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silver-pieces · 2 years

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onto you

Pairing: Misty Knight x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Synopsis: Your double life as a criminal mastermind, and the partner of a cop, reaches a breaking point when Misty starts to suspect you.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT READ OR INTERACT, smut (FF, kissing, oral), angst, criminal activities, bittersweet ending

A/N: Day 13 of Marvel Girlfriend May - omg I am SO behind but you know what?? I’m going to keep going. I just finished watching Season 2 of Luke Cage and it should come as no surprise that I LOVE Misty!! Anyway here’s 2.6k of angst with her! I hope you enjoy ^_^

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Misty ❊ Taglist

Misty enters the club with one goal: to get a peek behind the curtain.

The precinct doesn’t have much on this place, nothing except rumours of something shady going on behind the scenes. Still, something in her gut tells her she needs to investigate.

The place has been recently renovated - the derelict warehouse transformed into a low-lit club with an elevated stage in the centre of the room. A modern jazz band keeps the energy high with their vibrant riffs and low bass.

She situates herself to the side of the room at first, keen eyes getting a lay of the land.

It’s pure luck that your bartender recognises her as a cop. Her robotic arm is well-concealed, but he recognises her face from a bust she headed up a few weeks ago.

You thank him for the heads-up, and order him to go back to the bar and act like nothing is wrong.

Once he leaves, you bring up the security cameras and flick through them closely.

Shit. Misty. You knew the cops had caught your scent, but out of all the cops at the Harlem precinct, why did they have to send your girlfriend?

You check your phone - no new texts from her. She thinks you’re working late across town.

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself, massaging your temples. You have to do something. Your finger hovers over her number as you debate calling her.

Movement on the screen catches your attention - she’s weaving through the club, towards the back rooms where your office is. Double fuck.

You press the comm in your ear that links you to the guards stationed around the place. “There’s a detective here. Do not let anyone into the back rooms, copy?”

A round of confirmations sound off as they each respond.

You force yourself to breathe and lean back in your chair to relax.

On the screen, Misty gets closer and closer. You can see her sizing up the guards, a calculating look on her face that you recognise well.

Oh, she’s good. You’ve never seen your girlfriend in action like this before.

It’s less entertaining, however, when she slips past your guards with ease moments later.

You jerk out of your seat. No.

A million calculations rush through your head. There’s no time to stop her now, she’ll reach this room before your guards can stop her.

So you take your laptop and your bag and run.

Whoever designed this place is smart. They had been prepared for this exact situation, able to make a fast exit, while leaving no incriminating evidence behind, not even a fingerprint.

Misty tries to reconstruct the scene in her mind based off of what she knows. Someone was in here recently - the faint whiff of perfume in the air is proof of that. The scent is strangely familiar.

But it’s not enough. Something is off about this whole thing, and she can’t put her finger on it.

In her experience, most mob boss types prefer to sit pretty and hide behind the law. So why did this one run?

Her train of thought is interrupted by the buzzing of her phone.

A text from you blinks up at her.

Just finished work. Takeout for dinner?

She quickly types out a response.

As long as it’s not street kebabs again. I’ll be home soon.

She decides to leave reporting back at the precinct until tomorrow, eager to get home to you. There’s much to say anyway.

Sneaking back out past the guards is almost as easy as getting past them in the first place. The security here could do with some serious upgrading. Either that, or they’re playing some kind of game she hasn’t figured out yet.

She heads straight home, distracted by her own thoughts, pulling at threads and turning over suspicions in her mind, sinking deeper and deeper into her detective mindset.

It’s only when she gets inside and catches sight of you, waiting for her, that the thoughts finally take a break.

“Hey,” you say, smiling coyly at her as you hold out a flute of champagne.

She sets her bag down and takes off her coat, surprised at your actions. You’ve lived together for a while now, and never have you waited for her at the door like this. Still, she can’t deny she is relieved to see you after such an unsatisfying end to her day. “Hi.”

You hand her the drink as she approaches. “How was work?”

She frowns. “It was a little weird, actually yeah.” She goes over the scene again. The back office, abandoned only moments before she got there. Something about it just nags at her. She blinks, and looks away. “But we don’t need to get into it now.”

You take her by the wrist and lift her glass to yours, clinking them together. There’s a look in your eyes she can’t quite figure out.

“Cheers,” you say with a grin, before taking a sip. “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.” Then, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, your murmur in her ear, “you look amazing, by the way.” She’s still in the outfit she wore to the club, a skintight dress that shows off her curves in all the right places.

As you move away to take a seat, a faint whiff of your perfume drifts through the air. And your scent sparks a memory.

Misty freezes.

No.

You can see the red and blue lights outside your club from a distance as you turn down the street. A quick concealed call to your head of security confirms all of your fears - a warrant has been issued to search the entire warehouse under suspicion of criminal activity.

Shit.

There’s more than proof of your criminal activity in there - there’s proof of you. Sure, purchasing the club under a false identity might throw off a normal bunch of cops, but not her. Not your brilliant, sharp-witted, detective lover.

You blink away tears you didn’t even realise had begun to creep up on you. Three weeks since she came to your club, three weeks of keeping your guard up just in case she returned. But she never did.

Finally, just for a moment, you had allowed yourself to believe you might have gotten away with it. That things between you and Misty could stay as they were - happy.

Street-light streaks by the windows as you push down the accelerator, but you barely take in your surroundings. Your mind is going through the past few weeks, reassessing every interaction with Misty. Every touch given, every word spoken, every passing glance.

If she doesn’t know it’s you, you can slip away before she has the chance to find out. But if she knows it’s you, if she’s known this whole time... Your knuckles go white as you grip the steering wheel harder.

The house is dark - just as you left it.

The car idles, and you allow yourself a second in the car to breathe. You go over the options in your mind, second guessing everything, and coming to the same conclusion. Misty will find you out if she hasn’t already. You have to leave.

You slip in through the front door, moving silently in the dark. But the light from the street allows you enough to see by, so when you turn, you instantly notice something out of place.

The bag you came for, the bag stuffed full of cash and a new fake ID, is sitting on the table, unzipped.

“Freeze.”

She points her gun at you despite every fibre of her being fighting against it. The thought of pulling the trigger kills her, despite your betrayal.

“Misty,” you say in greeting, slowly raising your hands in the air. There’s none of that warmth in your gaze now.

“Don’t,” Misty grits out. Every moment spent by your side these past few weeks has been like torture. Knowing you’ve been lying to her about everything - is this coldness, this calculating persona, the real you?

You take a step towards her anyway, rounding the table. The harsh light of the street casts sharp shadows across your face and for a moment the sight of you takes her breath away.

She can’t bear it. “I said, don’t.” She angles her head at you, warning in her eyes.

It seems to work, because you pause. Your gaze flicks to the bag on the table. The one she found weeks ago. “How long have you known, baby?”

Misty blinks. Baby. You called her baby... like the two of you are still... No. “You are under arrest.”

That seems to get through to you. For a brief moment, a wave of satisfaction fills her, as realisation dawns in your eyes, and you swallow in fear, and she knows she’s caught you.

But that moment shifts into tension as you regain your footing. “I’m not going with you,” you say, shaking your head. Your eyes dart to the bag again.

She takes a step forward, closing the distance, keeping her gun between you. “Yes you are.” Damn, her game is off. She doesn’t usually let suspects talk so much. A part of her wonders if her boss was right, and she should have let someone else do the arresting. But she knew it had to be her. You’re her responsibility now. “Hands behind your back.”

But you don’t obey, standing stubbornly still.

She gets close enough that the end of the gun presses into your chest. “Get your hands. Behind. Your. Back.”

You give an almost imperceptible shake of your head.

Being this close to you is killing her. All the moments of intimacy you two have shared, pulling you together again like a taut golden thread. The look in your eyes tells her you feel the same.

One word, one she’s not even sure she means, slips out. “Please.”

You peer into her tear-filled eyes, and then drop your gaze to her lips, leaning in close, allowing her gun to dig in further. “You’ll have to kill me.” Your voice is quiet, but strong.

Her finger braces on the trigger, and she tells herself not to give in, but the thought of hurting you instantly crumbles her resolve. She lowers the gun. “No,” she whimpers, and turns away, hiding her face in shame as the tears begin to fall.

Then, she feels your fingers cup her by the chin, turning her face up. Before she can truly react, your lips are on hers.

Misty breaks. She doesn’t question it, she just opens her lips and lets you in fully, your tongue brushing against hers and swirling as you deepen the kiss. It’s a goodbye kiss, one filled with anger and pain and regret, and Misty moans into it. Her arms come around your waist possessively.

You embrace it, your front colliding against hers and pushing her further with a strength she didn’t think you capable of. A brief thought hits her - it’s like she’s getting to know you for the first time ever. Then, her mind goes blank again, because you’re pushing her back, onto the table.

Her back hits the table, but her head falls back on something tough and loose - your bag. A few bundles of cash slide out and land on the table. Blood money.

“Misty,” you call to her.

She looks up at you, breathless and looking down at her from above, like a dark angel with bad intentions.

“Stay with me.” You say it like an order, and then you’re kneeling down between her legs and pulling her clothes off.

She allows you to, despite some part of her gut telling her this is wrong. Any second now, a parade of police officers could burst through the door and -

You lift her legs over your shoulders in a smooth motion and pull her thighs until her pussy is at the edge of the table, right in front of your face. More bundles of your money slide out of the back, following her motion.

You pin her with a dark look. One that in all your time together, you’ve never showed her before.

“Who - ” Misty tries to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. “Who are you?”

An unreadable expression washes over your face. You reach up and press your hand down on her abdomen, pinning her to the table. “I’ve lied about many things. But I promise, baby, I truly am your lover.”

She goes to respond, but then you lean in and lick her pussy so thoroughly her eyes roll back and all that comes out is a gasp.

“Fuck,” you moan into her wetness. “Last time I ever get to taste this pussy, and I swear it’s the sweetest it’s ever been.” And you delve back in, clearly determined to explore every inch of her pussy.

But Misty is suddenly furious. Last time. Her hand reaches for your head, intending to pull you away, but you go faster now, sending pleasure arcing through her veins and forcing her to pull you in closer to her weeping folds. “Fuck. You.” This is all your fault.

You emit a decadent, luxurious moan, rumbling against her clit.

Her free arm swings up behind her, as she is hit with a sudden climax. She reaches up for a grip, and only ends up disturbing your bag full of money further as her orgasm overtakes her.

“Oh - my - god!” she cries out, the sensation of your tongue laving against her clit stoking the heat she feels inside into a raging bonfire of bliss. Stacks of money pile out of the back and onto the table around her, some even hitting the floor, but she couldn’t care less.

Not when she has you greedily licking and sucking her to full completion.

I promise, baby, I truly am your lover. “You liar,” she moans. You’ve never made her come this hard. You hid this skill - this passion - from her, and goddamn she wants to slap you for it. If only for now showing her what she’s been missing this whole time.

Her orgasm finally fades, and instead of cuddling in bed like your normal routine used to be, you just wipe your face, give her a scorching look, and start picking up the piles of money that have fallen around her limp, drained form.

Misty can’t even think, let alone speak. Her gun lies on the floor somewhere. She could probably reach for it now, while you’re busy preparing to leave. But the high of her orgasm hasn’t faded yet, and she can’t bring herself to face reality.

Finally, the sound of you zipping up your bag jars her out of her haze. She pushes herself up on unsteady limbs, rounding to face you. Her bare legs feel the chill of the night closing in.

You hoist the bag over your shoulder and meet her gaze, a look of pain in your eyes that quickly shifts into a steely coldness.

Misty blinks. If this is it, and you’re leaving, she doesn’t think she could stand it if you didn’t say anything. But she can’t think of anything to say that might sum up what she’s feeling.

Apparently, neither can you. After a moment, you turn away and make for the door in silence.

But as you open it, you pause.

Then, you turn back to her, and nod.

And she hears you murmur to yourself, “One hell of a goodbye.” before the door swings shut behind you.

#misty knight x reader #mercedes knight x reader #misty knight x you #mercedes knight x you #nmcu x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #lesbian #wlw #nmcu #luke cage #misty knight #sil's writing

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privitivium · 2 months

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pls do part 2 of fem dombot m character x shy subtop knight reader 😩😩

yeah sure bud. diff plot;; knight reader "saves" fem guy and fem guy makes it up to him, nameless fem guy, sorry for any mistakes

fem dombot amab x shy amab knight reader

cw;; chatacter is a LIAR! manipulative, hints of coercion ( into fucking ), willing-stupid/himbo "does whatever pretty person says" reader, exhibition, blowjob ( recieving :p )

you'd call yourself a chivalrous man. a gentleman, so thoughtful and honorable to everyone and everything alike! the villagers, the townspeople love you.. you think they find you endearing. and find it especially hard when they merely call you over for a cup of tea. while immensely appreciating the gesture, you'd much rather they take you seriously…! you were so strong and big! can't they see you'll help with damn near anything? but, oh.. the thought of them, the ones offering you goodies, might just need a companion to have a conversation with.. you were willing to give them that..

it's more so old women and men.. afterall, you were rather.. ahem, nervous around young ladies… you get so embarrassed, fumbling around and trying to ignore contact and focus on whatever they might need help with in the moment. often straying away from the women who beckon you over from their shops or homes, offering mugs of beer - flaunting themselves. augh, how embarrassing… to decline such beautiful ladies begging for your attention. you often divert their attention onto one of your partners, often scouting in duos… you can't handle all that. it's just.. augh!

and it just so happens when your companion is drowning in women.. a distress call alerts you - your honorable senses tingling and leading you down a misty alleyway, companion forgotten as you were too caught up in being pulled down the maze of constricted hallwaysㅡand there it was! a smaller person getting ganged up on by two bulkier men… wasting no time on yelling out, you presume the clinking of your armor was tell enough as well as your footfalls… their attention diverted towards you; only seeing their silhouettes before one of the bulkier was already on the groundㅡ! slinking closer and preparing to subdue the other when.. he was already on the ground. taking a moment to yourself, assessing the well-known drunkards on the brick pathway, before diverting your attention toward the smaller - p-prettier person who was already staring up at you.

“g-goodness, you sure are strong..” you remark, pulling your hand from the presumed woman's after helping her up from the ground - noting how strong her grip is.. unable to make direct eye contact and proceed to fret over herㅡ"ah, my… you sure are strong yourself, haha..” her voice.. a lovely melodious whisper that makes you quiver. you hope it's not obvious, as you feel your knees weaken - instinctively straightening your body and looming over the tiny person, paying no heed to the men knocked out on the ground..

“you saved me..” she saysㅡbutterflies swarming your tummyㅡsounding breathless. a smile plastered on her plump, glossy lips; staring up at you with those wide eyes that look dazzling when the light hits them just right - “you- you're so.. strong!”

“uhm.. did i?” you squint, a nervous smile plastered on your lips, did you?? uh-uhm..

“yeah. you did. you knocked these two guys out, because they were harassing me-! you're so strong…” he murmurs, trailing his fingertips over your chest piece engraved with the kingdoms’ crest, h-her hand.. so tiny.. you straighten yourself out - edging away from her touch. “ㅡoh… really? h-haha..” it was plain to see that you did not know what to do with yourself when flirted with. endearing, he thinks; blood shooting straight to his cock - grinning slyly at you. so.. so intimidating..! you shy away, immediately forgetting to actually apprehend those two knuckleheadsㅡ

ㅡhow could you not recognize him? he was one of the “ladies” calling out to you on your shifts throughout the village. it was so effortless, luring you out. man, if he knew it had been this easy…

“yes, of course you did! how gallantly you striked them…!” maneuvering you by your bicep, leading you away from the scene rather too easily… too caught up in the pretty little thing at your arm, unknowing of where exactly he was leading you. “it's only noble of me to thank you properly, right? aha..” he chuckles under his breath, arms looped around yours and leading you along… deciding where you were now was good enough; in the maze of alleyways, shrouded in dim light where no other was to explore, he's sure. you were a bit too dim to notice anyhow, brushing off your concerns of “there's no need for that-!” as he was already tugging at his clothes -

“o-oh! m-ma'am- sir! i'm so sorry to have been… calling you ma'am!” you squirm, face blooming with a nearly unbearable heat as you flatten yourself against the wall - eyes darting side to side as if expecting someone to turn the corner of the maze of alleyways as this - m-man, presses his derriere so boldly against your unprotected groin, looking back at you over his shoulder; face burning at the suddenness - “a-ah..” notably shrinking.. “what better way to thank you?” he smiles so kindly at you… you grunt in mild complaint, “i-i would do well with a nice cup of tea as well j-just fine..” you choke out - you could so easily subdue this man, no? what's stopping you?

“are you ungrateful?” he questions, cooing whilst burying his round ass in your softened cock - blood shooting straight down, livening your body and making you hopped up on adrenaline - “is this.. is this you being ungrateful to my thanks?” he pulls away, and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact - before his dainty little hand was quickly pressed against your erection; groping through your clothㅡ

“a-ah.. no..! nonono!! i-i'm not ungrateful..” you choke out, hands pressed flat against the wall behind you, unsure of what exactly to do with yourself, too caught up in staring at the man who had no problem seducing you - goddamn you need to train yourself better on skittering away from alluring pretty people in general… you're too awkward, afraid of embarrassing yourselfㅡbut my god it does not seem they have any problem with your antics… he was smiling so widely, batting his eyelashes - you had to avert your eyes, fearing you would tear up if your face burned any hotter…

“... what a way to thank you, right? you should be glad i'm touching you like this, really!” he chuckles airily, pulling his hand away and shuffling around - lips parting to voice your “complaints” before he was already on his knees and fidgeting with your clothes - knees weakening and mouth gaping at the feminine man who wordlessly pulls your cock out - fuck, feeling his fingers on the skin of your prick, cold yet so comforting - an otherworldly feeling you had never felt before besides your own handㅡhe was laughing at you.

merely stroking you… tonguing the beading pearl of pre, sucking it from yr hole and feeling you thrust into his grip. bitter. tasty... slyly grinning as he props his mouth open, hoping you'd find his glittery eyes alluring as he was making no move to look away - giggling to himself as you clearly cant handle eye-contact while he fists your cock.. tonguing the tipㅡever so slightly trembling… how endearing. Truly. a big hulking man such as yourself being subdued by a pretty little thing such as himself by a little dicksucking.. have you no shame?! mwahaha-!

just like your companions… asking if you had ever gotten laid, or even been touched - obviously catching onto the fact that you avoided womenㅡ“a-ah-ck-!” his tongue, flicking out against the slit of your head - he felt so honored, figuring that he's one of your firsts.. “s-so sensitive..” he manages to tease, to hell with his knees. bracing himself on your thigh, feeling underneath and groping as he sucks at the tip if it were a lollipop he often found himself indulging in.. he thinks yr dick is much better material to be in his mouth.

squirming underneath him, trying your best to keep still as he was fisting the base of your cock before bobbing his head on what thick girth he could throat, throat hallowing and burying his nose in your crotch - choking on your cock and making you whine.. thrusting into his warmth, so eager to fuck into himㅡdrool dribbling down his chin as tears flow freely down his flushed cheeks -

“g-gosh, are you- are you alright!??” so caring, so thoughtful you are, your whiny pathetic voice calling out to him.. he thinks, teary eyes darting up to look at you while half-way down your veiny cock - your hand so kindly brushing hair out of his face and gently caressing the tears from his cheeks with your thick fingers.. ah.. he swallows; relishing in the way he can feel you twitch in his mouth, tonguing the underside of your cock dutifully as he squeezes his eyes shut, pushing forward and proudly, skillfully taking you once more down his throatㅡthe bitter taste of pre, salty, but it was so fucking good coming from you, burying himself in your trimmed curlsㅡ

obviously, you keep yourself clean compared to others… so happily sucking your cock as if it was second nature to breathing. he hopes you seek him out after this.. oh, what the hell is he saying? of course you will ㅡ swallowing, choking on your thick milky load of cumㅡpulling from your cock and falling on his ass, covering his mouth in an attempts to keep it from dribbling from his lipsㅡbefore he was stumbling to stand; reaching up and pulling you down just to give you an open-mouth kiss and give you a mouthful of your own cum - yelping into his glossy, plump lips as the salty bitter taste of your semen spreads along your tongueㅡ

#x male reader #male reader #top male reader #x top male reader #subtop male reader #dombot male character #feminine male character #afab male character #oc x male reader #x sub male reader!#ocs =͟͟͞͞★#fem dombot character

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 4

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.9k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Unlacing corsets but in the slowest most sensuous way possible Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

You blink again, feeling the damp mist of morning swirl against the hem of your skirt as you look down the path to the front of your garden where two figures lean against the twisted trunk of an aspen tree.

"Morrrrnin'." Soap drawls at you, smirk plastered across his face at the shock in your expression- not expecting two witchers to be awaiting you outside your front door.

"M-morning." You reply after a few moments, quelling your surprise. Soap beams at you, and beside him Gaz offers a little roll of his eyes towards his companion at the clear smugness there.

"Laswell asked for you." Gaz explains when Soap fails to elaborate on their presence. "She mentioned she wanted you to pick some herbs for her and sent us to escort you."

"Escort me?" You ask with a little huff of amusement, raising an eyebrow at them. "What, like some sort of damsel in distress?"

"Aye." Soap offers as he straightens off his perch with a little roll of his shoulders. He stands before you, broad as he places his hands on his hips in a demonstration of sarcastic machismo. "We are but faithful knights to your safety, yer highness."

You have to hide a girlish smile behind your hand at that, endeared by Soap's teasing flirtations. There's an easiness about him you appreciate, that softens the anxiety of the world around you, the burden of the secret in your home that remains dozing in the loft of your home. You had refused to wake König, had instead left a small, scrawled note of your venture outside for errands and a promise to return soon.

Instead, you had found this, the mysterious presence of two monster hunters who had awaited your appearance in the misty brightness of late morning.

"What he means is that there's a dangerous monster in the forest, and Laswell would rather you not be out there by yourself." Gaz again elaborates, offering Soap a nudge in the side as the Scot cries out in feigned hurt. Yet they both look to you expectantly, offering boyish smiles as they await your response.

"Well." You sigh at last. "I suppose I can't refuse two handsome gentlemen such as yourselves."

"Aww, she called us handsome." Soap drawls, nudging Gaz in the side with his elbow. Gaz shoves him a little back playfully, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Can agree with me, at least. Might need to get your eyes checked about him." He tells you wryly, much to Soap's displeasure.

"Oi-"

"Shall we get a move on, gentlemen?" You ask as they begin to playfully cajole each other into rough housing, until they both turn and offer their horses to you. You stride past them, put a boot in the stirrup of Soap's mare and deftly swing yourself into the saddle, offering the pair a clever smile as they stare up at you in surprise.

"You two can share." You declare, clipped, nudging the mare in the direction of the village road as they cry out after you in dismay.

----

You end up sharing with Soap after all, as the three of you pick your way off one of the more isolated trails into the gulley of the forest. You know the path well, know nightshade and chamomile grows deep in the shadows, know which leaves to gather, and those to leave alone let the thorns bite at your fingertips.

There's easy conversation amongst the three of you, as you capture their rapt attention in your ramblings about the village, herbs, Laswell, the forest itself. In turn, Gaz and Soap share their own limited knowledge about your craft, and detail that which you don't know about theirs. They share tales of gargoyles and necromancers, creatures of the night, curses and demons and dead kings.

They tell you too about the wolf.

"Werewolves are especially hard to kill." Gaz explains from his saddle beside you, voice lower now. Grim. "Especially during full moons."

"I thought they shift only during full moons?" You offer, and Soap makes a little grunt of frustration behind you. it's not directed at you, but you can feel the annoyance sit low in his chest pressed against your back.

"They can shift at will." He elaborates, voice colored with a low simmering irritation, likely at their currently fruitless hunt. "Full moon is just when they lose control."

"And bite people?" You ask, to which he and Gaz exchange a look.

"It's uncommon, but yes. Treatable too, if you catch it soon enough."

It clicks then, the herb that they must be searching for, the cure to the ailment they may end of facing.

"Wolfsbane." You breathe, twisting in your saddle to look up at Soap behind you, who smiles, pleased.

"Told ya' she's a smart lass." He comments to his comrade beside him, who chuckles in response. "Aye, wolfsbane. Tastes like shite but will cure you right fast."

You cast him a little look of wry amusement before facing forward once more. "Have you tried making it into tea?" You ask mildly. "Or...bread? Soup? Liqour?"

"Liquor...why didn't I think of that?" Gaz mumbles, barely audible beside you both. "Could have been drinking wolfsbane ale this whole time and not choking it down raw."

"Bet it still tastes like piss." Soap points out, and Gaz gives him a withering look.

"You will drink anything that has liqour." He points out, to which Soap splutters but offers no rebuttal. "Besides-"

Gaz looks at you, a little more seriously now. "We can take it, we...are a little different than regular people. A small dose for us would kill most humans within a few hours. For us we get feverish and a tad sick, but it won't kill us. It’s better than being a werewolf."

You nod at that, and want to press for more. You knew from the moment you saw the witchers that they were...different. They're broader, taller, more intent than other men you've seen. There's an inherent keenness to them that speaks of awareness, more than that of an average human. It makes sense. Mortals of your kind were not bred to hunt creatures such as werewolves, let alone all manner of other beasts that roam these lands.

Gaz must see the contemplation in your eyes, the silent rumination, because he reaches the distance across from you, between the horses and nudges your shoulder with his leathered palm.

"You can ask." He offers gingerly, eyes kind. "We don't mind."

"Gaz's right." Soap supplies. "Truth is, hen, we've taken a bit of a shine to ye. Laswell trusts ye, and we can see why."

You squirm a little at that, face tucked into your hood, abashed but pleased at their comments. It's nice, this. It's often lonely in the village, in the place where so many others don't trust you, look at you skeptically from the corner of their eyes, whisper about you even where you can hear. Here, between these men with blood that runs hotter, higher, more potent, you feel a familiar sense of otherness that to you feels like belonging.

So, you ask, and you learn more of them.

They weren't always witchers, they tell you. First, they had been boys. Orphans, or given up to older witchers to be trained, honed, broken and rebuilt. Over the course of years, the four of them had stopped being boys, had begun to grow less human, and by the time they reached adulthood they were no longer mortal.

Witchers.

Gifted with superior sights, hearing, reflexes, strength. They can easily fight with the power of twenty men, born and bred to rid the lands of creatures that stalk and kill more fragile things.

Things like you.

It had taken them many years to find each other. Price had been the first, and you knew this from when he spoke to you. He had originally met Ghost when the younger witcher was still in his trials, had spoken encouragements to him that allowed Ghost to overcome the remainder of his training in ways few others had before him. Yet by that time Price was gone, hunting down a witch in the far western lands, one with grey eyes and a thin, wry smile.

"Laswell." You breathe to Gaz, much like a little girl listening to a beloved, enrapturing fairytale. Gaz smiles knowingly at you before continuing on.

Price had been meant to kill her, but upon realizing Kate was not the dark enchantress the villagers who had summoned him made her out to be, he made a different call. Instead, he had traveled with Kate for a time, until they had once more come upon Ghost.

Soap and Gaz go quiet then, and you feel a silent sense of regret, grief between them. You're afraid to press into it, but at last Soap offers the hidden tale of the masked witcher who had once terrified you with his mere presence.

"Roba." Soap offers, voice low, grim.

Roba, the name of the necromancer Ghost had been sent to kill by the man who had trained him, only to be betrayed. Roba had kept Ghost, had tortured him, had failed to break him despite everything. When Price and Laswell had eventually found him, Ghost had already been cursed by the necromancer, a bearing that even to this day forces him to conceal himself lest others be horrified by the appearance of a dead man under the mask.

It has been Price and Laswell who had helped Ghost kill Roba, and the man who had betrayed him. It was only after the battle that Laswell declared herself tired of traveling, and had come to settle in your valley village, while you were still very young.

Price continued on with Ghost at his side, and eventually they had found Gaz, who belonged to a small coven of witchers that protected a haven for those of their kind. Yet when Gaz had listened to promises of adventure and conquest from Price, he had been eager to leave behind his keep and travel alongside them. Price had easily taken him under his wing, had guided him in all the things Gaz had yet to experience as a young witcher.

It had only been once the three of them were united that they found Soap.

Soap goes quiet then, unexpectedly, and you gingerly shift in the saddle to see the hard set of his jaw, the grimace in his expression that speaks of anger, regret.

"You don't have to say it, mate." Gaz declares softly, and Soap only shakes his head.

"My squad was wiped out." He tells you softly, but his voice is hard, stony with grim memory. "We were all too bloody green, too fresh to be hunting what we were after."

You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments of silence you wonder if he actually will.

"A werewolf." Soap finishes at last, voice close to a snarl, low and dangerous in the back of his throat.

He goes on to tell you the story, spares you the details of his fellow witchers' deaths by the beast, tells you only that he had been the one to kill the thing, had sat for days surrounded by the bodies of his friends and his sword embedded in the chest of the werewolf. It had been Price and the others that had found him, had lifted him from where he kneeled and silently accepted him into the fold.

You nod at that, trying to tell yourself it's a happy ending at least. After all, they're together now, found themselves despite all the trials and tribulations. The team they are now is one of loyalty, skill, solidarity, trust. You can think of no one else better to defend your village against the shadow that lurks in the trees.

"So then how do you kill a werewolf?" You ask after several long minutes, adjusting in your seat as the horses begin to descend downhill into a gully.

"With patience." Gaz replies with a little grunt, reigning in his mare from walking too fast. "They heal fast unless you hit them with silver. Wolfsbane helps too."

"Which is why we're finding it." You conclude, leaning back into Soap's chest as he palms the reins in one hand, wrapping a brawny armored arm across your front to keep you from slipping. Your face warms at the contact, remembering the sensation of being at Price's back as you both rode back from Laswell's those nights ago.

Strangely, the memory fades to something else, to the press of a warm, solid frame that loomed above yours, one arm slung over your shoulder as you helped him walk from the forest under the cover of darkness, where he murmured a soft, breathy "Danke, Fraulein." As he at last rested in the safety of your home.

"That-" Soap says from behind you, startling you from reverie. "-and to check the traps we lay."

"Traps?" You echo, when suddenly both men urge their steeds to a halt, Gaz easily slipping from his saddle and walking over to a small pile of crinkled leaves just a few steps from the path. Gingerly, he brushes them aside, revealing a jaw-like contraption laying open against the ground. Empty.

He makes a small sound of disapproval, turning to Soap and talking over your head.

"Not this one, thing may have learned to avoid them after we got him the other night." He comments, brow creasing in frustration. Soap's grumble mirrors Gaz's expression, discontent at their findings.

"What is that?" You find yourself asking, eyeing the strange metal contraption with a healthy amount of caution.

"Bear trap." Soap explains quickly. "Won't kill werewolves but may keep them long enough for us to catch up."

"Our werewolf managed to get himself loose before we could find him." Gaz sighs ruefully, covering the trap once more. "We tried to follow the blood trail, but lost him over a creek. Smart bugger."

You consider that, that the monster that Price and the others hunt is not just dangerous, wild, untamed, but intelligent. It knows it's being hunted, adapts to the wolves of a different breed that nips at its heels under the cloak of darkness. What Soap has said makes sense now, that werewolves are hard to kill, that you need to be patient, smart, and absolutely prepared at any moment to face the monster.

"No matter." Gaz declares, standing and stretching, making back for his horse. "We'll catch it during the full moon."

"Aye." Soap agrees, but his voice is low, a warning. "Dangerous time to be hunting werewolves. It may lose its mind, but it'll be that much more dangerous."

"So, we better finish our own hunt then." Gaz announces, swinging gracefully back into his saddle and taking point as he continues down the path. He turns so he leans over his shoulder at you, offering a reassuringly bright smile.

"Where to?"

---

It takes you the better part of the day to find the hardy purple flowers that grows from the soft, wet soil of creek beds in the hills. You gather as much as you can, and even when Gaz and Soap warn you about the soon-setting sun you try to continue pulling the wolfsbane from where it grows. You aren't like the two of them. You can't hunt monsters, you can't heal quickly, can't fight against beasts. What you can do is this, is help them how you can, and you tell yourself it is enough.

The journey back towards the village is quick, the sun setting low behind the hills and cast the forest in waning light that whispers of ominous darkness. You can't help but trace the trees where you sit in Gaz's saddle, heart murmuring in apprehension as you expect to see the sight you saw that night- of a gigantic, looming figure toeing the edge of the path, eyes glowing, a growl deep in its chest.

As you ride back into the village, you see lanterns flicker on in the houses you pass. Several torches light the square, alighting a small group of men who huddle and discuss with each other in low, grim tones. They silence as you, Soap, and Gaz pass them. Though the two witchers don't bother to glance their way, you do, and instantly wither at the disdainful wariness in their gazes. It's only once you're past them that a voice rings out in your direction.

"Whore!!"

You flinch.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, tugs his reins back in the direction of the men, only for Gaz's gloved palm to shoot out and grasp at the Scot. His eyes are serious as he looks at Soap, mouth a thin line of disapproval as he slowly shakes his head. You can still see the fury in Soap's gaze, but it's restrained as he forces himself to swallow it down.

Gaz then turns his attentions to you, smile sad but kind as you tuck yourself back into his chest, trying to hide, cheeks warm and shoulders hunched in a mixture of shame and hurt.

"Don't listen to them." He tells you softly, one hand gently settling atop yours in your lap. You nod, shoot him a grateful look, one that doesn't ease the remaining anxious flutter of your heartbeat.

By the time the two witchers deposit you back at your doorstep it is well and truly dark, the lanterned lights of the village doing little to illuminate the lane where your small cottage resides. You try and tell them to be careful, but the pair merely shoot you playful, withering glances in the same vein of Price.

We're Witchers, love.

Even so, they assure you that the bundles of wolfsbane they carry back to Laswell will offer them protection as they canter back in the direction of her home.

You watch them go and try not to think about how much you'll miss them after they leave for good.

"You're back!" König chirps as you step inside and the door latches behind you. You smile at the bright tone of his voice, excited, eager to see you. There's an unfamiliar brightness that alights in your chest, the feeling of being welcomed so wholly, so jovially as soon as you step into the confines of your own home. It feels different than Laswell, with her easy but mysterious demeanor, different than the shy bashfulness of being around Price and the others. Here, you feel like you can be entirely yourself, allow König to see the weariness behind your smile.

He's warming himself near the fire as you step inside, hands outstretched as the scant warmth of daytime fades. He's coaxed the hearth into a slow, tender flame that licks just shy of his palms. A pot of water hovers above it, and once again the soft, grateful comfort of coming home to good company fills your chest so suddenly it nearly aches.

"You were gone all day." König offers as you come closer, deposit your scarlet cape atop a chair with a little sigh. "I-"

König pauses, breathes in. You blink, watch as a strange puzzlement passes over his features, his chest rising as he takes a long, dragging inhale through his nose.

"W-what is that?" He asks, voice wavering slightly, and you blink, a similar look of confusion clouding your features. You stare at him silently, trying to decipher whatever he's alluding to, and eventually glance to your skirt, your cape, seeing if perhaps there's something you don't recognize that could have spawned his reaction. Finding nothing, you eventually look back at him.

For a single moment, you swear König’s eyes glint yellow.

He stands, the motion rather abrupt, and his height nearly makes you startle, still unaccustomed to the sheer length of his build that towers over you.

"I-I heated some water." He manages, voice strained. "In case you...maybe wanted to bathe."

You relax a little at that, the idea of a warm soak a much-needed relaxation to the ache of being in a saddle all day. Still, you raise a playful eyebrow at your visitor, mouth quirking.

"Why, do I smell?" You ask, and König splutters, instantly raising his hands and waving them in defense.

"N-nein!" He exclaims, and you giggle at the frantic, indignant widening of his eyes beneath his hood. If you look close enough, you can almost swear there's a faint pinkness rising to his cheeks.

"I'm only teasing." You reassure him, and watch his shoulders droop in relief, failing to resist a grin.

König startles as you pass him in the direction of the wood wash bin you keep tucked to one side of the kitchen, sucking in a sharp breath as you near him. You wonder idly if perhaps you were a little too harsh with your teasing, considering his strange reaction to your proximity. He doesn't make to assist you in dragging the tub across the floor, nor does he move from where he stands as you lift the now simmering kettle to pour into the tub. Your hands briefly dip into the water, testing the temperature, watching Konig out of the corner of your eye. He seems to ease as you dry your hands on your skirt, gaze lifting to regard you more fully.

It's a bit odd, the way he watches you. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, not in the way that some of the villagers watch you. Their gazes rake across your form, scarcely conceal the apprehension, the disdain behind their eyes. You're still trembling a bit from earlier, turn in such a way that König can't see it. His eyes follow the motion, gaze keen, unblinking. There's an interest in his stare that feels far less like a scowl and more of a silent watchfulness, an unwavering focus that leaves goosebumps trailing along your flesh.

Like a wolf.

You shake away the thought, cast him a shy look over your shoulder. You catch his eyes just for a moment, see him blink as if he was enraptured at something you couldn't see. He straightens under your eyes, but tilts his head down towards his shoes, as if abashed at being caught staring.

"Would you mind, König?" You ask him gingerly, damp hands rising to the back laces of your bodice meaningfully.

Usually, you can undo them by yourself, but the ache of your spine from riding with two witchers all day, and the effort of straining your arms, scrambling up rocky creek beds in search of wolfsbane has you hard to reach the ties.

König shifts where he stands, a little apprehensively, until at last he approaches, broad hands settling at the dip of your back as he slowly tugs the laces apart. You can't tell if his hands are trembling, or if he's just unused to the motion against his fingers. It takes him more time than you expected to part the laces enough for you to have the space to shrug out of the bodice. Before you can, his hand dips in the space between your bodice and your chemise, pressing a featherlight touch against the small of your spine.

You shiver.

König pulls away at once, so suddenly it's as if he's been burned. You look at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes and finding a matching look of surprise there at his gentle but blatant touching. König looks stricken, guilty, and there's a choked little apology on his lips, as if he too is shocked at his own actions.

You clear your throat a little awkwardly, averting your gaze towards the tub, and fortunately König instantly understands, putting space between you both and tugging the privacy screen as he goes. You hear him take a chair, and as you peek towards him you find him sitting himself facing the wall, offering you an extra layer of privacy. It's strangely endearing, the hunch of his shoulders, as if he's a boy being sent to think on his misdeeds.

You set yourself to the washtub, draping your layers over the screen until you gently scoot yourself, knees folded, into the tub. There's a little sigh that escapes your lips in relief, and though the water barely covers your hips, the warmth is a welcome respite for your tired muscles.

"We went up into the hills today." You offer in the strange silence that follows, and you hear König release an exhale as if he'd been holding his breath. "Laswell sent us looking for wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane." König echoes, and you blink at the strangeness of his tone, dipping low in his chest with a hint of annoyance. It's gone in a moment as he asks: "...Laswell is the healer at the other side of the woods, Ja?"

"Yes." You reply, knowing he can't see you nod. "She's been my friend for as long as I can remember."

You pause, stare down into the bathwater.

"Maybe...my only friend."

König is silent.

You perk up, smile up in his direction, even if it's a little forced. "You're my friend too, König."

König sits a little straighter at that, and you think, even though you can't see his face, that maybe he's smiling.

"You're...my friend too, fraulein." He offers hesitantly. "A very good friend."

You smile a little broader at that, reach for the soap and begin to scrub off. The grime from digging in the moss and dirt soon comes clean, and you begin to start on the rest of your skin as well.

"The two men from earlier..." He offers after a few minutes of silence. "Are they your friends too?"

You pause, consider.

"I think so." You reply slowly. "I'd like them to be, but..."

You think once more about the witchers you've become friends with, of Soap's easy going amicable nature, of Gaz's trustful eyes, of Ghost's quiet but steady presence, of Price's gaze that weighs heavy on your shoulders, watching.

"But...?" König echoes uncertainly.

You heave a little sigh. "They won't stay here." You declare solemnly. "Once they catch the wolf they're hunting, they'll move on. So, I guess it doesn't really matter."

König is silent at that, and you don't blame him. There's little to offer in that regard. Not even an apology for the things you're yet to miss.

You rinse off, feeling cleaner, stand up from the water and let it drip from your bare skin. When you glance towards König, he remains steadfast, gazing into the corner and not moving. It makes you smile a bit, seeing his embarrassment at the idea of being anything less than a gentleman towards you.

"I...didn't have many friends growing up either." He offers as you dry off near the fire, voice somber, lonesome in a way you recognize all too well. "My mother, she took care of me, but the children that were in the same village as me..." He trails off, looking a little lost. "They weren't kind."

You eye him woefully, pause long enough to see his shoulders sink a little, feel a sense of heartache tug inside you as well.

"Your mother." You speak softly, as you reach for a clean chemise in the trunk near your bed. "...What happened to her?"

König is silent for a few moments, and you wonder if perhaps you've pushed too far. Before you can offer an apology, his voice softly returns to yours.

"She died." He says simply, voice a little muted. "and I was chased out of the village soon after. I've...been traveling ever since."

Dressed now, feet still bare, skin still a little damp, you turn to him. König doesn't turn to look at you, focused now not on the stone wall before him, but on his feet. He’s curled in on himself, as if suddenly he feels like he’s the only person here. You know the slouch of his spine, feel it in yourself. After a moment's hesitation you gently pad over to him. At first you rest a palm on his shoulder, feel the shudder he gives you as a result. Yet he doesn't move it, doesn't force himself to dislodge it, and slowly you slide it around to his front, draping yourself carefully across his back in an embrace.

"I'm sorry." You whisper against the soft, worn fabric of his hood. König doesn't answer except for one, large palm that settles on your arms loosely looped around his neck.

You stay like that for a while, feel the rise and fall of his breath in his shoulders, feel your own exhales tickle across his hood. You wait for him to pull away, not wanting to deprive him of this, but as the minutes tick by, you begin to wonder if he ever will.

"Would you ever leave?" He asks, barely a whisper.

You're silent for a long time, eventually turning your head to look up through the window beside you both, the one that faces the trees reaching up towards the ink blotted sky. The clouds roll past the bright moon, heavy and waxing towards fullness. You watch it, feel it tug something in your chest, an awareness you don't recognize just yet. When you speak, it's as soft as the embrace you've fallen into against him.

"...Yes."

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sgt-seabass · 6 months

Text

ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

✧˚ · . your fairy tale life ends in a slew of blood.

pairing — witch!bucky barnes x fairy!f!reader w/c — 5.3k listening to — ♫burn the witch warnings — no use of y/n, dark elements, body horror, blood and gore, non-con, kidnapping, bondage, chasing, mild violence, use of magic for evil deeds, drugging, dead dove (don’t eat it and complain to me about it) a/n — happy halloween! thank you to @goldylions for beta-ing. all mistakes are my own. shout out to @navybrat817, @rookthorne and @vonalyn for cheering me along with this fic.

Many fairy tales had been read to you as a child, back when you were small and your wings tiny. The forest was a place for fairy kind, as were all biomes. A holy sanctuary for those with magic, where the trees hugged and created a shelter of heaven-spun leaves and branches. An unspoken promise of protection.

It was not a place to be afraid. Not even in the nighttime. For the moon, bathed in the sun's light, provided a wave of peace to the world around it. The deepened hues of a dark forest lit by starlight were a place of magical refuge.

While many normal humans would be afraid, fairy-kind was taught that forests were a place of ancient souls, like the deep sea or the clouds above. And being half-fairy, this was a teaching you received at an early age.

But the forest you woke in was unlike any story you’d heard before. This was uncharted territory.

“Tinker Bell.”

The misty voice startled you awake. Your eyes opened, immediately taking in the deep red sky. There was a blood moon above, unlike any lunar eclipse you’d seen. The red glowed across the sky and your skin, as if you were alight with the malice that lay hidden.

As you sat up, you took in your surroundings. The dark oak and spruce surrounding you stood as noble knights, protecting something from view with its thick foliage. What wanted to remain hidden?

The dirt floor was sodden with woven roots and fallen leaves, dead and decaying. The only sweetness in the air was the subtle whiff of sap, but it was entirely eclipsed by the earthy smell of rotting wood among damp, stale bark.

This was no fairy tale but a place of nightmares.

No animals scurried at the sound of you rising, no birds sang, the area seemingly barren of any life. You didn’t know how you got here but knew you needed to get out. A place like this was not something Mother Nature would have conjured.

Your heart craved the softened, freshly aromatic scent of the forest near your family home. Where the leaves were crisp, and the sun gently kissed the treetops, creating a beautiful shine. You could almost taste the lovely sweetness of the fresh berries you’d find foraging. It was the opposite of how your stomach roiled at the smell of a dying forest.

The red light made it hard to see, darkness covering every inch of land. Looking down at the muddy turf, you wondered if it was blood you stood upon. But a quick swipe through the grime confirmed it was earth. There was an oddness to the scent of the soil. You rolled it between your fingers, pursing your lips. While it was dirt, this was not dirt you would find in the human world. It did not hold the magical properties it usually would.

This meant either you’d been transported to another realm or were stuck in a plane between the layers of earth and heaven.

Your hands patted over the clothes you’d been put in. A green sundress with a red robe tied neatly with a bow around your neck. These weren’t items from your closet. They felt fresh. New.

A sense of danger prickled across your skin, goosebumps rising on your flesh and hairs standing on end. You were not alone here.

The sound of old leaves crunching sounded behind you, and it didn’t take much initiative to begin running in the other direction.

Your heart began to race as a chase started with the unknown entity. You could hear it behind you, deep breathing and grunting. It was an obstacle course trying to avoid logs and roots, while trying to stop yourself from retching due to the pungent smell of burning, decaying flesh.

Sprinting away from danger raised a primal fear in you. The kind that rips your body apart so that every ounce of concentration, energy and intelligence can be used to escape the nightmares that trailed behind.

A blend of growls mixed in as a pack of rabid wolves jumped out from the side, lunging for you. You yelped, narrowly ducking and weaving away from the gnashing jaws of the animals. They joined the chase behind you, barking when you managed to jump a log that tripped a few of them. The wolves didn’t stop, though. They joined the ominous deep breathing that pursued you, as if you were Red Riding Hood fleeing from danger.

Needing to go faster, despite the close confines around you, you extended your wings from your back and threw away the cloak. Normally, your wings would open to the light of the sun, the streaks of light reflecting beautiful rainbow hues. But now, they added to the glowing red surrounding you, as if they were broken and bloodied. A sense of foreboding overtook you at the thought.

You began fluttering to move faster, your feet only lightly touching the ground. Being half fairy, you couldn’t reach the heights of a typical fairy, restricted by your human-sized body, but that didn’t matter with the many branches that loomed and imprisoned you close to the forest floor.

Crows cawed, their wings flapping as they followed you with red eyes. You could tell they and the wolves were not real, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt you. The birds dove for your wings, and you had to change paths to try and avoid them.

Snakes slithered along the ground, and spiders bared their fangs on the branches above your head. It was claustrophobic, as if this evil presence was closing in on you, causing you a fear worse than your most violent nightmares.

With heaving breaths, running on pure adrenaline, you pushed yourself further than ever before.

You started to lose the animals and the mysterious creature, and it gave you a chance to begin your song.

Fairies cast their magic through their voices, affecting all who listened. Humans often did not understand the words but did not need to. The melody alone was enough to bring love and laughter to life. For that was the gift fairies brought. Through the pureness of their hearts, magic could be accessed and shared with the world.

While fairies appeared like blossoming flowers, there were dark vines that snaked from the ground. Those who used their magic for wicked intentions were considered dark witches. Banned from the sanctorum where Mother Nature sits, witches could never gain Mother Nature's trust, hence never earning their wings.

The song you cast into the acrid air was one of hope. A beautiful tune that caused fairy dust to fall from your wings as you fluttered faster, your strength increasing. But what you did not see behind you was the way the ground swallowed the dust, absorbing it to fuel a power that lay below.

“Tinker Bell.” A voice called to you. The name is reminiscent of the childhood teasing you’d endured during your youth. But the voice now held no innocent oblivion to the way it made fun of you. “Pretty fairy, you cannot outrun me.”

With no destination in mind and no path to guide your way, you continued through the forest with threatening sounds behind you. And before long, the trees opened up into a small clearing. There was no reprieve, though, as the trees that formed the circled area were so thick there would be no way you could continue into the forest without having to squeeze past.

Skeletons and discarded bones covered the ground, and each time your foot touched one, they crumbled with a sickening crunch. Humans, animals, and all kinds of beings lay dead in the field, no flesh left to discern them. Their graveyard would soon become yours too, you feared.

“Tinker Bell,” the voice sounded, and it was much closer now. You spun around with fluttering wings, doing a full turn with magic dust falling to the ground, but you couldn’t see anyone. The ground rumbled beneath you, and you gasped at the sight of vines shooting up to try and grab you.

With darting movements, you maneuvered around the vines that tried to capture you. But the more you began to panic, the more magic that came from you, and the world around you absorbed it. The vines started growing in power, getting thicker and faster the more you tried to fly away.

The blood moon was in full force now. The entire sky was a pool of scarlet, ruddy and nauseating. This realm was feeding off your fear, taking it and using it for its own power.

It was then the being showed itself, walking from the thick foliage into view. The sight of him shocked you so severely that you became distracted, and the vines took their chance to snake around your ankles and up your legs, stopping at your upper thighs. Another two vines grabbed each arm, holding you helplessly in place.

Before you stood an Oni. Or at least someone appearing to be one. A Japanese legend, Oni, were created through the death of a wicked human. Weidling iron clubs as their weapon, they would find enjoyment in crushing and destroying humans. They were bearers of punishment. While this man had no weapon, you feared for what he had planned for you.

But what did you do apart from giving the world your pure heart? What made you deserving of an Oni’s wrath?

Your wings kept fluttering as you took in the man's mask. Covering his face was intricate carvings on a deep charcoal wood. Horns extended on either side, with swirls that covered them down to the blackened eye holes. You could see his piercing blue eyes, stark in comparison to the darkness that surrounded them. The carved swirls continued down the mask's jaw, where it had cut sharp teeth with two fangs on both sides. The man was bulky, not the size of the Oni you had heard of, but he certainly eclipsed the size of an average human. He had to be almost seven feet at least.

He wore only black, with loose pleated pants on his legs and a robe covering his top beneath. One of his hands shone in the red light, and it took you a moment to realise that’s because it was an intricate metal, not flesh.

The sight caused an unrelenting fear in you, as if he had your heart in his hand, beginning to squeeze your very life with his threatening grip.

“Hello, Tinker Bell,” the man spoke, the deep timbre of his tone shaking you to your core as you struggled against your binds. “Are you lost, little fae? These woods are no place for a fairy like you,” he teased, and you could hear the smile in his voice despite the way his face remained hidden.

“Then let me go,” you snapped, trying to use wisps of magic to get the vines to recede, but all it did was make them stronger.

“Ah, hm, no.” The man approached in long strides with flouncing hair as the vines forced you to your knees, your body sinking slightly into the plush earth. “That would be an awful waste of all my effort, Tinker Bell.”

“That’s not my name,” you snapped, beginning to tire of his antics. You just wanted to go home.

“Don’t bore me with your birth name. Tinker Bell suits you much more.” His stature towered above you as he looked down at you, his hair falling around the sides of the mask. The mask was even more intimidating up close. Power radiated off his being, darkness oozing like a sick sludge from him. This was a man to be scared of.

You began to tremble, causing the vines to rustle as you tried to still yourself. In the eyes of a predator, it is best to try and make yourself seem intimidating. But there’s not much you can do as tears well in your eyes. Your mother had always teased you for having such a sensitive soul.

“Aww, are you going to cry? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You sniffled, spikes of fear lighting your blood like an electric bolt. “What do you want?”

“Those wings, pretty girl.”

Your eyes widened, and your blood ran cold. You held your breath with a sharp inhale, anxiety clutching at your heart. When you’d first presented with your wings, you’d been warned that they were a rare commodity, much like an elephant's tusks. There were puissant people who wanted to increase their power, and a set of fairy wings granted immense magical properties.

“I don’t want to die,” your voice turned into a high whine as reality set in. This red forest would be your final resting place.

The man laughed heartily, causing you to flinch like he had slapped you.

“Oh, you’re not going to die. Don’t you know? Fairy wings grow back. Why on earth would I kill you when I can have a fae of my own?”

If anything, that was a fate worse than death.

“What’s your name?” You gulped, holding back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You were not above grovelling, and you were already on your knees, so you begged. “Bucky - please. Just let me go home. I’m begging you. I have a family, friends, people who will miss me. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about you.”

His eyes darkened as if they were adapting to the shade of the mask surrounding them. There was a deathly silence as he considered you. “No.”

He seemed angry at the mere thought of you being missed. You wondered if it was jealousy. Does he have anyone caring for him? Unlikely based on his method of trying to gain more power. This does not seem like a personable man.

So, you tried a different angle.

“Bucky, you’re a witch, right? That’s how we’re in this realm. You made it?” His eyes narrowed as you spoke, but he didn't stop you. “We’re the same. Magical beings. We should be working together, not against each other. M-Maybe I can help you with some magic? In exchange for my release?”

“The moment I let the vines go, let you leave this place, you will leave me and never look back. Don’t lie to me, Tinker Bell. I can see through your bullshit,” Bucky spat venomously, moving away from you towards a large log that sat in the clearing.

And he wasn’t wrong. It was your intention to run and conjure a teleportation spell the moment you got out of this nightmare realm.

The vines picked you up despite your screams for freedom, carrying you towards the log. “Please, don’t do this! We’re cut of the same cloth. We should be working together! You can stop now. It’s not too late. Please, let me go!”

Bucky watched as you were placed over the log so your front rested against the bark. Your body curved over the trunk, breasts squishing uncomfortably against the hard surface as the vines pulled your arms and legs towards the ground.

A heat rose in your cheeks. You were stuck with your ass elevated, your dress ridden up, so your panties were on display to Bucky. The more you struggled against the binds, the stronger they held.

The blood rushed to your head when you let your neck relax, chin bumping against the log. Reality was setting in, your hope beginning to whittle away. “Please, don’t.”

“Plead all you want, Tinker Bell. No one can hear you here,” Bucky’s voice sounded behind you, his hands groping at the flesh of your thighs. “In fact, I’ll enjoy it more hearing your sounds.”

Bucky let his hands run over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched. You could sense the power emanating from him, a dark magic present in his entire being.

The vines held firm, so tightly wrapped around your limbs that it felt as if they were seconds away from snapping your bones in their grip. You whimpered, skin cutting against the bark as you writhed.

You couldn’t help the arousal that began to pool in your core with the way Bucky groped you. His devilish hands warmed you like he lit a fire in your entire being. He was undoubtedly a powerful creature.

“You’ll want to be numbed for when I cut your wings off…” Bucky trailed off, and when you looked back you gasped.

He’d taken his cock out. Hard, veiny, and inviting – the thick flesh had an angry red tip, shining precum at the tip. You wondered if he tasted as powerful as his magic.

Bucky took a string of fabric to tie back his hair so it was in a tight bun. You watched, mesmerised by how he moved so fluidly.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, his dark stare not leaving you as his cock bobbed between his legs when you let out a sniffle.

The mask stayed on after Bucky had finished with his hair, and you couldn’t help but be curious about your captor. Would he look like the demon he projected?

Bucky lifted the bottom of the disguise to spit into his hand, running his palm over the ridges of his cock with a grunt as his metal hand yanked your panties down.

Reality came crashing down, and you cried out. “Wait! Don’t! Please, don’t.”

“You don’t want to be in pain, do you? I could cut your wings with no analgesic, but I’m doing you a favour by giving you my cum,” Bucky’s hands gripped either side of the trunk, allowing his cock to sit nestled in your exposed ass cheeks. “I’m being nice. I’m not even going to fuck you.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping you. “This isn’t being nice.”

“Oh? Not even when I do this?” Bucky snapped his fingers with an incantation, and a small vial of pink liquid appeared in his hand. He took the ampoule, moving his cock out of the way so he could pour it over your ass, letting the pink sparkling fluid seep down into your folds.

Your entire body went taut, sudden bolts of pleasure shooting through your body like firecrackers. Your toes curled, and you wailed out a moan, wings fluttering crazily as you tried to process what was happening.

The arousal coursing through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, Bucky’s magic infecting you and making your brain spiral like you’d had multiple orgasms at once.

Rainbows of colour swirled in your vision as Bucky began sliding his cock against your ass. You could barely register the rocking movement as euphoria filled your brain, the lust making your hair stand on end.

“See? It’s not so bad, Tinker Bell,” Bucky groaned, humping against you and pushing you harder against the log. “I bet no one has touched you like this before.”

Bucky kicked your legs out so you were spread wider, allowing him to slide his cock along your pussy, collecting your arousal. He rubbed the tip of his cock on your clit, and you moaned obscenely. “St— op”

“Ah, you don’t really want me to, do you? Look how wet you are for me. I bet I could make you cum just with my cock.” Bucky wasn’t wrong. He rolled your clit with the head of his dick, and whatever magic he’d used on you had it feeling like tongues were lapping at you.

“That’s it, come on, cum for me. Soak me. Lose that innocence for me, my little slut,” Bucky leant forward, hands pressing down on your wings, teeth nipping at your ear.

That was all it took for the dams to burst. The world was vibrant as you came, red filling your vision, your body shaking with mewls as your juices gushed against Bucky’s cock.

Your wetness allowed Bucky to easily slide against your flesh, heat radiating from his pulsing cock as he grunted with each thrust. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Time seemed to warble, your brain unable to keep up as Bucky grabbed your ass, pressing your cheeks together so he could fuck them harder. “Shit, fuck, oh— oh, I’m close.”

Bucky suddenly pulled back, and you hoped the ordeal was over. How wrong you were.

“They’re soft as silk, Tinks,” Bucky commented, running his fingers over the reflective surface of your wings. You tried to flap them to get his hand to move away, but he was fast, grabbing onto the delicate membrane of your wing.

“Don’t touch them. That hurts,” you whimpered in your haze, writhing against the vines.

“Oh, I’m going to do far more than just touch them.”

You felt as Bucky played with the pliability of your wings, the body part easily manipulated as it was soft and light, the only dense part of your wings being the cartilage that secured them to your back.

Pure horror filled you as he placed his palm onto your wing, forcing it against the log, using his other hand to curve the opalescent surface of your appendage around his cock.

“Fuck. So fucking soft. I knew it would feel amazing,” Bucky moaned, using your wing like a sheath for his cock.

You could feel the heat from his dick against you, your wings sensitive and full of nerves like the rest of you.

“Stop…” You cried, tears still falling, and you were surprised you had any left to cry.

To be defiled like this was something unimaginable. The happiness that you so often felt in your soul was becoming a chimera – no more than a hopeful illusion.

With Bucky’s grunts sounding behind you, you craned your neck to look at the sky, the red reflection making it look as if you were shedding tears of blood.

The blood moon shone proudly, the sky clear of clouds, leaving just redness to cover everything. What did you do to deserve this? Was it simply your fate to be a sacrifice to the wretched? Was there such a thing as fate at all? For so long, you’d considered your life set up upon a lineage Mother Nature set out for you. But no loving figure would force this reality upon one of her creatures, right? Your whole belief system felt shaken, like your entire world compass was stomped on and shattered.

What had you done wrong?

In reality, you’d done nothing to merit such treatment.

Yet the world bestowed the pain on you regardless.

“Enough, stop. It hurts,” you whimpered, the bend on your wing uncomfortable as Bucky thrust into it.

“Oh, it feels too good to stop, pretty girl. It’s like fucking straight magic.” Bucky’s hands braced against the log, using wisps of dark power to keep your wing in a circle.

The power from him escalated, dark clouds pouring from him and billowing across the ground, covering the graveyard of souls surrounding you. His breathy moans got louder, his grip on the log causing cracks to form in the wood.

“F-Fuck, feels too good. I’m going to cum. Yeah, you want my cum, don’t you? Dirty slut.” His hips lost their rhythm, beginning to stutter as he came. Bucky was quick to pull back, his cum coating your back where your wings connected with your flesh.

It was an odd feeling that washed over you. It was something akin to calmness, although it was forced upon you. The last movement you could manage was to look back, brows knitting together when you saw that Bucky’s seed was coloured black, before your body went involuntarily lax.

You lay over the log, your breathing levelling out as you became numb to the world. His spell didn’t just anaesthetise your body, but your emotions too.

You couldn’t even wish to be asleep as you started at the foggy ground.

The vines eased up, not needing to hold you so tight when there was no struggle, their tension leaving marks on your limbs.

“You’re so perfect.” Bucky complimented, but there was no smile on your face.

There was nothing.

You were nothing.

This was the end of everything, and the start of the aphotic zone.

The remnants of your tears fell onto the bones below, cleaning away some of the dirt covering them. But the damage to them remained. Just as the damage to you began.

You couldn’t see what Bucky was doing, nor could you feel it, but you could hear it. There was a sick squelching noise, followed by a sawing sound, as Bucky began to hack at the cartilage connecting your wings.

It was like nails on a chalkboard, nausea roiling in your stomach as you had no choice but to lay there like a rat in a laboratory, ready to be dissected in some horrid experiment.

He could have magically removed them. He’d more than exemplified he had the power to. But he’d chosen the barbaric route for his own crooked pleasure.

Bucky was silent, concentrating on his work as your body wobbled with each run of the jagged blade against you. Blood coated your skin, the ichor running down your sides and covering the wood below you. It gushed out, and if you didn’t feel light-headed before, you certainly did now.

The only words you heard enter the world were a whispered fire incantation. It was then you smelt your flesh burning, the blade heated to cauterise your wound as it sliced.

If you had any control, you’d be wailing, screaming, doing anything to try and get out. Bucky stole your anguish from you, leaving you like a doll atop the log as your identity was violently stripped from your back.

Mother Nature had gifted you your wings. They were your responsibility. And you failed to protect them.

Yet, in your neutered state, you were apathetic about it.

The impromptu surgery went on for what felt like hours, the slow removal of your body parts done both with intricacy and unrelenting brutality.

Your back felt significantly lighter as your wings fell to the ground, crunching the skeletons below into dust.

It was done.

You would never be the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left some scarring. I want my fairy to be special and bear markings made by her owner,” Bucky said proudly, as if you could respond.

You just stared at the skull below you. God, how you wished to be dead on the ground.

Bucky came around the log and stood in front of you, cupping your face with his palms so you were forced to look at his masked face. “Ready to go home?”

Drool dropped out of your mouth and down your chin, unable to control your functions. Bucky swiped away the moisture. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Bucky snapped his fingers, and you were instantly transported to his home.

It seemed like a small cabin in the middle of a forest, based on what you could see from the dirty window. Every surface was covered with tomes, vials, herbs, and materials needed for spells.

The place had an earthy smell with a mix of floral sweetness.

You sat in the corner of the room, and it took you a moment to realise you sat in a large birdcage. With your body still paralysed, you could only elicit a small whimper at the realisation that you were trapped. A purple field covered the cage, assumedly stopping you from using magic.

Bucky startled you, suddenly materialising with your wings in his arms. Seeing them made your heart drop to the earth's centre. They’d lost their colour, aura, and everything that made them special. Now, they were no more than an ingredient.

You watched as Bucky placed them onto his desk, dusting himself off before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about the mess. I should have cleaned up before you came over. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

There was a sense of anticipation as he removed his Oni mask, showing you for the first time his face. You were surprised at how handsome and regular he looked. Sometimes, the evillest were the people we’d never suspect if we passed them on the street. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He waved the mask before placing it next to your wings. “Since I act like a demon, I might as well look like one, right?”

With a grin, he moved to the bubbling cauldron that was hanging atop a fireplace, scooping up some of the mystery green liquid into a small wooden bowl.

There was intention in every movement as he collected the foul-smelling soup. As he came to your cage, every part of you wanted to scream and run. Yet you didn’t move an inch, sitting upon the cot with your back to the cage wall.

“Here. This will help you heal faster,” Bucky said, as if you had a choice in what you consumed. You felt ill as he got closer with the sloshing broth, your stomach flipping as he raised it to your lips. He had to physically pry your mouth open to pour the soup in, the heat sliding down your slack throat with ease. “That’s my girl, Tinks. Such a good fairy.”

His praises fell on deaf ears as your senses were overtaken by the putrid taste and smell of whatever concoction he had fed you. Almost instantly, you got movement and feeling back.

For the first time in your life, anger overtook you. You’d never felt rage before, but it was all that occupied you now.

With your wings gone, a whole part of you had been taken away. Without your gift of purity, you didn’t have the same emotional control. You felt human.

You jumped up, whacking the bowl from his grip and wrapping your hands around Bucky’s neck, ready to squeeze the life out of him. “I’m going to kill you,” you snarled, entirely unlike your usual self.

Bucky had stolen your innocence and replaced it with darkness.

“Is that so?” Bucky tilted his head, unphased as you squeezed. “Interesting.”

Your anger turned to desperation as Bucky’s form turned to sand in your grip, the course grit slipping through your fingers.

“No!” You screeched, running for the open cage door.

But Bucky was faster, reappearing on the other side of the cage and quickly slamming the wire door in your face.

“No! Let me out! You fucking wench! Hag! Get back here, you old bag and fucking let me go!” You gripped the bars, shaking them desperately as you tried to conjure as much magic as possible. But you had nothing, Bucky’s forcefield holding strong. “I can see why Mother Nature rejected you, warlock. You’re nothing more than an imp, picking on others so you can feel better about your own weakness. You fucking prick.”

There was no chastity left. Your virtue had been lost when your wings were stripped from your being.

“Now, now, that’s not nice. You hurt my feelings.” Bucky frowned, moving back from your enclosure. “Those wings of yours will grow back, and so will your temperament. I’m a very patient man, and I have no issue making your whole existence suffering. But if you know what’s good for you, you will apologise when I return. Wings or not, I expect you to keep the nature of a fairy, Tinks.”

With a flash, Bucky disappeared, leaving you alone in the dank room.

You collapsed to your knees, resolving into a fit of sobs. Without your object of anger there, you were reduced to nothing but sorrow.

Letting out a shuddered breath, you looked over your shoulder. Out from the scarring, popped the smallest amount of new cartilage.

The cycle would begin again.

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

#ambswrites #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #dark fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan imagine

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honeyblonde8929 · 3 months

Text

Pulling The Reins.

- Ellie x Reader Fanfiction.

Warning: NSFW wlw, Smut, Lemon… whatever you wanna call it😂 and swearing!

• I see lots of fanfics of Ellie being dominating towards the reader, but what if we switched that round. I mean, I’d like to experiment with that…

“You okay? Ellie?”

You rubbed your aching eyes, what time was it? 2am? The timer was blurry and you couldn’t be fucked to focus on it. Something was up with your girlfriend, she was sitting by the windowsill, gazing at the stars that were twinkling amongst the the misty horizon. She didn’t take her eyes off until-

“Babe, shooting star! Come look.”

She curled her fingers, wanting you to join her. You sluggishly got up and stretched your back out, ouch, almost pulled a muscle. You joined her side, wrapping your warm hands onto her shoulder and slowing moving it up and down, creating friction on her freckly skin.

“Why are you up at this time? I’m surprised I didn’t wake up, especially if you moved my legs out of the way.”

She smiled and turned her head to you.

“Yeah, you like to put your whole body weight on me, like a pillow.”

Ellie twiddled with her thumbs, remembering how much she enjoys rubbing your back while you snore in your sleep, though you always denied her accusing you of that.

“Oh yeah? Like this?”

You sat on her right leg which wasn’t leaning against the window, you licked your lips in excitement, trying to hold back your yawn from only getting a few hours sleep so far.

“Babe.”

She brushed her cold fingertips against your tangled hair.

“Go back to sleep, we can do this in the morning.”

You definitely didn’t want to now.

She kissed you gently on your lower lip, your arm hairs were dancing from her saliva leaving a mark on your chapped lips.

“No, Ellie, I wanna mess around a little~”

“Oh, a little? I’ll show you a lot, baby.”

She took her plaid jacket off and threw it onto the wooden floor. You yelped slightly as you swooped you into her arms and carried you onto the thin white sheets. You bounced a little on the bed and Ellie looked at your see-through nightgown, your nipples erected, she loved seeing you turned on in as little as 5 seconds.

“Mmm, you are quite a sight, Princess.”

You smirked at her compliment, it really made your confidence spike through the roof. You sat up while leaning your body weight on your hands.

You tickled her ear as you whispered to her;

“Then why don’t you take me, now, my strapping Knight.”

It normally takes two rocks to make a spark, but this matchstick set a striking fire between you two.

And the heat was building up quickly.

Ellie listened to you, and took you in a more aggressively passionate manner. Before you could comprehend, she lifted your nightgown and placed it on the bedside table. Your breasts jiggled as she grasped onto them and pulled your nipple while biting the side of your neck.

“Mmm, oh~ Ellie~”

She sucked onto your protruding veins, like a thirsty vampire, her canine teeth leaving marks and little hickeys that were flushing up your skin. Damn it, she’s a natural.

She went down and circled her tongue around your right nipple, then looked up.

“I swear they have grown a little.”

She squeezed your tits, feeling the weight enveloping her hands. You started to feel the motion swirl down into your underwear. You had a few stretch marks on them, but Ellie didn’t care. She worshiped your body, and knew exactly how to tend to your soul.

“Well, there’s more to play with, I guess.”

You chuckled at what you said, then gasped at her teeth pulling and sucking the ends. Your voice slightly cracked as her wandering hands ventured down into the soaked fabric below.

“Hey! Where’s your treatment, El?”

You grabbed one of her hands, the ends of her index finger wet from tracing circles from your damp opening and you sucked on her fingers. Looking into her mesmerising eyes and freckled cheeks, you wanted to tease her too.

“God, that never gets old.”

She exhaled deeply, you wondered what was going through her head, nothing pure or innocent, you suppose. Good, you want her to give into your power.

Your tongue parted her fingers, making an “eating out motion” towards your girlfriend.

“You ready?”

Ellie looked a little surprised at your comment.

“What? Babe-“

You want her. Right fucking now.

You pushed her into the bed and locked her into position, sure, she was physically stronger but your mental capacity to take control took her breath away.

Ellie’s breathing quickened as your pulled her trousers down and left them hanging on her ankles, less movement, smooth thinking.

You didn’t break eye contact, how could you, she’s everything you could want.

And everything you’d want to devour.

You swiftly pulled her boxers down and put your hand onto her ass, now stuck in between her skin and the bed.

“Woah, someone’s desperate.”

You haven’t taken control in a while, it’s normally her doing the work.

“Nope, I’m just hungry for your moans… and that.”

Without any further thinking, you kissed her folds, revealing her wet insides slowing dripping on your lips.

“Fuck…”

“Mmm… i’m starving, Ellie.”

You spat on her clit and began licking in a circular pattern. Your damp nipples rested on her thighs, the hairs pricking your skin. You could easily be as assertive as she is, but she’s still your angel.

And she needed that heavenly orgasm.

Her abs poked out from leaning up from the bed, her moans vibrating in her croaky throat as she stroked your head. Her way of praising you. You loved her pubic hair tickling your nose and the smell of her sweat coming from her inner thighs that glided onto the top of your ear. Your hair was brushing onto her hips, adding more heat to the flame erupting inside you. Ellie gripped into your hair roughly with each tongue flick, and more so when your fingers entered her insides.

“Baby! Fuck fuck fuck! Ahhh!”

That’s exactly the chorus you wanted to hear. The sweet melody singing from each thrust you pushed, deeper and deeper. The blush tinging your rosy cheeks flushed onto the side of her pussy. The radiating sensation and her insides clenching your fingers only bought more raised howls of pleasure, echoing onto the walls.

“Jesus… baby goddamit.”

Her moans transformed into her catching her breath from all the cries she tried to keep in, but you bought it all out, and very easily you might add. It didn’t take Ellie too long until she was going to-

“FUCK i’m gonna fucking cum…. ugh…”

She was groaning now, her voice almost broken from the gasping moans. Sweat dripped down from the forehead as she abruptly clenched the sheets, holding them for dear life, making her toes crunch up, you nodded at her, not stopping for a second. You curled your fingers inside of her, focusing on her G-Spot that you could feel as your fingers also felt her cum flooding past, that was always a bonus when it came to taking control. Ellie’s eyes looked at your frazzled face, like a doe giving her all to the stag.

You have certainly given her some competition.

She had to cover her mouth with the hand, otherwise she might as well moan your house down. Her thighs were now covering your ears, clenching between your head, muffling the exasperating cries you heard that escape from her throat.

You slowed down gently, making the most of her sweet surrender. If you could capture a moment, you’d surely take a polaroid picture, but some things are best leaving an impression in your mind.

Oh, now you owned her. She can put you in her place, but it’s your moment of dominance, for now. Like a dog on a leash, you can pull her in the right direction.

A seductive, enchanting one.

“Huh…. God…. I’m speechless…”

She laid down, exhausted from it all.

“I thought I was going to make you cum tonight?”

You tutted and licked her juices, swallowing the thick excess down. Ah, there was your reward.

“Expect the unexpected, Ellie.”

You wrapped your body beside her.

“You’re all I’ve got, and i’m not letting you go.”

You lifted her chin up towards your dripping lips.

“I’m all yours.”

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #fanfic #fanfiction #the last of us 2 #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #ellie x reader #ellie x you

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akittenwrites · 1 year

Text

Queen of Ice and Prince of Fire [6]

Author: @akittenwrites

Summary: Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell has declared herself Queen in the North. That means war, against King Viserys, and also against Prince Daemon. But the Rogue Prince doesn't want to fight her.

Type: multichapter series

Chapter: six

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word count: 4488

Warnings: swearing, violence.

Part one.

Part two.

Part three.

Part four.

Part five.

Marching to war with an army of useless buffoons hadn't been the most pleasant of experiences. It had taken almost a month to do it on foot. He had proposed they just rode their dragons to avoid precisely that, yet the fact that only three were fully grown and available to fight had forced them to assemble an army of men.

It turned out that hadn't been as easy as expected. Otto Hightower's brother had no choice but to answer the King's call considering the green snake's position in court, but the Stormlands and Westerlands hadn't been as agreeable. Ten thousand men from House Baratheon had cost them a seat in the small council, and fifteen thousand from the Lannisters... that had cost them Rhaenyra's hand, promised to Lord Jason Lannister. His niece had begged her parents not to, hollering that she would ride Syrax to war instead. Daemon would've allowed it —another dragon was worth fifteen thousand Lannister imbeciles— yet Viserys and Aemma refused. The Velaryons' strength was their fleet, which they couldn't unman, but their contribution was more than enough: two dragons.

He had forced the army to march nonstop for hours, only allowing them to rest five hours at night. There were complaints, but neither Rhaenys nor Laenor had dared say anything, so he ignored them. And after the first Lannister that publicly whined about it was devoured by Caraxes, the men became incredibly quiet. They could rest when they were dead.

It was the sudden snow that had forced them to make camp and reorganize themselves. They were expecting winter, just not yet, and not so cold. It gave the men a break for a day and a half.

He flew Caraxes as the first snow fell, letting himself get lost in the cold and the misty skies. As he closed his eyes and let his dragon guide him through the clouds, he imagined Y/N's arms wrapped around his torso, holding on tight. She had never ridden Caraxes with him, despite accompanying him to the dragonpit many times to see him off and welcome him back.

It will be too obvious and I do not wish to be questioned on my virtue, she had said. I will ride with you once we're free from these shackles.

Now the opportunity was gone forever, and the shackles had become even tighter around their wrists. He placed his hand on his armored chest, where he kept her letter, just beneath the steel.

They were supposed to be together, to face adversities side by side, not fight each other. Maybe if she had been a dragon riding Targaryen instead of a wolf they could've run off together. Why did he even harbor feelings for a woman so different from him? There was not a single drop of blood of Old Valyria in her, yet her aura was just as magical. Whenever their fingers touched, and their eyes connected, he felt it deep inside him. A bond similar to the one he had with Caraxes, one that didn't need words for understanding, and was just as deep. Y/N was part of him and his life just as his own dragon was, forever. He dared say she was even more important. If Caraxes was one of his limbs, Y/N was his beating heart.

It had taken them nine more days walking under the storm to reach Winterfell. As he mounted Caraxes, ready to fly towards the castle, he noticed his hands shaking. He cursed under his breath, forcefully grabbed the reins, and disappeared into the sky.

What was wrong with him? He had been tasked to lead the army with Caraxes, and his hands were shaking? What was he, a fucking idiot knight that had never even jousted before? With his jaw clenched, he gained speed as he flew towards Winterfell. Caraxes cried out, feeling his anger, and the castle finally became visible.

He barely had a second to find Y/N's position —a white spot with dark hair on the battlements— when large bolts were fired in his direction. He evaded them effortlessly, knowing they couldn't get too close without becoming an easier target. Y/N had delivered what she had promised.

"Do not fly toward the castle yet!" he warned Rhaenys, flying next to her. "They have bloody scorpions."

She nodded and he flew away, four more bolts meant for Caraxes disappearing into the sky. He looked down, seeing their army finally meeting the one awaiting them at Winterfell, but something was wrong. He descended, focusing his purple eyes on their men, and noticed they were bloody and disordered, and some of them even tried to run away.

The anger brewing inside him grew into sheer fury. Frowning, he flew even lower, inspecting the men under his command as Caraxes dodged the bolts sent his way. This was the King's army? A bunch of cowards and useless boys, clashing against the Stark army on the front lines and being cut down as if they were nothing? Madness took over him as he uttered his command.

"Dracarys."

He didn't even bother to look at the battlements anymore, focusing solely on the front lines. He left a trail of fire as he burned both sides to death, wreaking havoc as the men screamed and tried to move backward, with nowhere to go. No, they would burn. He didn't care for cowards that couldn't even lift their swords properly against their enemy. And he definitely didn't care for Y/N's men, no matter how tough they were.

Dragons would win this battle.

The chaos he caused on the frontlines spread to the rest of the armies, but another rain of bolts forced Caraxes to fly higher and stop his attack. He focused back on the battle, noticing Seasmoke slowly flying away. They had managed to hurt him.

It was only then he realized Rhaenys was flying straight toward the battlements, toward Y/N. It looked like it was happening in slow motion; the Red Queen majestically burning everything in her path and directing her fury to the woman in command. He was unaware he had stopped breathing until his lungs begged him for fresh air. And then everything was happening at the speed of light again. Daemon wasn't thinking anymore, he was acting. He whispered a few words to Caraxes, determined to reach Meleys before it burned Y/N to death. Another round of bolts forced him to dodge and stay away once again.

He placed his hand on his armored chest, feeling the folded letter under it, as he watched what was about to happen.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

A sudden storm with rocks made of ice and cold rain fell upon them. Caraxes screeched in shock and pain, and Daemon placed his hand above his head to avoid getting hit by the stones, cursing himself for not bringing his helmet. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the battlements, searching for Y/N behind the rain and the storm. A flash of lightning illuminated her crown and he saw her standing there again.

She was alive.

He whispered a few words of comfort to Caraxes as he placed a hand on the scales of his neck, calming him down. He felt calm again as well.

But the battle was not over.

He would burn the rest of her army and force her to surrender.

"Dracarys!"

Letting the storm fall on him and his dragon, knowing he could weather it, he attacked again. This time his eyes searched for Y/N's, though.

And they finally met.

She looked at him briefly before turning around and leaving, and he didn't even know how, but he knew what she meant.

Agreeing, he ordered Caraxes to fly west, and as they left the battlefield the storm suddenly stopped and the skies were just grey. The grass was wet, but it wasn't raining anymore.

He saw her white figure a second before Caraxes landed before her, and he dismounted, walking to meet her again.

She stood before him dressed in a long white fur coat, with her hands holding each other, his ruby ring the only color to disrupt the white and grey vision before him. There was something different about her, Caraxes could feel it and he could too. Something magical. She held herself regally, her grey eyes bright yet emotionless as she watched him approach. His own eyes widened as he saw her crown shined with blue ice. Her direwolf stood next to her, as tall as she was.

She looked otherwordly. The smell of winter roses permeated the air. He stood there, admiring the sight before him. She had always been beautiful, yet she had never looked as divine as she did right then.

She truly looked like a Queen. A Queen of beauty and ice.

A Queen he would've gladly bent the knee to, had the circumstances been different.

"Daemon," she greeted, snapping him out of his trance.

"Y/N," he answered, studying her face. She looked as young as always. "Nice crown. How did you get it? Blood magic?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I do not meddle with such things. You know it."

"You managed to injure a dragon and survive a deadly attack from another one. I am not sure I know anything about you anymore."

She smiled, lovingly but not without pride.

"I am Queen in the North now. Ice runs through my veins. But there is nothing supernatural about war strategy and a few well-made scorpions. I did warn you."

"What about the storm?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You should call yourself Queen of Ice. It appears that is what you are now."

She remained impassive.

"The Gods have granted me the power to win this battle, that is all," she explained, her hand reaching for her crown and taking it off. The ice melted immediately. "Any more questions?"

"Yes, actually. What is the plan now? Take down Meleys? Try to kill me?" he walked a few steps closer to her, his voice coming out as a whisper. "Because right now you're at a disadvantage, love."

Her stare remained cold as he approached her, not moving an inch.

"Take down Meleys and take you as a hostage to force the crown to back down," she stated. "We will let you go when spring comes."

He laughed in disbelief. Had Y/N forgotten who she was talking to? Her crown made of ice didn't change the fact he was still a dragon, and a proud one.

"I would rather be killed by your cunt lords than be your hostage."

Y/N smiled slightly.

"I figured as much. What is your plan then, Daemon?"

"I'm still undecided," he said simply. "I planned to go back, burn every single person still alive in Winterfell, and come get you."

"And take me where?"

He shrugged.

"Where do you want to go?"

Sadness passed briefly through her eyes before she composed herself again. Why was she trying so hard to play her role in front of him? He knew her as she was.

Yet he understood, partly. He had been sent to kill her. She had her own duties as well.

"You'll have to kill me to get back on that dragon, Daemon," she whispered. "I am not forcing you, I am asking you. Pretend to be our hostage. Live this winter by my side. You'll have chambers next to mine. I'll warm your bed at night."

He shook his head, wondering what had gotten into her. They both knew how this encounter had to end, and they were both trying to take a different path. Yet it seemed they couldn't even agree on that.

"And yet I'd still be a prisoner, away from Caraxes, away from everything I know."

"By my side," she insisted.

He laughed again, but it was far from funny. A Targaryen prince forced to spend months, or even years, inside a dark castle, unable to ride his own dragon, unable to feel the wind on his face as he flew above the clouds. History books would not be kind to him.

"My offer is to run away together, as equals," he said. "Yours is I become your prisoner. I think you know the answer, Y/N."

"Then there is no use in further negotiations."

There was a brief silence between them as they looked at each other.

Her grey eyes were sad but determined. She knew it was her duty as Queen to end the bloodshed.

And it was his as Prince, as the King's appointed commander, to end it as well. Even if he loved her.

His gaze hardened as he ordered his dragon to leave. There was no point in Caraxes being there to watch. Even if he commanded him to burn her to death, he wouldn't. The bond they shared was so strong Caraxes could do what Daemon needed without the need for verbal commands, yet that also meant he wouldn't obey his words if they weren't true to his heart.

"Caraxes, qrīdrughāks," he said. Then he looked at the woman in front of him. "No beasts. Just you and me."

Y/N nodded, looking at her wolf.

"Storm, go away."

Both their companions hesitated for a few seconds, and then Caraxes flew and Storm ran, both getting lost in less than a minute.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister as Y/N did the same with Ice, letting her crown fall to the ground. He cut at her immediately and the sound of swords clashing was heard as she met him halfway, their blades forced against each other as their eyes met.

"Are you sure you can fight with that sword?" he questioned. "It seems ridiculously large."

"It is also ridiculously light," she countered, getting out of the way and slashing at him again from his left.

She landed blow after blow at him, and he blocked all of them with ease. He knew how she fought. He sometimes joined her in the courtyard when she trained. She was by no means bad at it, but she wasn't as good as he was. And she was slowly starting to realize it as he made no attempts to attack and merely defended himself, not breaking a sweat.

Y/N halted her attack then, narrowing her eyes at him, and reached for her collar to unfasten her coat. It fell to the ground, leaving her dressed in a simple grey dress and a breastplate. She didn't stop looking at him as she got out of her armor with great difficulty, sticking her sword in the ground to do so. He lifted a brow as he looked at her, admiring her beauty, before deciding to follow her example. His armor was light, Valyrian steel, but if she was going to fight unprotected, so was he.

He made sure her letter was still kept in the inside pocket of his shirt before picking up his sword again.

She did the same, grabbing the skirts of her dress and bunching it up before slashing at it with her sword, letting parts of it fall to the ground. She ruined it, leaving the skirt cut unevenly and barely reaching her knees, allowing her to move more freely and allowing him to admire her boots. He wished she would take those off too, so he could take a look at her legs.

Finally, she let her scabbard fall to the ground with the rest of her clothes.

And then she came at him again, attempting to cut at him, and he stopped her. This time, though, he fought back. They went back and forth for a few minutes, as Y/N's skills improved drastically without the unnecessary baggage, and they were almost matched.

Almost.

After forcing her to walk back a few steps as he used all his force to cut at her, he finally managed to disarm her as her sword flew backward and fell to the ground. He pointed his own sword at the center of her chest and she lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender.

She was defeated.

He only had to end it now.

But then she raised an eyebrow at him with mischief and dipped to the ground, doing a barrel roll in his direction that ended with her clutching his legs with both arms, throwing him off balance.

Even then, he managed not to fall, using his sword as a cane to stay upright as his legs were forced together.

He hadn't forgotten Y/N's love of hand-to-hand combat, he just didn't expect it. He remembered she had shown him some moves once, explaining that since she, as a lady, almost never carried a sword, had to be a better fighter without blades. He had never taken it seriously. If your enemy has a sword and you have nothing, you are as good as dead, he had told her.

The problem was she was fucking good at it.

"Are you seriously going to fight me like this?" he asked, feeling her grip tightening.

She smirked at him from the ground, her arms refusing to let go of his legs.

"There is no such thing as a fair fight, Daemon," she said. "Scared you'll lose?"

He attempted to point his sword at her again, but the second he lifted it from the ground she moved like a gazelle, rising to elbow him in the gut with her right arm and catch his wrist with her left. As he gasped at the unexpected blow, she forcefully rotated his wrist as far as it would go. They exchanged looks as he refused to let go of his sword and grasped her hair with his left hand, pulling on it to try and bring her down. She clenched her jaw as she looked at him, clutching his wrist even harder and sinking her nails into his skin until she drew blood.

"What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?" he hissed, trying to ignore the pain as blood started running down his arm.

Y/N didn't answer. She used her free arm to punch him square across the jaw and twisted his wrist even more until his hand couldn't hold his sword anymore. Dark Sister fell to the ground. Now both of them were disarmed. He turned to look at her again with fire in his eyes, refusing to let go of his grip on her hair. She might've managed to disarm him, but she couldn't expect to win against his brute force. He could knock her out with a punch if he wanted to.

"Winning," she said, at last. She finally allowed herself to fall, following the pull of her hair, and landed on her knees. He remained standing with her dark locks still held tightly in his hand.

"You're fucking mad," he whispered, watching as she pulled a dagger from inside her boot. He walked a step backward to avoid getting stabbed, pulling on her hair again even harder than before, forcing her to look up at him.

"And you fucking love me for it," she responded, raising the dagger to her head and slashing at her hair, freeing herself with one clean cut.

He looked at her as she stood up and then at his fist that still held strands of her long dark hair. He opened his hand, letting it fall with a soft smile on his face.

She was fucking right. He loved her, his wild wolf. And he loved her even more when she got her hands dirty.

She ran at him with the dagger raised and he stopped it midway through, catching her arm just before the blade could stab his neck. She attempted to punch him with her other hand, but he caught that one too. Their eyes connected once again, grey against purple, both determined to win this fight.

Her hair was now shoulder-length, still wet from the earlier rain, and he could see the sweat running down her forehead. Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing. And she looked at him with her brows furrowed, completely focused on defeating him. On killing him.

He felt himself getting aroused as they gazed at each other. She was always stunning when she was polished and ladylike, but she was fucking luscious when she was out for blood.

He would have let her kill him if it meant she would fuck him one last time.

It was a game of push and pull, he didn't let her go, and she changed strategies between trying to pull away and trying to hurt him.

"You're right," he admitted, his eyes wandering down her body. "I love you for it."

She seemed taken aback for just a second, which he used to twist her arm just as she had done to him previously, forcing her to let go of the dagger that fell to the ground. His grip was so tight he was sure he would leave bruises, not unlike the ones he had left on her hips and thighs once, after nights of incredible passion.

"You have me," she said, at last. Her arms let up as she leaned forward, her face getting closer to his. She raised a brow, challenging him. "Take me, then."

His eyes moved to her lips, soft and wet, waiting for him. He leaned down, kissing her with the passion of a man that knew this was the last time he would kiss the woman he loved. She kissed him back fervently, and for a moment it felt like nothing else existed in the world but the two of them, loving each other until the end of time.

That illusion was shattered as soon as they parted.

She kicked him in the groin with the full strength of her leg, forcing him to let go of her as she jumped him, wrapping herself around him and using her entire body weight to make him fall backward, falling on top of him.

He groaned, cursing under his breath, and closed his eyes briefly as the pain of the fall slowly faded away. The feeling of a cold blade against his neck made him open them again.

Y/N sat on top of him, with her legs around his torso, as she held the dagger to his throat. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, and he swallowed, waiting for her to do her duty.

Yet she took too long, and that was enough for him to flip them over, making her lose her dagger again as they exchanged positions. He took the blade in his hands and traced a pattern down her neck with it.

"You shouldn't have hesitated," he whispered, looking into her eyes. It pained him he had to take the life out of them. The bright, grey eyes he loved so much. "Never hesitate."

"Then why do you?" she asked, sprawled underneath him, defeated.

He didn't have a chance to answer as the distant sound of horse hooves approaching distracted him. They both looked as three men on horses made their way toward them, dressed in the simple silver armor of the northerners.

"Harm her, and I will run you over with my horse until you're dead!" shouted the old, white-haired man that reached them first.

Daemon lifted his hands in the air, signaling he meant no harm, and let the dagger fall to the ground once again. Y/N moved under him, sitting up.

"Lord Karstark," she greeted. "What is going on?"

"The battle is won, Your Grace," he said, dismounting. He drew his sword at Daemon, who looked around only to find Dark Sister completely out of reach. And he had no idea where Caraxes was.

Y/N punched his leg, mouthing at him to get up. He did, offering her his hand so she could do the same. There was no point in continuing the fight now, he had no way of winning.

He was relieved.

"How many men did we lose?" she asked after Daemon helped her up, making her way toward her men.

He noticed the old man's demeanor turned even more serious then.

"Almost all of them, my Queen," he answered.

He couldn't see Y/N's expression from behind her, but he could guess she was harboring immense guilt. Thousands of her men had died in a useless quest.

"What of Rhaenys?" Daemon asked, stepping forward. "The other dragon. What happened to it?"

The Karstark man and Y/N exchanged a look as she nodded at him almost imperceptibly, and he proceeded to answer.

"An archer managed to wound her and she flew away."

"Wound her?" he questioned. "How badly?"

Silence.

"Will Princess Rhaenys survive, Lord Karstark?" Y/N asked. "Her death means we should expect an attack from both Houses Targaryen and Velaryon."

"It was an arrow to her neck," the old man responded. "She was wounded enough that her dragon carried her away. I can't tell if she will survive or not."

"You can expect an attack from both Houses just for wounding her, anyway," Daemon interjected.

Y/N turned to look at him with empty eyes.

"Then there is no point in keeping you alive, is there?" she asked. She looked at her men then, who had also dismounted their horses. "Shackle him. I shall execute him at sunrise, in Winterfell."

He admired her display of strength and leadership; no wonder they had named her their Queen. Yet he wondered if she was speaking the truth and was finally ready to do her duty, or if she would try to find a way around it again.

He felt the heavy iron of one of the shackles tightening around his right wrist as her two guards surrounded him.

"Tighter," she instructed. "And behind his back. Do not underestimate him."

"I can't ride a horse to Winterfell with my hands behind my back, my Queen," he mocked with a bow of his head.

"That won't be a problem," she said simply. "Winterfell is not far. We will walk."

The walk lasted less than an hour, in complete silence, with Y/N and Karstark leading. The literal shackles were more uncomfortable than the metaphorical ones Y/N kept bringing up.

When they finally arrived, the battlefield was barely visible because of the fog and the smoke. Yet there was something that made Y/N stop in her tracks, and everybody else did as well. Daemon walked until he reached her side, noticing her eyes were fixed on the scene in front of her. What was she looking at?

And then he saw it.

Men, dead men, rising to their feet and walking around. Headless men, men without arms, men burned to a crisp. They walked.

"What is happening?" Y/N whispered, so low he could barely hear it.

"This is..." Karstark started to speak and shut up, not knowing how to continue.

Daemon walked one step forward, his purple eyes unable to look away.

"Y/N..." he said. "What did you do?"

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Next chapter.

If you like my writing, make sure to check out my masterlist and my page, where you can support me or read updates on what I'm working on and leave your comments.

Have a nice day!

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Tagging: @batprincess1013 @lollaa-puff @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mamamooqa @queenmendes @chevelledahuman @thanyatargaryen @zgzgzh @boofy1998 @lovelokiqueen @kmhappybunny240 @dudde-44 @dankfarrikdin @gothicgay14 @ilovemarauders @ilovemydinoboi @asgardiandeadpoetsociety @how2besalty @kaitieskidmore1 @thhriller @omgsuperstarg @missyviolet123 @booksnink13

TAG LIST CLOSED. If you asked to be tagged and you are not here, it's because tumblr wouldn't let me tag you. Sorry. I'll use the tag #queenoficeprinceoffire so you can follow anyway.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #queenoficeprinceoffire #daemon targaryen x stark!reader

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devskindawritingblog · 4 months

Text

Materialist

Click to help Palestine 🇵🇸 🍉

Yellowjackets

( I mostly write x reader but the ones that are character x character will have a ❤️ after the link)

Lottie Matthews 1996

Christmas headcannons

Gingerbread chaos

Faux Love

Lottie Matthews 2021 Pottery

Natalie Scatorccio 1996 Christmas headcannons

Unexpected Christmas

Jealousy,jealousy

Ghostface!Nat

Shauna Shipman 1996

Christmas Headcannons

Transmasc!shauna

Christmas Confessions

Jackie Taylor 1996 Christmas headcannons

Gift of warmth

Van Palmer 1996

Christmas headcannons

Wrapped in love

Ghostface!TaiVan

Princess!Taissa x Knight!van❤️

Misty Quigley 1996

Christmas headcannons Soccer Bells

Misty Quigley 2021

Bandages

Jealous? (She is with it )

Taissa Turner 1996

Christmas headcannons

Family Christmas

Ghostface!TaiVan

Princess!Taissa x Knight!van❤️

Laura Lee 1996

Christmas headcanonns Drunken Love

Bumps and bruises

Mari 1996 Mari Fluff Headcannons

I will update this whenever I post a new fic . Or I will add a new thing I write for one of the older versions and I have the link to this in my pinned post . <3

#yellowjackets x reader #jackie taylor x reader #taissa turner x reader #van palmer x reader #misty quigley x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #lottie matthews x reader #laura lee x reader #shauna shipman x reader #taivan

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holylottie · 3 months

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aching bones, aching teeth [05]

masterlist [socials and TW's]

PAIRING — Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

CHAPTER SINOPSIS — A reunion ball takes place on your old school. A reunion of memories burn your mind.

NOTE — english is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you might find. Please read the tw's first! Thank you for reading :)

2021

— So, what does it say?

You asked, looking at the cards in front of you. Only one could be read clearly from where you stood: XXI the world; The others weren’t very readable, but you could recognize a knight in one of them.

You were never one to believe in other things rather than God, but you needed a signal, it didn’t matter where it came from.

In the past, it would come with pretty lips and bangs, nowadays you had to contempt yourself with cards.

— The world usually means a completion of cycle, a chance to inspire others with what you’ve learned, however, your card is on reverse, which means you haven’t truly accepted the end of it yet. You are stuck.

You put on a facade, feeling your stomach start to boil with anger. Not over the tarot lady, but at yourself, at the truth.

Stupid plane, stupid game. Stupid heart that didn't know when to stop loving and when to start thinking.

You couldn't even watch a football game without balling your eyes out, how embarrassing was that?

— The eight of wands is about action and accomplishment, it talks about coming to terms with transformation of one’s own relocation or even, well, sexuality… — she keeps going, like she hadn't filled your mind with questions and worries — Now, the knight of swords… I can see you went through really hard conflicts — externally and internally — but this says for you to keep going, to maintain your pace: things will run smoothly as long as you keep going.

Keep going? Isn't that what you had been doing over the past years? Just surviving without exactly living?

You had never left the woods, not truly. Your mind was still in that cabin, your heart was still buried five feet deep in that mud, your soul was locked within the trees.

You were more lost in society than you were in that desert of hope.

— So, you have loved her for thirty eight years?

The madam needs to hold out her surprised face, perhaps even a mock disbelieving giggle after hearing your confession.

— No, we've met thirty eight years ago — you correct her, shaking your head — I've loved her my whole life, I just wasn't aware of it yet… but she was there, on the lucky coin on the ground to the kind words of strangers and being at the right place on the right time. She has always been there.

When you arrived at your house, it was more silent than normal.

You took a deep breath, going to your room to take a warm bath.

Your problem was your simplicity: to love Lottie was as simple as your lungs working, automatic. Well, automatic until you remembered it, then you got too self conscious and the Lottie-oxygen was ripped off you.

You stared at the dollhouse on the corner of your (filled with trinkets and blankets) room, frowning when you realized four dolls together. It wasn't exactly surprising, you've caught Misty and Natalie's doll together a couple of times, the same with the little Shauna and Taissa, but the four of them? Oh, that was different.

You looked at the clock. Strange. It wasn't very common for them to be so on time, but you wondered if things had changed.

Yes, perhaps they weren't the ones you've once known.

After the bath, you get yourself ready with an outfit you've picked three weeks ago, when the reunion ball had been announced. Twenty five years later. Twenty five.

A whole life.

You call a taxi, and you get to the school.

However, you stood in front of the building, unable to move, whether to enter or to leave. You just stood there, with a lost sight and aching heart.

An empty cage of flesh staring at the past.

It wasn't long till you found yourself in some company.

Natalie stared at you with those indifferent eyes of her, you wondered which one of your sins she was undressing.

— You saved me once, then tried to kill me.

Her voice was low, heavy on your ears as she smoked a cigarette.

— Well, don't be so upset, you're not special… — you giggle, nervous and anxious about the interaction, perhaps even embarrassed — I've done the same with Shauna.

— yeah, but it's different, you and I, it was different, — Nat shakes her head, not able to look you in the eye — we were truly friends.

— I'm sorry for upsetting you, Nat.

She giggles lowly.

— That's different than apologizing for doing it, — her eyes now are on you, angry — you can't even bring yourself to say it, can you?

You take a deep breath, looking at the floor like it has all the answers.

— I ask for your forgiveness like I ask God's one. — she waited for the “but” — I won't lie while trying to redeem myself, I cannot be sorry about anything I've done on her will.

Not even the devil had fallen as hard as you.

1996

You hold the meat on your palm, the blood running down your hands like red gloves, you have tears in your eyes, streaming down your face as you sob quietly. You didn't mind being the cook, having to be the one to take out the animal from the meat —be the one responsible for the others feeling a little bit more normal about the nerves and feet on their tongues. They could pretend they didn't know where it came from.

But you? You could never not remember the eyes of the rabbits, and the cheek of the deer.

However, you did mind today's date: you were supposed to be at the stage, dancing under the spotlight, waiting for Lottie backstage, waiting for her to give you a bouquet of flowers.

You wonder who got your solo — you wonder if you will ever be in the center of people's eyes again.

Lottie was watching you from inside the cabin, staring at you with care, her head resting on the window. She wished she could open a hole on time and freeze you two there together, perhaps in that way your worries of the future, present and past wouldn't cloud your happiness.

She wished she could morph her body into a wood platform and give herself for you to shine. She would make everybody in that cabin stop what they were doing to watch you, she would make sure everyone would clap at the end and smile during it.

But she couldn't, she couldn't make you dance when all you were thinking was how hungry everybody was, how soon it would all get to an end. You never said it, of course, too gentle and kind to confess your loss of hope, but Charlotte knew. She always knew.

And she needed to do something for you.

Something to change what she had seen —not your dance, but you in her visions.

You on a plate.

When Lottie got closer to you, you first felt the touch of her hands on yours.

When Lottie smiled, you felt your heart explode into a thousand needles.

When Lottie got even closer, with her lips shaking, you felt like you could ascend to heaven for being known by an angel.

And when she kissed you, everything sang. You felt like her lips could end wars — but, who knows, perhaps start then too. There wouldn’t be enough warriors for all the Troy’s she would make fall under her touch.

If beauty had been born in the ocean with Aphrodite, under Lottie’s touch Venus had been reborn.

You would put your own blood on the cabin's door to save Lottie from her own sins — you weren’t sure what you would do to save yourself, but you weren’t able to think about it that much: there were thousands of screams in your ears.

Had you already been sent to hell?

— Breath, Lottie, it’s okay.

You stood silent while holding your hands on the girl’s ears, trying your best to mute Van’s screams. You turn your head around, not able to look at Charlotte’s hurt expression. Your eyes meet Jackie’s and you two share an understanding look.

Your heart ached for Van —she had done what you would've done too: follow your heart to the depths of the woods.

You put Lottie’s head on your shoulder, hugging her tightly and, when the screams ceased, you stared at her again, taking a deep breath.

God would make a fifth hell if he knew how sinful you were; if he knew how your only true devotion was to Lottie’s soul.

You didn’t mind it though — nothing could be warmer than her embrace.

You came back from Misty, bathroom time, the trees in the walk there had ripen a piece of your dress that you instantly tied to cover.

But Charlotte saw, she looked at your scraped knees, almost in living flesh.

— applepie... What have you done?

Both your eyes widened — one in surprise, the other in fear.

— I mortified.

— I know what it is, what I want to know is why.

You didn't have the courage to look her in the eye, you barely had the courage to stand up, to stand in the sight of your best friend.

— I, I...

— You don't even have the courage to admit it, because you know you shouldn't. It's different with us, don't you realize? You're not afraid, you're not afraid because you know you're not wrong, or do you think we're wrong? Do you think we should suffer and die just because we love someone different than what is expected?

Charlotte's questions went on and on, Your head began to spin, you felt dizzy, your stomach in your throat, your heart devastated.

— No! I don't think we should die, that's the problem, Charlotte! —you shouted back, thick tears streaming down your face, your hands shaking from the adrenaline rush in your body — That's the problem, I can't think it's wrong... I can even make a mistake, then I ask for forgiveness, repent and never make it again, but this? But us? Oh, Charlotte, I sin and I want to sin again and again and again. I look to the heavens and I can't see any god greater than you, I can't believe that there is anything more divine than your lips on mine... don't you see how wrong that is? How can I commit countless blasphemies just because I love you?

— Love isn't a sin, it's salvation, darling...

— So why do I feel so dirty? — your speech was interrupted by crying, which intensified when Lottie's arms gripped you tightly in a strong, secure embrace.

— Because they made you feel this way, because they're the ones who made up the rules, that doesn't mean they're right rules, — Lottie moved closer to her best friend's face, putting her hands on you, holding your cheeks — if it was something that needed a cure, why would God have made you sick from the start? No one is born to suffer, sweetheart. Not even the lamb.

You wanted to kill her.

You truly wanted to kill Laura Lee, but not in a dictionary definition of killing, you wanted to lock her in the forest cage you all were in and deny her freedom of choice. You wanted to murder her hope and stupidity.

To think of flying was one thing, to actually open your wings and decide to jump was another one, very different.

— I want to go with you, — you cry out, eyes stained with tears, your cheeks burning — Leonard won’t mind sharing the seat.

Laura smiled sweetly at you, her hand going to yours.

—You need to stay and pray here, — she answered, a lovely smile on her face — besides, Lottie needs someone around.

— You need someone too.

— I’ll always have you two. And you two will always have me.

Her response is the end of the conversation, and you take a few steps away, going to Lottie’s embrace to watch Laura Lee go.

#yellowjackets #itmighthavebeenlibrary #aching bones aching teeth #reader insert #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie yellowjackets

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silver-pieces · 2 years

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misty knight masterlist

All Misty Knight fanfics. 18+ only.

Divider ❊ Guidelines ❊ Masterlist ❊ Taglist

Oneshots & Drabbles

Onto You - 31/05/22 ~ Your double life as a criminal mastermind and the partner of a cop reaches a breaking point when Misty starts to suspect you. (Misty Knight x gn!reader)

#misty knight #misty knight x reader #misty knight x you #mercedes knight #mercedes knight x reader #mercedes knight x you #luke cage #iron fist #defenders #nmcu #nmcu x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wlw #lesbian #bisexual

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thethreeeyed-raven · 30 days

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⋆♱ AHS ♱⋆

navigation

🕷️fluff | 🕸️angst | 🐈‍⬛suggestive | 🪦platonic

⋆♱ MURDER HOUSE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Tate Langdon ♱⋆

🕷️ • meeting him in the murder house | gn!reader • part two

headcanons

⋆♱ Violet Harmon ♱⋆

🕷️ • being her best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ ASYLUM ♱⋆

⋆♱ Kit Walker ♱⋆

🕷️ • the first step | x fem!reader

🕸️ • it’s okay to cry | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 🕸️ • home | x gn!reader

⋆♱ COVEN ♱⋆

⋆♱ Kyle Spencer ♱⋆

🕷️ • party party | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Misty Day ♱⋆

🕷️ • listening to fleetwood mac with her | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Nan ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Queenie ♱⋆

🕷️ • being her best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Zoe Benson ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ FREAKSHOW ♱⋆

⋆♱ Dandy Mott ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Jimmy Darling ♱⋆

🕷️ • defending him | x gn!reader

⋆♱ HOTEL ♱⋆

⋆♱ James Patrick March ♱⋆

🕷️ • buying him a dog | headcanons | x reader

⋆♱ Tristan Duffy ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ CULT ♱⋆

⋆♱ Ally Mayfair-Richards ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Beverly Hope ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Kai Anderson ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ APOCALYPSE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Cordelia Goode ♱⋆

🕸️ • as i watch you die | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Michael Langdon ♱⋆

🕸️ • qui totum vult totum perdit | x gn!reader

🕷️ • halloween party | x gn!reader

🕷️ • trick or treating | x gn!reader

🕷️ • bonfire night | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 5th of November | x gn!reader

🕷️ • new years | x gn!reader

🕷️ • valentines together | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Mr Gallant ♱⋆

🕷️ • being his best friend | headcanons | x gn!reader

⋆♱ 1984 ♱⋆

⋆♱ Bobby Richter ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • 🪦 • finally | x sibling!reader

⋆♱ Xavier Plympton ♱⋆

🕷️ • i cared too much that it killed me | x gn!reader

⋆♱ DOUBLE FEATURE ♱⋆

⋆♱ Austin Sommers ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • saving you from the pale people | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Harry Gardner ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ TB Karen ♱⋆

🕷️ • inspiration | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Valiant Thor ♱⋆

nothing yet

@lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom • @fangsp1der-2099 • @knight-of-flowerss

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briaroftheroses · 2 months

Text

Request Rules

I’m finally getting around to writing out my request rules! If you would like to request a fic, hc set, drabble, etc. please read over these rules before submitting. Please also check this post regularly as I will add things as I go.

Things I Will Write For

Fem/GN reader, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, dark themes/fics, praise, degradation, use of strap ons, p in v, creampies, throat fucking, both m and f receiving oral, multiple characters in one fic, choking, impact play, mild pain play, bondage (nothing with legs being restrained though), d/s dynamics, BDSM, dub-con/non-con, piss, boot play/worship.

Things I Will Not Write For

Male reader, character x character with no reader, beastiality, pedophilia, scat, underage characters, heavy blood play, non-canon character death (except for in the case of things like murder house and hotel in which they would become a ghost), gore, real-life people (such as actors), even though I might write for dom reader please do not request it.

If there’s anything not mentioned here, feel free to ask before making a request.

Characters I Write For

Evan Peters

Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Austin Sommers, Peter Maximoff, Warren Lipka, Luke Cooper, feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here (please no spoilers for any season of AHS after Freak Show as I haven’t finished the show yet)

AHS

Vivien Harmon, Violet Harmon (platonically), Billie Dean Howard (only in Murder House currently), Alma Walker, Lana Winters, Sister Mary Eunice McKee, Zoe Benson, Marie Laveau, Madison Montgomery (depending on the request), Cordelia Foxx/Goode, Misty Day, Fiona Goode, young!Fiona Goode, Amazon Eve, Desiree Dupree, Dandy Mott, The Countess, Sally McKenna (please no spoilers for Hotel in any requests as I haven’t finished it yet).

Matthew Gray Gubler

Spencer Reid, Chip Taylor, Thorn (King Knight), Raymond (Suburban Gothic), Wes (Dollface), Paul ((500) Days of Summer), feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

Criminal Minds

Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau, Elle Greenaway, Cat Adams, feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

WWE

Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio, TJD (only if including Rhea), Liv Morgan, Becky Lynch.

this list will be updated regularly as i watch more shows/movies/seasons of ahs, so feel free to check regularly :) also feel free to ask about characters not listed, but there is no guarantee i will write for them.

#briars navigation #request rules

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platinumrosetail · 3 months

Text

Mlp masterlist (male and genderbend females):

Ideas:

All:

Gen 4

Dusk shine- twilight sparkle:

Butterscotch- flutter shy:

Elusive- rarity:

Applejack:

Rainbow blitz- rainbow dash:

Bubble berry- pinkie pie:

Prince Artemis- Princess Luna:

Prince Solaris- princess celestia:

King metamorphosis- queen chrysalis:

Dark horse knight- nightmare moon:

Sundown glare- sunset shimmer:

Star shine beam- starlight glimmer:

Prince bolero/charming- princess cadence:

Flash sentry:

Flash sentry x rival male tsudere!reader

Discord:

Tirek:

Gen 5

Sun star chaser/ sunny starcout:

Hitch:

Pippin petals/ pipp petals:

Issac moonbow/ Izzy moonbow:

Zephyr cyclone/ zephyr storm:

King haven/ queen haven:

Mist blossomforth/ misty blossomforth:

Alphabittle blossomforth:

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aquietlifesblog · 1 year

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Hungry Eyes (Dio X F!Reader) 3/6

He’d met Lord Pendleton before—he’d come once to visit the Joestar estate. The man took one look at Dio and decided he wasn’t worth acknowledging.

Your features may have been darker, but you carried his face.

Dio Brando knows what it's like to be hungry, to reach for more in life. He can use your ambition to destroy the man who slighted him and discard you just as easily.

He never planned to like you.

Read the Full Story on AO3

Note: this chapter contains instances of sexual cohesion / dubious consent (there are no graphic descriptions of sex, but it's clear what's going on here.) -suicidal ideation mention/reference.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 2: Set Adrift

You acted by instinct, plunging your hand into his chest and stealing the blood from Lord Pendleton's veins. You felt nothing as you watched him wither, trading his life for vitality and strength. You took until there was nothing left, and your father was nothing but an empty husk on the floor.

“You haven’t lost your intelligence, have you?” Dio sneered, a hand resting on his hip as he watched.

You could see everything, though the room was cast in grey. You blinked slowly and spoke only after raising to your feet.

“What have you done to me?” There was no anger in your voice then, no sadness, no fear; you didn't mourn the life he took from you.

His presence was like a light in the darkness, a golden glow that pulled you in and gave you a reason to live. You wanted nothing else but to please him. He enthralled you.

“I've given you a special gift: the gift of my blood." His voice was soft as he brought you closer, pressing your body flush against his own. "I've made you into something better, something that transcends humanity itself."

Dio no longer had a heartbeat, but you rested your head against him, lulled by the gentle strength of his words. For a moment, all was well. You didn't yet understand the truth of your strange existence, but any question you had withered like a flower in the cold.

"Come with me," he commanded, grabbing Lord Pendleton's body with one hand and guiding you toward the misty streets with the other. Your nightgown was thin, nearly threadbare at the seams, but you thought nothing of the chilling breeze.

Dio dumped the corpse in an alley to be devoured by rats before saying: "there is something I would like to investigate."

He wanted to learn the limits of your abilities, and how your existence differed from his own. So blood flowed through the streets of London that evening, moving swiftly through the cracks like rain.

You couldn't create a thrall, and your range of abilities paled in comparison to his. But you possessed a certain charm, one no mortal mind could resist; even the most ornery of city folk fell victim to your alluring gaze.

But, after letting you consume the blood of a rather attractive gentleman, Dio grew tired of standing in the rain.

He led you toward his carriage, a glittering dark monstrosity pulled by horses you knew were undead. The carriage was driven by a man you'd later know as Wang Chan, a zombie who paid you no mind yet greeted Dio with the reverence of a priest at the altar.

"Let us return," Dio said, guiding you into the carriage.

He sat beside you, not across, so you pressed in close to him as a lover might. Dio's wet clothes and cold skin provide you with no warmth, but you found you did not need it.

The horses took off quickly, moving faster than they might have done in life, moving toward a place the storm had yet to reach. The dark streets of London passed in an endless blur, giving away to midnight greenery.

Eventually, you arrived in a small hamlet, a secluded place surrounded by mountains and the sea.

“This is Windknight’s lot," he told you, "it was built as a training ground for knights many centuries ago. Now it serves as a prison. The inmates excavate coal underground while the people live their simple lives.” He brought your attention to the castle on the hill. It was a massive structure of grand arcs and pillars, the base claimed by an overgrowth of trees.

“That is where we will live.”

Dio said it was abandoned, but from the moment you entered, you could sense the presence of other beings. There were large, monstrous creatures writhing beneath your feet. Zombies.

Dio paid no mind to the presence and guided you to his room in the highest tower. It was dusty; the air was stale and cobwebs clung to the corners of the wall, but Dio pulled a sheet from a burgundy chaise and settled there without complaint.

You took this as your chance to roam freely, to inspect the contents of the room and the treasures that the previous residents left behind.

Your gown was still damp from the rain, your feet still bare. Yet Dio watched you with all the fondness of a cat observing his favorite prey.

***

Your memories of those days are still clouded, like a dream.

You were given the finest red dresses and the most fashionable shoes to wear. Your skin was doused with the sweetest perfume and your body was adorned with jewelry: golden rings, ornate bracelets, and necklaces set with glistening gems.

A queen stood reflected in your gilded mirror, but you were brought to that place to serve him.

Every night he'd send you to the village to fetch his next meal. It wasn't difficult. In fact, using your "charm" was easy. No one suspected anything of the woman in red who walked along the path at night, not even those you brought back to the castle.

The young women and men were glad to be there until Dio made short work of them. He didn't drain them all, however, and would sometimes choose to test his power instead. He'd create more zombies (but no other Vampires, you noticed), transform them into abominable creatures, and manipulate their flesh. Yet no one ever complained.

Dio was a god to those who served him, and you were his favorite supplicant: a humble girl sitting at his feet, wanting nothing else but him.

"You've done such a wonderful job," he would say, rewarding your efforts with a kiss or a pat on the head. But when the villagers you brought rejected his offer, when they refused to join his undead horde, Dio would turn to you with a disappointed scowl.

"Go and find a better one." He'd say after draining them and you would leave without a second thought.

Over and over, it was the same every day. You couldn't be sure how much time passed, but you assume it was more than a fortnight.

And it was hell.

But then, one day, something changed:

"You've been a good friend to me," Dio started, staring out the balcony and into the world. The sky was clear, and the bright light of the moon bathed his skin in a lovely silver glow. Dio held the stone mask between his pale hands, his brows drawn together in contemplation of something. He was so beautiful.

"I've always valued your loyalty, and yet I find myself unsatisfied as of late." He turned to you, his expression unreadable despite your best attempt. "What is it that you want? Are you satisfied?"

Your head tilted in confusion before turning to face your meal. She was beautiful before this moment, even as she screamed and cried and begged for your mercy. But you didn't care.

He sighed before you could provide an answer.

"Perhaps it was a mistake, making you like this." He muttered, a faraway look in his eyes.

"You could never make a mistake, Dio," was your eager reply.

But when his eyes narrowed, when he looked at you as though you were vermin at his feet, you knew you should not have spoken at all.

Dio's anger gave way to boredom, however, and he set the mask on the mantle.

He didn't need a fire for light or warmth, but he lit it anyway, and the room came alive with the warmth of its glow.

"You are correct," he said after a long time. "I, Dio, am the only one capable of standing on top of it all."

He dropped the stoker. It fell to the floor with a metallic clang that echoed through the room and triggered an awful memory:

Fear.

You remembered the night he approached you in your flat, how terrified you were. For the first time in all the years you spent together, you felt as though Dio wanted to hurt you. You thought he would betray the trust you placed in him and do something unspeakable. You didn't understand his strange appearance, his glowing eyes and ghostly pallor, but something strange hung heavy in the air, an overwhelming sense of wrongness.

You took several steps back to get away from him, but you were trapped between his body and the wall. He lifted your hand and you prepared for the worst...but he didn't hurt you—not in the way you imagined. He turned you into a monster instead.

"Come," Dio said, breaking you from your thoughts. He curled his finger toward himself and you approached him slowly.

"Are you feeling well, Dio?" You glanced at the mask on the mantle, understood the power it granted, and looked away. It wasn't your place to use it. So you followed Dio out of the room and toward his own.

"You should call me Lord Dio now, like the others," he demanded.

"Of course, Lord Dio." You complied, but he was still angry.

You weren't sure what it was you did wrong, why he was so angry. The old you, the girl you used to be, would have laughed at this request. You would have rolled your eyes and called him ridiculous.

Were things not better now?

You sat down on the bed, believing that's what he wanted, that you simply hadn't given him enough of yourself. He sneered.

"I fear this may be all you're good for now," he stood menacingly above you, sneered, and bunched your skirts up at the knees. "But you don't mind, do you?"

"I don't mind, Lord Dio." You told him, and that seemed to make him angry. Dio fingers pressed into the skin of your thigh so hard he might have shattered bone. You winced in pain.

You watched him, unsure of what to do.

As I thought. You would do anything for me…" He brought his free hand to your neck and squeezed. "I could give you to one of the beasts downstairs and you'd go quite happily on your way, wouldn't you? Perhaps I shall, if only to see how you'd behave."

Fear. You felt fear once again as your survival instincts surged to the forefront of your being. Dio must have noticed, because he laughed.

"Ah, is that what it takes you get a reaction? Perhaps I should drop you from the tower then, perhaps drown you beneath the sea? I could hold you down and slit your throat if I wanted. Would you even scream?"

"L-lord Dio? Please. I-"

"Don't give me such a look," he cut you off before you could apologize for whatever you did wrong and beg for his mercy. "As I said before, I still have use for you. You belong to me, even in this pathetic state."

His fingers inched slowly up your thigh, leaving scratches on your skin. Dio didn't even bother to undress you; he simply lifted your skirts and tore away the rest so he could take you.

Dio Brando was everything you hated at that moment: a powerful man, free to do as he pleased with you.

He would never face the consequences of his actions and you weren't allowed to hate him for it.

You tried so hard to hate him for it, but you were a prisoner of your own mind.

***

Your relationship with Dio changed that evening.

When you sat at his feet, he'd shoo you away. He now sent his zombies to fetch people from the village. (Terror was his main priority then. He felt no need to be discreet.)

When he did call you, it was almost always for something depraved:

He made you feast upon his screaming prey, made you watch as he tore the head off a man and grafted it to a dog's body, and made you watch his zombies feed upon each other to gain strength. He only provided you facsimiles of affection; a pat on the head, a kiss on the cheek, a flower tucked into your hair. And yet you stood dutifully beside him, like a dog waiting at her master's door.

“Lord Dio has no time for weak-minded fools!” Wang Chan taunted you. A wicked smirk stretched across his face as he approached you from behind.

You scowled, raised your arm, and slammed it back into Chan's small body. The black-and-white tiles cracked as he landed on the floor.

Chan's blood formed a puddle at your feet, but you ignored it.

You were outside Dio's door again and there was someone inside with him again, some foolish new prey. The woman inside began to scream.

You returned to your chambers when dawn approached, where a thick velvet curtain blocked the light of the sun. There was a large bookshelf in your bedroom, one carved with an expert hand that held books so old, your human mind would have struggled to read them.

You'd only just begun to read when the door opened and Dio sauntered through. Happy wasn't the word you'd use to describe his mood. Pleased perhaps, or maybe smug.

Nevertheless, he acted kindly toward you, as if his previous grudge fell by the wayside.

You were glad to have his attention again, have him in your bed again, have him speak to you like he used to. For a moment, you felt as though you had your friend back.

And then he told you the news:

Jonathan Joestar was on his way and he learned some new technique called Hamon, an ancient art especially suited for fighting vampires. Dio didn't fear him. No, he was overjoyed. He looked forward to his fight with Jonathan, to besting the only man to have ever beaten him. Dio was thrilled.

"Perhaps I'll send you to our hometown," he mused. Dio laid beside you like he used to, one arm bent behind his back at you curled into his side. "It might even be amusing...Jojo won't be alive to witness the devastation, but learning that his home has been destroyed will break his spirit nicely."

And thus you were sent on your way.

You left Windknight’s Lot as the sun fell below the horizon. Dio didn't offer you his carriage, so you took a horse instead.

And the further you were from Dio, the less pull he seemed to have on your psyche and the more like yourself you felt. Or perhaps something terrible happened to him in the night.

Nevertheless, the ever-present veil that blocked your thoughts lifted ever so slightly...and it nearly drove you mad.

You loved Dio. You hated Dio. You aspired to make him happy. He ruined your life. You were his friend. You were his slave.

"Is this all my life was meant to be?" You thought out loud. A life spent at the feet of a man who didn't give a damn about you? Was that not the life you tried so hard to escape?

The brisk chill of the night quieted the air. Joestar Manor was gone now but the town was as picturesque as always. You leaped off the horse and didn't care to stop it as it trotted away.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.

You dug your nails into the trunk of a tree and punched it several times over, pounding the bark till it leaned a little sideways. You kicked a fence over and ripped down someone's clothesline.

You caught sight of a looming shadow and approached the barn where you and Dio used to meet and punched the wall as hard as you snapped several planks.

And you hit it again, and again, and again till the building collapsed into a pile of itself.

The closet neighbors stirred, a few even lit the lanterns in their bedroom windows, but you didn't care. You stared down at the rubble, your hands clenched into fists so tight that your nails made holes in your skin.

You couldn't be sure how long you stood there, but you recognized the approaching dawn.

Part of you wondered if this life was worth living, if you should greet the sun and simply fade away…but then you didn't want to die. So, with no place left to go, you raced down the most familiar path and entered a house through the servant's quarters.

It was quiet, and you scoffed. Back when you were the kitchen maid, you would have been up hours ago, and you never would have left the remains of the previous night's dinner to crust over in the pots.

"That fool Edith must have been put in charge." You rolled your eyes before moving forward, toward the hidden cellar door. The Pendletons collected wine in a cellar so deep, you could feel the earth closing in around you.

The cool air felt damp, and spiders crawled along the dusty walls. But you found a pile of crates and claimed them at your resting spot.

And there you would wait.

The activity above was familiar to you; the waking of the house staff, the idle chatter of the maids, breakfast cooking, then luncheon, then dinner. Throughout it all you would hear Erina’s voice, her laugh, and the kind words she gave everyone around her. You heard her speak fondly of Jonathan, how brave and noble and handsome he was.

You bristled at the sound. It wasn’t fair.

You never met Jonathan, but you wanted nothing more than to snatch him away.

‘When Dio kills him,’ you thought, ‘then at least she’ll be miserable too.’

When the busy day drew into a quiet lull and everything above you fell to silence and you knew the house was sleeping.

'What will I do next?" you wondered as you prepared to leave. Would you return to Dio? Run away? Your heart still yearned for him despite all that he's done but returning would only re-cement his wicked spell, but not returning might be worse. He'd hunt you down and never let you leave again.

The hinges on the cellar door opened with a screech, so you left it open as you walked through the kitchen and out the door unseen. Or so you believed.

"Who's out there?" Erina’s voice came from a place high above you. You didn't need to turn to know she sat beside the window, a lantern in hand.

What was she doing? You wondered. Reading? Waiting for her precious Jonathan to return?

The light of her lantern angled forward, bathing the ground in a soft light that never quite managed to reach you.

You turned to leave.

"Hey, wait!” She called out by name. “Is that you? Wait! Don't go! Don’t leave!" Erina rushed away from the window. You could hear her shuffle, leave her room, and dash down the stairs as fast as she could.

"You're here!" A genuine, sunny smile stretched across her face as she opened the door. And barefoot, wearing nothing but her nightgown over the robe she threw across her shoulders, Lady Erina Pendleton stepped out onto the porch and into the grass. She left the door open, illuminating a path for you to take.

"I never thought I’d see you again!” Erina stopped once she realized you hadn’t moved toward her, choosing instead to remain in the shadow of the night. She hesitated.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked.

“I should be on my way.”

“I see…that's perfectly understandable. I know your time here wasn’t the most pleasant but…I did hope that I would see you again. There's something I'd like to give you.” Erina took a bold step forward, leaving the boundary of the light. She extended her hand toward you, revealing a ruby pendant to match the sapphire stone she always favored.

“This belonged to our grandmother,” she explained. “Well, I suppose it’s been in the family for much longer than that. I just thought you should have it; it belongs to you.”

“... our grandmother?” You repeated her words slowly, as though you needed to understand them for yourself. “You knew?”

You used to imagine how this conversation would go and never did it begin with Erina’s extension of an olive branch. And you always thought you’d be angry, not taken by surprise.

“...I do,” she confessed. “I never thought of it as a child, but I realized the truth not long before you left for the city. I was so terribly angry at Father and- but I suppose how I feel doesn’t matter." She shook her head.

"We were sisters and yet you were never given the acknowledgment you deserved. This home is yours as much as it is mine,” Erina gestured toward the open door. “I don’t know if there’s anything I could do to make up for all the time we lost or the pain Father caused you but…I want you to know you always have a home here.”

You wanted to laugh; you wanted to cry. Erina—silly, stupid, sincere Erina—she had no idea, did she? How would she react if you told her what you've done? What you are? You were responsible for her Mother's demise, the person who drained her father of his blood.

You could kill her where she stood...yet you made no move to do so.

Your anger, your rage, your ambition, your hunger—none of it mattered anymore. Dio stole it all away.

'And besides,' you thought, your grudge was never with Erina, anyway.

“I appreciate the invitation ” You took the pendant from her hand but would make no promises. “I should be on my way.”

Erina wanted to stop you. You saw it in the way she lurched forward, the way she extended her hand. But she stopped.

“Will you ever come back?" She asked.

"...it was nice to see you again, Erina." You said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder for the first time. She appeared to be surprised but said nothing of your chilly hands or pointed fingernails.

"Please be careful." Erina implored you, "It's late."

“There’s no need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” You released Erina from your hold, placed the pendant in the pocket, and walked away.

"Goodbye!" She called out, and you waved at your sister from the darkness.

***

Something certainly happened to Dio.

He wasn't dead. Not yet. But you no longer felt bound by his commands. You tested this by disobeying his order to destroy your hometown and refusing to return Windknight's Lot to find him.

You returned to London instead, a dark specter in the night.

***

Time passed.

You read about a boat accident in the paper, of which Erina was the sole survivor.

You tried your best to forget about Dio but you still felt his presence wherever you went. He was like a shadow, following you wherever you went but unable to affect you.

Though some nights you felt compelled to stand by the ocean, staring out into its vast depths as you longed to see him. And other nights you felt as though you were trapped in some small, dark place. And a few times, when the world was quiet around you, you found yourself thinking of heaven.

There were days you wanted nothing else but to die, but you were still connected to him. And his survival instincts kept you alive.

Time passed.

A man named Speedwagon and a group of monks made it their mission to hunt down creatures of the night. So you decided it was best to act in secrecy, taking blood in small doses from the people you charmed to avoid suspicion.

You kept in touch with Mr. Bishop, who left you all his money when he died at sea. He invested money into American oil, something about his fascination with the automobile. You envied his passion in life, the way in which he wizened with age, and how happy even the most simple of pleasures seemed to make him. You envied what he had, yet you knew it could never be.

"You're the daughter I always wish I had. I want you to live your life in comfort." He told you just months before you learned he died.

So you bought a house in the English countryside. hired staff to care for it and charmed them into secrecy.

Some offered their blood to you in exchange for better accommodations. Men hoped you could keep them feeble when the draft doctors came and pledged you many years of service. And when the men went off to fight in wars, women flocked to you in droves, each needing to support their families.

Rumors of the 'lady in red' spread like fire amongst the desperate, and you had no reason to deny them. Before long, your house was filled with those who owed you fealty; some even built houses nearby.

Soon, an entire community sprouted around you, entire households of people ready and willing to please you in exchange for easy lives.

You felt no real responsibility toward them, but they cared very little about that. Entire generations were born and died and you remained the same, as ever-present and distant as a god.

'We offer you our blood in libation,' They sang 'Let us nourish you so you may give us life.'

You never sought to stop them; they were free to worship as they pleased.

Though at some point, you sent a young man to keep an eye on the Speedwagon Foundation to ensure you weren't being monitored. But it seemed many new communities sprouted up after the first great war and all sorts of people were searching for something to believe in. Yours was nothing notable.

Time passed.

You watched the world change around you, and yet you stayed the same. Despite the strange religious movement your neighbors formed around you, you still only lived a facsimile of a life. Because through it all, you still felt Dio. You missed Dio. You hated him for what he did, but you knew you would always feel him.

The blood he gave you sustained you, filling your body with life.

Then one day in 1938, something awakened on the other side of the ocean. It wasn't Dio, no. This presence was far older and far more powerful than him.

And whatever it was, it called to you like a siren's song. Your blood recognized his blood. The blood of an Old Master.

You tried to block it out, tried to ignore it, but it felt almost painful to do so. You yelled out in frustration.

"What's going on? Are you right, My Lady?" It was late into the afternoon; you should have been asleep. The thick curtains were drawn, and you paced the room in agitation before finally falling to the floor. Your young maid, Theo, heard you up and came running.

She cried out when she saw you curled into a ball in the corner, hands pressed against your ears in a feeble attempt to silence the calling.

"No." You said, both to the maid and to the persistent thoughts that plagued you.

You wanted to leave, to run toward the ancient presence and throw yourself at his feet. For the first time in half a century, you felt as though you had a purpose… and you hated it.

You would never be at the mercy of another man, you told yourself. You would rather lock yourself in a coffin and toss yourself into the sea.

"I need your assistance." You instructed Theo to get in touch with the young man from the Speedwagon Foundation, to let you know what was going on.

And the report he gave was fascinating:

Joseph Joestar, A monk named Straizo, Pillar Men, Stone Masks…

The calling ended as abruptly as it had begun and you relished in the peace, albeit temporarily.

London was under siege, so travel was difficult. But you felt as though you had no choice but to procure a sturdy casket and have yourself flown to Mexico a few weeks later.

He'd grown remarkably older since you last saw him, but was happy to have kept your secret all these years.

"You supported my family when we needed it most. That is proof enough that not all vampires are evil." He praised you.

If only he knew the truth.

With a torch in one hand and a metal suitcase in the other, the man, Thomas, brought you to a temple. He was quick to expound facts about its history, the Aztec Empire, and a 'discovery of a lifetime.' He told you of a 'Pillar Man' called 'Santana' and the deadly powers he possessed. Apparently, the Speedwagon Foundation was keeping his petrified remains under watch.

Interesting.

The air inside the temple was stale, the earth was damp beneath your feet, and the walls felt alive with power.

You've never felt anything like it.

You marveled at the carvings on the walls, ancient depictions of gods, and rituals. You might have laughed at the image of humans bowing their heads and offering their blood to the immortal beings they worshiped. You experienced that every day.

But soon Thomas brought you to an open chamber and the time for idle musings came to an end. It was the place 'Santana' was excavated.

There were traces of blood on the ground, soaked into the stone where you now stood. Was this also where Straizo betrayed his comrades?

"What's this?" You asked, kneeling down at a pile of fragmented rocks. The faces were too smooth to be natural. These stones looked as though they were carved.

"We were ordered to destroy the masks." He answered quietly. And though he couldn't see your face in the dark, Thomas shivered, as though a chill ran up his spine. "

"Pardon me?"

"We were but, but I managed to preserve one!" He maneuvered awkwardly, his breath caught in his throat as he juggled his torch and the latches of his suitcase. It took a moment, but the young man found success. "Here."

He showed you the mask, one identical to the one Dio hung on the mantle.

You took it in your hands and felt the power it carried. It sang to you, louder than any call you'd ever heard and sweeter than honey.

"Hey!" A deep voice yelled from the direction of the entry.

He wore the same uniform as your companion, only with the addition of a hat. "What's this? Some sort of rendezvous? No outsiders allowed!" He pointed an accusing finger toward you and Thomas went pale. The young man attempted to apologize, but you scoffed.

You appeared before the guard in a blink of an eye and slid your fingers through his neck.

"My apologies. But I am in need of your blood."

Thomas looked away as the other man screamed, gurgled, and sputtered nonsensical words. He clawed at your arm in desperation, doing everything he could to pry you away, but you were stronger.

You drank slowly, allowing yourself to remember how it felt to drain a body dry...or nearly so, anyway. His body withered, and he went limp, so you dropped him to the ground with a sickening thud and pressed the mask to your face, smearing the blood on your fingers across the surface.

Sharp prongs sprung from the back, digging deep into your skull.

It hurt, but you could feel yourself changing, shifting into something familiar yet strange.

Whatever you were before, the power you had before, it was nothing compared to what you became. You fell to your knees when it was over. The mask hit the ground with a hollow thump, and the world fell silent.

The call was gone now. Not just the call of the mask, but Dio's call as well.

For the first time in years, you could think and feel clearly.

For the first time in years, you were free.

Thomas let out a breath behind you.

"I take it that it worked?" He asked, his voice weak. You hummed, but did not provide him with an answer.

Someone was coming; you could feel their rapid approach, smell the salt of their sweat, and hear the rustle of powder in their guns.

You crushed the mask between your fingers and laughed for the first time in over 50 years.

You wouldn't allow yourself to die here... not before you truly lived.

|Next Chapter

#dio brando #dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #phantom blood #DIO

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sociopathicbunnyrabbit-blog · 4 months

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Alright so I pretty sure I said I would do a part 2 to the there somethung really annonying about being a comic book fan and hearing people say that this universe is boring or that there's no actually interesting characters there. While knowing that thses big comixbook comapnies have acess to Cool characters and greta IP's briming with cretaove potential rant post I did about DC

So here it is...

Marvel I say this with a lot of love but really just a cpuple questions first and froemost I guess is why when you have sp many good characters can you not find good writers for them becuse if im being honest historically you have largely neglected anyone ouside of cpatqin, america spider man, x men and the fantastic four.

Like theres some really good stuff for captain america but other chracters its been a bit of struggle and I really don't know why It should surpise me that great character's on teams like the avengers that have solo potential like scarlet witch, vision, balck widow, hawkey, antman and wasp that it's taken literal years for you to acknowledge them as more then the pervbiale "that person who stands next to cap in a group shot in a avengerd book" beacuse of the MCU expanson into streaming series and need to keep actors contracts going for years at a time

Im not going to go into every character indvidually here but some canditates for your consideration include hercules, black knight, Wonder man, Namor, firestar, justice, smasher, canoball, sunspot, smasher, enigma/pod, iorn patriot (toni ho),

I feel like i would save everyone a lot of time reading this if I just said all the charcters all ewing puts in his underatted avengers books.

Street level heroes, you have excellent street level heroes how do you not have them all with their own books, luke cage, iorn fist, jessica jones, misty knight, collen wing, echo, blindspot, rachel cole ect. They are all super cool and reaply I don't know how when spider man and dardevil make so much money for you your jot willing to take more chances with these guys, .

Also horror characters come on really, blade ( how can you make three movies but fail ata sucessful ongoing, seriously), werewolf by night, jessica bllodstone ( the kara croft of monster hunters) , the living mummy, man-thing, frankentsein (he has beef with a 12 year old its amazing), zomnie (john doe) vampire by night ( vmapire werewolf hybrid), manphibian, glyph, teen abomination, shiklah. The whole consept of howling commandoes and ro S.TA.K.E is vwry cool. Just mix monsters and action movie stuff. Someone tried to assajnate a politican whos secretly a werewolf via a silver snipe bullet, organised vampire gang/criminal organisation have people take bunch of drugs theb etract there blood to get high that sort of thing.

There is also your space based heroes beacuse like how can you make a gotg videgame and every mcu property can be sucessfull but you cant keep a gotg ongoing ? not to mention nova wether richard ridrr or sam alexander better yet both, If you wnated it as two seperate books could do a blue and gold adjetive thing to distinguish them like 90s x men did, also this might b ejust personal bias but beta ray bill get my man an ongoing like depressed cyborg alien horse man saves the unvierse in setiant spacship, like that blurb alone should entice both writers and readers. Silver surfer is something that needs an ogoing the chracter just too fascinating, all powerful nomad searching for meaning of life. The inhumans will be a whole other rant but, sci fi superpowered game of thrones. Phylla vell and moondragon desrve there own series theyre so cool but phylla is quasar, also same thing for marvel boy (grant morrison version) he's an anti-capitalist, anti imperialism young kree golden age superman.

The fact that your the company that created the first black supehreo but the amount of other black heros who get their own book is practicalky non-existent is so dissapointing like you have more charcter's you can do a decemt luke cage or blade book when you actualky try and put effort inot it so why not give misty knighy, brother vodoo, monic rambeu, blue marvel, night trasher, rage and silhouette a mini or dare I say attempt an ongoing.

In terms of south asian heroes you do well I mean shnag chi is awesome, amdeus cho is very cool, team books like the recent agents of atlas and or tiger division can work if you get the rite creative teams on them, characters like luna snow, wave, silk is a lot of fun, I think even aero and sword master could work if you put in a bit more time and effort. Also lets not forget you have the rights to all of big hero six.

Something marvel has in spade that dc doesnt to my current knowledge is native american and indgnoues characters. Echo, thunderbird, warpath, dani moontsar, ameican eagle, red wolf, Red raven, kushala, chee'lith. Like seriously a lot of these charcters have intresting powers pr back stories and some ahve awesome desings and the amount of attention the little amount of attention they get shoild be criminal.

There is also the very important discussion to be had at the oversaturation of new charcters, legacy charcers and specifically teenage heroes and younger charcter's because its becoming a problem ( please tell me that tease in this year timeless issue does not means your going to try and make all the new champions varaint cover charcatets into the 616 universe proper)

So I am trying to polietly ask you to try using characters like the young avengers, the runaways, Reptile, Hazard, almost any of the interesting charecters introduced then immedaitly forgotten about in comicbooks like avengers arena, avengers undercover, infinty the hunt by matt kindt, like given you used some of them in movie and tv alreadg anyway why not, especily if you want to get new people into reading comics, also collect and look at trade sales data please single issue sales are important but ms marvel sold better in trade paperbakcs then just in issue by issue

I feel like this is roughly enough for a single post. Goodbye thanks for reading my rant.

#marvel comics #personal rant #comic books #comic blogging #marvel

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