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scoutswritingcorner · 26 days

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Headcanons

Father!Alastor & Child!GN!Reader

PURELY PLATONIC

TW:NONE!

A/N: I just have ideas for Papa Alastor and his little fawn gremlin child. To that Anon who came up with it! If you have any input don’t be afraid to reblog or shoot me an ask with your own (even if my askbox is closed just let me know it’s you). I was listening to ‘No More Birthdays by Sophie May’.

Domestic fluff with Papa Alastor and his little fawn.

Second Part

So- I don’t know if sinners “age” or grow up in hell but let’s say for the sake of this little post that they do but it's really really slow or you're just a little child forever..WHO KNOWS.

Anyways…you’re like a carbon copy of Alastor only smaller and maybe brighter colors (Where as he has dark red hair you have maybe lighter red hair or a different light color) and little white spots in your hair or fur, maybe some freckles too.

You are the only soul that is allowed to touch his cane without his permission or guidance, especially because he knows you like to wander off at times, not too far but when you both are walking down the street and he’s not feeling into physical contact he holds his cane out to you and that’s your cue to hold on. If he’s fine with physical contact? He’ll be holding your tiny hand into his, it’s something he got used to doing when he walked you to school those early mornings before he had to go to his radio station.

When he introduces you to Niffty and Husk? He’s not worried about Niffty, but he is glaring Husk down as you walk around the ex-overlord. You’re just curious. But once you get used to him you walk back over to your Papa and hold onto his cane, that’s his signal that you’re ready to go.

I’m a firm believer that sinners still feel the pain of whatever killed them in life when they get into hell as a reminder of why they are there. So speaking of that, Alastor gets hella bad migraines which he got used to easily but when he hears you coughing? He’s immediately by your side and holding a handkerchief to your mouth. He pulls you closer to him if it’s one of those bad coughs that make you wheeze really bad, he’s just a scared Papa and doesn’t know modern medicine well enough to get you the right treatment.

He dresses you in the fashion he’s used to, which is either a button down shirt with slacks or a dress. You’d wear a small little bowtie either around your neck or in your hair.

Now when he arrives at the Hotel with you? You’re automatically being held because he knows you as his child and how curious you are but also he’s a paranoid deer dad. But after a while? He’s letting you down and gently patting your back to let you wander around, just please stay in his line of sight for now. He walks around the hotel with you so you can see all the sights as Charlie and Vaggie are with him explaining everything.

Speaking of Charlie and Vaggie, they both terrified you and it almost sent Alastor into a frenzy. He doesn’t care if Vaggie points a spear at him but not at his little fawn. Charlie was just loud and that frightened you.

Angel Dust wasn’t allowed around you for a while, but once he was, he was very sober and didn’t utter a word about anything your ears shouldn’t know lest he faces the wrath of your Papa. He also gets you treats and gives you head pats.

You do have your own room next to Alastor’s and he makes sure it looks like it did when you were alive, filled with your favorite toys and books lining the shelves. He got Rosie to make you a new teddy bear that resembled him once more and you absolutely adore that thing.

You and Niffty are gremlins together but she keeps her eye on you the whole time and makes sure you don’t get hurt or in trouble. She’s also very helpful when you start having a coughing fit but if it gets really bad? She gets Charlie or Husk to help.

Alastor pulls Charlie aside one day whilst you are playing, “Charlie, you know I don’t believe in this silly little redemption thing as a whole but..if this does end up working, I want my little fawn to be up there. They don’t deserve to be down here with these disgusting and vile creatures. That’s all I care about.” He whispered glancing back at you as Charlie followed his gaze before smiling and nodding, “Of course, Alastor. How did..” She stopped herself as Alastor stood up tall. “They were sick ever since they were just a little baby..” He whispered out before clearing his throat and cleaning his monocle. He was done talking..reminiscing on his past mistakes.

When Mimzy comes around? He doesn’t let her near you, he knows what trouble she brings and he won’t stand for it if she dares harm a hair on your head. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s just he’d rather not feel the heartbreak he did all those years ago when he first lost you.

Some nights when you're fast asleep he holds you in his arms and sits on the floor. It grounds him when he feels you breathing, especially when memories of that night plague him and he can’t seem to catch a break. Even if he’s at his breaking point with physical affection, he will force himself to hold you just because those thoughts are plaguing him and he has to make sure you're breathing. His hands will rub circles on your back and he’ll let himself cry but it will be drowned out by soft jazz playing just in case someone walks by your bedroom door.

He also finds it soothing when he brushes and does your hair, even if you don’t have long hair he’ll brush it out for you in the mornings while he enjoys his coffee. He’s very careful around your tiny deer ears too. If you have trouble tying your bowtie or bow? Don’t worry, He is getting down on one knee and tying it for you while talking you through the steps.

100% you are his little sous chef/ taste tester. His love for spicy food is passed down to you and if it’s not spicy enough for you it’s definitely not spicy for him. While he himself doesn’t like to indulge in sweets, he’ll learn to make your favorite treat and surprise you with it.

Omg when Lucifer comes to the hotel? Alastor gets protective because now the King of Hell is talking to you and not him but he’s not being mean about it…kinda. He’ll make an off joke about Alastor and you’ll stomp your hoof and puff your chest out and headbutting Lucifer. It’s even better if you have little nubs where your antlers (if you have them) are growing in. That’s what the King of Hell gets for bad talking your Papa in front of you! It doesn’t hurt Lucifer but he gets the gist (he doesn’t)

A/N: Once again if anyone has any headcannons of their own go wild. These are just I thought of!

Taglist: @littledolly2345, @aboyscriminalrecord (figured since you drew those masterpieces, I'd tag you in some more little headcanons)

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #platonic #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor

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bella-studio · 1 month

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◾It always turns out that in every new fandom I draw one or three arts or comics and no longer appear in this fandom with drawings, no matter how much I would like to draw something more (I have a lot of ideas). It's just that every time I'm very busy after that.

◾It turned out the same way with Hazbin Hotel. I made one comic, drawn pretty poorly (but still it got over 20K NOTES, which is CRAZY, guys, this is the largest number of notes I've received here), and there were no more art from me.

◾But slowly I was able to draw the main seven in my own style (also redesigning Husk that was in the previously mentioned comic).

◾I could have drawn something better, but in general I like it)))

◾A few words about each design under the cut :>

◾Charlie. I didn't change Charlie much, just added pointy ears and removed her bow tie (because half of the characters in this series wear bow ties: Charlie, Alastor, Husk, Angel, Pentius, Lucifer, Vox—)

Oh, I also made her underhair... Coral color? This color is present in her original design in the form of lines on her hair.

◾Vaggie. I changed the shape of her hair and bow, also added ears.

Made an eyepatch more noticeable, and made the cross on her eye in the form of hairpins (although they do not have a practical use in this design, but I did exactly that to explain why in the series itself this cross does not overlap even with Vaggie's hair. This cross is constantly in plain sight).

Also changed the color of the pupil to orangish-red. Yellow somehow didn't fit here...

◾Angel Dust. Didn't change much: I changed his pink spots a little bit (also added a heart-shaped spot on his cheek). In case of his clothes, I added some yellow in it to match his right eye and golden tooth. And removed a bow tie.

◾Husk. I changed Husk A LOT. I wanted to make him look a bit more like his Overlord-self. I changed some patterns on his fur and wings, gave him a shirt and tie instead of bowtie. And removed a hat.

◾Alastor. Alastor was the first Hazbin Hotel character that I drew. And I LOVE how I drew him. His curly hair and deer ears, AH— And I made his eyes yellow to make them stand out and match his teeth.

◾Niffty. She just has freckles instead of red cheeks now XD.

◾Sir Pentious. I added a couple of interesting details, like a gear brooch and the iron inserts in the hat. And made his pupils white. And I also wanted to make visible scales in some places, because, you know, snake, but I couldn't do it presentably, so I made freckles instead :'D (I don't really like his purple-light version)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel redesign #kinda

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aller-geez · 10 months

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Get to know: Levi Anderson

Owned by @thekinkyleopard 🖤

27 // Male He/Him // Homosexual // Irish & Russian Shifter Snow Leopard

Full name: Levi Flynn Anderson

Nickname: Lee or Kitten

Date Of Birth: Sept 24th, 1995

Big Three: Libra🌞 Sagittarius 🌝 Sagittarius ↗️

Physical Appearance —

Age: 27 looks 23

Eye Color: Light Blue

Hair Color: White with black roots

Weight: 118

Height: 5’7

Race: Irish & Russian Snow Leopard Shifter

Distinguishing Marks or Characteristics: Freckles all over his body, especially his face, he always has his angel fangs and right hoop nostril piercing in. He has a white mullet style hair cut with black sides, he cuts his own hair.

Personality —

Greatest Strength: Kindness and Empathy

Greatest Weakness: His innate sense to try and see the best in everyone

Soft Spot: Remi always everyday.

Mannerisms: he is a very silent and balanced man, he always stands with great posture, but has a tendency to pick at his nails, and bite on his lip.

Miscellaneous Trivia —

When Levi was a young boy he used to love playing dress up with his older sister Erin before she was taken by CPS. They used to love playing Princesses. Levi always wanted to be Pocahontas while Erin was always Ariel. Typically this was a game they’d play when they would go to the lake or pool. Ariel always wound up giving Pocahontas special mermaid abilities so they could have tea parties together. While Pocahontas often taught Ariel how to be one with the land and nature. To this day, Levi’s favorite princess is Ariel because he thinks of his beloved sister.

Levi came out to his mom when he was 17, and she was less than supportive, telling him things like he wouldn’t ever know what real love felt like. It put a massive strain on their relationship, and before they could mend it, his mother suffered an overdose she never survived from. Leaving Levi to feel hollow and unfinished. Deep within in him, he sometimes wonders if it was his coming out that drove her to do it.

Levi was originally born in Ireland, however, as the shifter crime rate drove higher within the communities, and his mother’s reputation started to proceed her, they had to move to the United States while Eve (his mother) was pregnant with his youngest sibling.

Sneeze Content —

ALLERGIES

Marigold flowers

Dust

spices (such as pepper, wasabi, crushed red pepper, coriander and cumin)

No seasonal allergies.

How severe are they?

When exposed to a stimuli it is almost instant that Levi falls into a fit of sneezing despair.

Do they get sick often?

Not really, having grown up in poverty conditions as well as being completely used to a drastic change in temperature, he isn’t really the one bringing viruses home. However, with his partner being a super magnet for illness, he does find himself getting MUCH sicker, more often, now that they’re together.

How bad is it usually?

When Levi IS sick, he’s actually kind of pissy, he tries to hide it, but if anyone besides Remi tries to 1) give him a hard time or 2) tell him what to do that doesn’t align with what he WANTS to do? Major bitch vibes. He’s leaky, his nose gets super red and chapped because he can NOT stand the feeling of snot or ick on his face or dripping off his face, so he HAS to wipe it. If he has no tissue, which is unlikely as he always carries them around for Remi, he will use a sleeve or any other close by cloth.

Do they stifle?

Nope, Levi doesn’t stifle unless he’s in a particular situation where either he doesn’t want to get Remi riled up, or it’s inappropriate to make a loud sound. Otherwise, our boy is just trying to get it out and over with.

How loud are their sneezes?

Levi has a medium volume sneeze, rather polite in a lot of ways. He will always cover his mouth, unless instructed otherwise by his mate. It doesn’t cause a whole lot of a scene, though it does impress some people with how many will escape his mouth.

What do they sneeze into?

He sneezes into tissues typically but if he can’t get to one in time, into his sleeve or inside his shirt.

How often do they sneeze?

He doesn’t sneeze often unless he’s triggered by an allergen or induced

How many times do they sneeze in a fit?

It depends on what caused him to sneeze, marigolds it’s about 3-4 in a row, but with a pointed tissue? 1-2? Spices/dust? 2-4 depending how strong!

Do they have build-ups or are they sudden?

With dust it’s more of a build up, same with tissue inducing, however with marigolds and spices it’s instant.

Do they sneeze in public?

He does, but tries not to in certain situations because he’s usually with Remi, and if he has things to do he doesn’t have time to find the nearest bathroom to sneeze and suck on Remi’s…you know..😏

Some examples of their sneezes?

—hah’ESHHh‘uh!!

HET’Shhh’eu!

Eh-TSHU!

Hh’Etshu!

T-SHU!

Eh’ehTSHU!

Backstory —

Levi was born in Ireland, along with his sister Erin. However, when his mother fell pregnant with, at the time, his little brother Connor, they moved to the states for better opportunities as the area they grew up in was slowly becoming too violent for them. Levi’s father left before he even knew Evelyn was pregnant with his child, Levi has never met his father, and has never been interested in meeting his father upon finding out he’s an unstable meth addict that knocked his mom up on a trade. They move to the states, but come to find out, the states is the least safe place for shifters. The stress of 3 children and having spent every last dime to her name to move out to the “Land of the Free” to follow the “American Dream” and her own life found to be too much and Evelyn started abusing pain medication after Connor’s birth, which spiraled back to any and every other various drug she could find to cope with the fear of living.

Levi was close to his big sister Erin as a child, she taught him to stand and walk. He would spend every waking moment hanging out with his siblings, until the pressure was getting too much, and Evelyn’s mom, Orla, who had also moved to the states to follow them (more so Levi) took Levi in. Orla had reservations towards the other siblings, there was no real reason she favored Levi more, but she did. Leaving Eve to care for Erin and Connor, however, a few months after Levi was given to his grandma temporarily, Erin and Connor were taken by CPS and placed into the foster system. Evelyn had left them outside the bar she frequented. Upon getting too drunk, and the kids asking for her outside, a lady called CPS. Immediately the kids were taken home to grab their things and were ripped away from Evelyn’s care.

At 13, Erin was adopted to a single man, who worked in the medical field as a professional. However, upon finding out his foster daughters affliction of shapeshifting, he started doing unethical experimentation on her. Causing her to pass away from infection due to complications at age 16. The man was free to walk, as shapeshifters have no human rights in the states. Therefore all shifters in the states, tend to go incognito.

Connor, was adopted at age 3, 6 months after being put into the system. He lived with an older Asian couple that were extremely strict and unnurturing to him. They kept his shifter side a secret, but he had to learn himself how to control it. Connor later comes out at 16 as Connie, a transwoman. His adoptive parents kick her out, and she lands on the streets. She tries to make a living for herself but falls into addiction and meets her best friend Alistar after a terribly devastating loss. He helps her get clean, as well as try to locate her siblings. Levi was returned to his mother at age 14 because his grandmother passed away from heart complications, his mother had started living in buses and RVs. Their first trip after being reunited was to the lake where Levi met Remi. She was trying to show her son how much fun life on the road is. Which he did, he loved life on the road! However, his mother’s addiction and affiliations only seemed to get worse and worse. Their relationship becomes more and more strained as time passes, Evelyn even rejecting to support her son when he came out as gay.

At age 17, Levi loses his mother to a fentanyl overdose and falls into his own perilous addiction to oxycodone. Upon losing his mother, he also loses the RV they were staying in, due to unpaid debt. The teen goes into full survival mode, applies to be a waiter and a dancer at his local club to support himself and his pill habit. In the meantime staying at shelters and couching hopping with some of the more trustful clients he’d meet at the club. Or anyone that did drugs with him. Occasionally he would also stay with coworkers. He does wind up getting hate crimed in a bar at age 21, suffering permanent nerve damage. In the winter time he can’t walk on it very well. Eventually by 22, Levi had saved enough to buy himself a bus, which needed a lot of renovations to become habitable.

At age 23, At age 23, Levi decides to create an Onlyfans account and get clean, which grows by 100 subs within the year. He follows the 12 step program and kicks the habit by 24 becoming Cali sober. Giving him enough money to sustain and slowly fix up his bus, he named Maybelle. Levi fills it with plants, tapestries, stuffies and colorful art pieces once he finishes it by age 25. From there, Levi works to grow his onlyfans, hoping to make enough money to track down his siblings and reunite.

Reference Sheet —

Shift —

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bookwormscififan · 1 month

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A Song of Adoration

Read on AO3!

A/N: I had a completely different story I wanted to write tonight, but it wasn't working out. Instead take this piece that stemmed for just one visual of Mad and Mare waking up on the floor under the piano, a la 'Music and Lyrics' (2007)

My world is amber lights and lilac glows,

Deep red blushes beneath a constellation of freckles.

Mare leaned against the kitchen counter, lifting his cup to his lips as he watched Mad tidy the coffee table in the living room, morning sunlight washing over his hair and making him look almost angelic. His eye caught on the red flush across Mad’s cheeks, making his freckles stand out like spotlights.

When Mad turned to look at him, Mare simply smiled, drinking his coffee with softness in his eyes.

My love is smarter than the world over,

He’s sweet and gentle and unlike any other.

Mad’s eyes were wide, brow furrowed as he carefully pulled the bandage over Mare’s arm, biting his lip slightly with concern as he checked to make sure he was dressing the wound correctly. Mare had accidentally cut his forearm changing a string on his violin, making it so tight that it snapped and struck his skin. Once Mad had tied off the bandage, Mare used his good arm to pull Mad into his lap, giving him kisses as forms of thanks.

When my eyes close, blocking out the harshness of life,

He’s there in my mind to end my strife.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. You’re home, you’re here, you’re safe.” Mad’s hushed words slowly dragged Mare out of sleep, bringing with them a sense of calm after the nightmare he’d been stuck in. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you’re alright.”

Mare pulled Mad close, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as silent sobs wracked his body, tucking his face into Mad’s chest as his nightmare slowly faded away.

I have never met anyone as beautiful and compassionate,

And I never will again find someone so perfect.

My world revolves around the scientist inspiring my music,

And his world revolves around my lyrics.

The morning sunshine crept through the only window in the music room, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air as the rays slowly brightened the room. The glossy finish on the violin in the corner shone in the sunlight, and the faint spots of dust and smudges of skin could be seen on the piano by the window.

As the sun snuck under the piano, a body shifted, rolling over to cover someone else and hide them from the morning trying to break the calm aura of the area. Dark hair covered eyes that glowed slightly purple, tiredly drawing a curtain to block out the sun as he pulled the floor rug over their bare forms.

Pressing a kiss to the freckled face of the person sleeping beneath him, the musician settled back to sleep, holding Mad close to his body as he closed his eyes.

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons

#writing #fanfiction #nwtb fanfiction #madmare #implied spice

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hazbinbossbrainrot · 2 months

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💣 Cherri Bomb 💣

VA(s):

Krystina Alabdo (series)

Krystal LaPorte (pilot

Theme song:

Favourite quote(s)

"Glad you haven't changed! You know you're my favorite guy to party with!"

―Cherri, to Angel Dust (pilot episode)

“Wait, I am only here for Ange— Oh! Never mind. Let's go!"

―Cherri, when Charlie pays her to bring everyone at the hotel (series; 1x06)

Basics:

Species:

• Human being (formerly)

• Sinner Demon (cyclops)

Sex: Female

Age: 20 years old (biologically)

Date of death: 1980s

Nationality: Australian 🇦🇺

Sexuality: Bisexual

Likes:

• Partying

• Fighting

<> Turf wars

• Explosives

• Drinking

• Taking drugs

• Messing with Sir Pentious

• Having sex

• Hanging out with Angel Dust

• Money

Other:

• Committing crimes

<> Arson

<> Blowing up walls 🤣

Dislikes:

• Her friends being endangered

• Babysitting

• People trespassing her turf

• Valentino

• Charlie being sentimental

Other:

• The idea of Angel changing (implied)

<> In episode 1x06 (“Welcome to Heaven”) when she was annoyed that Angel Dust not only rejected her offer of drugs but also kept a vigilant eye on Niffty and stopped her from stealing the club’s bleach

• Husk’s interference (implied)

<> Despite having just met the cat Cherri immediately took a disliking to him after reminding that Angel won’t get into Heaven if he took the drugs and even referred to the former as “Captain Buzzkill” once he had

Strengths:

• Playing an electric guitar

• Skilful dancer

• Craftsmanship (bomb making?)

• Weapon proficiency

Flaws:

• Favouritism

<> Tend to stick close to Angel Dust at all times and isn’t open to the idea of “having other friends”

• Vulgar (got that real ocka attitude)

• Controlling

<> Likes to be in control of the situation seen when she tried to override Husk’s advice about not taking the drugs and told Angel to do it anyway so they could get “fucked up”

• Drug addict

Romantic interests:

• Unnamed one-eyed demon (status unknown)

Other:

• Sir Pentious (semi-canon)

Relationships:

Friends:

• Angel Dust (close friend)

• Fat Nuggets

Enemies:

• Valentino

• Exorcists

<> Adam

<> Lute

Others:

• Employees of the Hazbin Hotel (acquainted)

• Lucifer (acquainted)

• Sir Pentious (former enemy; romantic admirer)

<> Egg Boiz (former enemies)

Abilities:

• Bomb summoning

• Hand-to-Hand combat

• Weapon proficiency

• Explosives proficiency

• Enhanced Agility

• Athleticism

• Enhanced strength

• Bomb expert

Appearance & personality:

Cherri is a slender yet curvy-figured, white-skinned cyclops-like demon with a singular eye which has an X-shaped light yellow pupil and a Sunkist-coral sclera. She sports freckle-like spots on her skin and long, strawberry blonde-pink hair with platinum-blonde accents, kept in a high half-ponytail by a black ponytail-holder.

Her mouth has black lips and sharp pale yellow teeth inside. Her makeup includes a large amount of mascara and eyeliner, and she has several Sunkist-coral designs of bombs, explosions and swirled-lines, tattooed on her right arm.

Cherri wears a one-shouldered black bra under a similarly-designed pinkish-red torn crop-top with four pale yellow spots around the black X located on the left, and a set of severely ripped black leggings under a torn miniskirt that sported the same color and style as her top.

She also wore shoes that are both colored in a pinkish-red but differing in type; on her right is a simple-pointed flat, while on her left is heeled cowboy-like boot with a multi-pointed off-white star on it. She also has two different sets of fingerless Sunkist-coral gloves; a regular-length glove on her right hand and an arm-length black-trimmed glove on her left hand.

In the ADDICT music video, Cherri's appearance is nearly the same, only her flat isn't pointed.

Pilot:

In the pilot, her appearance has some notable differences; her hair was warmer-colored and had white accents along with the blonde accents, her lips were maroon-colored with sharp gray teeth inside, and her tattoo is a gray heart design instead.

In addition to her clothing, the "X" shape on her top does not have spots, her skirt sported white buttons with one loose suspender on her right, her right footwear is a red-and-white sock, and the boot on her right foot instead had two white stripes on the top. Her fingerless gloves are instead a white-striped light gray glove on her right hand, and an arm-length black glove on her left hand.

How would you describe Cherri’s personality?

• Daring

• Self confident

• Friendly

• Charismatic

• Fun-loving

• Derisive

<> Particularly about the Hazbin Hotel and the ideology of redemption behind it (but supports Angel Dust’s choices to try and be better, though she also mocks him for helping Niffty in the episode “Welcome to Heaven”

Other:

• Sensitive

<> Especially when Angel Dust either gotten verbally or sexually abused by Valentino (seen in the ADDICT video)

• Antagonistic (depending on the person)

• Supportive

<> She is shown to be a supportive friend to Angel Dust; while she encourages him to let loose after a hard day of work at the club Consent

• Easily bribed

• Biased

<> Liked the idea of teaming up with Angel Dust to fight against the Exorcists in episode “The Show Must Go On” (1x08)

Trivia:

• According to Viv Cherri Bomb actually grew up in Australia before she died

• Seen in episode 1x08 (The Show Must Go On) before the war with the exorcists Cherri Bomb seems to be the N0 1. Huskerdust shipper 🤭

• Cherri's name is a pun on the pyrotechnic, cherry bomb.

• Cherri's bombs in the pilot use recordings of her voice actor as sound effects when they are thrown and explode.

• According to Krystal LaPorte, if she were to describe Cherri with a song by My Chemical Romance, it would be "Na Na Na".

• Cherri Bomb's design for the main series had the least amount of changes compared to her design from the ADDICT music video.

References:

#krystina alabado #cherri bomb #krystal laporte #Spotify

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violetnotez · 3 years

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Hiiiiiii! Can I have a request where Midoriya’s s/o makes a promise to him that they will protect them with their life?

“God, this part always made me so upset,”

you snuggled closer into his shoulder, grip tightening on his sleeve as you watched the woman on screen let go of her lover to the ocean, the melancholy music playing like the main theme like a funeral progression as the camera captured the beart wrenching moment.

Midoriya chuckled, looking down at your pouted face as you watched the scene of Titanic unfold, your expression obviously unhappy with the events taking place in the story.

“And why’s that?” He asked, almost sheepishly, timid voice ringing out with curiosity as he smoothed the hair away from your face with his scarred palm.

He felt you take a deeper breath, your chest deeply pressed into his for a second or two. “I could never do that,” you stated, your voice muffled from being curled into his tshirt, “just leave somebody I love like that to die. It’s kinda messed up when you think about it.”

“Well, she didn’t really have much choice, the door only couil fit one person-“

You shuffled on top of him, propping your head up with a playful huff. “It could have totally fit him on too!”

Midoriya chuckled, finding it kind of funny how adamant you were about this fictional scenario. Apart of him agreed with you, that the protagonist maybe could have tried a little harder to save her lover....but apart of him felt sympathy for her.

Many times he’s been in near death experiences, the sole task of saving people in need left on his shoulders. He couldn’t count how many times he stayed up at night, rethinking his approach to those situations in order to do better the next time around, beating himself up when situations ended up worse than he thought.

He knew what it felt like to be those situations, where the line between life and death was only but a single fragile thread, one wrong move snapping the boundary Indeifnitley, and not knowing what the right move was until moments after when everything was said and done.

Did this character regret her decision? Did she wish she saved her lover, not listening to him and joining him in death as well?

Midoriya shook his head of the morbid thoughts, coming back to reality when he heard a man yelling from the TV.

Izuku looked back down at you, grabbing your hand instinctively, finding a certain solace with touching you, grounding himself back into reality.

Midoriya was prone to going on tangents internally, his mind an Icarus of itself. He would fly through his thoughts, each other more detailed than the last, until it ran him into a barrier like the sun, suffocating his sanity.

But with you, you were his saving grace....an angel to gently pull him back to Earth, unknowingly keeping him from being engulfed by his own self.

His thumb squeezed yours gently, smiling as the familiarity of your face made him feel at ease in the present. The man on the screen was still yelling, presumably looking for any survivors as your brows knitted in sadness, hands pressed deeper into Midorya’ chest.

“What would you have done?” He suddenly asked, his thumb grazing the skin of your outer hand.

“Like-if it was you and me?”

He felt you tilt your head, gaining a peck to see his facial reaction. Izuku gulped, feeling a familiar heat raise to his cheeks knowing you were curious by his question-did you find it wierd he was asking such a sad question? Was it a bit morbid for a home date to ask? You had been together for a while...was it okay to ask that?

You felt your voice call out his name, the sound sweet and dreamlike against his ear as he awoke yet again from his internal tangent, shaking himself from the thoughts.

He sent you an apologetic grin, green eyes wide and cheeks glowing a dusty pink.

“I-I guess you could say that,” he said sheepishly, hoping the question didn’t bother you too much with its dark undertone.

He felt you hum against him, your smaller chest sending a vibration down his spine as you thought about his question.

“Well...” you sighed, your eyes shifting upward to look at him “I would obviously try to make you go on with me.”

“And what if it didn’t fit us both?”

I’d make it fit us both,” you said triumphantly, shuffling to prop yourself up in your palms, showcasing a proud grin.

Izuku chuckled at your antics, scarred digits moving to your hips, encasing you on his lap. It was so comfortable like this, so domestic...you really were like a dream, so stubborn yet so sweet in all the right ways.

Deku bite his bottom lip, emerald eyes looking down.

“And what if that didn’t work?”

You tilted your head, leaning down slightly to look at Izuku’s expression. Your grin was on your face, that pride still plastered on your expression.

“I’d force you on it.”

You said it so effortlessly, as if it was so normal and nonchalant. But to Izuku, this was major-you practically said you would-well, die for him-how could you be that.....devoted?

It wasn’t as if Izuku wouldn’t do the same-hell, he’d willingly give his life over yours if it came to it, no question about it...but hearing it from you-well it worried him as well as filled him with a strange sort of gratefulness.

“Force me?” He stuttered out, eyes wide with confusion. “But I-I wouldn’t, I couldn’t let you do that-“

“Cmon ‘Zuku, lets be real here-“ you pursed your lips, your expression more serious than before. “you’re a pro hero. Your life is way more valuable than me.”

“T-that’s not true, all life is valuable, especially yours! I couldnt live with myself if you-“

“You lived without me once-you could live without me again.”

Izuku sucked in a harsh breath, his chest brushing against your yours for a split second. He didn’t expect that from you...such a blatant lack of your own concern for your life. How could you be so willing to lay everything down for him? Of course, you were only saying this, and actions speak louder than words as they say...but the way you were looking at him confirmed what you were saying. Your eyes were knitted, irises dark and full of harsh honesty. It terrfied him, filled him with a pool of icy worry in his stomach.

“I couldn’t.”

He breathed out, digits squeezing your skin, almost as if to confirm you were still there with him, heart beginning to beat like a steady drum in his chest.

“Izuku, your life, no matter how you look at it, is much more valuable.”

You explained, your lips curving into a sweet smile. “You save lives, and you’re pretty damn good at it-Id protect you with my life, because you’d help way more people than I could ever in one life time.”

“T-that’s....no, I-“

You laughed at his obvious flustered look, loving how adorable he was with his cheeks like red licorice, freckles dusted like specks of choclate, sweet and enticing to devour.

You pressed a chaste kiss on his heated cheek, nose grazing his skin, warmth radiating off of him. You giggled at how much he reacted to that one small gesture, his nose taking in a sharp inhale of breath and muscles of his legs tightening under you.

“Just be grateful I wouldn’t toss you into the ocean.” You said mischievously, eyes creased with amusement.

“T-thanks....I guess...”

You smiled, feeling guilty as well as proud that you had the power to turn such a strong person’s mind into much with just a few actions. You decided to give the poor guy a break, finding your spot against his chest yet again. You snuggled back into him, relishing in the smell of his shirt that was so familiar at this point.

“Ya know...I-I...I really-love you,” you heard Izuku stutter out the words, voice so timid it made your heart tug with adoration, “and Id do the same for you. In a heart beat.”

In A heart beat.

It echoed in your head like a mantra, that honey sweet word circulating your body, warming up every corner of your insides.

You yawned quietly, the feeling so refreshing and calming as you snuggled deeper into him, relaxing your body as your lids fluttered down.

“In a heart beat...” you repeated back, feeling as if the simple phrase was perfect to say, the sensation of Izuku’s strong heart beat a reminder of that promise.

#im so sorry if this wasnt well written!#i kinda just went with it and word vomited #bnha #bnha x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bnha izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya fanart #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #bnha midoriya

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

pax said he liked my clothing descriptions and i haven't been able stop thinking about that so i put together this compilation!! from acogs, brenin, oots, a short from gkbk i'm working on, and the farlingverse. i hope you love all of these because i'm super proud of all of them <3<3

taglists and ts under the cut

Katya is dressed in a brilliant red velvet gown whose floor length skirt trails behind her. Gold is embroidered onto the hem of the skirt and the bodice, supported by a thin red strap that curves around her neck. Her orange hair covers her shoulders in loose curls, two parts on either side pulled back from her face and secured with a ribbon on her head like always. She wears no jewelry on her pale, freckled skin, and the neckline of the gown teases her breasts.

In a few minutes, one huge golden ring will sit on her right middle finger. Nikolai pictures it now.

Beautiful and mighty, she’s sitting on the old throne of the temple, from when this was the palace and Aspiania was the capital. The fingers of her left hand curl over the white armrests, and she leans her head back onto the red cushion there. Green eyes dulled behind the wire frames of her spectacles have the power to freeze an empire, a whole world.

Nikolai is more interested in the drawn golden sword in her right hand.

Esme is wearing custom made robes in a beautiful mix of red, dark blue, and purple, with a sash and hems of shimmering gold. Embroidery of the sun and moon decorate patches in tiny patterns, stars covering every inch of them.

In traditional Tan style, they wrap around his shoulders and tie at his waist with the knot in the back, the sleeves loose and flared out at the wrists. They go down to his feet, covered in polished black boots. His black hair is sparkled with gold dust, but it’s forever too long and strands fall into his eyes.

He grins when he sees Laurent across the temple for the first time, dopey eyed, as Laurent’s soul evaporates from his body. It’s a remarkable testament to his self-restraint that he doesn’t cross the temple in three strides and tackle Esme to the ground.

Feryn looks truly like an angel, or a god, or grace incarnate. No veil covers her head, but her white hair hangs loose round her face. Cygnus was expecting curls, or a braid with flowers, or an updo with a diamond circlet wrapping her hair. But the reality is plain. And it’s beautiful.

She’s wearing cosmetics, he’s sure, but he can’t see them well. Her brown eyes just look a little brighter than normal, her lashes a little longer, her cheeks a little fuller. She smiles at him with warm eyes and pink lips.

Her gown is something he’s been looking forward to seeing and endlessly imagining ever since she and Lian got engaged. Like her hair, it’s much simpler than expected. The fabric is shiny like satin, the straps thin and the bodice plain like the gown Evan wore to her bridal shower.

Unlike Evan’s, the neckline dips, and the skirt of Feryn’s dress is slim. Feryn must be wearing shoes with tall heels, because Cygnus knows she isn’t naturally this tall. Or perhaps it’s just her posture, the straight back, the easy, content way she holds herself.

Feryn, who asked Cygnus to trust her when he asked what he would be wearing at the play, dresses him in bright red silk robes with drapes over the shoulders that blow out behind him. She says she had them made especially for tonight. Cygnus is rendered speechless, reminded of the luxury he lives as king. Feryn seems only pleased.

The shoulders and collar are decorated in sapphires and embroidered in gold. The robes don’t allow trousers to show that much, so he wears plain black. Feryn chooses polished black shoes with gold trim, and a red and gold clip for his hair.

When he looks in the mirror, he thinks he’s dressed for the most pristine play in the whole country, not Cherie’s little central company.

“Valerie—” Ruby begins, words dying in her throat as Cygnus holds up a hand. A rich sapphire ring adorns on his hand, and that’s not the only finery he’s wearing. His silk jacket of dark green is bejeweled with glittering gems and delicate piping. His boots are shinier than she’s ever seen them, and with his purple cloak and combed hair, he’s obviously going to meet someone important.

Like every other lady in the castle, Ruby allows Feryn to force her into nice clothes. She refuses the robes Feryn brought out, heavy red velvet, and chooses instead black breeches, a fine shirt, and an ornate jacket. The jacket is dull green, trimmed in gold and fastened with gleaming buttons. Ruby pulls on a new pair of black boots and actually gives some thought to her hair, after a moment permitting Feryn to braid it down her back. It’s all tedious to her, but she’ll endure it to keep poor Cygnus company.

“Come in,” came Alea’s voice at my first knock. I opened the door, watching Moureen muttering and fussing over Alea’s dress. The mix of sea greens and blues complimented her beautiful hair, some curls braided into a crown around her head, the rest lying around her shoulders. I couldn’t hold back a grin.

“What?” she asked.

“You look beautiful. I have something for you,” I said, bringing forth the box from behind my back and thrusting it into her hands. I motioned for her to open it.

“Oh, Bren, you didn’t have to—” She opened it, her mouth falling open. “Oh, my—” Alea turned and set the box down, picking up the jade and sapphire teardrop earrings that I’d bought her in the shop. It must’ve been the gods’ will for the dress and earrings to match perfectly, making her green eyes stand out. She looked every bit the duchess, every bit a queen.

Alea was in a stunning gold ballgown that glittered and shone when she moved. The skirt was embellished with pearls and diamonds, dripping and glittering. Her hair was up, a white flower hairpin keeping it out of her eyes. She smiled, and her green eyes looked even more beautiful than ever. I told her so. She laughed like she didn’t believe me.

More footsteps came to the door. I glanced up at Moureen, who was coming in with my freshly shined shoes. Thales hovered in the doorway in front of Lakus. I looked him over, taking in his bright blue jacket, adorned with gold trim and beading. The finished jacket looked much better now than it had during yesterday’s boring afternoon in the store. I found myself catching my breath.

He gave me a small smile. “You look good. The green, uh, looks good.”

I did something with my hands. “Thanks, I guess.” My jacket was well done. Light green and silver, pearl buttons and dark stitching. I chose the silver just to get on Lakus’s nerves, since I knew Danda couldn’t care less about whether people wore gold or not.

Lakus, by contrast, had bright, gaudy orange on. There was so much gold on him I could feel the money, and I grimaced, looking away from him after a glance.

Cerrick doesn’t recognize anyone else in the purples, reds, yellows, but he sees his man in the center of the pack in bright blue and green armor, cloak fluttering out behind him. his horse is gray, mottled with black spots, shorter than the rest. His sword is gleaming in his right hand, black gloves clutching the hilt like one born to it. His braid sticks out of his polished blue helmet, shining in the sun. Cerrick doesn’t care if Olin laughs at him for his reaction, he still curses softly under his breath.

Njord is beautiful.

The knights run a few casual circles around the stadium, waving to the crowd. Cerrick watches the crowd hand their knight of choice bracelets, charms, wreaths with fresh flowers braided into them.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

fv taglist (lmk to be added/removed): @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @magic-is-something-we-create @47crayons @idk-bout-tonight

oots taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @willowiswriting @ninazeniks @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @ren-c-leyn @justwriteyoudummy @47crayons @yejidoesthings @ettawritesnstudies @faithfire @a-forgotten-dusk @talesfromaurea @ashen-crest

general taglist: @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @wickerring @directionoftime @47crayons @familiarvillain

gkbk taglist: (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @idk-bout-tonight @ren-c-leyn @crystallized-ink @hysteriwah @denkis-boyfriend @ashen-crest @aconfusedomni @myhusbandsasemni @oshaaru @metanoiamorii @47crayons

#writing #writeblr #wips #my wip #fantasy #fantasy writeblr #fiction #original fiction #lila's wips: fv #lila's wips: oots #lila's wips: acogs #lila's wips: gkbk #wip: brenin #bean's excerpts #lila's excerpts

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henbased · 3 years

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“Logan Eden Gates. Like the cult? Stole their name when I transitioned, thought it were real funny. It was, but then they started kidnappin’ and killin’ a bunch’a folk. Whose laughin’ now, eh?”

Name: Logan Eden Gates

Alias/nicknames: Gates, Miss Gates, Marcus’ kid

Gender: Female

Age: 20/21

Abilities/Talents: Hunting, quiet footsteps, taking leadership when needed. Always “knowing a guy” for any situation. Being able to stay calm in any situation. Breaking and entering, robbery, arson (also her rapsheet). Knowing way too much about astrology but also mortuary and decay. Somehow always escaping Jacob’s kidnappers eventhough she is not trying very hard.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Religion: None

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: English, some French

Family: Lives with her twin brother Tristan and their father Marcus in Whitetail Mountains. Her sister Sarah lives outside Hope County with their mother. Her brother and father go missing during the Reaping.

Friends: Aaron “Tweak” Kirby, Skylar Kohrs and her boyfriend Dylan. Spent a few nights in jail with Sharky Boshaw, became buddies. Befriends Hurk Drubman Jr., Adelaide Drubman, and Tracey Lader after the Reapings. Nick Rye let her band play in his garage a few times before everything went tits up. Her best friend is Lucky Ambrose, and she’s also friends with Leon Ambrose, Evie Lee, and Crystal Jones. They’re all OC’s who belong to @8bitpizzacoupons

Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

Relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy

hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

Skin: pale / fair / olive / tan / brown / dark / other

Height: 5′8″ (162.56cm)

Scars: Some scars around her knuckles from punching glass more than once. More than twice actually. Other small scars around her legs and arms from hunting, nothing notable.

Features: Light dusting of freckles. Brown hair that's usually pulled into sloppy space buns or pigtails, with hair just long enough to do so. Perfumed by moth balls, old books, freshly brewed tea, and pot. Easily spotted because she’s always wearing clashing patterns.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea (microdoses on psychadelics) || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

Five songs that remind you of them: (trying really hard to use some I haven’t before but I don’t think I succeeded.)

1. “Sister Golden Hair” - America

2. “Pink Pony Club” - Chappell Roan

3. “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” - Hozier

4. “I’ve Always Been Crazy” - Waylon Jennings

5. “Second Hand News” - Fleetwood Mac

#📌#oc: logan gates #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 #fc5 #saw some people did this and wanted to too!#shes just a civilian trying to vibe as the cult ruins everyones lives #shes Not About It #NO the collage doesnt match very well im not good at colors

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

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George x Reader- Don’t Judge a Book

Heyy hope you're doing well 💕 Could u pleease (if you're not too overloaded) do one with George were his family doesn't approve his relationship with the reader but at the battle she saves Fred. Very angst and the end is up to you. Your writing is incredible, be safe

George pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long and steadying breath as you stood before him. Your hands were planted firmly on your hips and you were shaking your head in frustration.

“I can’t George, you know that,” You refused his proposal, knowing it would only end terribly. You would be made a fool of and you had a hard enough biting your tongue as was. If you couldn’t escape, who knows what you might say.

“It’s the safest option here love,” George pleaded with you, legs spread and head thrown back as the conversation tired him out. He had just closed up shop for the night with Fred and now he was upstairs, trying to talk sense into you. “Mum said it was perfectly fine if you came and stayed with us,”

“Molly is lovely but I cannot be under the same roof as your brothers and sister.”

“Fred-”

“You know he doesn’t count when I generalize,” You sighed, wishing George would see things from your perspective. “The rest of them hate me, I’m just a no good slytherin to them and they will never be able to see past that. Especially right now, I’m going to be put under a microscope that has a broken lens.”

“They don’t hate you...” George weakly argued but you could see the gears turning in his head as he ran his fingers through his hair- pulling at the roots as if it would somehow make this conversation go away. “Things might be a bit touch and go but they don’t hate you, they could never hate someone I love,”

“Your mom could never hate someone you love but that means nothing for the rest of them. To the public all slytherins are death eaters, Voldemort’s army consists of only slytherins in their eyes. I might as well have a stamp on my forehead that says ‘Hi! I want to enslave muggles and kill the kids I grew up with!’. It doesn’t matter who I am or what I stand for, your siblings think I’m trouble,”

George stood abruptly, needing to be close to you. Wrapping his arms around you, you melted in his embrace. He kissed the top of your head and you nuzzled closer against his chest. “I just want you to be safe, and I think home is a good place to be safe,”

“I won’t stop you from going Georgie, but I think it’s better if I don’t stay at the burrow,” You decided for yourself. You wouldn’t be able to keep your sanity if you had to handle Percy asking you questions about your family, who they were and what they believed in. You’d go just as crazy if you had to feel Ginny and Ron’s eyes burrowing into your head as if they could kill you with a look.

“I won’t go either,” George tried steeling his voice but you could hear the hesitancy. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you,”

Voldemort and his army surrounded Hogwarts as they all tried to bring down the protective shield that had fallen around the school. You jumped when a particularly powerful spell ricocheted off the invisible barrier. George’s arm tightened around you and you squeezed him in response.

I’m scared. You tried to convey as you looked to him with wide and wondering eyes. You had to memorize every freckle, every wrinkle. You had to memorize the color of his eyes and the way his hair went every which way. In case something happened, you wanted to die remembering every feature of George Weasley, you wanted to die remembering how he made you feel.

Me too. His sad expression spoke back to you and he kissed your forehead, lingering there. In case anything happened he needed you to know that he loved you and would love you forever until the end of time. Even death couldn’t put an end to his feelings for you.

“See you both on the other side,” Fred spoke, subdued yet intense.

I hope.

Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the constant threat of tears as you looked at the people you had known and loved falling down around you. The carnage and destruction seemed endless as you wildly searched for George. You had been planning to stay close but it was hard to stick to a plan during a time of war and you had inevitably been separated. You had to stay strong and find him.

You caught a flash of red hair in the distance and you picked up your pace, jumping over debris and dodging spells. You nearly fell when a spell was sent your way and you had to stop in your tracks and duck behind a large piece of wall that had been blown free from the castle.

Poking your head out from the stone shield you had found cover behind you were relieved to see that the Weasley was still in place. You couldn’t quite see who it was yet but any of them would bring you comfort at this point. You’d even let Ron pick a fight with you so long as it made you feel normal.

Once the coast was clear you were back to running through the grounds that had once been so peaceful. The closer you got, the more you assumed it was George that stood back against the wall, wand at the ready. Yet you realized a moment later that it was Fred. The part of his hair was different, they set of his jaw and the way he held his wand. You felt relief at the sight of your boyfriend’s twin but it quickly vanished from your system and you were choked out by dread.

“Fred!” You hollered, your legs carrying you faster than they ever had before.

Ginny was some odd yards away and she watched with suspicion as you chased after her brother. “Fred! Watch out!” She called, wand at the ready as she took aim towards you. The light burst from the tip of her wand but the spell was unsuccessful as you jumped, propelling yourself forward to avoid the spell and reach Fred in time.

The man whipped his head around at the chorus of his name, a question on his lips as you collided with him, sending you both sprawling across the pavement as you wrapped your arms around Fred, the momentum sending him on top of you. An explosion burst above the both of you, pebbles and rocks raining down on you as you rolled away from the majority of the wall that had broken apart.

The back of your skull came in contact with the cobble and you had to blink away the shadows that were rushing into your vision. Fred’s weight was uncomfortable on top of you and you groaned, shoving at him weakly.

“God Freddie, lay off the chocolate frogs,” You jested at the same time he uttered, “You’re bleeding,”

Fred helped you into a sitting position, his fingers searching the back of your head, coming away wet with the crimson liquid. You felt maybe a little dizzy, somewhat nauseous but fine otherwise. It was the sight of blood however, the knowledge that it was yours, that sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you slumped into Fred’s waiting arms.

The battle had ended and George was rushing around like a chicken with their head cut off. He hadn’t seen you or any of his family members in some time and panic had a vise grip on his heart. Ginny and his mother were the first he saw, waiting at the entrance to the school with dazed expressions. It was difficult to process what they had just been through, what they had achieved and what they had lost.

Ginny looked at George with guilt swirling in her stomach even if he didn’t recognize it. She feared how he would feel about her if he were to learn she had nearly cost Fred and Y/N their lives because of a prejudice that ran deeper than she had believed. If her spell had hit Y/N, they would both be crushed underneath a slab of wall right now. He couldn’t know.

George looked them over quickly as he approached and deemed them fine. “Where is she?” Was the first question falling from his lips and Ginny couldn’t seem to get the words out. Molly however was thinking quickly, unaware of her daughter’s thoughts.

“Your brother- Freddie knows where she is love, they were together,”

George nodded, kissing her temple and pulling Ginny into a quick hug before he followed his mother’s directions to find you. His stomach churned when he found those directions had sent his feet to the area where the wounded were being attended to, the dead being covered in white sheets.

“Are you wounded?” Came a meek voice and George had to shake himself from his intrusive thoughts to realize that Luna Lovegood was standing before him, hair tied up and a focused look hardening her typically whimsical features.

“N-No, I’m looking for-”

“Your brother is this way,” She assumed as she took a hold of his arm, assuming he needed the assistance. George looked a little lost and he had paled severely since entering the room, taking in all of the moaning and groaning bodies.

He let her guide him but broke free when he found his brother sitting on the floor, your hand in his. You were on a makeshift cot, a bandage wrapped around your head. Your eyes were closed, skin ashen. “Y/N-” He choked out, falling to his knees beside you. Fred gripped his shoulder with his free hand, sliding out of the way so that George could grasp your limp hand in his own.

“She’s fine mate,” Fred said first. “Bumped her head, just needs rest now that the bleeding’s stopped.”

“Bleeding?” George croaked, careful hands shaking as he trailed a finger across the outline of your jaw. Even now you looked angelic, with debris stuck to the palm of your hands and dust smeared across your forehead like your very own war paint.

“She’s fine George,” Fred promised again.

“How did she get hurt?” George asked, tearing his eyes from you to face his twin.

Fred winced, shoulders drawn up to his ears apologetically. “Savin’ me. I didn’t notice- well I don’t really know what I didn’t notice. Y/N called out my name, then Ginny. Then Y/N was barreling into me and we hit the ground hard. A second later the wall was collapsing onto where I’d been standing,”

George smiled, kissing your forehead as his family spotted all of you, approaching with relieved smiles. “That’s my girl,” He praised.

“Fred!” Ginny found her voice. “Is she okay?”

Fred watched Ginny for a moment, putting together quite easily what had happened. He’d never liked slytherins, detested them the same as any good gryffindor did. But then George had introduced you to him and his feelings had started changing. It didn’t seem the same thing had occurred with his siblings and they still had their beliefs against you. Ginny had thought him in danger, thought you had come to hurt him when in fact it had been the opposite. He could see the guilt swimming in her eyes and he felt pity. He couldn’t let his sister hold that weight over her head. “She will be,” He reassured.

George recounted the story of your heroics to his family even if he hadn’t been there and he hoped it would be enough to win your good favor. He refused to leave your side as you lay there, unaware that all of the Weasleys were standing around you and silently thanking you for saving Fred even at the threat of risking your own safety. You had proven a lot to them. George wished it hadn’t come with such a risk, he would always hold your safety above his family’s approval, but he tried to focus on the fact that you were just unconscious. You were just resting, he told himself as the thought was more comforting than the former.

Fred looked from his brother, then to you, and back to Ginny. “Everything’s alright, Gin,” He made sure she knew as he drew her into a hug, staring over her shoulder as he watched his brother fuss over you. “Just...don’t judge a book by it’s cover next time,”

For years to come you would be celebrated as Fred’s savior and loved as family, George having asked you to marry him the second you opened your eyes, still surrounded by the ruins of Hogwarts. Seeing his family surrounding you, a new appreciation in their eyes, you’d said yes.

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george x reader #angst #fluff #ask #request #anon ask

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solohux · 4 years

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Kylux Positivity Week 2.0 @kyluxpositivity ; Day 1 - Supreme Leader/Chancellor, featuring Kylo and Hux as the most powerful couple in the galaxy, trying to get ready in the morning but having to deal with their toddler.

Hux’s dressing table is in the most perfect spot. It sits beneath two tall, arched windows in their stately chambers and in his own private dressing room, giving him the best light every morning by Coruscant’s sun’s grace as though it rises just for him. He elegantly sits himself sown on the plush velvet stool and flaps out the rear of his silk robe so he isn’t sitting in it and slides his hand across the black marble surface of the dresser, reaching for his comb.

His reflection shines in the mirror’s surface, making him smile to himself. Having never been confident in his looks until he met Kylo, Hux remembers the days where he cursed himself everyday for being too pale, too thin, too ginger but now, Kylo’s praise and awe of his beauty—so ethereally porcelain and soft, with a crown of copper hair without the jewels—has raised Hux’s self-esteem to the heavens. Even as he adorns splotches of make-up to cover the tired circles beneath his eyes, he knows that he looks the part; Grand Chancellor Armitage Hux.

“Dada!”

Hux turns to look over his shoulder to find his two year-old daughter squealing in Kylo’s arms as he holds her upside down, making her messy ginger hair look even more untameable.

“Ren,” Hux shakes his head, smiling. “It’s too early to be messing around.”

“Dad is grumpy this morning, huh, angel?” Kylo says, turning little Elora right-side-up and holding her upon his hip as though she weighs nothing. She giggles.

“Not grumpy but you know what she’s like when she gets this excited before breakfast,” Hux replies, turning back to his dressing table, fluffing his hair into place. “And good morning to you, Supreme Leader.”

“Good morning, Chancellor,” Kylo smirks and bends down next to Hux’s dresser, leaning in to steal a kiss from him.

“Papa, me down. I want Dada,” Elora says as she wriggles from Kylo’s hold and drops down into Hux’s lap, settling in against his chest like she always does when he’s sat here. She likes to watch him get ready.

Kylo hovers, standing back, and Hux catches the big, bad Supreme Leader smiling in the mirror’s reflection as Hux bounces Elora on his knee and dusts her nose with his powder brush.

“What colour today, darling?” Hux asks, lining up his collection of pots that contain glitter derived from the crystal mines of Imiuniam; it’s so expensive that some of the First Order’s ships had to forego repairs in order to pay for the Chancellor’s crystal make-up.

“Red!” Elora makes a grab for the pot furthest left and pushes it into her father’s hands.

“Then red it is,” Hux says, looking to where the row of mannequin heads sit upon a long table present his headwear to him, eyeing up the red-jewelled circlet as today’s feature.

“Me too, Dada! Me!”

“Stay still then, El,” Hux dabs his thumb into the crystal glitter and swipes it across Elora’s freckled cheek before doing the same on his own, adjusting the mirror in front of him so that his daughter may see. “We match now, hm?”

“Papa! Papa, look! Just like Dada!” Elora bounces in Hux’s lap, wriggling off to run to show Kylo.

Hux smiles, watching her go and come back with Kylo’s hand in hers, dragging him along and back into the dressing room to show him how her make-up looks like Dada’s.

“Beautiful,” Kylo compliments, now dressed in his sleek trousers, long black boots and dark tunic, sporting his lightsaber on one side of his belt and a deadly vibroblade on the other. “My treasures.”

Hux stands, lifting Elora into his arms with a groan—damn his bad back—and takes his place inside of Kylo’s arms. Their family couldn’t be more perfect, or more powerful. With the First Order reigning with an iron fist across the galaxy, Grand Chancellor Hux and Supreme Leader Ren can take moments like this to be more than their titles; they can be parents too.

#kyluxpositivityweek #kylux positivity week #kylux #kylux babies #m:writing #moodboard #elora #elora Hux

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fletchphoenix · 4 years

Text

Steal Your Heart

Thank you to @angel-dust-now and @honeyxmonkey for your amazing prompts! Tried to incorporate them both into this and I hope you enjoy this! The next chapter of the high school AU just isn’t up to my standard at the moment so hopefully it will be soon. Anyway, thank you for your support and onwards with the chapter!

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

Of course the day before his arranged marriage, Rapunzel and Eugene had decided to host a ball. It was obvious that they’d do that to get Varian to ‘meet the suitors’ and all that jazz. Of course his suitor was the most obnoxious person in the world - he just HAD to be. Varian groaned as he had to deny yet another unwanted advance, leaning back against a cool, marble pillar as Leonard relented and went away to find another man to flirt with. His eyes rolled as he looked away, a frown falling onto his face. Silently, he tugged on the collar of his shirt as Rapunzel glanced over with a saddened expression, him meeting her eyes before promptly averting his eyes to the floor of the ballroom and focusing on the golden details.

He was trying. He just..didn’t like the guy’s face or voice or personality or..okay maybe he wasn’t trying, but he couldn’t help it! He was being forced (‘prompted’ was how Rapunzel had put it upon proposing the idea to him, but he knew that it was simply to make him more complicit to accepting the idea) to marry a guy he didn’t know for the sake of a kingdom that he knew thought he was a monster. He hated it here, so honestly, the kingdom probably just wanted to get rid of him in the only way they knew how - marriage.

Marriage. Marriage as a prince was a curse. Something that wasn’t for love or endearment - it was just for status of the king and queen and good public relations, and to prevent wars between kingdoms. He wished he’d just been born in the kingdom itself, instead of a castle which kept him cooped up every hour of every day. He’d never been allowed out of the castle’s walls, it only fed his curiosity instead of deterring him, desperate to know how other people lived and went about their lives and fell in love with each other...it sounded perfect. Well, for him at least. Eugene had always told him his time in the village was short, but he hated it more than anything else in the world. Varian neglected to believe him - Eugene had a tendency to over-exaggerate everything, take for example the time he thought he had the plague when it was merely a common cold.

From across the room, someone began to stroll over. Someone..who was admittedly handsome and a sight for sore eyes in Varian’s opinion - but when you’d been looking at the dim-witted face of Leonard all day...let’s just say a change of scenery was very needed. The mysterious stranger donned an emerald jacket, stretching down to his waist with golden thread weaved into intricate patterns along the sleeves and chest. Not at all conservative with the details, in Varian’s opinion. A gold waistcoat was slightly hidden by the jacket, brown trousers completing the outfit and a pair of black shoes clicked against the floor as he made his way over. Varian instantly scolded himself for staring, but he couldn’t help that a pretty stranger was coming over to talk to him. This never happened once in his life and now that it was happening..he allowed himself to experience a wave of childish excitement and wonder.

“Hey. What’s a beautiful prince like you doing here?” the man asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Now that he’d moved closer, Varian’s eyes drifted over the glasses that framed his face and the ribbon, matching the color of his jacket, holding his hair back in place in a semi-neat ponytail with his fringe slicked back. Varian had to admit - he was definitely more handsome up close. A sea of freckles covered pale cheeks as he leaned against the pillar to his right, gazing down at Varian. “Sorry, I guess I should ask for your name first. I’m Hugo. You?”

“Oh, right. Uh-my name is Varian. Prince Varian of Corona.” he stuttered out, his face flushing at the attention from someone as..well, not suave but someone actually flirting with him, for a change.

“Ah, right. Well, could I steal you away for one dance, my prince?” Hugo asked, holding his hand out and bowing, the smirk still playing on his lips as the other hand pushed the circular glasses up the bridge of his nose again with nimble fingers. Varian debated saying no, the thought sticking in his mind as he reminded himself he couldn’t, in fact, dance and he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of such a handsome man. Alas, he gave in to his inner urges and agreed to Hugo’s proposal, slipping his cool, gloved hand into the blonde’s warm, bare one and letting himself get guided through the ocean of dancing couples to a relatively quiet spot on the outskirts of the ballroom. Carefully, Hugo pulled him along into a waltz as they glided across the dancefloor.

Varian’s inexperience must’ve been evident from the way Hugo slowed his movements and gave him time to catch up and learn before he quickened their pace ever so slightly. It was sweet - no one was ever really this considerate of him and his limits. The smug smirk was still on the blonde’s face, however, as they swayed in time with the music, Varian’s head resting on his chest as he let himself get lost in the moment for a while. The feeling of Hugo’s chest rising and falling with his melodic breaths, the gentle thudding of his heartbeat, the warmth that practically engulfed his whole body and left him with no escape..it was heavenly. He knew it was going to kill him to have to marry someone like Leonard after he’d just met a diamond in the rough like Hugo.

“How about we get out of here?” Varian hesitantly asked, Hugo’s eyes glittering slightly before he avidly nodded. Varian took his hand in his, interlacing their fingers and sprinting out of the ball. Neither of them would be missed, he supposed, as he pulled Hugo down hallway after hallway, all seeming the same as the other laughed in excitement and confusion at where they were going. Varian’s heart fluttered at the sound. He would kill for that to be the only sound he’d ever hear again.

Eventually, they pair ended up outside, laughing and joking as they watched the moonlight shimmer against the surface of the pond in the walled garden of the castle as the sound of the ball faded away into little more than a murmur. Their fingers were still interlaced as they walked, gazing in awe at the sheer beauty of the gardens (and each other) with nothing but a comfortable silence between the pair until Hugo spoke up. “So, Prince Varian..what are your interests?” He questioned, glancing over at the other boy as they passed a particularly beautiful patch of red tulips, barely poking out of the ground and their crimson buds only just discernible in the moonlight.

“You’re probably going to call me nerdy or something but..alchemy is my one true passion. I don’t know what about it I love. Maybe it’s the processes and how intricate they are, or how useful it can be, but..I adore the subject. I also love my pet raccoon, Ruddiger and uh..probably singing. I’m...not that good, though. And I won't be able to do it much after I marry Leonard anyway..” He laughed nervously, his eyes fixing on the ground and hair falling into his face. His hand trailed up to tuck it behind his ear, but Hugo beat him to it, his hand lingering for slightly longer than socially accepted and causing a flush to rise on Varian’s pale cheeks.

“You’re in luck, hairstripe. I just so happen to be an expert in the sciences.” He began before going off on a tangent about alchemy and its processes and different formulas. Varian took in every word as if it were gospel, his eyes fixed on the other as every word flowed like a stream, each word encapsulating Varian even further into Hugo’s siren song as his delicate melody of a voice lured him in. “Well, how come you can’t do it after marriage?” Hugo pondered, his eyes meeting the younger boy’s, who immediately saddened.

“Everyone thinks I ruin everything here. They say the marriage is meant to ‘straighten me out’ and make me less of a ‘problem’ or at the minimum someone else's. Leonard even said today in the lab ‘we’ll soon take that hobby out of you’ as if it’s a problem. I get that I sometimes overestimate or miscalculate, but..I don’t know. I don’t wanna live my life with someone like Leonard and give up my freedom for a rat-faced little snob like him. But..I’ve got no choice.” Varian sighed as he bit his lip gently. “Never mind, I said too much I-”

“Run away with me.”

It had caught Varian off guard, the sudden proposal coming out of seemingly nowhere. Run away with a man he’d only known for a few hours the day before his arranged wedding with Leonard? It would be scandalous! Of course, the only reason that Corona really wanted him to marry was so he’d be out their hair for good, but it was still hard to accept Hugo’s offer. He had to admit, he’d thought about it a few times and he would need a guide to show him around the different places of the seven kingdoms, but..just running away?

“I..I know I’m being forward with this, but I felt a connection when I saw you, Varian. Something deep and real and true..I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’t bear to see you marry some stuck-up, prissy little prince like Leonard.” He continued, inching closer to Varian and backing into a small seating area, ivy almost concealing it. “Varian..it’s your choice, but..I love you. Sure, it’s early to say that, but..I’m sure of it.” He concluded as Varian stared at him in utter awe, in wonder of how bold the man in front of him was. He loved it.

“Hugo I..are you sure? Are you sure you love me?..” Varian muttered, his other hand sliding and fitting perfectly into Hugo’s. The light summer breeze blew between them as Hugo guided Varian closer, raising his hands to his lips and pressing a kiss against them gently before lowering them again.

Hugo hesitated before inching even closer, tilting his head slightly and leaning in. “I’m sure of it, my dear. In fact, I’ll prove it.” he whispered against Varian’s lips, them meeting soon after in a slow, careful and absolutely divine kiss. Arms wrapped around each other and pulled their respective partner’s closer to each other, eyes fluttering shut and letting themselves get lost in the experience of their lips meeting for the first time. It was all Varian had ever wished for..

...until it wasn’t.

Hugo was tugged out of his arms by the collar, Eugene pulling him away as Hugo stared at Varian with a solemn, regretful look on his face. Quick;y, Varian snapped out of his haze and pulled on Eugene’s sleeve. “Hey, get off him! What are you doing?” He yelled as he tried to stop his brother-in-law from taking Hugo away from him. “Eugene let him go!”

“This man, Varian, is a wanted criminal in Corona! So just head up to your room now.” Eugene snapped bitterly, completely unlike the playful man Varian knew and loved. It stunned him into silence before he stood his ground and replied with his own amount of sheer annoyance at the situation.

“Eugene! No! I’m not gonna let you just take him awa-”

“Room, now!” Eugene yelled, turning to the younger boy who by this point had flinched back, tears making wet trails down his cheeks before his back straightened. Varian gave a prompt reply of ‘yes sir’ before walking back inside, building into a sprint as he ran to his room in the castle, slamming the door and rattling the alchemical equipment on the table. Additionally, he’d disturbed Ruddiger, the raccoon peacefully sleeping on the twin sized bed before waking up to see his master’s emotionally distressed state and fruitlessly attempting to comfort the boy as his body shook with the sheer force of his sobs.

It took him a while, but he’d eventually calmed down. Ruddiger curled up in his arms as Varian pondered Hugo’s prior proposal. Running away was his only choice now, getting away from the life he’d resented for so long because of how unfair it was on everyone around him. All around him was poverty and despair, and he couldn’t stand for that anymore. War or not, he was living his own life from now on. A determination flooded through his body as he walked to his closet, changing into some peasant clothing that a cook had gifted to him for if he ever wanted to sneak out of the castle for a day. It wasn’t much: brown trousers, long black boots and a long-sleeved, teal shirt with a dark blue patch on the left arm along with an apron, but it would have to do. He also took a navy cape out of the closet for himself and a green one for Hugo should he decide to leave with him. He sauntered to his window, a new haze taking over him as Ruddiger jumped onto his shoulders.

Varian gazed out at the kingdom he knew and loved, little dim lights showing houses with their candles still lit as he pulled his navy cape around himself further. Tears welled in his eyes before he promptly dismissed them. No. He wasn’t giving his life away to marry some deadbeat prince from a useless kingdom as part of some peace treaty, he wanted to marry for love and not just to please the masses. That was his choice, and he had to do this, so why was he finding it so hard to leave the prison he called a home and the wardens that were his family. He bit his lip gently and carefully pushed open the window, light wind brushing past his face and ruffling his hair with its chilling air. Wow, this really was it. His first time leaving the castle...but he couldn’t just leave.

Quickly, he gathered an assortment of items that were necessities in his eyes: a few hundred gold pieces, his goggles and a few alchemical books and supplies, a small painting of his mother and father, a loaf of bread and a satchel to hold them all in. Hastily, he shoved all his belongings into his bag after he pulled out a small test tube. Stepping out into the hall, he shook it gently and a sickly, green glow radiated onto the walls as he turned left and began to rush down the winding hallway, determined to save the other boy currently locked in the dungeons.

It wasn’t a hard journey to make - all the staff and royals were asleep so there was no chance of him getting caught, dim light illuminating the seemingly longer halls as he sped down them. He wasn’t going to let himself or Hugo be subjected to a life of torture when they’d been so harmonious, so perfect for each other in the short time frame they’d known each other. It wasn’t fair. If Rapunzel could marry a peasant, why couldn’t he?

His footsteps hesitated in the hall. Rapunzel. How would she react to the news of his departure? He knew it was selfish - to risk a war in order to be with a man he’d only just met, but..she had to understand he couldn’t give away his free will to someone who couldn’t even tell magnesium from silver. Leonard had the intelligence of a goldfish - whereas Hugo knew vast amounts of things about alchemy and science..it was addictive to listen to the other boy speak about something he loved so endearingly. That was one more reason he couldn’t let the other get harmed at the hand of his family, as he pushed open the large, spruce door to the dungeons with Ruddiger in tow.

Pitch black darkness surrounded him, the light from his makeshift contraption providing a limited field of view, yet enough for him to find the keys and steal them from their miniature, metal hook on the wall. As he passed cell after cell, some with raspy breathing, he noticed how freezing cold it was and how inhumane these conditions were. He hoped Hugo was okay, he thought as he passed through before stopping in front of some metal bars, squinting to see in the darkness a familiar silhouette. “Hugo.” he whispered, the blonde’s head quickly turning as he stood and ran to the bars, his relieved smile glowing under the light of Varian’s glowing test tube.

“You came back.” His voice rasped as Varian unlocked the cell. Hugo immediately swung his arms around the boy and spun him around in a circle, picking him up with his hands on his waist. “Oh my stars, I’m so glad you’re okay. With the way Eugene yelled at you, I thought you were in trouble.” He breathed a sigh of relief before he set the younger boy down, his hands resting on his shoulders. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner about me and my past. I swear I was going to, but of course Eugene and-”

Varian cut off the older’s apology with a kiss to his lips, his way of showing his acceptance to it. “As lovely as it is to listen to your voice, we have to go now before someone realises I’m gone. I want to be with you, Hugo. Now come on, we have to go.” he prompted as the pair ran past the prison cells and out into the cool air of the night, hand in hand and ready to face whatever was thrown at them.

#varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian x hugo #varian tangled #tangled varian #hugo tangled #tangled hugo #alchemy boyfriends

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theimpossiblehologramtree · 4 years

Text

Falling For You

Parring: Poe Dameron x reader

Word count: 3800+

anonymous asked: Request for Poe x reader: reader is injured on a mission and Poe admits he’s in love with her when he thought she was unconscious but the reader could actually hear him and confronts him about it later, saying she loves him too

Warnings: erm swearing, injuries

A/N: Thanks for requesting, sweet anon! I hope you like it. I’m a day late with this one, but ✨🌌 HAPPY STAR WARS DAY AND MAY THE FORTH BE WITH YOU, ALWAYS 🌌 ✨

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

🐝masterlist🐝

REQUEST IF YOU WANT MORE

☕buy me a Ko-fi!☕

Gifs are not mine. Credits to the owner.

'Fuck, I'm hit!'

You felt panic rush through your veins, as you lost control over your ship. The damaged X-Wing was spinning in the air, falling, the distance between it and the ground decreasing rapidly. Your heart was pumping in your chest quickly, almost as if it wanted to escape. Your small, fragile fingers, that were covered in blood, were pulling a parachute leaver, but to no avail. The metal got stuck, and you were trapped in a falling ship with no way to escape.

'(Y/N), where are you?! Just hang on, okay?' you've heard your best friend and General yell. You tried to look around and see if you can spot his red X-Wing, but everything was foggy. You felt your heart sink, when you realized, that you will not be able to see him for the last time. Being a Resistance pilot, you were used to the thought of near death, but getting separated with Poe - it was something else.

He was your best friend ever since you had met on Yavin 4. He was a spice runner while you were just a regular smuggler, but the connection between you was strong. You had to share your ship with him and his friends since both you and they had gotten in some trouble back on Tatooine. Preferring leaving, rather than dealing with that nasty situation, you made a deal and you transported them as far from there as possible. The travel was unproblematic unless you count Poe constantly trying to get under your skin. You had been drawn to him instantly. At first, he was just a "fun guy to spend time with", but you got on well and became best friends. When he told you he was joining the Resistance, you didn't even think twice before coming with him. That's when the bond you shared grew stronger since both of you were flying in the same squadron.

Right, friendship. You had never been more than that. Not that you didn't want to, I mean, you were basically madly in love with him. You adored his sarcastic personality, his cheeky comments, his beautiful dark curls and sparkly eyes. He made you feel special and unique in every way possible. He reassured you when you didn't feel needed. He helped you. He always complimented you, mostly on your looks and flying skills, heck, he even admitted that you were the best pilot in the universe, better than him. He was half-drunk and in a state of euphoria after a successful mission, but you would always point this out in your arguments. You loved him, but you've never had the chance (or the guts) to tell him.

And now you never will.

You remembered all the memories you shared with Poe. The first time you went stargazing, a thing that quickly became your habit, something you did after every mission. You would lie down on the roof of the base and just stare at the night sky full of shining stars. You remembered the first time he called you his best friend, which made you so emotional that you teared up. He just held you against his chest, chuckling and running his fingers through your hair, while you cried. You had never had friends before, and the thought of having someone you could rely on by your side made your heart warm.

The memory of the first time you argued crossed your mind. You were supposed to go on a dangerous secret mission for the Resistance. When General Organa told you, you were so happy, finally having the opportunity to prove yourself in the field. Poe, on the other hand, got mad. He didn't think you needed to prove yourself, but his emotions were mostly caused by the fact that you were supposed to go alone. It's not that he thought you were weak and helpless, on a contrary, but be was just worried something might happen to you. He started yelling at you, confessing that he cared for you and he just couldn't lose you too. That made your heart break.

And now he was yelling at you to hang on.

'Thanks, but that's really not an option, Dameron!' you yelled back, instantly regretting it, since those might have been your last words. But, Maker, he was really stupid sometimes. You tried to look up at his ship, hoping that you might see him for the last time before your fall ends, but to no avail. The glass was shattered, foggy, covered in gasoline and your blood. Closing your eyes you brought back every detail of his face, every wrinkle, every freckle and every little scar.

'Poe...' you whispered, as your life was getting closer to its end. You saw his eyes and heard his joyful laughter ring in your ears.

And then there was nothing.

'(Y/N) NO!' the small cockpit was filled with screams of terror, as Poe watched his best friend's ship crash on the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his eyes started well with tears. A wave of guilt, shock and sadness hit him, while all he could do was to stare at the wrecked X-Wing. At first, he didn’t feel anything. No sadness or despair, he felt just fine. His mind still didn’t process the fact that he had just lost his best friend. Poe never thought much about losing you, since you were a great pilot, so he wasn’t prepared to let you go. Before the battle, he didn’t say goodbye to you, because he never had. You always joked together before taking off and while being high up in the air.

‘Hey, flyboy! Just don’t look straight at the sun!’ you told him right before getting into your ship.

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll be too busy watching your shitty flying, Princess!’ he replied, laughing.

‘I’m the best pilot in the galaxy, you said so yourself!’

Poe couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. The beams of sunlight crowned your head, making your hair look like someone dusted powdered gold on it. You looked like an angel. Poe’s heart fluttered as he watched you, a dreamy smile forming on his lips.

He loved you, even though you were just friends and nothing more. He knew you could never be separated.

But here he was, alive and healthy, looking at your demolished ship. He had just witnessed your death, but it didn't move him. He was... fine. All he felt was a shock, no pain, no grief. It made him worry slightly. His mind screamed at him to feel anything, any emotion, bad or good, whatever. But he didn't. He was just numb. His eyes traced the route of Millenium Falcon, as Lando flew closer to see if you were anywhere to be found.

'General, what do we do?' he heard a voice, that belonged to one of his pilots, through the communication system. Poe had no answer to that. He half wished to be back home at Yavin 4, while the other part screamed for the fight to continue. He was desperate for any kind of reaction from his body, a power to scream or tears in his eyes. But it just wouldn't come.

'General?'

'Do we go back to the base?'

'We won, General!'

'General, we can go home now!'

He couldn't listen to that anymore. Poe mumbled a quick 'Yeah', before taking off his helmet. He couldn't come back home.

He just lost it.

A distant cheering snapped him out of his thoughts. They won. But he lost everything. Carefully Poe tried to stand up and move his bandaged hand. It was just a minor injury, compared to what was happening in his heart. Without a word, he walked out of the medical room and headed outside. He had no place to go to be alone. Everything reminded him of you, even his own quarters.

'Poe!' he turned around, at the sound of the familiar voice. Finn was cheering and running to him with a smile on his lips. This made Poe let out a sigh of relief. At least Finn was all right. Hugging his friend with one hand, Poe smiled sadly.

'Poe, we've won. The war is over!' Finn yelled and laughed, doing a little dance of victory.

'Yeah, that's great...' that was all the pilot could bring himself to say. He was truly happy that they won. He just wished the price wasn't that big.

'What is it, huh?' Finn asked, concerned, the smile coming off of his lips. 'Are you not happy? Isn't it what you wanted?'

The silence was more than enough of a response.

'Is it about (Y/N)? Is she not gonna make it?' Poe's head shot up at those words. Is she not gonna make it? What the hell does that mean?

'What do you mean?' he asked slowly, his orbs not leaving Finn's. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest.

'I just thought they had news abo- Oh, Maker!' the stormtrooper's eyes winded in realization. 'You don't know, do you?'

Poe's heart was beating faster than ever. He was still confused but also worried, not knowing what his best friend meant. What if Rey got fatally injured - or died - too. He wouldn't be able to take it.

'Do I know what, Finn?'

'She is alive. Lando got her out of that wreck just in time. She is in fatal condition, the medics don't know if she is gonna make it, but she didn't die. Not yet.' the man said slowly.

Poe was sure, that if it wasn't for the extreme adrenaline rush he just felt, he would have collapsed right there. He still wasn't entirely sure if he believed it. His heart was pounding in his chest at an incredible speed. No, it couldn't be. Perhaps he heard wrong. Or Finn wasn't thinking about (Y/N).

This was a battle, of course a lot of people died. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

But he had to make sure. Even if that meant getting his heart broken again, he had to ask for confirmation.

'Say that again' he whispered faintly, barely making any sound.

'She is alive, Poe. (Y/N) is still alive.'

That's all it took. The sound of your name was enough to make him break out a run and sprint back to the hospital, where he had been just a few minutes ago. Glancing through the glass, he quickly found the room they put you in and burst in through the open door. You were there, laying on the bed, with your hair splayed on the pillow in a messy halo. Your body was covered in blood, dirt and dust, but in Poe's opinion, you still looked beautiful.

Lots of cuts and bruises covered your face, and you had a wide gash on your stomach, which was the main source of blood that was covering everything. Poe's eyes darted instantly to your chest, looking for any sign of life. It was rising and collapsing in an unsteady rhythm. Your nose and lips were covered by the oxygen mask, and there were lots of cables connecting you to medical devices. The heart rate monitor showed an increasing line.

The nurses were bustling around the room, searching frantically for bandages, patches and gauzes. They were displaying surgical threads, needles and scalpels on the sterile metal table to sew the wound on your stomach.

Poe felt his heart stop, not for the first time this day. You were in terrible conditions, but you were alive. He felt his eyes prickle slightly as he watched your closed ones. A tear fell on his cheek and rolled down, falling on the tiles. Relief washed over him as he sunk to his knees, still standing in the doorway. The nurses seemed to take notice of him, and one quickly scurried over to the pilot.

'Sir, you have to leave. We will have to perform surgery on her, and we must not be interrupted. Please, stay in the waiting area' she said professionally and gestured to the chair in the hallway.

'But I love her...' Poe whispered, ignoring woman's words.

'I know, but she has very little chance of surviving and must receive help right away.'

'I love her' he just repeated, his gaze still lingering on your face. He couldn't get enough of seeing you alive.

'Sir, please...'

It wasn't until Poe heard his friend's voice and felt a pair of strong arms pulling him up, that he snapped.

'Poe, come on. It's all right, she is in good hands' Finn said, helping him get up. Poe managed to get a last glimpse at your unconscious figure before walking away. His mind was racing. He still couldn't believe you were alive. All he could do was stare blankly at the floor, not knowing what to do.

'Hey...' Finn spoke softly 'You should rest, it's been a really long day.' Poe blinked a couple of times and shook his head.

'No, I'm fine. I'll stay here in case she wakes up' he said loudly but seemed to be unsure of his words. He saw you, after all. It would have taken a miracle for you to get better.

'Hey buddy, she will be all right. You need to take care of yourself, or they won't let you in. No offence mate, but you stink' Finn scrunched his nose. In fact, his friend didn't stink - he mainly smelled of gasoline and sweat - but he was in terrible conditions. They haven't slept in ages, and Poe had dark hollow circles around his teary eyes. His uniform was dirty, the fabric torn in a few places, and he had an injured hand wrapped in bandages. To be frank, he looked no better than you.

'She will be all right, Poe. I will wait here for any news. You have to rest.'

The pilot didn't seem sure and was about to protest, but he caught his friend's sharp look.

'You come to me as soon as anything happens, understood?' he said, sighing in defeat.

'Understood, General.'

'I need you to promise me.'

'I promise, Poe.'

And with that, the pilot was instantly gone.

'Just for fifteen minutes, General Dameron.'

Poe quickly scurried into the room and sat gently on the side of your bed. You were after the surgery - the medics did an exceptionally good job - yet still unconscious.

'Hey, Princess' he whispered, running his fingers through your hair. 'Next time don't scare me like that.'

Your face was calm, eyes closed and cheeks slightly flushed. Poe couldn't help but stare at you in awe. Even now, you were perfect.

'But hey, we won!' he breathed, too scared to raise his voice.

'We destroyed those sons of bitches, (Y/N), we did it!'

And just like that, he started telling you about your victory. How at first there seemed to be no hope. How he had shot at the giant ships.

But then he came to the part where you got hit. Tears welled in his eyes at the memory of your falling X-wing. His voice started shaking, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying. Once again, Poe saw your ship getting hit, orange and yellow colours of explosion flew in front of his eyes. As he saw the machine fall down, he wanted to scream your name again.

At first, you had felt a few wet drops - probably someone's tears - fall on your cheeks and neck. Then a wave of pain hit you in your stomach. You were too tired to open your eyes or make a sound.

'And my heart stopped at that moment, Princess' you felt your heartbeat quicken at the familiar voice.

Poe.

He took your hand and squeezed tightly.

'I love you, (Y/N). And I just can't lose you' he said, making your heart skip a beat. You were lucky the nurses forgot to turn on the heart monitor, or he would have been able to hear everything. There was a moment of silence before the door creaked.

'General, we must insist you leave. Fifteen minutes are up.'

You felt the weight of his body shift from the bed, Poe stood up.'Goodbye, my sweet princess' he whispered and placed a loving kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You felt a light breeze of the morning wind brush against your face, as you walked down a corridor that was leading to the hangar. You were heading there to see Poe. It was supposed to be a surprise since he didn't know you were out of the hospital yet. Knowing your best friend, he was fixing his X-Wing despite the early hours. It wasn't uncommon among the pilots of the Resistance to be up on their feet before the sunrise. Working on machines and improving their efficiency with droids helped clear your minds before missions. You were sure this is where you should be looking for a certain brown-haired ex-spice runner.

And you weren't wrong.

As soon as you walked into the hangar, you immediately spotted him. Poe was standing next to his half-demolished X-Wing, armed with some wrenches and screwdrivers. He was talking to Finn, who was standing nearby with BB-8 that was circling vigorously. You took a moment to admire the view, before coming over. The droid saw you first, beeped enthusiastically and scurried over to you. It bumped into your legs, nearly sweeping you off your feet.

'Hey, buddy!' you kneeled next to him, laughing. 'Missed me?'

BB-8 beeped happily in response. You straightened its antennae, chuckling at the small robot. You could feel Poe's shocked gaze focused at you while standing up. You locked your eyes with him and walked over, smiling.

'Looking good, flyboy!' you said to him.

'What are you doing here, Princess?' he asked, clearly stunned by your presence. He dropped everything to the floor and took your arms into his hands, so delicately as if they were made of porcelain.

'I'm happy to see you too, Poe' you chuckled at his reaction. 'They let me out today, so I came here to see some old friends.'

The pilot snapped out of his thoughts and embracing you tightly, bringing you as close as possible with all the strength he had. His eyes started to water slightly when he inhaled the scent of your sweet shampoo. If Lando hadn't gotten you out of that wreck, you wouldn't be here. You wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging him back. Your hands wandered to his hair, as you wrapped his curls between your fingers.

'It's okay now, flyboy. I'm here' you whispered soothingly. 'I'm not leaving you.'

You stayed in this position for five minutes, just embracing each other, appreciating your presence. Poe finally let go and looked you deep in the eyes, with a small smirk already forming on his lips.

'I told you your flying is shitty' he stated, making you laugh.

'Excuse me?! I believe you were the one yelling at me to hang on when I got hit' you poked his chest and sticking your tongue at him.

He laughed and caught you by your waist, bringing you closer to him again.

'I was just trying to be helpful, darling' he said, tickling your stomach. You squealed and tried to wriggle out of his strong grip. You didn't succeed, so the only thing you could do is return the favour, starting a tickle fight in the middle of the hangar.

'Get a room!' somebody yelled from the small crowd that had already gathered around you.

'Yeah, Poe. Get your girlfriend and go to your quarters!' shouted Finn, who knew about your mutual love for each other. He, more than anything, was rooting for your friendship to turn into something more.

'Come on, man, you know we are not together' the pilot let you go, blushing furiously.

'Is that so, Poe?' you teased him. After he confessed his love to you when he thought you weren't listening, you finally had the guts to tell him about the feelings you returned. 'I thought you loved me and just couldn't lose me.'

'What?' he turned his head to face you, his eyes wide. You knew about his crush. 'I don't, (Y/N). I never said anything like that' he said trying to deny his affection.

'Oh, yeah? Cause I think you did. A few days ago, when you thought I was still unconscious.'

The crowd around you increased, people were clearly interested, and you couldn't exactly blame them, you were making quite a scene. Poe's face turned red, and his eyes widened. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode in his chest. You fucking knew, and it was his fault.

'No, Princess, you must have been dreaming' he giggled nervously attempting to hide his embarrassment. 'I don't love you, because... because if I did, you would mean the world to me. I wouldn't be able to live without you by my side. And I would have stupid nicknames for you, that I would use, even if you hated them. And I would love all the little quirks you have, all the little things you do. The way you put a single strand of hair behind your ear would be the highlight of my day. If I loved you, I would do anything to make you laugh, just to see that spark in your eyes, that appears when you smile. I would wake up and fall asleep just thinking about you. And my heart would - fuck - it would stop every time I see you and every time I hear your angelic voice. I would want to share my every day with you because you make my life better, Princess. And... and... I do. I fucking love you, (Y/N).'

The entire room went silent at his words. You slowly approached Poe, shaking your head in disbelief.

'I fucking love you too, flyboy' you said, bringing your hand to his cheek. He looked up hesitantly, his lips parting slightly in surprise. His brown eyes met yours, and for a while, you just looked deeply at each other.

'Fuck' he breathed out, before slamming his lips onto your with incredible strength. The unexpected kiss knocked the breath out of your lungs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you, and closing the gap between your bodies. Poe smiled into the kiss and lifted you off the ground gently, spinning you in the air. You could hear the people cheering at you but at the moment the only thing that mattered was Poe Dameron, the (second) best pilot in the galaxy.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #majka writes #this shit deleted itself and i'm stll not over that

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67midnightwriter · 4 years

Text

Angel Down

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

W/C: 2,887

Dean x Cas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the time I became human?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

Please, please kill me before he comes back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We still have time, Dean.”

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

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

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

Sam said nothing.

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

He knows life would be easier if they did.

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

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

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

Taglist:

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

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

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chocolateheart · 4 years

Text

Complicated

Title: Complicated

Word count: 4651 (a lot, I know, I’m sorry)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The hunt brings them together, the past comes back, the feelings are complicated.

Warnings: the mix of fluff and angst, fear of love, fear of talking about emotions and feelings, tension, blood, violence, fight, body harm, wounds, dead bodies, graphic description of all that. If I missed something, let me know!

A/N: This is my one shot for @jensengirl83 200 followers challenge. Congrats again, babe! You gave me a free hand and said to go crazy so here I am with almost 5k words, hahah. My prompt was “You look like hell. How did you get in such a mess?” I got kinda lost in the middle of this but somehow I managed to finish it and I’m sorry for posting it that late but yeah, life happened. I hope you’ll like it!

A/N: Huge thanks to my hunny bunny beta @winchest09 <3 The amount of patience you have for me, oh girl…

A/N: @talesmaniac89 thank you for those amazing dividers! <3

It was quiet when Y/N entered the building. The house was huge and old, wooden walls cracking every so often under the pressure of the wind. The night felt cold but single drops of sweat rolled down her neck. She adjusted the machete in her hand and scanned the large area of the first floor, flinching when something crunched under her boots. She looked down and noticed little crystals of broken glass glistening in the moonlight that creeped through the dirty window. The more she looked around, the more she acknowledged the details of the fight that had taken place right where she was standing. Damaged commode, planks strewn around, broken handrail and shattered glass.

Trying to find any clues, Y/N carefully eyed every inch of the room and frowned, spotting something next to the dusted armchair. Crouching down she touched it and with a small sigh discovered it was a red liquid.

Blood.

Rubbing her middle and index finger with her thumb, she noticed the blood was fresh; the person it belonged to was here a couple of hours ago. Hoping the victim was still alive, Y/N stood up, brushing lonely strands of her hair away from her face. The place seemed to be empty, silence pinching her ears; the vampire's nest was never that calm before. This made her stomach twist; something was wrong. It was like she made a mistake with the location, like no one was here but she was sure it’s the right place, it had to be. Suddenly a smell hit her and made her instinctively reach for the gun. Sulfur.

Nonsense. She was following vamps for weeks now. Was it possible that somehow she stepped on demons? Why here, why now?

She knew she should check the basement first but the blood tracks were leading upstairs. Old, dirty carpet covering the stairs was nearly soaked in it. The uneasy thought of finding a dead body crossed her mind and she swallowed thickly. Taking careful, quiet steps Y/N looked up to be ready in case something wanted to take her by surprise. She didn’t even make it to the first floor when she heard screams, muffled by the house. She rolled her eyes and cursed herself.

Basement, you idiot. It's always the basement.

Still quiet but faster now she came back downstairs, crossing the living room and after praying it won’t crack loud, she opened the door that led underground.

Angry voices reached her ears when she got to the concrete floor. Slowing down she tightened her grip on her weapon’s helve and moved forward, alert and tense.

“Where is it?!” The question was followed by the sound of a beating.

Weak laugh was barely audible but it tickled her in a weird way she couldn’t exactly name; like she heard it before.

“You think I’m gonna tell you?”

This voice. She stopped in her tracks, hidden behind the pillar holding the ceiling; listening, not believing what she had heard. Another punch, then the sound of spitting, probably with blood.

“You can beat the shit out of me but you’ll get nothing.” Her heart skipped a beat when she finally realised who this voice belonged to.

Dean.

Peeping from behind the pillar for a quick second, she noticed three, maybe four figures standing with their backs to her and a chair, bathed in a dim light of the bulb hanging above Dean’s head who was tied down.

Laying her head back, Y/N closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She had to be quick and effective; no second chances, no mistakes. Planning her moves she felt shivers running down her spine. Her hands fisted in irritation as she cursed the man she was about to save; no matter how much time had passed, when it was about saving his ass, she was always more concerned.

The moment she was all ready to jump and slice, ignoring the question of why fangs were keeping Dean, something in the dark corner caught her attention and stopped her. Narrowing her eyes Y/N focused on the pile laying on the ground. It took her few seconds but finally she saw it; bodies covered in blood, heads cut off, with open eyes and mouths that showed rows of sharp teeth.

Vampires.

Y/N’s breath quickened. If this bunch of dead bodies was what she was looking for then who the hell was beating Dean? Her mind wandered to the scent of sulfur she smelled before. It didn’t make any sense but there was no other option - they were demons. Putting away the machete, Y/N took out her gun. She had to figure something out. Hunting demons wasn't exactly in her schedule for tonight, all needed tools were in the car; suddenly she felt weirdly naked.

Before she could make any move, she heard steps coming from the stairs. She felt on edge, surrounded, surprised and put in a position where she had a harmed man to save. She was in trouble.

Light panic creeped into her as she searched for solution; eyes flicking around, landing finally on a little platform she could easily fit onto. Smirking at the idea, she changed the pistol for the crossbow on her back and took out the bottle with holy water she always carried with her. Y/N disappeared into the shadows before the approaching demons could see her.

Dean received yet another hit, straight in his jawline that was already swollen and pulsing. Spitting again he smiled; his teeth bloody, just like the rest of his face. Cut brow and lips, bruises already appearing, red streams coloring his freckled flesh. He could feel himself getting weaker; his head dizzy, muscles burning and his throat sore. Ropes on his wrists were so tight he was sure to find grey-blue marks later; if he ever gets out.

The demons surprised him, he was expecting bloodsuckers not those dusty assholes.

Apparently hell douches had some issues with twilight so they teared them into pieces; taking Dean’s job from under his nose. And now they thought he had some information but he knew shit - another aspect that annoyed him. He had no idea what was going on and what they wanted. But he acted like he did, hoping they would accidentally spill some tea.

“Where is it?!” The demon hissed again, squeezing Dean’s face, forcing him to look up. One of his fingers digged into the cut on the cheek, causing more blood to pour.

“Bite me.” Dean hissed back, giving the torturer a hard, confident look and an arrogant smile.

The man lifted his fist, ready to hit the hunter again and just then something cut through the air with a whiz. The demon yelled as white smoke started floating from where the arrow got stuck in his body, burning him. It took Dean aback; he frowned confused, watching the douchebag stumbling around as another arrow flashed in front of his eyes, wounding the next demon. One by one they all were getting shot; screaming and grunting they seemed to be so vulnerable now. Then, with the corner of his eye, Dean spotted someone jumping down from a platform. Maybe this was someone willing to help him.

It was too dark and Dean was too tired to focus on who it was but he knew they were a hunter for sure. The stranger moved fast, ably slicing the distracted demons. Using the machete the hunter cut their flesh; more smoke, more pain. Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the limber moves, from the facility that the weapon was used with. Even though he was mesmerised, the person's behavior seemed to be oddly familiar; his brain registered something that it had seen before, more than once.

After a few final flips of the wrist, the demons had enough; their heads tilted back, mouths opened and a black smoke flew out of them, disappearing in the darkness. The room got silent; the only sound was heavy breathing - female heavy breathing as Dean tried his hardest to pinpoint who it was.

She was standing with her back to Dean, scanning the room, still alert and high on adrenaline from the fight. She felt her muscles rippling, hands twitching, her hammering heart pumped blood that was rushing in her veins, raising her temperature as she observed bodies laying on the floor. Wetting arrows and her blade with holy water was a quick, unsure idea but it worked; she just wished she could save those people.

A few deep breaths helped her to calm down. She tugged the weapon behind the belt and turned to the Winchester, revealing who she was. Dean’s eyes widened as he discovered the stranger's identity and his heart made a tiny jump.

Memories hit him immediately, pelting him with the amazing time he had three years ago. It wasn't something Dean admitted out loud but he admired the badass girl from the second he laid his eyes on her. They clicked on the fight field, understanding each other without a word, they spent a couple of irreplaceable nights in bars and motels, exchanging thoughts, dreams and experiences. Dean didn’t find in her just a buddy he never knew he needed but also someone he could open his soul to without worrying about anything. Seeing her now felt like he was thrown to the past by angels; the only difference was that now, he enjoyed the circumstances.

“Y/N,” he said slightly surprised, his hoarse voice making her lips curl in a smirk. "What are you doing here?"

"Long story. Let's say I'm having a trip around the neighbourhood," she answered and took a closer look at him.

His face was damaged; cut, painted with blood and bruises, swollen in a few places. His right arm was wounded, crimson stains covering his ripped shirt. He was sweaty and breathing heavily; livid skin under his tired eyes. It's been a long time since she saw him looking like he got hit by a truck.

"You look like hell. How did you get in such a mess?" she asked as she pulled out a knife.

"Long story. Let's say I tripped." He mirrored her words, making her chuckle and grunted when she cut off ropes on his wrists.

After hours in the same position Dean got numb so with every move a small, pained moan escaped him. Y/N helped him to get up on his legs which shook a little under him. Offering her shoulder he partly leaned on, she grabbed his waist and headed to the exit. Hearing Dean chuckle, she looked up and as she saw those soft dimples, her mouth curled upwards.

"What's so funny, Winchester?" she asked as they passed by the collection of dead vamps.

"You saved my ass again. It's humiliating." She laughed out loud, satisfaction filling her up.

"Then we both deserve a drink."

The gas station near the motel was their source of food and alcohol that night. Y/N bought two large hot dogs and four beers, thereupon went back to the room where she left Dean.

Opening the door she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed; showered and clothed in a fresh v-neck and sweatpants. Cuts still red and open but his face was clean and focused as Dean was trying to stitch his wounded arm. Y/N could see he was frustrated because of his still slightly trembling hands.

She put down the bag and approached him, taking his hands in hers.

"Hey, let me do it," she offered, sitting down next to him.

He gave up with an irritated huff and turned his eyes away, embarrassed by his current clumsiness. She looked at him for a second and then focused on the needle in her hand.

The silence fell between them; both lost in their thoughts, suddenly a little bit uncomfortable with each other. Y/N felt her tummy tightening and she swallowed, doing her best to not let her eyes wander, but it was in vain.

This man looked like he was straight from the cover of a magazine. From his strong arms that could easily crush her, through to his tanned skin with a constellation of adorable freckles she swore to count one day. To his calloused hands with long, thick fingers that could so deliciously travel across her body. His firm stomach hidden under the thin material of the t-shirt; the same stomach she had stitched in the past, the stomach she secretly wanted to scratch and kiss.

"Ouch," Dean's sudden hiss brutally detached Y/N from her thoughts and she understood she lost control over her hand, stinging his healthy skin.

"Sorry," she answered quickly.

Y/N knew things were going to be this way when her eyes met his green ones back in the basement. She knew that meeting him again would make her weak and she was right, nothing had changed. He still had the same influence on that he’s always had.

The huntress wasn't exactly a person who fell so easily; who would get wet without any sexual contact. Her heart wasn't such a sucker for feelings, her head wasn't so easily distracted. Yet with Dean it was different, and it was annoying because she didn’t have control over her own self.

Shaking her head, she finished the job and rolled down his sleeve as Dean cleared his throat.

"Thanks," he muttered and she shrugged with a small smile.

"Not a big deal, it's just stitching." She wanted to stand up but Dean stopped her by grabbing her hand.

Y/N skin was so soft under his fingertips, almost like silk. He knew it had a lot of scars and marks but that just made it more beautiful. Every little imperfection of hers was perfect for him; reminding him of the angel she was, fighting to save lives. Dean was always amazed by how she was a badass hunter and warrior but everytime she wasn’t cutting heads, she seemed so small, so tiny when he held her. His body and heart instinctively needed to protect her from the evil with everything he had.

His unsure, emerald eyes made Y/N frown, making Dean realise he froze with his fingers around her wrist, staring at her.

"Thank you for saving me," he said quietly and watched as her lips widened in a smile.

For a mere second he thought about how they could feel against him; warm and soft, moving in sync with his, followed by the sweet taste of her tongue. Blinking he pushed away those thoughts, glad she couldn’t read his mind. Familiar fear of her finding out flitted through him, stimulating his nerves. It was pathetic; a grown ass man was scared to say what he felt but in his case it wasn’t anything new.

"Always a pleasure to save a Winchester's ass," she said slightly amused and he rolled his eyes with a smile; this attitude. "Hungry?" she asked standing up but she already knew the answer.

"Starving." Pushing himself forward onto the bed, Dean leaned onto the headboard, stretching out his legs.

Taking a place next to him, she pulled out the food and drinks from her bag, receiving a pleasured "oh yes" from the hunter beside her.

They ate as they talked about what had happened in the last few years when they hadn't seen each other, recalling some events from the past and trying to understand what exactly had happened that day. With time and alcohol, the atmosphere loosened and they fully started to enjoy their mutual presence. Their laughs echoed in the room just like old times and for a moment it felt like they never separated.

By the time the birds started to sing outside, Y/N found herself in the same sitting position as Dean's, their arms brushing and legs briefly touching. She laughed as he talked about Sammy's drinking actions; she missed this giant, suddenly feeling the need to hug him.

"Um, listen…" he started and cleared his throat.

"Hmm?" Encouraging him, she took a sip from almost an empty bottle.

"It's actually good to see you," Dean mumbled as he rubbed his thumb on the glass he was holding. "I've missed you." She looked at him, her brows scrunching.

"Awww, Dean," she whined. "You gonna make me sob." The moment his eyes lifted up, she chuckled, trying to hide her smile in drinking.

"Shut up," he shot back with a grin. "I'm trying to be nice here." Shrugging he tilted the bottle and Y/N allowed herself to watch how his throat moved when he swallowed. Licking her lips she touched his hand, drawing his attention.

"I missed you too," she simply said and their eyes met.

But this time was different.

Maybe it was her slightly drunk mind, maybe it was the tiredness after a few days with not much sleep or maybe it was the usual dizziness she felt when she was with him. She didn’t know, but something stopped the time, erased everything around it and left only Dean.

He was so close she could see gold motes in the green ocean of his eyes; crystals shining so bright that every other stone was becoming a common rock in comparison. The eyes that could hypnotize you in a second and save you from darkness the next.

His unique smell surrounded her, warm vibrations radiating from his whole body and Y/N wasn't able to stop her mind when it created scenes she wished were real. Losing control over her imagination, his intense gaze turning off her rational thinking, she let her eyes drop to his lips and that was her mistake. Every time she yearned for him, dreaming about being his in every possible way, was nothing compared to what she felt now.

She was scared and confused because first, she thought she had gotten over this stupid love years ago and second, she didn't know why all those feelings were so strong now. She was always weak for him but not that weak.

Dean noticed when she swallowed, his own mouth watering. Allowing his emotions to take control of him wasn't exactly his style; especially not with her. But he felt his fingers itching and lips twitching when his mind focused on her. The soft features of her face, delicate, olive skin he would so gladly caress. Her pink lips, shaped like they were made for kissing; at least that's what he thought. The vision of her touching him the way those cheap one night stands did so many times, her warm body wrapping around him, slender palms mapping his every inch. It left him woozy, drunk on her.

The air was thick, their breathing quickened, pulse throbbing under the skin as their heartbeats thumped in their chests, little hairs standing up as goosebumps overlaid their bodies.

But even though it was strongly sexual, the heat so high it could burn the Earth, the thing hanging between them wasn't just physical attraction. Their hearts played the main role in the performance neither Dean nor Y/N thought of taking part in.

Years of admiration, of looking up to each other, of watching how the other person was just a good human being and then the break which made them realise how strong a connection they had; it made them fall for each other. But both of them were too scared to make a move, too blind to see the other wanted the exact same thing. So as soon as both their minds grew with the thought of leaning forward, they lowered their heads. Dean nervously scratched the back of his neck, feeling blush creeping up his skin as Y/N decided to sooth her trembling insides with the rest of beer.

Exchanging awkward smiles they unconsciously allowed their fears to win yet another battle. Knowing so well they wanted to taste the love but being too afraid of its power. To say their relations were complicated was an insult.

“So what do you think happened there? What did those demons want?” Y/N asked the next evening as they packed.

“No idea,” Dean answered, closing his bag. “But I’m about to find out. Sam is already digging, trying to find anything and I’m going back there tonight.” She turned around to look at him, frowning.

“What for?”

“They smashed up the place before I got there,” he lifted the bag and headed to the door, “maybe they missed something.”

“You think the fangs had whatever they were looking for?” Crossing her arms Y/N leaned back on the table. Dean shrugged, opening the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Woah, woah,” he stretched his hand forward, stopping her, “you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” She looked at him with lifted brows and upon noticing he was not joking she huffed a short laugh.

“What?” the question was filled with amusement that rose up in her. He must be kidding.

“You’re staying here or going to Sam if you wanna help,” he stated and walked out to the Impala that was parked in front of the motel room. She looked at the empty space he stood in seconds ago, confused, with her arms open in a silent question.

“Wh- Dean!” she yelled and followed his tracks. “Are you kidding me? I’m not gonna stay behind!”

“Yes, you are.” He closed the truck of the black, muscle car. “This case stinks from miles, Y/N, it’s too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous?!” her voice raised up; her temper was short and telling her what to do was igniting the fire, especially considering he was assuming she couldn’t handle the situation. “Let me remind you I was the one who saved your ass yesterday! And it wasn’t the first time!” She watched as he walked around the Baby, avoiding her gaze.

“That’s not the point, Y/N. You’re not going,” he repeated firmly, turning his back to her which got on her nerves even more.

“You’re not gonna tell me what to do!” she leaned forward, pointing to the ground like it was putting the dot on her statement.

“Yes I will!” Dean hollered, turning to her before taking a few strong steps which made her straighten. She was taken aback by his sudden anger and eyes snapping towards her. “I will because I care about you.” His stare was so intense she felt her knees giving up as he slowly approached her. “And if you go there, and something happens, I’m never gonna forgive myself…” he made a pause and took a few deep breaths. “If I lose you,” he grabbed her arms tightly and lowered himself so he could level with her eyes. “I’m gonna lose my freaking mind.”

Y/N’s heart was banging in her chest as she searched his face, noticing how Dean’s eyes were glistening in the dim motel’s lights, shimmering with emotions. Sweat broke across her flesh as his words reached her mind.

What the hell does that mean?

“Dean, what-” she began but Dean immediately cut her off, shaking his head, tired with this game they had been playing for so long.

“Shut up.”

He firmly pulled her to him and crushed his mouth to hers. She froze, surprised and tensed. But as her brain processed what was happening and his lips slightly moved, she melted. Kissing him back, she gave him access and feeling his hot tongue, she lifted her hands to his hair. Fisting it, she arched to him and he enclosed her in his strong arms, sneaking them around her and on her back. His lips were even better than she imagined and despite the intensity he was kissing her with, she could feel how soft they were. Her mind was galloping, her heart beating so loud she was sure it’s gonna jump out or explode. Feeling Dean’s arms squeezing her, for the first time in so long she felt safe and she wanted to stay there for the rest of eternity.

She gave into him, leaning in, she kissed back. Dean’s mind was a mess; not only with the nerves and fear but the fact she didn’t push him away. Instead she clung to him, pulled him even closer - his heart went crazy. The relief filled him as she pushed herself flush to him, standing on her tiptoes, deepening the kiss, even moaning quietly. The taste of her lips and tongue hazed his brain, it was like a drug. But he wouldn’t let himself lose it completely; he needed to stay sober to drag her away from the idea of going with him. Breaking the kiss was harder than he expected, but he managed. Still holding her close, both of them panting, he rested his forehead against hers.

Finally she looked up, wanting to see his eyes but he kept them closed. Shivers were running over her body, she was high on the feelings that bursted between them. Dean’s cheeks moved as he gritted his teeth, deciding to spill everything while he still had courage.

“For three years I was thinking about you,” he said, his voice low. “You were crossing my mind every night and day but I couldn’t bring myself to call you. I knew you didn’t want to be here, that you needed your own life, that you didn’t want me. But that didn’t stop my feelings for you. Then when I saw you yesterday, they slapped me full force in the face. Now, when I have you back here, I can’t lose you. Leaving is one thing but getting killed is another.”

Y/N felt him trembling, his breathing ragged and voice shaking but words steaming with honesty. Being aware of how nervous he could be, she dropped her palm from the back of his head onto his cheek. Rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone, she searched for words she needed to say.

“I’ve always wanted you, Dean,” she spoke, causing his eyes to snap open and pierce into hers. Green orbs twinkling with sparkles of happiness and disbelief. “You were always the most important, even when I wasn’t here. You were constantly in my head but I thought I was just a friend.” He chuckled. “You’re more than a friend, sweetheart.” He pulled back and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And that’s why you can’t go with me. Promise me you won’t go,” he pleaded, his eyes begging and worried.

“Dean, I could help,” she whispered but he shook his head.

“Promise me, Y/N.” She looked to the sky, taking a breath. She understood but her position was the same.

“I can’t,” whispering she let her hands fall off of him but Dean was still holding her. After a few moments he sighed, let her go and rubbing his face in exhaustion he looked at her, helpless.

“Okay, fine,” he gave up and a smile appeared on her face. “Go get your stuff.”

Instead of going straight away to get her bag, she leaned up and kissed him, slowly and softly. He melted into her, his brows jumping up on an unexpected action. She was so sweet; sweeter than any pie he ever had in his life. Pulling away she stayed close, watching him blinking the bliss away.

“Is it gonna look like that from now on? You will agree on anything I’ll say? Are you that weak for me?” she whispered into his lips and he chuckled low.

“Probably,” Dean answered as he caressed her forearms and briefly entwined their fingers. She pulled away fiercely, the idea shining in her widened eyes.

“Are you gonna let me drive her?” she asked excitedly but he burst into a laugh.

“Na-ah, sweetheart. That’s not gonna happen,” he answered with a warm smile and pulled her into one more kiss.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

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