#CAPTAIN DADDY STRIKES AGAIN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkdemeter · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

────────────────┘

Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage.

He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria.

“Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

You mewl a small, whiney sound.

“Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

“Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure.

“Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside.

He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his.

The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours.

His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him.

“Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks.

“L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain.

“C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.”

The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly.

“Captain…”

“Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

“Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen.

It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair.

Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks.

“Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.”

Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

“Yes…”

You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

“Atta girl.”

Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company.

Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you. To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian.

These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her.

“Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement.

With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed.

It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act.

And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy.

And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic.

I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind.

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

“Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with.

“Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you.

The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness.

Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend.

Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin.

Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest.

“Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards.

“And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

“Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug.

“There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers.

“Fuckin’ thievin’—”

“Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself.

Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman.

Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you.

In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend.

By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin.

Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness.

You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard.

Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg.

A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump.

“Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven.

“We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie.

The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days.

Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses.

Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts.

“Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?”

“Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering.

“You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…”

You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch.

If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks.

“You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

“Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair.

Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of.

It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles.

A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them.

These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

“Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage.

“We set sail at dawn.”

His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew.

“Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

“Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight.

“What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes.

“Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze.

Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise.

With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns.

Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks.

“Mina!”

She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides.

“My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

“She does not speak that way anymore.”

The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving.

And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

“May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently.

He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly.

You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around.

The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre.

The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage.

Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds.

Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills.

You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately.

She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows.

Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body.

In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl.

What do you remember?

Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer.

I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

And what did this necklace look like?

Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion.

What is it?

She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

Royalty. Pearls represent royalty.

The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over.

You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit.

Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below.

Your mother - the Queen - is dead.

Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure.

This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow.

At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you.

In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive.

The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards.

She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question.

What else about this necklace can you tell me?

I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk.

Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you.

What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words.

His gaze never softens to me…

In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers.

“Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water.

“Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

#bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x reader smut #pirate au #siren reader #pirate bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut

204 notes · View notes

scarletevening · 9 months

Text

golden syrup [ john price ]

i had a vision, i also want money

cw: suggestive [not any nicer than with könig] , foul language, age difference [hes like 40 or smth], objectification?, typical confusing sugar daddy behavior, toxic relationship, fem! reader.

Sugar Daddy! Price, always buys you chocolates when he gets back from work, no matter how much you complain about it being unhealthy or bad for you it is, he just holds your waist and whispers in his gruff voice, "I love you."

Sugar Daddy! Price, who buys you a pretty dress for each military ball, amused by your adorable shyness, clinging to his arm as your hips sway besides his, the bespoke dress making you irresistible to look at. Luckily, the Captain is intimidating enough to glare down any pathetic, greedy man away.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who is too focused and stressed by work to realize how needy for him you are. Even when you stand beside his desk. Confused by all the military mumbo jumbo, you simply rubbing your knee against his thigh, leaning down to smell his hair, as you trace your hands across his shoulder, looking for him to turn his focus. But he doesn't, simply handing you his black card and shooing you with his hand, making you pout, pulling on his sleeve, but he doesn't turn. You were his relief, not his lover.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who comes out of his office in fury, a mess made by someone or another, as he grasps your arm, ignoring the pout the sat on your pretty plush lips from earlier, yanked you over to the nearest surface, bending you over as he practically tears your clothes off, letting you moan into his hair and neck as his lips taste your sweet skin.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who loves to take you on dates, loves when you prance in front of him in the clothes you're trying on, loves to buy you every piece of clothing you fawn over, let alone glance at, loves when you let him tease your clit in the dressing room of a lingerie shop.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always buys you pretty jewelry with any diamond, gold, silver, or gem that you want. His favorite pieces being first, the diamond medallion he gifted you the first day he fucked you, and the second, being the thin, delicate anklet with his name, adoring the way it dangled over his shoulders every night, kissing the hot metal to soothe you as his he fucks you dumb.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always sends you more money than you two agreed on, knowing you'll never deny him. Always has an extra band ready for you, a, as he liked to call it, "little" reward for the times he liked to make his little sugar baby into a sobbing mess.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who couldn't fathom the bubbling venom growing in the pit of his stomach, watching you laugh and giggle with another man, knowing exactly the name of this bitterness, refusing to summon the devil. He rushes towards you, towering over you as he looks as both you, and the man he recognized to be a new recruit. "Not for much longer." He thought to himself, grabbing your hand slowly, his movements controlled as his fingers constricted around your wrist like a snake. Lucky for you, his extra band came in handy.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who was merciless that night, not to be confused with his usual roughness, adoring the blush that adorned your round ass, the flesh burning from the searing hot strikes of his hand, each movement after the next making your mind melt, your little messy cunt squeezing desperately for him. He laughed, laughed at the way you squirmed, laughed at how you reacted when he teased you, he was laughing at you, his cute little stress reliever.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who never pulls out, "might as well get my moneys worth, yeah, little girl?" treating your shoulder like a jawbreaker as he bites down, teeth sinking into you plush skin, ensure that pathetic recruit would never dare to lift his eyes again. The smell of his intoxicating cologne, combined with the smell of the cigarette still lit in his left hand, making you only mildly capable of babbling his name as he buries himself within you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

this was so exhausting to write but it was soo worth it.

also i cant be the only one that thinks price lowkey looks like a puppy, yk? i think its the mustache.

directory

#price #price x reader #captain price x you #ao3 #suggestive #ao3 author #captain price smut #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #price smut #cod smut #mw2 smut #sugardaddy

330 notes · View notes

letsgetrowdy43 · 6 days

Text

Playoffs: Round 1 Game 1—

Au Masterlist!!

Honeyhughes just posted!!

Liked by lhughes_06 and 39 826 others

Honeyhughes electric is an understatement, Vancouver you are wild 💙

Load more comments

User73 the wag jackets omg 🫣

Bradytkachuk but did you drink all three of those beers??

Honeyhughes I haven't drank in over 9 months. I earned those three beers!!

User29 I'm never getting over girl dad Quinn.

Canucks 💙

User91 Captain Daddy strikes again

Elblue06 love this little family ❤️

Honeyhughes we love you so much Ellen, so happy to have you here <3

User83 love my little orcas!!

User20 I had chills watching from home.

Jackhughes you have the cutest kids.

Honeyhughes ik 🤭

User02 obsessed is an understatement 🥹

#thelittlesthughesau!!#quinn hughes #dad!quinn hughes #quinn hughes insta edit

82 notes · View notes

lewiscarrolatemybrain · 3 months

Text

Y’know what I REALLY want

Time-travel Luffy-Raises-ASL-Fic where Ace still joins the Whitebeard Pirates. He isn’t motivated by wanting to surpass Roger anymore, but being a great pirate is still his dream, so their interactions start the same as in canon, with Ace attacking Whitebeard and Whitebeard offering to adopt him.

However, this time, the reason Ace freaks out and refuses isn’t because of his daddy issues or because he thinks Whitebeard will never accept the son of his enemy. It’s because Ace already has a dad. The best dad! Fuck you, old man, Ace doesn’t need another dad!

I imagine a better-adjusted Ace would end up charming the Whitebeards even faster than he did in-canon, with them doing stuff like patching him up post-failed-assassination-attempt and giving him meals like in canon, but with him thawing much faster and forgetting he’s supposed to be an enemy to these people because this time his childhood was full of friends and little brothers and adventure and joy, so he’s cracking jokes and having conversations and then remembering he’s Here On A Mission and shutting down again. And this means that they probably wear him down faster too, cause Ace was raised to see the value of family and these guys have it in spades (ha!).

Which all means that eventually, one day, instead of making the expected attempt on Whitebeard’s life, Ace instead asks if they’ve got a Den Den he could borrow.

Ace calls his dad, of course, and is already listing his million and one excuses for why he can’t join this crew and how this is so dumb and he just wanted to check in cause he hasn’t done that in a while and he knows his dad worries—

And I imagine a more mature, grown-up Luffy who remembers his brother being so very starved for love would have a lot to say about how lots of people have two fathers and he could never be upset or offended by the idea that more people might want to love and protect and support Ace, but what I really want is for him to say all that and then go “actually, put Whitebeard on the phone. Yes, really. Right now.”

So Ace has to shuffle awkwardly out on deck to hand over the Den Den like “my dad………. Wants to talk to you.”

And of course this is too funny to make private, so Whitebeard is right there on deck on speaker while all of his nosy children drop what they’re doing to crowd around and listen to this while Ace’s dad is like “Hi! I hear we’re splitting custody.”

I imagine this would be kinda weird for Whitebeard too honestly. Most of his children are orphans or come from troubled backgrounds. He’s never adopted someone who already had loving parents waiting for them back home, but here he is, chatting with this man who does not seem the least bit intimidated by speaking to Captain Whitebeard Himself.

Newgate immediately decides he likes this guy, of course, and they strike up an immediate friendship, of course. And then months later on some island when someone overhears Whitebeard affectionately mention his “co-parent” and jumps to conclusions and spreads the news about Whitebeard’s Secret Lover, the two team to do their solemn fatherly duty of antagonizing the shit out of their poor kids by Not Correcting The Rumor.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #portgas d ace #edward newgate #whitebeard pirates #time travel

79 notes · View notes

storiesofsvu · 1 year

Text

A Dangerous Game Ch 6

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, usual BAU case type violence/talk, smut, daddy kink, breeding kink/cum kink..... sorry for the delay on this ch, i just kept getting stuck uninspired to write this week despite desperately wanting to! i hope this week is better but im wokring more shifts and managing this weekend so i doubt it lol send me good vibesis anyone else having trouble with desktop? Like it LAGS so bad when i try to type. Ive swapped browsers, cleared out my computer & i swear its just worse….

You’d reached your six month mark with the BAU, which meant you’d been called into Emily’s office in the middle of a paperwork day, your heart nearly skyrocketing in your chest until you realized what it was about. She praised your work, both in the field and at the home office, commending how good of a fit you were for the team, and that she couldn’t be happier with your placement, and that you were putting down roots here, that you felt comfortable enough to do so. While you had been on edge at first, the meeting relaxed almost instantly, while she was still your superior, there was a sense of comfortability as you talked, laughter and jokes passed back and fourth. Right as you stood from your chair when she’d dismissed you she spoke once again,

“Hey, Pen and I are grabbing drinks after work, you wanna join?”

“You… sure that’s a good idea?” You raised a brow and she chuckled at the meaning behind your words.

“We’re allowed to be friends, aren’t we?”

“Guess we are.” You smiled back, “yeah, that sounds great.”

It may have been your six month mark since starting with the BAU, but today was the start of allowing yourself to be friends with and be seen with Emily while in your home territory. You just reminded yourself that this didn’t mean anything was changing, you’d picked up on it before Emily had even brought it up. Penelope had jokingly asked over coffee if you were scared of Emily, and that there was no reason to be, because under that dark exterior she truly was a softie. You’d laughed it off, saying that at your last posting your superior was strictly that, he’d been the type to not separate work from anything else, keeping the boundaries between employees strict and never hanging out with the team. Thankfully that was enough of an answer for Penelope and she didn’t ask anymore questions.

Medford, Oregon was the next city that the team was called to.

This time the unsub was targeting couples, and after some examination, the team was quick to figure out his hunting ground was spilt between three separate bars, and on a scheduled rotation, it was almost like he wanted to get caught. The profile was made and JJ was the one to announce it on the local news for what to look out for, withholding just the right amount of information to make sure he’d strike again.

“I don’t like this whole sit around and wait tactic.” The local captain grumbled.

“We’re not going to sit around and wait.” Emily pointed out, “we know where he’s going to be tonight.”

“So what? We just stake out the location and pull over anyone suspicious? That’ll be great for business.”

“We’re going to send in some undercovers.” She retorted and it was his turn to laugh.

“I don’t know how the FBI works agent, but that kind of thing takes time out here.”

“Good thing I came with reinforcements.” She practically smirked, glancing through the team, “JJ’s already made herself known… Wilson? How’d’you feel about stepping up?”

“You ask that like I have a choice in the matter.” You laughed, shifting up onto the desk behind you, “yeah I can handle it.”

“Good.” Her eyes danced over everyone for a moment, “you and Morgan will handle this.”

“You two up to that?” The local asked, “this guy, he only takes vics who are guaranteed to leave together, ones who are clearly couples.”

“Oh I think baby girl and I can handle it.” Derek chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and you groaned, playfully shoving him away from you.

“Morgan keep your hands to yourself until we’re on the job.” You teased and he laughed again, ducking down to kiss your cheek leading you to shove him away from you again.

“We’ll get you two ready and wired up and as much as I want you immersed in your roles please remember that we don’t know what this guy looks like yet, you need to be aware of your surroundings.” Rossi commented and the two of you nodded, assuring him that you were up for the task. Someone had to get this unsub taken down, no matter what kind of pretending you had to do in the meantime.

Voodoo Martini was the location for your little set up that evening, JJ and Spencer set up already inside, separately at opposite ends of the bar. Emily and Dave were monitoring with the sheriff in an unmarked van out front with back up around the block. They’d gone in before the bar opened, outfitting it with cameras to monitor the situation and Emily was currently kicking herself for having to send you in on a case like this one. A last minute shopping trip to accurately fit the part left you in a scoop necked halter top, tits pushed up and practically bouncing with each step you took and a pair of jean shorts that Derek already had his hand in the back pocket of while the two of you approached the entrance to the bar.

His arm wound securely around your waist as you entered the place, glancing around as if you were checking to see if anyone you knew was there tonight. The place was pretty full already, dark with coloured lights highlighting the room, soft strobes over on the dance floor. One wall was lined with booths, high top tables scattered throughout the space and two bars, one in the corner of the dance floor beside the DJ booth that was three steps down from the level you entered on where the other larger bar was. Approaching that, Derek squeezed at your side,

“Grab me a beer sweetheart? I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and slipped off into the crowd leaving you to greet the bartender.

You ordered the beer for him along with a vodka soda for yourself, turning so your body language was open to the room, eyes surveying the crowd for a moment while you took the first couple of sips of your drink. It wasn’t long after that a guy came up, introducing himself as Brandon and asked if he could buy you a shot, you accepted and turned the flirt on just the right amount. You knew Derek was back before you felt his hand on your waist simply at the way Brandon tensed,

“Miss me?” Derek greeted, his free hand brushing your hair off to the side so he could kiss your neck, pulling you snug to him as you slid the beer in his direction.

“Could you have taken any longer? Fuck.” You nipped at his jaw, “meet Brandon.” You gestured to the other man, who practically squeaked out an excuse about needing to meet his friends before scurrying off and Derek chuckled into your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

“Not our guy.” He murmured.

“He did approach thinking I was alone.” You replied, turning to face him and he kept you close, his free hand moving under your chin, tilting it up to him.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, “well the guy at ten o’clock has had his eye on you since you walked in and hasn’t stopped staring since I came back.”

“I’m not stupid enough to look, I’ll trust your instinct.”

“You trust my instinct to turn up the heat now then?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow and you held back the urge to roll your eyes.

“These guys are good.” Emily commented from inside the van, “better than I expected.”

“Almost too good.” Rossi replied, gesturing towards the tv, it gave them video access but no audio. Emily’s eyes drifted back toward the screen and widened at the sight of Derek pulling you closer to him as the two of you kissed, “you sure these two aren’t sleeping together?” Dave asked and Emily did her best not to choke on her coffee, letting out a laugh.

“Doubt it.”

“Dunno,” the sheriff cut in, “if two members of my squad looked like that, I’d think they were.”

“Now that I think of it, when we were in Miami I was going to the ice machine and I saw Wilson sneaking back into her room, looked like she was coming from the direction of Morgan’s.”

“You know who would know the answer to this?” Emily was doing her best to shush the topic as quick as she could, Dave glanced toward her with a raised brow, “Garcia.”

“Good call.” He nodded with a small chuckle, turning back to the surveillance in front of them.

Back inside the club, Derek and you mingled, wandering between the bar, a high top table and very reluctantly, you let him drag you out onto the dance floor. You were careful to alternate your drinks with glasses of soda water that looked like they still had booze in them, but still played up the illusion of being drunk. The two of you chatted with more than a few club goers, first to make sure you looked and were approachable, and second to try and find your target. A few hours later and you found yourself back up at the bar, talking with Drew, the guy who Derek had clocked right as you’d gotten there. He certainly seemed interested, buying the both of you another round as the three of you got to know each other a little bit better, pulling lies out of thin air as you went. You’d just accepted a fresh drink from Drew, raising it to clink against his glass, your hand lingering on his arm a moment too long when your phone buzzed on the bar top. Your brow furrowed and you felt a surge of anxiety shoot through you at the notification being labelled ‘Prentiss’ so you quickly scooped it open and swiped open the message.

‘We’re at the wrong place, news bulletin must’ve spooked the unsub. Just found a body two blocks from Whiskey River.’

‘Copy that.’

You nudged at Derek, showing him the screen as you spoke, “babe, our ride’s here.”

“Better get goin’. Thanks for the drinks man.” He clapped Drew on the shoulder as you hopped off the bar stool, swiping a pen from the bar top.

“Sorry we’ve gotta leave like this.” You feigned a pout, grabbing his hand and writing down seven random numbers, “call me.” You shot him a wink before the two of you slipped out of the bar, not dropping the act until you climbed into the SUV.

The rest of the night felt like a whirlwind as you left the bar, the team and local pd splitting up to canvas and examine the crime scene to try and figure things out. While you were glad to be out of the club and finally away from Derek’s lingering touches you could still practically feel the heat from his body on you and that was making you absolutely crave the touch of Emily. Part of you was starting to wish you could have gone undercover with her instead, though you knew you never would have been able to keep focussed and you doubt she could’ve either.

Emily did her best not to stare at you, wishing she could have just five minutes alone with you to pin you to a wall and have her way with you. She felt her stomach twisting at the memory of Derek’s hands all over you, the way he’d slowly kissed up your neck to show off to Brandon, just how well the two of you had done at posing as a couple. She was proud of the UC skills but it also lowkey made her want to throw up in her mouth. Having you still dressed in the same clothes, with just an FBI hoodie over top while you moved through the crime scene certainly wasn’t helping anything either.

Despite not catching the unsub you and Derek still stopped for a shot at the hotel bar when you finally got home before going your separate ways, a way to say ‘good job’ to the other without having to actually discuss things that had happened. You got back to your hotel room, your head tilting when the door opened and you found Emily perched on the end of your bed, a satin robe loosely tied over her naked body, the bulge between her legs evident.

“You here to debrief me?” You asked with a grin, pulling the hoodie off and tossing it to the spare bed as Emily stood, stepping toward you before her hand gently grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up to her.

“No.” She smirked, “I’m here to remind you who you belong to.”

“Oh?” Your eyes widened and she chuckled, dropping your face from her hand.

“I know it was all an act, but what can I say? I don’t like when other people touch my things.” She shrugged, her hand trailing down your body, slipping between your legs, “and who does this pussy belong to?” She grabbed at your cunt and you gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

“You daddy…” You breathed out, your eyes fluttering shut and she chuckled.

“That’s what I thought.” Her hand tickled up your body again, tugging at the hem of your shirt as it went and you pulled it off, “I think it’s about time daddy marks you, hmm angel… would you like daddy to stuff you with cum?”

“God yes.” You practically moaned, fingers swiftly getting rid of the robe she had on, gulping over the size of the strap she had on.

“Good.” She smirked, her hands undoing your bra, letting it fall to the floor before they slipped into the waistband of your shorts, urging you to shove them down your legs along with your panties.

Before she could even get another word out you’d sunk to your knees in front of her, looking up at her with doe eyes, a pout on your lips before your tongue darted out, swiping a long lick on the underside of her cock.

“Please?”

“Christ.” She muttered, feeling herself flutter around nothing at the idea of it alone as she nodded and you let out a small giggle.

A moment later and your lips had wrapped around the toy, sinking down to the base, letting it hit the back of your throat in the same moment the base of the toy hit Emily’s clit and she groaned softly. Her hand tangled into your hair, watching the way you began to bob on her length, wet, sinful sounds leaving your lips as you did so. You were eager and she was never going to deny something like the sight of you on your knees for her, you were so fucking hot.

One of your hands glided up her thigh and your fingers slipped under the strap, beginning to toy with her pussy and she gasped. The moment two of your fingers slipped into her wetness she moaned, her free hand clutching at the dresser, never in her life had she had someone get her off while she fucked their mouth and it was an entirely new sensation she would never forget. The sight of you in front of her, burying her cock into your throat, the way your skin bulged as she did so, the eager way you sucked more and more into your lips with each thrust was already enough for her. But now there you were, fingers fucking into her with ease, curling and twisting with expertise, easily finding the sensitive spot within her walls. She was moaning before she knew it, tugging at your hair, holding you down on her cock, living for the sounds you made groaning around it as your fingers fucked her faster, the wet sounds from her cunt getting louder and dirtier with each move of your hand.

“Oh fuck… fuck princess!” She cried and her cock slipped from your mouth with a lewd pop, your fingers not letting up.

“You gonna come for me daddy?” You asked, your voice like silk, the tip of her dick resting against your cheek while your fingers curled within her once again and her thighs shuddered. “I know you want to.” You teased, lips wrapping around her cock once again for a couple of pulses, “come in my mouth. Please?”

“Fuck…” Emily swore softly, watching the way you wrapped around her cock once more as your fingers picked up the pace and within a matter of seconds she was shaking above you, orgasm rocking through her as you continued to bob on her cock.

Her hand shifted from the dresser to the base of the toy and you let her pull it from your lips, opening your mouth as your tongue extended out, waiting for her cum. She shivered in the cool air of the room as she squeezed at the base of the toy and the lube spurted out into your mouth.

“Ah!” Her hand shot out to your jaw right before you went to close it and you grinned as she did so. Emily ducked over you, her tongue surging into your mouth, scooping up as much of the lube as she could, deeply kissing you before pulling away ever so slightly. She then opened her lips, letting it drip down back into your mouth until it was painting your tongue once again, “good girl.”

She watched as you closed your mouth, swallowing the lube before presenting her with a clean empty mouth.

“Get on the bed so daddy can fill that needy pussy with cum.” She nudged at your shoulder and you were quick to scramble onto the bed, watching as she refilled the dildo. “On your hands and knees angel.”

You quickly flipped, letting out a low moan as Emily’s hand sunk between your legs, her fingers teasing your folds, smearing your wetness around, “you really this wet from just getting daddy off? You naughty girl.” She cooed.

“Please…. Please daddy…” your eyes scrunched shut, “need your cock.. now..”

“Now?” She chuckled, the tip of it sliding through your lower lips, resulting in a low moan from you as your hips pushed back toward her, “I guess you really are needy.” She sunk the tip into you before pulling it out, a whine escaping your lips, “well, you were good today princess, I guess I’ll give you what you want.” She sunk fully into you with ease and you groaned, “words baby….”

“Hard and fast.” You murmured, doing your best to bury yourself into the pillows as she gripped your hips with a dark chuckle.

The first thrust Emily gave you was harder than you expected, a loud gasp leaving your lungs before you bit down onto the pillow, the next one just as hard, as you’d asked for. Her hands gripped at your skin so tightly you knew you’d likely have some kind of marking the next morning. Each pump of her hips met yours with vigor, moans leaving both your lips. She couldn’t help but admire just how well you took it, how much of a good girl you really were.

“Christ baby..” She swore, “doing so fucking good for daddy. Already creaming all over my cock… you gonna come already?” She let out a groan at the sight of the toy smeared with your juices, knowing just how good she was making you feel.

“More… please!” You begged, feeling the pleasure surge through you, your pussy clenching down around her cock, wishing it would never end.

“Want me to touch you?” She asked, her hand wrapping around your hips in search of your clit.

“Choke me…” you managed to utter out between soft moans and Emily felt herself flutter once again. She let out a quiet swear before pulling you flush up to her by the hair, smirking as you moaned at the sensation. Her hand ghosted up your body before wrapping around your throat, squeezing as she continued to fuck you.

“That’s my dirty girl.” She purred into your ear, “so fucking naughty for daddy, you just love it don’t you?”

“Uh.. ye… yes..” Your entire body was on fire, you felt like you were about to burst yet there was something missing. Something that Emily only took a second to realize what it was, her free hand shifting from your hip to your clit, pinching and rubbing furiously at it until you were shaking in her arms, doing your best to not be too loud as your orgasm rocked through you.

The hand around your throat vanished, letting you drop to the bed while the other one returned to your hip, Emily feeling herself pulse as she watched you come. She pumped her hips a few more times before she squeezed at the base of the toy, shooting her cum deep into your greedy cunt. You let out a very satisfied moan at the sensation, shuddering as she softly fucked it deeper into you.

“Fuck…” you muttered.

“You like that?” She chuckled, raising a brow.

“Want you to come in me every time.” You mumbled the reply and she laughed, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades as she slipped out of you.

“I think that can definitely be arranged.”

_______

@ssa-sapphic @mickey-gomez @clarawatson @cabotfan42 @momlifebehard @alexusonfiree @melindawarnersgf @itisdoctortoyousir @emilyprentiss4life @softgamerking @httpjupiterbby @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry @mysticfalls01 @anya-casablanca @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @aliensaurusrex @alcabots @7thavenger @ladysc @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @thegrantwaterr @leftoverenvy @kades95 @disneyfan624 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @augustvandyne @supercriminalbe @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @kdaghay @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @bluetodie @awolfcsworld @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4natt @midnight-sapphic

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #a dangerous game #emily prentiss series #criminal minds fanfic

286 notes · View notes

canonicallyobserving911 · 1 month

Text

Buddie: One Shot and Multi-Chapter Fanfics

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

Multi-Chapter

6B Speculation

“I gave you a son and a family!” - 60.6K words; Rated Mature: Eddie tells Buck he already gave him a son and a family and Buck realizes he misunderstood but they stop talking after their argument and they won’t have time to fix it before they almost lose each other again.

After 6x12 Speculation

Come with me to Italy! - 25.2K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie take a 10-day trip to Italy so they can heal together but Eddie doesn’t know Buck’s also thinking about relocating to Italy to become a firefighter.

After 6x15 Speculation

“From here on out, it’s all a gift!”- 22.4K words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck feels like the person he just met “sees” him for who he is and what he’s been through while Eddie feels alone and admits he doesn’t want to be anymore. Everything they’ve been searching for has been right in front of them for years and the universe is tired of waiting. To help them realize “it’s all a gift”; it hurls another shared trauma in their direction but will it be too late for them to appreciate it?

Season 7 FANON Speculation

“I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!” Currently 25 chapters are available - 973.1K Words; Rated: Mature: This is an EPIC LOVE STORY! Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it. But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be spectacular. This fic will take Eddie and Buck places the show refuses to go. This is a multi-chapter fic that will be posted one chapter at a time.

One Shots

The Buckley-Diaz Family

Let’s go visit daddy! - 2.1K words; Rated General Audiences: After a tough call, Eddie visits Buck at the firehouse.

The Buckley-Diaz Family Budget - 7.6K Words; Rated General Audiences: After completing their weekly grocery shopping and realizing inflation has increased the costs of all the food they usually purchase, Eddie returns home, calls a family meeting and explains to Buck and Chris their family needs to tighten their budget. But something important happens that prompts Eddie to break the family’s ‘no spend challenge’.

You’re the youngest firefighter to ever make Captain within the LAFD! - 5.6K words; Rated General Audiences: Buck’s nervous about his first day as Captain of the 118 but Eddie’s there to encourage him because he knows Buck can do it.

Married

“Always remember how much I love you!” - 16.2K Words; Rated Mature: Eddie receives a terminal medical diagnosis but he hides it from Buck. Buck can tell something’s wrong and when Eddie finally tells him what happened, they work through it together.

“You Mean the World to Me!” - 7.8K Words Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: After a chance encounter at the scene of an accident, Eddie decides to surprise Buck and they fall even more in love than they already are.

“In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part!” - 20.0K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: While Eddie’s working a 48-hour shift, Buck notices something that requires immediate medical attention but he doesn’t tell Eddie about it until he gets home from work. Throughout this difficult time, they’ll hold onto each other like they always do and they’ll fulfill every aspect of their marriage vows, especially the part about “in sickness and in health”.

Dating, Engaged & Love Confessions

Let me love you - 3.3K words; Rated General Audiences: Or Eddie doesn't think he deserves to be loved by Buck but he's wrong and Buck proves just how wrong he is.

I love the way you heat things up in the kitchen - 4.2K words; Rated Mature: Buck is supposed to be teaching Eddie how to bake a cake but they end up leaving the uncooked batter on the counter as things heat up between them.

“Believe half of what you see” - 7.7K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: With only a few weeks left until their wedding, Eddie sees Buck having dinner with a woman and he assumes he’s not enough for him and he thinks he never will be. But did he actually see what he thought he saw?

6x11 Speculation

“You’re my angel... oh angel” (Eddie prays) - 1.9K words; Rated General Audiences: Eddie can’t lose Buck, his angel and the love of his life. After Buck’s wheeled into the ER, Eddie goes to the hospital’s chapel to ask, no plead for him to live.

Chris talks to “his Buck” - 2.2K words; Rated General Audiences: Chris talks to “his Buck/second dad” while Buck's in a coma.

Season 7 FANON Speculation

“You wanna go for the title?” - The Rematch - 7.5K Words; Rated Mature: Eddie asks Buck for a rematch to the video game they played three years ago. However, the stakes are much higher this time because Eddie's playing to win Buck’s heart.

Alone Together - 13.3K Words; Rated: Mature: While Chris is away at Summer Camp, Eddie plans a weekend getaway for him and Buck because he’s going to prove to him that he does not suck at dating.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buddie fanfic #buckley diaz family #The Diaz Family #911 on abc #911 abc #911 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

46 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 2 months

Text

pt 1

The kids were in bed and Buggy decided to stay with them for the night. He hated the idea of going back to their ship without them, having another lonely night without the kids making noise or Sunny sleeping next to him. Endured it in prison and on the ship already. He wouldn't go another night.

Sunny wasn't upstairs when he came out of the kids room after making sure they were asleep. He checked everywhere with no luck, but the soft glow coming downstairs caught his eye. Right, she mentioned fixing his coat. Was there something wrong with it?

He went downstairs, pausing when he saw her fixing a cuff, some buttons, and taking care of a weak spot in the material. He stood and watched her for a moment, not wanting to interrupt, but she stood up suddenly, holding the jacket out to him.

"I need to see it on you."

"How did you know I was standing there?!" He asked as she approached him holding the coat out. He let her put it on, slipping his arms through the sleeves as she pulled it onto his shoulders.

Sunny looked at him amused as she smoothed the fabric out on his shoulders. "You're my husband. I'm used to you staring at me when I'm doing things."

Oh, she did say husband. Maybe... She wasn't mad? Maybe Buggy was jumping to conclusions about them? Maybe they were okay?

She looked him over as she circled him, making sure the cuff looked right, that the buttons were secured, and that the weak spot had strengthened. She took a step back, looking him up and down as she put her hands on her hips.

"Yea, okay. That looks good."

"Well, of course it looks good!" Buggy said, striking a pose for her and winking. "My wife is the best tailor in all the seas and she's married to the Captain Buggy after all!"

"You can be as cute as you want, I'm still mad." She said as she stepped forward to inspect one of the buttons she didn't fix yet. "I'm glad you're home and safe, but I'm mad that you did something dumb like that."

He deflated a little bit but straightened back up. "As you say, I'm home and safe, that must count for something!" He grabbed her hands, clasping them in his. "No divorce, right?"

"After 15 years you think I'm divorcing your silly ass?" She asked, eyebrow arched as she buttoned up the jacket on him. "Who else would marry you?"

"Oh, that's mean." Buggy sighed. "But true."

"Very." Sunny said as she stepped back from him to look him over again. "Looks like it fits. I think you lost some weight but that's to be expected. I just need to fix one more button and I want to make sure the lining is good. Should be done this week."

"This week?"

"Well, I'm not leaving Benji on short notice. He can have me until the end of the week to fulfil orders." Sunny told him as she stepped forward to unbutton the coat. "I'm mad at you but I'm glad you're home safe, okay? Seeing you was a shock. The kids have been asking when they'd see daddy again and I keep having to tell them soon. Now that you're here, no more stupid shit, please."

"Of course!" Buggy nodded. "On my honor as a pirate! No more stupid shit!" He threw his arms around her, crushing her against his chest before he peppered kisses over her face. She let him have a moment before pulling away from him.

"Listen, Buggy, I didn't stay on the ship after your arrest because... It was too painful to be there without you." Sunny told him as he reached out for her once again. "And the kids were upset, because when the kids went down for their nap that day, you were still around and when they woke up they had to learn daddy would be away for a while. No goodbye hugs or anything."

"B-But I'm back now! I won't get arrested again, Sunny babe, I promise!"

"Uh huh." Sunny started to slide the coat off him. "You say that now..."

"Buggy the Clown will not be arrested again, I swear on my ship!" Buggy insisted. Sunny looked up, eyebrow raised as he helped slip the coat off so she could hang it up. "...on my life?"

"Better." Sunny retorted. "I love you but don't you ever do something like that again, understand? Listen to your wife when she tells you something may be a bad idea, got it?"

Buggy wanted to ask what the consequences could be if he didn't listen, but decided not to take the risk. She didn't seem as upset as she was earlier. She had fed him dinner, made sure he ate at least two helpings, and she had mentioned how the bed was big enough for two which he figured was an invite to stay the night for sure. So he nodded, not wanting to push his luck.

"I promise I won't do something dumb like that again, Sunny, baby, my love." He assured her as his arms went back around her. "My next venture isn't as dumb as getting arrested, I promise."

#buggy the clown #sunny x buggy #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #oc x canon

22 notes · View notes

mirahuyooo · 1 year

Text

Stranded (I) | jhs

— But, darling, if you hadn’t fallen, you wouldn’t have met him—the one who’ll render you mad and drunk with his love so much that you’ll never want to find sanity again.

word count: 10,458 (PART I) contents: ANGST, fLUff, drAMa, Theseus, stages of grief but its kinda all over the place, rUNAWAY PRINCESS!!! yikes, betrayal yIKES, implied drugging, hEARTBREAK, you have a sucky sucky childhood, daddy issues, a lot of artistic interpretation but I think this is my most favorite one AAAAAA, not necessarily accurate (i mixed up a lot of versions and made up some shit), a bit historical?? idk anymore, Greek Mythology AU pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Inspired by Dionysus and Ariadne

[masterlist] | check out [Elysian Tales] & [BTS as Greek Myth Icons]!

A/N: HeRE iT ISSS! I HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS LIL SHIT Hobi’s story is an ABSOLUTE favorite 😭💖

P.S. i've divided these into three due to limit issues so stay tune for the next part! ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

A heavy feeling rests in the pit of your stomach, as the ship continues to sail away from the land that birthed and raised you. That island was all you had ever known and yet there it was, having gone much smaller as time progressed—even the grand palace is now barely visible from such a distance, much more the people trying to pursue you.

You have committed treason—something you were well aware of. You had betrayed your father as an accomplice to your monster of a half-brother’s murder and had eloped with the very man who took its life.

A large part of you argues that you had done the right thing. Your half-brother was a vicious monster, who had slaughtered innocents in the maze you were forced to represent. He was an accursed reminder of the atrocity your late mother had done. Before his death, you had witnessed first hand the people being fed into the labyrinth as some sickening game guised as a sacrifice.

You, as your father's daughter, had been made mistress of the labyrinth as soon as you came of age—subjected to all sorts of pleas, cursing, and threats that its victims had thrown at you. Their voices echo hauntingly in your head, as the memory of people walking into that dark pit and never returning constantly mar your mind. It is a nightmare you cannot escape from.

But that, now, has changed.

You, as princess of your people, have done justly to assist a foreigner in ending such pandemonium. The Minotaur is dead and with that, you have greatly helped in ending your father’s cruelty. You are a hero.

So, why does it feel like something’s amiss?

“Princess?”

A voice greets you from behind, startling you into staring away from the kingdom you were leaving behind. Butterflies erupt as you see Theseus before you with the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his striking features. You smile softly as he lightly bows to you. “Theseus,” your voice radiates adoration as you say his name. “What brings you here?”

The chill wind of early autumn tousles his dark brown locks as he stares towards the fading form of Crete with you. “We will be stopping at the island of Naxos in a few hours,” he tells you with a side glance your way. “The captain and I deemed it best to rest there for a while and replenish any supplies we lost.”

“Of course. That seems sound,” you could only nod, not knowing much of maritime welfare after all. What you do know, however, was that the sea was as fickle as the god that reigned over it. You supposed that it was better to prepare for any catastrophe, than to expect everything to be smooth sailing.

Feeling a hand on the small of your back, you come back to your senses, only to see Theseus waiting for you. Only then did you also realize that on your shoulders was his cloak. It envelops you with warmth. “It’s late, princess,” he nods towards the quarters. “It’s been a long day, too. You must sleep.”

Words coming out a stammer, you clutch the cloak in your hands. “Yes,” you shyly blush as your heart hammers in your chest, “You too.”

The hero beside you smiled kindly, gesturing with his hand this time. “Let us go then,” he invites you, warmly—and for someone so used to the dark, cold walls of Crete, you couldn’t help but swoon.

What a blessed woman you are.

You arrive at Naxos around late in the afternoon, taking a small boat or two with Theseus and a few members of the ship to a secluded part of the island while the rest stay to man the ship at a distance. Docking a great distance away from a small town, the land that greets you and takes you away from the roughhousing of the waves greatly comforts you. There were big rocks surrounding the little beach—something Theseus thought would do well to hide and border the camp.

A group began laying out the tents for the night, many hands trying to make quick work. You did your best to assist them in any way, but you were met either with cold glares or dismissive waves. You then attempted to help a frail boy struggling to carry a crate, but he, too, doesn't seem so fond of you. "I'll be fine in the hands of my people, princess," said the boy, voice calm but eyes failing to hide his contempt, as another fellow came to help him instead.

It was clear to you.

You may have aided their hero in slaying the Minotaur, but your conscience and reputation was still drenched by the blood of their people—the people that you couldn't save any sooner. In their eyes, you were still a princess of Crete—still the mistress of the maze that brought them before the gates of the Underworld.

And so, you endure their unwelcoming gaze, looking for something else to make yourself useful—for something else to prove you worthy of their trust.

While the experienced went to hunt animals for a meal tonight and the journey ahead, there were others that were tasked to retrieve some supplies from the local town. You decide to join them, but, in an instant, you are pulled aside by Theseus, who was already dressed for the hunt. "Where are you going?" he asks, voice hushed but with a little panic.

Furrows form between your brows as his sudden interruption holds you aback. "I want to help," you earnestly declare, but the conviction wasn't quite present, so you clarify yourself further. "I will accompany them to town an—"

"We cannot risk you to be seen in town, (Y/N)," Theseus exasperates, harsh tone taking you aback. "It'll bring us more trouble than we already have."

Your hastening heart seemed to stop altogether. "Ah… right…"

How come you never thought of that, (Y/N)?

He sharply inhales, breathing almost stopping altogether, upon seeing the flash of hurt in your eyes, your determination faltering. Theseus eases a little then, lacing a hand in yours while the other caresses your cheek. "Why don't you…" his mind reels as he thinks of a compromise, "why don't you help gather some wood for the fire later?"

Your eyes lit for a moment, but soon began to contemplate. Wood for the fire—yes. That seems accomplishable.

"Alright," you say, mustering a meek smile as you did.

With that Theseus called forth a young man. Andreas, he addressed him—the same boy that had refused your help with the crate earlier. "Take her with you to fetch some firewood," he tells him, and while the boy nods, you could tell he was hesitant.

Theseus turns back to you with a smile, happy to have settled this. The fabric that embraced your shoulders was moved to shield your face, his careful touch tingling against your skin. "Be careful," Theseus then instructs, urging you to still keep your identity secret, lest your father had sent out soldiers for either of your capture.

"You, too," you attempt to smile, a hand gently squeezing his own before the two of you part, worried but hopeful.

Andreas never spoke a word with you as the both of you gathered what you needed from the forest. In your arms were a bundle of sticks you thought were similar to what you saw him pick up. You couldn't really find it within you to ask, for fear of being seen bothersome by the lad.

"Why help us now?"

You nearly jump at the sudden words that reach you. Looking up, the young boy was standing a few feet ahead of you, his back turned as he did. "I'm sorry?" You stammer, unsure of what he meant. "What do you mean to say?"

You were greeted by a ferocious glare. "You let us suffer for years, but now you helped our people escape," Andreas sneered, "why?"

Tears sting your eyes but you blink them back. "I…" you began, but your mind seemed to run blank. "I needed strength," you say, mustering enough words to express your thoughts, "and a chance to go against my father..."

"Your prince is both," you give the boy a soft smile, hoping it would ease him.

Theseus was your key—not only to freedom, but also for repentance.

Still, the young boy scowls, brows furrowing so deep together that you fear they might never go back to normal. "I know my sins cannot be absolved for doing this," you plead, taking a step forth, "but I swear, I never found any joy in your suffering."

Andreas scoffs, but says nothing. He, instead, goes back to his task of collecting firewood and ignoring your existence. A shaky outbreath escapes you along with a few tears running down your cheeks but you wipe them away and focus on your task, too.

Idly tying the bundle with a rope, you began to think of your future.

Theseus had promised to make you his queen upon returning to Athens, but how easy would that flow, if your history as mistress of the labyrinth remained in their minds? What queen would be welcomed and loved that way?

You sigh and push such thoughts away. You'll deal with it when it comes, you tell yourself. A long journey awaits you, and you haven't even made it to Athens yet. Surely, a time will come for you to show your promising prowess to the people.

With that hope, you were a little more resolved and ready to return to reality, taking more time in indulging yourself with your surroundings.

The island was very much smaller than the kingdom you were accustomed to, but it certainly felt much more welcoming. Nature surrounded you as leaves crunched at each step beneath you. The sky in a blur of warm colors being tainted with the impending night.

It felt oddly serene—more soothing than you have been treated at the camp. A part of you was tempted to stay here instead.

Then, it came to you.

You were alone.

Heart shattering just a little, you stood up from where you were crouching. All around you was darkness. "A-Andreas?" you call out, voice shaking as you look into the expanse of the forest. "Where are you?"

Instead of a response, your ears pick up the sound of music instead—a flute perhaps, being played somewhere, but the direction seemed to lead further into the forest rather than out. Goosebumps littered your skin from the cold and the shiver that ran down your spine. It may be someone from the town, or a group of travellers like your own, you reason, but such news would either be bad for someone in hiding like you.

"Lost, are we?"

There was a sudden voice that filled the air—slurred but mischievous—rendering you to drop a few sticks as you whirl around like a fool looking for the source.

Who was that?

"Up here, dear."

The voice says again, the sound luring your eyes towards a tree nearby. Splayed across a big branch above was a dashing man—ethereal, really—looking down at you through barely opened eyes, as the early autumn wind gently blew on the part of his robe that dangled from the tree. He gives you a lazed grin as he pulls out a small flask from somewhere behind him. "Would you like some?" he then asks as he takes a generous swig of the drink, thin droplets of watery red running down his chin and onto his collarbone.

Is that wine?

Taken aback by his presence, you tear your eyes away from the stranger and gather what had escaped from your grasp moments before. He's inviting—tempting—but you mustn't stray. "No need, sir," you politely tell him, "I'm not thirsty."

No less from a stranger.

The young man nonchalantly shrugs. "Shame," he says, taking another swig as he makes no further comment.

You couldn't bear to dilly dally any further either—no, not with the darkened sky already upon you. Wait… a dark sky?!

With the realization that the night was settling in, panic settled in you. "Oh no," you huff, hurriedly gathering the ends of your dress to ready yourself to bolt back to the camp. "You should get down there before you fall, sir," you give the stranger a hastened smile. "Farewell!"

Not waiting for his response, you ran.

—and run you did.

It was ungraceful—something your late governess would've greatly frowned upon—but you make it back with only a few moments of getting lost. Your chest heaved as sweat ran down your skin, but the proud look you had on your face for coming back soon fell.

There was a bonfire already lit in the center of the camp, bright as could be.

The chatter lessens at your arrival, a few looking at your disheveled state, while Theseus approaches you. "What happened?" he asks, brows furrowed. "Andreas said you walked off on your own."

You glanced at the boy, who immediately avoided your eyes, almost sorry for what he did. Forcing a smile, you turn your attention back to Theseus and give him the bundles you gathered as you went along with the boy’s narrative so he wouldn’t be in trouble. "Yes, well," you cleared your throat, "I thought I saw something, and became distracted. I'm sorry."

Theseus doesn't question you any further, only nodding as he looks at the wood you gave him. "Ah…" he then grins, throwing a stick or two into the already roaring flames. "Thank you for these," he says in an attempt to assure you, "it'll keep the fire alive tonight."

You muster a smile back, nodding as you watch the fire crackle strongly before you. "Ah…" you idly hum, "you're welcome."

A nasty bout of hurt and irk began to bubble within you at how effectively useless your help was. You see the amount of wood Andreas gathered, realizing that, with how many they were, they only made your meager bundle useless. You could've easily not accompanied him and the group would've been fine for the night. Your effort and time was wasted, and yet remembering the weight of the situation is the water that douses your fury.

The people here have been hurt by your kingdom, and Theseus was the one that came to save them from their terrible fate.

Even if you are to have Theseus by your side, it comes to you very well that you are the foreigner amongst them—one against many, with no favors amidst your graces other than Theseus' gratitude and affections. You cannot give them your fury—not fully at the very least.

And so, you sat idly by the fire, listening to their merry chatter in your silence. The fire began to seem like images at some point—people dancing, twinkling stars, a merriment unlike any other—and it coaxes the beginnings of a smile out of you.

"Here."

Knocked out of your stupor, you look up at whoever sat beside you and see Theseus with a bowl of some soup. You gingerly take it from his hands. "Thank you," you meekly say, taking an idle spoonful to your mouth.

All the while, Theseus makes an attempt to salvage the silence between you both. "We caught two boars in the forest," he began, nodding towards the canopy of trees surrounding the camp. "A few of the others took one of the boats back to the ship to give the meat of one boar to the rest there."

You hum, scooping one of the meat chunks in your bowl. "Sounds wonderful," you tell him politely as you chew, "the cook did great work with the soup, as well."

Such words were a bit coated with sugar. No one will like the salt of the thoughts sitting in the back of your mind—not when any of you are in a position to complain when survival is essential. It wasn't the tastiest of meals you've ever had—the flavors clash at some bites—but it should fill the belly just enough.

Next to you, the Athenian hero nods thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, Leda managed to make a meal out of what little we had,” he hums, “I’ll let her know you liked it.”

With nothing more to say, you only nod, not forcing yourself in engaging idle chatter with him. You didn't have it in you to. You suppose that after the journey you feel… tired? despondent?

Either way, your lack of motivation easily lets silence conquer the air between you and Theseus. He didn't seem to mind, spending time conversing with the captain about the boat and the travel ahead—a talk which easily slips past your head as you lose your train of thought in a daze looking at the racking fire ahead.

Your bowl lasts a little under half-filled in your hands by the time you decide on the last spoonful for your fill of dinner. A light chill of the sea breeze comes and goes, making you take your shawl off your head and wrap it around your shoulders once more.

The stretch of standing up bears a light grunt from your lips, catching Theseus' attention. "I think I'd like to go and rest now," you softly declared with a tired, tight-lipped smile—an excuse really but it wasn't a complete lie.

Theseus looks quite surprised by your announcement. "Already?" he says, almost to himself, "but you haven't finished the bowl…"

You fluster, but hand him the bowl nonetheless. "I apologize for wasting, but I really am full," you say. “The day has been… eventful. I think some shut eye would be good."

A furrow forms between Theseus’ brows, but he questions you no further. "Alright…" he sighs, pointing to a tent ahead. “That tent, over there, is yours,” he tells you, watching as you nod and smooth out your dress.

He, too, soon stands up, but he offers you a smile instead of walking you to your tent. "Sleep well, princess.”

Eyelids already growing heavy, you could only hum as you tread through the sand. "Good night."

The dream that Morpheus brings you that night was bizarre for someone who has lived the way you have.

You were in a palace of sorts, though you hadn't any idea where and why.

Around you were drunken bodies who surrendered to the feel of the music that clouded the entire room. The melody of a flute lingers in the air and though you can't quite tell where you've heard it from, it’s somewhat familiar.

You, yourself, were feeling light-headed, swaying to the music. Someone brings a chalice to your lips and you let them.

The wine dances along your tongue—so addicting that you couldn't help but gulp more.

"That’s right, drink," said a soft voice in your head, encouraging you further. "Ease yourself from your worries."

You almost do.

—but someone in the distance catches your eye. Standing in the midst of the sea of people, he stares at you relentlessly, and your heartbeat races and the haze in your head wears itself down. You forget whoever it was that handed you the chalice, forget them as you continue to look in the distance.

He's gone.

Where is he?

The world begins to spin around you—so dizzying that it makes you clutch your head.

Still, you try to reach where your eyes last saw him.

"Theseus?"

Your eyes had trouble fluttering open, but as soon as you did you were stricken with a pounding in your head. Was it possible for a dream to have such an effect? What was the dream even trying to say?

A groan leaves your lips, eyebrows scrunched together at the unpleasant feeling. The pain doesn't ease soon, and you attempt to massage it away, but as you move your hand, you become aware of the emptiness at your side. All of a sudden, it became so easy to forget the dream that you had.

Brows knitting much closer in confusion, you will yourself to get up and look around.

The tent is empty—almost untouched.

Has Theseus and the others gotten up already?

There was an attempt to stand and look around even more, your legs shaking as you do so. The clay pitcher on a nearby crate leads you to become aware of just how much your throat feels parched. Paradoxically, you also have the urge to vomit.

Nonetheless, you made a grab for the pitcher. The water flows down your throat in greedy gulps as you shakily hold it in your hands. Your headache slightly eases, but it's inconvenience is still there to torment you.

What did you eat last night to upset your head and stomach so?

Crawling out of the tent, the striking sun glared down at you so much that another hiss leaves your lips. You were only plunged further into bafflement, shielding your face from the heat. Seeing the sun so high up in the sky could only mean that it's well around noon alre—

Where's everyone?

All too suddenly, you were wide awake. Your hand falls to your side, letting the blistering heat of the sun strike down onto you. The deafening silence around you mirrors your thoughts as you try to take in what was going on.

The fire had long extinguished, leaving only charred wood and ashes.

There were no longer other tents but your own.

Most hauntingly, the ship was no longer at the visible distance as it was before.

At that moment, you couldn't breathe.

It takes everything in you to will yourself to move, carefully walking around what used to be the camp the crew had set up not more than half a day ago. There had been three or four more tents set alongside yours. There had been a large cauldron for the soup over the fire. There had been crates of supplies gathered from their hunt and travel around the nearest town.

All of that, gone.

Your eyes were frantically scanning for answers—anything to make sense of it all. There were marks in the sand—movement, many of them, leading to where the boats used to be. These were the telltale signs that you refused to believe.

Your heart pounded against your chest, and even as the wind blew your hair over your face, you didn't move an inch—couldn't—in your disbelief. "No," the word crawls out of your lips, hoarse from both sleep and hurt. You rub at your teary eyes furiously—even as they hurt.

"Wake up, (Y/N)," you tell yourself, "Wake up."

In the distance, you see the rocks that surround the beach, and an idea immediately comes to you. With barely any hesitation, you run—stumble—towards them, all as pebbles, shells, coarse sand, and force make your feet hurt instantly, but the panic in your veins rendered you reckless and desperate.

The struggle in climbing the harsh terrain was immediate for someone like you, who was taught to never do such rowdy, unladylike activities, but you couldn't bring yourself to give a damn at that moment. It could be the very key to the answer you were looking for.

And, unfortunately, it was.

The sea breeze blew the strands of your (h/c) hair to and fro, as wisps of the sea trickled onto your skin. You looked over towards the horizon, staring at what used to be the ticket to your freedom. The ship has sailed so far away that it was barely the size of the pebbles that stung your feet. It would be a futile attempt to try and swim towards it.

(Gods, with what offense your father had done to Poseidon, you never even learned how to swim.)

You hope it to be a terrible mistake—perhaps, some sorcery from a witch or the exhaustion from yesterday's voyage making their heads weary. You don’t know how any of those could be, but you would take anything other than the dread looming over you.

“Theseus!!!”

You cry out his name, desperate, your hold on the boulder only tightening, hurting your palms and heels. “Theseus!” you sob, your entire body shaking as your head pounds yet again at the volume and force of your yelling. The backlash of your brain sends you faltering—and, eventually, falling off of the rocks.

A voiceless cry and a hiss forces tears to fall from your eyes as you land harshly on your back. It hurts. Everything hurts.

You could feel the sand flitting onto the gashes that undoubtedly would’ve been all over your skin. The sea—that damned sea—nips at your bottom half where it reached you and makes your damned wounds sting even more.

This is just a dream. It can’t possibly be real, can it?

You rack your brain for memories of the warm light that had come in the form of Theseus—he who had come to you for help and promised help in return.

Yes, of course it isn’t. This is just a dream.

Theseus swore he would bring you to Athens with him, where you would be away from the clutches of your father’s wrath. He swore to protect you. He swore to introduce you to Athens as his accomplice and that you would spend a great life together. Together—that’s what he had promised you.

Forcibly, you fluttered your eyes shut.

This is just a dream—a nightmare.

You’ll soon awake to the real world, awake by Theseus' side. You’ll both go on into the ship and the voyage will continue until Athens comes to the horizon. He’ll protect you. He’ll come back. He'll—

You open your eyes again, ribs hurting as you take a greedy intake of air. You weren’t at all back inside the tent next to your hero. No laughter or chatter to be heard around you.

You were still at the shore, helpless and away from a ship that only navigated further from you.

You were alone on an island with a few supplies at your call, but little to no experience of surviving in such a cruel world.

Theseus was gone. He had deserted you.

Your fists clenched at the blurred image of the ship’s massive white mast engraved in your head. It was taunting you.

Relentless tears streamed down the curves of your cheeks, and you found it hard to get yourself up from the grainy ground beneath you. The very man you decided to trust with your life had now left you for death. Was this what you get for betraying your father? Had you not done the right thing after all?

“THESEUS!!!”

His name rips through your throat raw, as if he could hear you—as if it would've mattered.

"Theseus!" You scream again into the sky, your entire body aching from the fall and the heartache all the same. Your hands bury themselves in the sand underneath you, crushing whatever sand they could hold in order to try and satiate some of your anger. "How could you do this to me?!" you wail, bringing your good arm over your face to shield yourself from the blinding sunlight—from the world in general.

You remember seeing his face as that of a stranger—of how you saw him walk in with the new line of sacrifice, of how he told you of your kingdom’s terrifying reputation, of how he emboldened you to join his cause.

I trusted you.

Your heart aches, remembering his smile, his touch, his words—all of which had deceived you in turn. Theseus was the warm light gracing your life—the one that guided you out of that wretched place.

I loved you.

In the end, he was but a flame that scorched you.

You would rather die than bear a torture like this. At the very least with death, the pain ends. Your soul would reach the other side, crossing over to the Underworld where you could drown yourself in the Lethe River and forget.

Forget the humiliation, the betrayal, and the foolish endeavor your life has become.

Forget the kingdom that made you and the kingdom promised to you.

Forget the man you gave your all to—your honor, your heart, your life.

As it seems to you, the gods plan to do nothing—perhaps, it is a punishment in and of itself to forsake you, to let you rot away. You could hardly lift a finger in your state of mind and body—could barely breathe without a sob slipping past your lips.

Eyes fluttering close, you settle for the next best thing to death—sleep.

Maybe then, you will never awake.

However rare such times would be, he would often go looking for places if he wanted to spend some time alone for himself. Naxos, being a land where he is most welcomed to call his domain, seems to have a lot of such places for him, which is why he wanders off around here as often as he does.

This time, the faint sound of waves began to reach his ears as he treaded the forest. Another beach but he doesn’t at all feel like going for a swim out in the open—not when the sea reminds him of the many times sailors have tried to kidnap him and sell him for a price.

However, Agrios, beside him, seems keen on the idea, halting and staring intently towards the direction of the beach. “Do you want to go on a swim?” he asks, nonetheless following him out of the forest line. “Perhaps I should’ve brought your siblings along…”

The beach was relatively peaceful, beautiful for a little gathering too. It'd do well to tell his people of this, but, as of the moment, it was still too open for his liking. He might be seen by someone he doesn't know or someone he does know and ruin his time alone.

Perhaps, he'll instead go to that little cavern he found a fortnight ago. It should be around here, somewhere…

"Oh?"

Something catches his eyes, stopping him from his thoughts—a lone tent sits amongst the sand with a bonfire long dead and out. A curious case, he thinks. Many travel through Naxos in their journey, but what's a camp like this doing so far away from any of the towns?

Just as he came to snoop inside the tent, something from the corner of his eyes caught his attention as well. In the distance, he sees something by the rocks, Agrios already ahead of him and inspecting whatever it was. He walks closer, curiosity getting the best of him—as it always does.

A woman.

As it had turned out, the very same one he faintly recalls meeting in the forest last night. The sunlight grazing the beach certainly makes her beauty much more apparent than the previous night where he had only spared it a glance beneath the darkness of the eve. "Oh my," he clicks his tongue, as his eyes flit over her sorry state and a frown unconsciously settles on his lips.

He wasn’t one to be too nosy, but he feels immensely compelled to look her over. Carefully leaning his ear against her chest, a faint heartbeat confirms that she was still alive. At a closer glance, he sees the tear stains that mar her cheeks and also takes note of how the pesky sun had left her skin a bit dry and sunburnt. Down the line, inspecting the wounds that ran down her arm, the frown upon his lips running deeper. So much pain, he thinks, shaking his head.

Above all, she shouldn't be left out in the open like this. "This is no place to sleep in," he tuts, looking expectantly at Agrios. “Don’t you think?”

The animal merely blinks back, eventually forcing a sigh from his lips. “Fine,” he grumbles, gathering her in his arms as he lifts and heaves with a grunt. He hasn't been doing much else other than drink, dance, and sleep, so this may indeed be an unfortunate downside of his reckless living. (Still, it somehow feels nice to carry her like this.)

Assuming that the tent nearby was hers for the taking, he carries her towards it, and places her onto the haphazardly assembled sheets and pillows. Her hair splays out and over her face and neck, but he soon makes sure she is in a comfortable position. Sleep, after all, is a great pleasure to have just as any.

As he dries the sea-soaken parts of her, the woman still shows no signs of regaining consciousness, her chest softly heaving in a slow and steady pace, and leaving him in silence. He doesn't worry himself just yet, however—after all, why would he?—knowing well he could call upon a certain someone for a little favor if he really needed to.

And so, he looks around the small tent, taking note of the sparse decor and the mere two piles of crates that Agrios has decided to sniff and inspect. Curious, he gets up and opens the top crate, seeing some clothes, blankets, and other trinkets along with a piece of paper.

Take care of yourself.

Another piece of the puzzle lays itself before him, and he doesn't like it one bit. He places it back in and sets the first crate down to gain access to the second one. Were these all that was left for her?

The next crate, as it turns out, were some rations good enough for a week or so. This makes an idea pop in his head, realizing that the young woman will most likely wake up hungry. He smiles softly at Agrios who has taken place near the makeshift bed. “Come on," he ushers the large cat to leave the unconscious woman alone. "Why don't we play chef, hm?”

The moment you came to, you were made aware of the ache in your head, along with the way your eyes could barely open when you will yourself to. All too suddenly, the lack of warmth by your side gives you flashes of what took place, but, for a moment, you think it to be a dream.

Some sort of commotion reaches you as you gain more hold of your consciousness. Incomprehensible mumbling turned into faint bits of a conversation.

"—ow could you be so cruel to me? I raised you!"

You could see a faint form of two shapes outside your tent, and yet the ruckus only seems to come from one voice.

"Don't you dare use that attitude on me, you little brat."

Getting up was a feat in and of itself, your muscles ached as you put all of your strength into just sitting up alone. Biting back a grunt, you do your best to crawl toward the opening—

"AHHHH!"

The scream that ripples from your mouth hurt your throat, but you could hardly think. In fact, you could hardly move.

A beast peers it's spotted head through the opening of the tent, large golden eyes boring a hole through you in alarm as if you, too, had shocked him. You could only stare back, paralyzed in fear with tears stinging your eyes.

"What happened?!"

All of a sudden, the tent opens further, moved by a man who reveals himself to you, not at all alarmed by the beast, but alarmed by you.

A moment of silence passes and it soon comes to you that this man seems to be the same stranger dangling from the tree last night. You crawl away from the tent opening—away from them. "Who are you?" you sneer, "and what is that?"

The man, himself, seems to snap out of his own stupor at the realization that you were talking to him. He scoots himself inside a little, not too close to you, but within the tent nonetheless. "I'm…" he pauses, "Hoseok, and he is my companion, Agrios."

Companion? That beast is his companion?

Another thing from his response soon also confuses you. Oddly enough, he didn’t answer your question readily—as if he had to think of it. "You don't seem certain of your name, sir," you raised your brow at him, defenses still up against the stranger and his companion.

Not at all bothered by the harsh edge of your words, however, he chuckles at the slip up you had pointed out to him. "I'm Hoseok," he repeats with more conviction, but the seriousness your glare bore didn’t impede his lollygagging. "Now," he instead pipes, turning around for a moment—only to reveal a bowl of fruits. "Are you hungry?"

You may have had no intention answering his invitation, but your stomach answers for you—a shamelessly loud grumble that renders your cheeks ablaze in embarrassment. The stranger laughs, but doesn’t tease further, only taking your hand to place the bowl in its care. “Feel free to nibble,” he urges you, “if you want more, you need only to ask. I caught some fish and roasted them outside.”

His excitement and openness truly takes you aback. Does this Hoseok not have suspicions against a stranger like yourself?

You raise the bowl back to him. “No ne—”

Your words fall short, slain by a gasp at the sight of your hands and arms—clean and free of the gashes you could've sworn marred your skin just hours ago. What’s left of them were faint red lines that tingled if you look or think about them too much. "My wounds…" you stammer, as you gawk at them in disbelief. "H-how?"

Hoseok doesn’t at all bother to take the bowl of fruits from you. "I know of a good healer," he simply tells you, getting up but sweeping the tent entrance open and tying them to the side so that your eyes could catch a glimpse of the little bonfire he had brought back to life from the previous night. Fortunately, his companion also follows him outside.

Though hesitant, you shakily push yourself up, cautiously crawling over to stop by the entrance. "Wounds don't heal in an instant," you call out to him, "for how long have I been unconscious?"

The stranger crouches by the bonfire, eyeing the fishes he had over the fire. "For about an hour or so now, and, as I have said," he turns to flash you a grin and a wink. "I know a really good healer."

In spite of your doubt, something else pulls you away from the situation as your stomach begins to churn at the sight of the fish cooking and make you salivate. Tempted, you were, you relent to a grape from the bowl he had given you. Some juice dribbles down your lips, but it quenches some of your hunger and thirst.

Looking back up, you see him and the spotted beast patiently waiting for you by the fire. Hoseok grabs one of the cooked fish skewered with a stick, offering it to you in case you prefer the distance from them.

Eyes flitting from the smoking fish and him, you hold yourself back for yet another question. "What exactly are your intentions with me?"

“None,” he assures you with a shrug, looking around the beach. “I was simply strolling through and saw you,” he then says, “thought you might need the help.”

I didn't need help. Stubborn, you were, but still, you eye the fish that was roasting over the fire.

The stranger seems to take note of this. “There’s nothing funny with it,” he then assures you, chuckling a little as he nods to his companion, who was now chewing on something. “You can eat over there, if you’d like.”

Finally, you idly take hold of the stick—you swear, your stomach let out a cry of relief. “Thank you,” your manners compel you to timidly tell him this as you take a bite out of the fish’s flesh.

Hoseok smiles warmly, the sight and feeling of it making your heart clench. “You’re welcome.”

For the hour that followed, Hoseok and Agrios stayed with you as they ate, and as some subtle form of gratitude, you let them. You kept your distance, stayed by that little tent of yours as Hoseok tells you of the towns he knew around the island and the general path towards them.

Whether he knew your tragic case of abandonment or not, he makes no mention nor pry of it, and you don't tell him of your wanted status either. It would be best to stay away from strangers.

And so, well into the afternoon, you usher them away after falsely promising to remember his guidance, the man and the beast disappearing into the forest with no more than themselves with them. (The fishes he caught but didn't cook, he gave to you for dinner, and this notion guilts you inside for being so cold to them all along.)

Here you were, once again left alone by the sea.

By this point, you have gained some strength—enough to leave the shell that is your tent to finally gaze at the waves you've been hearing ever since you woke. The golden sun sits amidst a sky of oranges and pinks, its light sending the sea glittering as it's readying to leave its throne for the nightfall.

It was a taunting sight—beautiful, but taunting.

Yet, a voice in your head murmurs a treacherous thought to soil the fragile peace you were in.

Have they reached Athens by now?

Your lip trembles but you trample it beneath your teeth, hoping to kill the incoming tears. It's successful—to some degree. Though the pain in your heart hasn't at all gone away, the streams that ran down your cheeks were not as fierce as before.

In the silence, you were left to wonder what had transpired in the hours you were unconscious. You have reason in you to believe the key that had led Theseus to leave you were his people—they were, after all, the very reason he had snuck into Crete in the first place.

Had they convinced Theseus to leave you?

Had he been tricked by them in some way?

Or, had he no problem agreeing with them at all?

Your heart shatters at the thought of the latter, but your mind soon drifts to what Andreas had said in the woods.

You let us suffer for years…

There’s reason and right in his anger—in their anger—this you knew well. They do not owe you forgiveness nor forgetfulness for the cowardice you’ve done to them in the years before.

If you had been a braver person against your father’s harsh reign, would they have found you befitting to take the place next to their hero?

If you had tried a little harder to be of help during the travel, would they have had a change of heart and taken you with them?

If you had—

Nonsense, there’s nothing you can do about the could-have-beens. You've already betrayed your people. You've already left. You've already messed up.

At the end of the day, the bitter truth now is that you’ve been stranded here—already alone and away from Crete and Athens all the same. Mayhaps, that is why you’ve been left like this—your salvation and your price to pay, your escape from Crete and banishment from Athens altogether.

You will belong nowhere else.

With not much left to do nor care for the view, you crawl your way back into the tent where it's a little more quiet. The immediate thought of sleep comes to you as your eyes land on the makeshift cushions, and the same thought as before crosses your mind.

Sleep. Let’s sleep.

It was then your train of thought stops. An animal pelt cloak—one from a dark grey wolf, you think—had been near the bedding, something you vaguely remember taking off of you when you woke earlier. Theseus doesn't have one—you would know—which can only mean that it was another token left by that stranger earlier.

A part of you is irked to be left with this, as it's a reminder of yet another man who entered your life unannounced. Such things aside, you were reasonably grateful too, as it's something you can make use of.

Enough thinking, another part of you insists, reminding you of what you had thought to do in the first place. Sleep.

A sigh leaves you as you lay yourself down, and with no other warmth to encase you, you relent in reaching for the cloak, curling within its hold and fluttering your eyes closed.

A sense of unease blossoms within you, forcing you away from the realm of Morpheus. It's dark, even after you awoke from the abyss of your slumber. It must be nighttime already then. Have you slept for that long?

Another thing registers in your head as you regain more of your consciousness. You become aware of the damp walls of the tent and bedding, of the chill in the air, of the sound of rain.

What on Earth—

The row rumble from the sky sounds like that of a beast, freezing you in an instant with the wolf pelt tightly clutched in your hold. A bright strike of lightning across the sky faintly illuminates the tent, squeezing a screech from your lips at the deafening thunder that follows it.

You could tell that the rain has no plans of surrendering any time soon. The waves themselves are getting angrier by the minute, crashing against the shore and rocks as if to give them a beating.

Zeus and Poseidon must be furious.

A curse leaves your lips as you see more of the rain soaking the tent, droplets already forming to come down at you. The howling winds aren't showing much kindness either. You don't know for much longer your tent can hold. At this rate, you'll be drenched, too.

Gathering your bearings, you sit up and push aside the discomfort of being in slightly damp clothes, and heave the cloak over your head. You give yourself a moment to think of where to get yourself a better shelter from the storm.

The forest might do well to aid you, but it'll also house other creatures—some of which may have the capabilities to kill someone as defenseless as you. Perhaps, you can find a large, pointed stick to us—

"Hey!"

You jolt as you hear a voice outside. Is that…?

The tent flaps pry open under someone's urgent grip, and you see the person you had suspected it to be. As he tries to catch his breath, Hoseok looks you over with a dismayed shake of his head. "I knew you'd still be here."

You look at him with your mouth agape. “What brings you here?” you question over the downpour, brows furrowing together.

The man adjusts an umbrella over his head, promptly leaving your query unanswered. “Come along,” he instead tuts as he urges you out of the tent. "This is no place to be in the middle of a storm."

The tent shakes as yet another thunder booms across the sky, causing the two of you to flinch. “Now,” he says, “will you be stubborn or will you let me help you?"

The umbrella he's carrying struggles against the wind, what with it being made from only wood and leaves. The gentle curls of his black hair cling onto his forehead, forcing him to swipe them back. "I think it’s a great time to accept, hm?” he says, an uneasy chuckle forced past his lips as he tries to secure a better grip on the umbrella.

With a deep intake of air, you push yourself up and come out of the tent. This brings a smile to his face, one that you choose to ignore. “Fantastic,” he muses, as you duck beneath the struggling shade of his umbrella. "Nothing else?"

"None," you curtly tell him. I have nothing left.

The stranger was caught off guard for a moment, but he soon nods and gestures to the dark forest ahead. "Come," he says, "I know a place."

Although the trees keep most of the howling winds at bay, the mud cakes the ends of the worn dress you were wearing, turning the faint pink an ugly brown. The rough ground makes you walk carefully too, lest you step on anything that can make your bare feet hurt any more than it already is. The darkness of the forest terrifies you, and a part of you urges you to cling onto the stranger lest you get lost in the midst of the storm on your own.

Doubt, however, gnaws away at you at the same time, making you keep a little of your distance. You steal glances in between calculating your steps and following his lead. Can I truly trust this man?

The possibility of his betrayal makes you spiral into multiple other possibilities. If he dares to do anything, then I can shove him or hit him with something, and make a run for it.

As this plan for a what-if forms in your head, Hoseok takes note of your wariness—of how you cocooned yourself within his old wolf cloak, of how you gingerly inched away from him, and of how guarded your face is even as you were occupied with your thoughts. Understandable, he thinks, but it won't do her well to be sick because of the rain.

Leaning the umbrella over to your side, he once again thinks of the quickest path to a shelter he knows of. It’s around here somewhere.

Still, that won't seem to make the journey any less difficult. The rain was stubborn—as stubborn and proud as a man he knows—the thunder bellowing every once in a while to scare the daylights out of you. Though the forest was easier to navigate for the likes of him, it definitely doesn’t make it any less pleasant to tread through. He, himself, feels unpleasant walking through the forest in a state like this.

A surprise, however, soon comes to the young man. It appears that, at some point, you have noticed the position of the umbrella, and your conscience couldn't seem to take the unfairness for his side, because you had let your bodies huddle a little closer. Your hand even lightly holds onto his tunic as you look elsewhere.

Hoseok hides a smile at all of this. How sweet of her to care.

It was fortunate for the both of you that it didn't take too long for you to have reached your destination—just as the umbrella was about to give up, too. He steps under the stone roofing, arm gesturing with a welcome. "Here we are," he sings, tossing the umbrella aside and wringing out the rainwater from his clothes.

You gawk at the structure of the building as you step under its shade, the frown and furrow between your brows deepening. It was dark—especially with much of the moon obscured by heavy rain clouds—but you could make some sense of your surroundings. “This is a shrine,” you tell him, matter-of-factly, staying put where you were.

Hoseok stifles a chuckle. “And?”

A frantic trace of panic besets your face at his lack of concern. “We may offend the deity that reigns over this place,” you scold him, crossing your arms across your chest.

This refusal comes across as puzzling for him. He supposed all mortals are devoted in some sense of respect and fear for the gods, but you were walking too carefully on eggshells—driven mostly in fear. Have you or your family offended a god before?

Hoseok doesn't linger on the thought any longer, giving you an assuring smile instead. “It’ll be alright,” he tells you, “Trust me.”

It’s my shrine after all.

Still, doubt mars your expression, your mind being too stubborn to give in to his assurances. "We mean no disrespect here, after all," he attempts to reason, "just shelter from the storm, yes?"

You give it a few seconds, eventually nodding timidly. "Right," you say, almost as if you were still trying to convince yourself that this won't incur divine wrath. You shed the cloak from your shoulders as you take your first steps to follow him into the shrine.

Inside, a few torches persevered, showing a myriad of offerings laid out on an altar. Something else, however, draws Hoseok's attention elsewhere. Prayers and offerings to gods in a shrine were obvious, of course, but one of those in the altar held a prayer stronger than the others.

The young god turned his focus into hearing whatever words were left by whoever made them. Multiple voices echo through his head…

Lord Dionysus, we thank you and this island for becoming a brief respite for our weary travels. As told, to you, we leave a maiden of fair beauty and heart. May she make wonderful company.

His eyes widened, coming to a stop. A maiden? Who—

“Are you a follower?” you ask him out of the blue, having noted his ease in navigating through the premises. “Whose shrine is this?”

Hoseok, knocked out of his stupor, was startled for a moment, looking back at you as you continued to take in your environment. Nonetheless, once he gets a hold of himself, he doesn't answer the first of your questions, simply the "who" of it. “Dionysus,” he tells you, watching as a hint of recognition sparks in your eyes.

“The wine god?”

Hearing this, something warm flutters within his chest. Recognition feels quite nice, he thinks, as he doesn't hold back the grin that comes to his lips. “You know of him,” he muses, quite pleased. “Not many do.”

Hoseok hasn't been here in a while, as he isn't one to be too zealous in his duties in the first place, but this shrine is one of the first ever built for him by his followers—proof that he's made some sort of path to the pantheon. Even then, he has a long way to go. He's a wandering new god, not at all embraced by many, when they view wine, frenzy, and pleasure as things that get in the way of the philosophy and intellect that many Greeks praised.

As he takes off his own rain-sodden cloak, you tuck the fur cloak onto your arm and idly look around. “I’ve heard tales from my brothers’ teachers in passing,” you tell him, gazing at the art carved into the wall of a merry feast. “He brought wine to the world, yes?”

A part of him is tempted to swipe the wine from the offerings and chug it, but decides against it, lest it sends you in a panic over discourtesy to the gods and whatnot. “Mhm,” he instead happily hums, “a marvellous invention, isn’t it?”

My magnum opus.

Fiddling with the fabric of your dress, you purse your lips together at the thought of the wine this stranger seems to be so proud of. You’re not quite sure of how to respond to him. On one hand, you have lived to understand the perils of losing oneself to wine—how they can turn the angry, angrier and the sensible, nonsensical. On the contraire, the notion of losing yourself to wine and forgetting all else tempts you. “I haven’t tasted much of it,” you simply go on to say, “but I suppose it is.”

At this, Hoseok whips his head towards you. “You suppose?” he repeats, eyes starting to glint at the prospect of challenge. “Please do remind me to bring you all the wine in the world to taste.”

You lightly scoff at his musings. “Well it’s certainly not appropriate to do so now,” you gesture to the rain outside and the state of you both. “We’ll wake up with a fever otherwise.”

Those words take a few seconds to register in the man’s head. “Oh, right,” Hoseok quips, fiddling with his ear as he thinks to himself. I forgot about that. Humans and their fickle bodies.

Looking around his shrine for something that could be a change of clothes for you, he soon returns to you with a colorful fabric. “It's not the most fashionable," he chuckles, "but it’s the best I could find."

The gesture seems to have taken you aback. "Oh—You didn't have t—" the words were a scrambled mess on your lips, but ultimately ended with, "Thank you."

Hoseok gingerly places the fabric into your hands, his own brushing against your skin. Her hands are cold. "Most welcome," he hums thoughtfully, “I will leave you to change then, yes?”

With the chill in the air, Hoseok had deemed it good to light a small fire to bring some warmth inside for you as you change. Though raised by satyrs in the wilderness, foraging, unfortunately, truly wasn't his strongest suit—this he knew well as he had struggled to find some decent kindling for the both of you.

Eventually, he had managed to come back to the shrine with the wood, and some fruits for the two of you to nibble on. The fire was born from one of the torches still lit. It crackles before you both, very much alive since he had imbued it with his power to not perish so easily.

Between the both of you was silence, a little bit more comfortable than before—one you, surprisingly, break.

“Why did you come back for me?”

Hoseok stops chewing on a wild berry midway, brows rising for a moment when the sound of your soft voice takes him aback. “Come again?”

Deep in thought, it takes you a while to turn to him, brows furrowed with genuine confusion. “We’re strangers to one another,” you tell him, “and yet you would come for me in the midst of a storm and help me find shelter…”

You ask him the summary of all the inquiries in your head. “Why help me?”

Truthfully, Hoseok doesn’t have an answer to that himself. It had been a spontaneous feat, taking you back to your tent, but something in him told him to take it a step further—to tuck you in with his fur cloak, to fetch you something to eat, and to call upon his half-brother for a favor to tend to your wounds.

When the rain began, he had pushed back the thought of coming to check on you, telling himself that you could’ve found yourself shelter already—that you’d be fine on your own—and yet, here he was.

A shrug of his shoulders was all he could do. “I suppose…” he murmurs, mulling over his words. “You reminded me of myself, in some way or another…”

When Hoseok was born yet another bastard of Zeus, he lived most of his life in the wilderness, constantly having to flee from the wrath of Hera and other such threats to his life. Even before he had discovered his divine potential, he wasn’t quite welcomed in either Earth nor Olympus.

Lost and helpless—that’s what you two are.

“Why not help?” he simply muses in some sense of kindred.

It felt foreign for him to participate in such soft conversation. He had been so used to nonsensical, slurred discussions that lead to nowhere, or recklessly screaming to song and dance alike.

The silence that follows makes him—a god—squirm as you stare into the fire, lost somewhere in your head. You made no rebuttal against his statement, which only makes him even more antsy.

In spite of his impatience, however, he could tell you were hesitating to speak of something, and so, he lets you simmer in your thoughts just a bit more. It takes another moment of silence before you break it yet again. “I committed treason by helping someone escape with their people. I fled with them,” you confess, voice shaking, “but they all left me while I was sleeping.”

His brows knit together, envisioning the gist of the events that had taken place. Though he had spent most of yesterday in a drunken haze, he had heard the nymphs talk of a group of travellers in passing through the—

Wait a minute.

The prayer earlier rings in his head, and he soon gawks at you, who continues to gaze into the fire in solitude. You can't possibly be the maiden, right?

Well, you are of fair beauty, but no, no, no. If you were, surely you would've been left in better conditions.

Either way, Hoseok thinks betrayal is such an ugly thing that neither god nor mortal likes the notion of. He knows not what led you to commit treason, but to have forsaken your people to join others, only to have them forsake you is a terrible thing. “What a load of bastards,” he abhors, before partly jesting. “Shall we ask the gods that their ship sinks?”

A light scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head at him. Hoseok watches as you say nothing more of the tale, and he knew it well not to pry any longer.

The wine god finds it astonishing how similar yet different the two of you are. Both cast aside in some way or another, and yet the two of you walk different paths. While he ventures recklessly, you tread the same, paved path you’ve ever known, too scared to break away lest you get your heart broken again.

You should learn to let go every once in a while.

“My name is (Y/N)...” you tell him, knocking him out of his little reverie. Your voice was quiet and hesitant, but you still willed yourself to look at him properly, eyes carrying sheepish guilt. “I apologize if I was rude to you.”

Hoseok couldn’t help the smile on his face as he realized that he had earned enough of your trust to know your name. “Glad to finally put a name to a face,” he muses, “and, rest assured, I hadn’t taken any offense, at all.”

A soft, grateful smile blooms on your lips, illuminated beautifully by the golden glow of the fire. This hint of happiness instantly makes Hoseok wonder what pure bliss would look like for you. He hardly holds back his mischief, as he tilts his head with a teasing grin.

“Does this mean to say we’ve become friends?”

At this, you roll your eyes. (But you smile all the same.)

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @dreamamubarak @unknownwalkingobject @park-jimin-isnt-real

#bts au #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts writings #bts greek myth au #bts greek mythology au #bts gods au #bts imagines #jung hoseok imagines #bts jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #bts jhope x reader #jhope x reader #jhope imagines

67 notes · View notes

lacrimosathedark · 2 years

Text

Does Deadpool Collect Kids?

Here I am in Spideypool Hell, which results in me looking at the closest people to both of them. I sort of grew up with Spider-Man (video games, cartoons, and movies long before I ever touched a comic) so of course I’m looking at Deadpool first. Who doesn’t love new information? Treading old ground is boring!

(Also Spiderverse shit is confusing. So. Many. Spiders.)

And I came to the realization that Wade’s kind of...surrounded by kids.

Of course he has a kid (multiversely he has a few) but he’s close with more than just that kid.

So here is what I think of as Wade Wilson’s Pseudo-Family aka Kids Who Put Up With His Shit. Be prepared for way too many pictures.

Eleanor Camacho

This adorable baby is Ellie. She’s eight-ish years old (maybe nine or ten now? comic book time is weird) and currently Wade’s only canon child in main continuity. Her whole situation is a bit complicated, but Wade loves her more than anything in the world. And actually, she was a lowkey fan of Deadpool before she knew he was her dad. She loves her dad and she even goes behind her foster mom’s back to try to get him to visit, said foster mom being SHIELD Agent Emily Preston. Wade has forgotten she exists (again) to protect her (AGAIN) but she watches news reports about him and actually interfered with a killing mission he had in a theme park her class happened to have a field trip to.

She’s a baby Spideypool shipper too.

Ellie is Wade’s weak spot, and he only tells people about her if he trusts them. The ones that come to mind are people he likes, namely Shiklah, Spidey, and Rogue, as well as two kids further down on this list. Wolverine and Captain America know too, but because they were part of the mission where he found out about her. Super Soldier team-up.

Also, here’s her in the future. She’s a badass.

I love her so much.

Warda Wilson

(Full disclosure, I did minor editing on this panel because this is the one image of her full body without her mask and they gave her pupils that she has in no other panels and it bothered me so I fixed it)

Wade’s daughter in the 2099 future with his ex-wife, succubus and monster queen Shiklah, and she goes by Deadpool. She had a vendetta against Wade at first for supposedly betraying Shiklah and held him captive. But Ellie rescued him, they cleared things up, and they work together as a family, all three of them, plus brain-ghost Preston.

Deathpool

Exclusive to the video game Marvel Strike Force, but she’s so neat I had to include her. Literally born from “the power of love” between Deadpool and Death, she takes over her mom’s job but is a total daddy’s girl; he trained her to wield weapons and be a quippy little shit, and until he was snapped by Thanos because he’s got issues, she’d visit him on occasion.

(She doesn’t have a canon “normal” name, but I like the name Evita Wilson. It rearranges the letter of the word “vitae” which is Latin for “life” and y’know irony. Plus Evita is the name of both a musical and a Madonna album and you cannot tell me Wade wouldn’t love that)

Itsy Bitsy

Not a friendly, but biologically his daughter (and Spidey’s) from Evil Science Shenanigans. Formerly Susan Mary, a play on “Mary Sue”. She calls both of them “daddy” and even wears a Spiderpool emblem shirt. She’s pretty extreme. Bloodthirsty. Wade actually had to stop Spidey from killing her because Peter was so scared of her and someone was messing with his head. He cut Wade’s head off to try to keep him from interfering. It was kinda nuts. Wade ended up doing what he thought was killing her to keep Spidey’s hands clean. She’s not gone though...

Master Matrix

Another Spideypool kid, no shit. A good one too! And a rare boy on this list! A robot of some type discovered by Richard and Mary Parker, so already hitting home for Peter. After a short villainous confusion after waking from stasis, he was basically taken under Spider-Man’s and Deadpool’s wings and called them both “Father”. The arc is literally officially titled “My Two Dads”. They act like his parent and it’s just *chefs kiss* It’s a whole thing. MM gives off weird vibes, but all in all, he just wants to help. He’s a good boy!

He even gets them to hug!

He then proceeds to send them on a bonding road trip with just...so much Spideypool. That’s where the “Why are you holding my hand?” “It helps me focus.” comes from. And so much fourth-wall breaking and writer interference. Spidey even plays along with Wade’s fourth-wall-breaking shenanigans even though he doesn’t believe it. It’s the best.

Now we move to ones who aren’t his kids!

Gwendolyne Poole

Gwenpool and Deadpool weren’t chummy at first; she didn’t read his book and thought he was too “lol memes”. But they actually got to be pretty friendly. They’re buddies now.

He helped Gwen when she was having an existential crisis and is currently the caretaker of her pet Jeff the Land Shark who is the cutest thing and I love him. He even dresses as Gwen once to make Jeff happy it’s adorable.

I also think he rocks Gwen’s look. He looks great.

Ellie Phimister

Everyone knows about Negasonic Teenage Warhead from the movies where they have that affectionate deadpan snark between them. When they first met, Wade’s group had been contracted to kidnap her. She evaded everyone else, but when met with Deadpool who literally tried to talk her into being kidnapped, she had a vision where he said he wouldn’t leave her behind, and she literally just surrenders.

When Wade finds out what is happening to his targets, he goes in to save her. She has a particular loyalty to Wade and sticks by him pretty much no matter what, but she gradually settles into that deadpan sarcasm.

She takes his nonsense with a straight face and doesn’t tolerate his bullshit. Or at least snarks right back at him.

She’s also one of the few who for sure know about the other Ellie, Eleanor, and looks out for her.

Gabrielle Kinney

A little unexpected, but adorable! Gabby Kinney, also known as Scout or Honey Badger, which is amazing. She don’t give a FUCK. She’s a clone of Laura Kinney, aka X-23 and Wolverine, who is another clone daughter of Logan/James/OG Wolverine. She and Wade bonded over their scars and they’re besties now.

There aren’t a whole lot of instances of Wade and Gabby together, but every SINGLE one is absolute gold. They’re so fucking CUTE. Prepare for so many panels.

Have you seen anything more precious? Best friends.

Evan Sabahnur

Formerly Kid Apocalypse, also known as Genesis. Long story, but pretty much explained in the above page. Wade in particular was determined to save him, as killing him didn’t sit right for some reason, and he was certain that despite everything, Evan was a good kid. When shit went down and Evan didn’t think he could return to the Academy, Wade took him in. Like, brought him to the home he bought across the street from Eleanor and the Prestons.

Wade even says he’ll never have a son, (this is before MM, but it’s funny cuz biologically and multiversely, he does only have daughters) but if he did he’d like him to be like Evan, which is hilarious to me. But that kinda makes what Wade says super sweet.

He also saves Ellie.

Haruka Hida

From Deadpool Samurai, she goes by Sakura-Spider and is a blatant Peter Parker rip-off. Literally she lives with her Aunt Mei and her Uncle Tsutomu which the kanji can also be read as Ben. No shit. The only real difference is the spider bit her on her face and it scarred, hence the spots under her eye. BUT she’s Deadpool’s partner in Japan and she’s super cute. Typical manga protag girl but what can you expect?

(Legit buy them they’re super fun and it’s worth it especially if you like manga it’s so dumb and I love it please buy it)

Neiro Aratabi

Another Deadpool: Samurai character. As said above, she’s an idol in Japan. She’s bonded to an amnesiac symbiote she calls Kage (in case you aren’t up on Japanese, it’s pronounce like “kah-gay” and it means shadow). They like chocolate. She doesn’t get a lot of screen time, but she’s happy being part of the team. She’s content as long as people think she’s cute, for, of course, over-dramatic very anime reasons.

That is ELEVEN CHILDREN. And I’m a newb, this might not even be all of the kids he’s close to!

For comparison, Bruce Wayne has SIX kids (Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian). He has a few other pseudo-kids, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, and maybe Helena Bertinelli and Maps Mizoguchi, but like...dude.

I need everyone to know that Deadpool is good with kids.

177 notes · View notes

howtowhumpyourhiccup · 6 months

Text

Ambush

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 20. Set in a post-apocalyptic AU. At night, Hiccup is ambushed by Dagur.

Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, bullying, sadism, torture, mutilation

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Dagur

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 2 328

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Dehumanization

Alt prompt: Mutilation

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: It's AI-less Whumptober time, which means it's time for a new AU! A new Post-apocalyptic AU! Except it's not zombies this time. Though it IS originally inspired by The Last of Us. :)

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

For some reason, Hiccup finds that bullies keep getting put in charge in his world. Snotlout is the Room Captain and they share this room with only two other boys, but that’s enough to make his ego grow ten sizes.

Apparently, he was told he had “great leadership potential,” which in layman’s terms simply means “you’re mean enough to push people to do what you want.”

Somehow, being related to one another only makes him treat him worse.

But mean is still mean. It’s not sadism. Snotlout isn’t Dagur and Dagur is in charge of the entire boys dormitory.

For as much as he can be an asshole, his cousin wouldn’t sneak into their own room. He wouldn’t drag Hiccup from his bed and muffle his startled cries. He wouldn’t be intimidating enough to keep the rest of the boys from saying something because he scares them. He wouldn’t have dragged him out into the hallway, his feet dragging as he can’t find his footing. He wouldn’t be intimidating enough to make a guard on patrol look the other way as he finally pins him around a corner, hiding them away in the shadows.

But Dagur would.

His head hits the brick wall first and pain explodes there. The air outside is frigid, Hiccup’s panicked breaths come out as white puffs of air while he struggles against. Unfortunately for him, Dagur is much stronger than he is. He’s stronger, older, and bigger.

“No! Let me go!” Hiccup demands. There’s something awful about being pulled from your bed. He has only just moved in and he’s had trouble sleeping. That room wasn’t his just because his dad decided to put him there. The Berk Guard, the walled city of Berk’s unquestioned authority, isn’t his home. And then the first night he finally falls asleep, that’s when Dagur strikes.

“Stop fighting! Stop it!” Dagur slams him against the wall again, then his arm settles on his throat. That is what it takes to stop Hiccup’s fighting.

Truth be told, he stares up at his elder with pure fear in his eyes. They’re watery from the fright, from having the back of his head slammed twice into a hard brick wall, from being choked. He claws at his arm, but Dagur doesn’t relent.

“I know you, Hiccup,” Dagur spits his name out. “I know you’re Stoick’s son. I know you think people like your daddy just because he founded this city. But let me make one thing crystal clear.”

He holds up a knife with his free right hand and flips it open. It gleams in the spotlight keeping the courtyard lit.

“No one cares whose balls your scrawny nepo-ass comes from. I don’t care and the higher-ups, they really don’t care. I could poke out your eye right now and you know what would happen?” Hiccup tries to squirm out of his grip as Dagur brings the tip of the blade closer to his left eye. All that gets him is more pressure put onto his throat and he audibly gasps for air. Or he certainly tries to.

“Pl-pleh-” One tear slips free.

Looking past Dagur, a guard happens to pass them and their eyes meet, she appears to be a woman. But all she does is turn right back around and pretend like she didn’t see anything. Dread settles.

“You would just be sent to the infirmary and if you live, you still wouldn’t tell anyone who gouged out your eye, because even if you did, no one would do anything about it. And you would live the rest of your tiny meaningless life under my thump, afraid that I could swoop in and take your other eye, leaving you a crippled waste of space wasting away in the gutter. So you better listen to every word that I say, because I’m in charge! Not your daddy, ME! You got it?”

Hiccup doesn’t respond, still clawing at Dagur’s arm, still choking.

“I asked you a question!” Dagur slams him backwards for a third time and another startled cry leaves him, there was a brief intake of air.

He mouths the words, unable to speak them properly, wheezing. ‘I got it. Please.’

Dagur relieves the pressure just a tad and the boy’s lungs greedily take even the smallest ounce of oxygen. He considers himself quite generous for this gesture.

“I… I got it,” Hiccup croaks out. He’s so lightheaded, his face red from the blood in his head, yet turning blue from the lack of air.

“Good,” the smirk on Dagur’s face is full of satisfaction. He derives a ridiculous amount of pleasure out of this intimidation tactic.

But he’s not done yet.

The knife comes closer again and Hiccup’s struggling grows. His heart races, he tries to cry out, but the pressure on his throat grows once more. All sound is strangled from his voice.

He’s going to gouge out his eye anyway. Hiccup agrees that he’s in charge and he’s still going to do it!

Why? Why him?! No one else is missing an eye!

“No… No!”

“I’m gonna make sure you never forget tonight.”

Hiccup tries to kick him, the knife is right there. But all Dagur does is knee him in the gut, cracking a rib because of his high aim.

It knocks out what little air remained in his lungs, his eyes roll to the back of his head, blackness attempts to creep in.

And then the knife makes contact.

With the skin under his eye and not his eye itself.

There’s a hellish burning. Hiccup tries to pull away, but Dagur grabs his face and keeps his head in place. He drags a straight line across and over his cheekbone. He’s like an artist, taking his time, seeking perfection, his focus unwavering. Deep red blood runs down the cut, mixing with his tears and then sliding down Dagur’s thumb to pool at his upper lip. Hiccup can taste his own blood.

And then the knife leaves briefly just for Dagur to maneuver it around the bridge of his nose, just under his other eye. He tries again to pull away, his hands pulling on Dagur’s, but to no avail. The grip on his cheeks is unforgiving, bruising.

“Stop..” He whines, the burning unbearable.

And then the two cuts connect and Dagur is satisfied. The knife comes away and shimmers in red.

Finally letting go, Hiccup falls, hurting his tailbone on impact. He didn’t realize his feet were no longer touching the ground until his abuser was no longer holding him up.

Dagur looks down at him, nothing but contempt for the boy he made bleed. He scoffs and then leaves, kicking dirt in his face before he turns on his heel. He’s probably about to head to bed and act like he’s done nothing wrong. He’ll probably sleep like a baby, too. That is, if he doesn’t have anything else sadistic planned before bed.

Remaining on the ground, Hiccup’s heart has yet to begin to calm down. The adrenaline leaves him shaking. The shock of what was just done to him catches up to him quickly and he starts to cry. He can remember the last time he was afraid, it’s when his father decided he was better off joining the Berk Guard. But he can’t remember the last time he cried.

Not like this.

There’s a waterfall coming down his face and the salt adds to the burning of his cut. Sobs wreck his body and he feels like he can’t breathe. He certainly tries, but his breaths are too fast, too shallow, and completely devoid of any actual air. It doesn’t take long for panic to settle on.

He grabs for his pj shirt. He grabs for something else, he doesn’t know what. He wants to stand and get away from something, but can’t find the strength to move. His chest hurts and his head swims.

And then…

“Hey, hey!”

A flashlight shines directly in his face and it’s so startling it manages to break him out of his panic attack somewhat. The voice belonged to a girl, but he doesn’t see her face until she stops shining the beam directly at him. The girl is a blond with blue eyes and shoulder length hair in a strict and slick ponytail pulled tight.

She kneels in front of him and pulls what he can only hope is a clean handkerchief from her pjs pockets. He recoils away from her, both because of what he has just gone through and because he would rather not get an infection and actually end up losing his eyes to gangrene.

“Hey, it’s fine,” there’s a hard tone to her voice, despite her apparent want to help. She tries again, he grabs her wrist. She sighs.

“My name is Astrid, I saw Dagur drag you out here from the girls’ dormitory. I swear I mean you no harm,” she promises. Hiccup is hesitant, but chooses to believe her.

“… Okay,” he replies softly, letting go of her. His throat is amongst the long list of places on his body that hurts. He sounds hoarse.

Astrid attempts in vain to clean his face, but the entire bottom half is covered in blood and he’s still bleeding. He has to keep his lips tightly shut if he doesn’t want to swallow a drop more. The metallic tang plagues his tongue. Within seconds, her handkerchief is soaked and her hand is stained. The entire time as she takes care of him, Hiccup can’t help but watch her every move.

“Damnit,” she mutters. “I think a visit to the infirmary is unavoidable, sorry.”

Hiccup wipes at his mouth. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

Astrid rises and offers him a hand, which he takes. His rib doesn’t agree with the help and his head doesn’t agree with the sudden rise to his feet. He places a hand on his side. Gods, he’s in so much pain.

“You know why Dagur did that, right?” She asks as she starts towards the infirmary and he follows her with slow steps. Unlike Dagur, they actually do need to sneak around and avoid detection.

“Because of my dad.”

“Because you’re weak.”

“Gee, I really needed that,” Hiccup responds sarcastically. His eyes are still thick from his outburst of emotion and he rubs in them with the palms of his hands. He’s careful not to touch his cut.

Astrid pushes Hiccup backwards and hides them both in the shadow of a corner. He falls back and she catches him, his face contorts in a grimace. After the guard has passed, she talks.

“You know what I mean!” She tells him. “You're smaller than him, you can’t fight him off, but more importantly; you’re new. And Dagur can’t stand the thought of anyone maybe not being afraid of him.”

“I haven’t seen anyone else with a cut up face.”

“Oh yeah, no, that’s because of your dad. But if you were tough enough-“ Astrid quickly pulls him towards the door of the main building and closes the door behind them.

“If you were tough enough, he would at least think twice.”

All of the power of their generators goes to the floodlights outside- and the living quarters of the higher-ups- so this hallway is bathed in darkness.

“So be tougher than Dagur the Deranged? Yeah, no, I’ll just go find a yak to lift daily,” his remark gets a smile out of Astrid. He wipes at his mouth again, she looks at him up and down.

“No, I don’t think that’s possible, but you’ve got the attitude of someone who might get Dagur to swallow his words,” her smile still intact, she grabs Hiccup’s hand and pulls him along towards the infirmary.

-XOXOX-

Nowadays, Hiccup doesn’t remember the exact length it took for that cut to heal, just that it was long. He had to awkwardly wear a bandage across his face that obscured half of his vision. There were bets on how he could’ve injured himself, this was before they saw what the injury looked like. After it’s reveal, he was considered both parts a freakshow as well as marginally cool. People stared no matter where he went.

And just as Dagur suspected, none of their superiors actually bothered to find out what happened to him. Because no one joined the Berk Guard after the world ended at the talons of dragons to be a good influence in their city.

At least the nurse back then was a nice older lady. She was gentle with him as she treated him. Since then, she has contracted the Dragon’s Scourge and was therefore thrown to the streets. A decade of loyal service and care meant nothing.

Hiccup still sees her, not that his higher ups know. He’s her only source of pain medication now; stolen from the very people he so- and oh so- dutifully works for three years after his traumatic encounter with Dagur.

Closing the little medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink, his scarred face meets him and he pauses. Sometimes it still startles him to see a scar that big across his face. It starts underneath one eye and goes across the bridge of his nose, under his other eye, and ends just past his left cheekbone. The mental image of him still doesn’t match reality.

He rubs in his eyes, deftly avoiding his scar. Though it’s been a long time, he still feels as though just touching the giant blemish will tear it right open. No one is allowed to touch it, not without a good reason.

But he’s tired and his eyes show it. He’s been pulling too many all-nighters and he desires at least week’s worth of sleep.

“Are you coming?” Astrid calls from the bedroom and Hiccup gives her an audible hum.

“Uh yeah, coming,” he tells her before turning his back on his reflection and joining his girlfriend in the darkness of his room.

8 notes · View notes