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buckysfaveplum · 4 months ago

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her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

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Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was.

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone.

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there.

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly.

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield.

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off.

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying.

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky.

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker.

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did.

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment.

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air.

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips.

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again.

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm.

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified.

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again.

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal.

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

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#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #fanfic #tfatws #marvel #fanfiction

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sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”

You blink.

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”

“I know.” Harry grins.

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”

“Oi!”

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!”

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”

Harry’s eye twitches.

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.

“In your dreams!” You shrill.

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”

Harry nods. “Is it time already?”

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”

“One date, then.”

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.

“And I want to—”

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

He falls in love.)

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.”

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

7K notes · View notes

lady-luckk · 15 days ago

Note

Pirate captain with his prized treasure…….a captured mermaid reader darling 🥰❤️🌊

To make the story more dramatic maybe even the other crew mates also get infatuated with her? 🫣💀🌊

most prized possession

# pairings: yandere pirate harem x mermaid / merman reader

# synopsis: you're a mermaid / merman curious about humans. one day you swim too close to the surface and get captured by an infamous pirate crew. no matter how hard you try, they'll never let you go.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, kidnapping, and murder. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

you’d heard of pirates.

rumors that drifted through currents, whispered between schools of fish and passing dolphins. stories of ships that bled oil and fire, of men who carved the sea like beasts with bones of steel. dangerous. loud. ugly.

whispers drifting through currents, secrets traded between reef and wreck. stories soaked in blood and oil—ships that screamed across the sea, men who wore steel like skin. monsters. brutal. loud. ugly.

but when his ship rose from the horizon, it wasn’t ugly.

it was wrong. and gorgeous.

it was… strange. fascinating. black sails like wings. wood that creaked with secrets. music—deep and ragged, not like your songs, but powerful. alive.

and then you saw him.

tall. scarred. sharp in every way. his voice cracked like lightning. his crew scattered like birds when he barked. he stood like the sea bowed to him. you should’ve been afraid.

instead, you were enchanted.

you watched for hours. you’d never seen a human this close. you darted around the hull, peeking above the waves, your heart beating fast, not from fear—but from wonder. what was it like to stand? to wear metal? to command so many? to own the sea without gills?

you let out a quiet hum, just to see if he’d hear.

he did.

his head snapped toward you like a blade unsheathing. he didn’t shout. he smiled. but it wasn’t warm. it was sharp. possessive. like you’d already been taken.

you ducked. swam deep. but the hook had sunk—not into your skin, but somewhere worse.

you came back the next day. and the next.

until one night, you got too close.

a flash. a net. cold iron and hands that grabbed too fast for you to slip away. you thrashed, screamed. they laughed. he didn’t.

he leaned down, studying you like something he’d won at great cost.

“you should’ve stayed hidden,” he said, low, rough. “curious little thing.”

you trembled as they lowered you into a cage half-filled with seawater. he watched you like a man starving. not for food—for possession.

“you’re mine now,” he whispered.

and you, stupidly, still wondered what it might feel like to touch his face.

his crew is just as twisted as he is—maybe worse.

the first mate grins too wide whenever you scream. he speaks in riddles, touches your the glass of your aquarium like he’s checking the weight of a pearl, like he’s wondering how many pieces you’d break into. he calls you his little song.

the helmsman talks to the sea like it talks back. you’ve seen him whisper into the water and laugh when it spits foam against your prison. he says you’re a curse, and though he never acts on it, he likes the chaos you bring. he enjoys watching the captain’s obsession eat away at him, unraveling him bit by bit. to the helmsman, you're not just a prisoner; you're a force that disturbs the balance, and he relishes in the way it makes everything feel like it's on the edge of cracking.

the cook leaves you offerings. shells. bones. scraps of things you can’t name. he speaks the least but watches the most. always there in the shadows, waiting. you’re not sure if it’s kindness or cruelty, and you’re not sure which is worse.

the lookout keeps charts of your body. sketches on soaked parchment. fins. scales. the curve of your throat. he thinks you don’t see. but you do. he documents you like you’re a specimen, something to study before it slips from the world.

the gunner carved a song into the wood near your cage. a lullaby made of threats and longing. he hums it under his breath while polishing weapons. you hate it. you hate that it lingers in your ears long after he’s gone.

and yet none of them touch you.

not without the captain’s word.

they fear him more than they want you—but only barely. and that balance is paper-thin. one snap, one slip, and they’ll fall on you like a pack of starving beasts.

they say you're a prize. a curse. a god. a pet. depends who’s speaking. depends who’s drinking. but no matter what name they use, they all agree on one thing:

you belong to them.

not just the captain, though he was the first to lay claim—his hands the ones that dragged you from the waves, his voice the one that named you his. but once they saw you—saw the shimmer of your scales, the way your eyes burned with defiance—they all decided.

you’re not his.

you’re theirs.

the first mate tells you this as he runs a blade along your tank. he calls you treasure, says gold fades and rusts, but you—you breathe. he killed for you before the captain even asked. he’d do it again, slower next time. just to hear you gasp.

“ever think of running, little fish?” he asks, grinning like a split lip. “go ahead. try. i’ll be the one to chase you. i’d like that.”

you bare your teeth.

he laughs. “look at that. still got bite. don’t worry, i’d never dull your edges. just want to see how sharp you really are.”

his knife scrapes the edge of your tank. it leaves a mark. he likes leaving marks.

“you’re prettiest when you’re angry,” he mutters, “but i wonder how you’d sound if you begged.”

he loves you. he watches you like you’re the only thing that can fill him, and every time you resist, every time you snap, it only makes his hunger worse.

“you’re too pretty to vanish,” he says, the words almost a prayer. “so I’ll make sure you don’t.” he wants to keep you locked in his gaze forever, to watch you fight and scream,

because when you’re angry, it feels like you’re alive—and that’s the only thing that makes sense to him anymore. he feeds on your rage. he would kill to see it last.

the helmsman doesn’t smile. he never has. he sits across from your cage, murmuring to the sea through cracked lips, his fingers stained with ink and salt.

“storm’s coming,” he says. “the sea told me. she’s jealous of you.” you stay quiet. he doesn’t need your voice to continue.

“she said you shouldn’t be here. but i told her you’re ours now. she’ll forgive us.”

a pause.

“eventually.”

his eyes flick to yours. hollow. reverent.

“don’t sing to her. sing to me next time.”

the helmsman, he’s afraid of losing you. every night, he stares at the stars, but he doesn’t see them. he sees you. he’s become obsessed with your existence. he talks to the sea like it’s a jealous lover.

“she’s angry,” he whispers to your tank. “she wants you back, but I won’t let her.” there’s a madness in his voice, a desperation in his touch as he grips the wheel with white knuckles, like if he lets go for even a moment, the ship—and you—will slip away. he doesn’t sleep. he’s terrified if he closes his eyes, you’ll disappear, and he’ll be left with nothing but the endless waves.

“you’re real,” he repeats to himself, as if saying it enough will make it true. “you’re real. and you’re ours.”

the cook leaves things.

he doesn’t speak much. just opens the hatch, slides in a dish of raw fish and strange fruit, and watches as you push it away.

“not hungry?” he rasps, voice low like wet gravel. “you need to eat. weak things don’t last long on this ship.”

you glare at him. he sets a small shell down beside the plate—cracked, pearlescent, beautiful in a broken way.

“found this,” he says. “looked like your eyes.” you don’t thank him. he doesn’t expect it. he only stares, then leaves.

he’s quiet in his obsession, but it’s no less consuming. he’s obsessed with feeding you, with seeing you take something from him.

“you looked at me once,” he whispers, like it’s a holy memory. “your eyes… they softened.” he remembers the flicker of something in your gaze, the way you acknowledged him, and he clings to it like it’s the only real thing in the world. every meal he serves you is an offering, each one wrapped in desperation.

he’ll starve the crew before he lets you go hungry, as if keeping you full will keep you here. and when you refuse his food, when you turn your face away, he sees it as a challenge. something to overcome. something to earn.

and he will—he’ll make sure you never go hungry again. because that’s how he’ll keep you. that’s how he’ll keep you his.

the lookout perches near your tank at dusk, always with charcoal-stained hands and a scroll of half-done sketches.

“hold still,” he mutters. “your eyes keep shifting.”

you turn away. he clicks his tongue.

“rude. you want to be forgotten?”

a pause.

i could sketch your throat next. the curve of your gills. people never draw those right.”

he leans closer, voice soft. too soft.

“you’re already myth. i’m just making sure the truth stays ours.”

the lookout is a predator in his own way, stalking you with his eyes. his obsession isn’t with touch, but with knowing you. understanding you. he thinks if he studies you enough, if he watches you in silence, he’ll unlock the secret that makes you—well, you.

“you’ll reveal yourself,” he tells you in a soft, matter-of-fact voice. “i’ll wait.”

he draws you in all his sketches, each one a different version of you—beautiful, terrifying, fragile, strong. But none of them capture what he sees in you. he’s obsessed with capturing your essence, and he’ll never stop drawing. because once he knows you completely, once he understands you inside and out, he’ll have you. he’s convinced of it. and until then, he waits. and watches.

the gunner slams in like a cannonball—loud, reckless, already drunk.

“siren!” he roars, arms spread wide. “you missed me, didn’t you?” you hiss. he beams.

“don’t be shy,” he says, crouching beside the cage. “i killed three men for you today. you hear that? three. didn’t even blink.”

he rattles the tank. you flinch.

“you could say thank you,” he says, voice lower now. “you should say thank you.” you don’t.

“fine.” he smiles. “i’ll earn it tomorrow, too.”

the gunner is all chaos, all violence, all adrenaline. he’s obsessed with the rush of it—the fight, the kill, the hunt. he craves the rawness of it, and you, to him, are the ultimate hunt.

he doesn’t just want you to submit. he wants to break you. he’s obsessed with seeing you bend, seeing you crack. he wants to see what happens when you stop fighting back.

“not long now,” he mutters as he polishes his weapons. “you’ll break. they all do.” but he’s wrong. you’re not like them.

but he doesn’t care. he’ll break you, piece by piece, until you do what he says. because once you do, that’s when you’ll finally belong to him.

and then there’s the captain. he comes last. always last. always when the others are gone.he doesn’t sit. he stands—like a storm trapped in flesh.

“they think you belong to them,” he says. “fools.” you raise your head slowly. your silence is your only defiance.

“they touch the tank. they speak like you’re theirs. they forget who caught you.”

he steps closer. your water ripples with the weight of him.

“tell me, little siren,” he murmurs, “do you miss the sea?” you nod.

he kneels, eye-level now. dangerous.

“good,” he says, almost gently. “i want you to remember what i took from you.”

his hand brushes the glass.

“because you’ll never have it again.”

you don’t cry. you just sing when he leaves—quietly, bitterly—until the ship creaks like it’s trying to weep with you.

he’s the only one who understands you. the only one who sees you not as a prize, but as something far darker, far more beautiful. you are his. the others are just… distractions. you’re the thing he wanted from the moment he first saw you.

“you’ll never leave,” he tells you, as though it’s a promise. “not as long as i breathe.” he doesn’t need to touch you to claim you.

his obsession is more consuming than any of theirs. he wants your soul. he wants you to burn with him.

“i’ll never let you go,” he whispers, his voice almost tender. “not until you’re mine in every way.”

you are a creature of the sea—beautiful and dangerous, ancient in ways humans can never fully understand. your scales shimmer in the dim light of your cage, iridescent and fluid, reflecting the moonlight like the surface of the water at night. your tail flicks with a quiet grace, though it’s trapped in a small space, too confined for the freedom you were born to. every movement you make is a reminder of what you once were—unstoppable, wild, untouchable.

your voice, once a haunting melody that lured ships to their doom, now remains trapped in your throat, locked away behind iron bars. you still hum, though, sometimes—a quiet song that only the sea might hear, but here, only the crew listens. your gaze, bright and defiant, burns with the memory of the open waters, the endless horizon that you long to return to.

the crew treats you like a rare, untamed creature—something they don't truly understand, but they want to possess anyway. they see you as both a prize and puzzle, something to be studied and admired, but they can't see the soul behind your eyes. you're not just a mermaid to them, a mythical being to be owned. you are a symbol of their twisted desires, a reflection of their madness.

you’ve heard them talk about your beauty, your power, your magic—but none of them can truly grasp the depths of who you are. they only see what they can take, what they can hold in their hands. the first mate, with his obsession for watching you struggle, delights in your anger, but never understands that beneath it all, there’s a heart that beats for the sea and not for them. the helmsman, who whispers to the waves, doesn’t realize that your connection to the sea isn’t something to be manipulated, but something that keeps you tethered to a world you can’t escape from. the cook, leaving offerings like a worshiper, doesn’t see that you’re not a pet to be fed, but a creature of great beauty and mystery—an untamed soul.

they’ve captured you, trapped you in a cage meant for lesser beasts, but they don't understand that you are no mere creature to be tamed. you are the storm beneath the water, the pulse of the ocean, and the very air they breathe is tainted with your presence. you are more than they will ever know.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yancore #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere harem #yandere pirate #yandere pirate harem

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acosmicbee · 26 days ago

Note

Would you be open to wring a yandere parental woman who’s like a mob boss and wants a child but can’t have any so she finds reader who already doesn’t have a good home life and like kidnaps her into making reader her kid?

Bad Home, Good Kid

TWs: Implied child abuse, referenced drug abuse

Artemis was supposed to have everything, and she almost did. She had the good looks, the large mansion, the perfect control over the city. To any other mafia boss, this would be enough, but not for Artemis.

She was missing the one thing she wanted, the one thing she craved. A dream that had been brutally ripped away from her after a failed murder attempt. She'd never tortured any man for longer, pain mixing with the anger as she made him suffer.

After all, if his bullet had hit just a little higher, if he'd had better aim, her uterus wouldn't have been hit. She'd still be able to have a child, just the way she'd always dreamed. In the mansion the bedroom next to hers had always been saved for a nursery or kids bedroom. But now...? Now, she'd have to find some other way to have the child she'd dreamed of.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

It was a cloudy day, but there was no forecast of rain so you went to the playground. It wasn't a good neighborhood you lived in, there were more than a few unsavory characters on your floor of your apartment building alone. But most in the area followed the moral code of the mafia, if only to avoid becoming a target, and that meant children were to be left alone.

You were often the only child at the playground. You'd get the swings all to yourself, going back and forth for hours at a time. You never had to wait in line to go down the slide or play on the monkey bars, but it wasn't as fun as it seemed.

You've seen things, things no child should have to see. There was a reason you spent as much time as you could outside, pretending you didn't have a home to go back to. There was a reason you knew to never investigate any sudden sounds, especially sharp cracks.

Today there seemed to be a lot of those a couple of blocks over. The sounds rang through the air as you sat on the swing, swaying back and forth. It was easy for you to disassociate from the noises, letting your mind wander somewhere away from the trauma. Instead of the swing, your mind took you to a ship, one that swayed in the waves and carried you far far away.

A small smile crossed your face as you thought to all the shows you'd watched that showed the ocean. The pretty blue water and warm sun. The gentle swishing sound as it came into contact with things. You never noticed the sounds stopping, lost in your daydream as you swung back and forth.

You eventually stopped swinging, the delusion fading away as you got a little dizzy. You let the swing slow, your shoes dragging against the ground as you tried to decide what you wanted to do next. You glanced up when you heard a demanding voice nearing the playground.

A woman, flanked by a couple of others, walked down the sidewalk. Her voice was sharp and cold and she carried herself with an air of command. You noted her clothes, dressed way too nicely to be from anywhere near this neighborhood. You also noticed the gun in her hand that she was cleaning while she walked.

The swing set creaked as it finally came to a stop and all of a sudden you were looking into icy blue eyes. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at you, and you felt a pit of fear in your stomach as you stared back. Getting noticed was never a good thing, especially not by someone who stood out.

With a trembling hand you released one of the chains, hesitantly waving hi to her. Almost instantly her demeanor shifted as a warm smile crossed her face. The gun was instantly moved out of your view as she waved back, murmuring something to one of the others with her.

You breathed a sigh of relief as they left, your legs shaking when you finally stood up from the swing. You didn't feel like playing anymore, but going home was always the worse option. Instead you tucked yourself out of view on one of the play structures, hiding from the world for as long as you could.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"I need info." Artemis' tone was sharp as she approached a man standing on a street corner. He just groaned, looking more put off than anything.

She pulled out her phone, showing the man a picture. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes as his posture shifted to be more defensive. "What do you want with the kid? I thought it was your rule to leave kids alone."

"I'm not going to hurt them." She said, her voice cold as she glared at him. "And I don't appreciate the insinuation. I want info on their parents and that means info on them as well. Trust me when I say the kid will be fine."

His posture relaxed just a little as he glanced around before speaking. "They're crackhead Corrine's kid, bet you can guess why thats her nickname. No father in the picture, nor has there ever been one as far as I'm aware. Kid's name is Y/N..." He paused before leaning in closer. "They're a good kid in a bad place. Between you and me, someone should've called CPS on Corrine a long time ago."

"And why haven't you? Especially if you're implying what I think you are." Artemis asked. Her gaze was sharp and accusatory, but her info broker didn't flinch, long since used to her intimidation tactics.

"You know the first rule about living here? Mind your own business. If you don't, you'll probably end up on the wrong end of someone's gun. If someone ever traced the CPS call back to me, I'd be labeled a snitch and be shot dead in a week. My job is to give you info, not to act on it. That's your job." He said defensively.

"Where do they live?" She asked, already preparing in her head. She'd need to have your room ready quicker than she expected, not wanting to leave you in a bad situation.

"136 Whittaker Street, I think floor 6 but I'm not sure the exact apartment number." He said, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

"If anything happens to the kid, you call me. Immediately." She finally said, slipping him some cash for his information. He just grinned, counting the bills as she walked away.

"Pleasure doing business with ya."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

You started to find little gifts left for you in the playground. At least, somewhere in your mind you realized they were meant for you. They were always left on your swing, brand new and clean. Even if you tried to rationalize it as someone coincidentally losing things over and over, you knew the gifts were supposed to be for you.

Sometimes, when you played with the jump rope that had been left or one of the balls, you'd see that same woman. She never stayed for long, usually just waving at you before disappearing to go do whatever it is she was in this neighborhood for.

Everything seemed to come crashing down the day you came home late with a small stuffed tiger tucked under your arm. You weren't expecting your mother to be home and flinched when she suddenly grabbed you, pulling you into the apartment.

"Look at you, you little thief! Did you steal that off some other brat?!" She yelled, grabbing the toy from your arms. She dragged you into the kitchen, hissing mean words and calling you names.

She let go of you for a second to grab a pair of scissors which she used to decapitate the poor toy. When she turned to you, still holding the scissors and a dark look in her eyes, you ran.

You darted out the front door and down the staircase, never stoping even though you landed on your ankle funny coming off the stairs. The streets were dark and the worst of the worst were starting to come out, but anywhere felt safer then that cramped apartment.

In your panic, running for the only place you felt safe, you never noticed the man under an awning on the phone. You didn't notice how his eyes followed you or how he subtly stepped further out onto the street to block you mother's view before you turned a corner, leaving her with no clue of where you'd gone.

You slipped through the gate of the playground, panting as you stumbled onto the play structure. Your ankle was throbbing and it felt so hard to breathe over the panic you felt. You started quietly sobbing, trying to force your body to take in air.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, quietly panicking, before you heard the roar of an engine as a car parked somewhere close. There was the squeak of the playground gate, followed by the sound of high heeled shoes on concrete.

You peeked out, seeing a woman standing in the middle of the playground, frantically looking around. It was the woman who always watched you, the one who dressed nicely and waved hello every time she saw you. This time when she saw you she approached the structure quickly.

You were too worn out to run and could only sob harder when she pulled you into her lap, holding you close. She was warm, so warm compared to the cool night. Her hands stroked through your hair as she gently soothed you, helping you find your breath.

When she stood, she took you with her, carrying you towards her waiting car. You hadn't been carried in a very long time and the feeling of being so close to someone without being hurt was novel to you.

She helped buckle you in, holding your hand as her driver started the car. The gentle movement of the car was enough to put you to sleep, your head against the window as the darkened city streets passed.

"Don't worry now, love. I promise you'll never have to run like that again, to be scared like that again. Your mommy will protect you, for now and forever."

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #platonic #yandere ocs #parental yandere

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