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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

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bioluminescence | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season one — you thought all bellamy blake wanted was sex and other women, but when you sneak outside of the camp walls at night, bioluminescent plants are not the only shocking discovery you make, and not everyone is happy about it.

warnings: fluff, swearing, jealousy, mention of sexual themes, (L/N) use, roma

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

word count: 4.1k

Sleep was a rare luxury after you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to Earth, especially since you were all crowded in a small camp surrounding the drop ship. Teenage hormones, anger, violence, and trauma were not a great combination for peace. So, it was either crying, fistfights, or the incessant moans of couples who couldn't keep it in their pants for more than five minutes that usually kept you awake at night.

You were certain it was Bellamy Blake and his two model-looking female companions who were often to blame for that last subject. Although to everyone in the camp, it was very obvious that their relationship was solely physical, neither Roma nor Bree seemed to appreciate when other women talked, interacted with, or even sat near him. Clarke was a heavy target because of her co-leadership with Bellamy. And so were you.

You were within the inner circle, the informal 'Earth council'. You were also handy with a rifle and knowledgeable in tracking, so it wasn't exactly surprising whenever Bellamy took you with him on various missions and hunts. Sometimes though, he would bring you with him even if the task wasn't within your skillset—those were the times you were left feeling a little confused.

Nevertheless, a small friendship sprung from it. You weren't best buddies, but you weren't opposed to each other's company either. That was a big no-no to Roma and Bree and they frequently expressed that fact through passive-aggressive tactics.

This night was no different from others. Thankfully, it was the never-ending fistfights that kept you awake instead of other's carnal endeavours. You opened the flap of your tent and stepped out into the crisp air; autumn was definitely approaching. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked around the camp, unsure of where to wait out the commotion. Everywhere was taken, so you decided a brief walk in the woods wouldn't hurt. Well, you hoped it wouldn't. At least if the Grounders killed you, you would finally get some undisturbed rest.

As you made your way over to one of the fence-wall openings, you ran smack-bang into a barely dressed girl with long brown hair. Roma.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," she spat, scrutinising your appearance from top to bottom.

Ignoring her lovely remark, you eyed her jeans and the way her upper half was only covered by a grey sports bra. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now I'm not." She smirked, eyes flickering to Bellamy's tent.

You grimaced. I so didn't need to know that.

Right on cue, Bellamy emerged from his tent, fully clothed. He scanned the surroundings before his hardened gaze briefly landed on Roma and then settled on you; it was impossible to miss the way his face softened when your eyes met. Strange.

"Jealous?" she asked, regaining your attention.

"Unlikely."

You brushed past her, though she made an effort to forcefully knock your shoulder and spit another curse at you. Classy.

Bellamy took a step toward you. "Hey—"

But you simply moved past him, continuing toward the wall and saying, "A real gem you've got yourself there."

At least Bree was all bark and no bite.

You could hear him sigh as the distance between you both grew.

Truth be told, you were a little jealous. An unfortunate truth but still a truth all the same. You knew you were beginning to feel something deeper for Bellamy and it was becoming difficult listening to other girls brag about their nights with him. Not like you would ever tell him though—he wasn't a relationship type of guy and as far as you could tell, his feelings for you were platonic.

Never mind. You could settle for his friendship... for now.

You had made it outside the camp walls. At first, you planned on circling the fence for a while, but when your eyes caught on something glowing from the opposite side of a tree, you strayed from your path. Rounding the tree's trunk, you found a glowing neon-pink flower; the species of which you were unsure, but it was beautiful. Then, in your peripheral vision, there was something else lighting up your vision, something blue this time. There was another flower just a few trees away.

And again, you walked over to the strange plant, only to find yourself now on a journey that kept leading to more and more glowing flowers the deeper into the woods you trekked. They were almost everywhere and at this point, you were practically running with an excited grin on your face. In the near distance, numerous radiant colours lit up an area covered by a thick cluster of trees. You wove yourself through branches and leaves, pushing your way into the bright section of the woods.

Once you emerged from the trees, amazement morphed into your expression. You had stepped into a small meadow filled with glowing flowers of various colours that covered the forest floor. There were countless species, but they all shared the same mesmerising radiance. Much to your disbelief, there were even electric blue luminous butterflies that concealed the tree trunks and fluttered in the air.

"Bioluminescence," you whispered to yourself.

It was so beautiful, you could have cried.

Maybe you should just leave the camp and build a hut here. It would certainly beat living with the others.

As you moved further into the small clearing, the butterflies flew closer around you. Holding out an arm, one butterfly tentatively circled your hand before landing in your palm. You laughed in amazement, watching as the small creature curiously crawled across your hand and ticked your skin. Okay, that settled it—you were definitely a Disney princess.

The sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling suddenly pulled you from your amazement; it was coming from where you had entered the clearing. You reached down to your belt only to find the knife holster on it empty. Of course, you didn't bring your knife. You had left the camp's safety and didn't even think to bring a weapon. So stupid.

Before you could reprimand yourself any further, a tall figure emerged from the tree line. The tight dark blue shirt was an easy identifier as to who the figure was. And so were those deep brown eyes.

It was Bellamy. "Woah."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your tensed body relax again.

His gaze swept across the vivid tree-encompassed meadow, sharing the same wonderous expression you once had. The overpowering glow from the butterflies turned his tanned skin a light blue, defining the contours of his face and arm muscles. He sort of looked otherworldly.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked.

The incident before you left camp quickly returned to mind and it was evident in the slight irritation etched on your face. He didn't need to respond for you to realise that he had followed you. Great. His little girlfriends were going to have a field day tomorrow if they saw him come after you.

Bellamy's eyes found yours, taking note of your negative reaction. His steps were cautious as he began walking towards you. "I could ask you the same thing."

He stopped in front of you, peering down through a few stray strands of dark brown hair whilst wearing his infamous lazy smirk. No wonder girls were always fawning over him; he was gorgeous, and he damn well knew it too. Even you were falling into the very same trap. Unlike them, though, it was the moments you shared with him when you were alone that conjured your attraction to him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had also learnt that he was surprisingly a decent human being. More than decent actually, despite how he presented himself to others.

He treated you with respect—a lot more than many others had ever done. You had learnt to trust each other, communicate effectively, and work as a team. Sometimes, you would even find yourselves discussing things that you both intended to keep within till the day you died, things that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

No matter how much you hated it, you couldn't help but develop feelings for him. Even when it seemed he was preoccupied with other women.

Bellamy eyed you, waiting for the snarky retort he knew you were putting together.

You sighed and turned around, crouching on the floor to inspect one of the neon-pink flowers. "Shouldn't you be teaching Roma and Bree gun handling safety in your tent right now?"

That line was dangerously close to sounding like jealousy and you knew it. You bit your tongue because Lord knows you were most likely to expose your feelings for Bellamy through word vomit.

If only you had been facing him to witness the shame washing through his eyes.

"Funny," he said. "But no. I've got more important things to do."

"Like what? Making sure your best hunting partner doesn't get killed by glowing plants?" you joked, glancing over your shoulder to see his reaction.

It wasn't a grin or smirk like you expected. Not even a little chuckle. Instead, he simply stared at you with this intense look in his eye; it was almost sad but also like he was trying to communicate something to you telepathically.

"Something like that," he murmured.

After those words left his mouth, something about the atmosphere shifted. You suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion and his soul-piercing stare was not helping. There wasn't a wide selection of movies on the Ark, but you had watched them all, including all the romance movies. The only thing you could compare Bellamy's gaze to was Mr. Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice. Reluctance. Longing. It was all there. Had you been completely wrong about his feelings for you? Or were you just imagining it?

The likelihood of Bellamy sharing your same feelings seemed impossible, so you chalked it up to your wishful imagination.

You stood back up, facing him but avoiding making eye contact. "Well, I—uh," you stammered. "I'm not going back. Not yet."

"I didn't come here to take you back."

That made your gaze meet his.

Why did you come then, Bellamy? you thought.

He side-stepped you and you turned to see him wandering deeper into the meadow. He began observing each and every beauty and oddity the small sanctuary held, touching the petals of every flower with a delicateness you had never witnessed before. Soon enough, you felt compelled to join him.

The two of you must have spent an hour in that meadow, inspecting each species of flora, hovering your fingertips through the glowing cusp of each plant as if you could feel its light on your skin, laughing together when a butterfly landed on the tip of your nose. Sometimes you caught Bellamy watching whenever your face lit up with excitement as you discovered something new. He never really looked at what you had found; he just looked at you, but you were too overjoyed to even contemplate why.

You felt like you had entered a dream, protected from the outside world where there were Grounders, war, and bitchy brown-haired girls. Everything real was forgotten, even your unrequited feelings for Bellamy. You just enjoyed his company in this dream and pretended it would last forever.

Somehow, you had both ended up lying on the forest floor side-by-side, surrounded by flowers as you stared up at the starry night sky through the tree crowns. It wasn't as cold as before; you guessed it was because of Bellamy's close proximity to you. One of his hands was behind his head, the other on his stomach. His warmth was radiating off his skin and onto your own.

You could have fallen asleep if you closed your eyes. Probably not the most logical idea though.

Bellamy's quiet, yet deep voice disrupted the silence. "It's just a distraction, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Those girls," he clarified, and you watched as his words turned to mist, carrying into the black sky. "If I focus too much on the fact that I have to control an entire camp of teenagers, fight a war against the Grounders, while taking care of Octavia and y—" he cut himself off, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I just feel like I start to lose myself."

Your focus shifted from the sky to him. Even he didn't seem to be looking at the sky anymore, despite his gaze still being pointed straight upward. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Serious and sombre—much different compared to how they had been just a short while ago.

"Well," you began softly. "We can't have that. You already seem a little rough around the edges, Blake."

A grin slowly formed across his lips and he shook his head. He turned his head to the side, looking down at your smiling expression from where he lay. The weightiness from before had melted from his demeanour. Because of a little distraction.

You had thought those two girls he spent most nights with were there purely for his own physical needs or because his attraction to them was greater than his self-control. Never had you contemplated the fact that it might have been because he was mentally struggling with the hardships of being a leader. Of course, how could you have? He had never told you before now.

Your brows furrowed. "Why tell me?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and the grin fell from his lips. A sense of seriousness returned but this time it was less heavy. It seemed more like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Like a declaration. Like a long-awaited confession.

You felt something warm brush against your hand; it gently grazed over your knuckles, lighting a fire beneath your skin. In Bellamy's dark eyes, you could see the reflection of his hand caressing your own and your heart leapt to your throat.

"Why do you think?" he murmured, his eyes flickering between your own, urging you to connect the dots instead of making him say it aloud.

Your lips parted and the crease between your eyebrows deepened.

Every time he picked you first to be his partner on a mission, every deep conversation you shared when no one else was around—they all had a hidden meaning. All the times his hand brushed against yours as you walked in sync side-by-side, the times you caught him staring at you through a one-hundred-person dense crowd, or the way he would step in front of you as if to shield you whenever there was even a hint of danger—it was all because...

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah." His eyes flickered between yours before he turned back to the stars. "And I—I understand if you don't feel the same way; I know I haven't given you much reason to. From those girls to the... the radio, and the culling on the Ark. If I could take—"

His sentence was cut short as you leaned over him, pressing your lips to his. You could feel his pulse racing in his lips. Or was it your own? Probably both. Your hair fell to the side and his mouth started to move against your own. He began to rise, moving you up along with him until you were both kissing in a sitting position.

Bellamy's hand moved to cradle your jaw, his lips slow and tender. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be, with his lips on yours in the middle of a fairy-tale-like meadow whilst surrounded by a field of glowing flowers and beautiful winged creatures.

The butterflies weren't just circling you now, they were somehow fluttering around in your stomach too and it felt exhilarating.

Unfortunately, the kiss did have to come to an end at some point. Even so, the warm fluttering in your stomach never ceased. Bellamy had pulled away first, his hands gently falling from your jaw and back into his lap. He was looking at you and at first, you were afraid he would get up and leave, or tell you he had changed his mind. But he didn't. A smile crept across his lips—not a self-satisfied smirk or a tantalising grin, but a genuine smile.

Forget the butterflies; your stomach was doing somersaults now. He found your hand once more and interlocked it with his own in your lap. His thumb drew small circles on the side of your palm almost as if he knew you needed a reminder that this moment was really happening.

"That was my first kiss," you admitted.

His smile became a little nervous. "Was it okay?"

Was it okay? This boy was a little clueless if he couldn't tell that you thoroughly enjoyed having his lips on yours. So, you answered him with another soft peck to his lips, then pulled back again to see his reaction. He chuckled, nodding his head to say he understood.

"We can always come out here to practice if you want," he said, this time with a smirk.

You laughed. "I think that's a good idea."

He tucked a lock behind your ear and gently brushed pieces of hair away from your face. You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. Well, it was probably more of a violet hue due to the intense blue glow from the plants and butterflies. Either way, it still revealed how nervous he made you feel.

"It's getting late. We should probably head back and sleep," you said. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, creating his own little innuendo with your words and your eyes widened. "Not together! Alone, I mean. In separate tents. With clothes... on..." you trailed off, realising you were only digging yourself a deeper hole.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

He just chuckled and rose to his feet. "Come on, (L/N). Let's go sleep."

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he helped you stand up with him.

For a brief moment, you gave the area one last look, imprinting the memory into your mind. Who could have guessed that when you left the camp walls you would enter a fairy tale of vivid colours and electric butterflies? Or, even more surprising, that Bellamy Blake would later confess his feelings for you? All you had wanted was an escape; instead, you got a dream come true.

Bellamy pressed a hand to your lower back, guiding you with him towards the tree line in comfortable silence.

The walk back to the drop ship was pretty quiet. No more words needed to be said; a conversation that clarified what you two were now could wait for tomorrow when your brains weren't clouded by fatigue and the fresh excitement from confession. Some things hadn't changed though. Bellamy still stole glances at you every now and then, as you did him, earning a nervous smile and blush each time either of you got caught. Your hands alternated from brushing against one another to ever-so-slightly linking pinkies.

Okay, maybe things had changed a little.

You passed each flower that had led you to the meadow and this time, they became less and less as you grew closer to the drop ship. As you came up on the camp walls, the sound of fighting and conversations had died down and was replaced by the faint crackling of dying fires.

Finally, you both stepped through one of the openings and were within the camp. There didn't seem to be anyone awake; with the way the moon was shining down straight overhead, it was clear why.

Your pinkie fell from Bellamy's and you moved in front of him, taking a few slow steps backwards. "Uh, that's my tent over there," you said, gesturing behind you.

His eyes never left yours as he continued to walk toward you. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?"

A grin stretched across his lips as he hummed and reached for your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands wound around his neck, a smile present on your face as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your own. His lips had just brushed against your own when someone behind you cleared their throat and you both jumped apart.

Bellamy peered beside your head, semi-glaring at the interrupter behind you.

What a surprise it was when you turned around to see Roma, arms crossed—clothes on, thankfully—and looking severely unhappy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said with a scowl.

Perfect. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Looks like her field day had come early.

No way. You were too tired to deal with this. You gave Bellamy an apologetic glance before attempting to slip away through the gaps between tents. Unfortunately, it wasn't in Roma's best interest to let you off so easily. She caught your wrist and jerked you back toward her.

Bellamy looked like he was about to step in, but you beat him to it.

You tore your wrist from her grasp, words dripping with bitterness as you said, "Never do that again."

For a split second, she looked the slightest bit intimidated, but then quickly covered it up with disdain. Her gaze flickered from you to Bellamy; it was hard to miss the way she straightened her posture and tried to look more presentable for him.

And for a split second of your own, you felt the slightest twinge of fear that Bellamy would change his mind about you and leave with her again. But at that very same moment, he gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to his side, dissipating all your previous worries.

Both you and Roma looked down at your interlocked hands in disbelief.

"Listen, Roma." He sighed, sounding like he was desperately trying to keep his cool. "I think it's best if you and Bree find another tent to sleep in from now on."

Her disbelief turned into pure astonishment. "What? Are you serious?"

Bellamy lightly squeezed your hand.

God, he was putting this girl through the five stages of grief. You almost felt bad. Then you remembered the daily torment she had been putting you through just for existing and the remorse immediately washed away.

"Because of her? She's not even—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she realised any insult thrown at you would end badly for her. It's not like Bellamy would hurt her, but he did have power over the camp, so he would probably force her to share a tent with Myles or something. His non-stop babbling would drive her to insanity.

She gave him a defiant look. "What if we don't want to leave?"

"I'll take the tent down and move it somewhere else."

"Then Bree and I will make both your lives a living Hell."

You could hear Bellamy suppress a laugh. "Unlikely," he echoed your previous words.

Roma looked to you as if you could help her case—the audacity. You gave her a sarcastic 'what-can-you-do?' shrug which just enhanced her seething temper. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere and the moment she realised, you swore you could see her ego literally deflating.

She made a short high-pitched noise of frustration and spun around, her hair whipping melodramatically through the air as she practically stomped back to Bellamy's tent. You could hear her call out to the other girl inside, telling her to 'pack her shit' and that they were moving tents. Not long after, the blonde-haired girl emerged from the tent flap holding a bundle of clothes. Roma must have explained to her what happened because they both shot a venomous glare in your direction and then walked off in search of another tent.

You sighed in relief as they disappeared out of sight. You were about to walk back to your own tent, but Bellamy tugged you back to him once more, his arms wrapping around your torso as your hands fell on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she'd handle it better."

You fiddled with the material of his shirt, half-smiling. "I told you she was a gem."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "My taste of women has been a little... questionable."

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling your body up against his. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your waist, sending a wave of goosebumps across your body.

"You should really try breaking that trend."

He had that same intense look in his eye as when you were both in the meadow. This time it didn't hold any sadness or longing, but rather a sense of finality and affection, like his greatest wish had finally come true—that would make two of you. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as his face grew closer to yours.

The heart thumping in your chest almost gave out as you reflexively leaned further into his warm embrace.

"I already have," he murmured before his soft lips descended upon yours.

And the butterflies returned.

#yes roma is a warning #wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #bellamy x clarke #bellarke #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake x reader #bellamyblake #the100edit #the 100 #bellarke fanfiction #bob morley smut #bob morley #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake x y/n

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rieamena · 3 months ago

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everything i wasn't and everything you were.

day 15 of inotober'24

fem aligned/intended reader

riea's comments: writing this made me cry bro

"please…" your voice came out strained and raspy from crying a few moments before, "come back safely."

"for you?"

"not just for me," you shook your head and drew attention to your extended arms. your brother's white and black wrapped weapon was sitting in your hands; his luxury watch atop it, twinkling slightly, "for him too."

takuma just stared down at it, frozen in shock. he knew what it meant, he just didn't want to believe it. "it's kind of funny, you know," you attempted to break the deafening silence although the tears welling up in your eyes betrayed you. "when he brought you to the shop for the first time, he told me that if anything were to happen to him, his watch and weapon would go to you." the man, only a few years younger than you, tore his gaze from the items, looking at you instead. your cheeks glistened with dried tears, new ones forming in milliseconds. "at first i brushed him off, my brother? nanami kento? the best sorcerer i know, bested by some curse? m-maybe he should've become a fortune teller instead of a sorcerer, maybe then t-this wouldn't have…" the memorabilia in your hands shook as you held your head down, the tears dropping onto the concrete below.

takuma dug his nails into his palm to stop himself from crying. he hated to see you like this, so broken, disheartened, and weak. and yet, nanami would know that there's still a mission to complete. that there's still people to protect. you to protect.

"ino, i know you." that's how his superior started, taking a sip of his chamomile tea afterwards. the cafe was homely, polished wooden tables and cushioned booths filled the space. the overhead lights hung low enough that if nanami jumped directly below one, it would hit his head. "i know that you're not the best at keeping things under wraps." he set his cup back down on the napkin, not wanting to possibly create a mug ring on the table itself. taking a deep sigh, the man intertwined his fingers and stared at his junior. takuma felt his hands get clammy and sweat run down his back. he doesn't even know what he's nervous about until nanami spoke up again, "you're dating my sister."

"please." you begged, wrapping your arms around him, eyes wetting his black crewneck. "please, takuma. stay alive." the man in question held onto his mentor's watch and weapon as he hugged you back tightly. "please. don't do something you'll regret and—" you continued, choking on your sobs, and that's when takuma felt himself break. he didn't care about being strong anymore, he let himself cry. to feel his grief and to understand your own.

"i will be back. nothing will stop me from coming back to you." he pressed his lips against yours in a gentle and sweet manner, wanting to convey just how much you meant to him. you kissed him back instantaneously with so much affection and force, hand slipping up his neck and under his beanie, fingers intertwined with his hair. you both pulled away and takuma kissed your forehead endearingly, rubbing your shoulders.

"i love you," were the last words he said before rushing into battle, and you didn't even get to say it back.

all that could be done was to wait, so you waited. hours turned into days. days turned into weeks. weeks to months. and months to years. sometime between then, you received word that takuma would be shipped off to the states for more advanced testing and healthcare. you still weren't able to see him. in the beginning, shoko would update you from time to time on how he was doing. you couldn't go and see for yourself though. he was in a high security hospital, no visitors allowed. shoko's updates got less and less frequent and the last time she contacted you was to say that he would be entering surgery soon.

you'd be lying if you said you moved on. on the day of kento's funeral, you stayed back and sat on the rain beaten grass, talking about whatever came to mind. you laughed at the irony of it all. it was always like this, you talking your brother's ear off and him occasionally saying something in response. he would always be less stoic around you, sometimes he'd even make a joke once in a while. you sat there for hours, talking to his gravestone, your heart anticipating a response but your head knowing that you'll never get one again.

the grass crunched under your shoes as you made your way through the cemetery, basket full of bread in hand. you made it a habit to visit your brother at least once a week, always making sure to bring something special, something that he loved.

"you're probably wondering about ino, huh?" you started, taking out a slice and spreading his favorite topping on it slowly. "i lost him too. don't get me wrong, he's not dead—at least i don't think he is—but i haven't heard from him since the day he went into the fight. i can only hope that he's safe and healthy or in the process of doing so—here's your slice." you set the bread on the stone, reaching back in the basket to start on your own. "i just wish i knew more about everything. you jujutsu sorcerers always kept things so secret…"

the crinkle of a bouquet of chamomile flowers against your brother's freshly cleaned marble gravestone made you jump. the bread and butter knife in your hands fell right into the basket you carried upon hearing a voice.

"keeping secrets isn't my thing. i'm sorry for making you wait so long."

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midastouch013 · 9 months ago

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Seasick

I'm sorry, I just had to use this gif, but it has nothing to do with the fic, I swear.

Based on this request

Summary: You're on a cruise with your girlfriend, and so why do you snap at her?

Warnings: None, unless you count throwing up.

P.S This one's short, I'm sorry, I've been kinda stuck on my writing

----

The cruise had been your idea—a chance for Natasha to unwind, away from the constant demands of being an Avenger. You knew how much she loved the sea, the gentle rocking of the waves, the endless expanse of blue stretching out as far as the eye could see. So, you planned this getaway, a luxury cruise away from the bustling city.

As the ship set sail, Natasha wasted no time in making the most of the luxurious accommodations. You found her stretched out on the private deck of your cabin, soaking up the sun in a black bikini that left little to the imagination. Her red hair was fanned out around her, and she wore sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight.

You, on the other hand, opted for comfort over style, dressed in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on a black tee and cargo shorts, a beer in hand as you admired the view (both of them).

"Enjoying yourself, Nat?" you asked, taking a sip of your beer.

Natasha cracked one eye open, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. "More than I can say, Y/n. This was a brilliant idea."

You settled into the deck chair beside her, reaching out to brush your fingers along her bare arm. "Just wanted to spoil my favorite Avenger a little."

Natasha chuckled, shifting to make room for you on the lounge chair. "Well, mission accomplished."

You hummed, giving her a forehead a peck followed by her lips

"I'm glad"

---

As the day wore on, you suggested exploring the ship and trying out some of the activities it had to offer. Natasha agreed enthusiastically, and soon you found yourselves participating in a salsa dancing class on the upper deck , against your many protests which had been override by a simple plead from the redhead.

However, Natasha couldn't help but notice that you kept disappearing at odd intervals. She watched you slip away multiple times, always with a mysterious expression on your face. Concern started to gnaw at her when you came back every time just a minute level paler, but she pushed it aside, not wanting to ruin the mood.

After the third time you disappeared, Natasha finally approached you, a slight frown marring her features. "Y/n, you keep disappearing. Is everything okay?"

You turned to face her, your expression neutral. "Yeah, everything's fine, babe. Just needed to take care of something."

Natasha's brow furrowed with worry. "Are you sure? You've been disappearing all day."

You felt a surge of frustration, your patience wearing thin. "I said I'm fine, Nat. Can you please just drop it?"

Natasha's concern turned to hurt as she recoiled slightly. "I'm just worried about you, Y/n. You've been acting strange all day."

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Well, maybe if you stopped hovering over me, I wouldn't feel the need to disappear!"

Natasha's eyes widened in shock at your outburst, hurt flashing in her eyes before she quickly masked it. "Fine," she said, her voice cold. "I'll leave you alone then."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving you standing there, regret washing over you in waves.

You stood there for a moment, your stomach churning with a mix of regret and guilt. But as you took a step to go after Natasha, a wave of nausea hit you like a ton of bricks. Clutching your stomach, you stumbled back towards your room, moving as quickly as you could.

By the time you reached the door, you were feeling light-headed and queasy. You barely made it to the bathroom before you were retching into the toilet, the taste of bile burning in your throat.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You groaned as you rinsed your mouth and splashed some water on your face, trying to soothe your frazzled nerves.

Feeling utterly defeated, you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around you. You closed your eyes, hoping that when you woke up you'd fell better and apologise to your girlfriend.

As you lay in bed, trying to calm your queasy stomach, you felt another wave of nausea hit you. Rushing to the bathroom once again, you barely made it in time before you were retching into the toilet for what felt like the fourth time since your argument with Natasha.

You were so focused on trying to keep your stomach under control that you didn't hear the door open, or the soft footsteps approaching you. It wasn't until a gentle hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles, that you realized you weren't alone.

Looking up, you saw Natasha kneeling beside you, her eyes filled with concern. "Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

You wanted to respond, to reassure her that you were fine, but another wave of nausea hit you, and you were back to retching into the toilet.

Natasha didn't hesitate. She pulled your hair back gently, holding it out of your face as you emptied your stomach once again. Her touch was gentle, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your misery.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily as you tried to regain your strength.

Natasha didn't say anything, just reached for a washcloth and wet it with cool water before gently wiping your face clean. Then she helped you to your feet, guiding you back to bed and tucking you in with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

"Thank you love," you whispered, your voice hoarse from retching.

Natasha smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Anytime baby. I'm here for you, always."

After you had gotten back under the covers of the bed, you felt a pang of guilt as you looked at Natasha, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, near your legs, watching you with concern.

"I'm sorry, Nat," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I forgot to bring my meds for my seasickness, and I didn't want to ruin our holiday."

Natasha's expression softened, and she reached out to take your hand in hers. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay."

You shook your head, feeling the need to explain further. "But I wanted this to be special for you. I wanted you to have a perfect holiday, with all of the recent missions and the government being on your back. I'm sorry I messed it up"

Natasha stood up and pulled you into a gentle hug, holding you close. "Y/n, you already make every day special just by being here with me. And as for the holiday, well, I hardly ever let myself have one, but being here with you is more than I could ever ask for."

"I love you, Nat. I just want you to have a good time"

"Anywhere with you is a good time" she assured, before a smirk creeped up her face,

"And I'm sure you'll show me an excellent time tonight"

" No walking for you tomorrow, that's for sure"

----

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #anon ask #anonymous #black widow x reader

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kindasleepywriter · 1 year ago

Text

The way to a droid's heart (Cal Kestis x BountyHunter!Reader)

Based on this wonderful request. Always open to hearing more ideas!

Summary: Cal demonstrates what happens to those who mess with you. Warnings: Implied and explicit threats, that's about it Word count: 2.9k

In all the years you’d known him, you’d never understood how Cal Kestis was still alive. When you had met him 6 years ago, you’d been just as idealistic and adventure-seeking as he was. The years that followed, however, had changed you and shaped you for survival. Dreams didn’t get you very far, not in the galaxy like this one.

You’d quickly lost hope of ever becoming a fighter pilot when you’d realized the few rebel cells were dropping like flies, all at the Empire’s hand. One lone pilot wouldn’t make a difference out there, you’d concluded, and from that moment you’d just tried not to end up as space rubble like your parents. You’d ended up as a bounty hunter instead, a damned-good one, and you took what joy you could while chasing bounties all over space.

Cal, on the other hand, never seemed to lose his ambition of defeating the Empire. Not that he’d ever told you that’s what he was doing, of course, but only a space slug could’ve been so blind as to not see it. He wasn’t exactly being subtle, making no effort to conceal the weapon at his side and giving his real name to anyone who might have asked. His ever-growing collection of scars didn’t portray him as a man who sat around waiting for change, either.

Perhaps you’d ask about them, one day.

You watched from the far end of a bar you’d never tried learning the name of, as a stoned-faced Pantoran you didn’t recognize spoke with Cal. You couldn’t quite hear their conversation but, with the way BD-1 had whizzed in boredom for a good 10 minutes before scurrying off to scan whatever he could find, you could deduce they weren’t exactly talking about their latest game of holo-chess.

You turned back to your drink, flipping up your hood and shaking your head softly at the man’s persistence. On the move, as always.

You were starting to come to terms with the fact that your contact wouldn’t be showing up. You’d already sighed watching your watch more times than you could count, annoyed at the inconvenience of flying so far into the outer rim for nothing. It had been a pain negotiating your meeting too, the contact insisting on you being alone with no weapons. You’d eventually faked giving in, choosing to keep your rifle and pistol on board your currently broken down S40K and instead hiding vibro-blades inside your boots.

The ship was already on its last legs when you got it, the only reason why you’d been able to pay, but the years had caught up with it in the last two months. You spent almost all of your money on maintaining it in the air, and you were running out of funds fast. The anticipated need to buy another cheap but more reliable hunk of metal was what had caused you to pick up another bounty only a few days after your last.

Normally, you liked to spread out jobs over a few weeks to enjoy the credits you made, but the sputtering of your engines when you’d crash landed into this city’s landing dock had made clear you couldn’t afford the luxury this time.

You were nearing the bottom of your drink, trying to plan a way off this planet without mounting any more personal debts to anyone, when you felt a small nudge at your right foot. You looked down, expecting to see some rodent or pest trying to eat through your sole, but were instead met with a little red and white hyperactive droid.

You scanned the room quickly to make sure no one was looking, and stretched a hand in his direction so he could haul himself up onto the cushioned booth. He didn’t hesitate to scramble up your arm, emitting a few whizzes and beeps of thanks on the way.

“Hey, beedee,” you greeted him flatly. “Thought I finally managed to evade your scans this time; guess I was wrong.”

A low whistle and a trill.

“I know, I know, you see everything. It’s hard to forget when you always choose to remind me at least twenty times every time you find me.”

He emitted a series of approving noises, and you rolled your eyes at his cockiness. Where he’d gotten that attitude wasn’t a great mystery. He jumped on one foot, nudging at your coat’s pockets with the other, his eyes going in and out of focus audibly as he searched for god-knows-what.

You tsked. “Will you stop that!” you chided and swatted him away like you would a cat. “Yes, I brought you something from my last job, stop assaulting me for a minute and let me find the damn thing. And you better not tell your dad, I’m not letting him think I’m a softie just because I keep entertaining your crow tendencies.”

Suddenly the picture of good manners, the droid sat and wiggled his legs as he sent you a sweet melody. Manipulative little shit, you thought affectionately. He was annoying as could be, but the little guy was cute.

You fished out a shiny piece of silver metal from your breast pocket. You had made sure not to lose the small leaf-shaped brooch, the perfect gift for BD-1. Your last bounty had necessitated infiltrating an Imperial event, and you’d found the piece while snooping through an officer’s desk. You’d never been so happy to have preemptively messed with the camera feeds.

The droid whistled in excitement and bathed your hand in a green light. You tried and failed to fight the smile that braced your lips as you watched him dance around your palm. He scanned the object from every angle he could find.

Too focused on his reaction, you failed to notice the individual looking over your shoulder until his shadow dimmed the wall you were facing. Too late to react properly, you shut your hand as quick as you could and turned to look at the man. Kin Fobam. Another bounty hunter, a Pau’an, one that always found a new way to piss you off. Today would apparently be no exception. BD beeped in annoyance at your movement before noticing you had company.

“Well, well. It would seem our little bounty hunter has a penchant for jewels after all.” the man sneered at you.

You rolled your eyes and did your best not to flinch at the lack of personal space, his two-meter height trapping you without much breathing room. You could smell the alcohol he had consumed, but you didn’t need it to know he was intoxicated. At this time of night, he always was. You were already almost pressed to the wall of your booth with only enough space to keep BD behind you, so you stood your ground and straightened up as best you could. You kept the droid in place as he spat angry threats at Kin, unwilling to let him make the situation worse.

“Kin, don’t you know women love shiny things?” you mocked with an arched brow, “Maybe if you’d known that earlier, that lovely Iridonian wouldn’t have spat at you again for your advances last week. How’s your attempt at courting her going, by the way?”

You subtly held the metal pin in pinched fingers behind your back as his white face somehow turned even paler in anger, desperately hoping BD-1 would understand what you were trying to tell him. You almost sighed in relief when you felt him swiftly slide it out of your hands into his stim container.

Kin moved even closer to you, forcing you to lean over BD in a desperate attempt to gain some personal space. Your free hand instinctively reached for your hip but only found the weathered leather of your empty holster. Shit, you’d left your guns on the ship! You didn’t have the space to reach for your blades either, so you had no choice but to do it the old way.

You tensed, ready to headbutt the towering Pau’an out of your space, but you stilled when you felt cold metal brush against your skin in the small gap where your shirt and pants met. A blaster. Fuck. This is why you never left without a firearm.

“I wonder, if that piece of metal is worth so much to someone like you,” he growled, “then maybe you’d accept payment in other forms… as thanks for sparing your life today, hm?”

You cringed at the implication of his words but took a steadying breath. You’d insulted this guy in more ways than you could count over the years and you knew he could pull that trigger without a second thought, but you’d fought bounties that were bigger, angrier, and certainly more skilled. He wasn’t the first to try and extort sexual favors from you, nor would he be the last.

Your brain spun in circles, trying to come up with a plan that didn’t involve blaster fire passing through your right kidney and BD-1 in one fell swoop. You didn’t have to think for long, though.

Before you could make a move, a blinding orange light flashed between you and Kin, floating just underneath his chin. You could feel the heat from where you were, could imagine the pain its power wielded. The way the man’s white flesh turned pink at its proximity didn’t go unnoticed.

“How about I gift her with the loss of your life as an apology for letting her endure your dirty ass, Kin?” a smooth voice drawled, the speaker invisible to you with your still-focusing eyes, but you didn’t need to see him to know who it was. As if the lightsaber wasn’t already enough to identify him, but you’d know that voice anywhere too. You weren’t the only one, if the cheering beeps you heard behind you were any indications.

A smirk braced your features as the Pau’an gritted his sharp teeth, hesitating a second before raising his hands in a defeated manner. He demonstratively holstered his pistol to make sure his head wasn’t cut off at the movement and he slowly stepped back a few feet away. The lightsaber didn’t stray a single millimeter from him. His brows pinched in anger, and he looked expectantly towards you. “It was just a little bit of fun, right?” he said as he hissed in pain. “Nothing to get upset about.”

You chuckled at the attempt. “I don’t know, I’m thinking your head on a platter sounds pretty great right about now. Maybe I can find someone out here who’d enjoy some barbecued Pau’an. What do you think, Cal?”

Your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met amused grey eyes over Kin’s hunched shoulders. He winked at you, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip.

“I’m pretty sure that violates too many health codes,” he said, “you know, quality standards and such.”

BD whistled in agreement, scampering up onto your back and nudging the side of your head when you got up to lean against the side of your table.

“Too bad,” you sighed, crossing your arms, “maybe it could’ve bought me some new earrings.”

Cal laughed loudly, warmth spreading through your chest at the lovely sound before he closed a hand on the sweaty neck before him and brought his blade even closer to his chin. “The next time you even come within 20 feet of her,” he stated casually, loudly enough for the entire bar to hear and turn the heads of the few who weren’t already watching, “you won’t live long enough to say ‘womp rat’. Are we clear?”

Well, if your heart hadn’t been beating fast before, it sure was now. Never had a threat sounded so attractive before. You diverted your gaze. Get a grip, you reprimanded yourself.

BD-1 only encouraged him, a crackling sound buzzing entirely too close to your ear for your liking. When did he get a taser? You didn’t even want to know what he used it for, finding trouble with his new gadgets was a special talent of his.

Kin, now wide eyed, muttered an affirmative and a long line of fearful apologies, eager to escape the Jedi. Cal flicked off his saber and forcefully shoved him away. The Pau’an bolted out the door of the bar, running for his life, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his fear. BD reprimanded Cal for acting so late, beeps and squeals echoing through the room after the patrons returned to their usual business, but the red-haired man was only focused on you. Your skin heated at the attention.

“I could’ve dealt with him myself.”

He gave you a wide smile and stepped closer, no Pau’an separating you anymore. “Oh, I know. Wasn’t this much more fun though?”

The corner of your lips twitched, and you shrugged, softly shaking your head at his ever-lasting upbeat attitude. You uncrossed your arms, placing them behind you on the rusty table to comfortably lean back. “Still could’ve knocked him out faster without alerting every possible person of a Jedi’s presence here.”

“Give me a break,” he said almost sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “is a guy not allowed to show off to a pretty girl every once in a while?”

Your breath hitched on a single breath, caught off-guard. Sure, the two of you joked around all the time, but he’d never gone so far as to straight up flirt with you. You tried not to react, probably failing miserably at doing so.

“Smooth.”

He threw his head back in laughter, his reddened freckled cheeks showing more embarrassment that he let on. “I try.”

“Next time,” you said, striding past him, “if you really want to show off, perhaps you shouldn’t wait until there’s a blaster pointed at me before making your move.” You had no idea how you kept your voice steady, and you couldn’t help but hear the rare softness of it. You were thankful that he couldn’t see how wide of a smile you currently wore.

He jogged to catch up, keeping pace with you as you headed for the docking bay. “I’ll keep that in mind” he chuckled.

You glanced back at the bar over your shoulder, and BD started emitting alarm noises from your other side, indignant at still being ignored. You patted his head, quieting him for a moment. “Where did your informant go?” you asked Cal. “Wouldn’t want to hinder your next side quest.”

“That was anything but a quest,” he said, “Just a boring old trade. Wouldn’t be so boring if you were there, though.”

A loud whistle of approval sounded above your shoulder.

“Hey, calm it, up there!” you exclaimed, using another opportunity to escape from answering. “I’ve only got two eardrums, let’s not break one of them.”

BD whistled again at a lower volume, followed by a barely audible series of sounds.

“Yeah, weak organics my ass,” you muttered. “We’ll talk about how great being a droid is the next time you bend your antennas and come running to me.”

Cal’s soft laugh caught your attention once more. He was watching you both with such a fond smile... Your heart squeezed at how soft he looked, for once not rushing towards something and instead enjoying the moment.

As you neared your ship, small tendrils of smoke still escaping the upper vents, he looked at his watch when it suddenly started beeping, and he made a face. “I’d love to hear the rest of your arguing, but we have to go. A revolution doesn’t fund itself.” he said. He looked up at the droid sitting on your shoulders. “Yes, beedee, that means you. Hop on.”

Cal held out an arm, BD begrudgingly taking his usual spot on his shoulders, spitting menacing sparks at the jedi along the way. The latter looked towards you with a flicker of hope as he stepped backwards towards the back of the hangar where the Mantis stood. “Can I convince you to join me this time? Still got an extra bunk if you want.”

“I don’t think you want me and beedee on the same ship 24/7, Cal. Anyways, I’ve told you before, I can’t just discard my old one.”

He stared at your smoking Hawk-Class before he turned to you unimpressed. “That thing can’t even fly.”

“It can! I just need to fix the cooling mechanism and-”

“And the hull, the reactors, the hyperdrive, the-” he continued, amused at your stubbornness.

“Okay, okay,” you scoffed, “you’ve made your point. Might as well drop it here, I guess. I could hitch a ride, if you’re heading towards the inner rim, but I’ve got approximately nothing to give in payment for the fuel.”

BD startled you with a burst of binary, so fast you couldn’t hear him. Cal looked at you sharply.

“You’ve been giftinghim things?” he exclaimed.

“You utter snitch, beedee!”

The droid whistled at you disapprovingly and loudly shot the brooch from his stim compartment right into Cal’s hands.

“I can’t believe you,” you continued, “the one thing I told you-”

You fell right back into your argument with the droid.

Cal tilted his head back in loud laughter and threw an arm around your shoulders as you whisper-yelled at BD-1, leading you towards the Mantis. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Getting side-tracked by BD1? In my supposedly Cal-centered fic? It's more likely than you think.

This was pre-realtionship like my last Cal fic because tbh i have trouble setting up the change from friends to lovers without writing a whole novel, but I have some ideas roaming around my head I'd like to write. We'll see how that turns out!

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

#Cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis x you #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #jedi video games #star wars jedi #star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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thefandomdirtymind · 1 year ago

Note

Opla!sanji and a siren/mermaid???

A/N IMPORTANT: Hi anon ! Thank you for your request, as a big fan or mermaid/siren I was so thrill by the idea ! I had tried many things here and I hope you will like it !

The Mermaid Dream

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering - NSFW The Small Favor

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

---

The notorious floating restaurant The Baratie was, like every other night, completely full. At every table of the large dining room were sat the most famous and wanted Pirates. Adding to the hubbub of their conversation and squeaking of their utensils against their plates, the waiters, in a urge to offer the perfect service and then earn their tips, looked like a swarm of bees dancing around elegant honeycombs.

The kitchen wasn't any more quiet. In every corner or the overheated room, the crew of cooks was running to prepare the many dishes ordered. Only stopping a millisecond to put the plates under the warming light and watch with nervous eyes if Zeff, the renowned chef and owner of the place, was preparing himself to punish somebody, hoping there wasn’t them.

Even the opened mouth of this unusual boat establishment, occupied by a respectable bar, was crowded and noisy.

Nervously standing behind the luxurious burgundy velvet curtain, your palm sweaty, you briefly closed your eyes, trying to hear the sound of the wave crashing against the ship hull. It wasn't the first time you were performing for the Baratie. But, you knew that each time was risky. The mermaid folks weren’t still welcome everywhere, most of the population were scared of being bewitched by your voices and the others had used your people to commit crimes and atrocities.

It was why you always wore a long gown covering your temporary legs and politely declined any trace of liquid they would offer you. It only takes a drop of water or a stubborn scale and your life would be in immediate danger. Of course Zeff was aware of what you are and would never let nothing happen to you. But, you couldn’t only count on him to protect you, you had to be cautious.

“ Miss Y/N it’s time, everythings is okay ?“ A polite waiter asked you, the golden cord in his hand,ready to unveil you to the loaded room. Nodding of your head, opening your eyes, you let the noise of the water calm your last knocked nerve before lifting your head to face your public.

The first note of your song, played by the musicians behind you, starts to fill the now quiet hall. It was mostly for you a faceless audience, only a few were really counting : like his.

Still dressed in his cook uniform, his back against the wall, arm crossed against his chest, Sanji was smiling, waiting for you to operate your tour de force. As you know, the blond sous chef had, so far, never missed one of your performances, even if it had meant being punished by his mentor.

Signing your song, your voice flowing like the water of a peaceful river to finish in a waterfall. You open your eyes under a thunder of applause. Still in his corner, Sanji was clapping his hand with fervor, his face radiant of joy like if he had just discovered a new method of cooking.

Later that night, as you emerged yourself in the oversize bathtub of your personal dressing room, your fins resting on the copper border and the last scales on your breast taking his place. You smiled. You knew that you shouldn’t think of him, loving a human when you couldn’t keep a pair of legs longer than a few hours was ridiculous. However, you couldn’t stop yourself. Aside from Zeff, he was the only one knowing your secret and never made you feel uncomfortable about it.

Three knocks at the door extracted you from your thoughts followed by the sound of the key in the keyhole. You aren’t kept captive in the Baratie, but for your safety, Zeff had a long time ago asked you to lock the door, preventing anyone to simply walk on you as you were unable to freely move, stuck like a fish in a tank. Usually, your only visitor at these hours was the old chef coming to thank you for the show and often tell you stories about his time of piracy.

But, it was Sanji who entered the room, this time dressed in a navy suit, a tray in his hand.

“ Good evening Madam, I thought you should be famished after such an enchanting show “

“ I’m not really a Madam you know Sanji “ You smiled, amused even if the fact that you truly aren’t a human woman stung your heart a little.” I’m indeed hungry, thank you”

“ Nonsense. You are more a lady than many that I had served in this crappy restaurant “ He replied, approaching the coffee table of the bath to put your plate and silverwares as he pulled himself a chair '' Salmon with his creamy lemon sauce, I prepared it myself with caution. “

“ It smells fantastique “ You smiled, lifting your upper body enough to be able to eat. “ Hmm, that's delicious, I truly had nothing like this in the whole sea”

Here again, that proud smile was plastered on his face, making you regret your own nature as he looked at you eating his own kind of tour de force. The vicious cramps traveling your fins,was another. Trying to keep your expression blank, you couldn’t sadly stop the moan of pain you let escape after a particular strong one.

“ What happened Miss Y/N, something wrong ?!” A concerned Sanji asked, his hand cripping the side of the tube, ready to take action and extract you of the water if needed.

“ It's nothing, the side effect of being too long on two legs instead of…fins.” You confessed, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “ It takes me a lot of energy and control to keep the form of my legs, i’m just exhausted, it will be over when I will leave after the closing of the restaurant” You reassured him, touched by his worried tone.

“ I see, then why are you pushing yourself to do those shows if it’s hurt you afterward ? Does Zeff know ? “

Eating your dinner, you slowly nod of the head, remembering the first time the old man discovered you crying of pain in the tube. He had at first, like Sanji, been worried,but, hearring you out he had finally accepted the fact that he couldn’t make you change your mind.

“ It’s worth it. For the moment I can’t, people aren’t ready yet, but one day, I want to sit on this stage in this form. I want people to know that they don’t have to be afraid of us. We can sing without bewitching them, we don’t chase them if they fall in the water. when we shed tears, it’s from pain, not to make a profit of their medicinal effect. That’s my dream, that one day I will be able to show people that we are good, not monsters. “

“ It’s an admirable dream “ Sanji smiled, a tenderness in his eyes.” If somebody is capable of such a thing it’s you. After all you didn’t have to talk or sing, I had been spellbound the minute I saw you and I'm sure that the audience could say the same. “

Looking at his sincere face, you felt the warm sensation of hope blooming in your scaly chest.

“ I would never use my magic on you, you know Sanji aren’t you ? “ You replied, wishing you had not misunderstood his words.

“ I know, Madam. The things I feel every time I'm near you aren't an illusion, no lies could be that strong…”

Your heart racing like if you were hunted by a shark, you gently placed your hand on his, tangling them affectionately.

“ Sanji, would you walk me to the deck tonight…” You demanded. The walk, situated at the tail of the building, wasn’t very long, but it would let you spend a lot of time in his company before having to go back in the water.

“As you wish Y/N “ He promised, watching your tangled hand. “ I should go, the restaurant will close soon and the old man will probably look out for me.”

“ See you later, I will wait for you outside, near your usual smoking place” You confirm, gripping the side of the tub in excitement.

“ I will be there, see you later “ He replied before going out, leaving you alone to realize what just happened.

The half moon was high when Sanji got out of the closed Baratie.Without realizing it, he had replayed in his head every of your smile and phrases during your conversation, still amazed that you returned his affection. But as he arrived at the meeting spot, his heart missed a beat.

A hand against your mouth, flanked by two customers previously kicked out, you were fighting for your life, your fragile leg giving up under you as you tried to get yourself free.

“ Let her go now” He ordered, rage filling his veins. How could they dare touch your perfection and try to steal you from him.

“ Mate, go back inside mind your own business !” One of the pirates replied, trying to move you.

“ I say, let her go. “ Sanji repeated, taking his fighting stance. The men were larger and heavier than him, but with his training and under your terrified gaze, he couldn’t lose.

It didn’t take long to put them down. Sadly, you join them when your knees buckle due to the loss of energy.

“ Y/N are you okay ? “ The blond jumped, catching you.

“ Yes I…need the water...I…I’m sorry” You said, tears filling your eyes. “ They said somebody saw me coming out of the water, they were waiting for me, Sanji…I can’t sing here anymore…”

“ I will inform the old man, he will find the person and you will be able to sing here as long as you want.” He promised, caressing the side of your face. “ Let me put you in the water, your skin is cold and you shake of exhaustion “

“ No wait I wanted...I wanted to…never mind” You said, avoiding his gaze as your legs disappeared.

“ What ? Tell me “ He insisted.

“ I wanted to kiss you…during the time I have legs…like a normal girl but…they're gone…I’m sorry it’s stupid.” You sigh, embarrassed.

“ A normal girl…Madam, don’t lower yourself to that, you’re fantastic as you are and I would never want anything else. Now if you let me “ He reassured you, lifting you in his arms in a bridal style before gently putting his lips against yours.

Kissing him was like breathing underwater :soft,warm and perfect. As he gently retreated his mouth, you could still see that something was in this thought.

“ You can sing here as much as you want but…I think I have a proposition for you. Yesterday a guy offered me a place in his crew, the Old man pushed me to go for it…find the All blue. Please, come with me…You could show people like you wanted that you not what they thought, I will protect you and these crew seem really good”

The offer takes you by surprise, you never could imagine The Baratie without him. In fact, you couldn’t imagine yourself singing there anymore if he wasn’t even there to watch you perform, nor could you think of your life without him in it.

“ Okay, if they accept me I will follow you”

—

The straw hat crew didn’t just accept you, you became a member of the group.

Swimming along the boat, signaling at Sanji to be ready,you take some speed and jump grabbing the dangling rope, letting you perform Luffy's favorite number : The flying mermaid.

Helped by your previous momentum, you rise above the lower deck and fall in the arm of Sanji, always waiting to catch his precious mermaid.

#opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece netflix #opla sanji #opla #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #Sanji Request #Taz Skylar #opla sanji x reader

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lostsyren · 5 months ago

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Perhaps you could do one with Rafe and Sofia, since I know you have included it as a thing in your fic........maybe we can get one where Rafe drags her out to the ocean, getting her comfortable with it and just holding her, being really soft and sweet with her

ོ𓂃𖠳𓂃 rafesofia yacht day part two ‧₊˚ 🥂🐚 ༉‧₊˚.

{summary: rafe takes sofia out on his yacht again, hoping this time they have have a better experience…}

{a/n: sorry for taking so long with the request! i hope you like it! thank you for this lovely ask, send in moreeee!!}

{part one here}

𓆝༄⋆��°✩“What do you wanna do tonight?” Rafe asked, sitting at the bar. Sofia whirled about making drinks for the other customers as he watched, sipping at the cocktail she’d made him earlier. It was late afternoon, the sun hanging lazily on the cloud lined horizon, the summer months coming to an end.

Ever since that day on the yacht, Sofia felt a spike of guilt whenever Rafe asked her what she wanted to do. His caution made her feel bad. She didn’t know how to tell him she enjoyed it when he’d take control, letting her relax a bit– a moment of reprise in her stress filled life.

Sofia wiped down the workstation, walking over to Rafe with a small smile. Her shift was over; she could finally untie her apron and drop her shoulders.

“How about we take your boat out again?”

Rafe’s eyebrows raised in a question, mouth twisting slightly, “Sofia,” he warned in a wary tone, “you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” She pressed. Sofia had grabbed her belongings and walked alongside Rafe towards the exit.

He threw her a chary glare, his hands slotted in his pockets, “you sure?”

She looked up at him with bright eyes, slipping her arm around his, “I’m positive.” 𓆝༄⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡�� °.

The yacht’s motor guzzled, churning the blue waters white as Rafe controlled the speed. He made Sofia sit up front with him this time, so he could keep an eye on her– his gaze flitted quickly from the waves in front to her beside, noticing her back was pin straight and her hands clutched the arm rest, knuckles turning the same colour as the frothed up sea foam. He was going considerably slower than he was used to, but he dropped another gear just in case.

Sofia brought her hand to his thighs, gently tapping it. “Let’s stop here.” He acted quickly, bringing the boat to a gradual halt.

As the waves rocked them softly, to-ing and fro-ing in the calm waters, Rafe scanned Sofia up and down to make sure she was alright. She wore cardigan over her bathing suit, playing with a loose thread coming off the sleeve, her eyes were open, fixated on the yacht’s console and her hair was out, windswept strands tickling her face– Rafe had the urge to brush them away.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Better than last time,” she joked with a quiet laugh. Rafe felt comfortable around her– when he was with Sofia he could just forget about everything he’d done, the version of himself that she knew becoming the person he truly was, even if it was just transient.

“Good– that’s good.” He nodded. Rafe jumped up, suddenly remembering the surprise he had planned. “Wait here, I got something for you– close your eyes.” He threw her a roguish smirk, grabbing the box he’d packed and stored before she boarded.

“A surprise? I swear to god if you ambush me with something–“

“No no don’t worry, just close your eyes.” Rafe repeated.

Sofia narrowed her gaze, giving in finally listening and bringing a had to cover her vision. “Fine. I trust you.”

Rafe paused for a moment, her words piercing though him like a ships hull through water. She trusted him. Rafe couldn’t help but feel like she shouldn’t. But his heart still swelled with an unfamiliar pride that she trusted him– when no one else did.

Rafe brought over the box bringing out its contents one by one. Two glasses, a bottle of champagne, and a box of luxury chocolates he’d picked up from the markets in Figure 8. All that romantic shit he’d seen people do in movies and stuff. He was still new to all this– the whole doing something nice thing. Sofia made him want to be good. Or at least imitate it. He wanted her to see him like this. He wanted her to like him.

“Ok open your eyes.” Even he began to bubble with anticipation, biting the inside of his cheek as he waited for he reaction.

Sofia complied to his instruction, moving her hand away from her eyes. “Oh my god! Rafe, you didn’t have to do all this!”

He knew he didn’t, after all she was just a hookup. They hadn’t defined anything yet, this relationship was nothing serious– whatever that meant. But it was the closest thing to serious Rafe had had in a long time. And besides, he felt like he had to make it up to her for the last time she was on his boat.

“It’s nothing, here– let me pour you a drink Miss Sofia,” he teased.

Sofia dramatically brought her hand to her chest, mirroring Rafe’s cheesy grin, “why thank you Mr Cameron.”

He noticed her body language loosen, her nerves seeming to fade like the chemtrails that soared over them. She was comfortable with him… he thought. His chest felt alight with relief, as if this was some sort of test– and he had just passed it.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

After a couple glasses of champagne, nighttime had settled around Rafe and Sofia, too quick for them to notice. The waters lapped like black ink around the boat, the moonlight dappling the ocean with its iridescent glow.

Rafe and Sofia were quietly talking and laughing, their bodies huddled close together as they exchnaged jokes and stories. They were too caught up with one another to see the dark grey clouds gather above them.

Sofia felt water trickle down her face. “Is it raining?” The sky suddenly opened up, the clatter of rain against the ocean filling the seas.

Sofia began to laugh, using her arms to shield her head as Rafe rushed to gather the glasses and chocolates under the yacht’s canopy.

“Shit– I should’ve checked the weather before hand.” He yelled as the rain progressively began to fall harder. Sofia stood up, as Rafe ushered her down into the boats cabin, sliding the door shut, the murmur of waves and onslaught of the rain all fading into silence.

Sofia wiped the water off her eyes, looking at Rafe’s drenched white shirt and rain beaded face. It took only one glance at one another for both to erupt into laughter.

“Come on, let’s dry off.” Rafe said, heading into the bedroom. Sofia glanced at him, noticing the way his gaze watched her attentively, with softness. With care. Her stomach felt like it was somersaulting.

She nodded her head with a little smile, following him into the room.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

Rafe couldn’t help but feel a twinge of bitterness. The night was going so perfect. She was laughing. Enjoying herself. Of course it had to go and start raining. At least she didn’t seem to mind too much, remembering how her face had lit up with laughter as he slotted a hand around her waist to lead her inside.

He rooted through the bedroom’s wardrobe. There wasn’t much of a selection of clothes: a couple of robes, some sweatshirts and T-shirts and a whole lot of towels. He grabbed two, throwing one to Sofia. The rain continued to pour outside, the rumble of it hitting the sea and yacht rooftop getting louder and louder the heavier it became. Rafe brushed the towel over his wet buzz cut, shuddering slightly. The air conditioning had been on all day, leaving the room chilly and cold. He turned to look at Sofia. She was also shivering, though she tried to hide it.

“Here, take this off.” Rafe walked up to her, hovering his hands over her drenched cardigan, waiting for her give permission. She didn’t move away, nodding her head slightly as if to say ‘go on’. So he pulled the sleeves over her shoulders, the material sticking to her skin. A fizzling tension sparked between them, her eye contact unwavering, his touch eliciting a heady verve. He let the cardigan hit the floor, draping the towel over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said, softly. Rafe just smiled, turning around to unbutton his shirt. After shucking off the soaked fabric, he suddenly felt Sofia tap his bare back, Rafe spinning around quickly to check if she was ok. His first thought was that something was wrong, but after he scanned her up and down, her lidded eyes, parted mouth and flushed cheeks made him think otherwise.

“Sofia?” He murmured in confusion.

“Hmn?” She whispered, letting the towel drop to the floor, leaving her in a bikini top and wet denim shorts that clung to her thighs.

“What are you doing?” He knew what she was doing. The real question was why? He wanted to prove that this wasn’t just sex, that she meant more to him than that. But the way she was looking at him right now made it hard to remember that.

“What does it look like?” Her voice was low and heavy, her fingers tracing his wrist, circling the sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to do this.” He still thought that she was trying to make it up to him. Everything in his life had been transactional, even his relationships– with his father, with his friends. He didn’t want her to feel like that– that she had to give him something. He just wanted to be with her.

“I want to…” she trailed off, moving her hands away from his quickly, “do you?” She said, sounding unsure of herself.

Fuck it– Rafe thought.

“I do.” He said hoarsely, before swooping down to capture her in a kiss.

Sofia reacted quickly, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling her closer to her. Rafe complied, arching his neck down, gripping the skin of her hips with greedy hands. His stomach flipped as he heard her little gasps of air against his lips, blood rushing in his veins.

Rafe spun them around so he could push her towards the bed, gently lifting her up to clamber on to the mattress, all the while her legs wrapped around his waist. Sofia broke the kiss, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as Rafe’s hands pushed her back until her head hit the pillows. He paused for a moment, analysing the way she looked: open and ready for him, her wet hair wreathing her face, her amber eyes glowing in the semi-darkness, her skin still glistening from the rain.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, mostly to himself, quiet enough so she couldn’t hear. Sofia reached a hand out to him, flattering her palm against the small of his back and gently pushing him on top of her.

His hooked her lips with his once again, whilst he undid the button to her shorts, slowly sliding them off her legs. Rafe travelled down the planes of her body, peppering the hot skin with wet kisses, inhaling her scent of rainwater and vanilla.

“Rafe,” she gasped, inciting him to press harder.

“What?” He teased, glancing up at her.

But she didn’t look down at him with a playfulness that their previous hookups had been like– Sofia instead had a sincerity in her eyes that scared Rafe.

“Thank you for this. For all of it.” She said, her voice like velvet. Rafe wasn’t quite sure what she meant– all of it?

He wanted to pry and ask her to explain, but Sofia’s fingers trailed over his forearm. Rafe quickly became inudated with lust, losing his train of thought. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, tugging him forward to silently signal for him to resume his kisses.

So he did.

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° ⋆｡𖦹 °.

Sofia lay back in bed, whilst Rafe cleaned up in the bathroom. She nestled into the satiny white sheets, listening to the thrum of rainfall against the sea. The room was heavy with shadow, a slither of light pooling in from the singular window, making everything lined in silver. She felt so lucky.

She couldn’t quite understand Rafe Cameron. Sofia had been with him long enough to have heard the rumours about him– his hatred for pogues, his violent streak, his murderous family. But that version of himself didn’t align with what she knew: a sweet guy who always tried to make her feel good.

The bathroom door opened with a soft creak, Rafe entering quietly, climbing back in bed.

“Shall we head back?” Sofia said to him in the semi-darkness, facing him as he looked up at the ceiling.

“No…let’s just stay here for a while.” He whispered, turning to face her. He reached his hand out to her, brushing the strands of loose hair away from her eyes with cautious fingertips. Sofia smiled at his face contorted in concentration.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, quickly retracting his hand as if embarrassed.

“Nothing, just happy.” She said truthfully.

Rafe considered her answer, his eyes brewing with something she couldn’t quite place her finger on.

“Can you come closer?” He asked, voice hoarse, as if it pained him to say.

Sofia furrowed her eyebrows but complied, shuffling closer to him in the small bed. She felt his hands slide over her hips, tracing the curves of her body, before they slid over her back, nudging her forward. Sofia took the hint and pressed herself against him, letting him envelope her in his big arms. He was never usually like this after they had sex. Sure he was sweet and respectful, but never this….vulnerable.

“So, are you still scared of the ocean?” He asked, breath tickling the nape of her neck.

Sofia laughed softly, running her hands over the veins in his arms, tracing the cold metal of his rings, “yep, still terrified…but less so with you.”

She felt Rafe vibrate with a low chuckle, his hold on her tightening, “I’m glad…you still wanna head back?”

Sofia slid closer to him, savouring the heat off his bare chest, enjoying this rare side of Rafe that he was showing her today. “We can stay a little longer, can’t we?”

She glanced up at a Rafe, seeing a soft smile on his lips, “of course we can.”

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝

🌊a/n: i mentioned previously that I don’t like to write smut, i guess this is a good threshold of the extent of spiciness i do write– nothing too explicit. i hope you like it!! send in more requests, thoughts, questions, moodboard ideas…!!!

#outer banks #rafe and sofia #rafe cameron #sofia outer banks #sofia obx #rafe x sofia #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe concepts #rafe cameron thoughts #drew starkey #fiona palomo #༊*·˚syren

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robin-evry · 4 months ago

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Hi, I saw you taking requests, and I’d like to request an Odin fanfic from Record of Ragnarok. He’s my favorite character. I love how mysterious and dark he is, but I wish there was more content about him. I’ve only seen a little, and it makes me sad 😭. Would it be okay to request an Odin x Frigg fic? I don’t like shipping myself with characters who are canonically married or have a lover. But if you only write x reader fics, maybe you could do Odin x Frigg reader instead?

Sure thing, ask and you shall receive

PS :! this is my first time writing romance

𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Frigg (/frɪɡ/; Old Norse: [ˈfriɡː])[1] is a goddess, one of the Æsir, in Germanic mythology. In Norse mythology, the source of most surviving information about her, she is associated with marriage, fertility , clairvoyance and motherliness, and dwells in the wetland halls of Fensalir. Nearly all sources portray her as the wife of the god Odin.

Warning : Angst, cheating, and intimacy implied

( English is not my first language )

As the wife of the chief god of the norse pantheon, your life would be filled with luxurious, dresses made by the most elegant silk and jewelry made by the shiniest of gold's and jewels carve and created by the dwarfs themselves

He will build castles, pavilions and the most beautiful gardens ever seen in heaven.

Even tho he is busy with work as being the chief god of the norse pantheon he will make time for you, making sure your bed is warm every night.

He will prioritize you, even if he's busy. Something happens to you, he will drop everything for you. And go find you to see what's the problem.

The ravens adore you, always flying towards you when they see you and cuddling towards you and watching over you if something happens like an assassination they would fly away and alert the guards and your husband.

But this marriage doesn't start easily, it was an arranged marriage at first. He was cold and inconsiderate over your feelings. To be honest during your first centuries with him it feels like you guys are not even married, it feels like you guys are just strangers that are married together by a contract.

When you hear he created a son with another goddess, you couldn't take it anymore. You ran away as possibly as far as you can. A few of your fellow goddesses warn you about him and the unhappy marriage you will be in, they were right and you shouldn't listen to them. You hide yourself in Midgard hiding your present from him.

You adorned yourself in the disguise of a woman named "franziska", to be honest during this time of period in Midgard. You feel like people actually see you unlike the inside palace during your marriage.

Suddenly a raven lay on your window and it has a lily of the valley flower on its beak and put it on your window and fly away. Soon many ravens would bring you flowers everyday different types of flowers tulips, orchids and hyacinth. You fully know who's responsible for sending these flowers but you usually didn't do anything, you just left the flowers to rot.

But one day, he appears and he begs for your return to the sky above. When you refuse and are about to leave, he grabs your wrist and kneels down upon you, hugging your waist and trails of apologies and begging for forgiveness. When you demand to release you he hugs you tighter, and finally when he looks up. He has tears coming down his eyes. After one sentence of begging you to come home. You are finally reluctant to retrieve back to the sky.

You were soon carried by a carriage that is pulled by the pegasus, during the ride it was silence no words exchanged with each other but the only action of him reaching for your hand and holding it tighter, soon he started to shower you with affection and gifts. You even manage to meet his son he had with another goddess, he has red hair and beautiful golden eyes. Even tho he was the product of the affair it wasn't his fault but you still cared for him as a mother.

Even tho the love you have for him was gone, it started to grow even tho it's not as big as it was before it slowly is growing and he will be patient waiting for you.

This is my first time writing romance and there was barely anything about the goddess frig so I decided to go by my own path, sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting but I've tried my best.

PS : please don't follow the relationship pattern of this story, this will lead you into an extremely toxic environment

#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok thor #record of ragnarok x reader #not canon #record of ragnarok angst #record of ragnarok headcanon #frigg!reader

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moodymisty · 1 year ago

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Part 1 (some needed context)

Author's Note: Part two, as was requested. I need to stop listening to Halsey when I write, I always end up making things too verbose and hyperbolic.

Also pspspsps @rivalriotrenegade you wanted to be tagged in the sequel? Here you go.

Summary: Angron will be leaving soon, and he comes to take in a moment of you beforehand.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angron being Angron, Vague descriptions of death violence and gore, General 40kness, The most emotionally stunted man in the galaxy receives an affection, Historitor!Reader is scared but in love horny

Word Count: 1942

Guilliman hadn’t been pleased with the news.

It had arrived to him via a distressed captain who had been attempting to deal with the issue discretely up until now, but in his attempts to track down their missing historitor, he had found you in Angron’s company. You didn’t seem to be in any sort of severe peril, but the captain expressed his concerns of the World Eater’s Primarch trouncing when he didn’t belong, as well as encroaching on someone who might hold secrets to their legion.

Guilliman agreed with most of the captain’s concerns, but also hesitated. His hand hovered over half written parchment as ink threatened to drop from the tip of his pen.

Roboute has no desire to pick a fight with another Primarch over one historitor. And if any information ended up in the hands of the World Eaters, he would know exactly where it came from. He would deal with the matter then as swiftly as he would any other traitor.

In the end, he simply instructs the captain to keep watch on the matter.

The scenario is unique after all; You seem to be no traitor, but now spend almost all of your time in the presence of the World Eaters. Guilliman’s captain had described the scene in a confused manner, wondering as to why the Primarch had taken such a keen, almost obsessive interest in one soul in particular. Roboute thinks he has an inkling why, but his captain simply doesn’t have the experience to understand. Afterall he’s known nothing but battleship halls and bolters, these sorts of thoughts are… Foreign.

With no solid solution and the threat of a legion wide war with any misstep, The Macragge native elects to largely abandon the matter, and mark any information related to you with a note saying to refer to the relevant paperwork for more information.

—------------------------------

The Conqueror is the first Gloriana class battleship you’ve ever seen in anything but historical documents, and those transcriptions fail to even capture a hint of the overwhelming scale of the massive battleship. The barges you’ve seen are huge, but even they don’t compare to the size of the World Eater’s flagship.

It stays moored in the planet’s upper atmosphere, but it’s impossible not to see it lingering in the sky alongside a myriad of other ships. Servitors and other such are loading heaps of supplies into low orbit cruisers to bring back up to the massive battleship, preparing it for another long journey out into the reaches of Imperium space.

Part of you wonders if Angron expects you to join him. You desperately hope not, but in another odd sort of way, you find it almost saddening to be without him for an extended period of time. You know that there are horrors out there that can rend the mind into pieces, that being behind Terra’s walls is to be afforded a luxury so few in the galaxy will touch that the mere thought of leaving should cast you in an unbearable shame. But it seems so completely ridiculous to say that you’ll miss him. Though the thought still crosses your mind anyhow.

You hear the sounds of his heavy footsteps approaching. You’ve been away from his side most of the day, so you figured it was due time for him to eventually hunt you down. He stands not a step away from you once he finds his hunt for you concluded, looking outward towards the mass of Terran servitors and other workers hauling World Eaters requisitions to where ever they're needed.

“You are staying. If you are wondering.”

Part of you feels a sense of relief from it. While you might have a fondness for Angron, his World Eaters are significantly less appealing to you. They only tolerate your existence due to the repeated threats of their Primarch. Khârn has also questioned his genefather; The still unfilled crack in his ceramite armor remains as evidence of it. His doubt had hurt, but you can’t help but feel his questioning was justified.

It’s not as if you can do much for them, beyond what you do for their Primarch. In the eyes of men bred for war, you’re the meaningless byproduct of a planet they protect more because they enjoy the bloodshed of doing so than anything else. Whether you are alive or dead is a meaningless query to them.

You curiously look up at Angron, who is gazing over the massive shipyard.

"You're leaving soon, I suppose." The Primarch lets out an affirmative grunt in response.

It hasn’t been long of you knowing him, and you’re still cautiously testing what territory can be tread, and what very much cannot be. There’s not much of the former, and plenty of the ladder.

You have learned that he seems to enjoy whenever how larger and stronger he is than you- when his prowess in brutal combat, is prominent. That isn’t a hard thing to achieve, given his height you stand at roughly his midsection. The Primarch absolutely towers over you and while he knows it sends fear through you, you fight it.

As you watch over the railing you suddenly feel a heavy weight on your shoulder, and glancing to your left it’s easy to see the bronze colored gauntlet that now rests there.

You know that whenever he does that, a weight on your body, he’s attempting to take solace in the weird ability you somehow possess. You gently lay a hand over his armored one, fingers brushing over the knicks and scratches of his worn, battered plate. He’s worn it for many years, it shows the story of endless battles and it’s still able to hold so many more.

You don’t know how long it’ll be till you see him again. The warp, it’s, power; Time doesn’t work the same way out there that it does on Terra. You want to give him one last before he leaves, but you hope that it doesn’t ruin the little bit of progress you’ve made with him.

“Can you, bend over? So I can reach you?”

You don’t know what you had expected for when you hesitantly asked, but you hadn’t expected the Primarch to indulge you.

His massive weight shifts, landing on his right knee with a loud enough thud, that you swear the marble beneath his knee plate is surely cracked. With him at this height, your hands can touch his face, feeling the way it’s decorated with a million different little scars. Some large- thick, deep cuts like one over his brow, or over his lips. Others are smaller, not visible from so far away but you can feel them under your fingertips.

“Can you tell me how you got some of these one day?”

Angron grunts.

“The arena, most of them. I killed anyone who struck me. They are nothing but sand now.”

Your face drops. Sometimes you forget that Angron has never felt anything but pain his entire life. And it’ll continue, as the nails will never be removed. What little you can do to them only serves to prolong what he feels. Your fingers brush over more of his mauled skin.

One might call it cruel. But you want him to have at least a few moments of peace in his life.

Your fingertips brush along the scarred skin around where the nails dig into his skull, glancing at his expression. It’s softened ever so slightly, but you can see anger still etched into his skin.

You don’t know how you went from the brain hijacking, heart wrenching terror, to feeling this way. Part of you will still always remain frightened of him; Of the sheer strength he can barely keep in check in the best of moments, that is always boiling beneath the surface. But there’s something that over time has gradually fallen over that terror like a thick heavy curtain draped atop a coffin.

You love him.

In a way that makes you sick to your stomach, churning in a way that has you petrified to be near him, but also away from him.

You can’t say that he’s been kind. You’d be stupid to even assume as such; Even with the key you hold, he’s still him. His grip on you is rough- your body has bruises from shoulder to wrist, he speaks to you in short quips. He uses more words now, but he still will never reflect back whatever you give him. You can see the moments where he tries, but he simply isn’t capable of it. You can’t ask a man who’s known nothing but endless pain and suffering to suddenly not rip and tear every hand that reaches for him. But you can maybe numb it- put bandages over gushing wounds and cover scars, trying to give a modicum of kindness before he’s sunken down too deep into his own abyss.

You can feel him watch you as your hands touch his face, his brow is tight knit and his armor makes soft metal noises as pieces gently knock against each other when he shifts. The hand that had been on your shoulder has long since moved, it now wraps around your elbow instead; As if he’s debating removing you.

You hold a softness in your eyes reserved for the closeness of family, friends, or lovers. He’s so rarely seen it that recognizing it was nearly impossible for him. But you look at him like that, like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. Your hands touch his face so gently he swears he can’t feel them. Like they would fall right through him as if attempting to touch a hologram.

How?

Angron doesn't understand why. He isn’t something you can love. There’s just, nothing in him capable of receiving or reciprocating it. He’s done nothing but kill, tear, maim, splatter every wall he’s near with the blood of others or his own.

To be the object of another’s affection is a laughable concept. He’s a creature, a creation of war; Lorgar likes to call the Primarchs the product of the Emperor’s Mastery, his sons, as much as the phrase makes bile rise in his throat- but Angron knows he’s nothing but a pieced together amalgamation of DNA made to fulfill a purpose. He was not made to feel any of this.

You kiss him.

You feel his hot breath on your face, his hands clenching into fists and threatening to dent the ceramite of his armor. He tries to funnel his anger there; His anger at the galaxy, at the Emperor, at the thought that you actually are stupid enough to think there’s something in him worthy of paying this level of gentleness to. He’s never felt things like this before. He’d never wanted to; Because he knows that the pain of it being taken away hurts far worse than the pain of never feeling it to begin with.

His face is rough as he pushes back into you, and you feel pleased to know that you didn’t overstep. He hears your soft sigh as you lean into him, hands still on his face.

But Angron knows there will be a point where you can numb it no longer. The nails are a part of him, an ever growing sea pulling him deeper and deeper into a blood red abyss. It drags him down no matter how hard he fights it, with no hope of safety or even temporary sanctuary.

When he’s fully under, when he can no longer see ally from foe and your face and touch and voice becomes no more soothing to him than the likes of any incomprehensible field of demons yearning for his blade to slice their hide, as his nails scream and bite and beg for him to taste blood;

He dares to hope only then will someone fulfill his role of taking anger unto themself, and put him out of his torment.

#angron x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #Angron/Reader #wh40kcrack #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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another-lost-mc · 2 months ago

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Something something about Zee, an advanced synthetic assigned to protect you as your ship makes its long voyage back to Earth in a futuristic Alien AU.

Along the way, you realize something's changed as he starts to act a little too human at times, when before he shrugged off your attempts to become friends, your silly jokes and harmless teasing easily swept aside and ignored. The ship lacks luxury and privacy with its cramped quarters and with the rowdy, abrasive crew as the only other options for company, you still find yourself gravitating towards him. The human crew members are cruel to him, ridiculing him for his very existence. Despite his gruff demeanor, he's gone out of his way to make sure you're cared for and as comfortable as one can be on a rickety space in the middle of outer space. The last thing you want is for Zee to think you're as callous as the rest of them are. You appreciate him for what - who - he is.

When his previous annoyance at his prime directive, protecting the most obnoxiously cheerful human he's ever met, fades away into something else, he finds new reasons to stay closer to you than ever before. He lingers on the edge of your peripheral vision, the second shadow that follows your steps - and whether you can see him or not, you know he's there. Never more than a room away, you wonder what it is he's waiting for, or why you shiver with anticipation every time you feel his stare rake over your skin from somewhere nearby.

Forced together and living in close quarters, who knows what might happen before journey's end?

You can't remember where you first heard the rumors, but you knew - or at least suspected - that certain androids could have sex. Your android could, if you weren't mistaken about the shape of his body underneath the form-fitting jumpsuit he wore around the ship. (And when exactly did you start thinking of him as yours?) You've heard that some of the most advanced androids are capable of feeling pain, but are they capable of feeling pleasure too? You're woefully uneducated on this subject, not that you've had much reason to consider the question at all, but thankfully, he's a very patient teacher with a fondness for hands-on learning.

What he tells you, not with words but in smoldering glances and firm but gentle touches as he peels away your clothing, piece by piece, is that pleasure itself is possible. At least, the sorts of pleasure a synthetic being like him can experience. In most circumstances, those mimicked sensations, a trick of wires and circuitry far too difficult to explain, aren't usually enough to entice him to indulge in such messy encounters.

All it takes to change his mind is for someone else to look at you a certain way, or an innocent touch that lingers long enough for him to notice and frown at its meaning. Suddenly, the idea of sex is very appealing if it means tempting you away from anyone else he deems unworthy of your time or attention.

As a synthetic, sex isn't a sensory feast the way it is for humans. The rhythmic movements as he snaps his hips in a slow and deep but unyielding rhythm doesn't tire him out. Instead, he focuses on watching every tiny expression that flits across your face, listening to the soft noises you think he can't hear over the sound of squeaky springs as he moves, and nearly smothering you with his weight into the thin, uncomfortable mattress in your sleeping quarters.

He doesn't know why the single drop of sweat trickling down your face and over your jaw is so enticing - but then again, he's never felt hunger like this before either. Maybe next time he'll be tempted to taste the salty trail, if he's not transfixed watching the pleasure and adoration that brighten your gaze instead.

When you bite your bottom lip between your teeth to try and keep quiet, he runs his thumb across your mouth, ack and forth with a hint of pressure, until it's shiny and wet with spit. With a slick glide, he pushes it inside slowly until he can touch the tip of your tongue. It's a pleasant picture, one he'll think of often long after this day ends. He decides that if he can't hear all your little sounds, then feeling the vibrations as you suck the digit shallowly into your mouth is the next best thing.

Above all else, he doesn't want you to turn your face away, or to close your eyes even as your eyelids flutter and your head tips back against the threadbare pillow. His low voice, rougher than you've ever heard it before, cuts through the warm silence like a knife as his fingers hold your chin in place to keep you still. He can't help but stare at his own reflection, hair wild and expression desperate as any living man, in the shimmery film that glazes over your eyes.

In the dark ocean of space, surrounded by nothing but a sea of stars, watching you fall apart underneath him is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

#in today's daily offering of “the fandom crossover no one asked for”...#don't ask me why I wrote this I have no idea #my oc: zekhan #I don't know how to tag this #au: obey me x alien

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century poly shifter romance (Part one, sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Well folks, here it is. You said you were interested, so I hope it meets expectations! Here's part one for you, of a multi part story. If you want to kno wmore about it, you can find some more info here, as well as a little 'mood board'.

Content: sfw, the daughter of a country gentleman from Sussex relocates to a sleepy fishing village in Cornwall in order to become the paid companion of a young widow, and meets some of the locals on her arrival. Wordcount: 3972

Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark - Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk. Laces for a lady; letters for a spy, Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by! ~ from ‘A Smugglers’ Song’, Rudyard Kipling (1906)

In the cool, lavender light of a late spring dawn, a gaff-rigged cutter drew into the sheltering arms of a small bay at high tide, and quietly dropped anchor. As if the soft splash had awoken him, a cockerel spluttered to life in a farmyard somewhere inland, but most of the villagers were already up and awake and steering their small, secret fleet of boats out from the golden crescent of sand beneath the cliffs to meet the waiting ship fresh from Roscoff.

Beneath the waves, where churning kelp moored itself in unyielding handfuls to the ancient granite of the sea floor, a long, serpentine shadow snaked between the stalks, and the currents of the coastline subtly shifted. Any revenue men trying to sail along the coast from Fowey to catch the smugglers would have found the wind and tide set dead against them, and in the subtle wake that wafted from the mottled, eel-like tail as it passed unseen, the waters of the secluded inlet calmed beneath the keels of the scurrying fishing boats. The drag of the oars through the waves lessened, and muscles already tired from heaving and hefting goods up the cliff moved a fraction easier for the unexpected boon.

Between them over the next hour, the gathered men and women shifted their haul of half anker barrels and dozens of crates and boxes of goods ashore. The small kegs of rich, French cognac would fetch a pretty price all across Cornwall, and along with the liquor came smaller luxuries like lace and silk, and bundles of tobacco and spiced tea, all meticulously wrapped in oil cloth to keep the sea and the salt and the water out.

And when the speedy, slender ship was riding noticeably higher in the water, the locals simply melted away into the countryside like so many mice from a late summer granary before the excise men even knew the ship from Guernsey had visited the cove at all.

Fifteen miles away, as the sun breached the horizon and cast its first rays of warmth along bellies of fleecy clouds and the flanks of blossoming hedgerows below, a stagecoach lurched and rumbled westwards along potholed roads, and a young woman stared out of the grimy window as the horses carried her into a new chapter of her life.

After leapfrogging some two hundred miles or so along the staging stations that dotted the South Coast, with nothing but a small trunk of her belongings and a thrice-read, dog-eared novel for company, Eleanor Bywater was more than ready to see the back of that infernal stagecoach. Had it not been for the small but inconveniently bulky travelling case sitting at her feet, she might have hired a horse and ridden from the last staging inn at Plymouth to reach the secluded fishing village of Polgarrack, but given that the trunk held all her worldly belongings, she had not been quite desperate enough to escape the discomfort of hard seats and poor suspension to abandon it.

Bouncing along in the nearly-empty stagecoach, she studiously tried to ignore the older woman sitting opposite her. She’d stared intently at Nel since they'd left Plymouth behind that morning, and her scrutiny had begun to make that last twenty mile stretch feel much, much longer.

Finally, after jouncing over a pothole deep enough to start prospecting for copper ore at the bottom, Nel gasped and then raised her eyes to meet the woman’s openly curious stare. She found sympathy for her own discomfort, and a small degree of kindly amusement too.

“Where are you headed, miss?” the stranger asked after Nel raised the hint of an eyebrow at her as the silence stretched.

“Polgarrack.”

At that, the woman’s grey eyes narrowed in confusion. “Now what takes a young miss like you to an old fishing village like Polgarrack?”

She looked to be in her fifties, though a life beside the harsh sea had weathered her features somewhat, and her wiry grey hair was covered by a simple linen cap. Her dress was dark and plain, though there was a hint of tired lace around the neck and cuffs. Her hands had the tough, reddened look of someone who scrubbed pots and salted fish, while Nel’s own hands were smooth and soft, if a little ink stained from sending a letter to her friend before leaving the inn that morning.

Nel laughed quietly and shrugged. “There’s no mystery to it,” she said. “I am to be employed as a companion to the widowed Lady Penrose at Heath Top House. I am expected there this afternoon.”

Given that only ladies of relatively high social standing themselves tended to become a ‘lady’s companion’, the older woman made a hasty re-evaluation of her fellow traveller, and her already ruddy cheeks flushed a darker shade as she cleared her throat and looked away.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “We don’t get many new faces in Polgarrack, is all. I didn’t mean to pry or cause offence with my questions.”

“No harm in a little curiosity,” Nel said, trying to put the stranger at ease to avoid any further awkwardness between them on the remainder of their journey. “I take it you’re from Polgarrack yourself then?”

“Oh, born and raised, miss,” she chortled. She eyed the forest green redingote Nel wore, with its rather masculine high collar, wide lapels and small, gold pocket watch dangling on a chain, and the contrasting sage green skirts beneath, and no doubt made one or two judgements of her own about the young lady. “And yourself? You don’t sound as though you’re from these parts at all, if I may be so bold.”

Nel smiled. “I’ve come from Sussex.”

The woman’s watery, grey-blue eyes widened almost comically and she gasped. “’at's a bloody long way, miss! And all on your own?” She shook her head but remembered herself and mumbled, “Begging your pardon.”

“You’re right,” Nel sighed, letting her gaze slide to the window to watch the countryside roll past in a blur of salt-bleached grass and vibrant yellow gorse flowers. “It is a bloody long way.” And her spine and backside felt every lump and bump and lurch of the stagecoaches from Sussex to Cornwall. With a warmer smile, she turned back to the woman. “My name is Eleanor, but most people call me Nel.”

“Agatha,” she replied with a grandmotherly smile of her own for the young woman. “But everyone calls me Aggie. My husband, Martin, is the village carter and smith, and we’ve got four boys, all of them either fishermen or miners. They all married too, so I’ve got nine grandchildren, if you can believe it!”

Nel offered Aggie her congratulations and another little smile, and then ventured to ask, “Will you tell me a bit about the place? I should like to know more about it, since it is to be my home for the foreseeable future.”

Aggie brightened even more and shuffled her plain, dark skirts, giving a wince and a grunt as the coach lurched over a pothole and the driver cursed audibly above them. Settled, if not entirely comfortable, she began.

“Well, see now. Folks has been fishing these waters for time out of mind. Pilchards is our mainstay, o’course, but the folks over St. Austell way mine clay, and obviously there’s copper and tin mines all over in the north of Cornwall. Mining here is as old as fishing, but it’s starting to dry up here and there now, o’course.”

She barely paused to draw breath before barrelling on, and Nel sat and listened while the older woman talked.

“Now, your Lady Penrose married into the Penrose family — see, she’s from Bath herself originally, though I can’t rightly remember what her family name was, but…” Nel let Agatha's potted history of the fishing and mining community wash over her, paying just enough attention to make polite sounds at the right pauses, but the discomfort of the journey and a decided lack of sleep was beginning to wear her attention span down to a single, fraying thread.

After two hours in the swaying, rolling coach, she felt woozy and weak-stomached, but with Aggie’s near-constant chatter, she at least had a better understanding of the politics of the little village than she’d ever have gained in six months on her own. She’d also learned why Aggie had been in Plymouth, since most folks never had any reason to travel further than the bounds of their own parish. Agatha’s sister’s husband had apparently been killed in the American Revolutionary War some ten years earlier, and since the widow’s health wasn’t the best these days, Aggie made the trip along the coast when she could to see her and take care of her.

Nel’s ticket took her as far as Whitcross, a desolate intersection of paler roads on a clifftop overlooking the tightly-nestled fishing port below, and away across the heather and tufted grass of the heath, she could just see an old manor house in the distance, flanked by tall copper beeches and ash trees. It looked slightly further away than she had anticipated, and she glanced apprehensively down at the travelling trunk at her feet.

Still, she was aching for fresh air and to be free of the sickening motion of the carriage, so she took the driver’s hand and allowed him to guide her safely down onto the hard-packed surface of the road before he lifted her case down for her as well.

From inside, Aggie peered out and scowled disapprovingly. “Now just you wait a moment,” she barked at the driver, who cocked an eyebrow but did pause. “Did they not send someone for you, dearie?” she asked Nel, still leaning out of the doorway and peering about like a disgruntled badger, and using the endearment freely. Apparently, two hours of talking non-stop at Nel had removed any pretence of formality or sense of social distance. Nel might as well have been adopted into Aggie Carter’s family as a niece by that point, and she couldn’t help but smile at the warmth it conjured in her chest.

“I… I never thought that far through,” she admitted, with her hand atop her bonnet as the wind gusted up from the sea below, soaring delightedly over the edge of the cliff and racing on inland as if to continue the momentum of the great rolling breakers that foamed and thundered against the shore. The coachman glanced at his pocket watch and groused something about a schedule that was almost immediately lost to the next inward gust.

“No, no, dearie,” the old woman scoffed. “No, you must come into the village. It’s far too far to go all by yourself, and with that case as well. Here, let me —”

“I can manage the case, I assure you,” Nel said with a gentle smile as Aggie half-toppled, half-leaned out of the coach to pick up the case. “How far is it to the house?”

“Two miles up that hill yonder,” Agatha said, pointing with one gnarled and arthritic finger towards the house on the rise to the north. “Come to the Lantern, and we’ll have one of the lads take you up once you’ve caught your breath.” The Lantern, as Nel now knew thanks to Aggie’s detailed prattling, was the inn at the centre of the village, right on the water near the harbour.

She had been about to protest, but with a sigh, she simply nodded. The constant journeying and jolting had worn her down more than she cared to admit, and while she wasn’t the kind of wallflower she’d met any number of times in London during the Season, a life led mostly indoors with few opportunities for physical activity had not prepared her for a two mile walk in heavy, too-fine clothes, carrying an unwieldy case in gusty conditions. Her family had been invited a number of times to Goodwood House to walk the large park there, and she had frequently ridden a rather spirited mare through the parkland of Lavington Hall with her dear friend William, so she was not entirely unused to the great outdoors, but she did have to admit that her experiences had been rather more curated and sanitised than the wild expanse of heathland visible on all sides of the stagecoach from Whitcross.

“You’re kind, Agatha,” she said, and let the woman heft her case into the otherwise empty coach.

The thing about a tiny village was that an outsider stood out a mile, and a young lady in her mid twenties and dressed in impractical, rich green clothes, stood out like a beacon in a dark night. Everyone turned to watch her as she disembarked from the coach. At home, she had barely garnered a look from anyone. Being the centre of everyone’s curiosity there was novel and, in a word, horrifying.

She almost blurted aloud that one would think she was a revenue man come inspecting for smuggled goods, but she bit it back just in time. Cornwall’s so-called ‘free trade’ and smuggling rackets were absolutely none of her concern as an outsider, infamous though they may be, and it would do her no good to start sticking her nose where it did not belong.

The Lantern was a half-timbered, two-storey building that faced the walled harbour. Its painted sign was peeling and sun-bleached, and it squawked something dreadful as it swung back and forth in the squalling wind. Mullioned windows glinted and shimmered, though the small, diamond panes were caked with a haze of salt spray, and alongside the inn, a hand-cart rumbled down from a narrow side alley towards the harbour beyond, where fishing boats bobbed on their mooring lines at the lapping high tide.

Agatha pushed open the black-painted door but came to an abrupt halt as someone appeared to be leaving the inn at the exact same moment, and nearly barrelled into her and Nel.

“Oh, excuse me,” came a young man’s hoarse tenor, and he stepped aside within the inn’s small porch to allow the two women to enter before he left.

Nel noted briefly that he wore well-made but plain clothes, and carried a hefty looking cane in his left hand, upon which he leaned while he waited for them to pass. He was pale and thin, his undyed linen shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his light brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck into a horsetail. The moment he met her eye, he inhaled in surprise and almost immediately looked away, his large, dark brown eyes turning shy and uncertain. “M’lady,” he mumbled without looking up.

She didn’t have time to correct him and tell him she had no such title, because the moment she had stepped inside, he was off out into the day beyond, limping markedly on his right leg as he went.

Nel turned back to find Agatha waiting for her, watching. “That there was young Edmund Nancarrow,” she supplied as Nel caught up with her. “Local lad. Lots of Nancarrows in this area,” she chuckled. “Can’t move for tripping over a Nancarrow. He was a shy, skittish thing even before he went off to war in the Colonies and came back with a bad leg,” she added. “But he’s a sweetheart if ever I saw one. Tailor’s ’prentice he is now.”

At that, Nel just nodded. Something in her ached when she realised she probably wouldn’t have much to do with the folk from the village once she was ensconced up at Heath Top House, and she half wised she could. They already sounded far more interesting than the Lady Winnifred Penrose, with whom Nel had only exchanged a short flurry of letters before becoming formally engaged as her ‘companion’.

Still, an unmarried woman of Nel’s age and social standing was considered almost past her prime, and given that the few marriage proposals she had received had faded into the mists of her very early adulthood, she had had to find another respectable way to support herself. Hence, Heath Top House.

Aggie bustled her into the main room of the pub, and their arrival caused a flurry of activity that drew the eyes of a good few patrons.

Seated at the wooden bar inside, hunched over a pewter tankard, sat a tall, bulky man in his late-thirties or early forties, with long, thick, dark grey hair shot through with a shimmer of silver white. He had it tied back off his face in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and as he turned to regard Nel’s arrival, she met unusually deep green eyes surrounded by a web of crows’ feet lines in a tanned, weathered face. His scowl was dark and full of suspicion, but even the storm clouds in his expression couldn’t mask the fact that he was handsome, in a rugged, rough-hewn kind of way.

When she saw where Nel’s attention had snagged, Aggie let out a little gasp and snatched her by the upper arm to steer her towards an empty table in a bay window, about as far from the wooden bar where the man still sat and glared at them as it was possible to be.

“And that’s Locryn Trevethan,” Aggie hissed as she saw Nel settled into a seat. “Can’t say as I’ve seen him in here more than a handful of times this year though. He’s usually out on the water. Lives alone in an old stone cottage round the bay from here, up at Pilchard Sands. You’d probably best be giving him a wide berth, miss. Not that he should give you any trouble, mind,” she amended carefully, “But he’s not for the likes of you to go mingling with.”

Nel smiled at the protective tone in the older woman’s voice, and nodded once.

With her warning given, Aggie raised her voice and called over to the old man behind the bar. “’ere, Tom! This young lady needs a ride up to Heath Top. You think you can arrange that for her?”

The stoop-shouldered, white-haired man nodded and knuckled his forehead at Nel across the space. “Not the finest, but we got a cart.”

“If you have a horse, I could ride,” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Ain’t got a saddle for a lady,” he said regretfully.

Memories of galloping through the leafy trees of Lavington Hall’s parkland with William flashed across her mind and she suppressed a smile. She certainly hadn’t ridden the grey mare side-saddle while keeping up with her childhood friend, and although it had been a year or so since she’d sat astride a horse instead of side-saddle, she thought she could manage well enough. “I know how to ride a man’s saddle,” she said, “But I do have a travel case I’d need to send someone back for.”

“I could get one of the lads to bring that up for you after,” said Tom, “But it’s almost as much effort to hitch up a cart as it is to tack up a horse for riding, ma’am.”

“Whatever is the least trouble for you will do fine,” she said, and the stoic, weather-beaten old man’s red cheeks darkened and he ducked his head.

While Tom left to sort out transportation to the house, Aggie flapped about getting some refreshments for Nel, leaving her to wait at the table alone.

In the wake of the hubbub and pother Agatha left behind her, Nel took a long, deep breath looked around to find Locryn Trevethan still staring across the room at her. Taken aback by his directness and the intensity of his glare, she tried to smile, but his expression remained thunderous beneath strong, dark brows, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

In a face turned to leather by the sun and sea-wind, wide cheekbones and a heavy brow framed his piercingly green eyes. Never mind that marked crow’s feet around his eyes that made him look like he would rather have been laughing; the contrast between the dark, hostile glower and the soft laughter lines unnerved her and made her feel off-balance, as though her stranger’s presence in their local pub had unknowingly raised the ire of a usually gentle man.

He had a short, neatly-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard around full lips that were currently turned down at the corners and which bore a silver-pink scar across the middle. Despite the warm day, he wore a fisherman’s dense, woollen sweater, and when she risked another look back at him, she found him still frowning openly across the bar at her.

Nel didn’t relax until Aggie returned, at which point the man snapped abruptly out of his trance, slammed a coin down on the bar, and strode from the pub on long legs that were thick as tree trucks at the thigh. The door bounced back off the plasterwork in his wake and his boots rang on the flagstones outside.

“Not one to welcome strangers, I take it,” Nel muttered, and downed half of the cheap, watered-down wine that Agatha had set on the table for her.

“Oh don’t you pay him no mind, miss,” Aggie scoffed, settling herself down into the seat opposite her like a brooding hen and glaring at the pub door. “He don’t seem to like no one in Polgarrack save for sweet Ned Nancarrow, strangely enough. Then again, I ain’t met no one who’s taken a disliking to sweet Ned. Now, Tom will have the horse and cart ready for you in just a moment, but you just take your time and recover after your journey.”

Nel, who had felt ten times better the moment she’d taken her first proper lungful of sea air on stepping out of the swaying stagecoach, looked across the table into the older woman’s face and found a mother’s kindness and compassion in her wrinkled face, and something twisted in her gut. “You’re very kind,” she whispered, unable to muster anything more. “Thank you.”

She chuckled. “You know, and don’t you take this amiss, but you remind me of my niece a little, though she’s a little younger than you.”

Nel’s eyebrows twitched in wry amusement, and Agatha blushed at the impropriety of her words. Nel didn’t get the chance to reassure her because Tom shuffled back in and told her the cart was ready for her.

She laid a coin on the table for the wine and stood, following the innkeep out into the yard and clambering up with her case into the back of the cart. It was hardly a very dignified mode of transport for someone of her station, and when Tom said as much while they rumbled out of the inn’s yard, Nel just laughed and said she didn’t mind.

“Anything is better than that awful rolling stagecoach,” she beamed, and swung her legs back and forth like a child off the back of the cart bed while Tom clucked his tongue at the horse to hurry up.

As they trundled up the narrow, cobbled street from the harbour, they passed Edmund Nancarrow standing outside a tailor’s shop, talking with the beast of a man from the bar. Both men looked up and watched her pass like she was some kind of rare spectacle.

In a way, she supposed she was.

Still, she smiled at them despite her nerves, and Edmund knuckled a non-existent cap at her with a shy smile, while Locryn just glared.

She sighed and wondered what this next chapter in her life would bring.

___

Next chapter ->

Well, what did you think of it so far? I can't wait to hear your thoughts on it, as always!

I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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#selkie #bucca #polyamory #polyamorous romance #poly story #o #historical fantasy #shifter romance #poly shifter romance #18th century romance #shapeshifter romance #m/m/f

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luxurydistribution · 4 days ago

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nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma · 3 months ago

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Missing Women of HOTD - Marilda of Hull

A familiar sight about her father’s shipyards, the girl was better known as Mouse, for she was “small, quick, and always underfoot.”

When Addam was ten and Alyn nine, their mother inherited the yards upon her own father’s death, sold them, and used the coin to take to the sea herself as the mistress of a trading cog she named Mouse. A canny trader and daring captain, by 130 AC Marilda of Hull owned seven ships, and her bastard sons were always serving on one or the other.

That Addam and Alyn were dragonseed no man who looked upon them could doubt, though their mother steadfastly refused to name their father. Only when Prince Jacaerys put out the call for new dragonriders did Marilda at last break her silence, claiming both boys were the natural sons of the late Ser Laenor Velaryon.

On Driftmark, the town of Hull experienced a rebirth. Scores of new ships were built and launched, and Lord Oakenfist’s mother greatly expanded her own trading fleets, and began work on a palatial manse overlooking the harbor that Mushroom dubbed the Mouse House.

On his tomb is engraved a single word: LOYAL. Its ornate letters are supported by carvings of a seahorse and a mouse.

The fleet set sail at mid-year, led by Oakenfist in a galley he named Bold Marilda after his mother.

I can't believe we had to sit through Sharako Lohar the cool lesbian slaver when we could have had this Queen instead.

Both her sons are so proud of their mother and she's clearly so important to them, it's so shitty the show erased her. And then there's 30-year-old Show Alyn giving a speech about going hungry just to rub the salt in the wound - because we can't have Bold Captain Marilda and her fleet of trading ships. It's not as though this season centered around a sea blockade or anything.

We could have had Marilda play an active role in that blockade. Though of course, the entire plotline of the famine in King's Landing was ridiculous. Most of their food comes from the Reach, the Breadbasket of the Realm, by Road. That was why there was a famine in the War of the Five Kings when the Tyrells blocked the Rose Road. But we all knew the writers hadn't really thought the famine through the moment the starving crowd started throwing food in protest-

But if we had to have it, then Marilda could have been the one tasked with delivering the food aid. Or if we focused on the actual effects of the blockade (its impact on trade of goods from the free cities, which would have been more luxury goods impacting the wealthier of King's Landing), we could have had Marilda being the liaison with other disgruntled captains and traders, or the one helping to keep them in line and not break the blockade.

Imagine also if we had a book-accurate depiction of the Sowing of the Seeds (no Squid-gaming a crowd of bastards into a room and ringing the dinner bell for a crazy religious ritual or whatever the show was going for in The Bells Round 2). If instead of divine intervention dropping a dragon on a passive Addam (and triggering Rhaenyra's descent into crazy cult leader apparently) he was actually able to be a character with agency - actively responding to Jace's call for dragonseeds and willing to take the risk. Because he's Bold Marilda's son.

We could have then had Corlys quietly begging Marilda to keep the boys parentage a secret so he doesn't shame the memory of his recently deceased wife. And Marilda says "sure no problem" and then turns around with the baldest of bald faced lies that the kids are Laenor's and watches the succession chaos unfold (until Book Jace of course saves the day with "Yay, new brothers! Please Mom can I keep them?"). Marilda stares Corlys down until he guiltily chimes in to request his 'grandsons' be legitimised.

We could have seen Marilda's guilt and grief at what happens to her bold and daring youngest son - an age-accurate Alyn (14) who eagerly tries to follow in his big brother's shadow and suffers burns for life. Heck, the show could have even paralleled Marilda and Addam at Alyn's sickbed with Alicent and Kylo Raemond at Aegon's sickbed - only with actual love in the room.

We could have had Marilda's pride at watching Addam legitimised and knighted, tainted by sadness at the cost to Alyn, but relief that both her sons survived. We could have had her keeping a recovering Alyn company while Jace trains with Addam and the other dragonseeds (replacing the little brother he lost). We could have had her be the one to confront Corlys for his absence. We could have had Corlys make it up to her by telling Alyn tales of his voyages, offering him an alternative path now that he can't join Addam as a dragonrider.

It would have been a hell of a lot more engaging than Dull 30-year-old Alyn having what feels like the same conversation with Corlys over and over again about that time he was the sailor who pulled him from the sea-

Or Less Dull But For Some Reason Younger Addam, who talks about wanting an opportunity for glory but ultimately is a passive character who gets a dragon landed on him. Contrast to Nice Man With Wife And Sick Daughter Hugh, and Funny Drunk Ulf - two white men who we are for some reason following instead of Nettles, and who actually get to make the active decision to go claim a dragon. Because they get to be written with motives and agency.

Considering the treatment of Laena, the erasure of Baela's personality, the decision to merge Nettles with Rhaena, the dullification of Alyn and Addam... and considering the rush to shower attention on Hugh and Ulf and genderbent Sharako Lohar and Gwayne Hightower of all people...

It does lead me to conclude that any potential interest the writers may have had in adapting certain characters... abruptly vanished the moment a certain casting decision was made.

#marilda of hull #fancast #zethu dlomo #alyn velaryon #addam velaryon #anti ryan condal #not to mention having to watch tyland mud wrestling in orientalisit exotic pirates of the caribbean land (apparently Lys?)#because rather than have him stealing the treasury I guess we're going to watch Tyland go on some of Alyn's post-dance adventures now?

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year ago

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☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Six

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.2k

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The Red Force is closing in on the port of Ingles, a town known for its construction services and lumber milling. The island itself is forested and sports mountains that Benn has described as a wilderness. It’s no wonder that the logging and construction business booms in Ingles, and you look forward to seeing the looming mountains. Kuri Island has hills—the Bonn manor is perched on one—but it holds no mountains nor thick forests. Even your best efforts to act ladylike can’t hold back the excitement running through your veins.

Now you are just standing on the deck, hands clutching the railing as you lean out and feel the wind and salt on your face. The white sleeves of the tunic you wear flutter and flap, dancing to the turbulent wind propelling the large ship across cerulean water. The town means you can pawn off your necklace and earrings for Berry, and then get clothes that fit you better.

You are more than thankful to be wearing Shanks’ spare clothing rather than your wedding dress, but the fabric dwarfs your body and is ill-fitting. The sleeves tend to drag when you help Lucky in the kitchen, and you have to use one of Hongo’s bandages as a belt to keep the trousers around your waist. Add the cut sandals practically taped to your feet… To put it simply, you look ridiculous!

But even in the ridiculous clothes that your mother would faint over if she ever saw you wearing such, you can’t help but bask in the feeling of freedom. You’ve never had the luxury of being in charge of your own clothing, you’ve never even worn trousers before, and there isn’t even a corset in sight! You sigh in happiness once more and beam, wondering what type of clothes you’d want to get for your new life.

Dresses wouldn’t be particularly useful to you, not when you find trousers so freeing and easy to move in, but you wouldn’t mind having one simple nice dress to have on hand. It wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself to a nice dinner at one of the restaurants Lucky has been telling you about. Even you know that certain dress codes are expected in certain places. So one dress will do. But you’ll mostly invest some money in tunics, trousers, two pairs of shoes, and a nice hat to block out the sun.

Then there is the glaring fact that you need to ensure your safety. You are no fool. The Blues are dangerous and filled with both good and bad people. Pirates. You are going to acquire a blade and learn how to use it (yet another task of learning you have to accomplish). Dropping your elbow to the railing, you rest your chin in hand.

“So much to do, I haven’t a clue where to start,” you speak to yourself, eyes watching the whitecaps forming as waves curl and crash.

“Well, for starters, we’re getting you into clothes that actually fit,” Shanks' voice softly floats into your ears over the sound of waves and Yasopp’s off-key singing. Twisting your head, you look at the red-haired captain with a pragmatic smile.

“Oh believe me, the first thing I plan on doing is choosing my own clothing. I’ve never been allowed to pick what I wear,” you reply as he takes a spot next to you. Your eyes look at the cloak he has draped over his arm stump. A cloak, you should get one too; everyone seems to have some sort of overcoat or the like. Shanks’ eyebrow pops up at your word choice but says nothing. He isn’t surprised that you’ve never been allowed to pick your own clothes. You’ve been nothing but a porcelain doll for your mother to play with. Shanks rubs his jaw in contemplation.

“The stores in Ingles focus on practical clothing, the type of clothes that are good and sturdy for traveling. It’ll be nothing like what you’re used to,” Shanks slowly explains, wondering if you’ll be bothered by less-than-luxurious fabrics. He doesn’t think you will be, but he’s yet to see you interact outside of the controlled environment of his ship. A thoughtful look crosses your face before you reply.

“Oh, I look forward to that,” you sigh in pure happiness. “These trousers might not fit, but they are a dream.” You glance down at the threadbare and simplistic trousers. “I’ve never had the luxury of feeling the wind against my feet and ankles.” Shanks wants to tell you that normally pants don’t reveal ankles and your ill-fitting trousers are far from luxury… but the glow of happiness upon your face is something he never dreamed of diminishing, so he keeps his silence on the topic.

“Just wait until you learn all about shorts,” he chooses to say, a grin creeping onto his face at the idea of how you’ll react to your entire legs being unhindered by layers of fabric. Shanks is sure you might even flop into a faint of excitement the moment you realize you could choose to wear something so revealing! He eyes your face a little more closely, drinking in the faint laugh lines and natural curves. The pirate is honestly stunned that you can still smile and appear so full of life after living in such circumstances as you had fled from. Turning his gaze back to the calm sea waters, Shanks looks forward to seeing what other delights are in store for you.

You are greatly embarrassed to say that your first few steps off the Red Force nearly have you face-planting with a far-from-elegant squawk. Benn catches your falling body early, large hands clutching your waist so you comically dangle in his grasp with your arms cartwheeling. You are sure that your face would be beet red if it were anatomically possible when he steadies you and all eyes are on you. Clearing your throat, you sway a little and take a deep gulp of air, trying to steady yourself again.

“Is it always like that?” you question as if you hadn’t nearly just made a scene of yourself. Your eyes are going everywhere in an effort not to look at their faces, for you feel like you might cry in embarrassment. Before any hot tears welling up in your eyes can fall, Bonk Punch speaks.

“Shoulda’ seen Monster the first day he was on the ship, took to sea like a champ, but when we got back on dry land for supplies…?” The man rubs his bald head in squeamish contemplation.

“Monkey vomit, for days,” Hongo rumbles, moving past you. “Tell me if you feel sick before you vomit on me, okay?”

“I’m not going to vomit on anyone!” you huff out indignantly, still dangling in Benn’s hold while the rest of the crew lumbers off the ship with containers to be filled. “That would be rude and unsightly of me!” Monster lets out a screech and swings himself onto a barrel to glare at you accusatorily. You regard the primate with a frank look. “I am a lady, you are a monkey. You have no expectations to meet, Monster. I do.”

Your words seem to make sense in the monkey’s brain because he leaps back onto Bonk Punch’s shoulder as Benn carefully sets you back on your feet. You still feel like you are swaying, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

“No one expects anything from you, Aria,” Shanks’ voice comes from behind you as he jogs down the gangplank, adjusting his hat. “So if you vomit on Hongo, no one’s going to judge, or care.” The doctor in question begins grumbling while your face burns.

“I will absolutely not be vomiting on anyone, and that is final!” you clearly state, stamping your makeshift sandal on the dock. “Gods, you are all such… such men!” You erupt, flinging your fingers upwards. Shanks only grins at you and holds out his hand to you.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now, why don’t you stick close? We’re going to be splitting up. The men will get supplies while I get you clothes,” Shanks tells you, watching as your face morphs to give him a look. He takes your hand and pulls you along. “And no making passive-aggressive faces at me, Aria. I already said I was paying and that is final.”

As Shanks pulls you along and away from the rest of the men, Benn leans over to Hongo.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna argue with him when it comes time to pay?” Hongo snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll double whatever you’re placing… there is no way that little lady isn’t going to dig her heels in till the last second. Stubborn as a mule, that one…” Yasopp drops his arms over the two men’s shoulders.

“How ‘bout we make bets on how much he’s gonna spend ‘cause we all know she ain’t going to be allowed to part with a single Berry.” Hongo and Benn nod in agreement, fully realizing that no matter what you say or do, Shanks will be paying at the end of the day. “Alright! Who’s betting what?” Berry numbers are called as the crew makes their way towards the market.

You’ve been led back to the alteration room by Annie, the seamstress of Ingles, and stripped down to your lace bridal underwear and bra set. The woman hasn’t said a word about the clearly too formal undergarments but has informed her assistant that you will also be requiring undergarments with your purchase this day. Annie is no-nonsense in whipping your undergarments off to be measured, and within a matter of only a few minutes, you are wearing a set much more comfortable and appropriate for your new daily life.

Shirts are the easiest to pick out for you. You’ve indicated that you want practical clothing, something that will survive the seas but look nice enough milling around a market. Annie packages up nearly ten shirts of varying designs and colors, all to match the simple trousers you’ve picked out. Two pairs you’ve picked: cream and black. Those colors go with everything. You have picked a pair of grey trousers that are too short for your legs, stopping mid-calf, to wear out of the shop. Annie has tried to convince you to try on a pair that fits the length of your legs, but you have stated that you want to feel the wind on your ankles, so Annie has acquiesced. Now you are picking out a shirt to wear out of the shop and having trouble deciding on a color.

“What about this one?” Annie’s assistant offers, holding up a green shirt that reminds you a lot of the tunic that Shanks often wears. You blink at it, squint in observation, and nod.

“I like that color and style. It’s not too tight but also made from sturdy material,” you speak in approval. “I plan on spending a lot of time traveling. Is it easy to clean?” The assistant nods as Annie walks over, carrying fabric draped over her arm.

“That material is resistant to stains and tearing, but don’t go looking for knife fights,” Annie agrees, also approving of the choice. “It’ll be a good one for spending time at sea. The dye used is resistant to sun bleaching, so the green will last longer.”

“I hadn’t thought about sun bleaching,” you softly comment, scolding yourself for not thinking of such a thing. Your clothes won’t be hanging in a closet meticulously cared for by an army of maids. Placing your hands on your bare hips, you nod firmly. “I would like to wear that shirt out, please set it aside with the trousers.”

“Now, dear, you mentioned wanting to have a nice dress to wear?” Annie speaks, tabbing through some fabrics on a shelf. “Something to impress your man out there?” Your eyes dart to the front of the shop where Shanks is presumably reading the town’s paper. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Not mine, not mine,” you utter out frantically, holding your arms against your chest as if they would keep your heart from beating out of your body. Shanks is a very handsome man. Kind and generous too. But he isn’t yours, and it certainly isn’t a good idea to entertain such a thought… never mind that you don’t really know him in the weeks you’ve spent on the Red Force, and for all you know, he is a terrible person having a nice streak!

It would be nice to have a man like him, though…

You clear your throat, quelling the heat within your cheeks.

“Shanks is not mine. He is just being incredibly kind in helping me out of a tough situation I found myself in. Nothing more,” you say that last part more to yourself than to Annie, and the seamstress raises her eyebrow.

“Oh?” she spouts, eyeing you closer. You may think that you hide your emotions well, but the seamstress is no spring chicken. “Well, dear, not just any man spends this much on a single woman unless he’s got a claim.” That makes you sputter.

“But I said I would pay!” you erupt, embarrassment quickly shifting to anger. “I specifically told him that I would be the one to purchase my clothing, and he had already done enough for me!” Annie snorts this time and rolls her eyes. Oh, to be your age again…

“Tell that to the stack of Berry he handed to me when you were changing…” she says dryly, enjoying the way you huff and puff in belligerence. “Face it, dear, he’s paying whether or not you want him to.” You are left stewing in place as the woman begins to build the dress you want from scratch.

Annie has pinned the dress to your body and made adjustments until you are happy with the result, then spent an extra hour fussing over each and every detail of the lavender fabric that matches your hair so well. You don’t understand why she wants to spend so much time on a dress meant to be something that would never see a ball or gala… but she has muttered something about liking details and the beauty of simplicity. So you let her fuss.

Now you are dressing yourself in the grey trousers, green shirt, shoes that actually fit your feet properly, and looking at the selection of hats available. You’ve braided your hair back so it will be out of the way and less of a hassle while sailing the sea. Most of the hats will fit your need just fine, but it is going to be your hat. You don’t want just any old hat. Unconsciously you find yourself leaning towards the straw hats, liking the way they are simple yet will do their job perfectly.

Plucking a straw hat with a wider brim than others, your finger traces the black ribbon wrapped around it until you stroke the neat bow at the back. It is perfect! It is simple, will do the job, and has just enough femininity to it to match your wardrobe. Turning the hat, you place it on your head and adjust it before walking over to the floor-length mirror you’ve spent the morning standing in front of.

Oh my.

You hardly recognize your reflection. Gone is the refined lady of the Bonn family, replaced by a lavender-haired woman who holds herself with regality but looks like she belongs on a ship at sea.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh happily, running your hands along the coarse material of your trousers. There is nothing delicate about your trousers, your tunic, or your boots. They are built for travel, for daily trekking, for use. Fiddling with the strings hanging from your new hat, you turn on your heel and look to Annie and her assistant. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before. Does this look okay?”

“You look like an average traveler,” Annie tells you, walking forwards and nitpicking nonexistent creases in your clothing. “Which I believe is the look you are going for? Of course, nothing you wear will take away from your natural beauty, dear. Can’t hide that.”

“I just don’t want to be found by my family. It was trouble enough leaving them,” you sigh, picking at the end of your short braid. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”

“That’d be a right shame if you did, miss,” the assistant speaks up. “You don’t want to erase yourself trying to find your freedom. You might lose yourself entirely if you do.” She has a point; you can admit that. So you’ll leave your hair alone and hope that your luck will continue.

“Alright then,” you say, turning to address them. “How much do I owe you?”

“A smile, girl, and if you offer me Berry one more time, I’m going to sic your gentleman on you.” Annie tells you with a strict look. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a soft groan, realizing that Shanks has indeed won this battle. Very well. So you give Annie and the assistant one of your best smiles and thank them before venturing to the front of the shop. You can see Shanks standing outside, across the road from the shop, leaning against the railing of the overlook to the port of Ingles. No doubt he has felt cooped up in the shop.

Knowing that Annie will have your dress and clothes delivered to the Red Force when everything is ready and packed up, you depart the shop and quietly walk up to the red-haired man.

“Finally done, eh?” Shanks asks, admiring the view of the ocean and the breeze he can feel on his face. It is a rather nice day, he has to admit, too bad you have spent most of it inside. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll have more of a chance to show you around.

“I am not happy you wouldn’t let me pay,” you announce, stopping beside him and enjoying the view. Shanks chuckles and rolls his eyes. He has practically spent the entire day arguing with you over who got to pay for your clothes. Shanks has ultimately put his foot down and talked with Annie about not letting you pay.

“Consider it a gift, Aria. You’re starting a new life.” Shanks chuckles before giving you a brief glance. Looking back at the horizon, his head snaps back to you in surprise. He knows that you will be leaving the shop wearing new clothes, but he hasn’t realized just how fitting and beautiful you’d look in just pants and a shirt. While he stares at you, drinking in the sight and realizing just how well you’d fit in with the crew now, you blink at him and wonder if you look odd to him. He sure is staring for a long time.

“Do I look weird in these clothes? Annie said I looked fine, but I feel odd wearing them since I’ve never picked my own clothes before.” Shanks reaches up and flicks his finger along the edge of your straw hat, reminded of a certain boy he’d left behind years ago. You have the same passion in your eyes. A frightfully attractive passion he is slowly coming to terms with. Better move on before you catch on to the fact that he is unabashedly checking you out.

“You look like you fit in with a crowd, Aria. The clothes are perfect,” he says before straightening up. “I got word that the men finished with the resupply and found a tavern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Date Published: 1/11/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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#red haired shanks #shanks x you #shanks x reader #one piece shanks #shanks

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artemis1214 · 7 months ago

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MEET ESME ROSE LUCIANO!

Hello! 👋🏼

These are some headcanons for my Hazbin Hotel OC, Esme! If you would like to read more about Esme's story, you can check out my Wattpad story "A Siren's Spell".

HELLA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Human Life (1900-1932)

As a child, Esme was very friendly and bubbly. She was everyone's best friend and the little major of Manhattan.

Would love to pet the horses leading the carriages in front of her father’s bar.

Esme’s mother would always try to keep her away from the family ‘business’, but little Esme always found herself listening in on the men's conversations and meetings.

Natural flirt as a teenager, but only had one boyfriend in New York.

Natural mother figure to Anthony from their connected families.

Cool aunt vibe for Molly and Anthony. (Would buy them ice cream on the regular when their parents weren't around).

Would float in a raft in the Hudson River, smoking a cigarette in the summer.

Very protective of her younger sister, would stand up to bullies, and get in trouble with the nuns at school.

Raised Catholic.

Libra.

Used by her father to lure men to his work and steal their money.

Gets "too involved" in the business and gets sent to New Orleans to basically hide away.

Has a very seductive luxurious transatlantic accent, but alone drops to a casual crisp New York tone.

Accent drops completely when upset or cursing.

Always smells like vanilla and strawberries.

Lots of chocolate martinis, vodka cranberries, and red wine.

Long hair because she hates thinking about fitting into societal beauty standards (no flapper hair here!).

Heavy sweet tooth.

Big bookworm.

Theme Songs:

“You don’t own me”

"My Days" - The Notebook on Broadway

"Roxie" - Chicago

"Gangsta" - Kehlani

"So, this is love?"

Always carries a silent pistol in her purse.

Very charming, seductive, playful, and secretive.

Steals Mimzy's spot as the head girl at the speakeasy.

Singer, burlesque performer.

Also plays piano.

Alastor watches her from the back of the parlor, tapping his finger on his whiskey glass.

Meets Alastor immediately but senses something ‘off’ about him.

Hella sexual tension right off the bat.

Threatens him with her pistol when she discovers who he is.

Not phased by many of Al’s doings as she watched her father kill men all the time.

“You don’t scare me."

Has a smart mouth that often gets her in trouble when men.

Has spit in men’s faces before.

“Fuck you.” These are her two favorite words for them.

Is disgusted by men.

“Men are dogs, I like my dogs on four legs.”

Very possessive, protective, and jealous.

When the two get married she becomes similar to a New York mob wife.

“No Alasta, you’re not killin’ on a Sunday! Sunday is a holy day - plus I made meatballs!”

Goes for the eyes when she kills people, “You really do have pretty eyes, wonder how long they’ll take to cut out.”

Will ship the remains to their parents as a “warning.”

Going to the water when she is stressed out, usually the dock near her house.

Alastor will drive fast down empty roads so she can hang out of the car and let her hair flow.

ALWAYS has a record on the spinner and espresso brewing.

Their house smells like coffee 24/7.

Angelic, alluring voice with a natural jazzy ring to it if she so pleases when she sings.

BIG flirt and entertainer when drunk or high.

Very strong siren eyes when she is singing, performing, or talking to someone.

HATES spicy food (Alastor’s cooking nearly kills her every time)

Will request a seafood broil every single time he cooks for her.

If Alastor’s mother were to be alive, these two would be BEST FRIENDS!

She’d probably make plans to hang out with just her - not Alastor (lol!).

Date nights of just cooking their respective recipes.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T LIKE MY LASAGNA?!”

Their song is “It’s Been a Long, Long, Time” by Kitty Kallen.

COUPLE THEME SONG: ACROSS THE STARS FROM STAR WARS.

Hella foreshadowing (Padme/Anakin vibes)

Speaks Italian when upset

Che Cazzo?!

Che palle?!

Figlio di puttana!

Affectionate pet names for those she cares for

“Lovey” - Her sister Margo

“My Dove” - Her daughter, Genevieve

“Sweetheart” - Alastor

NEVER shows up to an event empty-handed. She’ll feed everyone there.

Love language is def quality time and cooking.

Flirts with Alastor around his secretary to make her jealous

Basically the second in command when she's at Alastor's office.

You better do whatever Esme asks or he will kill you (no joke).

“Let that bitch hear.” Vibes.

Brat

Submissive/Switch

Masochist

Big softie as a mother, complete domestic.

Loves children and animals.

No longer works at the speakeasy.

Becomes a housewife.

Can have hella anxiety/depression.

Doesn't cope with things properly and will shut herself out from everyone if upset.

Emotionally numb from losing so many people in her life.

At the end of her story, she realizes it's going to be him or her...

"Veronica, open the door please!" Vibes.

"Where is Padme, is she safe? Is she alright?"

“It seems in your anger, you killed her…”

BIG THANKS TO @hoomandoescosplay FOR HELPING WITH THESE HEADCANONS! LOVE YOU GIRLYPOP! 💗

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amitiel-truth · 2 years ago

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Ten Babies Part 2 (Vash the Stampede x Reader)

Note: This is my SECOND time writing here, please don't look too much into the details, I made some up, these ideas were prompted from my chat with Vash at Character.AI, lore dump will probably be here (doing the josei format up this bitch).

Warning: ⚠️Smut⚠️

Summary: Was it really a one night stand, Mr. Stampede?

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

stiring awake, Vash sits up from the softest bed he ever laid on as e looked around, the room he resides in looks more luxurious than the one he was given, but it's personalized, trinkets strewn about tables and nightstands, with it's own personal desk with what seem like important documents.

Vash notices that his naked, with an 'eep' he began dressing himself up from the clothes he discarded the night before, looking around for his red coat, but concludes it to be gone, and noticed someone humming.

Walking over to the window, it turned out to be a veranda over-looking the city, and noticed (Y/N), looking at the city, wearing his coat.

"Ms.(Y/N)-" Vash abruptly stopped himself as (Y/N), she's completely naked and only wearing his red coat, making him blush.

"Good Morning, Mr. Stampede." (Y/N) greeted, smiling at the blonde before turning back to the city, Vash realizes that the Mansion isn't on a hill, but on a cliff, overlooking the city that's located on a meteor crater.

"Welcome...to Febrari."

Febrari, a hidden city in Noman's Land that not many know, it's residents are decedents of SEED Ship 14 after 'The Great Fall', the ship specializes in agriculture and has been developing plant matter after departure from Earth.

Head Scientist, Agriculture, Biochemist, and Engineer, Erich Hem Loverose, did try to make contact with the other SEED ships, but an encounter deterred him, using the geological location that SEED ship 14 fell onto, natural walls that surround the area, SEED ship 14 went zero contact for the last century.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, Mr. Stampede." (Y/N) confessed, turning to look at him.

"My name's (Y/N), (Y/N) Loverose." she reveals, smiling at him, her hands in his coat pockets.

"It's quite alright." Vash sweat drops, laughing nervously, suddenly remembering what she said before she fell asleep

"Give me Ten Babies..."

'I don't even know if PLANT DNA is compatible with Human DNA.' Vash thought, turning to the woman who's looking at her city fondly.

"About-" Before he could even start, a knock resided on the door.

"Ms.(Y/N)! Mr. George Jr. from the Water Distribution Sector wishes to speak with you." Aileen said through the door, as (Y/N) shouted that she'll get ready.

"We have only just woken up and I already have a meeting." (Y/N) mutters, a hand on her forehead as she pulled Vash through her room and onto the door.

"Let's talk again later, Mr. Stampede." (Y/N) teases as she removed his coat and placed it over her shoulder, rendering her completely naked, flustering the male before being pushed out of the room.

"There's running water in your bathroom, feel free to get ready!" (Y/N) yells over the door before fading away, Vash still blushing hard from what just happened, then shakes out of his stupor as he processes what he said.

"Running water..." Vash mutters before rushing to his room and heading to the bathroom, turning on the tap, and watching water falling through it.

"Woah..." Vash mutters as he runs his hand through it.

"Just what is this place..."

____

(Y/N) talks with a young man on her porch under the shade of her home, wearing a white sleeveless dress with an accordion piece and plain piece that shapes her figure, dangling fake pearls on her ears, and a golden stars necklace wrapped around her neck, 'laughing' along with the man.

While out of earshot, Vash peeks through a window, looking at the scene before him.

"Who's that?."

"George Shepard Jr., son of the Water Distribution Department Head of Febrari, also one of the most eligible bachelors around here." Aileen informed Vash, jumping in surprise as he turned to look at the woman.

"Water Distribution? I haven't heard of that term before? In fact, it's so scarce to get as much as a drop here in Noman's Land." Vash replies, surprise that there's such a thing as departments for it.

"We're lucky enough to have landed with our ship fully intact, in fact, we haven't had a singled deceased PLANT for the past century." Aileen reveals, surprising Vash even more.

"Not a single one?! In this place? how is that even possible?!" Vash asks, still in shock.

"Because of the Loverose's" Aileen reveals, turning to look at something, turns out they're in the living room, with a mural of the first generation of the Loverose's hung above the fireplace.

"They took care of everything for us, especially Mr. Hem, with his knowledge and guidance, he built a system and developed plants for food that would survive the harsh climate of this planet, it is still under progress but under our current condition, they still work." Aileen informs him, staring at the Mural of a family with a Man in his mid-thirties wearing glasses with (y/hc) slick-back hair with serious eyes, holding a little boy in his arms and a young woman who looks exactly like (Y/N) but with blue eyes and blonde hair(A/N: sorry if you're blonde and have blue eyes), holding an umbrella made out of metal, smiling at the camera with her arm over the man's shoulder.

"and all of that knowledge is passed down to (Y/N), a very sought-after bachelorette, coming from wealth and status." all their attention turned to the woman who continued discussing matters with the young woman.

"I understand you still think that you're a fling, but know this, I watch Ms. (Y/N) grow up from a newborn into the young woman you see today, and not once have I seen her act with this kind of behavior towards a man, if you're uncomfortable at the situation, leave if you like, it's alright to not reciprocate her feelings." Aileen advises as she turns to go to the kitchen.

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave a woman with a broken heart!"

"She's a strong woman, she can take anything you throw at her and she'll stand back up, she'll be fine...unless, your feeling something else, Mr. Stampede?." Aileen pokes as Vash blushes, turning to look back at the two on the porch as (Y/N) turns her body 'bashfully', something inside Vash stirs as he continued to watch the two.

"One night stand my ass."

____

After breakfast, (Y/N) invites Vash to see the city.

"I'm needed to see the progress of our other plants like cabbages and such." (Y/N) informs him, walking out of the mansion holding a very long umbrella.

"What's a cabbage?." Vash asks following her as they approached two Thomas Handlers.

"Your about to find out." (Y/N) chuckles as she opens the umbrella as they get under the three suns, a Handler approached her, handing her usual bird and riding it, placing the umbrella at the custom holder, protecting her from the heat.

"Let's get going." (Y/N) nods her head to the other bird, as Vash blushes and goes to the Handler who gave him the reins and rides it.

"Let's go!" (Y/N) squeals as she snapped the reins, making the Thomas, run with Vash panicking and running after her.

The two Handlers could only look at each other blankly.

"Ms. (Y/N)! Slow down!" Vash yells, matching the Lady's speed who continued laughing.

"Come on! I'll race you there!" (Y/N) challenges as she snaps the reins once again, showing a path as they race through it.

Vash hears (Y/N) laugh once again, turning to look at her he observes as she squeals, her hair gliding through the air as she looks so carefree. Vash turns away, blushing.

Reaching the town entrance, Vash won the race, and they come to a stop.

"Ah! You won! Guess I need to get you something for getting first place." (Y/N) stated, softly shaping the reins on her Thomas as they start to walk as Vash rushes to follow her.

"You don't need to get me anything, really!" Vash insisted, already heavily in debt to the woman.

"It's alright, really, Aileen already ask me to get some things from this store anyways." (Y/N) persist as they continued on their journey, noticing people calling out to her, smiling up to her as she smiles back, waving at them, making Vash pull up his hood to avoid being recognizable.

"You do know your red coat itself gives you away, right?" (Y/N) points out, smiling at the PLANT.

"Maybe they'll think I'm someone imitating me?." Vash tries to defend himself.

"Now who would be able to imitate your handsome self?." (Y/N) flirts making the man hide further into his hood, blushing.

"We're here." (Y/N) stops, and an unfamiliar smell wafts through the air, it smells homely and something fresh from the oven.

"Wait right here." (Y/N) orders as she got down with her umbrella, and walks into the store filled with bread and pastries Vash had never seen before, watching her converse with a few people around her area before walking back to him with bags on her arms.

"I bet you haven't had these for a long while." she guesses, holding up a bag of a certain baked pastry.

"Doughnuts...." He mutters, taking the bag before digging in.

"I'm glad you like it" (Y/N) laughs as she walks back to her Thomas, places back her umbrella, and mounts the bird, continuing on their leisure phase, eating their own pastries.

While stuffing his face, Vash looks around, noticing how peaceful the place is, occasionally there's someone greeting (Y/N).

"You're really well known in this town."

"Well, I did grow up here and came from a very prominent family, would be pretty hard to not be known." (Y/N) replies, waving among the people.

"But how come I haven't seen your parents?." Vash pokes, as she stiffens, keeping her face facing forward

"Oh...uh, they died a few years back, peacefully, might I add." She confirms, keeping herself facing forward.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry for prying-"

"No! It's quite alright, it happened a long time ago anyway." She remarks, but still kept her composure and still faced forward.

silence enveloped the two, occasionally greeting anyone who greets (Y/N) first, before reaching their destination, the area is set up with hundreds of greenhouses.

"Ms. Loverose, welcome to the Farming Sector." a young man greets, taking (Y/N)'s hand and kissing the back of it, right in front of Vash, who glares at the action.

"Oh, Jaime, still sweet as ever." (Y/N) 'swoons'.

"And who might this be?." He asks, turning to the red-hooded man, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, I'm-"

"He's my guard for the day." (Y/N) cuts him off, unmounting the bird with her umbrella with Vash following after.

"Shall I also accompany you inside as well Ms.-"

"It's quite alright, we can look around ourselves." She cuts him off walking to the plastic tarps.

"Understood" Jaimie grumbles as he glares at the blonde who can't help but smile.

(Y/N) mentions to follow her through the tarp and walks in, with Vash cautiously approaching the plastic, before walking in.

Cold air greeted the man, looking around in wonder at the nostalgic temperature, then noticing the leafy green bulbs before him, all in line planted to the ground.

(Y/N) smiles as she looks around, wiping the back of her hand on her dress as she looks around proudly.

"Back on earth, there used to be different climate zones around the globe, and each of them has the perfect temperature for plants, but it's hard to grow anything here on Noman's Land with the three suns and all, and the best that we could do is to mimic their climate and modify the plants to adapt to the planet's soil, though they are mixed with soil back from earth, but atleast they worked" She explains as she knelt down to one cabbage, her umbrella providing shade as she stroked one of them, glistening with water.

"It's not much, but at least it's enough to sustain us." (Y/N) smiles as Vash knelt down beside her, staring in wonder.

"Can you really eat it?." Vash leans down to take a bite as (Y/N) covers his mouth, chuckling at her.

"You need to cook it first before eating it! Unless you want a weird tingling sensation in your mouth" She laughs as she hugs her umbrella handle closer to her, bringing it between her legs, giggling uncontrollably as Vash backs away flustered, embarrassed as (Y/N) remembered something.

"There was a belief about planting back on Earth, when you sing to a plant they'll grow healthy and bountiful. Do you think that'll work here?." (Y/N), asks as she leans closer to the plant and clears her throat.

"Can we just be honest?" (Y/N) starts as Vash watches in amusement.

"These are the requirements If you think you can be my one and only true love You must promise to love me" (Y/N) continues as she closes her eyes, not noticing Vash's PLANT marks are showing, as he began to panic.

"And damn it, if you fuck me over I will rip your fuckin' face apart" Vash was so distraught that his PLANT markings instantly disappeared.

(Y/N) stops, opening her eyes as she looks at Vash sheepishly.

"I don't think plants would like to grow up to that, sorry, just thought of that off the top of my head." she apologizes and stands up, walking to the middle of the field, spinning her umbrella as Vash follows after her.

"Speaking of Love, have you over been in a relationship before?." Vash asks as she looks up thinking.

"I've had a few boyfriends before, but they were never serious, It's just a way to rebel at my parents back then, besides they could never handle me being too much of a woman." (Y/N) smiles in thought.

"Is that so? then what about those guys who's been all around you lately? are they also your past boyfriends?."

"Oh no! No no no! I don't even get near them as a child for how snobbish they acted, they do their jobs perfectly but don't have the right head on their shoulders in treating the common folk." (Y/N) denies, holding up a hand her lips in a tight frown.

"Althouuuuuuugh...If it's okay for them to have 10 children, I don't see why not." (Y/N) blushes, a hand on her cheek, swooning, as Vash watches her. thoughts running through his mind, the thought of her having children with another man...stirs something inside of him.

Vash suddenly pushed (Y/N) behind some tall cabbages, her umbrella flying up in the air, her white dress getting dirty in the process.

"Vash! What are you-" (Y/N) cuts herself off when Vash suddenly pins her to the ground, stunning the girl.

Her umbrella falls beside them facing the entrance, effectively hiding the two, they continue to stare at each other, as Vash slowly leans down to the girl, initiating a kiss, as (Y/N) got out of her stupor and followed him after, holding onto the back of his coat.

Vash hiked up her dress, revealing a pair of red lace panties, biting his lip at the sight as he pushed the lower side of it to the side, slipping one of his fingers in.

(Y/N) gasps as she held onto Vash tighter, biting his neck through his turtle neck, Vash quicken his pace and slid another finger in, prompting the girl to roll her eyes in pleasure, realizing she already cum.

wordlessly, Vash lifted his finger covered in (Y/N)'s slick, making sure she was watching as he sucked on his fingers, making her moan as she bit into her thumb.

After Vash finished cleaning his fingers, he proceeded with pulling down his pants, his cock slapping onto his stomach upon release as (Y/N) watches in anticipation.

lining it up, he looks back at (Y/N) for confirmation, who wrapped her legs around his waist and pulls him in, both moaning in synch at the sudden intrusion, Vash slowly started thrusting his hips onto her, grounding himself onto her as (Y/N) pulled him to her gasp and moan directly onto his ear, egging the PLANT more as he increases his speed.

The girl went crossed-eyed as she held onto Vash tighter, and with a last few thrusts, he spurts his seed inside of her, making sure to ground himself to her as he bit her neck, forcing (Y/N) to follow after, mixing along with his.

The two pants as Vash lifted himself from her shoulder, being face to face with her, as (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Vash's neck and pull him down, pulling him into a rough and passionate kiss, her fingers running through his hair as Vash hugged her tightly.

"Ms. Loverose! Are you there?." The man from before, Jaimie, call out as they both sat up, thankfully being fully hidden by the girl's large umbrella.

"Micheal from the Waste Department wants to talk to you, about the production of fertilizer for the Farming Sector." Jaimie added as they two hurriedly fixed themselves up, brushing away dirt that had gotten onto their skin and hair but (Y/N) her ruined dress and bite mark on her neck.

"Did something happen there? do you need help?." Jaimie asks, getting closer as the umbrella shuffles and two figures burst out from behind.

"WE'RE FINE! COMPLETELY FINE!" (Y/N) confirms, laughing nervously with Vash behind her.

"I just...fell onto the dirt and Vash helped me get back up!"

"Then why are you wearing his coat?." Jaimie points out, as it's true, (Y/N) is wearing Vash's red coat which almost swallows her.

"My dress got dirty and Vash lend me his coat so I won't look like a mess." she smiles nervously, with Vash nodding alongside her, holding her umbrella, as Jaimie observes the two.

"Well, either way, Micheal does still want to talk to you..." Jaimie continues as he leads them back to the entrance.

Vash observes (Y/N) and noticed that there was a wobble on her step, she kept her legs close as much as possible and pulled the collar around her neck, Vash smiles in triumph

____

Chapter 1 basically:

video choreography by @chokem3choso and video format by @thefinalwitness from TikTok

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vash smut #tristamp #trigun x reader #pleasebegentlewithmethisismyfirsttimewrittinghere #vash x y/n #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x Reader #Spotify

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