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[hederasgarden]

Eternal Devotion (3/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected.  Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader   Word Count: 6.6K  Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, period typical sexism, creepy things, vampirism, blood, and sexual content. Not all themes are tagged. A/N:  The reader has always been Friedrich’s wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @bellrose for their help with this fic.   Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

"When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it." - Caitlyn Siehl 

In the quiet of your bedroom, you find yourself suddenly shy as you watch Friedrich move through the space you once shared as if he never left at all. He shrugs off his coat, untying his cravat and tosses it carelessly across the chair along with his gloves. When he sees you lingering in the doorway, a sweet, amused smile plays at the corners of his lips.

"Come here, my love," he calls softly, his hand reaching out, waiting for yours.

You step into his embrace, and he inhales deeply.

“You are a vision in red,” he whispers, trailing the back of his hand down your bare arm, the cool touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “And your smell,” he groans, “I have missed it.”

You turn your head, lips gliding over his cheek before finding his mouth. His hands slide to your waist, but he stays still, letting you guide the kiss. You moan and the sound seems to awaken something within him, the pressure on your sides increasing until it forces the air from your lungs painfully. In response, you curl your fingers into the rich fabric of his shirt, pushing against his chest. He doesn’t respond to your distress, his mouth moving hungrily over yours, his tongue ravenous for a taste of you.

Blood roars in your ears, and you sway on your feet, dizzy and desperate for air. When his mouth finally leaves yours, you gasp, your body sagging in his arms. Yet even then Friedrich does not seem to notice. He grasps the back of your neck tightly, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw to brush the soft underside of your throat.

You whimper his name, and the sound seems to shake him from his fervor. He pulls back, his blue eyes shadowed in the flickering candlelight. You expect to find him breathless, undone, but his chest hardly rises with effort. 

“You afflict me so,” he murmurs, staring back at you. 

You’ve known Friedrich for more than half your life, every look, every gesture of his as familiar as your own, yet the expression on his face now is one you cannot place. Tentatively you touch the center of his chest and he shudders, passing a shaky hand over his mouth. He looks so pale and drained, and in that moment you feel foolish for forgetting all he’s done to return to you.

“You must be exhausted,” you say, withdrawing from him. “You should rest.”

Haltingly, as though it pains him, he nods in agreement. 

Together you help each other get ready for bed, slipping into the easy, comforting routine like no time has passed. Friedrich unlaces your corset and the feel of his cool fingers tracing the length of your spine sends a shiver through you. Once you are both undressed you slip under the covers together, and for the first time in nearly ten months, you fall into a deep, quiet slumber, wrapped in your husband’s arms. 

–

You wake in the morning to find the bed cool and empty beside you. Terror seizes your chest and for one awful moment, you fear that last night was nothing but a dream, your mind's desperate attempt to fill the unbearable emptiness inside you. You scramble from the bed, hands trembling as you search the room for any sign of him.

It’s then that you hear it, the low rumble of masculine laughter, followed by a giggle and a sharp squeal of delight from down the hall. Hastily, you slip into your morning robe, tightening it around your waist. The floor creaks beneath your feet as you make your way to your daughters’ bedroom. There, Friedrich sits on the floor, surrounded by their scattered toys, your youngest in his lap, her laughter rising and falling with each flurry of kisses he presses to her face. Your oldest clings to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her giggles mixing with her sister’s joy.

"I fear we have woken your mother," Friedrich mock-whispers to them playfully.

"It was a pleasing way to wake," you assure him, crossing the room to open the curtains and let in the bright morning light.

"No, Mama!" your youngest cries, her shriek of alarm halting you in your tracks. She tugs at your hand with both of hers.

"You mustn't let the light in," your oldest adds, breathless with urgency.

Perplexed, you glance at Friedrich, but he simply raises his brow. Seeing the serious look in your children's eyes, you realize whatever game they’re playing must be more important to them than you’d first thought.

“Alright, alright,” you relent, allowing your daughter to pull you away from the windows and towards Friedrich. 

He’s quick to pull you down to sit in his lap. One of his hands rests on your thigh, while the other rubs soothing circles on your hip. Together, you watch your children, their sweet faces so unburden and happy as they dart from one end of the room to the other. They are breathless with energy. 

“Mama, I am hungry,” your youngest announces. 

“Must we go downstairs to eat? I want Papa to stay here with us!” your eldest whines.

"Perhaps we should take our breakfast here then," you suggest with a mischievous smile, glancing behind you at Friedrich. "They seem quite intent on their game."

“My love,” he protests. “You would have us eat on the floor, like some…bohemians?” he asks, scandalized by the very thought. 

You bite your bottom lip, struggling to hold back the smile that threatens to break through. For a man so concerned with propriety and restraint, your husband showed remarkably little of either when it came to his desire for you. It’s almost amusing that breakfast in your rooms seems to be where he draws the line.

"Oh yes, please, Papa, can we?" your daughters beg, their eyes wide with excitement.

Friedrich looks between you and the children before letting out a short, incredulous laugh. "We are civilized people, not some…wandering artists!”

“It is just for today,” you promise him, hoping to sway him with the softness of your voice.

The tension in his face eases and before he speaks you know you’ve won. With a resigned sigh he says, “You know I cannot deny you anything.”

The children cheer, moving to arrange cushions and blankets around them, boundless in their joy. The rest of the day is spent lounging in their rooms and enjoying the assortment of food brought by the servants. You feel a deep sense of contentment and safety, your head resting on Friedrich’s shoulder as you watch your daughters spring across the room, performing a dizzying, convoluted play just for the two of you.

When dusk settles you withdraw from him reluctantly, all too aware the real world awaits you. 

“We should prepare for dinner,” you say. “My parents will arrive soon.”

“I sent word to them this morning to cancel.” He glances at you before returning his attention back to your children.

You look up at him, surprised. “I know you are…unhappy with my father,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“That is a matter I will address with him myself,” he says, the abrupt shift in his tone making it clear the discussion is closed. When you draw away from him, surprised, his features soften into something more familiar and kind. He squeezes your waist reassuringly. “For now,” he continues, “I simply want to spend time with my wife and children, without distraction. They can come in a week's time. Perhaps two.”

"Of course," you agree, your heart lifting. 

You want nothing more than to hide away with your family, away from the prying eyes of the outside world. Friedrich sighs, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb before urging you to share a sweet, lingering kiss with him.

–

The weeks that follow are some of the happiest of your life. 

Despite the very real demands of Friedrich’s work and the countless matters that require his attention to set right everything left undone during his absence, he gives you and the girls his full attention during the day. Every one of their whims is indulged with patience and tenderness. He is rarely far from you, his presence a steady comfort, except in the evenings when he retreats to his office to bury himself in his work. It feels like the best kind of dream, one you never want to wake from.

Yet, as the days pass, you can’t help but notice how your time apart has changed him. Most of them are small, almost unnoticeable oddities that you assume must be from all he’s endured to return to you. But then there are the other changes, the ones that loom larger and give you pause. The servants whisper about them in hushed tones, their concern barely concealed. Your parents notice it too when they come for dinner, nearly two weeks after their original visit was postponed. Their eyes linger on Friedrich, an unspoken disquiet in their gaze that they don’t quite manage to hide.

“It is rather...dim in here,” your mother remarks politely, her gaze shifting past you to the drawn curtains of the dining room. 

The heavy fabrics keep out the last remnants of daylight and candlelight illuminates the room, casting shadows on the walls. The servants keep them burning constantly, there’s no other choice with the sun so often shut out at your husband’s request.

"The sunlight hurts my eyes," Friedrich replies as he pushes a fork idly around his plate, the food barely touched. 

You glance at your father, whose attention is fixed on your husband, a quiet scrutiny in his gaze.

“He spent so long below deck in the ship's hold," you explain. “The doctors said it would take time to adjust.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” your mother says, though there’s something in the way she says it that suggests she’s not quite as convinced. “And the children do not mind?”

Friedrich tenses, the hand resting on the table curling into a fist. You’re quick to cover it with your own. He exhales, the tension leaving his body in a slow release. Beneath your touch, his fist gradually unfurls, and he turns his hand palm up, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“No,” you tell your mother. 

Truthfully you had worried how the children would react to the near-perpetual dimness at first, but they seemed to adjust to it with surprising ease. Now, the shadowed corners of your home no longer faze them though you make a special effort to take them outside, letting them soak up the sunlight.

“That is good,” your mother replies earnestly before falling silent.

You’re thankful for your daughters, whose sweet voices fill the silence with excited chatter. It should be comforting to speak with your mother and children, but you’re all too aware of the quiet tension between your husband and father. Neither man seems at ease. In the past, your father and Friedrich were always polite to each other — respectful, but never truly friendly.

It’s almost a relief when the meal finally comes to an end and the servants begin clearing the dishes. You don’t comment on how little Friedrich has eaten. Each time you’ve brought it up in the past, he’s dismissed your concerns with a firm response that leaves no room for further discussion.

As you begin gathering the children and preparing them for bed, Friedrich invites your father to join him for a nightcap and a smoke in his office. You exchange a quick look with your mother, her concern clearly reflected in your own.

“We will not be long,” Friedrich promises, bringing your knuckles to his cool lips. “Go, take your mother.”

Getting the children settled turns out to be more difficult than you anticipate, and you find yourself half distracted through most of it, your mind lingering on what might be happening downstairs.  By the time you finally make your way back to the foyer, Friedrich’s office door is still firmly shut. You pause, straining to hear any sounds coming from inside, but all you’re met with is silence.

Your mother shifts beside you, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve before clearing her throat.

“How are things since Friedrich’s return?” she inquires. “He seems…much changed.”

The question catches you off guard and for a moment, you're silent. You sense the weight behind her words, the quiet invitation to reveal your own fears, and you hesitate — afraid your worries will spill over into something you’re not ready to share. She already seems heavy with concern, and the last thing you want is to add to that.

"He is still our Friedrich," you reply. "He is merely adjusting after his illness.”

“Of course,” she concedes. She steps closer, her hands covering yours as her worried gaze meets your. “And how are you, my darling girl?”

"I am so happy he returned to us," you tell her with an honest smile. "I was lost without him...so scared, so alone. His absence —" You falter, the grief you thought had faded surging up again. Tears prick your eyes at the thought and you touch your chest, as if to stem the tide of emotions. "I-I could not survive losing him again.”

“You will not,” your mother assures you quickly. She squeezes your hands with a strength that grounds you. You nod, the truth of her words sinking in — Friedrich is here, and he will not leave you again.

She opens her mouth to say more, but the sound of a door creaking open has you both turning. Friedrich emerges first, a cigarette dangling loosely between the fingers that holds a glass of brandy. Smoke curls around him as he steps into the dim hallway, his expression unreadable in the low light. Your father slips past, giving him a wide berth. There’s something deeply off about his demeanor and you can see it in his eyes, a flicker of something uneasy, something wrong that he’s trying to hide.

“I believe we understand one another now,” Friedrich remarks.

“Yes,” your father says, his voice clipped and curt. He doesn't even look at you, his focus firmly on the door as he urges your mother to follow him. “We will bid you both a good night now.”

You take a step forward, but hesitate, confused by the abruptness of their departure. You turn to Friedrich and ask, "Did something happen?"

"It is nothing for you to worry over," he assures you, drawing you into his side. When his lips find yours the kiss is deeper than usual, the bitter edge of the smoke mixing with the warmth of the liquor. 

“Are the children asleep?” he asks once you part.

“Yes.”

“That is good,” he replies, brushing his knuckle over your cheek. His thumb lingers, stroking your skin as he watches you. You stare back at him in return, sensing a subtle shift in his mood. His gaze moves behind you, toward the door.

“Shall I fetch your coat?” you ask, wondering if he needs to take one of his solitary walks.

“You know me so well, my love,” he praises, his expression filled with affection as you gather his coat for him. 

You’ve grown accustomed to these late-night walks, the way he slips out after dusk when the pale glow of the gas lamps casts long shadows on the street. He’s never gone long, and when he comes back to you, he seems more settled. The color and life return to his face, though it fades again almost as quickly as it came. You wonder if it’s the quiet of the night that soothes him, that elusive solitude that's absent with the presence of you and the children. After so long spent in the depths of that ship, returning to a life so full of people and sound must be a struggle.

You’re not sure how long you stand in the foyer after he departs, lost in thought, the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound breaking the silence. Eventually Kerstin appears. She pulls you back to reality with a tentative hand on your shoulder.

“Do you wish to retire for the evening?” she asks. 

“Yes. I suppose I should go,” you remark. 

Kerstin helps you undress in Friedrich’s absence, her quiet presence a small comfort as she tends to the fire in the hearth, stoking it until the flames crackle and cast a soft, yellow glow across the room. While she works your mind drifts to the unsettling events of dinner and your father’s odd behavior. It’s hard to feel settled without Friedrich beside you so you wait, lost in the silence of the room, for his return.  

The floor creaks outside the door and you turn instinctively. Friedrich enters, offering you a brief, fleeting smile. The tension in your chest abates, comforted by his presence. He sheds his clothes, layer by layer, until only his pants and a white shirt remain before climbing into bed beside you.

“Good night, my love,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow.

Disappointment settles like a stone in your heart when he turns on his side, curling his body protectively around yours and falls still. It has been the same every night since his return. A kiss and nothing more. Even on the evenings that turn passionate, he stops before his touch can dip into what you truly desire. You find yourself wondering what it is you've done wrong, what has changed. During the day, he seems happy, content even, and yet there’s a quiet weight that steals the joy you should feel. Friedrich has returned to you, and that should be enough, shouldn’t it? 

You try to remind yourself of that each time the insecurity surfaces. Tonight it’s harder to remember that, especially when your thoughts return to one of the last conversations you had with Friedrich before he left. You were lying in this very bed, your bodies intertwined, sweat cooling on your skin as you traded lazy kisses. Even now you can recall the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way your bodies had fit together so perfectly. 

“Perhaps when I return, you will be with child,” he had murmured softly against your lips.

The thought made your heart swell in your chest. “A son,” you had breathed, watching as the thought spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with something deeper than desire.

But that dream slipped away before you even knew you lost him. 

You let loose a pained sigh, your hand falling to your stomach to brush the soft fabric of your nightgown. Behind you the bed shifts and you feel Friedrich’s hand on your shoulder, firm but gentle, guiding you onto your back as he stares down at you.

“What ails you?” He questions, his face filled with concern.

“It is nothing,” you assure him, watching his expressive brows draw together and then smooth. 

“I—” you begin, faltering before forcing yourself to continue. “You have been so different lately. You do not touch me as you used to and I thought, perhaps, after you returned that you would want to try again for a child. A son.” 

Friedrich pulls back as if you’ve struck him, his lips parting in a sharp, quiet breath. The look of raw pain that crosses his face has you reaching for him, confused and alarmed, but he’s already on his feet, moving away from you with a speed that shocks you. He claws at the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric between bone white fingers.  

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head, as though your words have wounded him somehow, piercing something fragile within him.

“My love, please. What is it?” you ask, reaching for him again. 

He opens his mouth as though to speak, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Without another sound, he turns sharply, his movements jerky as he crosses the room. 

Your voice is a broken plea as you call his name, but he doesn’t turn back, doesn’t acknowledge you. His posture is rigid, his back tense, but there's a tremor in the hand that settles on the door. For a brief moment you think he might return to you until he steps through the door, closing it behind him. You remain frozen, your mind reeling in confusion at the fast turn of events. 

The urge to follow him is so strong that you nearly rise from the bed, your body already halfway to the floor before you force yourself to stay. Fights were a rare occurrence in your marriage but if you’ve upset Friedrich it would be wise to give him space. So you stay, lost in your thoughts until your eyelids grow heavy and the constant buzzing of your mind slows to a dull hum. The night slips away unnoticed, the world around you fading as you drift into a fitful slumber.

When you wake again, anxious and adrift, you find Friedrich has returned. You almost don’t see him at first. His figure is barely visible, sitting in the shadowed chair before the fireplace where only embers remain, their warmth lost long ago. 

"I shall never have a son," he says hoarsely, a quiet, unsettling stillness about him. “Nor a daughter."

Your legs slip from the bed, your bare feet barely touching the cold floor when he speaks again. 

“Come no closer,” he growls. The strength behind his words rattles your chest, echoing in your mind, pinning you in place.

“You are frightening me, Friedrich,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

"I have not even begun to frighten you, my love," he says softly, the sorrow in his tone settling like a shadow over you. “I thought if I kept pretending,” he begins as if speaking to himself, “things could be like they were before. That you could have me back as I was.”

Even though you don’t understand his words, they stir a quiet unease in you. You want to reach out to him, but the way he holds himself keeps you still.

“But you’re here now. With us,” you remind him softly. “Just as it should be.”

Friedrich doesn't respond, and the silence stretches out, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wait, watching him, wondering if he’s even heard you. 

Then, finally, he speaks. 

"I died. Though not in the way you imagined,” he begins, his words low and strained. “When Ellen and I found Thomas...it was too late. For all of us.” His eyes flutter, and for the first time since he began speaking, he looks away from you. “When I woke, I was not the same.”

You wait for him to continue, to explain but he only stares at the floor with an empty expression. “You are still my Friedrich,” you assure him, taking a tentative step forward.

His eyes snap back to you, dark and unblinking and you see a rawness to him, a hunger in his gaze, as if something inside him is clawing to get free. Something that would consume him if he let it. He rises from the chair and the shadows cast by the faint light remaining in the room stretch behind him, making him seem almost monstrous. Slowly, hypnotically, he moves towards the bed, his steps soundless. 

“Ellen was not mad. What haunted her was real,” he says. “And now, he has made me like him.”

The memory of Ellen’s terror surges to the forefront of your mind. Her frantic muttering, the words tumbling out in a panic about the demon that pursued her. You think of Professor von Franz’s wild claims she was haunted by a vampyre. Those ridiculous accusations had been the catalyst that finally pushed Friedrich to agree to what Ellen had desperately begged him to do — return her to Thomas.

You shake your head to deny the absurdity of your husband’s confession. But deep down, a part of you already knows the truth. It’s been there all along, quietly accumulating like a slow, inevitable tide with each subtle shift and unspoken change you noticed and ignored since his return. There is a fundamental, irrevocable rupture in the essence of your husband, a hunger that has transformed him into something unrecognizable. 

A vampyre. 

The word lingers in your mind, its weight sinking deeper with each passing moment. You think of your children, your eyes instinctively drifting to the wall that separates your room from theirs, a barrier that suddenly feels so thin and fragile. Your pulse quickens, and the air grows heavier.

Friedrich seems to sense your thoughts before you can voice them.

"I could never harm them," he says so steadily and sincerely that it leaves no room for doubt.  

You stiffen when his fingertips brush over your jaw, the coldness so stark that you don’t understand how you never noticed it before. You want to retreat from his touch but you feel rooted to the floor, some force beyond your control anchoring you in place.

"It was always you I could not resist," he admits, his words thick with desire.

As his fingers trail down the side of your neck, the sensation sharpens a memory deep within you. Fragments of your dreams begin to slip into focus, flooding back with startling clarity, almost overwhelming in their intensity. The flash of sharp teeth beneath his mustache, the scent of blood in the air. The mix of pain and pleasure. 

"They were not dreams," you whisper.

“No,” he replies, his hand resting against the side of your throat, seeking out the ache that has never quite faded. 

His confession frightens you, your mind struggling to reconcile the man you love with the creature standing before you. Yet even as you turn from him, overwhelmed with terror, there’s another part of you — one that loves him so completely, so unconditionally — that pulls you back toward him. The longer his fingers linger at your throat, the harder it becomes to tell where love ends and fear begins.

"You must know, I never intended to remain," he admits. "I only wanted to see you...and the children, just once more. To smell their hair and kiss their sweet faces." His gaze falters, a deep sorrow flickering in the depths of his eyes. "They looked so innocent, so pure...but I knew they would be well. They had you."

He moves closer, his chest hovering just inches from yours, a space that would have been filled with breath if he were still capable of it. But instead, he remains unnervingly still.

"Then I found you here," he continues, his words soft and haunting, "in this bed, so lost in grief. You were dreaming, and you whispered my name. You called for me, and in that moment...I could not leave you. I could not bring myself to walk away." 

Tears shimmer in his eyes, his emotions raw and vulnerable. You never expected to see your own grief mirrored in his face. The sight twists like a knife through your chest, an unbearable ache.

“That is my greatest sin, my love,” he whispers, his voice breaking with the weight of his confession. "That I could not let you go.”

The desire to comfort him and ease his grief compels you to act, but you find yourself frozen — locked inside your body, unable to move, to speak, to do anything more than listen as he continues. 

“I thought I would be content to simply watch, but then your father…” His words twist, and that monstrous intent you had glimpsed before surges between you, fierce and ravenous, filling the space between you. “He intended to barter you off to those vile men. I could not — would not — let that happen.”

Your stomach heaves at the implications of his words. You want him to stop speaking, to unburden you of this awful knowledge but he presses forward, relentlessly even as the first of your tears begin to fall. 

“Do not weep for those loathsome creatures, my love,” he says, his gaze hardening. “They would have hurt you. Hurt our children.”

You shake your head as if that very motion might change the truth of his words. “You killed them,” you whisper, horrified. 

“Yes.” 

There is no shame in his voice, no regret in the familiar blue eyes that meet yours — only the overwhelming weight of his devotion, so thick it feels like it could crush you. You take a half step back, the solid wood of the bedpost halting your retreat. Friedrich moves forward, closing the distance between you with unsettling ease, trapping you with his body. Fear tightens in your stomach, squeezing the breath from your lungs. 

“It was but a simple thing to take their lives,” he whispers, his hands framing your hips. 

A shiver runs through him as he presses his cheek to yours. His touch is so familiar that your body reacts before your mind, instinctively leaning into him even as fear urges you to pull away. His lips trail from your cheek to somewhere lower and you flinch, gasping in short, panicked breaths. You can feel the wild flutter of your pulse that he seeks out. 

“Will you take my life too?” The question escapes before you can stop it, fear clinging to every syllable.

Friedrich recoils from you, the weight of his presence receding, and you inhale shakily, as if the space between you can finally fill with air again. His posture shifts, and the sharpness in his expression softens. You stare at him, and for a fleeting moment, he feels familiar again — your Friedrich once more. 

“No,” he replies anguished, the mere idea of what you’ve asked unfathomable to him. “You are my wife,” he says, as if that alone is all the answer you need.  

In the silence that follows he studies your face, searching for something — some sign that you know not how to give him. 

"I never meant for it to be like this,” he whispers. He takes a small step back, his gaze lowering, filled with a deep, agonizing regret. "I should have let you go.” His hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hesitates, and then, almost too quietly, as if the admission is one he can hardly bear, he murmurs, “I must leave.”  

When he looks up again his expression is devoid of any emotion. “I shall ensure your well-being, and see to it the children are provided for.” He speaks as though he is very far away, his tone is calm, distant. “You will not need to remarry for the sake of security."

The thought of losing him again wrenches something from deep inside you. For all the darkness in him, for the monstrous thing that lives beneath his skin, you realize that the idea of life without him is a void you could not survive again. You can’t breathe, can’t think beyond the sudden, crushing terror. 

“No,” you sob, the mix of fear, desire, and love so tightly wound together that you can no longer distinguish one from the other. You move towards him, your steps unsteady, as though the very ground beneath you is crumbling. “You cannot leave me. Not again.”

“Do not," he pleads, stepping back just out of reach, his voice thick with desperation. "I have not the resolve to deny you."

"You are my husband," you remind him, tearfully. "You made a vow to me."

"Till death," he answers, his grip tightening around your hands, halting your frantic reach for him. "But I no longer live."

“I care not,” you tell him, the weight of your love for him, your need to have him here with you the only thing that matters. The thought of losing him again is unbearable. It twists you with desperation, a wild, consuming need, and in this moment of painful clarity, you finally understand why he stayed, why he endured the torment of his own nature – all for you and your daughters. 

“We can make a new vow,” you urge desperately, pushing aside the turmoil within. You should be repulsed by what he's become. But something deeper pulls at you, a love so fierce and unyielding it overrides every ounce of logic. You love him too much to let go.

Friedrich watches you then, his gaze full of hunger and pain, and you know that he’s fighting himself, fighting his love for you. The very same battle raging within you.

“You do not know me any longer,” he replies. "I know you,” you insist. “You are the man who has tended to our daughters with such devotion since his return. His love for them is as steadfast as the love he bears for me. A man who has always upheld his marriage vow, to protect and cherish me.”

He shakes his head but it is a halfhearted denial. 

“I love you, Friedrich,” you whisper. “Please.”

The words have hardly left you when his lips are on yours, his hands grasping desperately for you. He pushes you towards the bed, his body enveloping yours when he presses you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close. The relief you feel is a heavy, wondrous thing and you part your lips, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth. 

A whimper slips from you when he pulls away, but he’s quick to quiet you. He grips your nightgown with both hands and wrenches it apart to bare your body to his heated gaze. He kisses each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth, his tongue circling it until it grows hard and achy before paying the same attention to the other. 

His mouth trails lower, down your soft stomach, tenderly kissing each line and mark left from carrying his children. When he reaches the soft tufts of hair that hide one of his favorite parts of you he inhales deeply. He uses two fingers to spread you open, his tongue seeking out the delicate bundle of nerves. Your eyes close and you clutch a fistful of his curly hair, pulling it urgently, needing him even closer.

Friedrich knows your body intimately and as he worships between your thighs your voice grows louder, a hunger stirring low in your belly. Your hips rise and fall, meeting his mouth, crying in delight when he gently works a finger inside. 

“I shall never grow tired of the taste of you…your warmth,” he praises, slipping a second finger beside the first. 

He curls them, moving like a relentless wave upon the shore, steady and rhythmic. When his thumb circles your bud with tender attention you grasp the bedsheets and groan. You feel so close, every muscle in your body pulled tight in anticipation of release. The bed shifts and you feel Friedrich’s lips brush down your inner thigh as his fingers continue their steady work. 

“Come for me,” he commands, an unsettling current under his words that your body can’t help but obey. 

You peak with his name on your lips, louder and more wanton than you’ve ever been. As your orgasm washes through you, a faint pulse of pain threads beneath the euphoria, blending with the sensation in a tangled, confusing mix. You realize then Friedrich’s feeding from you, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of your inner thigh to draw more than pleasure from you. His fingers still work within you and you watch through half-lidded eyes as he drinks until your vision grows hazy and unfocused.

When you open your eyes again he’s shed his clothes, the coolness of his naked flesh sending a shiver through you. The two of you share a sweet, lingering kiss and he pulls back, staring down at you. Your eyes are drawn to the wound on his chest, a jagged mark left by the creature. Tentatively, you raise your hand, watching his face as you reach for it. He doesn’t stop you, but his chest rises and falls sharply, a long-forgotten reflex in anticipation of your touch. 

You brush your fingers over his torn skin and he shudders when your lips follow, offering him acceptance and benediction the only way you know how. He whispers your name and your thighs part in welcome. There’s no pain as he slips inside, just that familiar ache you’ve been craving. You gaze up at him in the dim light, watching his blue eyes shimmer with a flash of silver that fades and returns with each roll of his hips. 

His eyes close when you wrap a leg around his hip, urging him to reach deeper inside you. After all this time, you need more from him, all the passion and desire he’s trembling with the effort to hold back. Your heart has made its choice, binding itself to him in a way that transcends fear, desire, and everything else and you want him to know that.  

“It is okay, my love,” you urge, baring your throat to him. 

Your words cause his pace to falter and he stares at you with a deep crease in his brow. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. 

“I want you. All of you,” you assure him. 

Friedrich’s lips part, curling up to reveal teeth sharper than you remember. In a blink he lunges forward, his chest pressing into yours as his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. Your skin gives way under his teeth, and a deep growl resonates in his throat. His hips drive into you hard enough for the bed to creak dangerously and you wrap your arms around him, holding on until your limbs become too heavy.

There’s no fear in this moment, only immense, indescribable pleasure. You smile at him as he pulls away, the coolness of his breath still lingering on your skin. His tongue flicks over a stray drop of your blood at the corner of his mouth, the motion slow and deliberate, almost reverent, as though savoring every bit of you. The sight sends an unexpected jolt of desire through you, as intoxicating as it is unsettling.

You moan beneath him, digging your nails into his biceps when he pulls your knees to your chest. It hurts in the best way possible and you share a messy, coppery kiss as he groans into your mouth, the sounds of his desperate desire enough to herald your own end. Every part of your body hums with pleasure, except for the sharp sting in your neck. 

You touch the torn skin gingerly, the sluggish flow of your blood surely staining the sheets beneath you. Friedrich brings your fingers to his lips, cleaning them with his tongue. Then he brings his thumb to his mouth, puncturing the skin. Dark red blood wells up from the wound, and you watch breathlessly as he traces the bite mark on your throat. Your skin tingles and you look questioningly at him.

“There will be no mark,” he assures you.

Cautiously you touch your throat, finding only smooth, unblemished skin. You look up at him in amazement.

“I do not deserve such a look,” he says. “I am a monster.”

“You are my Friedrich,” you reply, echoing the words you spoke earlier, your hands gently cradling his face.

Your thumbs stroke his skin, taking in the familiar way his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you, his gaze filled with adoration. He rests his forehead against yours, and you smile wider than before, the joy you feel almost too much to bear.

Even now, with everything that has come to light, your love for him remains unshaken. He is woven into the very fabric of your soul, as much a part of you as the blood that courses through your veins. No matter what comes next, your love for Friedrich will endure. The bond between you is eternal, transcending time and even the boundaries of life itself. 

♡

Thank you all so much for reading this series! I had a bit of a tough time with the ending, so I really hope you enjoyed it. Your thoughts and feedback mean everything to me, so feel free to leave a comment, reblog, or send an ask if you’d like!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change Of Heart - 5 (Edited ver.)

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky stood near the dock, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. The waves lapped gently against the wooden posts, a rhythmic sound that did little to soothe the restlessness inside him. The sky had begun to darken, shades of deep blue swallowing the last traces of daylight.

"Sir, it's getting dark," his secretary reminded him softly, standing a few steps behind.

Bucky didn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Did your parents divorce?"

The secretary blinked at the sudden question. "No, sir. But my sister did. She divorced her first husband."

Bucky hummed, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. "Was it the right choice?"

"I think so," the secretary admitted. "She smiles more with her second husband. He was divorced too. Somehow, they complete each other. It’s like they both learned from their past mistakes."

Bucky finally turned to look at him. "How long have they been together now?"

"Five years."

Silence settled between them. Bucky lowered his gaze, staring at the ground as if lost in thought. His parents divorced when he was young. His father changed wives like the seasons, to where Bucky had lost count of how many stepmothers he'd had. And his mother—she had become a well-known rich cougar, the kind who made headlines.

When two broken people come together, they begin to heal. But what happened between him and you... something still hurts deep down. Though both of you completed each other, seeing you leave felt like it wasn’t enough.

Bucky had spent years running from his past, avoiding the feelings he buried deep within himself. He'd been afraid of truly connecting, terrified that giving in to love would mean vulnerability—and he’d never allowed himself to be vulnerable. But with you, something changed.

He started to open up, piece by piece. He had found solace in your presence, a kind of comfort he never thought he’d experience. You made him feel like maybe it was okay to be human.

But even as the wounds began to heal, a part of him remained fractured. The scars weren’t completely gone. And as he watched you walk away, that deep-seated fear—of losing someone, of being left behind—came rushing back. He realized he wasn’t as whole as he thought he was.

Without another word, Bucky pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he made the call. He held the device to his ear and started walking, his steps slow and aimless as he paced along the dimly lit dock. A few streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the worn planks beneath his feet.

The therapist answered after a few rings.

"My advice?" The voice on the other end was calm. "Let her go. Don't stop her. If she wants to come back, she will."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His grip on the phone tightened. He didn’t agree.

"Do you have any sexual desire toward her?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"Do you feel safe when you're around her?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want to come home faster when you know she's waiting there?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose. "Yes."

The therapist paused before asking the last question.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

This time, Bucky hesitated. His lips parted, but the words didn't come as easily. "...No." But his voice lacked conviction.

The therapist remained silent for a beat before finally speaking.

"It will grow on you. Just wait and see."

Bucky lowered the phone, staring at the dark waters ahead. The wind picked up, tousling his hair, but he barely noticed. His chest felt tight, the answer lingering in his mind.

Had he really meant it?

The Next Day

Bucky followed you.

He shouldn’t have, but he did.

He was already waiting by the dock when you returned from your scuba diving lesson. You looked different—lighter, freer. The usual quiet presence he was familiar with had been replaced by someone more expressive, more alive. You laughed while talking to strangers, engaging with them in a way he had never seen before. When you were with him, you spoke to his colleagues, sure, but never like this. With them, it was polite conversation, surface-level. But now? You were glowing.

And Bucky didn't know how to feel about that.

You spotted him standing near the railing, and your smile faltered for just a second before returning. Surprise flickered in your eyes, but there was something else too—relief, maybe.

"You're still here," you said, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and quiet gladness.

Bucky was about to respond, but then his gaze caught on you peeling off your wetsuit.

He froze.

It wasn’t like you were undressing provocatively—you were simply taking off your gear. But in the two years you'd been together, neither of you had ever seen the other completely bare. You had shared a home, a bed even, but always with an unspoken distance.

His throat went dry, and he forced himself to turn away, his jaw tightening.

Bucky had seen countless women undress before, but this—this was different. This was you. And it was as if some part of his brain refused to process it. He waited in silence, staring at the dark water until he heard your footsteps approaching.

You had changed into dry clothes and now stood beside him, leaning against the dock railing.

“I guess Grandpa won’t allow you to come home,” you said.

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re right. But I guess… I failed. You don’t want to come back.”

“Not yet.”

Silence. The waves rolled in and out, filling the space between you.

You looked out at the sea, your expression unreadable. Then, as if speaking more to yourself than to him, you asked, “Do you ever wonder why we’re compatible?”

It was a good question. Because in truth, on paper, you shouldn’t be.

Most marriage contracts like yours didn’t last. Some couples couldn’t even stand each other for the duration of their agreement. They broke it off before the ink had dried.

You exhaled through your nose, then said with a smirk, “Because both of us are ambitious as fuck.”

Bucky scoffed. He almost laughed, but he held it in, shaking his head instead.

Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were softer now, but firm, steady.

“Bucky, I know you’re not ready for this. And I won’t push you. You need to figure it out yourself.”

His chest tightened.

He had spent years figuring himself out. Years battling the demons that kept him tethered to his past. But had he actually moved forward?

“I used this marriage contract to get money,” you admitted. “To have a higher status than my father. Feeling superior to him gave me satisfaction.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He understood that. He understood it too well.

He had never wanted to be in a relationship—not out of fear, but as an act of rebellion. His parents' marriage had been a disaster, a revolving door of broken vows and replacements. His father cycled through wives like a man cycling through business investments. His mother had responded by becoming one of the most infamous rich cougars in town, collecting younger lovers as if to prove something to the world.

Love, as far as Bucky had seen, was nothing more than a transaction.

He had despised it.

But now, standing here, he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So this is goodbye, then?”

“For now,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just want to do what I’ve been holding back. I want to grow up.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean? We’re already in our thirties.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was knowing, understanding.

“I mean growing up from the trauma.” Your voice softened. “Bucky, both of us were stuck as kids because of what happened to us. Our pasts kept us frozen in time. But I don’t want to stay stuck anymore. I want to move forward. I want to leave the trauma behind.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He couldn't.

“The reason I didn’t come back,” you continued, “is because I still love you. And that terrifies me. I’m running away because I can’t be near you without feeling everything too much.”

Bucky sucked in a slow breath.

This was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him like this—with honesty, with vulnerability. It was the first time he had ever received a love confession that wasn’t transactional, that wasn’t tied to expectations.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

You stepped back. “I hope that the next time we meet, everything will be different.”

Bucky watched as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let out a shaky exhale.

Something was shifting inside him, something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t just loss. It wasn’t just regret.

It was something deeper.

A few moments later, he pulled out his phone and dialed his therapist.

When the call connected, his voice came out rough, almost reluctant.

“I think I’m starting to have… sexual desires toward her.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then, finally, his therapist sighed.

“Well, Bucky,” they said, “it looks like you’re finally catching up to your emotions.”

He decided to leave you alone, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring. No matter what, you had been there for him for two years. Marriage contract or not, you left a lasting impression on his life.

When he returned, his grandfather was waiting for him, clearly hoping you would step off the plane with Bucky.

When he saw Bucky coming down alone, Tom clicked his tongue. “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky sighed. “Give her time. She’ll be back.” Even though he's not sure when you'll be back.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

One Year Later

The café inside the park was quiet, tucked away between tall trees and winding pathways. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light onto the wooden tables.

Bucky sat alone, a tablet in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He scrolled through reports, half-reading, half-listening to the sounds around him—the soft chatter of other patrons, the occasional bark of a dog, the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Then, a voice behind him made him nearly drop his tablet.

“I see you’re still a workaholic.”

His heart clenched. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned around—and there you were.

You stood before him, looking different yet familiar. Your skin was sun-kissed, your hair slightly lighter, and your presence felt… freer. There was an ease in your posture, a confidence in your stance that hadn’t been there before.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, as if making sure you were real. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I don’t work as much as I used to,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Really? Who’s been keeping up with all your work, then?”

“My parents.”

That made you pause. “Your parents?”

He nodded, setting down his tablet. “Yeah. I finally faced it. The whole mess.”

And it had been a mess. For years, he had avoided confronting the real cause of his fears—his childhood. He thought that refusing to engage in relationships was an act of defiance, proof that he had broken free from his parents' toxic cycle. But in reality, he had been trapped just like them. Stuck in the same story, just playing a different role.

It wasn’t fair.

They had lived their lives—moving on, getting remarried, collecting younger lovers, burning through money—while he had been the one frozen in time, afraid to take a single step forward.

So he had done something drastic.

He had cut them off.

No more allowances, no more endless funds. Their luxurious lifestyles had been fueled by company profits, and Bucky had put an end to it.

“This company is not a charity,” he had told them. “You’ve used its assets to fund your lifestyles for too long. If I let this continue, we’ll go down in history as the first corporation to bankrupt itself paying alimony.”

His father had been furious. His mother had scoffed. But in the end, they had no choice. They had to start working.

They had been terrible parents. But, ironically, they turned out to be decent employees.

"Both of them have stopped acting childish," he said. His parents had also stopped playing the roles of sugar daddy and cougar. It turned out money was the solution.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the one person he had waited a year to see again.

"I fixed my relationship with my parents, especially my dad," you replied.

"That's good to hear," he responded.

After spending some time with your dad, you realized that without the rivalry, he's an easygoing person. You started contacting him daily.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Does this mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Your gaze softened. “No. I never stopped loving you.” You smiled, almost shyly. “I just had a feeling this time would be different.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I see. So you’ve completed your self-discovery?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, lighter than it had ever been. You talked about your travels, the people you had met, and the experiences that had changed you. Bucky listened, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or a teasing comment, making you laugh. It felt easy—natural.

Then, as if it were nothing, you casually said, “I broke my leg climbing down a mountain.”

“What?!” His eyes widened, panic flashing through them.

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Some nuns from a nearby chapel helped me. They took care of me for a month.”

Bucky frowned, his mind racing. So that’s why you didn’t post an update for a month.

You nodded. “Yeah. They prayed for me.” Then, after a pause, you admitted, “I’ve never prayed before. But I started to. Admitting my anger, my sins… it made the weight feel lighter. I guess I’m sharing my burdens with God now.” You studied his reaction carefully. “Do you think I’ve turned into a religious freak?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. As long as you found peace.”

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

“Caramel Macchiato, hot, less sugar… right?”

You blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. He smirked before getting up and heading toward the cashier.

When he returned, he placed the coffee in front of you, watching as you took a small sip.

Then you said, “On my way here, I passed by a cinema playing Interstellar.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with interest. That was his favorite movie—the one he always watched when he had time alone.

“Really?”

“You interested?” You pulled out two tickets and held them up.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Let’s go.”

As you both walked side by side, he glanced at you.

“You know,” he said, “you could share your burdens with me too.”

You turned to him, your expression unreadable.

Was that… a proposal?

Bucky continued, his tone calm but firm. “We’ve known each other for two years. You left for one. And yet, you came back with the same feelings. And I waited a year for you to come back.”

Your heart pounded.

This time, it wasn’t just a contract. It wasn’t a transaction.

It was something real. Something earned.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

This time, there was a difference between them.

Before, they had been trapped—chained to the past, repeating old patterns, clinging to wounds that refused to heal. They had mistaken their pain for identity, their fears for inevitability.

But now, they had changed.

Not because time had passed, but because they had made the choice to move forward.

They had faced their demons, made peace with their scars, and learned to let go. Bucky was no longer a man protesting love out of spite. And you were no longer someone running away to find yourself.

You had both found your own way—separately.

And yet, in the end, that path had led you back to each other.

-The End-

Epilogue:

Bucky suddenly remembered something. “I should call Grandpa to let him know you’re back.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I already met him when I landed. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. Even after a year, you still cared about Tom.

After watching the movie, he will take you to meet Tom. His grandpa will welcome you with open arms and finally stop calling him an "idiot."

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Now don't throw tomatoes at me but I'm actually really excited to finally see malleus again— I've always loved malleus since we met him in the story, but I'm also sooo curious about what's gonna happen next,, I'm wondering the obvious thing, about whether or not we might get a parralel scenario like what happened with the KoD and silver will have to "slay" malleus or at least be the one to land a killing blow, but I also saw a really interesting post focusing on how magic is a manifestation of dreams and deep desires and imagination,,,, in that case, I may (VERY delusionally) hope that Yuu finally gets to be a major part of the story for once??? Even reading the novels, there HAS to be something bigger for yuu— while the idea of crowley simply being an incompetent airhead is fun and more comfortable, haven't you thought that meybe he pulled them into this world deliberately??

All to say, what if at some point, Yuu somehow manifests magic in a very dire moment ?? You know lol?? Agh idk. I just want yuu to finally make impactful choices but that IS too much to ask, as far as we can see for now,,, (but hey, that part leading up to ace getting is UM, and the convo between him and yuu,,, it *does* give one a sliver of hope, doesn't it? :') )

Don't worry, no tomato throwing here! 😅 I may not care for certain characters, but I’m not going to shame anyone that does. You’re free to think however you want about Malleus!

dbjsvsJcwhj My personal feelings about him aside, I am actually glad he’s finally relevant to the main story again. He’s missed out on so much of his own book OTL In the time he’s been gone, the fandom has been left to speculate about both his and Lilia’s potential death flags. I really doubt Twst will have the balls to kill off one of them, but it would be cool to at least see Silver delivering the final blow to knock some sense into (not necessarily kill) OB Malleus.

Yes, it’s true that Silver states in the recent update that magic was originally considered “a miracle borne of strong desires from the heart.” But 💦 I don’t think that means Yuu would randomly manifest magic in the final fight?? It feels more like a “let’s save the day with the power of friendship” to me, but I could of course be wrong.

I understand being frustrated that Yuu’s participation in the main story seems to fluctuate a lot, with most of their activity being books 3, 4, and segments of 1, 6, and 7. That’s not much, especially considering how long books 6 and 7 are. Sometimes (even in events) it feels like Yuu is barely there, as most dialogue options don’t involve different reactions from the characters. Even Yuu's quest to find a way home is barely addressed or taken seriously until early in book 7. Yuu hasn't gotten "real" development unless you count them realizing their Disney dreams are prophetic in book 5, taking the initiative to save Grim in book 6, and that dialogue option about them being worried they're not contributing + the related convo with Ace in book 7. All very short moments in the grand scheme of things. And honestly, I think that makes sense for the kind of character Yuu is. A blank slate, a self-insert, an outsider that's easy to exposit information to, someone with which to view the story, characters, and world through. Yuu is primarily there to be the POV character, the lenses, the camera that we see Twst through. They're not really meant to be a traditional "main character". It's possible that Twst gives them a slightly bigger role at the very end (especially with what went down in the dream in book 7), but I doubt it will be a huge triumphant moment where they and they alone save the day or deal the final blow in a crazy act of self-sacrifice. Twst has always been a story that puts the NRC boys first, while Yuu is the observer.

I've noticed that the complaint of Yuu not doing a lot in the story comes mainly from English speaking fans?? And I guess that makes sense, given how western culture tends to emphasize independence and standing out. They want Yuu to reflect that. They want to be the ones to make a difference. I don't even remember ever seeing these same comments from the Japanese speaking fans; it's definitely a less common sentiment for them. The Japanese fans seem pretty content with Yuu being an observer and taking on more of a minor or supporting role. Again, this fits in with what I understand of many eastern cultures. They're demurer, not wanting to stand out too much from the crowd and instead prioritizing group harmony. Very interesting cultural difference to note!

It's a common theory (with many variants) that Crowley intentionally summoned Yuu to Twisted Wonderland for his own nefarious motives. People found him pretty sus right away due to how he seems to not put in any real time or effort into investigating a way to send Yuu home. Plus, there's that ominous opening monologue of his to consider. However, I don't think he summoned Yuu because of their (potential) great magical capabilities. The Mirror of Darkness tells us that it doesn't sense a shred of magic in Yuu, and Leona smells zero magic on them (though that could be because it hasn't technically manifested yet, as some fans claim).

The idea is that Yuu is supposed to be plain. They are supposed to be magicless. Why? To humble the NRC students and to show them that asserting yourself violently or with great magical power ISN'T the way to go. To show them value in strategizing (which Yuu does in the prologue by helping Grim aim at the ghosts), of camaraderie. What does it say about the story's themes if Yuu, the person who is supposed to be showing them the worth of mundane things, is suddenly... "secretly ultra-strong, actually/“just like you guys” (even if it's only a temporary hope-fueled magic)? It might contradict what has already been set up. It also breaks the self-insert appeal of Yuu, since developing magic would also mean Yuu would later have to further develop things like proficiency in magic, best/worst subjects, and an unique magic/signature spell... meaning Yuu HAS to become better "defined", thus losing their blank slate nature. This would surely upset some fans who deeply project onto Yuu, have a Yuusona, etc.

Yuu can still make an impact on the characters and the world--and they have, judging by how much closer the boys are with each other--without having to be The Most Special One or like everyone else. I think it undermines what Yuu has already managed to achieve to say that they haven't made an impactful choice at ANY point in the main story when I believe they definitely have. Yuu made the choice to sign the contract with Azul. Yuu made the choice to approach Malleus. Yuu made the choice to go against Crowley's orders and go retrieve Grim from S.T.Y.X. Yuu made the choice to get Leona’s help with the contracts. Yuu made the choice to stand with Adeuce against Riddle in book 1. Yuu made the choice to let the VDC/SDC tribe train at Ramshackle. Yuu has done a lot, and all without needing to seize the spotlight or to do anything big and flashy. I don't think Yuu needs to be big and flashy. There is pride to be had in simplicity and being humble too. There is pride in representing the 90% of humans in Twisted Wonderland that are ordinary and without magic.

(An aside: so if Yuu wasn’t able to manifest magic in many other extreme instances, does that mean their desire to save Grim in book 6 wasn’t “enough”? That their desire to save Ramshackle, their one and only home in this world, wasn’t “enough”? It implies that Yuu didn’t wish hard enough for these other things they clearly care about and want.)

I think a good way to give Yuu a decent role while staying true to their design as a blank slate would be for Twst to really lean into the whole "beast tamer" aspect that was introduced all the way back in the prologue. This would work well with their deep connection to Grim as well. Assuming that Grim ends up being the final OB... We could easily have the NRC students and staff on the ropes, Malleus at his wit's end after exhausting himself with his own OB, a rampaging Grim about to end it all. And then... one lone figure shakily rises from the rubble and confronts Grim. One human. Magicless, defenseless. A human lost in an unfamiliar world, a human who believes they're useless and don't contribute much. A human who is always in need of being protected by others. But not anymore. This time, it's Yuu's turn to protect what they love--their friends, this world they've come to love, Grim. Ace and Deuce yelling at Yuu to not be stupid, to get back--but Yuu just advances, calling out to Grim and begging him to stop. And maybe it's Yuu's wish that rallies everyone and/or gets OB Grim to hesitate. That's when they can strike. Is that corny? Yeah. Does it sound like the ending to a Disney film? Sure. But it still grants Yuu, a magicless human that is supposed to be there to teach everyone about friendship, cooperation, and humility, their big moment to shine. The best of both worlds, I'd say.

[waifuoftomonori]

Okay, I’ve answered most of these in other posts already, but I’ll go ahead and answer the ones I haven’t. (I’m not sure if this is the usual way to do this, but I doubt anyone’s gonna send me asks and I want to answer the questions anyway.) 1. N/A - no other fictional character brings me nearly as much joy, comfort, or lust as Tomonori of Scarlet Fate

2. Well, when I was a kid, I had a major crush on Farid from Inkheart, if that counts. I haven’t read those books in ages, so he is no longer a blorbo for me, and considering he’s a kid, I don’t know if he would still be if I reread those books. I feel like I might sympathize more with the author, or maybe even get a crush on— what was his name, Dustfinger?— the grown-up thief. …Anyway, due to that combined with the portrayal of certain characters in The Thief Lord, I blame Cornelia Funke for my lifelong obsession with rogues.

3. see my post about the moment of blorbo-ization

4. I have to pick just one? Oh, man. Okay, as impressive and sexy as Tomonori’s composure in the face of various threats is, from a snarling beefy monk to various gods/demons who want to end the world, my favorite thing about him has to be the world-altering potential of his unspoken but deeply passionate love for Shiki. This man was equally willing to cause the apocalypse or save the world for her. That is a choice he canonically laid at her feet. I’ve seen “I’ll end the world in your name / out of love for you” a few times before, and I’ve seen “I’ll save the world for you / because you’re in it” a few times, but this might be the first and only time I’ve seen a character who’s absolutely willing to do either. Who puts his personal opinion of whether the world should continue or end secondary to the opinion of the person he loves, even when he has the power to do either, and gives her that choice instead. That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen a character do in fiction.

5. Do I dislike anything about him? Other than things the writers didn’t fully explain, like whoever decided the role he should play in Gentoka’s route, no. It’s not that I think he’s flawless, but his pettiness and stubbornness and (only sometimes necessary) secretive tendencies and all of that are endearing to me.

6. Uh, I don’t know. The writer in me would be dying to show him my fanfiction and ask, “How would you act if you were in this situation?” or “Is this something you think you would say? How would you change it?” about a million places in the work, but as a person I think that might make him uncomfortable, especially if it came out of nowhere. I do “talk to him” a lot in my journals, and my version of him answers back. We’ve had whole conversations. He can’t seem to stop calling me “Shiki” though; it feels incredibly awkward to have him use my real name for some reason.

7. There’s a fandom other than me? Like, a fandom with collective opinions and stuff? I had no idea.

8. Introvert who’s learned how to read people and interact with them in formal contexts out of necessity. He’ll paste on a smile and say all the right things in public, but if given the choice he’d rather be at home reading.

9. calm, devious, romantic

10. If he’s trying to protect me, yes, absolutely. If that’s not a guarantee and Shiki and Akifusa also exist in this world (mostly Shiki, he’s not quite as protective of Akifusa, who to be fair doesn’t need it from physical threats as much), then I’ll trust him to protect me as long as it doesn’t interfere with their lives or safety.

11. Yup. So many fanfics. Still writing them, in fact.

12. Yeah, my mom, dad, and stepdad all know about him and the extent of my obsession with him. I’d probably gush about him to my brothers more if they were home more often or showed even a trace of interest.

13. Anything I could feasibly see him doing? No. But then I guess if he committed an act that would severely change my opinion of him, he wouldn’t be the same character, would he? So maybe that’s the whole point of the question. …Uh, sorry for clarifying all that. I guess if he raped someone, that would change things.

14. Again: there’s a fandom? Never had that problem. But even if I did, I don’t think I would distance myself from the character, just from the other people. Or if I’d grown close with them, I’d just ask them to stop talking about the character with me, and I’d do the same with them. We’re allowed to have different opinions, but I shouldn’t have to hear them dissing my favorite character if I don’t want to, and I’d hope they would respect that as my friends.

15. Big fandom problems, not mine.

16. Define “canonically”.

17. Hell no. Look, not all writers are sadists who want to see characters suffer. When I do make him suffer, it’s because the story compels me to, or else there wouldn’t be interesting conflict for him (and usually Shiki and/or Akifusa as well) to eventually overcome.

18. Yes. With Shiki and Akifusa, as is doubtless abundantly clear by this point.

19. Short, smartass, scheming, morally complex men who are passionately in love with one woman for the vast majority of their lives. (Or man; I wouldn’t mind reading a gay version of this, I just haven’t found one yet.) Alternate type: thieves, rogues, bandits, cutpurses, pickpockets, footpads, maybe assassins in extreme cases. If the two “types” are combined in one character, so much the better. Also, on a list of fictional characters I find attractive, 4 of the… 20-ish have red eyes, and two of those four are ostensibly human.

20. N/A. …Or, I guess, no. Depending on how one defines “blorbo”. I have favorite characters (and ships) from other works of media, characters and ships of whom I prefer to read fanfiction over fanfiction of any other characters or ships, but I don’t get excited about them the same way I do about Tomonori.

21. N/A

22. I don’t know. I want to say yes, but if he were real I’d feel uncomfortable writing fanfiction about him, since I don’t do RPF. And although I adored him as a character in canon, I think it was through the fanfiction I wrote after that I grew to love him and all his many facets on a deeper level. But I guess if he were real, he’d be dead since he lived in the Heian era, so maybe I wouldn’t have that problem. But I dunno, then I’d have to do even more historical research, and that’s just a pain in the ass. I’d probably still admire him, though.

23. He’s a victim of 1. Gentoka’s route; 2. not appearing in the CD Drama official art that showed the 5 “main” love interests shirtless but apparently Tomonori didn’t matter enough to the writers for that; 3. not getting a nice yukata in the summer festival stories despite the fact that fuckin’ Akifusa got one and from goddess lady’s perspective I would think Tomonori would seem more important and thus more deserving of one, but again, apparently the writers and/or artists didn’t care enough about Tomonori for that; 4. not getting any additional “autumn” stories; and 5. not getting a sequel story. …If anyone does happen to have information that the people in charge of Scarlet Fate released extra bonus stories and/or official art of him wearing anything other than that kimono (or the school uniform for the high school AU CD Drama, but that doesn’t count because it’s not canon and they did it wrong anyway, Shiki should obviously have been childhood friends with Akifusa and Tomonori too, not just some rando girl they instantly crushed on at first sight— leave that to the other love interests)— please let me know, and let me know where I can read or see it.

24. hmmm. I don’t want to change anything. But if I had to? Let’s make him even shorter. Like, 5’0” or something. Even shorter than Shiki.

25. I’m pretty sure they used him in the Scarlet Fate+ app to introduce the player to the game, but of course at that time I didn’t realize who he was. How did I first discover that app? I was playing a bunch of similar otome at the time— well, similar in the sense that you’d spend some version of stamina to read stories for free 5 times a day, or you could pay once to gain access to the full story. I think I gave up on Scarlet Fate+ because it’s really not the kind of story that’s ideally read in small fragments like that, but later I returned to the paid version, bought it, and thoroughly enjoyed Akifusa’s route. (After reading Gentoka’s, which was kinda meh— and I have the problem with it I mentioned above, although I didn’t have that problem at the time because Gentoka’s route is lacking in Tomonori lore so I didn’t have the full context— but helped me realize Shiki’s a badass, and I liked it enough that I wanted to read about other characters. …Anyway, I read Akifusa’s next because Akifusa made me laugh, and I’ve found that’s usually a good sign I’ll enjoy an otome character’s route. Often that character will end up being my favorite. In this case, I fell in love with his best friend instead. Sorry, Akifusa. Look on the bright side, you’re one of the characters I ship with him.) 26. Definitely not. This sounds terrible to admit now, but at the time I thought he was just a tutorial character who they only included because he had a pretty face. Even after you get to see little hints of his personality in the game, I still had no clue. I think the first premonition I had that he might be a more interesting character than I gave him credit for was how he dealt with the “trolley problem” in Akifusa’s route. Possibly.

27. Of course I want more people to know about him. It’s tiring having to explain who he is every time. I joked about making an informational PowerPoint once, but I might seriously consider doing that.

28. Yes. Not for any reason to do with Tomonori specifically, but I have been attacked online for the mere fact that he is a fictional character and I’m obsessing over him. I think I made a post about that too.

29. I’m the only creator of fanfics about him that I know. No, my own fanfiction has not made me cry. It has moved me emotionally on occasion, but not to the point of tears.

30. It’s been six years so far. What’s another three? Sure.

BLORBO ASKS GAME

reblog if you’d like people to send you asks about your Blorbo

who’s the Blorbo that you’ve never posted about on your blog?

who was your first ever Blorbo, who was your childhood Blorbo, and are they still your Blorbo?

was there any specific point / any specific moment that suddenly made this character your Blorbo, or did you slowly grow to love them more and more until they became a Blorbo to you?

what’s the thing you love the most about your Blorbo?

what’s the thing you dislike the most about your Blorbo?

if you could talk to your Blorbo, what would you say to them?

what’s the one thing the fandom gets wrong about your Blorbo?

is your Blorbo an introvert or extrovert?

describe your Blorbo in 3 words

if your Blorbo were real, would you trust them with your life?

have you ever written a fanfic about your Blorbo?

do you talk to your family or in-real-life friends about your Blorbo?

is there any crime, any wrongdoing your Blorbo could commit that would make you stop loving them and remove them from your hyperfixation entirely?

have you ever distanced yourself from your Blorbo / have you ever left a fandom because people in the fandom were being too toxic?

have you ever gotten involved in ship wars?

is your Blorbo canonically alive?

do you like seeing your Blorbo suffer?

do you ship your Blorbo with any character?

when it comes to Blorbos, do you have a type?

if you have more than one Blorbo, do you love them all equally?

if your Blorbo is from a live-action media, are you also a fan of the actor who plays them?

would you still love your Blorbo if they were real?

is your Blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

if you could change one canonical thing about your Blorbo, what would it be?

how did you first discover your Blorbo?

when you first discovered your Blorbo, did you realize from that moment that they would become your Blorbo?

do you gatekeep your Blorbo? / would you want more people to know about your Blorbo?

have you ever been attacked online just because you liked your Blorbo?

has a fanfic about your Blorbo ever made you cry?

do you think this character will still be your Blorbo three years from now on?

[bluespiderlully]

KNY - Fix it! AU (+ My Characters) Canon Hashiras

This is the first post of the modern AU series, where I'll share with you moodboards and headcanons, for this post I'll cover just the canon Hashiras and in the next ones we'll see the non-canon and the OCs ones. A little warning: some of these headcanons are angsty but the concept I want here is of course hurt/comfort and it's a "bad things happened in the past but things aren't going bad now, we're all friends" kind of things. Anyway angsty headcanons aren't the majority.

🌊 Giyu Tomioka

Knows how to play piano, likes classical music a lot

60s/70s/80s sci-fi books reader, would probably start a conversation about a random book he red and end up talking about philosophy, religion and politics (Enmu and Harriet are the only ones to have actual conversations about the topics and don't just stand there confused).

Loves marine biology but never succeded in making a goldfish survive for more than one week.

🌫 Muichiro Tokito

Definitely a cat person.

Suffers from sleep paralysis and nightmares but draws anything disturbing he sees as a copying mechanism, Giyu thinks his art is pretty cool.

Super skilled at snowboarding and skateboarding.

🌪 Sanemi Shinazugawa

Overprotective with everyone he becomes friend with.

He always has rage issues, but they used to scare Ayumi off so he started working on it and managed to become calmer.

He doesn't listen to music, he listen to NOISE, if a vocalist doesn't sound like a clogged sink he doesn't listen to it.

🐍 Obanai Iguro

Has a Glasgow smile after surviving a serial killer attack. In this AU he wears a mask too, he just doesn't like to show the scar. He doesn't eat in front of people for the same reason.

Owns a black ball python and a white hognose snake and spends a lot of time decorating his terrarium (but he is careful with the hognose one, he doesn't want him to get stuck stucked as they always do).

Interested in occultism, reads a lot about it.

🌸 Mitsuri Kanroji

She does ballet since when she was 4.

Very good at baking sweets, but likes few of them so she always ends up giving them to others.

Makes friends easily and very quickly, her and Kyojuro are best friends since they were at kindergarten.

☄️ Tengen Uzui

When he was a child he wanted to become an astronaut, now he found out about planetary defense and wants to become part of that organization because "diverting asteroids is cool".

Got in every kind of trouble at school.

Drives like he could respawn infinite times.

🦋 Shinobu Kocho

Could talk about chemistry for hours.

Listens to metalcore and hyper pop and ends up hyperfixating with a song and listening to it until she ends up hating it.

Friends with Obanai, enjoys spending time with him and helping with his terrariums.

🔥 Kyojuro Rengoku

Eats a lot but would set the kitchen on fire if he tries to cook anything.

Couldn't get a driving licence and gave up on trying for his and others safety lol.

Cancer survivor but still feels insecure about his scars and about the fact he has some extra weight. He doesn't like talking about that.

Parts: | 1 | 2 | 3 |

[cryptid-doodles-212]

Stan Pines Headcanons | actual facts about this man aka why is he a comfort character

Some things that kind of clicked for me, aside from the usual appeal of ConMan with a Heart of Gold

Tw: body dysmorphia

☆ Stan is old and he's been around the block for a while; he's a goof but he is also very understanding - there is little that can negatively surprise him, usually extremes (betrayal, abandoning)

☆ Stan has so much body hair, and it was even played as a joke - as someone graced by genetics with a lot of body hair i just know this man would be absolutely not bothered by it

☆ He has dentures; i struggled when i lost 3 of my teeth and in extreme fear of breaking another (again, genetics); do you think this man would care? no. he would probably be awkward about his own dentures for a while but it would be sort of a mutual reassuring situation

☆ Stan loves looking good but he also loves being comfortable - to him you can never overdress or underdress

☆ Solitude - this man loves affection and being the centre of attention, loves doing the same for his SO but he knows how to be alone in peace, and is likely to respect personal space

TMI i guess i just found it interesting how many of my personal insecurities are lifted when i think about Stan Pines and how comfortable of a character he is

☆ He's shown to take interest in women primarily but that one silly comment about "beautiful men" makes me think that at the end of the day he wouldn't really question his SOs gender if they clicked

[amethystarachnid]

Hi, I wanted to ask you for some angst with Tony (but with a very happy ending). Tony is very worried and paranoid about the reader's safety, so he decides to break up with her so she can be safe away from him, and he's a little "mean" to her, saying things like "I don't love you anymore, I don't want you in my life" just so she doesn't want to go after him, but he still loves her more than anything, they both become very miserable and sad without each other... the reader decides to move to another city, but before leaving she discovers that she's pregnant and decides not to tell him... after four months of a lot of suffering, the Avengers talk to Tony and convince him to get back with her because in fact she is safer with him and they love each other... so he decides to look for her and when they meet he is very happy to discover that he's going to be a father and asks her to marry him and of course she accepts ❤️

SAFETY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff and angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

ᯓ★ angst my beloved

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The city hums with life below the skyscrapers, a symphony of horns, chatter, and footsteps. High above it all, in the shimmering confines of the Stark Tower penthouse, you sit cross-legged on a sleek couch, flicking through channels on the obscenely large flat-screen. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself alone here while Tony tinkers in his workshop, but tonight feels different. He hasn’t said much, which, for Tony Stark, is like a flashing neon sign of distress.

You sense him before you see him. The faint whir of his elevator, the telltale shuffle of bare feet across the polished floor. Then, the deep sigh—tired, weighted. You glance over your shoulder as he steps into the room, disheveled but still somehow annoyingly attractive. His dark T-shirt clings to his chest, faint streaks of grease smeared across the fabric, and his hair is a chaotic mess that screams of hours spent running his fingers through it.

"Hey," you call softly, setting the remote aside. "You okay?"

Tony doesn’t answer immediately. He crosses the room with purpose, heading straight for the bar. You watch as he pours himself a drink—a double, by the look of it—before leaning against the counter, staring at the amber liquid as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

"I’m fine," he finally mutters, though the tension in his jaw tells a different story.

You stand and approach him, bare feet silent on the cold floor. He doesn’t flinch when you slide a hand over his, gently nudging the glass away from his lips before he takes a sip. "Liar," you whisper, your voice laced with concern.

Tony smirks faintly, though it’s devoid of his usual arrogance. "You’ve got me figured out, don’t you?"

"Something’s wrong," you press, studying him intently. "What is it?"

He exhales sharply, the sound almost a growl. His free hand rakes through his hair again as he straightens up, pacing a short, tight circle. "It’s nothing," he insists, though the way his shoulders twitch says otherwise. "Just… work stuff."

"Work stuff," you echo, crossing your arms. "You’re not a very convincing liar tonight, Stark."

He stops mid-step, turning to face you. The flicker of something raw and unguarded flashes across his face before he schools his expression. "I’m just trying to keep my head above water," he admits, voice low. "It’s been… a lot lately."

You step closer, resting a hand on his chest, right over the arc reactor that hums faintly beneath his shirt. The light pulses gently against your palm, a comforting rhythm. "You don’t have to do it alone, you know."

His hand covers yours, warm and calloused, though his grip is light, almost hesitant. "That’s the problem," he murmurs, eyes locking onto yours. "You’re not part of the equation. You’re the damn variable. The wild card I can’t control."

"Tony…" You try to pull back, but he holds your hand firmly now, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

"I can’t lose you," he says, the words spilling out like a confession he’s been holding back for far too long. "I can’t—God, do you even understand what you mean to me?"

Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You’ve seen Tony Stark in many forms: the cocky genius, the billionaire philanthropist, the reckless hero. But this—this is uncharted territory. This is the man behind the mask, stripped bare and painfully human.

"I’m not going anywhere," you promise, though the words feel fragile in the face of his fear.

"You can’t guarantee that," he snaps, pulling away abruptly. He stalks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city below. His reflection in the glass is fractured, distorted by the faint glow of the arc reactor. "You have no idea how dangerous this life is. How dangerous I am."

You follow him, stopping a few feet away. "You think I don’t know the risks? Tony, I’ve seen you come back battered and bloody, half-dead. I know what’s out there."

"Then you should know why I’m scared," he retorts, turning to face you. His voice rises, trembling with anger—or maybe desperation. "Every time I suit up, every time I step into a fight, I’m thinking about you. About what happens if someone comes after you because of me."

"That’s not your call to make," you argue, stepping closer. "I’m not some fragile thing you need to lock away in a tower."

"Yes, you are!" he yells, and the sheer force of his words makes you freeze. His chest heaves, his fists clenched at his sides. "You are, and that terrifies me. You don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand," you interrupt, your voice firm. "Talk to me, Tony. Don’t shut me out."

He stares at you, his gaze flicking between your eyes, searching for… something. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, almost broken. "They’ll come for you. Sooner or later, someone will figure out that you’re my weakness, and they’ll use you against me. And when that happens, I won’t be able to stop it. I’ll lose you."

The raw honesty in his words slices through you like a knife. You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You won’t lose me," you say fiercely. "I’m not some damsel in distress, Tony. I can handle myself."

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You don’t get it. This isn’t a fair fight. The people I deal with—they don’t play by the rules. They’ll hurt you just to hurt me. And I can’t—" His voice breaks, and he looks away, swallowing hard.

You step closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead against his chest. The arc reactor hums steadily between you, a faint beacon in the darkness. "You’re not alone in this," you whisper. "We’ll figure it out together."

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, his arms come around you, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go. His chin rests on the top of your head, and you feel the tension in his body begin to ease, though it doesn’t disappear entirely.

"I don’t know how to protect you," he admits, his voice muffled against your hair.

"You don’t have to," you reply softly. "Just let me be here. Let me stay."

He doesn’t answer, but the way his grip tightens around you says enough. The weight of his fear lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating, but in this moment, neither of you pulls away. It’s a fragile truce, a tentative step forward in a battle neither of you fully understands.

Tony Stark is good at a lot of things. He’s good at building impossible machines, at calculating risks, at charming a room full of strangers. But he’s terrible at this—at pushing you away. And yet, for weeks now, he’s been trying his hardest.

It starts with small things. Coming home later than usual, burying himself in his work even more than normal. He stops joining you for lazy mornings on the couch, starts making excuses when you suggest dinner or a night out. At first, you tell yourself it’s just Tony being Tony—his mind has always been in overdrive, and sometimes, he simply gets caught up in the chaos of it all.

But then, the distance grows. The way he looks at you shifts. There’s a coldness in his gaze that wasn’t there before, an edge to his words when he bothers to speak at all. He brushes off your touches, sidesteps your attempts to reach him, until finally, the man who once held you as if you were his lifeline feels like a stranger.

You try to ignore it. You tell yourself he’s just stressed, that it’ll pass, but deep down, a sinking feeling gnaws at you. Something is wrong. And tonight, you’re about to find out what.

He’s waiting for you in the living room when you come home, standing by the windows with a glass of scotch in his hand. The city lights cast sharp shadows across his face, making him look older, more worn. The sight sends a pang through your chest, but you push it down, determined to break through whatever wall he’s built between you.

"Tony," you say softly, setting your bag down on the counter. "We need to talk."

"Yeah, we do." His voice is clipped, almost flat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns to face you, and for a moment, you swear there’s something in his eyes—something raw and painful—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. "What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant, and I—"

"Stop." The word cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and final. He sets the glass down on the counter with a deliberate slowness, then looks at you with an expression so cold it makes your blood run cold. "Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be."

"Harder than what needs to be?" you ask, your voice trembling. "Tony, what are you talking about?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. When he finally speaks, his tone is laced with a cruel detachment that feels so foreign coming from him. "This. Us. It’s over."

The words hit you like a freight train, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. You stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the smirk that says he’s just being an asshole because that’s what Tony Stark does when he’s uncomfortable. But it doesn’t come.

"You’re joking," you say weakly.

"I’m not."

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the air thick and suffocating. "Tony, what the hell are you talking about? You can’t just—"

"I can, and I am," he interrupts, his voice hard. He steps closer, towering over you, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. "I don’t love you anymore, Y/N. I don’t want you in my life."

The words are like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes as you try to process what he’s saying. "You don’t mean that," you whisper. "You can’t mean that."

"I do." His tone is icy, emotionless. "I’ve been trying to make it work, but I can’t do this anymore. I need you to leave."

Leave. The word echoes in your mind, hollow and final. Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, and you reach out to steady yourself against the counter. "Why are you doing this?" you ask, your voice breaking. "What changed?"

"Nothing changed," he snaps. "That’s the problem. This… whatever this is, it’s not working. It’s not what I want."

The tears spill over now, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "You’re lying," you say, your voice trembling. "I know you, Tony. I know when you’re lying."

He flinches, just barely, but it’s enough to make your chest ache. He looks away, his jaw clenching as he steps back. "You don’t know anything," he mutters. "You don’t know what’s best for you, for either of us."

"You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!" you shout, the anger bubbling up now, cutting through the haze of pain. "If you’re scared, if you’re pushing me away because of your own issues, then—"

"I’m not scared," he growls, his eyes snapping back to yours. "I’m done. That’s it. I’m done, Y/N."

The finality in his tone sends a fresh wave of pain crashing over you, and you stumble back, clutching your chest as if you can physically hold yourself together. "You don’t mean that," you whisper again, your voice breaking. "You love me. I know you do."

"Not anymore," he says, the words landing like a death knell.

For a moment, the silence is deafening. You stare at him, searching for any sign of the man you love, the man who once looked at you like you hung the moon. But all you see is a mask—a cold, unfeeling facade that makes you want to scream.

"Fine," you say finally, your voice shaking but resolute. "You want me to leave? I’ll leave."

You grab your bag and head for the door, your vision blurred by tears. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look back.

Two days later, you send someone else to collect your things.

The apartment feels strange without you. It’s quiet, too quiet, and the absence of your laughter, your scent, your presence is like a black hole, sucking the life out of the space. Tony tries to ignore it. He buries himself in his work, drowns himself in scotch, anything to keep from thinking about you.

But when your friend arrives to pick up your things, it hits him like a punch to the gut. The sight of your clothes, your books, your little trinkets being packed into boxes is unbearable, and he has to leave the room, retreating to the workshop like a coward.

He doesn’t deserve to feel this way, he tells himself. He’s the one who ended it. He’s the one who pushed you away. But the truth is, he’s been lying to himself just as much as he lied to you.

He loves you. He’ll always love you.

But you’re safer without him.

The days without Tony bleed into weeks, and the pain doesn’t lessen; it only festers. The apartment you moved back to—the one you never sold—is suffocatingly quiet, devoid of life. It’s far too small compared to the penthouse at Stark Tower, where everything was expansive, open, and filled with his presence. Here, it’s just you and the echoes of what you had.

You’ve tried to move on. Really, you have. But it’s impossible. Every little thing reminds you of him. The way the morning sun filters through your blinds reminds you of how he used to grumble about the light waking him up. The sound of a passing car with a bad muffler on the street outside makes you think of his ridiculous cars, the way he used to rev the engine just to tease you. Even your favorite takeout spot feels like a betrayal; you can still hear his voice arguing with you over who got the last bite.

But you’re stubborn. You refuse to let yourself break, not completely. You threw yourself into work, taking every shift and every project you could get your hands on, hoping exhaustion would drown out the heartbreak. It doesn’t work. Nothing does.

And then there’s him.

Tony is just as miserable, though he hides it better—or at least he tries to. The penthouse is eerily empty without you. The space that once felt like home now feels like a mausoleum. He doesn’t sleep in the bed anymore; it’s too cold, too hollow without you beside him. Instead, he crashes in the workshop or on the couch, surrounded by empty scotch glasses and the flickering blue glow of the arc reactor.

He hasn’t told anyone the truth. Not Rhodey, not Pepper, not anyone. They ask, of course. They know something’s wrong. He deflects with sarcasm, brushes off their concern, but deep down, he’s barely holding on. He threw away the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knows it. But he can’t take it back. He won’t risk your life, no matter how much it destroys him.

The nights are the worst. That’s when the memories come, unbidden and relentless. He sees your smile, hears your laugh, feels the phantom weight of your hand in his. It’s torture, but he doesn’t stop it. It’s the only way he can feel close to you now.

Weeks turn into months, and the pain doesn’t fade—it deepens, sharpens, becomes a constant ache in both of your chests. You wonder if it will ever go away.

Then, one morning, everything changes.

You’ve been feeling off for days. At first, you chalk it up to stress and exhaustion. You’ve been working too much, not eating properly, and the emotional strain of the breakup has taken a toll on your body. But when the nausea hits hard enough to send you running to the bathroom for the third time that week, you know something’s wrong.

You take the test, your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold it. The seconds feel like hours as you wait, pacing the tiny bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

Two lines.

The world tilts beneath you.

You sink to the floor, the test clutched in your trembling hands. You’re pregnant. With Tony’s child.

The realization crashes over you in waves. A mix of fear, shock, and something else—something softer, more fragile—swirls in your chest. You press a hand to your stomach, the weight of it sinking in. There’s a life inside you. A piece of him.

Your first instinct is to call him, to tell him, to share this life-changing news with the man you once loved. But the thought dies as quickly as it comes. Tony doesn’t want you in his life. He made that painfully clear. And you can’t stomach the idea of facing him again, of reopening that wound.

You make your decision then and there. You won’t tell him.

It’s not an easy choice. In fact, it feels impossible. But you tell yourself it’s for the best. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t love you. You can’t drag him back into your life just because of this. You’ll do it on your own. You have to.

The next few weeks are a blur of emotions. You throw yourself into preparing for the baby, researching everything you can, but the reality of it all is overwhelming. You’re going to be a single mom. You’re going to have to juggle work, bills, and raising a child. The weight of it all feels crushing, but you refuse to give up.

You tell yourself you’re strong. That you can do this. That you don’t need him.

But late at night, when the world is quiet and the ache in your chest is too much to bear, you lie in bed and cry. You cry for the life you thought you’d have, for the love you lost, and for the child who will grow up without their father.

Tony doesn’t know why, but he can’t stop thinking about you. He’s tried to bury himself in work, in distractions, but nothing works. You haunt him. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face. Every time he takes a breath, it feels like his chest is being crushed.

He’s barely functioning, and everyone around him knows it. Rhodey corners him one day, demanding answers, but Tony brushes him off with a half-hearted excuse about being busy. Pepper isn’t fooled either. She keeps pushing, trying to get him to talk, but he shuts her out.

Because what can he say? That he’s dying inside? That he regrets every word he said to you but doesn’t have the guts to fix it? That he’s terrified of what would happen if he did?

So he suffers in silence, throwing himself deeper into his work, even as the emptiness inside him grows.

But no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, one thought keeps clawing its way to the surface: he misses you. Desperately.

You decide to leave the city. Staying here is too painful, too suffocating. Everywhere you go, there’s a reminder of him—of the life you had together. You can’t keep living like this. You need a fresh start, for yourself and for the baby.

It’s not an easy decision. Moving means uprooting your entire life, starting over from scratch. But you know it’s the right thing to do.

You find a small apartment in another city, far enough away that the ghosts of your past can’t follow you. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s yours. You spend your days packing up your things, making plans, and trying not to think about how much you’ll miss the city you once called home.

But no matter how hard you try, there’s one thing you can’t stop thinking about: Tony.

You wonder if he’s moved on. If he’s happy. If he even thinks about you anymore.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s better this way. But deep down, you know it’s a lie.

Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how far you go, a part of you will always love him.

Four months pass, and you’ve built a new routine in your new city. It’s not easy, but you’ve always been resilient. Your days are full, juggling long hours at work, studying courses online to make a better future for your child, and preparing for the baby’s arrival. Your belly is round now, unmistakably carrying a life within it. You catch people staring sometimes—coworkers, strangers on the street—but you don’t care. Every time you feel the baby kick, it reminds you why you’re doing all of this.

You haven’t told anyone much about the father. Your coworkers and neighbors assume you’re single, and you’ve never bothered to correct them. It’s easier this way. The pain of thinking about Tony, of what could have been, is still too fresh.

The apartment is small but cozy, and you’ve started turning one corner of the bedroom into a nursery. There’s a secondhand crib you found online, freshly painted in soft cream. Baby clothes are folded neatly in a small set of drawers, and a mobile hangs from the ceiling, its delicate stars swaying gently whenever you walk past.

But it’s hard. So hard.

There are nights when exhaustion grips you so tightly you can barely breathe. Nights when you wonder how you’ll manage everything on your own. And nights when your heart aches for Tony so fiercely you have to press a hand to your chest to calm the storm within you.

Still, you don’t let yourself dwell. You keep going, for your baby.

Meanwhile, Tony is unraveling.

The cracks have become impossible to hide, even from himself. He’s snapping at everyone—at Pepper, at Rhodey, at anyone who tries to get close. He spends most nights in the workshop, working on projects he doesn’t care about, just to keep his hands busy. But no matter how much he distracts himself, the void inside him only grows.

The team notices, of course. They’ve been noticing for months. And finally, they confront him.

It starts with Pepper.

“Tony, this has gone on long enough,” she says one evening, her arms crossed as she stands in the doorway of the workshop.

“I’m fine, Pep,” he mutters without looking up from the piece of tech he’s tinkering with.

“No, you’re not. And we both know why.”

He freezes, his hands stilling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, tough,” she snaps. “Because this isn’t just about you anymore. You think we don’t see what’s happening? You’re falling apart, Tony. And the only person who can fix this is you.”

He doesn’t respond, but the words hit him harder than he wants to admit.

The next day, Rhodey corners him during a training session.

“Stark, we need to talk.”

“Unless it’s about the mission, I’m not interested,” Tony replies, dodging Rhodey’s gaze.

“Bullshit,” Rhodey says bluntly. “You’re miserable. And we both know why. So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep running from her forever?”

Tony clenches his jaw, his hands tightening into fists. “She’s safer without me,” he mutters.

“Safer? Or are you just too scared to fix what you broke?”

The words sting, but Tony doesn’t argue. He can’t.

The final push comes from Steve, of all people.

“You know she loves you,” Steve says one evening as they sit in the common room, the quiet weight of his voice cutting through Tony’s defenses.

“She’s better off without me,” Tony mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.

“She’s not better off if she’s as miserable as you are,” Steve replies. “You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re not. You’re just hurting her—and yourself.”

The words linger long after Steve leaves, echoing in Tony’s mind until he can’t ignore them anymore.

By the end of the week, he’s made up his mind. He’s going to find you.

It takes him some time to track you down. You were smart, cutting ties and keeping your location a secret. But Tony Stark is nothing if not resourceful. When he finally gets a lead, he wastes no time.

He flies to your city on a private jet, his heart pounding the entire way. He’s rehearsed a hundred different things to say, but none of them feel right. All he knows is that he needs to see you, to fix what he broke, even if you slam the door in his face.

When he finds your address, he barely recognizes the street. It’s a far cry from the luxury of Stark Tower, and the thought of you living here makes his chest tighten. He doesn’t knock right away. Instead, he stands there for a moment, gathering his courage.

Finally, he raises a hand and knocks.

When you open the door, the world seems to tilt beneath him.

He’s prepared for a lot of things—anger, hurt, indifference—but he’s not prepared for this.

You’re standing there in a simple dress, your belly round and unmistakable. His heart stops, and for a moment, he can’t breathe.

“Tony,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stares at you, his mind racing. Your belly… it can’t be.

But then, his mind jumps to the worst conclusion. You’ve moved on. Of course, you have. It’s been months. You’ve found someone else, someone who could give you what he couldn’t.

His stomach twists painfully.

“I… I didn’t know,” he says finally, his voice hollow.

You blink, confused. “Didn’t know what?”

“That you were… that you… had someone else,” he says, his gaze dropping to your belly.

Realization dawns on you, and your heart sinks. He thinks the baby isn’t his.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

Tony runs a hand through his hair, his emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. “Look, I didn’t come here to make things harder for you,” he says, his voice strained. “I just… I needed to see you. To tell you I was an idiot. That I was wrong. But it’s clear you’ve moved on, so I’ll go.”

He turns to leave, but your voice stops him.

“Tony, wait.”

He freezes, his shoulders tense, but he doesn’t turn around.

“The baby…” You swallow hard, your voice trembling. “The baby is yours.”

He turns slowly, his eyes wide, his face pale. “What?”

You press a hand to your belly, tears welling in your eyes. “I found out a few weeks after… after you ended things. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to see you again. But this baby is yours, Tony.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, he takes a step closer, his gaze flicking between your face and your belly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice breaking.

“Because you made it clear you didn’t want me,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now. “You told me you didn’t love me anymore. I didn’t want to go through that again.”

His face crumples, and he sinks to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling. “I lied,” he says, his voice raw. “I lied to protect you. Because I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. And I was stupid enough to think you’d be safer without me.”

You stare at him, your heart breaking all over again.

“I was wrong,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “I was so wrong, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. Please.”

You don’t know what to say. The pain, the anger, the love—it’s all too much.

But when he reaches out, his hand trembling as he rests it gently on your belly, you feel something shift.

The walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack, just a little.

Tony's hand trembles as it rests gently on your belly, his touch hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. You should—you’ve been carrying months of pain and anger, all because of him. But standing here now, with his eyes full of something raw and broken, you can’t bring yourself to move.

“Say something,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Please, Y/N.”

You press your lips together, trying to gather your thoughts. There’s so much you want to say—so much hurt, confusion, and love tangled up in your chest that you don’t know where to begin.

“You broke me, Tony,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “You told me you didn’t love me. That you didn’t want me in your life. And I believed you. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? How much it hurt to hear those words from the person I thought would never hurt me?”

His face crumples, and he looks away, guilt written in every line of his body. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmurs. “You don’t understand, Y/N. I—God, I was so scared. Scared that being with me would put you in danger. That one day, I’d lose you because of what I do—because of who I am. I thought pushing you away would keep you safe.”

“You didn’t protect me,” you say, your voice growing stronger. “You destroyed me. And you didn’t even give me the chance to decide for myself if I wanted to stay or not. You took that choice away from me.”

He winces, his head hanging low. “I know. I know I screwed up, Y/N. And I hate myself for it. Every single day without you has been hell. I thought I was keeping you safe, but all I did was push away the only person I’ve ever loved.”

The weight of his words hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. He looks so different from the man who broke your heart months ago. His eyes are tired, his shoulders slumped, as if he’s been carrying the world on his back.

“I never stopped loving you,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not for a second. And if I could take it all back, I would. But I can’t. All I can do now is tell you the truth and hope it’s not too late.”

You close your eyes, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You’ve missed him so much, even when you didn’t want to admit it. And deep down, you know you never stopped loving him either.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you say finally, your voice breaking.

He nods, his jaw tightening. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. Whatever you need, Y/N. Just… don’t shut me out. Not now. Not when we have a chance to fix this.”

You look down at his hand on your belly, at the way his fingers tremble slightly against your skin. There’s so much at stake now—not just for you, but for the baby too. And despite everything, a part of you wants to believe him.

“You hurt me, Tony,” you say quietly, your voice laced with both anger and vulnerability. “But I can’t keep doing this alone. I can’t raise this baby by myself. And I don’t want to.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours, a flicker of hope igniting in their depths. “You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I’ll be there for you—every step of the way. I promise.”

You take a shaky breath, your emotions swirling inside you. “If I come back, it’s not going to be easy. We can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“I know,” he says, his voice steady. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Whatever you need, Y/N, I’ll do it. Just… come home. Let me take care of you. Let me take care of both of you.”

The word “home” catches in your chest, and for the first time in months, the idea doesn’t feel so far away.

When you finally agree to go back with him, Tony looks like he might cry. He helps you pack up the few belongings you’ve gathered in your time away, his movements careful, as if he’s afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. You can see how hard he’s trying, and while it doesn’t erase the pain of the past, it’s a start.

The drive back to Stark Tower is quiet, but not uncomfortable. He keeps glancing over at you, his expression a mix of relief and nervousness, as if he still can’t believe you’re here.

When you arrive, the elevator ride up to the penthouse feels surreal. You step into the space that used to feel like home, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the memories.

“I know it’s a lot,” Tony says, his voice soft as he watches you. “But I want you to feel comfortable here again. We can make changes—whatever you want.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into making the penthouse feel more like a home for the three of you. He clears out one of the spare bedrooms and starts turning it into a nursery, asking for your input on everything.

“What color do you want for the walls?” he asks one evening, holding up paint swatches.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to paint it yourself?”

He grins, a spark of his old charm returning. “I may be a genius billionaire, but I’m not above rolling up my sleeves for my kid.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

He keeps surprising you, showing up to doctor’s appointments, researching baby gear, and even cooking dinner when you’re too tired to move. It’s clear he’s trying, and while it doesn’t erase the hurt, it does start to rebuild something fragile and new between you.

One night, as you’re sitting on the couch together, your hand resting on your belly, you feel the baby kick.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Was that…?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it on your belly.

His eyes soften as he feels the movement beneath his palm. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s your dad. I can’t wait to meet you.”

The sight of him, so vulnerable and full of love, makes your heart ache in the best way.

For the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe you can build a future together.

The moment you step into the new doctor’s office, you can tell the change was worth it—though you’d never admit that to Tony. The place is immaculate, modern, and soothing, with soft music playing in the background and staff who seem genuinely happy to help. You still feel a little guilty about leaving your old doctor behind, but when you see Tony’s proud smile as he hands over your file, you know he just wants the best for you and the baby.

“This is where you’re supposed to be,” Tony says as you sit in the plush waiting room. He’s bouncing one knee nervously, glancing over at you every few seconds as if to gauge your reaction.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” you tease, rubbing your belly. “But it’s… nice.”

“Nice? Please. It’s state-of-the-art.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “The OB here is one of the best in the country. I made a few calls. Okay, a lot of calls.”

You smirk, resting a hand on his knee to calm his fidgeting. “Thank you, Tony.”

His expression softens, his hand covering yours. “Anything for you. For both of you.”

The new doctor, a calm and professional woman named Dr. Latham, immediately puts you at ease. She reviews your chart thoroughly and listens to all your concerns without rushing you, which feels like a luxury after your previous appointments. She even arranges for an in-depth ultrasound during your visit, mentioning that you’re far enough along to determine the baby’s gender if you’d like.

Tony practically lights up at the suggestion. “Oh, we’d like,” he says enthusiastically, glancing at you for confirmation.

You roll your eyes but nod, secretly just as curious as he is.

The ultrasound room is dimly lit, with a large screen positioned to give you a clear view. As the technician applies the cool gel to your belly and begins the scan, Tony grips your hand tightly.

“There’s the baby,” the technician says with a smile, pointing to the image on the screen.

You and Tony both lean forward, mesmerized by the sight of your little one moving around.

“Everything looks great,” the technician continues. “And… if you’re ready, I can tell you the gender.”

Tony’s fingers tighten around yours, and you can feel the tension in the air. “We’re ready,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

The technician smiles and turns to look at you both. “It’s a boy.”

Your breath catches, and you glance at Tony, whose face is a mixture of awe and joy.

“A boy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re having a boy.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you watch the screen. “Liam,” you whisper, the name you’d been toying with finally feeling real.

Tony leans over and kisses your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “He’s going to be perfect,” he says softly.

The news of Liam’s gender spreads quickly, thanks to Tony’s inability to keep anything a secret. Within hours, the Avengers are calling and texting, all of them eager to congratulate you and ask about baby names.

“Are you sure you don’t want a gender reveal party?” Tony asks a few days later, holding up a brochure for some extravagant event planner he’s clearly already been in touch with.

You give him a look. “Tony, I don’t need fireworks and a light show to announce we’re having a boy.”

“But think of the drone possibilities,” he says with a grin.

You shake your head, laughing. “How about we just tell people? Like normal humans?”

“Boring,” he mutters, but he lets it go, content to simply bask in the excitement of preparing for Liam’s arrival.

As the weeks pass and your belly grows, you start noticing the changes in your body more acutely. You’ve always been confident, but pregnancy has brought a whole new set of challenges. Your back aches constantly, your feet swell, and your once-favorite outfits no longer fit.

One evening, you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, studying your reflection. Your belly is round and prominent now, and you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I look like a balloon,” you mutter under your breath, running a hand over your bump.

“What did you just say?” Tony’s voice startles you, and you turn to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, but he’s already walking toward you.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone serious. “You don’t look like a balloon. You look… incredible. You’re growing our son. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore.”

He steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you to face him. “You’re still you. You’re strong, beautiful, and the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And if you don’t believe me…”

He trails off, reaching into his pocket.

“Tony, what are you—”

But before you can finish your sentence, he’s kneeling in front of you, holding a small velvet box.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the one thing I know I got right is loving you. You’ve given me so much—your trust, your love, and now, our son. I don’t want to waste another second without making this official.”

He opens the box to reveal a stunning engagement ring, the diamonds catching the light.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

Tears fill your eyes, and for a moment, you can’t speak. But then you nod, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Tony grins, sliding the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, careful of your belly.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you reply, resting your head against his chest.

As he holds you close, you can’t help but think about how far you’ve come—from heartbreak and doubt to this moment of pure joy. And as Liam kicks gently in your belly, it feels like a promise of all the good things yet to come.

I'm so sorry if the ending sucks :(

[moosha-mushroom]

favorite podcast blorbos!

Love me some podcast characters that roam in my brain rent-free.

Magnus Archives - Tim Stoker (literally can do no wrong)

Malevolent - Noel Finley (I adore him)

Welcome to Night Vale - Kevin (obsessed wit him)

Midnight Burger - Caspar Scott (SCREEE)

Kakos Industries - Corin Deeth III (I need to comfort him)

Penumbra Podcast - Peter Nureyev (SLAYYYY)

The Amelia Project - Piotr Kozlowski (he’s my fave <333)

Desert Skies - Tendy the Attendant (sweeeeeeeetie :3)

Wolf 359 - Doug Eiffel (AUGH)

Victoriocity - Archibald Fleet (I have a thing for protags)

Sherlock & Co. - Sherlock Holmes (His voice)

Red Valley - Clive Schill (ASSHOLE /A)

The Meat Blockade - Karl Berenger (Hope he’s okay)

Hotel Daydream - Lionel Autuary (love him)

Ghost Wax - Owen Voncid (AAAAAAAAAAH)

The Patient Files - Lucian Donahue (I hate him, but I love him)

The Technomancy Projects - Elijah Long (WARLOCK)

Station 112.211 - Haley (She’s my favorite)

[yukiwhitetm]

5 Bat Family Must Reads: Former Robins And Their Kids +1 Undercover Dick Grayson

Find all my Batman – All Media Types fic recs here.

Find post 5 Tim Drake-centric Must Reads here.

Find post 5 Tim Drake-centric Must Reads: Animals/Non-humans here.

I know! A fic rec post from me that’s not fully Tim Drake-centric, who’da thunk it? Well, here it is in all its varied glory! Some of these are still Tim Drake-centric or have him as a main character, of course, but not all. Recs 2 and 4 focus on Jason and Lian (Roy’s daughter)! And the +1 story is all about our favourite Golden Boy Dick Grayson (with no child to be seen outside of cases). More than half of these are crossovers with TV series White Stuff or Criminal Minds but I have never watched any of these so you don’t need to have to follow these stories either. But make sure to log in to read recs 4 and 5 because they are locked to Ao3 members only. Enjoy!

1.

The Power of Family and This Stalker I Found by JackHawksmoor

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), DCU  

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Work in Progress

18 May 2023

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Stephanie Brown

Tim Drake joins the batfamily, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Mostly Succeeds, Janet and Jack Drake do not try to be good parents, They also mostly succeed, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Humor, Batfam Big Bang, Batfamily (DCU), Jewish Bruce Wayne, mentions of drug use by a side character

Summary:

'If Bruce had found Jason immediately after he was resurrected, how would Tim Drake have joined the batfamily?' AU. This involves Jason being a little more observant while running around rooftops, Tim unable to resist getting gymnastics training from the original Robin, macaroons, a minor kidnapping, and some light attempted murder.

Yuki Note:

I adore this story so much! I have often thought Dick would’ve been a better parent to Tim than (canon) Bruce so I love seeing that play out in this fic (and in rec 3 too). And Dick working a job that fills him with so much joy as a gymnastics instructor is just mwah! This fic is set a little more in the real world than some others because it’s about Tim joining Dick’s gymnastics class and so Dick slowly noticing everything off about Tim whilst emotionally adopting him. Does that emotional adoption become real adoption by the end? Well, you’ll have to read it and see! I cannot recommend this one highly enough.

2.

While You Were Missing by caffeinatedbasil

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)  

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, M/M, Complete Work

03 Aug 2024

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Neal Caffrey/Roy Harper, Past Roy Harper/Jade Nguyen – Relationship, Lian Harper & Jason Todd

Jason Todd, Lian Harper, Peter Burke, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), June Ellington, Batfamily Members, Neal Caffrey, Jade Nguyen, Roy Harper, Mozzie (White Collar)

Neal Caffrey and Jason Todd are the Same Person, Accidental Baby Acquisition

but she's not actually a baby she's like nine, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Caring Batfamily (DCU), Neal Caffrey is a Batfamily Member, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Roy Harper is Red Arrow, Protective Jason Todd, Aftermath of Human Trafficking, Canon-Typical Violence, the reality of being a child of superheroes/villains, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Presumed Dead, fellas is it gay to fall in love with your best friend while he's missing in action, and you're raising his kid for him, that you may or may not have stolen

Summary:

A familiar redheaded child darts across the bullpen with a shout of “PAPA!” and barrels into Jason’s arms.

“Lian–” He breathes.

Jason's undercover work as Neal Caffrey is difficult for several reasons. He didn't anticipate that single parenting would be one of them, though.

Series

Part 1 of Triple Red

Language: English Words: 85,629 Chapters: 12/12

Yuki Note:

Oh My Gosh! Oh My Gosh! Oh My Gosh! This is such an amazing story! I love it so much! Please, give this read. Unless you dislike Roy/Jason, you are going to love this fic! I promise, it doesn’t matter if you haven’t watched White Stuff, you really don’t have to have watched it. as I haven’t either. This story just tells itself. I love Jason and Lian’s daddy-daughter relationship, I love how the White Stuff team and the Batfam pull together to support Jason looking after his new daughter, I love Jason pining after Roy (they’re not together in the beginning) and his and Lian’s quiet grief about Roy’s possible death. Just, this story is so perfect. Highly recommend!

3.

how to feed your local demon by InkpotSprite

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)  

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Complete Work

02 Jan 2024

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Sebastian Ives, Bernard Dowd, Darla Aquista

Fluff, Angst, Family Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Tim Drake is a Menace, Dick Grayson is a Gift, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Protective Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Protective Dick Grayson, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Incubus Dick Grayson, Supportive Tim Drake, Brotherly Affection, Sweet Tim Drake, Soft Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson Loves Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson Bonding, Tim Drake Loves Dick Grayson, Feral Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Family Bonding

Summary:

“Oh, don’t forget your–” A few papers fell out as Dick lifted it up, revealing pictures of Nightwing, Robin and Batman in the middle of a fight with Poison Ivy. “Files.”

“Ah. Those.” Tim laughed nervously, the sharp, citrus-like taste filling the air.

-

Dick is an incubus, starved for affection after the loss of Jason.

Tim isn't affectionate by nature but wants to help anyway.

Series

Part 1 of Batfamily Feels

Language: English Words: 14,572 Chapters: 2/2

Yuki Note:

Super cute! Fluffy! Family feels! A touch of fantasy with (non-sexual) incubus Dick! What more could you ask for in a relaxing two-shot read?

4.

Lian and the Amazing Guard Dog: A Story of Magic and Mayhem by Honyasbookshelf

Fandoms: White Collar (TV 2009), Batman - All Media Types  

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, M/M, Complete Work

30 Aug 2024

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Lian Harper & Roy Harper & Jason Todd, Lian Harper & Everyone. Diana Berrigan & Clinton Jones, Damian Wayne & Everyone

Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Lian Harper, Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Reese Hughes, Damian Wayne

Neal Caffrey and Roy Harper Are the Same Person, Cute Lian Harper, Jason Todd is Lian Harper's Parent, Animal Transformation, Fluff and Humor, The Harpers: Baffling FBI Agents for Two Generations, Protective Jason Todd, POV Multiple, Jason Todd Being a Little Shit, Identity Reveal, POV Outsider, I didn't set out to write a comedy but here we are, Comedy, SO MUCH FLUFF, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Roy Harper is Red Arrow, Clinton Jones is so done, Tsundere Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, But also, Secretly Soft Damian Wayne

Summary:

"'Don't you 'hey' me,' Diana hissed, hand on her hip and eyes darting from Jones to the little girl on his hip to the fierce-looking German Shepherd standing at his side. 'What the h—eck is going on? I thought you went out for a smoke.'

'I did!' Jones said defensively. 'I was standing in the designated smoking area, minding my own business, when this kid and her demon dog pop up out of nowhere. Thought the dog was gonna take my head off.'

The girl giggled, the first noise Diana had heard her make, and the dog woofed once, almost sounding as though it were laughing itself."

The White Collar office is thrown into turmoil when a little girl shows up, guard dog at her side, demanding to see Neal Caffrey.

Language: English Words: 10,133 Chapters: 13/13

Yuki Note:

This time it’s Roy undercover as Neal from White Stuff (also don’t have to have watched it to follow the story) and Jason being unable to care for their daughter Lian... because he’s been magicked into a dog! Jason and Roy are in an already established relationship (I think they are married!). This one is more of a bit of a fun, rather than rec 2’s more serious take. So, if you want a comforting read, then this is for you. Recommend!

5.

got my band and a light that won't go out by destiny919

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)  

Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Gen, Complete Work

19 Dec 2021

Tags:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon

Canon-Typical Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Kid Tim Drake, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Yes you read that right, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Protective Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Tim Drake's Parent, unofficially, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, BETCHA DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMING FROM ME, I contain multitudes, Slice of Life, but like. in a bat way., yes beta we are resurrected like jason

Summary:

"Nightwing has been shot."

Tim's eyes go wide and he stares at Jason, who's frozen in place. "And why would I care about that?" Jason says finally.

---

Dick finally meets Jason's Robin.

Series

Part 1 of Little Red

Language: English Words: 2,666 Chapters: 1/1

Yuki Note:

I actually want to recommend the entire Little Red series (but the series has so many tags on it that the first fic was easier to include in this post). It’s so good! It’s written non-chronologically but it’s good. The series is about Jason Todd as Red Hood adopting little kid Tim Drake as his kid. To clarify, Tim is a lot younger than in canon in this fic and he’s never been Robin but instead he had been following Batman around with a med kit to fix as much as his little hands can. This is such a sweet, fluffy with just a touch of angst read. The series is 18 fics long but, Goodness, is it worth a read! Recommended!

+1.

Dick Grayson: A Case Study by writersagainstwritersblock

Fandoms: Criminal Minds (US TV), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)  

Teen And Up Audiences, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gen, M/M, Complete Work

25 Oct 2024

Tags:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

The BAU Team (Criminal Minds) & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent

Dick Grayson, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Batfamily Members (DCU), Wally West, Clark Kent

Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Romani Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Has Eldest Daughter Syndrome, Dick Grayson Has ADHD, Dick Grayson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dick Grayson Has Daddy Issues, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Batfamily (DCU), POV Outsider, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid Friendship, Good Friend Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Autistic Spencer Reid, Good Friend Penelope Garcia, Good Friend Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner is the BAU Team's Parent, BAMF Dick Grayson, Short Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Has Secrets, Case Fic, Minor Dick Grayson/Wally West, Dick Grayson & Wally West Friendship, Nightwing Volume 2 Issue 093, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Slade Wilson Being an Asshole, Creepy Slade Wilson, Non-Consensual Drug Use

Summary:

Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m mostly used to sparring with my little brothers, it’s kind of just habit, and I was having fun. I didn’t want the match to be over too quick.”

“Too quick?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m twice your size, kid.”

Dick shrugged. “So’s Bruce and we’re pretty much tied at this point, or at least according to the score board the kids started to keep for Saturday spars.”

“Saturday spars?” Derek repeated, following him towards the locker room.

Dick flashed him a smile. “What? Don’t have any weird family traditions?”

“Not ones that include hitting each other,” Derek said

OR The BAU gets a probationary profiler who is a little more than he appears at first glance. Or second. Or third. Just how many secrets can Dick Grayson be hiding from a team full of profilers?

Language: English Words: 64,098 Chapters: 8/8

Yuki Note:

A riveting story of mystery and intrigue, as both the characters and us readers try to find the truth beneath in this fic. Whilst this isn’t a parental former Robin fic like the other recs on this list, it is a crossover like recs 2 and 4 so it felt like a good time to include it in a rec list. Although, the crossover is with Criminal Minds – a series I also have not watched so you don’t need to have either! Honestly, I don’t want to say too much in case I spoil this thriller of a fic. Dick Grayson: A Case Study will keep you on the edge of your seat to the very end. It is really worth a read. If you are considering it, then go for it! Highly recommend!

Enjoy! And feel free to explore my full AO3 rec list here.

[synergysilhouette]

10 BG3 character headcanons I have (Some thirst)

Note: I don't know ALL the lore of the characters, so my headcanons could be going against actual canon. This stuff isn't anything major, but just my thoughts on paper, so to speak.

Halsin wears no clothes (when appropriate)--At one point, Halsin mentions how society complicated the simple rules of nature, including the introduction of clothes. I like the idea that when no kids are at camp, he just goes nude, and no one complains. If someone ever thought to, the others would silence them.

2. Shadowheart raises/rescues children of Shar--I personally feel like all the companions can go the parenting route (Gale states he doesn't think he's dad material, but he gives off 50% fun dad, 50% helicopter dad vibes to me; he's probably just one of those people who won't feel ready until the situation actually arises), though Astarion and Shadowheart need more time to focus on themselves following their trauma, and with both of them having longer lifespans, they have time. Following the adoptive parent storyline you see with Lae'zel, Wyll, and Halsin, I could see Shadowheart founding an orphanage and rescuing children taken by Shar like she was, as Shar refuses to let go of the goal to corrupt Selune's children.

3. Wyll is 100% vanilla, but very horny--I feel like it's very easy to make the heroic guy with just values secretly kinky, though I love the idea that Wyll is pretty much face-value when it comes to sex. I even like to think he's a virgin, seeing how he wouldn't have sex with you until you accept his marriage proposal (unless you pass the persuasion check). Along with this, I do enjoy the idea that once Tav and Wyll become intimate, it's found Wyll has a heavy sex drive, but good self-control, and is always romantic about it. (I also just have him in his underwear at camp, so I also headcanon that that's just how he's comfortable and is 100% non-sexual.)

4. Astarion still has family and is an accomplished musician--I always found it sad how Astarion can't remember his family or much about his life pre-Cazador, but I like the idea that his family is still alive, seeing how long high-elves live, or even just having descendants in Baldur's Gate. The musiucian thing is just something I went with because I gave him proficiency with an instrument, and I like the idea that he came from a well-to-do family that trained him in music, and Cazador made sure he kept up with it when seducing victims.

5. Karlach and Wyll are a default couple if you don't romance either of them--I just love them so much together (though I need more hornless Wyll fanart; there's a way to rescue Karlach without giving him horns, you know). Shadowheart/Astarion has also been on my mind lately...

6. Minthara has evaluated all the men at camp for suitable consorts--Seeing how she wants to found a new house and comes to respect the team, I laugh at the idea of her evaluating Halsin, Gale, Astarion, Wyll, Minsc, and male Tav as her consorts, or at least the sire of her descendants. She goes through process of elimination: Wyll, Halsin, and Minsc are loyal, but would chafe under drow cruelty and her control; Astarion's an undead and cannot produce children; Gale would likely feel like a second-class citizen and rebel against her. Altogether, she decides none of them would make worthy consorts except male Tav (depending on the route, and ESPECIALLY if he's another drow), though Halsin and Wyll would make the best fathers for hypothetical children (and she could probably get away with sleeping with Minsc and him not realizing she's pregnant and her not telling him). She does consider the idea of reaching out to Astarion as a consort for aesthetic purposes if he leads the other spawn into the Underdark, though. (BTW, I found this fanart on Reddit)

7. Mizora mistreats Wyll because she's attracted to him--Evil corrupts, and it wouldn't shock me if Mizora was attracted to Wyll because she wants to break him. That said, due to their personalities and the nature of their relationship, Wyll has rebuffed her, and Mizora tries to make him miserable as a result. And if Tav romances Wyll, she starts to scheme to kill them just like his father. I also have the same vibe from Orin and Zevlor, but that's another thing entirely.

8. Yenna isn't an orphan--I never liked her to begin with, and I have no idea how she'd fit into any of the companions' epilogues except Wyll or Halsin's, so I feel like it'd be better for everyone if her mom turned out to be alive, or if her dad randomly popped up.

9. Gale has A LOT of (sexual) tension with Tav if they're a sorcerer--I'm not super well-versed in DnD lore, but I remember reading that wizards and sorcerers have a rivalry, and it'd be interesting if this played a role in Gale's journey to godhood, since sorcerer Tav would be born with their powers while wizard Gale spent years studying and falling from grace as Mystra's chosen. Plus this could also fuel the reason why he's the cook for the team, wanting to show how multitalented he is. Eventually, if the romances commences, it's a passionate physical affair before we get to the Toril-shattering soul intimacy.

10. Tav comes from a big family--No evidence to support this (and even not all my Tavs have big families; check out the post for my OCs), but I always think of this when they say "No one back home will ever believe this." Be it friends, biological family, or adoptive family, I imagine they have a large social group.

Do we share any headcanons? Any particular that you find interesting from my list? Lemme know!

[moonmaiden1996]

Hi!!! I was curious do you have an headcanons for either 🩵Fukaboshi 🔱 or 🩷Katakuris🍩 idea if the perfect partner?

(I know they are basically the same character in a different font. Protective big brother, fangs, giant, loyal to their family, wields a trident, and a few other things. But they both are just two of my favorite characters)

Okay...I have to admit I had to go back to the manga and read bits of it for these two and boy was I glad I did. These men can be any woman/mans fantasy.... I may have gotten a little steamy with this one....Let me know what you think.

Request are still open! I have added Disney's Rivals and Sakamoto's Day to my list because they are amazing.....

Fukaboshi’s Ideal Partner 🔱

1. A Partner Who Matches His Kindness

Fukaboshi is a protector at heart. He’s strong and commanding when he needs to be, but at his core, he is gentle, always looking out for others. He’s drawn to a partner who shares that compassion—someone who treats others with kindness, who listens, who isn’t afraid to stand up for what’s right.

Nothing makes him fall harder than seeing you care for his people, watching you play with the children of Fishman Island, offering comfort to those in need. He swears his heart stops when you place a hand over his and say, “Let’s protect this place together.”

2. Late-Night Stargazing

Fukaboshi loves the quiet moments—lying on the sandy shore, looking up at the stars while the waves lap at the beach. He pulls you close, your head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped around you.

"Do you ever wonder if someone up there is looking back at us?" he muses, voice low and thoughtful. When you turn to look at him, the starlight reflects in his deep blue eyes, making them even more mesmerizing.

If you fall asleep on him, he doesn’t move an inch—he just smiles and lets you rest, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back.

3. Someone Who Can Handle the Depths (and Him)

Fukaboshi is a big man in every sense—tall, broad, and built like a warrior-prince. His ideal partner? Someone who isn’t intimidated by his sheer size, both in and out of the water. He wants a lover who embraces the feeling of being held, pressed against his strong chest, drowning in his affection just as much as they might drown in the ocean.

And speaking of the ocean—imagine clinging to him as he takes you on an exhilarating ride through the currents, his powerful strokes cutting through the water as he pulls you along, holding you so close you can feel the slow, deep rumble of his laughter. The pressure of the depths is nothing compared to the pressure of his grip when he finally gets you alone.

"You trust me, don’t you?" His voice is husky in your ear, his webbed fingers tracing the curve of your thigh as he floats just above you. "Let me take care of you… let me make you feel weightless in every way.”

4. Gentle Yet Dominant

He may be a prince, noble and kind, but when he wants something—when he wants you—he’s relentless. His kisses start slow, savoring every sigh, every trembling exhale, but once he has you fully under him, fully his? He devours.

His webbed hands, surprisingly warm, slide over your skin, exploring every inch as if you’re more precious than any treasure in the deep. His trident-wielding strength is matched only by his patience—he loves the build-up, watching you squirm as he takes his sweet time.

"I want to hear you beg, love." His voice is low, teasing, his sharp fangs grazing your collarbone as he presses you into soft silk sheets. "Tell me how badly you need me… and maybe I'll stop teasing."

But let’s be real—he never stops teasing.

5. Riding Sea Creatures (or Just Riding Him)

Fukaboshi is an expert rider—whether it’s guiding massive sea creatures through the currents or having you ride him with the same confidence. He enjoys watching you take control, hands pressed against his strong chest, thighs shaking as you move at your own pace.

His deep, approving groans vibrate against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, helping you keep balance. He loves when you take charge—when you lean down, kiss him breathless, and show him just how much you want him.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmurs, breath hitching as you roll your hips just right. His gaze darkens, pupils dilating as his fingers tighten their grip. "But don’t think I’ll let you have all the fun."

And the next moment? You're beneath him, drowning in his slow, deliberate thrusts, gasping as the prince of the sea claims you in every possible way.

Katakuri’s Ideal Partner 🍩

1. A Love That’s Simple but Meaningful

Katakuri isn’t one for grand romantic gestures. He shows love in quiet ways—by leaving a fresh cup of tea by your bedside in the morning, by slipping a hand around your waist when you least expect it, by making sure you always get the best of whatever’s available (even if it means sacrificing his own portion).

If he really likes you, you might find little surprises—handmade snacks, flowers he definitely didn’t spend an hour picking, small gifts he leaves without taking credit.

"I just… thought you’d like it," he mutters, looking away as if he’s not the strongest warrior in the world completely flustered by your gratitude.

2. Watching Over You While You Sleep

Katakuri doesn’t sleep much. When he does, it’s usually brief and restless, always ready to protect his family at a moment’s notice. But when you’re in his life? He finds himself staying awake for a different reason—just to watch you sleep.

It’s not in a creepy way, of course. He just… likes knowing you’re safe. That you trust him enough to let your guard down around him. He traces a gentle hand over your cheek, brushes a stray hair from your face, and sighs, feeling something settle deep in his chest.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

If you wake up and catch him staring, he’ll turn away, muttering something about “just making sure you were comfortable.” But if you pull him closer and mumble, “Go to sleep, Kat,” he actually listens… because in that moment, he finally feels at peace.

3.The One Who Sees Through His Mask

Katakuri is the type of man who watches you before he lets you in. His ideal partner? Someone who sees past his intimidating exterior—the towering frame, the sharp fangs, the cold stare—and recognizes the man beneath.

At first, he’s cautious, reserved, his touches controlled. But once he realizes you truly want him—when he catches the way your eyes linger on his lips, when your fingers brush against his bare skin with something other than fear—his restraint shatters.

"You don’t have to hold back with me," you whisper against his lips, and that’s all it takes.

One moment, you’re standing; the next, you’re pinned against the nearest surface, your wrists held above your head as Katakuri devours your mouth like a man starved.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls against your skin, his fangs grazing just enough to make you gasp. "But you’re about to find out."

4. Dominant but Soft for You

Katakuri is a man of control. He’s used to being the strongest in the room, used to people fearing him. But you? You make him weak.

When he’s with you, he’s still dominant, still the commanding, powerful force that keeps his family safe. But behind closed doors, when it’s just the two of you? He lets himself feel.

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin as he grinds against you, his rough hands skimming down your sides. He groans when you thread your fingers through his hair, his entire body shivering at the sensation.

"You’re going to ruin me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with need. And yet, despite the hunger in his eyes, he takes his time, savoring every single second as if he’s memorizing you.

5. Absolute Worship

Katakuri may be intimidating, but in the bedroom? He worships his partner. He’s the type to cherish every inch of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your thighs, watching you squirm beneath him.

"Let me taste you." The words are more command than request, his strong hands gripping your hips as he lowers himself, his breath hot against your core. "I want to hear you scream my name."

He doesn’t just want you to feel good—he wants you wrecked, trembling, breathless, incapable of thinking about anyone but him. And once he’s finally inside you, slow and deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his groans vibrating through your very bones—he stays there, savoring the heat, the tightness, the way you cling to him.

"Mine," he breathes, voice raw with emotion as he moves, deep and deliberate, watching your every reaction. "You're mine."

And when you finally reach your climax, shattering around him, he follows soon after, moaning your name as he fills you completely. But he's not done.

"Hope you're not too tired, love," he murmurs, that rare smirk playing on his lips as he rolls his hips again, drawing out another whimper from your already sensitive body. "Because I’m not nearly satisfied yet."

Final Thoughts

Fukaboshi = Deep, slow-burning passion, teasing dominance, pure love, intimacy, and absolute devotion. Katakuri = Relentless hunger, unwavering control, protective, slow but intense love-making, and complete worship of his partner.

[r0manceplanet]

Could we perhaps maybe have any mafioso x reader headcanons? Anything with him really

Oh yes, OF COURSE you can have them!!! Oh my god and your also my first request too, I was so happy to get this

And this is just an excuse to write for my pookie mafioso right now :3 enjoy!!!

MAFIOSO 🐇

• Well I must say, congratulations for winning over this gentleman! It’s pretty tough to date him but as long as y’all are on good terms it won’t be too hard.

• He would treat you so well, seriously! Once you start dating him expect to get the royal treatment right away… Like, do you need someone killed? Don’t worry that’s already taken care of! Or do you perhaps need something from the store? It’s just a few minutes away he wouldn’t mind.

• I also don’t really think that he was very comfortable with PDA, at least before he met you that is… when y’all are dating he started to get more comfortable with physical touch and got better at initiating it after some time.

• I also headcanon that whenever he’s out with his gang, I feel like they would always go get pizza after a good killing spree, and he would always bring own your own pizza for you when he arrives at home.

• I also feel like he would get jealous whenever he sees someone flirting with you? It’s probably silly, but not to him. He will show them that your his and off limits, or he could maybe just kill them off, but he doesn’t wanna do that to you anyways.

• He will always make sure your protected no matter what, even if he’s not there, he’ll have his soldiers watch over you whenever your out somewhere and mafioso is no where to be found for now, so if anyone seems like a threat to you, they’ll disappear and you’ll know why.

• He would totally let you wear his clothes, especially his coat!! And if your small and his coat is really big on you he will just be in awe and hug you just because of how adorable you look!

• Back to some of the other headcanons, other than him bringing you pizza home, he would always come home with a small gift for you, I feel like he shows his love through gift-giving, and they’re always thoughtful everytime.

• For dates, he would take you out to more quiet and less crowded areas like the coffee shop in the early mornings or even at a bookstore, dates will rarely happen because he has to remain unknown to a lot of people, I think y’all would get this lol.

• He’s very boyfriend material, probably and most likely everyone’s dream man if we’re being honest here. He deserves a solid 10/10 for being the best lover.

A/N: if anyone wants to send me any mafioso or any of the characters for requests PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE do so if you can !!!! especially if it’s more mafioso I’d be happy to upload some content for forsaken :3

[evilbookworm]

i find it interesting that a lot of people can’t understand that el and mike simply dont work as a couple (byler aside)

the only reason mike pursued el was because the people in his life told him he like el in that way. im personally team mike never romantic liked/loved el, i genuinely believe he confused platonic feelings with romantic feelings i’m going to put queerness aside for a second to focus on heteronormative standards it’s actually very common for younger people to misinterpret platonic feelings as romantic ones especially (i had a friend in elementary school who was really like a brother to me and a lot of people keep telling us to date and i remember how uncomfortable and weirded out it made us feel because we didn’t want that or understood why people got that idea)

and i think s3 (even tho it’s like my least favorite season tbh) really highlights why mileven don’t work as a couple. it really does bother me that people ignored how el bypassed mike boundaries and never really apologies for it (im not gonna get into the way people hold mike overly accountable in his relationships with other characters even when they do the same thing and sometimes worse to him 😀)

They really don’t. They’ve been toxic all through season 3 and 4. It clearly isn’t a healthy relationship.

And you’re completely right anon! Nancy and Lucas were the ones who were always probing Mike on liking El. It was comphet. He had completely platonic feelings for her and viewed her more as his savior than as his partner, I think. Not to mention that Mike probably thinks he’s gonna end up in a marriage like his parents, loveless and for the money. Also, so sorry about what happened to you with your friend. As someone who’s still in the closet, (trans guy) I’ve been pushed to like a boy, which, I am gay, but I’m not comfortable with having a romantic relationship yet, since I’m not even out.

Season 3 does highlight that! Though I do think season 4 really cements it. And yeah, El was also in the wrong for not respecting Mike’s boundaries and never apologizing for it, just like Mike was in the wrong for calling El a “different species”. The two aren’t good for each other, and this can be confirmed in season 4, when it’s obvious they’re relationship isn’t working anymore, and they want different things.

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

Guilty as Sin - Leon S. Kennedy

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x female reader Tags: fluff, comfort, angst, smut, cheating, guilt, forbidden love, first person narrative. Word count: don't know, don't care Prompt: After 7 years of relationship with your partner things start to go down and you feel alone until your new co-worker walks in, restoring your faith in love, making you feel in high school again, but don't forget, you are still in a relationship. Notes: Am I projecting myself in this? Yes, yes I am. Life sucks and “love” has long since ceased to be the answer to why I’m still with my partner. So I wrote this to comfort myself (I don't condone cheating) and, although I've never touched his skin, when I think of one of my fictional loves it feels like cheating is what I do. This promt is written in first person because I feel it connects better with the character that way. Also listen to the song Guilty as sin while you read this and for fucks sake someone bring Leon S. Kennedy to life so he can writte mine in my upper thigh.

How does the dream of your life turn into monotony? At what point does it go from being the thing you loved the most to just another routine? How long does it take for love to die? Does love has an expiration date? Unfortunately, I couldn't answer any of those questions. 7 years of a moderately stable relationship, but the memories and habits we had forged together were no longer enough, not when we slept apart at night, barely spoke to each other during the day and our time together was a maximum of 6hrs each month. It was over once, 3 months apart, my shoulders had never felt so... light? As if the weight I was carrying was melting away. 3 months in which I hadn't cried (for having carried the grief within the relationship). No one understood why we had returned. When my friends asked why, I couldn’t give em an answer, I guess part of me thought I could cure him? Save him? change him? When the reality was that he was taking me overboard with him. It hadn't all been bad, in the beginning life seemed like a sweet melody of love, our steps following the same rhythm, the same path. As time went by, the melody became sad, stormy, my steps were no longer coordinated and it seemed that he was tired of dancing with me.

I didn't mean for things to end this way, but Leon was so kind, so sweet, so handsome, looking at me like I was the best thing at the party, it had been so long since anyone had looked at me like that, as if he really saw me. His woodsy scent impregnated in the jacket draped over my shoulders as we walked back to his car, his hand holding my waist and the other on my heart. I didn't intend to go that far, but his lips were so soft, his kisses full of love and desire for me, I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed that way. I told myself it would be the only time, but I had never been good at lying. Emotional deception is the worst kind of cheating but I couldn't stop, his laughter, his smile, every word that came out of his mouth, it was as if velvet was pouring out of his voice, wrapping me in a soft blanket that covered my aching heart, healing it. I was so lonely and he was so so willing to listen to me. And I noticed it, I noticed it every day when I was excited to receive his message wishing me good morning, I noticed it in the butterflies in my stomach when I found flowers from him on my desk, I noticed it when my heart was beating like crazy having him near, when he would take my cheek and hold his touch for a few seconds too long just to be “friendly”. It had become a necessity for me, looking for him in every hallway, making time just to find him when I went up the elevator, working overtime to get out at the same time. My heart fisically ached being away from him.

Every night the cold of my bed brought my imagination back to him, his hands, his touch, his kisses as he praised my body, cherising every part of it as if I were his only source of light. His mouth inside my folds, sucking the life out of me like a starving man, his moans and mine creating a melody so hot I could cum just remembering it. My hand circled around my swollen clit, while with the other I held tightly to the sheets of my bed. I remembered his strokes working their way inside me, filling me until I was so cockdrunk for him, each onslaught sending more waves of pleasure, building up in my lower belly as my tits bounced up and down.

“Fuck, baby, you're so tight,” he picked up the pace making me moan his name so loudly that everyone in his building would gasp at the pleasure he was giving me. “Shit... I'm going to cum, where...?”

“Inside... fill me up please” my orgasm taking over me, my walls closing around him trapping him inside me as his seed filled me completely. I could feel him slipping between my legs mixing with my own juices. After the pleasure he kept me close to him, holding me in his arms caressing my hair murmuring sweet nothings in my ears.

“I'm so screwed” I heard him say. I tried to hold still, controlling my breathing so he wouldn't notice I was still awake. I felt his hand caress my upper thigh in the same place where I had left a hickey as if reclaiming me as his. A purplish red mark with a clear message, mine “I won't be able to stay away from you now”.

That night not only I slept with him, but I gave him my heart, being there in his strong arms, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, so close to him, as if he was afraid I was going to disappear.

I had run away from him before the sun rose. My heart yearning for his love once again, my boby missing his touch. But it was wrong. What I was doing was wrong but I couldn't stop, I didn't want to stop. When I closed my eyes I found his face, when I was in the stores I saw his silhouette everywhere, in every couple I saw I saw us, at least what could be. I had a drawer with my partner's clothes at home, but I pretended I was alone because if he didn't know then I wouldn't hurt him. It was partly my fault that everything went to shit, but after years of giving my best and only getting crumbs my heart had grown tired.

______________________________________

2 days after giving my everything to him, Leon called me in for a meeting.

“Mr. Kennedy... Leon” his name escaping my lips as if it were a promise between the two of us. Every time he called me into his office to discuss something I found myself getting excited like a teenager with her first crush.

“You know I don't like you calling me Mr. Kennedy” his smile was big, showing me his shiny white teeth "We are...friends” but the glint in his eyes gave away his true intentions. Before him my days were gray and now, every time I saw him the sky turned the perfect blue of his eyes, invading me, sweeping away all thoughts of sadness leaving just him. I was a drifting ship and he was the sweet land calling me. “Penny for your thoughts?” He said, noticing I was distracted.

“I'm just... exhausted.”

“About?”

“Life I guess”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He’s concern seemed genuine. Oh handsome, don't make me love you anymore.

“You don't want to hear me rant about my life, believe me” I said shaking my head.

“I do if it helps you” his look, so worried and his frown was too adorable for his own good.

“My relationship is going downhill and I can't take it anymore, I don't even remember why I wanted to be with him. I tried my best to make him happy and supported him in everything, but I lost myself in the process and I can't seem to find myself.” I turn to look at him, his bright blue eyes dismayed “But it scares me so much because he's all I've ever known, he was my first everything, what if I'm not enough for someone else? What if no one else loves me?”

He wipes a silent tear from my left cheek and caress my cheek “Anyone would be happy to have you. And if that bastard can't see how lucky he is then fuck him. Love should make you feel happy and anxious in a nice way, you're supposed to want to be with that person 24/7 even if it gets on your nerves. Your love should be celebrated not tolerated. If it were me, I would do anything to keep you by my side.”

“Leon...”

“It's true and I know it's the worst timing but I...I can't stand to see you like this because of that jerk when I'm here. I know you think it was a mistake but gods to me it was everything, you are everything. I want to make things right with you, I want you and I'm dying to have you in my arms again” I hadn't noticed how close he was to me, trapping me between his bookshelf and his body. His lips dangerously close, the butterflies, the nerves taking over me, every fiber of my body claiming his warmth, needing his touch, the small conscious part of my brain tried to hold back but as Leon closed the space between us bringing our lips together, emotions overflowed me, throwing my arms around his neck, I let go. Allowing him to deepen the kiss as he pulled me closer to his body, his tongue asking permission to explore my mouth, the minty taste lingering on his tongue as he kissed me. It wasn't like any kiss I'd ever had, not because I had a lot of experience, I'd actually only kissed two people (him and my partner) but kissing my almost ex definitely didn't feel like this. Leon kissed with passion, the need for me written on every part of his mouth, his lips soft and warm in comparison to his rough kisses as if a primal instinct took over him. He held me tight, arching my back molding every soft curve of my body to his perfectly formed one, as if we were made to be one.

There is a Greek myth. Humans used to have 2 faces, 4 arms and 4 legs, they were a whole. 2 entities in one, but the gods decided they were too dangerous that way, so they separated them, making them weak, broken, and left them to wander the earth in search of their other half. I never wondered if the person next to me was my other half, but here and now, I was sure that Leon was my other half.

[funsized-panda]

Can you do head canons for Francesco Bernoulli?

I GOTCHU expect absolute whiplash bc i have so many thoughts. i also do apologize for anything that seems odd, i haven't studied his character josfuehuo

he's a pick me

but not like your average pick me

he just quite literally doesn't know he's acting like that

he likes to act like he knows it all but this man knows just about nothing that you talk to him about

like wtf is a microwave? i just have my chef make my food!!

he also just kinda is like a toddler???

does that make any sense?

like he's so accident prone 😭

the only time he's no where near hurting himself is during races

also he absolutely has a whole staff of chefs and butlers around his house

but he treats them so so so well

bc he has this "pick me" attitude to him, everyone thinks he's just mean to them

but these ppl haven't had a better work life before and they wouldn't trade this for the WORLD

"how is it working for Mr. Bernoulli?"

"oh its great! he's actually come to my home for dinner before. he loves the kids"

"he doesn't push you or ask for anything extra?"

"oh no! he actually does his best to make sure we're comfortable and accommodated to the best of his abilities"

everyone's jaws drop

LIKE WDYM HE'S A GREAT GUY BEHIND DOORS?

he'll fly out his opponents during off season for wine dates

he wants a bestie so bad

LIKE JUST GIVE THIS MAN A BEST FRIEND PLEASE

also loves going out and meeting his fans

at first he was scared bc what??

Franceso Bernoulli has fans?????

WHAT TIMELINE ARE WE IN!?!?!

but after the first few times he welcomes it with open arms

even when ppl stop him on the street he gets so giddy

almost like HE is the fan instead

but he loves it sm

he'll frequently reach out to Lightning to check in on him and see how he did during the racing season in the states

he also has offered to fly Lightning out before

or fly out to see him

either way he just really wants to see Lightning again

like he thought that was such a fun rivalry for everyone

also wants to actually officially meet all of Lightning's friends since he couldn't

he loves wearing nail polish too

and necklaces

he's a jewelry queen 💅

he has the soft boy look

but more fancy if that makes ANY sense

he also hates wearing clothes with any brand clearly visible

he thinks its such a stupid fashion sense/marketing campaign

he lives for the simplistic design of things, loves loves loves the way it looks

but also loves chaos

so his house is always flip flopping bc this man cannot figure out his favorite design

anyway that's all i can think up. i hope you like :3

[ascendingconures]

getting a little silly with blender. Made my blorbo 3d. i quite like how it turned out