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#when it was murder don’t use the word sacrifice
tender-rosiey · 7 months
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frenzy— gojo satoru x gn!reader
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a/n: yet another silly thing with megumi and gojo to fill space while I finish other stuff
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you take a deep breath before staring in front of you.
you’re going to murder someone, particularly a 6 foot 5 man with hair similar to that of a paintbrush.
the only problem is that he is your fiancé and you would probably be the first suspect when they investigate the oh so mysterious murder—if the daggers you’re glaring are anything to go by.
the second suspect is probably the 11 year old next to you, also known as megumi.
satoru is causing yet another scene as he purchases his favorite sweets from the cute old lady at your local shop.
his face is stuck to the glass as he grins, “I will take this, this, this, oo and that! and lastly that!”
“can’t we leave him?” the boy grumbles.
you sigh, “unfortunately not.”
“babe! honey! sweetheart! I got you some stuff!” he appears right in front of your eyes with frankly more sweets and food than you physically stomach.
he rummages around the bags, “I know this is your favorite, especially this!”
sighing, you cup his face and make him stare you dead in the eyes, “stop spending so much money! I don’t need that much!”
he pouts and his arms wrap around your waist, “what’s the point of my money if I can’t spoil you with it?” he feels the stare of megumi then looks down and scowls at him, “what do you want?”
megumi rolls his eyes and looks away, radiating so much sass and it offends your fiancé beyond words.
satoru gasps then props his hands on his lips, “I got you this limited edition pistachio cupcake! be thankful!”
megumi’s eyes snap to satoru’s and retorts, “it isn’t thanksgiving.”
satoru quirks an eyebrow and uses his hand to fan the air towards his nose. he takes a deep breath and puts his hands together, “I smell…bitch!”
“satoru!”
“sorry!”
they have a glaring contest for a small while, and you simply take some of the bags from satoru’s hand and make your way down the street.
it doesn’t take long before a pair of small feet makes its way into your peripheral and another gigantic pair follows suit.
satoru effortlessly takes the bags from you, carrying them in one arm, while his other one is linked with your own. on the other hand, megumi’s hand gently slips into your own. you give his hand a little squeeze and he gladly returns it back.
satoru has his infinity turned off because what could go wrong in a peaceful moment like this?
a screech is heard from your side. it’s girly, squeaky, and so high pitched to the point you want to smack its owner so badly.
unfortunately though, it’s your fiancé, and he is being ruthlessly attacked by a squirrel
it probably fell from the tree above, but why would it attack satoru?
probably because the idiot accidentally kicked the tree and, as a result, made the poor thing’s entire stock of food fall the ground, crumbled and unusable for poor mister squirrel.
karma is a bi—biscuit. a very bad biscuit.
“y/n, get it off!”
“you’ve been chosen as a sacrifice for the squirrel king, satoru.”
“but—“
“oh thank heavens! we will finally get rid of him,” megumi murmurs.
“why you little bra—AH!”
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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
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valeskafics · 4 months
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"It's The Things We Love Most That Destroy Us" - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Hunger Games AU)
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Summary: When Aemond learns that you are the tribute for District 1, he volunteers for District 2, wanting nothing more than to get revenge for that night when you took his eye.
TW: canon typical incest, extremely dubious consent, dark/possessive/yandere behavior, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, knifeplay, primal play (it aint play tho, brotha aint playin), murder, blood, violence, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v sex, creampie
Word Count: 5,090 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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Growing up as a member of the Velaryon family means that you have wanted for absolutely nothing. You have led a charmed life in District One, being the daughter of one of its two surviving victors, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She has raised you and your brothers as careers, ensuring that should you be reaped, you have all the tools necessary to survive the Hunger Games and come home to them in one piece. Your father, Laenor Velaryon, was a resident of the Capitol, but due to the rumors surrounding you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey’s parentage, you weren’t granted the same immunity from the reaping as other children of Capitol residents.
You don’t mind it though. Ever since you were a little girl, your mother called you her fierce she-dragon. You trained harder than any of your brothers, becoming a force to be reckoned with. Your speed, strength, and agility surpass that of most your age, and your aim with a bow is nearly unparalleled. You know you could easily win the games if you’re reaped, though the idea of hurting someone, killing someone doesn’t exactly appeal to you. Especially after what happened all those years ago, which you still regret to this day.
Sometimes you see him in your dreams, Aemond. Standing there, holding his eye and screaming in pain. You didn’t mean to do it. You saw Jace, on the ground and unconscious, and you panicked. When Aemond advanced on you, you thought you were fighting for your life. You held your knife out in front of you and slashed blindly, not realizing how that one little action would alter the course of your young uncle’s life forever.
Of your life forever.
You never saw him again after that. His mother and yours made sure of that. You left the Capitol to return to District 1 and Aemond to District 2. You carried that guilt with you for years, never having been able to apologize. You heard that he lost his eye and was fitted with a prosthetic soon after returning home. Countless times, you imagined writing him a letter, picking up the phone and calling, but you didn’t. You were unable to face him. Your mother constantly assured you that you did nothing wrong, but you know that it’s her who is, in fact, wrong. You took Aemond’s eye. How can that not be wrong?
The day of the reaping, you stand shoulder to shoulder with the other girls from District 1. There’s a tension in the air, and since this is the last time you’ll be eligible for the games, you find yourself considering volunteering if your name isn’t called. If maybe that would make your mother prouder of you. But you don’t need to do a thing, you realize, when it is indeed your name that is called in the reaping. Before you can even begin to process that you have been selected for the Hunger Games, the male tribute’s name is announced.
“Lucerys Velaryon.’
Your eyes go wide in horror, your head whipping around to look at the boys’ side. Your eyes meet Luke’s and you see how terrified your little brother looks. You immediately begin to think of how you can best protect him in the games, how you know you’re going to sacrifice your life for his, your dreams of glory disappearing in the blink of an eye. That is, until Jace volunteers in his stead. He squeezes Luke’s shoulder, giving him a grim smile before looking over at you.
Jace. You came into this world together, and it would seem the gods want you to leave it together too.
In the Justice Building, as you wait to board the train to the Capitol along with your mother, you say goodbye to Luke and Joff. Luke’s eyes are rimmed red with tears while Joff is too little to fully understand what is happening. You pull them both into a tight hug, Jace wrapping his arms around all three of you. Your entire body trembles with emotion as Luke and Joff are escorted out of the room, and you and Jace to the train.
The two hour ride to the Capitol is spent in uncomfortable silence. You keep your hand firmly entwined with Jace’s, your mother gazing at the two of you, realizing that when she returns to District 1, it will be without one of her twins. She does her best to keep things professional, but you see it in her eyes.
She’s terrified.
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The reapings take place successively, with the tributes from District 1 being announced and District 2’s reaping then taking place, and so on. Aemond’s lips curl into a sneer the moment he hears your name, brows raising when he hears Jace’s following it. And so, when Arryk Cargyll’s name is called in the reaping, he doesn’t hesitate before volunteering. His fellow tribute is Maris Baratheon. He thinks to himself that she’ll make a decent ally before he inevitably decides to get rid of her. But for now, he plays nice, flashing her a charming smile as they’re led to the Justice Building.
Aemond’s mother cries hysterically as she says goodbye to her sweet boy, her precious son. Helaena bites back her tears, pressing a kiss to Aemond’s forehead, while Aegon just stares at the whole scene with a frown on his face. He knows that Aemond only volunteered because of you. He just hopes his brother’s thirst for vengeance doesn’t consume him. Aemond gives him a quick hug, and then one to Daeron before he leaves for the Capitol with his grandfather, District 2’s only surviving champion Otto Hightower, and Maris.
He’s buzzing with excitement the entire train ride. He wonders what you look like now. Well, he wonders what you’ll look like on your knees, begging him for mercy in the arena. To think there was a time when he loved you. His first crush. It was stupid and pathetic. It made him weak. He refuses to allow that to happen ever again.
Upon arriving in the Capitol, he realizes he won’t be seeing you until tomorrow. He spends all night thinking to himself what he’s going to say to you when he sees you, rehearsing his words. He sends Maris away when she suggests they calm each other down, find comfort in each other, a cold edge to his voice as he declares he has no taste for that kind of depravity. He doesn’t care about anything except you right now. About you and Jace. He’s going to kill Jace in front of you, he decides, and then? He’s going to kill you.
But, when he sees you riding in on your chariot, your head held high, your hand clasped in your brother’s, words escape him. He lets out a sharp breath, his fists clenched, his teeth gritted, as he sees how beautiful you’ve become. You are everything he imagined and more. He feels his nails biting into his palms as he stares at you, watching you smile and wave to the citizens of the Capitol, every bit your mother’s daughter. And though you exude confidence, he can see the fear behind your eyes, the slight tremble of your lip. Though years have passed and he might not know you as well as he once did, Aemond’s sure of two things.
The first?
He’s going to do everything in his power to ensure that you belong to him by the end of the games.
The second?
You’re terrified.
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You and Jace have just made an alliance with Cregan Stark from District 12 and Jeyne Arryn from District 8 when you lock eyes with Aemond. You freeze in place as he walks over to you, his movements those of a graceful and lethal apex predator. Your blood runs cold as he gets closer and closer before stopping in front of you. He removes his eyepatch, revealing to you the elaborate sapphire prosthetic he had put in place of a glass eye. It’s unnerving, staring at it, but you swallow thickly and greet him. 
“Aemond.”
He leans in close - too close - crowding your space as he whispers his childhood nickname for you, “Zaldrītsos.” (little dragon)
You hate the chill that goes through you at the sound of his voice, instead deciding to question, “Were you reaped or did you volunteer? I wasn’t paying attention during the recap.”
That’s a lie, he muses. You absolutely were paying attention. He stares at your lips, thinking of how badly he wants to taste them, to crush you to his chest and feel your body against his. To make you beg for mercy.
Aemond’s face hovers over yours, his breath tickling your lips as he questions darkly, “Does it matter?”
“Just trying to be polite,” you mumble, “I… They didn’t exempt you? For your eye?”
“No. And to answer your question, I volunteered.”
He takes pleasure in your discomfort, the scent of your coconut shampoo wafting through the air, fire burning in his eyes as he thinks about how many ways he could make you his in this stupid little training facility. Jace wouldn’t be able to stop him. He would have to sit there and watch as his precious sister was claimed by a real dragon.
“So why did you volunteer?”
“Because you were reaped,” Aemond’s stare is unnerving, but it becomes even more so when he smalls, leaning in even closer to you, “To finally pay you back for what you did to me. To hurt you.”
Your eyes go wide as you reply, “Aemond, we were kids. It was an accident-”
If his smile was unnerving before, now it’s downright terrifying. The heat from his body almost overwhelms you. He reaches out and rests his hand on your cheek, feeling your skin, so pretty and soft just for him. He loves the way you flinch at his touch.
“My sweet little niece. You almost sound sorry for maiming me.”
“I am sorry,” you insist frantically, “I didn’t mean for it to happen, please, Aemond, I’m sorry!”
He shakes his head, glancing around to make sure no one is paying any attention before replying, his voice cold, “It’s too late for that now. The minute we get into the arena, you’re mine, zaldrītsos. All mine.”
With that, Aemond grabs you by the back of the neck, pulling you into a savage, violent kiss, attacking your lips with his own. You struggle against him, shoving at his chest with all your might, but you might as well be hitting a wall. He finally releases you when he needs air, and you hate the way your blood rushes to your face as he stares at you like some sort of hungry beast. He walks away, back to Maris and the other careers he’s made an alliance with - Qyle Martell and Asha Dayne from District 3 along with Cerelle Lannister and Jaime Reyne from District 4. The six of them standing together are formidable, but you know that you and Jace have all the skills they do.
If they’re going to kill you, you’re going to make damn sure they have to earn that privilege.
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Aemond isn’t surprised when you receive an 11 during your private session with the Gamemakers. He gets an 11 too, and he knows how distraught you probably are at poor Jace getting an 8.
“It seems like you’ll have to come to your twin’s rescue once again,” Aemond comments dryly, “Maris got a 10.”
You give him a sharp look, “I don’t care. She has other disadvantages.”
“Such as?”
“She’s insane.”
He lets out a short laugh at your words, eyeing you up and down, “You’re just the same as I remember you. Bold and wild. Beautiful.”
You let out a sharp exhale as you feel his hand brushing against yours, refusing to speak. You wait for Jace to exit the training room and immediately move to his side to comfort him after his less than ideal scoring. Aemond listens in as you assure him that he’s going to shine in the interview. He’s always had a gift for speaking, for being likable. Aemond frowns at your words, realizing the interview is going to be his weak spot. But no matter, his training score will certainly make up for it.
The sponsors will be besides themselves trying to get resources to a Targaryen to curry favor with his family. He has nothing to worry about.
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Standing on your platform, waiting for the games to begin, you can feel your heart in your throat, your back soaked with sweat despite not having had to run yet. Everything is heightened. Your platform is between Jace and Aemond. You can feel Aemond’s eye on you, intense, scrutinizing, wondering what your first move will be. You’re still weighing your options as the one minute countdown begins, whether to make a break for the Cornucopia or not. Part of you thinks that you should, if only to show off your skills for the sponsors. The other part of you, the more cautious part, thinks that entering the bloodbath will just give Aemond a better chance of finishing you off.
You feel Jace take your hand, giving you that reassuring smile he used to when you were kids and you needed his support. The realization that one or both of you aren’t going to make it out of this hits you, making your stomach turn.
“I love you,” Jace says, squeezing your hand, “No matter what happens in the arena, you’re my sister.”
“And you’re my brother. Do what you have to do to survive,” you say quietly, squeezing his hand back.
Neither of you say a word about how sweaty your palms are, how your hands are trembling as the countdown hits thirty seconds. Your heart pounds in your chest as the time for the start of the games gets closer and closer. You realize that, even though Aemond is a career like you, he has disadvantages you can use in your favor. His depth perception is likely off, and he’s vulnerable on his left side. You file those mental notes away to use later as the countdown nears its end.
10… 9… 8… 7… 6….
You see Cregan glancing longingly at your brother, and Jace back at him. You’ve suspected something between them for a day or two now, after how close they got during training. The games aren’t a place to fall in love, and yet, you can’t help but feel happy that Jace has gotten to experience that, if only just to lose it.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
You’re launched into the arena and you make a split second decision to run for the bow and arrow that you see. You can hear the slaughter going on around you, and the moment you see Kermit Tully coming toward you, you take aim and fire, your arrow hitting him in the throat. You quickly dispatch Mason Tyrell as well before darting off into the forest, feeling confident in your decision.
Aemond stands over the bodies of Myra Reed and Dalton Greyjoy, blood covering his face as he sheathes his dagger, a sword on his back. He sees the direction you’ve run off in and takes off after you, not wanting to lose sight as he follows your trail, every bit a hunter in pursuit of its prey.
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By the time the sun begins to set, judging by how many times you’ve heard the sound of the cannon, there are less than ten of you left. All you can do is hope that Jace and Cregan are two of those. You get closer and closer to the cave, knowing Aemond must be out there somewhere, looking for you. The thought makes your blood run cold. Just as you’re about to start climbing up to the cave, you hear a branch snap behind you. Cerelle Lannister lunges at you, every bit the lioness she fancies herself to be, clawing at your face as she draws her dagger. You use your hips to roll over on top of her, using her moment of surprise to snatch the dagger from her hands and stab her in the side of the head. You watch as the life fades from her eyes before standing up, wiping some dirt from your face.
Aemond watches the entire scene with a smirk on his face. That determined expression on your face, the pride in your stance as you tower above her fallen form. There’s a fierce, almost feral side to you, one that he didn’t anticipate. And it makes him more determined than ever to catch you and make you his. He gives chase as you begin running again, gaining on you with every step. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of catching you, all of it makes his heart race, his cock achingly hard in his pants.
You hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. You know he’s getting close. Too close. What is it that he wants? Revenge for his eye? No, it feels like it’s more than that. So you keep running, though exhaustion is starting to set in the lower the sun sets in the sky. Every step feels like a herculean effort, your breathing growing heavy with exertion. And just as you’re about to begin your climb, he grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him.
“Did you really think you could get away from me?”
Aemond shoves you up against a tree, holding you in place by pressing his body against yours, holding his knife to your throat. You thrash against him, opening your mouth to scream for Jace or Cregan, or anyone really. But, before you can get the words out, he covers your mouth with his hand, his forehead leaning against yours. You gaze up at him, the fear in your eyes entirely intoxicating to him. He runs his nose along your cheek, inhaling the scent of your skin before uncovering your mouth, readying himself to kiss you again.
That’s when he hears Jace, calling out to you, along with Cregan and Jeyne. Aemond pauses, lips twisted into a smile as he leans in to whisper in your ear.
“I’ll be seeing you tonight.”
You watch with confusion as he walks away from you. He had every opportunity to kill you. But he didn’t. He didn’t blind you, even, something you were certain he would try to do. What exactly is it that he wants from you? You climb up the wall to the cave, embracing your brother tightly when you see him. Other than looking a bit battered and bruised, Jace and your allies seem alright. You all take a seat beside the fire they have lit, watching as the names and faces of those who died today illuminate the sky.
Asha Dayne, District 3. Killed by Jacaerys Velaryon at the Cornucopia.
Mason Tyrell, District 5. Killed by you at the Cornucopia.
Kermit Tully District 9. Killed by you at the Cornucopia.
Yara Blacktyde, District 10. Killed by Aemond Targaryen at the Cornucopia.
Yorick Giantsbane, District 6. Killed by Cregan Stark at the Cornucopia.
Emma Craster, District 6. Killed by Jeyne Arryn at the Cornucopia.
Myra Reed, District 11. Killed by Aemond Targaryen at the Cornucopia.
Willem Royce, District 8. Killed by Cerelle Lannister at the Cornucopia.
Aela Maegyr, District 7. Killed By Collio Neharis at the Cornucopia.
Collio Neharis, District 7. Killed by Aela Maegyr at the Cornucopia.
Howland Fenn, District 11. Killed by Dalton Greyjoy at the Cornucopia.
Myranda Bolton, District 12. Killed by Cregan Stark with a sword.
Qyle Martell, District 3. Killed by Jacaerys Velaryon with a rock.
Cerelle Lannister, District 4. Killed by you with her own knife.
That leaves ten people alive, yourself, Jace, Aemond, Cregan, and Jeyne included. Doing the mental math, you realize Maris Baratheon from 2, Jamie Reyne from 4, Marissa Hightower from 5, Alysanne Blackwood from 9, and Dalton Greyjoy from 10 are the others left. Alysanne and Marissa don’t pose any threat, from what you recall. The ones you have to look out for are Maris, Jamie, Dalton, and of course, Aemond. You’re hoping that now that it’s down to less than half of you, the other careers start picking each other off.
Jace walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “You okay?”
“Not really,” you lean your head against him, “Aemond had the chance to kill me. And he didn’t.”
Jace’s jaw sets, “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise. You’re the one who’s going home.”
You shake your head vehemently, “No. It has to be you. Jace, you’re the eldest-”
He pokes your nose, smiling at you, “Only by a few minutes. You’re going home. End of discussion.” Jace reaches into his pocket and pulls out the poisonous berries you’ve been avoiding all day, “It’ll be painless. For me and Cregan both.”
You watch as the two exchange a smile from across the fire and your heart aches for them. You offer to take the first watch, allowing the two of them a little time together. It’s the least that you can do.
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Hours go by and you remain awake and alert, listening for even the slightest of sounds. The moon is full as a package lands beside you. An energy bar, for the favorite to win the games. You tear it open, devouring the snack, giving Aemond the split moment he needs to catch you by surprise. He walks toward the entrance of the cave gracefully, his footsteps nearly silent. You wipe your mouth after you finish eating and meet his gaze, standing up.
“Why didn’t you kill me earlier?”
His reply comes in an eerily calm voice, “Because I want you.” Aemond is standing in front of you know, his face a hair’s breadth from yours. He gives you a cruel smile, one that shakes you to the core, “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” you admit without hesitation, “I am.”
Aemond feels like he’s won a small victory over you in that moment. He wants to touch you, to hold you, to take you, and in doing so, take his revenge. He grabs you by the jaw, pulling you close to him, his chest flush up against yours. You gaze up at him with wide eyes. Your lips look so soft and full under the moon’s pale glow, and you seem so vulnerable before him. You gasp as he pulls his knife from his belt, holding it against you.
“You took my eye,” he says, the tip of his blade tracing your cheekbone. Aemond revels in the way you shiver, the way you try to meet his gaze without fear though you’re so clearly terrified, “Now I’m going to take something from you.”
Your voice comes out far meeker than you intended as you question, “What?”
You may be a career, but everything your mother taught you and Jace about the games, everything you thought you knew goes flying out the window as Aemond’s lips pull back into a sneer. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear, his blade now pressed to your neck as the cannon goes off once more, signaling the fall of one of your fellow tributes. You wonder who it is, but the thought flies out of your head as Aemond speaks once more.
His voice is a low growl that sends a shiver up your spine at the one little word he utters.
“Everything.”
The canon goes off once more. Only eight left now. Aemond leans into you, his eye closing, the sapphire gleaming under the light of the moon. You duck under his arm and break into a sprint, heading back into the forest, deciding to take your chances rather than stick around and wait for him to finish you off. Aemond chuckles to himself. This just makes it more fun for him. He’ll go after you, he’ll catch you, and he’ll take what he wants from you.
You want to run? He’ll chase you until you have no choice but to surrender to him completely.
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When he finds you, Maris has her hands around your throat, poised for the kill. She gives Aemond a smirk, feeling proud of having you at her mercy, thinking that he’ll be proud of her too. But he fixes her with a sharp glare.
“No. She’s mine.”
He looks over at you, seeing you pinned and about to die. At one point, that’s all he would have wanted, but now…
Maris ignores him, grabbing her knife and moving to strike, but Aemond’s anger flares. He grabs her wrist, twisting it behind her back painfully, repeating the word “no” as if telling a small child off. She struggles against him and so, he grabs her by the throat now, squeezing viciously.
“This should fucking teach you to listen.”
She falls to the ground in a crumpled heap as the cannon goes off once more. Then another three times.
Only four left now.
You scramble backward as you stare at Maris’ corpse, laying at your feet. Aemond won’t allow that, however. He crawls on top of you, pinning you in place. You move to claw at his face, but he just pins your wrists over your head.
“Let me take from you what I am owed.”
“It was an accident,” you try to protest, “We were just kids, Aemond, please!”
“This isn’t about that anymore,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips, “Now it’s about me wanting what’s rightfully mine. You were cruel to me then. Now it’s my turn to be cruel to you.” Aemond pauses for a moment, using his knife to brush your hair out of your eyes, “I loved you. I loved you so fucking much. And you… You hurt me. You never loved me. It’s true, what they say. It’s the things we love most that destroy us.” He watches the way your lower lip trembles, tracing your lips with his blade as he whispers, “Your lips are trembling. Are you scared?” He presses his lips to your ear, “You should be.”
Aemond kisses you, intense, passionate, hungry. He devours you in the kiss, his mouth moving against yours, his free hand that doesn’t hold his knife moving along the curves of your body. He wraps his arm around you, feeling you squirm in his grip, which only serves to make him want you all the more. You can feel his cock, hard against your thigh as he grinds his body against you. And in spite of your every instinct telling you to fight, you’re frozen in place.
Because, despite all that has happened, everything he has done, you love him. And you know that his words are all too true. That he’s going to destroy you. That he’s going to ruin you. His hands move into your hair, tugging at it harshly, eliciting a soft moan from your lips as the cannon goes off once more, then twice.
Jace and Cregan, you realize. Star-crossed lovers. You’re surprised when Aemond pulls back for a moment to gaze upon you, some unknown emotion in his eye.
“I’m sorry. About Jacaerys.”
You nod silently, wiping the tears you realize are falling from your eyes. You don’t know why he’s sympathizing with you. And frankly, neither does he.
It’s only the two of you left now. Aemond leans in again, capturing your lips with his. And you keep trying to struggle with everything you have. He knows you want this whether you admit it or not. He can feel it. He rids himself of his clothes, his alabaster skin almost ethereal in the moonlight. You stare up at him, gasping as he uses his knife to slice open your own clothes. You turn your face in shame as he moves his fingers to your pussy, feeling how wet you are. You hear him let out a dark little chuckle as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace. You can feel him brushing up against your sweet spot with every move. Aemond lets out a quiet groan as you squeeze around him, making it almost impossible for him to move his fingers.
“So tight,” he murmurs, “You’ll feel so perfect around my cock, won’t you? I’ll have you moaning and screaming my name.”
“No,” you say weakly, though you know he’s right, “I won’t.”
“Liar.” 
And just as you’re about to reach your peak, he moves his hand away from you, robbing you of your climax. You stare up at him shocked, watching the wicked grin that curls at the corner of his lips.
“Only good girls get to come. And lying isn’t very nice, zaldrītsos, is it?”
You scowl, glaring up at him. Aemond lets out a laugh as you move to flip the two of you over, pinning him to the ground, baring your teeth at him with a snarl. You lower yourself onto him, throwing your head back with a moan as you begin riding him, feeling him fill you up perfectly with every bounce of your hips. Aemond knew it. You want him. You love him as he loves you. He watches as you move up and down on his cock and sits up to kiss you, your arms wrapping around him, fingers threading in his hair. The kiss is desperate, it’s angry, it’s the culmination of years of longing and hatred. Your walls flutter around him as he continues the kiss.
“Are you going to kill me?” Aemond asks between kisses.
“I should.”
“So should I,” he lets out a low groan as he gets closer to his peak, “But I can’t.”
“Neither can I,” you admit, “I… I love you.”
“I love you too,” he buries his face in your hair as he reaches his peak, spilling himself inside you, your own end following soon after. You collapse against him, relaxing in his embrace, watching as he grabs some berries on the ground nearby. You stare at him and he stares at you, the moment heavy and filled with emotion. Aemond hands you a berry, taking your hand in his.
“Together?”
You nod, “Together.”
But before you can do what the two of you have decided, you hear a voice over the loudspeaker of the arena, “STOP!”
Perhaps it is true that it’s the things we love most that destroy us.
But today, it seems that love might just have saved you.
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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months
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Icarus.
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Yan (Emperor) Zhongli x F Reader.
Synopsis: You were taught ever since you opened your eyes to never go against your god. So why do you wish now that you have never opened them at all?
Warnings: Yandere themes, major power imbalances, manipulation, future forced marriage, some violence/gore, and unhealthy relationships.
Word Count: 3k.
Ten Songs Like This Piece:
Little Dark Age by MGMT
As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese
The Other Side Of Paradise by Glass Animals
All Eyes On Me by Bo Burnham
Space Song by Beach House
Murders by Miracle Musical
Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives
Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez
A Pearl by Mitski
Isabella’s Lullaby by Takahiro Obata
*~*~*~*
“‘You know that I love you.’ And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that the other mother loved her as a possession, nothing more, a tolerated pet whose behavior was no longer amusing.” – Neil Gaiman, Coraline
*~*~*~*
There is no sin greater than to be a bird.
To be a bird is to be devoid of all burdens, soaring above all who are shackled by them, like a warden overseeing prisoners, or the sweetest and ripest peaches up on the highest of branches so no one can reach it. They can go anywhere, birds, with the winds at their call, the very embodiment of freedom itself, something your god has taught all his people to be wary of. Freedom can be a blessing, he told one of his counselors once, but it can also cause humans to be too conceited. There is no sin greater than to be a bird because all others will be envious. Envy is also a sin, one so common that even Archons are said to possess it. Sin gives birth to more sin, more suffering, and thus only the original that birthed it all shall be punished by Celestia’s fury. 
There is no greater sin than to be a bird, so the gods put in place cages, made to make those trapped by gold and chains and other things entirely. Birds who are not lured into such traps are dealt with by lightning, making them fall back down to the ground below, the last thing they see is the very sky that punished them. The sky, the stars, the moon, the sun… the entire world will be against you when you are a bird.
It will be that way until you die. The world hates birds and the way they fly and soar. Birds are meant for cages, or to be struck down with their corpses made into trophies.
There is no title greater than to be a hunter.
The sin; to be a bird, freedom… the title; to be a hunter, despotism.
To shoot, to stab, to twist until the prey bursts, is the way of someone whose greatest sin is doing good for this world.
To bleed, to be trapped, to be killed and put on display for all to see, that is what a bird’s purpose truly is, in the eyes of the divine.
They are different, quite so, like different ripples in lakes of mixed blood and water.
You can almost hear them, can’t you?
Celestia favors the strong. Celestia despises the weak. It makes sense to most people, those who were born into power be it money made from blood or strength made from blood. They don’t see the way the world works. The way flies feast upon rotting meat and are soon to be eaten by something bigger. It makes sense for most people, but not for you. Despite everything you have ever been taught from word of mouth, life on the streets teaches you otherwise. For everything you have endured, you have learned that you are not weak. In any case, quite the opposite.
You don’t pray anymore with everyone else, as they keep reciting such things over and over again at the states positioned throughout Liyue as if the emperor would listen to them. 
“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!” They would hold hands with their bodies being placed in circles around the sculptures. They close their eyes altogether, to not see the sacrifices trapped between them at the monuments, the last thing they see is the Lord of Geo’s face, looking down at them with a stone-cold glare laced with eerie delight. “O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all! O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”
To be praying and to be preying are two quite different things, but to the people of Liyue, there is no difference. Blood seeps into the earth all the same, regardless of who sheds it. So, as evidence that the people of Liyue do indeed bow down to Celestia’s every whim, they bring birds of all kinds and steal them of all they have. Their feathers make for excellent clothing, their bones make for stellar weaponry, and their feet make for charms of good luck. Celestia only smiles down upon the strong, after all. Celestia despises freedom because, without the divine, humans would have nothing to leash them onto rationality and laws. Perhaps that is why Mondstadt is very much in chaos now. Their god was said to have betrayed Celestia by giving his people forbidden knowledge of how nature originally ran its course, causing an uproar among the citizens. 
No one knows what happened to the god of Mondstadt after that.
Was he smitten down? Did his people turn on him? No one in Liyue knows for certain, as people of Mondstadt are forbidden from entering the land said to be made up of the purest of gold.
“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”
That is the first thing you hear when you wake up, huddled in a corner to prevent yourself from getting even more wet from the rain. You assume that maybe it will be the last thing you hear when you close your eyes for good.
*~*~*~*
You grew up in Qiaoying Village and, once you grew up, got exiled from Qiaoying Village. You stood out, which no one saw in a good light. You were a mischievous, rule-breaking child, always stealing Jadevein Tea Eggs and both tea and tea sets made of fine porcelain. Your older brother taught you lessons far too valuable and unique for the traditionalist settings of Qiaoying Village, lessons like how to pick the elderly’s door’s locks, how to properly identify which pockets had the most Mora, and how to make alleyways a labyrinth for those who chase you.
Your older brother, though, did not partake in thievery himself. You suppose that might have been the first warning sign of many more to come. He made you, a child about half his age, do his dirty work for him. He always hoarded the rewards afterward, and if you got caught or he got caught with whatever treasure you had given him, he would pretend to scold you for going against the way of the Qiaoying. He said it was just pretend, but that look in his eyes still haunts you to this very day. As you got older, though, you got dumber. You crossed a line with everyone. You decided to steal from a Fontainian duke.
It was a foolish decision. Fontainians are known for their high sense of justice, and their tunnel vision when it comes to crimes and punishments. But you were just a child, were you not?
You couldn’t help it. You were just a child. That is what you told yourself then, and it is what you tell yourself now.
No one helped you then, and no one helps you now. Hell, it would be a miracle, a blessing from Celestia, if your older brother came to Liyue Harbor to visit you. But he never loved you, did he? He never loved you, and you never hated him until you saw him for what he truly is. A petty servant of Madam Mei with a spine thinner than that of a twig. He was a coward then, and likely still a coward now. Perhaps it would have been noble of him, while you were still an infant, to use that pocket knife he always carried around. It would have been better for you, for you to not know anything you know about him now. 
But he was a coward, your older brother. The person who taught you everything about thievery is also now the person who taught you how important it is to keep your cards close. Life on the streets calls for both, you suppose. Liyue Harbor may not be the friendliest for the homeless, but at the very least it had pockets to swipe into when no one was looking. Old habits die hard. You ended up relying on every memory of the past, no matter how bitter or how deceivingly sweet they were. You bore it. You bore it all. Every memory, every fragment of a lie, and every fragment of a half-truth. Life is never so simple after all, is it?
Your life was never perfect, and therefore still is not now. But you know deep in your heart that you would prefer this life over seeing your older brother’s face ever again.
But now, with eyes brighter than amber staring above you as you lay, your arm broken, you wish that your brother had taught you some fighting skills instead of everything else he taught you.
But he was a coward, and so are you.
To be fair, though, he never met the emperor and never thought that he would. So did you. No one in Qiaoying Village did, most likely. It was so far from the proclaimed harbor made of gold and trader’s blood and prayers. This was where the emperor lived, in his castle in the mountains surrounding Lingju Pass and Mount Tianheng. It was made up of the finest gold and wood and jewels. Only the best for the emperor, while people like you get mere pebbles. That is why, when you saw yet another stranger in a white cloak roaming around the alleyways, you attempted to strike. Your mistake.
Your mistake.
You were on the ground in an instant, your arm breaking so loudly an elderly man on his deathbed could hear it. 
The stranger’s eyes glittered like gold.
Frozen gold, perhaps, with how he was staring down at you with such disappointment.
So, he stared down at you.
You stared down at your arm.
You should have known better. But you are just someone trying to live, are you not? It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. But that white cloak the man is wearing with the sigil of geo on the back, one of the few symbols of the emperor himself, should have made you not attempt to pickpocket him. You should have known better. You really should have known better. Should you apologize? You are already as good as dead though, aren’t you?
Does a death sentence await you?
Life? Death? Prison? Life. Death. Prison.
Escape.
You have to escape.
But the emperor seems to know what you are doing, what you are planning.
So he stops you with a simple hand raised, and pillars of geo appear out of nowhere, trapping you in the corner. Now there is nowhere to run.
He stares down at you.
You stare down at your feet, all mangled up from a life made of thievery and poverty.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You prefer it that way.
You are in a cage. But he is not.
Please.
Please don’t kill me. 
Please.
*~*~*~*
Is it a sin to indulge? Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Perhaps it depends. Is the indulgence centered in reality or fantasy? This escape attempt, perhaps, is both.
Like the many that came before it, the only sounds you can hear is the rain, the water falling from the glass windows like teardrops, and sometimes you can swear you hear the sound of someone weeping. Despite everything you have gone through though, you do not weep with them, whoever they are. You only keep stepping on ahead for a brighter future, one where you sneak off to Sumeru, a land that prioritizes knowledge over riches. You’d have a better life there than here, you think. Anywhere but here you would run off to actually, even if it was Snezhnaya. 
You are treated well, too well.
You still don’t know why instead of throwing you in the dungeons, Morax placed your unconscious body in one of the many, many guest rooms that were spread about in his castle.
You are treated far too well, almost to the point that it is maddening. Everything is so perfect, from the morning birds outside your window that wake you up every morning when it just so happens to be time for breakfast to the hairbrush you use to put your hair up when it is time to sleep, the design intricately laced with jade and topaz. Perfect, perfect, perfect. It’s maddening, sickening, how perfect everything is. You wish he had just put you in a cell because at least then everything would not have been so planned out for you, even the type of flowers you saw in the gardens that week. 
“Damn it all…”
In your opinion, the clothes you received today were more intricate than usual. The sleeves are puffed and transition from white to a deep teal color. The dress itself showcases delicate lace patterns of glaze lilies around the waist and wrists, while the skirt is impractically long for any running. Strangely, the inside of the skirt features a constellation pattern, though it seems to be a design meant for your eyes alone. The purpose of this starry sky motif remains unclear. The dress, like everything else, appears flawless and fits you perfectly, almost as if it was tailored specifically for you. Given Morax's wealth, you can't help but entertain the possibility. However, the overwhelming perfection of it all borders on madness. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect, so damn perfect. 
Today, you were not given shoes, presumably due to the rain and the consequent cancellation of your garden visit with Morax, where you typically indulge in tea and wine. As you approached the staircase leading to the dining room, however, the guards obstructed your path. Their actions were gentle, but their words were not. They formed a human barricade, preventing your descent. One guard clicked their tongue disapprovingly, while the other remained silent. Perhaps they harbored some disdain towards you. The servants in this establishment either treated you with utmost care or completely disregarded your presence, so it was not entirely surprising that the guards displayed a semblance of dislike.
The real surprise was you not being allowed to go to the dining room to eat.
“The emperor wants you to stay in your room for the time being. He shall see you shortly there.”
So, you went back, albeit muttering curses along the way. Due to your lack of shoes and the guards not even allowing you to go downstairs, this escape attempt is as short-lived as a moth flying much too close to a flame.
As you were told, Morax came in his usual attire, black and brown robes with a geo sigil on the back. 
“...”
“I have been told that you have been getting a bit too curious with your wandering.”
Ah, straight to the point, it would seem. 
There is no point trying to beat around the bush when it comes to Morax. “It is not like there is anything else to do here.”
He sits beside you on the bed, not too close but not too far either. A perfect balance. “I can give you other activities to do if you would like. I can also answer some questions you have since you’ll be living here from now on.”
“...This isn’t temporary…” You look down at the arm he broke, a time which feels like a millennium ago. “Am I being charged?” Your question is quietly said. “Aren’t thieves simply sent to cells for a few moons?”
His chuckle was unexpected, causing a slight surprise. Morax, who was typically expressionless, wore a smile on his face. Despite the possibly good intentions behind it, the sight and sound were unsettling and made your skin crawl.
“...You don’t tell me anything.” You whisper under your breath. That much is clear. Despite Morax's little attempts to conceal it, his secrecy is unmistakable. You can't help but feel like a naive child stating the obvious.
“You are here for multiple reasons. For instance… you remind me of someone. As such, you must have questions, if you are anything like her.” His eyes glaze over you, from the top of your head where your hair is half put up with a hairpin to the anklet just hovering over your right foot. “All humans are born with an innate sense to pry. I won’t judge, as I am an Archon.” Are his words heartfelt? “Through my veins flow gold, but yours flow with sanguine, life, and desires.” 
His hand reaches forward, but he does not touch you. “You must see yourself as better than us because of this. Am I correct?”
“My feelings are not as monochrome as they seem to you. They are complex, quite so. But you are right, in some regard.”
“This is why I cannot stand the so-called divine.”
“Another reason as to why you are here. You are a sleeper of such, and I intend to help you open your eyes to the truth.”
You look at his eyes, seeing all the horrors within their depths.
The emperor known as Morax possesses eyes of pure gold, along with attractive features and pale, rosy lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile. Your body instinctively reacts, urging you to flee before your mind can fully comprehend the situation. However, your brain, awakening and analyzing the situation, is interrupted by the overpowering force of instinct, echoing the same warning as your body: the charming smile is a mere facade, reminiscent of something unsettlingly artificial. It is akin to a sculpture with painted skin and eyes or a doll with exaggerated, intricate features. This man, with his literal golden eyes, his potentially persuasive words, and his captivating yet unnerving countenance, is someone you cannot trust.
Desperate to escape, you attempt to run, only to find that arms and hands, seemingly made of stone, emerge from the walls, gripping and restraining your own. Two of these strong hands ascend, slithering towards the center of your back, forcefully pushing you down into a bow, while you remain compelled to gaze upwards. Your focus remains fixated solely on the emperor's eyes, observing the eloquent patterns of gold within them.
The caress of their touch is tender upon your cheeks, unlike solid ones that demand for you to stay.
“You shall become my consort and see the gates of Celestia for yourself. Humans are made to worship, after all. The divine are made to simply awaken those who have strayed off the path of destiny.”
*~*~*~*
To possess the gift of sight, encompassing all, is the gravest transgression one can commit. Thus, those winged creatures who lack this awareness are banished to the depths of the earth, their vision, their literal eyes stripped away until their cries reverberate to the surface, where the emperor Morax shall pronounce the ultimate verdict.
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hatchetno1 · 2 months
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frustration and anger.
creepypasta/mh x reader in which they get frustrated or angry, or, in BEN's case, are frustrating themselves. word count: 2.1k cw: abuse, descriptions of anger, arguments/quarrelling.
EJ
EJ doesn’t often get angry.
in fact, it’s hard to even frustrate him. Even when faced with particularly difficult patients to suture up—ahem, Jeff— he shows no sign of being fazed.
well, perhaps that’s because he’s used to living with Jeff and his reckless, barbaric antics.
but when he does get frustrated, it’s like a gradual intensification.
you like to split his frustration into three phases.
phase 1: EJ starts to seem a little off. Quieter than usual, less responsive, and more distant. Almost as if he’s in his own world, deceptively peaceful.
phase 2: EJ starts to show actual signs of being frustrated. You notice that it is at this point he may start to snap lightly at others, but with you, he tries his best to keep it to a minimum.
phase 3 is the climax before the drop. On occasion, he may raise his voice slightly and openly express irritation. But he always drops, hard and fast.
“I am so sorry, Y/N, I am so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing circles gently on your back. Though he has to bend over quite a bit (he’s a gentle giant at a height of 6’6 or about 2 meters), you find it to be very soothing that his frame envelops the entirety of yours.
oh, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of getting angry.
no, the anger you heard in his voice was undeniable as he roared at another member of the household to stay the fuck away from you.
you’d startled at the sheer sound of it, and quickly those trembles descended into violent shaking as you cried—his roar was simply not…human.
you flinched as he picked you up, just as gently as was the anger intense in that dreaded noise he made, a stark contrast in behavior, a jarring change in your body, mind and soul.
but other than that, you knew your darling EJ was back.
he plopped you onto his bed, surrounded by his sweet yet musky scent, nuzzling your neck and your face.
“I’m sorry”s were whispered countless times in your ear that night as you dozed off in the safety of his arms.
jeff
gotta put a trigger warning on this one. you know what to expect, but just in case you don’t, TW: Jeff is literally a murderer with abusive tendencies and anger issues.
at the start of your relationship, Jeff had been…well, to say the least, not the best partner.
he often got mad at you, whether it be keeping him waiting or spilling a cup of water.
yeah. spilling a cup of water.
but you understood why he was the way he was. he just couldn’t help it. but that didn’t mean you were going to stick around for it, no matter how much you loved him.
one day after a particularly huge argument, you found him crying in his room. his sniffles were unmistakable, but you knew you’d have to pretend you hadn’t heard from ten feet away.
turns out, angsty little Jeff here wasn’t completely unaware of himself.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he had sobbed as quietly as he could. “I know I’m a bad boyfriend, I know, I keep lashing out at you and I’m so sorry.”
your relationship could have very well ended that day if you hadn’t found Jeff crying on the floor.
but even though he’d hurt you so many times, you took him back into your arms.
and so you taught him to manage his anger, though it took you immense effort, energy and bravery.
he’d always help, though, by reminding you it was okay to yell back at him. you chided him lightly for it, saying that it’d just cause a back and forth.
“oh, right. my bad. sorry, doll,” he had said with a sheepish grin.
today, you are proud to boast that you trained your bloodhound boyfriend to be a tame dog. hell, he even does whatever you tell him to now, albeit sometimes reluctantly.
but he understands that if he loves you, he must make sacrifices upon sacrifices. you did that for him.
now it is his turn to sacrifice himself for you.
masky - tim
it’s not really uncommon that Tim gets angry.
but his anger is almost always the quiet kind.
he will “hmph” and huff lightly, a mild kind of anger you both can still joke about, though his face will redden at it.
you can’t help it though, the sass he gives you when he’s lightly frustrated is too good to let slip past.
oh, but when his anger gets loud—
it’s no longer a harmless little nip.
it’s been directed everywhere. everywhere, his teammates, the table, the card game he’s losing a bit too embarrassingly to Toby who’s being an unbearable little ass about it.
but never you.
okay, it was one time.
but Tim decided it was one time too many. (as he should)
he’d raised his voice at you, more so out of frustration rather than anger.
and you flinched.
and oh, how that little flinch broke his heart.
he shut up immediately, gathering you into his arms, whispering “oh, I’m so sorry, darling”, and “you’re okay, you’re okay”.
he never did it again. ever.
now, when you both get angry at each other, it always devolves into stupid little giggles and kicking.
hoodie - brian
Brian doesn’t really get angry, nor does he get frustrated.
normally, at least.
something shines in his eyes when he is defied, a shadow of a grin, a curl of the lip—
you spend a couple days investigating this, defying him little by little.
“Y/N, could you pass me the water?” “No.” and you’d say it with a cheeky smile on your face to match this strange expression on his.
it evolved into much greater things, “Y/N, come over here for a bit.” “Nope!”
“Y/N, help me up.” “Nope!”
your gleeful defiance doesn’t have a complete zero effect, either. with each silly little “nope”, the glint in his eyes grows brighter. and you know that the cup you’ve slowly been filling the past few days is about to overflow.
it’s one fateful day that you happily defy him once again, and—
oh. something’s grabbing at your jaw, and your lover’s face is so close to yours.
he smiles so gently at you, so purely. but his grip on your jaw says otherwise.
firm like iron, reprimanding, but not harmful or venomous. you know he isn’t going to hurt you, but oh, he isn’t letting you go either.
“Y/N,” he says calmly. “You’ve been a little more uncooperative than usual.”
the shiver it sends down your spine isn’t one of fear. excitement, rather.
he lets you go, but guides you to the bed. “Sit,” he commands.
so you do. what else are you to do when your lover commands you so well?
“Good girl.”
so you never say no to him again, not when it comes to harmless favors.
Brian does not get angry or frustrated…at least, not like the normal person does.
toby
Toby becomes a very bitter cynic when upset, spitting sarcasm wherever he goes.
his BPD only makes it worse. his relationship with Tim is already strained as it is, with the latter trying his best (as much as a man with anger issues can), and his relationship with Brian being almost entirely carried by the older man.
and his relationship with you, oh his sweet vogel, his darling dove— he doesn’t know what to think of it. some days he lets loose around you, tickling you and blowing raspberries against your cheeks, and others he’s withdrawn, curled up into a ball in his bed, and so you dive in with him, nuzzling him against his sheets long overdue for a change.
but if it’s neither of those, he’s lashing out. sometimes you can’t even look at him when he walks into the room bringing dark clouds over the atmosphere. that’s when you know you can’t look up at him.
and when you make the mistake of looking up, your smile meets a scowl.
“what are you looking at.” he’ll spit, and then storm off, as if he can’t stand your eyes on him.
and it’s true, your eyes gaze at him with such gentleness, he can’t bring himself to stare back sometimes. especially when he’s in a bad mood, because he breaks inside as he sees his own eyes burn the love in your eyes, reducing them to ashes of fear.
“vogel,” he’d whisper at night, lying next to you in your bed. “i’m sorry.”
he apologizes so much and so often you no longer make a big deal out of it, but this time, his soft whisper is laced with such heavy guilt, your arms move before your mind thinks, pulling him into a soft embrace.
oh, but this bad mood is nothing compared to his jealousy.
Jeff gets close to you? Jeff is suddenly on the ground, blood leaking from his head and EJ hurriedly dragging the former away, admonishing him about not messing with Toby’s precious human.
Tim comforts you about Toby’s outbursts? suddenly he’s against the wall, Toby growling and spitting in his face. if he can’t be there for you, then no one else gets to be there for you either. though, he knows this is selfish.
if he could help it, he’d let you go to whomever you wanted for comfort. but oh, his heart aches so.
and his jealousy is nothing compared to how angry he gets at himself, bashing the walls of the manor, crying out at night, because he can’t be there for you like a normal boyfriend.
he doesn’t know this, but you’re in a corner too, muffled sobs, tears, nose dripping and all.
so at night, you crawl back into bed before he notices you, and lie awake till he comes back.
as his breathing settles and his snoring begins, you hug him just a little bit tighter, your sweet vogel with broken wings.
ben
you have to admit, BEN is really, really freaky.
in the way he plays his games, the way he treats his archnemesis Jeff, in bed—oops.
but particularly, in the way he seems to have an endless tolerance for things that would usually upset someone.
he just. fucking giggles.
“aww, my sweet Y/N is so cute when she’s mad~”
context: he pissed you off and you’re currently in the middle of admonishing him with your whole heart and soul.
conversely, you’re the one who gets mad right back at him.
within the hour, he presents you with a tiktok with two cats that says: me when i’m venting and all my bf does is make jokes
he cackles to the ends of the earth and proceeds to make even more jokes
frankly, when the topic of frustration comes up with BEN’s name in the same sentence, you pretty much just think of him being the frustrating asshole in the relationship.
“BEN, give me my fucking phone back.”
he’s dangling it over your head, using the fact that he’s a floating apparition that can somehow interact with physical objects to his advantage.
once, you got so frustrated at him that you cried.
thankfully, he had the decency to pause, panic, and reflect on his actions.
“oh.” five seconds passed and your crying didn’t get better (what did he expect?). he repeated himself. “oh.”
“actually say something, you idiot!” you sobbed. and this is what snapped BEN into action. (you can’t believe you actually had to tell him to comfort you.)
“oh.” then he realized he’d just been saying “oh” like a broken record. “um.”
so he wraps you up in a blanket like a burrito, and holds you close to his chest.
“i’m sorry.”
“promise not to do it again?” you look up at him with your best puppy eyes.
“…i can’t promise.” you can tell he’s holding back a cheeky grin.
you whine and hit him lightly.
but you know very well that he loves you; this frustration merely comes with him as a package.
743 notes · View notes
holylulusworld · 6 months
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Indecent Proposal (1)
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Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.
Rating: Mature
Square filled for @stuckybingo Round 5: free space - mafia au
Square filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space
Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, strong reader, mentions of breeding/surrogate, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, reader doesn't take shit from no one, tension, sexy mobsters
Words: 1,5k
Indecent Proposal masterlist
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“Babe, how do I look?” Your boyfriend asks, almost stumbling over his words as the men he was hoping to meet at the fancy party walk inside the room. 
Well, they don’t walk like normal people. They are stepping inside the room, stopping in their tracks to look at the people in the room. It looks like the crowd parts like the Red Sea to form a path only for them.
Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. – Two names you must know if you ever heard of New York City and its mob.
They are as good-looking as they are dangerous. A deadly combination of beauty and the beast hidden behind blue eyes.
If you don’t want to end up six feet under, you don’t mess with them. Or even look their way too long.
“Did you put on the underwear I told you to?” 
“What has this to do with the party?” You sigh, as you still don’t know why Scott brought you here.
You’ve been dating for a few months, and you had hoped that tonight, he’d do more than the bare minimum. He’s not a bad guy, but an awful partner.
A criminal too. Not a criminal mastermind, but you already figured out that the small business he runs is far from legal.
“It’s important, babe,” you roll your eyes at the awful pet name. You hate it and told him so before. “Okay, don’t say anything stupid. Or, just look pretty and don’t say anything at all.”
“What?” Now you square your jaw. You don’t understand what has gotten into Scott until you lift your eyes off him to meet two pairs of blue ones. “Oh…”
“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” Scott looks pathetic when he bows for the heads of the mob in town. “I’m honored to meet you again. Thank you for having me.”
The men ignore Scott and his offered hand. Instead, they look at you. Steve almost shoves your boyfriend aside as he holds out his hand to take yours.
“I see you followed our invitation,” he lowers himself to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You shiver. He seems so polite, and kind. But behind his blue eyes, you can see the beast wanting to break free.
“Stevie don’t scare her off right away,” you are a little overwhelmed when James Barnes turns his attention toward you. He takes your other hand and kisses your knuckles, glancing at your ring finger. “No ring, doll? He didn’t ask you to be his forever?”
“No-“ You’re usually not shy, or meek. But these men crowd you like prey and have their hands on you. You know they are in a relationship, but right now, they look at you as if you are their latest meal. “We’re only dating for a few months.”
“A shame,” Steve cups your chin, making you whimper. You never felt like this before. Confused and aroused at the same time. These men are strangers, but oddly you feel safe in their presence. “What do you say? Shall we lead this to a more private area?”
You don’t know why they are interested in leading you and your boyfriend to a private area, but this can’t be good. People like them never have good intentions, and you assume Steve and Bucky are no exception.
“I’m good here…I mean. You should enjoy your party. Don’t you have to greet all the people you invited?” You nervously babble. 
“Doll, they don’t care if we greet them or not. They are only here to show respect to us,” Bucky runs his index finger up your arm. He smirks as you involuntarily shudder at his touch. “Let’s lead this to our office.”
“Scott,” you dip your head to glance at your boyfriend. He looks up at Steve as if the man is carrying a halo on top of his head. “Scott!”
“Babe don’t be rude. We should follow them to the office,” your boyfriend is no help. He’s wringing his hands while staring at Steve Rogers. God, he’s such a pathetic little boy. You just see it now when you watch him interact with two real men.
“Fine,” you snap at Scott if only to end his pathetic act. “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, please lead the way.” 
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“Do you want a drink or a canapé doll? We can ask the maid to get you something you’ll like,” Bucky sits next to you on the couch, one hand running up and down his thigh, the other creeping toward your thigh. He brushes his metal finger over your exposed skin, barely listening to what his partner has to say.
“Buck, did you listen?”
“Seal the deal,” the brunette clicks his tongue, “I’ll take care of the main act in the meantime. You know I don’t care about the conditions. We already negotiated them. You can take care of the details.”
“I want to take over more important tasks,” Scott suddenly says. He glances at you, and then he looks at Steve. “Sir, I agree on the terms. I’ll do anything to prove that you can trust me.”
“Does she agree on our terms too?” Steve dips his head to watch you stop Bucky’s hand from stroking your thigh. “Buck, we are talking here.”
“I know,” Bucky huffs. “All you do is talk to that slimy little bastard. Give him what he wants so we can get what we want.”
“Mr. Lang, you know that if we seal the deal, that you cannot break it. We have rules for a reason.”
“She will agree,” Scott hastily says. You snap your head toward your boyfriend, wondering what he’s talking about. “Right, Y/N? You’ll help me with the deal.”
“I told you that I’m not going to do anything illegal,” you hiss at Scott. “I looked the other way when you sold stolen phones to my colleagues, but I won’t actively help you. I’m not a criminal.”
“You didn’t talk about the deal with her?” Bucky suddenly jumps up to fist Scott’s jacket. “You dare to come to our house and lie to us?”
“I didn’t lie, Sir…Mr. Barnes. Y/N said she finds you hot, and all. She even talked about ending up between the two of you to her friend.”
“You sick fuck spied on me and Maria?” You growl at Scott. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes…I’m sure she’ll help you have a baby and all…”
“Baby what?” You furrow your brows. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous. What is going on here?”
“Well, we want you to become our surrogate. Bucky and I love each other dearly, but I cannot give him what he needs, nor can he give me what I want. A baby…an heir. We were looking for the perfect woman, with the perfect bloodline.”
“I-what?” The room suddenly caves in. You feel dizzy and grab the edge of the couch. “You want me to be your breeder?”
“No, doll,” Steve walks toward the couch to crouch down in front of you. “We want you to spend time with us…or rather between us.” He grins. “I want you to have my baby. And then you’ll have Bucky’s. We haven’t figured out whose allowed to breed you first.”
“Breed me?” Oh. God. Your pussy just clenched around nothing. If not for the anger taking over, you’d gladly jump Steve’s bones to have all the babies he wants. “Are you fucking insane? I’m not a piece of meat you can just buy!”
“We believed he talked about the deal with you, doll. Please, don’t be mad at us,” Steve purrs, and runs his hand over your cheek. “We only wanted what we deserve. The perfect woman having our babies.”
“She will agree…” Scott nervously says. He looks at you, hoping you’ll agree to whatever the two men holding his fate in their hands want. “Right babe?”
“I hate it when you call me that,” you jump up, and push Steve aside. “What did you believe will happen when you bring me here to offer my uterus and pussy to these two? Huh? That I’ll just bend over the desk and let them have their way with me!”
“I-uh…kinda…yes…”
“Pathetic,” you click your tongue as you glance at Bucky. He cracks his knuckles, ready to rough Scott up a little for messing with them. “I knew you were no good. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct.”
You dip your head to watch Steve walk toward his partner. They are looking at you, like lions ready to pounce. Those two men set their eyes on you, and you are not foolish enough to believe that they’ll leave you alone.
If you end up in their clutches, you’ll make sure they only get their hands on you to your conditions. “You want me and my womb?”
“More than anything,” Bucky purrs. He steps behind you to place both of his hands on your belly. “And I can tell, Stevie, and will love filling you up.”
Scott hopefully looks at you. This is the moment he was waiting for. He’ll be a made man soon, and his ex will see, he's more than the loser she sees in him. 
You look at Steve, holding his gaze, “I’ll be yours if you get rid of him…”
Part 2
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sad-drake-lyrics · 7 months
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what my 65yo father has to say about antis:
let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.
so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.
and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.
so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.
then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.
i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."
i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."
and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"
queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.
he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.
and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.
my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"
and i said, "it's worse with anime."
and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."
... ... ...
... i can't ...
i can't end this post better than that.
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inkyquince · 6 months
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anyway, durge having weird ritual blood sex with gortash. Shout out to @angrelysimpping who sent the prompt from the sex magic book they were reading because we're both insane.
characters. lord enver gortash :3
content warning. dark urge reader. pre-tadpole era. gortash being viciously down bad, because he's very willing to have sex with durge while they're covered in blood and being watched by the cultists. exhibitionism. blood play. gore mention, along with murder. 2.6k words.
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"Howerever, he also added a powerful dose of Tantrism by suggesting that magical work should be conducted in the nude, with the ritual use of a flail, and that rites should be led by a High Priest and High Priestess who would literally or symbolically couple at the climax of certain rituals." The Book Of English Magic, Carr-Gomm. P. 
Gortash was not one to be summoned. Summoned, sent for, demanded to show up with haste at the whim of someone else. While he might schmooze with the Duke and hastily head over when Ravengard demands him to come talk, he is a man not to be controlled and demanded things of. 
But you always were such a delicious thorn in his side. While others, like Thorm, would try to pry it out, getting their fingers bloodied as they struggled to grip onto it, Gortash relished the sting that came with every movement. The ache, the soreness of the skin struggling to reject the barb, the trickle of blood leaking down his side. He adored it. The cushy life he led in Baldur’s Gate had softened his skin, despite the sulfur of the hells soaked into it. You were refreshing. A tinge of pain that was inflicted on him in the House of Hope by the boatload, except this time, the claws that had raked down his back as a punishment had turned into something deeply pleasurable for him. 
So when you sent for him, he’d never dream of keeping you waiting. Your letter mentioned something about needing his help with a ritual of Bhaal’s, so while he was looking forward to seeing you, he was quietly hoping that you weren’t about to blood sacrifice him or something. It would put a damper on the plans you two shared. 
Gortash knows the path down to Bhaal’s temple well enough by now. He almost basked in it, enjoying the looks the other worshippers would shoot him as he made his way down, some questioning, some openly hostile and a select few viciously jealous. But this journey down was different. No stray cultists, whispering about guts and garroting. No weird little butler scuttling after him. 
Nothing.
Except when the chanting reaches his ears. 
The low, rhythmic voices, all whispering, all culminating into something strange, something wrong, something that makes the hair on his neck stand up on end. Gods, he really hopes he isn’t a sacrificial lamb here. He refuses to spurn an invitation from you, so he continues down, down, down, the chanting getting louder, louder, louder. 
Entering the main sanctum, he finally sees all. Bhaalists crowding all the stairs leading down to the platform with the sacrificial altar, with no sign of you. Just a deep, dark, pool of blood, big enough for someone to swim in. Even more worrying. 
His presence didn’t go unnoticed. The cultists were already parting for him to make his way through, and closing in behind him, barring him from exiting. The whispers quietened for just a second before resuming, even louder as he was prodded, like cattle to continue down. Before too long he stood on the platform, his palms itching. Just when he was about to demand answers, the chanting stopped, the disconcerting whispers cutting off into dead silence immediately. 
The blood in the pool quivered and a body breached the liquid, coated in a deep, slippery crimson. 
Fuck. 
Gortash always knew you were sublime in red. But you were completely covered. Dripping blood as you step out of the pool, you don’t even push away the blood painting your face, not when you open your eyes and focus on him. 
The entire room seemed to drink you in, your naked form, glazed with the very essence your father urged you to spill. It was only a few seconds of silence before the chanting resumed, but it was different this time. As if the previous whispering had been a chorus of begging, for you to emerge, but now? It was a demand, for the ritual to resume, for it to be completed, to taint the room further. 
All the air in Gortash’s lungs had stilled, but when you came closer, it rushed out all at once. Your naked form was always deeply divine to him, no matter how many times he bedded it. While he paid for his whores and some married ladies adorned his bed, he often got tired of them, seeing them as run through, and no longer exciting. But you? Fuck. Hells, even your bloodied, nude form was already getting him hard. 
“Sorry for the vague invitation.” You murmur, as if you two were at a soiree that he just got the invitation for. “Needed someone for this and I don’t think Thorm can get it up at his age.” 
Gortash’s lips twitch, but your bloodied fingers curling around his wrist silenced his snarky retort. Nothing to say, not when you lead him to the altar. 
“What-” 
You hushed him, pressing a finger against his lips and leaving a crimson mark in its wake. 
“Don’t worry. Just a ritual for each decade that passes. Better me than Sarevok, believe me, even if he has run out of his own spawn to give daughters to.” You roll your eyes but push him back, against the altar, forcing him down as you straddle him, staining his clothes. 
He’ll never throw them out. 
The altar was no soft bed, and while he wasn’t a squeamish man, the strong smell of blood was clouding his head. It was at this angle, that he noticed the cuts along your side, looking like marks made by a flail, even though the blood you were drenched in weren’t from your own injuries. Even the dozens of eyes trained on the two of you, there was a delicious string of excitement, pulling his spine taut and tight. 
Gortash was no Bhaalist, not when he followed Bane, so while he was no stranger to certain rituals, he was unused to ones of this… Variety. He made a note to himself that he should read up on them, just in case he was about to have a Bhaalspawn of his own somehow. Not that there has never been an attempt to baby trap him in the past, but this was… Different. 
You, naked and bloodied, on top of him with wild, dark eyes, the chanting of some, excuse his phrasing, cultist weirdos echoing in his ears. The only thought his mind could form as you dragged your hand over his lips, down his throat, was that if this was a ritual purely for Bhaal, he did hope He wasn’t aware that he was the one getting hard underneath his favorite spawn. 
But that seemed to be the point. You gave him a dangerous smile, blood slipping in between your lips and staining your teeth, similar to when you’d bite him during sex and come away with crimson painting your tongue. As per usual, you had no patience for his belt, instead opting to barely loosen it and slip his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Thank the Gods he had, a self admittedly fat, “pretty” cock. Though, he doubts if he didn’t, you wouldn’t have bothered with him beyond your first tryst. But being humiliated in front of the dagger happy zealots was not high on his list of priorities. 
His busy mind screeched to a halt as you slowly began to pump his cock, even as he was hard as hells. Your touch, even just a nudge or your fingers brushing, felt like lightning, like something otherworldly was deigning to caress his very mortal skin. Your eyes, so delicious and darkened drank in his expression, his slow, shallow breaths as you continued to practically fucking play with him, like a mouse under your claw. 
“Don’t tease me.” He murmured, low and throaty, just for the two of you and you just smiled your wicked grin. 
Instead of heeding his request, you leaned down, as if to press a kiss to his chapped lips, and he raised his head to meet your kiss, but instead of something soft, he felt your teeth bite down. Splitting his bottom lip and letting his own blood trickle into your mouth. Even with just a few seconds of your lips against his even with the pain of being bitten, he missed it the second you pulled away. You firmly pushed him back down, but the ache from slamming his head against the stone altar was muted, when you refused to let up on massaging his cock, the pleasure seeping into his veins like poison. 
“Fuck.” He hissed through his teeth, wanting to lean his head back and shut his eyes, but there was something deeply magnetic lingering in your eyes that made it impossible for him to ever look away. 
You yourself slowly grinded against his thigh, enjoying the way the Chosen of Bane squirmed like a rodent caught in a trap. Shame he was such a charming rodent, one that nosed against your ear and chittered oh so invitingly. Your older brother hated the scurrying little things so, he used to take you aside as a child, and whisper to you exactly how to catch them, and then make them squeal. But this rodent, with his nice dark coat and fiendish eyes, the one who squirms so nice in your hand? He seems a bit too cute to crush. 
Especially with the way he was panting low and hard, his tongue dragging over his teeth. Blood smeared over his mouth and chin, and his clothes were stained similarly. Delicious. 
“Just let me fuck you already.” He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into your bare, bloodied thighs. 
“Oh, that’s cute.” You murmured, low and heady in the way he adores so, at least in his room with the servants sent home for the day. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the tone. “This is about restraint. Submission.” 
Gortash hissed through his teeth again, but said nothing, just drank the sight of you in. You finally took pity, with his hungry, desperate eyes that you usually only saw at the meetings, with maps strewn across the table, as he talked about the plans for the future. It’s also a look that he used to give you when you two first met. Raising your hands to his lips and kissing the knuckles, eyes boring into you. It’s a look that grew in intensity each time you met, until the night he got you alone finally, dragging his hand greedily over your side as he leaned in to kiss your throat. You’d thought it would end up diminishing but it never did. It quietened at times, but he had the look of an addict waiting for his next fix. 
Finally shifting up, you pressed his leaking cockhead against your hole. Enver could feel it slicked with blood, but his mind raced with thoughts about you getting ready for the ritual, writing out the letter inviting him down as you slowly fingered yourself, lubed up to your knuckles and imagining him. Or Thorm, since apparently he was also an option. Thank the Gods that the sight of you dipped head to toe in blood was far more arousing than that intrusive thought, otherwise he might have gone soft. No doubt if you two were ever having sex and he lost his erection, you’d butcher him right then and there. 
No, just his cockhead slipping inside of you had him struggling to concentrate, the chanting beginning to rise in volume again. Gortash couldn’t even figure out the words, it just made his head spin. 
You just watched him try to breathe slowly and evenly as you enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you before you slammed your hips down, making him bottom out inside of you. His cock was your favorite, no doubt about it. Out of all the ones you’ve seen, flaccid and puckered in death as your followers stripped them of their belongings, hard and ready for the select lovers you picked out, unaware that they were bedding a spawn of Bhaal, his remained the best. Maybe it was because he was one of the few madmen ready to stick their dick in the God of Murder’s child, maybe it was because it was curved in a way that hit just right deep inside of you. Or maybe he was one of the few men that had the talent to back up their bragging mouth. 
Gortash couldn’t help but thrust upwards, into you, basking in the whorish sounds of your moans. Your fingers dug into the section of his exposed chest, beginning to ride him in earnest, as if there weren't the cultists watching without heat to their eyes, as if watching you do your daily chores. Wasn’t exactly a turn on, Enver thought grimly, though if you would just let him finally take you to the brothel and allow at least the prostitutes to admire the amazing work you two put into having disgustingly dirty sex. 
You rode him roughly, just watching as he struggled to look away from you, his own blunt nails digging into your thighs even more, as if trying to make sure to keep you there. Blood coated his cock as he thrusted up into you the wet slapping of skin against crimson glazed skin echoing throughout the room, the chanting drowning out your shared sighs and moans. 
Fuck, it felt too good. He was dying to fondle your chest, pinch your nipples till they were all sore and puffy and so cute. The only downsides that he could only be half sure that you wouldn’t cut off his hand for touching anywhere other than your perfect fucking thighs. The blood was slowly drying on you, the glimmering sheen giving way to a dark matte look, pieces flaking off. You looked fucking perfect. 
Gortash was clinging onto the edge, concentrating on not cumming before you did, but you wouldn’t be one of his favorite pieces of ass if you couldn’t see through him as if he was made of glass. With a nasty smirk, you leaned down again, mid bounce and kissed him right on the mouth, swearing the blood from his bitten lip. It was too much at that point. He was not some virgin who came from kissing, but fuck. Fuck. 
He arched his back, pressing his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up till it began to drip out, along your bloodied thighs. You sighed, low and soft, tensing up around him to the point the poor fuck was seeing stars. The chanting slowly eased off into the casual hum of conversation, as you slowly slipped the Lord out of you, letting his cum spill out freely. 
The cultists dispersed among themselves and back into the alternating halls as Gortash slowly regained his breath and sat up. 
“A little head’s up would have been greatly appreciated.” He grumbled, hiking his trousers back up and tucking his softening cock away. 
“And miss out on the chance of you chickening out?” 
“I’d never.” He finally sat up and watched as the cum slipped down your legs to the floor, mixing with the blood to make a soft pink color. “... But if I did fail to show, any particular person you’d have picked?” 
“Probably would have grabbed a random guy. Like the one who loves to skin people while they’re dying.” 
Gortash quietly made a note to have that certain one jailed for some other thing as you stretched and glanced back at him. 
“I need company as I bathe.” 
You, of course, would never ask him to give you company as you washed yourself of all the blood and cum, but who was he to say no to such an appealing command? 
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auras-moonstone · 16 days
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⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ don’t blame me for what you made me do
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ᡣ𐭩 word count: 1.6K
ᡣ𐭩 pairing: gf!ethan landry x gf!fem!carpenter!reader
ᡣ𐭩 summary: y/n is finally able to get revenge on her sisters when the bailey family reaches out to her to ask her to join the plan.
ᡣ𐭩 contents/warnings: implied character death. murder. family issues. bonding over shared issues. fluff.
ᡣ𐭩 author’s note: on sunday it was scream 6’s anniversary and it made me miss that era sm😫 the fandom is so dead, especially the ethan/jack one.
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y/n had always felt like an outsider in her own family. her mom’s favorites had always been sam and tara. and y/n went under her radar, the curse of the middle child, they say. and then there were her sisters, who she was also not very close with. despite having only one year difference with tara, the youngest sibling had a better relationship with sam, so y/n was also left alone in the sibling department. she only had her dad, who used to be her entire world until he packed his bags and left her behind. and it was all because of sam carpenter.
revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. and after years of waiting, the opportunity came to y/n. it actually knocked on the door of her new apartment in new york city.
“um, hello? can i help you?” the girl asked confused, seeing three strangers standing before her. one was a man around his forties, then there was a tall boy with curly hair and a red-haired girl with green eyes.
“hi, y/n carpenter, right?” the man said.
“yeah… do i know you?” y/n asked, a tad creeped out.
“no, but you knew my son, richie.”
richie, the man who used to date sam and then try to kill her. the man who tied y/n up and hid her in a closet, telling her she was going to be okay. murdering her was never in richie’s plan, and it still confused the hell out of her.
y/n’s eyes widened. “yes. i’m really sorry about what happened.”
“thank you.” the man gave her a small smile. “my name is wayne bailey, these are my children, quinn and ethan.” his two kids waved at her and she smiled in response. “do you think we could talk for a few minutes? i have something to say that might interest you.”
she reluctantly let them in, and wayne started telling her about what richie told them. how he noticed the tension between her and her sisters, how he could see the resentment in her eyes everytime she looked at sam, how sometimes they became murderous too.
“i don’t know what to tell you… what’s this all about? why are you here?”
“you see, y/n, your sister murdered my son. the light of my life, and i want her to pay. and by what richie told me, i think that’s what you want too.”
that captured her interest. “sam is the reason my dad—the only person i was close with in that damn family—left. so, whatever you have planned, count me in.”
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“are you okay?” y/n asked ethan, who looked very deep in thought as they entered the dorms building. they had just came from a meeting at wayne’s house, and ethan had been dead silent the whole way back home.
“i just… aren’t you scared? that things won’t work out and we might end like every other ghostface?” ethan was very expressive when he talked, he talked with his whole body, especially his hands. the maniac hand movement showed y/n that he was very anxious about the whole thing.
during the time she had spent with the baileys, she had reached a conclusion—wayne and quinn were all for revenge, it was clear they were furious with sam. and ethan, although he truly loved his brother and hated sam for what she did, was in on the plan for the mere purpose of pleasing his dad.
richie had been the favorite, and ethan wanted so bad for his father to see him like he once saw his brother that he was willing to sacrifice his life for it. y/n understood that feeling of wanting to belong more than anyone else, which was why she had connected with ethan in a way she never thought would be possible.
they became each other’s comfort, each other’s safe place when things got overwhelming. it really sucked to fake being wary of him, to act like she was trying to keep her distance because—like the rest of the group—she didn’t trust the new members, when it reality she just wanted to wrap her arms around his frame.
“i won’t let anything happen to you. even if i have to take a knife to the heart to make sure you get out of this alive, i’ll do it. i can promise you that.”
ethan shook his head. “but that’s exactly what i’m worried about. something happening to you. the thought of getting out of this without you… fuck, that can’t happen, y/n.”
y/n had seen ethan being vulnerable, he let himself be like that around her, but this was the first time she had seen him cry. it was a sight she never wanted to see again.
she carefully brush his tears away. “okay, then we’ll have each other’s back, okay? please don’t cry, you’re killing me.”
“i’m sorry, i’m just really scared.” he hid his face on the crook of her neck and took deep breaths to stop the tears.
“don’t be sorry. never apologise for feeling, especially to me. it just makes me sad to see your pretty eyes with tears, but i get what you say.”
“i don’t want to go back to the group.” he pouted.
y/n chuckled then checked her smartwatch. “it’s late. chad might wonder where you are.”
ethan groaned. “i don’t care. i’ll tell him i was at study group. can i stay here for a bit?”
“you’re a little obsessed with my presence, landry.” she joked.
“and what if i am?” he said before letting out a nervous laugh.
y/n took him in. his strong arm was settled on the back of the couch, right next to her head. his temple was resting on his closed hand and he was staring intently at her with those killer deep brown eyes. he was so beautiful and she was so weak when it came to him. and fuck if his full lips didn’t look so inviting.
her index finger lifted and it was soon tracing the shape of his lips. they felt as soft as his cute curls. “then we’d be on the same page. because i’m a little obsessed with you.”
ethan’s arm left the back of the couch to end up around the back of y/n’s neck, pulling her close. her shaky hand found its way to his hard chest, right where she could feel the thunderous beats of his heart, which only became more erratic when their lips finally met.
“mmmh, wanted it so bad.” he said between kisses. “we’re not going back to being just friends right? because i can’t handle that.”
“are you out of your mind? no way. you’re mine and i get to kiss you whenever i want. well, whenever i can.”
“yours. fuck, that sounds so good.” he hummed contently. “it’s going to be so hard to hold back from you.”
“but then, when we finally get to release the tension, it’s going to be so good, don’t you think?” she smirked.
“you drive me insane.”
“right back at you, pretty boy. i don’t think you realize how powerful those puppy eyes of yours are.”
ethan’s blood rushed to his cheeks and y/n giggled like a schoolgirl. her chest felt like busting. she was finally happy. truly. the 6 foot two brunet boy lying beneath her was her one source of happiness, and she was not going to let anything take him away from her.
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y/n stood in her ghostface costume in front of her sisters. she was practically bouncing on her feet, excited to reveal herself and see the look on the girls’ faces. ethan, who had already shown his face, had the biggest smile. y/n was so adorable he had to close his hands in a fist to fight the temptation of bringing her into his arms.
“ready for the last surprise?.” wayne asked.
“come on, babe.” ethan squeezed her waist and y/n took the mask off. her sisters stepped back in shock, faces tinted with hurt.
“how could you?” tara spat as tears fell from her eyes.
y/n rolled her eyes. “oh, cry me a river.”
“why would you do this? is this all because of him?” sam pointed her head at ethan. “what? you fell in love and he brainwashed you into becoming a killer?”
“do you think i’m stupid? of course not.” she scoffed. “i mean, i did fall in love with him, but that’s besides the point. they came to my door a few days after we moved.” and she told them how she came to work with the baileys. “i waited years, and now… i can finally make you two pay for how shitty you’d always made me feel.”
“what are you talking about? we’re your sisters, y/n.”
y/n glared at tara. “you have some fucking nerve. you’ve always made me feel neglected, until sam left town. we started to bond, but as soon as she was back… you forgot about me. how can you even say you’re my sister?” she yelled in anger. ethan took her hand in comfort. “and you?” she looked at sam. “you’re the reason my dad left, and i swear to god i’m going to show you exactly how badly that hurt.”
“you crazy bitch. you’re insane.” tara screamed at her.
ethan slashed her stomach in fury. “watch your fucking mouth when you talk to my girlfriend!”
“let’s just get over with this. y/n deserves a break.” quinn said.
the carpenters sure put up a fight, y/n was the one who got most of the wounds, but they had managed to succeed. wayne and quinn left to take care of gale and mindy while ethan stay behind taking care of his girlfriend.
“are you feeling alright?”
“don’t worry, eth. they’re bad, but not that bad. i’ll for sure live.” she reassured him. “we made it. i told you we would.”
“you did.” he laughed, and then hugged her tightly. “you scared me so much, though. i really thought i’d lost you when i saw you lying on the ground.”
“i could never leave you.” she brushed her nose against his and whispered against his lips, “i love you. thanks for walking into my life.”
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frostbitebakery · 4 months
Text
INTRODUCING: Quinlan Vos, Professional Bestie
two IGMHC vignettes
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“I— had a friend,” Ben says. “Growing up. At least for a little while.” - Obi-Wan, chapter 2, IGMHC
HUMAN SACRIFICES ARE ONLY PASSÉ WITH THE WRONG ATTITUDE
Fox ignores him. “Cody, I’m this close to a murderous rampage.”
Vos brightens. “Cody! The one who’s fucking a Si—“
“That’s Marshal Commander Cody,” Cody says icily and even Fox needs to suppress a shiver. “Who the fuck are you.”
“How do you even know ,” Fox starts and recoils from the wink Vos throws him.
“Shadow, remember? It’s my job to know more than is strictly healthy for me.” Vos nods his chin to the comm. “ Marshal Commander Cody, tell Obes his childhood bestie would like a hello sometime.”
“You know him?” Fox whispers harshly - yells, but whose narrative is this, thanks - while Cody mutters an incredulous “ Obes ?”.
Read the rest on AO3
TRUTH-INCINERATOR CAUGHT MAKING FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS, MORE AT 11
The past worn like a mask because of how Obi-Wan was is useful to how he now is. And, if the faint rumors are true, spoken so hushed within the confines of the council chambers only, the relicts have turned into goals again. To make what once was true again.
Quin’s head spins from the spirals Obi-Wan has contorted himself into.
“Is that so,” Obi-Wan comments quietly, watching him back. “My heart warms from your efforts. A cup wouldn’t go amiss either.”
Quin inclines his head. “Sorry, we’re not at the best buds level where I trust you with anything that can be used as a weapon.” The preparations for this meeting had been endless and frustrating. No weapons on either their persons so Obi-Wan couldn’t use Quin’s lightsaber against him. A Force suppression collar around Obi-Wan’s neck which doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Thick gloves on Quin, no sliver of skin bare for taking advantage of his psychometry. Master Windu had thoroughly gone over Quin’s shields with him. The Council had left nothing unprepared.
“You don’t fidget as much as when we were younger,” he says. He gotta start somewhere, silence has never been his forte, and suddenly it’s vitally important to understand the line that had been drawn somewhere and cut his best friend out of Quin’s life. “You used to always do something with your hands.” Obi-Wan had needed the stimulation. To concentrate, to expense restlessness, to focus away from anything and everything overwhelming.
Yellow eyes continue to look at him. There’s pity in them now. “It’s been beaten out of me.”
Quin grins, quick, regretful and unsurprised. He can imagine, colorfully, and his heart breaks a little more. “Your words have always known where to cut deepest and quickest.”
“Thank you.”
Read the rest on AO3
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mokulule · 3 months
Text
A Pinch of Salt - part 3
First | Masterpost
John couldn’t believe he was doing this, listening to the bloody kid. The cigarette hung forgotten from his lips. Every instinct told him to hunt down the kid and get him out of there; he’d seen enough dead kids to last him several life times.
Yet here he stood, counting down the minutes with a watch in hand. A spectral storm was dangerous, it could hurt a lot of people, attract even worse things. The plan was sound.
The end justified the means.
He felt sick.
There hadn’t been any screams from the kid (yet) - just the feeling of the malevolent energy moving further away. As long as it was moving away the kid had to be moving too.
Time was up and John was running. Kid was not getting a second longer than he’d asked for. It took him a minute to reach the plaza.
He spun around taking in the space. The central installment, which would have been some kind of fountain had it been finished judging by the exposed piping, was kinda in the way.
John huffed in annoyance.
This was clearly not gonna be the prettiest binding he’d ever done, just circle and a sigil for each cardinal direction, but it’d have to do. He pulled out a compass and promptly grimaced at the way the needle shook from electromagnetic disturbance.
Yeah, so north was probably over by the escalators.
The malevolent energy had turned around and was now coming back. Kid better be alright or John would have to murder him himself.
Time was hastily running out. It was a bloody good thing John worked well under pressure. He’d barely drawn the last squiggle when he heard fast running footsteps. He looked up just in time to see the kid take a running leap off the first floor banister.
Fuck. John’s heart jumped into his throat. He was only halfway through a levitation spell when he realized he would be too late. He wasn’t fast enough. At best the kid would break a leg at worst he’d break his neck!
He braced himself and then- John didn’t believe his eyes- the kid ducked into a rolling landing jumping right back to his feet like some kind of bloody knock-off Robin.
“Ya nearly gave me a fucking heart attack,” John said clutching his chest.
“We don’t have time for that. Here they come!” Kid yelled as he ran over to him. And right he was, the storm burst into the room in a tornado of trash, tools and now gray dust - just great, it had gotten into a bag of cement powder.
It was John’s turn. Just as the storm entered the circle, John slammed his hands onto the circle and activated it. His hairs rose on end as the magic activated. The wind and dust slammed against the binding, but it held despite the less than ideal circumstances.
Time to do the banishment. John couldn’t wait to be done with this.
-
The hairs on Danny’s arms stood on end; so this was magic.
Danny knew magic existed. He’d been mind controlled by a magical scepter. He’d seen magic used and reality itself changed at the snap of a finger - heck Danny had wielded the Reality Gauntlet himself. But that was just it, wasn’t it? those were magical items. Objects of power that bestowed a certain set of abilities to the wielder.
It was real, but it was less real somehow, or rather more mundane. Not quite so different from the crazy things his parents invented and that was just science.
It was something quite different to see, to feel, the power in the air, the way pressure increased and his ears popped when he swallowed all because Trenchcoat held out his hands and said a series of strange words.
Danny could feel reality warping at this guy’s will, a point above the ghost where this world was growing thinner. He was making a portal right here, with nothing but words and will and whatever magic was supposed to be - something that had been his parents’ magnum opus, taken years of study and then not even worked until Danny stumbled inside, an unwitting sacrifice.
Would it have even turned on without him inside? Or had that been a little bit of magic too?
Danny laughed with an edge of hysteria. And here Trenchcoat made it look easy.
So much time spent - missed dinners and awkward school events waiting for parents that never came and they should have just found this dude instead.
Something caught his attention. At first he couldn’t tell what it was, but invariably he was drawn to the forming rip in reality.
Something was wrong.
Heat and sulfur stuck in his nose. A sense of dread pooled in his gut. There was something malicious about it. That wasn’t a portal to the ghost zone.
“Where are you sending them?” Danny yelled over the whipping winds.
“To Hell,” Trenchcoat yelled back, not taking his eyes off his task.
“Hell!” Danny squeaked in horror.
Trenchcoat spared him a bewildered glance. “It’s a banishing, kid. It’s what it does.”
Danny’s gaze shot from the portal to the ghost back to Trenchcoat. No, it was all wrong. The ghost was in pain and yes they were out of control but they didn’t deserve to be sent to Hell for it. Danny had to do something.
“Stop! You have to stop!” Danny stepped in front of the man hands raised almost in mirror, except Danny didn’t have anything as potent as magic at his disposal, not unless he wanted to reveal himself. He felt some of his resolve crumble at that thought. Danny still didn’t want to find out what the man had intended to do to him, had he not passed his salt test.
“Hell’s bells, kid! What are you doing?”
“You have to stop they don’t deserve this!”
“Kid, it’s out of control! This is how it’s done.”
Absolute certainty.
Danny wobbled. Clearly, he knew what he was doing, he was the real deal. Who was Danny to question that?
The ghost screamed in despair, cutting straight to Danny’s core. His lips pressed into a thin line. He met light blue eyes, held them, and then he took a step backwards - into the circle.
-
Am I being mean? A little bit XD Sorry I couldn't help it. I hadn't planned for Danny to do it quite like this in my original plan but he sure did it.
Thanks for the lovely comments on the previous part :D
You can subscribe the masterpost for the series here
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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months
Note
this isnt thag detailed but can i request percy jackson x reader (platonic) where they first meet (as well as with annabeth since she was with him at the time I think) for the first time in the labyrinth and turns out reader is percy’s older half sibling? if not that, then just maybe general headcanons of percy having an older half sibling
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I’ll probs just do the head-cannon for this one. 🦦
The moment Percy found out that you were his half sibling, the relief that came with no longer having to have an entire cabin with the low grey walls to himself would follow.
As it would ultimately meant he was finally freed from soul crushing loneliness he’s felt ever since being claimed after beginning to get use to the warmth and liveliness of that of the Hermes Cabin.
Seeing those empty bunks taunted and mocked him every waking moment, serving as a reminder that no matter how powerful of a Demi-god you were, you were no more helpless against the grim reality of being a forbidden child of the most powerful gods of the Greek pantheon.
However with this revelation came the urge to protect his newfound family and with that came moments of tension, especially the ones where Percy tended to forget that you were capable -if not more- in taking care of yourself when it mattered most, seeing as Percy had a tendency to put himself at the forefront of danger if it meant protecting the people who mattered so dearly to him; You being one of those very people he’d gladly act in reckless abandon in favour for your safety.
You hated this about him as no matter how long you’ve met him for, you weren’t going to stand by and willingly let your little brother place himself in dangerous situations for you.
Loyalty maybe his fatal flaw, your fatal flaw on the other hand was devotion.
Devotion to your family, your friends and loved ones, so much so to the point when you’d sacrifice everything for them, even if it was to your own detriment and eventual downfall, as long as they were safe and happy nothing else mattered.
Percy would go to war for you and you would happily go to war for him tenfold.
You; don’t do anything stupid till I get back.
Percy: how can I? you’re taking all the stupid with you.
You: jerk
Percy: bitch
If you were to ever have a crush on someone or someone starts making moves on you, fucking watch out cuz little bro Percy had a few choice words for ‘em and is hellbent on knowing their intentions with his older sibling. You deserve the best but in Percy’s eyes, not many people make the final cut.
However his interrogations were equal parts hilarious and embarrassing for you for multiple reasons but after the first few times you’ve told him off for doing so, you’ve given up and just let him act as though his words would sway anything into his favour, you could always just sneak out and meet them elsewhere; preferably away from any body of water but primarily the lake where you knew Percy and yourself would often frequent when in need of feeling closer to the one thing connecting you to your father.
But on this occasion, you severely underestimated your little brother.
You; Percy get out of the lake, people are begging to stare.
Percy: not until the sibling stealer behind you stops flirting. *he says whilst standing knee deep in the canoe lake, ready to super soak someone to the bone.*
You, groaning as you looked over at Luke who looked about ready to use you as a shield again your own brother, sending him an apologetic smile; I’m sorry about my IDIOTIC BROTHER, he tends to severely overreact, especially over the little things.
Percy, hands on his hips, staring at Luke murderously: who are you talking about, I don’t overreact. I just want to talk to him. Here. in the water. Where I have full dominion over.
You: I have full dominion over the water too fuckhead and like hell I’d let you interrogate him.
Percy, whilst still looking at Luke before walking off to find Grover and or Annabeth; you’re lucky enough to live another day.
Much like any sibling dynamic you take the piss out of each other but the moment someone else thinks it’s cool to do so also, it’s game over for them as an temporary alliance between you two is formed to defeat a common enemy before going back to taking the piss out of one another as per usual.
You: you’re such a sore looser fish breath
Percy: says you coral for brains
Some random camper; yeah, coral for brains.
You and Percy looking at the random camper; the fuck did you just say? Would you care to repeat or start running.
Random camper; *sweats and runs away as though they’ve just shit themselves.*
I think I’ve went on long enough but all in all, Percy was just ecstatic that he wasn’t alone anymore.
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nikolaiar · 4 months
Text
COD Men and how you met (TF141 + Alex)
Gn reader but like I’m a guy so idk that may come across
TW: mentions of racism, murder, disgustingly wholesome meetcutes….
——————————
Price:
•You two definitely met at a bar.
•One day after a rough day of training on base, him and his liberty buddy decided to get some drinks at a bar around the area.
•They we’re drinking some whiskey, trading stories when he saw you.
•You we’re with some friends, looking bored. Bars were never your scene but you’d tough it out for some bonding time with your pals.
•Price’s friend sees how he looked at you and teased him a bit, all but daring him to talk to you. So, he takes one last sip of his whiskey before walking over.
•He was flustered, admittedly. He tripped over his words, was flushed in the cheeks, and had an awkward smile on his face…luckily you found it charming.
Gaz:
•High-school sweethearts oh my god.
•Gaz has been a bit of a nerd in high-school (his name is Kyle, idk what to tell you) and always kept to himself.
•He was a person of color in the UK, and didn’t feel particularly accepted by his white peers, so he turned all that energy into his studies.
•Until you came along.
•You didn’t want to admit it, but you used to be a little punk. Wearing leather, running around with a wild yet close knit group of friends, having fun.
•You were a bit of an outcast too, and when you first saw Kyle, you knew you wanted to break him out of his shell.
•After hanging out with you for a few months, he was a changed man. He was confident, happy, and most importantly, in love. He’d only ever admit it to you, but you’re the one who gave him the balls to join the military.
Soap:
• Childhood friends????
•Soap grew up in a small town in Scotland, the place where everyone knew everyone…and that includes you. You would play in creeks with each other, ride bikes, make mud pies, all that good stuff.
•As you both grew up a bit, he would tell you all about how he wanted to be in the military, even trying to join before he was of the legal age.
•At 17, he got in. He promised to stay in touch, but over time you slowly became more distant.
•Years later, you both were invited to a wedding of a mutual friend (as all your friends were to some extent) and he saw you.
•He couldn’t deny how great you looked, and when you looked back at him, he could tell you felt the same. He grabbed two glasses of champagne and walked over, just to see what you’ve been up too, that’s all…
Ghost:
•You’d have to meet on base as a military member or veteran; it’s forced proximity or no proximity I fear.
•You we’re friends with Soap at first. You were only in the military because of financial hardships, so you didn’t take it as seriously.
•This initially pissed Ghost off, but after getting to know you, it grew on him. You could joke back with him but when it was time to get serious, you got serious. He appreciated that.
•I feel like you’d get drunk at a pub and he’d have to carry you back to base. You’d ramble on about how cool he is and how his mask is badass…He will never admit he was blushing that night.
•You will have to be friends a long while. He would never do anything to sacrifice his career in the military, and you respect that.
•After you get discharged, he’d keep in contact with you, getting drinks from time too time…maybe more.
Alex:
•He’d have like a legitimate meet cute.
•Alex just walking into a coffee shop and running into you. But, due to his fast reflexes, he caught both you and the coffee. Like, full on dipping you and everything.
•Alex would help you stand back up and you’d blush before thanking him, and he’d smile sweetly, handing you your coffee…but not before reading the name on it.
•’Y/N…right? It suits you.’
•This is a bit short but like, I don’t have much else to say. The baby boy had a meetcute idk.
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kitthepurplepotato · 4 months
Text
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Chapter 13 - You are my Number One.
Summary: Katsuki is more freaked out about Y/N’s appointment than Y/N herself.
Warning: Swear words, nothing too cheeky this time!
First Chapter Master List
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
It’s 5AM in the fucking morning but Katsuki is already freaking out.
He’s not worried. He has no reason to be; he’s not a fucking doctor but he knows there is no way Y/N’s appointment will bear anything but good news; she’s healthy and full of energy, her movements are back to normal even without the meds, so really, there is no reason for him to be a big ball of anxiety right now.
No reason.
But… he still can’t stop spiraling about the ‘what if’s.
What if she only looks fine and after a few tests the doctor decides to put her back on the meds? His woman is strong, the strongest person in the world but she would break down to hear that after all the work she’s done to get better.
What if the doctor tells him to wait another year before she goes back to actual hero work? Again, she would loose her shit. She would probably burn the whole hospital down out of frustration. Katsuki is not a big fan of rescue missions and it’s also way too fucking early for that shit. He does miss the adrenaline of being on the field but he definitely does not miss the smell of burnt flesh and he might be the number two hero, but he definitely can’t save more than 3000 people in one go, especially as at least half of them are disabled and incapable of running.
“Woman.” Katsuki shakes his still sleeping girlfriend with a manic face. “Whatever happens today you can NOT burn the hospital down.” He yells with a serious face but his woman only snorts at him.
“The fuck, Katsuki?” She laughs and oh god, he absolutely fucking loves her sleepy little laugh. “Why are you the one freaking out? You look I just went into labor.” Honestly, Katsuki wishes that was the case. Even though, now that he said that, Y/N would probably burn the hospital down due to her frustration from being in so much pain for so long. Okay, no kids for Katsuki then. It’s a small sacrifice for the greater good. “What the fuck are you muttering about?” She giggles at him so Katsuki decides to change the topic by pushing a big cup of coffee into his girlfriend’s hands. It works every time. Nothing is more important than a morning coffee. Not even mass murder. Good.
Katsuki feels like he’s about to throw up. His face must be really pale as the Menace looks at him with worry etched into her features.
“We need to leave in twenty minutes, hurry up.” Katsuki makes a hard turn and stomps towards his dresser to find something normal. What do people wear to hospitals at all? His usual attire in a hospital usually consist of a hero suit soaked through with his own blood. Or ridiculously oversized trousers and a hoodie three times the size of him topped up with a cap and a face mask or at least that’s what he used to wear when he was forced to go to therapy.
This time, Katsuki wants to look… well… proper. He’s not going there alone, he’s going with his partner, his future wife (probably?!), the woman he’s so fucking proud of; he wants her to be proud of him too. It’s stupid, he knows, but somehow, it feels like this is important; this is the first time they attend an important appointment together. This is the first time he’s going to be seen as Y/N’s boyfriend. Katsuki feels like he’s about meet her parents or some shit.
“You don’t need to come with me, I’ll be fine alone.” She mutters, but that’s the last thing Katsuki wants to do.
“Do I fucking look like I’m capable of sitting on my ass right now, you idiot?” Katsuki lashes out. “I want to be there, I want to hold your hand and shit. I want to… fuck, I want to be there with you. I want to share the burden. You see, I’m already freaking out so you don’t have to. You can just giggle and be fucking adorable while I shit my pants. I’m perfectly fine with that.”
“Katsuki, you don’t make any sense but… thank you?” She giggles again and Katsuki swears he would be able to survive without water and food and get his nutrients from Y/N’s laughter instead. He’s so fucking fucked, isn’t he?
“Put some clothes on and let’s go.” Katsuki takes a plain black T-shirt and some tight jeans out of his dresser and makes a beeline to the bathroom. “If you don’t have proper clothing on by the time I come back you are going to the hospital in your pajamas.” Katsuki threatens but it doesn’t have an edge.
“Roger that, boss!” Y/N salutes before Katsuki slams the bedroom door aggressively.
~•💥•~
“Keep your eyes on the road, Kats, I won’t disappear.” You smile at your boyfriend who’s absolutely freaking the shit out right now, for no reason at all. It’s a little bit endearing.
You always knew he cares so much more than he’s willing to admit; he’s secretly a big softie for all his friends, even though he does nothing but yell at them all the time, but this is the first time Katsuki feels safe enough to actually show his affectionate side to anyone else and it makes you so fucking proud to be on the receptive side of it even if it’s a tiny bit annoying.
You don’t want to know how has Katsuki felt when you were gone for a day of this is how he reacts to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe you should thank Todoroki and Midoriya for keeping him alive while you were away back then.
“Technically…” Katsuki is about to give you shit and go all nerd on you, but you don’t let him finish.
“Technically, I can disappear, yes, but it doesn’t matter if you stare at me or not, I can literally do that anyway.” You retort scoldingly.
“Sorry, I’m just really fucking worried.” Katsuki sighs, his eyes finally back on the road. You sigh and move your your hand to caress the blond’s thigh, drawing soothing circles on his jeans to calm him down.
“You have no reason to be. It’s over, Katsuki. I’m over it and I know I won this fight, I just need a stupid paper from the doctor that makes it official. I trust my gut and my gut tells me I’m good. Don’t you trust me, KitKat?”
Katsuki visibly shakes at the new nickname you just gave him; thank god you two were waiting for the light to turn green, otherwise he would’ve caused an accident by stepping on the brake so suddenly.
“What’s with you and your stupid nicknames?” Katsuki mutters with the most adorable pout on his flushed little face.
“I can’t help it, you are so fucking cute.” You giggle and Katsuki is about to explode out of embarrassment when a loud honk coming from behind startles you both; the light turned green and you didn’t realize. Oh fuck.
“You are insufferable.” Katsuki mutters in front of himself and the rest of the ride is silent. You know your boyfriend well enough to know that nothing will calm him down right now anyway, so you just let him mutter to himself for the rest of the journey.
For your surprise, Katsuki intertwines his fingers with yours right when you stand by his side after the ride. His hold is downright painful, but you decide to not speak up about it; Katsuki clearly needs this right now and seeing him so stressed about something that doesn’t even affect him in any way makes you realize how important you are for him. Bakugou Katsuki can’t seem to stop surprising you these days, in a good way.
“Hello.” Katsuki mutters at the entrance; it looks like it literally pains him to be nice to someone else for once, but he does it anyway. Why? You have no fucking idea. Katsuki looks at the amused lady at the front desk with a constipated face. “Appointment. For Y/N.” Katsuki mutters again, his face red as a tomato. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t need to do this at all as everyone knows your face by now.
“End of the hallway, right side, 235. Good luck!” The lady gives you a thumbs up and you can barely smile back as Katsuki is already pulling you towards the fore-mentioned door. He knock three times aggressively and the door opens; the nurse’s face pales at the sight of the number two hero towering against her at 6AM in the fucking morning.
“Ahh, Y/N! Come on in, your guest can wait in the waiting room until we finish!” The nurse gives Katsuki a forced smile, already knowing there’s gonna be drama.
“I’m not a fucking guest, I’m her boyfriend! I took care of her fucking ass this whole week! I should be allowed to come in!” Katsuki almost yells at the poor nurse, but his voice gets quieter as he finishes his sentence. Fuck, he’s trying so hard.
“Sir, I understand but we need your girlfriend’s full attention. We need to do some tests as well today. Please, take a seat outside.” She points at the bench on the hallway. “Would you like some tea, or some coffee? We have some pastries as well if you are hungry!”
Wow, you do get a different treatment when you are the number two hero in the country.
“Do I look like I need caffeine, woman?” Katsuki mutters under his nose, his hands still in yours. “Just fucking… go…” the blond mutters, slowly letting you free from his grasp.
“I’ll be fine. I love you.” You hug your boyfriend tightly, hoping he can feel how grateful you are for everything. The nurse steps back into the office and leaves the door open for you to come in when you are ready. You didn’t miss the tiny fond smile on her face as she left.
“You are invincible. Whatever fucking happens today… you are… you are my number one.” Katsuki’s head is about to explode. Your heart skips a beat.
“I’m the luckiest fucking bitch to walk this Earth. Fuck, Katsuki.” You can’t stop yourself from jumping on him and kissing him fiercely in the middle of the thankfully empty hallway like your life depends on it. It takes him a few seconds to reciprocate but when he does it gets even harder to let him go; he kisses you with the same fervor, his touches hot and full of desire. He pulls away rather abruptly, takes a few deep breaths then he finally speaks up:
“Go before I devour you in the middle of this stupid hallway that smells like cheap bleach.”
“I’ll be out before you know it.” You smile and leave a last, lingering kiss on the blond’s lips before you close the door on his cute, anxious face. You’ve never been into the whole marriage thing but you kinda want to elope with him right here, right now.
“Let’s get this over with.” You sigh as you sit down in front of your doctor, who can’t hide his amused face as he takes in your red lips and disheveled hair.
“I really want to tell you off for coming to my office looking like that but I’m actually quite impressed. So who’s the lucky guy?” The doctor smirks at you; your cheeks flush, making you look like a ripe tomato but he only laughs at that.
“See it for yourself after we are done here, sir.”
This is it. This is fucking it.
Oh shit, you haven’t been anxious at all before but now it kicks you in the face as you take in your doctors office, the white walls and all the equipment he’s about to use on you.
“Whatever happens, you are my number one.” Katsuki’s words play in your head like a mantra as your body slowly lets go of all the tension that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
It doesn’t matter what the doctor says; it might sound super cheesy but even if you can never be a hero again, having Katsuki by your side, saving people for the both of you is more than enough for you.
So this is what people call “love”. It’s so powerful it changes even the strongest, most determined people.
You can’t help but giggle to yourself from your own silly thoughts.
You really are the luckiest person in the world, aren’t you?
… Next chapter!
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
Potato ramble:
- This story is about end in a few chapters. I gave this a lot of thought and I realized I don’t need to write down every single idea I had for this one otherwise this story will never end and I have so many other stories in my head I want to share with you all, so I made the executive decision to try to finish this in 5 chapters (you guys know me though, that will be 10 lol).
- My plan is to finish this one, take a bit of a break and continue posting only the Deku one for a few weeks then come back with the Kirishima spin-off and then later with a new Katsuki x Reader series. I already have a few chapters ready for both but I’m trying to aim for having almost the whole thing written out before I start posting to not overwhelm myself but I might change my mind about that as I really enjoy to hear your thoughts and add some things you want to see and I absolutely love to listen to your feedback and make the next chapters more enjoyable. It’s hard to be an adult, I just wanna write and read your comments 24/7 😂
- Ah, also! I got over excited and I already have edited the header for the Kirishima spin-off! I hope you like it!
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Yes, there is a typo in it, I’ll sort that out later shut up 😂
- I hope you guys had a lovely week and sorry for being so late; I got some bad news from the doctors and it messed up my head a little bit, I also did several extremely early shifts in a row and was dead tired in the afternoon so I had a hard time writing this week. Next week will be even worse so yeah… sorry in advance 😂
TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai
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calisources · 6 months
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HBO'S HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.   sentence   starters   taken   from   the   hbo's   adaptation   of   fire and blood  from   george   r.r.   martin.   change   titles,   names   and   pronouns   as   you   see   fit.
The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power.
You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it. 
Many that are tested only wish to have been spared it.
Meat without wine is also a sin. 
Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement. 
Reluctance to murder is not a weakness.
Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did.
We have always been meant to burn together.
The gods give just as the gods take away.
The road ahead is uncertain, but the end is clear.
I’m Queen Rhaenyra now. And you all are traitors to the realm.
The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power.
You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it. 
Many that are tested only wish to have been spared it.
Meat without wine is also a sin. 
Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement. 
Reluctance to murder is not a weakness.
Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did.
We have always been meant to burn together.
The gods give just as the gods take away.
The road ahead is uncertain, but the end is clear.
I’m Queen Rhaenyra now. And you all are traitors to the realm.
What is this brief, mortal life, if not the pursuit of legacy?
The Iron Throne looms larger than me, larger than anyone in my family.
Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are.
A marriage is a duty, yes. But that doesn’t stop us from doing what we want. From f***ing who we want.
When I’m Queen, I will create a new order.
I will speak of my brother as I wish. You will not.
Everyone says Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, but they say that because of our dragons. Without them, we’re just like everyone else.
You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?
When dragons flew to war… everything burned. I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.
Tongues will not change the succession. Let them wag.
There are times when I would rather face the Black Dread himself than mine own daughter.
Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She’s rather protective of me.
If the King isn’t feared, he is powerless. If you are to be a strong queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you.
History does not remember blood. It remembers names.
Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.
When one is never invited to speak, one learns instead to observe.
I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper c**t of a king.
I’m next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found.
No king has ever lived that hasn’t had to forfeit the lives of a few to protect the many.
No matter how fat the leech grows, it always wants for another meal.
We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.
We play an ugly game. And now, for the first time, I see that you have the determination to win it.
Who gives a f*** what some lord thinks? You are the dragon. Your word is truth and law.
You are the King, and so, your first duty is to the realm. Mother would’ve understood this. Just as I do.
You sit upon the highest seat in the realm, Your Grace. Proud men don’t like having to look up.
By naming me heir, you divided the realm.
I thought I wanted it. But the burden is a heavy one. It’s too heavy. If you wish me to bear it, then defend me.
A loyal Hand must tell his king a discomforting truth from time to time, Your Grace. If he doesn’t, he’s failed as a servant.
A seat at the King’s table does not make you his equal.
Fire is such strange power. Everything that House Targaryen possesses is owed to it. Yet it has cost us both what we loved.
How sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by the hounds.
The blood of the dragon runs thick.
The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided.
The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They’re a power man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom.
The truth does not matter. Only perception.
We are the blood of Old Valyria. We don’t belong here.
Valyria is gone. We don’t belong anywhere.
We are the realm’s second sons, Daemon. Our worth is not given. It must be made.
We do not rule but we may guide the men that do.
We don’t choose our destiny. It chooses us.
A dragon’s saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm.
Born wearing a crown? Gods spare me, birth is unpleasant enough as it is.
Daemon only ever does what is best for Daemon.
Perhaps the Velaryons knew the truth of it. The sea is the better ally.
For men marriage might be a political arrangement. For women it is like to be a death sentence.
Has anybody ever told you’re nearly as pretty as your brother?
I did not decide to name Rhaenyra my heir on a whim. All the lords of the kingdom would do well to remember that.
I imagine even dragons get lonely.
A king or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark.
If we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms, we must answer to their gods.
It’s no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons. And have.
Many in my line have been dragon riders. Very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of a dragon, next to the power of prophecy?
My mother was made to produce heirs until it killed her. I won’t subject myself to the same fate.
My oath reaches beyond our personal ambitions.
Swear anew your oath to Rhaenyra as your queen, to Prince Jacaerys as the heir to the Iron Throne. Or, if you support the usurper, speak it now, and you will have a clean and honorable death.
But if you choose treachery, if you swear fealty now only to later turn your cloaks, know that you will die… screaming.
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neonovember · 1 year
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Do they know you’re with me?
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pairings: battinson x fem!reader
summary: this city always found a way to take another part of bruce, until all that was left of him was Batman. But taking you? Now that was just downright stupid.
warnings: very graphic displays of violence, feral!bruce wayne, misogyny, assault, fluff, angst, literal murder
word count: 4.9k
a/n: watched batman for the second time and decided to dip my feet into the seeping black oil spill that is bruce wayne and his fucked up morals. + you end up driving the fucking batMOBILE
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You don’t remember how you found yourself sprawled on the floor of a rotting warehouse 20 miles from the inner city streets of Gotham, all you can do is feel the brick stones beneath the weight of your body, scratchy and old, crumbling beneath the grip of your fingers.
The slits of sunlight that cast shadows across the floor look like mirages. The fuzzy edges of your vision not quite clearing despite your desperate blinks. You want Bruce, you want him now.
You scrawl to the bordered-off windows, stuffing fingers into the space between the pieces of bordered wood, trying to pry them open, you’re exhausted, you don’t know why, your entire body is just aching, your limbs limp and feeble, sore from an exertion you have no memory of. The thought makes you shudder unconsciously, why is it so hard to remember?
Your mind is a collection of big black oil spills, they spread, when you try harder to think back to hours before. You don’t like this, god, everything fucking hurts
You continue this limp pathetic excuse of an escape, eyes burning with tears as the wood refuses to budge, the flashes of Bruce teaching you self-defence engulf your mind.The smell of old rubber, your complaining and his gruff condescension clambering on the gym floor as he taught you a left hook, how to twist under an assailant, how to fight smart instead of hard, how to knock a 200lb man unconscious- it all falls flat now, settles on the floor amongst the rotting moss and burrowed insects, what a fucking joke.
You can’t help but feel the discerning glare on Bruce’s face at this moment, watching you stifle as if you hadn’t spent weeks together preparing for this exact moment.
You’re pathetic, he’s wasted air and time on you. The image of his face pulls the tears on your waterline down your cheeks, and you collapse against the warehouse walls as you crumble. You relish the burn of your nails digging into your palm, letting the burn radiate through your hand as you roughly hit your head against the moist rotting stone.
This was it, the last of your name left to rot next to wet hay and dust, all you’ve worked for, all you’ve done, swept away and taken with the autumn wind. You know it’s horrible but isn’t this such a pathetic way to die? Not in combat, the blood and dirt of your struggle signifying your sacrifice, but because you were weak, brittle and foolish like your father had always said.
You stuff a fist into your mouth, reprimanding yourself, you will die, you will get your head spilt on this floor if you don’t get up, right fucking now. Forcing back the guttural groan back into the ribs of your chest, you survey the damp warehouse for any way out, and your eyes catch the glint sparkling against the rays of the rising sun.
Metal, something hard, something you can use to pry open blanks. It might be oxidising into rusted dust in the seconds that pass but it’s something, and that’s good.
Staggering towards it, you hold your weight against the warehouse walls, practically hopping with your one good foot towards the sledgehammer. You grasp the metal into your weak fist, and relief washes over you as the weight of it reassures some real damage.
Your eyes catch the bordered wooden door, secured with a padlock drilled into the metal bars, this warehouse is left to its mere skeleton, the metal rotting as peaks of asbestos break free.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, you shuffle your body towards the door, crouching closer to inspect the latch, your ears catch rambunctious laughter and the crash of bottles far to the right of the rotting warehouse. Your assumed assailants celebrating your capture perhaps, you shudder as you recall your unconsciousness moments ago. What else had they done to you?
Bringing the heavy hammer down into the padlock, the dust from the door flutters to the floor. You pause as you await the sounds of boots running to ensure your capture again, but it does not come. The laughter and boom of their festivities conceal your escape.
Giving the padlock two more hits, it finally gives way, cracking through the metal as you rip it from the door handle. You breathe through your nose as you take a tentative step forward, slipping through the gap you’ve forced open.
It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the pitch-black darkness that surrounds you, and soon you realise the warehouse is much bigger than you thought. Rows of brimstone columns hold up the rows of metal fixtures, slits of moonlight filter through the expansive window roof, the stench of old machinery and dye hinting to a possibly old fabric factory. You don’t want to consider how those big machines could be used against you, the idea pushed back down in your mind.
Shuffling forward, you catch the shadowy burst of light coming from your right, licks of orange and yellow crawling up the decrepit walls. A fire of some sort, surrounded by your assailants casts shadowy figures that seem huge and monstrous.
You begin searching for an escape, a latched window you could force open, some hole in the wall, anything. You come up empty, the towering walls looking down on you almost sealing your fate. You’re at the hands of these men to do as they would like, and for a moment you’d wish you’d listen to Bruce and let him attach that tracking device on your watch, violating or not.
You press your fingertips to your eyes as you try to think, the only plausible chance of escape is to move closer to the right wing of the warehouse and slip past their drunken state whilst their guard is let down.
Pressing your back to the wall, you venture forth, pressing forward with the tips of your toes as your sneakers squeak against the dirt floor. Making a turn your feet crash into a wayward liquor bottle, the glass chattering beneath your feet. You wince as you hear the men stop their guffawing at the sound, ears picking up your mistake. 
“What the fuck was that?” You hear the gruff throaty sound of someone yelling.
“No idea, ya sure you kept our girl locked and tied??” Another replies, you have to keep from retching at the sound of them referring to you as “their girl”. The way their slimy mouths wrapped around the word had you sick.
“Don’t fucking tell me you forgot rookie, or else you’ll fuckin join her ass” The man from before argues, anger riddling his tone.
“Hey! Relax aight? He padlocked that shit, there ain’t no way she’s getting through it. So sit the fuck back down Daroll, it’s probably some fuckin’ rat. You know how this city is, with all its fucking filth clogging the streets, turning those animals into the size of goddamn cats” The man replies, in a calm tone. He seems to be the ring leader of sorts, the rest of the men falling in line and replying in unison.
“At least now we’ve got Bruce Wayne’s girl tied back there, this time we’ll get our goddamn compensation from this city. I’ll make sure of it” The man replies.
You shiver as they refer to you as some sort of bargaining chip like Bruce would send millions in a briefcase in return for your safety. You don’t doubt that he would, but the thought scares you to no end. If this played out how they wished for it, what would stop any common thief from snagging you off the streets of Gotham in return for their “reparations”?
Bruce had to set an example, and you don’t doubt the events that would follow would be a bloody mess of fists and broken bones. You can’t help it, but something deep within you preens at the thought, Bruce, clad in his dark element, falling over the assailants like a spreading darkness.
But the fear of being left to rot in some warehouse on the docks of Bleak island is still there, and who’s to say Bruce would even find you? Your body, left in an unmarked grave once they got what they wanted, or better yet, thrown into the city’s river to be used as fish bate.
“Bruce fucking Wayne, man if there’s one name I hate in this goddamn city. Shit, you can barely escape it from the way they’ve plastered his face on every inch of Gotham” A man says
“Ya know the news outlets, always love a fucking sob story, actin’ as if families don’t get massacred by us daily” The man laughs, and they soon join him, falling back into the harmony of throwing back beer bottles and throwing knives at rats scurrying away.
Once you feel their ears aren’t catching every tiny sound, you continue your venture through the warehouse, the grip of the sledgehammer is firm in your grasp and it tethers you to the ground. If they did find you, at least you wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Catching the view of the group of men, huddled around a large bonfire, they each wear the same worn dirtied clothes, maroon jackets and washed-out plaid shirts that peek through. Beer cans and stunted cigarettes litter the ground, chests full of what you assumed would be weapons and drugs strewn about.
From the way their expansive shoulder stretch the material, you grapple with the fact that these men weren’t your typical scrawny thugs looking for a fix. They had decent muscle, the kind that could crush your neck within their grasps. And you were in their very own lion's den.
Gulping down the fear radiating down your back, you catch the stream of moonlight peeking from a cracked open door. A hope stirs within you, and you force yourself to swallow your fear as you calculate the very short steps you would need to make before finally escaping.
Stepping forward, your eyes are strained on the group of men, never letting your eyes leave them as you slip past from the shadows of the warehouse walls.
You’re so close, the door practically at arms reach before you are yanked hard by an invading hand, your neck rag dolls back as the mysterious man shoves you against him.
“No!!” You scream, as he leans into your neck, the faint smell of tobacco and beer causing you to wretch your face away.
“Looks like I found our very own little lady tryna escape” The man yells towards the huddled group at the centre of the warehouse. You thrash against him with all your might, limbs flying with little control as you try and rip yourself from his grip.
His chest is like a wall, laughing down at your frail body thrashing against his own, he presses your backside into his own as he grinds from the side of your eye.
“If you want it rough ya could’ve just said that doll” The man snarks, hand reaching down to grip your chest before you bite down on it, hard.
“You fucking bitch!!” He rips his hand from your mouth before his fist is colliding with your face. Your brain takes a minute to register the pain, almost blinded by the force of it, before you groan loudly. The white-hot pain spreads across your face and down your neck, throbbing with an intensity you’ve never felt before.
Your neck lies limp across his chest and he drags you towards the men looking on in amusement. Throwing you to the ground, your eyes meet scuffed boots that press against your bruising cheek.
You try and get yourself up before the boot is pressing onto your back, imprisoning you to the floor.
“Seems like you got in a little tussle huh?” The man you’ve recognised as the leader of the pack speaks down at you.
“You see, we wanted to make this as painless as possible for you, but now you had to go and try and escape didn’t you?” The man pulls you from the floor, dropping you onto a plastic chair that presses onto your back.
You don’t dare to look up to the man, he’s got a good foot on you and he looks at you like a formidable statue.
“Look at me when I speak to you” The man roars suddenly, pressing a dirty finger to your chin, forcing your chin to meet his thundering blues.
Forced to look up at him, you take notice of the features that make up his face. Blond hair dirtied with blood and dust falling over his face, the scratching scrawl of a yellow stubble that spreads across his jaw and neck. Brooding dark brows hang over his deep silver-blue eyes. His features are conventional in the way a Prince Charming or cover model would be, but the snark and deep hatred that seeps into every one of his features cast an malevolent shadow, and sets your heart to pound against your chest.
“Don’t you see? My men wouldn’t have hurt you if you’d- if you’d just listened. Why can’t anyone fucking listen, huh? Do you think I want to do this?” He screams at you, hands flying arms they press at his chest in some sort of act. His features morphed into a facade of anguish as if he had no choice but to chain you in a rotting cell.
You bite your tongue to stop your sharp mouth from scoffing in his face, the taste of copper is one you swallow regretfully. You eye his erratic behaviour, the way his body moves around like his a life wire, it’s one you’ve seen before.
Some unmarked drug that had taken over the streets of Gotham, one the GCPD has been scrambling to find out but coming up with loose ends. Bruce himself had warned you of its destruction on mostly unassuming teenagers and drop heads, the way the high would go on forever, before descending into a madness fuelled by the user's deepest fears. Sending you into a psychotic breakdown you can’t escape without throwing yourself from a building or shoving a pistol down your throat.
He seemed to be at the peak of it, relishing in the euphoria and grandiosity it granted him.
Your eyes catch the shadow of a winged cape, up high and cloaked in the darkness of the ceiling, and you have to press your fingers into your thighs to stop your face from showcasing the relief that washes over.
Bout damn time.
Your eyes focus on the man again but glancing from the corner of your eye as you catch your winged saviour perched on the ceiling's metal columns. He raises a gloved finger to his lips, mouthing one single word.
Distract.
You blink twice to show you understand, before diverting your eyes back to the erratic man who’s begun to sneer at you in disgust.
“What do you think you’ll get out of this?” You mutter, and he reels back at you in shock, before a smile pulls at the slit of his lips, eyes blazing with a fury that sets you on edge.
“I always knew he liked em’ mouthy” The man replies, before stepping forward.
“Bruce isn’t going to sacrifice the security of his name just to give you all some fucking pocket change. You think he’s that stupid?” You reply in a voice you hope is every bit steady and confident as you think.
That man narrows his eyes at you, as the rest of the men look on in eagerness. Ready to watch you get ripped to shreds by their beloved leader, salivating at the thought of you bloody and bruised by their fists.
“Bruce is too soft for this city, spending all his damn time boarded up in that manor, all that money just left to gather dust.” The man begins, resting his body against a barbed-wrapped bat.
“For years, Gotham had griefed that man, reconciling that The Bruce Wayne was no longer a symbol of hope for this city”
“But then there was you, that sweet little thing that forced him out of his fucking cave. And boy did the media love you, how couldn’t they? A precious doll that got Gotham’s billionaire to open his manor gates again” The man replies in disgust, spitting next to your shoes.
“And then he was back to being the public’s favourite rich, billionaires boy. All we’ve worked for, everything we’d done to prove he was like the filth that crawled through these streets out the fucking window”.
“Whilst people like me, like us, good hard working people, were left to get drowned by the muck and filth of this city. The swamp that sludges and clings to the streets. Now I’m not that religious, but how the fuck is that fair?”
“I know you aren’t stupid, different from the other woman he’s plastered to his side, anyone with two fucking eyeballs can see that. Which makes it all the more reason that we’ll get what we need no matter what”. The man smiles at you fondly, as if he hadn’t just threatened your life mere moments ago.
His eyes light up at the look of disgust you throw at him,
“Oh don’t look at me like that baby, It’s just business. Brucey will give us our well-deserved money, and we’ll give him back the one thing he cares about.” The man replies, before raising his bat to press gently into your chest.
“You.”
Your ears catch the swift swoop of air before your eyes register the enveloping black armour that glides across the warehouse.
It happens quickly, one moment the self-proclaimed leader is chanting, murmuring Bruce’s fate before he is knocked down by a batted creature
“The fuck?! Is that Batman-“. You hear the murmur of confusion litter the men, as they catch glimpses of a swallowing darkness descend into their safe haven.
The rest of the men don’t get a second to reach for their weapons before he's taking them down with his bare hands, picking them off, one by one like fleas.
You watch on as Bruce collides a man's face into another, smashing their skulls until their faceless and bloody. One brave thug throws a wooden crate at him, and he catches it swiftly, throwing it into another’s back.
The sound of splitting skin and the crunch of bone seems to go on forever, the grunts of Bruce’s voice the only sound he makes as he throws limp bodies like rag dolls across the dirt floor.
The rest of the thugs scurry like ants, escaping through the side door and jumping into rusting pickup trucks as they watch through the review mirror in heaving horror.
Batman has left one men in particular behind, wanting to take his time with them, the ferocity of his unneeded rage doesn’t escape him, his fists are practically dumb as they are split and bleeding from colliding with bone.
He’s shaking with it, the fear and malevolence that seems to drip from him like blood. His head is screaming, white noise blocking the outside world since the moment he found you missing. He knows at that moment that the deep dark part of his night city creature is rearing its head, he wants to destroy every single fucking thug that has ever even aided in your capture, preens with a burning desire to eradicate and burn their entire existence off the face of Gotham itself.
He hears the sound of your soft whimper, and he tears his eyes away from the groaning man at his feet. And for the first time since his fist collided with that fucking, he’s eyes glide over your frame hunched in the chair.
Jaw tight as he naughs his teeth, a growl escaped his chest at the sight of you, his baby, dried blood seeping down your neck as your left eye is swollen shut from the force of the punch.
Bruce steps towards you, tearing his gloves off to press his cold fingers towards your cheek, soothing and brushing the tears that streamed down your face.
“It hurts Bruce, it hurts so bad” You sob, and the sound retches at Bruce’s heart, his eyes set on the outline of a fist pressed into your perfect skin.
“I know baby, I know, I’ll make it better okay? I’ll make it better” Bruce replies softly, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
The evidence of another man, daring to put he’s hands on you sends that same unchecked rage to burn through his chest, and Bruce turns swiftly at the man responsible.
He’s crawling away pathetically, his leg twisted at the awkward angle as he sobs in pain loudly. Bruce boots steps towards him, the towering expansive figure of what you could only describe as a brick fucking wall moving with ease as he watches on at him pathetically.
Reaching down, he reaches with a gigantic hand to drag him back towards Bruce’s feet. Pressing a foot to the broken bone, the man howls in pain as Bruce brutalising his wounds. It isn’t enough, the cries and screams of your attacker do nothing to satiate the flames of anger unfurling in him.
He wants him silenced.
Gripping his neck, Bruce roughly licks him up, dragging his limb body towards you. Picking up his face by his dark strands, Bruce forces him to stare at his work shaking him to emphasis what he had done to you.
“You did this no? You like beating women?? You dare put your goddamn filthy hands on her and you try to run away?” Bruce roars, pulling tight against the man’s hair as he gains enough energy to howl loudly.
“I think it’s only fair to apologise, it’s the least you could do” Bruce growls into his air before throwing him to the floor. The man looks back at Bruce in confusion, blooding spitting out of his nose.
“APOLOGISE” Bruce roars, it bursts through his belly like a caved creature and the man quickly complies, shaking in fear as he fold himself onto his knees, looking up at you behind clasped hands.
There is a gurgle as you look down, like he’s trying to speak the words but there is too much blood flogged in his lungs. It fills you with a concerning pleasure to see your attacker like this, shaking knees as he looks up at you, coughing and heaving, mouthing the words before restarting.
“I’m not sure she hears you, how about you say it abit louder” Bruce yells from behind, causing the man to flinch.
Finally regaining speech, the man fights through the tearing and failing of his voice cords, and screams out in sobbing chants.
“I’m sorry? ‘m sorry ‘m so sorry’ please!”
It’s all it takes before Bruce is picking him up by his collar, colliding a ginormous fist across his face, the wheezed scream leaving his barely intact throat as he beats him to the ground, hands coming down again, and again and again. Blood spraying across his unmasked face, a deranged look taking over that saw only one purpose.
The man begins to crawl away on his knees, a wheezing wet exhale leaving his chest every few seconds, a line of sludge blood follows him, circled him like a tail, he sputters as his lungs begins to fill with liquid, before upruptly shooting up and collapsing limp onto the dirt floor covered in shit, piss and blood.
Bruce turns to you, his footsteps hurrying to crouch down as he cradled your head in his strong arms. He shushes you gently as he rocks you back and forth, caressing you with the bloody hands that avenged you.
“Oh Bruce, I should’ve listen to you, if I hadn’t-I I had just, if I would’ve just listened-“ You strain, voice wobblying as the fear and anger burning through finally caught up. The adrenaline and numbing you felt moments ago now replaced by the reality of the situation you had found yourself in.
Bruce raises your face to meet his own, shaking his head as he wipes away tears
“Hey, hey, none of that, you being connected to me? It would’ve happened sooner or later. I just thought I could protect you from that-this” Bruce gestures to the mangled corpse surrounding you two “Just for a little longer. You held your own today, and god you looked beautiful doing it”. Bruce replies, a haze cast over his eyes as they bore into your own.
“I’m proud of you, and l’m just thankful your alive, alright?” Bruce shakes your shoulder gently to emphasis his point, causing you to let out a laugh that sends knifes down your lungs.
You grip him closer to you, your hands trailing againts the thick metal and fabric of his suit that seemed to stretch endlessly. Reaching further, your hand comes into contact with a wet lukewarm spot that seems to stream between your fingers. Looking down, your eyes bludge as you take notice of the deep jaggered gash stretching across Bruce’s midsection.
“Oh my god, Bruce you’re bleeding” You whisper, pressing a hand towards the bleeding wound spreading its wetness further and further.
And as if he hadn’t even noticed before, Bruce takes his eyes off of you for the first time, looking down at the wound on his stomach. Ripping through skin and muslce so fiercely, lol or a lighting bolt only thicker and redder with blood.
“It’s fine, just a little scratch” Bruce replies, however he doubles over you anyway, hunched figure holding onto your shoulders as the pain rocks through him.
“You’re going to bleed out, we have to get you to a hospital” You cry, tears burning your eyes at the thought of losing him. You had just got him back, it isn’t fair.
“No, no, no hospital, take me to Alfred” Bruce erases our, copper spilling out of his mouth as he coughs violently.
“How? Bruce I can’t, you won’t make it if I walk you or-or get a cab-”
“Honey, honey I need you to listen to me, you have to take the Batmobile, it’s the only way” Bruce replies, as you haul him up gently onto his feet, resting his arm around you.
“What? You can’t possibly think I’ll be able to drive that” You mourn, the Batmobile was another thing entirely, a second extension of Batman himself. You don’t even know if it was suited for anyone else to drive without you know, hurting them.
“I’ve got about 10 minutes before the entire contents of my bloodstream is emptied between those fingers” Bruce replies wincing, as he angles himself so that he is resting his body weight on his good foot.
“You’ve got to do this, I know you can do this” He groans out, a wave of nauseous pain takes over him and he topples over, retching.
You have no choice, despite the spine tingling fear of driving Bruce’s most prized position, your man needed you, and if you didn’t step up, you would lose him right between your fingers.
“Okay, okay” You huff out, breathing air from your mouth as you shuffle towards the exit of the warehouse, Gotham twinkles in the depths of the night, the crumbling infested towers and roads of filth alive even now.
The Batmobile comes into view, in all its indestructible and formidable glory, and you gulp as you approach the mass of a vehicle.
You slide Bruce into the passenger seat, before walking around the car into the drivers compartment, the cool ventilated air of the Batmobile does little to ease the anxiety jittering your bones.
Bruce rips a rug in half, holding it between his teeth before wrapping it around his stomach, forcing the wound to soak up the cotton. He reached for a latch in the batmobiles left console, ripping open a syringe filled with some sort of golden liquid, handing it to you, he nods againts your wide eyes, towards his naked arm.
“What??” You reply ghastly
“Just some pain killer hun, ain’t nothing different than an IV”
Shaking, you brace his arm, before driving the needle into his arm, pressing down the contraption as you watch the liquid golden seep into his bloodstream.
Bruce winces before letting out a huffed breathe of releif, blowing out some strands across his face before leaning back.
You gawk at the millions of contraptions and buttons of the center console, parts you notice belonging to any normal car while others seemed intergalactic. You know Bruce had a knack for inventing even the most daring gadgets, technology that veered on science fiction. But this was something else entirely.
As if sensing your trepidation, Bruce walks you through the powering switch, before pressing a button from his sleeve that promoted a holographic figure of Alfred.
“Master Bruce? Y/N? Is that you?” Alfred replied in shock, the brisket white hairs of his eyebrows pulled tight.
“Alfred, god, Bruce has been hit, badly, he’s just- he was saving me and now- now” You hastily reply, a half sob crawling up your throat as your forced to recount the prior evidence.
“Jesus Christ, Bruce always over estimated himself in all the years I’ve known him, but taking down a whole sector with no back up??”
“It’s just a scratch Alfred, you-” wheeze- “you need to relax” Bruce replies coughing loudly
Alfred peers down at him in disapproval
“It’s save to say, I’ll be prepping the operating room and phoning in Dr Proctor” Sighs Alfred, the turbulence of caring for such a man, for two men, aging him.
The holographic projector of Alfred shuts down, as Bruce shifts his face to look at you, beads of sweat has formed across his forehead, a thin sheen coating his face.
“Now it’s all you baby, get us home” Bruce replies softly, you reach towards his face to brush away the dark wet strands falling across his face.
Pressing a hard kiss againts his forehead, Bruce quickly reachers for your cheek, pulling you down to press his soft lips against your own, swallowing the pain and anguish whispered between the both of you.
You can’t help but let the tears stream down your face, and as Bruce glides his tongue along your bottom lip in a strangled moan, he licks them away quickly.
Shuddering with squeezed eyes, you peer at Bruce’s figure, layed across the passenger seat, heavy breaths wheezing through his chest.
You turn back to the wheel of the Batmobile, your hands grip the wheel until the leather squeaks under your fingers. Everything from this terrrifying ordeal falls away, the men, Bruce’s final victim, that room..it’s muffled by the thick air of the Batmobile interior. You are Bruce’s, and you will fight teeth and bone to ensure he doesn’t die saving you, after all his done, after everything that had happened.
Most of your life, you’ve never been able to know exactly what you want, or what to do, until Bruce had swooped into your life, cape and all. And now you have one purposes at this moment, and it comes to you clear as day. Deep as bone, beyond flesh and blood.
You get him home.
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blondiebatter · 2 months
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✧・゚🍊: *✧👒🍨・゚:*
“Death Can’t Have You.”
Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader Part 1
Word count: 3,628 and some change probably
Warnings: Mentions of death, Blood, War stuff. This story takes place during the Paramount War Saga, so there might be some spoilers. So, if you have no idea what Impell Down or Marine Ford is and you don’t wanna know, then you might wanna skip this one, bbg. Also, swearing. Just thought I’d throw that one in there.
Part 2
Masterlist
✧・゚🍊: *✧👒🍨・゚:*
I wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead of myself and my brothers when the Moby Dick surfaced from the deep ocean and into the middle of Marine Ford. I stood next to Marco and Pops as Ace stared down, wide-eyed from his position at the top of the execution platform. We knew this would be war. We knew this would cost the lives of so many of our loved ones. We knew what to expect when the news was released that Blackbeard had turned Ace into the world government, when it was announced that he was to be executed for his crimes as a pirate. We were prepared for that sacrifice. We were prepared to lose lives to gain back a life that left months ago. The life that left his brothers behind to avenge family was murdered in cold blood.
“Ace, you can’t be serious. Please, just stop for a moment and think about this.” I tried to reason with the angered male, all of us hurting from the loss of Thatch. Marco stood next to me, arms crossed as he, too, disagreed with Ace’s wishes to hunt down Teach.
”I have to go. I’m his commander. He was in my division. I have to be the one to handle this. No one else needs to do it and he can’t get away with this. I won’t allow it.” Ace huffed as he paced Pops’ office, beyond heated as warms fell off of him in waves, raising the temperature drastically. Marco sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “(Y/n)’s right, yo. You don’t need to go. We need to sit down and sort this out as a crew. All of us commanders, yo.” Ace’s face twitches in contemplation before shaking his head in disagreement. “No. That’s the end of it. I’m going.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, my heart banging against my rib cage. My face felt hot and I could see beads of sweat rolling down Marco’s chest. Ace, of course, seemed unbothered by the change in the room. His heavy boots thumped against the wooden floor as he continued to pace, making Marco roll his eyes. Marco understood Ace’s reasoning one hundred percent, but he wasn’t being smart about this. He wasn’t being rational.
”Ace, yo. I understand your pain, I do but—“ Marco pauses for a moment as Ace’s stops in his tracks to listen to his friend, Ace’s burning holes in the wall as he takes in his words. “—You can’t jump into this. Not without a plan. You need to sit down, take a breather, and let us all figure this out, yo.” His jaw locks as his breathing becomes rough, his shoulders shaking as his hands ball into fists.
Ace’s eyes shift to mine and his brows furrow. The three of us were good friends, but Ace and I were the closest. I had joined just a few months before Whitebeard had found him and his crew, the ‘Spade Pirates’ he called them. He was their captain. After his rather pitiful attempt to fight Pops, he was pulled aboard with his crew and he’s been here ever since.
”Why does everyone call him Pops?” Ace sat up against the railing as Marco placed a bowl of food at his feet. “Because he’s our only family, yo. We’re his children. You can either kick rocks or stop being a hard ass and join us. Either way, Pops has been very gracious to you regardless of your sorry execution attempts, yo.” Marco gave the younger male a head shake in disapproval before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away. I gazed at the boy, who was hunched over, before sighing and taking a spot next to him.
There was a long silence before a small sniffle could be heard, making me raise a brow. He lifts his head and leans back, a small tear rolling down his freckled cheek.
”Y’know, it’s not so bad. Once you get used to being around everyone, it starts to feel like family. Like home.” I offered him a soft smile before holding out my hand to him. “I’m (Y/n). It’s nice to meet the guy who’s been trying to kill my dad.” I gave him an amused smirk as he stared at me questioningly. After a few beats pass, he places his large hand in mine to give it a firm shake. “Ace. Don’t sweat it.” I let out a laugh, causing a smile to crack across his face slightly. “I think you’ll be just fine, Ace. Pops has more patience than any man I know. He’s also the strongest, so don’t fight it. If you love Pops, he’ll love you ten times over. He’d do anything for his kids, believe me.” Ace contemplated my words before giving a firm nod. From then on, we were practically connected at the hip.
”Jeez, do you two ever separate, yo?” Marco rolled his eyes as we sat down at the commander’s table in the mess hall. Thatch let out a laugh as he slapped a heavy hand on Marco’s back, making him gag slightly on his ale. “Oh, let 'em be! It’s been a while since (Y/n) has been this lively! Ace is finally opening up, too. Let kids be kids, bird brain.” Marco lets out another grumble as he continues his meal, not saying anything else. Thatch then turns his attention towards the two with a smaller smile. “That being said, though. You do know that this is the commander’s table, right (Y/n)? Ace technically is not allowed to be here.”
I huff, rolling my eyes. Ace fiddled with the hem of his yellow shirt as he tried to ignore the conversation. He had felt like he was intruding since becoming closer with me, but I wouldn’t hear it. “And? Pops hasn’t said anything and no one in their right mind would say anything to me about it. If they did, they’d be on toilet duty for months.” I reasoned, taking a sip of water from my glass. “Besides, Ace is going to be a commander here soon anyway, right flame brain?” Ace perked up slightly, realizing I had spoken to him. “Huh? Oh, uh. Right?” He rubbed his neck awkwardly, making the rest of us commanders laugh. “Sure, sure. I’ll make an entire feist when freckles over here becomes a commander.”
”You better make that a promise! And make those cupcakes that I like!”
“Sure thing, (Y/n).”
And so, Thatch did just that when Pops declared Ace to be the second division commander. He had knocked me down a position, but I didn’t mind. I happily bit into the sweet treat that I had requested as Ace scarfed down his food like there was no tomorrow. “Slow down, kid! It’s not going anywhere!” He washed down his food with a swig of ale, knocking his toned chest. Everyone had gathered around to celebrate with their new brother, always looking for a reason to party. I was never much of a drinker, not a huge fan of having my senses dulled by the alcohol. Still, I happily sipped my ale as the feist rolled on and deep into the night. Marco and I sat against the rale as Ace and Thatch arm wrestled in the middle of the ship as shouts of our brothers called out to them, egging on the competition.
”He likes you, y’know.” Marco nods towards Ace, who whines in defeat as Thatch marches around in victory. I let out a snort as I swirl the beverage in my cup. “Well, I’d hoped so. That’d be a pretty one sided friendship, don’t ya’ think?” I smirked lightly with a small chuckle, though Marco didn't react to my quip. “That’s not what I meant, (Y/n). You know that, yo.” I chewed on my lip before taking another swig.
”You sure? I wouldn’t have bet my money on it.” Marco sighed, placing an arm over my shoulder. Marco was always like an older brother to me, making sure I stayed out of trouble— though, there was rarely any trouble for me to be in. I could take care of myself and he knew that. “Definitely, yo.” He nods towards the crowd.
Ace stands there with a few brothers from his division, eyes locked onto Marco and myself. His stare is heavy as his eyes burn holes into Marco, who still had his arm draped over my shoulder. Once the flame user’s eyes fell onto my frame, he blinked and he offered me a small smile and a wave— which I happily returned.
“Damn, maybe you’re right.”
Ever since then, Ace was always a little weird around Marco. The two were still good friends, however I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more or less a front. Like he was bearing through it.
One night, Ace had stumbled into my private quarters and that changed a lot for the two of us. The Moby Dick rocked violently with the angry waves of the Grand Line, the massive storm outside pushing and pulling the ship with ease. The Moby Dick was a strong vessel so there was no worry about the ship sinking. However, it was still an uneasy night. A thump had sounded out through my room and I almost thought I had imagined it, had it not been for Ace flicking on my desk lamp across the room.
“Fucking hell! Ace, what gives?!” I tugged the covers up and over my body, eyes glancing over to the pajama shorts that sat on the floor next to my bed. Ace says nothing as he kicks off his boots and places them next to the desk, mumbling something about ‘no sleep’ and ‘Teach snores’. This wasn’t that uncommon, Ace coming into my private quarters to get some shut eye, but he usually gave me a heads up first. Prime example, I usually had on pants.
Ace plops his hat down on the floor next to my shorts before pushing my shoulder over. “Move over.” My face was set ablaze as my fellow commander pulled back my sheets and slid into my bed next to me. “Wha— Ace! Wait a minute, let me—“ I panicked slightly as I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist. “I don’t even have on
pants!” Ace comfortably tucks his face into my neck, taking a deep inhale before relaxing. “Don’t care. Scoot over, my ass is hanging off the bed.” He grumbled against my skin, making me groan in defeat before giving him more room— effectively trapping me in between his body and the wall.
Thunder cracked loudly outside my window as the large vessel swayed once more with the waves, rain beating down on the glass. Ace let out a huff of annoyance, acknowledging that there will be little sleep tonight. He opted for a moment to get to know his friend a little more to pass the time.
”Hey, (Y/n)?” I hummed in acknowledgment, letting him know I was listening. He shifted slightly, pulling his face out of my neck to prop his head up in his hand. “Why did you join the crew? What made you wanna follow Pops?” I blinked, not expecting the deep question. Usually when Ace couldn’t sleep, he would ask dumb questions like ‘Do you think that Thatch hides stuff in his hair? I saw him pull a ladle out of there one time,’ or ‘Do you think I’m better looking than Marco? I have more hair, so I gotta be.’ This was a seriousness that I hadn’t expected from Ace during that moment.
”I,uh… It’s a long story.” I confessed, only to have a loud crack of thunder follow my explanation. “We got time.” I sighed, running a hand over my eyes. I had long since gotten over the fact that I have on no bra and no pants as Ace’s eyes scanned my features. I swallowed thickly and mentally prepared myself to talk about my past. I hoped and prayed that there would be no judgment from him, though the thought was silly. Ace wouldn’t judge me because of where I came from or who my family was. I knew that for a fact.
”To sum it up, my dad sucks. Like, ultra dick.” Ace lets out a chuckle at my profanity as I groan into my hands. “Yeah, there seems to be a streak of shitty fathers in the pirate community, huh?”
”You have no idea.”
”I think I can imagine.”
I let out another sigh before continuing my sob story. ”My father is a marine. A highly respected marine, at that. Acts like it, too. All high and mighty.” Ace raises a brow, but doesn’t comment on the new found information.
“He wasn’t always like that, but when my mother died he started to push himself into his work and soon, he climbed to the very top.” His eyes widened as he sat up fully in my sheets, pulling the covers away from my body. “You don’t mean your father is—“
”Yep. My old man is the one and only Sengoku. Fleet Admiral of the Navy. He’s an old bastard, too. Everyone in the navy looks up to him, but he’s the whole reason I ran away and became a pirate. I didn’t want to join the military. I wanted to live my own life, the way that I wanted. So, when I turned sixteen I ran away from Mary Geoise and started my life as a pirate. I took on my mother’s maiden name and hit the seas. Fun fact, my first bounty poster is of me giving the bird to my dad. I knew he would see it and the opportunity was too good to pass up.” I chuckled at the memory that felt so long ago, though Ace seemed very deep in his thoughts. My brows furrowed as I called out to him. “Hey, you okay?”
Ace was so lost in his mind that he hadn’t realized that I stopped talking, mentally rolling over my explanation. He thought about how similar the both of us were. Both of us with shitty fathers and how we wanted to be free. How we both took on our mother’s names and stuck it to the Navy that we were going to live life how we wanted, no matter the law. My lips formed into a small frown as I continued to tell my story.
”A few months after that, Pops found me at sea. I was lost and my sail had ripped in a storm. I was almost dead with no more water and no more food. I knew exactly who he was, and at first I wanted to join his crew just to piss off my old man. Then, when Marco and I got close he explained to me that it didn’t matter what Sengoku thought of me. It didn’t matter that I had a shit dad, because I had a new one now. When Pops announced that he had a daughter, the entire crew partied for a month straight. It was as if the impossible had been achieved.” I smiled warmly at the memory, remembering when Thatch had placed a large chocolate cake in front of me with more candles that seemed possible. In thick, yellow icing was written ‘Welcome Home, Little Sister!’. Marco had lit the candles and the entire crew sang me sea shanties as I cried like the little girl I was never allowed to be. Pops wanted me by his side at all times, and Marco and Thatch were always there to give me a hard time. I was a proud daughter of Edward Newgate, and he was a proud father of mine. Of all of us.
”I had a father that would love me the way I was supposed to be loved, surrounded with open arms and protection. Not military tactics and a cold shoulder.” I finished my story, though Ace still hadn’t said anything. The thought of silent judgment for my biological father sat heavy on my chest and nausea dug its way into my stomach.
”But look, it doesn’t matter who my old man is. I’ve got Pops and I would never do anything to hurt him or this crew. As far as I’m concerned, Edward Newgate is my father. No doubt about it. So please, don’t think for one second that I would sell out my father to the Navy. They would kill me before I allowed that—“
”I know.” Ace cut me off, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. I sat in silence, stunned by the edge in his voice. He was tense and I didn’t know why. We sat for a moment together, before he let out a sigh.
”I bet I got you beat in the ‘shitty old man’ competition.” Ace laid back down in my sheets and it was my turn to prop myself up and listen to him. I didn’t respond as I silently waited for him to continue.
”My father… was the most hated man in the world.” Ace’s brows furrowed as his lips twisted in a snear. His hands balled up my sheets in his hand, turning his knuckles white. Without much thought, I slipped my hand up and untangled his fingers from the linen— letting my smaller hands work soothing circles into his own. He relaxed slightly before continuing. “My father was Gol D. Roger, King of the Pirates.”
I felt my jaw tense up against my will, my hands stopping momentarily in their motion before continuing again as a silent way of telling him ‘Keep going, I’m listening. I’m here.’
”I hate him with every fiber of my being. He’s done nothing good for me and if anything, it makes me sick that I’m still here. It makes me wonder if I was truly meant to be in this world. If there is a purpose for me to sail the seas and breathe the air.” I sat up quickly, giving Ace a flabbergasted look.
”Ace, are you serious?” I asked him as my hair tumbled down and in my face. He followed my actions by sitting up as well as scratching his neck. “I—well, yeah. But the thing is—“ “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that, ever again!” My face was red in anger as I yelled at my friend. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Ace didn’t think he had a reason to be alive? That he didn’t deserve it?
“Do you honestly think that because my father is a bitch that I don’t deserve to be here? Do you?!” I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly as I yelled. He looked at me wide-eyed as his bangs swayed with my movement. “Do you think that I don’t deserve to live?! Huh, Ace?!”
“Yes! Yes, I do!!”
”Then what makes you think that you don’t deserve to be here?!”
”No one would miss me!”
”I WOULD MISS YOU!!”
Tears brimmed my eyes as the crushing reality of Ace’s inner thoughts were voiced. Was this why he was so willing to throw himself in harm's way? Was this why he was so brave and daring? Because he didn’t have a reason to be careful? To live?
”Ace, you mean the world to me! To Marco and Thatch! To that stupid little brother of yours! To Pops! You are so loved that it’s insane! I don’t give a shit who your father was. He could be the devil himself, but that doesn’t define who you are! You're Not Gol D. Ace, Son of Gol D. Roger. You’re Portgas D. Ace, Son of Edward Newgate! You aren’t your father, so stop thinking that you deserve to be punished for his wrong doings!” I hadn’t even noticed that I was crying until Ace had reached up to wipe away my tears, leaving me wide-eyed. Tears of his own brimmed his water line as the storm outside continued to rage on.
”Why… why are you crying for me?” He asked more so to himself than to me as his thumb softly collected the liquid that spilled from my eyes. “Because I care about you. I couldn’t think of a world without you and I don’t want to. A world without you is a world that I don’t want to be in.” The tears pushed over Ace’s lashes as his lip quivered. He yanked me forward and into his bare chest, holding me tightly. I straddled his hips as I ran my hands through his hair in a way to comfort him. Life had been so hard on him and I wanted nothing more than to take it away from him.
“Ace, I physically cannot express to you how happy I am that you are here.”
”Thank you, (Y/n).”
And as Ace sobbing into my chest, holding onto me for dear life, I realized something. It had been about twenty minutes or so since Ace had calmed down, now snoring softly against me as I raked my hands through his dark hair. His heart thumped against my stomach in a slow rhythm as he took soft breaths. I didn’t know how many people knew Ace’s story, but I would be damned if he were judged for it. As I held a broken man in my arms, I had made a silent vow to myself and Ace. I vowed that no matter what, he would live. He would live a full and happy life surrounded by those who loved him most. Above all else,
I wanted to be at the center of it all.
And that’s when I knew I was in love with Portgas D. Ace.
✧・゚🍊: *✧👒🍨・゚:*
This was getting pretty long, so I thought it might be best to split it into two parts.
Green Eggs & Ham,
Sunny
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