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severineofsalem · 1 year

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My Good Papa

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV / Fem!Reader

Summary: Popia gets annoyed and comes to you for comfort. It turns into something else. (I am terrible with summaries and titles. 🧍‍♀️)

Word Count: 1k

Warning(s): NSFW 18+, papa kink, blowjob, reader and Popia are both switchy, poorly translated Italian, not proof read.

AO3 Link

A/N: Well yeehaw. My first Ghost fic. Even in spirit form, Nihil is still a dick.

Thunderous knocking clashed against your dormitory door, startling you from your treatise. Before you are able to get out of your desk chair, the rustic door flies open, slamming shut after the person.

A frustrated Copia filled your view. His furrowed brows made his wrinkles more prominent. The look in his mismatched eyes made frustration seem like an understatement. He flopped face-first onto the full-sized bed that took up most of the room, grumbling blurry words in his mother language. “Well hello to you too.” At least he knocked.

“Cara mia, that cazzo di merda. He is really starting to-” Cutting off his own sentence, Copia sighed seethingly. The rage filling the once relaxing atmosphere was perturbing. “Copia…?” A mop of brown, salt-and-peppered hair rose from the bed. His gaze meeting yours, softening. “What is wrong?” You slowly made your way to him, easing onto the squeaky mattress beside his laying form. “That dickhead Nihil. Who knew the dead could be so annoying?” The higher up shook his head. “Well if it is Nihil we are talking about…What did he say this time?”

He perked onto his side to face you, bringing a gloved hand to twirl his hair. “The fucking same shit he always says. I am Papa now. He needs to accept it.” He continued rambling, but you didn’t pay attention. You couldn’t help it. The way he growled those infuriate toned words set something ablaze in you. His face matched his vocals. You took notice that he was wearing your favorite ripped and roughed up pants. They complimented the thickness of his thighs deliciously.

It wasn’t often Copia showed this side of himself. He usually came crumbling to you for comfort, comfort you gladly gave. There was just something more firm with this. Something domineering. You wanted to feed the fire that roused inside him. “Yes. You are Papa. My Papa.” You slide your hand against his arm. He caught on to the look in your eyes. A look he knew all too well. It took him by surprise, but he quickly stopped his eyebrows from shooting upward. What he couldn’t stop was the growing smirk.

“I am your Papa. I am a good papa, sì?” He leaned in close, the hand in his hair reaching its way to clasp your thigh. The ferocity that had captivated his mind dissolved into a different kind. “Yes. You are the best Papa.” There was no mistaking the sultry in your voice.

“If he is so good, doesn’t he deserve a reward, eh?” He barely said his last word before you smashed your lips together. The hand on your thigh grasped harder into your flesh, eliciting a muffled moan from your throat. The contrast of his now kneading hand with the roughness of the kiss made your knees weak.

You push yourself away from him, looking directly into his amorous orbs. Placing your palms against the front of his detailed vest, shoving him on to his back. The old mattress screeching with the movement. You both rushed to pull off his layers, ridding all of the upper half. Fuck, it was a sight to see. Skin sunken around the collarbone, the 666 tattoo that was inked above his standing nipple, the happy trail that led to where your intentions planned to be. The sight was completely mouth watering.

“Hmm, what exactly are you thinking, my dark sovereign? How do you want me?” You leaned down, nibbling along his chest and stomach. The action had him writhing and his breath hitching, hands holding onto you. Anticipation was buzzing like electricity through the air. “Oh I think you know, cara mia. Let’s put that mouth to, eh, use?” You landed a kiss on the center of his chest, fingers working on the tie of his pants. A bulge already tenting the crotch of the black material. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling it. “Merda.” A hand grabbing ahold of your hair, tugging.

You took no time pulling out the hardened member. Copia could barely keep up the act. He nearly bit off his lower lip trying not to whine. You licked a stripe against a jutting vein, wrapping your tongue around him. He threw his head back as you sucked the sensitive shaft. Precum melted against your taste buds. The grip on your hair tightened as you began to bob your head. The tip of his cock buried against the back of your throat as you lowered yourself as far as you could. Light brown pubes tickled your nose as you nearly choked. Mouth full, wet, and warm. It was dizzying. You closed your eyes, relishing the way he felt as you swallowed. A strangled groan tore from Copia.

“Let me fuck your throat, sister. Please?” You could tell by the way his hands shook that he was holding himself back from fucking your throat raw. The double tap on his thigh was all he needed. His other hand grabbed your jaw, thrusting into your face. Spurs of moans and curse words erupted from him. Tears pooled in your lower lash line as you looked up. The paint on his lips smeared, nose flared. “Such a good follower. Letting your- ahh! Your Papa use you. Fuuuck.”

Tears ran down your face, soaking his pants along with streams of saliva that escaped your mouth as he pounded into you. Your whines and moans only added to his pleasure. The way he relentlessly thrusted into your mouth had you pulsing. Your own pleasure sleeking your thighs under your habit. You sucked harsher around him. It was getting harder to breathe through your nose. Your jaw was beginning to hurt. You raked your fingers up his belly, digging into the plush abdomen. Goosebumps raised as Copia’s cock twitched.

You intentionally hummed around the throbbing member, causing Copia to yell out. “F-fuck. I’m cu-umming. Oh merda. Yes sister. Y-yes.” His body racked with waves of satisfaction, legs kicking around you. Loads of cum coated your throat, making it somehow more stuffed. You happily swallowed all he gave. As soon as he stopped shaking and the hands on you loosened, you let go with a pop, licking your lips and catching your breath. You crawled up to him, landing on his torso, showering his heated face with loving kisses. You met his gaze, seeing only adoration.

You gave him an innocent look, “Was I good Papa?” That adoration was quickly joined with a dark glint. “Sì, cara mia.” He paused, letting out a deep sigh. He grabbed your hips firmly. “Now, sister. Get on your hands and knees."

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#papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #popia #popia x reader #papa emeritus iv smut #popia smut #the band ghost #ghost fic #mdni #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia smut #guess i write for ghost now

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girls-alias · 5 months

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Dean's Dream P8

Title: Dean's Dream Part 8 Words: 3,688 [Didn't realise how long this chapter was but I hope you enjoy 😁💟] Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Strong language

Part 7

Y/N's POV:

None of my memory before my coma came back, I learnt to accept that Dean was only a figment of my imagination. Years ago when I had gone looking for Dean I returned home, spoke with my therapist and worked hard to heal. My therapist seemed relieved that I now shared his belief that Dean wasn't real but seemed sad as he recognised that all I had been fighting for was gone. I had a rocky recovery, often mourning the anniversary as it passed me by.

It's been 4 years now. I still think of him, I still think I see him in crowds but it isn't as frequent as it used to be. I isolated myself from the world, even a short walk to the shop was upsetting to me as seeing happy couples or thinking I see Dean shakes me to my core. I haven't had the strength to say his name out loud since I came back from Salt Lake City and doubt I ever will. My soul is empty and no matter how hard I fight, I know there is no one cheering me on or smiling that I'm still here. I'm a shell of a person and doubt I will ever truly be happy because my happiness wasn't real.

I sat in my apartment crying for the billionth time, hugging my pillow tight to my chest. Closing my eyes as I picture Dean hugging and comforting me like I always did. Knowing he'd never truly be here.

Dean's POV:

Life feels like a blur. Once Sam and I left Salt Lake City, I isolated myself a little, finding comfort in being alone and imagining she was real. I would often find myself talking in an empty room, imagining she was with me but as soon as I was distracted, she was gone. The breakdowns it caused only hurt more because like in the dream she felt real.

Even after 4 years, Sam is still worried about me. We barely talked about her and it took me a while to get back to my normal life. I was never fully healed as every time I went back and was alone it reminded me that the perfect woman wasn't waiting for me. She wasn't real and I need to learn to accept it. There was a time, on a hunt, when we saved a girl from a burning building and she said Y/N was still inside. I rushed in, looked everywhere and it messed me up. I was burnt, I inhaled smoke and found that she wasn't my Y/N. It ruined me as it reminded me that my Y/N isn't mine and she isn't real. I'll never find her and she'll never be in my arms.

She made me a better man, I never kissed anyone after her, never even thought anything sexual for anyone but her. Sam thinks it's not good to still miss her but has used it to our advantage at times. His most painful one was when we got caught by a group of demons, we had fought as best as we could but were defeated. I gave up so deeply that I didn't even make sarcastic comments or insults. They had beaten us until we were barely conscious, blood and bruises covering us as we sat tied to the chairs.

"Dean, they threatening her," Sam tried.

"What?" I asked confused thinking it was some code I couldn't decipher. The group of demons looked at Sam confused.

"If they kill you, Y/N dies too. They're going to kill her," I filled with rage. I know he's just trying to get my fight back but he doesn't have to hurt me in the process.

"Y/N, huh?" A demon asked approaching me with a smirk. "Oh, Dean's in love. Don't worry, Sam right. I'm going to find her, I am going to pull her nails, her teeth, her hair out. She'll scream for your help but you'll already be dead." The demon smirked. I clenched my jaw and fists. I blacked out from the rage poisoning my veins.

The darkness cleared as I stood, beneath me were all the demon's bodies. I must have gone crazy with my anger as Sam looked terrified. I didn't know I had the strength to even stand never mind fight the group of them and win. I'd untied Sam, punching him in the stomach for manipulating my emotions.

Y/N's POV:

I sighed putting my headphones on, it was time to leave again and I was taking the necessary steps to allow me the strength to leave the house. I walked to therapy, head low, hood up as I made my way there, I ignored the world around me. Once in his office, he smiled reassuringly.

"How've you been this week?" Noah asked, opening his file to start taking notes. I sighed as I slumped back in my seat.

"Same as always," My tone flat, like usual. Noah nodded as he wrote in the file.

"So, no memories." He spoke to himself as he wrote. We'd given up hope that the memories would come back but always asked on the off chance. "How many times have you thought you'd seen Dean this week?" He asked looking at me deeply. I sighed, my eyes closing from the pain squeezing my heart and throat making it hard to speak.

"4," I admitted, he nodded, watching me. Waiting for me to explain.

We were just wrapping up our 2-hour session when Noah walked me to the door. "Oh, have you decided where you're going on your trip?" He asked nonchalantly. I shrugged. "Do you think Salt Lake City?" He asked, shocking me. We haven't mentioned Salt Lake since I got back. Why bring it up now?

"I hadn't thought of it, why?" I asked but he shrugged.

"Just thought you might have fun. I'll see you in two weeks," He added. I walked out confused. I started walking home wondering why on Earth he had thought that. I put my headphones on as I walked, my eyes staying low.

Dean's POV:

I pulled up to the diner Sam and I were going for lunch as a break from the case. I was in a world of my own as Sam talked about the case. My mind only went to Y/N as I wondered about going back to Salt Lake City. I don't know why but I felt a strong urge to go back and check if she was there on the off chance.

"Are you even listening?" Sam asked grabbing my attention. I looked up at him as he stared expectantly. I rolled my eyes at him but froze. Y/N! Looking out the diner window, and over Sam's shoulder I saw her walking past. I had seen her hundreds of times but this felt different, the sun was reflecting on her face, her hair softly blowing in the wind.

"Do you see her?" I asked Sam quickly, not taking my eyes off her in case she disappeared. Sam turned around and shrugged. She's fake. Just my imagination hurting me again. Sam turned back looking a little confused only confirming that she wasn't real.

"The hot girl?" He asked, I quickly looked at him, eyes wide before rushing up from my seat. "Dean?" Sam called after me as I hurried through the diner, dodging people as I rushed to the door. I swung it open, running after her. She's real. She has to be real.

"Y/N," I shouted, probably louder than I should have but she didn't react. I stopped in my tracks, it mustn't be her. I sighed as I watched the back of her hair, tears filling my eyes as I was once again reminded she wasn't real. She stopped at the edge of the path. She looked to the left, checking there were no cars. I saw she had headphones on and still looked like her. I gasped, resuming to run after her. What do I even say to her? What if she has no idea who I am? I just have to introduce myself, if she doesn't know me that's fine. If she's single I'll just flirt and she might fall in love with me.

Y/N's POV:

I checked the road, I know I don't have anything to live for but jumping in front of a car seems excessive. I waited as cars passed, rolling my eyes as I just wanted to be home. Crying into my pillow and thinking of Dean. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took an earphone out as I turned around. Something must have fallen out of my pocket or something. I turned to see a very hopeful-looking Dean. The air in my lungs left. I was frozen in place.

He smiled, admiring me. Is it Dean or does he just look like him? I was in a coma, there's no way he was in the dream with me.

"Hi," He finally said. From his starstruck expression, It seemed like he knew me. I smiled softly, admiring the green eyes I had forgotten the details of over time. God, they're even better than I remember. I bit my lip as I watched him. Maybe I should say something. What do I say?!

Third-person POV:

Dean admired her, seeing her in front of him was surreal to him. He had imagined, he had dreamed and hallucinated she was real but here she was and he couldn't believe it. Neither could she.

"I don't want to sound crazy so, hi, I'm -"

"Dean?" She questioned, although she hadn't said his name in 3 years it still slipped from her tongue like silk. Her eyes filled as she recognised saying his name healed her heart a little. It was all the confirmation he needed to know she was real, she was in the dream and she loved him. He smiled a wide grin as he looked at her. She smiled brightly, recognising it was really his name and he was there.

He wasn't sure what to do now, he had dreamed of meeting her but now he felt nervous knowing she might be different from her dream. 4 years have passed, maybe she moved on. He wanted to do something, offer to spend time with her but he doesn't know what to do.

"Are you single?" She asked, he looked at her a little confused.

"Yeah," He responded a little confusion showing in his tone.

"Good," She smiled. Her hands moved to him, quickly. Her hands are on the back of his neck as she pulls him in. Their lips connect in a passionate kiss. Dean's hands found her waist, pulling her deeper into him, deepening the kiss. She smiled against his lips, Dean soon doing the same. Finally, in each other's arms, hearts healed. The kiss felt the same as all those years ago, the love still there, the way they kissed the same way but this time was different because they had waited so long and both believed it would never happen again. Dean's hand moved to her cheek, holding her as if she might disappear again. They continued the kiss even as Sam approached them, confusion riddling with his expression.

From Sam's perspective it looked as though Dean had simply wanted the hot girl as she passed the diner, now that he's followed him he expected to see him flirting, trying to get her number. And yet, Dean is making out with a seemingly stranger. He wondered if losing Y/N had finally made him go mad.

"Hello?" Sam exclaimed, unsure of what to say. Dean knew instantly it was Sam and he should probably pull away from the kiss to introduce them but he's waited 4 years for this and didn't want it to ever end. Not after his heart was so broken before. She pulled away, much to Dean's dismay. She smiled at him before turning to Sam. Her mouth dropped open as she rushed to hug him.

"Sammy!" She exclaimed excitedly. Her best friend is finally here. She missed having him to talk to, he always listened without judgment and was great at giving advice. Sam looked at Dean confused as she hugged him, he hugged back to be polite once he noticed Dean's eyes admiring her as he smiled brighter than he'd ever seen him smile before. The wheels in his head turned slowly but once he realised he pulled away to look at her. He cupped her face in his hands, looking her over. His mind was swamped with how she could be real or if she was a deceitful monster. She smiled brightly, chuckling slightly.

"Wow, don't kiss my girlfriend," Dean commented, getting closer to move Sam's hands from her face. Dean and she shared a telling smile at his words. Dean wrapped his arms over her shoulder, keeping her close to him as he kissed the top of her head.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I assume you don't know me but we were best friends," She introduced holding her hand out to him. Sam smiled, shaking her hand.

"We didn't think you were real, I saved Dean but you weren't there," He explained, confusing her slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed softly as she looked at him. "The Djinn, that's how you were in the dream, how did you get out?" He asked, now convinced she wasn't real just some kind of shapeshifter or demon. She has to be.

"I was in a coma for 3 months, that's how I was dreaming of Dean. What do you mean Gin?" She asked, Dean glared at Sam as he had made the encounter awkward and probably confusing to her.

"Go back to the diner, we'll be there soon," Dean instructed to Sam as if warning him that if he stayed he would hurt him. Sam hesitated. When he didn't move Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get her the same as me, we'll be there soon," Sam thought it was a bad idea. It's probably a monster or demon messing with Dean's emotions.

"We need to do the tests," Sam said quietly to Dean as if she couldn't hear him but she did and was confused. Tests? She thought. Dean groaned, tipping his head back, done with Sam.

"We'll do them in the diner, walk away," Dean instructed warningly. Sam hesitated but made his way back to the diner.

Y/N looked at Dean confused but he smiled and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back. He guided her to a bench where they sat close to each other. Dean faced her as he held her hand in his lap. She waited patiently for him to explain.

"You're understanding and I shouldn't doubt you wouldn't believe me but you just have to let me explain okay?" He asked, she worried slightly but nodded knowing he was the same Dean she would have trusted with her life. He smiled at her movement, squeezing her hand slightly to calm his nerves. Knowing she was real was enough to give him the strength to explain. "Sam and I, in this world. We hunt monsters," He hesitated as she looked at him confused. Waiting patiently for him to explain, he smiled knowing she was willing to listen. "Monsters, demons, angels, they're all real and Sammy and I save people from them. The Djinn, Sam mentioned. They abducted me and they have the power to put you in your dream life, my life with you, but Sam saved me and I woke up. I searched for you but I couldn't find you and I even tried to get abducted again to see you but I couldn't," He explained, holding her hands close as he feared she would pull them away and leave again.

He watched as her eyes wandered around, thinking. She was clearly confused and startled by the information and Dean grew anxious as he waited for her response. She nodded softly, processing it.

"So you were put in your dream life by a monster?" She asked slowly, Dean gulped, eyes filling as he feared she would call him crazy. His breath quickened as he nodded, not able to say a word. His heart preparing to break. "Okay," She added, nodding and smiling softly. He was confused, startled almost at her response. His eyebrows furrowed as he admired her. She chuckled softly. She moved her right hand from his, his disappointment written across his face but her hand moved to his cheek, filling him with hope and love. "Dean, I was in a coma and dreamed of our lives together, I spent 3 years thinking I made you up and thinking I was insane. Knowing you're real and you were in the dream too is also crazy so it only makes sense that crazy things caused it." She explained, rubbing her thumb on his cheek slightly as he instantly felt eased. He sighed, smiling brightly. Leaning in to kiss her. She smiled into the kiss, her hand moving from his cheek to the back of his neck as his hands moved to her hips.

He lifted her from her seat, sitting her on his lap so she was straddling him. She giggled against his lips. "We're in public," She explained leaning back to smile at him but his bright smile never wavered.

"I don't care. I finally found you, they can look all they want," He explained before his hand moved to her cheek, pulling her in and back on his lips. She smiled as she kissed him. They sat making out for a while before Dean pulled away. She looked at him confused but he chuckled, tucking some hair behind her ear as he admired her. "I'm getting too excited," He explained making her giggle as she realised his meaning. She nodded, moving to get off of his lap but his hands anchored her back down. She giggled as she looked at him confused. "Give it a minute," He commented making her laugh as she blushed. He smiled, taking the time to admire her. "Why didn't you believe I was real for only 3 years and not 4?" He asked curiously. She smiled just from hearing his voice.

"I woke up after we kissed and believed you were real. Even when everyone was telling me it was a dream. 1 year after I woke up I went to Salt Lake City to look for you. I waited outside the house we had, Sam's wasn't there anymore and went to a cafe and finally believed you weren't real," She explained sadly. Dean perked up at her words chuckling softly.

"May 3rd?" He asked making her chuckle.

"Yeah, you woke up at the same time?" She asked but he smiled.

"I woke up after the kiss as well. I did the same thing. We must have missed each other," He explained not realising how close they had been to meeting all those years ago. They smiled, sharing another kiss before they stood. They walked hand in hand back to the diner.

"I love you," Dean confessed as he stopped at the door. She smiled brightly.

"I love you too," She admitted with a soft chuckle. He kissed her again feeling like he needed to kiss her enough to make up so much lost time. She smiled against his lips finally feeling that she had her reason to live again.

They walked into the diner, returning to Sam as his spine straightened at their presence. She smiled warmly as she slid into the booth, Dean soon following her and holding a hand on her thigh needing physical contact at all times. He held the top of his hand as she smiled at Sam. Sam looked at them slightly confused.

"We can do the tests if you want?" She questioned, he smiled softly before going into his bag.

"You tell her?" Sam asked, Dean smirked as he looked at her admiringly.

"Yep, just as understanding as before," He commented making her smile as she blushed. He kissed her sweetly but she pulled away quicker than he wanted.

"You won't remember but we had rules about PDA in front of Sam," She commented but Dean groaned, his head tipping back but smile never fading.

"You don't mind do you, Sammy?" He asked, prompting Sam to agree but Sam's face didn't confirm it. She chuckled as she shook her head.

"You've waited 4 years, you can wait till we're alone," She commented but Dean smirked.

"Oh, you want to be alone with me," Dean teased making her laugh. She playfully rolled her eyes as Dean smirked.

Sam did the tests finding she was clean and real. He instantly calmed, wanting to know everything she remembered about the dream as they ate once their food arrived. He admired how Dean watched her, how they seemed to quickly fall into a routine and comfort. He slid his drink to her, and she picked out the lime and placed the pickles from her burger on his plate, both acting as though this was normal even though in reality they had just met. Sam's smile never faded as he watched the scene.

Once they had finished eating Dean draped his arm over her shoulder, holding her close as he admired her telling the story of Sam's birthday, Dean giving input on his perspective as he was present at the time. She smiled brightly as he spoke, admiring him, memorising all she had forgotten.

Neither knew love would be this simple or happy. Both realising the wait was worth it and souls returned as their closeness brought the joy in and sorrow out. Sam couldn't have imagined how Dean would be around her, never seeing his brother in love before made it seem even more surreal to him. Dean often stole short but sweet kisses, his smile never leaving his lips. She held her hand on his thigh as he drew patterns on her shoulder. She rested close to him, happy for the first time since she woke up.

Masterlist

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean #dean winchester x reader

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controversial-blorbo-bracket · 10 months

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I HATE that blond French twink (derogatory) because I am SICK of MLB crossover fics and posts when I am TRYING to consume Batman content! At one point some MLB fan got it in their heads that their poor baby Ladybug was being mistreated in her own universe or some SHIT, and decided to write a salt fic where Ladybug says “fuck you!” or whatever to everyone in France and hooks up with a Bat boy or something like that, and it’s like the concept caught on like a wildfire in the MLB fandom, because since then the Batman section of AO3 has been fucking INFESTED with these stupid crossover fics, written by people who have CLEARLY and BLATANTLY NEVER read a Batman or Bat-affiliated comic book even ONCE IN THEIR ENTIRE LIVES. They’ve obviously just absorbed mischaracterized and flanderized fanon and read Batfam incorrect quotes on Tumblr or whatever, and then further twisted the characters from those hollowed out dummies to suit whatever their poor precious wronged heroine needs! It’s SO FREAKING ANNOYING, and so the sight of any character from that show fills me with RAGE. AND YES, I’VE WATCHED EPISODES OF THE SHOW, BECAUSE UNLIKE THESE FIC WRITERS, I BELIEVE IN DOING MY RESEARCH PROPERLY, AND GUESS WHAT? IT MADE ME HATE IT EVEN MORE!

I feel like you would get along with the people reblogging the Batfam poll

#mlb batfam crossover fics are popular?? I have literally never heard of this. huh #what a strange combo #not a poll #ask #anonymous #miraculous ladybug #anti miraculous ladybug #batfam #Batman

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seatibuie · 7 months

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About him and the fire that burns you alive.

Tags: Fluff, angst. (1.3 Words)

Notes: This is basically about missing Portgas .D. Ace, in remembrance of him. I write this because I am still crying over him after 7 years, thus, I write what I can dedicated for him.

Link: Find my work here!

When it comes to fire, it's always about him. The colour of autumn, leaves fall and the soil starts to dry. It's always about him when it comes to oranges, both the fruit and the colour; fused with red, aflame in spark of fireworks and campfire. It's always him whenever the sun rises or sets, when the river flows, or when the first flower of spring blooms; both on the ground, or inside your throat that it clogs your air away, far away from your lungs and it flicks the fire inside you. The whole world is about him, who was born in Baterilla, South Blue. And this page too, is about him, who holds the name D.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

God's greatest archenemy, they said. But to you, he is nothing but the greatest gift ever alive. If God says that he is a wicked, sinful child, then you are bathed in wickery, bloodied in sin. And if the world says that he is a nasty, ugly child just because he is the son of the world's worst criminal, then your head is wanted by everyone. Because what child should bear the sin of his father? What child should be blamed for the sin he never did? And what child who was born from the womb of a brave warrior of a woman, should be oppressed by the belief that he has nothing but sinner's blood—? Thus, what is love if it's not tender; what if love, if it's not seeing him as the softest flower's petal in the dead tree branch.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

The friendliest sun on the face of earth. Kindness hurts sometimes, either sanity or pride, people can choose; yet his kindness feels so genuine that you can't even resent it. One said he was generally cheerful and outgoing all the time (though the same man said he was especially excited when he talked about his little brother). And that way, he manages to be your solemn embodiment of sun rays. Baterilla, oh, Baterilla—so far, so south, such a place to be blessed by the flickering candle. From one coast to another, corals and waves, rocks and salts, and maybe the shells of dead molluscs. But if darkness is the sky, then he is the star; and if darkness is the sea, then he is bioluminescent. And from coast to coast, river to river, waterfalls to canyons to the Grand Line, there is no one as soft as he is. Because it takes so much violence for him to be that tender, it takes so much insecurity to be that goofy, and foremost, it takes so much sadness to be that kind. Yet, even if life takes so many questions out of his lungs, still, he hasn't found the answer.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

From a metal pipe, into a dagger, then a fire fist. He who challenges warlords, he who challenges Gods. He who filled with love for his brother, he who filled with love for you. Round necklaces, as red as bravery and back to orange is his hat. Yellow somewhat suits him, the colour of jealousy that you didn't expect. However, despite how red he is, insecurity paints him better than all the myriad colours ever existed. Thus, one day, someone ask you:

"Who is he?"

They said, pointing at the raging flame on the sinking boat as you watched from the shore. And that time, you answered:

"The guy I love so dearly."

And whenever that conversation happened, no matter in between summer sky or winter blues, in between autumn shadows or grasses in spring—it's always about him.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Captain, glutton, a navigator he is. Treasure may be across the sea—yet he maps your body better than the ocean. From cheeks to cheeks, eyes to eyes, breast to breast, and limbs to limbs, he knows how to map you. The colour of your skin, the hue of your blush, the coldness of your fingertips, the softness of your breasts, he knows it so well. He knows where to press, when to press—either when you have seasickness, or when you are underneath him, pressed in between his flesh and his mattress, just like a flower in between book pages. He knows how to touch, what to touch—is it your bulging stomach or is it tears on your face, because no matter which one, his fingertips are warm enough to soothe away the pain. He knows why; why are you upset, why are you not eating; why are you angry; or why are you speaking his name over, and all over again. The latter is because everything in this world is about him, and just him only.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Listening is the last thing he can do, he is terrible at it. When you said: "Be careful it's still hot!" He ate it a second later and his tongue got burnt. It's weird how, because isn't he made of fire? When you said: "You should stop sleeping while eating." Which is impossible—he falls asleep right after the word leaves your mouth. When you said: "You should stop going on a mission alone and get hurt!" Yet, the moment he stepped back to your cabin, he was full of nothing but cuts and glories. Listening is hard when you are filled with so many quirks and beams, just like him. Yet he is somewhat good at listening to his own voice, either the one inside his heart, or the one swimming and saying bullshit inside his mind. The one that speaks: "The ocean is calling for you." Or the one that speaks: "Your presence is a whole abomination." And sometimes, he gets it mixed up inside his mind. Yet, all those voices speak to the same person, about the same person.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Lying is not his best friend, he is bad at telling lies. However, that happened because of how you are able to read him like a book too. Sometimes he gets too nervous, and too comical to even lie to your face. When you ask: "Who eats my last piece of cake?" around the dining room, every eye darted towards him—he got nervous, and his eyes were wandering here and there. When you ask: "Who spills ink on my book?" in the ship's deck, he quickly averts his eyes from yours. You can always tell when he lies, because he is so easy to read. Thus, when he said: "I will never die!" In front of you, it sounds so certain, so powerful, he is not lying. You keep that sentence in your mind.

Portgas .D. Ace will never die.

The news soared faster than the wind, and just like that, he lied.

Death.

Lie.

Promise.

Fate.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Valhalla, he is the sanctuary of broken dreams. Maybe you are losing to death, it loves him more than you do—yet life loves you more than you expected it to be. Losing him is easy, but having your daily life imagining what if he was here is devastating. One said someone will never die if you keep them in your memory, yet, what torture they wish upon you? For you have to remember such a dead lover like he is, when all you want is for him to come back and admit that he lied to you, that fate is playing against you. He is the grave of roaring seas, waves and tides sink inside him. Yet you, somewhat even without someone asking not to, you will never forget about him. One day someone will ask: "Who is Portgas .D. Ace?" And people might say:

"A pirate."

"A brat."

"A brother of mine."

"Someone's older brother."

"Someone that promised me to come back."

And when that question directed to you, you will say:

"Someone I loved so dearly."

Because it's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

#portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you

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rorygilmoreclown · 1 year

Text

A start

Healer!reader x Nikolai Lanstov

Summary: The reader, who is a healer, was caught by drüskelle and then escaped their ship in a storm and then was rescued by Nikolai as Sturmhond and than slowly fall for each other and one day Nikolai sees reader hit on by someone else and gets jealous and sort of confesses. (I'm sorry I suck at summaries, also i changed the plot a bit so im sorry about that sorry sorry )

A/n: I took my sweet time, didn't I. Anyways, here it is, apologies for all the changes and this crappy writing. Might make a pt2, that's why the ending.

Warnings: None, except for this smirky smirky sunshine babygorl.

As you rouse from your slumber, a jarring realisation dawns upon you: you are no longer on your mission’s base. The scent of salt and brine pervades your nostrils, and the rhythmic groans and creaks of timber assault your ears. It takes only a moment to recall why you are in this predicament, and an acrid churning stirs within your gut.

You are a prisoner aboard the drüskelle vessel, trussed and bound, being ferried to their fortress to face their uncompromising brand of justice. The harsh squawks of the drüskelle assault your ears, censuring you for your supposed offences, their eyes brimming with nothing but antipathy and scorn for your Grisha talents. You strive to maintain your composure, reminding yourself of your mettle, but their venomous invective feels like barbs upon your flesh.

As the tempest rages on, you sense the ship pitching and yawing, at the mercy of the storm's capricious whims. Then, a deafening crack reverberates throughout the vessel, and you are flung forward, your head colliding with the bars of your cell. You hear the splintering of wood and the screams of the drüskelle, but all you can focus on is the pulsating throb in your head.

But then, a fortuitous miracle transpires. The cell confining you snaps free from its moorings and is hurled into the tumultuous waters. You acted quickly to save yourself, your appendages flailing as you struggled to stay afloat amidst the mayhem. Somehow, you manage to make it to the shore, gasping for air and quivering from the chill.

As you survey your surroundings, a colossal ship looms in the distance, and optimism swells within you, and so does dread. You remember that you are still clad in your kefta, and it may be your sole chance at survival, or another reason for a capture. As the ship draws closer, you discern a figure emerging from it, and your heart braces itself for either a negotiation or a fight. His eyes widen in astonishment as he espies you, a solitary survivor on the shore. He strides towards you, his voice ringing out like a sunbeam amidst the tempest.

Greetings madam, I am Sturmhond, the legendary privateer and captain of the vessel.

Are you injured, we have a medik on our ship? He paused, as if he said something humorous as well as imprecatory. Apologies for asking that question, is it offensive to ask a healer if they require medical assistance?

That was the first time you saw that stupid smirk followed by a loud yet comforting laughter. It sounded true, as if you weren’t on some abandoned island, about to ask for an abode from a stranger, and you feel a lump form in your throat as tears threaten to spill over. And that’s how you boarded the The Volkvolny.

You stare at Sturmhond in disbelief as he proposes his deal. Safety in exchange of your healing help. The words are hard to process, and your heart feels like it's in your throat. The thought of being safe from the Ravkans and drüskelle fills you with relief, but the idea of being on a ship with a stranger is daunting.

You take a deep breath and consider his offer, recalling the events that led you to this point. The Ravkan court, a place that was supposed to be safe and secure, turned into a nightmare when you were assaulted by one of its members. The thought of staying there was unbearable, and none of the other court members did anything to help you. You had to escape, and now you are at the mercy of a privateer captain.

But there is something about Sturmhond that feels different. His eyes are kind and understanding, and you get the sense that he genuinely cares about your well-being. You decide to take a chance, and nod your head in agreement.

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Excellent. You won't regret it, I promise. And just to be clear, you will be safe from any Ravkans or drüskelle on my ship. You have my word.

As the ship sets sail, you find yourself growing more and more comfortable in your new surroundings. You observe the crew, their different backgrounds and stories, and feel a sense of belonging that you haven't felt in a long time. You start to let your guard down around Sturmhond, telling him about your past and your hopes for the future. He listens to you with empathy and understanding, and you feel like you can truly be yourself around him.

As a part-Shu, you find yourself forming a close bond with Tamar and Tolya aboard Sturmhond's ship. Tolya is a flirt, and he often directs his playful advances towards you. Sturmhond notices and becomes increasingly snippy, trying to interrupt your conversations with Tolya. But Tolya persists, sometimes just to get a rise out of Sturmhond.

One day, as you're assisting the ship's healer with her duties, Tolya comes up beside you and leans in close. Are you a healer? he whispers. Because you just cured my loneliness. You can't help but laugh at his audacity, but you know it's all in good fun.

In another scene, you're practising some Grisha skills with Tamar when Tolya approaches. Are you a Corporalki? he asks, grinning. Because you just made my heart skip a beat. Tamar rolls her eyes at Tolya's antics, and you can't help but chuckle at his attempt at humour.

A few days later, as you and Tolya are chatting on the deck, he looks at you intently. Are you a healer like me? he asks. Because I'm feeling a strong connection between us. You can't help but feel a small flutter in your chest at his words, but you know it's just Tolya being Tolya.

As the journey goes on, you appreciate Tolya's sense of humour and his easy going nature. You come to see him as a good friend and confidant, and you value the bond you share. One night, as the two of you are sitting alone on the deck, Tolya looks at you with a tender expression. Are you a Bonesmith? he asks softly. Because you just mended my broken heart. You smile at his words, but you know that you don't feel anything more than friendship for him. Unfortunately, Sturmhond takes these positive affirmations as an indicator of your interest in Tolya. As Tolya departs to attend to some task, you're left feeling grateful for the friendship you share and the camaraderie of your journey aboard Sturmhond's ship.

As time passes on, the tension between you and the captain grows, being very transparent for everyone but you two. The night was alive with laughter and music as Sturmhond's crew celebrated their latest successful mission. You were enjoying the festivities, chatting with Tamar and Tolya when a Ravkan nobleman approached you. He looked at you with a smirk on his lips, his eyes scanning your body. Well, well, well. What do we have here? A part-Shu healer? You must be quite the exotic beauty.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze and tried to step back, but the nobleman grabbed your arm tightly. Tolya and Tamar shot him a sharp look, but he ignored them. Just as you were about to say something, Sturmhond appeared by your side, his arm wrapped around your waist possessively. There you are, my love. I've been searching for you everywhere.

The Ravkan nobleman's eyes widened in surprise at Sturmhond's sudden appearance. Oh, I didn't know you had a lover. Sturmhond gave a charming smile, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly. Yes, she's quite dear to me. Now, if you'll excuse us.

He guided you away from the nobleman, leading you to a quieter corner of the room. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction to the incident. Are you all right? he asked, his tone laced with concern. You nodded, grateful for his intervention. Thank you, Sturmhond. I was getting a little uncomfortable there.

He gave you a small smile, his hand still resting on your waist. I won't let anyone make you feel uncomfortable. After a boyish smirk that broke on his face, indicating of his crooked humour slipping through this serious situation, you knew it was to make the mood lighter. Afterall, the deal was to protect you from the Ravkans.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drawn to Sturmhond's protectiveness, his easy charm making your heart race. And as the party came to an end, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more between the two of you. Although you were a little disappointed as he mentioned protecting you only due to the deal.

After Sturmhond rescued you from the trespasser at the party, he dragged you to the higher part of the ship. Your heart was pounding with anticipation, wondering what he wanted to tell you. As he looked at you with his piercing blue eyes, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and safety in his presence. You couldn't help but notice how he kept looking at you with that intense gaze of his. Was he jealous of the other man who was flirting with you earlier? Did he really have feelings for you?

Suddenly, Sturmhond broke the silence with a joke, So, I'm guessing we're officially boyfriend and girlfriend now? You couldn't help but chuckle at his playful tone. He couldn't believe he had just made that joke. He had been wanting to confess his feelings to you for so long but was too afraid of rejection. Was he being too subtle? Did she even get the hint?

Feeling bold, you responded with a joke of your own, I don't know, Sturmhond. You'll have to take me on a proper date first. You couldn't resist teasing him a little. After all, he had been flirting with you all night. As you both laughed at your playful banter, Sturmhond reached out and gently took your hand in his. He held his breath as he waited for your response. Did he really just confess his love to you? Was he about to get his heart broken? You couldn't believe it. The person you had been crushing on for so long felt the same way. Was this really happening?

As Sturmhond leaned in for a kiss, you closed your eyes and let yourself be swept away in the moment. All of your doubts and worries faded away as you realised that you had found the person who made your heart feel whole. As he kissed you, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had finally told you how he felt, and you had reciprocated. This was the start of something new, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

Word Count: 1.8k

#grishaverse #nikolai #six of crows #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov #shadow and bone #nikolai lanstov x reader #prince nikolai #rule of wolves #king nikolai #nikolai duology

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allbark-no-bite · 2 years

Text

Silver Fox || Elvis Presley x reader

summary: in which Elvis decides not to dye his hair for once and it makes him that much more irresistible

warnings: mentions of smut, foul language

word count: 2.2k

author’s note: i’m in love with this one. y’all know i can’t resist some good domestic Elvis

I did not come from a kind home. I came from a home with slamming doors and shaking walls and air that was always thick with tension. My parents were turbulent, constantly tipping the scale with weeks of silence and then explosive nuclear rage. So I had always promised myself that I would find a partner who was kind. So that even on the days that love was not enough, there would still be kindness.

I'll always say my life began when I met Elvis. I fell in love with him first for his personality. He was so delicately mild mannered, and yet bursting with life. Even before we had children, he showed me what a real family was, and what ours could be like.

His parents welcomed me with open arms. It had been the three of them against the world until all the fame, so although their family wasn't large, their bond was strong. I think Gladys was thrilled to have a daughter to dote on as well.

And as they say, a home with kindness breeds quickly. His parents, his cousins, the Memphis Mafia, their children, we all became a family. Our home at Graceland was soon filled with love, large meals, and laughter.

Years passed, and we had kids of our own. It became a problem really, the rate at which we produced children. We had our first baby a few weeks after he was discharged from the army (a last minute visit home had occurred eight months prior).

Eugene had barely begun walking before I was swollen again, six months pregnant with our second boy. Elvis was only twenty, and his career was skyrocketing. Truthfully, I liked to believe it was a blessing that we had started having kids so young. With Elvis' life that involved traveling constantly, and a career that asked for his home life and job to coexist as one, his youth enabled him to have the energy to go from touring one day to wrangling toddlers down for a nap the next. And he did it all with a smile.

We had agreed that after our third child, we were going to put a halt to the baby making—at least temporarily. Three young boys were a lot to handle, even with the help of his family. When it came down to it, our lives were already so busy as it was. We lasted a good eight years before Emily Joe came alone. And then once you have four, you might as well have five.

—

Elvis is lounging with his back against the railing of the porch, white sock clad feet crossed in front of him as he chats with Sonny and Joe. There's a coffee mug in his hand containing tea, an attempt to soothe his throat after a few strenuous weeks of performing. As usual, his casual attire consists of a silky black button up and dark jeans.

The sight makes me smile to myself from the doorway. The colors perfectly compliment his salt and pepper flecked hair, something he had only recently been allowing to show through. At thirty-five, Elvis had started greying much quicker than most, it just didn't show due to him dying it constantly. But with his schedule finally clear of any performances for the next week or so, he'd tossed the boxed dye aside in favor of letting it grow out. Flashes of silver and white lick through his otherwise stark black hair. While the change made him slightly uneasy, I thought it was the most attractive thing in the entire world.

Eventually he looks away from his conversation with Joe and catches me staring. With a bemused smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes, he uncrosses his feet and spreads his thighs, holding out an arm to pull me between his legs.

"What sonofabitch let you outta the house lookin' that pretty?" he teases, his voice low and throaty as he squeezes my shoulder and kisses affectionately into my hair.

I slap his firm chest and am met with solid resistance. "I know you don't kiss your mama with that mouth, Elvis Presley."

We'd been married for over ten years, and he still flirted with me just as much now as he did when we were dating. I'd been smart enough to marry the man for his character and lucky enough to love him for his looks. Elvis was just as good looking as he was in his teenage years, if not even more so. He had aged like fine French wine.

"C'mon, mama. Sweet thing like you carryin' my baby, I'm a lucky man," he purrs.

If I thought Elvis was handsy before, he was ten times worse when I was pregnant. Where ever I went, he always followed close behind, grasping my elbow to steady me or hovering nearby, at the ready for whatever I needed.

I laugh at him, only able to shake my head in response. "You're insatiable."

He had been between my thighs this morning, licking and sucking and nipping until my knees were quivering beside his face. I had to weakly push his head away after I'd come a second time on his tongue. Even afterwards, he had sat me on the bathroom counter top and made me taste myself on his lips.

He passes a hand under the swell of my stomach while leaning down to capture my lips in a gentle but savory kiss. "No, just horny," he whispers, as he pulls away just slightly, blue eyes mischievous, intending his last sentence purely for my own ears.

"Could the two of you at least wait until this one's born before you start makin' the next one," Sonny groans from the other side of the porch. "I've got enough godchildren for the time being."

Cheeks burning, I pull away from our extremely close proximity, but Elvis keeps me trapped between his legs. Joe is chuckling beside Sonny, the rest of the Mafia snickering from their various states of inhabitation on the porch.

Elvis lets out a short huff of a laugh, kicking back again against the railing. "Baby factory is closed," he informs them, running a hand through his silver flecked hair. "Damn kids are turnin' me grey."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You said that after Ernest." As if to prove my point, a scream echos from the yard behind us.

"Daddy!!"

A tiny four year old comes running up the porch steps, her arms held up in the air as she grabs for Elvis. Chestnut colored bangs fall into her round, doll shaped face, which is visibly upset. I was immensely surprised, when after having three children who looked like mirror images of Elvis, Emily took after me.

Before Elvis can even reach out to her, his hands preoccupied with my hips, Red swoops her off of her feet and into his arms.

There came a point after raising all of our kids together for so many years, that we often didn't think twice about who's kid was who's. They all probably thought they were siblings anyhow.

Just satisfied that she's gotten someone's attention, the toddler hiccups while trying to catch her breath. "U-Uncle Red, Eugene is— is bein' mean to Michael."

Back in the yard, the rest of the kids are running rampant in the yard, our dog darting around them as they toss a football. What had started as an organized football game looks to have turned into a squabble between the older boys. They tug on each other's clothes and shove their supposed teammates into the dirt. At the heart of the chaos are the eldest of the Presley children, Eugene and Micheal. The blonde seventeen year old has his feet planted to the ground, the latter's head locked between his elbow with no intention of letting go anytime soon. Michael's hands grab desperately at his brother, his feet scrambling wildly as he tries to escape. Eugene only grips him tighter.

With the pair so close in age, it seemed as though fights were becoming more and more inevitable. The teenagers quarreled like two cats forced to share a box, and fur was sure to fly. They tumbled down stairs and broke glasses and even noses from time to time (Micheal's once perfect button nose was still slightly askew). Elvis had told me a thousand times that it was all in good fun, but it still made me nervous.

One of Joe' boys tumbles into the pair, followed by Ernest, causing Eugene to stagger sideways. The blonde refusing to let go of his brother, Michael is forced along with him. Despite whatever minor argument had likely initiated the petty dispute, neither was giving in.

Back on the porch, Red just chuckles, tutting in pretend disapproval. "Awh, they're just pretendin', Em. You ain't gotta worry about them."

Still slightly distraught, Emily sniffs and wipes her eyes. While the Red and the rest of the mafia just laugh, finding the situation amusing, Emily and I do not.

Hands on my hips, I move to the edge of the porch. "Eugene Presley! Let go of your brother before you hurt him."

At the sound of my voice, the boys' wild flailing comes to a halt; however, Eugene doesn't release Michael just yet. The older boy's blue eyes shift from me to his father standing beside me, as if to gauge how serious I'm being.

Elvis, who had been only mildly concerned before my intervention, chuckles while placing a steadying hand at the small of my back. If it had been up to him, he likely would have allowed them to continue, but he would do anything to dim my worries. "Alright, that's enough. Let 'im go."

The moment Eugene loosens his hold, Micheal is shoving his brother away from him, a disgruntled look on his face. They start for the porch, taking our intervention as their queue to wrap up their game. Both of them look as though they've been drug through the dirt. Micheal's stock of blonde hair is rumpled throughly, and Eugene has a red welp on his cheek.

"Ma, Micheal started it," the boy defends as he reaches a closer earshot, sounding ten years younger than he is.

"DID NOT—," Micheal interjects, his body swiveling back in the other boy's direction, but Elvis is quick to grab Micheal by the collar of his shirt before another fight breaks out.

He pulls the teenager towards him and wraps a heavy arm around his shoulders. Eugene raises an unamused eyebrow at his brother. "Give it a rest you two," Elvis says, laughing. There was a reason he was the fun parent.

Noticing that one of her brothers now has Elvis' attention, Emily slips out of Red's hold and scampers over to him, holding up her arms once again. "Me too, Daddy," she pleads, her tiny fingers grasping at the air.

Humming in amusement at his little girl, Elvis leans down and scoops her into his arms, emitting an exaggerated grunt as he does so. "I'm gettin' too old for this, little miss."

I rub a hand over my stomach thoughtfully, gazing at my husband fondly. No matter what he thought of himself, grey haired or not, thirty-four or seventy-four, he was still the wide-eyed boy I had married.

With the hand not on my stomach, I ruffle Ernest's hair, who had joined us with the rest of the kids on the porch. At twelve, he was four years younger than Micheal and hadn't become too cool for me just yet. He leans into me, his eyes drooping tiredly. Emily is already asleep in Elvis' arms.

"Alright, everyone," I announce, looking to my two younger kids but addressing everyone. "Time for bed."

Sonny, Joe, and Red, as well as the rest of the Mafia members are long gone, headed off for their respective homes by the time I come down the stairs from putting Emily to bed. She had begged for Elvis to sing to her, but with his voice still strained, I thought it best that he rested.

I find him still on the porch, soaking in the last of the cool evening. Elvis turns when he hears the door close behind me, and a smile overtakes his face. He opens his arms to me, pulling me into his chest once I'm close enough. At least, as close as he can with my growing stomach.

“How’re ya doin’, mama?”

I cup his jaw, my thumb stroking his cheek. His hooded doe eyes gaze at me warmly. "I’m doin’ just fine. How are you?”

Elvis rubs soothing circles into my sides. “Couldn’t be better. I’ve got my family, my beautiful, wonderful, amazing’ wife right here with me—”

I stop him, my thumb brushing over his lips. “That’s not really what I meant. You made a comment earlier... 'bout gettin' old... you know there is not a world in which I do not adore you."

He smiles against my thumb. “The grey really gets you goin’ huh? I meant it when I said the baby factory was closed.”

I laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean we can’t practice.”

#elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis presley fic #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n

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bangchanbabygurl · 5 months

Text

00: prologue {Pomegranates and Tulips}

Genre: Angst/Romance/BDSM/Smut/slightly introverted reader/ college reader/Surgeon Wonwoo/ book lover reader/cat lovers/DOM Wonwoo

Warnings: Explicit language/mention of domestic violence/mention of violence/alcohol abuse/mention of death/stalker/mentions of blood/drug abuse/smut scenes/dark mature themes/triggering scenes/traumatic experiences/mention of self-harm/mentions of eating disorders/mentions of SA

Word count: 794words

╚» Now playing —» Put me in a movie by Lana Del Rey

Trigger warning ⚠️ ❕

Nibbling my fingernails, I felt more anxious and nervous as the clock kept ticking. My knee wouldn't stop shaking due to my nerves and anxiety, I could feel my mother throwing me glares here and there as she spoke with Dr. Cooper.

It’s funny that I'm sitting in a therapy office with my mother when I'm near to reaching my twenties; it's funny that I still live with my parents. When most people my age have moved out and are living their life while I'm stuck trying to be perfect and good enough for my mother’s approval and have my father stay in the picture.

"What do you want me to do exactly?" Mother asked, crossing her arms. I shifted my gaze to something else, hoping my mind could be at ease. But my mind is never at ease knowing that my mother hates my guts, knowing my father is a gambling man who lives off liquor. My mind is always on edge knowing my life hasn't turned out how I hoped it would, "Mrs. Perez, Y/N has been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, PTSD, and not to mention all the signs point to Bulimia Nervosa. She needs to be in rehabilitation for her Bulimia, which needs to be taken care of before it gets worse." Dr. Cooper said. Bulimia, a new diagnosis and a solution for it.

Two reasons, of course, caused all my diagnoses. Most would say it's never your parent's fault, but in this case, it is their fault. If it weren't for their negligence and obsession with perfection, I mightn't be the way I am now. Dr. Cooper looks at my mother, “Mrs. Perez, have you ever noticed any strange behavior from Y/N? Any anger issues?” She asked. I look at Dr. Cooper. Did she catch on?

I feel my heart pounding against my ribcage; my mother furrowed her brows in confusion. “Why do you ask?” My mother questions and Dr. Cooper fixes her glasses. “Your daughter’s physical shows she’s been consuming alcohol, and it shows that this has been going on for three months.” Dr. Cooper said, showing my mother a file. I bite my lip and feel my mother’s hand collide with my cheek; Dr. Cooper rises to her feet. “Mrs. Perez, please refrain from using physical violence against Y/N,” Dr. Cooper warns. Tears were pooling in my eyes as my mother began to ask questions: where did you get the alcohol? Who have you been hanging out with? Was it your friends?

I was tired, exhausted as I sat there, letting my mind swirl in the pool of endless doubts and darkness. Dr. Cooper's and my mother’s voices were muffled; I had found myself blocking out any noise and letting the dark thoughts consume me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My cries were pointless as my mother lets her anger out, “You better tell Dr. Cooper that it was a lie!” Mother’s voice filled with such rage. I get on my knees and beg her to believe me, “You’re willing to ruin the family! Why couldn't you just kept your mouth shut!” the belt made a harsh impact on my skin as I cried and beg once more. “It's your fault! You should’ve known better!” Her words were pouring salt into the wounds; I shake my head. “Speak! Why aren't you talking!?! Huh!?! You'd rather tell a stranger about our problems!!” Her hand collided with my cheek twice. “I was only eight!! How is it my fault!” I cried, but I guess voicing my truth only made things worse.

A gasp escapes my lips as mother wraps her hand around my neck, “Y/N! You disgraceful little bitch! You’ll tear this family apart if you continue with this shit! You’ll become the family’s bad seed!! Is that what you want!!?” her rage fanned my face. Tears spilling uncontrollably, “Because if that's the case, you will no longer be considered family! You will be living on the streets from the moment you continue your little act.” Mother said through gritted teeth. I bite my lip, “Mommy! Y/N!” Dylan called out from the top of the stairs. Mother’s grip was gone; I wipe away my tears as I got up from the floor.

I walk into the kitchen and turn the faucet on, “Dylan, sweetie, what are you doing up so early?” Mother’s voice was sweet and tender as she cooed Dylan. I wash the dishes, acting as if I wasn't just beaten and choked. College preparation starts within a month, so I need to be quick about this. Even if it kills me and pains me that I have to leave Dylan behind, I can't keep up with this. If I do, I'll end up being driven to the cliff.

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duckymcdoorknob · 2 years

Note

If you don't mind me requesting a second one... 👉👈 may I please have a ribbon-decorated box containing marbled white and milk chocolate (dabi x hawks), square shape filled with almonds and lemon creme? No pressure! Thank you!!

HI FLAME THANKS FOR THE REQUEST

Yes I did them out of order. Oopsies!!

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS THO!!! I AM ABOUT TO BULLY TF OUT OF THIS BIRDIE MAN.

This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever written and I’m SO here for it.

Big shoutout to dada @volleeball-bo for the cake idea bc my brain is but a barren field. 😭

CW UNDER THE CUT: This do have some tickles in it NGL. There is a lot of cursing, but it fits. D3ath mention. illy timed your mom jokes.

Number two, Pro Hero, Hawks. Quirk: Fierce Wings. A Rank member of the League of Villains, Dabi. Quirk: Blueflame. Two of the most dangerous and vengeful men alive, working under the same roof.

So why the hell were they dead-set on baking a birthday cake?

When Twice and Toga had happily shared their newly discovered information, the two males knew they’d somehow be sucked into the abyss. They had learned that Shigaraki’s birthday was the next day, and appointed the two to make him a cake.

Who could say no to Twice and Toga? After all, if they weren’t killing anyone, Hawks was happy.

What’s the worse that could happen?

Now in the kitchen of Hawk’s tiny apartment, the two males were arguing incessantly about the process.

“I assure you, Dabi, you HAVE to add salt into it. Everything has salt. This is a literal teaspoon, you won’t even taste it!” Hawks argued for the nth time.

“It’s salt, dumbass. Salt is going to make the cake taste, oh, you know, fucking salty?” The villain growled in reply.

If Hawks could bang his head on a wall, he would. “Dabi I swear t- FINE! Here!”

The blonde stomped over to his pantry, retrieving a sleeve of pre-packaged cookies. He opened the package, took out two cookies, and offered one to his partner. “Eat it.”

“What’d you do to it?” Dabi teased with a scoff.

“I spit on it and put poison in it, obviously.”

“Sounds delicious.”

The two ate the cookies in silence, with Hawks glaring daggers at his black-haired friend. “So?”

“So?”

“Does it taste sweet?” The winged-hero inquired.

“Yeah? Why are you asking me, Feathers?”

“Aha!” The hero chimed in triumph, snatching the sleeve off of the counter, “Look at the ingredients! Read it and weep, bitch!”

Dabi pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation as Hawks breathed down his neck. “It seems you’re actually correct for once.”

“Oh what’s this?” The blonde asked coyly, “Dabi was wrong? Wow, what a world.”

“Shut up, let’s get back to the task at hand, please.” The flame villain grumbled, returning to his position near the mixing bowl.

With a proud smile, Hawks strode to the cabinet to grab his salt container, and a set of measuring spoons. God, he was too cocky for his own good.

As Hawks was lining up to pour the salt into the teaspoon, the villain pinched his sides. The man jumped with a yelp as about a tablespoon worth of the ingredient fell into the batter.

“Oh, you dick!” Keigo was immediately on the defense, eyes ablaze with rage, “Now we have to start all over!”

“Oh no! You dropped some! What happened?” Dabi faked innocence.

“You are a quarter second away from being punted out of my goddamn window.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It fuckin’ should be.”

“Well, I don’t understand why this is such a big deal? I thought the cake needed salt? What did you do wrong?”

��Your fucking mom.” The male grumbled absentmindedly.

“That’s it!”

With a look of horror, Hawks took off from the kitchen. His socked feet bounded around his apartment, clearing corners with the help of his slippery momentum. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! It was a natural reaction!”

“I know for shit sure that you meant it, Feathers!” Dabi called in reply, hot on Hawks’ heels.

“I really didn’t! It slipped oUT-“ tripping on his own ottoman, Keigo smacked his face onto his loveseat, subsequently falling onto it.

“You fucking idiot.” Dabi said through a fit of laughter. “How do you not see the furniture that you set up yourself?”

Holding his forehead, the winged-hero stuck his tongue out. “How do you take offense to a your mom joke?”

Neither knew how it happened, but the villain’s body moved faster than his brain did. Before he knew it, the black-haired male had sat on his partner’s waist, and held his wrists over his head with one hand.

Dabi wore a menacing smile, as Hawks wore a look of terror. Was this how he died? Was he going to be killed in cold blood over a your mom joke?

Instead, he felt a single finger trace around his stomach. Not expecting the long-forgotten feeling, giggles bubbled from his throat.

“Ohoho this is rich, Birdie!” The villain teased, “As if you couldn’t get even more interesting!”

“Dabi, don’t you dare.” Hawks hissed, eyeing the wiggling fingers that dared to come in close contact with his torso. “Do not fucking t-touch me- nohohoho!”

“Aww, you’re so precious!” The villain cooed as he gently pinched at his partner’s sides.

“Dahahabihihi! Dohohohont!”

“Don’t? But this is so much more fun than baking a cake for the boss.”

“C’monohohon! Thihihis ihihisnt lihihihike yohohou!”

The black-haired male beamed at the laughing hero beneath him. Oh what a power play this was. “To put my enemy into submission? This is totally like me.” He moved his hand up to spider under Hawks’ arms.

“NGH- DAHAHABI!” Keigo’s eyes were squeezed shut, face flushed from embarrassment. He couldn’t exactly hide his face in his hands, since he was a little… trapped. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Please what? Keep going? Move spots? Stop? You have to be very specific with what you want, Birdie.”

“IHIHI DOHOHONT KNOHOHOW!”

“You don’t know what you want? Maybe I just need to help wake your brain up!” With that, the villain brought his hand down to ever-so-gently prod at his partner’s ribcage.

“DABIDABIDABI-DAHAHAHABIHIHI! NOHOHOHO! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! MOHOHOHOVE SPOHOHOHOTS!”

“Oh dear, Feathers, you’re so ticklish here!”

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Am I embarrassing you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up!” Dabi chirped, adding the slightest amount more pressure.

“OKAHAHAY! OKAY OKAY! THAHAHATS ENOHOHOHOUGH!”

“Are you sure?”

“YEHEHES! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! STAHAHAHAP!”

When the magic word was uttered, Dabi released his victim instantly. “You okay, kid?”

“I… I am… I’m only a y-year… younger-“ the hero sputtered through panting breaths. “You, dick.”

“Ah, you’re back.” The villain chimed, “I didn’t kill ya’, did I?”

“Nah. Just… glad you stopped when you did.”

“Running out of stamina? Some hero you are.” Dabi scoffed.

“And your revenge tactic was to tickle the shit out of me. Some villain you are.”

With a cocky smile, the black-haired male looked fondly upon his partner. “Any last words?”

Keigo inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. He reflected on how vulnerable of a position he was in, ultimately giving up on survival. Oh well, he’s lived long enough.

With a hushed whisper, he uttered “Your mom.”

And as the winged-hero predicted, Dabi’s hand lowered back onto his ribs and showed no mercy; cake long forgotten as Hawks’ frantic laughter echoed off of the walls.

After all, no good joke shall go unpunished…

❣︎𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒’𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡❣︎

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

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her-midas-touch · 3 months

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prompt - golden (Mary/Lily, 616 words @sapphicmicrofics)

(mentions of war and blood)

There is nothing sweeter than seeing Lily Evans on a battlefield. She’s stunning already, with her sparkling eyes and red hair, and kind smiles which have the slightest air of mischief.

Still there is something sacred about that animalistic wildness in her eyes, the almost cruel snarl on her face, her blood speckled cheeks, hands coated in shades of crimson, yet she moves like a dancer, a figment of poetry, slashing down those in her way, mouth firm, eyes hardened, flashing like a goddess in rage.

She had cried the first time, returning to Mary by nightfall, no sound emanating as heartbreaking as her sobs.

‘I can’t do it Mary.’

‘You can.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Run away with me then.’ Mary cupped her face. ‘They won’t make you become anything you don’t want to be.’

Lily had pulled away from the contact, laughing bitterly. ‘There is nothing they could make me that I am not already. A monster. A killer.’

‘War makes criminals of the best of us.’

Lily looked down, refusing to meet her eyes, as if ashamed. ‘I am far from the best.’

‘You are no monster Lily.’

Just a girl. A girl with haunted eyes and hands that never should’ve known the cruel art of spilling blood.

‘Promise me.’ Lily pleaded. ‘That this won’t defile me in your eyes.’

‘You are the purest thing I’ve known, love. Nothing could defile you beyond redemption in my eyes.’

A tendril of crimson makes its way down her neck. Mary had the inexplicable urge to sink her teeth in that spot till she drew blood, the blood of gods, the golden streams of ichor that must flow in Lily’s veins. She was no less than holy, even then, coated in the tears of blood, and the ghosts war left behind to taunt the living.

*****

Sometimes there are nightmares. Ugly things. Lily wakes shaking, drenched in sweat and tears, scrubbing blood off her hands, blood that isn’t there.

Mary holds her till the voices are whispers.

‘They don’t leave.’ Lily tells her. ‘I suspect they never will.’

When the city sleeps, Mary rediscovers religion ; there is no prayer she wouldn’t utter for Lily Evans, each kiss a show of devotion, each gasp a plea, a prayer. More. they can always ask for more in their insatiable hunger.

And Mary can always place the exact moment Lily’s worries fade to a distance, tucked away for tomorrow. In the many kisses exchanged, she is not the monster she sees reflected in every mirror, in dull armor before landing the killing blow.

***** When the blades fall at last, there is celebration. People rejoice and marvel. They chant names in adoration. Lily’s is a ripple among the voices.

Lily does not smile. She does not hold her head up high. She stands straight ahead. There is satisfaction somewhere there, Mary can tell, from the cry of rage she is rumored to have bellowed in the heat of battle, pride, because she has fought for this, fought every bit as hard as she loves.

And there is nothing deadlier than a blade matched with the same intensity of the way Lily Evans loves.

When the festivities dim, Mary sees her, alone. Not a princess, not a trained warrior. Just Lily.

‘Mary,’ She says. It is filled with relief and regret and pride. Mary kisses her. She tastes like salt and iron.

‘I think I’m ready,’ She whispers, burying her head in the crook of Mary’s neck. ‘To run away.’

‘Then we’ll leave.’ Mary says simply. And they stand there like that, making up for weeks of tentative promises, kisses dangled in uncertainty.

But for now, they are gods.

#mary macdonald #lily evans #marylily #mary x lily #lily x mary #sapphic microfics #marauders girls #mary macdonald x lily evans

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yet-another-heathen · 11 months

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Prying at Loose Fangs - IV

3,081 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home.

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Chapter Warning | desert whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the sandships they sail, defiant whumpee, captured and manhandled, non-con drugging (aphrodisiac, repurposed as a sedative), fear of noncon, language and cultural barriers, food & acute starvation, graphic depiction of a wounded foot that is beginning to fester, brief mention of predation

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen

Nadeem’s arms were going numb, back pressed hard into the scales of a date tree.

Twice. Twice in barely a week he’d had his hands bound and useless, and his frustration was the only distraction he had from pure, unbridled panic.

The morning light cast cold shadows against the side of the ship, the terrible monolith of the mast looming against the sky and casting shade across the remains of their camp.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t see the ship from where he had hidden before, but experiencing it up close was still so, so much worse. His eyes slid nervously over the hull, painted in grey that ended where the sand met the behemoth's brass-coated underbelly. Brass glittered at the feet of the rails, in the rigging where ropes swayed in the breeze. Mirrors hung from the railing in a dazzling display that cast reflections of light back across the camp, sometimes catching on the thin wisps of smoke that rose from the shoulders of the crew.

Under the prow of the ship the bronze figure of an oryx bowed its head, spiral horns tilted forward. Nadeem stared for a long while into the unnerving emptiness of its eyes, then lowered his gaze back to the sand.

The ship was at least three times bigger than the largest he had ever before set eyes on. Bigger even than the great caravan leaders whose hulls cut so deep into the sand that they could not come to port in his village's shallow harbor. And this ship hadn't just been built, it had been made terribly, painstakingly beautiful.

That, even more so than its size, unsettled him deeply—if these pirates had enough wealth and time to spend decorating their ship like this, how much time did they have to spend on him?

The ifrit had spent the morning loading the rest of their belongings back onto the boat. Half a dozen men and women worked to fill massive copper urns with water, hoisting them onto the deck as if they weighed nothing. Each time they passed him their attention lingered, a few even daring to reach out and prod at him with their clawless lower sets of arms. The casual violation made him so furious he could barely breathe.

The big one that had caught him did more touching than the rest, and there was nothing Nadeem could do to stop it. Hands tugged at his shirt seams. Nudged his back. Lingered on his shoulders.

It was studying him. He knew something was on the edge of going terribly wrong, and helpless anger raged in his chest with every unwanted touch. He narrowed his eyes when the ifrit now approached, skin crawling when it knelt in front of him. It said something, then its chest came within inches of his face as reached around to undo his ropes.

He was so shocked by the sudden invasion of his space that he simply froze, heart racing as it began to haul him to his feet.

As soon as it had him standing it coaxed him toward the ship, corralling him back toward the ladder. Nadeem limped backward, seething. His voice was low and dark, “I am not getting on that boat.”

Two minutes later he was dumped unceremoniously onto the deck, the air whooshing out of his lungs as his shoulders hit the wood. The ifrit stepped over the railing and muttered something at him, then tossed him over its shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of saltwheat.

His empty stomach churned as gravity shifted. The sudden increase in elevation made all his muscles tighten quickly enough to make him squeak.

He fought to catch himself in the fabric of its sash, a terrified little groan escaping him when it started walking. He could feel every weightless drop and jostle of its long strides. It felt like he was about to be dropped.

The floorboards swayed beneath him, the shadow cast by the loosened sail gliding across the deck like a snake. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding on as tightly as he could.

They descended into a hold below the main deck of the ship, ladder creaking beneath their weight as they descended into the darkness. A sudden bolt of panic raced through him when he realized there was no one else in this little room. Nadeem couldn't think of a single good thing that could come from being taken somewhere alone.

He was dumped onto something soft, and immediately pinned down by a massive, clawed hand. His heart was already pounding in his chest.

"S̴̟͘t̵͉̓à̸̢y̴͎͒ ̶͎͝w̵̯̎h̴̳̄e̷͕̎r̵̥̆e̶̬̾ ̸̣͑y̷͙̎o̶͉͐ư̷̠ ̸̖̽ä̵̬́r̶̞̈e̶̟̿.̷͇̅"

He didn't have to know Qururaq to know it was an order to stay put.

The hand lifted off him very, very slowly, nails prickling at his clothes, before the ifrit released him.

"Ỉ̶̦ ̷̩̌w̴͛͜i̵͔͘l̷̟̔ĺ̵̯ ̶̺̑l̸͙̊ê̶͓t̷̺͊ ̵͔̈́t̴̙͝h̴͔͒e̸̩͗ ̵̳̂ṙ̴̯é̶͎s̶̚ͅt̷̯̿ ̶̹̌o̶͜͝f̷̤̄ ̶̠̒t̷̟̑h̸̻̿e̴͇͗ ̷̙͑c̷̦̑r̴̤̈ę̶̌w̷̙͌ ̷̰̏h̵̊��â̸̹v̸͇̐e̴̦̒ ̸̦̐t̶̞̿h̴̪́e̴͈͘i̸̲̾r̷̛͙ ̶͙̉f̴̡́u̴͔͘n̵̜̽ ̴͎͝ẘ̷͖î̸̬t̷̯̕ḣ̵̰ ̴̫̈́y̸̘̿o̴͕̚u̴̯͗ ̴̲͐ȋ̴̯f̵̘͆ ̷̺͛ŷ̷͜o̴̹̅u̶͖͋ ̵̝̍t̷͈͒r̵̼͝y̵̞̏ ̸̞̆t̶̺͐o̶̥͛ ̴̯̊r̷̆͜u̷͍̓ń̶̺.̸̦͝"

It was infuriating. This ifrit knew full fucking well he couldn't understand what it was saying.

It began digging around through the items lining the low shelf that encircled the room, stripping off its sword belt. Nadeem eyed the wicked curve of its blades, sinking further away as it set them aside.

Unlit lanterns hung overhead, clanging against the wide curve of its shoulders as it moved in the dim space. The room smelled of incense, as though years of use had caused the scent to seep into the wood itself. The bunk he’d been dumped on smelled strongest of all. It swayed under his weight, then dipped when the ifrit sat at its end.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. Nadeem coiled to fight, starvation and injured foot be damned, but in the next moment the ifrit turned away to grab something off a nearby table.

Food.

All the gods below, that was food. A half-loaf of bread, the dark crust split like clay after the rain. His stomach suddenly felt like it was trying to eat itself alive.

His expression must have given away too much, because when he glanced back up the ifrit was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. It broke off the heel, and held it out to him.

Despite his fear, despite the black talons it was balanced between, he didn't hesitate. He craned forward and took it, then retreated immediately back out of reach. He even managed to wait long enough to make sure that the ifrit wasn't planning to follow him.

Then he tore into it like a scavenger into a ribcage. Nothing in the world mattered but his hunger.

It had been more than four days since the last scrap of food the merchants had given him. And while that was far from the longest he had ever gone without a meal, never before in his life had he traveled as far as he had over the last few days. His body was starving.

He knew this was something he should take slowly. But as soon as his teeth sank in, he didn't have the willpower to stop. And though the ifrit didn't make any move to come closer, he had already learned his lesson about giving a captor enough chance to take his food away from him.

Soon he'd eaten all he'd been given, almost breathless from it. The ifrit still hung back at the edge of the bed, watching him with those dark eyes. And then he held out another piece of bread. Smaller this time, but just as freely given.

Nadeem glanced between its hand and its face, then inched forward again. He took it, and quickly pulled back before it could take the opportunity to grab him.

And so it went, the ifrit breaking off small pieces and handing them to him one at a time. Although the bread wasn't warm, the crust was still flaky and the inside not yet hardened from the dry desert air. These weren't just discarded scraps—it couldn't have been made more than a day or two before. In all likelihood, he was being given the ifrit's own breakfast.

After the first few pieces hit his stomach, Nadeem managed to slow himself down. He felt almost boneless with relief. But it didn't need to know that. He kept himself just out of arm's reach, casting sideways glances its direction.

It was one big fucking ifrit. Not just in the 'so much taller than me I feel like a child' way, but built like an ox, too. It was more nude than not, its chest bare save for the black sash it wore from shoulder to hip. Its limbs were adorned with jewelry, brass circling its wrists and hanging in delicate chains from its neck. Even the symmetrical braids that patterned across its scalp were woven with polished metal. It wore no turban, its shoulder-length hair as brazenly exposed as its skin.

…thank the gods it least it was wearing pants.

He had been wrong about its skin being grey. Or....almost wrong. Rather than the red or coppery undertones he had seen in other humans his whole life, the same dark brown skin had a muted undertone of violet. The effect was still so close to grey he could think of no other word for it. It was just more...alive. The tips of its fingers were soot black, the color bleeding up into its hands in a gradient that spread all the way to the elbow. And it's talons—although he could think of no other word for them—weren't…actually talons. They had the same shape, but he could see no seam to indicate a nail. It was as though the tips of its fingers simply hardened into those claw-like tips.

The ifrit seemed to be being careful with them. It was surprising how delicate it managed to be, always holding up the offered bites between the tips where Nadeem could take them without being touched.

It was making no move to pull him out of his corner. He knew that didn't mean much—if it wanted to grab him it certainly had the reach to do it. And he still was all too aware that the ifrit sat between him and his only way out. But it seemed they weren't planning to eat him, at least. If they had they wouldn't have bothered feeding him first.

After his fourth bite of bread, the ifrit passed him a wooden cup. He drank eagerly, downing over half of it before stopping for a breath.

They weren't planning to eat him, but that still left at least a dozen reasons why they might be keeping him alive. And Nadeem was not optimistic that just because he'd avoided one awful fate that he wasn't destined for another.

He raised the cup to his lips again, and stopped.

That….wasn't water.

The liquid inside was cool and clear, and had been completely tasteless on his lips. But whatever it was, the surface of it wasn't right. Looking at it was like watching the sunlight glittering at the edge of a spring, shifting facets of light more radiant than even the Purratu back home. A million silvery, fragmented colors.

"What is this?"

The ifrit's expression told him what words didn't, and his blood went cold. It knew it had been caught. It reached out and took the cup back from him just as it almost fell from his fingers. And then Nadeem was pushing himself backward across the bed.

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit stood, returned to the ladder, and reached up to swing the trap door shut. Then dark eyes turned back to him.

Oh, gods, please. There was nowhere for him to go. Nadeem felt his breaths beginning to come short. And then it took a step closer.

He flattened himself against the wall, "Don't. You stay away from me, or I swear I'll rip you to pieces!"

The ifrit just settled into a chair near the foot of the cot. Nadeem's eyes were burning with tears that he refused to let fall. It was settling back in to wait.

Domos help him. What had been in that cup?

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit's eyes gave away nothing. They just studied him the same way he had studied it, though with no attempt to hide the way it was taking him in. He was going to be sick.

"If you lay so much as a finger on me—"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭," it made a sound halfway between a hush and a purr—from a cat just happened to be half the size of a house. It made every hair stand on end. "S̨҉͚̣a̦̠̕͜v̙̻́͞e̢͎̠͡ ̸̶͎̯y̙͙͠͡o̷͏̥̲ù̮̲͡ŗ̸̯̻ ҉̶͉͕è̛̱͇n͏̴͙̩e̡̨͍̥r̛̭̯͜g̢͍͈̕y҉̡̩̳,҉̠̳́ ̸͕͉͡j͓̜͡͠ą̜̜͟c̢҉͙̠ķ̡͚͓a̴̢̱̪l̢̨͈̺.̧͉̩͞ ̟̳͜͞Y̧̩̟͡o̶̢͉͎ư̷͖ͅ'̛҉̳̗r̸̴͇̤e̤͓͘͟ ̜̬͘͜g̶̩̞̕o̸͎̺͡i̢͏̰͇n̸̫̺͠g̜̱͢͝ ̴̛͉͉t̡̧̪̟o̶͇͇̕ ̷̨͈̯ṇ̲́̕e̻̝͢͞e͞͏͕̳d̻͖͜͞ i͕̣͢͠t̡҉̭̗."

He wanted to weep. What was he going to do? There was no way he'd be able to move quickly enough to get past it. And even if he did, with his foot so hurt there would be no getting back up that ladder before it grabbed him again. All he had were pillows and blankets, nothing even remotely viable as a weapon.

He had his nails. But compared to the ifrit's claws, his blunt little fingertips would barely even leave a scratch. His teeth were nearly as useless.

What was he going to do?

The minutes passed by quickly, but the ifrit didn't move. From outside he could hear the sound of cargo being shifted, voices calling back and forth to one another. Footsteps creaked directly overhead, but Nadeem didn't look away from the monster for even a moment.

It began slowly. A warmth that started in his belly and spread gradually up his spine. His fingertips tingled, then his lips. And then his head began to swim.

Please, no. Please.

He swayed and caught the wall.

His insides felt like they were turning to liquid honey. His breaths started coming slower, deeper, despite his rising panic. Everything that touched his skin seemed to hum.

The ifrit was watching him closely. When it spoke its words were slow, measured. "Ỳ̰͖͞o̵̤̪͜ụ̯͟͜'̸̮̫͞r̴̥̱͝e̛̮͖͞ ̵҉͔͖g̷͔̪͢o̵̢͇̦i̵̸̦̫n̷̞̭̕g̸͔̝͝ ̸̳̥͢ṱ̡̳͝o̢͏̺̹ ̸̗̗͢ḅ̼́͝e̳͍͜͜ ̛̣͉́a̧҉̥͖l̴̬̘͠r̷̝͇͠i̶̷̙̥g҉͙̼͢h̴̨̹͈ț̴̳͠."

"What's going to happen to me?" His tears began to fall.

The ifrit let out another of those rockslide-purrs, and reached out to grab the end of the cot. It began to slowly rock the bed back and forth.

Nadeem shuddered. His grip on the sheets went knuckle-white as the cot swayed, trying to keep himself upright. But soon the waves of dizziness were overpowering. He lost his balance and suddenly found the blankets at his back. The world was spinning, and it only worsened when he tried to get back up.

The motion turned the buzzing of his head into an almost-euphoric dizziness. Nadeem could barely open his eyes, even to try to find the ifrit again when it spoke.

"A̴̗̮͘ļ̮̰͘l̶̼̺͠ ̢̢̼͚ỳ̧̜͔o͖̯͠͞u͏̣̺͠ ̡̲̪͞h̭̲͞͡a̛̙͕͢v҉͇̩͡e̢̧̞͈ ̴͏̦̝t̴̟̲͡o̸̢͖̣ ͏͎̦͠d̴̢̘̘o̸̹͈͞ ̛̺̼͢i̛̖̠͡s̀҉̮͕ ̵͈͈͟r͓̣͘͞e̡̦̘͝l̷̶͈̜a̴҉̹̺x̣̞͢͞."

A hand closed around his throat. It applied no pressure, just pressed him down into the sickly softness of the blankets. More hands captured his wrists, tangling them together as it held them above his head.

"No!" Nadeem sobbed, trying in vain to kick up into its stomach. His uninjured foot caught on its hip, but all the strength in Nadeem's body was not enough to pry it off of him. "Get off of me!"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭." This close, the purr made his head swim. The ifrit's skin was fever-warm, steady and unyielding even as he arched off the bed trying to escape. "T͏̦͚͝h̨̖̬͢a̴̧͇̼t̸̖͓̕'͖͈̕͟s͏̷͇ͅ ̨͙̥́i̸͏̲̹t̶̳̜͘.̵҉̙̹ ̵̡̖̟Ṭ̴̡̹i͝҉̦͇r̷̜̪͠ȩ̗͈͞ ͎̩͜͞y̮̲̕̕o̷̩͙͡u̡͕̬͠r̸̳̮͠ş͈̰̕e҉̸̠̘ḽ͔́͘f̸̡̪ͅ ̷̧͇̹o͇̪͢͟ų̻͙͠t͎̫͜͝."

"Please," he sobbed. Gods, please, he couldn't survive this again.

Another hand shifted down to press his leg against the sheets, closing around the ankle of his bad foot. It held him there, even as the rest of him twisted and thrashed.

"Ị̢͚͘ ̼͑́n̴̺ͥe̵̪̓e̷̗̍d̡̅ͅ ̒҉̖t̛͇͗o̷͙͋ ͚̌͜ṱͫ̀a̖ͥ́k̴͇͋e͌͏͚ ̲̌͜aͩ͏͇ ̴̉ͅl̨̙ͤơ͚ͨo̹ͭ̕k͇̉́ ̸̪̋å̷͈t̶̹͌ ̧̫ͭṯ͊͘h̥̽͡a̶̹̿t̤͆͞ ̢̻̑f̣̍̕ỏ̧̰ȍ̻͝ť̰͡,̛̺̉ ̨̜͊An̺̄͘d͇̑͞ ̶̳͑b̴̩̌o͇ͮ͠t̝̏͘h͔̍͠ ̴͇̚o̪̍͞f̡̗̀ ̡̖ͭù͚͟ṣ̅́ ͖̓͢k̶̍ͅň̶̫ö̱́̀ẉ̷͂ ̣̈͘y̺ͦ͜o̝̒͡u͍̿́ ̧͍̋á̺͠ŕ̨̖ȩ̪ͥń̶̮'̼̓̕ṯ͋͝ ̸̣̀g̜̅͝o̲̅͞i̸̯͒n̶͍̋g̓҉̻ ̱̅̕t̛̥ͣo͖ͧ͝ ͔ͦ͡l̮̈͡e̴͚̿t̫͋͟ ͚̉͝ḿ̠͢ḙ̵̓ ̢̹̽d̺̎̕ọ̈͘ ̪͛͢i̩̾͡t͙ͥ́ ̪ͪ͟w̸̤ͩi̶̼͑ḻ̶͗l͍̓͢i̫̅͞n̷̮̚g̝ͭ̕ĺ͕̚y̶͔͒."

Nadeem's strength was failing him. His nails dug into the hand at his wrist. But if it noticed the little pinpricks, it didn't even react.

Through his tears he could still make out its face. Just watching him. The utter surety that it had him where it wanted him and there was nothing he could do.

"T̴̖̜̍̈́͢h͈̮͊̌͟͞e̛̗͙͂͗͡r̺̠̂̂͜͡e̷̤̹͌ͮ͜ ͒̉͏̛̫̠y̡̲̘ͨ͒̀o̗͇̾̚͢͠u̸̲̘͋̀͝ ̡̪͇̈̓͢ğ̢̼̗̚͡ő̧̹̫̄͝.̴͔̞̌ͧ͝ ̳̹̃ͦ́͡Ǵ̨̠̟́͟i̢͉̳͊̓̀v̨̗̳ͪ̉͝ḛ̻̓̑́͝ ͒͌͘͏̗̰ṷ̞͐ͣ͘͞p̢̘͕̈́͛͟."

He started to sag in its hands, crying helplessly. All he could do was press himself down into the sheets, keeping his leg against its stomach to try to keep it away.

"T̴͈̩͞h̡͏̹̩á̱̻͘t̪͕̕͢'̡͈̼͠s̨̢͚ͅ ̶̟̯́b̶̛̼̩e̡͙͓͡t̜̞̀͟ṱ̵͔͟e̶̪̠͡r̜̤͟͠.̪̳̕͘ ̨̭̟̕B̲̬̀̀ŗ̞͖͢e͖̱̕͟a̵̛̯͍t̵̗̯̀h̸̘͖͘e̴̷̮̼."

His mind was a mess. His thoughts were coming in fragments, golden warmth thrumming across his skin. The coil of sensation in his stomach had only settled deeper, despite every other part of his mind trying to shove the feeling away. He couldn't think.

The hand on his ankle shifted. The ifrit leaned back, keeping him still while it murmured something and turned his foot to look at the wound underneath.

The flesh around the wound was puffy and red, like angry gums around a missing tooth. The edge had a thin line of white and sallow green where swelling turned to wound, a mess of dried red and black that smeared up between his toes. Sand was caked into dried blood, the very center of the wound still weeping red where he had damaged it in his struggles.

His ankle was swollen, too. He had twisted it when he had fallen, and he hissed as the ifrit turned it carefully in its hand. It almost looked like it winced in sympathy.

"Y̴̛̤̰o̵̵̥̝u̵̫̹͢'̨̢̩͙ŕ̵̘͕è͏͉̦ ̧̙̼͡l̴͏͖̻ừ͍͎c̴̜͖͝k̨͔̀ͅỳ҉̭̬ ̛҉̦͚ỵ̨̫͢o҉̧̦̯ų̨̲̱ ̷̡͍̰d͇͢͠ͅi̢̡̺̰d̮̹͢͞n̛̖̠͝'͏̮͇̕t̨͏̳̰ ̷͔̞͢b̥͚̀͠r̖̠͜͞e̸̡̬̥á̻͓͘ḱ͉̱͝ ̭̪́̀í̞͉͡t̛̝͉̕,̵̬̜͡ ͘҉͇̣ļ̩̞͠i҉̷̪͎ṭ̸̮́t̢҉̺̼ḽ̸͜ͅę̧̭͚ ̨̺̖͢o̷̳̰͞n̻̤͢͟e̸̝̤͞.̹̟͠͠ ̧̝̞͝Y͏̦̞͘o̯̬͟͞u̧͏̗͍'̴̣͔͠v̨̡̲̯e͉̱̕͟ ̷̵͚̘b̶̺͚͞e̴̗̣͞e̳̣͟͞ņ̵̤̠ ̶̫̩́h͏̛̬̝i̧̢͎̼d̨̫͓͞i̴̶̙̜n̵̢̪̼g̴̺̠͞ ̘̤͜͡t̶̕ͅͅh̵҉̥̜i̵̝̭͝s̨̩̼͢ ̨̨̖̳b̷̡͈͈e̴̪͔͞t̷̶̠̞t̵̖̹͞e͔̭͢͞r̛̫̯͟ ͏͙̯͟t̷͉̠̕h̟͈̕͠à̳̣̕n҉̷̣͙ ̴̤̖͞I̢͎͚͞ ̛̟̗̀t̶̸̘͎h̛̩͈́o̷̯̹͝u̧҉̦̻g̢̲̲͠h̷̥̝͟ț̻́͟ ̢̲̹͞ỳ̯̦͘o̸̸̪̖u̥̩͟͡ ͍̜͘̕ç̹̰͞o̵̴̹̝ư̖͖͟l̶̲̮͘d͏̶̰̺." It sighed, "I̜̙͝͡f̷̠̝͡y̵̸̲̥a̡̨̤̬ạ̷͡ͅ ̢̳̲͠i̸҉̟͖s̴̵̥̝n̸̢͍ͅ'̷̵̗̮t͏̬̬͞ ̷̦̜͘g̴̛̬ͅo̸̘͟ͅi̧̺͎͟n̶̴̲͉g͙͜͟ͅ ̧͙͈͟t̕҉̦̣o̶̗̟͠ ̡̥̫̀b͎͈́͟e̶̪̙͟ ̴͏͚̦h͎̼͟͠à̙̞͝p҉̳̪͟p̛͏̤͓y̫̜͢͝ ̦̱́͝w̡҉̙̺h̠͎́͟ę͎͙͜n̨̮͕͟ ̶̢͉͕h̸̨͉̘e̸̞͙͝ ̴̘̼͡s͠҉̯̖é͇̫͠e͖͖͝͠s̷̱͞ͅ ̶̮̳͡t̛̛̝͍h̢̲͓͢e̸̶̘̞ ̨̛͉̳ș̸̛̺t̲̣͠͞a̵̝̫͞t̡̛̩̟e͞͏̗ͅ ̡̯͙̀ó̢̟̘f̻̟̕͞ ̀҉̖͍i͔̘͞͠t̢̢̩ͅ."

Nadeem was trembling.

"̡̭̹͢N҉̵͙̞ò͖̘͘,̳̯͟͝ ̳̠͢͢y̨͏͔ͅó̴̲͚u̢̹̤͠ ̷̖͘ͅa̵͎͓͡r̸̛̙̻e͏̰̳͠n̡̖̺͟'̷̡̘̯t̨̝̩̀ ̢͚͞ͅg҉͙͡ͅǫ̴̺̗í̡̞̟n̛̞͙͠g̷̯̣͞ ͏͏͖̫t̴̠͇̕ó̳̲͟ ̧͚̩͠l͙͎͢͠i҉̛̻̣k͓̲͞͠e̸҉̱̣ ̶͇̟͟t͏̡̯̻h͏̢̦̜i̶̢̤̺s̛̭̝̀ ̢̡͕̲p̡̨̲̗a͇͍͜͟r̸̼̹͠t̵̶͇̦,̸̧͉̹ ̴͎̺͡e҉̱̳̀į̶͕̻t̩̪́͢h̵̸̲̩e̛̱͚͟r̢͈͕̕.̧̟̙́ ̧̛̟̮B͏̷̮̪u҉̗̼̕t̼͙́͞ ̸̝̗͡ị̵̴͚ṯ͕̕͘ ͏̛̘̥ẁ͔͍͞ì̩͠ͅḽ̜͡͠l̝͓͘͘ ͎̼̕͟b̶͈̮͢e͢҉͚͇ ̥͍́͝o̻̲͢͠v̢̬̪͠e̡͖̜͜r̨҉͎͖ ̵͚̠͠ș̶̢̘o͡҉͉̻o̵̲̦̕ņ̺̟͠." The ifrit lowered his leg back to the cot, looking to his face. Nadeem flinched when it reached down, screwing his eyes shut with a whine as it brushed knuckles down the stubble of his cheek. "W̵͈̣͡e̶̡̪̥'̢͕̼̀ļ̛̠̟l͏̡̙̟ ̷̡̺͍s̶͙͉͝p̵͖͚͘ę҉̳ͅń̴͔̦d̘̱͘͢ ̢̯͙͘ą̼̮͜ ̙͇͡͞f̺̬́͢e̷̷͉͚w̨҉͈̺ ҉͔͠ͅḑ̵̰̬a̷̸̦͔y҉̤̩̕ş̜̜͟ ̢͚̱͡h҉̴̮̖ą̹̖́v҉̩̯͜i̴̵̥̰n̶̛͙̣g̡̪͈͡ ̨͉̣͝ó̷̙͙ù͈̮͠r̦͎̀̀ ̦̮̀͡f̴̛͈̮u̧͓̜͟n̝͇͜͡ ̸͔̠͢w̩̝͘͞i̲̮͟͠t̙̀͘ͅh̨̠̼̀ ̢̤͕͘y̸̴̠ͅo̸̳̜͢ù̵̥͕,̶̺͙͟ ̮͈̀͡ų̸̪͇n̨͕͎͡t̷̳̣́i̠̯͞͞l̶̛̞̠ ̦̰́͢w͓̹͢͟ȩ͏̹̤ ̡͉̜̕f̴̡̼̜i̟̬̕͞n̝͎͢͝d̨̝̮́ ͔̱́͡a̴̻͟ͅ ͇̞̀͞h̨̛̺͓u̶͕̻͘m̨̫̰͞a͞͏̻̻n̢̨͙͖ ̷͏̣̗c̨̳̯͟ì̞͠ͅţ̩̩͢y̴̛̯̥ ͙̳͡͠t̶͏̹̰o̢̜͇͟ ͔̜̀͢l̷͔̝͝e͏̵̲̩a̕͏͚̩v̧̳͕͞e̶͇̼͝ ̴̱͉͘y̯͘͠ͅo͖̖͘͜u͕̣͜͢ ̸̴͓̩i̸̡͕̥n̡̳̱͢.͍̟͘͡ ͉̟͢͝F͏̴̙̗ŗ̺̤͘ó̶̲̼m̶̳̖͘ ̣̫̀͡t̺̘͢͞h̶̪̼͠e̛̼͕͝r̨̪̯͞ę̮̱͠,̨̡̱͈ ̴̧̘̻y҉̣̺͟o͜͏͉͍u̴͉̞̕ ͢҉̥̺c̛̜̹͡a̡̙͙͘n̛͙̪͢ ̶̸̠̜f̢͍̯́i̺̱͟͢n̡͏̫͇d̢͎͞ͅ ̵҉͇̘y͓̝͡͞o̷̜͝ͅu̳̻̕͠r̛͏̱̣ ̨̞̤͠w̶̠̙͢ą̵̗̱y̴̨̳̺ ̵̝̠͟b҉̩̝͜a̱͟͡ͅc̶̸̗̝k̛͍̩͡ ͏̢̤͙t҉̹̺̕o̷҉̦̰ ̨͓͖̀w̸̱̗͢h̢̨̲͙ȩ̢̙̜r̢̗̥̀e̴̛̞͈v̵͔̰̀e͓͉͜͠r̢̡̫̗ ̯͔̕͠y̶͉͈̕o̸̘̣͝ú͉̜͢ ̘̩͠͠c҉̗̙͞a̶̯͈̕l̺̥͜͠l̮̲̀̕ ̸̧͇͕h͞҉̟͍o̵̙͔͡m҉̧̱̙e̴̼̖͠."

He took a shuddering breath. The touch sent ripples of sensation blooming across his skin, leaving him breathless.

"I̴̬͎͟'̵͔̺͟m̷̨̤̝ ̷̲̮̕s̨̪̘͘o̷̲̞̕r͠͏̝͉ŗ̛̯̜y̛̛̱͓ ̵̪̳̕f̹͕́͡o̷̴͍̼r͓͈͝͞ ̵͕̳͠h̢̖̻́o̶͍̭͞w̶̧̙̦ ̴̨̺̜ḿ͏̞͚u̧̙̪͝ç̳̜͟h̵̶͉̯ ̗͇̀͡t̙̖́͠h̝̝́̀i̴͉̠͡s҉̡̬̭ ̸̵͇̭ị̵̴̩s͍̬͞͠ ̶̢̟͈g̷͏͉͈o̴̷̻ͅi̵̬͙͜ņ̵̪̣g҉̰͚͝ ͖̣̕͢ţ̳̗͞o͘҉͓͕ ͏̨̬̻h̸̫͔͘u͢͏̯̼r̢̟̗͘t̵̯̣͠."

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balladofthewhitehorse · 3 months

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❝ hey, quick question. how petty am i allowed to be? ❞ for engport!!

Set during: 1592, when the English stole a large Portugese galleon off the coast of the Azores.

Portugal’s nose wrinkled with derision, a surge of envy that overwhelmed him (it cast itself as a wave, sickly green as it swept through him - the taste of salt and iron on his tongue) as he stormed down the corridor, hands balled into fists. Rage quivered through Portugal’s body, a tension that coiled as tight as a spring - fit to snap, to loosen and let whatever rotten, heavy emotion that sat square in rib-cage fly. It wasn’t entirely alien to Portugal, that sense of possession as familiar as the hilt of his own sword. And yet, Portugal knew he was being ridiculous (sense hadn’t completely escaped him, for that he was thankful).

Rows upon rows of portraits drifted past him, landscapes hung up on the walls in dreamy watercolours as he moved at a clipped pace - eyes staring ever forward. ‘’Fucking-’’ He felt the word fumble on his tongue, a crumb lodged in the back of his throat as Portugal choked on his frustration, cheeks ruddy with temper as he shouldered past an unwitting servant, storming into his office for solace.

‘’-Fucking Netherlands.’’ It was stupid. It was stupid. Portugal had seen it happen before, knew the cut-throatness that governed them all Portugal perhaps was only wounded that he had not seen this coming before). ‘’Of all the people in the World-!’’ A beautiful galleon had been taken - cracked open like an egg, and the English were hungry for its contents, hungry for more as they had always been (the dog that England was, he was prowling for scraps at the dinner table again - and Portugal perhaps once would have been content to share, but now he only felt a cracking, crackling anger in his intestines).

‘’-I can’t believe it-’’ Fingers combed through his hair, untugged by irritation - wounded pride tugging at the seams of his being, only stoking Portugal’s that low-burning hearth that was Portugal’s vindictiveness.

When the door clicked open, Portugal snapped to his full height (and only came up to England’s chest all the same - but the vicious look in his eyes warned England to take a step back, and step back the man did). ‘’What have you got to say for yourself?’’ Hissed Portugal, lips curled with derision as he skirted around the edge of his desk, finger trailing along the edges of an unfolded map - before quickly, quietly folding it. England did not deserve the luxury of his plans, and Portugal certainly did not want to share those treasured trails with the man that stood before him like some sort of dumb animal. ‘’Netherlands. Really, I would expect better from you.’’ He snorted harshly, his voice a tumble of sea-spray and froth that hissed between the jagged rocks of his coastline.

I would expect better of myself, really.

‘’You think that you’ll….what, achieve greatness without me?’’ A bluff, a sailor swept by the sea whose wrath he had forgotten - Icarusian hubris, Portugal had allowed himself to climb high, up, up and up towards the Sun, that halo of Doradian gold that he’d been searching for. Portugal had allowed himself to forget. Dogs were scavengers, he reminded himself - and there was no greater dog than the man that stood before him, broad and bulky frame filling out the doorway. Anger flared in England’s eyes, and Portugal rose with a sneer. ‘’What is it?’’ ‘’You’re being unreasonable.’’ Snarled England, lips curled. ‘’It’s just-’’

Just. Portugal grabbed England’s jerkin, yanking the man forwards to growl in his face. His eyes flashed like a red sky in the morning (a sailor’s warning - painting the seas in carmine) and Portugal twisted the fine fabric beneath his clenched fingers. ‘’You thought you’d stab me in the back and what-?’’ He rambled, scoffing. ‘’-Twist the knife a little further, England?’’

The Dutch prowled the oceans ( His oceans, Portugal thought bitterly) and now his old friend was grappling for a foothold, stepping on his back, his shoulders to reach for the stars that charted his course. ‘’You stole from me. You stole my Gods-damned ship, and you think you can come crawling back with-’’ Portugal scoffed, rolling his eyes. ‘’-platitudes? Kiss my ass!’’

‘’Don’t be a child.’’ Grumbled England, hands balling into fists. His heart pounded in his chest, as a migraine crept on (as stealthy as a sea fog, creeping over the horizon - snaking through the rigging, until all England could see was the hazy shape of Portugal before him). ‘’It was…business. Simple as that.’’ His lips pulled into a taut line, as England found himself run aground on the taste of his own hypocrisy, a logical fallacy that sent his thoughts into a tailspin. ‘’You’d do the same. In my shoes.’’ England insisted, the words fumbling on his tongue like fishing boats on tempestuous waves - this conversation was becoming stormier than England could handle. ‘’Don’t be petty, Portugal. Please.’’ He hissed, as he slowly shuffled back towards the door frame, his heart a war drum in his ears as Portugal stared.

Portugal stared with an icy-cold heat. He didn’t speak for a long time, eyes narrowed in a heart-achingly familiar (almost comforting, in some respects) way to England. Countless battles raged before Portugal, and as the battlefield reached its fever-pitch, so too did Portugal cast his mind to endless games of cards, of stupid arguments that England got to when drunk and roaming the labrinyth of his cities. ‘’Hey, quick question-’’ He scoffed, teeth bared as England’s gaze dared flash hope (hope - it was quickly scuttled, and Portugal found himself resenting that dull ache in his heart; He had hope in England once). ‘’-How petty am I allowed to be?’’ Oh God, Portugal wanted to do something fucked up to this man, something cutting, something sharp. ‘’Because I swear to God, I’ll fucking find something to do to you.’’

England blinked, but remained unmoved - save for the anxious flitter in his eyes. ‘’W-what?’’ ‘’Get the fuck out of my office. Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out of my Seas.’’

He opened his mouth as if to argue, England’s mouth agape as he hovered with a simmering tension. The room felt fit to explode in a plume of flame, England’s heart thudding long and heavy in his chest as he stared Portugal down. ‘’...Fine.’’ He grunted, clearing his throat. ‘’Only because it’s you.’’ England sniffed, slowly turning on his heels and skulking down the hallway. Portugal stood, trembling in a brand of sunlight. Caught betwixt the sea and the sun, the man watched as England slunk slowly below the horizon - and was lost to him forever. He wouldn’t let himself be taken in again. Portugal swallowed a lump in his throat, and returned to his maps.

#hws england #hws portugal #engport #porteng

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dove-caverne · 1 month

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Chapter 2 is out!

The Black Sheep and the Silver Rabby My Stardew Valley Fanfin novel is underway! I appreicate any reads and support! Official link: https://www.wattpad.com/1437425257-the-black-sheep-and-the-silver-rabbit-chapter-2 Sebastian x Reader Romance

Elliott x Reader Romance

Love triangle ?? Sortaish Warning: Swearing (A lot) and steamy 18+ content to come.

Other fluffy and spicy stuff to come

12k words released so far ! Chapter 2 - Salt Water

My eyes open slowly, they feel insanely heavy, as I sit up I feel an awful rush to my head. "Ugh, what the actual fuck." I mumble to myself. "Abby really can hold her alcohol, unfortunately, I cannot." you giggle. You reach for your phone realizing you didn't get anyone's number last night. Wait 10:05 AM??? You completely slept in and even with all that extra sleep you still have a massive hangover. "Today is going to suck," you think to yourself.

As you get dressed and out the door, you notice you have some mail. It's from a man named Willy who wants to meet you down on the beach... "Well that's a bit weird, some stranger wants me to just meet him at the beach...I guess maybe that's not totally considered creepy in a small town like this." You head over to your nicely planted turnips and give them a sprinkle of water from your rusty old watering can. "There you guys go, now hurry up and grow already." you scoff to the turnips as it took almost all your energy just to water the 15 measly crops.

You walk through town, doing your best to smile at a few townsfolk despite your raging headache. "Let's just get to the beach and get this over with, I seriously need a coffee." you groan under your breath.

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At the beach

The smell of seawater fills your nose as you walk across the sand you spot a variety of pretty shells getting you distracted from your mission. It's so quiet, although it's almost 11:00 AM there is nobody around. "Probably because it's still a bit chilly out", you surmise. "Hey Farmer!" you hear someone calling suddenly. You look ahead on the pier and see someone waving to you from afar. "C'mon over I've got a little something for you," he says. You walk to the peer to meet this strangely dressed (and strangely smelling) man. "I'm Willy, the local fisherman, just got back from a little fishing trip and wanted to greet ya with a little welcome gift! Not every day a newcomer makes their way to our little valley." He says as he passes you a pretty basic-looking fishing rod. "It's been used well, but it's still got a few good reels in it! All yours farmer! I've gotta go open up my fish shop but stop by sometime to update your rod!" He walks off to the little shop on the peer. "Strange...but very nice of him, glad that was quick." you think to yourself.

You walk back across the beach focusing on the sand in hopes of finding some more shells. You're about to reach for a really beautiful one, and as you go to grab it you see another hand reaching down for it. You look up and are in literal awe. An actual angel of a man stands before you, with shimmering ginger hair, and emerald green eyes he also happens to be extremely well dressed... but maybe overdressed for the beach. He smiles at you and you feel your knees get weak. "I'm sorry beautiful you can have the shell, it just caught my eye, I have plenty, it's all yours." He picks up the shell, grabs your wrist and places it gently into your hand. You feel your face get flushed at the feeling of his strong manly hands touching yours. "Are you new here?" he adds on, breaking you from your utter shock at this man's existence. "Uh... yes, sorry hi I'm (Y/N) I just moved into the farm outside of town." You look down, as his gaze is just too much for you to handle and he will definitely see you blushing. "Ah, well I am honoured to meet such a lovely lady, I'm Elliott, local writer and beach enthusiast." He says with a chuckle. You can feel your heart starting to race as you stand in awkward silence for a moment. "Well I hope to see you around (Y/N) I am usually here on the beach, I live in that cabin over there. It's small but at least I get to wake up to this view every morning." he smiles at you. "I hope to see you around too Elliott. Thank you for the shell," you say softly as you put it into your pocket now feeling like it's some sort of treasure of you meeting this radiant man. You can't take your eyes off him as he walks back towards his cabin his long ginger hair flowing in the breeze and his tall well built body filling out his collared jacket. "Wowza," you say as you take a sigh of relief that the close contact is now over.

________

You make your way back through town planning to stop by Pierre's shop to buy some more seeds for your garden. You walk in and see a variety of things for sale. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch some violet hair and remember that Abigail works here at her dad's shop. "Omg that's right, should I go talk to her and ask for her number? I was way too wasted last night to actually ask." you think to yourself. You sigh, wondering if you embarrassed yourself, hoping she will still want to be friends. "Hi Abby" you say in almost a whisper. "Oh (Y/N)! how are you? I hope you had a good time last night! It's been so long since I had a girl to hang out with I'm pretty much always stuck with just Sam and Sebastian." she smiles at you. "They don't seem that bad though! I had fun with all of you, although... I did drink way more than I should have, I am definitely feeling it today." you giggle. "Oh shit, I'm so used to out drinking the boys I totally didn't consider that I'm so sorry," she says seeming worried. "It's alright it was worth it, so glad got to hang out with some new friends...I actually came over to ask if maybe I could get your number?" you say mumbling nervously. "Yes! Omg! Let me put it in your phone and I'll put in the boy's numbers too I can't believe we didn't think of that last night." she says taking your phone from your hand and inputting the numbers. "Just text them and say I gave their numbers to you." "Thanks Abby, I will text you later then maybe we can hang out and you can show me your favourite video games!" You say smiling as you walk up to the counter and purchase several new seeds from Pierre.

You hurry home to plant the vast variety of spring seeds Pierre convinced you to buy, "the sooner I am done the sooner I can lay in fucking bed." you think to yourself. Your garden is looking great you now have over 40 seeds planted, in a variety of spring crops. "Things are looking up mom, I hope you are seeing this, I am actually doing it, taking over your dad's farm. I feel so happy, being here I feel close to you again somehow." you smile to yourself reminiscing on your memories of Mom and you.

It's now 1:30 PM and you decide to go inside for a much-needed break. You lay on your bed and play on your phone for a bit. An hour or so goes by and you start to get a bit bored of looking at social media, it's mostly just filled with pics of the preppy "friends" you used to have in Zuzu City. Feels so ridiculous now that you were trying too hard to be "friends" with them, "they are so stuck up," you mutter as you close your tab...Your mind wanders and you remember that Abby had told you to give her and everyone a text. "She wants me to text the boys too." You feel a bit nervous just texting them out of nowhere without having asked for their number, "but maybe it's a good thing I didn't have to ask for their number, doubt I coulda actually asked that out loud, well to Sam maybe cause he's so damn friendly, but Sebastian is another world completely."

You decide to text Abby and Sam first and see how it goes. They both respond fairly quickly and are already discussing plans for another night at the saloon or a jam session. You find yourself smiling that you were actually able to meet some friends in the first week here...You look over at your table and see Sebastian's sweater leaning over the chair. You feel your face get red as you recall how close the two of you were last night when he essentially saved you from collapsing drunk in the middle of the town centre. "I guess returning his hoodie is a good reason to text him..." You open your phone to his contact that Abby added, you're actually a bit surprised she was so willing to just give out his number considering they are dating. Well, you're still figuring that one out...you think back to last night when you spotted Abby staring in awe at Sebastian. "They must have something going on right?" you wonder. You continue to stare at his contact number not wanting to type something totally awkward, he already gives you a strange feeling when he's around. He's so mysterious and standoffish yet he helped you without thinking twice making you see that he has a very kind heart under all that doom and gloom.

Welp here you go: "Hey Sebastian, It's (Y/N), Abby gave me your number, I think she was trying to get a group message going to plan another hangout."

Send

________________________

Sebastians POV

Buzzbuzz

"Ugh... Abby stop texting me a million times I am trying to work" he mutters to himself.

Glances at phone

"Hold up, it's from (Y/N)? And of course, Abby gave her my number without asking first, typical." he sits back in his chair in a bit of shock and a flashback of you giggling on the couch with Abby pops into his head, he starts to feel butterflies in his stomach realizing he will actually be talking to you again. He's confused and slightly uncomfortable, "Why do I feel like this? She's just a girl, c'mon Seb you barely know her." he can't focus on his work at all now, he's never really thought about a girl that way before. Not surprising considering there isn't much selection in this tiny ass town. "Ugh what do I even say." he sighs, he seriously has no idea how to talk to a girl.(**See's Abby as one of the boys)

"I need a smoke break before I reply to this", he thinks getting up from his desk placing his phone back down leaving it behind.

He walks outside the air is cool as the evening approaches and it feels nice on his warm face. He sees Demetrius doing who knows what over by the bushes. "Science freak," he mutters under his breath almost hoping Demetrius hears him. Everyone knows they both tolerate each other for the sake of Robin. Sebastian walks faster hoping he won't try and converse with him considering it's usually a lecture about his smoking habits or a comparison to how much more accomplished Maru is. Sebastian knows he's essentially an outcast in the family coming from a different dad who wasn't known for being a good role model or caring father figure. Essentially, he has never been loved by anyone but his mom and she is the only person in the world he cares about more than anything. "Hmm maybe I could ask my mom about what to say to the new girl, I mean she grills me all the time about being sad and lonely in my "basement dungeon" and how she expects me to give her grandkids." He thinks to himself as he lights his cigarette looking out at the lake. "Would that be too awkward? Ugh. But if I ask Sam then he's never gonna drop it and will probably make it super awkward when we're hanging out and if I ask Abby she's gonna think it's her that I am interested in... Fuck, guess I have no choice...ill talk to mom."

___________________

Walks into the kitchen

"Oh hi Sebby, do you want to have dinner with me? Demetrius and Maru are busy with a project this evening." She stares at him seeing he's a bit distressed. "Sebby you really need to get out of that basement dungeon of yours you are looking pale and honestly just like complete shit." "Thanks, Mom, I get my looks from you." he snaps back, they both let out a giggle, that's just their relationship, savage and loving. Robin puts both their plates on the table and they sit down together chatting about her work and ongoing projects. Sebastian is being pretty quiet just listening, watching his mom light up at her love for her job. He can't figure out how to ask her about you without it totally being awkward. "You alright Sebby, you're unusually quiet?" He stares down at his plate and feels his face getting red. "I...think" he sighs, "I THINK THE NEW GIRL is pretty and cool and I feel weird when she's around and she texted me out of nowhere and I don't know what to fucking do," he says at lightning speed stumbling over his words just wanting to get it off his chest. There is a moment of silence as Robin is shocked that he actually might not be forever alone. He finally looks up from his plate and sees his mom smiling. "Finally, Jesus I was beginning to think you and Sam were going to become lovers with how much you guys hang out." they both let out a laugh and her comment lightened the anxiety in the room. "Pretty sure I would choose Abby before Sam mom," he replies sternly. "I mean you never know, whatever makes you happiest Sebbybear." "Mom, stop, just please what do I do, I want her to not see me as a massive loser." "Sebby, you want my advice, it's simple, be yourself. Don't be fake, don't be someone you're not, you've got a sweetheart under all that bullshit you give me and everyone else, I know any girl would be lucky to have you by their side. Just...don't block her out like you block the rest of the world out." She lifts his chin "Yep my son is handsome, she'd be silly not to be interested." "Fuck off" he scoffs "Thanks though Mom...don't block her out got it" he quickly sneaks in before running down to the basement. Several hours after receiving your text he finally musters up a short reply.

Sebastian: Hey (Y/N), that's no problem, sounds like a good time let me know what's up and I'll be there.

Send

...

BuzzBuzz

"What she replied already?" he says utterly surprised

(Y/N): Great! Think they want to do Sam's place for a jam session sometime soon.

BuzzBuzz

(Y/N): Oh, I meant to ask if you would like me to stop by your place tomorrow to return the sweater you lent me the other night. Thank you so much again."

Oh right, he had completely forgotten to grab his sweater after helping you home. He feels flustered at the thought of his hoodie on you, now he can't stop picturing you in it.

"Ah fuck, hmm... I think I better just go get it...if she comes over I bet mom will say something awkward after the conversation we had earlier."

_________________________

Farmer's POV

BuzzBuzz

Sebastian: It's cool I will come by and grab it sometime soon, probably in the morning before I start work. Pretty sure you owe me a farm tour anyway."

"Wait? He wants to come here? He wants a farm tour? Did I offer to show him around, I honestly don't remember. Wait he's really going to come here?" You think to yourself feeling your heart rate increase with excitement. "Stop it (Y/N), he is with Abby...yes he's gorgeous and his dark hair and light eyes made you melt...IT'S not like that get a grip."

(Y/N): Sure stop by whenever, I am usually here. Have a good night, Seb.

________________________

almost 2 weeks later

Your garden is blooming, you were able to harvest and sell several crops and more will be ready in the next few days. You are running pretty low on cash having been essentially haggled to buy 50 packs of seeds from Pierre. You have cleared out many more sticks and weeds and are making a new space hoping to add a chicken coop as soon as the next crops are ready to harvest. You even started to build a fence and fix up the pathways around your house. You're starting to think you can actually manage being a farmer after all.

You've been so busy getting things started you haven't had much time to hang out with your friends. Luckily your trips through town have allowed you to introduce yourself to almost everyone, a few people your age stood out to you as potential friends. You met a cute sporty boy named Alex, who seemed eager to meet you and show off his workout routine. You met two sisters Haley and Emily... they were actually total opposites how funny. You met the local teacher who actually teaches Sam's little brother Vincent, her name was Penny and she was actually adorable and sweet and good with kids, a total catch in my opinion, really hoping to be friends with her. You also bumped into another guy but he seemed in a bad mood and kinda looked hungover so you didn't catch his name but he wasn't too much older than you? And of course, you also made time to try out your fishing rod...at the beach.... specifically at the beach... and yes you did catch a glimpse, or more like a good 10-minute stare at the ginger angel who lives in your mind rent-free. You were lucky enough to have several nice chats with him and he invited you to coffee to help him with a chapter of his book. Not sure if he was implying it was a date or not but either way you will take any additional time to stare at that gorgeous beast of a man with long flowing hair and perfect teeth. He's so handsome and such a gentleman sometimes it feels like Elliot fell through time.

Anyway...you've also seen Abby a couple of times and texted both Sam and Seb but are looking forward to tonight as you haven't gotten all together since the saloon.

_____________

Later that evening

You look down at your phone and it's 6:30 PM, you are just cleaning up from a later supper as you were working on the farm longer than expected. Everyone is meeting at Sam's place in an hour so you should probably start getting ready. You decide to take a walk down to the baths to freshen up. On the walk back you wonder to yourself. "How do I dress for a jam session?" Your long clean hair is blowing in the wind, the weather has been really nice lately, and you can tell summer is around the corner.

Hmm...you end up going with a navy baby tee, black baggy jeans, and chunky sneakers. You put two small braids in your hair, fix up your makeup and by the time you're finally feeling put together after your sweaty day of farming it's already 7:30 PM and time to make your way over to Sam's.

On your walk there you spot Abby leaving her house. "Thank god, now I don't have to walk into his house for the first time alone." She waves you down and joins you for the rest of the short walk to his house. She opens the door and walks in like she essentially lives there. "SAMM, you can start the party now the hottest girls in town have arrived." (big competition here in the valley) She yells out. "Hey, ladies," he says poking his head out of his room with a smirk. "C'mon in!" "Wait we're hanging out in his room?" you're a bit surprised but as you walk in and see how huge his room is and all the instruments set up, now it makes more sense. "Hey (Y/N), I know it's more of just a show for you tonight so why don't you take a seat on my bed? Seb will be here any minute and we will get started." "Sure", you reply, you take a seat on his soft comfy bed, it smells like his cologne, and it's kinda nice. Sam and Abby start to get the instruments set up, Abby plays the drums, Sam the guitar... so I guess Seb plays the keyboard... it's really cool they have a band together." you think to yourself, butyou also feel a bit sad at the same time as you aren't very musical at all and will be more of just the audience at these jam sessions. "Hopefully they will still invite me." you think feeling a bit anxious and out of place. Not even 5 minutes go by and you hear Sebastian entering the house. He opens the door to Sam's room slowly. It's been nearly two weeks since you've seen him, you almost forgot how handsome he is. His dark hair hangs down the side of his face constrasting intensely against his pale skin. His eyes look especially blue in the lighting of Sam's room, you hadn't noticed before. He's wearing his usual all-black hoodie, tight skinny jeans and black Converse. He notices your eyes on him and gives you a slight smile. "Hey Seb, I missed you, you've been ignoring my text again," Abby says coming over and wrapping her arms around him into a hug. He rolls his eyes and brushes off her comment by changing the topic. "Let's get this jam going Sam," he says as he lifts up a pack of beers he brought to share with everyone. Abby passes you a drink smiling "Don't go too hard this time Starlight." "Starlight?" you say confused at why she called you that. "Yeah, Starlight, cause your hair shines like the stars and because you're a lightweight who can't even handle a couple of drinks without almost blacking out." She teases you giving you an exaggerated wink. "Shut up Abby. at least I'm not an alcoholic" you snap back, getting a giggle from her. She goes over and joins the boys.

"We're finally set up, enjoy the show (Y/N), we don't play for free for just anyone," Sam says giving you a smirk.

A couple of hours go by, and you find yourself and the gang laughing, enjoying some drinks and listening to some interesting music. They actually were including you and getting a city girl's advice on what kind of music to play to have more chances of landing an actual gig. This was so nice, you felt really happy around these new friends. "Hey Seb, thanks for bringing the drinks... unfortunately you didn't bring enough," Abby whines. "Let's just stop by the saloon and get some more quick Abbs, we need a break from the music anyway," Sam suggests.

They walk out the door together.

"Wait where are they going?" "Wait they're leaving me alone here with Sebastian." you feel anxious as you look over at him, he's lying on Sam's bed holding his beer and looking at his phone. His eyes glow in the light of the screen. You find yourself captivated by him, you're eyes look over him hopefully you're not making it too obvious. You notice his hoodie is pulled up a little stuck under his back, revealing his pale skin, he looks thin under that hoodie. You peek up again from your phone and realize you can totally see his boxers peeking out of his jeans. Ugh, why does he look so good effortlessly this is driving you crazy. Fuck. he suddenly looks up and notices your eyes on him. He sits up and fixes his sweater and you're worried your gaze has made him uncomfortable. "You wanna try the keyboard out?" he says noticing you are sitting on the bench. To be honest you just sat here cause he was on the bed but how can you turn him down when he's looking at you like that? "Ugh... sure," you reply nervously. He gets up from the bed and shakes out his hair, you notice he has a cartilage piercing on the ear that's usually covered by his hair. "hot" you think to yourself, trying desperately to stay focused as he gets closer to you. "Here," he says as he presses the power button on the keyboard. "Start with just the normal piano setting." You look at him nervously as he leans over you. "well..." he nods for you to try. You press on some keys, probably looking like an extremely unmusically talented idiot. "Hmm... here try this." He suddenly stands over you leaning forward to reach the keys, his chest and stomach pressing on your back and head. You feel your face getting redder by the second. He plays a couple of cords together, to be honest, your heart is beating so loud you couldn't even hear the piano. You place your hands back on the keyboard and try to replicate what he just showed you unsuccessfully, you really couldn't pay attention. "I guess it is hard when you first learn...here," he says he grabs your hands and places them on the keyboard, he grabs each finger and softly moves them to the correct key. His hands are cold against yours, he's so gentle it's like he is worried your fingers will break with too much force. "Now try." You press down on the keys and hear the same chord he played before. You smile and look at him "I did it!" He lets out a little laugh. There is a soft moment of silence and his eyes are on you. "Will you play some more for me Seb?" you say to break the silence worried it will become awkward or maybe he will hear your heart beating profusely. "I suppose I could play a little, scoot over." You move over a bit and he squeezes in beside you rolling up his sleeves. Your eyes are glued to him as he plays a recognizable tune so effortlessly. You look down at his long fingers moving from key to key and are in awe at how even his hands are handsome. You are so close to him that you can feel his warmth as his hip is pressed against yours squished on the tiny bench. As his arms move you catch a smell of his cologne. "You smell nice." you blurt out without even realizing what you just said. He stops playing and looks at you, you see his face turning red, and he fixes his hair nervously. "Do I?" he finally replies. "Yeah, you do, sorry I didn't mean t-" You are suddenly cut off by the sound of the front door opening, you quickly stand up from the bench and greet them. Suddenly you are feeling embarrassed and think you want to head out for some air before you actually passout. "Hey, sorry guys I think I am going to head home your music was really great, have fun practising though! I hope I can come again!" you say as you excuse yourself. You rush home feeling so embarrassed how could you just blurt that out? You crawl into bed immediately burying your face into your pillow in shame.

_______________

Seb's POV

"Wait she's leaving? Fuck, did I fuck up." he thinks to himself feeling defeated and confused. "What was that about?" Sam asks after you left so prematurely. "I might have pissed her off." Seb replies. "I should probably go apologize." He says walking out the door in a hurry.

Abby and Sam both look at each other in confusion. "Alright well i guess the party is over, let's save these drinks for next time."

"Fuck, Fuck, I thought it was going so well, she's literally so sweet, and adorable, I can't believe she thinks I smell nice," he says under his breath as he looks around to see you're already long gone.

"I guess I will just have to text her." He spends the entire walk up the mountain contemplating what to say as he smokes his cigarette. DripDripDripRumbleRumble

"Fuck those clouds look bad I should hurry back home. Hopefully (Y/N) made it home safe" he says picking up the pace.

Just before he goes to sleep he quickly sends you a message.

Sebastian: Hey (Y/N), sorry if I upset you tonight, I want to make it up to you. If it's okay I will stop by early tomorrow to get my sweater back and I'll bring you a coffee."

___________________________

Farmers POV

RumbleRumbleBangBang

The slight daylight and the loud noises from the storm outside wake you up. You look over to your phone and see Sebastian sent you a message. Just thinking about last night makes your tummy turn, and you decide not to read it as it's still early only 5:50 AM. As you lay in bed you hear the storm roar on. "I should probably get up soon" you sigh. You're slow to get up knowing it's going to be muddy out there today not realizing how bad of a storm it was. You eat your breakfast and it's almost 7:00 AM and you figure it's time to go out and check on your garden now that the rain has stopped.

You walk out and look ahead to see your beautiful field of crops completely destroyed. It looks essentially barren, with rocks, branches and sticks blown all over. The crops flooded away with the amount of water and wind that rushed through the valley. Your fences are all torn apart with barely any still standing. Your heart sinks into your chest.

You drop to your knees not giving two fucks about the mud you're kneeling. You feel your eyes fill with tears, as all the hard work you put in, your heart and soul, for your mom, for your grandfather, for yourself. It was all gone, you had to essentially start all over. "Why" you mumble through tears as you sit and kneel in the mud sobbing. Your sobs are suddenly interrupted by a soft familiar voice. "(Y/N)?" You look over and see Sebastian looking as perfect as ever, holding coffee, he's just standing there staring at you as you cry. You feel embarrassed and try whipping away your tears with your sleeve. "What... what are you doing here," you muttered trying to get yourself together unsuccessfully. "You didn't get my text?" he says sounding surprised. "I guess I did send it quite late last night sorry," he says as he places the coffee on the edge of your porch and walks over to you. "Ugh.. please don't look at me." you say covering your teary face in embarrassment." You suddenly feel his hand grab yours pulling you up from the ground and into his arms. He is so warm, it feels so comforting, it's been so long since anyone has hugged you so closely. You can't help but let the tears roll down your face as you feel like you've failed your mom, and failed this farm, you feel so defeated. He says nothing and just lets you cry into his chest. After a few minutes, you pull away from him, "thank..you" you mumble still feeling your face get flushed. He looks down at you and brushes your hair away from your face with his soft hands. "Your hair is really beautiful you know, I swear it shines silver in the sunlight," he says hoping the compliment cheers you up even somewhat. You're shocked at his words and look up at him meeting his gaze. "(Y/N )let me help you," "Oh.. you don't have to Sebastian, I'm sorry, this probably ruined your morning, oh.. and sorry about last night too." you look back down at the ground feeling like you've done nothing but mess up lately. "No, (Y/N) you don't understand, I want to help you, I want to see you more, not just over text. Please let me." he persists. How can you say no when he's essentially begging you with those intense blue eyes inches away from yours? "You would do that for me?" you say almost in a whisper as a few more tears roll down your cheek. "Yes I would, my mom will probably insist on helping too please don't give up yet, I'm really sorry about your fields and please don't apologize for last night." Suddenly his hand grabs your face softly and tilts it up to look at him once again. "The tears have to stop though, he says, as he wipes away one tear with his thumb. He's staring into your eyes so intensely, you have not known each other long but you can't help but feel like he is actually starting to open up to you, even though everyone says he's insanely anti-social and doesn't like newcomers. Out of nowhere, almost as an impulse he suddenly leans in and presses his lips on your cheek, kissing away your last tear. "I don't like the tears, we can fix this, it will be okay." Your face turns beat red as you are in literal shock from his soft warm lips against your cheek. You had not idea that such a quiet, mysterious boy with a reputation like his was capable of such sweet action. "Did... you just kiss my cheek?" you say embarrassed. "Sorry I couldn't resist, your eyes get so blue when you cry, and your tear...it was salty," he says with a small chuckle. "But what about Abby?" you blurt out not wanting to cause any trouble for your only close friend in town. "What about Abby?" he says seriously confused. "Are you two not dating? She is seriously crazy about you it's obvious?" "...Oh, ya I know that, she's had a crush on me since we were kids. I mean she doesn't give up that's for sure. Pretty sure at this point she realizes that it's not going to happen. She's nice and all but... I am happy with her as a friend and have always felt that way." he says firmly, finally settling your uncertainty around that topic.

#stardewvalley #sdv elliott #video games #sdv fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #sdv sebastian #stardew fanfic

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years

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The Way I Loved You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: The way you loved Bucky was exhausting. Screaming, fighting, kissing in the rain, cursing his name at 2 AM. You've moved on. You found someone that respects your space, calls when he says he will, he's sensible and incredible, so why do you miss the way Bucky loved you so damn much?

Bucky grunts in disapproval, watching the door in anticipation at seeing you for the first time in months. Even if you were coming with your stupid new boyfriend. "They're late."

Sam sighs, putting his glass down on the table. “I already told you to behave.”

“I am behaving - by being on time.”

“Listen, I’ve already told you both. I’m not taking sides. So let’s just remember the age-old lesson: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all," Sam chides, fed up with this cold war between the two of you.

Sam didn't actually know what happened between the two of you. All that he knew was that this fight wasn't like the others. There was no reconciliation nor did there seem to be one on the horizon. That was partly his motivation for inviting Bucky here, to see if proximity could force something out of the two of you.

"I have nothing to say."

"I highly doubt that."

"I don't care. I don't even know why you brought me here," Bucky grumbles.

There were few worse things that he could think of than being forced into a conversation with you for the first time in months only because you wanted to introduce your boyfriend to your friends. Well, one friend and one former friend.

"Because you two used to be friends. And no matter what she says, she cares what you think."

"And I highly doubt that," he mumbles as he takes another swig of his beer.

He remembered the last time you two spoke, really spoke. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't anything that the two of you said, words thrown at each other in rage you two could take. It was the vitriol behind those words in that argument that marked the end of the friendship.

Though, he has to confess, your friendship was a complicated one. It was a difficult relationship to articulate and even more confusing when anyone saw it firsthand. But it somehow worked. Upon meeting, the two of you clicked. And though it wasn't effortless, Bucky was usually at his happiest with you.

And still, there was also no one that could rile him up the way you could. You pushed his buttons and in return he did the same. You didn't take Bucky's bullshit and he didn't take yours.

You bickered like an old married couple. Fought like you were arch enemies in a generations long feud. But beyond that, what most people didn't see was the way it worked. Inside jokes. A comfort. An understanding.

He remembered those missions Steve and Sam were reluctant to send him on if only because they were both worried that you two really would end up killing each other one day:

“I hate you,” you snarl, hauling yourself out of the freezing Atlantic Ocean. It might've been easier if your wet clothes and gear didn't add what felt like 50 additional pounds to your person.

“I just saved your ass! You should be thanking me,” Bucky counters with equal anger-filled fervor.

“Thanking you?” you scream, unhooking your soaking wet gear and throwing it on the ground. You kick off your boot, turning it upside down. Water pours out of the shoe and you angrily gesture to it. “I should thank you for this?”

Your shoe still in hand, you take a moment to look at the big picture of this moment. The utter ridiculousness of the whole thing.

You and Bucky screaming at each other in the middle of nowhere when you should really be finding out where the hell you are.

You’re both soaking wet, drenched head to toe with the salty Atlantic Ocean water.

Bucky’s hair is matted with sand and salt from the water.

You’ve got one shoe off and in your hand.

This time, you shake your head, laughing, “I hate you.”

Just seeing you laugh, Bucky laughs too. “I hate you too.”

“See?” you say, plopping down on the sand. “This is why we don’t go on assignment together.”

Bucky huffs in amusement, crouching down next to you. “You look ridiculous.”

“You’re not any better. You’ve got seaweed in your hair,” you say, plucking a small piece from his head to show him.

He shakes his hair, sending more sand flying everywhere. “You’re only wearing one shoe.”

You shrug, waving your hand in defeat. “I’m out of insults.”

“Really? So soon?” he chuckles.

This time you only respond with your middle finger.

Finally, just a few minutes later. He sees you walk in with your new boyfriend. Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches the guy hold the front door open for you and help you shrug your jacket off. And thanks to his super-soldier senses, he can hear the guy whisper how beautiful you look. And like it’s some kind of win for Bucky, he sees the incredibly fake smile you plaster on your face in response.

And in a loss for Bucky, you falter when you see him at the table.

“I thought you told her I was going to be here,” Bucky hisses to Sam.

“Must’ve forgotten,” Sam shrugs. “Whoops.”

You recover before your boyfriend even notices. Bucky thinks to himself that he would’ve noticed. He would have noticed the fake smile too. You approach the booth, holding the man’s hand.

"John, you've sort of met Sam. And this is Bucky," you sigh, gesturing to each of the men.

Bucky immediately notes your continued use of his nickname, he hates the way it sounds out of your mouth. You used to call him Barnes. Or at your angriest, James.

"It's nice to officially meet you, Sam. And you too, Bucky," John greets, shaking Sam's hand.

"You can call me Sergeant Barnes," Bucky curtly corrects, squeezing John's hand a little too hand.

"Bucky," you hiss with wide eyes that warn him to stop whatever he’s doing. You turn and chuckle at John, "He's kidding."

Bucky shrugs with indifference. By the time the four of you have some appetizers and drinks at the booth, the air is thick with cold, awkward tension. And Bucky’s made it clear to you that he has no intention of making this easy for you. He wordlessly scoffs at John's drink order, at John's comment about how he doesn't really like spicy food, or the awkward dad jokes John makes to the waitress.

“So, John, what do you do?” Sam asks, trying to break the silence.

“I actually work in the Compound too. Nothing cool like you guys, accounting mostly.”

“An accountant, nice,” Bucky chortles only loud enough for you and Sam to hear. Thankfully John doesn’t. You swiftly kick him in the shin in response. He jolts, but keeps a wry grin on his face. You immediately know you’ve made it ten times worse. "So, Jake-"

"John," you correct again.

"Right, Justin, an Avenger huh? Aiming high there, aren’t you?”

“What Bucky means to say,” Sam corrects, elbowing Bucky in the ribs. “-Is how did you two meet?”

“Well, that’s a funny story actually,” John chuckles then begins telling the story of you two bumped into each other at the small coffee shop on campus. He spilled a drink on you and offered to take you out as an apology. You've never really understood why John thinks it's a funny story, but you nod and chuckle along with him.

“A real funny story there, Jimmy,” Bucky snarks, raising an eyebrow at you. You can feel the unspoken challenge in his knowing, snarky expression. “But let me ask you this, you’ve been with her what? A few months? Has she shown you how big of a pain in the ass she can be? You really think you can handle that?”

You roll your eyes, your glare hardening as you debate whether strangling Bucky would scare John away. “Real nice, Bucky.”

John chuckles, though you can tell he’s not sure who his reply is supposed to pander to. “Well, we all have our faults.”

“So you think she has a lot of faults?” Bucky continues, liking the tripped up, flustered expression on the man's face.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you tell John, resting your hand on his arm. So quickly you almost miss it, Bucky's eyes flicker to your hand comfortably resting on John's arm. His jaw ticks, but he plasters a mischievous smirk on his face.

For a moment, you contemplate moving your hand to appease Bucky, but you're too proud to back down from his challenge. In the corner of his eye, Sam can see this strange chicken fight between the two of you and before he can diffuse it, Bucky's talking again.

“What are you, his lawyer?” Bucky snickers, raising his glass to his mouth to cover up his smirk.

“No, it’s okay,” John assures you. “She’s great. She makes me very happy. I think that's what matters.”

“Aww…see that was nice,” Sam encourages.

“I guess it doesn’t hurt that she’s a good kisser, right?” Bucky offhandedly offers, though you both know that Bucky knows exactly what can of worms he's just opened.

“Bucky!” you hiss. You unknowingly remove your hand from John's to lean into Bucky, glowering at him. Still seated right next to you, John’s eyes flicker between you and Bucky. The way you're both leaned over the table, faces inches apart. It's more intensity than he's ever seen from you.

“Oh shit,” Sam exhales, shocked at the new revelation. “You did not.”

You back away from Bucky slowly, refusing to put yourself back in the same situation you were in four months ago:

“I hate you!” you shout like you’ve never shouted before. You both take refuge from the massive rainstorm underneath a large tree, and once again have to wait for someone to come get you after another dumpster-fire mission with Bucky.

“I hate you!”

“God,” you scream. “You’re such a prick! I’m never, ever going on a mission with you! I mean it- I’m so fucking sick of you!”

“Good! I’m fucking sick of you too! You’re the biggest pain in my ass. You know that? The whiniest, most infuriating person I’ve ever known.”

Your hands clench and you practically shake with anger. There aren’t enough words to describe how infuriated you are at this very moment. “And you think you’re so great? You’re such an asshole! The biggest idiot I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“And you’re the most aggravating jackass I've ever had to work with!”

Blinded with rage, you take another step toward him. “You’re the most difficult, annoying little shit-head with an even shittier fucking attitude!”

“Oh, ‘cause working with you is a walk in the park. You’re reckless," he accuses, taking another step toward you. "You don’t think ahead. You do whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want-”

“It’s better than sticking with your dumbass plans. Look where it got us. Stranded - once again!”

“We’re stranded because you can’t fucking listen to save your life.”

You take another step forward, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “No, I don’t like to listen to the bullshit plans you string together.”

You’re close enough to see the muscle in Bucky’s jaw tick as it clenches. “That’s called insubordination. And it’s why you’re the biggest pain in my ass.”

“I hate you,” you repeat, getting impossibly close to him.

“And I hate you,” he snarls, lowering himself to meet your eye.

Your chest heaves with so much anger and suddenly you're so close to him that you feel Bucky's breath in your face.

There's so much palpable tension and electricity crackling in the air that you do possibly the dumbest thing you've ever done. Your fists unclench and you pull Bucky’s lips to yours. He gasps, reflexively tearing himself away from you.

You freeze for a moment, shocked at the turn of events. You just kissed your friend because you were mad at him. It was insanity, he was driving you crazy in ways you'd never even realized until this very moment.

Before you can say or do anything, he steps forward, firmly grabbing your face and kisses you with a maddening intensity.

Lost in the moment, he pushes you up against the large tree. “God, I hate you.”

“I hate you,” you pant as he lifts you up.

There’s so much anger there that he practically devours you. Nips at your jaw. Your fingers press so roughly into his shoulder as he lifts you up. Your hands weave in the nape of his neck and you tug roughly at his hair. His hand squeezes your thighs roughly and you’re almost certain there will be bruises there. It feels like you can't breathe and yet you can't get enough.

You only stop when you hear the Quinjet land behind you. You both are breathless and he gently lets you down. You keep eye contact for a long moment, but you can see it in his face that he has no clue what he's supposed to say or do. And that scares you to your very core.

Purely out of fear, you walk away.

Through the rain, Bucky watches you jog to the jet. He pushes the moment down, following you only moments later.

“You guys okay?” Sam asks as you board the jet, Bucky in tow. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed each other yet.”

Neither of you say anything, both stunned silent.

“Wow,” Sam exhales, never having heard silence quite this loud. “Silence. That’s a new type of pissed.”

"I think I'm going to grab another drink," John awkwardly excuses himself.

"Will you quit it?" you seethe, your attention more on Bucky than it should be considering your boyfriend just walked away. "Whatever it is you're trying to do - it stops now."

Bucky doesn’t have a chance to reply before you take off after John.

“Are you kidding me?" Sam scolds. "You were supposed to play nice.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky shrugs, feigning innocence.

Sam exhales in disbelief, shaking his head at the tumultuous turn of events and the idiocy of his friends. “I have about a million questions and only a few minutes before she comes back here and kills you.”

You follow John to where he stands at the bar and immediately begin profusely apologizing. “I’m so sorry about him. I talked to him, he’ll back off-”

"Actually, I think I'm going to head out now," he says as the bartender brings him a small paper receipt. He signs the check, putting a few dollars down on the counter.

"Oh, okay. Let me just grab my coat."

John clears his throat, slightly shaking his head. "Alone."

"What?" you awkwardly chuckle, watching him put on his jacket.

"Listen, I just don't want to get in the middle of anything. And you're clearly in the middle of something," he says, gesturing to Bucky.

"There's nothing between me and Bucky," you quietly assure him. Though, regardless of how much you wanted it to be, you know that it's not entirely true.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. "I think you and I both know that's not true."

"I'm sorry," you sigh in resignation.

"It's alright. It was nice getting to know you either way."

You offer a small, sad smile in return, "You too."

And you watch him walk away.

And what hurts the most is that it doesn't hurt at all.

He was perfectly nice, reliable, consistent. And at most, you were fond of him. Three months you'd spent with him and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get Bucky out of your head.

It was terrible, you were terrible for that.

He called when he said he would. You two didn't into screaming matches or swear at each other like your lives depended on it. He understood the demands of your job and said all the right things. And at best, it was fine.

"Where'd John go?" Sam asks as you shuffle back to the booth.

"He left."

Bucky snorts as he raises his glass. "Course he did."

Sam swiftly elbows him in the gut as you glare at him. He knew exactly what he did and showed little to no remorse for chasing John away. "Actually, I think I'm going to go home too," you say in a clipped tone, snatching up your coat and turning to walk out.

Before that crushing argument, you'd take Bucky's snarky remarks and snide comments in stride, but now it hurt more than you were willing to admit.

You'd been oddly quiet since your kiss with Bucky.

Anything you said to him was about assignments and only assignments. And then the last mission made it ten times worse. You were aboard the jet with him and a few other agents when he started offering up details about the date he went on the night prior.

A month had passed since your rage-filled kiss.

Neither of you spoke about it. And things had yet to go back to normal.

You knew the mature thing to do was to simply talk to him. But hearing Bucky talk about this date, this girl, it felt like a sharp jab to the heart. Surely if he was going on dates then you needed to move on from this ill-fated emotional rollercoaster. The rush no longer justified tearing yourself apart trying to figure out how you could keep him in your life.

You decided right then and there that you couldn’t do this anymore. Somewhere down the line you'd fallen in love and now was the time to remove yourself from the situation.

“What the hell is up with you?” he demands, watching you haphazardly throw your gear down after a successful mission.

What Bucky meant to do was come down here to talk to you, to know what was happening to the two of you. If you couldn't be together than surely you could remain friends.

But he watched your cold, apathetic expression on the jet, and it seemed like you couldn't have cared less as he went on and on about this fictional date. He knew the mature thing to do was to simply talk to you, and he knew it was childish to lie and make things up to coax a reaction out of you.

At first he though you needed time, then you started avoiding him, you iced him out, he knew that's exactly what you were doing. So he made up a stupid story about a fantastic date, and still nothing.

“Nothing. Just thinking,” you absently state, shrugging off the last of your mission attire.

“About?”

“Can you just leave me alone right now?” you ask, a little too curt to be considered polite.

“What’s your problem?” he prods. “I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Since when?” you scoff. “When have you ever concerned yourself with being nice to me?”

“You haven’t said anything to me all day. I'm trying to do the decent thing here and check on you but you're kind of being an ass. Doesn’t seem like I’m the one with the problem here,” he accuses, malice dripping from his voice.

You hear the undercurrent of anger, real anger, and instead of diffusing it, you stand up from your seat to meet his scowl. “No, I have the problem. I want to be left alone and once again, you’re not respecting my boundaries.”

“It’s not a boundary. It’s avoidance,” he challenges.

“You’re full of shit. You know that?” you scoff, slamming the door to the armory. "All that therapy teach you that?"

Bucky follows you right on your heels, stopping you by blocking the doorway out of the training room. “I don't know why I even put up with you anymore! Seriously, what the fuck is your problem?”

“Right now, you. You’re my problem!”

“Really? Because it seems like you're the problem here," he accuses. "You get your feelings hurt and you start acting like a cold, heartless bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you? ”

Your jaw clenches. The words you can take, you've been called way worse, and in some way, you know he doesn't actually mean it. But you can't ignore the contempt there. “Back off, Bucky. I’m being so fucking serious right now. Walk away before I say some shit I don't mean.”

Bucky inhales sharply. In some strange way, hearing his nickname being spit from your mouth hurt more than any other insult possibly could. It marked a strange shift, a slippery slope that this argument was not like the others. If he hadn’t felt as hurt as he did, if he couldn’t feel his heart splintering, he might’ve been smart and walked away.

You suck in a breath and your lips press together, holding back your next retort when he doesn't leave you be.

Normally your arguments are filled with red hot intensity, but this feels cold- it feels real. Like you’re not going to bounce back from this. Your heart was already broken courtesy of Bucky, and your normal banter seemed deranged right now. Right now, your words, both his and yours, were shooting to kill.

"Leave me alone," you repeat.

“You’re a coward,” he grits. “You know that? A fucking coward.”

And you look at him, shaking your head. It seemed as good of a time as any to wave the white flag- for real this time. “You know what? I'm not the cold, heartless bitch here, Bucky. Just stay the hell away from me. I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

His hand drops from the doorway, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

As his hand skates down the door, you take a large breath and walk away.

“You should come inside. It’s gonna rain tonight.”

“Go away, Bucky,” you absently state, staring out to the pitch black night that surrounded the Compound.

His heart clenches at hearing his nickname again. At hearing your tone of indifference. There were a lot of things between the two of you - anger, occasional borderline hatred, friendship, a burning passion that got so out of control it often left the two of you scalded and tending to third degree burns.

Indifference was never on that list.

And somewhere on the way, he'd fallen- hard. He liked that air of confidence that surrounded you, the way you didn't take any shit from him or anyone else. How the two of you fought but at the end of the day you always had his back.

He missed you.

So despite his own cautious thoughts, he steps onto the balcony. He sees the bottle on the small table next to you, drink in hand. “You know you were just at a bar?”

“I left so I could be alone,” you say, still turned away from Bucky.

“I thought you left because your boyfriend left.”

“Well, thanks to you, I no longer have a boyfriend.”

"He's a dick - that was a dick move," Bucky offers, though he doesn’t know what actually transpired in the two minute conversation, he’s got a pretty good idea of what went down. And the role he played.

He felt like shit. And that was before Sam chewed him out the entire car ride back.

You huff out an incredulous laugh.

"What?" he grunts, taking another few steps toward you.

"Nothing," you coldly chuckle, raising your drink to your lips. "Just a little hypocritical coming for you, isn't it?"

“Wow,” he exhales, nodding tersely. “So we’re just done then?”

“Done?”

“Us. Me and you. It’s over? We're done?”

“There was nothing there to begin with,” you lie, taking another long drink to slow your racing mind.

“Does John buy your bullshit too?” he audibly wonders, his nonchalant tone guarding his own hurt feelings.

“You’re pushing it, Barnes,” you warn. “Go back inside.”

“No, I want to know," he insists. He shouldn't have been elated at hearing you call him his last name, it sounded insane, but he did. It meant you still cared. "What about that fake laugh? Does he actually think you laugh like that? Does he think that 'funny story' is actually funny to you?”

You turn away from the railing and finally look at him. It feels like a win to Bucky even though he's sure you want to kill him in this very moment. “Stop being an ass and go back inside. I'm not going to ask you again.”

"Or what you're going to scream at me? Or you're going to run away?"

"You're an insufferable prick," you seethe, downing the rest of your glass.

"So you're going to stick with insulting me?" he nods. "Go on, it's been months since I've heard from you. You've probably got a whole new arsenal of profanity just waiting for me."

"Because that's what you think I do, right? Sit here and pine for you? News flash, I don't. My life doesn't revolve around you and I'm done playing whatever masochistic game you think this is!"

"Me? Playing games? Last I checked you were the one that kissed me and then ran away."

"I ran?" you scoff. "You pushed me away. You didn't once try to talk to me. And then just a few weeks later you were going out on dates."

"There was no date!" he confesses angrily. "I made it up because you iced me out! There was no talking to you! You got your feelings hurt and you cut me out."

“Oh my God," you loudly rant, feeling a fresh wave of anger toward Bucky. "Do you hear yourself? This is insane, actual certifiably insane. And that's another reason I can’t do this anymore!”

“Do what?” he glowers.

"This!" you shout, gesturing between the two of you.

"According to you, there's nothing there," he fumes.

"Damn it, Barnes! You've always got to one up me, don't you?"

"Why can't you just be honest for once?"

"You want honesty," you scoff. Your chest heaves with unbridled, intense anger. “Let me tell you something really sick: I miss it! I actually miss it: screaming, fighting like with hate each other. I miss it all.”

"Then why? Why'd you walk away?" he demands.

"Because I need to move on, James!" you continue, feeling a light drizzle on your face.

"From what?" he booms. "From me?!"

"Yes!" you scream, the rain coming down all at once. "I can't love you anymore. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?"

His widened eyes flicker up at you and he almost stumbles back in shock. “What did you just say?”

“No,” you shake your head, refusing to repeat yourself. “I can't do this anymore."

"You're in love with me?"

"Yes...No- Yes." You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steel your crumbling resolve. "It doesn't matter. Look at us - this isn't healthy. This isn't good for either one of us."

"You're in love with me?" he repeats.

You shake your head. "I'm over it."

"Which is it? Are you over me or in love with me?"

"Stop," you demand, holding your hand out to keep him a safe distance away. "I'm over-"

“Don’t say you’re over me,” he whispers, slowly encroaching on your space.

“I am,” you quietly insist, halfheartedly pushing him away. “I’m over-”

“Don’t say it,” he interrupts, putting one hand on the railing to cage you in. “Because we both know you’re not. I’m not either.”

Even though it's pouring out, he gently grabs your chin, lifting it to force you to make eye contact with him. "Please."

"No," you shake your head.

He can see the hurt on your face. Hurt that the two of you caused in this war that no one was ever going to win. And this time, he lays his armor down first. "I'm sorry."

You swallow the knot in your throat, your soaking wet hair sticking to the side of your face. He sweeps it to the side, leaning his forehead against yours. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, trying to convey the sincerity of his emotions.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He looks up at you, the two of you drenched from head to toe. Standing in the balcony having just screamed at each other with reckless abandon. A chuckle bubbles out of your mouth as you finally regain the ability to look at the big picture. The whole ridiculousness of it all: screaming, fighting, kissing in the rain. So in love that you both acted insane.

"We're ridiculous," Bucky quietly chuckles, still so close to you that you can feel his huff of amusement on your face.

"So ridiculous," you agree. "We could just go with it?"

He shrugs. "I'm out of insults."

"Me too."

He leans down, pressing an firm, intense kiss to your lips. After another moment of kissing in the pouring rain, he hums, "We should go inside."

"We should," you agree, pulling away from him and turning to go back inside.

"Hey," he says, intertwining his fingers with yours. You stop, turning back to look at him. "In case you were wondering, I love you too."

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xxxtyty · 1 month

Text

Prince-ish (part 1)

(Noncon, power struggle, transman, transphobia, fantasy)

The sun danced lazily through the delicate sheers, casting dappled shadows across the ornate tapestries that adorned the royal chamber. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafted in through the open window, mingling with the salt tang of the sea. It was a perfect summer's day, and the Prince sat back in the warm tub of water, toying with the rose petals that floated along the surface

He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the quiet solitude of the moment. It was a rare occasion indeed when he was able to indulge in such a simple pleasure without the constant scrutiny of his advisors and courtiers. His long, thick hair lay splayed out behind him like a dark, liquid curtain, hiding the smooth, supple curves of his back from view.

The royal advisor, Lord Vurren, stepped through the doorway, a look of shock etched on his usually composed features. The Prince didn’t hear him come in, his back to the man, humming softly as the sun shined on his soft pale skin. The advisor didn’t expect to see him like this. But still, he has seen many a royal man in the nude, this was no He stays quiet for a moment, about to speak up, when the prince sits up, stretching out of the tub and pulling at his length of hair. He had more curves than the advisor remembered, and then he saw something he didn’t expect: small, bulbous, female breasts.

Lord Vurren's mouth drops open, his heart racing. The Prince was a woman. He had been deceiving everyone. Turning back towards the tub, seemingly unaware of his presence. Pale skin glistens in the sunlight, and the prince lets out a contented sigh.

The advisors blood boils, anger rising in him. This stupid brat. How long could they claim a ruse like this? DI’d they expect no consequences?

"What do you think you're doing?" Lord Vurren demands in a forced hushness, his voice shaking with rage. The Prince turns to face him, with a look of confusion and fear.

“How long did you think you could hide this?”

The Prince opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He'd never meant to deceive anyone; he felt like a man and rose to his responsibilities.

"You know this changes everything," Lord Vurren says, his voice cold and hard. "You cannot continue to rule as a woman."

The Prince's face crumples, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "But I am a man."

Lord Vurren laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "You really think so?” He asks, swiftly moving closer. The prince tries to pull away, but the bathtub holds him still.

"You may think you're a man, and you may act like one, but you can't change the facts." He leans in, his hot breath on the back of the prince’s neck as he comes up from behind.

“Shhhh… scream and all your guards will find out the liar you are.”

Lord Vurren's hot, moist breath tickles the Prince's ear as his fingers close around his exposed, feminine breast. The Prince arches his back, gasping in shock and pain, but Lord Vurren's grip is unyielding.

"This is what a woman looks like," he whispers, squeezing harder. "This is what you are. This is who you are." His other hand moves down, under the water, between the prince’s soft thighs.

The Prince lets out a strangled cry, more from shock than pain, and Lord Vurren chuckles darkly. "See? That's what a woman sounds like." His fingers part the prince's folds, finding the small, hard bud of flesh within. "And this," he says, rubbing it roughly, "is what a woman feels like."

The Prince tries to pull away again, but Lord Vurren's grip is too strong. "You cannot be our ruler," he says, his voice growing harsher as he forces the truth upon the prince. "You cannot lead us into war, you cannot make the hard decisions, you cannot father an heir."

The Prince's eyes widen, horror filling them. "No, please," he whispers. "I can." But Lord Vurren laughs, a cruel, mocking sound.

He twists the Prince's nipple roughly, hard enough to make the prince cry out in pain. "You think you can lead this kingdom? You're nothing but a helpless, pathetic thing. A woman." His hand slides further down, finding the Prince's wet, exposed flesh. He pushes two fingers inside, feeling the Prince's body yield and accommodate his intrusion.

The Prince's eyes roll back in his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, stop," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breath.

Lord Vurren's fingers thrust deeper into the Prince's body, finding his entrance slick with desire and pain. The Prince gasps, arching his back as Lord Vurren forces him further onto the edge of the tub. "You think you're in control here?" he snarls, his voice thick with lust and anger. "You're nothing but a woman. And a woman is a set of holes."

He pulls his fingers out, only to thrust them back in harder, faster. The Prince cries out, his body convulsing around Lord Vurren's hand. "Feel this empty hole, empty womb," Lord Vurren continues, his breath hot against the Prince's ear.

With his other hand, he grabs the Prince's hair, yanking his head back roughly. The Prince's eyes fly open, tears streaming down his face. Lord Vurren forces the Prince's mouth open, thrusting his fingers deeper, harder. The Prince tries to gag on his own sobs, but Lord Vurren is relentless. "This is what a woman is," he growls, his voice raw with lust and anger. "This is all you are."

His fingers find a rhythm, slamming into the Prince's body over and over, driving him to the brink of orgasm. The Prince's hips buck wildly, trying to find some release from the unyielding grip on his hair. But Lord Vurren only tightens his hold, relishing the power he has over the Prince's helpless body. The Prince just told him off the day before, making him look pathetic in front of the entire royal court. Now was his revenge.

As the Prince's orgasm builds, Lord Vurren pulls his fingers away, watching with a twisted smile as the Prince's body convulses and shudders. “Stand up,” the advisor orders.

The Prince, still gasping for breath, manages to obey. Lord Vurren takes a step back, assessing the damage he's inflicted. The Prince's chest heaves, his nipples still hard and sore from the rough treatment. Blood trickles down his inner thighs, a testament to the force with which Lord Vurren violated him. His eyes dart around the bathroom, haunted and lost.

“Don’t you see you’re a woman now?” The advisor mocks.

“You’re a pathetic excuse of a man,” the prince fires back with rage.

The advisor grabs the princes hair, dragging mercilessly to the royal chambers.

He throws the prince on the bed, straddling him. His hand reaches for the Prince's throat, squeezing it tightly. The Prince struggles beneath him, his eyes bulging. Lord Vurren leans down, whispering into the Prince's ear.

“How does it feel to be powerless?” He smiles darkly, slapping the thick breasts of the “Prince”.

The Prince gasps for air, his chest heaving. He tries to squirm out from under Lord Vurren, but the advisor's grip is like steel. He looks up at Lord Vurren, hatred and fear warring in his eyes.

Lord Vurren chuckles darkly, his breath hot against the Prince's neck. "Oh, you think you can resist me?" he asks, his voice cold and cruel. "You are nothing but a woman now, a weak, pathetic thing. A woman."

With one swift motion, Lord Vurren rolls him over and spanks him hard, the sound echoing through the room. Tears stream down his face, but Lord Vurren shows no mercy. He continues to spank him, harder and harder, until the Prince is sobbing uncontrollably.

"How does it feel to be nothing?" Lord Vurren asks, his voice cold and mocking. "To be reduced to this pathetic, helpless thing?" He pauses, grabbing a fistful of the Prince's hair, pulling his head back roughly. "To know that you will never again be the man you once were?" He grabs a fistful of the princes hair, making him look up at the mirror that faces them.

The Prince looks into the mirror, his eyes wide with horror. It was the body of a woman. His breasts are swollen and reddened from Lord Vurren's rough handling, and his body aches from the relentless spanking. He tries to speak, to protest, but no words come out.

Lord Vurren's hand tightens in his hair, forcing the Prince to look deeper into his own eyes. "This is who you are now," he says, his voice cold and merciless. "This is what you are. You are nothing but a woman, a pathetic, dressed up little princess"

The words cut like a knife, and the Prince feels a fresh wave of tears welling up in his eyes. He tries to struggle against Lord Vurren, but it's useless. He's trapped beneath the advisor's strong, cruel body. The mirror reflects his every movement, every tear, every gasp for breath.

Lord Vurren continues to hold the Prince's hair, forcing him to look at his own reflection. "You’re going to feel this like a woman, too,” he teases cruelly as he shoves his trousers down.

The Prince gasps in horror as he feels the advisor's hard cock against his sore entrance. Lord Vurren leans down, his breath hot against the Prince's neck. "Youre going to take me like a good girl," he growls.

The Prince tries to twist away, but Lord Vurren's grip on his hair is painfully tight. He feels the advisor's body press against his, the heat and strength of him. He shudders as Lord Vurren pushes inside, slowly penetrating his body. It feels like a violation beyond anything he's ever experienced.

Lord Vurren begins to thrust, his hips slapping against the Prince's ass with each movement. The Prince tries to squirm away, but there's nowhere to go. He feels tears streaming down his face, hot and salty. "Please," he whispers, "please stop."

But Lord Vurren only laughs, his breath hot against the Prince's ear. "Oh, no, my little princess," he says mockingly. "This is just the beginning."

He begins to thrust harder, faster, his hips slapping against the Prince's ass with brutal force. The Prince cries out in pain and humiliation, feeling as though he's being torn apart. Lord Vurren reaches around, roughly grabbing one of the Prince's breasts, squeezing it cruelly as he continues to pound into him.

The Prince tries to focus on something, anything else, to take his mind off the agony. His eyes dart around the room, landing on the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls, the massive four-poster bed they're in, the gleaming silver chandelier above them. But no matter where he looks, he can't escape the image of himself in the mirror, his body being used and abused by Lord Vurren.

With each brutal thrust, the Prince's body is pushed deeper into the mattress, the softness a cruel irony against the pain he feels. He tries to summon the strength to fight back, to push Lord Vurren off of him, but his limbs feel like jelly, his body numb from the onslaught. The advisor's hips slam into him again and again, each impact sending a wave of agony through the Prince's body.

“You’re my good little girl, aren’t you,”

Lord Vurren pants between gritted teeth, his voice twisted with pleasure and dominance. The Prince whimpers, unable to speak. He feels as if he's been torn in two, his body no longer his own. Lord Vurren's hand reaches between them, roughly fondling the Prince's swollen sex as he continues to thrust. The sensation is almost unbearable, and the Prince feels himself starting to climax against his will.

He looks through the mirror at Lord Vurren, pleading with the advisor to stop, but Lord Vurren only smirks down at him, his eyes cold and merciless. He pushes harder, faster, and the Prince feels as though he's about to explode. His body tenses, and with a hoarse cry, he orgasms around Lord Vurren's cock. The advisor follows suit, letting out a guttural groan as he releases himself deep inside the Prince.

Lord Vurren collapses on top of the Prince, their sweaty bodies pressed together. He rolls off of him a moment later, chuckling darkly. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The Prince looks at him in horror, unable to believe the words that have just left his mouth. He tries to get up, but his body feels weak and numb. The advisor is pulling on his pants unceremoniously. .

"You're lucky I don't have to tell anyone about this," Lord Vurren continues, straightening his clothes. "Or else you'd be in even more trouble than you are now. Just remember your place, my little princess. I make the decisions for you. No questions. Got it?”

The Prince looks up at him, his eyes filled with hate and disgust. He wants to lash out, to fight back, but he knows he can't. He can only nod weakly.

Lord Vurren smirks, clearly enjoying the Prince's discomfort. "Good girl. Now, why don't you get dressed and we'll get back to work. There are important decisions to be made, after all." He steps away, giving the Prince some space.

The Prince slowly pulls himself together, struggling to ignore the pain between his legs and the stickiness that coats his skin. He dresses as quickly as he can, wanting nothing more than to get away from Lord Vurren and the memory of what just happened. But as he follows the advisor out of the bedroom, he knows that there is no escape. Lord Vurren has complete control over him now.

They return to the study, where several members of the court are waiting anxiously. The Prince sits down at his desk, feeling the weight of his newfound lack of power.

As Lord Vurren takes his seat across from him, the Prince steels himself for another round of verbal assaults. Instead, Lord Vurren begins discussing the day's business in a calm, almost conversational tone. The Prince listens carefully, trying to understand the complex web of politics and alliances that have been woven around him.

He feels a sense of relief as Lord Vurren's attention seems to be elsewhere, but it's short-lived. The advisor casually leans over, his breath hot against the Prince's ear. "Don't think you're off the hook just yet, my little pet," he whispers. "We'll be revisiting our little secret very soon." The Prince feels a chill run down his spine at Lord Vurren's words, but he forces himself to maintain a neutral expression.

When it comes time to make a major decision, all eyes turn to the prince. But the advisor speaks up. “I strongly advise you reconsider peace with the nations to the south. We must send more spies.”

With slight hesitation, he just nods.

“But sire, are you sure?” One man asks terrified.

The prince looks to the advisor, who gives a smirk. He nods back at the advisor. He can feel the blood rushing to his face as he speaks. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it echoes throughout the room. "Yes. Lord Vurren's advice is sound. We will heed it." There's a moment of silence as everyone processes his words.

One man, clearly unhappy with the decision, tries to argue. "But sire, we have made great strides in peace talks! We could be on the brink of something historic!" The prince glares at him, anger and frustration welling up inside him. More arguing, more holding ground… more people that are beginning to turn against him.

Finally, Lord Vurren speaks up, his voice silencing the room. "Your highness, perhaps it would be best to reconsider your choice of advisors. There are those here who are more loyal to the kingdom than others." He pauses, looking pointedly at the dissenting man. "Perhaps it is time for a change."

It was the princes favorite. Lord curren has been against him from the start… now he was attempting to unseat him from his possision. The prince nods solemly, hating what he was doing. “You’re right, lord vurren.”

There are gasps of surprise around the room, but no one dares to interrupt. The prince looks at the man he had grown to trust, to respect. He can see the disappointment in his eyes, the betrayal.

Lord Vurren grins slyly as the guards lead the only uncorrupted man in the room away.

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. The prince signs the orders, agrees to the treaties, and dismisses the courtiers. When at last the room is empty and quiet, Lord Vurren approaches him once more.

"Well, Your Highness," he says with a smirk, "I trust that was a lesson well learned. Now you understand the importance of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer." The Prince nods numbly, unable to meet his gaze. "Oh, and don't forget about our little arrangement. You wouldn't want me to tell everyone about your... indiscretions, would you?"

The weight of the day presses down on the Prince like an anvil. He can feel his resolve beginning to crumble under the relentless pressure of Lord Vurren's control. The thought of living the rest of his life as a puppet, constantly balancing on the edge of humiliation and destruction, is almost too much to bear.

The next morning, no servants wake him. Instead, he feels a caressing of his ass.

"You're not going anywhere," Lord Vurren whispers into his ear, his hot breath sending shivers down the Prince's spine. "Not until I say so." The Prince tries to move, to protest, but he's pinned down by unseen forces. He feels a cold, hard object press against his asshole. "Now, be a good princess and take what's yours."

The Prince's body tenses, his face flushing with humiliation and rage. But he knows that to resist now would be futile. He steels himself, preparing for the pain and degradation that is to come.

Lord Vurren pushes the cold, hard object deeper into the Prince's body, grunting with satisfaction as he does so. The Prince's eyes water from the intrusion, but he refuses to make a sound.

"That's it," Lord Vurren breathes. "Just relax and take it. You're going to feel so full... so owned."

The Prince tries to focus on breathing through the pain and humiliation, his face flushed and his body trembling beneath Lord Vurren's weight. He feels the cold length of the object inside him, stretching and twisting, filling him up in ways he never thought possible.

“There,” lord Vurren says in satisfaction, the object holding firm inside the prince.

“What… is that?” He asks slowly.

Lord Vurren chuckles darkly. "Why, that's your new sceptre, of course. You'll be using this to rule your kingdom with, from now on." He leans in close, his breath warm against the prince's ear. "And don't you forget it."

The Prince shudders, partly from the cold metal inside him and partly from the realization of what this meant. He was no longer the ruler of his kingdom; he was little more than a puppet. A marionette, dancing to Lord Vurren's twisted tune.

“Now let me feel your little slit…”

Lord Vurren's hands moved lower, forcing the Prince's legs further apart. He felt the cold touch of a finger against his entrance. The Prince tried to close his eyes, to block out the humiliation, but he couldn't help but feel the weight of Lord Vurren's gaze.

"That's right," Lord Vurren murmured, his voice like silk. "Let me see how much you've missed this. How much you still need me." His finger pressed inside, stretching the Prince.

The Prince gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain and the humiliation. He felt Lord Vurren's finger twist and probe, searching for a spot deep inside him. "Stop," he managed to choke out. "Please."

Lord Vurren withdrew his finger, only to press a second finger against the Prince's entrance. "Ah, you're so tight," he purred. "So ready for me." He pushed his fingers deeper, stretching the Prince's body to its limits. "And you will be ready for me," he whispered, his breath hot against the Prince's ear. "Whenever I want you."

#belonging #kdnprp #fingring #inside #mpreg #story #fantasy noncon #cncnc #prince-ish #ftm girl

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