#He makes me so angry that he's so beautiful

[sttoru]

sukuna never understood humans. they always say and do things that annoy him in a way. though after meeting you—his favorite little concubine—that annoyance has slowly started to turn into fondness, something he isn’t ready to accept or even acknowledge.

“come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of curses groans, sighing for the nth time. his four arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. he’s exasperated by your silly antics once more.

it’s raining—pouring—yet you’re outside in the courtyard. you’re smiling from ear to ear as you hop from puddle to puddle, enjoying the cold droplets that continuously fall and wet your skin. “oh, come on! it’s fun,” you giggle, urging sukuna to join you.

the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.

sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.

if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.

but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.

“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown. he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.

sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.

however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear. his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.

you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.

you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly. you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.

those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.

sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”

you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.

his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.

sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.

the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.

you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.

sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.

but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.

sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside. “alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”

you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.

it makes you even giddier thinking about it.

you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”

“no.”

well, it was worth a try.

[redeemingvillains]

ps i love you - mattheo riddle ft. the slytherin boys

summary: mattheo plans an unexpected valentine's day surprise for you

word count: 3.3k

a/n: honestly, this healed me a little bit. this is for anyone that just needs a heaping dose of love from our favorite boys, all of whom are absolutely head over heels for you. ♡

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and you smiled as you curled into your soft sheets, yawning and stretching your sleep-heavy limbs, enjoying the sacrosanct moment of a new morning, before the noise and thoughts from the day invaded you.

But the feeling faded almost as soon as it came and within moments your brain switched on and you felt a pang in your chest as you remembered...today was Valentine's Day and despite the devilishly handsome curly haired boy that had stolen your heart and claimed you as his own, you would be spending it alone; his father had whisked him away to something urgent, and he wasn't the type of man to argue with.

Mattheo had all but disappeared last night with quick but searing kiss and a promise to make it up to you. And how could you possibly be angry with him when you melted at his touch, at the look in his amber eyes, at the feeling of his lips against your own which you sensed even now as you ran your fingers over them?

You sighed, slowly dragging yourself out of bed despite the weighted sadness you felt and began readying yourself for the day.

You were in no rush to see the rest of the castle gushing over the holiday; the Great Hall would inevitably be awash in red and pink, filled with flowers and owls delivering love letters. There would be the predictable wave of students dosed by love potions, and an obscene amount of PDA that you would have loved to participate in that now made you sick to think about. Ugh. That alone made you want to stay in your room, but you took your time getting ready, grounding yourself as you did a full self-care routine.

Once dressed, you wandered down the corridor by your dormitory into the common room and found a tall, lanky figure leaning against the stone wall, eyes focused on his feet which he shuffled back and forth as he twirled a toothpick in his mouth.

"Enz?" you asked, as you got closer.

His eyes shot to you as they widened, brightening.

"There she is!" he said excitedly as he straightened up and righted his suit jacked. "You look divine today. Simply beautiful" he winked.

You blushed as you shoved his shoulder in reprimand and laughed at him.

"You're sweet" you conceded.

"You're sweeter" he cooed. "And I could keep this up for hours, babe, but it's my honor to escort you to our breakfast date."

"What?" you asked through another laugh as your face scrunched in confusion. Surely he has to be joking, you thought. Mattheo would strangle him with his bare—

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, uh here" he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and handing you a sealed envelope.

You narrowed your eyes skeptically at him as you reached for it until you recognized your name scrawled in Mattheo's small script on the front and eagerly tore it open.

Good morning. You look gorgeous. I don't have to be there to know that you do. I love starting my days with you, and it kills me not to be there this morning especially. Enz will have to do. Tell him to stop laying it on so thick, this isn't a hallpass to eyefuck you all morning—

You peered over the top of the letter to see Lorenzo smirking appreciatively at you and smiled.

—And tell him if he steps a single toe out of line with you, I will take sincere pleasure in rearranging his face.

You laughed quickly and covered your mouth with your hand. Lorenzo's eyebrow quirked inquisitively but you shook your head, dismissing it.

Tell. Him. It's for his own safety. Enjoy breakfast. PS, I love you

You folded the letter slowly, unable to contain the smile on your face, absolutely giddy at the penned words you held and the notion that Mattheo had planned something like this.

"Gorgeous?" Enzo said as he offered you his arm.

You linked arms with him cheerfully, a new pep in your step as he led you through the common room and into the castle.

You received a fair share of confused glances which Lorenzo reveled in, beaming at everyone who did a double take at the two of you together, knowing full well who you really belonged to.

"Wonder what's for breakfast?" you mused as a pair of Hufflepuffs shuffled to get out of your way.

"Oh, we're not going to the Great Hall" Enzo clarified as he took a last-minute turn down an unfamiliar corridor.

You looked up at him, surprised, and he caught your eye.

"And have you eat with these peasants? Please" he scoffed, stopping in front of a door you'd never seen before. "No, Matty boy flew you breakfast, from Paris" he said with a flourish as he pushed the door open wide and you gasped at the scene in front of you.

The doorway opened to a small balcony with an astonishing view of the grounds, the myriad pine trees frosted with snow and the Black Lake that was shimmering like a sheet of obsidian in the cold.

Despite the wintry scene, there was a small table laden with steaming cups of hot chocolate, a mountain of pastries, macaroons, croissants and treats all the way from France. Gods I love magic you thought to yourself as Enzo pulled out your seat and handed you a blanket from a large pile which you took eagerly as you wrapped your hands around the warm mug in front of you.

The hot chocolate was rich with a large helping of whipped cream that warmed you all the way through to your toes and brought you right back to the time Mattheo took you to Paris himself and you sipped on the decadent drink by his side. Your heart ached briefly at the memory, but Enzo was quick to pick up on it, and eagerly began chatting away with you about classes, quidditch, and even the Ravenclaw he had his eye on and you realized how nice it was to have this time together to sit and really talk to one of your closest friends, to hear how he was doing.

"You didn't want to take your crush to breakfast?" you teased, kicking him gently under the table.

"And miss this? Babe. This is the highlight of my month, maybe my entire fucking year" he said as he smirked at you and popped another macaroon in his mouth.

You knew he was laying it on thick, but there was a hint of truth to it too, and the knowledge that he valued your friendship that way made you awash with emotion.

His eyebrow quirked as he looked over your shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Well, my lady, this is where I leave you. Our love shined bright though brief."

You turned to see Blaise and Draco behind you, each carrying an extraordinarily large bouquet of flowers that they were peeking out behind with equally large smiles.

"Guys! This is so sweet!" you exclaimed as they set the bundles down and embraced you, your feelings starting to bubble to the surface again at the amount of love and affection you felt.

"Of course, darling, Happy Valentine's Day" Draco said as he kissed your cheek.

"Here you are, love" Blaise said, flourishing a letter that sent your heartbeat soaring.

Another? You reached for it eagerly, tearing into it haphazardly, craving Mattheo's words.

Did you like the hot chocolate? I hope it reminded you of our trip to Paris. I'll never forget how happy you were, the way you shined brighter than that whole fucking city... And what we got up to in the hotel that first night, when you wore that red lace set... Needless to say, don't let any of these idiots read these letters—

"Soooo, what's he writtennnn?" Blaise asked, peering over page.

"Nothing!" you replied, bending the top of the note protectively as you kept reading.

You deserve breakfast from Paris and everything your heart desires. The boys have my credit card, go get whatever you want in Hogsmeade. No smutty books, though, you have a real boyfriend that's better than any book boyfriend. And no clothing that's too revealing, unless it's for me... in which case, you should know, I'm partial to red lace... PS, I love you

Your eyes twinkled as you looked up at Draco and Blaise with excitement.

"It's fucking on" you said, as they cheered.

You went into every. single. store. Lollipops, chocolate frogs, candy hearts and pumpkin pasties from Honeydukes, the most divine stationary and a new set of quills from Scrivenshaft's, and then cue the full montage of you trying on outfits for hours while the two boys sat amidst a pile of shopping bags, enjoying their candy and eagerly goading you on.

"Yes, babe."

"Smashing it!"

"Absolutely."

"You have to get it, get both actually."

"Love, you're wearing it better than the fucking model."

Until Draco turned, finally, yelling over his shoulder to a passing attendant.

"We'll take the lot!"

And gods help the people in the bookstore. Draco could barely see over the bags and boxes he was carrying and now Blaise's arms were laden with every single book you've had on your TBR list, chatting excitedly with you about them.

"Nooo, isn't that the latest one in the series? Didn't that come out like, yesterday?!" he exclaimed as you held the hardcover book in your hands like a holy relic and nodded.

"Can I borrow it when you're done?" he asked quietly.

"We'll just get you one too!" you said excitedly, grabbing a second.

Both of them followed you without complaint, cheery and upbeat, treating you like the princess Mattheo saw you as, they all saw you as, as you made your way back to the castle in the pending twilight, high on candy and your shopping spree.

Mattheo had undoubtedly pulled out all of the stops today, so surely there had to be a something big for the evening?

You tried every way you knew how to coax it out of Draco and Blaise but they held strong, insistent that you be patient as they led you through the castle, down a first floor corridor you hadn't been down before as you continued to question them incessantly.

Was it a five-course meal from your favorite restaurant in London? A private concert from Taylor Swift? I mean, what could possibly top the day you'd had already? They stopped in front of a plain door and pushed it open to reveal... the kitchens, large, industrial-looking, and decidedly...not what you had expected.

But then your eyes swept the space and landed on Theo, in an apron, working diligently at the counter on something as Enzo moved quickly around him, in an apron of his own, a dash of flour on his cheek.

And then you saw the small wooden table just big enough for the five of you, replete with mismatched chairs and a few floating candlesticks.

And then the smell hit you.

"Bella!" Theo shouted, waving you over in flurry of Italian you couldn't follow.

You approached slowly, taking in the scene of him rolling homemade pasta with practiced ease and the steaming pot of sauce on the stove that smelled divine, like fresh tomatoes and roasted garlic, and your stomach growled in response.

"You're cooking for me? you asked, your voice a hoarse whisper at the overwhelming gentleness and kindness, the domesticity of it all.

You'd seen Theo break someone's nose, you'd seen him put puking pastilles in someone's goblet and trip a first year just for the fun of it, but you'd never seen him do anything so... tender.

"Yeah" he said quickly, acknowledging you. "And if you don't start rolling, we're not eating, tesoro" he said, tossing an apron at you, which you caught with a laugh, tying it on eagerly as you moved next to him, bumping his shoulder as you copied his movements and the gentle rolling of his hands.

Draco and Blaise poured wine and helped set the table and the three of you shared stories about your afternoon, all of you chatting about your day, about everything and nothing in the way a family would, natural, easy, unforced and relaxed.

Theo wiped his hands with a towel and then reached into his back pocket, brandishing your letter, which you unfolded and read as you leaned back against the counter, shifting into a world where it was just you and Mattheo's words.

Gorgeous - Theo promised he'd make you something good for dinner, and if I trust him with anything, it's food. Fuck. This one's hard. Because it should be me with you tonight. Please know there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be than right there with you, right now. The boys will do the best they can, I know they will. Try not to laugh too hard when Theo tells you about the time his Nonna ran from the cops in Sicily. He thinks it's hilarious, and it's his way of trying to impress you. He knows how much you mean to me. Enjoy, my 'bella donna' PS, I love you

You smiled at the familiar last sentence, tracing your fingers over the ink, like you could feel him through it and you realized you were biting your lip to keep from crying. You had kept the feelings at bay all day, but this, being here tonight without him, was hard on you too. You missed him so fervently it was like your whole body ached.

"Ok, ok" Theo said, gently putting his arm around you as he guided you towards the table. "Sedere, sit down, now we spoil you."

You sniffed and swiped quickly at your eye as you settled into your chair and the boys followed suit, surrounding you. And then Theo placed the most perfect bowl of pasta you'd ever seen in front of you, more beautiful and better plated than any restaurant you'd ever been to.

"Theo, this is..." you said, looking up at him, at a loss for words.

He nodded his appreciation. "It's my Nonna's recipe. Best fucking sauce in Sicily" he said as he scooted his own chair in across from you and winked as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts" he said as you all raised your glasses alongside him.

"Here's to cheating, stealing and drinking. May you cheat death, steal hearts and always drink with me!"

The boys cheered and you laughed as you clinked glasses and settled into your meal.

You twirled the pasta and delved into your first bite, the most incredible taste taking over your tastebuds as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Mmmmm Theeeeooo" you said.

"Fuck. That was hot" Enzo whispered as you opened your eyes to glare at him.

"I'm telling him you said that to her" Draco muttered as Enzo kicked him under the table.

"It's soooo good!" you exclaimed, ignoring them all as you dug in for your next bite.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Nonna dodged the cops?"

Your eyes watered with tears at his story, just as much from laughing as from the overwhelming joy you felt at Theo telling it to make you happy, to impress you, consistently eyeing your reaction to his every word.

After awhile you gestured around the room with your fork, savoring the last bites of your meal.

"It's hard to imagine that the heartthrob of Hogwarts himself isn't doing this for one of his girls tonight" you said, teasing Theo.

Theo put down his wine glass and looked at you like you'd asked him if he wanted to be a muggle.

"This?! Bella. Please" he said, shaking his head. "This is marriage shit right here. I don't just do this for anyone. Matty boy loves you, that's for fucking sure."

You smiled and nodded as you looked back down at your plate.

"Yeah he does" you agreed, thinking to yourself just how much he'd proven that today.

You sat around the table for hours, listening to the boys talk and laugh and joke, the night washing away in a haze of a perfect meal, a full belly and a couple of glasses of wine. You eventually dropped your head onto Blaise's shoulder comfortably.

"We wore her out boys" Enzo said affectionately, tilting his head to mirror your own and smile at you.

"Let's get you back" Blaise said, standing with you.

The two of you walked with your arm wound around his in amiable silence all the way back to your dorm, and it wasn't until you were nearly there that Blaise whispered, "Did we do alright?" with a sense of vulnerability you'd never heard from any of them before that stopped you in your tracks.

"Blaise" you reassured him, grasping his arms as you looked up at him. "I was dreading being alone today, I think you could all tell I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown the entire day..."

He nodded his head sadly.

"But each of you completely swept me off my feet, and made me feel so loved, so cherished, and so special. I couldn't have asked for four better stand-in-Mattheo's" you said, smiling widely. "Thank you" you whispered, pulling him into a warm hug.

"You deserve it, and more" he murmured against you, squeezing you tightly. "Sweet dreams, YN" he said, as you unwound from each other and you made your way towards your room.

The warmth you'd felt throughout the day carried you up to bed, lingering with you as you crawled into your pajamas and under your covers as you reached for Mattheo's letters, reading and re-reading his words as you traced your fingers over his script.

I love you, I love you, I love you he'd written and you marveled at how someone could be so far away yet still make you feel so deeply cared for. Your heart squeezed, the sadness you'd felt throughout the day numbing to a dull ache as your eyes fluttered closed.

You slipped into a deep sleep, lost to all sense of time when your mattress dipped, rocking you awake. You turned slowly, groggily to see Mattheo crawling under your covers, his eyes bright, cheeks flush with exertion.

"Matty?" you whispered hoarsely, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to wake your brain, your body up fast enough to respond.

"Gorgeous" he whispered, with a sigh of relief as he reached for you, pulling you quickly into his arms and nuzzling into you as your limbs intertwined with his, your heart resting against his own.

"How are you here right now?" you asked.

"Told 'em to fuck off, he didn't need me anyway" he replied quietly.

You pulled back to look at him, the confusion clear on your face.

"Alright, not exactly like that — it doesn't matter, I'm here and I'm so fucking sorry about today, I had this whole thing planned for us and —"

"—Matty—"

"—You deserve everything, gods everything you do for me—"

"—Matty—"

"—I just love you so fucking much, please don't be mad at me—"

And finally you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips and winding your hands up to grasp his face, to center him, to force him to hear you, to feel you, and within a moment you could feel the stress leaving his body as his shoulders fell, and his body molded against yours, his hands wrapping around you as he slid you beneath him and kissed you back earnestly, passionately.

You pulled back for just a moment, meeting his twinkling brown eyes, taking in his lips, swollen from your kiss.

"I missed you every moment of the entire day" you whispered. "But there wasn't a second I didn't feel completely loved. Thank you."

"I love you so much" he said, his head shaking slightly as his eyes met yours and he brushed the back of his fingers over your cheek. "You really have... no idea."

You blushed, nibbling at your bottom lip.

"Actually, I think I do" you said, pressing your lips to his again.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco

[helen-with-an-a]

You're mine (18+)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: no-plot-pure-smut based on Those photos

TW: smut, 18+, fingering (R giving), dirty talk?

Beautiful Girl masterlist

You looked the picture of domestic innocence. Snapping the final lids shut on the Tupperware as you tidied up from the manic batch cooking marathon you had just completed. Utensils and spices littering the counter as you packed away the last of the meals. Alexia resting against the table, arms crossed over her chest, her signature frown on her lips as you moved so effortlessly.

You could feel her gaze on you. Her hazel eyes following your every move. How long would it take? You wondered. How long would it take for her to snap? You purposely hadn’t mentioned the pictures. Although it killed you not to pounce on her the minute they were realised. Once you had got over the initial shock of the sheer beauty that was on your screen, all your thoughts had been about her. What you would do to her, how you would take her apart, piece by piece, how you would hold her as you guided her over the edge. It was torture not to act on it. But you knew the wait would be worth it. That she would be worth it.

Had you seen them? Alexia thought. You must have seen them. You had it marked in your calendar. A little green dot that told you when any of her ads or promos were released. She had seen the calendar yesterday. The small green dot marked neatly in the top corner along with the time. Maybe you hadn’t realised the time? That must be it. You were in the middle of making some food, the kitchen smelling phenomenal as you whipped up a storm.

She watched as you bopped around, humming away to some awful British music you insisted on listening to, hips swaying enticingly. Alexia couldn’t help but admire you, her oversized Nike shirt covering most of your body. Ironic really, considering you were also a Nike athlete and received almost all of the same PR as her, yet you insisted that her clothes were just simply better than yours. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. Oh no, she had seen you in every state. Happy … sad … angry … worked up … that glorious moment just before the bubble burst and you came tumbling over the edge.

Alexia shook her head. No, stop. Bad Ale. Maybe it was the stress from the last couple of weeks, maybe it was the lack of sex that had finally got to her. But all Alexia could think about was you. Not that she really minded.

She watched as you moved, rising up on your tiptoes to try and put something back on the top shelf. Your top rose up a little, exposing the silky skin of your upper thighs. The hint of soft blue fabric glinting teasingly at her.

“A-aquí,” Alexia coughed, trying to hide her gasp. “Let me get that for you, mi amor.” You smiled shyly at Alexia’s words, feeling her body press against yours as she reached over your head.

“Gracias, baby.” You mumbled, pressing a kiss to the underneath of her jaw in thanks. “You’re so helpful.” Alexia preened, a blush rising to her cheeks at the compliment.

“And pretty too,” you added nonchalantly. You turned, hands resting on her stomach, fiddling with the drawstring of her joggers. “Pretty, and sexy,” you leant forward, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “And hot.” Another kiss to the side of her neck. “And beautiful.” A kiss to her cheek. “Especially.” Your lips hovered just above hers, so close Alexia could feel your breath. “In that ad.” She surged forwards, lips moulding to yours as she drew you close, hands gripping your hips tightly.

You tasted sweet, like the perfect nectar that Alexia craved. The remedy to any issue. The answer to all her problems. She hummed happily as your fingers threaded into her hair, tugging lightly on the roots.

“Mi amor,” she gasped when you broke apart, your lips trailing down her jaw and latching onto the sweet spot that had her eyes rolling. She could barely think. Her mind a mess as your lips moved against her skin.

Memories of the photos popped back up in your mind. Her rippling muscles, the sheen of her skin, her small little smirk, the raised eyebrow. Challenging. Daring. Egging you on.

Oh, the duality of Alexia Putellas.

Cool, calm and collected.

A whimpering mess in moments.

“My beautiful girl,” you purred against her, twisting yourself around so her back was pressed against the countertop. “You have no idea what those photos did to me.” You trailed a finger along her abs, tracing the intents ever-so-carefully. “I’m a little offended I didn’t get prior warning.” You teased, smiling up at her, mouth wide in a crooked grin.

“And here, I thought being Alexia Putellas’s girlfriend would get me special privileges.” You pushed your hand under her waistband. “You really should give a girl more notice, baby. What if I was in public? Y’know, I almost had to go to the bedroom and sort myself out.” Your nails scratched lightly at her pubic bone, fingers just above the elastic of her knickers.

Alexia let out a shuddering breath, her hips arching against your hand, a silent plea to hurry up.

“But I think … I think my baby should get a little reward, don’t you?” You raised an eyebrow, relishing in the dizziness that was clearly written all over Alexia’s face. Her mind was spinning, your hand had left a burning trail in its wake, your words turned her mind to mush. She wanted to focus on your words, on you. But with every movement of your hands, every brush of your lips against her skin, her mind drifted further and further away.

“I think my Alexia, my Ale, deserves to know just how good she looked.” Your fingers circled her clit, drawing out a wanton moan. “I think my beautiful girl deserves to be fucked so good, she sees stars.”

You both groaned as you pushed one finger inside, her wetness leaving a damp spot on her knickers.

“You have no idea, baby.” You mumbled, lips moving back against her neck as you worked your finger against her, heel of your hand providing a perfect angle for Alexia to grind against. “You look so good.” You could feel her tighten around you in response to your words.

“Gr-gracias, mi …” she broke off in a moan. “Mi amor.”

“So good baby, remembering your manners.” Another loud sigh interrupted you. “When I saw the pictures,” you smirked, licking up her neck as she rocked against you. “My god, baby. I was soaked, literally instantly.” You couldn’t help but press your hips against her thigh. “I couldn’t think. You actually broke my brain. I think my heart stopped beating.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t know what would have been worse, to be honest. Being told and having to wait … or finding out along with everyone else.” You smiled as she gasped, your fingers brushing that spot inside her. “There it is,” you mumbled, giving her a quick kiss.

“You see, baby. Whilst everyone else gets to fawn over you. Gets to fantasise and imagine…” you picked up the pace, watching as she moaned and squirmed in response. “Only I get the real thing.” You whispered conspiratorially.

“I get you in every way you’ll let me.” You studied her face, the light slip of sweat beading up on her forehead as she concentrated on feeling every inch of pleasure you were giving her, “I get to see you in the morning, when your hair’s a mess and you have on one of my old Wolfsburg jerseys, when you have never looked more gorgeous.” Alexia’s hand came to grip at your wrist, begging for more.

“I get to see you in training, when your all hot and sweaty and sexy.” She swallowed, throwing her head back as she ground down against you.  

“I get to see you at home, lounging about in your joggers and bra when you look the picture of effortless beauty.” She was breathing more heavily now, a sign that she was close to cumming.

“I get to see you, laid out and naked just for me in our bed. Being my beautiful girl as you let me have my way with you.”

“C-cerca” Alexia whined, her hips moving more frantically as you slipped another finger in.

“You going to cum for me Ale?” You watched as she squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut. “You going to make a mess for me?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Make a mess all over my hand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can feel you squeezing me so tight, beautiful girl.” You never stopped your relentless pace. The sound of her wetness and harsh breathing mingling in the still air. “You look so sexy. Right now … in the photos … such a good girl, letting me have my way with you.”

“Amor,” Alexia cried, her body jerking with the pressure of her orgasm.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” You guided her through it. Her breath hot against your cheek as she rested her forehead against yours.

“So pretty, my beautiful girl. So good for me.” You whispered a string of sweet compliments, helping guide Alexia back down.

“Gracias,” Alexia breathed, her face flushed.

“No need to thank me, beautiful.” You chuckled, slowly removing your hand from her underwear. Without breaking eye contact, you took your finger in your mouth, moaning loudly at the salty tang.

You watched as she swallowed, her eyes darkening. You let your fingers go with a pop. You smirked slyly. “You’re mine, Ale.”

[nicsnort]

Rule of Three

NSFW 18+ male incubus x female reader

Word Count: 4099

Sequel to Sex Therapist - highly recommend reading it before this one

Contains: Anal sex, vaginal sex, overstimulation, hypnosis/trance, praise kink, light cuckolding, demon sex, soul bond, oral sex

Your dreams have been haunted by pleasure, nearly driving you insane. You would give anything to see him again, even your soul.

~

You had been plagued with strange dreams since you had broken up with your boyfriend. The relationship counselor the two of you had gone to had initially done wonders - though you admit that meeting was a bit of a blur. However, after you had gotten out, the sex life between you and your boyfriend had improved drastically…sort of. 

You were happy to give him a blowjob whenever he wanted, and you realized that you enjoyed it. But something was always missing. Even as your nose was pressed against his pubic hair and his jizz squirted down your throat, you found yourself wanting more - a bigger cock straining your mouth, bumps on the shaft to stimulate your tongue, enough cum that you could feel it burning in your stomach. Even so, you found yourself dripping wet after each blowjob, so you didn’t mind too much.

And best of all, he had started reciprocating oral sex with you, and he was okay at it. He could sometimes make you have a small orgasm. But even those were disappointing compared to what you could do yourself.

Still, you expanded your sexual repertoire. The two of you tried anal sex. After a few tries and another visit to the relationship counselor, you found yourself loving that as well, but still never enough to make you orgasm. Sometimes he would get you close to cumming, but you always needed just a bit more that he could never deliver.

He had become quite passionate during vaginal sex. You tried with all your might to enjoy it, but even compared to before, you found him lacking. All he did was use you like a sex doll to thrust into. So, you went back to the counselor again. Each of your three visits was a blur when you thought back to them, but after each one, some part of your sex life improved. You were more sensitive, always ready to fuck. Still, you wanted more.

Yet, even as you fucked more than you ever had in the past, your boyfriend didn’t seem content either. In fact, many of the times he fucked you, it was an angry fuck. Like he was trying to prove something or even punish you. And after a time, his continual failed attempts to make you cum were enough. You had to admit it - this relationship wasn’t working out.

That turned out to be the best decision you could have made. He had yelled at you when you broke it off. All of his insecurities about your sex life and his inability to find another job came out in a single moment. That was what this was all about. He didn’t feel “manly” enough because he couldn’t make you cum. He wanted you to do everything for him while making him feel like the provider without a job. You had slapped him across the face for daring to treat you like that and left him behind for good.

That is when the dreams started. A beautiful man whose face you could never quite remember. And pleasure. Endless pleasure. 

You knew the dreams were always the same, even as the details slipped from your mind upon waking. And you always awoke with your pussy gushing, desperate to masturbate lest you lose your mind from need. Though you rode your toys, desperately thrust them in and out of you, and drained your vibrator’s battery several times, it was never enough. You needed something else. You needed more.

Thoughts of this man began to haunt your waking hours. You swore that any time you started to relax, you felt hands ghosting over you. Good girl. While sitting, you felt empty inside your pussy yearning for a cock. So needy. When all was quiet, you could hear echoes of a whisper. Call for me, pet.

You headed to bed, eager for your dreams to begin. As you lay on your bed, feeling your body relax, something felt different. This time, you would finally get what you wanted, you were sure.

Slipping into slumber, you soon found yourself on your knees, sucking a man’s cock while he sat on a chair. The cock of your dreams. The man of your dreams. You undressed before him and sat on his lap. He displayed your body to the watcher on the couch - your ex-boyfriend - and began to pleasure you. As he played with your body, he spoke truths in your ear.

“He could never make you come…He could never make you feel like I do.”

A mind-shattering orgasm without any insertion at all.

“I think I am going to keep you…but to keep you is not a choice I can make alone. And I do have a deal to maintain.” The man spoke to your ex-boyfriend. “As agreed, she will happily suck your cock now; given how eager she was, the fault certainly was with you. But know that she is still her own person, I cannot take away her free will. Everything she did and said was true to her soul; she sucked my cock because she wanted to. The trance merely freed her desires. If you cannot please and keep her, that is on you.”

The scene shifted. You were bent over, on your hands and knees. Slick fingers probed your ass, slowly working it open. 

“Good girl, just relax. There we go. He was so rough to you.”

A hot, thick cock pressed against your oiled hole. It slid in inch by aching inch. You were so full. Then it moved. The ridges scraped your insides, but you felt no pain. The dream man behind you thrust with a steady rhythm. “Good girl. Good pet. Your ass is perfect for me.”

He lifted your torso so you could see your ex-boyfriend sitting on the couch again. He was not frozen this time. Instead, his cock was in his hand as he shamefully masturbated at the sight of another man fucking his girlfriend. You had reached the precipice before your orgasm already, but each thrust merely kept you there on the edge. As you desperately waited for permission to cum, the man fucking your ass locked eyes with your ex-boyfriend.

“You are back already and at her request. If you want to keep her, you must try harder to please her. Look at this face. Have you ever seen her with this face before?”

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, drool running down your chin. Ecstasy.

“Look at this perfect little pet. Such a good girl. She is ready to cum, but she is going to wait. Good girls wait to cum until they have permission. This good girl may cum when she feels my seed staining her insides.”

Knowing the goal made it all the worse. He kept up his steady thrusting. Uneager to reach his climax. Perfectly in control. 

You were begging him in your mind. But each thrust slowed even those thoughts. Erasing them. Then, your mind was blank. All there was was the pleasure. “Good girl. No thoughts. Just pleasure.”

His hips sped up, and soon they stuttered against your ass. You felt him swell within you. The moment the corrupting seed met your insides, you came. Your muscles clenched tightly, drawing every ounce of cum from him. He held you tight against his body with his beautiful bat wings encircling you to stop you from collapsing and hurting yourself.

As you both came down from your high, he pressed another kiss against your ear and secretly whispered. “Once more, my pet, once more, and you can be mine.”

Another shift in your dream. 

His claws dragged along your jaw as he caressed your face. “You came alone this time. Has he given up on you already?”

“No, I don’t know why…I just…” His thumb pressed against your lower lip, silencing you.

“I know, my pet. You felt called here. Your soul yearns for this. You listened to your desires. You are such a good girl.”

He removed your shirt. His fingers explored your flesh, pointed claws stimulating your skin. Like a dream within a dream, he undressed you. You were dripping wet when your final bit of clothing was removed. As you stood nude before him, he took your face in his hands again. You stared into his shimmering yellow eyes, feeling your body relax, and your thoughts grow sluggish. 

“Magic works by the rule of three, pet. You have come to me of your own free will three times. My seed has marked your body twice. Here,” his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, “and here.” His tail wrapped around your body, and the spade slapped your ass gently. “Where do you want to feel my mark next?”

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, a strand of saliva hanging on before breaking, allowing you to speak. “My pussy, please. I want to feel your cock brand my cervix, your cum staining my womb.”

A deliciously devilish smile came to his face. “You have such a way with words, pet. It makes me want to spoil you. So, as such a good girl, you can have exactly what you want.”

He pulled you to the couch. At some point, he removed his clothes, if he was even wearing them in the first place and not just an illusion. The devil sat on the couch, pulling you into his lap, your knees on either side of his legs. Your pussy lips were spread, pressing against his hot, hard cock. 

His fiery yellow eyes watched you closely. “Go on, my pet. You came here searching for pleasure, did you not? Find it.”

With that permission, you shook your hips, grinding up and down across his textured cock. The bumps and ridges of his member caught your clit, driving you towards the edge. Your hands clung to his shoulders, your breasts brushing against his chest. It was too much. A long moan poured from your lips as you came. It was a small orgasm but infinitely more satisfying than alone and leagues above the ones your ex-boyfriend occasionally gave you.

“Tsk. Tsk,” he scolded, “I did not give you permission to cum.”

Still panting from the orgasm, you looked at him with a pitiful, worried expression. But he did not look angry.  He cupped your cheek and gave an understanding smile. “That is okay, even good girls can make mistakes…but mistakes must be corrected.”

In a flash, he pulled your arms behind your back, his tail wrapping around your wrists to hold them there. Grabbing your hips, he lined himself up with your sensitive, dripping hole. “Now, remember, my pretty little pet, do not cum without my permission. I do not want to truly punish you for disobeying me.”

He slammed your hips down. With supernatural strength, he manipulated your body, forcing you up and down on his cock at a punishing pace. Within moments, you were at the edge of orgasm once more. “Careful, pet, be a good girl now. Don’t think about how good it would feel to cum. Don’t think about how close you are. Don’t focus on every bump of my cock in your--”

You came. Your walls clenching helplessly on his cock. But he continued to force your hips up and down.

“Naughty. Naughty. Let us try again. Practice makes perfect, after all.”

You lost track of how many more times you failed. He drove you to the edge, and every time you were close to controlling your orgasm, he purposely pushed you over the edge - punishing you in the most delightful way. Your body was starting to give out. He released your wrists, allowing you to cling to him. Your sweat-covered body pressed against his chest. Your hips were moved on their own, rocking back and forth, keeping you right on the edge.

“There we go, pet. Just a bit longer. You are doing so well now.”

You wanted to beg. You wanted to apologize. But all you could do was pleasure yourself on his cock. A whimper left your throat. “You are delicious, my pet. Your sweet cunt almost made me spill my seed early. Do you know how hard that is for my kind?”

You whined. He pulled your head up to look you in the eyes. “Do you have one more in you? If I permitted you, could you cum for me one last time?”

You managed to nod. You could do it for him. You could cum one more time for him.

“Good girl. Make me cum. When you feel my cum inside of you, then you may cum.”

Spurred on by the finish line, your hips sped up. You pressed sloppy kisses to his shoulder and neck. Anything to make him cum. Anything for release. You heard his breath hitch. His fingers tightened on your flesh. Breath becoming ragged, he spoke again. “Good girl. Good girl. Just like that. I am going to cum deep inside of you. Just like you wanted my pretty pet. I am going to pour my cum into your womb, claim you as mine, because you are a good fucking girl!”

A growl of pleasure left his lips as his hot, sticky seed filled you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you came once more. Even after all your previous orgasms, this one brought you higher than the last. Your body shook, your breath escaped you, and for a moment, you felt something more. A heat with you deeper than his burning seed. A fire carving its way across your very soul.

You were barely aware as he gathered you in his arms and pressed a cool glass of water against your lips. But you heard his voice. It captured your need to submit in its melodic timber. “Good girl. I have never eaten so well before. It is taking all my control not to consume you here and now.”

His long, forked tongue licked his lips with the temptation. “I will not. Because I want to keep you, and I want you to desire to be kept. You must give your whole self to me, my pet.”

Lowering his head, he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You have given me your mind and your body. When your soul fully accepts that you are mine, call my name.”

Your eyes shot open as you awoke with a gasp; a name tumbled from your lips before any conscious thought could stop it. “Col’vanax.”

The darkness around you came alive. An invisible weight pressed upon your chest, freezing your body in place. From the darkness, you felt eyes on you, watching you, waiting. 

You knew what he was. You clearly remembered every interaction with him. His true form burned into your mind. An incubus. A demon that fed on sexual energy and pleasure. A powerful corruptive force that was hunted across both realms. The most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The one who brought you so much pleasure.

Your conscious mind knew what this meant. To lay with an incubus had already corrupted your soul. Yet, you could still be saved if you denied him.

“Col’vanax.”

He had entranced you. Who was to say that what he had you do was what you truly desired? Yet, you knew it was. You did not doubt that it was. The fantasies you had always been worried about, had been ashamed of, he released them from you. If you summoned him, how would your life change? Would you even have a life? Would he devour your soul? Leave you an empty husk? Or would he whisk you away, never to be seen again?

Your nipples were taut, yearning to be touched. Your pussy drenched the sheets under you. Your mind replayed the memories of his glorious touch. There was still time to reject him. You could call the Wardens and get help from the clerics to purify you. Never feel that pleasure again…

Magic worked by the rule of three. You knew you could say no. There was no infernal compulsion. You were in complete control of yourself. All you had to do was not say his name again. All you had to do was give up everything your soul yearned for. “Col’vanax.”

“Good girl.” His melodic, perfect voice cooed from the darkness at the foot of your bed. You gazed down to see two glowing yellow eyes staring back at you. You could feel him smiling in the shadows.

The covers were ripped off you, and you felt the mattress sink around you as he climbed onto the bed. His body radiated heat. You could not see him in the darkness but could feel him there, smiling.

“My true name sounds so good on your lips, my pet. I have been waiting for you to summon me. Thank you.” 

In the darkness, you reached up, your hands sliding across his bare chest. The more you had desired was here before you. You realized it was not just the pleasure you were missing but something deeper than that. It was only with him that your soul felt whole, and when separated, you could clearly feel the hole inside of you. Perhaps it had always been missing, and it was only upon meeting him that you realized it. Perhaps he had carved that part out of you. It didn’t matter now, now you were complete.

“Col’vanax,” you repeated once more in your realization. “I…”

Words failed you, but you needn’t finish the thought for him to understand. “I know. You shall never feel that emptiness again. My perfect submissive pet, we will do wonderful things together. Now, you have been a very, very good girl, so I think you deserve a reward…”

His hands dragged across your skin, his claws pressing down but not breaking the skin. “All you need to do is relax. Let yourself sink.”

Instantly, you felt your muscles let go. Your breathing evened as you began to fall into yourself. With each pass of his hands over your body, you fell further into relaxation. His tail dipped between your open legs rubbing back and forth across your clit. Up and down. Up and down.

Your breath was soon timed to the rhythm of his stroking. In and out. Up and down.

He lowered his mouth to your neck. His sharp fangs nibbled on you, his devious lips leaving marks upon your skin. His mouth had never touched your skin for so long. He had never truly given you a kiss, and now you knew why. It would have been completely unfair. The aphrodisiac saliva of his kind made each place his lips landed hypersensitive. Anything more than a single lick or a chaste kiss would have made you addicted to him. No longer would your choices to go to him or summon him have been of your free will.

His sharp fangs scraped your nipple as he took it into his mouth, sucking deeply. His tongue rolled around the sensitive bud, increasing its sensitivity tenfold. He switched his attention to your other breast. You had been brought to the edge of orgasm already. And there you stayed as he lathered his attention on you.

His tongue left a wet trail of saliva along your stomach as he moved down from your breasts to your dripping pussy. You whined as his tail stopped and removed itself. Yes, you wanted to cum, but you would rather be on the edge of orgasm than have that pleasure stop. “It is alright, my pet. In fact, since you have been such a good girl in summoning me, you may cum as much as you want.”

Lowering his mouth to your cunt he began to eat you out. It took only a few seconds from the moment his lips touched your quivering cunt for you to begin to orgasm. And begin was the correct word. Each lap of his tongue, every suck of his mouth, extended your orgasm. This was not a series of short orgasms; this was one that lasted for minutes.

Your hips shivered and bucked, but he held you in place. Your back arched. Your eyes rolled back in your head. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth as you panted. You were moaning, crying, screaming for more. 

Higher and higher, he drove your body’s pleasure while your mind sunk deeper and deeper. You never knew this sort of pleasure was possible. All thoughts were driven from your mind. Everything was. Everything but him devouring you.

In the midst of your orgasm, you felt something else. Something tugged inside of you, straining to break free. It struggled and pulled in desperation. It was almost painful. If it had not been for the overwhelming pleasure it would be the most crushing agony. You did not want to feel anything but the pleasure…so you released it.

The orgasm ceased. Your body collapsed limply. You watched, as if detached from all control of your body, as Col’vanax lifted his head. His long, devilish tongue was wrapped around a fluttering light, finally allowing you to see his perfect, angelic, triumphant face. The light shone in his mouth briefly before disappearing down his gullet.

Mind erased.

Body empty.

Soul consumed.

Everything you were was his.

“Come here, my pretty pet.”

Your body moved, presenting your nude form before him. The room around you glowed a lascivious red. The place that you had once called your bedroom was gone. Instead, you were floating in a sea of pulsing, gentle red. You had never felt more at home.

His hand traveled the length of your arm and took your hand. Lifting it, he placed a chaste kiss on your fingers. His fingers threaded through yours, holding your hand like a lover. You watched strange markings appear across his shoulders and down his arms.

“Do you know what these marks mean, pet?” You shook your head. “Many would not. They are soul markings. Incubi and succubi develop them when they find a perfect match. As an incubus, I have spent my existence searching for a perfectly submissive partner, someone who was willing to surrender their whole self to me.”

“That sounds romantic.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps it is surprising that a species which feeds on sex is one of the few who have…what is the human conception? Soulmates.”

Col’vanax stepped forward, wrapping his wings around you tenderly. “Now I have you, my good girl, and you will be mine forever.”

Lowering his head, he pulled you into a kiss. Your first true kiss with him. Your heart soared, and fireworks went off in your chest. It was chaste. Loving. It was not meant to arouse only to communicate the deepest of emotions.

His tongue dipped into your mouth, and you felt a strange, pliable ball of lustful red ichor enter your mouth. Instinctually, you swallowed it.

Your incubus vanished, and you were alone in the vast pool of red light. No. Not alone. You were looking at yourself. Yourself, yet not yourself. An image of you with every flaw, every insecurity you had about your appearance gone. The perfect bodily version of you, how you had always dreamed of looking. Beautiful ruby skin, gorgeous golden eyes, delicate yet strong batwings, a long whip-like tail with a heart-shaped spade at the end, and two luxurious horns curving from your skull under your silken hair. You watched as, just like Col’vanax, this perfect form was marked with an intricate design. These were not on the shoulders and arms but spread just above your pubic hair.

Your soul stepped forward and reached out, and your mind embraced it, becoming one. This was you—the new you. Now, all you had to do was rejoin your body.

Once more, you awoke with a gasp. Col’vanax stared down at you with a smile on his face. The both of you lay in your bed together. You felt different. More alive than you had ever felt before. You could sense the people around you, safe and snug in their homes. Two doors down, a newlywed couple was exploring bondage. Across the street, a middle-aged woman was aroused by her romance book while her husband was silently masturbating to a massive orc camgirl in the other room. You licked your lips with your long, forked tongue. Sitting up, your wings stretched for the first time, and your tail flicked back and forth like a cat.

“How are you feeling, my newborn succubus?”

You pouted. “I’m hungry.”

He laughed and pulled you into a kiss. The spark of pleasure soothed your hunger for a brief moment. “Then let’s find you someone to eat.”

________________________________

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

After Party - m!Minotaur x f!reader, teratophilia, breeding, overstimulation.

Sweet Cream - m!Minotaur x f!reader, lactation, hucow, breeding overstimulation. Sequel to After Party.

For other works see my masterlist

[lowkeyremi]

This man can't help but turn his sappiness up by 100% on valentines day. He already worships the ground you walk on, but on valentines day? Expect everything he does in tenfold.

You awake to the smell of breakfast cooking, and not just any breakfast.. your favorite meal. He must have turned off your alarm, because you had planned to wake up early and make him breakfast.

A little hum leaves your lips as you walk into the kitchen to see red decorations covering every surface, hearts galore, the whole nine yards.

When did he have time to do this? The house looked normal before you went to bed.

You don’t even make it into the kitchen before he’s scooping you off your feet.

“Morning, lovely.” He says peppering your face in kisses.

“What’s all this?” You ask, kissing him back.

“Oh y’know. Just Valentine’s Day stuff. To show just how much I love you.” He says setting you down onto the counter, gingerly.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

After breakfast he’s treating you all day, not giving you the time of day to do anything by yourself, and it has nothing to do with power or feeling dominant, he purely loves you so, so much!

He takes you to all your favorite places, and when you complain about your feet hurting, he decides to carry you everywhere, no matter how embarrassing it may be.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

And then there’s dinner. In the past he may have taken you out to a fancy restaurant, but this year he decided to cook all of your favorites. And he ordered your favorite dessert for later.

“This looks delicious baby, thank you.” He’s pushed in your chair at this point, still standing behind you. You lift your head to kiss his lips and he reciprocates quickly.

“It’s no problem, honey. This is the least I could do.” The least?? Man you’ve definitely won in life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

What came after dinner had to be your favorite.

Once you were full, and satisfied, he carried you to the bed, kissing every inch of your beautiful body.

“God, I fucking love you, sweetheart.” He says, as he gets his fill of you. He thinks you taste so sweet, and he’s addicted.

After making love to you, he runs you a bath, (with flower petals, essential oils, once again the whole shebang) helping you in when it’s done.

As the two of you bathe together he massages all the spots where you’re tense.

“I love you.” He hums quietly.

You smile widely, you know he really means it, not just on today, but every single day, he loves you with his whole heart.

“I love you, too.”

BOKUTO, osamu, hinata, KITA, ushijima (hq)

NANAMI, yuta, choso, TODO (jjk)

keigo, aizawa, MIDORIYA, iida, KIRISHIMA (bnha)

RENGOKU, giyuu, GYOMEI (kny)

JEAN, levi, ARMIN (aot)

KEN KEN KEN!!!! (draken), mitsuya, hakkai, souya (angry), BAJI (tokyo rev)

banner by: cafekitsune !

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[daddysfangirls-dc]

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.

But I also hate it.

I hate how they are comforting each other while talking about her. They never comforted her. They never offered her any affection. It makes me angry listening to each of them talk about what they could have done-No. It is what they SHOULD have.

I agree with Damian. He is the only one who has the right to call her his sister. As he was the only one (besides Duke) who actually acknowledged her, of course, it wasn't always kind, but this, i's Damian we're talking about, kindness is an afterthought when image is not a priority. I'm happy they're getting redemption and trying again.

And as for Duke. I don't think he is as bad as the others, but he's not good either. If anything, Duke was a bystander. Unlike the other, it doesn't look like he got the " she isn't for this lifestyle" talk, so he acknowledged her more than the others. At the same time, he has eyes and ears. I have no doubt in my mind that the boy saw what was happening, but since everyone else treated it like it was normal, he fell into line like everyone, and that is very unfortunate.

.

m.list | prev | next

“Cassandra.”

Her name barely carried through the still air, but she didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t acknowledge the voice.

She sat there, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her entire body curled inward like she could somehow shield herself from reality.

From this.

From your name carved into stone.

The graveyard was too peaceful.

The world around her was too bright.

The sky was impossibly blue, the kind of endless, cloudless stretch that belonged to better days. The sun hung high, warm and golden, spilling light over everything as if this were just any other afternoon. A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and the grass beneath her was still damp with morning dew. The air smelled fresh—too fresh.

It was a beautiful day.

And Cassandra hated it.

It wasn’t right.

Why wasn’t the sky dark? Why weren’t the clouds swollen with grief, heavy and suffocating? Why wasn’t there a storm, wind tearing through the city, rain drenching the ground, filling the cracks in the pavement, turning the earth around your grave to mud?

Why wasn’t the world mourning with her?

It should be.

Because this—this wasn’t just another day.

This was the day Cassandra Cain sat in front of your grave, alone in the silence, mourning the loss of you.

You.

The person who was supposed to be her younger sister.

The person who shouldn’t be here—not like this. Not beneath the ground.

A shadow passed over her. She barely acknowledged it.

Duke.

He stood for a moment, just watching her.

Duke hesitated before he stepped closer.

His movements were slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

And maybe that’s what Cassandra was.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You can’t stay here forever,” he murmured, his voice quiet, gentle.

Cassandra didn’t respond. She just nudged his hand away, still staring at your name carved into the stone.

Duke exhaled, long and slow, before lowering himself to the ground beside her.

They sat in silence.

Neither of them wanted to be here.

But neither of them could leave.

Not when this grave was here. Not when it held you.

And it still didn’t feel real.

Duke ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes. He didn’t blame Cassandra for shutting down like this.

Because he was still trying to understand it too.

Duke stared at your name, carved into stone, like if he just looked at it long enough, it would make sense.

But it didn’t.

It wouldn’t.

Your death—

God.

It wasn’t just tragic. It wasn’t just painful.

It was sudden.

It didn’t feel possible.

One day, you were here. And then you weren’t.

And Duke didn’t know how to process that.

He kept thinking—kept replaying everything in his head. The details. The reports. The last time he saw you.

And the same question kept coming back to him, again and again and again.

Why didn’t you call him?

You knew he would have helped you. You knew that.

Right?

You knew he wouldn’t have thought twice.

Right?

Would he have thought twice…?

No, surely not.

Right?

You should have known that.

So why didn’t you?

Why didn’t you tell him what you were doing? Why didn’t you let him back you up? Why did you go after that drug ring alone?

You should have called.

You should have known he wouldn’t hesitate. That he wouldn’t have even thought before coming to help you.

You should have been standing here with him.

Not lying six feet underground.

Duke let out a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the gravestone, his chest tightening like something inside him was caving in.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

And the worst part? The part that made him feel sick?

Losing people—he knew what that was like.

He lost his parents.

And now—

Now he had lost you.

And you weren’t just anyone.

You were—

God, you were you.

You weren’t perfect, but you were alive in a way that few people ever truly were.

You had this way of making things feel easier. Not because life actually was easier, but because you had a way of making it manageable. Making it bearable.

And you were stubborn.

God, you were so stubborn.

You never backed down, never walked away, never let things go when they mattered. You fought for people. You fought for him. Fought for yourself.

You weren’t his sister by blood, but blood had never mattered in this family. Not really.

You had been his friend before you were his family.

And now you were gone.

And he was just supposed to accept that you were gone?

That he was supposed to sit here, staring at a piece of stone with your name on it, instead of looking you in the eye and telling you you were a dumbass for going in alone?

No.

No, that didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense that you—the person who had somehow become his sister—was just gone.

And he—

He hated this.

He hated this so much.

“What…. do you think her last words were…?”

Cassandra’s voice broke through the silence, small but steady.

Duke’s throat tightened. He barely held back a flinch.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted.

And he didn’t want to know.

Because the moment he let himself think about it.

The moment he let himself wonder what your last moments were like—

He wouldn’t be able to take it.

Had you been waiting for someone to save you?

Had you been hoping for some kind of miracle?

Or had you known?

Had you known you weren’t going to make it?

Had you realized that help wasn’t coming?

Had you been scared?

Duke clenched his jaw and swallowed hard.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He couldn’t—

He couldn’t think about that.

Cassandra didn’t look at him, but she was still staring at your grave, her expression unreadable.

But he knew what she was thinking.

She was blaming herself.

And she shouldn’t.

She wasn’t even in Gotham when it happened. There was nothing she could have done.

But logic didn’t matter.

Because you were dead.

And she hadn’t been there.

Neither had he.

And he was always going to carry that with him.

Cassandra had learned you quickly.

How you liked your coffee, how you always leaned against walls instead of standing straight, how you tapped your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking.

How you always waited a second longer than necessary before answering a question—like you were testing the weight of your words before letting them go.

You had been sharp, but soft.

Blunt, but kind.

The kindest of them all.

You had been quiet, but so damn loud in the way you existed.

And now—

Now you were gone.

And Cassandra was still here.

And she didn’t know how.

Cassandra didn’t know how to fight that.

Didn’t know how to fight the weight pressing against her chest, the grief that curled around her like a vice. It was strange. Loss was something she should’ve been used to. Death was something she had faced time and time again. It was part of this life. It was part of the job.

So why did this feel so different?

Why did it feel like something was clawing at the edges of her ribs, carving out a hollow space where you used to be?

She had died before. Her heart had stopped beating, her body had given out. But she had been revived, dragged back to life before the darkness could fully claim her. She had cheated death, walked away with a heartbeat that wasn’t supposed to be there anymore.

So why hadn’t that been you?

Why had she gotten to wake up, gasping, with another chance at life—while you had been left to rot in the ground? Why had she been spared while you had been taken?

Cassandra’s hands curled into fists on her lap, her nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to breathe.

It didn’t help.

Her eyes flickered to your name on the gravestone. The letters carved into the stone were so sharp, so permanent. You weren’t coming back. No second chances, no miracles. Just a name, a date, and the suffocating silence of your absence.

She swallowed thickly and let her gaze drop lower.

No flowers.

Cassandra stared at the empty space in front of your grave, and something in her chest twisted. No matter how hard she searched her mind, she couldn’t remember what kind of flowers you liked.

What flowers did you like?

Did you like lilies—soft, gentle, but heavy with the scent of mourning?

Did you like daisies—bright and stubborn, growing even in the cracks of concrete?

Did you like marigolds—bold, striking, impossible to ignore?

She hated that she didn’t know. Hated that she had spent years at your side and still, she didn’t know what flowers to bring you.

It was ridiculous, how something so small—so insignificant in the grand scheme of things—felt like another knife to the ribs.

Cassandra had always been good at reading people. She had always been good at reading you.

And yet—she didn’t know this.

Didn’t know something so simple.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She had memorized the way you carried yourself, the way your fingers twitched when you thought too hard about something, the way you always paused before speaking, like you were testing your words before letting them go.

She knew how you fought, how you moved, how you breathed.

And yet—she didn’t know this.

This was all she knew.

What did you actually like to do?

What did you like to eat?

What was your go-to drink?

Did you drink coffee out of necessity, or was it your favorite?

What music did you listen to when no one was around?

What did you hum under your breath when you thought no one was paying attention?

Did you like the sun or the moon better?

Did you ever have a favorite book? A favorite movie?

Have you ever fallen in love? Fancied a guy or girl from afar?

Everything that a sister should know—she didn’t.

And now, she never would.

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, hands pressing against her thighs, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants.

To think—to think—of all the times you had tried to stay by her side.

Of all the times you had tried—tried to connect with her, tried to understand her, tried to make her feel like she belonged in this family—and she hadn’t let you.

She had been distant. Subconsciously pushing you aside. Not because she hated you—no, never because of that.

But because you two were so vastly different.

Because she saw you and thought—you weren’t built for this life.

Because she looked at you and thought—you shouldn’t be here.

You weren’t a killer. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t someone who should have had to claw and scrape your way through the darkness of Gotham.

You should have had a normal life.

You could have had a normal life.

And maybe, maybe—if she had pushed harder, if she had done more, if she had made you see what she saw—maybe you would have left this life.

Maybe if she had pushed harder, you wouldn’t have ended up like this.

You wouldn’t be here, six feet under, with a name carved into stone and a body lost to the dirt.

Maybe she could have been there.

Maybe she could have saved you.

Cassandra clenched her jaw, her fists tightening further.

No.

That wasn’t even it.

That wasn’t even the truth.

It wasn’t about whether you should have been a vigilante. It wasn’t about whether or not you belonged in this life.

It was about her.

It was about the choices she had made.

If she hadn’t thought she knew what was best for you—if she hadn’t dismissed you before even giving you a chance—maybe things would have been different.

If she had helped you instead of discouraging you—if she had guided you instead of pushing you away—maybe you wouldn’t have felt so alone in this.

Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to prove yourself at every turn.

Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself so far—so recklessly, so relentlessly—that your body had begged you to stop, had screamed at you to rest, and yet, you had ignored it anyway.

Because you had something to prove.

To yourself.

To everyone else.

To her.

And why?

Because she had made you feel like you weren’t enough.

Like you weren’t competent enough, weren’t worthy enough, to stand beside them.

Like you had to earn your place in a way that no one else had to.

And that—

That was what crushed her.

That was what made her stomach churn and her chest tighten, what made her fingers twitch at her sides and her jaw clench until it ached.

Because she had done that.

She had made you feel that way.

And it had cost you your life.

If she had just been there—if she had helped you, taught you, stayed by your side as a sister should, instead of leaving you to figure everything out on your own—maybe you wouldn’t have needed to push yourself to the brink just to keep up.

Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to bleed just to prove you deserved to be by their side. By her side.

Maybe—just maybe—

You would still be here.

She didn’t know where the thought came from, only that it settled deep inside her, heavier than stone.

She should be used to loss. It was part of the job, part of the life they all lived. People died. People left. That was just how things were.

But Cassandra Cain didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t have you in it.

Why?

Because your presence had been undeniable.

Not in the way that others were loud—not in the way Dick filled a room with laughter, or in the way Jason made his presence known with his sharp words and sharper gaze, or in the way Tim existed like a shadow, quiet but calculating.

No.

You were present in the littlest ways. The kind of ways that most people overlooked.

But she noticed.

She always noticed.

The way you drummed your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking—not impatient, not absentminded, just… rhythmic, like you were keeping time to a song only you could hear.

The way you always lingered in a doorway before stepping inside, as if you were gauging the room, the people, the atmosphere—like you needed to prepare yourself before crossing the threshold.

The way your shoulders stiffened whenever someone called your name unexpectedly, like you were always bracing for something, like you had learned a long time ago that being noticed wasn’t always a good thing.

The way your eyes softened, just barely, whenever you looked at her.

The way you tilted your head when you were confused, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were frustrated, the way your fingers twitched whenever you held back from saying something.

The way you carried yourself—quiet, but never unnoticed. Soft, but never weak.

You had been everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

In the way the floorboards creaked in a rhythm only you walked in. In the faint scent of your shampoo that lingered in the halls long after you passed through them. In the way the air felt just a little different when you were around—charged, like something unspoken was always hanging in the space between you and everyone else.

And now—

Now you were gone.

And the world felt wrong.

Her nails bit into her palms as she exhaled sharply.

The weight in her chest grew heavier, suffocating, pressing against her ribs until she could barely breathe.

She wanted to say sorry.

For not being there when it mattered.

For not being the sister you had wanted her to be.

For all the times you had reached for her and she had turned away.

But apologies were meaningless now.

There was no use in apologizing to a grave.

The dead could not hear the apologies of the living.

And she hated—hated—how it seemed like she just wanted to get rid of the guilt, like this was just another weight on her shoulders that she was desperate to shake off.

It wasn’t that.

It wasn’t about making herself feel better.

But to anyone else, it might seem shallow, like she was just trying to justify her regrets.

And that—

That was when she exhaled sharply, her voice quiet, raw, and firm.

“I failed her.”

Duke stiffened beside her.

“Cass…”

“No.”

She finally moved.

Finally stood.

Her knees ached from kneeling too long, but she ignored the feeling, ignored the way the world spun for half a second before steadying again.

She looked down at the grave—at your name, your absence, the proof that you were really, truly, gone.

“There’s a lot of things I regret,” she admitted, her voice steady. “A lot of things I should have done. A lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

She exhaled.

“But there is no use feeling this way when—”

She stopped.

When what?

When you were already gone?

When nothing she did would change that?

When no amount of guilt, no amount of grief, no amount of anything would ever bring you back?

Duke watched her, silent, waiting.

And finally—she finished.

“There is no use feeling this way when the only person who could have forgiven me isn’t here anymore.”

Duke inhaled sharply. His lips parted—ready to argue, ready to refute, ready to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

But he didn’t.

Because she was right.

And they both knew it.

There was nothing either of them—or anyone else—could do.

The damage was done.

You were gone.

And Cassandra would have to live with that. He would have to live with that.

She turned to Duke, her expression unreadable, her body language tight.

Her shoulders were stiff, arms curled inwards, fingers twitching ever so slightly at her sides. A silent scream compressed into muscle and bone, into tension that refused to unravel. Her breath was steady, too steady, the kind of control that only came when someone was barely holding themselves together.

And then, after a moment—

He moved first.

Slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to pull away, to reject the gesture before it even landed. But she didn’t.

So he pulled her into a hug—strong, firm, grounding.

A weight. A warmth. A presence she didn’t realize she needed until she was sinking into it.

Cassandra didn’t resist.

Didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t go rigid, didn’t pull away out of habit, didn’t keep that careful distance she always did when she wasn’t sure how to accept comfort.

No.

She closed her eyes and let herself feel.

For the first time in hours. In days. In what felt like forever—she let herself be held.

Let herself be comforted.

Even though she didn’t feel like she deserved it.

Because what right did she have to be comforted when you weren’t here?

What right did she have to grieve you when she had been part of the reason you were gone?

But Duke didn’t let go.

He held onto her like he understood. Like he knew that if he let go, she might just disappear, might crumble into something irreparable, something that grief would consume whole.

So she stayed.

And for now—

For now, that would have to be enough.

128 hours, 13 minutes, and 27 seconds.

That’s how long it’s been since Gotham fell into chaos. Since the family fell into shambles.

Since you took your last breath.

Tim’s fingers twitched over the console, knuckles pale, hands locked into position as if frozen mid-action. The blue glow of the Batcomputer flickered against his face, casting long, sharp shadows that made the bags under his eyes seem deeper, his expression more hollow.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t moved. Had barely breathed.

Because he couldn’t stop watching.

The footage looped again. And again. And again.

Warehouse. Low light. South Gotham docks. Camera angle, elevated—one of Batman’s hidden surveillance feeds.

You moved like a ghost. A shadow.

A blur of motion cutting through the dark.

Tim rewound the footage. Slowed it down. Watched. Memorized. Analyzed.

His eyes were red from the hours of staring at the screen. The footage ran in a constant loop, a ghostly reminder of everything that had gone wrong. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t look away, even though he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe this time, there’ll be something he missed.

That’s what he told himself.

It was a sickening kind of hope, one born from desperation. He needed something—anything—that would prove this wasn’t just another casualty of the mess they lived in. This wasn’t an accident. He couldn’t let it be an accident. If it was, then what was the point? What was the point of all of this? If it was just an accident, if this was just the way things always were, then what the hell was he even doing here? What was the point of it all?

What was the point of all the fights, the struggles, the years of fighting against the darkness if it could just snuff out a life like that, without any warning? Tim couldn’t accept it.

His heart hammered in his chest as he hit replay again. He didn’t even realize how many times he had watched this same clip. How many times he had gone over it, scrutinizing every frame, searching for something that wasn’t there. There’s something.

There has to be something.

A sign.

A clue.

Anything to prove this was deliberate, something he can blame.

But no matter how many times he watched it, no matter how many hours he spent scrutinizing every damn detail, nothing would change. Nothing could undo what had already been done.

But still, he couldn’t stop himself. He had to watch. He had to know. He had to find the why, the how, the reason behind it.

Why had you gone in alone?

Why hadn’t anyone been there for you?

Why hadn’t he been there?

The rest of the world had moved on, or at least tried to. Gotham was still reeling from the explosion of chaos that followed the takedown of the drug ring you’d infiltrated. The criminals, the ones you’d exposed, some of them were caught, while others were already on the run, their operations disrupted in ways they hadn’t anticipated. The whole damn city had been thrown into disarray because of this.

Tim gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He felt a knot twist in his stomach, one he couldn’t untangle, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to blame the criminals. He wanted to blame them for everything. For the sudden rise in crimes. For the sudden disarray in Gotham. But it wasn’t them. He couldn’t make himself believe that. No. It wasn’t their fault. Not exactly.

It was yours. It was yours and no one else���s.

It’s all because of you.

That thought stung, burned in the pit of his stomach, and yet it lingered, demanding to be acknowledged. Tim didn’t want to think that way—he didn’t want to blame you. But how could he ignore it? You had done your job, you’d exposed something they couldn’t ignore, but now it was a nightmare. Gotham was chaos, because of you.

No.

He slammed his fist on the desk, glaring at the footage, refusing to accept that thought. No, this wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t be. It was never supposed to happen like this. You had been right about the drug ring, and you had fought damn hard to stop it, all by yourself. But that’s where it went wrong, wasn’t it? You hadn’t called for backup. You hadn’t reached out. If you had—if you had just asked for someone, anything, anyone—maybe you would still be here.

Tim couldn’t stop the wave of anger that crashed over him. But it wasn’t at the criminals who had shot you, it wasn’t even at the fact that Gotham had spiraled into a warzone. No. It was at you.

Fuck.

Even now, after everything, he was the one left to clean up your mess. The same way he always had. The same way he always would. The same he always did. But this time—

This time, you weren’t there to hear him run through the details, to see the frustration in his eyes when things went sideways. You were gone.

And that was the most fucked up part of it all.

Where had it all gone wrong? When had things shifted from predictable to catastrophic? What had gone wrong between your last breath and his desperate attempts to piece together every detail, every frame of this damn footage? How many more people did he have to lose before he could just accept it?

Tim’s hands tightened around the desk, nails digging into the cool surface, but his thoughts kept spiraling out of control. He should be used to this by now. Loss. Death. People getting torn away from him like everything was just so damn fragile. But no. He wasn’t used to it. No matter how many times he told himself he should be, no matter how many people he’d lost, he wasn’t.

It never got easier.

It was almost too much. Too much to bear, but it wouldn’t stop. The losses he faced just kept looping over and over again. The image of you, falling to the floor of that warehouse, blood pooling beneath you.

Tim exhaled shakily, his nails scraping against the desk as he forced himself to take another breath. His chest was tight, his ribs felt like they were caving in, like his own body was rejecting the sheer weight of everything. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop looking at you, frozen in time, caught in the endless cycle of your last moments.

The footage looped again. And again. And again.

His brain wouldn’t stop dissecting it, wouldn’t stop scrutinizing every movement, every frame, as if the sheer force of his obsession could change something. As if watching it just one more time would suddenly make it all make sense.

But it didn’t. It never did.

He slammed the replay button, forcing the video back to the start, watching as you darted through the shadows, your movements swift and efficient. You had been so sure of yourself. You had to be, because you wouldn’t have done this otherwise, right? You wouldn’t have gone in without backup unless you knew you could handle it. Unless you thought you had no other choice.

Right?

But why?

Why?

Why hadn’t you asked him for help? Or anyone else for the matter.

Tim dug the heel of his palm into his eye, as if he could press the questions out of his skull, force them into submission.

Hah. Who was he fooling?

He knew why.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

This wasn’t the first time you’d come to him with a lead, eyes sharp and voice brimming with certainty. You’d always been like that—so sure, so goddamn convinced that you were right. And most of the time?

You weren’t.

Tim had been the one to prove it almost every time, the one who always had to go back, retrace your steps, find the gaps in your logic, the flaws in your deductions. He’d been the one who had to clean up after you when things didn’t go the way you expected.

And this time—

This time, you had been right.

The realization hit him like a knife to the gut, twisting, tearing.

You had been right. You had exposed something big, something that should have been on their radar, something that had been festering in Gotham for longer than any of them had realized.

And it had cost you.

Tim’s hands trembled over the keyboard, his fingers curling into fists. That’s why he can’t blame you. That’s why he can’t let himself be angry at you.

Not really.

Because if it hadn’t been for you, this whole operation would have gone unnoticed. Would have slipped through the cracks, just like so many things before it.

You had forced them to see it.

And now Gotham was paying the price.

Now you had paid the price.

Tim gritted his teeth, his breath unsteady.

If you had just—

If you had just waited.

If you had just asked for help.

If you had just asked him for help.

His vision blurred for a moment, but he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or frustration or something worse. He swiped at his face, barely noticing the wetness on his fingers before his hand hovered over the keyboard again. He had to—

“Tim.”

The voice cut through the haze of his spiraling thoughts like a gunshot.

He barely reacted. His shoulders tensed, his gaze stayed locked on the screen, his fingers frozen above the keys.

“Tim.”

He heard her footsteps approaching, the sharpness in her tone laced with something else—exasperation, frustration. Concern.

He ignored it.

The footage replayed.

Again.

And again.

“Tim.”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t blink.

And then there was a hand on his shoulder, yanking him away from the screen, forcing him to look up, to register the anger, the exhaustion, the raw frustration carved into her expression.

Stephanie.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tim blinked at her, dazed, uncomprehending.

Stephanie’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening. “Are you even aware of what’s happening out there? Gotham is a fucking mess. And you’re down here—what? Watching the same damn footage on repeat? Watching (Name) die over and over again?? Like it’s going to change something?”

Tim’s fingers twitched. His throat felt dry, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “I have to—”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something harsher. “You don’t, Tim. You’re just—” She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ, do you even know where Damian is?”

That made Tim hesitate.

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Tim swallowed, his jaw locking. “I’m—”

“You’re what?” she cut in, voice sharp and furious. “Busy? Too busy staring at a screen, trying to—what? Bring her back? Figure out some convoluted explanation that makes this make sense?”

Tim flinched.

And Stephanie didn’t stop.

“Because guess what, Tim? It doesn’t make sense. It never makes sense. And you just sitting here, watching her die on repeat? Analysing her every move, every breath, every mistake? It’s not going to fix anything.”

Tim exhaled, slow and shaky, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second.

“Bruce, Jason and Damian are god knows where. Dick’s gone on a rampage. Cass and Duke are off on their own, trying to keep shit from burning down completely. Helena and Kate are out there trying to contain the damage—we had to call Dinah in because there aren’t enough of us—”

Her breath hitched, her voice shaking now, but she pushed forward, because Stephanie Brown didn’t stop when things got hard.

“And you? You’re here. Acting like this is going to change anything.”

Tim’s fingers curled into fists.

Stephanie shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes. “She’s gone, Tim.”

“She’s not gone.”

Tim’s breath was coming in quick, ragged bursts. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he wasn’t sure if it was from frustration or the way Stephanie was looking at him right now—like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“She’s not dead…!” His voice cracked, but he barely noticed. His hands slammed against the desk, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles went white. “She can’t be dead—she just—”

“Tim, do you even hear yourself right now?!” Stephanie snapped, stepping closer. “(Name) is dead! Dead, Tim! And you need to start—”

“No.” He shook his head, refusing to let her finish. “No, because what about all the other people we thought were dead? Superman. Bruce. Conner. Bart.” His voice was climbing now, chest heaving as his mind raced faster than his words. “And you—you, Stephanie. Every single one of you somehow came back to life, whether it was because you weren’t actually dead, or you were brought back by—”

“That’s not the same thing!” Stephanie’s voice was sharp, but Tim didn’t stop.

“It is the same thing!” His eyes were wide now, wild with something he didn’t know how to name. “Superman was literally killed, and what happened? He came back. Bruce—we buried him, and guess what? He wasn’t even dead! Conner—he died during Infinite Crisis and came back! Bart sacrificed himself during —” His breath hitched, and he barely held it together. “And you.” His voice was shaking now. “You faked your death, Steph. You let me and everyone think you were dead for months...! And yet—”

Stephanie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “But this is different, Tim! She’s different!”

“How?! How is this different?”

“Because she was shot, Tim!” Stephanie practically shouted, frustration burning in her chest. “She wasn’t resurrected by some Kryptonian regeneration matrix, or caught in some bullshit time displacement! She wasn’t lost in the timestream like Bruce, or cloned by some insane scientist, or mysteriously revived by the Speed Force! She was shot! Bullets went through her, Tim! There’s no coming back from that!”

Tim’s breath stuttered, but he clenched his jaw, shaking his head rapidly.

“No,” he muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Her suit was reinforced—there’s no way a bullet could have—”

“Because we weren’t prepared, Tim!” Stephanie cut in, her voice cracking. “She wasn’t prepared! Those bullets weren’t normal—those weren’t some cheap rounds from street dealers—they were made of promethium, Tim. Promethium. Her suit wasn’t designed to withstand that kind of impact.”

Tim faltered for half a second.

But it wasn’t enough.

“No.” His voice was flat, empty. “No, because if that’s true, then that means—” His breath hitched again, his fingers twitching over the keyboard. “That means she wasn’t supposed to die.” His voice grew distant, his mind racing through every scenario. “That means there was a way we could have stopped this. That means there was a way I could have—”

Stephanie’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“You always do this,” she seethed, voice shaking. “You always think it’s on you to fix everything—to stop everything before it happens.” Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. “Well, guess what, Tim? Not everything is your fault.”

Tim let out a humorless laugh, sharp and bitter. “Oh yeah? Because it sure as hell feels like it is.”

Stephanie inhaled sharply, rage flaring in her chest.

“She’s gone, Tim,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “And you’re sitting here acting like you’re the only one who lost her.”

Tim flinched at that.

She’s right.

How could she not be?

“You think you’re the only one hurting?” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who can’t believe she’s actually gone?” She shook her head, frustration bleeding into every word. “Newsflash, Tim—I can’t believe it either. None of us can.” Her breathing was uneven now, the weight of the past few days pressing down on her like a vice. “But you—” She exhaled sharply. “You and (Name)? You weren’t even close.”

Stephanie saw Tim stiffen, and she felt her throat tightened, but she didn’t stop. Even though she knew she didn’t have any right to say the next few words.

“I mean, I can’t even talk, right? Because it’s not like she and I were friends or anything. But whatever we had was at least something—more than whatever the hell was going on between you two.” She swallowed, voice thick with something she refused to name. “So why, Tim? Why are you acting like this? Like you’re the only one who lost her?”

Tim opened his mouth—then closed it.

Because she was right.

And he hated that she was right.

Because he didn’t know why.

Didn’t know why this loss felt different.

Didn’t know why it felt like he was suffocating on it.

Maybe because he had never taken loss well.

Maybe because every time he lost someone, it felt like another piece of him was being ripped away.

Maybe because he still wasn’t convinced.

Maybe because he still felt like there was a way to fix this.

Before he could say anything—before either of them could keep unraveling—a sharp, piercing alert rang through the cave, slicing through the air like a blade.

Stephanie jerked her head up, eyes narrowing. “What the hell was that?”

Tim’s entire body went rigid.

He turned to the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. His heart pounded against his ribs, his stomach twisting. His eyes scanned the system logs—

And then he froze.

Stephanie immediately stepped closer. “Tim?”

Tim didn’t move.

“Tim.”

Nothing.

Then, slowly—so slowly—he turned to look at her. His expression was unreadable.

“…That’s the alert Bruce installed at the graveyards.”

Stephanie felt her stomach drop.

“What?”

Tim swallowed, his throat dry, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s an alert that goes off whenever someone is digging up the graves.”

Stephanie’s breath caught in her throat.

And then—

Tim clenched his jaw.

“The alert that just sounded… was for (Name)’s grave.”

The Batcave was silent.

Not the kind of silence that came with solitude, nor the kind that settled between brief moments of stillness.

No—this silence was suffocating.

Not in the literal sense—there was no smoke, no lack of oxygen, no pressing physical force keeping them in place. But the weight in the air, the way it clung to their skin and settled in their bones, made it impossible to ignore.

It was the kind of silence that pressed against their ribs like iron bars, the kind that wrapped itself around their throats and made it hard to breathe. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t truly silent at all—because beneath it, there was tension, rage, a storm waiting to break.

The only sounds were the quiet hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous walls. Even the bats that lurked in the high crevices seemed to hold their breath.

It had been silent since they got back.

Not the comfortable silence of routine, not the practiced quiet of soldiers working in tandem, but a silence teetering—on the edge of something irreversible, something that could snap at any second.

Bruce had yet to turn around.

His back remained to them, shoulders squared, posture impossibly still, and yet—somehow, in some unnatural way, he still managed to command the entire room. Still made every breath feel like it had to be earned, like speaking out of turn might shatter something fragile and irreparable.

But the silence couldn’t last forever.

Bruce’s voice, when it finally came, was low and sharp as a blade.

“Damian.”

His name cut through the air like a blade.

Damian inhaled sharply, but he did not falter.

His shoulders squared, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw locked in a way that made his teeth ache, and he forced himself to meet Bruce’s gaze when his father finally turned around.

“Why did you do it?” Bruce’s hands had curled into fists at his sides.

“I had to take a chance.”

The words left him before he could second-guess them, before he could even consider any other way to phrase it. As if putting it any other way would make a difference. As if making it sound more reasonable, more calculated, more understandable would change anything.

Bruce’s stare didn’t waver.

His response was immediate.

“No.” His voice was harsher now, dangerously close to breaking. “This isn’t the way.”

The words were spoken like a fact. As if there was no arguing it, as if the conversation should have ended right there, as if Damian had already lost.

But he hadn’t.

Because this wasn’t about right or wrong.

This wasn’t about rules.

This was about you.

“Why not?”

His voice came sharper this time, cracking through the space between them, pushing against the weight of Bruce’s certainty, forcing something else into the silence. Something raw. Something desperate.

“I had to take a chance.”

He had to.

He had to.

Bruce inhaled, slow and measured, before exhaling just as steadily.

When he spoke again, his voice was still calm.

Unshaken.

And somehow, that only made it worse.

“(Name) is dead, Damian.”

A sharp breath.

His stomach twisted violently.

His body tensed, his nails pressing so hard into his palms that the sting barely even registered. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, but outwardly, he refused to react.

He refused.

“She’s not—”

“Damian.”

Bruce’s voice cut through his own, and the finality in it sent something cold shooting down his spine.

But he shoved it down.

He wouldn’t accept this.

He couldn’t.

Damian’s hands curled into fists. “Then I should have gotten her to the pit sooner.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Then how does it work, Father?” Damian snapped, his voice cutting through the cave like a whip. “Tell me—tell me how it makes any sense that Jason could be revived but not—” His voice caught for half a second, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. “Not her.”

Bruce didn’t answer immediately.

And that silence—it was almost worse than anything he could have said.

“That was different.”

Damian’s fists clenched.

“How?”

Bruce inhaled again, and something in the way he did it—something so controlled, so deliberate—made Damian’s stomach twist even further.

“Jason wasn’t brought back to life by the Lazarus Pit.” His voice was firm, but there was something almost reluctant in the way he spoke, like he didn’t want to explain this. Like saying it out loud would make something real. “The pit only restored his mind. It erased the damage. That’s different from what you tried to do.”

The words felt like they didn’t make sense.

Like they didn’t fit.

Like they shouldn’t exist.

Like they should be impossible.

But Bruce—

His father was saying them like they were true.

Something shifted.

Something small.

But Damian noticed.

Bruce stopped speaking, his sentence left unfinished, hanging in the air like a rope about to snap.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

His jaw tightened—just slightly, just barely.

His mind raced—whirring, unraveling, dissecting—because it should have worked.

He had done everything right.

He dug you out of your grave, broke through the dirt with his own two hands. He had brought you to the only Lazarus Pit in Gotham, he dragged your lifeless form across the damp cavern floors. He had submerged you into the emerald waters, the same way his mother had shown him, the same way it had worked before.

But nothing happened.

The pit remained still.

The water glowed, but it did not churn, did not surge with life.

It removed the scars you’ve gotten over the years. But that was it.

You—

you did not wake up.

You remained still. Cold. Gone.

Why?

Why didn’t it work?

It should have worked.

Unless—

A voice rang in his ears.

His mother’s voice.

“The Lazarus Pit restores the body to its perfect condition—before death.”

Before death.

Is that why?

Is that why the Lazarus Pit didn’t work?

Jason was barely alive—barely sane—when he was thrown into the pit.

But he was alive.

And you—

You weren’t.

Damian couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t bear to say it.

No.

No, he refused to accept that.

You couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Not this easily. Not this pathetically.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.

Something inside him cracked.

“You knew.”

The words felt like an accusation.

Bruce didn’t deny it.

Damian’s hands shook.

“You knew it wouldn’t work, didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, but it carried through the cave like a gunshot.

Bruce still didn’t deny it.

“You knew, and you still let me—”

Damian felt himself faltering. He felt the words get caught in his throat.

“You still let me dig her up.”

His throat tightened, and he felt something press down on his chest, something suffocating, something that refused to let him breathe properly.

“You let me take her to the Lazarus Pit. You let me think it would work—”

Bruce inhaled, slow and even. “You needed to see for yourself.”

Damian’s vision blurred for half a second.

Then he snapped.

“That’s bullshit.”

Bruce remained still.

“You wanted me to fail.”

Bruce remained silent.

“You wanted me to see—” His breath hitched. “That she was really—”

He couldn’t say it.

Because if he said it—if he let himself even breathe those words—

It would be real.

Damian couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t accept it.

Because how could he?

When you had died such a meaningless death?

When you had gone out like that?

He hadn’t gone to your funeral.

Hadn’t watched them lower you into the ground.

Hadn’t stood beside the rest of them, listening to empty condolences and meaningless words.

No.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he refused to accept that you were really gone.

Because you had always been so stubborn.

So reckless.

Because you shouldn’t have died like that.

Because you should have let them help you.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But who was he to say that?

When he was just like you.

Stubborn. Reckless in his own way.

Just as self-destructive.

And it was eating him alive.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Damian’s eyes snapped toward Tim.

Tim, who had been standing quietly until now.

Tim, who looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Tim, who had alerted Bruce—who had found Damian at the Lazarus Pit, alongside Stephanie.

Damian let out a sharp scoff. “Huh.” He tilted his head, voice dripping with something venomous. “And what would you know?”

Tim’s expression flickered—just for a second.

“More than you think.”

Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “No. You wouldn’t.”

Tim exhaled sharply. “You think you knew her.” His voice was low, measured, but it wavered slightly. “But you didn’t.”

Damian’s chest tightened. “And you did?”

Tim’s hands curled into fists.

Damian let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You hated her.”

Tim stiffened. His jaw clenched.

“No, I didn’t.”

The words were immediate. Unshaken.

And somehow, they hit harder than anything else so far.

“You never even acknowledged her.”

“Yes I did—“

“Well I suppose it wasn’t enough apparently.”

Tim’s breath stilled, his shoulders locking, his throat bobbing in a way that Damian almost wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“Well you pushed her away every chance you got,” Tim shot back, voice sharp, words cutting. “So don’t act like you actually cared.”

Damian’s fingers twitched.

“I did care.”

Tim exhaled, bitter.

“Yeah? She definitely knew that for sure.”

Damian froze.

His breath hitched.

You knew.

You had to know.

Didn’t you?

Even when he had insulted you, even when he had been a complete bastard—

Even when he was cruel, even when he acted like you were nothing but a nuisance, even when he never said anything—

You had to have known.

Didn’t you?

Didn’t you?

“I had to take this chance,” Damian said, quieter, breath uneven, hands shaking. “Because she was my sister.”

Tim’s expression flickered.

And then—

“She was my sister too.”

The words left Tim before he could stop them.

Before he could even think.

Everything stopped. The words lingered in the air, sinking into the silence like a blade buried deep into flesh.

She was my sister, too.

Tim hadn’t meant to say it.

Hadn’t planned it.

Hadn’t even thought about it before the words just left his mouth, before they hit the space between them, before they cut into something raw, something real, something he hadn’t even let himself acknowledge until it was already too late.

His own breath caught, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his pulse hammering against his skull as if his own body was trying to reject what he’d just said.

Because why now?

Why was he only saying it now?

Why was he only acknowledging it when you were already—

His throat locked up.

Damian’s fingers twitched.

His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, as if to say something, but no words came out.

The air between them was thick, suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on Tim’s ribs so hard that he felt like he could barely breathe. His heartbeat was uneven, erratic, like his own body didn’t know how to process what had just happened.

“You don’t get to say that.”

Damian’s voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

Tim exhaled sharply, his jaw locking. “What?”

Damian’s shoulders squared, his arms stiff at his sides, his fingers still shaking even as he clenched them into fists. His breathing had turned uneven, almost unsteady, but his voice—his voice was sharp.

“You don’t get to say that.”

Tim scoffed, shaking his head, but he felt something tightening in his chest.

“I don’t get to say that?” His voice came out bitter, biting, but his own hands were trembling slightly now. “(Name) was my sister too, Damian. That’s just a fact.”

Damian’s breath stilled.

For a split second, his body went completely still.

“Then why did you treat her like she wasn’t?”

Tim’s chest clenched. His breath hitched.

Damian took a step closer, voice cutting deeper, something sharp in his expression, something broken in his stare.

“Why did you act like she didn’t matter? Like she wasn’t even worth your time? Why did you act like she—”

His breath stuttered for half a second, something cracking through his voice before he forced it back down.

“You pushed her away.”

Tim clenched his teeth. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Damian’s hands twitched.

“I never pushed her away.”

“You shut her out,” Tim snapped, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You resented her.”

Damian’s stomach twisted.

“I did not.”

“You didn’t care about her when she was alive.”

“I did.”

“You barely even acknowledged her—”

“I did not hate her.”

“But now you suddenly care?” Tim let out a bitter laugh. “Now, suddenly, she’s your sister?”

“She is my sister,” Damian snapped. “And you don’t get to say otherwise.”

Tim’s breath hitched.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

Because that—

That wasn’t the same thing.

That wasn’t—

“That’s not what I said.”

Damian’s nails dug into his palms.

“Yeah, but it’s what you meant.”

Tim inhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides, something thick in his throat that he didn’t want to name.

He shook his head, exhaling, his breath uneven. “You think I—”

“You think I hated her?” Damian cut in, voice sharp, voice dangerous. “You think I would have wannted her to die? You really think that’s what I wanted all this time??”

Tim clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Really?”

Damian took another step forward, his body tense, his posture unreadable, his fingers curled into fists like he was trying so hard to keep himself steady, to keep himself from doing anything other than this.

“Then what are you saying?”

Tim exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to his side, something tight inside of him, something that was pressing too hard against his ribs, something that felt like it was clawing at his chest from the inside out.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Damian stilled.

“You keep saying that,” Damian said, voice tight, voice low, voice lined with something Tim couldn’t fully decipher. “Like you actually know what she wanted.”

Tim’s throat tightened.

“You didn’t know her, Drake.”

A beat of silence.

“You don’t get to say that,” Tim said, voice shaking with something raw. “You don’t get to act like you gave a damn about her when it actually mattered.”

Damian’s eyes burned.

“You don’t get to act like you knew her, either,” he shot back, his voice venomous. “You don’t get to tell me what she would have wanted—”

Tim let out a breathless laugh. “And you do?” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. “You think you had the right to drag her out of her grave and throw her into the Lazarus Pit because you couldn’t deal with it?”

Damian’s stomach churned. “Shut up.”

Tim stepped forward. “You think she would’ve wanted this?”

Damian’s nails dug into his palms.

And at that moment, Stephanie, who’d be silently listening to the entire argument, stepped forward. “Okay, that’s enough, guys—”

“You think she would’ve wanted to wake up in that pit—if she even could?” Tim’s voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t stop. “To wake up wrong?”

“No,” Tim interrupted, his voice raw. He stepped closer, his fists trembling at his sides. “You think you’re the only one who wanted her back?” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who couldn’t accept it?”

Damian exhaled sharply, looking away.

“You thiink you’re the only one who’s thought of dumping her in a Lazarus Pit, hoping that somehow—”

Tim’s breath caught.

He stopped.

Because he couldn’t say it either.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Would make it final.

That there really was no way of bringing you back to life.

And for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

“That’s enough.”

Bruce’s voice cut through the air, sharp, commanding, absolute.

Tim sucked in a breath.

Damian’s hands shook.

Silence.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. Almost unbearable.

Tim felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath still uneven, his body still tense from the argument—no, from the fight. Because that’s what this was.

Damian wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles had turned white, his shoulders were stiff, his breath was shallow, and his entire posture was wound so tightly that Tim thought he might just snap.

But he wouldn’t.

Not in front of Bruce.

Bruce, who had spoken with finality, whose voice had cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make even Damian shut up.

Tim swallowed, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply, trying—failing—to let go of the tension clawing at his chest. His other hand clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm, grounding him, steadying him, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Damian still wasn’t looking at him.

He wasn’t looking at Bruce either.

He was staring straight ahead, at the cave floor, at something that wasn’t even there, his entire body locked up, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—

And then his gaze shifted.

Just barely.

Tim saw the exact moment his eyes landed on your body.

—or, at least, where your body should have been.

You were still there.

Your body was still there.

They had laid you down. Covered you up with a white sheet. Tim hadn’t been the one to do it—he didn’t even know who had done it, if it was Bruce, or Stephanie, or if they had both done it together, but he knew it hadn’t been him.

He hadn’t looked.

Not really.

He hadn’t let himself.

Damian’s fingers twitched.

His breathing hitched.

And then, before anyone could say anything—before Bruce could look at him, before Tim could process anything, before Stephanie could even move—

Damian turned and stormed out of the cave.

His boots struck the floor hard, fast, and then he was gone.

Stephanie opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it.

Bruce was already turning back toward the Batcomputer, already refocusing, already shutting down, because that was what he did. That was how he functioned.

Tim exhaled sharply.

The tension in his chest was still there.

Still suffocating.

Still unbearable.

He thought back to what he’d said. Thought back to what Damian did.

And Tim hated how he would’ve done the exact same thing Damian did if he were given the chance to.

Hated he was just like Damian in that sense.

Without a word, without a look, without a second thought—

Tim turned and left, too.

The alley reeked of rain-soaked asphalt and cigarette smoke, the kind that clung to the air long after the ember had burned out. A flickering streetlamp cast jagged shadows against the crumbling brick, the light barely reaching past the fog curling along the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—short-lived, swallowed by the city’s restless hum.

Then came the scratch of a lighter, a brief glow illuminating a worn trench coat, a sharp inhale followed by a slow exhale, smoke drifting through the damp air.

“Well, ain’t this a bloody mess.”

woops… 😬 heyyy guys…!! 🫣 did y’all miss me HAHA. this was definitely long overdue… i think i probably gave yall trust issues 😭 actual chapter 7 will be out at utc+8 12am on 14 Feb 🥰

taglist is closed ‼️(i’ll think about opening it again soon 🤫)

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[revelboo]

my dear revel! i kindly ask for some crumbs to cheer up! just had a major slap in the face with my valentine backing out on me last moment and would like a bit of positivity:,D

Sure! I’m also in the lonely hearts club this year, so I get it

Tarn Scenario

Tarn x Reader

• Servos ghosting against the back of your neck, there’s something fascinating with how fragile you are. The feel of your heart beating against him as he lays on his back under you, mass shifted to be closer to your size. The blasphemy of all of this. Of wanting, needing you near him when he shouldn’t want anything to do with an organic. Shouldn’t care about you at all. And you shift on top of him, a leg sliding against his inner thigh as he threads his servos into your hair. Waiting on those sleepy eyes to open for him.

• Yawning as his servos gently fist in your hair, you brush your mouth against the warm mesh of his neck. “Five more minutes,” you mumble when his other hand slides down your spine to cup your butt. And squeezes to make you squirm against him, eyes opening to find those red optics watching you from behind his mask. Still not trusting you with his real face and you feel that rejection twist through you over and over.

• “Lazy human,” he growls affectionately, stilling as you sit up on him and just lean over, forehead against his mask. Eyes inches from his optics. Tensing, he waits for you to make a grab for his mask. To anger him again. Instead you just close your eyes and don’t move. “I know you’re not asleep again.” Hears you mumble what sounds suspiciously like ‘five more minutes’ again even though he still has no idea how long a minute is.

• He’s warm under you and you just want to curl against him. Be held in his arms. Pretend that this is okay and not so broken between you. How many times has he fucked you and you still don’t know what’s under that mask? That need to see tempered with the fear of making him angry again. Because you remember the last time. What he’d done to you back before you could even understand each other. He’d nearly killed you he’d been so angry and part of you still fears him even now. You’ve never tried to bring up what had happened. Never asked about it because you don’t want him that angry with you ever again.

• Your head lifts and he’s not sure what that expression is, but he doesn’t like it. He’s seen it before, more than once and it twists unpleasantly through his spark every time. “What is it, little human?” Rubbing a servo against your jaw before catching your chin when you won’t look him in the optics. And you lash out grabbing his hand, tensing. Fear. You’re afraid of him? “Talk to me.”

• He won’t let go, those optics narrowing behind his mask and you push at his hand as your heart begins to race. Will he get angry if you don’t answer? Will he punish you again? And you don’t even realize you’re crying until he frowns and runs a servo against your cheek, venting softly. Sitting up and gathering you to him. You can’t stop trembling when he bands his arms around you and rests his chin on top of your head. Unable to say a word as he just holds you and begins softly singing to you, his voice deep and beautiful even though you can’t understand what he’s singing.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

beauty and the beast

a/n: ahhh here it is! february's poll fic! hope you all enjoy the twisted tale it became!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 

summary: sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…” 

warnings: beast/werewolf!bucky barnes x reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, fairytale retelling, soulmate au, prisoner x captive, predator x prey, monsterfucking, magical castle (except it's alive in the sense that bucky can control it because of the curse), violence, references to murder, bondage, dirty talk, size difference, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, manhandling, knotting, overstimulation, oral, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie 

word count: 3505

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Your lungs burned as you dashed through the cold castle, your cloak billowing behind you as you tried to navigate the dark halls. 

But as you whipped your head around in your frantic search, your eyes caught sight of a dusty portrait on the wall that stunned you to your very core and momentarily caused you to forget about the vital matters at hand. 

Though scratched up by angry streaks, you still recognised the face that the painting portrayed. Although you had never met him, it was still the visage of the very man who had haunted your dreams for as long as you could remember. You’d never previously known if the man of noble birth had been real or just a figment of your imagination, though his tormented life, and the terrors he’d had to endure every month when the moon above became the prince’s master, had flickered in your mind almost every night.

A distant scream then rang out high up in the eastern tower and echoed through the castle till it found your ears and ripped you away from your discovery. 

Darting down the dim hall and up a winding stone staircase, you soon found the elderly man you’d left your little village to find, bolted and locked away in a freezing cell.

“Papa!” you cried out as you lunged forward and grasped the iron bars dividing you both. 

Achingly pushing himself up to his feet, he scurried closer and gasped, “what are you doing here?” his eyes as big as saucers. 

“Getting you home,” you felt a tear roll down your cheek before your fingers brushed over your father’s knobbly ones, “oh, papa, how did this happen?” 

“No, darling, listen to me, you must leave here at once, it isn’t safe,” he urged in a hushed tone as his eyes darted to the shadows behind you, “go! Run away before he finds you!” 

“Who?” you asked, but before your dad could be the one to fill you in, a low growl rumbled throughout the space. Spinning around, you glanced around the darkness, “who’s there?”

“Oh no…” your father whimpered, “he’s back…”

Keeping a hand clutched over your dad’s, you sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “let my father go!”

“The very least that thief deserves is to rot in a cell,” a deep voice chilled your bones, though your wild eyes still couldn’t find the source. 

“Thief?” you panted, “no, he would never–, it has to be a misunderstanding–”

“He stole a rose,” a trickle ran down your spine as you recalled what flower you had requested for your father to bring back home for you, “it was this sentence or death.”

“You truly demand a life for a rose?” your eyes continued to dart through the darkness. 

“Please, darling–,” your dad begged you to stop, though you swiftly cut his efforts short. 

“Let me take his place,” you pleaded. Keeping your gaze twisted away, you flinched as your father’s protests seeped through the metal bars, “I was the one who asked for the flower, so I should be the one taking the penance.” 

A low snarl rumbled in the night as the unseen figure thought it over, though as he did, he shifted just enough for you to make out the faint silhouette of him, huge and hulking, unlike any man you’d ever seen before. 

But instead of offering you his verdict in words, he instead, by some mystical means beyond your comprehension, unlocked the cell door by his sheer will. 

As it creaked open with a loud groan, you rushed in and threw your arms around your father. 

“I can’t let you do this,” he stated, pulling back from the hug. 

“It’s going to be alright,” you tried to assure him, though tears still streamed down your face, “I love you.” 

“No, darling, no–,” he continued to protest, before a massive arm suddenly reached out of the shadows and snatched up your father by the scruff of his neck, “ah!” the old man screamed as his captor dragged him out of the cell.

“Don’t hurt him!” you tried to follow, but the iron door was slammed shut in your face, “please!”

Halting at your words for but a moment as the broad figure began to accent the stone steps, pulling your father after him like a burlap sack, he muttered in a low tone, “silly peasant girl…” the moonlight streaming in from one of the small windows caught and illuminated him just enough for you to discover that he wasn’t a human at all, “you should have just run away when you had the chance…” 

Curled up in the corner of the cold cell, you shivered violently as you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, though swiftly jumped as you suddenly heard a pair of heavy footsteps stomping up the winding staircase. 

As you scurried to crawl even further away from the dungeon door, the towering beast appeared once again on the other side. 

“Eat,” he growled after he’d kicked a plate in through the sliver of space at the bottom of the door. 

Your stare only flickered down at the stale bread and the tankard of water for a mere moment before it darted back up to the monster before you. 

“Who are you?” you gathered the courage to ask, “what are you?” though the beast didn’t bother entertaining your questions, only grumbled quietly before he shifted back towards the steps, “please,” you called after him, “I’m already your prisoner, what harm could a few questions do?”

Stopping in his tracks, he let out a heavy sigh, “more than you’d think,” before he disappeared from your sight. 

A painful gasp filled up your lungs as you snapped awake, swiftly shooting up to a sitting position. 

It had seemed so real… the careful seduction honeyed enough to make your core throb even now, to the loss of control and blind rage that swiftly followed each disappointment…

Though you knew it just to be a figment of your imagination, you still trembled at the possibility of it being true. Princesses, more than you could recall, had all, one by one, been taken to this castle. The gentle side of the beast that he had granted them each the privilege of witnessing nearly scared you with how efficiently it had not only wooed them, but also had made your own heart confused for even but a moment. 

Though after he had carried them off to bed and made love to them in a manner you could quite literally only dream about, something, unbeknownst to you, would cease to take a hold, a failure that each time would cause the monster to snap, and in the mindless frenzy, he would accidentally take the royal’s lives, each and every time. 

Panting as you tried to calm your rapid pulse, your weary eyes finally noticed the shadow lurking on the other side of your cell. 

“Are you gonna kill me like you did with all of those princesses?” you hesitantly asked in a hushed tone. 

Shifting his weight, he slowly tilted closer and uttered darkly, “how do you know about that?” 

“Are you?” you insisted, “because then you might as well just get it over with instead of drawing it out–”

“No!” he roared, “you’re no good use to me dead,” his beastly head then tilted, “but if that’s what you wish, then…”

Sucking in a breath, your stare stayed glued on him before you muttered, “depends on what you’re planning to do with me…” 

“Well, since you don’t have any blue blood running through your veins, you aren’t what I need. But perhaps I can still find some use of you. Maybe, if one day you change,” or more like break, “forget about that meaningless life you had before and grow loyal to me, then you could live out the rest of your days as my servant, assist me with whatever I may require.”

“Like getting you more royals to murder? I won’t help you with that,” you dared to stand your ground, “is that also what happened to the man in the paintings downstairs, the ones that are all scratched up? Did you kill him too, just to have his castle?”

Your words caused the creature’s features to get muddled as he then blinked, “I didn’t–…” swallowing hard, his jaw clenched before he continued, “he’s not dead, not yet at least. Though I fear he doesn’t have much time left.” 

“Can I see him?” you heard your own heartbeat thump in your ears, “I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might, some way, somehow, be able to help him.”

Staring back at you, the monster then uttered, “…you’re staring at him,” causing you to seize up in shock before you slowly heard him say, “prince James Barnes,” he introduced himself, though with a hesitancy as if the memory of his own name had begun to fade away, “though everyone always used to just call me Bucky.” 

Scarcely breathing, you uttered, “what happened to you?” 

Averting his gaze, he began to explain, “…I’ve always had this affliction, ever since I was but a child, each time the moon would stand full and proud in the night sky, I would change, lose control… I was young and dumb… hunted the wrong doe…” he uttered, though the way he phrased it made you think he wasn’t speaking of a deer at all, “so now, instead, I am cursed to live like this each day that doesn’t bear the same full moon I used to fear, slowly losing my myself with every month that passes, becoming less human and forgetting about those ways… if I do not break the curse before the next eclipse, then I will be stuck like this forever,” he shared before he added with a growl, “so, yes, I would greatly appreciate it if you helped me find some more royals since I am running out of time.” 

“That’s what you need to break the curse? A princess?”

“Not just any princess,” his head slowly shook from side to side, “the day that spell was cast, it was prophesied that she would be the only one who could save me. So, she became linked to me. But, perhaps out of fear, or greed, or something else, her kingdom hid her away from even themselves,” he exhaled, “and I still haven’t been able to find her, no matter where I look–…” his sentence then melted away as you shifted slightly and the sleeve of your dress dropped down just a tad from where the hem had been resting on your shoulder. In the low light, the beast spotted just the very crescent of the birthmark that was now visible, poking out of your neckline “…what is that?” he whispered before willing the door, that kept you both separated, to swing open. 

You stumbled back as he slowly strode in, “what is what?” 

“That,” he then ripped down your sleeve, the seams slightly tearing from the force. Petrified, you didn’t move an inch as he stared at the moon-like shape on your skin, “…you’re–…” his breath sounded ragged as he pieced the mystery together, “you’re her…” his eyes then flickered up to find your own. 

“I’m–,” your breath got caught in your throat, “sorry?” 

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he breathed, “you came to me,” the corners of his lips faintly twisted at his spellbound amazement, “you finally came to me.” 

“I came here to free my father,” you swiftly corrected him. 

“Your Highness, that thief wasn’t your kin. Did you truly not know?” he uttered, “don’t worry, I will never lie to you as they did, you have my word.”

“I thought I was your prisoner, and now you want to–, what, love me?” 

Sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…” 

Your eyes then flickered towards the cell door he’d left agape, and before you could even weigh out the odds, you seized the opportunity and darted out. 

“What are you–, no, no!” he roared from behind you before you heard his thunderous steps nip at your heels. 

Running down the stairs, you nearly slipped countless of times before you reached the bottom. As you stormed through the castle as fast as your freezing feet could take you, screeches cut through your panting as all manner of furniture, large and small, magically came soaring through the air in attempts at slowing you down or blocking your path. 

“Stop!” you heard him behind you, though didn’t have the courage to glance back to discover how close he was as he chased you and continued to fling items towards you at his will, only narrowly missing your form, “you will not escape, not when I finally have you!” 

But when you finally reached the bottom of the grand staircase that led down into the entrance hall, eyes glued to the exit, Bucky then lunged down the latter half of the steps and tackled you to the ground. 

Wind knocked clean out of your lungs, your body ached from the collision. The stone floor was cold beneath you as his weight pinned you down against it. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that…” he panted in your ear, his laboured breath causing your hair to rustle, “I was gonna be all nice and gentle with you, just as I was with the other princesses, but I can’t have you slipping away again.”

His hulking form then peeled away from you, though only to seize your hips swiftly enough for escape to never be an option. Yanking you up off the ground till your bottom was propped up high, yet your upper half stayed plastered to the floor, his wide hands raked over your frame before a claw caught onto the fabric of your dress. 

Once your clothing was ripped to shreds and scattered across the castle’s entryway, his grasp encircled your hips as his thumbs stretched out to spread you open for him. 

Your toes curled as he then began to lap at your core, tickling your clit till your cunt couldn’t help but leak for him. The beastly tongue was long and just as strong as the other muscles in Bucky’s body, making you quiver as it greedily explored your holes. 

But when the cursed prince’s patience ran thin, he didn’t hesitate to let himself straighten up behind you and nudge his length against your core. Without even catching a glance of it, the sear weight of his girth as he briefly tapped it against your glossy folds sent a shiver down your spine. As he buried his monstrous cock inside of you, instantly bullying it much further than you thought plausible, your mind went blank as your body struggled to accommodate for his inhuman size. 

Fear swiftly magnified within you at the thought that he might break you, since that was what it felt like as he split you open.

“O-oh shit, little one…” he groaned as he tried to draw back out, though when only the tip of him remained, your tightness clung around the bulbous head too fiercely to let it escape. A yelp bubbled out of you as he had to put his might into it, letting out a grunt as he forced himself out with an audible pop, watching as your poor pussy gaped for a second before achingly clenching around nothing. 

When he sank back into you, the ruthless rhythm he then initiated caused your body to shake violently beneath him as his rough thrusts were too intense for what your form was used to.  

“Quit fucking squirming, princess,” each word was punctuated by a buck as he mercilessly drove his fat cock into you, “fucking take it or I’ll just eat you instead.”

On the next thrust that rocked your body, your wobbly knees finally gave out, though the drop barely affected the monster’s pace as he only followed and blanketed you with his form. 

Weakly, your fingers shakily snaked up above your head before they began to claw at the ground in a hopeless attempt at crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” one of his massive palms came down over the back of your head to shove you back down against the floor, holding you there as his glance then flickered to the curtains close by. Jaggedly, the fabric then fluttered alive and came flying through the air to obey his wish. Slithering over, they first tangled themselves around both your wrists, yanking them up high till your arms were completely stretched out against the floor, before another curtain then slipped around your torso, just beneath the swell of your tits, to keep you that much further trapped. 

Slamming his dick even further inside of you, he tried to ram the bulbous knot at the base of his cock inside of your warmth, but no matter how hard he thrust, it just wouldn’t pop in. Though as he kept up his efforts, it kept on hitting your puffy pearl at every failed attempt, soon rendering you to gush around his fat girth as he continued to rut into you till you were crying out at the overstimulation. 

Pinned down and mind melted, your blurry vision found the painting on the wall of Bucky’s true form, the very prince you had dreamt about your whole life and put up on some pedestal as someone to yearn for. Though as you stared at the portrait, it was then that you noticed his eyes, and you finally began to lose yourself. They were the only thing that hadn’t changed about the beast that still buried himself inside of you. Eyes that you had previously fallen in love with… eyes that you perhaps still were in love with… 

Suddenly, the curtains around you tightened before you were flipped all the way around. Head spinning, you blinked up at Bucky as he pushed himself back till he was kneeling between your trembling legs. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as he grasped your hips and lifted them up off the ground, rubbing your drooling pussy messily against his leaking tip before his hardness caught your entrance and he slipped back in. 

Sinking you down onto him, a low groan of elation rumbled in his throat as his big knot finally popped inside. His thick fingers dented your hips as his efforts paused for a moment as he let himself revel in the sensation of your cunt clenching around all of him.

As his movements picked back up again, lewd and sloppy pops sounded each time he fucked his knot in and out of you, repeatedly making you take it and stretch your tiny hole out for him. 

As your eyes drifted down, they caught sight of just how intimidating his size truly was, for if you had seen it before, there would have been no way in hell you would have thought your body was capable of taking it. 

Your messy cream stained his knot as he continued to bring you down against him, fucking you as if you were just a toy in his grasp. It was then that you spotted the bulge that appeared in your belly, though it still took you a moment to realise that it was the thrusting imprint of his jarring size, visible for all to witness. It was so staggeringly pronounced that it caused you to unravel once more for him, your squirt that leaked around his cock only caused the beast to grow more feral and snap his hips up to meet your own each time he drove your body down against him. 

His heavy balls slapped against your slick skin as he repeatedly bumped against your sore cervix, nearly piecing his way through it as he brought you down one last time before he finally tumbled over the edge himself, pumping you full of so much cum that it began to leak out of your stuffed hole before he was even finished. 

And then, while he was panting above you and still plugging up your poor pussy, a bright light appeared and set his body aflame in an ethereal glow. 

You had to narrow your eyes to a squint as the beast’s visage began to melt away before you, till he wasn’t a beast no more, and only the man of your dreams remained hovering above you. 

Staring down at his hands with wide eyes, Bucky turned his palms a couple of times before he gasped, “it worked! I can’t believe it actually–, I’m human again!” before his teary vision found you below him, “and all because of you! You–, oh…” he then melted down against you, a bright smile shining on his face as he uttered, “thank you,” and worshipingly pressed his lips to your skin. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[kirbmey]

psycho killer zayne !

💌: this won’t suit everyone, veeeery graphic descriptions of torture, gore, etc. it was inspired by american psycho, so you get an idea. don’t like it? leave, block me, whatever.

the relationship you had with zayne was soft, quiet and intimate. he was such a sweetheart to you, truly.

for example, calling you when he had a break between surgery and surgery, checking on you and asking you the most caring questions with a lovely tender voice.

“honey, how are you? I just got out of the operating room. couldn’t stop thinking about you since I left this morning.” he confessed in a tender manner, holding the phone between his head and shoulder while he took off his surgical gloves, sitting on a random chair in an empty hallway.

you expected his calls, always. pacing around his house impatiently, dressed in his big shirts as you sat by the window, looking at the city lights from above as you two held the conversation in almost whispers.

“you shouldn’t think of me when someone’s life is at risk, silly.” you giggled softly, placing your head in the hand you rested on the windowsill, viewing the streets you always walked next to your lover while holding hands. “I miss you, want you here with me.” you added with a pout taken over your lips.

the line went silent for a second as zayne started to come up with ways to excuse the reason why he wouldn’t make it home for tonight. “my dear, I miss you too, more than you can imagine. but I have to cover my colleague for the night, I won’t make it home today.” you were the silent one now, feeling the sadness you were too familiar with creep to your heart.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’ll make it up to you.” he stated after waiting for a response that never came, fidgeting with the discarded glove as he expected your sweet voice to reassure him from the other side of the line.

you shut your eyes in an attempt to make the tears roaming around your eyes disappear. “it’s fine, don’t worry. don’t forget to rest a bit and eat, please?” he hummed as a response to your request, keeping up the conversation until he has to leave, saying goodbye with a warm ‘I love you’ to which you replied the classic ‘I love you too’.

you would never know, but he was doing this for you, to protect you.

protect you from the zayne you had no relationship with at all, the one you never met. and will never meet.

you see, zayne’s always been a calm guy, so put together and collected. he always knew how to handle any complex situation, any angry patient, any of your tantrums complaining about not spending enough time together.

you thought you’ve already met the unleashed zayne when he fucked you for the first time, distancing from the caring one you loved. how he pounded into your cervix so fast, how he slapped across your face after spitting on your mouth, how he spoke those mean words in such a condescending manner, as if he was making you a favor. you loved this zayne as well.

that was all the mean he could get to you, when he felt like fucking you instead of making love to you. and you never worried too much about it either, he didn’t mean those words, he wasn’t like that.

your zayne wasn’t like that.

the zayne stalking behind a woman your exact age to push a cloth over her mouth and put her to sleep so he could lock her in a filthy basement was like that.

he doesn’t know why or when those thoughts started to mess up with his mind, but he got off to them. the image of women crying in fear, begging for their lives as blood covered their oh so beautiful breasts was better than any porn video online.

and hey, he’s been doing this for a while now, even before you two met. but his little sweet angel only made it worse, because now you were the one he imagined crying and begging, covered in blood. and he was scared as he didn’t want to hurt you like that, in a permanent way. not in a kinky way, in a deathly way.

he wished he could kill you again, again and again, and then make you come back to life to kill you once more. he wanted to take care of you in the tenderest way possible and wanted to kill you in the filthiest way possible too.

so he started to murder more often, and he got crueler each time. the latest victim in front of him, oh poor soul, was going to be a witness to the zayne you’ll never know.

the girl in front of his broad figure stood naked with both her wrists tied to the ceiling with the roughest rope ever made, making the soft skin brake into small droplets of blood.

zayne fucking loved blood.

she stir awake, her eyes adjusting to the white light as her heartbeat raced faster each passing second, screaming for help and squirming around to try and break free form the restraints.

“my fucking god, why you whores always react the same way?” he spoke calmly as he approached her shaky form, grabbing a fistful of her hair to then slap her, not even close as the kind of slaps he gave you, making the girl shut up instantly as she started crying and apologizing.

zayne couldn’t care less about what she had to say, towering over her and fixated on the red liquid decorating her soft skin.

he had to touch it. smell it. taste it.

so he did, he leaned into her smaller frame, making her take a few steps back as he grabbed her arm to lick down on it, grunting when the metallic flavor covered his tongue. he got hard immediately.

he tasted it. now he needed to fuck into it.

“see? you can be silent for a while.” he chuckled lowly as he wiped the remains from his lips, turning around to grab a small cart hiding in the shadows and pull it in front of her, standing behind it. “but I’m afraid it won’t last—”

when she saw the contents of the silver platter on top of it she started crying and screaming once more. come on, it wasn’t so bad, was it?

his favorite scalpel with his name craved into the side, a sharp knife, a few nails next to a rusty hammer, a gun (boring) and a wrench.

lord, she didn’t even see the bat and machete in the lower shelf of the cart. how unconsiderate.

“I always let everyone choose, is the least I can do.” he clarified as he cleaned each of the tools before him with a cloth, pink with flowers. a gift you gave him; he carried a piece of you everywhere. “but don’t worry, dead or alive, you’ll test them all.”

after a little bit of pushing, yelling and cursing she chose the gun (he had to get rid of it, everyone chose the goddamn gun). he laughed wholeheartedly at her choice as he grabbed it and loaded it with a singular bullet.

he pushed the cart away to stand closer to her, filling her mouth with said cloth when her yelling got to his nerves. he always washed it after each job as he did with all of his tools, don’t worry. through and through a real and hygienic professional.

zayne traces the curve of her body with the head of the gun, palming himself through his briefs as he leaned down to whisper to her ear. “you think I’m gonna shoot you in the head and call it a day? after all the effort it took me to bring you here? no, no.” the gun stoped its travel, pointing at her tummy, caressing her bellybutton with it as he rubbed himself against his palm.

he held her head down to make her watch how he pressed the trigger, the bullet going trough her stomach. blood everywhere. now the fun part.

his white shirt was splashed with it, as his face, his hands, don’t even bother to think of how the wall behind her looked. everywhere he looked at, there was blood, red, warm blood.

zayne dropped the gun to the floor, grabbing her hips to bring her decaying body closer to him. he pulled the now bloody cloth out of her mouth before dropping it to the puddle next to the weapon, licking and kissing her crimson lips like a starving dog.

grunts and moans filled the four concrete walls as he rubbed his leaking tip against the hole in her tummy, tugging at the base as the foreskin feared to push a bit too much inside of said hole.

he didn’t even care about the now dead body in front of him, too busy breeding the wound after mere seconds. it was always like that, hard to get and fast to finish.

the other tools were used too, don’t worry. he had the time of his life that night.

and when he came back home to you, late at night when you were already fast asleep, after he burnt her and all of the possible evidence as he always did, he took a steamy shower, whistling full of joy, smiling at the dry blood converting the transparent water into that shade of pink you loved to then disappear down the drain.

you’d wake up shortly after with his dark and soft locks tickling your naked thighs as he nibbled at your clit and humped the mattress, offering you the best head he’d ever given to you. ever.

squirt all over his expensive sheets, over and over. so fucking wet, squelchy. warm, he needed more.

the sunlight met your lord knows what number orgasm, his jaw numb from all the effort and his mind cloudy because of the lack of sleep. “I love you, I love you.” he mumbled as he traced kisses from your thighs to your mouth, letting you taste the sweet nectar he got from you.

you’d ask him what’s gotten into him, he’d tell you he loves you once again.

your soft, quiet and intimate zayne loved you and wanted to take care of you.

the other zayne wanted to fucking kill you, stab you and beat you to death <3

let’s hope you never never ever meet him !

💌: yes i love patrick bateman and gore, I’m just a girl >_<

[witchyliterature]

GOOD AND PLENTY; K.B

witchy tip

➤ love spells work better when cast during a waxing moon or a new moon as it symbolises new beginnings

20. bona et multa

m.list.

a soft knock rang through katsuki’s dorm causing a slightly nervous shiver to travel up his spine. the love spell gave him confidence to act like a love drunk fool but now he was faced with the reality, the fact that he does feel strongly about you and does not exactly know how to convey those feelings properly.

he got up from his desk chair and opened the door slowly, as through he feared what was standing behind it.

“hey.” you breathlessly said, holding up the giant tub of peaches and apricot yogurt as well as two spoons, your face pleading to be let in as a shy smile was plastered onto your face.

katsuki’s eyes wandered between the tub and your face, it looked apologetic and soft. your eyes gleamed with hope and the way you slightly bit your lips in apprehension sent his mind spinning. how could he ever say no to a girl like you?

“come in, you witch.” he gruffed out, heading inside his dorm as you followed suit, a bright smile not adoring your beautiful features.

you moved to sit in the middle of the floor, thinking that either you both would sit down or that he would take a seat on the bed.

“what are you doing? sit on the desk chair, i’ll stand.” he scowled.

“no, it’s fine, i’ll stand! it’s your room anyways.” you smiled.

there you go again, making things hard for him with that damn smile that lit up a room and your effortless selflessness that melted his heart. gosh, he really hated you.

more so, he hated how you made him feel and how you could manipulate him with a single look.

‘damn minx.’ he thought to himself as he stared at you for a little while, his hands becoming clammy in his pockets and causing tiny explosions to explode in his hands.

“do what you want, i don’t care.” he muttered, sitting on the chair as you got up to put the yogurt on the table. you handed him a spoon, opened the tub and started eating.

“so, where do you wanna begin?” you asked after swallowing the spoonful you just took in.

katsuki stayed silent, choosing instead to continuing scarfing down large spoonfuls of yogurt.

“okay, i’ll just start with the love spell then… i’m sorry.” you started.

“it wasn’t fair to do that to you, i didn’t do it on purpose. i was so angry with you beforehand and i decided to do a bad luck spell but for some reason i did the wrong ingredients and… well you know the rest.” you apologised, offering a sheepish smile before going in for another bite.

“and i’m sorry for what i said before, about you not being easy to love. previously, i said i didn’t mean it but i think what it is is that i didn’t mean it in the way i put it across. i meant that this- ” you gestured between the two of you. “was hard. loving you is the easiest thing i’ve ever done in my life kat, this whole journey was hard was what i meant. constantly feeling hopeless was hard, seeing that second year happier than ever after hearing about you two was hard, feeling as though my love was unrequited was hard. i’m sorry for saying that, i knew right afterwards that i hit a really sore spot and i don’t want you thinking i did it on purpose.” the more you spoke, the more it felt like there was more to say.

yet, you cut it there. so that you could allow katsuki to process everything and hopefully reply.

“i- uhh, well… it’s not exactly like i made things easy for you.” katsuki muttered awkwardly, his eyes trained on the tub to avoid eye contact with you.

“listen, i get it. i can be… difficult or whatever the fuck you wanna call me, but it just annoys me when the one person i thought could handle me sudden backs out.” katsuki said slowly, talking about his feelings were hard for him but through therapy and having crybaby best friends, he’s managed to learn how to do it.

“i understand, and trust me, i am not backing out.” you responded firmly, causing katsuki to finally look up at you, a smirk growing in his features.

“damn right you aren’t, your stuck with me forever now.” katsuki chuckled.

“right where i wanna be.” you smiled in response.

“but i do have to say something… i, um, i am.. kinda- sorry.” katsuki struggled to get it out.

even though he sorted out his problems with izuku, apologies were still quite hard for him. it felt awkward and clunky coming out of his mouth, but you very much appreciated the effort he’s made.

“katsuki bakugou apologising in 4k?” you joked

“shut up you wannabe mage, a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.” katsuki scoffed.

“someone’s been hanging around ejiro for too long.” you further joked.

“anyways… i just… i was doing a lot of thinking about everything that happened before hand and i realised something, i never apologised for leading you on for so long and that whole second year thing.” katsuki explained.

“i never meant to lead you on, i was just scared to be honest. i didn’t think i was, the man you needed or that i could even become the man you needed. plus, the only reason i texted that extra was because, i was planning on asking you out and i need to test out my skills on some loser. i wanted it to be perfect, only the best for you. but she ruined it by opening her big mouth and causing a shit ton of rumours.” your eyes were fully blown out wide as katsuki explained everything.

you thought back to everything, how the whole reason this whole love spell conundrum started was because of that second year. just for you to find out, she was never even the main goal for him to begin with? he did it all for you?

you felt so stupid now.

you slapped your hands onto you face and groaned loudly, feeling embarrassment crash into you like a wave and drown you as you realised you started a whole problem over nothing.

“i feel so dumb, i feel so stupid. please, kill me now.” you muffled out through your hands.

“you should and i will, if you had just waited instead of spinning your shit, we would’ve skipped all of this. you would’ve been my girlfriend by now.” katsuki rolled his eyes, pretending a blush was not presenting itself on his face.

“so confident that i would’ve said yes?” you joked around, hands still covering your face.

katsuki pulled you on his lap, peeling your hands from your face slowly as his crimson pool washed any other feelings away, keeping your focus on him.

“of fucking course you would’ve said yes! what, we have a little arguments and now all of a sudden you thinking of other guys?! fucking cheater.” katsuki yelled, ruining the slightly romantic moment.

“calm down kat! yelling down this entire building, damn. who even said i was thinking about other guys?!” you laughed.

“yeah, well, you’re mine and that’s that.” katsuki replied angrily.

“are you… asking me out?” you raised an eyebrow.

“sure, if that’s what you wanna call it.” he muttered out softly.

“ask me properly, then.” you smiled as you playfully hit his chest.

“ok, be mine.” katsuki said sternly.

as soon as he finished that sentence, you crashed your lips onto him. this time, there was no internal conflict, no moral integrity being questioned nor was that feeling of forbidden desire. this time, there was no question about it, it was completely right.

you two melted into one another, becoming whole as you both kissed each other feverishly. katsuki’s lips slightly quivered with nerves, you can tell he’s still new to this - it was unlike the kiss done while he was under a spell, this was raw and real.

you felt as though you were high, you could taste the faint whispers of peaches left on his tongue, you could feel his his heartbeat spell out your name, chanting for your body and mouth to call to him, respond to him.

you were in heaven.

after a little while, you pulled away, both your lips slightly swollen from intensity of the kiss and grins decorating both of your love struck faces.

“holy fuck, was it that good the last time we kissed?” katsuki sighed out as his eyes were trained onto your lips.

“definitely not, guess this is what love does to a person.” you giggled.

“good, because i like this and i love you.” katsuki said, his eyes bouncing between your own and your lips.

“say it again.” you laughed giddily.

“i love you.” katsuki repeated.

you squealed as you peppered his face in kisses, his heavy blush intensifying by the second.

“nerd.” katsuki rolled his eyes, pretending to be nonchalant about you, his first love, finally being in his arms after so long of all these stupid games.

and he’ll be damned if he ever loses you again. like he said, you’re his and his only forever.

NOTES; IM BACK (never left but now i’m properly updating !!) but omg this fic is FINSIHED (except for the epilogue but you get it) THANK YOU SOO MUCH FOR SO MUCH SUPPORT DURING MY FIRST EVER FIC?? LIKE HELLOOOOO lowkey gonna miss my baby, but check or easy with oliver aiku and im cooking up a haikyuu sakusa vs iwaizumi fic so just… LET ME COOK. ANYWAYS THANK YOU GUSY AGAIN, ILYSM ❤️

[twopoppies]

https://www.tumblr.com/twopoppies/775420636649684992/a-couple-of-days-ago-a-larrie-on-twitter-linked-to

I agree with you and the anon that this receipt is likely fake. As you say the use of the staff titles really gives it away. The “Girl talk about swoon worthy” “most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life”. Just too wattpad-like to me.

Also agree that I dislike the Louis that exists in this receipt. But you make a good point about the consent of Harry if that is their actual dynamic. So my question to you is this a common theory about H/L? Is there a tag I could read up on that alludes to this? I know it’s a popular dynamic in fan fic, but do a lot of Larries think this is the reality? I’ve never really thought about it.

I think there are a fair number of people that think Harry is quite submissive with Louis (Just to be clear, when I say submissive, I don’t mean letting Louis do whatever he wants), and that they both care for each other in a pretty typical dom/sub sort of way (whether they’re aware they’re doing that or not is anyone’s guess).

You can look through my SUB HARRY tag and I have a SUPPORTIVE HARRY tag which likely has posts relating to how H cares for Louis.

DADDY LOUIS has a lot of posts with him just looking hot, but it probably also has similar posts to the sub Harry where he shows a dominant quality.

I also have a PICK SOMEONE WHO’S SUPPORTIVE tag which likely has posts about both both, but is meant to be my tag for Louis and how he looks out for Harry.

WE KNOW TOO MUCH has a lot of posts about their sex life which they have happily put out into the world for years.

And before I get angry anons, all of this is just based on observation. It’s not a definitive declaration that any of us know what dynamics they actually have.

Hope that helps.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

As we grow together…

In honor of Valentine’s Day (I thought it was yesterday lol) I want to quickly talk about MelJay that isn’t a rant.

MelJay oh MelJay, I believe that it is the classic Jaded x Idealist trope (my personal fav).

Jayce is the bright eyed idealist who sees the world in such bright and vivid colors that he is blinded to the more dark parts of it. He believes in magic and in the common man’s ability and desire to do good that he didn’t reckon with the more selfish part of humanity ( or whatever they call themselves in Runeterra) and what they would do with such power. The recklessness of blind ambition or the damage endless progress does to people or a society exemplified through him.

Mel on the other hand is a child of war and pilgrimage. She tells Jayce she knows war. While I dont think Ambessa made Mel pick up swords of fallen soldiers like Mel’s grandad did Ambessa, it is clear from the Mel’s motion that she knows death. She is banished from her family for her “soft spined idealism”. She is made unworthy for her compassion, her heart. She does try to prove that the fox can win out, that diplomacy can whether through violence but it is clear that this rejection weighs on her and she hasn’t really moved past it. She shuts herself off from most except Elora. Scared and angry, she constantly feels less than.

Then Mel and Jayce meet. Two people defined by their ambition. In the time skip it’s implied they shared little moments of yearning; stolen glances, little touches.

It’s quickly established that Mel is at the very least intrigued by Jayce and his ideals. It’s not until the night of the Opera show that we see how much Mel is inspired by Jayce.

“ The Medarda’s usually only take from the world. It’s not often we are in a position to give something back”

Jayce quickly retorts that he couldn’t have done any of it without her. They kiss and the relationship soon blossoms. Like in one of my other posts I believe that it’s in MelJays quieter moments that their relationship is the strongest. Jayce seeks Mel out whenever he is in moments of uncertainty. He truly believes in her and respects her. It’s where we get one of his famous lines in the series.

“ Nothing feels impossible when I’m with you”

We see this look of shock in her face that she quickly recovers from. We then get her saying one her famous lines of not facing things alone. It is clearly geared toward Jayce making sure Viktor isn’t alone in what they think are his final moments, but I also took it as her longing to belong in relation to her family.

Mel is constantly trying to protect Jayce and his Hextech dream not only because she loves him but because it’s a dream that she once had. It is through her relationship with Jayce that she starts to see the beauty and strength in the idealism she was once shunned for. Hextech is Jayce’s dream but he makes time for her. He is constantly reaffirming her and the best parts of her. Jayce grows as a more level headed man and as a leader who understands humility. The jaded becomes hopeful and the idealist becomes more realistic.

This is a personal theory of mine but I like to believe that the only person Jayce actually helped by using Hextech and being himself is Mel. I also do believe that Jayce falling in love with Mel is the only thing he may of had full autonomy over. That is so cute to me.

Ps “quick” my ass. Happy Valentine Day for real this time. This feels like a more in depth post of what I already said in previous, but I’m too lazy to scroll and check. Sorry if it is.

[yoursweetheartsrevenge]

Well Bred

Summary: The daughter of an affluent horse breeder, Charla “Charlie” Denvers, approaches the Romani’s own resident horse expert looking to make a match between their fine breeding stock. However when strong personalities collide will the match simply remain between the stud and mare or bleed into their owners’ passions?  

Warnings: sexual tension, flirting, classism (Charlie's dad does not care nor understand the plights of the common people), MINORS DNI, 18+ 

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: For @blind-dates-fest. Starting off by saying I know absolutely nothing about horse breeding. The knowledge in this story was gained through research and not personal experience. Shout to my cousin who does have horse experience and assisted me in this story. If anything is incorrect within this story I apologize. Sometimes you just have an idea that involves a subject you don't know about then you spend several hours watching horses trout. Abraham is from one single episode of Grantchester so stretching out his personality was a bit fun.

Standing in front of her was a beautiful horse, a grey lipizzan with a soft freshly groomed mane. 

Charlie had never been more put off in her whole life. 

Her horse.

Her stud. 

She should have a say in who he was to breed with. 

The woman, as she had so often told her father she was now, had raised the sweet stallion since he was fresh out of his mother’s womb. Charlie had even helped pull away the afterbirth herself. He was her forever companion, a responsibility she took seriously despite what her parents thought would happen. 

Everyone always thought of Charla Denvers as another spoiled rich girl. 

She got everything she wanted being an only child of the most well off family in the area. All the dresses and pretty things were hers for the taking. Anything she demanded as a child was always within reach. Nothing had ever been off limits for Charla. 

Except this. 

The only thing she had ever wanted she could not even have. 

The horse seemed to sense her tension rocking his head up and down. Charlie placed her hand gently on his nose. 

“Shh, love. It’s alright.” It wasn’t. She could feel him snort at her lie, hot air teasing her palm. 

She reached with her other hand into her side bag for a treat for her pal. Charlie wasn’t sure what angry munching looked like, but Hades was certainly exhibiting such behavior. 

“Easy, boy. Let’s not lose our temper before we even meet the mare.” His lips quivered at her words chewing and sucking on the sugar cube. 

Charla stepped away brushing her hands together. 

Her father had found the mare after Charlie had proposed one evening at dinner that she would indeed like to get into the family business.

“Papa, I should like to breed Hades. He’s a fine stallion coming from an excellent line and the -” Her father had merely waved her off saying she was fine to do as she pleased. 

He hadn’t really been listening. 

Her father had never listened when she spoke most days. Same as her mother. He huffed and puffed stating it was better to agree to begin with, face consequences later. At least that was how he felt with the two women in his life. 

He had agreed to let her take on a foal from his prized mare, a white beauty fresh off the boat from Denmark when she was a teen. She was a fine mare, belly full of baby ready to give birth to a new friend for his daughter. Charlie had loved the mare, Crystalline as well. She still tended to her, but Hades was her boy. 

Her father had a large array of horses that did all sorts of things. He wasn’t an expert on breeds. Her father paid a nice young fellow to do that for him just like he paid others to manage other things in the house hold. 

This fine young fellow had betrayed her!

“Hades is a rare breed.” She knew that even as he spoke to her father. 

His breed was dwindling, yes, but Charla had already had it set in her head that breeding him to one of her childhood friend’s mares would be quite lovely. 

Charla didn’t care for things like money or preserving a notable line as her father had noted they would be doing breeding one lipizzan to another.

She wanted to have things her way. 

For the first time Charla Denvers would have to NOT get her way. 

She sighed loading up the stallion with more of her overnight equipment. At least she had convinced her father to let her go on this venture alone. He had found that a mare of this breed was close. Two villages over from the Denvers’ sprawling estate was a visiting Romani group spread out across the small community. They had intermingled according to her father enough that his “man on the inside” had found that one amongst them was nursing a sweet dark colored lipizzaner who happened to be female. 

What luck! 

What dread . . . Charlie thought, mounting her horse. 

She didn’t know the first thing about the Romani people, only that they were nomads, quick to wander. It was why her father had told her to make the offer to the young man in charge of tending horses quickly. Normally it was the mare owner that would pay the stud’s owner however in this case, her father was ready to make an offer. 

The thoroughbred foals would be worth more then what a silly breeding price the mare owner couldn’t afford. Her father assumed as he always did. For Charla, she would much rather have her horse breed with a mare she was familiar with, owned by a person she was friendly with. 

What did she know about this man who owned this lipizzaner? 

Absolutely nothing. 

Charlie kept her face void of any emotion. This was a business transaction, plain and simple. She pressed her heels to Hades motioning him forward. The stables were a distant memory as the pair marched forward to what she suspected would be doom for the pair of them. 

***

The village was very . . . quaint. 

She felt eyes lock on her as she entered. Her light eyes shifted, knowing what they were seeing. Charla wasn’t the type of girl to hide herself. She hadn’t spent hours choosing her outfit or fussing with her hair. She had tied a white bow in her long chestnut brown hair. Charlie’s waist length black coat was pressed as she trouted past the dirt road through the village. She knew she was out of place here, as did everyone else.

The encampments were fixed about the edges of the village. Women hung up laundry. Droves of children played tag with one another, grabbing and laughing in the carefree afternoon. Charla felt her stomach rumble. Hades scoffed prancing forward. 

“Come on now. Almost there.” The two seemed to have a symbiotic relationship. She could tell her sweet boy was hungry as well. 

Charlie managed to ask where the Romani kept their horses. 

“You’re looking for Abraham.” She hadn’t gotten a name, but she supposed that could be the name of a wandering horse tender. The older man with a heavy pipe pointed to an open mock stable area where a few horses were kept. 

She maneuvered her way past a wagon or two to get to the area. There was a young man, a blonde quiff and sleeves of black inked tattoos on arms that were tense with hard muscles. She saw his blue eyes worked her over as she approached. He was feeding a gorgeous brown mare. 

Charla hated the fact that Hades seemed to pick up his trout upon sensing the female. 

“Alright, calm yourself.” She told her boy. Charlie swallowed, seeing his eyes lock on her. 

“You are?” He wondered.

“Charlie Denvers.” 

“Really? Was expecting a man.” His eyes lingered too long on her chest. Her eyes merely rolled. “You're posh.” 

“Thank you for noticing.” Hades shifted impatiently back and forth. 

“You can tie him up on the other post.” The young man poked his chin to another mock spot. “I got some feed here if he’s hungry. Travelled a bit. Don’t want the poor boy starving.” 

She nodded. At least he was considerate of the horses even if he seemed to have an issue with her. 

Charla did as she was instructed, tying him off on the post. She brushed her hands off. When she turned he was waiting there with a bucket of feed. He didn’t hand it to her instead eyeing her again, in a slow nearly menacing way before moving past her. Hades huffed at him. The young man smiled. 

“Feisty fellow, ain’t he?” He put the bucket down as an offering. The horse moved his hooves forward then back as if contemplating. “Don’t worry. I won’t mess with your girl. Much.” She rolled her eyes again to see him smirk. 

She held her own stomach as it rumbled. 

“Would you like some dinner then?” He looked at her. “Suppose we will need to get acquainted to make this deal. Go on then, say hello to my Heidi.” 

Charla turned to the beautiful mare. Her face was deep within a trough of water now spilling over the sides. She was flabbergasted how shiny her coat was complimenting it out loud to Abraham. Slowly her hand worked over the horse’s mid section petting her with hard strokes. The horse’s tail twitched. 

“She’s usually timid. Gave her a talking to. Said she’d be meeting her beau today.” Abraham patted Heidi's shoulder roughly. The mare seemed to be used to the touches. 

“She’s stunning.” 

“Not always the case. She was in real bad shape over a year ago. Nursed her back to health. Took a lot of time and effort. Poor girl was abused, frightened of everyone, especially men.” She was surprised when Abraham nuzzled his nose against her neck. “Nipped at me a few times, but I didn’t give up on my Heidi. She’s my best girl.” He gave the horse a little peck. 

Charla didn’t like that he was sweet. 

Not one bit. 

“But I suppose we should get this business over with.” He nearly sighed. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from your fancy mansion.”

“That depends on how you would like to -”

He was sweet to the horses. 

“I ain’t stupid, missus.” Abraham immediately piped in. “I know what I got. Your man that approached me, he thought I was . . . stupid that is . . . probably think you can one up me cause I’m Romi don’t you? Well you can’t because I know what I got.” He pat the horse again. “She’s pure money here.” 

Maybe she was starting to dislike Abraham a bit. 

“I’m not here because I want to be . . . Abraham . . . is it?” He looked at her nodding as she spoke. “I would rather take my horse and breed him elsewhere, but my father seems to want this deal to go through. For our two lipizzaners to breed and secure a line meant for greatness. So yes, whatever you want is yours.” 

He watched her setting his jaw and swallowing. 

“Whatever I want?” He said it so suggestively it nearly made her blush.

Nearly. 

“Money, wise . . . that is.” Her voice was breathy in the stale air that smelt like manure, dry feed, and the dampness of their horses. 

“A shame.” He teased. Yes, he was only teasing. “I can name my price?”

“Mmmhm.” She clarified. 

“Right.” He swallowed, wiping his hands on his pant legs. “Da always said the best deals are made over a meal and a pint. Care to join me, missus?” He offered her his hand.  She did not take it. 

“It’s Charla.” She told him. He simply nodded. 

“Right, well, I’m Abrabram. Pleasure to meet you, Charla. I’m eager to make beautiful babies with you.” He gave her a soft wink as her face flushed a bit at his suggestion, breaking her stern demeanor. “Ponies that is.” 

Yes. 

She was starting to dislike Abraham very much.

[writing-for-marvel]

I AM SCREAMING. Greek mythology elements in a valentines fic Janie you are a fucking genius and I’m about to devour this!!!

And there’s just something extremely unsatisfying about leaving a story unread, isn’t there? Especially if it is a tale I helped set in motion. 

God this is such a clever way to start a story and you can guarantee I won’t be leaving this fic unread

They hold each other by the waist as they breathe in air rich with the mingling aromas of freshly baked focaccia and the briny sea, and anyone who looks upon them will know they are in love. 

I’m obsessed already!!

Stories end, my dear, but love never does. It lingers, do you know that? 

Janie are you trying to kill me?????

It settles back into the earth, floats into the sky, clings to the stars—sparkles almost like fairy dust in the sunlight. 

If you ever need a reminder of how beautiful a writer you are please look no further than this very line. Like what the fuck how can you just casually include this like it isn’t the most gorgeous sentence ever written??

Shall I tell you about the first time I ever had to bring about an ending? 

Umm excuse me ending????? You best not be playing with my heart Janie

And Bucky swore it was like he’d been shot through the heart, but instead of doubling over in pain, he couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at his lips. His shoulders lifted as he breathed in, like he was inhaling fresh air for the very first time. 

Bucky had absolutely no choice but to say it back, because of course he did, and you smiled at him brighter than the sun. He decided right then and there that he would gladly blind himself in your light. 

Screaming. Dying. Throwing up. If someone doesn’t feel this way when they look at me I don’t want it

But unfortunately, heartache always began with apparent joy. 

Don’t. You. Dare.

I knew immediately that Zeus was angry. The sky momentarily brightened with a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder boomed loud enough to make even Barnes flinch. 

It could only mean one thing: I had just made a mistake of cosmic proportions. 

Holy fuck Janie how does your brain come up with this brilliance???

One side of the Earth was under a torrential rainstorm, and the other side was being ravaged by wildfires. Conflicts were breaking out in areas of longtime peace, and humanity was beginning to lose faith in itself. 

The fact that Bucky and readers love is doing this to the universe is insane in the best way

James Barnes never actively tries to cheat death, he just does somehow. 

Tying this into the story is actually ingenious

“So… she doesn’t actually love me, is what you’re saying?” Barnes glanced up at me, brows drawn together in displeasure and confusion, still digesting what I’d just told him. 

Stop it… not my baby boi please he deserves all the love in the world, not thinking anyone loving him is a mistake

“It does not change the fact that you… well, I’m sorry, but you are not James’s soulmate.” It was written in your destinies to remain apart, and there was nothing I could do to change that. 

I’m sobbing 😭😭😭😭

Even now, after so many years apart, and even during those years apart, Steve and James love fiercely. It was simply not in their nature to do otherwise, and the strike of my arrow would ultimately not change very much. 

My stucky babies will love each other in every universe it’s true

“I… sweetheart, please.” His forehead fell against yours. “I don’t want anyone else.” 

“It’s okay, Buck, because I love you,” you tried to smile, to be strong, but it twisted and mangled into something less sweet and more crushing. “I don’t care what happens after this, I will always love you. Okay?” 

You are destroying my heart here Janie! I hope you realise how cruel you’re being to little innocent me 💔💔💔

I did what I had to do, despite how much I hated it. I reached forward and grasped the nock of that blasted arrow, and pulled it free. It disintegrated in my hands, dissipating like the light of an extinguishing star. 

PLEASE MAKE THIS HURT STOP

“You were right.” 

Three small words never sounded so sweet!!!!

Bucky speaking Italian???? Could he get any hotter????

Because sometimes, mistakes are good. Sometimes, mistakes are the perfect beginning. And sometimes, perfectly, they turn out not to be mistakes at all. 

After all, didn’t I already tell you? 

My dears, I never miss. 

ABSOLUTE FUCKING PERFECTION!!! My dear Janie you never miss! Every single story of yours is incredible and I will never get over how fucking brilliant your big brain is 💜💜💜💜💜

PS I just saw your authors note - just know that I LOVE this story (and all your other stories) and I forbid you from hating anything your creative and clever mind comes up with 😌

constellations of vital phenomena.

PAIRING — bucky barnes x f!reader

CONTENTS — one-shot; fluff; mild angst; greek mythology elements (i took so many liberties with this so pls don’t come at me with your notes ☝🏻🤓 okay?); first-person narration/told from Eros’s pov; kind of a valentine’s day special but also not really? idk.

SUMMARY — For the first time ever, Eros’s arrow strikes the wrong target. And now, the god of love is faced with the task of unravelling the newly formed bond between Bucky Barnes and a woman the Fates have decided is not his soulmate—and yet.

W/C — ~3.7k

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

I like to check up on you all every now and then. It’s how I learn, and there is still much to know about you mortals, even after all this time. 

And there’s just something extremely unsatisfying about leaving a story unread, isn’t there? Especially if it is a tale I helped set in motion. 

Cinque Terre is a lovely chaos of patterns and vivid colours, and under the azure sky with a cup of gelato in hand, I adjust my hat and pretend to be preoccupied with the sight of the sparkling sea, smiling to myself as I observe a pair of lovers standing nearby. 

The cheeky little things are supposed to be wrapping up a work trip, but before they leave this little slice of Mediterranean paradise, they pretend for a moment that they’re on a romantic getaway. 

They hold each other by the waist as they breathe in air rich with the mingling aromas of freshly baked focaccia and the briny sea, and anyone who looks upon them will know they are in love. 

I even check on the stories I know are doomed. Fret not, my human friend. Stories end, my dear, but love never does. It lingers, do you know that? 

Maybe you decide to keep it, perhaps you feel stronger that way, looking back on a tale cut short and choosing to carry it with you. 

Maybe you end up letting it go, maybe—though beautiful while it lasted—it’s holding you back from an even brighter future. It remains regardless. It settles back into the earth, floats into the sky, clings to the stars—sparkles almost like fairy dust in the sunlight. 

Shall I tell you about the first time I ever had to bring about an ending? 

It all began with that oblivious couple standing right over there, still holding each other as the beating heart of the Italian Riviera works its subtle magic on them. 

You and Bucky turn to each other and share a smile, sharing a tender kiss under the creamy orange light of the rapidly setting sun. 

It all began with a mistake, you see, because I never miss. 

It was a harsh lesson to learn, that even us gods aren’t infallible, but sometimes, mistakes are good. 

That’s what I like very much about you mortals. 

“I love you, Bucky.” 

The words were released upon a single shaky breath, as though you’d been holding them back for aeons. You stared up at him with watery eyes, looking both relieved of some immense burden and terrified at the same time. 

“I always have,” you admitted almost sheepishly, hopefully. 

And Bucky swore it was like he’d been shot through the heart, but instead of doubling over in pain, he couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at his lips. His shoulders lifted as he breathed in, like he was inhaling fresh air for the very first time. 

His cheeks were tinged pink in the chilly late winter air, but he didn’t even so much as shiver. In fact, he was warm right down to the tips of his fingers. 

Bucky had absolutely no choice but to say it back, because of course he did, and you smiled at him brighter than the sun. He decided right then and there that he would gladly blind himself in your light. 

His heart stuttered when you rushed forward to wrap your arms around him, and it didn’t take very long at all for his lips to find their way to yours. 

But unfortunately, heartache always began with apparent joy. 

Because something shifted in the atmosphere. A hush seemed to fall over New York as the first nearly frozen raindrop splashed onto the sidewalk. Another followed, then another, and then another, until the silence was soon filled with the staccato beat of impending rain. 

You and Bucky didn’t seem to care, however, still holding each other in a tight embrace, exchanging warm breaths and whispering love against touching lips. 

I, on the other hand, cast a wary glance up at the darkening heavens. A sense of urgency unfurled within me as the once-clear sky morphed into a brooding tapestry of greys and blacks, transforming the city streets into a mosaic of shimmering puddles. 

At first glance, it might have seemed like an ordinary downpour to anyone but the most discerning eye, but to me? 

I knew immediately that Zeus was angry. The sky momentarily brightened with a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder boomed loud enough to make even Barnes flinch. 

It could only mean one thing: I had just made a mistake of cosmic proportions. 

The nock of my arrow was still inexplicably sticking out of your chest (well, don’t worry, no one else could see it… wouldn’t that be morbid?), even though that arrow was most certainly not meant for you. 

But as Bucky cradled your face in his hands, touching his nose to yours, making you laugh despite being drenched in freezing rain, I found a stillness. A momentary peace. 

Because how could a love like that, so palpable to anyone with a heart and a soul, possibly be a mistake? 

“No, Eros,” Clotho murmured with finality when I arrived back in Olympus in a frenzy, not even looking up from her distaff and spindle. Her two sisters, Lachesis and Atropos, cackled amongst each other, completely unashamed that the subject of their mockery—spoiler alert, it was me—was still well within earshot. 

“You didn’t even take a moment to consider it!” I complained, but of course they wouldn’t. 

They already believed me to be an immature and naive god in comparison, and this proposal of mine—and the fact that my arrow was currently burrowed into the heart of the wrong person—only proved them right in their eyes. 

“Measures such as the one you’re suggesting—” Atropos, the eldest of the Fates, cut in. Her youngest sister was now once again far too busy with her life’s work, weaving the countless threads of life and death to pay any more attention to my concerns. “—must only be taken in the most dire of circumstances.” 

“The balance of the cosmos has already been upset, what circumstances could possibly be more dire?” I demanded.  

One side of the Earth was under a torrential rainstorm, and the other side was being ravaged by wildfires. Conflicts were breaking out in areas of longtime peace, and humanity was beginning to lose faith in itself. 

I wanted to scoff, to roll my eyes so hard they might as well have fallen right out of my skull, even as Atropos waved her abhorred shears so manically in my face. 

In reality, I knew their refusal was because the Fates were considered above us all as enforcers of the universe’s will. Who would dare be arrogant enough to question their judgment? Not even Zeus himself. 

“You already know all this, Eros,” Lachesis, the middle sister, whacked me on the head with one end of her measuring rod, making me flinch before she batted away Atropos’s menacing hand. “You are embarking on a fool’s errand. Once the Moirai have decided, you cannot change our minds.” 

“I see the business of love has made you soft, boy,” Atropos sneered, putting down her scissors and looping a thread of life around one of her bony witch-like fingers. She toyed and tugged at it carelessly, despite the small noise of dissent from a concentrating Clotho, as though it wasn’t the literal lifeline of an actual living, breathing creature. 

“And I see the business of death has inevitably made you more ghoul than goddess,” I snapped back, beyond indignant, momentarily forgetting that my mission was to convince the sisters, not anger them. Atropos did snarl at me in response, but she ultimately did not refute my statement. 

Because Hades, despite being the ruler of the dead, remained one of a kind. Despite the fact that he rarely ever saw the sun, surrounded by all that death and anguish, he remained ethereal and compassionate.

You humans sometimes think the devil of him, but you have been very misinformed. Most of his wrath is exclusively reserved for those who try to cheat death, and that’s where the difference lies. 

James Barnes never actively tries to cheat death, he just does somehow. 

Many times, the underworld scrambled to prepare for his arrival. Finally! they'd exclaim, the Furies rubbing their hands together in barely contained glee, satisfied that even the infamous Winter Soldier couldn’t outrun his destiny for that much longer. 

And so many times, Hades seemed almost bothered, maybe even content despite the chorus of disappointment that sounded around him, as the human known as Barnes once again prevailed. 

Once again, he lived—despite all the odds.  

I firmly believe that’s why the Fates loathed him so, and refused to even entertain my request; this mere mortal was always managing to twist up their carefully laid plans, taking their interpretation of nature’s law and throwing it back into their faces, proving them wrong time and time again. 

It seemed, however, that was precisely the way it was supposed to be. The sisters would watch as the stars realigned themselves, the state of the cosmos resetting, and they would just sigh and… start over. 

I’d never seen anything quite like it in all my years, and even though the Fates still treat me like a child, by your standards I have been around too many to count. 

But that’s why it was all the more frustrating to me that they wouldn’t simply… do it all again. They had already been wrong about his destiny so many times, what is one more? 

“You were given three fine choices, Eros,” Clotho clicked her tongue in displeasure at my reluctance, her brows furrowing when her threads began to knot together. She put down her spindle, trying to unravel them but to no avail. She could not weave any further. “Fix your foolish mistake. And make haste before your trepidation upsets the cosmos, and Zeus, any further.” 

Fine choices. As if that was at all adequate when it came to matters of the heart. Still, I turned away to leave them, to follow their orders as woven, silently fuming and resentful. 

If they were willing and able to rewrite one’s life and death with but a flick of their wrists because it was “meant to be”, then why not love? 

It loomed just as large, if you asked me, if not larger than all else. And just as life and death were inevitabilities for all creatures, divine or mortal, so am I. 

So is love. 

Despite his almost celebrity status back on Mount Olympus, up close and personal James Barnes seemed… quite ordinary. Just like every other mortal, he had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Nothing extraordinary there. 

I suppose the crop of short brown hair and the days old stubble growing along a sharp jaw did something for him, and those insanely blue eyes certainly weren’t terrible to look at— 

“So… she doesn’t actually love me, is what you’re saying?” Barnes glanced up at me, brows drawn together in displeasure and confusion, still digesting what I’d just told him. 

The woman he loved—a tenacious and adorably stubborn colleague turned confidante turned into something so much more—was accidentally made to fall in love. 

Unfortunately for him, while his love for you was true, you were never prophesied to love him back. 

“Well…” I faltered, suddenly realizing how harsh it all sounded, especially with you sitting right next to him in the dim light of his Brooklyn apartment. 

Listen, despite how I was treated back in Olympus, I’d been doing this a very long time. I’d learned, for the most part, that despite the resilience of you mortals, the lot of you still prefer to be spoken to with the utmost delicacy and consideration. 

It was why I decided to tell you both before pulling the arrow out of your chest and taking back the love you’d so passionately professed to him just days earlier. 

I thought it would have been kinder this way. 

But as I considered the look of undisguised anguish on both your faces, I came to the inevitable conclusion that I still had much to learn. 

“That is not true,” you protested, grasping at Bucky’s hand and tugging at his arm so he’d look at you. Your eyes were full of pleading, and he didn’t pull away although his fingers remained slack next to yours. “I loved you way before he came around! I just never had the courage to say anything.” 

Despite the very devastating nature of the situation, I couldn’t help asking. “Are you two not at all surprised by my existence?” 

“I’m a hundred and seven years old,” Bucky grumbled, as if that figure was somehow impressive. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of stranger things.”

“And you’re not the first god we’ve ever met,” you offered carefully. 

Preposterous, I wanted to scoff. As if Thor could ever compare. Instead, I said, “You may be right. My arrows, as powerful as they are, cannot create something that isn’t already there.” 

Love cannot be manifested; it cannot be borne out of absolutely nothing. It is borne out of two hearts beating as one, something of a higher power that I cannot adequately explain even as the god of love. 

“Then—” you began hopefully, but I put up a reluctant hand to silence you. 

“It does not change the fact that you… well, I’m sorry, but you are not James’s soulmate.” It was written in your destinies to remain apart, and there was nothing I could do to change that. 

To this day, that felt very wrong to say. I wholeheartedly believed my arrow was precisely where it was supposed to be, but the Fates didn’t respect me let alone trust me. How could I, a brash and comparatively inexperienced young god, possibly know better than nature itself? 

No one was going to rewrite fate just on my word alone. 

And Clotho was right; she had offered three fine choices. I had an absolute spread of not one, not two, but three potential soulmates for Bucky to choose from. 

The first, I must admit, they got off to a rocky start. But between you and me, the most fun love stories do. The barbs exchanged between Samuel Wilson and James Barnes were always sharp, but the underlying tones of affection were always there. Sam is everything Bucky deserves in a future, a symbol of hope in more ways than one. 

The second could be an achingly beautiful story. Love finds its way back to two people who thought it had abandoned them; sorrow gives way to light, and that light illuminates something that’s lain dormant for years. The colour red, something Natasha Romanoff had always associated with misery and guilt, can then mean something new. 

And for the third and most obvious, love was already so intricately woven into their destinies, it was impossible to separate them. Remember when I said love lingers? Even now, after so many years apart, and even during those years apart, Steve and James love fiercely. It was simply not in their nature to do otherwise, and the strike of my arrow would ultimately not change very much. 

I could pick any one of them and it would not matter. All of them made perfect sense. In every single case, I knew he would end up happy. 

And yet. How terrible was it that said happiness was destined to come at a cost? 

“What will happen if you remove it?” Bucky asked, finally closing his fingers around yours. You moved to lean your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes to hide the shimmer of tears. 

“Removing it could mean any number of things,” I told him honestly, and it wasn’t exactly anything that had ever happened before. I had no past experience to draw from. “But I do know what it wouldn’t mean. It wouldn’t mean she never loved you at all.” 

I did not want to do it, especially not when I saw you steel yourself against the pain, but the balance of the universe was at stake. You might not have called yourself an Avenger, but you were every bit one of Earth’s mightiest heroes as you prepared to shatter your own dreams to save a world that would never know of your sacrifice. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, seemingly unaware that your tears had made it past your lashes and began trailing down your cheeks. You turned and grasped the sides of his face, looking him right in the eye. “Even if I’m not your soulmate, even if we don’t end up together, I will be so happy for you.” 

“I… sweetheart, please.” His forehead fell against yours. “I don’t want anyone else.” 

“It’s okay, Buck, because I love you,” you tried to smile, to be strong, but it twisted and mangled into something less sweet and more crushing. “I don’t care what happens after this, I will always love you. Okay?” 

“Please…” He pleaded again, voice so small yet thick with emotion I had to look away. “I love you too. So damn much. I can’t—” 

“Okay?” You stressed, thumbs gently caressing the apples of his cheeks. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I just found you. I can’t lose you now.” 

“You will never lose me.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Barnes didn’t seem to care he had an audience as he wept into your shoulder. 

I did what I had to do, despite how much I hated it. I reached forward and grasped the nock of that blasted arrow, and pulled it free. It disintegrated in my hands, dissipating like the light of an extinguishing star. 

The two of you held each other tight, and I could not bear to watch any further as I left you to finish your goodbyes. I returned to Olympus utterly dejected, my own grief as plain as day. 

After days of moping, Aphrodite halfheartedly tried to reassure me that things would work out; all I had to do was try again with a new arrow meant for the right person this time. 

“Hurry up already,” she said when she’d finally had enough, shaking her head with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The cosmos needs rebalancing, like, yesterday.” 

But she did not understand. I grieve for all true love lost, no matter how short-lived or star-crossed. 

And when I’d finally finished licking my wounds, I was about to embark for Earth once more, prepared to enact Clotho’s prophecy and nature’s will, my quiver secured over my shoulder. 

Until I was summoned. The Fates were calling for me, and it was the youngest of the Moirai who greeted me when I arrived. Her expression was grim and her shoulders squared in what I believed was preparation for another round of criticism. 

Lachesis and Atropos were lounging in their own chaises, refusing to make eye contact and mumbling angrily under their breaths. Clotho beckoned me closer to her loom, her strings now neat and free from their tangles, and I peered down at the thread of fate I had supposedly severed just days earlier. 

“I don’t understand,” I told her, staring incredulously at what I recognized to be your thread of life. It was now tightly woven together with Barnes’s. 

I put down my quiver, and almost immediately, the storm clouds over the planet cleared, the rumbling at the centre of the earth stopped, and the tension in the heavens finally began to abate. 

Clotho sighed, suspicions confirmed, the words coming out reluctantly through a tightly clenched jaw. “You were right.” 

It took a moment to sink in. 

The event that upset the universe wasn’t that my arrow had struck you by supposed mistake, or that you had declared a love for James Barnes that was never supposed to be returned. 

It was that we were about to chose the wrong soulmate after all, despite how perfect they’d all appeared on paper—er, thread. 

I laughed, I rejoiced, I celebrated. Even Atropos ended up cracking a smile in the end. 

“Well, what do you know?” She said, joining me as we watched Clotho weave the rest of your story.

Despite the lack of an arrow, love—as always—remained. 

Earth is stained in pretty hues of pink and red today. Normally, I find the whole display a little much. 

Love is meant to be lived every single day—boldly, shamelessly, proudly—not left to be openly expressed just once a year. 

But rest assured, some of you do it right. 

“Mi scusi, quanto costa?” I hear a voice, turning my head to see you and Bucky staring right at me. I break into a wide smile, disguised as a stranger and putting on my best accent—neither of you recognize me. 

“Per la bellissima coppia? Ottanta euro,” I tell him, even though it’s well past the evening rush. Bucky grins as he hands over the notes, taking your hand and tugging you along until you’re both stepping safely into the gondola. 

“Bucky,” you scold gently, voice lowered to a whisper, but you’re smiling just as wide as he is. “We’re going to miss the extraction point—!” 

But then you’re falling into his arms as he pulls you closer by the waist, laughing when he leans down for a kiss, lips missing your cheek and landing on your nose instead. 

“Just for a little longer, sweetheart,” he implores, blue eyes earnest and impossible to resist. “Just you and me.” 

You relent, utterly helpless, and whisper, “Say something else in Italian.” 

“Ah, si?” He laughs, a sound as rare as the man himself. “Sai che ti amo?” 

You hum appreciatively, leaning against his shoulder, “I don’t think I’ll need a translator for that one.” 

I turn away as I row down the canal to give you some semblance of privacy, singing a love song towards the moon you no doubt aren’t even listening to. You’re too busy continuing to defy all expectations as you fall deeper in love to even notice, and I tilt my head up towards the sky. 

How satisfying, no? I want to laugh. The stars wink back at me mischievously, as if telling me not to push my luck. 

You share a sweet kiss under the stars, and I take a moment to bask in the rightness of it all. I must admit, I can’t help but feel a little smug. 

Because sometimes, mistakes are good. Sometimes, mistakes are the perfect beginning. And sometimes, perfectly, they turn out not to be mistakes at all. 

After all, didn’t I already tell you? 

My dears, I never miss. 

fin.

NOTES — it has been A MINUTE since i wrote for bucky and i lowkey hate how this turned out but you know what, i need to stop obsessing! even if i was very unserious about the greek mythology stuff lmao. anyway, happy valentine’s day my lovelies! i hope you are feeling loved today, because i love you 🥰💕

also, the title of this fic was inspired from a book that has nothing to do with anything lol… but go read said book by anthony marra and prepare to cry your eyes out. you’re welcome.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane.

[doll-t33th]

Jayvik's ethereal forms and just viktor form when he's in the arcane was MADE for tumblr artist I mean this it's so elentori art coded ifykyk

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of riz gukgak from fantasy high. in the front is a relatively small drawing of riz juggling books that are falling out of his hand and a phonecall, and he has a huge backpack on. he looks a bit overwhelmed, hair flying in all directions, and has a nervous smile on. in the background is a large shadow of riz, only one glowing eye and a shining gun visible. the background is red, giving an eerie feel. End ID]

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