#and i think about how he's the one who taught her how to fight (alongside bruno ofc but likely before then too!!!)

[moe-broey]

@hulloitsdani I HAD TO. ROTATE THIS. IN MY MIND. SO MUCH. CAUSE HERE'S THE THING I think on the surface it COULD make sense and has SO much potential writing-wise and I have hardly thought about that before -- but!!!!

While I have been goofing on Ratatoskr and how she's just a poor little thang, upon meeting she DID tell Alfonse this:

Which gives you SO much information actually. Like. She knows a lot more than she lets on -- not because she's lying outright or even putting up a front, but because she's just. So overwhelmed and emotional and sensitive (LOUDLY so) that may be the only thing you notice, maybe even underestimating her. But I feel Alfonse took this information and did the opposite -- it's an odd position to be in, to be known presumably very well by someone who's a stranger to you. But I think he takes this in, and takes his first impression of her and her personality, motives, the conflict within her, and decides to put his faith in her.

I think ALSO he could be viewing her as a valuable ally, acknowledging:

I think, he sees she has potential, if he can win her over and have her fight on his side. I THINK. Primarily his motivation is practical. Making a quick judgement of her, coming to the conclusion she could be a valuable asset and could help the Heroes even more (going back to, him saying "She can even tell them I asked her to get us more information on the assassination plot" and "If our enemy thinks like I do... they'll see a similar opportunity in front of them.")

AUGH INTERRUPTING THAT THOUGHT THOUGH!!!!!! I FEEL LIKE!!!!!! PART OF THE GAMBIT IS "She would be a valuable ally" AND on the flipside "She could pose a considerable threat if she changed her mind and strengthened her resolve in the opposite direction (to kill me)" so winning her over is part of defusing the threat. AND it's an extra win to have all that information if she does choose the Heroes. AND it's an extra LOSS if she does leave, since she takes all that information with her AND has the advantage while the Order is left scrambling in the dark. Plus also!!!!!! Her having that intimate knowledge of his routines!!!!!! If he loses Ratatoskr, he Knows he's gonna suffer severe consequences.

ALSO. ALSO!!!!!!!! I FEEL LIKE!!!!!!!!!! That is WHY him letting her go and EMPHASIZING she can do whatever she deems necessary, EVEN giving her sisters inside knowledge on the Heroes. I FEEL LIKE. THIS IS ACTUALLY. VERY MUCH (on a much smaller scale!!!!) another Letizia moment. HEAR ME OUT

Right before The Moment, he's judging Letizia's character, what he knows to be true about her, her PERSONALITY and the way she thinks. Which leads him to go sicko mode on her (because! That Was the course of action to take with her!!!!)

THIS TIME. He's met with a very emotional, very distressed and conflicted assassin who seems to have a moral compass and is conflicted about what she's been ordered to do. In one way, she's almost like a bomb that has to be defused -- she Does pose a threat, and the threat needs to be addressed before it goes off/is out of his hands. And in this case, appealing to her emotions IS the answer!

AND. I THINK. PART of that appeal WAS to place That Much trust in her. ESPECIALLY communicating to her, she's not Required to remain loyal to the Heroes. Giving her a choice, between them and her sisters. He's heavily relying on Ratatoskr's internal conflict and also (surely it hasn't been missed on him) her attachment to him, or at very least her respect for him as a person she's come to admire. It's an extreme chance to take, but I think he knows if Ratatoskr can 1) Feel like she made the choice herself, and 2) He can catch her on another emotionally driven motivation (When she requests a favor in return, which is for the Heroes to Save her Sisters) -- I think he's fully confident he can win her over without forcing her to do anything.

WHICH. ALSO. HELPS WIN HER OVER BC her MAIN conflict she's struggling with is Being Forced To Do Something She Doesn't Want To. By NOT being forceful with her, by EMPHASIZING she can take any action she deems fit, he's set up a situation WHERE the Order of Heroes is the preferable option. He leaves her with the impression that her feelings matter, that she has agency, and ultimately it's up to her.

I FEEL LIKE........ I am talking in circles LMFAOOO BUT. I think Another thing (before thought interruption) was Alfonse's lines saying, "It's a gamble on our part, but if our enemy thinks like I do... they will see a similar opportunity in front of them." ESPECIALLY into:

WHICH stood out to me SO much because I think it really captures how practically motivated he IS here. He is using her. He's acknowledging, that if their enemy is Like Him, they're using her, too. He's creating a situation with a desired outcome, making the Order of Heroes the more desirable option to align with, giving her the feeling that she Can choose -- and, this is true! He's entirely put the choice in her hands. But in DOING that, it strengthens the possibility of her seeing the Heroes AS the desirable option. Which is the goal. Which is what he wants. He Is prepared, most likely, for the event this backfires, but also he's fully confident Ratatoskr Will choose them. (Also, as I say he was "most likely prepared for backfire"..... honestly that may not even be the case. Alfonse bluffs and bullshits his way around and out of things so much it would make Phoenix Wright blush).

WHICH ALSO LIKE..... AAAUGHGHHHH rotating him in my mind forever. You can See his traits and tendencies, see how he uses them for the benefit of his allies and those he cares about, but also SO clearly you can see. How A Lot of That is deeply rooted in his own moral compass (which is good!) and his own perspective (which is limited and sometimes flawed) and you can see. EXACTLY how these things can twist and turn and get really ugly LMFAOO

And man I haven't even gotten to Alear yet but I have THOUGHTS about his interactions w her too I need to make a separate post about LMFAOO 😅 (hit image limit and also feels like another topic entirely 🫡)

[powerpuffobsession]

The whole Eden Lucifer-Adam-Lilith-Eve situation is kinda creepy. I see serious groomer undertones in it, given the difference in Lucifer's and humans' life experience (and to extent, maturity) at the moment

Imagine that you are an adult experienced angel who is present during the making of Eden and the birth of first humans. You also apparently want a wife. And to be a part in creation of Eden. What do you do? Find some female angel to marry and live your life with? Find an actually helpful way of working alongside elder angels?

Nope, instead you meddle with the lives of newborn and inexperienced humans in the most destructive way possible.

You could have helped them sort out their disagreements and actually taught them proper ways to behave. But you don't. You groom the naive female human into trusting you and then you encourage her cheating on the male human, causing trauma and insecurities to corrupt his personality in his first few years of living (the most influential in shaping a person's mentality). Thus you become partly responsible for the vengeful monster he will become in the future

More than that, you take away the female human's chance to live safely in paradise or on earth. Because of aiding you in your not-so-well-thought-out-plan (she didnt have any other choice, you and the male human were the only company she had), she is doomed to be allowed to only live in hell the rest of her life. And you knew that no one in heaven was going to give her the benefit of the doubt

As icing on the cake, you don't stop just on grooming and encouraging cheating, you don't leave the male human alone after you've already did him dirty and abandoned him... you come back and corrupt his new wife for some unclear reason (because your "whimsical" ideas of how you'd do a project elder angels know better how to carry out, are never even elaborated upon).

As a result, you doom not only these three babies in adult bodies but also the entire humanity to a terrifying life of fighting sinful outbursts, suffering, surviving, dying and risking ending up in hell where they'll be suffering for an eternity

I'm not sure if writers will ever hold Lucifer accountable for all this in a proper way. Probably not. But thinking about how much he fucked over first three humans makes me wish more depression on him

At this point, Lilith leaving Lucifer is not surprising. Imagine if after maturing and gaining life experience (and already giving birth to Charlie) she realized how her husband was practically using her. That could be why she left after doing her job of raising Charlie until she became an adult that can survive on her own

(I mean, it could be true if hazbin hotel was good at having the characters live through consequences of their actions and not just making Adam a scapegoat who is supposedly like Stella v 2.0 - evil ever since he was born and already inventing patriarchy with his very first breath. Like, all humans are selfish jerks when they are newborn - that's what parenting is for, shaping something more pleasant out of all that selfishness) (notice how the writing only focuses on how Adam was "bad" back in Eden)

(That also gives me a reason to judge angels in general - just a few narrative details really show how little they cared about the first humans' wellbeing and future. It's their fault too that Lilith ended up in hell and had to make some sort of deal to get a chance to visit her home/ Adam became an immature mentally unstable murderer/ and Eve... dunno, we haven't seen her yet)

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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Series Tag List + Dean W. (Part 1):

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[geekgirles]

Even though we all know it's eventually going to bring disastrous consequences for Amalia, I'm so glad she didn't just control her fight with Aurora since the very beginning, but that she got to call her out on her foolishness and undeserved arrogance. I was really getting ready to call bullshit had Aurora at some point gained the upperhand by some sort of "legitimate" skill of hers.

Because Amalia is absolutely right! She never stood a chance because, realistically speaking, she never should have!

Ever since she was first introduced in season 3, there has never been any indication that Aurora knows how to fight. In fact, I'd say there's never even been any indication that anyone in her family is actually skilled at combat. Ashdur seriously looked more like a bodybuilder or circus strongman than a warrior, for example.

(See?)

But Aurora especially seems to have been raised to be married off to some other nation's heir to act as his arm candy rather than an actual queen and partner capable of running a kingdom in her husband's absence. During the entire time we've known her, she's never displayed any leadership, diplomacy, or tactical skills, let alone battle prowress. We all know it; for the entirety of season 4 and the webtoon, she's done nothing but quietly and passively follow Armand around and then act snide towards Amalia alongside her father.

And how could we forget the one time she took proactive action, she immediately had to retreat because she was lightly struck by lightening, which, and I cannot stress this enough, amounted to a small burn on her hand?

(Most dramatic bird I've ever seen, I swear to God...)

Not to mention that at the first sign of things not going her way or taking a direction she doesn't approve of, her first instinct is either to stand powerless and cry about it or throw a tantrum and recklessly and impulsively throw herself headfirst into things without thinking about the possible consequences.

All the while treating Amalia like nothing but a spoiled brat that is beneath her and who she can easily dispose of. But as Amalia pointed out, due to her complete and utter lack of experience in the real world and inability to let go of her self-perceived importance and worth or even acknowledge her own mistakes and privileges, the only spoiled brat here is Aurora.

Meanwhile, Amalia's adventures have allowed her to grow in ways no other royal can even fathom. She learned to let go of her prejudices when she worked with Pandiego; learned to refuse to be cowed into submission and fight for what she believes in when she went against Armand's orders; aside from the ocassional tantrum that is mostly played for laughs, she values the people around her as much more than mere servants or how she can benefit from them; she's fought wars, faced monsters, dragons, and demigods, and an undead, unbeatable army of Wakfu-vampires; and, if that weren't enough, her position as Sadida Princess and later Queen, hence protector of the Tree of Life and Sadida Kingdom, already implies the entirety of the Sheran Sharms are taught the art of combat in order to fulfill their duties to their kingdom.

Which can be seen when Armand and King Oakheart were the first in line during the war against Nox back in season 1, and again against the Nécromes (in Armand's case). As opposed to the Osamodas King, who didn't just neglect to send troops to help the supposed allied nation his daughter ruled over, but said daughter went as far as confirming he barely ever leaves his cave, always delegating everything on members of his court.

In other words, even before she met Yugo, Amalia already was a Warrior Princess by virtue of her family and their devotion to their kingdom, while Aurora never evolved from spoiled princess. And the fact that she failed to take Amalia's real world experience into account, besides how vastly she overpowers her and her father, only highlights how her own ego and pride blind her to reason: she really never stood a chance.

In short? Will Amalia's bludgeoning of the Osamodas bring unfortunate consequences? Yes, most definitely. Did they deserve it? Abso-fucking-lutely.

[jpmarvel90]

The Healer

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Word Count: 3588

Relationship: Natasha x Reader (but not really)

Summary: Y/n was a prisoner of Hydra where she was experimented on to give her the powers to heal. She was then forced to use those powers to heal any person Hydra sent her way. That was until the Avengers stormed the base she was held at. Surely her life would only get better from here....right?

Y/n's POV:

You'd think being an Avenger is a dream. Maybe for the others it is. But for me it's a nightmare. For the majority of my adult life, I had been held captive by Hydra. In that time, I was tortured and tested on. So much so that I now have the ability to heal people. I would dream for the day that I might escape and be able to use my powers for good, rather than healing those causing pain and destruction.

Then one day, the Avengers came and stormed the base I was being held in. Because of my powers, I was being forced to heal the wounded and when Tony Stark came across me, he assumed I was one of them. He knocked me out and I woke up in a new cell. Granted this one was slightly more comfortable.

Three months I spent in there, only being let out if it was to heal one of the team if they were hurt. I had tried to explain to them that I have never and will never support Hydra, but they wouldn't listen to me. I gave up in the end, realising that they would never listen or believe me. After some time had passed, Fury decided that I would become part of the Avengers or be sent straight to the raft. I obviously decided the former and soon was allowed out of my cell and into a room of my own. Not that I was ever permitted to leave the compound, except for missions.

I had hoped that over time, maybe I could earn the team's trust. That I could prove to them who I really am and maybe even make some friends. But I couldn't have been more wrong. None of them cared for me. I wasn't welcome at team meals. I was to eat on my own. So, you can imagine that I was never allowed to team building events or parties.

I was simply a healer to them. And an evil one at that. I was used to go on endless missions and heal anyone who was injured. From small cuts to stab and gun shot wounds. They had no care for the impact that it was having on my body. Each time I heal, it drains me. The more severe the injury, the long it would take for me to recover. But to the team, it was a price I had to pay for my sins.

I wasn't just sent on Avenger missions either. Any important Shield ones, I would be made to tag along. There were times I struggled to see the difference to Hydra. I was being used in exactly the same way but here, I had a more comfortable room. But I was still a prisoner, being used for powers I never asked for.

It didn't take me long to realise that I would never be able to show the team that I'm no threat and was taken against my will. Not even Wanda, who did actually volunteer to work with Hydra, gave me the time of day.

I would hear the snide comments and questioning of my worth. Then Steve would speak up and talk about how valuable I was. But not because of me as person, but because of my powers. If they could take my powers from me and give them to someone else, I know they would do it in a heartbeat and I would be locked away for life on the Raft.

I started to train myself to help with trying to keep my mental health in check. Some days it was hard to get out of bed. I'm ashamed that I have considered ending everything. Maybe I wasn't meant for this world. But then I would snap out of it and know that I have to fight. So, I taught myself how to. I wasn't too bad, and Steve found me one day and sparred with me. He was impressed and told me that I would be able to support in more than just a healing capacity. It didn't change his view of me as a person though.

So that's what happened. I was expected to fight alongside them, as well as heal them. Although my stamina increased overtime, I still couldn't control the impact on my body when healing someone. But once again. The team didn't care when I would practically crawl back onto the QuinJet. In fact, I'm sure they would leave me behind if they weren't so desperate for my healing abilities.

Today, we're heading out on a big mission. They have found one of the main Hydra bases. Our job is to go in, get intel and blow the place up. Natasha and Wanda will be going in and getting any information they need. Steve will plant the bombs, whilst the rest of us keep the Hydra agents busy.

There weren't too many injuries that I had to heal. Barton took a knife to the stomach, but it missed any vital organs, so wasn't too bad to heal, whilst Sam broke his arm when his wingsuit was taken out and he fell to the ground. It meant my energy was up and I was able to focus on fighting and making sure I did my job to the best of my ability.

As the fighting grew more intense, my comms crackled and I heard a shaky voice coming through. "Y/n. We need support in the comms room. Nat's been hit. I-it's bad." Wanda calls out.

Nat's POV:

This mission was going to be a huge success if we could take this base out. It was one of Hydra's 4 main bases. It would significantly affect their ability to carry out attacks on the scale they have been doing so.

Wanda and I were able to get inside relatively easily with the others fighting out the front. Wanda used her powers to deal with any agents we came across and protected me whilst I started to download as much information as I could. I then started looking through the rows of filing cabinets, hoping to find something useful. Whilst flicking through one of the draws, I see a picture of someone I recognise.

It's Y/n, though she looks far younger. Maybe 18. Intrigued, I start flicking through the file, but soon regret it when I read her history. My hand flies to my mouth and I gasp as I see the evidence that proved what Y/n had told us was true. She truly was a prisoner. Captured when she was 19 and held captive for 7 years. She wasn't born with her powers but was instead tested upon. My whole body fills with regret and I feel like I could be sick. We have treated her like the enemy for so long when she was the victim.

"What is it?" Wanda asks me as she appears by my side. "We were wrong about Y/n." I state, handing her the file, before running my hands through my hair. "Oh my God. She was telling the truth." She gasps herself at the realisation. "How could we treat her so badly. We basically have held her prisoner and forced her to heal us. It's no different to what Hydra were doing to her." I exclaim, anger building within me at how we treated someone who just needed our help.

"We can fix this. When this mission is over, we'll show this to the team, and we'll work to make this right." Wanda suggests. "Assuming she could ever forgive us." I mumble, knowing we have done far too much damage for her to easily accept our apology.

My guard is down as my mind races over all the horrible things I've said, that we've all said. I don't see the guards coming in the room behind us. Both Wanda and I are too late to react before two gun shots go off. I feel the burning instantly in my chest and stomach as my mouth starts to fill with blood. "NAT!" Wanda calls out, rushing in my direction. Not before using a blast of her red magic to end the agent that had managed to hit me.

My legs start to wobble, and I fall to the floor in a heap, my hands trying to stop the bleeding. Wanda drops to her knees and presses her hands down firmly on my wounds to help in the task, but it's all in vain as her own hands are soon painted in red. "We need Y/n." Wanda mumbles before activating her comms. Her eyes never leave me as they fill with tears. I know it's bad. I'm going to die if Y/n doesn't get here in time. "Y/n. We need support in the comms room. Nat's been hit. I-it's bad." Wanda calls out for our teammate. The one that we have failed so badly.

We're amazed at how quickly she gets here, she's out of breath as she drops to the floor besides me. I can feel my life slowly seeping away. "It's ok Agent Romanoff, I've got you." She smiles at me. I can never understand how she is so kind in these moments. She's soft and caring as she heals you. Then once it's done, we treat her like the enemy we thought she was.

"You guys need to get out of there. The bombs have been set and are due to detonate in a couple of minutes." Steve informs us and I see panic form in Wanda's eyes. "Go Miss Maximoff. I've got this." Y/n tells the witch. She's reluctant to leave as Y/n places her hands over my stomach to start healing. "GO! I promise that Agent Romanoff will be safe." She shouts, taking Wanda by surprise. Reluctantly, Wanda gets to her feet and walks backwards slowly. "I'll see you at the jet." She says, before running back through the building to safety.

I look to Y/n who is focusing on the job at hand. I can feel the warmth as my body starts to heal. Though with each passing second, I see Y/n's face become paler. Her eyes struggle to stay open and it's then I realise the real impact of healing someone does to her. Especially when they are so close to death. We've tortured her ourselves as we've forced her to heal us.

Her body suddenly crumples to the floor, and I look down to see my wounds completely healed, not even a scar. "Y/n, wake up. Stay with me." I say, moving to her side, tapping her face gently to get her to wake. Her eyes flutter open and I smile at her. "Thank you." I say, though my heart breaks at the affect my words have on her. I don't think we've ever thanked her for saving our lives. She's done it on numerous occasions.

"You both need to get out now. The bombs are due to detonate any second now." Steve yells down the comms. "Go." She indicates to me, but I shake my head. "Not without you." I tell her, wrapping my arm around her trying to lift her. She's a dead weight but I know I can carry her out. "Stop." She says firmly. "We won't make it if you try and get me out." She says with a look of acceptance on her face. "No, I won't leave you behind." I reiterate, but she uses what little strength she has to push me off her. "It was only a matter of time until I was no longer useful to you all. Go and save yourself." She snaps at me, and I realise that she thinks the only reason I'm saving her is because of her powers.

"No Y/n. I know the truth now. You deserve a happy life. One where you chose your destiny. I won't let you die here in this hell hole." I tell her firmly. "Mr Stark, are you able to come and get Agent Romanoff?" Y/n asks through the comms. "We're both getting out of here. Do you hear me?" I shout just as Tony confirms he's a minute out.

We feel the ground shake as the first bomb goes off, it's only a matter of time until they reach us. "Maybe my death will purge me of my sins." Y/n says through laboured breath. "No, you have nothing to atone for. We do. For how we've treated you. I'm so sorry Y/n. We never should have done what we did to you. It's unforgivable." I try to apologise to her, cupping her face.

Before I can say anything more, Tony blasts through a wall and grabs me in his arms. "Time to go Romanoff." He says but I fight to get out of his arms. "NO! Not without Y/n." I try to get back to the stricken girl on the floor. She can't die. Not like this. "We're going Romanoff. It's fitting that she should die in the place she called home." Tony snarls, making the anger boil within me as he runs out the hole in the wall he had just created.

Even with all my strength I can't get out of his grip, and I give in as he flies away. I watch the building below me getting smaller as we get further away. Just as we're out of danger I watch in horror as the building explodes. "NO!" I scream knowing that Y/n is in there. Tony lands and places me on the floor and is shocked when I start pushing him. "You left her there to die! You asshole!" I scream at him, my anger boiling over as the others come to see what the commotion is. "It was you or her Romanoff and that wasn't even a choice." Tony growls back at me.

"She was innocent!" I yell, taking them all by surprise. "She was telling the truth. She was never working for Hydra by choice. She was a prisoner who spent the majority of her time there being tortured. She would have thought she was free when we saved her, but instead we made her a prisoner of our own, using her for her powers." I rant angrily, tears falling down my cheeks.

"Come on Romanoff, she got to you. Just because she healed you doesn't mean you have to believe her." He argues back. "She's right. Y/n was telling us the truth. We've treated her like the enemy when really, she was the victim." Wanda backs me up. At our revelation, I watch as the others come to terms with what we've done. Steve's head drops as he pulls off his mask. Sam holds the arm the Y/n had not long ago healed whilst Clint looked like he had seen a ghost.

"How do we even know this is true. It could still all be some elaborate plan." Tony tries to dismiss the truth. I reach into my pocket where I had put her file and slammed it into his chest. "Read this and tell me you still feel the same." I spit at him. "We're meant to be the world's mightiest heroes. But how would people react when they hear how we treated a helpless prisoner." I fume, embarrassed by our actions.

I turn away from my team and look to the mountain of rubble in front of me. Maybe she's still alive. Maybe I can find her. With determination in my step and tears stinging my eyes, I start walking towards the rubble. "Where are you going?" Wanda calls after me. "To find her. Hopefully alive, but if not, she deserves a funeral. One showing the real hero she is." I shout back over my shoulder, my eyes locking on to the rough area she would have been.

I start moving the rubble with my bare hands, calling out for Y/n periodically. I'm praying that she responds to me, that she calls out and we're able to save her. Whilst I'm moving the rubble, I see a whisp of red, helping to move it out of the way. I look up to see Wanda, giving me a tight-lipped smile. "She's our teammate. We do this together." She tells me. Soon after the others join us, working to move as much as we can in the hopes of finding Y/n alive.

"Can you feel her at all?" I ask Wanda when we're no closer to finding her. She doesn't respond. She doesn't have to. The pain and regret in her eyes give me the answer I didn't want.

As time goes on, my hope starts to dwindle. She can't die like this. The last words said to her were out of such malice. She needs to know how much we appreciate her, how sorry we are and how much we want to make this up to her. I can see the hope fading for everyone, but we refuse to stop. Even when Fury sends Maria to get us back home. She's soon to join us, her own guilt building.

When I move a large bit of wood, I see a familiar tattoo. 98-321. Y/n has that tattoo. "OVER HERE!" I shout out to the others who are quick to head in my direction as I quickly work to remove the rubble on top of her, ignoring the blood and bruises forming on my hands. I manage to get her free and pull her into my lap whilst the others gather around. "Y/n? Y/n? Can you hear me? It's Natasha." I say to her, tapping her face. But unlike earlier, she doesn't wake.

With shaky hands, I move my two fingers towards her neck and press against her pulse point. I close my eyes tightly hoping to find any signs of life. Though if I really took in her body, I would have seen it would have been an impossible ask. "No." I whisper when I feel nothing.

I hold her close, her skin feeling cold against my touch. "I'm so sorry. Please come back to us. I'm sorry." I start to cry as I hold her limp body in my arms. I rest my head against her chest where her heart no longer beats. I don't care about the blood and dusty that is starting to cover my body. I just want to hold her, in the hopes that, by some miracle, she may understand how sorry we truly are.

"You were a hero Y/n and we didn't treat you like one. We let you suffer when you needed help more than anyone. I wish we could have saved you. Given you the life you deserved. I can only promise that we will never allow this to happen again. Believe me when I say you were seen, and your input to this team was invaluable. You have saved all our lives in some capacity or another. I'm sorry we couldn't do the same for you." I apologise to her through my tears.

A hand on my shoulder brings me back to the devastation around us. "We should go." Steve tells me, with a sad look on his face. He bends down and carefully takes Y/n in his arms. "Be careful with her!" I warn him and he nods. "We will treat her with the utmost respect. As late as that may well be now." He reassures me.

Wanda helps me to my feet, and we follow behind Steve as we make our way back to the QuinJet. The whole team is in shock. I watch as Steve lays Y/n on one of the medical beds and gently places a blanket over her. I quickly move to the seat next to her and hold her hand. I hate the idea of her being alone in this moment.

The journey back is silent as we mourn the loss of a teammate and the embarrassment and guilt settles. When we arrive at the compound a team is waiting to take Y/n's body away and I'm reluctant to allow it. I'm alive because of her. Yet she is dead because of me.

The next few days are dark. Wanda and I plan a service that Y/n deserves. We were able to trace some family. Her sister, Sam, talked of how Y/n was taken one night, and the police were never able to find her. They had assumed she was dead. She had asked why she didn't try and find her once she had managed to escape, and I had to admit that she wasn't permitted to. It's safe to say Sam wasn't too happy when she heard about how we treated her sister.

Despite that, she attended the service for her little sister. She held a lot of pain. I guess finding out that Y/n was alive all the way along only to learn she died like she did much have been hard.

The service was perfect, and the majority of Shield turned up for it. Word had gotten around about the truth and there was a great shame felt by many. None more so than me. I'm a spy, I pride myself on being able to see what others don't. But for some reason I was blinded to this. I could have saved her. She died because of me. It's something I'll never be able to forgive myself for. But I know, that I will never let anyone else be treated the same. I will also never allow anyone to forget that Y/n Y/l/n was the true hero of the Avengers.

[igotanidea]

Cheater : Jason Todd x fem!reader

Here's what you have been waiting for....

Warnigs: smut - MINORS DNI, cheating (duh), heavy swearing, threats, fight, hearbreak, no happy ending.

***

“Hello, baby” his silent whisper and hot breath on her face made her feel at home in his arms.

“Mmm, hello” she muttered, turning around to take him in. For someone so bruised and tired, coming straight from the patrol, Jason was surprisingly breathtaking. “Sore much?” the girl planted a chaste kiss on his lips, but he grabbed her waist and made her stay connected a bit longer, moving hands under her sleeping T-shirt in circular motions “Jason!” she scoffed when he switched positions to that she was pinned beneath him, forced to look straight into his eyes, not that she was complaining.

“Not more than usual” he smirked “And I think I still got some power in me if you are up for a bit of work.”

“Keep talking.” She titled her head, giving him more access to her skin. An opportunity he was more than willing to take.

“The things I want to do to you, baby….” He trailed kissing her skin, leaving scorching trails of his mouth alongside. “is not how a good girl should behave.”

“I am dating a vigilante, I suppose I lost the “good girl” title a long time ago and …. Ah, Jace!”

„Feel good already?” she didn’t even blink and her shirt was off, exposed nipples and breasts begging for his attention.

“More….”

“Oh, I have much more for you. Just let me work on you, baby.” He kissed both of those little rose buds eliciting another moan, back arching to get closer to him, hands tangling in his hair and guiding his head lower. He laughed at her willingness and pulled her pants down, exposing her to him fully.

“No underwear?”

“Who in their sound mind sleep in underwear?” she gritted

“I see I’ve taught you well, love. Always be prepared.”

“Shut up and just….”

“What?” he moved down and started kissing along her calf and inner thigh “do you need my tongue or fingers, sugar? You want to be a bad girl? You gotta tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”

“Oh, fuck, Jace…” he was kissing so close to where she needed him and it was getting so hot she could barely withstand it, and yet craved more “I need your dick. Now.”

“As you wish.”

It was amazing how fast he was with tearing his own clothes off, getting naked and ready as he put his weight on her. Such a sweet, sweet weight, pressing her into the mattress of the bed.

“Jason....”

“I’m going in” he panted pushing through her walls and starting pulling in and out immediately “you good there?”

“Yes, yes, yes….” She chanted like some spell, clutching onto his bicep and shoulders, running fingernails on his muscles, whining and begging ‘So good…. “

“Are you close? He asked, even if her face twisted in pleasure, slightly open lips and those whines told him everything he needed to know. The fact was, seeing her like this was definitely doing things to him and he wasn’t sure how long he could last. He grabbed her legs hooking them around his waist, changing the angle, going deeper, stretching her, hitting just the right place, everytime.  “Come on, baby.” Words followed by nibbling on the soft spot on her neck ‘you make me feel so good. Just let yourself go, let me feel you on my cock. “ his soft whispers were the exact opposite of the speed and force with which he was snapping his hips into her. “Come on, babygirl.”

“Jason!” all that overstimulation pushed her into her climax with the intensity like never before. His name falling from her lips got him mesmerized when he rocked her thought it while fighting the overwhelming urge to just cum inside her. To paint her walls with his seed, to fully make her his.

But they talked about it many times before, none of them were ready for kids. Not with their vigilante lifestyle, crazy characters and emotional instability so barely second before explosion he pulled out, messing up the sheet instead of her body.

“One day I will claim you fully, baby” he panted, capturing her lips and kissing so gently so lovingly that if she wasn’t already spend she would initiate another round. “You are just perfect.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Jaybird.”

***

“Making me breakfast?” a few hours later, in the early morning, Y/N woke up from the little nap she had and came right into the kitchen, lured by the delicious smell. “Eggs?”

“Nah, I know you don’t like eating them 6 times a week. I made you pancakes instead.”

“Really?” she crossed the floor to kiss him “why so generous all of a sudden? What did you do, Jason?" she raised an eyebrow and smiled at him lovingly.

“What I can say? I like to spoil my girl. And if that gets me another kiss of yours ….”

“I’ll say my thanks after I taste ….”

“How about I give you a taste of something better?” he muttered moving closer to her, whispering in her ear, but she just laughed and took a step back.

“Take it easy tiger. If you think I can’t see all those bruises and cuts of yours, you are wrong. Can’t let you overexercise yourself. Besides, do you remember that we were invited by Babs and Dick for a game night?”

“Exactly. Night.” he rolled his eyes “And that means we have a whole day for ourselves and ….”

“And once we start we won’t ever stop going. So I need to halt you on getting your hands on me. At least for today. “ she smirked “Now. Give me my breakfast and go take a shower, cause baby, I hate to break it to you, but you stink.”

“Stink?” he scoffed “I smell like an alpha male. Don’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on..” he flexed his muscles, showing off.

“Oh, hell no! Now please stop showing your armpits!” she squealed and covered her nose “GO!” her happy laugh followed him on the way to the bathroom.

***

Jason todd was a skilled, careful vigilante and a perfectionist with a well-thought plan. He used to keep his walls up for so long, until on one of the patrols he met Y/N, who tear them all down. She was making him happy and loved and, however crazy that sounded, safe. He was not afraid to be open with her.

And this was about to become his undoing.

While he was absentmindedly showering, his phone left on the kitchen counter started buzzing from all the texts and notifications.

***

Y/N was the person who never stuck her nose into anyone else business, respecting boundaries and privacy. A few years spend with Jay only amplified that trait of hers since she never pushed him to do anything he would not like, be it physical or emotional vulnerability. So why did she feel the sudden urge, the tingling to sneak a peek at Jason’s phone screen? Was it an instinct? Was that just a curiosity? She wasn’t sure, but what she saw froze her to the core.

And much to her embarrassment it got her digging deeper.

***

She kept the pose for the rest of the day, acting like her normal self, hiding her feelings deep inside and giving her boyfriend an opportunity to come clean.

He didn’t.

And so they left for meeting with the other bats and co. in perfect moods.

Or at least it seemed so.

***

The atmosphere started rolling downhill the second the girls started playing that silly game with silly cards with silly questions.

"Would you ever be able to forgive your boyfriend for cheating?" Babs picked up the first card from the pile and turned towards Y/N.

"I'm sorry, what is this game about again?" the girl frowned, heat and pain forming in her chest.

"It's simple truth or dare." Stephanie grinned, patting her shoulder reassuringly "don't stress too much."

"Extreme truth or dare I see..."

"Come on, Y/n, answer it. After all it's all hypothetical, right?"

"Mhm, right, it's all hypothetical" Y/N muttered, her eyes travelling to the other side of the room, focusing on Jason, who was just casually talking to Dick, unaware of the fact that she knew. Just leaning on the doorframe, beer in hands, that characteristic smirk on his face. Normally she would smile at the view, thinking how lucky she got, but now, now she wanted to wipe that freaking expression off his face. Preferably with the bleach.

Who would have thought that a night game with friends that was supposed to be fun would turn out like this.

“Please remind me whose idea it was to play it again?” she scoffed crossing her arms defensively, body language not lying. The hell she was going to answer that question.

“It was mine!”Dick grinned from the other side of the room, approaching the girls and sting by Barbara, Jason following right after him taking a spot next to Y/N. “You ladies are having fun?”

“Not really” Stephanie pouted “Y/N is a party pooper.”

“Really?” Jason smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple, almost making her mop it down “What did she do this time?”

“She refused to answer the question” Cass explained in her soft voice “Maybe we shouldn’t….” Orphan was the most skilled in reading body language and if anyone was to start suspecting something it was definitely her.

“What was it?” Dick reached toward the card and read the sentence out loud “Would you ever be able to forgive your boyfriend for cheating. Oh my god!” he laughed looking at his younger brother “I think someone’s in trouble here, Jaybird.”

That was the breaking point for Y/N. She simply could not take it anymore.

“If you’ll excuse me…” she stood up an without another word of explanation run towards the bathroom. Her surprised friends watched her escape and then their shocked and accusatory gazes landed on Jason.

“All right, fine, stop it! I’ll go check on her! Geez!” he scoffed getting up, becoming worried and scared for her on the inside.  

***

 “Y/N?” he came into the spacious bathroom, spotting the girl in front of the mirror with fingers clenched on the sink, head hanging low and breathing heavily. “Baby?”

“Don’t you dare calling me that!” she yelled turning around “you asshole!”

“Y/n? hey, what…” only by miracle he dodged the  hairbrush flying his direction.

“You stupid son of a bitch!”

“I don’t under….”

“You slept with her!”

“What?” his eyes grew wide. Oh, fuck.

“You slept with her and then you came back to me to make me fucking pancakes!?”

“Y/n…..”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Please let me explain….” He took a step forward, but she moved out of his reach, wriggling like a caged animal.

“Oh no, you.I swear if you take one more step towards me I will throw a razor at you!"

"You really do have to make a scene at Dickhead's place, do you?" he hissed, his eyes turning black from restrained anger.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my behavior is gonna make you look bad in front of our friends. Maybe I should even apologize for being the reason you cheated!"

"Stop fucking screaming at me! You could have just waited till we get home!"

"Be thankful I did not, Jason. I swear Dick, Babs, Cass and Steph presence outside is the only thing keeping me from castrating you!"

"Shut up!" he yelled and took a step forward, pushing her into a wall and covering her mouth "AUCH! Fuck, did you just bit me?!"

"I will cut your fingers off if you touch me again!"she reached for the manicure scissors and put them in front of herself in a defensive manner "and from what I get, you like when the girl is loud, don't you?Her moans on that recording she sent you are pretty much the proof of it.”

“Her what now?!”

“Ah, Jason. More, please, you feel so good” Y/n whined, trying to copy the way the other girl sounded and fuck, she was so hot at that moment with her eyes widened in fury, hair messed up becasue of the fight and lips red and swollen. It was the worst timing ever, but Jason found himself getting harder. “WHO EVEN DOES THAT? Was this some sort of your twisted sexual fantasy?! Did it turn you on?!"

"IT DID! The same way it did with you under me and ..."

"You fuck head!” she threw the scissors away and started hitting his chest with her fist, again and again and again.

“If you could just listen to me!"

"Of course, do you have any recording of yourself you send to her?! Whispering her name while you were jacking off?! Probably in our bed!? Probably with me next door or ....." she stopped, her eyes grew even wider, if that was even possible "Oh my god...." she turned away towards the sink, grabbing her stomach, trying to catch her breath like a fish out of water "I'm gonna be sick....."

"Fuck, Listen to me! It did not mean anything! ”

“It means everything for me!” she sobbed, all the anger slowly being replaced by feeling of betrayal and only now he realized how bad he fucked up “you wanted to wait till we get intimate, and fuck I gave both space and time, never pushing on your boundaries! FUCK JASON! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“You do realize that the rest can hear us, right?”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE! IN FACT, LET THEM KNOW! Let them know what their friend/brother did. How many times did that happen?”

“Don’t ….” He shook his head avoiding her eyes

“How. Many. Times. Jason. Do not make me repeat myself!”

“Just a couple.”

“JUST a couple?!” she screamed, but it was the final straw. Her brain shut down, unable to process all that revelation. All the energy left her system and he was just standing in the middle of the bathroom, completely quiet staring into the space gazeless.   

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry.” he pleaded, taking her by surprise, grabbing her hand. She did not react at first and he took the chance to kiss her on the lips, but that actually did bring her back to reality when she pushed him away, harder and stronger than ever before.

“You motherfucker! You wanted to beat your brother in the numbers or what?"

"Now you are bringing Grayson into this?! He's a dog! And you'd better not cross the line of comparing him to me!"

"You're right" she smiled wildly, mockingly "you two are nothing alike. you wanna know why? Because once he settled with Babs he let go of that manwhore attitude. Apparently it worked the other way round for you, you ....."

She did not manage to finish that sentence because of the harsh grip on her throat.

"LET GO OF ME!"

***

"Ok, that is enough." Dick spoke since obviously everyone heard that banter not sure if they should react or not. Jason and Y/N never thought before and now, with the hot-headedness they both had it was weird, disturbing and uncomfortable. "We gotta do something."

"If you value your life, you'd better stay here and ...." Steph started but was cut of by a loud thump and Y/N's muffled scream

"That's it, I'm going in!" he tried to open the door, but it turned out Jason was smart (or stupid, depending on the interpretation) enough to lock them "Y/n?" Dick knocked at the wood fervently "are you all right there?! Say something."

'I'm... I'm fine Dick. Go back to girls, we just need to settle something with Jason"

"It does not sound like ....."

"Just mind your own business, Dickhead!" Jason yelled

***

"God, Y/n, I'm sorry" Todd looked at his hands, startled. He could have chocked her. Just because of his anger. "Please, I...."

Was she better than me?” Y/N asked, massaging her throat where re marks were to start bruising soon. Tears gathering in her eyes. How many times can a broken heart break? Was million pieces not enough?

“What?”

“Was she better? Giving you an oral? Letting you fuck her in all those crazy positions I never could? Making you cum faster, harder? Making you feel like a man?”

“No. Of course not. It’s only you and …..”

“Then why, Jason?” her voice was so broken it made his heart shutter. God, what the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t even blame it on Lazarus water or the post-patrol blurry mind and adrenaline. No, it was fully his fault. His responsibility. She trusted him and he broke her into pieces he wasn’t sure he could pick up together again. But he had to try. He just had to try.

“I… I don’t know.” he looked at the floor, felling wetness in his eyes as well.

“Were you bored with me? Was I too much to handle? If you wanted a sex toy ….”

“Please, don’t say that.” He begged falling onto his knees next to her and hugging her legs, to which she surprisingly did not object. “Please, there’s gotta be something I can do to make it up to you…. I’ll do anything, just please, forgive me. Just one more chance.”

“Do you want to know what answer I would give for that question back there?” she was unimpressed by those theatrics he was pulling. Of course Y/N knew he was true in his words, that he was sorry. She only wondered whether it was because he cheated or because his secret found the way into daylight.

“No, baby, please don’t leave me. Not again, I …..” a single tear fell from his eye at the mere of thought of losing her.

“Oh, but you won’t be alone. You got your, wait what was the nickname in your phone? Oh, right, sugarbaby. God I was so stupid for trusting you! Nevermind. Now, you’ll be able to hear her scream your name and writhe underneath you without having any strings attached....

"No, baby, don't throw what we have away."

"We have nothing. Not anymore." her tone was so cold it could freeze the ocean "I despise you, Jason Todd.”

She walked right past through him, leaving him on the cold floor. Sooner or later he would have to get up and get out, dealing with judging looks and harsh words. And maybe some physical fight with Dick. But for now, he could not move a single muscle, just leaning on the bath and hiding his face in hands. She was right, he was a complete fuckup.

***

"Jason called again." Babs announced approaching the coach, Y/N was sitting on. Cass and Steph respectively on her left and right side hugging their friend. The girls jointly decided it would be better for Y/N to stay in their apartment for some time since Jason wouldn't dare invading her here.

"What did you tell him?" Y/N sighed, laying her red swollen eyes on the red head.

"The same thing as I did the previous 50 times he called. To fuck off and leave you alone. You sure you don't want Dick to...."

"No, I don't. This would turn into a bloodbath. I am heartbroken but it doesn't mean I want to have any death on my conscience."

"Dick would be more than happy to have that. He is enraged on your behalf. You know what he said to me after learning what happened?

"No. What?"

"Y/N is a genuinely nice person. She will forget at forgive after some time. But I'm her friend. I get to hold the grudge for her and protect her."

"He did say that?"

"Yes." Babs nodded "And I think I speak for all of us when I say that we second that approach." Cass and Steph nodded

“I know it does not seem like it now, but you’re gonna be fine” Steph assured, rubbing Y/N's shoulders

“I know.” the girl sobbed “it just hurts so bad.”

“Jason is a ….” Steph started but before she could find a proper word Cass interrupted her

“We’re for you, Y/n. whatever you need, you can count on us.”

“Thank you girls.”

“Ice cream, anyone?” Steph grinned

“A bucket please. And the good ones ,not those low fat, low carb shit. If I'm gonna get comfort food might as well indulge myself.

No matter what, she was going to be fine .

@cherryinsalemverse @gone-batty-fics @justafanficsreader @arfrona @parkjammys @thatweirdwitchnextdoor

[gojoscalico]

Turn Back Time || t h r e e

Summary: You were never sure when it started to fall apart but it did. 10 Years later and now you're facing him again. Will it reignite the feelings you both once had for one another? Or will you both end up walking away from each other once again?

Word Count: 1990

A/N: WARNING!! This chapter does mention graphic violence and death of an animal.

Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn

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“Y/N!” Afraid that you would burst into tears in front of not just Shoko but in front of the students who suddenly have turned their attention to the both of you, you bit your tongue. You winced in pain. The taste of blood triggers your memories of living as a corpse in your family’s basement. It was something you had always done when your mother would strike you until you were unable to stand. It became a hard habit to break. You remembered whimpering in pain. And if you had cried she would only pounce at you some more. The sudden twinge of pain from biting your tongue calms your nerves, pivoting suddenly and turning towards Shoko with a smile. The best smile you can conjure up. It was something you had been good at. Taught at a young age how to smile for the public even with a broken rib. To hide how you felt to survive. But eventually it was also something the trio was able to look past. Shoko looked at you with a pained look on her face.  “Y/N…Toru he–”

“I’m fine! Shoko I just forgot that I had to grab something from my lug–” She interrupted you with a sudden hug. Suddenly you were sixteen again and here you were struggling to survive…to breathe freely in a world that wasn't the cold dark basement you had grown familiar with. And here again a decade later was Shoko with her healing touch. You had thought that maybe moving away had helped you fight the demons inside your head but in her arms you knew that you had just silenced them for a moment and learned to live alongside them in the shadows. You had never really faced them. You dug your head deeper into her arms and the tears just flowed. “Shoko…I wish I could tell him…I wish I could just tell him everything but being a Gojo is everything to him.”  She petted your hair as she ran her hand down your back,” Shh…I know…I know… everything…” You stopped crying, lifting your head up you felt a sense of confusion, “What?” 

“When the clan called on you I was there…I heard what they said. I thought that you were going to tell us. I thought that you were gonna ask Sugu and I for help…I’m sorry that we made you feel like we weren’t safe enough to talk to when they forced you to make a choice.” You shook your head. You never thought that even once this whole decade. You stepped away from her crying into your hands. You were thinking about how much this hurt Shoko. To know the truth about everything but was unable to tell anyone. “No…Shoko…I never…I just didn’t want to…” Shoko took a step towards you to reassure you that she didn’t hate you for your choice. She never once hated you for how you handled a shitty situation chucked to you as a child. Especially not by adults who had promised to protect you. She had only wished she was able to help you more, “Maybe I can help…Tell Toru what it was that–” BOOM. 

It was an attack.

Shoko looked around with a confused look on her face. How was she okay? How did she end up outside of the pavilion that just collapsed? Then she remembered hearing you clap before the loud boom. She looked around to find a tree standing where she had been just mere seconds ago. Turning her head to where you had been standing just seconds ago she saw a huge mountain of rubble. She heard ringing in her ear from the loud noise, which left her a little disoriented . “Y/N!!” Shoko yelled at the top of her lungs, panic was distinct in her voice. In desperation she called out to Satoru and Suguru. “PLEASE ANYONE! I can’t find her!” Shoko felt the tears in her eyes. Please. She begged that you were okay. Please. She fell to the ground as she noticed your shoe right outside the mountain of rubble. She picked up the shoe to realize that it had been wet. Staring at the vivid cherry colored liquid on her hand. She panicked as she looked around for any sign of you when she saw the blood seeping through the debris. She yelled for Satoru and Suguru in desperation one more time before she started to dig through the wreck. Her fingers were bleeding after cutting herself from the sharp edges of the fallen debris. “Shoko…what are you?” She turned around to find Satoru standing over her. Suguru appeared right behind him, his eyes widening as he noticed the blood. “Y/N…she’s under here.” Shoko stated as she stared at the rubble. Satoru’s eyes widened as he took a step forward, “No…No…” Using his curse technique he lifted the rubble so easily. There he finds your body miraculously not crushed by the wrecked parts of the pavilion. Still there was blood staining your clothes. You were hurt. You gave him a weak smile. “T-Toru…I–” You coughed up some blood. Your body was at its limit. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” After hearing those words you released your technique. Unsure if it was muscle memory but your body knew that if you heard those words you were gonna be okay. You took one last breath in before closing your eyes. 

“Y/N! You’re too slow!” Heavily breathing you lunged at Satoru with a spear as he dodged it…again. You groaned, “Just once I want to be able to hit you just once.” Satoru laughed, “Oh come on princess, then it’s not sparring, I just become target practice.” You scoffed, “Doesn’t sound too bad especially if you keep calling me princess. You know I don’t like that nickname.” Satoru laughed at you mockingly as he kept avoiding your attacks. He watched as your cheeks just got redder as you continued. He was worried that you were going to pass out from the heat. “Okay let’s take a rest before you hurt yourself.” You groaned again as you took off the uniform jacket and fanned yourself with your sweat-soaked t-shirt. “Fine.” Satoru watched as beads of sweat dripped down from your face to your chest. The sweat soaked t-shirt practically transparent, he swiftly threw his jacket over you as he heard footsteps from behind. “Hey!” 

“Shut up!” You then suddenly hear Suguru and Shoko laughing down the hall. “No and then he…woah are you two okay?” You tilted your head confused, “What do you mean?” Suguru placed an ice cold sports drink on your cheeks, flinching letting out a little moan of pain as the cold drink touched your warm cheeks. “Ow…” Satoru watched Suguru laugh as he handed you the sports drink. He felt a tinge of jealousy as your cheeks turned even more red. “Yeah exactly, you look like you're dying of heat exhaustion. And why are you still wearing the uniform jacket?” You glanced at Satoru who was now looking down at the drink that Shoko had brought. “It helps with conditioning my body for extreme temperatures.” Shoko laughed at your remark, “All that training would be useless if you die Y/N. You have to take care of your body more.” You pouted as you ran towards Shoko hugging her, “I mean it’s not even my jacket…” You then glared at Satoru’s direction, “Someone just suddenly threw his jacket at me. When I was trying to cool down.” 

“Well I mean her…sh-shirt is...” You tilted your head unsure of why the arrogant Satoru was suddenly flustered. Then you looked down at your sweat soaked t-shirt and you noticed that your bra was seen through it. You felt the heat of your cheeks turning red in an instant as you covered your chest, “P-Perv! Toru you’re a pervert!.” 

“Huh? ME? You’re the one who just just took off their jacket in front of me. A man.” You laughed, “A man? You? Please Toru. I won’t see you as a man for as long as I live.” Pissed off, Satoru laughed, “And I will never see you as a woman, just a little girl who can barely land a punch.” With that you scurried away huffing with anger. You weren’t sure what it was about Satoru but whatever he did he pissed you off. It was his arrogance. His arrogance was based on nothing but the fact that he was a part of the Gojo clan and that he was born with those eyes. 

Satoru watched you hurry away. He chuckled because no matter how pissed off he was at you the way you moved was so cute. You were like an angry rabbit. He knew that no matter how pissed off you always get you would still bless him with that pure and innocent smile. The smile that made his heart skip a beat. “You know Satoru, if you like her you shouldn’t be so mean to her it’s not like we are still in grade school.” Satoru sighed at Suguru’s comment. “Go apologize and tell her you love her.” Satoru threw a punch at Suguru who blocked it, “Tsk. Always acting like you know everything. Shut up.”

With Suguru's advice Satoru followed you so he can apologize. He knew how hard you were working but he wanted you to catch up soon so that you could start to fight alongside him. “Hey Y/N…” Satoru stopped in his tracks as he watched you sitting on the floor looking at an injured squirrel. Typical. He figured you were going to pick it up and cry about how you wanted to take care of it. Shocked as he watched you pick it up and break its neck instantly killing it. He watched your dull expression as you held the lifeless squirrel in your hand. He flinched. It wasn’t something he expected you to do. “Hey, What are you doing?” He asked as he took the squirrel’s dead body away from you. He caught a glimpse of your eyes. It was as if you were a different person. They were hollow and dark; it was the eyes of someone who knew what they had done and meant it. Satoru pried the squirrel's body from your hands and placed it by the tree where it had probably fallen from.“Y/N! Why did you do that?” He shook you as you glared up at him. “Why? The squirrel was in pain Toru…it was gonna die anyway.” Satoru looked at her in shock. This wasn’t the Y/N he knew. But he knew for the first time he was seeing you for who you were. Cold. “You didn’t have to kill it…we could’ve nursed it back to health.” You laughed almost mockingly, “How do you know it would’ve lived? What if it suffered even more if we had let it live?” He looked at your eyes. He knew you weren’t talking about the squirrel anymore. “Weak things die…it’s how the world works Toru.”

He looked at you with a distressed look in his eyes. In this moment, he wanted you to forget the pain you were forced to bear before coming to Jujutsu. For the first time ever since he had met you he reached out his arms. He placed his hands lightly on the back of your head as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” It was as if the anxiety that blanketed over you since the day you were rescued was lifted, you felt a sudden relief. You cried as you dug your head deeper into Satoru’s arms. “Toru…I…” He looked at you, placing a hand on your chin as he lifted it, bending down a little until his lips touched yours. He knew that whoever you become he will always love you. And he will always follow you. 

[moonlit-witches]

☾ Requiem — Chifuyu Matsuno

☾ Just to Die — Chifuyu Matsuno

❝you learn it ain’t fair by design/so you do what you can/when you’re born into life just to die❞

pairing: chifuyu matsuno x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you meet your new neighbor chifuyu matsuno for the first time

warnings: mentions of death (parental), language, violence, suggestive themes (nothing explicit), questionable morality, reader is lowkey a brat but ya know aren’t all preteens??, one (1) use of y/n, depressive themes (i be depressed so most of what i write is gonna b a lil depressing lol)

word count: 2.8k+

a/n: y'all i haven’t written fanfiction in years so please be mindful lmfao, this takes place right around/before chifuyu meets baji, so he’s his lil asshole self who thinks he rules the world, i have multiple parts to this planned so beware, let me know if you enjoyed! thanks homies!

now playing: [just to die — keshi]

part i

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growing up with a single father definitely had its ups and downs. while you were on your own when it came to figuring out catty fights between jealous tweens who thought that words and hair pulling would affect your social standings, or why exactly there was a bright red stain inside of your underwear for a week straight when you were around eleven, your father stepped up in other aspects of your life. teaching you how to persevere against those that talked down on you with a sharp punch to the nose while avoiding retaliating fists, to making you feel as though you were princess of the universe when he’d walk you downtown late at night. he’d let you swing manically off one of his arms, while his other smoked a cigarette. you remembered glancing up and seeing a wide smile illuminating his face, as you giggled trying to kick at the walking pedestrians, causing him to have to flex and move his arm to avoid the collision.

you remember feeling like nothing and no one could touch you as long as your dad was next to you.

that was until you lost him too — moving into a bustling new city, with an unfamiliar aunt who claimed to be a relative of your long-gone mother and scolded you for the ways in which your dad taught you. one minute you were a happy child with confidence that shined through all aspects of your life including caring about schoolwork, helping your dad around the house, and being kind to those around you. the next, you were transported to the police station instead of walking back home alongside your father as he insisted on picking you up from school every day after work. you remember the flickering overhead lights as they said something along the lines of “you’re dad is in heaven now” to keep the conversation kid-friendly. you remember looking up the real story on the library computer late one night. some bitch stabbed your father and took his money.

your aunt suddenly had her hands full — although after losing both parents, was a wild child not what she was expecting to come out of this situation? especially a family member you had never heard of before your father’s untimely death. from violence, to sneaking out, or stealing anything your pockets could hold; you’d begun a search for any sort of feeling other than despair. cheap thrills seemed to be the best ticket.

you had punched your seatmate the first day of school for asking if you needed help purchasing pencils when she’d seen you chewing on a perfectly working pen. you were banned from the four closest convenience stores to your home, whom your aunt seemed to personally know the managers of as they’d ratted out your little heists to her. you’d even sneak out of your ground floor window to share half of your dinner with the city's stray cats as you couldn’t stomach much of an appetite once your solid footing on the universe had whisked out from under your feet. your middle school years seemed to be shaping into the bane of your existence. 

however, you learned just as quickly that simply because all of the lights had been shut off, it doesn’t stop soft, stubborn flames from flickering in long stale corners.

the apartment complex that you now resided in sat on a poorly lit corner, standing five floors high, and rang quietly with the sounds of mother’s scolding their ruly children while the dark alleys surrounding it smelled of tobacco and skunk, flitting behind the bodies of those that stopped to smoke. most days, following the lengthy and boring school days, you would stay out as late as you could, lying to your aunt that you’d been at cram school instead of running rampant along the streets of tokyo.

even after your father’s death, you’d feel him by your side, especially when you’d walk the streets after sunset with an unlit cigarette sitting between your tense teeth. the bustling streets weren’t as safe as they had been when he’d physically been here, but his somatic skills of protection that he’d ground into you as a child as a way to bound with the baby girl he’d had no intent of raising by himself before your mother had died six months after your birth in a fiery car accident, acted as a shield for your own wondering steps.

this night was no different. although, you’d receive stares from those passing as they searched for an adult figure in your vicinity to explain your late night strolling on this side of town, you ignored them, staring upwards at the crescent moon that followed you around. your lips played with the stick between your teeth, rolling it back and forth, slightly praying for a way out of the situation that is your life now. sometimes, you’d find a sick fuck who’d catcall you from a darkened alleyway, or find a stray cat being targeted by a group of unruly teenagers, which caused you to snap out of your almost unconscious state to beat them back into place.

those evenings, it was harder to convince your aunt that you’d been out at cram school, but eventually she’d tsk her tongue at you and retire back to her bedroom leaving you in the stillness of the living room as the street lights highlighted your bruised knuckles and sometimes brow bone. you’d often wonder in these moments how your dad would have reacted, daydreaming of his bright smiles and praise at his child standing their ground, asking all the right questions to rile you back up, your own smile mirroring his.

“oi!”

an unwelcoming yell alerted you to a group of half a dozen third-years milling about the alleyway beside you. their eyes were already on yours as you halted, tilting your head to allow the nuisance into your eyesight. your eyelids were heavy, your cheek twitching at the sudden interruption. you sighed slightly, removing the unlit cigarette from your teeth, moving it and your hands into your zip-up’s pockets.

“and what the hell is a young thing like you doing out this late?” the seeming leader of the group sneered, stuffing his own lit cigarette out on the ground under his foot. you stayed silent, uninterestedly sizing the growing boys up. they seemed to be dressed the same, in button up long sleeve shirts, with something embroidered on their left chests, although the kanji was too far away for you to read. they must report to someone with outfits like that, you think, righting your head finally and taking a few steps away from the well lit street into the alley.

after a pregnant pause, another spoke up harshly behind the first to speak, asking “you looking for some fun, little girl?” 

your hands removed themselves from your pockets, twitching against the school skirt you hadn’t changed out of since the final bells, slightly aggravated by the placename they’d given you. you were your dad’s “little girl” and now that he was gone, so too was that person. a slight rage beginning to boil under your skin as someone else addressed you as such.

“what’s it to you?” you spit back, rolling your shoulders to try and appear somewhat bigger.

this created a wave of reaction amongst the delinquents; laughter echoing against the damp, cracking brick walls surrounding them. you smirked slightly, somewhat glad that society had made everyone in it believe a small, young girl like you posed no threat to these older schoolboys, much less those that willingly participated in acts of violence such as brawls and beatings. 

once the fit of hysterics had quieted, the one that seemed to lead those behind him opened his mouth, seemingly, to reply to your rhetorical question. you decided now was as good a time as any. your feet carried you quickly forward, watching his face shift from that of amusement, to one of confusion, before your right foot came up to meet the side of his face. you pivoted on your toes, leg still in the air from coming down off his face, and used the momentum to slam the follower next to him square in the temple. taking a step, you brought your burning knuckles upwards, locking a solid hit on a third’s jaw, relishing in the sound of teeth clashing, before facing the one formerly standing next to his leader. you pulled your arm back, and felt your knuckles reverberate against his face as you smashed his nose in.

you turned on your heels this time, figuring you could take the remaining two third-years on at once, as usually those in the back weren’t as renowned in their skill as those between the object of victimization (you, in their hopeful case) and their leader, who laid moaning as blood ran from his ear that you’d smashed against his skull seconds earlier. your calculations weren’t usually wrong, but they seemed to be a bit off, as you watched the other two boys yell as they rushed you from either side.

you let out a small cry yourself, turning slightly to the bigger one, your fist meeting his chest, as he stormed into your personal space. the one behind you yanked the hood of your sweatshirt, choking you a bit as they pulled you downwards, back hitting the concrete with a jolt that had the remaining air leaving your lungs at an alarming pace. the position made you panic, grunting a bit as you held your fists forward, towards the remaining boy as he lunged on top of you. you sucked in a quick breath before his weight landed on you, causing an involuntary oof to escape your mouth. you had managed to get a knee between his chest and yours, as you let out another yell, and pushed with all your weight, forcing yourself back into the ground as the delinquent stuttered in his movements to catch your flailing hands. 

“get off,” you huffed angrily, as a voice in the back of your mind reminded you that maybe you weren’t as invincible as you’d perceived yourself to be. you shook the thought from your head, rearing a fist back to smash the skull of the one on top of you, when a strong vice gripped your wrist, smashing it back into the ground next to your head. you looked up with wide eyes and saw the one you’d punched in the chest catching his breath in pants, holding you down. you became frantic as his other hand wound its way around your other wrist, pulling it away from your chest and above your head as well. a harsh blow to your lower jaw brought you back to the present, as you heard your ears ring, and felt a sting from your upper lip being split by your tooth.

Shit, you thought, mind temporarily blanking, as your vision began to blur with frustration knowing that if you didn’t get out of this quickly, this night would be one of hurt and hell.

“if you wanted to have this much fun,” the one on top of you grunted, a smirk erupting along his ugly cheeks, “you could’ve just asked nicely.”

 you begin puffing, straining your taut muscles aiming to bring your other leg up along the other to force his stank breath out of your face, mind beginning to race at his implications. the one pinning your wrists above your head, struggling to move your wrists towards one another, and you spared a glance upwards, seeing a sadistic glint within his dark eyes as his own mouth formed a toothy grin.

suddenly, his face moved rapidly to his left, disappearing from your view followed by a sickening thunk as it echoed off the concrete next to you. you let a small gasp escape your already open mouth, averting your eyes back to the front of you, watching the third-year on top of you as his mouth transformed from a twisted smirk to a perfect ‘o’ before a fist smashed into his mouth, causing him to collapse face-first against your side.

the added weight made you anxious as you moved your body back, leaning on your elbows as you scrambled. before you’d even turned to see who had attacked the two, another hand was wrapping around your arm, this time yanking you up onto your feet, and pulling you towards the other side of the alley. your breath came back sporadically, sparing a glance behind you at the beaten group of teens who were beginning to rekindle their surroundings, before the grip on your arm yanked you to the right, causing you to trip over your own feet, struggling to keep up with the heightened pace.

after about a minute of combing through side streets, the grip loosened around your forearm, causing you to slow, leaning forward to catch your breath. you lifted your head slightly to see who it was running alongside you, and your eyebrows contorted at the sight of a boy your own age, maybe a year above you, with dyed blonde hair in a faux hawk, curling into itself. before you’d collected yourself to make an attempt at conversation, he was lowering his chest, towering into your face, face scrunched in frustration. “what the hell is wrong with you? don’t you know that they could’ve killed you — or worse?”

his eyebrows were angled inwards, half covering his green eyes, anger raiding from him and onto you, causing you to bristle, standing up straight to counteract his intimidating stance.

“i didn’t need your help,” you scoffed, wiping the side of your mouth, as he watched the blood smear from the corner of your lips and half disappear into the black sweatshirt sleeve.

for a minute he stared at you, disbelief surrounding the situation transforming into an unbelieved laugh. “then what the hell did i just fight those pricks for, huh?” he stared at you with wide eyes, finally turning away from you while shaking his head.

you frowned, crossing your arms. “it was just a small misjudgment on my part,” you muttered without looking at him. “nothing i couldn’t have handled.”

the last part came out breathy and if he hadn't been standing so close to you, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

he gave you an inconceivable side-eye before stuffing his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk off — the same direction you needed to go to return home. you furrowed your own eyebrows in irritation realizing you couldn’t split off from the blonde just yet, and began to trail behind him. he sighed deeply before speaking, “you just moved downstairs, didn’t you?”

you gape in disbelief. how did he know that you’d just moved here?

he shot you a look over his shoulder, before facing forward and shrugging. “you and your mom sure know how to yap about you being out too late, you know?”

your mind reeled for a minute, coming to the conclusion that this boy must live in the same apartment complex you’d recently found yourself home in. and on top of that, he had to have heard the recurring arguments you’d gotten into with your aunt about your punctuality or violent tendencies. after shaking off the questioning thoughts from your mind, you grumbled, “she’s not my mom,” while fumbling for your crumbled cigarette in your pocket.

he turned to look at you, seeing the cigarette between your lips and it was his turn to gape as he asked, “whoa, what the hell are you smoking cigarettes for?”

his hand reached out, seemingly to remove it from your lips and you shifted sideways out of his grasp, humming, “i don’t. just reminds me of someone.”

his fingers returns to his side, nodding as if he understood, before saying, “i’m matsuno chifuyu.”

you huffed, wondering when the hell you’d even asked, before he stopped suddenly, causing your chest to collide with his back, creating a huff to escape you. he slyly looked over at you. “and this is where you tell me your name.”

you gave him a glare back, stepping around his figure to continue home. “(l/n y/n).”

he grinned slightly in satisfaction, matching his pace to yours as you approached the apartment building the two of you reside in. he pulled the glass door open after punching in his access code, awaiting your entry before following himself. you turned to the hallway entry on the right before moving your head to look at him as he moved towards the stairwell.

“thanks,” you said quietly, moving the cigarette to the side of your mouth.

he turned to look at you, giving you a cat-like grin, before you finished your sentence and entered the hallway before you. “by the way, your hair looks stupid.” you caught sight of the grin disappearing as his lips turned into a scowl, as you turned away to hide your own grin.

and thus began your unlikely and somewhat unwanted friendship with the delinquent upstairs.

⋯⛩︎⋯

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi there!

I was wondering if you could do a yandere RoR with the reader being the daughter of either Acnologia (Fairy tail) or Whitebeard (One piece). The reader being the kindest person there is, but have a wicked temper.

Like when they fight their opponent (a rather cruel god) and they try to attack their family and they lose it and unleash their power and rage on them.

And that gains the attention of the gods and humans.

Gods: Thor, Poesidon Buddha, Loki, Hercules and Hermes

Humans: Lu bu, Jack the Ripper, Raiden, Sasaki Kojiro and Leonidas

-The strongest man in the world, one of the strongest and mightiest of pirates, who commanded a massive crew full of powerful individuals, calling them his family, his sons and daughters, was an opponent none wanted to cross unless if they had to.

-Of all the children he laid claim over, there was only one who was biologically his, his daughter, Y/N. She was tall, beautiful, and just as powerful as her old man.

-Normally level-headed and a good leader, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, earning her respect and power young, but she did have one little weakness- her temper.

-You weren’t known for losing your temper often, but when you did…. There was usually a lot of property damage, usually a couple of deaths, and lots of people crying, begging for forgiveness.

-However, you had a pretty good lid on your temper, only losing it for a few small things here and there, so your crew, your family, had learned quickly to avoid those triggers, and if someone else caused you to pop off, they would be safe, as they all knew to stay a safe distance back, away from the carnage.

-You lived a life full of adventure and fun, and died doing what you loved, sailing, being pulled to Valhalla, as you were deemed someone worthy of coming.

-You enjoyed your time in Valhalla, being able to meet new people, make new friends, and battle strong opponents, and while you did miss your family dearly, you knew they would yell at you for lingering on them rather than sailing forward like your dad always taught you to do.

-You weren’t like a lot of the other women in Valhalla, you were crass, talked back, could drink almost anyone under the table, and you loved to fight, you had no issues getting hurt if it meant you were going to get a good brawl out of it.

-This is what led Brunnhilde into seeking you out to fight in Ragnarok, fighting alongside with other champions of humanity for it’s very survival against the gods.

-You knew that gods existed, being in Valhalla for so long, and while there were many good ones, ones you could call friends, there were ones who were cruising for a bruising and you had been feeling a little antsy here as of late, mainly because you weren’t getting the challenge you so desperately wanted.

-Your opponent was cocky, seeing a woman, despite her not looking dainty and delicate, but he was arrogant, immediately thinking that this was going to be an easy fight.

-People were cheering loudly for you, those you had befriended and those who knew of your power, many of them knowing full well who was actually going to win the fight.

-Your opponent laughed obnoxiously when he heard your dad’s name, “Whitebeard?! What kind of stupid name is that?!”

-Many people groaned in the audience, immediately handing over their losing bets to their friends; it’s not that they were betting against you, but they were betting on how quickly this fight was going to end.

-He was not prepared for you to come flying across the arena at him and throw a harsh right hook across his face, sending him flying back into the brick wall behind you.

-You glared darkly, a murderous aura surrounding you as you cracked your knuckles, stalking towards him, “Nobody talks about my daddy like that.”

-You won your match in a little under two minutes, not even using your weapon with your Valkyrie partner, you did it with your bare hands.

-While you assure her that you were fine, Brunnhilde dragged you to the infirmary to get your knuckles wrapped up, as you had busted them open pretty bad during the beat down.

-A knock came to the door of the room you were in with two nurses, one working on each hand, and your eyes lit up as a man walked in and you beamed, “(Love)!”

-Couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing you getting patched up, walking in but not bothering the nurses, “Have to say Y/N, it was pretty hot watching you go feral for once.” You pouted lightly up at him, showing your softer side, “Nobody gets to talk about my papa like that!” he chuckled, as he knew that was a fact, that’s how he met you, seeing some cocky upstarts insulting your father which led to a one on however many there were with you walking away the clear victor with no major wounds. He asked you out right after that for a drink, which you accepted and the two of you have been nearly attached at the hip. He respected you heavily, you were not to be underestimated and he demanded respect for you if he felt like you weren’t getting it. Keeps PDA to a minimum but behind closed doors he’s a total cuddle bug. Once you were free from the nurses he picked you up like you were a delicate maiden, making your face blaze brightly. He thought you were adorable when you got so shy, but now that you won your fight, he was treating you to a drink- you earned it!

            -Leonidas, Lu Bu, Thor, Poseidon, Hermes, and Raiden

-Knew not to coddle you, but you could see the worry in his eyes, even if he didn’t say anything, sitting nearby, “How’s the hands?” you grinned, flashing him a wink, “They ache so good- bastard got what he deserved.” He chuckled warmly, finding your humor comforting. He knew that you were going to win, but he was still nervous watching you fight, not wanting you to get hurt as you were important to him. You knew of his worry but said nothing out of respect to him, something he did appreciate. Your hands were stiff from the bandages, leaving you not able to use them really easily, but (Love) was happy to help, letting you sit on his lap, holding your mug of ale for you, enjoying your after fight feast he prepared for the two of you. He praised your fighting skills, showing what you were able to do without a weapon but also while overcome with fuming rage. He knew of your triggers that would set you off, unintentionally setting a few off himself, but now knew better. Adored you, showers you with love and praise and just makes you feel so happy and dainty, but at the same time knows full well you will throw hands with anyone if they were to disrespect you, your father, or (Love).

            -Buddha, Hercules, Loki, Jack, and Kojiro

[sweet-evie]

No, but think about putting SaShiSu in an Avatar: The Last Airbender AU... 🥴

Waterbender!Gojo, Waterbender Healer!Ieiri and Firebender!Geto Imagines😭 Hear me out!

They go on adventures together, get in trouble together.

Plus, if SatoSugu friendship blossoms into romance, it's so Romeo and Juliet-coded ✨💖

I like the idea of the three of them being childhood best friends.

Imagine this takes place during peace time, and there's no war (YET), and it's just the four nations being normal.

So Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru definitely met as children during an official visit to each other's country or something.

Suguru Geto is Fire Nation nobility who knows a thing or two about manipulating body heat and more...

🔥 Listen... It's the bun istg... Because why does his hairstyle remind me of Ozai, lowkey?

🔥 He's a talented firebender, martial artist, and adept scholar.

🔥 His mom and dad are political figures and I imagine his mom is a lady-in-waiting to the Fire Lord's wife, while Suguru's father actually sits in the Fire Lord's council. The man is an admiral in the Fire Lord's navy.

🔥 Suguru would be a nerd about Wan Shi Tong's library. 🦉

🔥 Suguru would be good at war strategy. It comes from his obsession with Pai Sho.

🔥 You know, his uncle may or may not rope him into joining the Order of the White Lotus at some point in his life.

🔥 Suguru in RED Fire Nation armor~ 🥹🥴🤤

🔥 Also, if I was skilled in photoshop, I will not be above photoshopping Suguru's head on top of Ozai's body. As in, I just need that image of Suguru Geto as a Fire Lord. 😩

Shoko Ieiri is a talented and renowned waterbender for her healing prowess and knowledge in human anatomy.

💧 She is from the Northern Water Tribe, like Gojo, and was raised alongside Satoru, so they're basically siblings.

💧 Her knowledge of human anatomy is unmatched. As in, yes, there are skilled waterbending healers, but Shoko is iconic because she goes beyond practicing healing on human mannequins. Our girl does autopsies and often ponders how the human body works. She's a legit doctor, okay?

💧 She practiced healing on Satoru a lot while they were growing up too, because Satoru acquired plenty of scrapes and bruises and dislocated bones through the years. He was a rambunctious child who had way too much power in his menace-causing hands. (more on Satoru later).

💧 What Satoru lacks in healing prowess, Shoko makes up for in buckets and buckets.

💧 Shoko is a decent waterbender in combat, but she would really rather her two friends do most of the fighting.

💧 Not like Satoru or Suguru would let her on the field that much anyway. She's too valuable to risk. Shoko knows it and plays that up to her advantage A LOT.

💧 Aside from escaping the arranged marriage her parents set up for her, Shoko eagerly ran away from home with Satoru at 18 in pursuit of scholars who eagerly studied human anatomy like her.

💧 Shoko is interested in how the other nations tend to their wounded and sick when they can't find a waterbending healer.

Satoru Gojo is blessed by the spirit of the moon and the ocean.

🌊🌕 He is literally Yue 2.0, but better! Still the Honored One in any universe. 😍 The white hair and blue eyes... Need I say more?

🌊🌕 Okay, so... I'm thinking... Satoru Gojo in ATLA universe is just like his JJK counterpart. He was highly favored by the spirits from the moment he was born.

🌊🌕 His parents look like typical Northern Water Tribe people. Dark-haired. Satoru is the only one in the family who is pale and white-haired.

🌊🌕 He's a Prince, of course... Prince Satoru of the Northern Water Tribe sounds hell'a good.

🌊🌕 He grew up sheltered, he's a waterbending prodigy, and he's still a menace.

🌊🌕 Gojo is also definitely a blood-bender, but I like to think he learns that skillset later on in their adventures or something (kind'a like how Katara learned it, but with less guilt). Also, Choso definitely taught him right?

🌊🌕 Satoru does not know how to heal other people. It's one of his greatest flaws. He can heal himself just fine, but using water to seek out illness and heal it for other people? Yeah... He sucks at that... (Not different from JJK in other words, where Gojo can't output Reverse Cursed Technique to heal other people. He only knows how to use RCT on himself).

Their Adventure Backstory...

➼ At 18, Satoru starts to get antsy about seeing the world and whatnot. He's sick of the family politics and the arranged marriages about to be shoved down his throat.

➼ Shoko is in the same boat. If the arranged marriages are suffocating for a prince, it's even worse for a talented young woman of noble birth.

➼ Shoko's situation is what pushes Satoru to say "Fuck it!" and run away from home.

➼ So against their parents' wishes, these 2 reckless teenagers devise a plan to run away for a much needed world tour. Satoru's reasoning is that they won't be gone forever... He and Shoko will come back eventually.

➼ First destination in mind: the Fire Nation... to see Suguru and rope him into their grand plans, of course!

➼ Satoru and Shoko steal a ship from the Water Tribe fleet and go on their merry way. (I like to think they got there fast because Satoru was manipulating the water underneath the ship to propel them faster to where they need to go).

➼ By the time they reach the Fire Nation, word has already spread of the Northern Water Tribe's runaway Prince.

➼ Shoko thinks Satoru is being stupid, but hey, according to Satoru, "What can my parents do about it at this point?"

➼ Sure, Satoru is a highly valued individual that could fetch a high price if kidnapped by pirates (he's a Prince, after all), but he's also an insanely powerful waterbender and combatant. I'm sure he'd say something like, "I don't need my bending to win."

➼ Satoru and Shoko make it to the Fire Nation unscathed, meet up with Suguru, and convince him to come along on a grand adventure.

➼ They switch out the Water Tribe ship for something a little more discreet from Suguru's own father's fleet. (Side-eye the kiddies using their parents' resources carelessly to do whatever they want. 😆 They're nepo-babies... all 3 of them.)

➼ I like to think Suguru's parents don't mind though. His mom, in particular, thinks it's a good idea for Suguru to go out and see the world and shit.

➼ Where are they going? Satoru didn't actually know.

➼ Suguru suggests a visit to the legendary knowledge spirit's library, since he's a nerd about that, but also, Shoko wants to see if she can find anything that indulges her curiosity. So that's where they're headed first.

➼ It would be a cute idea for a coming-of-age story... where SaShiSu grow up through the experiences they've had and they realize they have responsibilities to attend to or something.

➼ Because as much as they would want to, there's no such thing as traveling the world as nomads forever. Satoru is a Prince, and Shoko and Suguru are of noble birth. They have stuff to do...

➼ OR... OR... OR.... They're 3 stupid teenagers who ran away from home right on the brink of a war happening. Like, they had no idea conflict was rising, so shit hits the fan and Suguru just receives word from his father via messenger hawk, telling him to come home because there is a war.

It's embarrassing how I'm thinking about their combat prowess + the trouble the three of them get into too...

➼ Gojo and Geto enhance each other's combat. They're so in sync.

➼ Of course, they started out pretty rough... Water vs Fire and all that.. But as they train together more and inevitably encounter situations where they had to fight their way out, they learn to work together and be so in sync.

➼ Watching them fight each other, or fight alongside one another is a treat. It's like a dance -- a perfectly choreographed movement of legs and limbs.

➼ Suguru's fire can burn hot enough to evaporate water. It burns hot enough to destroy tightly packed walls of stone. He is not a stranger to carrying out executions on the most heinous criminals in the Boiling Rock, so yes, Suguru has burned a man alive and/or electrocuted a criminal in prison in the name of justice.

➼ Satoru is the perfect support to Suguru when Suguru launches a lightning attack.

➼ At some point in their adventures, Suguru pointed out how Satoru could try sucking moisture out of plants or draw water from the air and Satoru figures it out.

➼ I like to think Shoko put the idea of bloodbending in Satoru's head. It was a hypothetical thought that led to Satoru actually trying to figure it out and eventually running into someone who does that.

➼ It all started with Shoko randomly saying, "Hey, did you know that water takes up 3/4 of the human body?" as they sat around their campfire one night.

➼ Also... something something shenanigans happen where Satoru keeps waterbending boiling water out of a pot to fling at something -- the little shit that he is.

➼ After they left the Northern Water Tribe, Satoru has become Shoko's impromptu combat waterbending teacher.

➼ Shoko always complains about it during training days because Satoru HAS NO CHILL. He's also banking on the fact that Shoko can heal herself, so he finds little use in holding back.

➼ Shoko and Satoru have definitely pulled water-based pranks on Suguru multiple times. This is gross, but.... piss-bending. Satoru did it once as a prank. 🤢🤮

➼ On a brighter note, Satoru definitely makes silly water sculptures/giant puppets in the middle of the ocean for his and his companions' begrudging entertainment. Suguru and Shoko roll their eyes at it, but honestly, it's kinda cute when a water serpent or a water squid rises out of the sea to greet their ship once in a while. Yeah, it scares the shit out of ocean wildlife and maybe nearby ships and such, but at least Satoru is having fun. 🥴😁 (the unhinged wittle baby)

➼ Shoko thinks the Moon and the Ocean Spirits regret blessing the Prince when he was born. Suguru agrees...

➼ But hey, they make each other proud in their own ways.

➼ Shoko once stalled their trip and stayed in a remote fishing town for a week to heal the sick, and Satoru and Suguru were there as her assistants. (Satoru was complaining about the poor amenities and Suguru had to remind him all over again that though he was raised in a noble household, it was his duty to protect and care for those who cannot do that for themselves).

➼ Satoru once helped mediate a political issue that was severely affecting several neighboring towns in the Earth Kingdom.

➼ Suguru cracked a criminal case that was unsolved for months in a town in the Fire Nation, and was personally responsible for delivering the serial killer to the Boiling Rock. (Satoru saw the boiling lake and definitely played around with it, much to the chagrin of Suguru and Suguru's uncle).

Side note for my peeps who are familiar with ATLA lore:

You know how they say no prisoner has ever escaped the Boiling Rock? Suguru told Satoru and Shoko about that, and Satoru definitely bets that he could do it.

Prince Satoru argues it's only because, "None of you waterbend."

They're visitors to the high security prison, but it doesn't stop Satoru from doing dumb stuff, like sneaking out without alerting the guards.

To prove his point, Satoru did what Sokka and Zuko did to escape the Boiling Rock: Use a cooler as a boat.

So in the dead of night, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko do it, and Satoru successfully ferries the three of them across the Boiling Lake.

Afterwards, Suguru's like, "You've proven your point, Satoru. Let's head back."

Satoru is laughing and flashing his friends that cheesy, cocky grin he's known for and brags, "'No one escapes the Boiling Rock, highest security Fire Nation prison' my ass. All you needed was a waterbender!"

Shoko rolls her eyes at her friend's antics and speaks to him in a matter-of-fact voice, "Sure, but it wouldn't make sense for waterbenders to be kept here anyways or to be stuffed in coolers as punishments. It's meant to hold a firebender, not for people from the Water Tribe... and especially not for you."

Suguru is smirking at them both, "Theoretically speaking, precautions would be in place to prevent you from bending water. So that means pumping dry air and probably suspending your hands and feet before you're given anything to drink."

Shoko was nodding. "It'll take more than getting stuffed in a cooler for you to escape actually, so this little plot proves nothing, Satoru."

They got caught regardless because they lingered on the edge of the Boiling Lake on the opposite end of the island for far too long, and a watchman saw them and alerted Suguru's uncle.

Needless to say, SaShiSu were thoroughly scolded when they made it back to the prison.

Satoru's paying for damages to one of the dismantled coolers that were used as boats.

➼ I seriously need to stop, but yo...

Somebody please write a JJK X ATLA AU for real... 🙏

[tsunami-of-tears]

A Court of Shadows and Sunshine — Part Nine

Azriel x Aurora (OC)

Summary: Cute mating bond fluff and chafing. Most filler chapter. 

A/N: SHE’S BACK!! Sorry for the hiatus - I’ve been struggling since the holidays. It’s been hard to get back into it, I lost my uncle recently so I think there will be some self-insert to come.

Wordcount: 900 

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst/pining, sexual themes

Part Eight

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Azriel

It’s just past dawn when Azriel slips back into bed, the dim morning sun illuminates the room in a hazy glow. Aurora stirs, reaching out for him. 

“Where’d you go?” she asks sleepily.

Azriel sinks into the warmth and wraps his arms and wings around Aurora - in both protection and comfort. “I had some business to attend to, I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Aurora gently grabs Azriel’s bandaged hand. “Who did you beat up?” she questions, turning her head to look into his eyes. 

“No one that didn’t deserve it,” Azriel answers, kissing Aurora tenderly on her forehead.

Aurora sighs, relaxing further into Azriel’s chest. “Are we training with the others today?”

“I planned to give you some time off, I don’t want you to push yourself.”

“I know, but it gives me something to focus on. It helps to channel everything more healthily.” 

Azriel rests his chin against the top of Aurora’s head and sighs deeply. He completely understands where she’s coming from, but in the same breath - his protective instincts were firing and he didn’t want to put her at risk. 

“How about we train together, just the two of us? That way, you won’t lose any progress and I won’t worry so much.”

“Okay, deal,” Aurora agrees.

———— 

The next few days were like a dream. 

No, they were better than anything Azriel could have dreamed up. He had his mate, and she was everything and more than he’d ever hoped for. 

Their days were split between exercising and lounging around together - either chatting or simply enjoying each other’s presence. 

Azriel taught Aurora new fighting techniques and after, she taught him new yoga poses. 

With all the training, Azriel was working one muscle harder than the rest - his self-control. 

Gods…

The way she moved, how she looked up at him with those big beautiful eyes and that innocent little smile. 

Azriel had never yearned for someone like this. 

Still, there was one thought that played over and over in his mind. ‘It could have been worse.’

Azriel guessed what Aurora meant by that, but he wasn’t sure Prythian would still exist if his worst fears were confirmed. 

Regardless of that glowing thread and the tug in his chest, Azriel would wait for Aurora to make the first move. He’d rather go without those touches forever than push her too far, away from him.

———— 

Aurora 

Ever since the mating bond snapped into place, Azriel had barely left your side. And, he’d never pushed for more intimacy than you were ready for. You truly didn’t understand how you got so lucky, but you thanked the Cauldron every day.

Helion, your uncle, was staying in Velaris to assist in your magic training, alongside Rhys and Amren. 

It was strange to spend time with Helion knowing the truth of your heritage, you wondered how you never noticed the resemblance. It seemed so obvious now. It was bittersweet - you were grateful to have him in your life again but it made you wish you’d had more time with both of your parents.

Once you understood how your powers worked and what they could do beyond creating light - it was much easier to start to harness them. It wasn’t long until you were breaking small wards created by your High Lord and his Second. 

As well as spell-cleaving, you discovered your magic made a great shield - one that could protect you from even the harsh blast of a Siphon. With your budding confidence and your growing grasp of your powers - everyone agreed it was time to rejoin Valkyrie training. 

———— 

Despite the cold wind rushing around you, you felt warm and at peace. You always did with Azriel. In his arms, you soar above Velaris, making your way to the House of Wind for training. Your first training session with the group since the bond snapped.

You hadn’t seen much of Cassian or Nesta in that time, and you were worried they’d been avoiding you since you revealed your powers. 

That worry faded quickly, as you’re met with big smiles from everyone. 

Cassian steps forward, moving closer to you and Azriel. “Good to see you, Rory. Let’s see if you’ve kept Az in shape.” Cassian smirks at you and playfully slaps Azriel on the chest. Azriel straightens his back and his wings flare slightly, making him appear even taller. 

You glance between the males, and you scrunch your nose, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” You question. “We’ve been training every day.” 

“Training eh, is that what you call it?” Cassian chuckles. 

Wings flare, and glowing beams of red and blue flash in front of you. The movement stops as Azriel pins Cassian to the ground on his back. Cassian raises his hands, conceding defeat. “I’m sorry Az, chafing much?” he laughs.

Azriel glares as he offers Cassian his hand, helping him to his feet.

From beside you, Nesta rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest. “Illyrian brutes,” she mutters.

Cassian turns to address the group, “Okay, let's warm up and then Rory, you can show us what you’ve learnt in your special training.” One glance at Azriel’s face has Cassian backtracking and raising his palms again, “Oh no, Az, I meant the training with Helion. I promise I won’t joke again.” 

The remark makes Nesta scoff, and the pair begin bickering. You smile softly and look up at your mate. Love pours down the bond in both directions. It took a while, but you’ve finally found your family. Both of you have.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

Tags ♡ @mis-lil-red

Part Ten

[molinaskies]

To answer this reblog https://www.tumblr.com/molinaskies/756745213630939136/alexs-prompt-folder-anonymously-or-not-tell

This was extremely difficult to answer considering the amount of MOMENTS that had me melting, like the photos in Chapter 6. But if I had to pick, it would be:

"Who was it who taught Gamma, a non-sentient robot, how to think and feel? Who appealed to Shadow's love and dedication when he was blinded by rage and fury and revenge and pain? Who stepped up to keep Cream and Big hopeful when Metal Sonic kidnapped their friends? Who kept my head on straight when I was all bummed-out over 'mister monster guy'?" I squeeze her shoulders tighter with each question. "Amy, who keeps me fighting every single day?"

Ik this line may not be as deep as later on in the fic (won’t say what for spoilers to others 💅please go read it, it’s better that way).

But my heart was in joy having Sonic tell Amy about her efforts and what she accomplished from literally just being unashamedly Amy, even when it’s not acknowledged often or seen as important as what the other characters have achieved.

And the last line??? 🫠

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this one! Thank you for your kind words 💕

I’ve seen some feedback that Amy’s arc in ILYCWM feels “out of character” or “regressive,” in that Amy’s been more confident and productive in recent iterations. I get that, to a degree, but I still completely stand by my decision to delve into Amy’s anxieties the way I did.

I started writing ILYCWM in 2021 as an “in defence of Amy Rose” from Sonic’s perspective. I wanted to showcase how Sonic views Amy, what he appreciates about her, with the overall “point” to prove that he’s always loved her. My original outline was built on the different traits of Amy’s I wanted to highlight: chapter 2 focused on Amy’s silly, adventurous side; chapter 3 focused on her compassion and stubbornness, with hints of a strong desire to prove herself alongside a weakness to (rare) praise; and so on.

Of course, as I kept writing, Sonic’s character arc evolved in a parallel to Amy’s, but it was important to me to build up Sonic’s view of Amy in order to shatter that paradigm with how Amy views herself. That’s where the climax you quoted came from! It serves the purpose of not only showing Amy her value but showing the audience her value.

As for the last line, I’m not sure which one you’re referring to, actually! Depending on when you read the fic, you would have read it before or after the prologue was released (which came about 4 months later). Let me know!

“[…] her shield of optimism shattered in front of me, and seeing the dysphoric state she lives in daily shattered mine. We put each other back together, but we traded a few shards in the process, and I’ve been living the effects of our new mosaic ever since.”

———

“I Love You - Come With Me”

What if when Sonic asks Amy to go with him on an adventure, she says yes? They’ve always been inseparable kindred spirits, but what exactly makes their bond so unique, and where do they make each other stronger?

This is my Sonamy Thesis. This is that story.

[flowerandblood]

A Winter Beauty (Epilogue)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: smut, so much fluff]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous parts: Masterlist

_____

Vaegon celebrated his name day. He just turned 13, his parents threw him a little feast on Dragon Stone. After Rhaenyra seized power and Aegon fled to Essos, the greens and blacks called a truce. The crown was hers, Aemond retained the title of prince, became the Hand, and was allowed to live on Dragon Stone with his family. His sister with her children and his mother also moved in with them.

The civil war ended virtually bloodless, and he, glad that his loved ones had survived, resigned himself to the fact, that he would never become king. He was fulfilling as a Hand. His half-sister and Daemon respected and trusted him. He performed his duties thoroughly and with dedication.

He taught his son sword fighting, but he was primarily an avid archer like his mother. Aemond accepted it, enjoying how fluently he spoke Valyrian and how perfect a dragonrider he was. He and his dragon had a strong, mutual bond. He felt proud every time he looked at him in the skies, as he flew alongside him on Vhagar.

Vaegon had his mother's sharp tongue, but he also inherited his detachment and calmness. Depending on his mood, he was more like him or Lady Stark. He and his wife both believed, that their son was the most perfect work of their lives, a walking proof of their boundless love.

One day, during one of their training sessions, while they were taking a break, Vaegon asked him a question, that knocked him off his feet.

"Why did you marry my mother, if you were betrothed to Lady Baratheon?" He asked, looking at him expectantly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His bright purple eyes and curly black hair had young girls blushing and giggling at the sight of him.

Aemond stared at him in surprise, opening and closing his mouth, swallowing hard. He couldn't tell him, that he had kissed her the first night he met her. He didn't want to give him stupid ideas, that he could use later. He cleared his throat loudly.

"I fell in love with her." He spoke low and casually, deciding, it was the perfect evasive answer. He prepared himself for another duel. His son was not satisfied with his answer.

Vaegon saw, how his father looked at his mother, and how she looked at him. He saw them embracing, when they thought no one was watching, his father lovingly kissing her shoulders and neck as he stood behind her.

According to Vaegon, his mother was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and the fire between their parents made him feel secure. He knew, that they weren't like other married couples. He also wanted something similar for himself in the future.

“You fell in love with her, just because she is beautiful?” He asked, wondering aloud, if his father had meant only physical intimacy and nothing more. Aemond raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to do.

"Why so many questions all of a sudden?" He asked, trying to get out of the situation somehow.

"I want to know, what it's like. Whom am I supposed to ask, if not my own father?" He asked resentfully that, as usual, everything about his father had to be extracted by force. Aemond sighed loudly, slamming his sword into the ground, leaning against the hilt.

“I can't explain it. The first time I saw her in Winterfell, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I had a chance to watch her and listen to her talking to other people. She impressed me with her intelligence. I realized I had no similar feelings for any of Lord Baratheon's daughters." He said, exhaling softly, hoping that he had finally satisfied his curiosity.

Vaegon looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. The explanation made sense to him. Indeed, his father had always taken his mother's opinion into account, and moreover, often yielded to her.

Only she wasn't afraid to talk to him directly and matter-of-factly, infuriating him. He knew, however, that his father could not hold his grudge against his mother for long. Even after the quarrels, that shook the palace, they slept in the same bed.

After training, he and his father went back inside, to take a bath and change into clean robes. Lady Stark was sitting at the great stone table, apparently replying to her brother's letter. After the death of their father, he was the new Lord of Winterfell.

She smiled to herself, when she saw them and stood up, walking slowly towards them. She couldn't help, but touch her son's dark curls, and he immediately took her hand away, impatient.

"How did your training go?" She asked lightly, amused.

"Father told me about how he fell in love with you." He said lightly, taking an apple from the table, that was on the platter. Lady Stark looked at her husband with raised eyebrows.

"Indeed?" She asked, trying not to laugh. Aemond rolled his eye impatiently.

"Leave me alone, both of you." He grunted, as he walked up the stairs to change.

Lady Stark joined him, as he lay comfortably in his bath. He watched silently, as she took off her robes, unfazed by her nakedness. Looking at her, he thought, about how much he would like his son to find in his life someone, like his wife was for him.

His son's question gave him food for thought. He realized, that he really didn't love his wife just for her body. He loved her for her devotion, dedication, wisdom, patience, confidence. For being able to deal with him, to calm him down, to calm his fiery anger.

His wife slid into the water, leaning her back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He leaned in and kissed her temple lingeringly, his manhood throbbing impatiently behind her. It amused him, how inexhaustible they both were, when it came to physical intimacy.

They stopped fucking in the halls and gardens, not wanting their son to catch them, but in bed they were insatiable. Sometimes, they both escaped from the fortress at night, and flew on Vhagar to a place nearby.

They rented a room in the inn and fucked, as if they were mere traveling servants. They loved doing it. There they could moan and tease at will, driving themselves crazy. His wife's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Have you ever regretted marrying me?" She asked quietly.

Aemond looked at her in surprise, playing with her hair. He sighed softly, looking at her with amusement.

"You know I don't. You give me too many reasons to love you endlessly." He grunted, stroking her cheek with his finger. She smiled at him.

She looked at his lips, then at him. He pulled her to him, his hand tightening on her hair, his lips greedily digging into hers. His cock was completely hard now. With his wife, it didn't take much for him, to be fully ready to possess her. He pulled away from her, smiling at her.

“My mother was right. Verily, you are a true winter beauty."

_____

Thank you all for this adventure! I love Lady Stark in this version, I had so much fun with this whole story. Thank you all for taking it so wonderfully. I invite you to read my other fanfic here: Masterlist.

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes

Others: @dreamlandcreations @darkenchantress @moira-strangle-me-please @yentroucnagol @cloudroomblog @thehumanistsdiary @a-beaverhausen @avadakadabra93 @aonungs-tsahik @xmaiaa @writingaboutlove1998 @roxannequeen @alwaysholymilkshake

[fanofthelamb]

I wanted to draw Narinder with longer hair but it devolved.

So how about a little bit of rambling, then? A lot of this is just canon divergent stuff I think? So if you're not into that, this isn't for you.

HUGE CW: lots of sensitive topics such as slavery, family death, cannibalism, etc. Please read at your own risk and take care of yourself.

Narinder found Leshy and the two traveled together around the Valley together. Eventually they ran into Heket who joined them.

A few key points (not in chronological order):

Narinder has been travelling alone since he was a child, after having to kill his mother.

Narinder is the first to have extra eyes, having had them since he was a child due to being blessed by the at-the-time God of Death. He used his hair to hide this third eye, fearing that it would make him stick out as a beast to either be killed or exploited.

Leshy calls Heket and Narinder his siblings but also does consider them to be parental figures to him, since they both helped raise him after his family was eaten.

Heket was originally a slave who was made to fight. She obtained the talisman she wore from the Fox, after luring her owner to him to be eaten.

Narinder saved Leshy from being eaten alongside his family, and since then Leshy has always clung to Narinder for guidance and protection. Narinder taught Leshy everything he knew about living life as a mortal. (Shamura taught them everything they knew about life as a god.)

Heket is not from the Valley, but Narinder and Leshy are.

VERY messy sloppy unfinished map below v v v

The Valley is considered a pretty dangerous place, filled with cannibals and slavers. It's left a mark on the three of them.

Narinder and Leshy will occasionally stick their faces in other's when meeting them; they WILL not pull away until the other backs down. To them, it's just social etiquette they learned from cannibals.

The three of them often won't eat meat they haven't personally hunted themselves, unless it's from the Lamb. It was a general rule from the Valley that if you didn't personally see the meat come from an animal, it more than likely came from a person.

Heket and Leshy both feel the need to do a head count and make sure all 3 of them are still around. They won't admit it most of the time, but they still find themselves a little fucked up from Narinder being snatched by slavers.

Narinder is obsessed with collecting wood because of his mother, and cannot for the life of him mine stone because of his time in chains before the crown. The sight of a pickaxe makes him as sick as the sound of chains does. (a lot.) The lamb takes Narinder's fear of mines seriously, but only knows bits and pieces about what happened. Nogrejul knows about the trigger but not why. They enjoy tormenting him with it and it's specifically why they requested to be a miner.

(Unrelated to the valley but still notable)Heket and Leshy are the only ones allowed to skip out on fight pit rituals; the lamb is fully aware of Heket's past and allows Leshy to keep her company. (They are maybe a little softer than they'd like to admit. They will murder anyone who brings this up to them.)

Leshy loves to burrow since it was how he "safely" travelled on his own in the valley(you're never fully safe in the valley), but thanks to the long history of constant construction on cult grounds, there's often different dangers, such as old nails, in the ground. Leshy is often injured while burrowing because of this and spends way more time in the med bay than he'll admit.

Leshy loves to cook, but too many meat dishes at once sends him into a panic, because of this, Leshy often has a partner he cooks with that'll cook the meat dishes after he's done with the others so he doesn't have to smell it.

[richea]

I don't really do this much, but I wrote up some stuff for some Rays skits for friends and figured I'd share them for anyone interested. Think of these as a sort of "unofficial" translation from me. If people like these I might do more in the future (as actually compiling videos for translations and getting them properly edited takes a while)

Mithos' XMA skit with Kratos (excerpt)

Mithos: Say, Kratos. Back in our world, unlike me, did you continue to live on? Kratos: If what Yuan said is true, then yes. In the end, the two of us pushed all burdens of responsibility onto you. However, in this world, you can live alongside me. That is its own form of salvation―and hope. Mithos: Huh? Kratos: What I'm saying is you represent hope to me. Though there were times where I clung to that hope helplessly. While I know that I am unfit to be a guide to anyone, this time, I will guide you down… No, rather, together we will walk down a better path, hand in hand. Mithos: …Hehe. You're really starting to sound a lot like Lloyd, you know that? Kratos: Heh. I suppose so. Mithos: But thank you. That genuinely makes me happy to hear. You really are special to me, Kratos. To tell you the truth, I've gotten pretty tired of living, but hearing you say that makes me want to try living on just a little bit more. So long as the world permits it so, at least.

Walter's XMA skit with Senel (summary)

He and Eleanor are talking on the beach and then he sees Kisara and Senel fishing and starts yelling at them (for defiling the sea, essentially). Eleanor asks why he flew off all of a sudden and he says "Some shady people got in my line of sight". Kisara asks if Walter wants to join them in fishing for dinner and he says "No why would I ever help you". Then Eleanor gets an idea and says "Oh true, don't worry about him, Senel alone is good enough to count for 100 fishers, what a great guy he is :)" and Walter instantly goes "That's it. I'm helping. I'll do it all myself. You may as well go home loser" and then walks off. Senel asks Eleanor why she did that and she said "Norma taught me that if you bring up Senel it'll make Walter do anything but I didn't realize it was THIS effective". The skit is named "Instructions on How to Deal With a Guy Who Hates Losing/Being One-Upped" XD

Senel's XMA skit with Walter (summary)

Walter and Senel are fighting in a forest angrily and Walter's Flame Blade almost hits Shirley (and Leia) who Senel of course protects which ticks Walter off. Then Shirley says she was there to ask if Walter wanted to join them for a tea party to introduce him to all her friends :') He of course says no which prompts Senel to say "well if you refuse it's gonna make Shirley upset and obviously you don't want that to happen right?". Then he tells Walter to apologize to Shirley for almost hurting her and he says "I'm sorry for putting you in danger. …I have something to do so I'll be going on ahead. I'll at least show my face at your tea party."