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🌷.writes - Blog Posts
i’ve decided on which story i want to tell first. very excitedddd
Imanjinasi menyelimuti pikiran
Harapan berpaling dari kenyataan
Aturan hidup akan tetap bertahan
Tangguh hanya sebuah pelaksanaan
Tetapi apa daya ketika semua berlawanan?
Terpendam
Derai air mata
Tak dapat ungkapkan rasa
Mutlak tak bersisa
Semua rasa sementara terpendam
Hanya gelak tawa yang dapat membuat semuanya lupa
Karena sejatinya hati siapa yang tahu apa yang terpendam?
˳೫ ∗ aespa *·˚
૮꒰ ᴗ͈ ˕ ᴗ͈ ꒱ა yu jimin ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡.
clementine&fiji
spoiled!
໒꒰⸝⸝•⤙•⸝⸝꒱১ uchinaga aeri ꒰ঌ✱໒꒱
maybe aquariums aren't so bad after all
midnight magic
tease me, mommy
໒꒰ ˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ა kim minjeong ☆｡ﾟﾉ₊̇°˚.º
i miss home (but this is home)
study break
໒꒰ ಠ ᎔ ಠ ꒱১ ning yizhuo ⑅₊ ࣪ ✶
poly!aespa—💭
touch-starved!yn
short imagines—🗯️
sugar mommy rina
So, I'll be on a break from here for a while. Don't expect any interactions, reblogs, and especially writing. I will not be active at all, I don't know for how long. Might be weeks, might he months. Don't know.
Stay safe and please remember me,
𝐘our beloved 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒.
hii! i have a request please: dark steve rogers x reader where he is obsessed with her but she is bucky's gf (reader is clueless) steve kills bucky and forces reader to be in a rs with him. their friends notice how quick she got with bucky's bsf right after his death so they hate her for it but she can't say anything bc she's scared
I'VE DONE IT FOR LOVE
bucky's girlfriend.ᐟreader & dark.ᐟsteve rogers
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.9k words
MY CONTENT WARNINGS && MASTERLIST && NAVIGATION
MY INBOX OPENED FOR MORE REQUESTS
“I’m sorry for your loss, miss.”
You loathe this phrase with a burning passion. Everybody said it with void eyes that lacked any compassion or empathy. The most people gave away from their hearts was pity.
Despite all these, you nodded politely and thankfully at the mayor, and watched him head towards Natasha, Pepper and Tony.
You felt your eyes burn with tears again as your gaze turned to the cause of your agony: your fiancè’s —the love of your life—, your Bucky’s…coffin.
The concept made your insides churn with terrified anguish, the acceptance simply not settling in your mind.
The coffin was carved from plum tree wood, its surface a deep, bruised violet with streaks of dusky red—like veins beneath dying skin. The grain curled and twisted unnaturally, as if the tree had once grown in a place it shouldn't have, somewhere tainted. Bucky loved plums. Every thought about him drained a tiny bit of life out of your soul.
You remembered the day you were announced that the person you loved the most in this world was now no longer alive.
If someone had told you before this would happen, you wouldn’t have believed them. You wouldn’t have believed that you would survive these lacerating, tormenting days. But apparently you did.
However, the idea of everything just coming to an end for you, as well, did not sound bad. You wanted to die. And you gladly accepted the desire of your heart.
“Sweetheart”. The voice behind you slithered through your nerves and coiled in your belly like a serpent. His voice.
The man that you and Bucky trusted with your whole beings was the one that inflicted this absolute hell over your life. You loved Steve Rogers dearly. But apparently he “loved” you as well, and that acclaimed love burned like venom.
You did not turn around. Your body felt planted deep in the soil, with iron roots that kept you still. His forearm snaked around your abdomen and the muscle felt unyielding, a flesh-forged shackle pressing into your bruised flesh, earning a small whimper from you. You screwed your eyes shut to stop the tears of dread from spilling.
His lips attached themselves to the back of your jaw and traced all the way up your mastoid process, his hot breath and moist lips sending shivers down your spine.
“P-please…”, you whimpered at him, desperate fingers clawing at his arm, “...n-not here. Please.”
He growled against your skin and your despondent eyes darted towards Natasha and Sam.
Oh… They could not help you. They didn’t know the actual truth.
Steve started moving and dragged your body along with his, just by Bucky’s casket. A sob erupted your throat as you were forced to stay there in front of it.
His thumb caressed your cheek lazily, as your petrified eyes looked at the horrid thing that lay in front of you.
Steve sighed, and you caught his broad chest tightening with the corner of your teary eye.
“I loved him, but good Lord…I couldn’t stand him having what I wanted, what I was supposed to have”. The lack of mercy in his tone scared you and his words were enough to have tears flowing down your chill-bitten cheeks again. His hand came up and wrapped itself around your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. He did exactly what you prayed he wouldn’t do.
His lips pressed against yours, lacked any warmth or affection, and his teeth bit down on your lower lip in front of all your friends, family and people gathered at the funeral.
The hot droplets fell from your eyes and wetted his face, as his tongue went past your swollen lips. He pushed his body against yours even harsher and your hand shot up to bare yourself on something. And that ‘something’ was your Bucky’s casket. You whined in Steve’s mouth when your fingertips came in contact with the frozy wooden surface, but his lips curled upon yours in a merciless smirk. He was enjoying the disrespectful act so much. Bile raised in your throat and blood was pumping so fast through your veins that, for a moment, you believed your temples would explode.
“Let’s go home now.”, Steve decided when he finally released your mouth and your pleading eyes shot up into his immediately.
“N-no, please Steve, no…T-the funeral hasn’t even officially started”. Desperation clawed at your throat as you wrapped your wrists around his bicep and sobbed heartbreakingly.
“Sweetheart, I was kind enough to even allow you to come here, was I not? Now…don’t make a scene, you really wouldn’t like what happens afterwards". The threat behind his words made you flinch, but you still didn’t let go of him. Your chest pressed to his in an attempt to beg him to let you witness Bucky’s last moments on earth. He didn’t do that. He never listened to your pleas, just as probably…he didn’t listen to his best friend’s when he pleaded for his life.
Steve’s fingers caught your wrist and started to slowly walk you towards the car.
“No. Steve, s-stop. What will they say? Steve, we haven’t even said goodbye, pl-please.”, you choked out as you were walking past the people you knew so well. Sam’s eyes caught yours, and the amount of hatred you saw in them made your gaze fall down in shame.
“Behave.”, the Captain whispered in your ear and you swiftly shut your lips and followed him obediently. You knew what Steve was capable of and you surely didn’t want him to hurt others on your behalf.
‘What a bitch, coming here and puttin’ up all that acting and fake tears, pretending she misses him and now she is leaving with his best friend and not even staying for the ceremony. How disgusting can some people be?’, you heard a couple of elderly women hiss as you approached the small groups of people. You wanted to yell and howl at everybody how your heart was shattered into millions of pieces and how you longed to just mourn your Bucky. You wondered, couldn’t they see your frightened features? Your dried tears? The small cuts on your cheekbones?
No, all they could see was that another man was holding your hand, and it felt as if the word ‘WHORE’ was burnt in your skin with reddened iron. It was always the woman, never the man. It was never: "His best friend took his girlfriend”, but always: “His girlfriend moved on. With his best friend.”
With one last glance, you left your lover behind forever.
Steve and you arrived “home”, at the mansion that once produced you and Bucky only happiness. After years of savings, Bucky managed to buy it and that was like a symbol between the two of you and the beginning of a joyful life together.
Now, after Steve had taken it —he called it a “perfect gift” for the beginning of a relationship— it felt like the walls would constrict around you any day.
The pictures of you and Bucky with your overjoyed faces were now only memories of the empty, saddened walls. You had them down, packed them up and wanted to take them with you to the small cabin your sister had in the mountains and heal there from the loss of your life. But fate had other things in store for you.
Steve hauled you in the dorm that used to be yours and Bucky’s and you audibly gasped. You haven't been here since Bucky’s…death. Since your spitalization after you tried to finish off the pain in your heart.
“Wh-what are we doing here?”, you cried, now jerking away from him, breath sharp with fear.
Steve’s nostrils flared as his fingers gripped around his hip bones. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek and your shaky hand gripped the door knob tightly.
In an instant, his eyes were on yours again and he pressed to you after a big step. You shrieked into yourself and your breath hitched.
“I was good to you, patient, wasn’t I? Huh?”, he growled and you sniffled, nodding your head as tears sprung to your eyes again. “Answer me.”, Steve growled again and a ‘yes’ caught in your throat like a piece of glass.
Steve’s right hand fisted itself in your hair and you groaned. You had the impression that, from Steve’s hands, Bucky’s blood was still dripping, and your breath was cut from your lungs.
“Le-let go, Steve! Pleaseee—”, you cried at him as he forced you towards the bed.
“No…”, you whispered, already knowing what he was willing to do. “NO! Steve, please…please, Steve, anywhere but here, not in h-his bed, please—”, you struggled to pry off his hands, hyperventilating.
His ruthless fingers came forward and squeezed at your cheeks to stop your incoherent babbling.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand this to happen on the bed you and Bucky were to share. You planted your feet on the polished, expensive floor, and tried to elbow at Steve's chest, ribs and stomach.
Unexpectedly, he threw you in front of the bed with force, and you landed with a wail.
“You don’t tell me where I fuck you, when and how, understand? You are my wife now. Mine.”. His unfeeling words made you cry harder and your head was spinning so hard you could barely form out the objects in front of you. An unbearable ring was playing in your ears, blocking everything else but Steve’s words.
“Wife? Y-you k-killed hi-him…”, you stuttered between sobs, fingernails gripping the plush carpet. “I fucking hate you! I ha-hate you, I f-fucking hate you, you psychopath—”, you screamed at him, the anguish tearing at your vocal chords.
Steve crouched next to your shaking body, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pushing your face down. You tried to hit at him, and when you did, he clobbered you and nextly you saw black dots dancing in your vision.
“I can be very good to you, as I was all this time, but everythin’ can get really bad for you. So, close that pretty mouth and watch your tone and language because truuust me…”, he threatened in a sing-song voice, “...I can shut it for you and you won’t like that. There is nothing you can do about it. You are with me now, whether you like it or not.”
You flinched hard as his knuckles brushed the tear-soaked hair away from your bruised face. The sight of your glossy, widened eyes and your sigh-heavened chest rising in sorrow seemed to Steve the prettiest thing in the world.
“I love you, and that’s why I'm asking you to be smart. I don’t want to pick a casket for my future wife too”. His words made you tremble even more, despite your struggle to stop. “I lost the man that was like a brother to me because of you. Now…don’t make me do to you somethin’ I’ll regret later, sweetheart.”
Was...was he blaming you for Bucky's death? Bucky's murder?
You simply nodded, what else were you supposed to do? You felt like your skull was on fire, as Captain's thumb played with your lower lip. His words were getting straight to your head.
He chuckled, as if shaking the previous threats off would make you forget about his dreadful being, and he started to tear off your sweatshirt. You didn’t fight him. There was no use in it. Then, he picked you up and sat you on the bed.
The mattress felt like nails pressed to your naked skin.
“Now—”, Steve groaned, pulling at your panties, making a sob choke you again, “—be a good girl for me…doll.” Steve never called you 'doll'. But he used to know someone who always called you that.
End.
✵⁎ TAGS: @highonmarvel ♡
dark idea for bucky, he has an assistant which is more like naive, sensitive maybe a crybaby, and he teases her, is kind of mean to her sometimes, humiliates her, etc, maybe the dark twist is that he is into her and has a corruption kink…
꒰ SPARKLES ꒱
naive.ᐟreader && dark.ᐟcongressman .ᐟbucky barnes
"You gonna cry for me now, doll? C'mom, do it, do it for me."
The Congressman's deep voice makes your heart clench and you cage your lower lip between your teeth to stop the tears that threaten to spill.
Bucky's dark eyes dart from your face to your body and he licks his lips, stepping closer, effectively trapping you between the huge window and his massive body.
His hand comes up and grips your cheeks so hardly, your jaw falls slack.
His other hand nestles between your thighs and you choke on a moan. Bucky smirks, then his eyes bore into yours and you feel tingles of fear and some kind of twisted pleasure in your belly and you let out a small whine.
He sees how his own eyes darken in the reflection of your glossy eyes. "You're the prettiest when you whimper like this, and I barely put my hands on you.", Bucky growls, thumb caressing your face. "I love your face, baby, you look so stupid and those eyes look dumbly adorable, I mean...that's all you are." He always calls you dumb. At this point, you fully believe him.
When you try to flinch away, he goes on, almost like he is feeding on your frightened state. "But don't worry, doll, we're gonna fix this right now." You swallow, throat tightening at his words.
"You'll be the best girl f'me, I jus' know it."
Your eyes widen and shame burns in your cheeks when you feel a gush of wetness coating your underwear. And he feels it, too.
Hello, I just recently discovered your blog and oh my! Your works are so amazing! I think you are a fantastic writer,keep it up!
I was thinking maybe you could write a Rafe C. fic based on the prompt number 1.(Wiping off droplets of your blood from the floor, knowing he hates the mess.) i think that prompt has strong Rafe vibes. Maybe he hurt reader so bad and she's trying not to anger him even more so she cleans the mess or maybe he made her clean it(threatened he will hurt her even more)
It is completely okay if you can't or won't write it please do not feel pressured
‧𓍢ִ໋ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒
girlfriend.ᐟreader && dark.ᐟrafe cameron
CONTENT WARNING(S)
You widen your eyes at the crimson droplets that stain the cold, golden veined marble. The polished surface mirrors your tearful eyes and, right under the right one, a deep cut is adorning your cheekbone.
You haven't even realized you were bleeding, the flesh of your face feels numb.
"Shit!", Rafe yells, and the awfully loud sound makes your whole body jump. He shakes his hand in pain, knuckles visibly reddened, and his rings are slightly pink from the blood of your wound.
Mindlessly, you try to crawl further from Rafe, which is now cursing out loud at you. "Why do you always make me be like this? You're supposed to shut the fuck up and be by my side!", he growls, lip twitching in disgust as he looks down at you. "But no, you had to play the good samaritan."
He is angry at you that you were on Sarah's side. Your heart broke when you heard Rafe, your boyfriend, tried to literally drown her, so, of course you had to say something to him, you had to confront him. And, of course, that would get you all bloodied and bruised.
"God...", Rafe grunts, wiping at his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Great, now I look like i'm the bad fuckin' guy again, huh?".
You flinch at his words, a stray tear running down on your throbbing cheek again.
His eyes shoot up at you, his wild gaze now stern and fixed on your shaky being. His gaze freezes the blood in your veins. Rafe was always unpredictable and that makes his disorders of behavior even worse and more terrifying.
Your whole body tenses, not knowing what to expect next. But instead of approaching you, Rafe's eyes dart towards the floor and you can see his brows furrowing. Pit settles in your stomach as you realize his eyes have fallen on the blood. Your blood.
"C'mhere...", he commands and you whimper, shaking your head. "Come. Here.", Rafe repeats and you slowly crawl towards his feet.
Your eyes raise and catch your boyfriend flaring his nostrils. His hand fists in your and you cry out. "That’s your fault.", he growls, nodding his head towads the stain of crimson liquid. "So, if I step in fuckin' blood, I'll make sure there's more of it pretty fast.", he finishes, releasing your hair with a disgusted push.
"Clean that shit up.", Rafe finishes, walking outside. You wipe the blood away with your sleeve, watching the color spread on the soft, clean fabric.
MY NOTES: thank you for the encouragement, you genuinely do not know how much your words mean to me, nonnie. I love you sm! Hope you enjoy this and thank u for requesting
⁎✵࿔෴𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄
My name is 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒, I'm European and I am a young soul. This is what you have to know about me:
𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑(𝐒): Burgundy, Maroon, Scarlett, Navy Blue, Forest Green, Baby Blue, Baby Pink.
𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊(𝐒): COFFEE. And Granita.
𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: Ribbons and bows. Biceps. Vogue routines filmed by celebrities. Hailey Bieber. Water. Older men. Cats. Leopards. Dark clouds and storms. Nighttime. Early mornings and crisp air. Pines. Perfume. Mascara. Spicy chicken burgers. Wired earphones. Purses. Short skirts. Large shirts. Sunglasses. The moon and stars. Lacy underwear. Showers. Curly hair. Pinterest. Messages and asks (on tumblr). Gum. Mangoes. Pop Music. Polaroids.
𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐒: Feminism, history, geography, philosophy, phsychology, literature, poetry, mathematics.
𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒: Chris Evans, Brad Pitt, Daniel Day-Lewis, Frank Grillo, Tom Hiddleston, Heath Ledger, Jodie Foster, Demi Moore, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Natalie Portman, Aaron Taylor Johnson, Henry Cavill, Tom Hardy, Colin Farrell, Sebastian Stan, Angelina Jolie.
𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Rafe Cameron, Steve Rogers, William Wallace, Achilles, Brock Rumlow, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Sarah Cameron, Emperor Geta, Marcus Acacius, Andrew Barber, Ari Levinson, Curtis Everett, Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen, Steve Abnesti, August Walker, Walter Marshall, Cyrus Hanks, Benjamin Martin.
𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒: 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗟, Outer Banks, Pedro Pascal, Chris Evans, Lana del Rey, Chris Hemsworth.
𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?: The darkened side of the human nature has always fascinated me, and I believe that by writing what I write, I will understand how it works even better so I decided to share with you what is blooming in my mind, to explore new points of view and to not just let my creativity die. Writing is also my coping mechanism.
𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐌𝐘 (𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋) 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒 ?: No, actually, not at all. It is a response to the trauma and issues I have, I do not find what my characters do attractive. It is only for creative and fictional purposes. DO YOUR RESEARCH about this topic, it is not my bussines to explain how dark writers and readers' minds work.
𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ?: It depends. If I feel inspired by it, I will write it in one hour or one day. If the request doesn't really appeal to me, I will delay it and prioritize what inspires me. Some requests really inspire me, but I take more time with them, because I'm a perfectionist and I want them to turm out good.
𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ?: If you are following me for a good amount of time now, you will know pretty well my love for @highonmarvel. I could write pharagraphs about her. Also, my Pedro side is dedicated to @pedrosyouknowwhat, her talent is brilliant. My mother, literally, is @rvfecamerons, she inspired me to write for Rafe. Her writing and talent is out-of-this-world.
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 ?: OH, I LOVE asks. People really don't understand how important their support is, every single encouraging message or comment warm my heart and help me keep going.
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈/𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 ?: You can ask me to talk about certain celebrities, about my fics, about a character, about life experiences, but I will definitely not reply to very intimate questions. Hate is also gross, just scroll and block me if you do not like what I say or write. Literally.
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐒 ?: The Tortured Poets Department, Midnights, Born to Die, Lust for Life, Eternal Sunshine, Evermore, Folklore, Hit Me Hard and Soft.
𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 ?: Lana del Rey, Taylor Swift, ABBA, Gracie Abrams, The Neighbourhood, Arctic Monkeys, Ariana Grande. THESE ARTISTS INSPIRE ME. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE RESECT FOR THEM, GO AHEAD AND BLOCK ME.
(𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓) 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒: The Albatross, I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), The boy is mine, Video Games, Cherry, Forever Young.
𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋 ?: No.
𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎/𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄: Visit the world. Become an influencer. Kiss someone. Interview a celebrity. Move out of my town. Get a therapist. Record a music video. See the Grand Canyon. Buy a polaroid camera. Be Tumblr famous. Finish all my requests and series. A speech in public. Punch a man in the face.
CEO Rafe and his secret secretary wife — the rest of the staff have no idea they’re married!
secretary.ᐟreader && husband.ᐟrafe
「 COTTON CANDY POSITIONS 」
NOTES: wait--i can actually see this. This is one of the very few times you will see lighter, fluffy content on my blog, but I couldn't not write this headcanon. ENJOY <3
I'm thinking of...
CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟRafe that was SO IN LOVE that he put a huge diamond ring on your finger as soon as you two started dating
CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe touching your thighs whenever you go past him, loving your yelps and choked gasps.
CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe who loves fucking you, his sweet wife, hard and fast over his desk while everybody else is on break.
CEO.ᐟhusband.ᐟ Rafe who spoils you rotten and only lets you work because he adores having you around.
CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟRafe who fires almost all male employee's for looking at you in a way he doesn't like.
CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟRafe that threatened the life of even his best friend, Topper, when he came by and asked you out, of course, not knowing you're Rafe's already.
CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟ Rafe that secretly wishes you would get pregnant faster, so you would have to stay at home with his children and cut your every contact with the outside world.
CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe manipulating you after a rough argument, saying your entire life has him at the base and you simply...cannot leave him.
CEO.ᐟhusband.ᐟRafe who goes to the exact same vacantion spots as you, at the exact time as you and yet--none of your friends or co-workers haven't figured you two out.
THAT'S IT, Y'ALL, GOING BACK TO MY DARK ROOTS AGAIN, BYE--
"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)
Character: General Marcus Acacius.
Trigger warnings: age gap (maybe reader is the daughter of someone from the Senate), power dynamic (he's the General a.k.a HOT), physical abuse, harassment, threats, fear kink, manhandling, manipulation maybe ?
I was honestly just thinking of Acacius putting on the facade of a caring, loving and dotting husband when he's scorting reader to the market to buy some food for dinner and at some point she does something he does not like and she flinches at his reaction. He's an abusive man close doors because he's obsessed with reader and deep down fears she's going to run away from him or something like that, I leave it to you obviously, I read your work and god, breathtaking to say the least
CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE ههههه
senator's daughter.ᐟ reader && dark.ᐟgeneral acacius
.ᐟ trigger warnings: My work contains dark themes such as physical abuse, power imbalance, age gap, harassment, threats, phsyhological terror and other possible triggering elements. Proceed with caution. If these warnings trigger you, DO NOT INTERACT. 𝒜cces my DARK PROMPTS, my WHEEL OF INSPIRATION, my MASTERLIST and send in more REQUESTS.
ههههه
A shaky breath leaves your chest as you stroll next to the aged fig tree which marked the beginning of the market. And then, the scent hits you—coriander. Its citrusy and spicy aroma was the characteristic, consoling element that marked your childhood.
Whenever you touch the darkened green leaves, sadness overflows you.
Your father, Ghauccus, often let you stand among the servants. You were much beloved due to your father’s kindness, everybody loved to see his sweet child growing up so gorgeously. The maids often let you ground spices in the bronze mortar—an activity you loved doing, especially during summer evenings, after you had tired yourself running after fireflies and the moths that gathered around flames that illuminated the garden and vines. Notwithstanding their chuckles at how heavy the pestle was for your infant hands, you were still encouraged and strength was manifested over you ever since you were a youngster.
A custom you and your father honorated religiously was the first quarters of the moon, spent within the folds of forgotten stories or legends about women that shaped their own fate and destiny—no matter how darkened it seemed. You still felt your father’s fingertips grazing your lower back, showing you his deep affection and cherishment whenever you shared a walk in the open.
You flinch hard as you feel the general’s —your husband's— fingers gripping your hip and pulling you nearer his grander body. Your ribs are adorned by burgundy marks and a tiny whimper escapes your throat as the bruised flesh is pressed against the gilded armor with drops of gold which poke your skin mercilessly.
People bow their heads as he passes by with you on his arm, even though a couple of elders eye him with a disgusted glare and you...with pity. As they remember who your father was and who your husband is. They all view his as a tyrant for serving the twin Emperors so respectfully but you are the one that knows he certainly wants the throne somehow. You know about the plots and about his aspirations of becoming the Emperor of Rome soon. And the thought terrifies you.
You can already tell, by the way the muscles in his jaw clench and tick, that your "stunt" has maddened him. Fear constricts your throat and you feel your chest burning, so you try your best to brush the event off your husband's mind.
"W-we should buy more herbs, and I will have the maids prepare you the dish you l-like so much—", you try to speak, but Acacius lowers his head to speak in your ear and the words die on your tongue.
"We will return home, my love.", he growls and you already feel tears burning in your eyes. Home? You don't want to go "home". You know how rarely he lets you out and you know what will happen to you when you arrive back to the villa so you try to delay the inevitable by lingering in this moment.
"P-please, my lord, please...", your eyes bore pleadingly in his coal black ones as you try to steady your whispering voice. "Please, no, let's stay a little longer—".
"No?", he cuts you off again, and you feel his grip tightening. The deep chuckle that erupts from his broad chest sounds more like a growl and again, you feel small, powerless, you feel like a lamb to the slaughter. "When I command something, you have no say in it, haven't I taught you that, my little lamb?", he continues, as if he heard your thoughts.
You nod your head weakly, as you graze your eyes over the marketplace one more time. The coriander you willed to buy lies now forgotten on a wooden table as fear curses through your veins.
As soon as your feet hit the marble floors, and Acacius knows he is not under people's gaze anymore, you feel his hands on you. He grips the back of your neck and drags you to himself. You don't have time to scream, plead, beg—only to whimper—, as his lips press to your ear. "Tell me, you like when I put my hands on you?"
When you only move your head in a silent no, too choked by your own sobs and tears, he shakes your body harshly. "Answer me!", he says, trying to keep his voice down, inhaling and exhaling, visibly overly angered.
"N-no...", you cry out in the silence of the house.
The general grabs your waist next and he slams your body in the wall. You fell the copper of the blood in your mouth as he presses himself against your back. "Then why you make me do this?"
Both of his massive, calloused hands that killed so many, wrap around your wrists, pushing them next to your head. The general's massive figure makes your lungs burn, air simply not reaching them.
"My queen, why do you have to be so diffucult? ", he asks you again, and even under the heavy robes, you feel his hard member poking at your lower back. A sob escapes your lips and you feel a warm, thin trace of blood running down your chin, along with fresh tears. He always gets disgustingly excited whenever he feels your muscles tensing with fear. Another thing you loathe about him.
"I give you everything, don't I? I am a good husband, I am wealthy and I will make you my queen one day, and you still act so ungratefully."
He retreats from you all of a sudden and your knees give up on your weight, making your body collapse on the ground on your palms and the skin tears open on them. Teardrops fall, wetting the expensive marble carved with bronze. Acacius's hand fists itself in your hair and he slowly pushes your head up. His eyes scan your terrified features and the blood that starts to dry on your face and he licks his lips at the sight. You feel like you are nothing but a pile of broken limbs at the general's feet.
He runs his thumb over your lips that are trembling, and pushes it in your mouth, letting it rest heavily on your hot tongue.
You screw your eyes shut as he pushes it further, almost touching the back of your throat with it. "Look at me.", he commands and you obey immediately when he grips your jaw harshly with the other fingers. "You are mine by right. If you shame me one more time, I will ruin you so thoroughly that even the crows will pity what is left."
You flinch at the threat, and terror settles deep in your bones.
The general retreats the finger from your mouth and grips your cheeks with his entire hand. The look in his eyes was, for a brief moment, vulnerable. The only vulnerable thing in him.
Another tear slipped down your face and, combined with your blood, it painted his hand in a powdered pink stripe.
"You flinch like that again in public, and I'll give you a real reason to.", the man finished, standing up high.
"I expect you in the bedroom. You have wife duties to attend. And if you refuse, I will fuck the disobedience out of you under the sun’s gaze — and when everyone will spit on you as a whore, you’ll know you earned it."
You choked on a sob as he left, and your blurry vision caught one of your servants, one of the servants that let you ground the coriander in your father's home, look at you with tears in her eyes. There was nothing you could do but stand up and join your husband.
⋆↝ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: So, when I saw your request in my inbox, I was literally SO. HAPPY. because I've been seeing your reblogs and you read good stuff and it was really encouraging that you are reading MY shit 😭 ♡ Thank you, my love and I really hope this reaches your expectations. I LOVED WRITING THISSS
⋆↝ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @highonmarvel @pedrosyouknowwhat @essraxi ♡
Would you mind to do Brock Rumlow, all scarred up having nonconsensual sex with a woman he has an age gap with...he is doing a pent up frustration kind of thing with choking, spanking. He had been hiding out for too long from the goodie two shoes avengers and Hydra.
「 𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 」
younger.ᐟreader && dark.ᐟcrossbones (brock rumlow)
「 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 」 I really hope I didn't disappoint you, babe...I can't say I love the way this turned out but I wrote it so so quick, I honestly felt inspired.
「 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 」 My content explores dark themes such as nonconsensual sex, abduction, fear dynamics, dacryphilia, choking and MORE. Minors, do not interact! If you are uncomfortable with these, do not interact please! DEAD DOVE CONTENT.
𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 「𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓」 𝐌𝐘 「𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒」 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 「𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋」 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 「𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒」
The uneven surface in the warehouse was rubbing against the skin of your pelvis as you weakly tried to crawl away from the man standing above you. Scars adorned his face, especially the right side, all down to his neck, yet he looked impossibly strong. His broad chest rose and fell as he stared down at you, and you noticed the muscles in his shoulders and forearms flexing. Another tear slipped down your cheek and you screwed your eyes shut as he crouched down next to your shaking form.
"Yeah, I know—it’s not exactly pretty. But trust me, what I’m about to do to you is a hell of a lot uglier.", he sneered, fingers gripping your hair and pulling up your head. You whimpered again, trying to pull away from the painful grip. He didn’t move an inch as he inspected your features with a cold gaze—your busted lower lip, your split cheek, the shadows of purple on your neck and jaw, and the fingerprints on your cheeks, all the way up to your wet lashes that surrounded your pleading, glossy eyes.
He released your scalp with a push and a loud exhale and your chin hit the ground.
His free, calloused hands found your hips and he pulled them up, right under his crotch. A sob escaped you as you felt the hardness rubbing against your thighs. That’s when you tried to push weakly at his abdomen with your tied wrists.
With a growl, he snaked his arm on your chest and he curled his bicep around your throat, effectively cutting off your oxygen supply.
Tears sprung to your eyes again as he was pulling himself out. When you felt his tip poke at your entrance, fear gripped all your senses but your vocal chords. It was all you were left with, after all.
“St-stop, no, please—”, you tried, but he squeezed your neck even harsher in frustration. He wanted you to shut the fuck up. It was crystal clear—this man felt no remorse, guilt, nor pain. He felt nothing.
When you caught a glimpse of his face again in a piece of broken glass which lay in front of you, you flinched hard under his body weight, your pulse rising.
"That face scare you that much, sweetheart? Wait 'til all that is between your thighs.", he ruggedly grunted, pushing in.
hii! i have a request please: dark steve rogers x reader where he is obsessed with her but she is bucky's gf (reader is clueless) steve kills bucky and forces reader to be in a rs with him. their friends notice how quick she got with bucky's bsf right after his death so they hate her for it but she can't say anything bc she's scared
I'VE DONE IT FOR LOVE
bucky's girlfriend.ᐟreader & dark.ᐟsteve rogers
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.9k words
MY CONTENT WARNINGS && MASTERLIST && NAVIGATION
MY INBOX OPENED FOR MORE REQUESTS
“I’m sorry for your loss, miss.”
You loathe this phrase with a burning passion. Everybody said it with void eyes that lacked any compassion or empathy. The most people gave away from their hearts was pity.
Despite all these, you nodded politely and thankfully at the mayor, and watched him head towards Natasha, Pepper and Tony.
You felt your eyes burn with tears again as your gaze turned to the cause of your agony: your fiancè’s —the love of your life—, your Bucky’s…coffin.
The concept made your insides churn with terrified anguish, the acceptance simply not settling in your mind.
The coffin was carved from plum tree wood, its surface a deep, bruised violet with streaks of dusky red—like veins beneath dying skin. The grain curled and twisted unnaturally, as if the tree had once grown in a place it shouldn't have, somewhere tainted. Bucky loved plums. Every thought about him drained a tiny bit of life out of your soul.
You remembered the day you were announced that the person you loved the most in this world was now no longer alive.
If someone had told you before this would happen, you wouldn’t have believed them. You wouldn’t have believed that you would survive these lacerating, tormenting days. But apparently you did.
However, the idea of everything just coming to an end for you, as well, did not sound bad. You wanted to die. And you gladly accepted the desire of your heart.
“Sweetheart”. The voice behind you slithered through your nerves and coiled in your belly like a serpent. His voice.
The man that you and Bucky trusted with your whole beings was the one that inflicted this absolute hell over your life. You loved Steve Rogers dearly. But apparently he “loved” you as well, and that acclaimed love burned like venom.
You did not turn around. Your body felt planted deep in the soil, with iron roots that kept you still. His forearm snaked around your abdomen and the muscle felt unyielding, a flesh-forged shackle pressing into your bruised flesh, earning a small whimper from you. You screwed your eyes shut to stop the tears of dread from spilling.
His lips attached themselves to the back of your jaw and traced all the way up your mastoid process, his hot breath and moist lips sending shivers down your spine.
“P-please…”, you whimpered at him, desperate fingers clawing at his arm, “...n-not here. Please.”
He growled against your skin and your despondent eyes darted towards Natasha and Sam.
Oh… They could not help you. They didn’t know the actual truth.
Steve started moving and dragged your body along with his, just by Bucky’s casket. A sob erupted your throat as you were forced to stay there in front of it.
His thumb caressed your cheek lazily, as your petrified eyes looked at the horrid thing that lay in front of you.
Steve sighed, and you caught his broad chest tightening with the corner of your teary eye.
“I loved him, but good Lord…I couldn’t stand him having what I wanted, what I was supposed to have”. The lack of mercy in his tone scared you and his words were enough to have tears flowing down your chill-bitten cheeks again. His hand came up and wrapped itself around your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. He did exactly what you prayed he wouldn’t do.
His lips pressed against yours, lacked any warmth or affection, and his teeth bit down on your lower lip in front of all your friends, family and people gathered at the funeral.
The hot droplets fell from your eyes and wetted his face, as his tongue went past your swollen lips. He pushed his body against yours even harsher and your hand shot up to bare yourself on something. And that ‘something’ was your Bucky’s casket. You whined in Steve’s mouth when your fingertips came in contact with the frozy wooden surface, but his lips curled upon yours in a merciless smirk. He was enjoying the disrespectful act so much. Bile raised in your throat and blood was pumping so fast through your veins that, for a moment, you believed your temples would explode.
“Let’s go home now.”, Steve decided when he finally released your mouth and your pleading eyes shot up into his immediately.
“N-no, please Steve, no…T-the funeral hasn’t even officially started”. Desperation clawed at your throat as you wrapped your wrists around his bicep and sobbed heartbreakingly.
“Sweetheart, I was kind enough to even allow you to come here, was I not? Now…don’t make a scene, you really wouldn’t like what happens afterwards". The threat behind his words made you flinch, but you still didn’t let go of him. Your chest pressed to his in an attempt to beg him to let you witness Bucky’s last moments on earth. He didn’t do that. He never listened to your pleas, just as probably…he didn’t listen to his best friend’s when he pleaded for his life.
Steve’s fingers caught your wrist and started to slowly walk you towards the car.
“No. Steve, s-stop. What will they say? Steve, we haven’t even said goodbye, pl-please.”, you choked out as you were walking past the people you knew so well. Sam’s eyes caught yours, and the amount of hatred you saw in them made your gaze fall down in shame.
“Behave.”, the Captain whispered in your ear and you swiftly shut your lips and followed him obediently. You knew what Steve was capable of and you surely didn’t want him to hurt others on your behalf.
‘What a bitch, coming here and puttin’ up all that acting and fake tears, pretending she misses him and now she is leaving with his best friend and not even staying for the ceremony. How disgusting can some people be?’, you heard a couple of elderly women hiss as you approached the small groups of people. You wanted to yell and howl at everybody how your heart was shattered into millions of pieces and how you longed to just mourn your Bucky. You wondered, couldn’t they see your frightened features? Your dried tears? The small cuts on your cheekbones?
No, all they could see was that another man was holding your hand, and it felt as if the word ‘WHORE’ was burnt in your skin with reddened iron. It was always the woman, never the man. It was never: "His best friend took his girlfriend”, but always: “His girlfriend moved on. With his best friend.”
With one last glance, you left your lover behind forever.
Steve and you arrived “home”, at the mansion that once produced you and Bucky only happiness. After years of savings, Bucky managed to buy it and that was like a symbol between the two of you and the beginning of a joyful life together.
Now, after Steve had taken it —he called it a “perfect gift” for the beginning of a relationship— it felt like the walls would constrict around you any day.
The pictures of you and Bucky with your overjoyed faces were now only memories of the empty, saddened walls. You had them down, packed them up and wanted to take them with you to the small cabin your sister had in the mountains and heal there from the loss of your life. But fate had other things in store for you.
Steve hauled you in the dorm that used to be yours and Bucky’s and you audibly gasped. You haven't been here since Bucky’s…death. Since your spitalization after you tried to finish off the pain in your heart.
“Wh-what are we doing here?”, you cried, now jerking away from him, breath sharp with fear.
Steve’s nostrils flared as his fingers gripped around his hip bones. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek and your shaky hand gripped the door knob tightly.
In an instant, his eyes were on yours again and he pressed to you after a big step. You shrieked into yourself and your breath hitched.
“I was good to you, patient, wasn’t I? Huh?”, he growled and you sniffled, nodding your head as tears sprung to your eyes again. “Answer me.”, Steve growled again and a ‘yes’ caught in your throat like a piece of glass.
Steve’s right hand fisted itself in your hair and you groaned. You had the impression that, from Steve’s hands, Bucky’s blood was still dripping, and your breath was cut from your lungs.
“Le-let go, Steve! Pleaseee—”, you cried at him as he forced you towards the bed.
“No…”, you whispered, already knowing what he was willing to do. “NO! Steve, please…please, Steve, anywhere but here, not in h-his bed, please—”, you struggled to pry off his hands, hyperventilating.
His ruthless fingers came forward and squeezed at your cheeks to stop your incoherent babbling.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand this to happen on the bed you and Bucky were to share. You planted your feet on the polished, expensive floor, and tried to elbow at Steve's chest, ribs and stomach.
Unexpectedly, he threw you in front of the bed with force, and you landed with a wail.
“You don’t tell me where I fuck you, when and how, understand? You are my wife now. Mine.”. His unfeeling words made you cry harder and your head was spinning so hard you could barely form out the objects in front of you. An unbearable ring was playing in your ears, blocking everything else but Steve’s words.
“Wife? Y-you k-killed hi-him…”, you stuttered between sobs, fingernails gripping the plush carpet. “I fucking hate you! I ha-hate you, I f-fucking hate you, you psychopath—”, you screamed at him, the anguish tearing at your vocal chords.
Steve crouched next to your shaking body, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pushing your face down. You tried to hit at him, and when you did, he clobbered you and nextly you saw black dots dancing in your vision.
“I can be very good to you, as I was all this time, but everythin’ can get really bad for you. So, close that pretty mouth and watch your tone and language because truuust me…”, he threatened in a sing-song voice, “...I can shut it for you and you won’t like that. There is nothing you can do about it. You are with me now, whether you like it or not.”
You flinched hard as his knuckles brushed the tear-soaked hair away from your bruised face. The sight of your glossy, widened eyes and your sigh-heavened chest rising in sorrow seemed to Steve the prettiest thing in the world.
“I love you, and that’s why I'm asking you to be smart. I don’t want to pick a casket for my future wife too”. His words made you tremble even more, despite your struggle to stop. “I lost the man that was like a brother to me because of you. Now…don’t make me do to you somethin’ I’ll regret later, sweetheart.”
Was...was he blaming you for Bucky's death? Bucky's murder?
You simply nodded, what else were you supposed to do? You felt like your skull was on fire, as Captain's thumb played with your lower lip. His words were getting straight to your head.
He chuckled, as if shaking the previous threats off would make you forget about his dreadful being, and he started to tear off your sweatshirt. You didn’t fight him. There was no use in it. Then, he picked you up and sat you on the bed.
The mattress felt like nails pressed to your naked skin.
“Now—”, Steve groaned, pulling at your panties, making a sob choke you again, “—be a good girl for me…doll.” Steve never called you 'doll'. But he used to know someone who always called you that.
End.
✵⁎ TAGS: @highonmarvel ♡
Thinking about Steve Rogers and number 17 (we haven’t even started)
Including age gap, power dynamics, Dacryphilia, fear kink. Honestly thinking about a sickly sweet kidnapper!Steve who’s been stalking reader. “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America desperate to use that pretty little cunt” and ohhhhh god. He tells reader how special she is, she was made for it, so she better start acting fuckin grateful. Prompt comes in the first time he’s gonna actually use her fully
~~ ✨🍄 for emoji signoff
BEWITCHINGLY FEARFUL
younger.ᐟcaptive reader && dark.ᐟsteve rogers with PROMPT (17)
DARK AND TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD, THESE ARE THE WARNINGS.
You crawled your shuddering body in the corner of the disgustingly narrow dorm he put you in a while ago. You didn’t even remember when he had brought you here, the time seemed to dilate and constrict, you didn’t know how long has gone since you were taken from your ordinary lifestyle. The room was barely kissed by a cold neon light from outside of it. The light refracted through a thin glass above the metal door and there was no other source of illumination.
In an instant, the sound of metal howling—the door was much rusted and it sounded infernal every time it was unlocked—made you flinch and bury your lips in the back of your wrist to stop the fearful sobs from escaping.
The unnatural coldness of the neon made your weakened, teary eyes scrunch in pain, but not for long.
The light was tracing Steve Roger’s broad figure, and it made his shoulders and arms look impossibly titanic and all-consuming. Fear was the death of the mind—you knew it—but for you, it was different. Fear made you see grotesque and leviathanic things, it possessed you and your every sense. Or maybe—this was just the effect the man above you had and not your rational feeling.
When he crouched down next to you, the heart almost jumped from your chest. Acidic tears of hatred, anger and frighten ran down your cheeks as his fingers caressed the burning skin of them. You didn’t pull away. You knew better.
“How’s my beautiful girl, hm?”, he started, a faint smug smirk planted on his face.
You swallowed with difficulty, the insipidness of the spit running down your deserted throat and your eyes shot up and bore into his arctic blue ones.
He was Captain America. That one Captain America everyone talked about. He was supposed to protect the souls of his countrymen, not lock young and unwilling girls in the basements of his houses and force them to breathe moldy air in his nightmarish presence.
You whined when his calloused, huge hand wrapped around your jaw and squeezed as he pulled your face closer to his. It hurted so much. “Tell me you want me too, sweetheart. Look how much I love you.”, he grunted, eyes sparkling with sickening hope as his free hand crept between the flesh of your thighs. You tried to close your legs as you pulled your face away roughly, before he even got the chance to plant his poisonous kisses all over it.
Steve clenched his jaw tightly, and you saw the muscles in his knuckles tighten. Like a snap of a bone, his patience cracked and he slapped you across the face. You gritted your teeth as his arms, surprisingly tender, contrasting what he has just done, wrapped around your body. “Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to me?”, Steve asked—as if he forgot the act of violence he threw upon you seconds ago—, forcing your palm over his brutally rigid bulge. It made you feel even more dizzy and nauseous, its thickness scaring you to your core. “I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much. You’re so special.” His heartbeat patted loudly against your back. “N-no…”, you whimpered, trying to get out of his hold. But it was completely useless, strengthening serum was running through his veins and the determination he had in playing with your mind into believing he cared for you genuinely made your skin crawl.
“Sweetheart, show a little gratitude. I saved you from the misery you lived in, and I’ll give you a future by my side, you’ll be the most gorgeous thing on my arm, you’ll have everything you would ever possibly want. Jus’ be good for me, ‘cause you won’t leave this place, so why not make it pleasurable for yourself?”. His hand reached for his jeans and the sound of the zip made you tense again and clench your thighs together in fear even harder.
“I j-just wanna go home…”, you cracked, a sob tearing through you.
Steve shook his head and then, he reached for your face again, his thumb rubbing the tears off.
“F-fuck you…”, you spat, as realization just hit you again and brightened your mind into acknowledging who was holding you, as he pulled you over his thigh, making you staddle it in attempt of stopping your cries... “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America so desperate to use your pretty little cunt…”, Steve grunted in your ear as he reached out to toy with the lace of your underwear, purposefully ignoring the way you cursed at him.
His words pulled the last string of obedience from you, and, as if you forgot the burn of his slap, you hit him right across the face. You were slowly but surely slipping into madness down there, because no fully sane person, chiefly in your position, wouldn't do that to the golden boy of America.
It did nothing to injure him. However, his gaze turned obsidian, void of any sympathy or human emotion. He inhaled, chest puffing and almost throwing you off his thigh. Your limbs went still as his stare pinned you in place. This was possibly your greatest mistake ever made.
You expected to receive a slap — not a punch. It sent you right on the chill-soaked floorboards. Your trembling knuckles reached for the blood-covered cheekbone, agonizingly gently to wipe it off. The crimson substance was hot on your digits, warming their frozen state.
Steve’s knee fell on your spine, as his merciless grasp tore your underwear off your hip bones. You whined, but the punch drained the life out of you, so you were very feeble and you could do nothing against it but whimper and plead.
If he cared for you, just as he has claimed...why wasn't he stopping when he saw you so vividly and indisputably horrified?
“I fuckin' love it when you're so scared f'me...”, he growled in your ear. Tears made your body convulse, his words giving you the answer to your unspoken question, as he was preparing his thick member to take what he wanted from you, silent screams wrecking your being. Your mind was shouting: 'Please, do not do this. Not now. Not ever.'
“C’mon, baby, don’t cry…we haven’t even started.”
⁎✵࿔๛ TAGS: @highonmarvel
"Are you letting yourself be led by fear or by love?"
In a 2021 musical film called Tick Tick Boom, Michael asks his friend Jonathan this question. Two years later, in the early hours of the morning, I ask myself the same thing and the answer is always the same: fear.
I think that for a long time, I lived out of fear for my emotional well-being, my mental health, and my physical safety. I've come to realize that I am no longer in danger. I've come to realize that I cannot dwell on what I cannot control. I've come to realize that I have more power than I thought, but my answering isn't changing.
I thought that if I healed, then I would be fine. But I am not fine. I am directionless.
- @annetries-towrite
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I think that once you've hurt someone enough times, you don't deserve to come back into their lives, apologizing for your actions over and over again. At some point, it stops being them and it starts being about you. At some point, you owe it to them to stay gone.
- @annetries-towrite
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Perhaps, to you, this remains insignificant. To me, it is everything. It has to be. I am all I have left.
- @annetries-towrite
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I often imagine my life in my late 20s, having my dream career, living with my future partner, and being happier. Then I remember it's all under the assumption that I have time to grow. What if I need to step into my power sooner than I'd like? Life is not guaranteed, and time won't hold your hand. Am I ready for that?
- @annetries-towrite
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So desperately, I want to matter.
- @annetries-towrite
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It appears I am afraid of my success, the supposed inevitability of it. A piece of me finds comfort in the version of myself that settles into practicality. Why must I grow to achieve?
- @annetries-towrite
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Hi, I'm Anne!
A handful of my posts are from a period of my life when I aspired to be a novelist. I will not delete those posts, so feel free to scroll if you're curious.
My desire for writing has not wavered, but my career path has changed. I still have so much I want to talk about and so much I wish to share with whoever wants to listen.
Character-driven vs Plot-driven Stories
What is a Character-driven story?
Character-driven stories gravitate toward intra and interpersonal relationships with the characters. Unlike a plot-driven story, these types of stories focus on how the character(s) arrives at a choice.
Readers tend to enjoy these types of stories because of the realistic characters authors write in those books. It allows the reader to see themselves or others in those characters, developing an emotional connection.
What is a Plot-driven story?
A Plot-driven story gravitates toward the external rather than the internal conflict. Unlike a character-driven story, these types of stories focus on the choice a character must make rather than what they do to get there.
Readers tend to enjoy these types of stories because of the well-constructed plot. Seeing a character in a situation they cannot control may provide a sense of purpose or familiarity for the reader.
(This is something my friend said she likes about plot-driven stories. It may be true for other readers, as well.)
Which is best?
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. There is no such thing as the “best” way to write a story. It all depends on preference.
If you want to write a story for an audience who will analyze your characters, write for that audience. If you want a story for an audience who will gravitate toward your well-constructed plot, write for that audience.
There is somebody out there who will love your book, I guarantee.
If you have any questions, or feel as though I’ve missed something, feel free to let me know!
Characters Types
Protagonist:
The Protagonist is the main character of your story. They are the most mentioned, the one who drives the plot, the one the readers will be paying most of their attention to. Generally, there is only one, but there can be more than one protagonist in a story.
Antagonist:
The Antagonist is the character that goes against the Protagonist. An Antagonist doesn’t have to be a person, necessarily. It can be a group of people, society, nature, et cetera. They don’t even have to be evil, they just need to go against the Protagonist’s motives.
Villain:
Both the Villain and the Antagonist are opponents of the Protagonist. Though, the main difference is the Villain has bad intentions. They are evil.
Dynamic Character:
A Dynamic Character is the person who undergoes a change throughout the story, whether it be good or bad. The character’s motives or morals are different than they were in the beginning. The change is normally permanent.
Flat or Static Character:
A Flat or Static Character is the opposite of a Dynamic Character, hardly experiencing any changes throughout the story, if at all. Generally, the reader doesn’t know much about this character.
If you have any questions regarding character types, or feel as though I’ve missed something, feel free to let me know!
𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬, "𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍." || 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔
Synopsis: When Bucky heard your voice for the very first time on stage, everything became quiet. The mumbling screams echoed through his ears, but he didn’t pay attention to any of them—he only paid attention to you. Your voice. You stood in front, at the center, taking all the attention away from him being the Winter Soldier. No one batted an eye at whoever he was. All eyes were on you.
His eyes were on you.
Song Recommendation: Robbers by The 1975
Warnings: Bucky Barnes (He's a warning, alright), fluff, self-deprecating thoughts, a smidge of angst if you squint.
A/N: I have come back from the dead! It's been like... 2 years now? I've been busy with school for the past 2 years and now I'm back! kind of. I'm not sure if I will be writing regularly but I am very active on my other blog @luminialib which is my fic rec blogs where I just reblog a lot of fanfictions I read here. Enjoy!
P.S - This may be inaccurate, and I do apologize. I work on my limited knowledge.
When Bucky heard your voice for the very first time on stage, the world became quiet. The mumbling screams echoed through his ears, but he didn’t pay attention to any of them — he only paid attention to you. Your voice. Something in him snapped, like a piece of thread tied down to something heavy, something pressuring, something too deep, and he let loose. His heart stuttered from the way your voice wrapped itself around the air like silk and smoke, soft and devastating, like it knew every scar buried inside him. You stood in front, at the center, taking all the attention away from him being the Winter Soldier. No one batted an eye at whoever he was. All eyes were on you.
His eyes were on you.
Earlier that day, Natasha had entered the compound with a smile as the three men, who were sitting on the couch, now grew curious. She had snagged some concert tickets downtown from a singer he can’t seem to remember.
“Come on. The others are out, so I have enough for the four of us.” She grinned as she waved the ticket like money.
Sam, like the lightbulb on the top of his head flickered, perked up. “God, is that who I think it is?”
“Who?” Steve asked.
“Yes, it is.”
Sam practically leaped off from his seat before confirming the concert ticket. “We have to go.”
Steve, still confused, asked another question. “Who are we seeing?”
“Remember the singer I recommended to you and Bucky before?” Steve nodded, seemingly following along, remembering the singer. “They are currently holding a concert. I remember seeing that on their socials but forgot about it."
Nat smirked, seemingly proud of herself. “Well, I snagged us a ticket, and their concert is tonight. So… what do you say?”
Steve thought about it for a moment before smiling. He closed the book he was reading and looked at them. “Why not. We have nothing planned. They’re a good singer too.”
Sam beamed at him, then said, “Right?”
A certain super soldier, however, did not want to come. A concert means a crowd. And a crowd means a high chance for someone to recognize them, especially him. While he was pardoned by the government, the people never forgot his mistakes, the death, and the blood on his hands. They never forget. And they never failed to remind him. In each corner he goes, whether it is in Brooklyn or New York, there are stares following him. Daggers pierce his body, not deep enough, but enough for him to feel the blood trickling down the wound. Even if he had saved a person, made amends, or become a US citizen, the people never forget. To them, he was, and always will be, the Winter Soldier.
So no, he did not want to come. “You guys go ahead. I’d rather stay inside.”
“Bucky,” Natasha started. “You’re coming.”
“No.”
“Come on, Buck. It’s a good opportunity for you to have a new environment,” Steve reasoned. What he said was the truth. He hasn’t left the compound for at least a month now. The only time he left the compound was for a mission, but those don’t count. He grumbled something under his breath as they stared at him.
Sam sighed. “You have nothing better to do; you might as well come.”
“I have better things to do.”
Sam laughed, “Oh yeah? Like what, being grumpy all night?”
He, once again, grumbled under his breath. It’s not like he doesn’t want to hang out with them; he just doesn’t know how to be… fun anymore. It wasn’t like before — before the fall, before HYDRA, before everything. He has long forgotten how to be a good company, a good friend. He tries. He desperately tries to be like before. But no matter how hard he tries, he is reminded of who he once was. They argued for a moment, but Natasha left no room for him to deny the invitation. Additionally, Sam and Steve inevitably helped Natasha to convince him to join them as well, wanting him to have a different environment for once aside from the corners of the compound. Bucky, exasperated, but there was no room for arguments. Maybe he was due to see the outside world for once. Maybe… it's okay.
So, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine.” He stood up from his side of the couch. “Only because you’re forcing me to.”
“Oh, come on, you’ll love it,” Sam said with confidence. “I have great music taste.”
The cold breeze blew around as the audience was buzzing with excitement. The crowd was smaller than he thought; the venue wasn’t that big but big enough for maybe a thousand audience members to be in. He was surprised how close they were to the stage, seeing all the action. He had forgotten that he had super hearing (no thanks to the super soldier serum) and with all the blaring lights, speakers, and screams of the audience, he began rethinking his choices and why he tagged along. Maybe he should have convinced the three of them to let him stay at the compound, where it was quiet, safe, secure, and isolating.
Before he could grasp anything else, the concert had begun.
Spotlights shined, moving rapidly to the audience before pointing at the center of the stage. Smoke emerged from each side of the stage, then the band slowly appeared behind the smoke, making an entrance of themselves. Before he knew it, a sweet melodic voice wrapped itself through the air of the people. The audience screamed in awe as, slowly, you appeared behind the fog, electric guitar in hand and a mic in the other.
And just like that, he was never the same. Your smile filled the audience with glee, screaming on top of their lungs as you hung your guitar around your shoulder. You had welcomed your audience in this concert, thanking them for showing up, yet he didn’t move — all he did was stare at you. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but it felt like you were an angel. Maybe it was all the light behind you, or the fog machine spewing out smoke, or the fact that your voice wrapped him in an embrace. He was entranced with your voice, the way it was freely, utterly, astonishingly woven. You were like a siren — casting a spell he can’t break; cannot, won’t– whatever it is, he was enchanted. James Buchanan Barnes was, and now is, utterly hopeless.
You made him hopeless.
He watches, observes, or whatever you want to call it. He watched as your fingers strummed the guitar you wielded, as if it were your soul. He could tell that each beat felt as if you bled for it, broke for it, and healed, only to break harder. Each yearned for something more — something to have. In a moment, he wanted to memorize each beat, each strum of strings, each time you managed to put him in a trance. It wasn’t the guitar, or the song, but you. It felt like each strum kept you from falling apart completely. Lights flickered across your skin — each color complimented the aura you emit.
Finishing the song you are currently playing, he hadn’t realized that it was nearly ending. Your concert was nearly ending. He didn’t want to end. He wants you to keep going — to keep singing until each word snaps his already disoriented reality.
You take a breath, exhaustion evident from the sweat building up on your forehead. Yet, despite it, you manage to smile so widely, so genuinely, that he is in awe. You announced your final song as the crowd went wild before picking up your guitar once again.
He hears the buildup, the subtle beat of the drums before you entered with your solo. It started slow, like words slowly being unraveled. It felt familiar, almost nostalgic, yet dangerous, hurt, missing the pain.
She had a face straight out a magazine God only knows, but you'll never leave her Her balaclava is starting to chafe
It sent shivers down his spine. He has been on many missions, as the Winter Soldier and as Bucky Barnes — but this was the first time in a while that he had this kind of feeling. Excitement.
And when she gets his gun, he's begging, "Babe, stay, stay Stay, stay, stay."
For a moment, you locked eyes with Bucky. A small millisecond. But still, in that moment, he belonged to your voice. Completely. He was latched, entangled by you, and you didn’t even know.
"I'll give you one more time We'll give you one more fight Said one more line Will I know you?"
He watched you, holding yourself like a storm whose singing kept you from falling, breaking apart. He felt like he didn’t belong in a moment, that was not meant for anyone else to hear, but he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything except stand there, a prisoner to your gravity.
Now if you never shoot, you'll never know And if you never eat, you'll never grow You got a pretty kind of dirty face And when she's leaving your home, she's begging you to stay, stay Stay, stay, stay
Each emphasis, somehow, struck deep inside him. A calling. It made him more alive. He felt his heart stutter beneath his chest. It was aching for you.
"I'll give you one more time We'll give you one more fight Said one more line There'll be a riot 'cause I know you"
He wanted to cry, scream, or do anything that would get your attention. Yet he was stuck, unmoving, mesmerized. While he hears Sam in the background screaming for you, he only manages to watch.
Well, now that you've got your gun It's much harder now the police have come And I'll shoot him if it's what you ask
There was a switch. A subtle thing he caught on as he watched. There was something in you that changed completely; it became more… you. Like it was digging from your roots, your past. There was a shake in your breath before you continued.
But if you just take off your mask You'd find out everything's gone
You paused, looking up to be greeted by the sea of crowds.
Wrong
Then, he catches it. Your glance, the stare you gave him, and the smile — oh, the smile you gave him. The way your lips curled as he met your gaze.
Now everybody's dead And they're driving past my old school
Your voice's jolt slammed through his nerves. When he stared at your eyes, he swore that you weren’t just simply singing — you were bleeding it, straight from your chest, raw and exposed. Every bit of emotion burst, leaving him stranded, anchored in his place, forced to stare yet refuse to move.
And he's got his gun And he's got his suit on And she says, "Babe, you look so cool”
You had him. Completely. Entirely. It was useless. You had him wrapped around your fingers, and you don’t even know it. Maybe you did — maybe you saw his stare, the way he looked at you. Maybe there was a part of you that played harder for him. Only him. He was, incredibly and utterly, helpless. Every goddamn note. Every flick of your wrist. Every breath between verses. Everything.
"Babe, you look so cool," he muttered under his breath. He thanked the noise, the cheers between yelling that no one heard him. Not even Steve heard him. It was like his secret. A sacred moment he will keep to himself, a fleeting fragment of honesty tucked between the pulse of the music and the rise of his heartbeat.
In a brief moment, your eyes met, once again. But only this time, you stared at him for what seemed like a long time. He let it happen. He stared back, softer, more gentle. In that moment, everything went quiet. It was like you two were the only ones left in the venue. He didn’t know what this was. A new profound obsession? Reverence? Something between his broken mind and soul? Maybe love?
But he knew, as his heart dropped in the pit of his stomach, that whatever you are doing to him, this feeling? Wasn’t leaving so soon. Not tonight. Not ever.
© 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐀 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.
A/N: Haven't written anything for 3 months(?) now, so this is very scrappy :)
If you were a second late, he wouldn’t be here now—sitting in front of you as you frantically try to bandage the best you can with limited resources. He sees your worry, your tears forming in the corner of your eyes, your trembling hands, and the way your lips quiver. He sees it—yet doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t dare to say anything in this state, it was his fault anyway. He can live that up.
He tried to reach for you, but the severe burn on his arm didn’t help. Each second, it felt like he was still burning from the fire that the curse made. Nonetheless, he reached for your wrist.
“Dear…”
No. You can’t stop now, he has to live, he has to. Everyone needs him, Yuuji needs him, Gojo needs him, You need him.
You ignore his voice, focusing on amplifying your reverse technique on him. “No, shut up.”
“Sensei…” You averted your attention away from Nanami for a moment and focused on the two students before you. It shows that you weren’t keeping your act together, regarding the concerned faces they gave you. But, you smiled. There was nothing else to reassure them in this chaos.
“Go to Shoko, both of you.”
“But–” Before Nobara protested, you cut her off.
“That is an order. You need proper treatment.” Your glare gave them goosebumps, thus, they had no other choice but to obey. “...Okay, but be careful, Nanamin, Sensei.”
Be careful.
“We will.”
If only that was the case. You hoped this was just a huge nightmare—and that once you woke up, it would be your day off, laying in bed till noon with him, or maybe even going on a date. Maybe, maybe, maybe—
These emotions appeared slow and controlled. Then suddenly, you find yourself in the eye of the whirlpool, consuming all at once. Your breath becomes rigid, the tears in your eyes start to fall, and you cannot control your curse energy at the moment. Everything felt so hazy. Your throat began to close off, and you felt like someone had your nose clogged as you couldn’t breathe properly, and you couldn’t see anything with all the tears falling.
Then suddenly, you were hit with the realization. If you were a second late, the man you desperately love will be gone right before your eyes.
…athe
Bre—
“Darling, look at me.” you felt the ringing in your head, yet his voice was heard. As you looked at him, even with how bruised he was, he still carried that… expression in him. That soft expression as if—as if he wasn’t about to die.
You covered your face. “You’re being unfair.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I hate you. You were supposed to ask for help if it’s too much, but you didn’t.” you gasped for air, feeling your heart breaking every second as you spoke. “You could have yelled like Yuuji did. I could have been there for you. I could have fought alongside you. You wouldn’t have suffered this much.”
Nanami leaned against the wall but never left his eyes on your figure as you cried your heart out. He allows you to. Because if it was you in this situation, he would have done the same.
“You promised you’d stay alive. Yet you nearly died if I was a second late!”
Nanami, who was quick to grab your wrist, pulled you onto his chest. “S-stop! Let go. It’s painful!”
Hearing your words, he only strengthened his grip. “It’s not as painful as you crying knowing I can’t do anything.” This pain he can tolerate. Yet somehow, he can never tolerate your anguished cry, knowing he was the cause of it. He can’t do anything about it, because what is done, is done.
He can only do now to hold his dear beloved, hoping to tell you that he is alive. He survived—thanks to you.
Nanami Kento then realized that he would rather be selfish than live in a world where you aren’t here anymore.
© 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐀 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.
𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍? 𝑵𝒐.
He wanted to say that you’re beautiful. But he can’t. He simply can’t. Because the word beautiful doesn’t describe what you are right now. It doesn’t justify how you look, the way you smile, your eyes, lips, nose, body, figure—nothing can justify the way you look.
Nanami was the kind of man that had words to say. He was rarely speechless. He can be blunt, honest, and criticizing, yet he spoke nothing about you. No words made by man can satisfy him. He can compliment you, but to him—it wasn’t enough. You were someone blessed with looks.
It was as if you were a painting in the art museum, and he was a visitor. You were far more from the word perfection. It was inconceivable that a human being would be blessed with such looks. A pair of eyes are like the sacred gem that holds every secret in this world. Every feature of you was unfathomable perfection, from head to toe, inside and outside.
He wonders how he manages to get a grasp on you, how he manages to be well entangled in your soul.
If someone saw those features and did not get drawn immediately by them, then something is wrong with that person. Because even he, a man who is known to show little to no emotions, was enchanted by you.
You were an unexpected surprise, a moment he had yet to plan. A collision of stars hit him unimaginably and his life was never the same as before. He never expected to be you, you know? But it’s you, always have been, always will be. It was never like that. Now he was bound by you. He promises to never let go.
© 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐀 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞? || 𝑵𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑰 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑶
Synopsis: You smiled and said, “Love is…” you paused, looking up to the moon, then to his eyes. “The person you want to be human with.” You smiled. “That’s how I viewed it though.”
Prompt: Love is... the person you want to be human with.
A/N: I have been unmotivated for the past few days so I browsed through my writing inspo on ig and found this post by @artbyastronoht and it made me think of Nanami. No use of Y/N.
The simple, bare minimum thing makes love humane.
“What is love?”
It was a stupid question, He thought. Everyone knows what love is. Love is something deeper than everything. Love is something that you’d sacrifice to get it. It was something more that people cannot explain in words alone. They express it in different ways that feel almost normal—yet it has different meanings.
He doesn’t know why.
He doesn’t know how to approach this topic to anyone, so he kept it. Years have passed, and many have professed their love to him—yet he didn’t feel indifferent to it. Entering a relationship, in hopes that he’d understand what it means; what love means.
He stopped looking for it. It was a waste of time. In this society, money is the only thing you need to survive, love is just a benefit of it. So, he decided to forget about it. He spends his time working, earning money to live. He wakes up, eats, works, and sleeps. The cycle continues for years.
But, whenever he sees a couple, high school sweethearts, or a family passing by—something in him provokes him. The question he long asked himself lingered again. What is love?
The work was shit. Being a Jujutsu sorcerer is shit. Die with regret, and there is a chance that you can become a curse. Being a sorcerer does not benefit anyone. You die with your comrades, you get hurt on a mission, you fail to save people, and you’ll feel like your youth is robbed.
But, the more he thought about it, the more he saved innocent people, it allowed him to build up small bits of appreciation from innocent people. It was enough to die without regrets.
So he came back.
And there you were. As if you’d been waiting for him this entire time. He’s happy to see you, always has been. You’re still the kind person he knew. You were still the same person all those years ago. You greeted him with a smile—You weren’t mad that he left the Jujutsu world. If anything, you understand him more than anyone.
That's what he loves about you—
Love?
Is this love?
It felt different from all the love he has received. It felt warm and right. It felt like love. It radiates between them. The aura was seen in others' eyes. Yet he wasn’t sure if it was love, maybe it was his thoughts messing with him. He’s been deprived of the thought of love that he thinks that this feeling is love.
You can see something bothering him. He was a reserved man, but this is something you can’t shake off. You asked him what was bothering him.
Naturally, he was surprised. People around him couldn’t see if something was bothering him. Or if he’s having trouble over something. Though some do notice, they usually brush it off. Nanami is a reliable guy, he’s smart. He Can figure it out on his own. He knows everything, he can do it.
It was always “He can do it” but never “Let me help you.”
For him, it was weird. He wasn’t used to it. The care, the way you notice him. It made his heart leap. This feeling is new to him, he was 24 for god sake. Feelings shouldn’t be a problem for him. It shouldn’t bother him, especially now he has returned to become a Jujutsu sorcerer.
The more he stayed silent, you just stayed by his side. Waiting patiently for an answer that may satisfy both of you. You heard him sigh, and he looked up and stared at the moon that shines above.
He finally said it. “What is love?”
Saying it felt a sort of relief, yet nervousness. Are you gonna laugh at him? It was all unfamiliar to him. He wasn’t the one to be desperate, but he was getting impatient at this point. Soft breaths filled the air of November, soft dim light from the lamp post. Autumn has been getting chilly, it was the evidence of winter once again.
He heard a soft hum, then he turned around to look at you. He stared at you for a while, he stared as you thought of an answer. He can hear the thud of his heart, his nose was starting to flare with pink, along with his ear. He was embarrassed. Rightfully so, he thinks.
You fluttered your eyes open, feeling the cold wind hit you.
You smiled and said, “Love is…” you paused, looking up to the moon, then to his eyes. And he swears something happened. Something definitely happened. His heart couldn’t stop beating. There was a lump in his throat. In this cold November, his hands begin to sweat. This wasn’t him. What is this feeling?
“The person you want to be human with.” You smiled. “That’s how I viewed it though.”
To be human with. Was it that simple? He wasn’t disappointed by your answer. He was more surprised that he didn’t even give it a thought. To be human is to do mundane routines. Groceries every Sunday. Baking pastries with your beloved. Embracing them in bed. Waking up in their arms. Coming home with your other person, hugging them, and exchanging “I'm home” and Welcome home.” The I love yous every time you’ll leave the house. Cooking each other food. Taking care of each other when one of you is sick. Sleeping in on weekends because both of you miss each other. Enjoying each other’s company.
To be human is to embrace the emotion inside you. Being happy when little things happen. Getting upset over small yet significant things. The feel of anger bubbling inside you. The way jealousy feels. Whenever you felt your heart drop. Feeling every significant feeling that a person can feel. Joy, sadness, love, hate, envy, lust, jealousy; and much more.
That is what it means to be human. The simple, bare minimum thing makes love humane.
All of the things he feels, it was love towards you. It was the love he wants to experience with you. He wants to experience things he hasn’t experienced with you by his side. He wants to be with you.
All the things he have been feeling when you were around, was love. It all makes sense. He wants to spend his lifetime with you. That was love. This is love.
© 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐀 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.
A/N: A Short Drabble based on I've Got a Crush on You (And I like-)!
Satoru looked at you, then at Nanami. Then again. And again. And again for the fifth time. You can tell that Kento was getting agitated by his antics. “Can you stop this, Gojo?”
Satoru stood straight up, closed his eyes, and put his finger on his chin—as if he was thinking. Ieiri and Suguru are in the background, laughing at the whole situation. “How come you didn’t know?” Ieiri snickered.
Then, Satoru turned and pointed at her, “How come you never told me when I talked to you? You witch!”
Shoko only gave a smug face. “You could have asked us.” Suguru butted in.
“Why not help me earlier?!”
They bickered in the background as you watched their antics. You occasionally laughed at the sight while your cousin watched you.
“Seriously, what do you see in him?” Kento muttered under his breath. You just laughed at him—okay maybe not him. Yes, your boyfriend teases everyone a lot, energetic, stubborn, a man-child, and a huge flirt—but there is something beyond that act of his, something vulnerable and kind.
And you want to see every part of him.
“Sure, he’s a bit too much. But, I like him that way.”
Kento can see the way you love him. The way your eyes shine whenever you see him. Your eyes go big whenever he comes back from a mission. The way he has his infinity off whenever with you, at all times. The way you have heart eyes when you stare at him.
He sees the way his upperclassman looks at you too. It was the look of love.
He sighed for the final time, but this time—with a smile on his face.
“Okay. But I'll kick his ass if he hurt you.”
You giggled, “Okay.”
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟... || 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 + 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨
Warning: Shibuya Arc Spoilers, Recent Manga Spoilers, heavy(?) angst, major death???
A/N: I heard "Scott Street" by Phoebe Bridgers from my sister's phone, and suddenly, it sparked something in me. I had to write angst. wrote this in one sitting today so it is not proofread!!
𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨
What if It was you instead of him who died by Mahito?
No. It was supposed to be him, not you. It shouldn’t be you. You stood in front of Mahito as his hand stretched into your chest. You were unresponsive, and he couldn’t move. He can’t bring himself to take a step. Take a step. Move. they’ll die.
Nothing. He studies your beat-up feature. Blood is trickling down your left hand as your right has been cut off. He notices your heavy breathing, yet no emotion can be seen in you. You stand in a pool of blood and multiple dead curses. Is this it? No. God, please don’t. You and Kento have been planning your wedding for months. Both of you were excited about the wedding, dreaming of the day that would come when he proposed to you. This shouldn’t end here.
Are you scared? It’s okay to be scared. I get scared too. But with you, I’m less scared. So– you can trust me. If you’re scared, run to him—He’ll make sure he’ll protect you. So, come to him, run to him. Please. He’ll promise to get you out of this hell hole alive—together.
“Y/N…” He sounds pathetic. His lips are trembling, tears threatening to leave his eyes. His grip was lost, trembling at the sight.
Then, you turned to him. He is a man who understands many things. He understands things easily. But this. His strained voice only manages to utter a single word. Why?
Why are you not scared? Why are you just standing there? Why aren’t you doing anything? Why are you smiling at him? Why? Why so suddenly? Why now? Why does it have to be you? Why are you smiling in the face of death? Stop it. Don’t smile. Run to him. You can rest. Rest with him.
Go to Malaysia with him. Live with him. You both planned to live in Malaysia after this. He suggested Kautan. Building a house on a secluded beach. Wake up early in the morning and stroll around the shore as the sun come up. Reading those book that has been collecting dust on the shelf. Cooking together, maybe even baking. Maybe in the holidays, you’d invite Yuuji and the others, even if he doesn’t want to.
Then maybe, if you want to, start a family. Maybe two kids, a girl, and a boy. Then, maybe adopt a dog—or a cat. He would love to see them grow up. Have their own lives, and not following the path you and Kento took.
The voice of Yuuji made him realize that this was the cruel reality he’s gonna live in, from now on. A life that isn’t worth living. He watched as you send him your final smile. Closing your eyes as you accepted your faith. He saw the tears. The tears you desperately hide. They flow without him wiping them away.
“Don’t be a stranger.”
Why does it have you? He wants you back. He doesn’t want to live in a cruel world where you aren’t here. It was simply worth living anymore.
𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
What if It was you Instead of Megumi who was taken by Sukuna?
He thought that after he left the prison realm, you were the first one to greet him. He thought that you’d be running into his arms, crying in his shirt, and punching him slightly for leaving you alone. He thought that you’d be smiling, saying “Welcome Back, Satoru.”
He thought that… you’d be safe.
He only then realizes the twisted and cruel reality he lives in as he teleported to where Kenjaku is, he saw you beside him. His six eyes already told him that Sukuna is possessing your body—but he didn’t want to believe it.
You were dressed in a robe that you never wore before. Your hair wasn’t in the style he is used to. Your nails suddenly have gotten sharper. Your eyes were now different. It wasn’t the same eyes that he grow to love. It wasn’t the same eyes that he love to stare at. It wasn’t the same. You weren’t there anymore. Behind those eyes, he can’t see a glimpse of you.
He pretended that he wasn’t affected by it. I didn’t care about them. It was a bitter lie that he want to throw up. Why did this happen?
He came back. He couldn’t stay looking at you— at least not right now.
Shoko, Ijichi, and Utahime stared at him as he sat on the hospital bed. They couldn’t help but sympathize with him, especially Shoko. He looks lost, almost as if he has hit rock bottom.
“...Why.”
None of them know why. But they knew you didn't deserve it. It shouldn’t be you. It was unfair to everyone. To him. To you.
The day that Satoru has to fight you– Sukuna, he pushed the thought away. This isn’t you right now. It’s Sukuna. He can save you. Of course, he can. He is the strongest anyway. Right?
Right?
Fighting you was hard, his emotions keep bubbling to the surface. He kept reminding himself that it wasn’t you. His sweet Y/N isn’t here right now, only Sukuna—
Just before he can make another Domain, he notices a stop in Sukuna. Sukuna gripped his head, groaning. As if he’s losing control. Immense curse energy leaked out. Suddenly, shadows appeared out of nowhere. Those shadows turned into hands and manage to cease Sukuna from moving.
“God damn it, Woman!”
He perked up. “Y/N?”
Then, another shadow appeared on Sukuna’s back. His eyes widen as he watched you appear in the shadow. He sees how exhausted you are. You are pushing your limit too much. He wished he wasn’t trapped in that stupid prison realm.
“I told you, didn’t I? I won’t let you win.”
“You aren’t strong enough.”
You turned to Satoru. And you smiled. Why? What are you planning? Why are you smiling? This isn’t good. He should do something—anything. What are you doing?
“Don’t be a stranger.”
Light overcomes his vision. Once he opened his vision. You weren’t there anymore. Sukuna wasn’t there anymore. No one was in front of him anymore but cherry blossom petals fell from the sky in the middle of November.
His heart hurts. why?
© 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐀 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.