you to know that I love you so much, but I have to go now. I’m sorry.

-Y/n

You had to keep it brief. If you said anything more you knew you’d say too much, and it would only make leaving harder. And if he knew you were leaving because you were hurting too much, he wouldn’t stop until he found you.

Not that he wasn’t looking for you know.

You had rented out a room in the cheapest hotel your could find in somewhere-New-York-City. It was small, it wasn’t the cleanest, but it was fine. You didn’t care, it was functional. Within hours of leaving, your phone started ringing. Not that you answered. You couldn’t, not when you would start crying once you heard his voice.

You got many texts and calls that night.

What happened?

Where are you? Y/n are you okay??

Tell me where you are, we can talk this out, please.

You couldn’t bring yourself to read more than that. You silenced his messages and let the calls go to voicemail, never able to bring yourself to reject a call, instead letting it ring all the way until he got the same voicemail message every time.

Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!

The same fake cheery message every time, giving an empty promise.

What you didn’t know was that on the other end of the line, Bucky was shattering a bit more with each voicemail he left.

Bucky’s POV:

He couldn’t understand what could have happened. Why you had left all of a sudden. He knew you had some bad days, and the first time he had read it he was terrified that you had done something. He usually was able to see when things were getting bad again but he couldn’t think of what he could have missed. When he saw that you had read his texts that night, seeing the word read appear after a few of them, he told himself that you were okay.

Because he didn’t know what he was going to do if you weren’t.

What you didn’t know was that you had helped Bucky just as much if not more so than he had helped you. His nightmares happened less often because you were there with him every night. He was more outgoing because you had dragged him out to those first few bars and parties. He felt happier because he was helping you, and you made him feel safe and wanted.

And then you left.

He couldn’t sleep most nights, worried about you. Most of the nights he did sleep, he dreamt about you and everything that could have happened. He called you every day, multiple times, needing desperately to hear your voice. He withdrew again, only going on one mission when the team absolutely needed him. It was his only sense of purpose anymore, but it meant nothing compared to what you had meant to him

But you didn’t know that. Because you hadn’t opened any of his messages yet.

It was late now, and Bucky was discouraged. It had been over a week since you had left, and his texts had gone unread ever since a the first night you left. It wasn’t a long time. But it was still too long. He decided to try your phone once more.

Ring

Bucky closed his eyes, begging you would pick up, silently knowing you wouldn’t.

Ring

“Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!”

Sighing, he got ready to leave a voicemail. After the beep he said, broken.

“Please y/n. Come back home.”

Your POV:

You sighed as yet another round of rings echoed through your apartment, hearing the notification soon after, notifying you of yet another new voicemail.

You looked at the time. 11:03 P.M.

You sighed, knowing you should get some sleep. But no matter how tired you were, you knew that once you closed your eyes, you would have nightmares again. And no one would be here this time.

You couldn’t deny it, you weren’t doing well. Your appetite had diminished and you relied heavily on caffeine to supplement the sleep you refused to get. Not that it helped your appetite in any way.

You would go through the motions, make it to work (most days) and get through the day just to...get through the day. You weren’t living really. Just surviving. You knew it was getting bad again, some nights so dark you weren’t sure if you would see the light the next day. Yet you couldn’t let yourself call him. You didn’t want to hurt him.

But you didn’t know that you had already hurt him more by leaving than you ever could’ve by staying.

You sighed, knowing that eventually, you were going to need to sleep. Might as well try to. You didn’t know if for sure you would have a nightmare, so may as well try?

That turned out to be wishful thinking.

Major wishful thinking.

You woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and looking around the room frantically. When you realized it was just a dream, you put your face in your hands and felt tears immediately prick your eyes.

When was this going to stop?

You felt your chest contract as you realized the truth. It wasn’t. Not like this at least.

Just over a week and you were already at your breaking point.

Call him

You looked at the time. 2:47 AM.

You couldn’t call him now.

Call him.

You opened your phone and found Bucky’s contact, finger hovering over the name once again. At the last second, you clicked your voicemail inbox instead, scrolling back down to the first one on the night you left.

“Y/n?”

Your breath hitched as you heard his voice, fresh tears pricking your eyes. Not just from his voice and how much you had missed it, but also the absolute panic in his voice.

“Where are you? Are you okay? Why- why did you leave? Please, answer the phone, I need to know you’re okay.”

You clicked on another one from a few hours later.

“Y/n, please, I saw you read the first few texts I sent. Please answer the phone. We can talk this out, whatever it is just - please call me.”

Tears were falling from your eyes, and you didn’t have it in your power or even the desire to stop them. You flicked to another one that was sent a few days later, this one was longer.

“Please y/n,” it started, his voice soft and cracking with emotion. “Where are you? Just - just tell me where you are, please. I need you. These past few days it’s like I hear your voice and then there’s nothing. I miss you so much. I’m nothing without you please....please just come back home. I don’t care what you did or think you did or why you left. I love you. And I could never stop loving you. I can come get you, we can talk this out. Please. I can’t do this without you. I - I’m falling apart.”

You were now sobbing as you flicked over to your text messages and clicked on Bucky’s name, seeing texts upon texts from him.

One of the more recent one’s caught your attention.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

Never, never in your heart did you ever think Bucky would think that he had done something to drive you away. Your heart broke, realizing he could be blaming himself for your leaving. It was never his fault. It could never be his fault.

With shaking hands, you pressed the phone icon below his name, bringing the phone to your ear as you listened to it ring.

You tried to control your breathing through the tears, falling apart after a few seconds of thinking you had it together.

Ring

Please pick up, I need to hear your voice.

Ring

I’m sorry this is all my fault.

Ring

Please, I -

“Hello?”

Your breath hitched and your eyes flew open. Your words got caught in your mouth, having no idea what to say. Bucky, on the other side of the line, hadn’t even looked at the caller ID. He hadn’t fully fallen asleep yet, but the tiredness was evidence in his voice.

“Hello?” he said again

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he pulled away his phone, seeing your name across the screen. All exhaustion was gone from his body, and he heard you trying to control your breathing on the other side of the line.

“Y/n?”

“I’m so sorry…” you said again, breaking out into sobs.

“Y/n, can you tell me what’s wrong? Where are you?” he said, panicked and getting out of bed, pulling on a shirt and shoes.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you said again, not being able to say much else.

“Y/n, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re okay. But I need you to tell me where you are, can you do that for me?”

He waited for a moment while you tried to pull yourself together enough to repeat the address of the hotel.

As you did, Bucky was already out the door and in the car, starting it and putting you on speaker, driving as fast as he could to the hotel and ignoring all traffic signals. It was the middle of the night, and you were not okay.

“I’ll be there soon, angel, can you keep talking to me?

“I’m sorry Bucky…”

“It’s okay y/n. You’re okay. We’re okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

His words didn’t reach your ears, your breathing getting harder to control and your tears fell faster. You had fucked up, this was your fault. Why did you call him, now he knows where you are and you were going to burden him with all your shit again.

He could hear your breathing become labored as he sped further towards your location. He tried talking to you more but he soon realized that he wouldn’t be of much use until he was in front of you. His heart was breaking and he was hoping nothing was seriously wrong.

But you wouldn’t have called him like this if nothing was wrong.

Clenching his jaw, he scanned the street signs for yours, knowing the city well enough to know he was close.

When he pulled up to the street, he couldn’t help but wince at how dingy this place was. It was run down and the smell was putrid. He was so sad that this was where you had run off to. He took his phone, saying how he was here but it fell upon deaf ears. You weren’t calm enough to hear his voice from the phone you had dropped when you had moved to cover your face instead.

Bucky took the stairs 3 at a time, getting to your room in record time. He pounded on the door, trying the knob even though he knew it would be locked. Calling out your name and getting no response, he decided to break the door in. It was barely hanging on its hinges anyway.

“Y/n? Y/n where are you?” he called out, met only with the sounds of your labored breathing. He followed it to your room, where you had curled yourself into a ball against the headboard, hands covering your face as you struggled to breathe.

He walked over to your side, reaching out his hand but thinking better at the last moment. He needed to make sure you knew that he was there, he didn’t want to scare you.

“Y/n?” he starts softly.

You lifted your head and looked around yourself wildly, startled when you saw the figure of a man standing in front of you, trying to push him away. He grabbed your arms and you tried to break free

How did he get in here?

What does he want with me?

Why-

Your eyes settle on his. Light blue eyes, staring right back into yours. You knew them, you were safe with them. Your own eyes, red and blotchy flash with realization and you let out a sob.

“Bucky…”

He took you into his arms as sobs wracked your body, rubbing an arm up and down your back in efforts to calm your shaking form. He was repeating comforting words over and over again. You clung to his shirt as you kept apologizing over and over again, not knowing what else to say - or even how to say it.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Shh, y/n, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m here. I got you.”

You tried to focus on his heartbeat, steady and strong, as you tried to take deep breaths. Eventually your tears slowed down as you still clung to him, tears drying on your face as you were able to deepen your breathing to match his. His hand still rubbed up and down your back as the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes.

You took a shaky breath. “I - I’m so sorry Bucky.”

Bucky took a deep breath and held her a little more tightly. He could still feel her heart racing. What could she possibly have to be sorry for?

“What happened y/n?”

You felt tears prick your eyes again. Sadness, shame, embarrassment and made you feel sick to your stomach. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before you were able to speak.

“I - I don’t know.”

“Please y/n. Tell me why you left.”

“I just… I was… “ you swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “It was getting bad again,” you said, voice barely audible.

Bucky clenched his jaw, angry at himself that he didn’t see it. “Why didn’t you tell me? I told you you could talk to me about anything.”

You screwed your eyes shut. “That was the problem…”

Bucky pulled you back to look at you. “What?”

Your eyes darted everywhere but Bucky’s face. You didn’t want to see the pained expression you knew he’d have right now. You took a deep breath.

“I just… you were doing so well. And I - I just felt so bad for bringing you down all the time. You would drop anything for me, and you were always there and you were always perfect but I wasn’t.” you finally looked at him. “And I left because I realized I was never going to be.” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t want to put you through that when you were doing so well.”

You looked away, unable to look at Bucky’s sad eyes any longer. Bucky broke the silence after a few moments. “You were the only reason I was better.”

Now it was your turn to look at him confused. “What?”

“You brought me out to places when all I wanted was to hide. The nightmares stopped because you were there to make me feel safe. Every time I helped you, I was helping me too,” he said, voice cracking. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You weren’t too much for me, you never could be.”

When you still looked unsure, he moved his hand to cup your cheek. “It’s okay to let people help you, y/n.”

Tears pooled in your eyes once again. That had been what you had said to him when he began closing himself off, be it an intense nightmare or being triggered. Back when things were bad. Like they were for you now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay.” he whispered, hugging you again. “Let’s go home.”

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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dude I would kill for more DADDY DEKU, the last one gave me liffff, maybe like... "embarrassed to ask".... some anal?? plez and thank you Mizz Nightmare <3 I love all your work!

yandere dom ! MIDORIYA IZUKU

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: condescension, degradation, coercion, profanity, abuse, DUBCON/NONCON, yandere, manipulation, suggestive language, slight infantilization

BUNNYHOLE

She’d started to lose track of how much time passed during their session, forgotten what she’d done to get in the position she was in, forgotten what it was Deku felt the need to remind her of. Too much blood rushing to her head in her position of kneeling over his chest, her ass arched up and her face pushed down, cheek resting on his pelvis, running her tongue up and down the length of his cock nuzzling in her small palm, lips locked and sucking on the pulsating veins bulging from his erection. Or perhaps it was her way of forgetting where she was, her way of escaping, becoming numb to spare herself the humiliation, the frustration, the hopelessness and desperation of being subjugated, of being taken against her will, where becoming mindless was her only option when being in the hands of the madman.

Deku’s larger than life hands held onto her hips, held her in place, stroking the dome of her ass affectionately yet wantonly every now and again as his mouth swallowed down on the juices starting to spill drizzly down her thighs. Fat fingers, lined with muscle, coming to delve ghostly over her folds, with his tongue prodding at her entrance. She’d managed to block most of his praising and coos out of mind, focusing on coming, yet now… having lost count of how many times she’d done so on his experience dedicated tongue, with her oversensitivity blaring and buzzing in her lower abdomen, gnarling and crying for it to stop, it was getting harder by the minute to forget where she was and who she was with when he was still so very intent on lapping at her sensitive heat with his thick tongue again and again and again.

And he knew it.

“Such a good Bunny.” He cooed, slurping at her opening, the stiff pinching scratching of the beard on his chin an extra factor of teasing friction on the lips of her pussy, the action sending vibrations to simmer through her and a moan to spur from where she was nuzzling on the hill of his hairy thigh, her mouth guzzling down on one of his balls, letting go with a wet pop to allow the noise to leave her throat unstrained. “Getting so wet for her Daddy.”

His sloppy tongue continuously licked up the ravine presented to him, making its way farther up than usual, playing with the other unused, and preferably so, tight hole.

She made a jump, hopping further down on his lap, face buried in his ball-sack, yet was quickly pulled back by the strong hands on her hips, cheek thoroughly smeared with a glistening mix of saliva and precum and tears.

As though understating yet not caring about her distress, his hands comforted by messaging circles on her ass-cheeks, perhaps in an effort to keep her at bay as well. “Just play with Daddy’s cock while he plays with your cute little butt, okay Bunny?” She’d gotten so very used to instructions, so used to bending her own will.

His tongue found its way back to prodding at the tight hole, pummeling his fatness inside, seemingly trying to pry her open. “But, Daddy-” She tried, still in an effort to scramble away from his ongoing attack.

He would not have her disobedience, that time had passed long ago. His fingers starting to carve their presence into her midriff, stifling her attempt of escape. “Play with Daddy’s cock, just like I taught you.” He was firm in his demand this time, yet the same whine of condescension, of whiny patronizing correction, was still so disgustingly present in his tone. The voice that made her want to rip her hair out and strangle him with it.

Yet, she obeyed. Mouth proceeding to slobber over his massive cock, suckling on every inch of his girth, licking paths over every enhanced vein, making him groan and buck his hips into her face, letting her head disappear between his strong thighs, massive thighs that could snap her neck if she made the wrong move.

“Good little Bunny.” He drawled before he too continued.

Mewls and adorable small whines escaping her focus on pleasing his cock, as his tongue crammed into the tight space of her butthole. More tears gathered at her eye-sockets, falling onto his cock, making her taste her own despair on her tongue gargling on his balls.

“Bunny’s so hungry… sucking on Daddy’s balls like candy-apples.” She felt like gagging, not out of reflex, but out of disgust and wholehearted cringe for his words, but wasn’t given much space to feel anything but anxiety for too long, what with his thumbs making to spread her ass-cheeks further apart. He was happy to see she stayed in place, yet not surprised as the marks on her hips were already blooming with defined raw redness, evidence of just how intolerable hesitation and especially disobeying hesitation was in his cruel eyes. “Good girl.” He praised, hammering the thickness of his tongue inside her tight ass, now with the new easy access.

One hand shifted from its position of spreading her ass, pointer running over the budding hole curiously.

She felt her guts churn at the act, fear riding her body full with goosebumps. “Daddy?” She squeaked uncertainly, sucking in a breath, relenting from her sloppy activity between his legs, fingers curling into the bedsheets in a manner of bracing herself.

“You’ve such a pretty little butt.” He stated, where the amount of adoration was terrifyingly present in his calm and collected voice.

His finger quit its tormenting haunting and she sighed a relieved sigh, wet slicked face falling back onto his glistening manhood, tongue making to lick up his girth yet again.

“Does Bunny want one of Daddy’s fingers inside?” Her fear rushed back, causing her to go all light-headed while his tongue lapped at the bud again, wriggling over the ring of muscle, drawing circles on it, ignoring her growing anxiousness fully. “Hmm, I bet Bunny would love Daddy’s finger inside her little butt.” She’d gotten used to his suggestive language, knowing what was best for her, but still she couldn’t help but way her options, even though deep down knowing how if Deku wanted something from her pliable little body, he was sure to get it no matter the struggle and fight she put up. “Filling her up-” His musings were cut off, the little girl on top of him fighting ever so slightly to move further away from his antagonizing mouth, pleading with her face shoved into his cock.

“No, Daddy please, I don’t-” He didn’t like that, holding her back with his harsh grip, keeping her ass well arched and presented for him to ravage.

“To me it sounds like Bunny is begging to be punished.” He warned, still playing his games, still with his disgusting tone masking the true sentiment of his words. “Do you want Daddy to punish you, Bunny?” One hand stroked over the plump flesh of her ass, threatening to strike the unprotected skin again and again until she complied with his wishes. She knew from experience she didn't handle the pain well, always folding.

She backed down, better now than later with blooming bruises and a discomfort to sit for a week. “No, Daddy please, I’m sorry, I’ll behave.” She scurried back, scared into position, promptly sloshing over his cock with newfound devotion, moaning happily with his precum smeared on her face, anything to spare her from what cold hell he would show her if she didn’t.

He smiled, kissing the doughy flesh of her ass-cheek, welcoming her back. “Well then… tell Daddy how much you’d love his finger in your butt.” Hand returning. “Come on, don’t be shy.” Stroking over the bud of firm flesh, letting her feel the size of his fat finger, begging her to disobey him, begging her to cry and plead or to sob and force herself to obey his commands.

She chose the latter, knowing what other harsh torture awaited her was she not to comply like a good little girl. “Please, Daddy, please finger my ass.” He hummed contently in response, poking the hole ever so slightly, his fingertip sliding in the wetness of his drool. “I want your finger in my ass so badly, Daddy.” She whined, just like she knew he liked, wiggling her ass at him impatiently like the entitled brat he wanted her to be only for him to correct and humiliate.

“Bunny wants a finger up her little butt?” He spoke hurriedly in the spiked frenzied rush of her words, having them slur in drool as he kissed the hole sloppily, lightly biting the flesh of her one ass-cheek, again to scare her into playing the game.

“Yes please, Daddy.” She suckled on his girth desperately, letting false moans pass her lips as though she couldn’t get enough of his cock choking her throat. Playing the game, playing her part, surviving.

“This little butt right here?” He questioned, tongue flicking over the hole.

“Yes, Daddy please!” She started grinding her hips back into his mouth, knowing her enthusiasm is what his anticipation beckoned.

“Well, if you’re a good Bunny and play with Daddy’s cock then I’ll give this butt what it needs.” He needed her devotion, he needed her to understand just how under his thumb she was, he needed his ego satiated, his cruel sinister sadism fed.

“Thank you, Daddy…” She sobbed, fearing while knowing what he’d do if she were to disobey, resulting to dragging her tongue up and down his cock, hands working the base as she sucked, head bobbing up and down as she made cute little glugging sounds that had his stomach fluttering in utter bliss. “I love your cock, Daddy.” So sweet, just like he trained her.

He hummed at how precious she was, feeling somewhat proud of himself for having brought that out of her. “What do you love about it, Bunny?” His words pushed, but it wasn’t the only thing that was tormenting her. His tongue, burning and wet and forceful, dug into her backside, worming its way into her little hole as she tried her best, fighting with every nerve of her being, fear motivating her to stay perfectly still, though not managing to stifle the whimper.

Her breaths were shaky as she spoke to answer him before he grew impatient. “Daddy’s cock is so perfect and big, feels so good inside me.” He didn’t seem to care that she spoke with a cry in her voice.

His hand, having had rested on her ass as a warning, swung under, calloused textured rough fingers rubbed the bead of her clit, making her moan through her cries onto his cock. She was happy her position didn’t allow her to see his smirk. “I think Bunny thinks Daddy’s cock is scary, hmm?” His finger swirled, sandpaper-fingertip dragging over the sensitive swollen pearl again and again with little regard to how her stomach was curling. “A little intimidating, perhaps?” She rested her head on his thigh, her own thighs shaking, though his other hand kept her steady as his mouth sucked on her tender ring of muscle. “But Daddy’s a hero, Daddy would never hurt you, Bunny. Daddy loves you. You understand that, don’t you?” He asked, knowing damn well her answer would be scattered with how ruthless he was being with his fingers in her clit, abusing what power they had to make her bow.

“I love-ve you too, Da- daddy…” She drooled and sobbed out on his lap, wanting so badly to wind her thighs shut, protect what was about to burst, eyes closing and fluttering as her one hand dug fingernails into where they held her steady in the thick stiff muscles of his thighs, her other hand holding his cock, trying her best to guide him into her mouth so she could do as he demanded and save herself being scolded for not listening even though he was the one making it almost impossible to do much of anything except lie there and take it.

He stuck one finger, on long thick finger, into her sopping wet folds, felt her writhe before she could control herself, another finger still held firmly on her clit, drawing careful patterns he knew would make her mewl. “Daddy knows exactly how to please his little girl… and Bunny knows exactly how to please her Daddy, doesn’t she?” He asked rhetorically, words still carrying even though they were muffled into her ass. “I taught you so well.” His finger pumped, curling, scraping, hooking up into her spongey walls, making her mew. “Do you think Daddy’s a good teacher?” She could feel the curl of his salacious smirk as his teeth grazed past the lips of her pussy, tongue flicking, zig-zagging through the wet tender folds.

“The b- best.” She strained, inching further back as he was dragging, hauling her with his finger clawing at her insides.

“Good girl…” He purred, licking up and up until he met with the bud that now seemed to pulsate, her fear so endearingly on display for him. “I think Bunny deserves her prize.” His voice lowered, and she sucked in a breath with caught in her throat as she felt his hand, scathed and scarred and strangely rough and angled with how many times he’d broken his fingers.

He gave her much time to prepare, finger swirling circles onto the hole before dipping the tip inside. She scrunched her eyes shut at the feel of the tight skin of her hole stretching, forced apart to accommodate for Deku’s fat finger. The tight ring feeling as though ripping at the intrusion, tearing as he drove the digit slowly inside, a digit that seemed foreverlasting, growing thicker the more it inched inside her, until he was finally knuckle-deep.

She sucked with fervor now, in a way to pacify herself, gobbling down on his cock gluttonously. “Does it feel good, Bunny?” He asked, voice like honey so sweet it was burning. “My finger in your cute little butt?” He whined and mocked as he wiggled the length inside her, churning her guts in the prosses, earning small cries of discomfort from her slobbering on his cock.

“Yes, Daddy.” It was barely audible as she whimpered it into his thigh.

“Speak up.” He ordered, stern and stoic voice, still with his finger pumped and prompted into her tight ass, with the other hand’s fingers rubbing circles and pinching her swollen clit between them.

“Yes, Daddy.” Her back sloped as she tipped her head up. “I’m sorry.” Her one hand steadying her, placed in support on his thigh as the other tugged on his cock, fingers not managing to enclose around his girth as she messaged his length in long tentative strokes. “Thank you, Daddy, you feel so good.” She wasn’t exactly lying, and it was clear by the slick dripping that coated her thighs.

“Are you proud to have Daddy’s finger in your ass?” He asked, making her scrunch her brows, strangling herself with how hard she was trying to keep from crying. “You should be.” She cursed her existence, wishing she could take back whatever it was that had his eyes locked on her in the first place, whatever had him kidnapping her only to torment and use her as some slave. “To have Daddy’s number one hero finger pleasing your little quirkless butt.” And there it was, the reminder of how crucially inferior she was, such a perfect quirkless toy to feed his superiority-complex. “Tell me how grateful you are, Bunny.”

This was her life. Subjugated to a mere ragdoll for someone who’d do whatever the fuck they wanted to her, a life of belonging to someone, a life of a pet. “I love you so much, Daddy…” He groaned at her words, yet his fingers dug even harder into her hips. “You take such good care of me.” She just needed to tell him what he wanted to hear. “I’m hopeless without you. Thank you, Daddy.” Seems she did a good job, because he was shifting beneath her, hands letting her go for a second only to pull her into the new desired position.

“Come here, turn around.” He ordered, still in his frenzy, turning her around on his lap, making her sit with his cock smearing drool and precum over her stomach, hot against her skin where it bobbed up between the two of them. His hand and fingers glossy with juices from her pussy, came to grab her chin, cupping her cheek to still her as he pushed his lips onto her face, kissing her with hunger, as though in a hurry, his finger finding her ass again, sinking knuckle-deep inside her once again while grabbing onto the soft doughy flesh of ass, making her yelp against his lips, before he parted once more, a string of spit connecting them. “Does Bunny want Daddy’s cock inside her ass?” He mushed her face between his rough finger-pads, her lips puckered like a fish at him, eyes glossy with tearful plead, her thighs beginning to quake against him as she sat uncomfortably with his finger spearing her in the wrong hole.

Her bottom lip quivered then, eyes wide and brimming. “No- please… Daddy.” She would at least try to sway his mind, bargain her way out of it.

His look hardened, cocking an eyebrow at her resistance. “Is Bunny disobeying Daddy?” His grip on her face was past painful now, bruising, nails marking their presence, close to breaching her skin.

“No, Daddy, please-” She started, scrambling for something to save her, trying to make his hold relent, but falling short of making any savory excuses, reduced to mere whimpering as she accepted a preferred compromise. “My pussy would feel so lonely without you filling me up…” His fingers detached, yet only barely, still holding her chin, still controlling, though looking fascinated by the turn of events, pleasured with his little pet openly submitting to him, all with that adorable sweet voice. “I want your big beautiful number one cock inside me, please, Daddy please, I want you in my pussy.” She pushed forward to brush her breasts against his chest, grinding up into him in the process, hands brazenly stroking his cock all on their own command, forehead pressed against his as she did her best to seem seductive, licking her lips and maintaining eye-contact even as his green orbs seemed crazed and fervent and so dangerously feral.

“Bunny wants to come on Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?” His tone was weirdly condescending, like he was talking to a toddler about getting ice-cream, and though she despised it with every fiber of her being, feeling like the tone itself was gasoline to a roaring raging fire, she did her best to swallow the smoke, knowing it would get her nowhere.

“Yes, Daddy. Pretty please.” She begged, and he wrapped his one hand around the small of her back, pushing her against his chest, his other hand still not having left, with its main finger inside her butt, doing small curious pumps into the tight flesh.

He licked the shell of her ear, a small chuckle coming out as huffs as his hand moved once again away from her back, to line his cock up with her still slick with spit clit, rubbing his cockhead over the bead before sliding it down to push open her sopping hole. “Can Bunny take Daddy in her cute little pussy with his finger inside her pretty ass? Yeah?” Tapping his thickness into her tightness while watching her nod in agreement, only slightly disappointed she didn’t repeat what she said once more, especially when it sounded so delicious dripping from her defeated lips. “Good girl, sit down on Daddy's cock.”

She eased down like she’d done for the past couple weeks, always surprised by just how thick he is, how stingingly and fearfully painful it is, always thinking it couldn’t possibly be as bad as she made it out to be previously though always proven wrong, thinking she ought to have stretched out to accommodate his size to a comfortable fit, yet not having achieved the pleasure still with how many times he’d ripped her apart.

“Hop on that dick little Bunny.” He whispered as she eased herself all the way down, cock fully sleeved inside her, feeling as she was about to burst, so full, so blown, yet he hadn’t any mercy left to spare. She felt his finger wiggle where it penetrated her backside entrance, how his cock and it messaged the wall that separated her two holes, feeling a new type of dangerous, giving her another worry even as the anxiety for what pain treading herself over his cock was already overwhelming enough on its own. “Come on, little Bunny, hands on my shoulders and jump.”

She hadn’t the mind to hold back the whimper, letting her seductive mask slip as the pain mingled pleasure demanded her attention more, hands unsteady as they gripped his shoulder, fingers running over those deep healed scars on his skin she’d gotten so used to tracing. She folded her feet over his legs, given her better balance as she began sliding him in and out slowly, at a pace she could hope to handle and hope was fast enough to please him and his beastly member.

He hummed, free hand coming up to toy with her breasts, grabbing it with those labor-knuckled fingers. “Such a happy little girl bouncing on Daddy’s cock…” He licked over his toothy-grin, salacious green eyes glistening with drunk toxic love-sick madness as he felt her tight suction on his manhood, gliding up and down, in and out, full and hollow. “What do you say?” He decided to tease, decided to make the hurt worse.

A soft whine left her and he couldn’t describe the sick bliss that fluttered in his chest because of it. “Thank you, Daddy.” She forced out yet again, her voice all shaken and adorable.

And still he felt the wanton desire to push. “For what, Bunny? Be specific.”

She knew the drill, what he wanted to hear, but that didn’t make it any easier to force from her throat, even harder to relent from seething the words through grit teeth where she knew such aggression wouldn’t be tolerated, because nothing but her complete and full submission would be tolerated by Deku. “Thank you, Daddy, for giving me your big beautiful number one cock.” What was funny was that it was in a sense still true, despite her hating every word of it, despite her cursing the sentence, the praise, the gratitude. It did feel good, behind the pain, behind her disgust, it felt good. What more, Deku was the number one hero, not just the strongest man alive, but intelligent, knowledgeable and ruthless too, where it really would be unwise to not feel grateful for having been chosen by him, where people should be grateful he even chooses to be a hero at all, when he could just as easily be a villain, or a bloody tyrant. She should be grateful that she was given the honor of being his. Her body sure knows how to show its humility, doing its best to please him, showing him just how appreciated and welcome his touches are with how undeniably wet her pussy gets each time, clenching around his shaft as it drills deep into her, filling her out, completing her, pushing into that spongey spot deep within her, making her stomach flip, toes curl, clit buzz with pleasure, shamefully come all over him.

He made a moan of awe, patronizing in its nature. “Are you gonna come for me? All over Daddy’s cock.” She wanted to scream, throw herself off his lap, slap him, claw and bite and kick, but instead she was doing exactly what he said. “A happy little Bunny stuffed with Daddy's cock and his finger up her bum.” He whined, hand having glided down from holding her chin in favor of wrapping around her throat, nose touching nose, emerald steel-eyes keenly watching her every move, feeling her clench around him, making him hiss with pleasure like a snake.

“Yes, Daddy please.” She never liked snakes. Her new life was made of snakes. Snakes taking the form of ropes, tying her down, chaining her up, snakes in her guts, swirling and coiling and tickling that strange pleasure that had treacherous venom drip onto the snake that penetrated her, his arms like snakes around her waist, thick constrictors holding her still, keeping her trapped for devouring.

“Beg for it.”

She sucked in a beaten breath, forcing her will to comply to his wishes, swallowing her pride, subduing the fighter in favor of having her fall on her own sword, instead of digging her own grave. “Daddy, please can I come on your cock?” One would think the human soul gets used to humiliation after some time, but the ball in her chest hadn’t softened no matter how many times she’d offered up her dignity, no matter how many times Deku had forced her to her knees. “You feel so good inside me, Daddy.” She mewed in gratitude, moaning as he hit the right spot again and again, making her go blind as she tried focusing on what sweet nothings she needed to say. “I wanna come for you so badly, Daddy please.” He gave her a kiss to her nose then, meant to be sweet even though it would have revolted her had she been in the right mind to feel anything but forcibly good, all sweet with chasing her release, riding him, jumping on his length like a good bunny should.

“Good Bunny.” He purred an she had not the mind to feel like cussing, only desperately waiting for him to allow her release. “You see? Things are so much easier when you do as you're told, when you do what Daddy tells you.” He bottomed out into her tight heat, filling her up to the hilt, felt her body spasm with half panic at how deep inside her he was and half pleasure with how dangerous it felt to have her cervix molded by the shape of his cock-head burying itself in the spongey spot. “Come on, come on Daddy’s cock, make Daddy feel good.” She couldn’t refuse, even if he’d told her to hold it, she couldn’t, couldn’t stop the lightning to shoot through her, pussy clenching around his cock like a death-grip, strangling his length, sucking on him, milking his shaft, unsure whether she wanted him to pull out or stay inside her warmth, but luckily that decision wasn’t up to her, all she needed to do was not forget her manners.

“Thank you, Daddy…” It dripped from her mouth like sweet-tasting poison, tongue dripping with thick drool as she panted and mewled with how he continued warming his cock inside her, trying to push further and deeper inside even though there was no more space to be filled, resulting to a deep thrusting that felt as though he was about to push through into her womb.

He kissed her cheek as she numbed down to a relaxed exhausted limp body in his arms. “You’re welcome, Bunny… but Daddy isn't finished with you yet.” She felt her stomach twist despite knowing how she wasn’t done until Deku shoots his thick cream and paints whatever part of her body he had the appetite for.

Pulled from her high by the knowledge of how it was a psychotic madman who had granted it, as she felt said green-haired man guide her to lay on her back.

“There you go, Bunny… such a cute mess.” He licked his lips, where she only barely tried to scurry away from his hungry lips gaining on her sensitive raw orgasm-glossed sex.

She whined when his tongue dragged up her slit to drink her juices, flicking over her tender swollen clit, hands in his hair, trying their best to refrain from yanking him away.

“Oh, Bunny’s so sensitive… did Daddy make you feel too good.” She squirmed beneath him, convulsing as he teased with his tongue and his lips and the light grazing ghosting of his teeth. “Look at you… Daddy’s little Crybunny.” He snickered, smirking as he gorged himself beneath her legs, loving the whiny moans and whimpers she couldn’t hold back, and how her hands tried ever so sweetly to nudge him off, how she dug the balls of her feet into the mattress to try and shuffle away from his attack, but not allowed to go anywhere with his arms locked around her thighs, keeping her just where he wanted her, shivering beneath him and only seconds away from crying and begging him to stop. “Does the little Bunny need her pacifier?” He hummed in askance. “Don’t you move a muscle, Bunny, I have a treat for you...”

He hopped off the bed with a speed that went unnoticed while she blinked to find him position behind her, hovering above her face, thick and fat and veined from hilt to tip, tidy shaven green-stubble above his strutting proud cock, a path of longer hairs trailing up to his belly-button and sprinkled into a pretty growth of chest-hair the higher up his chiseled abs it went.

“Open up, Bunny.” He tapped the glossy mushroom-tip onto her lips, smearing what concoction of precum and juices had mingled together there.

She did as commanded, parting her lips yet making sure to wrap her teeth, knowing how he didn’t appreciate being bitten either by accident or not, having little understanding to how hard it was to fit him in her mouth without letting her teeth graze his impressive girth.

“Taste yourself.” He groaned. “Suck me clean, Bunny.” He lightly patted the side of her face, fingers drumming on her cheek, telling her to hollow them in and suck on him. “There you go.” He praised, watching her struggle not to gag as he began lightly fucking the back of her throat, pushing farther down, liking how her already tight tunnel began clenching around him, trying to hold back the coughs. “Be a good Bunny and swallow all of me.”

Usually he’d enjoy the feel of her nose dipping into his pelvis, but now with her upside down, he could feel his balls being poked as they smothered her only remaining breathing option. Still, he took his time, knowing how she could take a few seconds without air, enjoying the look of his fat cock down her throat, his hand testing a daring stroke over her jugular, watching to see if she would convulse and gag and splutter out coughs like she did the first couple of times he ventured deep, yet was proud to see her stay in play with only a few panicked spams of her chest. He probed even further as he lightly pinched the outline of his shaft between his thumb and index-finger, listening to her begin to whine, a submissive little prayer to let her breathe again.

“Good Bunny…” He pulled out, large hands cupping her cheeks, telling her to remain lying there as he bent over to kiss her spit-slicked lips, his hand reaching over to palm her breast while the other reached farther to rub rough patterns into her terribly oversensitive clit, making her gasp out a strangled uncontrolled moan into his receiving mouth. “Come on, one more time.” He straightened himself, taking the opportunity to push through her open-mouthed panting with his dripping cock. “Get me nice and wet for your little Bunny-butt…”

Her eyes shot open, hands flailing instead of holding onto his thighs. “No-” She tried protesting, as she lightly tapped at his firm muscled ass with the face of her palm, slapping to get her discomfort across.

“No, no, Bunny, do as you’re told, do what Daddy says.” Deku chastised, grabbing her bothersome hands by the wrist and holding them behind his back, feeling her try to recoil away, yet well-trained enough to not bite as his cock pushed down her throat again. “Be a good Bunny and suck on Daddy.” He rocked his hips slowly back and forth, jutting lightly into her mouth. “Just like Daddy taught you.” His voice remained sweetly stoic, like a teacher or a parent, made her want to throw up on him, yet knowing how he didn’t stop last time she did, he just kept fucking her skull, even with the bile and acidic liquid burning in her throat. “Wash out all those filthy protests.” She whimpered at how his hands tightened around her wrists, balls lightly clapping over the bridge of her nose, swinging into her face each time he pushed until his entire length was enclosed to the hilt. “Teach you some manners Bunny-girl.”

Her eyes stung now, with the built-up tears that now flowed freely, dampening her hairline before dripping into the sheets.

Deku moaned, releasing her hands, needing his own to reposition his toy in the new desired position. “Up on your knees.” He remained staining at the edge of the bed, helping his darling kneel. “Posture, Bunny.” He chastised. “Arch that ass up for Daddy.”

His hand spread flat in the space between her shoulder blades, pushing her upper-body down into the sheets, gliding to enclose around the back of her neck to keep her still while the fingers of his other hand stroked chaffed fingertips up and down the tender lips of her pussy, diving between her folds to gather slick wetness he used to push into her sore hole, curling two digits into the spongey velvet walls, making her moan into the pillow she was forced against.

“Stay.” He ordered, all his warmth leaving her as she remained clutching and balling up the fabric of the sheets in her tiny useless fists, keeping her ass presented in the air, waiting with eager horror for Deku to return.

She heard him open a drawer, then click open a lid, the squirt of something she had an educated guess of what was, listened to the slick sounds of him messaging the liquid into his hands, before his heavy steps carried him back to his position behind her.

“Look at this precious little bunny-hole.” His fingers felt slippery as they rubbed and palmed her ass-cheeks, left hand lifting the plump flesh on one side, whilst the other moved to slide up and down the ravine before hooking a finger inside the top tight little ring of muscle. “Bunny needs Daddy’s cock inside her little butt, doesn’t she?” He pushed it in with ease now with the lube covering his hands, preparing the tightness by pumping the digit in and out, tickling the unsuspecting nerves that had never been played with before, the feeling strange yet surprisingly pleasant as his finger scraped downward, rubbing against a spot that had her pussy gushing around nothing. “Bunny’s tight little butt is just begging to be filled with Daddy's cock isn’t it, Bunny?”

She wasn’t too sure anymore. “No…”

He stuck another finger in with the first one at her reply, making her whine out a wail, toes curling, her one leg thumping up and down into the mattress, trying to shake and crawl away but not allowed to go anywhere with his hand reaching to recover the position it held before, holding her down, pressured around the back of her neck. “Up until now Bunny has been enjoying herself, but this attitude… tch, tch, Bunny... perhaps she needs a little reminder of who she belongs to?”

She whimpered at the feel of both his thick fingers gliding alongside each other in and out of her tight tender hole, as she clenched around them and around nothing where juices were dripping down her thighs.

“And there is no punishment without a little pain.”

He’d only been dipping his digits in halfway, and she realized this once he decided to go knuckle-deep inside her, making her jolt at the foreign feeling of something going inside, much deeper now.

She was arching her back up like a cat, trying to hide her ass from his antagonizing hands. “What have I told you about posture, Bunny?” His hand let partially go of her neck to glide up her spine, resting on the small of her back. “Give Daddy your hands.” She hesitated, taking her time to breath, feeling his fingers sink in, making her knees tremble, before she listened and folded her arms behind her, again like he’d taught her. “Now, arch your little Bunny-butt up for me.”

She took small shallow breaths as she readjusted her back into a slope again, knowing what was coming, however as she felt it, big and warm and slick and soft like velvet, riding up her drooling pussy, his fingers disappearing from playing with her hole to make room for what would soon take their place, something much bigger and much longer, both his hands grabbing each her wrists, but not before making a cross of her arms, perfectly immobile for him as he lined his aching eager cock up with her pulsating little hole, she couldn’t hold back.

“No, please, Daddy, I’ll be good.” She begged, trying to scramble away, but being to late as she was left simply sobbing into the mattress, unable to move to any other position without it hurting with how his hands had bent her arms behind her back, yet despite knowing this he still took it upon himself to raise his foot and place it down over the side of her face, stomping slightly on it as a warning to keep still. Her movement obliged, coming to a halt, though not able to contain the trembling. “Please…” She tried one last time, though knowing he had no mercy nor patience left to spare her.

“Don’t disobey Daddy.” He fit his cockhead into the dip of her back entrance again, lining up the attack. “Now Bunny, beg for Daddy to fill your little butt up.” She tried shaking her head beneath the pressure of his foot, feeling her heart in her throat, pouting and scrunching her eyes shut, sniffling so adorably, yet he couldn’t take any pity on her when this was a lesson she needed to learn. “I said beg.” He pulled her arms back, as she screamed with how her shoulder-blades were close to popping out, his foot mushing her face harder into the mattress.

“Pl- please Daddy… fill me u- up…” She blubbered, every inch of her quivering.

He quit his torture, leaving her to simply snivel. “Good girl.” And then he started pushing.

Big bulging mushroom head entering slowly as she whimpered, butthole seizing around it, swallowing it up. “You see, Bunny?” His movements stilled, letting her get used to the new feeling of having something so big fit in the firm taunt hole. “Your little butt is sucking on my cock like a lollipop.”

He aimed a drop of spit at where he was cramming inside her, the cold wetness hitting her with surprise as she slightly jumped on her knees, bouncing in the soft sponge of the mattress, the movement inadvertently making his cock rock with shallow thrusts in and out of her, messaging her opening.

He moaned at the cute gesture. “Bunny’s so eager to receive Daddy’s cock, isn’t she?” He slid farther in, making her moan as his cock dragged along the wall that separated from her pussy, making everything tighten up, her pussy feeling so empty, clenching on nothing at all, yet feeling his fat length in just the wrong place, teasing her, making her so unbelievably wet. “Tell Daddy how good it feels, Bunny.” He pulled out again, beginning a slow tempo of lolling halfway into her.

He looked to her face, flushed red and squished together beneath the sole and weight of his foot keeping her down, lips puckered and bloated, cheeks tear-stained, eyes sparkling as she mumbled on small bubbling purrs, unsure pleasure painting her face, looking like such an endearing hopeless mess as he squeezed into the tight fit of her perfect plump ass. “It feels good, Daddy.” She quavered, shaky breaths and small sniffles leaving her adorable expression.

He hummed in return, sinking just a little bit farther inside her, feeling her tense as he did, an open-mouthed whine leaving her, drool hanging like silver string from her lips. “I think Bunny can be more creative than that, can’t she?”

She knew better than to disobey, especially when he already had her in such a compromising postion, knowing he wasn’t far away from pushing all the way inside her still accommodating ass, make her scream and possibly bleed as he fucked her through yet another punishment. “Daddy’s cock feels so good. So good with your number one cock inside me. I love you, Daddy. I love Daddy’s cock. Thank you, Daddy.” She drooled out as sweetly as she could, which was sweeter than honey with how hard it was to breath in her position of being pushed into the pillow beneath her, body slunk with no way of getting up, a proper prayer-pose as Deku stuffed her even fuller, making her mew.

“That’s right…” He groaned, hips rocking slowly and carefully back and forth, opening her little butt with his thickness, messaging her insides, teasing all the sensitive provoked nerves, poking shallowly into the spot that usually had her coming were it not on the other side, in her other hole who was begging to be stimulated in a way that wasn’t half-way fulfilling and half-way terrifying. “And to think Bunny thought she didn’t want this. Daddy still hasn’t heard his apology…”

“You’re right, Daddy, I was wrong… I do want this…” Another moan was forced from her as he inched even further inside, pushing into uncharted and unsuspecting tender areas, making her bleat and sigh ever so sweetly, unable to do anything but lie there and feel every inch of him stuffing her full, taking his time enjoying her tight hole.

He moaned in awe at her words, nearly slobbering. “Daddy knows what’s best for you Bunny.” Another inch had her feeling even fuller, as though he was in her stomach. “Daddy knows what Bunny wants and needs.” He fucked with the added length for a short-lived while until pushing another full inch inside, having her whine out a moan, her ass shaking like a little tease, wiggling at him, her arms also trying ever so slightly on reflex to pull out of his grasp. “Daddy’s always right, Bunny only needs to please Daddy.”

He started sinking in inch after inch, unbothered or perhaps coaxed by how she struggled now, opting to bottom out fully, have his balls squished against her glossy pussy, his cock completely enclosed by her tight spasming butt, grunting out a shuddering groan of potent pleasure while feeling her little futile struggles trying so desperately to make him stop or slow down as he filled her up completely.

“You just need to listen… and obey.”

TIP-JAR

#yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere #yandere deku #yandere midoriya #yandere midoriya izuku #midoriya izuku #Midoriya #izuku midoriya #bnha midoriya #yandere izuku #yandere izuku midoriya #deku x reader #daddy deku #izuku x reader #izuku mydoria #Izuku #izuku midoria x reader

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idanwyn-et-al · 2 years

Text

(XIV||22-19): Turn a Blind Eye.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

Kccck. Kccck-kccck-kccck.

Was he talking about killing nobles again? Kccck-ing them?

Error. Error. Port Sigma-Ypsilon-Alpha-Gamma-Alpha, alias unit SJAGA disconnected from Hyperstellar Downconverter Reserve Rho mainframe. Ending program ‘Sari’s Directive’. System.exit<0> . Reconfiguring armaments.

Kccck. Kcck-crack-crack.

Where am I? Oh...Sophia preserve...

Her hands flailed through the air. All was light; her eyes scorched by the blue. She felt Fotiá willingly dissipate, its aether flowing into her horn, returning its borrowed strength to its Caller.

“Oakmoss, we need to run!”

Crack-crack. Sloshing, followed by the sound of wet limbs slapping against glass.

“Miovont?” Her throat was singed raw, tamed levin of the facility’s memories already sinking into her mind; the dreams of the conquerors, dissipating before she could grasp them. Always thus, when she was connected. When she fulfilled the oath that had allowed for her line’s survival.

“Yeah, it’s me, Oakmoss. That dragon is waking up; something in my blood is calling it. Can you use aether travel?”

Use aether travel? She was barely present within her own body! Clawed hands flailed again; she found his tunic, but not quickly enough to stop her from falling to the floor. “The...wardsz...” She fought the nausea that sucked at the bottom of her esophagus, doing her best to ignore the sickening organic sounds emanating from the biocapsule.

Strong hands grasped her elbows, drawing her to her feet. Miovont draped her left arm over his shoulders, keeping his right arm encircled around her waist, using his legs to propel her forward. “Come on. Take a few steps. It’s going to break out any minute. Can you see?”

So many questions. Hadn’t she just answered a bunch of his questions? But that was...not her, not really. Befuddled, she did her best to aid him, taking a step here and there on her own when she could. The scent of cave mushrooms and silver moss informed her that the pair had arrived at the gap where the door had been. Oakmoss’s vision was still largely occluded by floating afterimages akin to those one gets when returning indoors on a sunny day. Miovont appeared and disappeared in flashes of bone-white and deep grey; her own robes were almost too bright to behold, even in the dark.

“We have to ward the door,” she managed. As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass filled the air, followed shortly by the slap of wet limbs in pursuit. Oakmoss frantically ran her hands over her many gems, knowing each one’s purpose by feel; none of warding. How could she have been so shortsighted? But there was no time for self-flagellation.

A hurried exchange between herself and the Dark Knight led to the latter prising free one of the gems set into her very flesh. These stones ran in two neat rows down the backs of her legs, where the backseam of fine stockings might cover them, were she to ever to own such things again. Desperation meant an oblong honey amber was now liberated from its organic setting, gouts of blood coursing over her velvet skin; the healing gem she’d forced within the wound couldn’t cleanse the blood that had already been spilled. “Pleasze do not think lessz of me for what I am about to do,” she pleaded with him, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Why should she care what he thought of her? Raw as she was, though, she hadn’t the strength for pretense.

“I won’t.” Following her directions after only the barest moment of hesitation, he added his own blood and intent to the yellow amber stone, holding it between thumb and forefinger before the point of her summoner’s horn. “Ready!”

Oakmoss channels a short burst of aether through the tip of her horn. "I kall tju!" she screams; only fury will carry her beyond the pain, make her incandescent. "Tju fell to my hand, and by my horn tju are szummoned! Guard thisz place as tju guarded tjour beliefs in life!"

The amber quivers within Miovont's hand; there's something fetal about those first twitches of promised life. As the confluence of magicks and intent hit the stone, it begins to expand, floating out of his hand towards the medial point of the opening where the doors once stood. A bubble grows like blown glass, the aether from her horn the fire that gives it shape and purpose. Within seconds, a great pane of amber covers the large opening, and within its center stands a male Viera, golden-haired and brown-skinned, wearing Rabanastran armaments. His eyes open, and look unflinchingly towards Oakmoss. "Witch," come his words, drenched in blood and hatred.

As she’d hoped, the Rava’s desire to exact revenge upon her proves his second undoing, just as it had his first. Miovont's intent fills the soldier's lungs, and he retches, then turns as if swimming in syrup to face the oncoming dragon. The horrifying mess of half-finished limbs slams into the amber as it catches sight of the soldier within it, and the two are locked in perpetual battle, the amber solidifying right as the soldier's sword connects with chimeric fangs.

The scene is all that remains in the pinpricks of Oakmoss’s vision; then, all fades to eigengrau.

He’d carried her so far. All the way back to the closest thing she had to a true home; her repurposed temple ruins behind a waterfall in a neglected part of the Lavender Beds. Why do I often use waterfalls as doors? He’d set her gently on the silken sofa she’d liberated from some forgotten estate, using her magicks to make it a more portable size.

When she awoke in her smallclothes, it was thanks to his having found the right healing potion on her messy shelves. As the draught coursed through her veins, it brought succor and shame in equal measure; she was fully awake, now, and wished only to forget. A glass of wine was not enough, but it was a good start. How much longer could she expect him to turn a blind eye to all she was continuing to unfold of herself before him?

"I wiszh I kould szay that Bjeldal deszerved his fate. To be entrapped and carried like that for yearsz. But...he wasz right about usz. He attacked my mother and I, when I wasz younger. Szaid we puszhed the magicks of the Wood too far; that we would bring the Allagan doom upon all." Her explanation sounds hollow, even within the safety of her reinhabited ruins. She does her best to suppress the memory of the golden-haired Rava; everything about him radiated the sun itself. Amber had been the only thing that would hold him. "I have alwaysz been trouble. I hope at leaszt today, it gained tju the knowledge that you were szeeking. And that tjour associatesz remain safe." The Viera looks to Miovont; after a moment, she is able to meet his eyes.

Mio is tired, so his dramatic nature is muted, as is his confused expression; his right eye opens wider than the left. “Oh, I just assumed you had a good reason to trap that fellow in amber. No need to explain it to me.” The Duskwight settled onto the couch as he continued. “And this excursion was immensely useful. A grand adventure and grand company as well.” He frowns. “I’m sorry for what you had to do in there. No one should be used like that.”

"Tju mean ward the door? Oh! Oh." A light rose flush of embarrassment touched her velvety cheeks. "Already I have forgotten. Like a dream that fadesz the moment tju kick the furs off of tjour legsz." Oakmoss mimes doing so, though her legs are slow to comply. "I offered. But, I truszt tju szee why I do not want that information uszed lightly. Szo much plugging and unplugging, and...perhapsz there isz nothing left of Sjaga Kisne." This, too, is an offering; her forest name, without the Allagan auspices around it.

Miovont gives the name the barest notice; a nod to the secret he’s promised to keep. “I do. A casual disinterest for your well-being is all it would take for someone to cause you harm, with no way for you to stop them.” He sips his wine, content to let his long limbs slacken as the alcohol courses through them.

Oakmoss---still her preferred name, even within her own mind---turns a glance up towards her bed, wondering if she has the strength to ascend the moss-slick stairs to reach it. If she has the strength to request his company for the safety and peace it provides.

When at last she is able to stand, she rests her hand on his pauldron for a moment, and he follows her to bed.

(Continued and concluded here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #Oakmoss Vithsyna #XIV Write 22 Oakmoss Story #Prompt 19 #Turn a Blind Eye #rp snippets #Miovont Kotelleloix #including the big-ass Ivalician playlist that gave me STRENGTH #also yay some Soft for today and tomorrow to close out her crazy story #O glorious Allag lost #and Meracydia still dreams #ffxiv summoner #ffxiv dark knight #viera #elezen #duskwight #veena

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zmayadw · 3 years

Text

'Goodbye', but not 'the end'

- a Duskwood based (Jake x Mc) story - PART THREE (final part)

->PART ONE<- ->PART TWO<-

„Maybe not all goodbyes are the end – and that's what makes them good.“ - Gwendolyn Heasley

In the time that followed after she learned of his fate, Mc tried, and god how she tried hard, to survive day after day without falling apart. The process of trying to heal her shattered heart was no fun at all.

She would move around her apartment in daze, eyes swollen, wondering if the tears will ever stop. And in the rare moments when they did, she would break down and cry again over silly things, like spilled milk or a broken nail. She would force herself to eat, swallowing every bite with disgust and try to keep it from coming back. Night after night, she would toss and turn in her bed, just to be awakened by the same nightmare, with those cursed words echoing in her head long after it.

Those days quickly turned to weeks, weeks became months, and in the blink of an eye the seasons changed, too.

Then one morning, dragging herself tiredly through the apartment, she stopped at her window and stared through it in awe. She just stood there motionlessly not daring to blink, afraid that if she do, this breathtaking scene she was seeing would disappear on her. She situated herself dreamily on the window bench, and for the first time in months her shattered heart jolted in excitement, as her eyes once again got lost in the beauty of her cherry tree.

Its soft pinky-white blossoms were long gone, foliage in mesmerizing shades of red, orange and gold taking their place. They moved playfully with the wind, the sun illuminating them giving the illusion of a thousand tiny flames dancing before her eyes. She was hypnotized.

Her tree looked so vibrant, its grief over lost blossoms erased by this new emerged beauty. With that thought, she cried one last time, that thought stirring up a trace of hope in her, that maybe, just like her tree she, too, could feel alive again. And once again, the sight of her beautiful tree helped calm the restless spirits inside her, to make her pain begin to lessen, and allow for her shattered hear to slowly, but surely begin with the process of healing.

Week after week, she began to feel better. The pain of his loss was still much present within her, but it was no longer unbearable or threatening to break her again. Each new day brought more peace to her restless mind, and she slowly returned to her usual routine. But there was an unexplainable and constant feeling deep inside that something was still holding her back, that there was something she still needed to do to really be able to move on with her life. But she couldn't quite figure it out.

Walking back to her apartment from the store, Mc shivered. The fall was coming to its end, the branches of just recently colorful trees almost completly bare by now, and the hint of winter slowly creeping in was felt in the increasingly colder air. Impatiently waiting for the green light to cross the street, her gaze fell on the headline in the sports sections of the newspapers the man in front of her was holding. "Goodbye to another first division team" For some unknown reason, she lingered thoughtfuly on that first word, not realizing that the man started crossing the street.

„That's it!“ she suddenly exclaimed out loud, noticing the green light and hurrying across. That's what she needed, a goodbye. She never said a proper goodbye to him, and that's what was missing. She needed a definitive closure, the end, before she could truly move on. But how to do it? How was she suppose to say goodbye, when the person who she needed to say it wasn't here? How to do it meaningfully, so it won't just seem like empty words spoken into the wind? As if hearing her thoughts, the wind whistled in her ear, making her tuck her hands deep inside her pockets and quicken her steps.

When she reached her apartment, she was still contemplating on how to do it. And when the evening came, she was still completely clueless. And frustrated. How hard can this be? she thought, sitting down on a sofa with a heavy sigh. She got up again, pacing frustratedly around the room. She suddenly stopped, turning around and hastily moving to her desk. She sat down opening the drawer, and with a shaky hand took out her light green letter writing set.

Emotions stirred up in her, thinking of all those letters she wrote before. All the feelings she poured out in them resurfaced back, but exactly because of that the idea of writing one more letter, one last letter to say her goodbye with it, appealed to her more and more.

And so she decided to do it. At least she tried. She started with the letter so manny times, but each time after writting just a few lines she would crumple the paper in frustration throwing it on the floor. And after a while, she ended up just staring numbly at the blank paper in front of her.

Suddenly it dawned to her why she was struggling with this so much. She was doing it wrong all this time, constantly trying to write down something that was completely unneccessery. Shaking her head she chuckled to herself and reached for her pen. At the end, she wrote down just three words, before neatly folding the paper and placing it inside the envelope.

She began to feel lighter looking at the envelope in front of her, as if some invisible weight was finaly lifted from her shoulders. The pain was still there deep inside her, and some tiny piece of it will probably stay there forever. But she was happy, managing to find a way for the end she needed to move on. And she found her perfect ending right there at the beginning of it all.

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

„Oh come on, Nym, don't look at me like that! I'm not doing anything wrong here!“ A little black pup tilted his head sideways as a young man spoke to him. „And besides“ he started again raising his eyebrow at the pup „Didn't we agree at keeping an eye on her? Just out of precaution?“ The pup barked in response, happily wagging his tail. „Mhm, I thought so.“ he said smiling and scratched Nym behind the ear. He turned his head back to his laptop, to a live feed from a CCTV camera on it. The smile slowly left his face, looking at the girl sitting at the window table of a coffee shop.

The reality of not being able to be close to her and hear her voice, to move a loose strand of hair behind her ear, or not being able to feel her warm touch on his skin, or savour in the sweet taste of her lips – the reality of it all hit Jake hard as he watched her, he hasn't noticed when the tears started falling down his face. The little pup suddenly jumped at him, calling for his attention. He looked at the pup with teary eyes, lifting him onto his lap. „Don't worry, Nym, I'll be all right.“ He hugged the pup, his little muzzle finding its way to his face licking at the tears. He closed his eyes with a chuckle „All right, all right, I get the hint, Nym. No more crying, I promise.“ The pup licked at his face few more times, then jumped from his lap running off, happily wagging his tail. Shaking his head after him, her turned back to his laptop.

Mc was now in a company of a friend. And after so long, her face was finally smiling, the trace of agony of the past events nowhere to be seen. After what he put her through, seeing her like this made him a little bit relieved. But that devastating pain he felt when he decided to fake his death, and knowing the effect it will have on her with the cognition of it, was still much present at him. But it was crucial for her to belive in it, to truly belive in what happened to him. He couldn't risk the tiniest possibility for her to know anything about it, then all of this would be in vain. Like this, with time, they will leave her completely at peace and she will be safe again, her life returning to normal.

His gaze then turned to the light green envelope lying on the desk next to his laptop. It was the last letter she sent, the one that contained only three words, but those words were the saddest and most painful ones he ever read. Nym suddenly barked next to him, Jake turning to look at him. The little pup had his leash in his muzzle, impatiently pacing in the spot. „All right, Nym, lets go.“ He said with a chuckle, taking the leash from the pup. „I did promise you we'll go explore our new place of stay.“ Nym barked excitedly before rushing out through the doors leading to the yard of their new place. Jake got up, glancing once more at the envelope on the desk. 'Goodbye, my love.' That was written on the paper inside it. Just three words, but they were more than enough to break ones heart.

Stepping outside, Jake welcomed the warmth of a winter's sun hitting at his face. Nym was eagerly waiting for him, wagging his tail so fast from the excitement upon seeing him, scattering snow all around him. He started walking towards him, and even though the pain in him was going strong, he couldn't stop a mischievous smile coming to his face. Ofcourse, the consequences of what he have done are no joke, nothing to laugh about there, and saying goodbye is never an easy thing to do. But then again, if you really think about it, some 'goodbyes' don't mean 'the end', you know?

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fanfic #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc

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the-anxiety-ridden-writer · 3 years

Text

knives on my body, blood on my hands

Chapter One: The House At The End of The Street, The Cabin Buried in the Woods

THE CLOCK HAS BARELY TICKED PAST NINE O’CLOCK when the last light flickers off. Ink black shadows swell in the thin backstreets whilst gray storm clouds obscure any light coming from the shining moon.

The old town plunges into darkness and hidden within it, a little girl revels in it. Tilts her head back and let’s the beginnings of the storm wash over her, as if the rain water that begins to seep into her very being can wash away the red that has stained her soul.

(It can’t, the blood on her hands will transcend lifetimes)

A bright clash of lightning brings her out of her thoughts. She melts into the shadows and continues on her way, making her way down the street with eerie silent footsteps.

Perhaps a lesser man would have stumbled down the street, unable to walk the burrard street without tripping over himself. But the little girl moves with a silent grace in her step, weaving around the bumps and cracks even when she can barely see the boots on her feet.

The training of her handlers, years spent in the Hydra and The Red Room overcoming her. She could walk the streets - could walk a path around the world and still carry the deadly grace and efficiency that they had beaten into given her.

Besides, the little girl was just The Asset to her handlers, Hydra’s own personal Angel Smerti. She was no man, much less one of low value.

The house at the end of the street is quiet when she enters it. The screams of the lightning hide the soft whine of the window when she opens it and the creak of the wooden floorboards when she lands on them.

The Asset squints her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness and trail over the bookshelf lined walls. She stepped towards the oak desk, lifting one of the files scattered on the surface. She let her eyes scan the pages within before setting it down, letting the words winter soldier, car crash, two victims and serum mull over in her head before filtering it away for later, a loud clatter pulling her attention to the doorway.

A poison slick dagger is already soaring through the air and embedding itself in the figure before she can fully get a good look at them. The figure - a frail, old man with thinning white hair - stumbles back from the force of the knife, dark eyes widening in fear as the Asset stalks over to him.

She gives him quick once over, letting her eyes roam over the man as his muscles begin to tense up until he can’t move at all, until he is nothing but a mere puppet that the Asset can pull all the strings of. A puppet that the Asset can cut all the strings off of.

She carefully ignores how those last thoughts bring a small sense of dread and horror that pools in her stomach. Turn her head to the voice telling her ‘what’s one more body to add to the pile?’ And the voice asking her ‘just how monstrous have you become?’

(too much, far too much for someone her age)

The man finds his voice, previously lost in a sea of gasps and whimpers, “Please.” he begs, eyes wide, a wrinkled hand pressed to the dagger buried within his stomach.

“Please don’t ki-“ the Asset cuts him off, yanking the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. It doesn’t take long for the old man to leave these mortal planes, drifting off to be judged by an otherworldly being that can distinguish a saint and a sinner and never the between. To the otherworldly being that thinks he has any right to judge the actions of a human being trying to survive.

No, Death has never discriminated between the saints and the sinners.

‘And neither shall I’ the Asset thinks, ripping her dagger from his throat to slip back into the many holsters that cover her clothing.

She lugs the old man into the study, manhandling his body into the smooth leather chair, resting his head upon the oak desk, staining the folders with his blood. She stepped back, observing her work with a critical eye. It almost looked like the poor man had fallen asleep at his desk, if you - you know - ignore the blood.

The Asset eyed the scented candles perched atop one of the bookshelves, promptly labeled Cinnamon Sugar! Warm Spring Sunshine! and Peach! The Asset raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to mind.

An idea that would end in the echoing cries of firetruck sirens throughout the quaint street, the horrified muttering of neighbors and the ashes of an old man's study.

•☽○☾•

IT’S DAWN by the time the Asset makes her way back to where her handler—a sleazy, middle aged man that she hadn’t taken the time to remember his name—is currently based.

The sky is a disarray of colors, the sun spilling a cup of bright yellows and exotic oranges over the previously dark canvas. The Asset finds herself staring up at it, and feels a deep longing begin to stir. For the sky ran everywhere. It ran through the deepest of forests and the driest of deserts and over the endless waves of the ocean. The sky ran everywhere, demanding to be seen and heard and free and the Asset found herself envying it.

Truth be told, there used to be a fire in the Assets soul, before she was called Asset and went by the name that had been sewn into a velvet blanket by a woman that may have cared. It would burn through her veins, close to her heart and on days when her trainers would be harder on her than the rest for her heritage or when one of the girls - a pretty blond who went by Rowena - would make a cruel remark about the shape of her eyes, she’d let the fire consume her, let it burn through her and come out of her mouth, searing into them, until Rowena wept ugly tears into her hands and the trainers unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks before demanding an apology. The Asset can’t remember if the girl with her name sewn into a blanket had ever apologized, had never wanted to dwell too much on those memories.

(she hadn’t, the girl took all the pain and torture with her head held high. she refused to apologize for the fire in her soul. )

The Asset shook those thoughts away as the cabin her handler—Ivan Vanko—had holed himself up in came into sight. Just the sight of it, and the thought of facing Ivan had her straightening her posture, wiping any sign of weariness and schooling her face until there were no cracks in her porcelain mask, nothing for Ivan to dig into to expose all her thoughts.

There’s no noise when she enters, the door shutting silently behind her. She tenses, tilting her head to the side before pulling out one of her knives. Moving down the hall, she keeps her senses sharp, With no idea who she’s up against, she waits, muscles wound tight and her mouth a hard line, eyes darting around the slim hallway walls. She doesn’t have to wait long.

A hand thrusts out of the first doorway to her right, a strong pull has her flying through the air and losing the grip on her knife. Pain erupted in her shoulder but she didn't give it the time of day. Instead she rolls to her feet, springing up and throwing every ounce of her strength into the flying kick that sends her assailant slamming into the wall with a yell of pain.

The Asset lets herself breathe, if only for a second. Her eyes assess her assailant — a well dressed man with balding hair — cataloging every weakness she can find, from the way he favors his right side to the fading bruise on his right temple, while he lay recovering.

This time, when he lunged for her, she is ready.

She side steps his attack, digging her knee into his injured side, and sends a sharp elbow into his already bruised face. A loud crack echoes in the room, and when he stumbles back, a scream of pain that can only come from deep within himself, a small twisted part of her is pleased to see his nose is far from the correct position.

Adrenaline thumps through herself, a synchronized sympathy that plays in tempo with her heart. When both he and his little friend that had been waiting, watching in the shadows of the room lunge at her, she already knows who the victor of this battle will be.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where their dance begins. Or rather, her dance begins.

She dodges his friend's attack, turning and arching her leg in the air, slamming it into assailant number two — a short woman who was barely taller than The Asset — side. It leaves her stumbling back, groaning as she falls like a corpse into the glass table in the center of the room.

The Asset grunts as strong arms encircle her, lifting her up, up, up. She grunts, moving her arm up and once again digging her elbow in his face. It connects with his eye this time, the action leaving him stumbling back, clutching his hand to his eye. The Asset doesn’t give him time to recover, doesn’t have enough sympathy, enough empathy, enough mercy in the body that has been crafted with the fists and guns and needles of the men and women who have used her, trained her, killed her.

It’s why the dagger slips so easily out of its concealed holster and into the man's chest. A cry of agony is silenced with the arc of her leg, her foot connecting with his Adam's apple. He toppled over, hands held to his chest as if he can relieve the pain that she has brought to his body.

She stared him down, the soft creak of wood under her foot echoed like screams around the room. She plants one foot on his chest, pressing down as she pulls the dagger from his chest, baring her teeth behind her ninja-esque mask as he screams.

She leaves the man there, bleeding, beaten, broken and goes to find her handler.

AN: I don’t know what this is, but it’s dumb. I’m also dumb tho and I’m thinking of adding on.

Special thanks to @unmaskedagain , @nightlychaotic and @nobodyfamousposts for introducing me to maribat. I love all of your maribat posts.

Tag list: @avengerthewarrior , @nightlychaotic

#mlb x marvel #assassin marinette #Marinette is the asset #hyrda #maribat #but later #marinette dupain cheng #mlb x dc #marinette is the Asset #in case that wasn’t clear

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poppywrites41 · 3 years

Text

Captive Love Ch. 2

Prince! Yoongi x Maid! Reader

Here is chapter 2! This chapter will focus on Y/N’s first day of work…and maybe a little bit of a cliffhanger.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing, violence, description of past deaths, mentions of smut

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“Rise and shine girls!” Lilith shouts through the halls of the servants’ quarters, her meaty fists pounding on each of the girl’s doors. Y/N swears she can feel her room shake every time that woman’s fist comes in contact with a door. “You all have 10 minutes to get dressed and come down to eat!” Lilith calls, her heels clacking away. Y/N raises her arms up to stretch. She looks out of her small window to see a garden with a path that leads to a small set of doors going into the back of the castle. She turns to her cupboard and takes out her servant’s outfit. She takes off her dress that she wore yesterday, neatly folded it like her mother taught her to, and placed it in the cupboard. She took a look at the outfit laid out on the bed. It was not elegant in the slightest, but it was sure prettier than any outfit she had worn in her life. It was a pretty beige with ¾ sleeves that were flexible enough to move the arms comfortably to perform the needed tasks. The skirt was neatly fitted on the waist and ran to the ankles. It was not puffy at all and had a comfortable feel to it. And to top it all off, pretty little white lace ruffles were added to the ends of the sleeves and around the top opening to give it some style, which Y/N really appreciated. When she got the dress on, Y/N took a look at herself in the small mirror hanging on her wall above her tiny sink. She spotted some dirt on her cheeks, probably from the wagon, so she splashed her face with water, rubbing at her skin. After her facewash, she noticed how messy her hair had gotten. She ran her fingers through the h/c locks and tied the hair in the front to the back, creating a half up-half down style. She made her way to her door, slipping on her shoes and head down the hall to the servants dining hall.

When she arrived, she found a seat at a table where some of the girls she arrived with yesterday were sitting at. They were not talking to each other as much as the other servants were, probably because they were new or nervous. Y/N sat down next to a young girl with dark brown hair. Once she sat down, an older woman brought her a tray with a piece of bread, some water and a small bowl of what looked like to be chicken broth. Y/N turned to the girl and offered a small smile, “Hi, I’m Y/N. We came together on the wagon yesterday. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier.” The girl’s hazel eyes met hers and she gave Y/N a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m Emily. I don’t really talk when I’m nervous. I have a lot of anxiety when I feel pressured.” She said in a quiet tone. “I get it. I am totally nervous. I mean, yesterday I was living my normal life and now suddenly, I’m a servant to the royal family. The people who I thought of as family, gave me away for money without a second thought.” Y/N said taking a bite of her bread and immediately chasing it down with some water. Emily frowned, “I’m sorry to hear that.” “So,” Y/N said after eating a spoonful of the bland broth, “How did you get here?” Emily looked down at her food and played with it with her spoon, “I’m actually a twin. My sister and I are daughters of bakers. My mom and dad worked so hard their entire life, baking for the royal family. My sister was a big help in the kitchen. She is so smart, kind, outgoing and beautiful. She is pretty much everything I am not. I would usually mess up tasks that would get me in trouble, but she would always defend me. My parents loved me, don’t get me wrong, they were just worried about me a lot. I wasn’t let out a lot. I could have been an embarrassment to them. Then, my sister met a man who came from a good family. They fell in love and are to be married. However, the guards came before the wedding and were trying to get my parents to give them my sister for a large sum of money. So that’s when I volunteered myself to go in her place. I didn’t want her to leave everything behind and to ruin her chance of a happily ever after, so I went in her place.” Y/N looked at the girl with awe, “You are such a good and brave sister to go in her place. I’m sure she is very thankful for you. I don’t think you are an embarrassment. Just stick with me and we will get through this together!” Emily smiles at her and nods in agreement. Before anything else could be said, Lilith’s voice was booming throughout the room, “Mealtime is over! Everyone sit down a listen. Tomorrow is the Grand Royal Gala so we will need to clean the castle extra today. Royal families from all over the country will be attending so I want that castle spotless. Here are the groups and their tasks for the day. Rosetta, you and your hall will clean the floors and windows of the ball room. Claire, take your girls and polish all of the utensils and dishware. Isabel, you and your hall are in charge of cleaning the dinning hall. I want that space especially clean.”

While scrubbing away the dirt on the floor of the halls, Y/N reflected on what Elizabeth informed them about the royal family:

First off, the king. He has his own personal servants who clean, dress and cook for him, so it was highly unlikely for her to be involved with him. He is a strict ruler and likes for everything to be perfect. He does not interfere much with his sons’ lives, but he is more attentive to his two eldest sons. He wants to make sure they are both well-educated and fit enough to rule the kingdom when his time is up.

Same goes for the queen. She is a more carefree person than her husband. She enjoys balls and festivities. She interacts more with her sons than her spouse, but definitely more with her youngest sons, since the older ones are with the king or in counsel or military meetings. She clearly loves her family but is not the most observant or caring mother. She lets them do as they please.

Now, the eldest prince, Prince Seokjin. He is the next in line for the throne. Elizabeth said that he is very serious about his role in the family. With his brothers, he can be a fun person who will crack jokes and enjoy the company of others. But when wronged, he can be a completely different person. He once chopped off a chef’s fingers for making a soup too spicy for his liking and fed those fingers to his dogs. Since he will most likely become king in the near future, more galas will be held to find the prince a suitable wife. Overall, Y/N believes that she will not be in contact with the prince very often either.

The second eldest is Prince Yoongi, the second in line for the throne. According to Elizabeth, he rarely shows his face in public. He is extremely introverted. He keeps to himself, usually in his room where he will write poems, or he will be sleeping. Even with his introverted nature, he is somewhat of a genius. Elizabeth said that when he was a teenager, the king went to war with a foreign land and was at a disadvantage. It was Prince Yoongi, at age 16, that stepped in and completely remodeled the military tactics, which won them the war. However, like his brother, when wronged, he turns into a beast. One day, he was asleep in his room when a servant came in to clean. The servant did not notice the prince asleep and continued his task. It was not until he accidentally knocked the prince’s favorite ink off of his table and spilled it on the ground. The prince woke up in a rage. The man tried to apologize to the prince, only to have himself sent to the dungeons for a week with no food or water. On the last day, Prince Yoongi went down to see the servant, only to behead him himself.

When Elizabeth told them that story, Y/N felt deep chills run down her spine. Hopefully she won’t have to interact with Yoongi during her time at the castle.

From what she heard about the third and fourth oldest princes, Hoseok and Namjoon, they are not as hot tempered as the two eldest. Hoseok is a kind person with a bubbly personality, but when he is pushed the wrong way, he can be a force to be reckoned with. Namjoon on the other hand has not publicly displayed any hostile actions. He is extremely smart and a good leader. From what Elizabeth said, Namjoon is somewhat of a leader to all the brothers. He is very considerate of all of their opinions and is able to settle any arguments between the brothers. Y/N does not suspect to have any issues with those two princes.

Now the last three. Jimin and Taehyung, the fraternal twins who like to cause mischief in the palace. They seem to like to pick on the staff and belittle anyone who is of lower status then themselves. Out of the two of them, Taehyung is more sadistic. He will keep harassing staff members until they leave, hurt themselves or commit suicide. Jimin on the other hand, likes to make people, especially the women he has accompany him in his chambers, feel like they cannot survive without him. Whenever he has wronged one of his girls and they try to talk to him about it, he uses his charming attitude and well-chosen words to turn the whole conversation around onto the girls. He would make them feel like they were the ones who wronged him, and they would apologize to him and swear that they will do better.

Last but not least, the youngest prince, Jungkook. He had everything handed to him on a diamond plate. Elizabeth noted that his beauty almost rivals that of his oldest brother and Jungkook knows it. She said that he excels in anything he does. However, he is probably the scariest out of all the brothers. Jungkook can get away with anything…ANYTHING. Apparently, he was in love with a princess once and planned on marrying her. One day before he planned on proposing to her, he caught her having sex with one of his guards in the library. Furious, he went to his room and waited for her to return. When she did, he asked her where she was, and she lied to him saying that she went for a walk in the palace garden. Jungkook then called the guard she was with into his room and had two guards block the doors out of his room. He tied the princess to a chair, ignoring her cries trying to convince him that she would never cheat on him. He then ordered the guard to remove all of his clothing, leaving him nude. Jungkook had the guard put on prison cuffs himself while the prince hammered a hook into the wall. He beckoned the naked guard to lift his cuffed hands onto the hook. Once everything was in place, he slowly began to castrate the guard, relishing in the man’s screams of agony and the princesses’ shrill screams of horror. After he castrated him, Jungkook swiftly sliced the man’s neck, causing blood to spew out from the slash and him to choke on his own blood, all the while Jungkook forced the princess to watch. Once the man’s body stopped twitching, he untied the frozen princess and took her to his balcony. The princess began apologizing to the prince promising that she will never be unfaithful to him ever again, swearing her loyalty to him and begging for his forgiveness. He gave her a warm smile and gave her a small kiss on the lips, telling her that she is forgiven. And Just as the princess began to relax, Jungkook shoved her over the balcony and watched her body fall to ground. When the prince’s parents found out, they sent word to the princesses’ father that she had run off with a man and that they cannot find them anywhere. The princesses’ father believed them and sent search parties all around the country, never to find out the truth about what happened to his daughter. It’s because of that incident that Jungkook ends the lives of those who betray him.

All of a sudden, she heard something being knocked over and water spilling. Then a sudden cry of pain. Worried that one of girls hurt themselves, Y/N immediately got up and ran down the hall towards the noise, ignoring Emily telling her not to involve herself.

Y/N could hear a males voice from down the hall, “You stupid whore!! Your spilled you water on my fucking new shoes!!”

Once she turned the corner to where she would find the girl, her eyes widened, and her heart stopped.

#poppywrites41 #yoongi x reader smut #yandere yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #prince yoongi #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader

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waywardrose13 · 3 years

Text

Night and Day

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4263

Warnings: Language, witch!reader, mentions and implicaitons of sex, angst, some fluff, not enough editing to satisfy me

Summary: You hid the fact that you were a witch from the Winchester brothers for years. After a run in with an old mentor of yours causes your secret to be revealed, the brothers find out that not only are you a witch, but one of the most powerful in the world. When Dean is given the task to kill you in exchange for his brother’s life, you must face the fact you lied to the man you loved- the same man who hates witches with a burning passion.

A/N: My tags haven’t been working lately. I’m going to put my tags in a reblog. Comment or shoot me an ask letting me know if you got a notification or not. Oh, and also- surprise!

“Dean, I’m serious. We gotta get up.”

You gently nudged at your boyfriend. A smile played on your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you. He whined and let out a long sigh.

“Five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty mintues ago,” you scoffed, smirking down at him. He groaned and lifted his head to look at you.

“You’re a joy killer,” he said.

“A joy killer?” You asked. You raised a brow as your smirk grew. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said.

“Right. Okay big boy, up and attem, let’s go. We’ve got that case in Ozark.”

Dean groaned again. “We just got back from a case two days ago.”

“Comes with the job description, honey,” you said. You swung your legs out of bed, placing your feet onto the floor. As you stood up, Dean suddenly wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you back down onto the bed. You squealed as he squeezed your sides, his lips latching onto your throat.

“Wanna stay here with you,” Dean said. He raised his head to kiss your lips. You ran your hand through his hair, his fingers running up your side, raising to cup your breast beneath your shirt.

“Dean, we don’t have time for this,” you said. He peppered kisses along your throat and collarbone, settling on the pulse point below your ear. “As much as I love doing this, we really need to get up.”

Dean halted his movements and lifted his head to scowl at you. He pushed himself up and off you, walking over to the dresser.

“Alright, fine,” he huffed. “Joy killer.”

***

“Of course, it has to be fucking witches.”

You winced at his words. You had been in Ozark for nearly a day now. After interviewing two of the victims who survived the attacks, you had also spoken to the detectives on the case before investigating the victims’ homes. The victims claimed to have been attacked by a shadow figure. The other three victims had been slaughtered in their homes, while the two survivors suffered severe lacerations and what seemed to be burns. You and the brothers were stumped for a while, until you found a hex bag hidden in a vase in one of the homes, and another hex bag stuffed in a couch cushion in the other.

You always hated witch cases. Not only were they dangerous, but they were also conflicting. You were a natural born witch, coming from a long line of witches on your mother’s side of the family. You had the gift of sight, also known as psychic abilities, and you had practiced witchcraft since you were thirteen.

When you had met Dean Winchester, it had been on a ghoul hunt. In those three days, you instantly felt an attraction to him that you couldn’t describe. You never thought he would be interested in you. You saw the women he’d frequent, and you weren’t like them. You were in shape, hunting keeping you fit, however you had some stretch marks, love handles, and thicker thighs than you would’ve liked. You also weren’t the prettiest woman in your opinion. You weren’t ugly, but you were always self conscious of the way you looked. You were sarcastic, cursed like a sailor, and reserved. You had always kept a wall around yourself ever since you were younger, sprouting at early ages due to things you had experienced and seen. You were twenty-four, a virgin, and a bit awkward at times.

Not at all Dean Winchester’s type.

But after meeting up with the Winchesters a few more times, you and Dean slowly became closer, until one night after a hunt, Dean had confessed his feelings for you. He was hesitant at first due to the ten year age difference, but your relationship had quickly blossomed. He was your first real relationship, the first person to ever be with you entirely, the first person to ever hold your heart.

Which is why you never told him about yourself.

Dean hated witches. It was a fact everyone knew. If you were to tell him that you were, in fact, a witch, he’d not only break up with you, but you were afraid he’d hunt you. Although you had never used your abilities for anything other than good, you weren’t entirely sure Dean would be able to trust you after you kept it from him for so long.

You were one of the most powerful witches in the world. Numerous covens have tried to recruit you, but you turned them all down. You were nomadic by nature, a free spirit, and you didn’t want to use your abilities to do someone else’s bidding. So you stuck to yourself. You kept off the radar and hoped your protective hex bags shield sigil tattoos worked. When Dean asked about the tattoos, you had simply told him they were more sigils for protection- like the anti possession tattoo. He believed you without a second thought.

“Okay, so now that we know what we’re dealing with,” Sam began. “We need to find out who. After doing some digging, I found that all of the victims attended the same addiction recovery group.”

“So you think the group is somehow linked to the murders?” Dean asked.

“It makes sense,” you said. “They all had this one thing in common. That’s what we always look for, right?”

“Right. There are only three people left in the group who have not been attacked. Since it’s a support group, anonymity is a requirement. But luckily for us, we have fake badges,” Sam said. “Marcus Wainwright, Brienne Tarly, and Astrid Waters are the only people who haven’t been attacked.”

You froze at Astrid’s name. You knew that name. She was the leader of a coven who tried to recruit you years ago. You turned them down because of the craft which they practiced.

“Who’s the leader of the group?” You asked.

“Uh…” Sam looked at the files. “Astrid.”

“I think it’s her,” you said. The brothers looked at you in question. You mentallykicked yourself. You said it before you could think. “She’s the leader, right?” You tried to cover yourself. “What if she used this group as a way to make sacrifices to whatever that shadow is?”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Sam said. “Carla, one of the victims I talked to today, said that Astrid would always try to get the group attendants to recruit more people. Apparently Astrid was always trying to bring more people into the group. Almost like she was obsessed with it.”

“She was trying to get more people to sacrifice,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” you said.

“Okay, let’s find this bitch.”

***

Astrid still lived in the same cottage as she did all those years ago when she tried to recruit you. Cobblestone walls covered in climbing ivy. Black shutters hung off the gothic windows. Various leafy plants grew around the sides of the house. The broken path led to a great wood door. The negative energy rolling off the house made you nauseous, and it took everything in you not to pass out.

You were only sixteen when you met Astrid, only just beginning to truly tap into your true potential when other witches began to feel your energy.

“You’re strong,” she had told you. “Stronger than me. You would be a valuable asset to any coven. A threat to witches below your strength. Others will want to harvest that power for themselves. We can keep you safe. I can keep you safe.”

You could feel her energy was dark. Her aura was an ominous black, a stark contrast from your pure white. You knew she was lying immediately. You threatened her. You were stronger than Astrid, and that pissed her off.

“I can fend for myself, thanks,” you had said.

Astrid had simply smirked at you, patting your hand gently. “We’ll see about that, my dear.”

You never thought you’d run across her again. You had hoped that you wouldn’t run into her again. Not only was she incredibly dangerous to you, but there was a high chance she would spill your secret, and you would not only lose Dean forever, but you would lose your life.

Swallowing back your fear, you trudged through the woods alongside the brothers. You knew you needed to do this. Innocent people were dying. If this was your last night on Earth, you wanted to be able to save them at least.

The three of you ducked below one of the windows. Dean peeked inside, trying his best to stay as hidden as possible.

“She’s in there,” he whispered. “She’s… at an altar. She’s chanting something.”

“Guess we found our witch,” Sam muttered. “Nice, Y/N.”

You gave him a weak smile.

Dean got up in front of the door, gun in hand. You and Sam waited for his call.

“Okay, on three,” he said.

“One… two…”

“Three!”

A new voice echoed around you, the door of the cottage violently swinging open, a gust of wind knocking Dean off his feet. Astrid’s cackle filled the air, and suddenly you began to feel woozy. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, Sam falling down next to you. You knew it was Astrid, and you tried to fight it off, but soon succumbed to her power as well, your world going dark.

***

“How exciting!”

Head pounding, you awoke to the sound of a female’s voice. Trying to move, you soon found yourself unable to. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your limbs felt numb.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling of the cottage. Astrid’s silver head was bent over you, bright emerald eyes staring into yours, a crooked, elated smile on her face.

“My oh my, I never thought the day would come,” she muttered to herself. A long nailed finger stroked your cheek, and you flinched away.

“Don’t touch her, you bitch!” You turned your head at the sound of Dean’s voice. You smiled weakly immediately at the sight of him, finding yourself incredibly tired.

You felt drained.

You tried to move your hands, finding them strapped to the table you were currently laid out on. Your flannel had been removed, as were your jeans, leaving you in only a tank top and panties. You shivered in the cool air. You hated being exposed like this in front of anyone that wasn’t Dean.

“What are you doing?” You asked weakly. “Let me go.”

Astrid laughed. “Please. You fall right into my hands and you think I’m going to let you go?” She asked. “You’re smarter than that, little fox.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked. “Why did you kill all those people? Why did you sacrifice them?”

Astrid looked surprised. “Oh my, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” She smiled at Sam, holding a mortar and pestle up over you. She crushed something inside, muttering a few incantations.

“The shadow makes me stronger. The more it's fed, the stronger I become,” Astrid said smoothly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong witch. Stronger than your average natural born, much stronger. However, there are only two people in the world who are stronger than me.”

Astrid gave you a pointed look.

“The shadow makes me stronger, as I said, but without the power of the other two witches, I will never be the strongest. If I were to siphon their energies from their souls, I would be the strongest witch there ever was and will ever be.”

“Pretty egotistical, eh there, granny?” Dean said. Astrid sneered at him.

“You’ll be the first one to die once I’m done with her, honey,” Astrid said.

“That is if I don’t kill you first, sweetheart.”

“If you only knew what I would be capable of,” Astrid snapped. “One witch has kept herself hidden. The Scottish bitch never can be found.”

“Rowena,” Sam said.

“Oh, you know her?” Astrid said. “Yes, Rowena. Now, the other witch. Well, I met her years ago. She was just a wee lass of sixteen at the time, but she was already so strong. I knew she was going to be a problem for me. I tried to recruit her to my coven, but she was smart. Too smart. I’ve been trying to track her down for years, and I’ve never been able to find her.”

Astrid let out a dreamy sigh. “And then, by the grace of God, she fell right into my hands.”

“If you’ve already killed her, why take the souls of innocents?” Dean asked.

Astrid scoffed. “Oh no, dear. I haven’t killed her yet.”

“Well what’s the hold up? One less witch to worry about. You’ll stop killing innocent people.”

Astrid laughed. She looked down at you. “No idea how you’ve been with the man as long as you did. If I heard that, I’d run for the hills. Or stab him in his sleep.”

“Don’t touch him,” you hissed. Astrid grinned.

“There’s that fire,” she said. She smeared the green paste she made over your chest. You let out a small cry as it burned your skin. She painted a pentacle on you, muttering more incantations.

“Unfortunately, to siphon all of a witch's power, the siphoner cannot kill the siphonee,” Astrid said. “Someone else has to do it after I prepare her, then I could siphon it.”

“Well let’s make you a deal,” Dean said. Your lip wobbled. “If I kill the bitch, letting you siphon her power, you will never kill another person.”

Astrid smiled wickedly. “Really?”

“Sure. One less witch and we save some people.”

Astrid laughed. “Oh that’s too good. I’ll make a blood vow. If I break it, I die.”

“Fine.” Dean nodded at her.

“Give me your word, hunter,” Astrid said.

“I give you my word.”

“That no matter what, you follow through,” Astrid continued.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, fine.”

“Dean,” you said softly. A tear leaked from your eye. “Please.”

He looked at you curiously. Astrid cut his bindings, letting him free.

“He’s not the brightest bulb, is he?” She asked you, laughing.

“Where do I find her?” Dean asked.

Astrid handed Dean a knife. It had a curled handle, various sigils carved into it. She stepped back, folding her arms over her chest.

“Go ahead.”

“You deaf?” Dean asked. “Where do I find the bitch?”

Astrid smirked, running her tongue over her lips.

“Right in front of you.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face. Tears streamed from your eyes now, leaking down your temples onto the wood beneath you. Astrid killing you was one thing. Dean killing you? There was nothing worse you could think of.

“Y/N?” He said. “No fucking way. She’s not a witch.”

“Isn’t she?” Astrid asked. “Go on, Y/N. Show us a little trick.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing this was all a dream. Wishing that you would wake up and you’d be back at the bunker in Dean’s arms.

But when you opened your eyes, Dean still stood there, that curved knife in his hand, Astrid’s evil grin plastered on her face, a shocked Sam watching from his confinement on the wall.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“If you don’t show him-” she walked over to Sam, hand on his head- “I blow his brain apart.”

You took in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on the windows. Suddenly, your eyes glowed purple, and the windows shattered. The glass floated up into the air, spinning around and around, wind whipping everyone’s hair. It only lasted a few moments, and when the glass stopped spinning, a heart floated six feet off the ground. It slowly moved towards Dean, and once it reached him, you blinked, eyes going back to their normal E/C, the heart falling to the ground, glass shattering once more, mimicking your own heart.

Dean looked up at you in shock.

“You did that?”

“It’s her best party trick,” Astrid said. “Y/N here is an artist. Unless, of course, she’s blowing a werewolf to pieces with a simple flick of her wrist, or growing a thirty foot tree with the blink of an eye.”

“No,” Dean said lowly. “You lied to me.”

“I was afraid,” you said. “You hate witches. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“You fucking kept this giant ass secret from me!” He yelled. “You lied to me for years! All that time we’ve been together, you’ve been fucking

“Dean, please-”

“How do I know anything you said was true?”

“It all is! You know everything about me, Dean! I just never told you this!” You urged. “Please, Dean. You know me. You know I’m a good person.”

“I don’t know shit,” he hissed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“What?” You asked.

“Have you ever killed someone?” He snapped.

“No! I’ve never-”

“Eh, eh, eh,” Astrid said. “Don’t lie to the poor man anymore, Y/N.”

You let out a sob. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Astrid exclaimed. “Bursting a man into flames was an accident? Killing a father of four was an accident?”

“Yes!” You said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know how to control myself, I-”

A sharp pain suddenly seared inside your head. You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. Astrid grinned.

“Punishing her,” she answered calmly. You screamed as the pain became so intense, white flashed behind your eyes and your whole body went rigid.

“Stop!” Dean yelled.

The pain was gone instantly. You panted, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, sweat mixing with your tears.

“Slit her wrists, Dean,” Astrid whispered. “You swore.”

Dean took the few steps he needed to be right next to you. He looked at the knife, then at your wrist, then at your face.

“Won’t she just heal herself?” He asked.

“Those cuffs around her wrists contain sigils that will prevent any self healing or harm to another person,” Astrid said. “It limits her power. It’s why she hasn’t broken out yet.”

Dean swallowed thickly. He looked at you, eyes searing deeply into your own. An anger burned behind the green you loved so much. It scared you. That anger had never been directed towards you before.

But there was something else as well. Despair. Dean was torn. You were a witch, a powerful one, and you had lied about it for years. On the other hand, Dean was in love with you. He loved you so much, it scared him.

“Do it,” Astrid said. “Do it, or I kill him.”

She was bent down beside Sam now, lips near his ear, eyes burning purple. Dean looked between you and his brother. You knew he’d never choose you over Sam.

“Do it,” you whispered. You nodded at him, giving him a soft smile. “It’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” Dean asked.

“I’ll find my way back to you someday,” you told him. “If not, I’ll simply wait for you.”

Dean bit his lip. “I wish you had told me.”

“I thought you were going to kill me,” you admitted. He shook his head, leaning against the table. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“Baby, you’re a good person,” he said. “Sure, I hate witches.”

You winced.

“But I could never hate you.”

You blinked a few times. “Even though I’m-”

He pressed his lips softly to yours. His eyes were misty, brows pulled together.

“I could never hate you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Do it, Dean!” Astrid urged. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Dean, don’t do it,” Sam said.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ll wait for you, my love.”

Dean shook his head.

“Five seconds,” Astrid warned.

“I love you, Dean. It’s okay,” you whispered.

Dean looked down at the knife in his hands. He caressed your wrist, bringing the knife down against your skin.

“Three seconds!”

He gave you one last look, moving the knife back-

“Two-”

He jerked the knife-

“One!”

You expected the sting of the blade, but only felt the release of the cuff.

“Man, you should have had some sort of spell on that shit,” Dean said. He smiled darkly at you, giving you a wink. Using your other hand, you flashed your eyes purple, burning the other cuff off.

“No!” Astrid yelled. “What have you done?”

With a simple flick of your wrist, Astrid was flung away from Sam. She crashed into the opposite wall. You slipped off the table, bare feet hitting the cold floor. A wind blew through the cottage, blowing your hair back from your face. You stalked towards her, all the while a smirk grew on your lips, your fingers tingling.

“I haven’t let myself go in so long,” you said. You lifted your hands, seeing the purple glow in your palms and beneath your fingertips. You cocked your head. “All this pent up energy…”

“Y/N-”

“It’s almost like snapping a rubber band,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Dean said slowly.

Using a blast of power, you forced Astrid’s arms against the wall. Keeping them there, you raised her up until her feet dangled off the floor. You did the same to her ankles, the strain causing her skin to bruise immediately.

“Y/N, wait-”

You forced her head back, a sickening crunch resonating inside the cottage.

“So much power… can be dangerous,” Astrid gasped. Blood dribbled from her mouth and nose, pouring out of her eyes like tears. You forced more pressure upon her, crushing her further. “I was your mentor once… don’t let it consume you… keep your soul pure…”

You crushed her further, your brow raising slightly. You smiled wickedly at Astrid, a dark chuckle leaving your lips. “Rich coming from you,” you said.

“I let it consume me,” Astrid told you. “Don’t… follow in my footsteps.”

You hadn’t used your power like this in years, not since Astrid was your mentor. It sizzled in your veins and made you feel more rushed than ever. It was almost euphoric, the way your body burned with power, power that came from the Earth beneath your feet.

You missed that feeling.

What you didn’t miss, however, was the creeping feeling of darkness. It would intrude your thoughts and darken your mind. The risk of using that much power was the potential that it could consume you, and you would flip darkside.

Like Astrid did.

“See you in hell.”

Using once last surge of power, Astrid let out a guttural scream as her whole body turned an odd shade of red, eyes nearly popping from their sockets, blood streaming from any open source, before she stopped moving.

Letting your power retract, she slumped to the floor.

Dead.

You blinked, letting your eyes return to their natural colour, turning to face Dean.

“You gonna kill me now?” You asked.

Dean swallowed thickly, giving you a small smile.

“No.”

“Why not?” You said. “I’m a monster, right? You hate witches. I am witch. Pretty self explanatory.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean said.

“You can’t pick and choose the monsters you kill and don’t kill,” you said. “You came here to kill a witch. I killed her, now it’s your turn.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean repeated.

You gritted your teeth, sighing deeply. “Fine.”

You walked over to Sam, looking over your shoulder at Dean. With a simple flick of your wrist, Sam was released from his bindings.

“Do it, Sam.”

“Why?” He asked.

“I haven’t let myself go like that in a long time,” you said. “I forgot how tempting it is to give in. I want to do it, Dean. You need to kill me before I do.”

“No,” he said.

“Do it!” You yelled. “Do you really want me to flip? You want me to become like her?” You pointed to the woman you had just killed.

“You won’t,” Dean said. “You’re not like her.”

“Yes,” you whispered. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “I am. I killed that man when I was sixteen because I almost let it win. Who knows what else I could have done if I did.”

“Then we lock you up in the dungeon,” Dean said. “And we bring you back. But you’re good, Y/N. I know you better than anyone.”

Your lip wobbled.

“You still love me?” You murmured. “Even after finding out?”

Dean smiled warmly at you. He took your hands in his, massaging the backs of yours. “Sure, I was pissed you didn’t tell me. Still am, quite frankly. But you’re my girl,” he said. “I know you. I know the kind of person you are.”

“You hate witches,” you pointed out.

“Eh, maybe they’re not so bad,” Dean said, giving you a lopsided shrug. “I mean, I know this one witch. She’s pretty hot, really good in bed-”

“Dean!” You exclaimed, slapping his chest playfully. He laughed, kissing your forehead, bringing you into his chest.

“What can I say? What you did was pretty badass. Not my fault I’m into that.”

You shook your head. “Okay, big boy. If you’re not gonna kill me, let’s go home.”

Dean took a deep breath, leaning down to pick you up bridal style. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“Come on, Sabrina,” he said. You gave him a bitch face, making Sam laugh.

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, I’ve got more,” he said. “Do you have a pointy hat? Or a broomstick? Were you always this color, or were you born green?”

“Yeah, this is gonna be a long ride home,” Sam muttered.

Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Send me an ask with your thoughts! Feedback is loved and greatly appreciated:)

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#one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural #fanfiction #jensen ackles #waywardrose13 #one-shot #fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #angst

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kantrips · 3 years

Text

Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly.

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days.

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #warden alistair #warden x alistair #amell x alistair #warden amell #headcanons #my art #my writing #file under no one cares but me #but my goodness do I ever care #I can't wait to delete a bunch of these from my phone where they have been lurking forever #this draft is weeks old why am I so scared of posting on tumblr???#the problem is the longer I leave it #the more I add #I'm out of control #this is too many headcanons #I must be stopped

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

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A Family of Our Own

After nearly nine years of being a widow, Claire has Jamie back in her arms and in her life. After a lifetime of stories, Brianna’s father is a real, living man. The family at Lallybroch must prepare to welcome visits from the English to check in with the former prisoner. They cannot afford any slip-ups; if Mister Malcolm is revealed to be Red Jamie, Claire’s widowhood will be restored. Permanently this time.

Claire cannot survive another pregnancy, and she and Jamie do feel that absence, a loss of sorts. Yet their little family grows in a way none of them expect.

Brianna’s illness remains an ever-present fear for Claire, and now Jamie, as he learns how to grapple with it. Can they keep a lid on it for the rest of her life? A story of second chances, of found family, and hope in the face of fear and uncertainty.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

“It’s like flying!” she cried over the pounding of hooves and rushing of wind. “Aye, Da?”

“Aye, lass!” he called back, his stomach flipping with joy. “Indeed i’tis!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus and Claire occasionally blur into his field of view, but he could hardly see anything but the fiery tendrils dancing in front of his eyes, could hardly process anything over the whooping laughter of his daughter.

His heart physically ached with how deeply he loved her.

Her joy was putting a light inside of him that he did not think existed, was bringing to life something that he had thought long gone. He’d expressed to Claire that he did not think he could connect with children anymore, that his spirit had been too broken beyond repair.

But Brianna was putting his spirit back together, and she wasn’t even trying. All she had to do was squint up at him with that gap-toothed smile, or shake her head so that her curls bounced, or cry out with joy on her horse.

She was making him whole again.

My beautiful, sweet, cheeky, perfect lass. My flesh and blood. My daughter.

——

That night, Jamie led Claire out of the girls’ bedroom after having tucked Brianna in. She was out like a light after the first few minutes of Jamie’s story. They’d ridden hard and long today, and it was one of the happiest days of Jamie’s life.

He could not wrap his mind around the fact that this was his. This child, this wife, this life, was all his. He had the rest of his days to ride horses with his daughter, to tuck her in at night, to watch her fight sleep in a desperate attempt to hear her father’s voice for just a little bit longer.

His voice. She cherished his voice.

He had the rest of his days to take his wife by the hand and lead her down the hall into their bedroom.

And now that the mugwort had been delivered to them from Edinburgh, he had the rest of his life to lay her down and bed her properly.

She’d made herself a cup of tea with it after supper, finishing it on the edge of Brianna’s bed, her head on his shoulder, sipping intermittently. She’d take a cup every day with breakfast and after supper, and she’d be protected from any harm another child might bring.

Another child…

No, he would not let that thought in.

There was absolutely no question; Claire’s life mattered more than having more bairns. And having his life back was a miracle enough in itself.

He would not allow himself to think on how sad it would be to take her to his bed and then watch her drink away any life he might have planted in her. There was no point in following that trail of thought, so follow it he would not.

Or at least he’d try not to.

The trail was abruptly caught off, anyway, when Claire shut their bedroom door behind them and threw herself at him, kissing him mercilessly.

“I want you inside me all bloody night,” she muttered breathlessly against his mouth. He groaned in response, pressing his pelvis into hers involuntarily. They undressed each other clumsily, frantically. They’d had weeks to revel in the act, to appreciate each piece of skin as it was revealed to them anew, so tonight was not for reveling. Not until he’d pressed inside her at last.

He’d used her mouth in all sorts of positions, used the cheeks of her arse, even her breasts, Claire holding them tight around him. He’d made note of all these things, not wanting to abandon them completely once they were no longer the only option.

But tonight, he would have her.

Once they were finally, finally completely naked, Jamie picked her up and carried her to bed with her legs wrapped around his waist, kissing her sloppily with every step. She’d barely even landed on the mattress before she was clawing at his arse.

“Do it now.”

He needn’t be told twice. He lined himself up and thrust hard and deep. Claire screamed, digging her nails into him, throwing her head back, shutting her eyes. Christ, it was almost too much. He had to stay still or he’d lose it immediately.

And he’d promised to make it last all night. Dammit, he’d do so.

She dug her heels into him, begging him to move, but to keep hold on himself, he roughly kneaded her breasts, bit her neck, tweaked the bud between her legs. She squeaked and moaned, but she fiercely grabbed his face in her hands.

“I’m going to die if you don’t start fucking me, Jamie.”

He groaned with a shudder, nearly losing it again.

“God, Claire…” He pulled out the slightest bit, and upon reentering, she cried out hoarsely. “It’s too much...It’s been too long...I canna…”

“I don’t care!” she cried. “I don’t care if you spill in three seconds...I need...I need you…”

With another shuddering groan, Jamie let all of his restraint go, and he pummeled into her, over and over. He lasted longer than he’d thought he would, though it was really not long at all.

“Take me with you…” Claire moaned, clawing down his biceps.

Evidently, she was as overwrought as he was if she was ready to follow so soon.

He touched their foreheads together, looking into her eyes as he redoubled his speed and brought his hand between them to touch her where he knew she needed most.

“Oh, Claire…” he muttered against her lips. Her keening reached its peak in volume and pitch, and then she stiffened with a harsh cry, clenching around him. God, it had been nearly nine years since he’d felt the bliss of her tightening and pulling him deeper into her…

He spilled into her immediately, moaning loudly into her wide, open mouth. He saw stars for a long while, the only feeling her walls around his softening cock, the only sound her continued mewling in his ear. He came back to himself in pieces, feeling first her heels, still dug into his arse, then her hands, caressing his face with all the tender gentleness in the world.

He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. He kissed her temples, brushing the tears away with his lips, and with a cry, she threaded her arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer, weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I’m here,” he said gently. He held himself up on his elbows, not willing to abandon the warmth of her just yet to hold her properly. He couldn’t even if he wanted to; all her limbs clung to him with a fierceness that he did not want to fight.

“I’m here.” His voice became hoarse, suddenly overcome as she was.

When his arms began losing feeling from holding himself up, he took hold of her waist and flipped them so that he was on his back, pulling her onto his chest. He slid out of her in the process, but her arms remained around his neck, as did her legs around his waist, now straddling him.

“It was so real…” Claire finally spoke, her voice muffled with her tears. “So many nights I dreamed...and it never felt like that…”

He pressed a tender kiss to her neck, running his hands up and down her back.

“Aye. My own hands dinna compare to the feel of ye, Sassenach.”

She wept harder at that, clinging tighter. “I never even...all those years...I couldn’t...I tried, I really did...but the one time I...got myself there...I just...broke down and cried with my hand still between my legs.” She shook her head against him. “It felt so pathetic...it hurt more than it was worth.”

“Hush now, mo ghraidh,” he soothed. “That’s over now.”

He showered her head with kisses, and when she finally picked her head up, he captured her lips in a way that seared her to her core. God, she wished men were more like women; she wanted to sink down onto him and ride him into oblivion already. But his body was not ready for that yet.

She knew what she could ride into oblivion, however.

After swirling her tongue with his for a maddening amount of time, feeling Jamie’s and her own wetness trailing down her thighs, she dragged herself up Jamie’s body and straddled his face.

“Oh, lass…” He reverently caressed her arse, and she braced herself on the headboard. He peppered her inner thighs with kisses until she was trembling, and then he feasted.

Claire cried herself hoarse, white knuckled the headboard, and ground herself into his face until she fell apart, pulled to pieces by the expertness of his tongue and lips. It was a powerful, euphoric orgasm, but it did the opposite of leave her satisfied. All it did was leave her aching for Jamie’s cock to be the next thing to pull her apart.

After her hips slowed and she caught her breath as much as she would allow herself, she slid back down and reached.

“Ah,” she said, grasping him firmly, already half hard. “There you are.”

She stroked him fully back to life, and before he could even breathe, she sank down onto him with a low groan. She rode him slowly, deliberately, deliciously. She bent down, hovering over his lips with hers, and she pushed all her hair to one side.

“Still feel like you’ll spill in three seconds?” she purred.

He chuckled darkly. “Well, I intend to be inside ye all bloody night,” he said. “So I dinna think I will.”

He wasn’t inside her all night, but he was for at least another two hours. He let her ride him until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and then he threw her off him, got her on all fours, and took her forcefully from behind until he was seconds away from climax. He took her with her bottom half lifted off the mattress, her ankles crossed behind his neck, he took her sitting up, facing one another, kissing gratuitously, then on all fours again. But he only let himself finish when they were once again facing each other, eyes locked, foreheads touching. Claire lost count after her sixth orgasm, but needless to say, she’d been well taken care of.

It also went without saying that she would not be able to walk tomorrow.

They fell asleep with little ceremony after Jamie’s second climax and Claire’s...however many she’d had. Claire felt like she was made entirely of jell-o, and she didn’t open her eyes again after squeezing them shut for her final orgasm. Jamie, however, was not too tired to tuck her limp form into his side like a ragdoll and kiss her sweaty head.

It was almost as if he couldn’t sleep without holding her so tightly.

“I love you, Claire.”

And though every ounce of breath was knocked out of her, and she’d screamed herself hoarse, Claire’s heart answered back, beating wildly, swelling, entwining with his.

And for the first time in nearly nine years, Claire fell into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep with a smile on her face.

——

Claire could see a gradual change in Jamie the longer he was home. As April settled over the grounds, so too did an easiness in Jamie’s disposition, tension slowly rolling off his shoulders. He’d been slow at retaining the names of all of Jenny’s bairns; wee Jamie and Maggie were easy enough, since he’d known them, and Michael was similarly easy, him being the only other lad, but he was always calling Janet Kitty, and Kitty Janet, much to both girls’ chagrin. Lately, he was getting it right more often than not, and Claire could see both her nieces glowing with pride that their uncle, becoming beloved rather instantaneously, remembered them.

Brianna, too, was more than completely enamored with Jamie. She often refused to do chores with the women and girls, preferring to trail behind Jamie in the fields and the stables. Jenny was none too pleased about this; the woman was set in her ways what was man’s work and what was woman’s work, but Claire could not see any harm in letting the girl spend time with her father.

She’d been without that time for eight years, and Claire could not bring herself to take it away from her again.

Either way, Jamie claimed she was quite helpful in the fields. According to his reports, she was always coming up with ways to make work easier, little tools that he and the other lads never would have thought of. Recently, she’d been marching downstairs for supper with a sketch in her hands.

“D’ye think you could make this one, Da?” she’d say, thrusting the sketch up to him.

“I’ll try my best, lass. But only if ye’re by my side while I do.”

“Of course, Da. I have to make sure ye’re doing it right.”

She was awfully brilliant for eight years old, if Claire did say so herself, and the sketches were quite good and elaborate. She’d be a great talent someday. She used to fret that she’d never catch up to Maggie in skill and ability, but she really was getting there, closer and closer with each passing day.

She’d gotten particularly fond of sketching wee Ian for some reason. Brianna had never been particularly drawn to any of the babies; not like Maggie had. But she was becoming a little obsessed, and Claire would be lying if she said she didn’t find it absolutely adorable.

Watching Jamie become more and more comfortable in his own home, on his own land, around his own family, was bittersweet. On the one hand, Claire basked in it, rejoicing in his rejoining of all that he had missed, but on the other hand, it was terribly sad that he had to relearn everything to begin with. This land was once his, theirs. No longer was he Laird; now he was Mister Malcolm, a farmhand. Of course the tenants knew better, but they could not speak openly about this. He could not even claim Brianna as his. The redcoats thought she belonged to Jenny and Ian. And though this fact hardly affected how they lived their daily lives, Claire could see him deflate every time it was mentioned.

But, this Lord Grey who’d secured Jamie’s freedom had been true to his word. They’d been entirely free of redcoat harassment since Jamie’s return, so they had little to worry about in that regard either way. Claire was eager to meet the man, to thank him for all his many kindnesses. The thought of Brianna never again living through the fear of a home search, the thought of Ian never even remembering one ever having happened…it made her heart light.

Life was truly starting anew…for everyone.

Jenny and Claire were in the kitchen with Mary MacNab, putting the finishing touches on supper, when a cacophony of noise startled the three women. Claire wiped her hands on her apron and pushed open the kitchen door to the outside, and her eyes welled up with tears at the simple sight before her.

Brianna was sat atop Jamie’s shoulders like a little queen, Jamie holding securely onto her small thighs. Fergus strode right beside them, young Michael on his shoulders, likely jealous of Jamie’s special attention to Brianna. Jehu trotted along dutifully at Jamie’s feet, ever mindful of his young mistress. Young Jamie trailed a bit behind, swiping at long grass and heather with a stick, and Ian trailed a bit further behind, taking his time. Janet and Kitty had been running around front with the dogs, and they clambered toward them, and Maggie trailed behind with the sketchpad Jamie had made her, holding her drawings close to her chest as Jehu yipped and nipped at their heels.

Janet clung to Ian’s good leg, and to spare his brother from bearing the weight, Jamie scooped the girl up onto his hip, switching his grip on Brianna to one hand. Janet kissed her father, then her uncle, and Kitty took Ian’s hand, patiently keeping pace with him

“Look, Uncle!” Maggie cried, turning the page up to face him. “Look, I drew the dogs. D’ye see?”

“Och, that’s fine work, lass,” Jamie said proudly. “Ye’ll have to let me look closer over supper, aye?”

“Aye!” she beamed, pressing the book to her chest again.

“Ye’re a braw wee thing,” Jamie continued. “Take right after yer mother.”

Maggie nodded proudly, her smile brightening.

Claire wiped her eyes and sniffled, and she was suddenly aware of a presence beside her.

“Such a simple thing,” Jenny said, her voice tight with her own emotion. “But it means everything.”

Claire nodded. “Everything.”

Jenny rubbed her back. “Go on to them,” she said gently. “We’re almost done anyway.”

Claire untied her apron and handed it off to Jenny, a beaming smile finding its way across her face. She gathered her skirts in her hands and began running toward the throng, propelled further by Brianna’s joyous, “Mummy!”

Jamie let Janet slide down to the ground and picked up his pace, leaving the Murrays and Fergus behind to meet Claire halfway.

“Hello, darlings,” Claire said breathlessly, kissing Jamie deeply until Brianna tugged impatiently on her curls. She laughed as she craned her neck to look at her. “How’s the crop looking today?”

“Just fine,” Brianna said. “My tool is working great.”

“That’s excellent.” Claire stood on tiptoe to pinch Brianna’s cheek, and then Jamie wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they continued their way to the house.

“Ye smell like dinner, Sassenach,” he breathed in her hair, then kissed her temple.

“You smell like manure and body odor.” She wrinkled her nose, but snuggled in closer to him anyway. “I don’t even want to know what you smell like, young lady.”

“I smell just fine, thank you very much!”

Claire rolled her eyes; Brianna was using that posh voice of hers to mock her mother’s tone and concern.

“No you do not!” A voice sounded behind them, and then Fergus was beside them, Michael still on his shoulders. “You smell like a dirty man, ma petit.” Brianna blew a raspberry at him, and Michael giggled incessantly. “And so do you, little man.”

“Either way,” Claire cut in, “you’ll be getting a bath tonight. And you should too, young man.” Fergus deflated only slightly in that way that teenagers who feel they are being mothered too intensely do.

Brianna groaned, slumping forward over Jamie’s head. “I don’t want a bath.”

“But don’t you like it when I brush your beautiful hair?” Claire looked up at her. “Doesn’t it feel so nice when it’s fresh and clean and damp?”

This gave Brianna pause, and she picked up her head slightly. “I suppose.”

Jamie snorted at Brianna’s chosen phrase.

“Alright. How about a quick bath and then a long hair brushing.”

She sighed in defeat. “Alright, Mummy.”

Jamie bounced her a bit, and she giggled, sitting up again. “That’s a good lass.”

Claire sighed in contentment, kissed Jamie’s jaw, his stubble a shadow over half his face, and they crossed the threshold for supper with their family.

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

The Fountain

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Post-EndlessEnding. A Broken Chains AU. The world has been restored, but at the price of Taylor's life. And Estela isn't ready to let her go.

Word Count: 2121

Warnings: Major character death.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove

Hug prompts-- 29. group hug. Thanks @mauvecatfic! I'll make Raj's next hugs more cheerful.

Through the rumblings of an oncoming rainstorm, the silent figure of Estela Montoya limped and crawled through the thick La Huerta jungle, driven by a thought that had become a need… to see the face of her beloved again, to hear her voice. It spurred her on, a tiny glimmer of something worth living for that she clung to with desperation that increased with every unsteady step.

Estela’s last memory of her wife, of her beautiful Taylor, wouldn’t be that hollow shell-- bloodless, devoid of all the fire and spirit… all the easy warmth that should have been there-- that she’d laid sobbing next to the dark medical room. No. She was going to take her minute more. Everyone else… they had a world raised from the dead; a world that meant absolutely fucking nothing to Estela now. After everything she’d sacrificed… god, Taylor… the world owed her that moment.

The Fountain of Youth was a long and arduous trek from Elyys’tel at the best of times, but half-dragging a savaged leg, it was near insurmountable. If it weren’t for the promise of hearing that voice, of seeing those sapphire eyes alight with life… well, Estela would endure the harrowing journey over again if that was the end. Her knees, the heels of her hands… they were badly grazed and muddied from catching herself as she’d stumbled again and again. Her senses, usually alert to her surroundings, had been dulled by the haze of grief that preoccupied her every thought. She was lucky to have gotten all this way through La Huerta’s treacherous jungles without coming to serious harm, but it was of little concern to Estela. The worst that could happen was that she’d die. And that…. In all honesty, it would be welcome. What was there worth surviving for now? Were it not for all that had been sacrificed so that she might live, she’d end her fucking life herself and be done with it. There was no future… no future save for this time they had together. When their moment was over, Estela would be once again plunged into the abyss that was the depth of her grief, an abyss that would surely swallow her up. She couldn’t look that far ahead-- she just couldn’t. She had to keep it together for Taylor… one last time.

Estela fell to her knees as she came through the doorway of the abandoned temple. Dread flooded her body. All that was left now was for her to summon the courage to reach out to the woman she loved from across time… to do so knowing that she’d been setting in motion the last minute they’d have together. Once it was done it was done; that much she as certain of. She could keep going back to that tree until she drove herself to insanity-- but doing so would be to inflict that pain on Taylor, forever colouring her too-short life with a darkness she didn’t deserve. Just once. Just once in the rest of her life-- that wasn’t asking too much, was it? Estela’s stomach turned as she thought it out. There had been no thinking it out while she’d slogged through the jungle; she’d moved onwards robotically, her mind and body detached from one another while grief drove her to the last hope, the last scrap of her person. Only now did she doubt everything. She hauled herself back to her feet, her weakened leg trembling violently beneath her weight. And she kept walking forwards, all the while her mind whirred.

It wasn’t as though Taylor would see this future, see the heartbreak in her wife’s eyes, and be able to change the path she’d set herself on. This path had tortured Taylor. She’d sacrificed herself because she simply couldn’t live with the alternative. And she’d died with hope. A hope that had been for naught, a spark extinguished along with the life in her eyes, but a hope that had given Taylor the courage to give away her very life force. What right did Estela have to take that away?

But I need her. I need her!

She’s gone.

The minute would be over and… Taylor would still be… gone. Would Estela hurt any less? No, but she’d endure a world of pain for even a second of feeling Taylor’s presence there with her. She’d endure it again and again, over and over until it killed her.

If it’s gonna hurt her…?

Estela’s shallow breathing became even more rapid as she stood before the tree. Tears spilled down her dirty cheeks. Blind grief had gotten her this far, but she’d been so blind. She couldn’t do this. Not now, not ever.

Taylor was dead. Dead and gone. They’d said their goodbyes down beneath Atropo, before Taylor had touched that damned crystal. She’d close her eyes and see the terrible, sickening way her sweet Taylor had writhed in agony… the way her face lost almost all semblance of her self as it contorted with the pain. As Estela had seen again and again, near constantly since she’d woken to a healed world, but a world without Taylor. It was more than she could bear.

With tears and snot rolling into her mouth, dripping from her chin, she stumbled toward the tree… toward the Fountain of Youth. If she was careful, if she thought it through properly, she could find solace elsewhere. Panting for air, Estela wiped her face hurriedly. She couldn’t be crying for this, no matter how much she was tearing up inside.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t do it. It was risky; she’d need to be certain not to say or do a thing that could alter the events that would shape, well, everything. But it was different now. She needed it; she needed her mom to tell her everything would be okay. Because the person she’d otherwise have turned to was lost forever, and… because it wasn’t okay…. She wasn’t… she wasn’t.

Raising her hand to the tree’s surface, Estela closed her eyes and imagined her mother’s face… the words of comfort that would come. Just enough… just enough to keep her from crumbling. But as her fingers were about to graze the bark, she hesitated. That face in her mind warped with shock and fear. Of course. That fucking scar. She wouldn’t even be able to get a single word out before it would be clear to Olivia that something had gone wrong… that she’d been badly hurt. Estela felt the cold weight of her heart sink down to her toes. She… couldn’t do that to her mama.

A tortured cry wrenched itself from Estela’s lungs as she threw her body forward against the hard, cold bricks. There were no more loopholes… no cheats that could give her even a moment more of an existence that wasn’t this fucking, fucking nightmare. She screamed into the damp ground, and screamed until her throat and lungs were raw.

Why did she have to go on living?

It was like she was drawn to people who were like her-- people who cared too much, people who would die for a cause. They’d die and they’d leave her. She’d tried to warn Taylor off; ‘you get close to me, you’ll get hurt’. Bullshit. Because no matter how Estela might put her life on the line for what she believed in, somehow she ended up the one still breathing. But she didn’t fucking want to. She didn’t want to live anymore. She didn’t… want to….

She howled.

_________________________

A small party emerged at last from the thickest part of the forest, the ruins of No’ox Naj illuminated by a flash of lightning as if to welcome them to shelter.

Shivering from the wet that sent a chill to his bones, Diego huddled close to Varyyn, who guided him with a gentle steer of a long and muscular arm.

“You must watch your step. It would be easy to slip on the wet moss.”

Gazing around the temple, taking in the gloom that hung there, Raj shuddered violently. “Maybe it was all that talk of ghosts and the whole ‘dead Zahra’ thing, but this place just gives me the heebies….”

“Well, yeah. That’d… that’d do it.”

“Estela?” Quinn called out, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “Esteeelllaaaa…!”

No answer. Diego’s heart sank. He’d been so sure he’d been onto something. Not only was this place a strong connection to the Endless-- and by association, with Taylor-- but it held within a magic gift that could never be more tempting than it was right now.

“We should go further in,” he decided. If this ‘Fountain of Youth’ thing did work, maybe they could ask…? The thought made a hard lump rise in his throat. The thought of seeing Taylor again. But they couldn’t… they couldn’t.

“You’re right,” Michelle agreed. “As if Estela ever comes running when anyone calls her name at the best of times…. If she’s anywhere, she took herself there to be alone; she was never going to make this easy.”

Diego winced so hard he was certain it hadn’t gone unnoticed by a single one of the group. She’d have come running for Taylor. Every time. He cleared his throat. “We should at least check around the tree. Um, maybe check in with the others?”

Somehow, he’d found himself leading the search party. A role, he was so painfully aware, that would usually have naturally fallen to Taylor. That should still be falling to Taylor. His imaginary friend had left him, so… so it was time to grow up. To step up. He supposed it helped that everyone was handling him with kid gloves just as they were Estela; if Diego needed something to happen, everyone just about fell over themselves to make it happen. Right now, all he wanted-- all any of them wanted-- was to know that Estela was safe. If anything happened to her now….

Quinn checked her phone; still a bizarre feeling after so many months without such communications. Her face fell, even expecting no different to the response she got. “Still nothing on their end. But the Elysian could take days to check properly, even with whatever scans Iris has access to, and all the cameras-- just because they haven’t found her there yet, doesn’t mean….”

“We’re not losing anyone else!” Michelle said shrilly as she paced the floor. “I’ve just lost one sister and I’m not about to… about to….” She gasped and dissolved into sobs. “…Taylor would be losing her mind.”

There was a shuffling sound… stumbling feet. Everyone hushed, a joint breath held.

Limping into view, one hand-- stained with blood as were her forehead and knees-- propping her up with the wall as she came forward; Estela.

“It’s okay. I… I’m safe.”

Safe. Not ‘okay’, but safe. It was all she could give them.

She could have hidden away. Her friends--- though she loved them so much-- were living reminders of what had been torn away. She could not look at a one of them and not see Taylor.

“Oh, thank god!” Michelle exclaimed, and she rushed forward. She had a moment’s hesitation, holding back from taking her friend in her arms and squeezing her to within an inch of her life, not knowing if any physical show of affection would be welcomed. But Estela reached out, her eyes welling, and Michelle guided her into an embrace.

The feeling of being taken in a friends arms, of being held… it was wonderful, and yet it hurt, and all at once the dam broke and Estela could not have held back her tears if she’d wanted to. She collapsed to the cold, damp floor, eased down by her friend's steadying arms.

Raj was next in-- never one to hold back when a group hug was in the offing. As he got down on the ground, Estela flopped forward and cried into his chest. There was nothing to say, so he just wrapped her in a hug and squeezed her there, while Diego and Varyyn, and Quinn piled in too. There they wept together. Sharing in loss and relief and exhaustion and a deep and overpowering sadness.

In the centre of the mass of arms and bodies, Estela closed her eyes against Raj’s warm chest… surrounded in a scent so reminiscent of happy memories and better days when the world was not so dark… feasts and laughter and… her. Her Taylor. She sighed deeply… and let herself feel it.

The comfort she needed was right there. It wasn’t enough-- how could it be when her world had ended?-- but it was warmth and it was love, and her heart was not breaking alone.

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #estela x mc

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free-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 2/? Chapter 1 crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: Didn't expect this quick of a turn around for the next chapter, but i couldnt sleep last night, so i finished it! hope you all like it <3

CHAPTER 2

Night fell, moonlight peeking through the open window and a dim lantern lit up the small room. Jean walked holding two cups and a pot of freshly brewed tea. He stared at Hange sitting up in bed, who was pretending to read the book in her hands. However, this didn't fool him--clearly something else was on her mind. Jean had never seen Hange like this and it distracted him, so much so that he accidentally missed the cup and poured some of the piping hot tea onto his hand.

He inhaled sharply, shaking out his hand from the burn, his eyes bulging in pain. For whatever reason, a distant memory of Sasha came to mind, laughing at him when he spilled hot coffee onto his hand once before—he whipped his head back to face Hange, hoping she’d react the same way. But to his disappointment, she continued to stare down, her brows still furrowed in a tired frown.

He walked over to her, replacing the book with a cup of tea and sat on the bed next to her. They sat for awhile, sipping tea without a word.

The silence made Jean uneasy—it was not the Hange he knew. And earlier... well that was something he never expected to do. Hange had always been a shoulder to cry on, for so many years. To him or any of the 104th…Hange was someone who never broke, at least in their eyes. And the events of this morning simply shook him and Armin to their core.

All of them had been worried sick, starting when Hange oddly burned up with a fever immediately after the battle, remaining unconscious ever since. And now that she finally woke up, she immediately returned with a genuine fear of Levi? He didn’t know what was wrong, and he wanted nothing but to help Hange. But he could think of nothing else but let her cry. He couldn’t think of a way to cheer her up like she used to do for him and everyone else.

It took her hours to calm down since she woke up that morning.

“Jean.”

He turned to Hange, happy to hear her voice finally, although weak and raspy after being out for a whole week.

“Can you... tell me what happened? The last thing I remembered was... falling...”

Jean calmly told her everything, and most importantly, explained that Levi saved her by having her inherit the Beast Titan from Zeke. Luckily from the events of the battle, the titan curse was no longer in effect in that now, all the remaining titan shifters would be able live a full life. However, they would would live the rest of their lives still having the ability to use the power of their titan, and they would each be the final wielder.

“I see...”

Hange felt dizzy, her head reeling with thoughts and hypotheses. Jean’s story seemed to fall in line with what she had been thinking over the past couple hours, though.

And that made her heart drop.

The dream she had while she was out, was not dream at all, but real memories from Zeke Yaeger. It all lined up--this had to be what had happened right before she found Levi half-dead in the grass that horrible day.

“It seems… that Zeke’s memories have entangled themselves into my own.”

Jean’s jaw dropped slightly, and locked eyes with Hange. She quickly looked away with shame. Jean took her hand—“Hange-san, it’s not your fault.”

“But it is, Jean!” she yelled, angry. Her memories of the battle bled in and out of her head, patchy flashes of Levi carrying her, risking his life when she was pretty much a goner. And now here she was, thanking him with a literal slap at the wrist, nothing but deep and utter hurt in his eyes as she cowered in fear of him. It was her fault that she wasn’t strong enough to separate Zeke’s memories from her own.

“Every time I’ve tried to think of Levi as I’ve sat here, his expression is replaced by one filled with hatred, and all I feel is the pain Zeke endured. I felt... blood dripping from my wounds, and... Levi holding up a blade to my face, his eyes cold and unrecognizable...”

Jean stared at Hange, wide-eyed. The thought of Levi hurting Hange was absolutely preposterous to him.

“You all had woken me up in the middle of a memory—I was, Zeke. I think. Levi didn’t recognize me, and dug his blade deep into the wounds I already had, and... I had this urge to hurt him. And I... I—“

Hange buried her face into her hands, guilt eating her alive—she had wanted to kill him in that moment. Obviously, this had to be what Zeke was feeling before he sent the wagon into a fiery explosion, but it felt so real. It was too real, and she almost felt like she couldn’t separate Zeke’s emotions from her own. She felt like those feelings were becoming one and the same. She couldn’t remember if she even tried to fight it in the dream. If she couldn’t fight for Levi in a dream, how could she trust herself not to hurt him now?

She explained all of this to Jean, and soon felt herself fall into panic, hyperventilating, overwhelmed at all of this. It was all beginning to feel like one, horrible nightmare. Once Jean helped her calm down, he begged her to rest. She wanted to keep gnawing at her memories, trying to separate them from Zeke’s, but exhaustion quickly fell over her. Sleep tugged at her eyelids, and before she drifted off, she quietly asked Jean not to tell Levi about anything she had said. She didn’t want Levi to feel any more upset than how she made him feel this morning.

Jean breathed out, his heart wrecked seeing the person he looked up to the most crumbling before his eyes. The only comfort he had now was seeing her face relaxed as she drifted off to sleep, her chest rising and falling evenly. All he knew was that he had to talk to Armin about this, maybe even Annie and Reiner—he thought titan shifters would be the best people to ask for help in this case, it’s not like he had any advice for something like this. But not telling Levi? That man knew when he was lying from a mile away.

Jean quietly closed the door behind him. He sighed, and turned, almost yelping out in surprised. Levi stood right in front of him, and he almost smacked right into him.

“Oh Levi, umm, Hange-san is asleep.” He stared at the reddened skin glowing under Levi’s eyes. Had he been... crying? Jean hesitated, but figured it’d be safe for Levi to go in now. He knew he wouldn’t wake Hange anyway. He stepped aside, pushing the door open for him.

“Thanks, Jean,” Levi said softly, without turning around.

“O-of course, Captain,” Jean responded before hurrying off to find Armin, avoiding any opportunity for Levi to ask him if Hange told him anything about what happened.

Levi stepped in, staring at Hange lying in the bed just as she had all week, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. He wanted to be happy, but all he could feel was anger as he replayed Armin’s voice in his head for the hundredth time.

“Captain, there may be a chance... well, it’s quite common to have realistic dreams when you inherit a titan--essentially reliving memories of previous shifters. And considering you didn’t have the best relationship with the previous Beast Titan...”

Levi grit his teeth—he thought he had defeated Zeke once and for all, that once he fulfilled his promise to Erwin, he could finally move on. He never imagined that it could get any worse, but it just did.

Even in death, Zeke was trying to steal the last good thing that tethered him to this earth. How could he fight someone who was no longer living? He crouched down at the foot of Hange’s bed, and buried his head in his knees. What did it matter to be considered “humanity’s strongest” if he couldn’t save any of his friends in the end?

He felt darkness swirl around him like a storm cloud. He’d say he was utterly hopeless, but he had one thing to keep him going—Hange was alive.

If she couldn’t handle him being with her while she was awake… then so be it. It was painful to think about, but he loved her enough to do just that, if it meant she could live the rest of her life happily, even without him immediately by her side. But he could only hope that this would be the absolute, last resort.

Levi stood up, his eyes softening as his gaze fell upon Hange. He walked up next to her and reached out his hand. Before he could touch her, he hesitated, flashes of the fear in her eyes permeating his mind. His hand shook, but he was soon able to steady at it as he focused on listening to Hange’s even breaths. Levi carefully placed his hand on her head, combing her soft, brown hair in between his fingers. He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving the room, stealing one last glance at Hange before closing the door.

Armin thought it’d be best he’d stay away from Hange for at least a week, let her rest and sort out what it meant for her to hold the power of the Beast Titan. Levi was hesitant, but he trusted Armin.

He could do it. Only for Hange.

Just a week, he thought. And then he could see her again. He balled his hands into fists once more, and let the tears fall as he stood outside the room.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hanji #jean kirschtien #armin arlert #zeke yaeger

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

wishful thinking — harry potter

pairing: harry potter x female!reader

request: Hey you know the dancing scene between Harry and Hermione in the deathly hallows part 1? I was wondering if I could request a one shot with Harry but he's dancing with the reader instead, and when they stop dancing Harry confess his love for her and kiss her?? ❤️❤️❤️ It would be awesome if you could do it!

a/n: probably not gonna be able to post as much as i used to since i’m starting an online summer program thing tomorrow :(

It gets overwhelming, sometimes, the whole Boy-Who-Lived business. The only one to ever survive the Killing Curse, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord before he could even walk and talk, savior of the wizarding world—Harry Potter.

Whenever people say his name, they either speak of him as if he's a saint or an annoying teenage boy desperate for attention. It's either he's the slayer of Lord Voldemort or that kid who thinks too highly of himself just because he got lucky enough to not die. He's many different things to many different people depending on which side of the story they heard and who they heard it from.

But Harry is.. well, he's Harry. Just Harry.

And Harry is a boy like any other. Harry doesn't spring up out of bed and start plotting Voldemort's downfall; he's a seventeen-year-old boy who finds joy in things like spending summer days playing Quidditch and joking around with his small circle of friends out by the Hogwarts courtyard just like anyone else. He loves and hurts and hopes and laughs—just like anyone else.

And Harry feels pain, too. Just like anyone else.

But what sets Harry apart from an ordinary teenager is that his eyes have seen far too much death than anyone his age is supposed to. Harry has witnessed it countless of times knowing that some, if not most of them were his fault. He has loved people only to lose them in the end; he has carried the burden of grief on his shoulders for as long as he can remember. And after all of those losses, it's only inevitable that he starts noticing:

Everyone close to him dies. One way or the other.

So when he starts noticing his heart growing too close to her—when he finds his gaze lingering on her far longer than necessary, when images of her smiling face sneak into his head in the dead of night—Harry decides to put a stop to it. He has to, while it's still early.

But feelings like these don't just go away. No matter how hard Harry tries to convince himself that [Y/N] is a friend just like Ron and Hermione and every other, his feelings linger like an echoing noise inside his head that surfaces whenever he lets his guard down; loud and incessant and unwilling to go away.

And so two years pass with him having a tug of war in his head between letting himself succumb to his feelings or pushing them away to protect her. Because really, no matter how much he feels for her, he is scared that one day he will wake up and hear that she has been captured and killed like so many before her, just because she is close to Harry.

He wishes he could be selfish. He wishes he could think to himself that, okay, you've been through a lot and you deserve this—you deserve to love and to be loved, but he can't risk putting her life on the line like that. He has risked far too much and lost too many—he can't add her onto that list.

Except it doesn't get any easier to restrain himself.

Every waking moment he spends with her he is left in disbelief because Harry has never thought that he could feel this happy and this miserable at the same time. Happy because he feels like he's at home and at peace, but miserable because he knows he can never have her.

Harry wonders if he will ever let himself feel love the way it's supposed to be felt someday.

He wonders it now, sitting in silence with her in the tent they've been sharing on the run for quite some time. It's at times like these that everything that has happened to them for the past few months starts to pile up on his shoulders; terror and pain and loss that has been set aside too often but now demands to be felt.

They've run from Snatchers and escaped the clutches of death more times than Harry can count. Each time, he inches ever so closer to losing her, as he has feared for so long. And he feels it now, stronger than ever before—the fear.

He stares at her from a few feet away. [Y/N]'s gaze is fixed on the floor, eyes gazing absently. She looks tired. Her cheeks have gone hollow and there are tiny scars on her face and on her arms that hadn't been there months ago, some fresh and some just beginning to heal. Harry wants to reach out and press his lips to each one of them in turn like this will somehow heal them, one by one.

But instead he sits there, staring, hoping against hope that she can't see the love threatening to burst right out of his chest.

It's the kind of love you hold between your lungs and your ribcage and hope that no one can see it glowing through your skin. The kind that you keep to yourself. The dangerous kind.

But the night is quiet and so are the pair of them. There is a song playing on the radio. [Y/N] and Harry are the only living, breathing souls for miles and miles aside from a rabbit or two, and there are no Snatchers around nor anyone hoping to kill them.

For the first time in a long time, Harry feels like he is allowed to breathe.

So he pushes away all of the burdens resting on his shoulders. He will acknowledge them at a different time. For now, he isn't the boy destined to bring about the Dark Lord's downfall, and for now, he isn't trying to protect anyone. [Y/N] included.

For now, he is just Harry, and there is nothing else in the world but him and [Y/N] and faint music crackling through the radio.

Harry gets to his feet and walks over to her. It takes [Y/N] a brief moment to realize that he is standing in front of her. Once she has snapped herself out of her reverie, she looks up at Harry, who has his hand held out.

"Care for a dance?" Harry asks her, and his voice is quiet but there is a ghost of a weak smile on his lips.

She blinks once. Twice. And then she lets out a long breath, nods, and lets Harry take her hand and pull her to her feet to the middle of the tent.

They are slow, at first. Hesitant. Neither of them quite know what they're doing—Harry definitely doesn't. The practice he received from McGonagall for the Yule Ball all those years ago is of little use, so he finds himself stumbling a little on his feet and repetitively stepping on [Y/N]'s toes by accident. But somewhere along the fifth time he does this, [Y/N] starts laughing—and once she starts, she can't seem to stop. So Harry starts laughing, too. And then he raises her arms and twirls her, over and over, laughing all the while as they dance erratically to the music until she spins back into his arms and stays there, hands on his shoulders, his on her waist as the song fades to a close and the moment of uncontrolled joy vanishes.

[Y/N] rests her head against his, silent.

Harry closes his eyes, waiting for her to pull away but not really wanting her to. As if she has heard him, she stays where she stands. And then, quietly, as though this brief moment of peace will slip away if he speaks too loud, Harry whispers, "What if we just stay here?"

She doesn't respond. Harry knows why—because it's impossible. There are too many people counting on them; too many lives to be saved and too little time. But Harry hopes, anyway, because it brings him even the slightest bit of comfort to envision a world where there is only him and her.

"We can grow old here together," Harry says, voice soft, and his chest aches. There's a lump in his throat and a painful prickling feeling behind his eyes as he keeps going, "We can stay and hide here until the war blows over." He doesn't mean it. But Harry can't quite have what other young boys do—normalcy and love and a life safe at home—so he is at least allowed to imagine. "We can stay and stop trying to find Horcruxes—stop trying to kill You-Know-Who."

"And leave everyone to die," [Y/N] finishes quietly. He both hears and feels her take a deep, shuddery breath; his grip on her waist tightens.

Harry wishes the world was different—or at least his. He never wanted to be famous. He never wanted his parents, nor anyone, to die for him. He wishes he could have grown up with a family he felt safe with, wishes he could have had more than a few months in his mother's arms and that he could take back all of the lives that had been sacrificed for him. And most of all, right in this moment, he wishes with all of his heart that he could love as freely as he wanted without having to worry about the consequences.

But those are just wishes, and nothing in the world can grant them. Not even magic.

Maybe that's why, when he pulls away and leans his forehead against hers, a single tear slips out of Harry's eyes. It's not like he doesn't know; he has known for a long time that some things in life he just can't have. But he's frustrated and desperate and the love in his chest that he has been trying to reign down for so long finally spills out and has him admitting, voice a hushed whisper, "I love you."

And then his lips are on hers, hesitant and slow and gentle, and it feels like finally as much as it feels like I can't do this.

He half-expects her to pull away. But she only moves his lips over his, just as slow. Harry tastes salty tears on his tongue—wonders whose tears they are, his or hers—and then she breaks away a little and replies in a mere whisper into his lips: "I know."

And for now, Harry thinks to himself, that is enough.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #hp oneshots #hp oneshot #hp imagine #hp imagines #hp x reader #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic

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