#but trust! I will trust!! People to be normal!!

[cutehoons02]

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE?

(SCENE) ᡣ𐭩 What kind of vampire version boyfriend can be the Hyung Line and where you firts met them...

(TAGS) minor do not interact, +18, vampires mood, a lot of tension, manipulation, fluffy moments, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) vampire bites, blood, a lot of kisses, masturbation (f.m) fingering, cowgirl, normal sex, doggy sex, clingy, fake innocent protagonist, good girl, bratty girl.

ᡣ𐭩 REBLOG AND COMMENTS!

*english is not my native language!

JAKE (CLINGY BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

The alley reeked of stagnant rain and blood. You ran. Your heart hammered. The heels bounced on the wet asphalt. You shouldn’t have been there alone at that hour. But you ended up there. And now, someone—something—was chasing you. He was fast. Too fast to be human. 'Don’t scream, little one…' the rough voice hissed from behind you, as a cold arm grabbed you around the waist, and his warm breath grazed your neck. Then: a strike. A crash. A growl. A figure hurled him away. You screamed, collapsing to the ground, as the “bad” vampire was grabbed by the throat and torn apart in a hiss of dust. Your confused gaze landed on a face you had never seen before. Golden, deep eyes. A tight jaw. Still and fierce beauty. Jake. “You’re safe now…” he murmured, kneeling beside you, his hands trembling. “Please, don’t faint, okay? Look at me. You’re okay now, I swear I won’t hurt you.” But your vision was already fading. Your heart slowed. His hands were cold… so cold. Yet, they weren’t frightening. They were sad. Sweet. Desperate. The last thing you heard was his broken voice: “Stay with me… please…”

The next morning. Opening your eyes was a challenge. Everything throbbed: your temples, your throat, your back. A groan escaped you, and you immediately heard it: a quick movement in the room. Someone was there. Someone you… knew? “Shh… Don’t move too much. You’re hurt… I found you…” The voice was low, calm. Warm. But you recognized it. It was the voice before the darkness. You sat up abruptly, clutching the blankets to your chest. “Stay away from me!” Jake raised his hands, as if to surrender. “Wait, no—I don’t want to hurt you. I saved you, remember?” His eyes… they were sincere. Pained. His lips moist with unspoken words. His hair was messy, as if he hadn’t slept. He looked… like a beaten dog. “You’re… a vampire,” you murmured. “Yes,” he nodded. “But I’m not like him. I don’t—I don’t hurt people. Not you.” Your voice trembled. “Then why are you here? Why did you bring me… where are we?” “My house,” he replied, looking down. “I couldn’t leave you there. And I didn’t trust the others. Not even your own.” Then he looked into your eyes with tenderness: “You’re… important. I don’t know why. But you are.”

Days passed. You heal slowly. The wounds are deep, but strangely, they begin to close faster. Every night, even if you don’t see him, Jake enters the room. He watches you, motionless, kneeling by your bed. Then, slowly… he licks your wounds. With precision. With respect. But with a hunger he cannot hide. Until one night… “…Jake…” His name slipped from your lips in a whisper as you slept. And he stared. He stood up to leave, but your hand closed around his cold wrist. “Stay.” He looked at you. Confused. Stunned. “I’m grateful… for what you did. And…” you hesitated, “…I want to understand. I want to understand you.” He lowered his gaze, a nervous, tender smile, like a boy caught in the act. “I should leave. I really should,” he said. “But you don’t want to,” you replied. “No,” he admitted. “I want to stay. I want to… watch you breathe. Is that stupid?” You smiled. “A little.” “I can do even dumber things,” he whispered with a smirk. “Like asking if I can sleep here. On the carpet. Or on the ceiling, if you prefer. I can stay in mist form too.” You laughed. His joke was childish, but it was sincere. Strangely… sweet. Jake looked at you with bright eyes. “I swear I won’t do anything you don’t want. But… if you want me to stay, say the word. Just one.” And you said it. “Stay.”

It had been weeks since Jake had saved you. But since that day… You had never been alone again. You found him everywhere. Lying in your bed in the morning, with a sleepy smile and messy hair. Behind you while you cooked, his arms wrapped around your waist and his cold lips kissing your shoulder. One time, you almost dropped a knife from shock. His only response was: “I had to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself with those sharp things… let me cut the vegetables.” And of course, he did it with his claws. But the worst—or the best—came at the most private moments. Like that afternoon, in the mall dressing room, when you tried on a red bralette and black panties with red details. You had looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied. Then, his voice behind you: “Take it off.” You spun around quickly. “JAKE! I told you not to pop up out of nowhere when I’m trying on lingerie!” He licked his lips, his eyes fixed on your chest. “I’m not doing it on purpose…” he murmured. “It’s like… a radar. My body just brings me to you when you wear things like that.” “Psychopath,” you muttered, laughing. “Possessive,” he corrected, stepping closer, “and you love it.” Then he said it, with those golden eyes and that low voice that made your bones vibrate: “Tonight… I want to see you wearing only that.” You raised an eyebrow. “Only that?” Jake bit his lip. “Only that. And maybe… a bow.” “You want a bow?” you teased. “Yes. Red. Like blood.” You looked at him mischievously. “Did you get yourself a gift, vampire?” “Yes. My favorite. You!”

That evening – Your room at the campus

Books everywhere, scattered notes, open highlighters. You were studying for the comparative species history exam, trying to figure out when vampires had been officially recognized in human law.

Then: knock knock. On the window. You smiled even before getting up. When you opened it, the wind carried with it the scent of the night… and him. Jake. Messy blonde hair from the flight, full lips pulled into a dangerous smile, intense eyes, and sharp canines clearly visible.

“Hey, princess of the dark,” he said, landing on the windowsill with feline grace. “Don’t you ever use the door?” “Too mainstream,” he replied. Then he looked at you with burning eyes. “But for you… I might consider it.” He entered without waiting for an invitation. As always. And he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. His breath was like ice on your warm skin.

“You know how beautiful you are, right?” he murmured, his voice rough. “Your blood smells like desire. Like honey and thorns.” “Jake…” you sighed, your legs going weak. He pulled back for a moment. “You’re my drug. You know that?” You looked at him with an ironic smile. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Jake flashed a cheeky grin. “Of course I am. You’re everything I want. To drink. To touch. To fuck.” Your breath trembled. He slowly slid his hands under your shirt. They were cold, as always, and the contrast with your warm skin made you moan softly.

“Jake… they’re cold…” “I love how you react to me. So alive. So mine.” Then he looked you straight in the eyes. “Are you wearing that set?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Want to see it?” “Show me.”

“Good little puppy,” you whispered, lifting your shirt just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the red lace on your belly. Jake closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table to avoid losing control.

“Christ. You’re a curse.” “You asked me to wear it,” you teased him. “I didn’t think I’d survive.”

“Shame, then…” You brushed your thumb over his lip. “Because tonight, I’m not letting you leave here alive.” Jake swore. Loudly.

“Damn… okay. Now you’re officially cruel.”

He lifted you in his arms with frightening speed, and you gasped as he carried you toward the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get my gift. Just the bow is missing…”

Jake stood over you slowly, as if touching something sacred. His gaze burned. There was no longer only desire in there; there was worship, hunger, and something deeply romantic, as if it were the only beautiful thing left in his immortal world. "You're the most perfect thing I've ever seen," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He leaned over and began to storm our necks with hungry little kisses, alternating them with yeast bites and hickeys. His canines grazed the skin without ever really sinking, but they were plenty to trigger shivers down his spine. "Jake, I told you not to bite," you half-loudly admonished him, pulling his blonde hair hard, sinking his fingers into his thick, shiny hair. He moaned against your skin, laughing in that deep way that made your soul vibrate. "I love you when you're like that. When you command me, you drive me crazy.” Then you hear him moan. "I can't take it anymore if you're my damn thing. My drug. Every part of you calls me. I need you. To feel your skin. To lose myself inside of you.”

You giggled, stunned by the intensity of his voice. You pushed him gently, and he let me tip him over, lying on the bed under you, eyes wide open and red with hunger, but not blood. He straddled you on him, and you looked at him with a mischievous smile. "Strange for a dead man if you are flushed,”

Jake bit his lip, trying to keep control. "Shit stop " You pulled up his shirt with a slow, seductive gesture. “I want to see everything that is mine.” And he, without thinking twice, raised his arms, giving you free access to his sculpted body. You began to kiss him, first the chest, then slowly along the line of the abs, tracing them with your tongue, savoring each muscle as if it were created for you. Jake was shaking, unable to stand still. When you rubbed on his boner, through his pants, he moaned loudly, his hands clutching the sheets. "Christ, princess, you're sending me out of my head and you're damn good…” "Is it too much for an immortal vampire?" you teased him, brushing his jaw with your nails. Then you whispered in his ear, "Raise your hips,” Jake stammered, taken by surprise. "Wait, wait, if you're serious? Now?!”

"Does this sound like a joke to you?" you muttered, slowly lowering your pants. When his boxer appeared, tense against his throbbing erection, you threw an innocent fake look at him. "Is all this for me?” Jake nodded, eyes full of desire. "Always. Just for you.” Slowly, you took them off, and his body immediately reacted to the touch. "You are so sensitive Jake. Everything. But tonight you are mine.”

His erection pressed against the tissue of the boxer, already wet from the tip. You looked at him. “For me?” "Always for you. Just for you.” When you released him completely, his cock jumped against his abs, swollen, pulsating, beautiful. You licked your lips while he held his breath, in the grip of an animalistic tension. You began to kiss the tip, savoring every drop of liquid that had already leaked. He bowed, with a muffled groan. "Christ …[name], if you continue like this…” “So how?” you whispered, slowly licking it along the entire length. “Damn… tempting creature…” With the tongue you played, teased, and caressed. Then you took it in your mouth, deep down, and hon moaned loudly, his voice choked. His canines protruded now, red eyes completely lost in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck you … fuck you … you are… too…” His hands clasped your hair, but trembled. He was your prisoner, the vampire who could kill with a glance … but who now stuttered under your touch. “So loud to be a vampire… " you teased him again, pinching his thigh. Jake screamed, a choked blasphemy came out of his lips as he unwittingly pushed inside your mouth. When you started moving faster, he had tears in his eyes, teeth sticking into his lips, and veins in his neck stretched like strings.

"I'm … coming, love … fuck … I'm -” Then you heard it. He burst like a fountain, warm and abundant, and you did not stop, drinking everything, hands still caressing him to prolong the pleasure, even when he trembled under you. White threads dripped from your lips and along your hand. You ran your tongue over your fingers and looked at him with a smile. “Possessive. Vulnerable. Delicious.” He looked at you lying, exhausted, his chest rising, his cheeks incredibly reddened. “You are a public danger.” “And you're the most adorable vampire I've ever seen.” "Don't say it out loud… You will ruin my immortal reputation.” But then he laughed. A raspy laugh, tired, completely in love. And you knew you had him.

His chest lifted with an almost animalistic tension. His hands caressed your hips with caution, as if afraid that you might vanish. You were there. Hot. Deadly. And yet you were the one with the power at the time. You giggled, mischievous. “You like me so much, huh?” Jake rose slightly on her elbows and brought his lips to your breasts, leaving playful little bites- his canines barely exposed, as if reminding you who he really was. "Jake” You stopped him with a firm whisper, taking him by the hair. “I don't want you to bite me.” He sulked, adorable, his red eyes veiled with desire and frustration. “Not even a little? Just to feel your heart racing harder?” "No. I want to hear from you … but not like that.”

The vampire below you sighed, giving up, but slowly slid along your body. It's member-already hard, already throbbing-rubbed against your moist folds, ripping out a moan that left you trembling. “Then let me at least get inside you.” His voice was hoarse, broken, and pleading. “I want to hear you all, I want to know that you are there… that you are mine.”

Nod. And with a slow, conscious gesture, you guided him inside you. He entered with a subdued expletive, his head thrown back, while you groaned along with him. It was too much. Too good. Too real. Too intense. "Fucking goddess…" he muttered, clinging to your thighs. "You are perfect… you are made for me…" You began to move, first slowly, then with increasing confidence. Your hips moved smoothly, sinking on him with power, alternating moments when he was pushing inside you, and others when you bounced against him, hands resting on his shoulders, strong to stay balanced.

He moaned, praised you, degraded you with words that made your soul vibrate. "Look how you take me… how I slide inside you…Every part of your body cries out my name. Is that what you want? Being fucked and loved like I'm the only one controlling me?” When he took you by the waist and rose from lying down to sit down, remaining within you, you screamed, surprised by the deep pleasure of that new corner. “Be… I'm coming,Jake "Yes, love … come for me.” he whispered with a grin, as his thumb crept between the two of you and began to stimulate you with perfect, targeted movements. "Hold me … drive me crazy” With one last deep push, you felt the orgasm explode inside you — a hot, shattering wave that made you shake against her chest. Your name moaned, as your body convulsively clasped around his. “It's too much… " you gasped, exhausted and trembling.

"No, baby … I have to come again … and I will do it inside you.” The way he said it, the possessive tone, the burning desire… left you breathless. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Prayer. Sentence. He held you tight and sank even deeper, with fierce thrusts but full of need. His kisses were frantic, his eyes filled with something beyond desire: adoration. And when it came, it was with a broken groan, the body stiffening against yours, the breath severed, as it sank into you, filling you, trembling, vulnerable, alive. You remained so, united, while your bodies were still contracting slowly. He squeezed you, lips in your neck, but without biting. “Now you are mine.” “So are you, sticky vampire.” He smiled, his smile tired and sincere. “And I'm happy about it. I don't want anything but you.”

HEESEUNG (PERFECT BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Two years

It had been two whole years since you'd first met Heeseung. He was carrying cookies that his "aunt" had supposedly left him. He was kind, always smiling, with that calm, soothing voice that felt like a lullaby every time you passed him on the landing. He was… perfect. Too perfect. Never a word out of place. Always considerate with the elderly, always have a warm smile for the children in the building. But there was something. A shadow lingering behind those eyes—always just a bit too glossy. The fact that you’d never seen him out during the day. That his apartment always seemed shrouded in darkness. And then, his friends. Three other guys. So breathtakingly beautiful, it was almost painful to look at them. But their presence made the air go cold. No one knew anything about them. Yet, every time you crossed paths, your heart would pound so hard it felt like you had to run and hide. That evening, you were just on the couch. Soft music is playing, a scented candle is lit, and your favorite book is in hand. A finally normal night.

Ding dong.

The doorbell made you jump. You weren’t expecting anyone, you approached cautiously, and peeked through the peephole.

Brown hair with reddish highlights, it was Heeseung. But… he looked like he was swaying. You opened the door abruptly. Your breath caught in your throat.

His face was streaked with blood. His lip was split, red stains all over his white shirt—or what was left of it. He was breathing heavily. And smiling.

“Do you have any sugar? I suddenly got this crazy craving for… something sweet.”

His voice was hoarse. Almost a growl. You felt the blood freeze in your veins. Instinctively, you pulled the door halfway closed, leaving just a sliver between you and him.

“I... I would never hurt you,” he murmured, sounding almost disappointed.

“That’s exactly what serial killers say!” you snapped, eyes wide.

He chuckled softly. A tired, almost mischievous smirk.

“Touché. But I promise… I’m too weak to even touch you. At least, not the way I’d like to.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“…You’re a pervert.”

“Only when I’m mortally wounded and knocking on the doors of good girls,” he muttered, swaying.

You sighed. Looked into his eyes. There was something strangely vulnerable there. Something pleading.

And something dangerously magnetic.

You grabbed his arm—cold, marble-like—and pulled him inside.

His body was heavy but controlled. Like a wounded predator still ready to pounce.

“Couch. Now. And try not to bleed on everything.”

When he sat down, he let out a low groan. Then cursed through gritted teeth.

“Shit… even near the belly button. Terrible place for a fang.”

You spun around.

“If you wanted an excuse to show me your abs, you could’ve just asked. No need to nearly get yourself killed by… by what, exactly?”

He laughed, quietly.

“Noted. Next time, I’ll be more straightforward. Like: hey, I wanna show up half-naked at your door, open up.”

You slapped the back of his hand on instinct.

He looked at you, surprised. Then smiled again—this time genuinely amused.

“Hey… if touching me is your reaction to every innuendo, I might start making them more often.”

You knelt beside him. Blood was trickling from his abdomen, and when you lifted the torn shirt, you had to hold your breath.

Perfect, even wounded.

Beneath the pale skin, the cut was deep. But his body seemed to be… healing. Slowly. As if something ancient pulsed inside him.

“What the hell are you, Heeseung?”

He looked at you. For the first time, serious. No smile. Just truth.

“Something that doesn’t deserve to be near you. But I can’t stay away.”

Your heart thudded.

But you didn’t look away.

Maybe because you were drawn to danger.

Or maybe… because beneath all that blood and mystery, there was a man who looked at you like you were the only light he’d ever known.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, slicing the air in golden beams.

He was still there. On your couch. Or at least... it looked like he was.

“Ugh...” Heeseung groaned, his voice deep and hoarse, barely awake. He moved slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows. His shirt was still open over his chest, and the gash near his navel now looked like nothing more than a faint scar.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, approaching carefully, a small bowl of clean gauze in your hands.

“Like an ancient scroll...” he whispered. “My skin’s centuries old by now. It’s learned to heal on its own. But... the older I get, the longer it takes.”

You stared at him, brow furrowed.

“So you are...”

“A vampire?” he let out a low, sensual chuckle. “You didn’t figure that out on your own? With my nocturnal habits, corpse-like complexion, and this overwhelming need to... stay close to you?”

You stepped closer, your fingers resting against his cool skin.

“Let’s just say I had my theories.” You looked at him, a mix of challenge and curiosity in your gaze.

“But now I want to see how true they are.”

Your fingers slid along his abdomen, warm, alive.

He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

“Damn… your hands. They're... so warm.”

“That’s because I have blood running through me. You, on the other hand—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

He pouted, irresistibly, lifting his gaze just a little.

“You shouldn’t talk about your blood like that. Not around me. It makes me want to suck it from you slowly. Drink it while you moan my name.”

You froze. Eyes wide, breath caught in your throat.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. Then, much softer:

“But I’d never do it without your permission. I promise.”

Then added, with a wicked grin:

“I only say it because… your blood… your personality… and your body… are all I want.”

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“So that was… some kind of confession?” you asked, trying to play it off.

He laughed. A deep, satisfied sound.

“Call it what you want. But if you let me enjoy your hands on me a little longer… I might call it our first date.”

You resumed treating him, even though your hands were trembling slightly.

The wound on his abdomen was nearly gone. But as you reached lower—just above the waistband of his boxers—you felt him shiver beneath your touch.

“Mmh… you’re really good at this. But if you keep touching me there, I might start saying or doing... indecent things.”

“Like what?” you asked, innocently.

He opened his eyes. His dark irises seemed to burn.

“Like telling you I want you sitting on my lap, your warm hands tied behind your back. Or letting you bite my neck while I slowly slide into you. Or asking you to scream my name until the neighbors call the cops.”

You froze. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You didn’t know whether to run… or stay and hear more.

“…you’re insane.”

“No, babe. Just very honest. And very, very hungry.”

The silence between you thickened.

“You know what the funniest part is?” he added, standing up as if he’d never been hurt.

You stepped back.

“What… do you mean?”

He smiled. One of those smiles that ignites a fire in your core.

“The wound? The weakness? All fake. A little act. A plan I orchestrated with my oh-so-‘scary’ friends. I had to see if you'd open the door. If you'd come closer. If… you’d touch me.”

Your eyes widened.

“What?!”

“I needed to mark my territory.” He stepped closer.

“And now… I know I want it.”

He leaned in, eyes locked with yours. A breath away from your lips.

“You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.”

Months had passed since that night. Months in which you had tried to keep your distance. Months in which he had done everything to make you fall. Heeseung had apologized in every possible way. With sweet words and guilty glances. With dinners he had cooked, nocturnal bouquets of flowers, gifts left on your doorstep. He had even taken you on a picnic in broad daylight, with your skin slightly sizzling in the light, just to show you that he would endure the sun for you. And sometimes, when you looked at him… he seemed truly perfect. Kind to the neighbors. Be considerate with the children. He held your coat when you were cold. He washed your hair in the shower. He read your favorite books to you while you fell asleep on his bare chest. Every gesture was gentle, measured… human. But beneath that calmness, there was an animal. You could feel it. You saw it in his eyes every time he passed you too slowly. When he brushed your wrist with his thumb. When he inhaled your scent and closed his eyes, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Heeseung had desired you for over a hundred years. And now that he had you, now that he could touch you, kiss you, look at you… …he couldn’t stop. That night, you were sleeping deeply. The pajama was light, with the soft fabric rolled around your thighs. The open window let in a light breeze that brushed your skin. You were dreaming of something warm. Something intense. Something… wet. Until… A whisper caressed your ear. A cold breath, but intimate.

“My good girl… sleeps so sweetly.”

A hand caressed your side, slowly. Cold lips brushed your neck.

“Please… let me taste you. Just a little. I promise I’ll behave.”

You moaned softly, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. You instinctively turned, finding him there.

Lying next to you. His eyes red with desire. His bare chest. His breath controlled… with effort.

“Hee…” you whispered, still confused.

“Sleep, darling. Just let me… kiss you.”

“Kisses… yes. Bites… no.”

You said it with a thick voice. But he… chuckled.

“We’ll see if you still say that in a few minutes.”

His lips began to move down. From your neck to your chest. His hands slowly lifted your pajama top, revealing your bare breasts beneath. The contrast between his cold mouth and your warm skin made you shiver.

[Heeseung's thoughts:]

“Warm. Always so hot. It smells of life, fresh blood… repressed desire. God, how did I live a hundred years without feeling this taste on my tongue?”

He kissed you between his breasts, then went down again. Along the belly, up to the elastic of the shorts that slowly pulled off with the fingers. His hands stroked your open thighs, as your breath became heavier.

"You're all mine, you know?" You groaned, nodding without even realizing it. Then he lifted his head, his face between your legs. "Where do you want me to bite you, mmh? Tell me, good girl. You want to feel it here… — - kissed your inner thigh, slowly — "…or here?— - and went up to the neck, where he just laid the canines, touching the skin — "…or maybe here?— - a light caress to the bare breast, followed by a slow, moist kiss — "…or maybe on your wrist, so I can feel the pulse explode under the tongue."

You shook your head, panting. "I don't know … Heeseung, I…"

"You have to choose. Because when I bite you, it won't just be hungry. Will… link. And I never bite without wanting to hold something forever."

His look was serious now. Excited. But deep. You hesitated. The body was burning, the blood was pulsating strongly. He smiled, tilting his face.

"Or do you want me to decide? Because I assure you, I could do it here." He stroked you between your legs, right above your most sensitive part. "And your blood … would be sweeter if taken while shouting my name."

You woke up with burning skin. Not of fever … but of desire. And it was all his fault. Heeseung was there, next to you, crouching on the bed, with unkempt hair, eyes gloomy with hunger, and hands already on your body.

Your pyjamas were pushed up, pulled away slowly with almost devoted care, while his cold lips caressed your neck, whispering words that sent you into confusion. "My girlfriend sleeps so well … But do you know that you move even when you dream? What do you say, my name in a law voice? You torture me without wanting to."

His hand went down between your legs. A groan eluded you as you tried to tighten your thighs, but it was already too late. "Shh, just let me feel how hot you are…" His fingers grazed your clit with maddening slowness. "All this innocence, and you are already so wet for me. Look at that good girl…"

He whispered to you with a smile on his lips as you felt the heat explode. "No … not there…" you gasped as he teased you, and nodded with feigned patience. But his fingers slipped lower. Slowly. Inexorably. "So … just tell me where you want me to bite you." You shook your head, still too confused, too excited. "Hee, please … I don't want to… don't hurt myself. Don't let me die."

He looked at you with deep, dark eyes, lowering himself to rest his forehead against yours. "You will never die because of me. And I won't transform you until you're ready. But I can't resist anymore. I want you too much." One of his fingers sank into you. He slipped too easily. Your body welcomed him without hesitation, as your breath broke.

"Look how you slide … You're a damn temptation, you know?" He penetrated you with a second finger, and you moaned louder. "Your thighs … are they good for you?" he asked in a playful but hungry tone. Nod, between breaths. "But please be kind…"

He smiled, and that smile was dangerous. "I won't hurt you, good girl. But don't pretend you don't like it. Your body is already begging me." Then you heard it. His canines grazed the inside of your left thigh. A moment later, the skin broke. Bite. Deep. Intense. And a throaty sound came out of his throat as he began to suck your blood.

[Heeseung's Thoughts:] "God, his blood … is fire. Life. Desire. It runs down my throat and drives me crazy. How did I wait so long? It's mine. Only mine. No one else can taste it. No.”

Feel his breathing become more labored, hos lips kiss you, suck you, nibble you. And while he drank from you, his fingers did not stop moving inside your pussy, faster, more decisive.

"A-ah … Hee…" you moaned, unable to stop. "Please … don't stop … I feel … I feel that I'm…" "Come for me, love. So I can savor it all." He kissed your newly made wound, licked it with her tongue to seal it while teasing your clit with her thumb. And when you reached orgasm, you shouted his name.

The tears came down, not just from the pleasure… but from the confusion, the need, the fact that you could no longer understand where the desire ended and where the love began. Heeseung looked at you as you shook. His fingers were wet with your moods. Your thighs are still dripping blood and pleasure. He licked his lips. Satisfied. Lose.

"You know what?" he whispered to you, kissing your forehead. "This was only the first time. I've waited a hundred years… But now that I've had you, I'll never stop."

Your breath is broken, your body still tense from the orgasm that tore you with his fingers. But Heeseung is not done with you yet. He can't get enough. His gaze burns with hunger, his lips dirty with your blood as he watches you with predatory eyes, his pupils dilated, his chest rising irregularly.

Without saying anything, he shows you the last veils — his underwear slips off. It is long, venous, already covered with a pearly veil of desire. You can not restrain yourself: you look at it, praise it, touch it with trembling and curious fingers.

"Beautiful…" you whisper, almost in a trance, as your hands explore its length. He grabs you by the hips, fingers pressed hard to your bare skin, and looks at you with a fierce gaze, but full of twisted adoration.

"Are you sure you're a good girl?" he whispers in a scratched, red-hot voice. "Because I'm going to fuck you like I'm the opposite." Your heart skips a beat. Open your legs slowly, hesitantly, and ask him not to be too violent. Your voice is small, vulnerable. "I have not… a lot of experience…"

He smiles, and the smile is as sharp as his canines. "I can be slow … or I can make you scream until the sun rises." Approaching your ear, the voice is a sweet poison. "You choose." It doesn't even give you time to respond. It penetrates you with a single lunge, deep, raw. A moan runs from his lips as you arch his back, surprised, his legs instinctively closing around his hips.

"Christ…" growl quietly. "Look how you take me… you're perfect." You gasp, you tremble. "Move slowly… Please…" Heeseung bends over you, starting to move with slow, deep, hypnotic thrusts. He fucks you like you've been his for ages.

Every blow makes the bed shake, but there is sweetness hidden behind the brutality. He kisses you between strokes, caresses your throat marked by his bites, and squeezes your face in his hands while staring at you. "Do you feel how wet it is for me?" murmur. "You are so tight… like no one has ever really touched you. It's the first time you've felt so full, isn't it?"

"It's too much…" groans, the voice broken. He stops your face, forcing you to look at him. Black eyes pierce your soul. "Don't say bullshit. Your body knows exactly who it is. And now I take every part of you."

It sinks stronger, deeper. It makes you feel like you want to scream, cry, come all over him at the same instant. He caresses your inner thigh as he moves inside you, leaving bites on the already marked skin. "I've waited more than a century for this. For having you like that, trembling under me. Do you understand that?" He stares at you, as if looking at something sacred. "Do you understand what you are to me?"

You scream with pleasure, your voice broken, desperate. "Heeseung… I want to come… please…" His smile writhes into something dark, smug. "And to think that before you didn't even want me to touch you. And now you beg me to make you come… you little hypocrite."

His hands move between your legs, his thumb starting to stimulate you as he continues to push inside you. "Come for me. I want to hear you squeeze me as you scream my name." And when you do-shaking, shaking, out of control — he holds you tight, as if he could tear you apart and put you back together only with his body. A monster, a god, a lover who never learned to let go.

Your body shudders, upset with pleasure. You can't even hold back: a scream explodes in your throat as you come around his cock, tight, shaken, completely submissive to that burning sensation inside you. "Hee… I'm too sensitive… " you gasp, your face turned upside down, tears mingling with sweat on your hot skin. But he laughs, low, dirty. That kind of laugh that makes your legs tremble.

"Sensitive?" he takes you by the chin, forces you to look at him. "And I just want to sink even deeper into you. Can I, my love? Can I destroy you properly?" He's not waiting for an answer. He manipulates you with cruel slowness, his fingers caressing the spot where he is still inside you, brushing your clitoris with a barely hinted touch, just to make you jerk.

Then he moves, slowly — at first — almost tender-and then begins to push with deep, uneven, hungry strokes. "Look how you take me…" he whispers, his voice scratched. "Like you were born just for this."

Then feel his mouth on your neck. His canines touch the skin in a sacred moment, full of tension. They sink-but barely, like a broken promise-and he sucks only three drops, small, precious, as if he were tasting a rare wine for hundreds of years. Your groan breaks into a sob. Cry from pleasure.

The darkness, the mild pain, the pleasure that overwhelms you again as he comes inside you with a throaty cry, sinking every drop of his seed into your trembling body. "Very good…" it whispers against your skin, as you squeeze it hard, as if you could hold it inside forever. "Look how beautiful you are when you take everything like this."

"Enough… you are unbearable…" you admonish him, his voice broken, but your expression betrays the opposite: shiny eyes, ajar lips, all full of him. When he slowly detaches from you, feel the warm little filaments of his seed dripping between your thighs. He looks at you, pleased, and with a sweet and degrading smile, caresses your marked skin. "Dirty little human… all filled with my blood, my seed… so it should always be."

You let yourself go over him, exhausted, your head on his chest still uneven from breathing. Damp hair frames your face, and he kisses you softly on the forehead. "Mine. You've always been. You will be forever." His words sound like a statement, but they carry the weight of an immortal oath. You feel them slipping on your skin like a sweet chain. Tremble, vulnerable. But also safe.

"Heeseung … I love you…" he whispers. He closes his eyes, as if that moment were sacred. Then he squeezes you harder, the voice a dark whisper. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in the morning…and I'll show you how sweet I love you."

But his "sweet way" has nothing human. It's not breakfast in bed. It is to see you trembling, full of him again. It is still savoring your blood, mixing your pleasure with its hunger. It will wake you up with slow bites and thrust into you, without giving you respite. Because Heeseung loves you. But he's a monster. And you love him anyway.

SUNGHOON (PROFESSOR BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Faculty of Law, 10:37 a.m.

Classroom C. Law of the Duties and Powers of Vampires.

A course that once sounded like science fiction—until society stopped sweeping blood under the rug.

As always, you were seated in the front row.

Short skirt, good-girl turtleneck sweater, notebook open, pen in hand.

But your tightly pressed thighs told a different story.

"It’s not my fault Sunghoon talks about international treaties like he's whispering dirty things in a bedroom."

The tenured professor was absent—a centuries-old vampire, dull as dust, who walked and talked like an ancient scroll.

Today, as had been the case for the past few months, the lecture was left in the hands of his substitute.

Park Sunghoon.

Vampire. Twenty-six on paper, with the cold, detached gaze of someone who had already lived far too long.

He entered. Silence.

No one breathed as he walked between the desks.

Dark jacket, shirt buttoned all the way up. No smile—just a steady voice as he laid the papers on the desk.

"Today we’ll discuss Article 17 of the 2022 Blood-Crown Pact, which regulates the legitimacy of mental coercion by vampires in legal contexts."

His tone was low, clear, lethal.

Every word slid under your skin and yet, he never looked at you. Not once. No extra glances. No hesitation.

As if you didn’t exist.

"Maybe he doesn’t notice me. Or maybe… he’s avoiding me."

You raised your hand. Blood-red nails.

He looked up. Silence in the room.

"Miss (Your Name), go ahead." His voice was lower. Slower.

"With all due respect, Professor… you stated that mental coercion is only legitimate in emergency contexts. But according to more recent legal interpretations, a vampire may use it to prevent irreversible harm—even before an emergency occurs. Am I wrong?"

A blade. No one ever spoke to him like that. He stared at you, not for a second. For too long. Time froze.

"That’s it. He hates me. Or maybe… he’ll eat me."

"Interesting." Sunghoon stood up.

He walked toward you. Each step was a heartbeat.

"You’ve just challenged my interpretation with a partial reading of a poorly cited case. But I like that you tried."

He stopped in front of your desk.

"I’d like to discuss this further with you. After class. Office 2.13. Don’t keep me waiting."

And just like that, he walked back to the desk.

Your heart was pounding.

Cold. Brilliant. Arrogant and damn irresistible.

Office 2.13 – 5:06 p.m.

You knocked. Two sharp raps.

"Come in." His voice slipped through the door like a thin blade. You opened it and stepped inside.

The room was cold, like the heat had never been turned on.

The lights were dim, curtains drawn. The dark wood of the bookcases seemed to swallow every sound and there, in the middle of that frozen silence, sat him.

Park Sunghoon.

Behind his black glass desk, typing rapidly on a matte-finish laptop. To his right, resting casually, a half-empty blood bag.

The red liquid dripped slowly along the plastic, and for a moment, you thought:

"He drinks while grading exams. Magnificent."

You stepped closer. He looked up. His eyes didn’t have the hunger of an ordinary vampire. They were colder. Smarter. More dangerous.

"Come here. Take a look—since you're so brilliant."

He tilted the screen toward you. On the document was your argument—the one you'd used to “correct” him in class.

And below it… a proposal sent to the High Council of Vampires.

"Wait… he used my thesis?!" You smirked, cocky. "I may not be a vampire, but I clearly know more than some of you."

Sunghoon stopped. Slowly closed the laptop. He stood, with surgical calm, and fixed his gaze on you.

"Care to explain how you dared to correct me?" A pause. His eyes slid over your body. "Or are you just reckless?"

You smiled, just a little. That teasing tone you used when you wanted to be noticed.

"I’m not afraid of you, Professor. Or your fangs."

You were going to provoke him until he bit. He took a step toward you. Then another. Now he was inches away. You could feel his cold breath on your skin.

His canines, white and gleaming. A smear of dried blood on his lower lip. He leaned in. Too close.

"You should be." His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "You smell… dangerously tempting."

He inhaled softly, eyes half-lidded.

"Sweet. Fresh. Like ripe fruit ready to be bitten. If I were an older vampire… you’d already be drained in the courtyard."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"Is he saying that to scare me? Or to… prepare me?"

"You're not scared, are you?"

He studied you. His tone was neutral, but something simmered beneath it. You didn’t answer.

"Good. Because you’re going to work with me."

He handed you a sheet. An extracurricular project for outstanding students. A special assignment.

Working with him.

Extra hours. Night sessions.

Access to restricted documents. Private meetings.

Just you and him.

"Do you accept?" He looked at you with eyes that already claimed you. You swallowed.

But your pride spoke before your instincts could.

"I accept."

(What could possibly go wrong, right?)

Sunghoon smiled. But it wasn’t kind.

It was the smile of someone who had just caught something.

"Perfect. We start tomorrow night. Eight p.m. Bring your intellectual appetite and wear something comfortable."

The months with Sunghoon passed like elongated shadows across the cold marble of the faculty halls.

Every evening, every meeting, every paper edited together with him… was like burning slowly. You fed on everything—Korean ramen, Indian curry, margherita pizza at three in the morning—

While he drank in silence from sterile blood bags provided by the Blood Bank ut every time his fingers got too close to your skin… you felt something inside him struggling to break free.

It wasn’t hunger.

It was a hunger for you.

In class, he was strict. Cynical.

"Miss (Your Name), your analysis is incorrect. Again."

But then, with a low and cutting glance, he’d murmur under his breath:

"Maybe if you stopped wearing such short skirts… You could focus better."

And every time, you challenged him with a defiant smile.

But he looked at you like he was undressing you with his eyes, slowly, precisely. At night, during private study sessions in his office or the small faculty-only room in the library, things were different.

The margins of the legal texts he gave you were filled with handwritten Latin phrases.

“Me ardere facis.”

You make me burn.

“Exsanguis tuae vocis sonitu.”

The sound of your voice drains me.

“Me consumis ut nox solem.”

You consume me like night devours the sun.

You never mentioned them. But every time you read them… your thighs clenched.

A few nights later, while reviewing your thesis draft, he made you sit on his lap.

You were confused, but you didn’t move. He said nothing. Just took your wrists and made you hold the book steady while he annotated it.

His cold breath brushed your neck.

Then… without a word, his fingers slid beneath your skirt, adjusting your position with glacial precision.

You shivered. And then… his nose touched the curve of your neck.

A barely-there bite. Almost a kiss. Almost a promise.

"Pro…fessor…"

Your breath trembled.

"Ssshhh."

His voice was low, calm, surgical.

"Hold still. I’m looking for inspiration…"

The tip of his tongue traced a spot where the blood pulsed closest to your skin.

You moaned, unintentionally.

"So bold in class… and now you tremble from a touch?"

His hand grazed your back, slowly.

"You’re wet, aren’t you? Because you like that I’m the one in control." A pause. "Don’t pretend to be surprised. You know I want you. But I prefer you like this—silent, in my hands."

He had access to everything.

Your academic records. Campus surveillance. He knew where you were, who you spoke to, how long you stayed out of the dorms.

But he wasn’t jealous. He was calm. Clinical. Deadly.

With other students, he was harsh, sarcastic, impatient.

With you… he was cold. But obsessively present.

Whenever you left his classroom, his fingers always brushed yours too slowly as he returned your papers.

He touched you without really touching you.

And you… were going insane.

Was he manipulating you?

Yes.

Was he desiring you?

Even more.

Was he owning you?

Not yet. But it was only a matter of time. And you…were letting him.

The clock in the teachers' lounge read 10:21 PM.

Twenty-one minutes late.

The hallway was empty, the faculty cloaked in that thick silence that felt more like a crypt than a university.

The light in his office was on. As always. As if he never slept.

And maybe… he didn’t.

You still had on the dark red lipstick he hated, and the scent of prosecco clung to your skin.

Your collarbones sparkled faintly from the birthday glitter.

A birthday you hadn’t told him about.

Or maybe you had. Maybe you’d told him in just the wrong way, on purpose—just to see if it would get under his skin.

You did that a lot with him. You pushed. You provoked.

Hoping he’d lose control.

You opened the door slowly, without knocking.

And he was there.

Sitting behind the desk, jacket off, tie loose. Glasses perched on his nose.

His gaze fixed on you like he was reading you from the inside out.

“Good,” he said. “At least you’re alive.”

His voice was low, like a sheet of ice threatening to crack beneath your feet.

You forced a smile. “I said I might drop by after dinner…”

“No,” he cut in, closing the book in his hands. “You said might, and that was the only honest word you used.”

He stood.

The way he moved always gave you chills: slow, perfectly controlled. Like he never quite touched the ground.

He came closer, unhurried. His dark eyes never left your face.

“You’re twenty-one minutes late, you reek of sugar and alcohol, and you showed up in a skirt that makes even the air feel ashamed.”

“I thought I’d make up for it with my stage presence.”

He laughed softly. But there was no joy in it—only disdain. Or maybe hunger.

“You’re not making up for anything. You’re provoking.”

He walked past you, moving behind you. His breath was barely audible. But you felt it on your neck.

“You think I can’t recognize a challenge when I see one?”

You turned slightly, uncertain. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that tone.”

“No?”

With a sharp motion, he grabbed your wrist—not violently, but with that quiet strength that always made you forget he was anything human.

He guided you to the front of the desk. His voice had changed. Deeper. Thicker.

“Bend over. Hands on the wood. And don’t speak.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t.” His hand landed on the back of your neck, pushing you forward with fierce gentleness.

“Don’t give me orders in my house.”

The wood was cold beneath your palms. Your heart beat too fast. But it wasn’t fear.

It was something deeper. More dangerous.

It wasn’t the first time he became… like this.

Controlled. Cold. As if constantly fighting between desire and duty.

He had kissed you. Touched you. Even let you sit on his lap while he corrected your thesis.

But he had never asked you to be his. Never said you were.

And yet… he acted like you were.

Always.

You heard the buttons of your shirt being undone, the collar folding down. Then, his voice by your ear.

“Twenty minutes late. Twenty-one strikes.”

His hand came down on your left cheek. Sharp. The sound shocked you.

You held it in. A low moan.

“Count,” he murmured.

“…One.”

The second came harder.

“Two…”

By the third, you couldn’t help but gasp.

Your blood pounded between your legs.

Each strike wasn’t punishment—it was attention. Desire.

It was him, reminding you that he saw you.

At the fifth, without thinking, you whispered:

“…Sir…”

He stopped.

The silence was sharper than any slap.

You felt his cold hand trace the back of your neck, then rise to your chin.

He turned your face toward him.

His eyes were black. Glossy. Too glossy.

“Say it again.”

“Sir…”

A tremor passed through his jaw.

“Finally,” he murmured. “Finally you understand who you are here.”

He released your face and let his hand slide down your spine, his fingers tracing the curve of your back.

Then, his breath at your neck.

“Shame it’s too late for gentleness.” He lowered your panties slowly, surgically. And you stopped breathing.

Then—no warning—his lips on your neck. A kiss.

Cold. Wet.

Then… a bite. Gentle. A promise.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered. “And it’s not from pain. It’s because you like that I dominate you.”

You gasped, slick and fevered.

“Then why don’t you claim me?” you hissed. “You act like my boyfriend, but you never say it. Why don’t you tell me I’m yours?”

There was silence.

Then, his voice changed. It was almost… human. Hurting.

“Because if I say it,” he answered, “I’ll never be able to let you go.

And I… I don’t know if I’m ready to truly ruin you.”

Giggle. A broken, hysterical sound, full of shame and pleasure. Tears ran down your cheeks, warm and silent. But it was not pain. Not anymore. It was surrender. It was true.

"You know, don't you?" you murmured between breaths, your voice broken and your eyes shining. "You know I'm your soul mate. You know that, too."

The sound of your heart seemed to fill the room. Strong. Sincere. Unconscious. His hand stopped halfway through yet another slap. Stay there, suspended. Tend. Trembling. The silence that followed was different from everyone else's. Dense. Heavy. It lasted a second too long. Then two. Then three. When he spoke, his voice was a knife on bare skin.

"Stop saying things you don't understand." Hiss. Icy. Sharp.

"Stop challenging me. To provoke me. You know what you are to me … and what I become when you remind me." He leaned over you, his long, sharp body towering over you like a living shadow. It didn't weigh, yet it crushed you.

The power he emanated was almost tangible. His breath grazed your back of your head. His voice was almost a bite. "Look how easy you are. A spanking and your thighs are flooded. You made yourself beautiful today … for whom? You thought I wouldn't notice?"

He took you by the hair with cruel precision, forcing you to look up at the glass of the bookcase. The reflection that looked at you was not that of the model student. Nope. You were disheveled, flushed, wet, stripped of your dignity, and… more alive than ever.

"Look where you're at," he whispered. "With your face on my desk and your ass uncovered. Everyone sees you as a brilliant student. But I … I know how much you like to be my docile little bitch." A groan eluded you, involuntary. A desperate sound. Ravenous. He lowered his head. He smiled against your skin. "Tell me you're mine." It was not a request. It was a command. And you wanted it.

"I am…" you gasped. "I want to be. Please … take me." A dry sound. Zipper. Time stopped. You just turned around, anxious. The heart exploded. You wanted to see him. You should have seen him. His underwear was already on the ground, abandoned as an offering.

His body … pale, perfect, carved like cursed marble. And his erection… cruel. Impressive. Beautiful. It was beautiful. But most of all … it was dangerous. A hungry god. Your god. You, just his adoring prey. And he knew it. He looked at you from above, eyes ajar, veins at the pulsating temples. The narrow jaw. The slow smile, corrupt, full of power.

"Hands against the table." The voice was low, velvety, unreal. "Back straight. Open hips." You obeyed, trembling. His icy hands closed around your hips. Strong. Decide. Then … he penetrated you. One push. Slow. Inexorable. As if it were entering your soul. You heard it. All. In. Too. A groan escaped from your lips. Fingers clung to the edge of the desk as if to save themselves.

"Hoon …" you stammered. "It's too much…" "That's enough," he corrected you, sinking again, with that slowness punished and precise. "Because it's mine. And that's what you're made for. For me." Every shot was controlled, restrained. A chained fury. Every push was like he wanted to brand you from the inside. "Did you really think that your short skirts had no consequences?" he hissed, his teeth clenched. "Or that I could come to me late … without paying the price?"

He stopped. Motionless inside you. He punished you. "Move," you gasped. "Please … please, Hoon…" He smiled at your spine. "Look how you beg. How good you are at being my good whore when you need it. But the truth is, even if you hate me, even if you challenge me, you always come back to me. Because only I make you feel that way."

Then he moved. First slowly. Then stronger. Deeper. Every blow is a punishment. Every groan is an adoration. And you groaned. Not as a girl. From him. Not as a student. From belonging. "You are mine," he hissed at your skin. "You always have been. And no one will ever touch you. You're my human. My secret. My damage."

The room was full of obscene sounds. Skin against skin. Broken breath. Your hushed sobs. And when you stooped even more, offering yourself, opening up, destroyed, consumed, lost… he kissed your back. Gently. The only kind gesture. But it was enough to make you tremble. You were his. And you would have been, even if it meant burning.

Scream. A broken cry, pure pleasure climbing up your throat as he held you tightly against the table, nailing you with body and desire. His thrusts became deeper and deeper, more and more cruel. As if he wants to destroy you and rebuild you at the same time. "H-Hoon…!" you stammered, your voice broken," I want to come … please, let me come…" He chuckled. That slow, corrupt laugh that made you feel naked inside. "You deserve it, really?" he asked, the tone poisonous, sadistic.

"Because I'm not convinced." Nodded strongly, the hips moving alone against his pelvis. "Yes … yes, I deserve it, please…please…" "Polite little bitch now, huh?" he hissed, squeezing you even harder. "When you moaned my name in front of that damn glass you didn't look so innocent." His thumb reached your clitoris, touching it with quick and precise movements. Your body gasped. The pleasure exploded in waves that took your breath away.

"S-yes, yes… more… do not stop!" you groaned, bent under him. And he giggled again. "Here she is. That's how I like you." A few moments later, you came with a cry that broke the air. A red-hot, devastating pleasure ran through you all while he kept pushing inside you, hard, deep. Your moods ran down his thighs, hot, sticky, the intimate creases throbbing around his cock.

"Good girl," he praised you, panting. "You tightened so much as you came…" He kept pushing. Faster. Stronger. His breathing became uneven against your back. "Can I come into you?" he asked, his voice hoarse, restrained, on the verge of the end.

"No…" you groaned, trembling. But then — a heartbeat-and you changed. «You. Yes, you can. I want you inside." He stopped. Just a second. "Say it right," he ordered. "I want to hear it." "I'll take the pill," he whispered, between sobs of pleasure. "You can come inside me, Hoon. Fill."

The sound he made was almost a growl. "So we talk." With a violent and deep thrust, he came into you. But it was at that exact moment — when the pleasure overwhelmed him-that he really lost control. He sank his face into your neck, and his canines emerged. There was no hesitation, no mercy.

He bit you. A sharp, hungry, deep bite. Not to kill you. Not to feed. To tie you up. To claim you. Because it wasn't enough to come inside you — he had to brand you. The pain was a spark, immediately followed by an even blinding wave of pleasure. You felt his hot seed explode inside you, as blood dripped from your neck and your body stretched under his. His hips trembled. His breath became bestial. The white filaments of his pleasure dripped between your thighs, warm, dense. And as it came off your neck, with a broken sigh, the tongue passed gently over the wound, barely healing it.

His eyes — dark, red, tired-stared at you as if you were the most sacred thing ever touched. "Now yes …" he murmured against your skin, " … now you are mine in everything." When he broke away from you, slowly, he gently turned and squeezed you to your chest. His arms strong, his hands trembling. He hugged you like he was afraid of losing you. Tears came down from your eyes, this time without shame. Hot drops that slipped on his bare pecs, wetting his pale skin.

"It's hotter than usual…" you whispered, surprised, still immersed in ecstasy. He looked at you. An expression you've never seen before. Almost … tender. "Only with a soul mate," he said softly. "Only then … the heat returns.» You giggled, still shaking. A broken sound, but sincere. "So … is that why you seemed less glacial today?" He took your face in his hands. He did it with care. With devotion. "You look beautiful when you cry for me. But your tears must only be of pleasure. Only joy. Just ecstasy."

He looked at you, seriously. Eyes full of ancient promise. "From today … you are bound to me. This is my deal. My invisible mark. No other vampire will touch you. No one else will hear you. You're … mine." Then, in a simple and strangely human gesture, he bent down and took a sweatshirt from the chair behind the chair. It was black, smelling of him. He gently poked it into you. He helped cover you. And then he kissed you on the forehead.

You smiled. Mischievous, even tired as you were. "Are you really my boyfriend?" Your voice was cheeky. Theatrical. He laughed, this time with a poisonous sweetness. "I always have been. It just took you a while to figure it out." "You're a weird boyfriend. Dark. Vampire. Professor." "And you are brash, stubborn, and too awake for your own good. But you're mine." He squeezed you more. The heart beat slowly, but sure. And for the first time, you felt protected.

JAY (BODY-GUARD BOYFRIEND VAMPIRE)

Being the daughter of an American diplomat—at least from the outside—must have looked like a fairytale. Designer clothes. Exclusive invitations. A last name that opened doors like a golden crowbar. But the truth was, every night as you stepped through the gates of the villa, the emptiness wrapped around you like a coat two sizes too small. Your father was there. But not really. And the silence in that house always seemed to swallow you whole—like a hungry mouth. The only place you could breathe was on campus. The cafés. The university hallways. But ever since that damned article about your father’s political crusade for “vampire rights” came out, even that had become hostile territory. Hissed insults. Anonymous messages. Stares that burned your skin. Jimmy, your long-time bodyguard, had lasted two years. Then his wife got pregnant, and apparently, a newborn was more dangerous than you. Now you were alone. Or almost. You were at your desk, the warm lamp light spilling over your business economics textbook. A page full of charts you knew you’d never really understand. Then, three knocks on the door.

“It’s open!” you called, expecting Sophie with the latest campus gossip. But when you looked up… it was your father. Double-breasted suit. Tired smile. Eyes already drifting over your room—messy, as usual.

'Ever think about calling pest control for this battlefield?'

You got up with a shrug. “For your information, this battlefield just found the underwear I’ve been missing for three days.”

He laughed, then pulled you into a hug. Strong. Warm. Dad. For a second, time stood still.

'I missed you, my little girl.' “I missed you too, Ambassador of Disaster.”

You felt him chuckle against your hair.

But then—you tensed. Because... someone else was there. Behind him.

When you pulled away and looked up… you saw him.

A man.

No. A weapon in a tailored suit.

Black. Precise. Sharp. Tall, powerful, with a jaw sculpted by a too-generous god. Hair slicked back. Eyes… Brown. But veined with red.

A hue that pulsed—like embers under ash.

He looked young, yet ancient. Human… and not. His skin too flawless. A golden sheen, as if the sun had touched him once before being banished forever.

You let out a barely-there, ironic whisper as your gaze swept him from head to toe:

“Uh. Who’s the Matrix cosplayer?”

Your father sighed.

'That cosplayer is your new walking umbrella. Jay Park. Your new bodyguard.'

“...Excuse me?”

Jay simply nodded. No smile. No emotion. But his eyes…They were scanning you. As if he already knew every inch of your skin.

Every habit. Every dream. Every moan.

And in that moment, you understood only one thing:

You were no longer alone. And maybe… no longer free.

You’d never believed in hell—Until they literally moved it into your room.

The bed came in carried by four men. Black, minimal, perfect. Just like him. Jay Park. Half-blood. Cold. Unbearable. Beautiful.

Your father had left for a mission in the Middle East, with one very clear instruction:

“He’ll follow your every step. No arguments.”

Of course, you were going to argue.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, hands on your hips, staring at the bed now placed beside yours. “You need to share my oxygen just to do your little shadow-with-a-license job?”

Jay didn’t even turn around. He was sliding a holster under the pillow. “I don’t breathe.” “Oh, what a shame. So you can’t even sigh about how boring you are?”

He looked at you. Slowly. Sharply. His gaze was like a scratch on bone.

“The perimeter’s too wide. I can’t guarantee your safety from outside this room.” “I feel like I’m in prison.” “This isn’t prison. It’s a safety protocol.”

You stepped closer. Arms crossed. Goosebumps. Not from fear. From him.

Jay Park looked like he’d stepped out of a forbidden painting. A chiseled jaw. Broad shoulders beneath a black shirt. That neck—long, strong, biteable. His hands were large, precise, cold. And his eyes. Those eyes. Brown, with streaks of crimson—like sunset trapped inside, trembling.

You were 22. On paper, he was 24. In reality? One hundred and seventy. Your very own ancient stalker.

“Tell me,” you sighed, mock-dramatic. “Are you here to protect me or torment me?”

“Both, if necessary,” he said in that voice that never rose. Never shouted. Never hesitated. You, on the other hand, exploded.

“I don’t want some silent shadow watching me sleep! I want privacy. I want to do what I want. I want to live!”

He didn’t answer right away. He studied you. He had that infuriating way of watching you like he was calculating your breaths per minute.

Then he spoke.

“Privacy? Fine. But if someone slaughters you in the bathroom while you’re putting on lip gloss, who’s going to tell your father? You?”

You burst out laughing. Bitter. Furious. Amused.

“You’re an insufferable half-blood bastard, you know that?”

He raised one eyebrow. The only sign of life.

“Better you hate me than end up dead.”

Silence. For a moment. Too long. Too full.

You stared at him. And something inside you curled in on itself. How could someone so cold… make you feel warm?

Your thoughts:

Why the hell does he have to be so gorgeous? And so damn calm? He follows me like a shadow and drives me insane. Sure, he’s good with weapons, but what could he do with those hands? Those hands... so disciplined, so strong. On my neck? On my hips? No. Stop. He’s your bodyguard. He’s half vampire. He’s… too much.

His thoughts:

She hates me. Good. Better that way. But those eyes. That mouth. The way she moves like she doesn’t know how desirable she is. Or worse—like she knows exactly. I can’t afford distractions. I can’t. But when she smiles, something in me breaks. Damn it, I’ll be the one to kill her if she keeps looking at me like that.

Then he turned.

“Here are the rules.” “Rules?” “Agreed upon with your father.”

He tossed you a printed sheet. Ten bullet points. The first: “Jay has the right to enter any space you occupy—including the bathroom.”

You laughed. Again. Bold. Shameless.

“Screw you, Robocop.” “I’d rather not have to, but you’re pushing me to consider it.”

And then… it happened.

For a second, your eyes locked.

And the fire that had been burning silently under your skin… sparked into something visible. Uncontrollable.

But neither of you moved. Neither of you gave in. Not yet.

Two months had passed since Jay started living with you.

Two months of sharp silences, rules written in invisible ink, and stares that spoke too loudly, even when no one said a word.

You were convinced your father had hired Jay to protect you. In reality, it felt more like constant surveillance. A cold, elegant shadow that knew every step you took before you even made it. He knew where you drank your coffee, which perfume you wore, which shoes you put on when you needed to feel safer. He had learned it all. Too quickly.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It didn’t help that he was beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel. That kind of beauty that made you want to touch it just to see if it was real. Dark hair, pale skin but not lifeless, brown eyes streaked with red as if something inside him burned, refusing to die.

That night, you decided to provoke him. To test him.

You carefully chose the shortest nightgown, the one you had bought for laughs with your friends, never thinking you’d actually wear it. But now… it was perfect. And you were tired of being looked at from afar, like some risk to be contained.

You entered the room with light steps. He was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, a book open in his hands. He didn’t look at you immediately, but you knew he had heard you. He always heard everything.

“Jay,” you whispered, feigning innocence. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t respond, but he turned his face just enough. His gaze landed on your legs. Slowly, it slid up to meet your eyes.

“In your long vampire life… have you ever had anyone?”

His lips barely moved. “Just one.”

You moved closer, sitting at the edge of his bed. The mattress shifted, but he stayed still. Only his eyes betrayed him, following every small movement of your thigh, revealed by the silk of your nightgown.

“And where is she now?” “Mortal,” he murmured. “And dead.”

You froze. Then tilted your head. “She thought she was your soulmate, didn’t she?”

He didn’t speak for a second. Then: “She did.”

“But you didn’t.” He shook his head slightly.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, moving closer still, your eyes locked with his. “They say vampires can feel it… when they meet their soulmate. That their blood warms. That the hunger changes.”

He stared at you. His eyes seemed redder now. Sharper. “That’s exactly why I’m sure.”

Your heart hammered. But your smile didn’t falter. In fact, you challenged him. You slowly lifted your leg, pretending to adjust yourself more comfortably on the bed. The silk of the nightgown slid further.

“You should go to sleep,” he said, his voice raspy, rougher than usual. “I’m not tired.” “I don’t care.”

“Jay…” you whispered his name like a secret. And that’s when it happened.

In an instant, he was standing, right in front of you. His dark eyes, red at the edges. His hands tense at his sides, veins visible under the white skin. “Stop.”

You stood too. Your breath trembled, but you didn’t pull back. “Do I scare you… or do you just want me to believe it?”

He suddenly bent down, his face only inches from yours. “If I really scared you, you wouldn’t be this close.”

And that’s when he showed them. His fangs. Long, sharp, beautiful.

He bit you with his gaze, not his teeth. But it was worse.

“So… tell me something.”

His figure was an elegant shadow near the window, moonlight brushing his broad shoulders, the black shirt half open, dark hair tousled as if he had run his hands through it for hours, trying to hold himself back.

“You never stop talking, do you?” Jay replied without turning around, his voice deep, sarcastic, filled with that typical boredom that concealed a burning obsession beneath his skin.

You approached, barefoot, the barely perceptible sound of your steps on the wooden floor. “No. And you like me this way, admit it.” You smiled, mischievously. Your nightgown was short, sliding over your skin like silk, exposing your shoulders and bare legs.

He barely turned around. His eyes, as black as night, had a red hue, deep and threatening. His lips were slightly parted, his fangs visible for just a second. “Talking too much with a vampire is the fastest way to get bitten, you know?”

“Mmm, interesting…” You stopped in front of him. Your gaze was clear, but heavy with restrained desire. “Then I’ll bite you first.”

Jay stared at you in silence. Then he slowly lowered his gaze to your lips. “You’re a nightmare.”

“And you’re my personal bodyguard. So… who’s worse?” You ran your fingers over his chest, tracing the line of his heart. It was warm—too warm for a vampire.

Then, in a low voice, you asked, “But what if… I’m your soulmate?” You looked at him as if searching for confirmation deep within his dark eyes.

His body gave a slight jolt, imperceptible, but you noticed it.

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you as if he wanted to devour every word. Every beat. Every drop.

“Don’t say things like that.” His voice trembled just slightly, scratched by something deeper. “You can’t play with a vampire’s feelings. I could break your heart. Or worse… I could never give it back.”

You smiled softly. “Who said I want my heart back?”

You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles under your fingers. He was a living sculpture, beautiful and lethal. And when you locked eyes with him, that innocent and provocative look combined, he lost all resistance.

He was the first to lean in. His kiss was slow, too slow, as if he were tasting a poison that would destroy him. His lips were cold at first… then they warmed, pressing against yours. You opened your mouth immediately, curious, bold, and your tongue sought his, with a nearly impatient moan.

“You damn curious thing,” he whispered against your lips, his voice raspy. “You don’t know how to play fair.”

“Who said I wanted to play fair?”

When you kissed him for real, it was all fire and hunger. His hands slipped into your hair, gripping forcefully as he pulled you closer. His chest was hard against yours, his breath heavy, irregular. You shifted your body, and he fell back onto the bed, you on top.

“Stop…” he said, his eyes shining with danger and desire. “This is wrong. Go back to bed. Sleep.”

“No.”

You moved slowly on top of him, feeling his reaction beneath you. He closed his eyes for a second, almost in torture.

You moved your hips slowly, teasing him, and he growled through clenched teeth, placing a strong hand on your thigh, then sliding it down to your ass and pulling you even closer, making you feel every inch of his arousal.

“Feel how warm you are for me,” you whispered, blushing but smiling. “How can you say we’re not connected?”

Jay opened his eyes. He looked at you like you were the only light in a damned world.

“Shut up. You… don’t know anything.”

And then he kissed you. With force. With need. He bit your bottom lip, and you gasped softly as you felt the blood come out, but he didn’t pull back. He licked it. Sucked it gently, as if every drop was gold.

“So good…” he murmured against your lips. “Your blood… it’s too good.”

You looked at him, surprised, fascinated. “Would you drink me dry?”

He laughed, but it was a rough laugh. “If I do… I’ll never let you go.”

“Then do it.”

Since the night you kissed, something had changed in Jay. Not that he had ever been particularly open or easy to read — he remained your mysterious, cynical half-vampire bodyguard, with eyes as black as ink and a soul worn down by too many solitary nights — but now, he was everywhere. Everywhere you were.

He followed you with his gaze even when he pretended to be reading. He studied you as if you were an unsolvable mystery… or a threat to his sanity.

Even now, sitting at the far end of the empty library in the estate, he was watching you.

You were hunched over your modern history books, chewing on the tip of a pen, your legs folded on the chair, your socks slipping a bit. A tender, innocent image — too innocent for a vampire with miscalibrated instincts.

“Stop it,” he said softly, but his gaze never wavered.

You looked up and smiled, all light and provocation. “Stop what?”

“Torturing me.”

“I’m studying.”

“You move your legs while you study. And you chew on your lip.”

“Oh.” You pretended to think about it. “Am I distracting you?”

“No. I’m calculating the diplomatic risk of tearing you off that chair and biting you for half an hour. Let me finish my calculations.”

You laughed quietly. You stood slowly, making your bracelet jingle on your wrist. You approached his table. He looked at you without moving, leaning back in the dark leather chair, fingers intertwined on the table where maps, ancient grimoires, and a dagger your father should never have known about were scattered.

“What are you studying?” you asked sweetly, sitting next to him and sticking your nose between his papers.

“Night defense strategies. Protection from rebellious packs. Poisons. It concerns you.”

“Aww, my little vampire is protecting me…”

Jay let out a low sound, almost a restrained growl. He glanced at you sideways, his eyes briefly flashing red.

“You know I don’t like when you use that tone.”

“But you’re my secret boyfriend. It’s the least I can do.”

“Your father would send you to a monastery if he knew.”

“Yeah, and you’d be my guard there, too.”

He chuckled, dark and tired. “Yeah, but I’d sleep in your bed. Like now.”

That evening, in your secret room at the top of the villa, Jay was different.

More silent. More real.

He often cooked something for you — he said it didn’t make sense to feed you only sandwiches and sarcasm. He’d watch you while you ate, in silence, and then he’d lean in to taste something straight from your fork. One time, you had provoked him by saying he looked like a 1950s husband. He had bitten your neck.

Literally.

A little. Just a pinch. Just enough to make you tremble.

“That’ll teach you to talk too much,” he had said that time, his fingers tightening on your waist.

And you had smiled at him, cheeks flushed, asking if he liked biting you whenever you were disobedient.

He looked at you with that predatory face, tired of holding back.

“No,” he had said. “I like biting you even when you’re doing nothing.”

You often slept together. Officially because you were afraid of extreme vampires, and he had to protect you. Unofficially, because by now, he could only fall asleep with you on top of him.

He held you as if you were the only warm thing in his world of eternal cold. His chin resting on your head, arms crossed around your waist. Sometimes you’d wake up feeling his lips on your neck, whispering words you couldn’t understand. Other times, he simply watched you sleep. And if you woke up and talked too much — like usual — he’d silence you with a slow, distracted kiss, as if he couldn’t help it.

Every day, he became more protective. Every night, more dependent on you.

Yet, no one knew. Only you.

Only you knew that Jay, the coldest guard in the villa, would cook you pasta at three in the morning when you couldn’t sleep. Only you knew that he had a weakness for the smell of your wet hair. Only you knew that if a guy looked at you too much during a diplomatic lunch, Jay would spend three days grinding his teeth.

And only you knew how his hands trembled when he caressed your back, as if every touch risked breaking you.

“You get more obsessed every day,” you had whispered to him once, as you slipped under the sheets.

He didn’t deny it. He had just slowly moved your hair from your face and said:

“No. I don’t obsess. I… possess you. And you still don’t realize it.”

The villa was lit with golden lights and elegant music, but the atmosphere was unabashedly youthful: young heirs from diplomatic families, sons and daughters of senators, half-blood creatures, well-dressed humans, and vampires pretending to be harmless.

You wore an emerald green dress, flowing against your body like living silk. It hugged your curves gracefully and left your back exposed, where the subtle reflection of your bare skin was visible. Your legs, your shoulders, your neck — everything shone, everything screamed temptation.

And him... Jay was there. As always. Silent. In a corner of shadow. His eyes slightly reddened, jaw clenched, gloved fingers trembling just a little. His posture was tense, like a rope ready to snap. He wasn’t here as your boyfriend. He was your bodyguard. So he couldn’t touch you. He couldn’t brush against you. He couldn’t claim you.

He watched you as you smiled at everyone, as you spoke with that curious and sweet voice, as you moved your hands and hips with a grace that was slowly destroying him.

Every boy who approached you was a stab in the chest. Every smile you gave, a poison. But Jay was trained in control. And yet...

Then he arrived.

Blond, tall, elegant. Blue eyes. Smooth talker. The perfect type to irritate Jay to the core. And he wasn’t just “any type.” He was a vampire. One of the old ones, hungry, who knew how to disguise his intentions well. Jay knew immediately. He felt it in the heartbeat. He saw it in the eyes: too red to be normal. He was covering them with illusory lenses. But Jay wasn’t fooled.

And yet you... you laughed. You didn’t know who he was. You had no idea.

Until he placed a hand on your exposed back. A cold touch. You stiffened. You tried to pull back, but he grabbed your wrist with force.

“Let go of me...” you whispered, frightened, glancing around, but everyone seemed too far away. The blond looked at you with those ravenous eyes, and you felt the adrenaline rising to your chest. “What do you want from me?!”

And then... it happened like lightning.

Jay tore him away from you. Lifted him literally off the ground and threw him against a marble column, which cracked with a dull sound. The vampire boy screamed, but Jay was already on top of him. His eyes completely red. His fangs bared. His hands trembling with pure rage.

“You shouldn’t have touched her.” Jay’s voice was low, animalistic. “You shouldn’t have even looked at her. She’s mine. Understand? She’s my girlfriend.”

The vampire coughed blood. He smiled. “You’re... getting weak for her... you know that, right? She... she’s your downfall...”

Jay snapped his neck. Slowly. Coldly.

“Shut up.”

You turned, still trembling. Your eyes were teary, your breath broken. “J-Jay...?”

He looked at you. For a second, he was unrecognizable. Then he grabbed your wrist, and without a word, he dragged you out of the hall, ignoring everyone. His hands tightly gripping yours, his pace quick. He dragged you up the stairs, through the deserted halls of the villa, to your room.

As soon as he closed the door, he released his grip. The silence was worse than screams.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he snapped. “You didn’t know that guy. He could’ve killed you. He was an unstable vampire. And you... YOU... were laughing with him.”

“I didn’t know!” you shouted. “I’m not like you. I don’t hear them. I thought he was just being nice!”

“There’s no such thing as nice in here.” He turned suddenly, furious. He turned his back on you, hands in his hair. “You don’t get it...”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t get it!” you yelled. “One moment you treat me like I’m yours. The next, you talk to me like I’m just your responsibility! But I love you! And you...? What do you intend to do, Jay?! Do you want to love me or protect me like a damn child?!”

Silence fell again.

He turned. He looked at you.

Then he reached you in three steps and kissed you.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was furious. Desirous. Desperate. His hands grabbed your hips with too much force. His lips crushed against yours, as if he wanted to brand you. He bit your lower lip just a little. The blood trickled slowly, and he licked it, growling low.

“You don’t understand how much you hurt me,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re burning me alive. And I can’t stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Then don’t stop.”

Jay closed his eyes. He held you tightly against him.

And, finally, he whispered: “You are my primary weakness. And I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

The room was quiet, except for the sharp sound of your hinge that Jay was slowly lowering. With light but firm fingers, it slid along the curve of your back, leaving a liquid shiver wherever it touched you. The green dress fell silent, like an autumn stripped leaf. You, standing in front of him, with only white panties on and a bra, barely shook, but not cold. Of desire. Waiting.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his pupils red like freshly spilled blood. "I'm not cold…" you replied, with a half-smile, short of breath. "You're just too … close." "Not enough." In a flash, he was in front of you. He pushed you slowly onto the bed, with the delicacy of one who is about to worship something sacred… or devour it. He leaned over, slowly kissing your neck, where there were still signs of his jealousy. Then he went further down. His lips reached your breasts. And there, without any haste, he began to torment you with his teeth: small playful bites, then more intense, which made you moan.

"J-Jay … ah -" Your hands clung to his hair, gently pulling them, while your back arched under him. A groan escaped from your lips, too sincere to be restrained. "I hate you…" he whispered, trembling. "No," he answered against your skin, in a hoarse voice, " you adore me. And you like it when I torture you like that…"

Then he just sank one of his canines into the soft edge of your breast. Pinch. A measured bite. And you screamed, but it was a cry broken by pleasure, not pain. "Your blood…" he whispered, as he slowly licked the little trace with his tongue. "It is sweet as poisoned honey. A sentence I want to drink to the end."

His lips descended again. He kissed your belly, then your navel, with slow, adoring movements. You looked at him with shiny eyes, lost in the liquid red of his. And yet you were still smiling, in the way that drove hoo crazy. "Are you going to stop or find out how wet I am -— You didn't finish. He grabbed you forcefully but without violence.

"Open your legs." The tone left no room for doubt. You obeyed, docile, but with a flash of defiance in your eyes. And he looked at you. Your white panties were damp. "So wet for me? So poisonous, yet so innocent. You're a living oxymoron." He slowly lowered the edge of the fabric with his teeth, with the same hypnotic rhythm as a spell. You didn't talk anymore. You were breathing hard. When the panties were on the ground, he lifted up on you, his mouth still moist with your taste.

"You are so beautiful … but without even this veil … you are mine. Perfect. Vulnerable. And ready to be branded." Then you felt the heat of his body on yours. Its length against your bare skin. He wasn't human. It was burning. "You do this to me, you know?" He caressed your hips, with eyes that said everything. "You make me lose my hunger … and at the same time you make me uncontrollable."

His black hair tickled your inner thigh as he moved slowly, his hot, hungry tongue grazing your already swollen, sensitive clit. The contrast between his innate vampire coldness and the scorching heat he made you feel was heavenly torture. Choked moans came out of your lips, one after another, more and more desperate.

"Damn it…" he muttered between licks, his voice hoarse and wounded with desire, "I've never heard any moan like you. You stutter … you cry … like you're made for my touch." Your body trembled, and despite the pleasure that passed through your bones, you frowned and looked at it with a pout. "I don't want to hear about others…" you whispered, almost hurt. "Don't even think about it. He laughed, low and deep, like thunder in a black sky. Without warning you, he pushed two fingers into you with measured, but firm force, tearing a surprised cry from you.

"There are no others. There will never be." His words grew fiercer as he began to move his fingers inside you with hypnotic rhythm. "You are the only one. The only one to make me lose control… the only one I want to protect, tie to me, forever."

You nodded, lost, your mind clouded by increasing pleasure. When I accelerated, pumping harder, you screamed in a choked voice: "I'm going to come…Jay"

He bent over again, his mouth on your skin stretched, and with a light bite — not enough to hurt you, but enough to send you freaking out — pinched your clit between your lips. Your body bowed violently, the discharge of orgasm exploding inside you like a storm, and you screamed his name, trembling. "That's how you do it," he whispered in a dirty voice, as he continued to lick you, savoring every drop of your excitement. "My sweet, dirty girl… my ruin, my obsession. You're perfect…"

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned his pants, your heart pounding into his chest as if trying to reach him. The fabric slowly slid down the hips, revealing the noticeable bulge in the dark boxer. You looked at him with a sweet, innocent, almost timid air, Jay squinted, his jaw clenched, as if struggling with something inside himself. Then he nodded quietly. "Take them off." You did it, gently, discovering his taut, imposing erection, the veins pulsing along its entire length and the glans barely pearly with desire. You looked at him with a mixture of amazement and adoration. "You are … magnificent," he whispered, his voice broken.

"As if I was sculpted just for me." A low growl came out of his lips as you stroked him softly, his soft hand drawing light lines on his hard member. He leaned over you, beginning to nibble at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving small marks like promises etched on fine skin. "Stop it…" he growled through his teeth, " or I lose control. I want you. Hour."

He made you open your legs firmly, but with almost surprising care. He took a pillow and placed it under your pelvis to get up better towards him, then stroked your feet, teasing you with a sharp smile. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you inside me, Jay … now. I can't resist anymore." His body moved in a flash, his hips wedged between your wide-open thighs. And with a single, smooth movement, it sank into you. Your voices merged into a long, tense, almost desperate groan.

"You're… you're like that…" you stammered, your hands grasping him hard as you felt his warmth and hardness fill you. "Perfect," he whispered in turn, her forehead leaning against yours. "So tight, so hot … damn it." He began to move, slowly, with deep and measured thrusts. Each movement was a precise dance between torture and bliss, his gaze glued to your face as you moaned without restraint. "Look how you melt for me…" he muttered in a poisonous voice,

"I'm taking you so well that you can't even speak. A good girl so docile beneath me … yet so dirty." He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming stronger, fiercer. Every shot made you jump, every grunt coming out of his chest felt like an explosion held back for too long. "I've been waiting for you for years. Years!"he almost screamed, with a deeper blow that left you breathless. "And now I can't stop. I don't want to stop." "I'm … I'm coming again!" you cried, your legs shaking around his hips, your body trying to hold him in as long as possible. He growled again, his voice full of desire and brutal tenderness: "Then come. Come while I fuck you like you're mine. Because you are."

His thrusts became deeper, more precise, each stroke that sank you shook the pillow under you and made the pleasure explode in your belly. You felt that you were about to fall again, carried away by those hot waves that left you breathless.

"Wait," Jay growled, clutching your side with possessive force. "I want to go with you."

"N-I can't ... Jay... it's too much..." you sobbed, your face wet with pleasure and tears. He lowered his face to your ear, whispering in that low, broken tone that made your every nerve vibrate: "Good girl ... you'll do as I say. Expect. You are my sweet, obedient ruin."

You started crying with pleasure, your throat producing broken moans as it kept hitting you deeper and deeper, each thrust centered right there—on your most sensitive point—as if it knew every corner of your body by heart.

"T-too much... it's too much,..." you stammered, your voice broken, almost pleading. His fingernails scratched his back, looking for a foothold while he held you tight, his forehead leaning against yours.

"You feel it, don't you?" hiss. "My cock, so deep in you... so wet for me. Jesus, you're wrapping me up so well."

Then, between blows, his breathing became more hoarse, irregular. "I will fill you ... I want you full of my sperm... I want it to drip out of you for hours..." That thought blew you up. Your body clasped tightly around him, as if to hold him inside with visceral force, while your voice broke into desperate sobs and babbles. "I'm ... I'm coming!"

"So good... yes, come for me..." And with one last deep, animalistic lunge, Jay moaned your name against your throat and poured into you. You felt every wave of its warm seed fill you, your body shaking above yours, as it gently nibbled at your neck, leaving a sign that smelled of eternal bonding.

"Finally..." he whispered, kissing the small wound he had left you. Then he retreated slowly, with a subdued groan, while your bodies were still looking for each other even if they were now empty. He squeezed you tight, an arm around your naked waist, and kissed your damp hair, your chest still vibrating beneath you. You snuggled against him, his face hidden between his neck and his skin still warm.

"Jay ... I ... I think I love you," you stammered with a thread of voice, the awkward, tender confession, as if you had just handed your heart into his hands. He was silent for a moment, as if your voice had cut him inside. Then he squeezed you even more. "I love you too," he replied, without hesitation. "You are mine. You always have been." A little later he said, easy: "Now sleep. You're safe."

He felt your breath calm against his chest, your body cradled by his, and your arms enveloping him as if you never wanted to leave him. But his eyes remained open. Dark thoughts crept like smoke into his mind.

“They want it. I know. Those humans, those vampires ... anyone. They look at her too much. They want it. But they don't understand that she's mine.“

He watched you as you slept on him, your lips barely ajar, your eyelashes shaking slowly, your skin still shining with the pleasure he had torn from you. You had soft legs open and untidy, and his seed, hot and white, was still slowly dripping from your thighs. A vision that sent blood to his head, again. Yet, in the darkness of the room, with his cold heart beating only for you, a rotten thought took shape. "Take the pill...” He knew. You told her in a light, naive voice, like nothing. And yet, that little information tortured him.

“Every time I come into you... Your body rejects it. It protects you from me. Even now ... as my seed fills you, your body expels it.” He gritted his teeth. He knew. And he hated it.

He swallowed slowly, his gaze glued to that white drop that ran down from your skin. “I want to look at you after every orgasm... and see you drip out of me.”

“I want to see you get up with wet thighs and feel my smell dripping between your legs.”

“I want you to get pregnant. Even if you're not ready. Even if you don't want it. I want to make you mine from the inside.” He smiled, an expression that no human could ever interpret as love. He was hungry. It was delirium.

“Imagine... your belly growing. Inflate. Because inside there is something of mine. You who tremble, fragile, but full. You who can no longer run away from me, because I live in you.” And then, the darkest thought.

“And if even that child was not born... I would fill you again. Again. And again. Until your body understands that it does not have to expel anything. Until you surrender to my seed. Until you become what you are meant to be: mine.”

He squeezed you tight, as if he could prevent you from waking up from his thoughts. And while he kissed your hair and whispered sweetly that he loved you, he was already planning when to make that little white box disappear that every morning saved you from him.

----------

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[socraticcryptid]

“You’ll never guess what I heard at the market today,” Nopalea said.

My lips twitched. My beloved had a knack for overhearing the most outrageous rumours, and it had become a game between us. She won if she got a reaction out of me, and I won if I managed to treat it as normal. She never made them up, as far as I knew. Enough weird things happened in and around our town that she never had to. “Go on.”

“Apparently,” she said, and leaned in close. I should have paid more attention to the mischievous glint in her eye. “Lord Drugath has returned to West Dryland.”

“What the fuck.”

She burst out laughing. “Your face!”

I stared at her, aghast. I realised after a moment that my mouth was hanging open, and hurriedly closed it. “Lea. Are you serious?”

“Yup,” Nopalea said gleefully. “Two different travellers arrived today, and both of them said they saw smoke and movement at Citadel Drugath last week.”

I groaned and let my head fall onto the table. “For Drouth’s sake. You know it’s not me, right?”

“I do,” she said. There was a pause, so I looked up to see an apologetic look on her face. “I trust you. And a couple of my Waterbomber colleagues followed you today, just to be sure.”

I grimaced, but didn’t complain. I was grateful enough to the Bombers for giving me this chance at a second life. They wouldn’t have seen anything more interesting than my working in the clinic all day anyway. “That means they’ve known about this for a couple days then, right?”

Nopalea nodded. “They sent a couple scouts, and they’re pretty sure that it’s someone relatively small-time who’s trying to capitalise on your former reputation. The only problem is that they’re definitely a fire mage. There’s some substantial wards and traps around the Citadel.”

“Mmm.” I could see where this was going. “And it’s not as if the Bombers have a heap of fire mages on call, so they want me to go check it out.”

“Only if you’re okay with it,” Nopalea said. She placed her hand over mine and squeezed gently. “You don’t have to. I know you haven’t been back since, well.”

“Since you vanquished Lord Drugath and cast him into exile.”

My voice was tight. Nopalea smiled apologetically. “Yeah. Since that.”

I sighed. “Alright.”

xxx

It would take a week to travel by the normal route from our town on the edge of East Dryland to Citadel Drugath. But that was for people who had to follow the river, and the Bombers had given me an automagically refilling water flask, so I cloaked myself in smoke and flew directly over the desert. It took only a few hours, and that was including several detours around settlements and nomadic groups.

I used little bits of fire magic all the time in my healing, from clearing out infections to bringing comfort to the grieving. I hadn’t used my other skills in almost six years, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that they still felt natural.

It was dusk when I reached Citadel Drugath, and the low light was perfect for hiding my smoky form from anyone watching. It took me maybe half an hour to pick my way through the wards and traps in the abandoned outer city — I could have simply broken them with a spell or two, but then I would lose the advantage of surprise — and once inside I went straight to the main hall.

I may have left my evil overlord days behind me, but there was a reason why I’d lasted so long. I was damn good at getting and keeping power, and there wasn’t a mage in all of the Six Drylands that could’ve beaten me in a battle. The story goes that Lord Drugath was defeated in an epic battle with Knight Nopalea and twenty of her finest Waterbombers, but the truth was that Nopalea had already convinced me that I hadn’t brought peace and harmony to West Dryland, like I’d hoped, but instead only terror. She had offered me a chance at a better life instead, and when I accepted, we faked the final battle.

I’d removed my belongings from Citadel Drugath beforehand, but I’d built it to be permanent, and permanent it was. Nobody had wanted to live in the surrounding town once I’d left, so the Bombers maintained it as a defensible evacuation point in case of a major wildfire in nearby settlements. And the fortress itself had been imbued with years and years of spells and wards and great workings that made it almost impenetrable for anyone but me.

The main hall was the exception, as Lord Drugath had met with his advisors and citizens there. As expected, when I entered, the would-be new overlord had set up camp there. He had a tent up on the stage, with clothes drying on the backs of chairs and a pile of supplies in the corner, and he was in the process of -

I had to stop for a moment and clamp my hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t give myself away by cackling. He was building a fire by hand! Genuinely, actually, this so-called fire mage was assembling a pile of wood scraps and twigs in one of the fireplaces with a flint and steel on the ground next to him.

Drouth above. Setting up all those wards and traps must’ve taken all his strength, and he still hadn’t recovered a week later.

I’d planned to do this properly, come back in the daylight and stage a battle and all that, but I had no desire to waste my time on this fool. I hid behind a pillar and quietly poured water from the flask onto the ground until I had a nice puddle. Then I swept it up into the air, strode out into the hall, dumped all the water over the fool’s head, and froze him in place.

Just because I was a fire mage didn’t mean I couldn’t learn water magic too. I used it a lot in healing, and Nopalea had taught me a trick or two for battle. Turns out that, as a fire mage, I had a knack for controlling temperature. Who would’ve thought.

“Hey! How dare you attack Lord Drugath like this!” the fool said. I rolled my eyes and didn’t answer him. Instead, I lifted him and his block of ice into the air and set off down the hill.

He didn’t shut up for the entire twenty minute walk. If it wouldn’t have ruined my shaky relationship with the Bombers, I would’ve just snuffed out the flame in his heart in a moment. He didn’t even notice when I cleared his wards and traps in the abandoned village, or when I used a little fire magic to speed up our travels.

A small crowd was waiting at the edge of the nearby village — a reserve Bomber, two firefighters, and a few well-built townsfolk. They didn’t look friendly, exactly, but none of them were aiming weapons at me, so I took that as a win. It was a definite improvement over the last few times I’d been here.

“Howdy,” I said. I levitated the block of ice over and dropped it in front of them. “I went to check out the Citadel and found this loser camping in the main hall. He’s definitely not Lord Drugath, and I didn’t see any signs of anyone else. I brought down the wards, so you can go check it out tomorrow if you want.”

“Hmph,” one of the firefighters said. “And who are you?”

I grinned. “I’m a healer from East Dryland. You can call me Lady Melaleuca.”

Many years after the evil overlord was deafeated by the forces of the light, there are whispers rumors that the evil overlord has secretly returned to his citadel. You know immediately it could only be an imposter, as you are in fact the evil overlord, living a peaceful simple life in exile.

[l0singsdogs]

I’ve had this wild headcanon circling in my head for a few days now. Just something quick before I head to bed: civilians working at the Watchtower.

Not just one or two, but a small team—maybe under a hundred people—hired to handle the kinds of jobs superheroes don’t always have the time, training, or bandwidth for. Doctors, nurses, administrative staff, financial analysts, tech support, even custodians and social media managers. And here’s the catch: not a single one of them ever reveals the heroes’ identities.

Why do they stay? Because the job is good. The environment is excellent. The pay? Amazing. Benefits? Better than anything you'd get working a normal nine-to-five on Earth. Sure, the occasional intergalactic invasion or magical mishap might make for a stressful Tuesday, but in general, it’s a surprisingly stable, fulfilling job.

Need help in the medbay? There’s a small, dedicated medical team. Parental leave for anyone? HR’s already got the paperwork ready. A hero injured on a League mission? Don’t worry—the League covers the medical expenses and provides recovery support.

I like to think Batman used to manage all of this himself. For a while, he tried to juggle it—because of course he did—but no matter how much people think he's superhuman, he's still one man with a full-time company to run. Eventually, he started recruiting a reliable team. People handpicked, vetted, and trusted. Civilians who could handle the loose ends most heroes wouldn’t even think about—basic logistics, liability, disaster response, benefits.

And it’s not just medicine. Sure, they’ve got alien tech that can heal broken bones in a flash, but they still need people. Nurses, therapists, surgeons. Heroes with those skill sets exist, but they have lives outside of those roles. They can’t do everything.

And then there’s social media. Bruce Wayne knows better than anyone how important public image is these days. The League needs PR experts—someone to coordinate interviews, run official Instagram accounts, post educational content on what to do if you find a magical artifact on your morning jog, or what civilians should avoid after a city-leveling alien fight. Maybe Superman and Wonder Woman are featured in the press, doing goodwill interviews. Batman? He stays behind the curtain, but someone still needs to manage his presence.

Every four weeks, someone’s getting brainwashed. Someone’s getting cloned. Someone’s going rogue. There needs to be a team that can step in, clean up, and carry on. People who understand that their work matters, even if it’s behind the scenes.

That’s why the Watchtower needs civilians. Trained, committed people doing honest, often thankless work. Heroes are heroes, sure—but they’re also people. They need lives, rest, and support. And sometimes, the best way to keep the world safe is by letting someone else carry part of the weight.

[jefth3kilr]

Naruto boys and the strange things that turn them on 🍃🎋

includes: Kakashi; Gai; Jiraiya; Naruto; Sasuke; Kiba; Shikamaru; Lee; Gaara; Kankuro

warnings: nsfw (MINORS DNI) naruto and the other students are 18-19

not proofread! feel free to send requests! :))

Kakashi

being domestic….

kakashi is very used to taking care of himself; so he automatically takes care of you too. but the second you start caring for him, he’s popping boners left and right.

you did his laundry for him: he’s hard. you made him lunch: he’s hard. you wish him luck on his mission and kiss his cheek: he’s hard.

some days he doesn’t even end up leaving the house because he gets to caught up fucking you silly over the kitchen counter LMAO

also his books…

if you read his books without him knowing and then reenact a scene with him, he will lose his mind.

Gai

wearing his clothes…

like if he comes home to see you in his green outfit, or even just his vest or leg warmers. he’s going feral and bending u tf over.

also if you watch him train and compliment his muscles, he will lose it. he loves showing off his strength to you (he’s always picking u up and throwing you over his shoulder hehe) so when you praise him for it he gets weak in the knees.

Jiraiya

everything and anything turns him on…

he loves your perfume. if he smells it in public like at a store or something he will need to excuse himself to the bathroom to fix his ‘little’ problem.

your hair turns him on, your lips turn him on, your voice turns him, shit even your breathing turns him on.

You could just chilling with him on the couch, silently reading before you notice Jiraiya crawling inbetween your legs. “What are you doing?” you would ask, just to get a stupid response from him like: “you were breathing. it was hot.”

And trust, if you try to seduce him or show that you want him in that way, he will genuinely pass tf out.

when he’s really tired and his day has been shitty, just shove your tits in his face and play with his hair. pls 🙏

Naruto

Naruto actually feels quite bad when he gets turned on while you’re doing normal things. it makes him feel like a pervert, like Jiraiya LMAO.

but he can’t help it if you touch his ear or hair.

Naruto never knew he could be so sensitive to a touch like that. but if you brush his hair behind his ear, your finger tips grazing the outer shell of it, he’ll get weak in the knees for sure.

Also pull his hair…trust he likes that.

he also likes watching you train or fight. It turns him on seeing how strong you are. trust he’ll just have smug ass smirk while everyone watches you fight. he’ll probably say smth stupid like: “Yep, that’s my girlfriend.” sitting there with a nasty man spread or smth

also he definitely doesn’t mind if you boss him around. i mean sometimes he’ll pretend that it gets on his nerves (and it definitely did when he was younger) but now that he’s grown he loves that shit 🙏

Sasuke

i feel like sasuke is not a SUPER sexual person. the usual things that turn people on doesn’t really have much of an effect on him….that was until he saw you in a short nurses dress because you and your friends were having a costume party.

sasuke is actually super into like dressing up. Whether it be an outfit like the nurses one, or just a simple lingerie, he goes crazy.

I think that Sasuke likes the teasing foreplay even more than the actual sex part of sex.

like just sit on his lap and tease tf out of him in your little outfit and he’ll lose his mind.

if you ever walk past him in public, nonchalantly lifting your shirt just a bit so he can see the top of your thong…your getting bent tf over in the nearest bathroom.

Kiba

YOU BEING MAD. hear me out.

he will do anything in his power to frustrate you. He’ll tease you, mess up your work, slap your books out of your hands. literally anything to get you to be mad at him.

and his favorite part….when you finally yell at him.

Making him sit down and listen to your lecture. he’ll reply with a smirk and a “yes ma’am!” as he hides his massive boner lmao.

he secretly loves getting bossed around by you, it really gets him going. and he especially loves fucking you until your not mad anymore…

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY AND HIS TAIL WILL BE WAGGIN LMAO

Shikamaru

shikamaru loves lazy days…it gets him going when you act just as lazy as him.

usually your always busy, making him do chores with you and everything. but on those special days where your just as tired, he goes feral.

You’re wearing nothing but some fuzzy socks, little shorts, and his shirt. yeah he’s already gone. and if you want sleepy, lazy sex….he feels as if he died and went to heaven.

also: if you are smarter than him.

like if you win when playing your game against him or Asuna, he would have to hide his flustered face and growing tent in his pants.

he’s not too sure why, but he is really attracted to intelligence.

Lee

EVERYTHING BABE, EVERYTHING

Lee worships the ground you walk on, you are a goddess in his eyes. you don’t even need to do anything and he would be horny for you.

Though I don’t think Lee would ever initiate sex, he would be down for it literally any time you ask.

he really loves when you compliment his strength. like please sit on his back while he does push ups and praise him after each one. he would genuinely pass away lmao

yeah so there isn’t anything specific that turns him on, honestly just the thought that you want him makes Lee turned on

Gaara

like sasuke, i don’t think Gaara is a very sexual person. it quite rare that he want sex.

Though i do believe he LOVES making out. Just sit on his lap and touch each other all over while heavily making out and breathing in each other’s ear…SIGN HIM TF UP.

Though Gaara will get turned on if you try to seduce him. he would definitely be confused as first but after he knows what’s going on he gets all flustered and nervous hehe

Like if you’re leaning close to him, giggling and twirling your hair and stuff. It turns him on knowing that you want HIM of all people

Kankuro

like Kiba, he likes to piss you off.

He’ll purposely kiss you after you put on lipstick and smear the color, running away while laughing as you complain. He’ll smack your ass as you walk by and ‘not know what you’re talking about’ when you tell him to stop. He’ll scare you when you walk past, he’ll bother you, he’ll mess up your hair. But it’s not because he doesn’t like you, it’s quite the opposite.

He likes when you get mad at him. yelling at him and making him apologize or clean up his mess. he likes it trust 🙏

but Kankuro also secretly loved praise and being babied. Like grab his face gently, make him look up at you as your praise him for all his hard work. He would melt.

Thanks for reading!!! feel free to send requests!

[chaoticwriting]

My Dad

It is a normal Tuesday evening. Everyone is going about their day, shopping, eating, and even having fun. There is no major event that requires the heroes attention whatsoever.

Right?

Beast Boy: Dude, I was just about to finish the new season. Why can't you attack us tomorrow or next week? *Turns into an elephant and stomps on a parademon*

Cyborg: I would prefer if they don't attack us at all, thank you very much. *Shooting down a few parademons with laser beam*

Nightwing: Guys, focus. Batman just informed me, Darkseid is moving in. We need to evacuate the civilians here, fast. *Dropkicking a parademon*

Suddenly, a big explosion sounded on the opposite side of where they are. All of them look at it and realize that they are no longer connected with the Justice League.

Nightwing: BB, do you think you could check what's going on there?

Beast Boy: On it *Turns into an eagle and flies there to scout*

Beast Boy: Not good. JL is down. We might need to call in back up.

Nightwing: I don't think there is anyone left that we could call. Everyone is already here.

Raven: I could try calling my dad.

Starfire: Trigon? I don't think that's a good idea.

Raven: Not him. My other dad.

Beast Boy: Trigon has a husband? I don't expect that.

Raven: No. It's not like that. Ugghh. It's very hard to explain. Do you want me to call him or not?

Nightwing: Call him. If you think he could help.

Raven: *Takes out a green neon necklace and crush it* Dad, I need help. Darkseid is here.

A green portal appears in front of them. Out of it comes a tall 6 ft 8 guy that towers above all of them. His flaming hair and red eyes gives the impression of not so good people. But since Raven trusts him, they also trust him for now.

Dan: That punk? I thought I already warned him about coming to Earth. *Stares at a distance* Do you want me to save those poor bastards on the ground or just let them be?

Raven: Please save them.

Dan: Alright. But I expect a visit soon. Your aunts and uncle have been pestering me about you. *Patting her head*

Raven: Of course. Can I also bring someone with me? I want to introduce him to you.

Dan: Him? Is it a boyfriend? Which one of you think you are worthy of my daughter? Is it that metal guy? Or that one in blue spandex?

Raven: *Blushes* Dad, we could talk about it later. Darkseid, first. Please.

Dan: Alright, but I totally wouldn't approve of this boyfriend of yours. Make sure he comes prepared for the dinner.

Raven: Yes, yes. Now go.

Dan then flies straight towards Darkseid and tackles him straight into his mothership. Along the way, any parademons in a 1000 meter radius burst into flames as he pummels Darkseid to the ground.

Looking at the fast-paced battle, the Titans just stare as they wonder what should they do now that all the parademons are gone.

Beast Boy: *Just return from scouting* So uh, Raven. What did your dad mean when he said I should be prepared for dinner?

Raven: It's nothing to worry about. Just some fighting and eating. Mostly eating.

Beast Boy: Ouh.

Nightwing: So how is he related to you again? I can't see any resemblance.

Raven: He's my dad.

[lvnleah]

media leaks | no more secrets.

find the no more secrets masterlist here.

21 weeks + 5 days pregnant | March 18th 2025. 

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against the bedside table, the continuous buzz pulling you out of sleep. Still half asleep, you blinked at the screen, confusion settling in as notification after notification flooded your lock screen. 

Twitter. Instagram. Even texts from close friends were there with links to videos. 

Frowning, you reached for your phone and unlocked it, your stomach flipping when you saw your name being tagged over and over again. Your heartbeat picked up as you clicked on the first link, taking you to a tiktok clip from Katie’s live.

At first, it seemed normal  Katie talking to the camera, answering questions or bantering like she always did. Then, in the background, you heard the front door open, followed by Caitlin and Kyra’s voices as they returned from shopping. 

Kyra’s voice was excited, giddy almost. “Katie, look how cute this would be for the baby!”

The live cut off immediately after, but the damage had already been done.

Your stomach dropped.

People were speculating already. The comments were filled with theories, some convinced it was Katie and Caitlin’s baby, others listing players who were injured but too many were pointing fingers at you. Twitter was going crazy. 

You scrolled, for what felt like ages, on Twitter as you read everyone's thoughts on the situation. You laid in bed, panicking about the whole thing, as you listened to Caitlin, Katie and Kyra downstairs. 

You weren’t home right now, you were at Katie and Caitlin’s house. Katie had let you take a nap before training while Caitlin and Kyra had gone to the supermarket to pick a few things up and obviously some baby clothes for your baby girl. 

Your breath hitched as you threw your phone down onto the bed. Your chest tightened.

It was too soon. You weren’t ready.

You wanted your pregnancy to be peaceful, something that you could keep your little secret with how public your life already was. You didn’t want everyone’s opinions on how you were too young, too immature and not ready to be a parent. 

You rushed downstairs where Katie, Caitlin and Kyra were sat in the kitchen. Caitlin stood in front of Kyra and Katie as the pair of them sat at the kitchen table. 

You barely registered their concerned expression as you gasped, “Kyra—Kyra said—she said ‘the baby’—people think—”

Your breathing turned shallow. The walls felt like they were closing in. You knew a panic attack was brewing, something you hadn’t experienced in a few years. 

“Hey, hey Hayden, breathe for me, yeah?” Caitlin said, guiding you over to a seat beside Katie before kneeling down in front of you. “It’s okay, just take deep breaths.”

You shook your head, tears bubbling in your eyes as your whole body felt like it was shaking, “No—No you don’t…you don’t get it. I—I don’t want everyone knowing they’re all going to—”

“Hayds I’m sorry—” Kyra tried to apologise before you cut her off. 

“No, Kyra.” You said with a shaky breath, “You—You don’t get it. I didn’t want everyone to know and now…now they’re all gonna be making assumptions about me and my baby!”

“They won’t even know it’s you, you don’t even look pregnant!” Kyra said, trying to make things better. 

“Gee thanks, Kyra! That makes me feel soooo good about myself and my bump!” Your voice dripped with sarcasm as you glared at Kyra, frustration bubbling over. “That’s not the point! The point is people are talking about someone being pregnant, and it won’t take them long to figure out it’s me!”

Kyra’s face fell, her usual playful expression replaced with guilt. “I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant!” you snapped, standing abruptly. “I trusted you guys to keep this quiet, and now it’s all over the bloody internet!”

Katie sighed, “Hayden, I get why you’re upset kid, but Kyra didn’t do it on purpose—”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “That doesn’t change the fact that it happened, does it?” Your heart pounded against your ribs as the panic inside you twisted into pure anger. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

You turned on your heel and stormed upstairs, slamming the door behind you. Your hands shook as you ripped open your bag, pulling out your training gear. You could still hear them talking downstairs, hushed voices filled with concern.

You got ready for training in complete silence, a silence that remained until you arrived at training. You didn’t speak a word to Katie, Caitlin or Kyra no matter how hard they tried to talk to you. You just blanked them and focused on the thoughts racing round your mind. 

Kyra kept trying. The entire car ride to training, she wouldn’t stop murmuring apologies, her voice getting smaller and smaller each time you ignored her. She was like a kicked puppy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your chest still felt tight, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

When you arrived at the training ground, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Everyone noticed the way you stormed in, your usual greetings absent as you just walked straight to the pyshio’s room. Each door closed with a bang. 

“Woahhh, what’s up with her?” Beth whistled, “She was fine when she left the house this morning.”

Beth’s comment hung in the air, the tension thick as everyone exchanged confused glances. Kyra, Caitlin, and Katie entered just moments later, all three of them looking like they’d just been through a war zone. Kyra, in particular, looked devastated, her shoulders hunched as she chewed at her bottom lip.

“What happened to Hayden?” Kim asked, concern laced in her voice.

Kyra opened her mouth, but Caitlin beat her to it. “It’s complicated.”

“Kyra messed up,” Katie muttered, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t mean to!” Kyra mumbled, guilt clear in her voice. “I didn’t know you were on live!”

Steph sighed, “What did you do now Kyra?”

Kyra hesitated. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, glancing at Caitlin and Katie for support before sighing. “I—uh, I kinda… accidentally outed Hayden’s pregnancy.”

“Are you joking?” Kim’s voice was sharp, disapproving.

“Oh my God, Kyra,” Alessia whispered, eyes wide. “Of course you did!”

Lia let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at her temple. “You didn’t.”

“Oh my god, how?!” Beth groaned, “How did you even manage that?”

Kyra swallowed hard, avoiding their gazes. “It was an accident! I was excited about the baby clothes and I wasn’t thinking—”

“Hayden’s been stressing about this for weeks.” Steph sighed, “She’s young, she’s dealing with a lot already, and you just threw her into the deep end without even realizing it.”

Kyra opened her mouth, but Steph wasn’t finished.

“This isn’t just some stupid gossip,” Steph pressed. “This is her life, Kyra. And now, because of one careless moment, she’s probably having a breakdown while the internet picks her apart.”

“I get it, alright?” Kyra mumbled, her voice cracking. “I screwed up. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I really do care about Hayds.”

Steph exhaled sharply, her expression softening just a fraction. “Then fix it. She needs support, not excuses.”

Lia sighed again, her voice quieter. “Give her space first. She’s upset, and pushing won’t help.”

“I don’t think she’s speaking to any of you lot,” Beth added, looking toward Katie and Caitlin. “She practically ran in here like a bat out of hell.”

Katie sighed. “Yeah, we noticed.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Kim assured. “Just… let her cool down.”

Throughout training, you only acknowledged the coaching staff, refusing to interact with any of your teammates. No one missed the way you shut down every attempt at conversation, how you barely reacted when someone tried to joke with you.

After finishing some light work in the gym, you found yourself wandering. Your legs carried you to the changing rooms, and before you knew it, you were sitting on the floor your, head in your hands.

It was all too much. The anxiety, the pressure, the way the walls felt like they were closing in again. You’d fought off the feeling earlier, but now, alone in the quiet, it swallowed you whole.

Your breathing hitched.

Your chest tightened.

Your vision blurred.

And before you could stop it, you were shaking, gasping for air as sobs wracked your body.

You didn’t hear the door open, you didn’t even know how long you’d be there for. You didn’t hear the footsteps. It wasn’t until Kyra’s voice rang out that you realized someone was there.

“Oh—oh my god, Hayds?”

You barely registered her kneeling in front of you before she scrambled back to her feet, panic laced in her voice.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I—I’ll get help! Just stay there.”

You heard her rush out into the hallway, and within seconds, another set of footsteps approached. You weren’t sure who it was, your mind had gone to a different place as thoughts rushed around. 

Everyone knew your secret now. 

What were they going to say?

How was everyone going to react?

Would this ruin your career? Was becoming a mother so young the end for you?

“Hayden,” Lotte’s voice was calm but firm as she crouched in front of you. “You’re having a panic attack, yeah? I need you to try and focus on me.”

Your breaths came in short gasps, your whole body trembling.

“Here.” She pressed a cold water bottle into your hands. “Take a sip for me, yeah? Just small sips.”

You did as she said, the cold liquid grounding you slightly.

“Good, good,” she nodded, her voice soothing. “Now let’s do the five things, okay? Tell me five things you can see.”

It took effort, but you forced yourself to look around. “Um…the bench. My water bottle. Your shoelaces…Kyra’s—Kyra’s socks. And…my hands.”

“Perfect,” Lotte said softly. “Now four things you can touch.”

You hesitated, still feeling out of control, but you forced yourself to focus, using the breathing exercises Lotte was guiding you through. 

“The w-water bottle,” you whispered, touching it with trembling fingers. “My legs… the floor… the edge of the bench.”

Lotte nodded, keeping her voice steady. “Good. Now three things you can hear.”

You strained to listen, the muffled sounds of the training ground outside just faintly audible. “Footsteps,” you said, your voice trembling. “The—the lights… People… talking.”

Lotte nodded. “Two things you can smell.”

Your nose twitched as you took a breath. “Sweat… and… shampoo.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Lotte encouraged. “Now one thing you can taste.”

“Water,” you whispered, the cold feeling on your tongue grounding you further.

“Good, Hayden,” Lotte said, her voice soft and warm. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing, okay? I know everything feels overwhelming right now, but you’re here. You’re safe.”

It felt like an eternity, but slowly, you began to calm. The tightness in your chest loosened, though the tears still streamed down your face.

“I… I can’t do this,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m—I’m not ready. This was all supposed to be a secret. I—I didn’t want anyone to know yet.”

Lotte’s expression softened, and she gave you a reassuring smile. “I know, kid. I know. But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got all of us, every step of the way.”

You swallowed hard, still feeling the sting of the overwhelming situation. You couldn’t stop the tears, but the panic had eased, and you felt the weight on your chest lift a little.

Lotte stood up, “I, erm, I’m gonna go get the doctor. Sit with her, yeah?”

Kyra nodded and sat down in front of you, for a moment it was just silence. Her face was etched with guilt as she spoke up.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I should’ve known better. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You couldn’t respond immediately, the words still too stuck in your throat. The guilt in Kyra’s voice made something inside you soften. She wasn’t the cause of all of this, even if her mistake had set the chain of events in motion.

Kyra hesitated, then shifted closer. “Hayds… please. I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this. I messed up. I just—I got excited, and I didn’t think.”

“It’s not just about the slip-up,” you said softly. “It’s everything. The pressure. The expectations. The fear that I’m not ready, that I’ll fail.”

Kyra’s expression crumpled, and she slowly moved closer to you again, the space between you two small now. “You won’t fail, Hayds. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s just… everything feels so big right now. I just wanted to keep this to myself for a little longer.”

She shifted closer once again, now sitting on the floor beside you. She gently tugged at your arm until you gave in, leaning into her. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer. You didn’t say anything for a long time. You just let yourself breathe and allowed yourself to be held. 

Kyra didn’t push. She just held you, her fingers gently stroking your hair, a quiet, steady rhythm that made your anxiety feel a little more manageable.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered after a long pause. “We’ll figure this out together. Hey! I’ll even pretend to be pregnant.”

“Kyra, that’s ridiculous,” you giggled as she placed a kiss on your temple, “No one would ever believe that!”

She gasped, “Erm, they so would! I’d make a very convincing actor thank you very much!”

[dragonlordazuroth]

All these bills and legislations to remove anything deemed "sexual" from public view, under the guise of "protecting the children" is only going to harm kids more. If children are not exposed to reality in a safe and controlled environment, if children are not educated on their own bodies, how they function, how sex is a normal and healthy thing, they will be more vulnerable to sexual exploitation than any well-educated child would be. All these laws will do is criminalize minorities for existing, and, despite the stated intent, make children vulnerable to sexual abuse because they won't know what's happening to them or why when an adult, or even another child, sexually assaults them. They won't have the language needed to describe what happened. And even if they do they'll be ashamed to talk about it because sex and sex-related topics are "obscene".

And even for children who aren't exploited, they will have sex with other children (in this case I'm generally refering to children going through puberty, ie. mainly teenagers but some will be slightly younger) without knowing how to have healthy sexual relationships or the consequences of having sex or how to have safe sex. Teen pregnacy will go up (and with that abortions, legal or not), STD/STI rates will increase, injuries caused by using unsafe objects as sex toys or using actual sex toys incorrectly will increase (especially if sex toys get banned, leading to increased use of improvised objects). Pregnancy, STIs, and injuries may go untreated because of how stigmatized even speaking about sex is.

If I may be extreme for a minute: How far will this go? Will medical diagrams and health class textbooks be censored or banned? Will parents get into legal trouble for trying to educate their children? Will people with breasts be forced to bind their chests if their too noticable? Will women* be forced to wear loose fitting clothes that cover them from neck to ankle because their bodies are "too sexual" to be seen in public? How far will this go, if we let them go through with this.

*anyone who fits the bio-essentialist definition of a woman regardless of their actual gender identity, and anyone who passes as such. Idk how to word it well, but I trust you to know what I mean.

Banning pornography does nothing to protect children, and everything to harm them, as well as oppress minorities. These laws must NOT go through.

Well shit, the Republicans brought a certain anti-online porn bill back to the table.

The Interstate Obscenity Definition Act.

This should alarm you guys.

[orellazalonia]

The Loop You Won’t Let Die

Summary: Bucky is fatally wounded on a mission. You rewind time again, again, and again, hundreds of times. Each loop, you lose a little more of yourself. Finally, Bucky realizes what you’ve done. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to manipulate time to a limited degree. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Death. Memory Loss. Emotional Deterioration.

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: I am hoping y’all will like this because I sure did. Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You’ve never been good at accepting the things you can't control. It’s a trait that’s followed you for as long as you can remember. From the moment you first realized your power to manipulate time, to rewind, reset, undo, you were thrilled. However, you came to realize that you held something dangerous in your hands and that it came at a cost. You were never able to rewind it all away. Not the pain, not the guilt, not the consequences.

It was supposed to be simple at first to test your power. No one expected you to use it on something so… delicate. You didn’t understand the gravity of it, not when you first rewound time to save a child who wandered too far into the street. The child's life was saved, and everything went back to normal. At least, it felt that way. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost in the process, your ability to forget.

And then came Bucky.

The first time you met him, it was on a mission. Some joint operation between S.H.I.E.L.D. and a few of the Avengers. You’d been part of the team tasked with gathering intel from a Hydra facility that was holding someone important who had crucial information on a new weapon. The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated. But that’s how things always go, isn't it? You weren’t prepared for the chaos.

The explosion rocked the compound, sending you flying across the ground. You were dazed, but before you could register the pain, you saw him. Bucky was already moving to shield you, taking the brunt of another blast, the force knocking him down. You'd heard the stories, seen the flashes of the Winter Soldier’s past. But this was real. This was human, a man who had been broken, rebuilt, and forgotten.

You reached him instinctively, adrenaline spiking. You felt the sharpness of his blood in the air. The metal arm, the familiar, haunted expression in his eyes; the man you had read about in the files was here, right in front of you, struggling to get up.

He looked at you, and something passed between you then. Not recognition, not understanding, but something else. An acknowledgment of something lost. A silent kind of empathy.

"Stay down," You said quickly, hands already at his side, pressing against the blood that began to spill. "I can help. Let me help."

His expression didn’t change, but he nodded, as if he knew you could. As if he knew you wouldn’t let him die here. You didn't realize how true that would become.

It wasn’t long before you began to notice things about him. It was small things at first like how he seemed to stay on the perimeter of conversations, never quite fully engaging. How he always looked like he was on the edge of a nightmare, his eyes haunted even in the quietest moments. How he never quite trusted himself, not really, not after everything Hydra had put him through.

You, too, understood that weight, though you didn’t wear it the same way. Your power, the ability to manipulate time, had long since been a burden. But you didn’t carry it in silence the way Bucky did with his past. You didn’t need to ask him why he closed off. You understood it in ways most people wouldn’t. You understood what it was like to feel broken, to have the world try to take away something fundamental from you. So, you never pushed. You stayed in the background, offering quiet support during missions, sharing small conversations where he could let his guard down a little.

But it was when you first showed him your power that things began to change.

It was during another mission that went wrong, a hostage situation where things got messy, and you were forced to make a choice. There was no way to save everyone. But you saw Bucky, standing there, his arm pinned under rubble, the enemy advancing. You felt the panic of the moment, his life slipping away in real-time. So, without thinking, you rewound it. You manipulated the timeline, reset the scene, and in an instant, the world around you shifted.

When you opened your eyes, you were back before the blast, before the rubble, before the threat. But this time, you acted. You moved faster, knew the exact sequence of events that would unfold. You saved him.

It was the first time you showed Bucky the extent of your power.

“Did you…” He was breathless, looking at you like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. His hand that had once bled from where the rubble had crushed him moments ago was normal, it was as though it had never happened. You felt him staring at you, processing the truth.

“I can rewind time,” You explained quietly, meeting his gaze. “Change things. Undo them.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice rough and raw. “What does that mean for you?”

You had to think about it. Your ability was both a gift and a curse. You couldn’t rewind everything. Not the pain, not the way time bled into your mind. Every reset took something from you: memories, emotions, the strength to keep going. But you kept doing it. For all of them.

You were unable to provide an answer, but he didn’t need words to understand.

The relationship between you and Bucky grew slowly after that. He began to understand you in ways you didn’t even know how to explain. You never talked about the toll your power took on you, but somehow, he always seemed to know. He’d ask you about it with a careful quietness, never pushing too hard, but always aware.

It was a delicate balance. You both walked around each other’s fragility, never forcing things, but always aware that there was something unspoken between you, an understanding that transcended words. You both had scars. But he was the kind of man who never let you carry the weight alone. And you, in turn, made sure that when his nightmares got too loud, when his mind fractured from all the things Hydra had done to him, you were there.

And one day, it all fell apart.

This mission was supposed to be straightforward.

Bucky and you, side by side, infiltrating a Hydra base to disable a weapons system. Nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. He’d been in worse situations and so had you.

But there’s always that one variable, always that one thing you can’t account for. The moment when the mission goes wrong, and everything unravels in the blink of an eye.

Bucky takes the first hit.

You’re there, just a step behind, but it’s too late. The bullet hits him right in the shoulder, spinning him off balance. You hear him grunt, feel the tug of his body as he collapses to the ground. Blood, dark and heavy, stains the concrete below him, it wasn’t any ordinary bullet. His metal arm is a blur of motion as he tries to pull himself up, but it’s no use. His movements slow. His breath becomes ragged.

You don’t even think. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your mind screams. You don’t want to lose him. Not like this. Not when there’s so much more you need to say. To do. To live for.

Rewind.

The world shudders around you, pulling you back to the beginning. The mission resets. You find yourself in the same place with everything the same, but you know what’s coming. You know what you have to do.

This time, you’re faster. More prepared. You have to be.

You move ahead of Bucky, keeping your focus sharp, anticipating the angle the sniper will shoot from. The plan is simple. You’ll get to the control room first, disable the weapons system, and clear the path for him. He won’t get hurt this time.

But something goes wrong. A twist, a misstep. The shot rings out from a different angle, and Bucky is hit again, this time in the chest. He crumples to the floor with a choked gasp, blood pooling around him. His eyes lock with yours, wide with shock and pain.

“Not again,” You mutter under your breath. "Please."

Rewind.

The third time is no different. No matter how many angles you try to cover, no matter how many ways you attempt to divert the sniper’s aim, Bucky always falls. Every time, it’s the same. Every time, you lose him. And every time, you’re forced to go back. Your mind becomes a haze of timelines, of trying to change the same sequence of events that always ends the same way.

By the tenth loop, the crushing weight of the failure begins to take its toll. You can feel it in your bones, the exhaustion of it all. The tension in your muscles, the faint tremor in your hands. It doesn’t matter how many times you reset. The result is always the same.

The bullet. The blood. His body crumpling. His eyes losing their light.

Rewind.

By the thirtieth loop, you're no longer just running through the motions. You’re starting to lose yourself. Every time you reset, something is chipped away. Maybe it’s your clarity, your sanity, your sense of time, or maybe all three. You can’t remember if you’ve already tried this particular strategy or if it’s the first time. You’ve forgotten the feeling of his hands in yours when you weren’t on a mission. Forgotten the sound of his laugh.

And yet, you keep doing it. For him.

But no matter how you try, no matter how you fight, he dies again. And again. And again.

Rewind.

The fiftieth time is when you break.

You’ve tried every strategy, every variation, every distraction. You’ve shot the sniper first, thrown grenades to create chaos, tried to fight through the whole base alone, but nothing works. Every loop, the result is the same.

Bucky dies, and you’re the one who has to watch it. Over and over.

You find him in the same position again. The same injury. The same wound. His hand, trembling, reaching for you in his final moments. His voice, strained and broken as he mutters your name. The world spins, distorting in the corners of your vision. It’s too much.

“Stay with me,” You beg hopelessly, tears burning your cheeks once again.

His eyes flicker. He’s fading. You can see it in the way his chest rises more slowly. His lips barely form a smile, and it breaks your heart. "I’m sorry," He whispers. "I’m so sorry."

Rewind.

When you wake again, you’re in the same place. The mission has started over, but it feels like you’ve been doing this for a lifetime. You know exactly where you are, what you need to do. But it doesn’t matter. You’re exhausted. Broken. Every reset feels like a piece of you is being torn away.

You barely register his presence next to you. The way his arm brushes yours as you move through the base. He’s always there, always close, but you don’t look at him. Not anymore. You can’t.

This time, he dies again.

And it’s then that you finally realize something: it’s not just the mission that’s killing him. It’s you. Your power. Your need to save him, to do whatever it takes, even if it means losing yourself.

Bucky’s last breath is quieter than the others. This time, he doesn’t even speak your name. When the world shifts back again, the weight of everything crashes down on you. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep losing him. You’re falling apart.

He’s alive in like normal at the start of your next loop, but you can’t meet his gaze. You can’t pretend anymore. His presence is suffocating now, and you can’t stop the dread from creeping up your spine.

“Hey,” He says softly, his voice full of concern. “You good?”

No. You’re not good. You’re shattered, and the weight of his repeated death is too much to bear. You give him a short lie that you’re fine only to watch him die again later.

-

By the hundredth loop, you stop trying to fix things. You stop trying to make the perfect plan, to save him. Because each time, you lose a little more of yourself. A little more of who you were before this madness.

You’re no longer sure if you’re even human anymore. You don’t recognize the face in the mirror. The loops have become your reality. And the more you rewind, the more you forget. What’s real? What’s memory? What’s a life worth saving when you’re already so broken?

The next time Bucky dies, you don’t even speak. You just let the world crumble, knowing that you’ll try again. And again. And again.

During one of your next loops, Bucky can feel something’s wrong. He’s always been able to read people, even before everything that happened. You’re different now in the sense of being much more distant and quieter than you were a few hours ago. You still move with precision, and you still have the same sharp focus on every mission. But your eyes, those once bright eyes that shone with warmth, now carry a depth of sorrow he can’t quite place.

It’s subtle at first. The way you recoil when he touches your arm. How you don’t meet his gaze for too long. How your voice, when you do speak, trembles just enough for him to notice. He watches you. He’s seen this before. But this time, it’s different. There’s something more. Something deeper.

-

It happens after the hundred and thirtieth loop. You’ve grown so tired, so worn down that you can barely keep track of the details. It’s becoming harder to find the motivation, the drive, to reset. But you push yourself, as always, because he needs you to.

Once again, you’ve failed. Bucky is dead. Again. The blood pools around him, his breath fading into silence. His final words are a shadow in your mind, repeated over and over: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

You reset the timeline, but this time, it feels different. The world doesn’t reset as quickly. It lingers. You’re slow to stand, slow to move. The pressure in your chest is suffocating. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve done this. But then you feel a hand on your shoulder, warm and firm. You know it’s him without looking. The touch is a relief in its familiarity, but it also makes your heart ache more than it should. You don’t want him to feel this. Not like this.

“Stop,” Bucky says quietly. His voice is low, but the command is there. It cuts through the fog in your mind.

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re terrified of him seeing you, seeing what you’ve become, what you’re willing to do to save him. You’re terrified of the way you’re slowly losing yourself in this, and the last thing you want is for him to understand.

But he does.

“I know what you’re doing,” Bucky continues, his hand tightening on your shoulder, forcing you to face him. His gaze is sharp, the deep blue of his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that makes you want to collapse.

“No, you don’t,” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” He says quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “I do.”

You shake your head, turning away. "You don’t get it. I… I can't lose you, Bucky. I can't-“

“Stop,” He interrupts, his voice firmer now. “Stop trying to save me.”

Your body tenses. “I have to. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re killing yourself to save me,” His voice is full of raw emotion. “You’re breaking, and you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this for me.”

“I’d rather lose myself than lose you,” You say quickly, too quickly. The words come out of you without thought, without any real sense of control. It’s all you’ve been trying to do, isn’t it? Save him at all costs. You’d sacrifice everything for him, even if it means losing yourself in the process.

But Bucky, he doesn’t want that.

“No,” He says firmly as his hand cups your cheek gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I won’t let you destroy yourself like this. You can’t keep trying to save me like this.”

For a long moment, you stand there, frozen. His touch grounds you, even as the weight of his words presses down on your chest. It feels like the world is spinning too fast, like everything you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed, is suddenly meaningless.

“Bucky,” You breathe, the tears finally coming. “I don’t know how to stop anymore. I can’t… I can’t let you go. I can’t-“

He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please… stop doing this to yourself.”

You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, the steady rhythm grounding you. “I can’t… I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried to fix it. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let me help. You’re not alone in this. I’m not going to die again, not if I can help it. But you have to trust me. Trust us.”

The weight of his words crashes over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself believe, just for a moment, that there’s another way. Another chance.

“You won’t die,” You murmur, as though testing the words on your tongue.

“I won’t die,” He affirms, his voice soft but firm. “But only if you let go of this loop. Let go of the pain. Let me be here with you.”

The silence between you two is heavy with the unspoken promise. The possibility that, maybe, there’s a way forward that doesn’t involve sacrifice, doesn’t involve losing yourself. That maybe, just maybe, you can live without having to rewind the world every time something goes wrong.

“Together?” You ask quietly.

“Together,” Bucky answers, holding you close.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that it’s true….

Until you don’t. Because he lied. He dies again. It was futile.

You stop counting.

Somewhere between the hundredth and thousandth reset, numbers stop meaning anything. You've tried ambushes, distractions, extraction before contact, calling in the others earlier, shielding him, shielding yourself, leaving. You've tried pretending you were never there. Tried running. Tried fighting harder. Stronger. Smarter. He always dies.

And now he knows. Bucky sees it in your eyes even before you reset. You don’t have to say it anymore. The moment things go wrong, he just looks at you, and there’s this helpless, aching resignation in his voice when he mutters, “Don’t.”

But you always do.

The loop consumes you like erosion that’s slow and invisible. You forget details. You forget whole days. You forget what smiling used to feel like. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. As long as he lives.

Rewind.

-

This time, you're quiet when the bullet rips toward him. You don't scream his name. You don't even blink. You step in front of him.

The impact knocks the air from your lungs. Your body hits the ground before the pain registers. Heat blooms across your ribs like fire. And for some reason, Bucky manages to take out the sniper this time, the threat gone. He drops down beside you instantly.

His hands pressing into the wound, voice shaking. “No. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay with me!”

Your mouth tastes like iron. Your fingers twitch, reaching weakly for his cheek.

“I did it,” You whisper.

His hands are covered in your blood.

“What are you talking about?” He breathes. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get help. You’ll be-“

“I broke the loop.” You manage a smile, cracked and fleeting. “You’re alive.”

His breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows. “You can still rewind,” He begs. “Please. One more. Just one more.”

You shake your head faintly. “No. This is the only way I could win.”

Tears slip down his face as he holds you closer, his voice growing frantic. “You can’t leave me. I don’t want this. Not like this. I’d rather die than lose you.”

You reach up, your blood-streaked hand brushing his jaw. “I’d rather lose myself than lose you.”

“You already did,” He chokes, voice breaking. “You already have, look what this did to you.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze. “Then let me rest now.”

“No. No-“ His arms shake as his shoulders crumble. “I love you. You don’t get to leave.”

Your fading eyes search his, and for once, they're not haunted.

“I know. That’s why I did this,” You whisper. “I love you too.”

Your hand falls and your breath stops.

And for the first time in hundreds of timelines, Bucky lives.

But in this one… You don’t.

[bunnipuffs]

୨୧ cw. dark! abby, manipulative behaviour, violent imagery, oral sex

helplessly devoted to you !

when abby and her group had found you, you were surrounded by a dozen bodies. their faces unrecognizable at a glance, smashed in and beaten bloody by some sort of heavy weapon—the one you were seen holding, tight in your grip, your knuckles turning white from the force. your features were completely covered with a dark crimson, dripping down your neck and slowly inking your clothes. they had guns pointed to your head, held high, their fingers laying on the trigger with the intention to kill. you just stared. if they had killed you, nothing would change. there was nothing here for you anymore.

but they didn't. they asked you a bunch of questions instead. who you were with, what happened, why you did what you did, all the questions you'd expect to be asked if you came across a human being in this fungal infected world. you haven't seen anyone in weeks, and the ones you first encountered after that time were laying beneath you, brains scattered along the concrete. this was the first normal conversation you've had in a while.

they take you back to their settlement after securing the area, taking your weapons and backpack. you walked in front of them, slow, observing your surroundings as you dragged your feet over the dirt path. the only person who stood next to you was a woman. tall, big arms, hair braided, and holding a shotgun. you blinked at the metal glistening in the warm sun, wondering if she would use it on you at some point. maybe she took it the wrong way, your staring, because she looks down at you and scoffs.

"don't get any funny ideas, i won't hesitate." you meet her stare, a smile spreading across your lips. not friendly or menacing, but you smile at her. "i wouldn't. i have nothing to lose." she doesn't say anything after that, keeping her gaze ahead. you don't say anything either.

it's been months since then, you've grown to feel like you belong in the WLF, abby's group. it took you a long time to get here though—you avoided eating with others in the cafeteria, stayed in your room whenever you could, flicking your pocket knife in boredom. you were wary. how did they have this much people here? and why did it feel so normal? it didn't feel right to you, and no matter how many times people showed you kindness, you retreated back to your tiny twin bed, curled up in a fetal position. but it wasn't like that now. you were a valued member, always accompanying abby with patrols, clearing out buildings together, and even shared a room with her now at abby's request.

abby had taken a liking to you the moment she saw you that day. your face covered in blood, a familiar expression on your face. like you had no remorse for what you had done, the dead bodies in front of you an ordinary occasion. she knew you had potential, and after seeing what you were capable of, she needed you. not just as more manpower for the WLF, but for her, to take care of and nurture. you were perfect in her eyes. the blood sliding down your fingers, pooling underneath your feet. you were beautiful.

you weren't like the others—so quiet and reserved, only showing yourself for abby. you were alone together most of the time, reading the hundreds of books abby had collected, talking about everything and nothing at once. you were closer to her than you were with anyone else, and you liked it that way. you trusted her. she knew that you had always been alone since you got here, and she vowed to stand by you for the rest of her life. you would do the same.

"you know what makes me laugh sometimes?" you whisper, under the moonlight and your blankets. abby mumbles a sleepy, "what?" above you, her bunk making it a little difficult to hear. "you said you wouldn't hesitate to shoot me, remember that?" your laugh is contagious, sweet, it makes abby smile. "yeah, i do. you were looking at me.. weird." that makes you giggle even more, quietly, looking up at the wooden planks holding abby's bed. it felt more intimate this way, knowing she couldn't see you stare. "i wasn't! i was just thinking... if you'd ever use it on me, i mean, i looked a little crazy that day." you hear a hum, a shuffle of sheets and abby's voice. "i would kill for you." your heart skips a beat, in fear or happiness, you don't know, but your question comes out small, gentle. "you mean that?" it's quiet now, you haven't stopped staring up at abby's bunk. you can feel your heart slamming against your chest. "i don't think you know how much i'd do for you."

the next day rolls around as quickly as the night left, abby's words still lingering in your head. you're set to go on patrol with abby and someone else, a man named jordan—much to abby's dismay, owen had forced her to bring another person for the area you'd be running through. it was overrun by runners and a few clickers, dangerous, but you knew with another you'd be able to handle it. you say goodbye to your friends before setting off.

it happens so fast, everything. one minute you had it in control, taking out a few runners and keeping up your quiet steps as everyone progressed. but there were more of them than owen mentioned, more clickers and a fucking bloater—you were too loud, boots crunching piles of glass. you were behind abby all of a sudden, gun clenched in your hands and aiming at the runners dashing towards you. gunshots rang through the air while jordan picked off clickers that got too close, shooting at the bloater inching closer and closer, you could see the fear on his face too. your breaths were coming in too fast, panic filling your chest, looking for an out as quickly as possible. you spot a door not too far from where you stood, the door agape and welcoming. "over here! now!" you yelled as loud as possible, tugging abby towards you and ushering jordan to follow. you're the first to get in, abby behind you, jordan pushing the door closed with everything in him—you come up next to him, shoulder to the wood, pressing against it with your body strength. it's impossible, there's too many and they're forcing it open faster than you're both closing it. abby is just staring, hand on her pistol. "what the fuck, abby? come on! help us-"

you blink, and abby's tugging at your shirt and throwing you to the ground, her hand finding jordan's back and shoving him into the pack of runners, blood curdling screams filling the air, the sound of crunching and blood splattering across the walls. you're screaming too, or you're not, you can't tell anymore—but abby slams the door shut, pushing a metal drawer in front of the door. you can hear the violent pounding of hands against the wood, heavy thumps ringing in your ears. tears are pooling in your eyes. abby turns around, small splashes of blood on her cheeks. you crawl away from her, fear crawling up your body. "why would you do that? we could've.. he could've..."

abby is walking towards you in big steps, kneeling down right next to you. she holds your face in her big hands, warm and unfamiliar. you know the face in front of you, but it doesn't feel like her. your thighs are trembling. "no, he couldn't have, you would've died if i didn't do it—i promise, i've got you, okay? you have me-" you're shaking your head, blinking away tears. "i did what was best for you, okay? you would've died." you shakily inhale, chest rising and falling with your harsh breaths. she's rubbing at your back, pulling you close to her chest and wrapping her arms around you. "i've got you, all you need is me, i promise, i'll keep you safe." your head is buried in abby's neck, your mind spinning with what she had told you last night—"i don't think you know how much i'd do for you."

you thought more about what abby had done when you both got back. spending late nights under your covers wide awake, the person you slept in the same room with had killed someone in front of you, for you—maybe not from shooting them or stabbing them, but she sent him to the most painful death he could’ve had. the disgusting stretch of flesh ripping from his neck, his face, remembering the pool of blood seeping in under the door. it was horrible, scary, and you can’t ever forget it. the screams echoing outside of your safe haven, one you felt you didn’t deserve, while abby wiped you off and made sure you were okay. if you were going to die, then you should have. the world isn’t forgiving. people can’t escape death, it would just come after that. more unrelenting and less merciful than the first. it would come for you, too.

but a part of you felt good, and you’d never admit it, to yourself or anyone else—the fact that abby had cared for you this much, sacrificing someone for your sake, made that part of you that felt so alone, so loved. you were used to fending for yourself. killing others to keep yourself alive, walking aimlessly across empty roads and used to the painful blisters on your feet, anxious that someone would jump out and murder you, so you always kept yourself moving. it was sick, abby was sick, and maybe you were corrupted too. because for the first time ever, you didn’t have to worry. abby proved it, she would keep you safe.

days fly by after that, a burial service for jordan back at home, abby stands next to you the whole time. she watches you closely, makes sure you hadn't told anyone about what happened. she keeps telling you that she did it for you, and that there was no way the both of you could've survived if she didn't do it. "i need you to be safe, okay?" you nod, quiet, not refusing or fighting back. sometimes at night you can feel her sit next to you while you slept, brushing loose hair out of your face. you felt strange every time her fingers touched your skin, burning, a reminder of what those hands had done to another person. you think maybe you’re worse, because you felt cared for. a feeling you haven't had since the world flipped upside down. and so you take it. "i understand abby, thank you." she smiles at you, so lovingly, her hand caressing your face. “i knew you would.”

owen decides to host a little get together for everyone a few weeks later, especially after what had happened, a way to blow off steam and relax. you're sitting next to abby and a few others, drinks in hand and smiles on everyone's faces. you're gulping down your drink when mel suddenly speaks, "you and abby are quite close, huh?" a string of "oooh's" following. abby just huffs, “yeah, we are.” mel nods, “you guys should kiss or something.” your eyes are widening at her words, head whipping toward abby—you don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but her cheeks are flushed, eyes glued to the drink in her hand. everyone else is chanting an immature, "kiss! kiss! kiss!" you can feel your face heating up the more they say it. maybe you should just get it over with, you think, if everyone’s so eager for it. you’re placing your cup down before leaning in, hands around abby’s face. you’re kissing her, a small peck, but abby goes in for more, kissing you deeply—she’s licking at your bottom lip before owen clears his throat, an awkward stare. “guys, maybe you should take it somewhere else.”

you're smiling sheepishly at the others, thankfully everyone else was drunker, off in conversation with someone else to dwell on what happened. you glance back at abby and she's looking at you like you hung the stars, a dopey smile on her face. "should we go?" you're nodding at her, letting her take your hand and off to your room.

abby is pushing you into your shared room, pushing you up against the door. she's kissing you hungrily, tongue swiping against your lips—you're moaning in her mouth at the wet muscle gliding along your own, hands gripping at abby's biceps. her hands move to your chest, smoothing over your tits. "tell me you need me, say it." she's out of breath, her mouth moving down to your neck, biting and licking. "i need you, abby." she groans at your words, your sweet voice so pretty in her ears. she pulls your shirt over your head, pushing up your bra and latching onto your nipple, licking circles around the bud. “abby! ah,” you feel so warm, so alive from the attention abby is giving your body, worshipping you like a god. she licks down all the way to your stomach, kneeling down in front of you, tugging off your pants. she stares at you for a minute, looking up at your face. your eyes are closed, a little embarrassed by how bare you are compared to her being fully clothed.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed, you’re perfect, look at you.”

abby’s rubbing your thighs gently, pressing kisses all over them. she mutters a “so beautiful,” against your skin, moving to your cunt. abby pulls your panties to the side, tongue finding your slick folds. she’s licking and pressing kisses all over you, her warm wet mouth sending shivers down your spine—it feels so good, her hands, her lips against your heat, you could bathe in this feeling forever. “i’m the only one who’s ever going to make you feel like this, you hear me?” the vibration of her voice makes you twitch, nodding eagerly. “yes, abby, just you—ah, please!” she’s smiling, tongue abusing your clit. she flicks it up and down, fingers coming to rub at your gushing hole. you can’t stop moaning, it’s too much, and abby doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon. she’s licking messily, making sure to coat you in her, claiming you as hers. your vision goes blurry when you come, so sudden, a violent shiver at your release. you’re screaming her name when she comes back up, kissing you again and again, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“i’m not done with you yet, i promise.”

[artbyblastweave]

something I noticed about worm after reading too many alt power Talyor fics is that powers are not given to people who will change the status quo. As an example Galvante could never be a Hero because the empowering of a large amount of PRT troops would break the status quo of only capes being important. Accord could not solve world hunger for the same reason.

These are two prevalent examples of how Worm sometimes attempts to incorporate the mindset of "I don't want to cure cancer, I want to turn people into dinosaurs" into part of the actual setting metaphysics, yeah-while Marvel and DC occasionally posit populations of powered people who duck out on the cape lifestyle and are thus invisible to the lens of the normal narrative, in the Wormverse you usually just don't get superpowers if you aren't the kind of person who'd use them for things besides perpetuating cape chicanery.

Panacea is also arguably an example of this- her power in the hands of a trained medical professional could have transformed medicine, so of course it instead goes to rando teenager in a familial pressure-cooker situation. Richter's power didn't go to a guy who'd trust his own creations with agency and he got killed by Leviathan before he could get that character development. Sphere is the only character we know who textually even got close to getting away with going gonzo using his powers to improve the world and that got him nailed to the wall by Simurgh and turned into a guided missile aimed at anyone trying to do the same. Which is a separate dynamic than the other ones, and an example of how the book frequently invokes two or three different world-building beats to cover similar bases, sometimes with great synergy, sometimes in ways that aren't fleshed out as much as they could be.

[julietcpulet]

The Verdigris Sisters and Romance

This is something I thought of when another poster commented about Lihaku and Pairin and the progression of their relationship. It made me think about the four women of the Verdigirs house potentially representing 4 different kinds of love and romance. Each is supposed to show different depths of what love can look like, or lack of for that matter, and the choices made to lead in that direction. Basically my thoughts are: Meimei - unrequited love, Pairin - casual love, Joka - bitter love and Maomao - true love. I’ll explain why for each one below. (Spoilers under the cut)

Meimei - She represents unrequited love or remaining single against one’s wishes. Although it can be seen that Meimei is romantic and has felt love, her feelings go unmet. She expresses a desire to be bought out of the Verdigris House but isn’t and we even have some idea that she wished Lakan had bought her out but knew that wasn’t much of a possibility. Even when she is finally taken it’s because of her skills at Go, not a romantic notion. So her representation is that of a woman who remains single and fulfills other ambitions but likely against what her heart truly wishes.

Pairin - She represents casual love or remaining single because she’s unable to accept love that’s already there. This one may be controversial due to how some view her and Lihaku’s relationship. However, I’ve never seen it as particularly “romantic”. We value his devotion to her because she’s the only one in his eyes, but that’s not reciprocated from her direction. She still acts as if she’s waiting for a prince even though Lihaku adores her only and has spent years coming to see her. To me Pairin’s affection for Lihaku isn’t love, it’s casual affection of convenience, wanting to keep Lihaku around for what he gives her without equal reciprocation. In the light novel it’s been 6+ years and yet there has been no movement past this casual state of their relationship. We see Lihaku’s love as pure because he’s not with anyone else but Pairin is not shown to give the same level of affection. People will claim it’s due to her life as a courtesan but as Maomao says she only has to take costumers occasionally but instead takes customers because she wants to and is, to put it frankly, a sex addict. This shows that while Pairin says she wants a white knight to come and take her away, she’s too addicted to her current lifestyle and the fantasy she’s created to ever leave. As it’s been made clear she has enough money to leave the Verdigris House and the madam would even let her go to a suitor for half the price if it was her wish, yet she stays. As such I feel it shows she an Lihaku are forever in this “casual” place where one wants more but Pairin will remain single because of unrealistic expectations and not being honest that she may just like being a courtesan and having multiple sexual partners too much.

Joka - She represents bitter love or being single because of unwillingness to move past hurts and form actual relationships. It’s clear from interactions with Maomao and how she’s described as a courtesan that Joka is a difficult person, harsh and critical, who has trust issues. She throws barbs at Maomao about being a whore’s daughter and is almost a copy of the miserly madam. Instead of being willing to see how Maomao is growing she insults her and says she cannot have a normal romance but must be like Joka herself, rejecting people. It’s suggested that she will one day be the one to take over the Verdigris House as well, showing that because she cannot learn how to move past her own problems she will stay in the same cycle of bitterness collecting only what’s valuable to her which has become money.

Maomao - She represents true love or love that is fulfilled through growing friendship, understanding and romantic connection. While Maomao isn’t perfect and neither is her past she hasn’t let that be a deterrent to creating meaningful relationships with others, namely Jinshi. Even though she’s immensely skeptical and shrugs off or denies the possibility he could love her because of who she is and her own devaluation of herself, she comes to realize he does want her and this realization leads to communication. This willingness to open up to possibility, to friendship, to romantic love is where Maomao differs from her sisters. As all of them have gone unfulfilled in romance not just because they’re courtesans but also because they make choices that can close them off from others. While Maomao has this tendency due in part to her sisters upbringing, she’s learning to actively go against it and pursue what’s between her and Jinshi. Even when she’s doubtful he will want what she has to give because she sees her own feelings as “lukewarm” compared to his deeper ones she pushes forward anyway and we know that Jinshi doesn’t devalue her reciprocation at all. To this end she exemplifies the chance at true love.

This is all just speculation on my part, I’m not sure if the author intended any such correlation or not it’s just what I picked up from seeing the women’s stories unfold and how they’re each on these particular paths (or lack there of).

[drdemonprince]

Hi doc, do you have any tips for a person who’s friends keep trying to convince her she’s queer? I’m cishet, but some of my queer friends keep insisting I must be queer. I started dating a nb transmasc and their comments got more frequent after that, saying how I have to be queer because a straight person can’t date a nb person and still be straight. (I’ve discussed it with my partner, and they are fine with my IDing as het.) I take it as an honour that I have so many great queer friends who feel so comfortable around me. However, it makes me uncomfortable, in part because I honestly would really like to be part of the community. I find the culture of queerness beautiful and attractive and fascinating. I’m ashamed to admit that I even went out with a friend who asked me out. She was everything I’d want in a partner minus gender and we had great chemistry as friends. However, I just couldn’t feel attracted to her in that way, so I called it off after a few dates. We’re still friends, but I deeply regret treating her that way. I think when they make the comments, it stings because they’re telling me who I am and  because I would really like to be part of the community but can’t be. Also, they keep saying that a woman who prefers effeminate men couldn’t be straight, which kind of feels like an incel talking point. I know this is a small potatoes problem to have, and very privileged, and I’m not a victim in this scenario (if anything, I’m the oppressor) or anything, but it’s awkward and any advice would be appreciated. 

I think your friends are being gross on multiple different levels and that you should tell them so! It needn't be a grand political statement, all you have to say is something like "I don't like other people telling me how I feel, thank you," or "My sexuality is up to me to define, I hope you can respect that." and repeating it like a broken record whenever anyone gets to making weird, invasive remarks.

There is a long legacy of queer people stomping all over the sexual boundaries of the women in their lives, and this comes from a misogynistic disregard for women's autonomy that you don't have to be in the oppressor class to possess because it is so, so damn normalized. Bisexual women are told they are really just straight, lesbians are pressured to be bisexual, and straight women are, occasionally, told by their queer friends that they should just quit dating men already if they want to stop being mistreated (as if a person can easily choose to change their sexual orientation). It is disrespectful, it shifts the blame for misogynistic violence back onto the woman simply for deciding to date people she is attracted to, and it creates a broader culture of women not trusting their own feelings when those feelings are at all inconvenient to others.

You deserve to push back on all that! No matter how much your friends think it's all in good fun or acceptable because you are in the cishet majority and they are oppressed. Our personal relationships should not be a symbolic political battleground, and your friends' grievances with compulsory heterosexuality are not fixed by getting to bully and fuck with you. That's just not how friends should be treating one another. And so you get to tell your friends to cut out this shit, that it makes you uncomfortable, that they shouldn't be speaking for either you OR your queer transmasc partner, and that it's weird to act as if effeminate men are not actually men, and are not attractive. If after repeated warnings your friends keep pulling this move, you will have to figure out how you'd like to maintain the boundary yourself. Things like hanging up the phone, stepping away, or refusing to continue the conversation while emphasizing that you feel uncomfortable and disrespected are all good options. Any good friend should be able to put aside their own agendas once they realize they are repeatedly hurting you. If someone is completely unrepentant about it after multiple warnings, then you've learned something important about them.

[maddascanbe-blog]

Reborn Kwami Au part 4!

- Let's talk powers. When Gimme used the loophole to save their holders lives, they accidentally split their powers too.

-The Ladybug is no longer able to repair physical damage caused by the akuma. Instead Marri's holder has to use 'Metamorphose' which can cacoon people in her magic and repair it. The fix is never as good as the original and takes more time than a flash.

-The Cat can no longer destroy the effects of the akuma on people (see my power rewrite for details) and instead relies on Reein's holder to use 'Cleansing Fire' to free them of control.

-Both are activated like the old Miracle cure

Now- about the Ladybug and Cat. Time for a full kwami swap baby!

I agonized on this decision, because I knew I didn't want Alya to be the Ladybug. Zoe, Kagami, and Felix were all out of the running because they aren't here yet. I didn't want Blake to have either. Luka and Soccleine were already taken.

So eventually I landed on Juleka. Because the DRAMA opportunities between her and Luka- it was too sweet to ignore. Would I chose either of these two for these miraculous under normal circumstances- not really, maybe Cat!Alya.

-Juleka grabbed Fu before he could step into the road, he actually wasn't attempting to test her yet, he didn't notice she was there until she saved him.

-Alya actually spotted Fu on the ground from out the window and ran out of class to help him. In both instances, Fu was waiting for someone who wouldn't have ever come.

-Alya takes to being a heroine like a duck to water, while Juleka needs a lot more ajustement time. They don't really get along day 1 because Lady Harmonia thinks Mystè Norie is too reckless, while Mystè finds Harmonia too lax.

-They find common ground on day 2 when Mystè realizes that her partner is scared to have all the eyes on her, takes off her coat and drops it on her and says "I'll cover you." After that they work better.

-Since Alya can't run the Ladyblog without risking her identity, she isn't the one to run it.

-Alya has also started going to the gym with Nora to improves her strength without the miraculous.

-Juleka is cruuuumbling. Baby girl is having a bad time. She quits basically all her out of school activities to focus on being Lady Harmonia. Rose, Ivan, and Mylene basically have to drag her to hang out. Rose in particular refuses to let her fully pull back.

-If Juleka hadn't become a recluse, Alya would have figured her out months ago. Harmonia tells Mystè EVERYTHING .

-They don't trust Rose Wing or Asher at all.

-Which is fair! Since Marri and Reein told them to get the Ladybug and Cat once Hawkmoth has been defeated and the Peacock is retrieved.

[endofthelinegang]

what we leave behind

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  matt murdock x ex wife!fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  after the Thunderbolts' latest mission, a quiet drink turns into something else when she feels a pull—familiar, ancient, aching. Matt Murdock is standing in the rain on a rooftop that remembers too much. years after their marriage fell apart, grief may bring them back together 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  Deep grief, emotional trauma, mention of past loss, unresolved feelings, heavy introspection

Yelena leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the table, her bottle of vodka dangling between her fingers. “You know, we should do this more often. Just sit and... not be heroes for a change.” She took a swig, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “You know, like normal people.”

“Normal people?” Bucky chuckled, glancing at her. “We’re anything but normal, kid.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing," Yelena shot back with a wink. "I'm just saying, it would be nice to feel like we’re not always on the clock. Maybe not every day, but... some days. Let’s go get pizza or something.”

Bucky shook his head, but the amusement was clear in his expression. “You really want pizza after everything that just happened?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, unapologetic. “If anyone deserves pizza, it’s us.”

John Walker leaned back in his chair, sipping his whiskey with a contemplative look on his face. “I get what you mean, but I think the world’s gonna want more than pizza from us now. We're not just some secret team anymore. We’re front and center now. This isn’t just about cleaning up messes anymore—it’s about being a mess.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Yelena said, waving a hand. “I think people will like us. I mean, who doesn’t love a good redemption story?” She shot a pointed glance at Walker.

He narrowed his eyes but then shrugged. “Maybe. But the thing is... they’ll never trust us the way they trust those other guys.”

A quiet lull fell over the group as everyone exchanged glances, each of them thinking about the old team—the Avengers. The ones everyone loved. The ones they’d been asked to follow in the footsteps of.

“We’ll prove ourselves,” Bucky broke the silence, his voice steady. “Just like we always do.”

“I think we’ve already proven ourselves,” Walker muttered, toasting his glass to no one in particular. “But hey, I’m up for proving it again.”

You sat back in your seat, listening to the back-and-forth, trying to get a feel for how everyone was adjusting to the weight of what had just happened. The idea of the world seeing you now, of being thrust into the limelight. It felt strange, but not wrong. You didn’t need to say much—you let them talk it out, the way they always did. Even if the topics felt too big to fully wrap your mind around. After a few moments, you let your gaze drift away from the conversation. The rain had let up outside, but the streets were still wet, the night soaked in shadow and glow from the city lights. The hum of the bar and its chatter seemed far away, until...

A strange pull tugged at your senses.

It was almost imperceptible, like a faint pulse under your skin. The faintest of whispers against your mind, something familiar—and the kind of presence you couldn’t shake if you tried. It was the magic, low and insistent, buzzing faintly beneath your ribs. The air had shifted, a thin thread of something you knew too well.

You weren’t sure if anyone else felt it. But you did. Your chest tightened slightly, a knot of recognition. Matt. He was close.

The world around you seemed to slow, just for a moment, as the magic hummed louder. The tension in your body sharpened with the knowledge—he was near. You didn’t need to see him, didn’t need to hear anything. You felt it in the very rhythm of the city itself. A quiet warning.

The memories flooded in, as they always did when you sensed him—tender flashes of a time long past, before everything had fallen apart. You could still feel his touch when you closed your eyes—the way he’d curl his fingers through your hair when he was lost in thought, those moments late at night when he’d pull you close, and the world would disappear. You’d get lost in his smell, that mix of leather, rain, and the faintest hint of something metallic—his blood, his very essence, always so close to danger. It was as much a part of him as the city itself.

And then there was the sound of his voice. Soft and hesitant, yet steady. “Don’t go. I’m here.” His voice had always been a quiet reassurance. But it never lasted, did it? The space between you two had always been a battlefield of silence and unsaid words, a silence that only grew after the divorce, after you both realized that even love wasn’t enough to keep everything from falling apart. The way he'd say your name, the way you'd say his. It had carried the weight of so many years. Too many years. You had gone back to his bed many times after that, you had even tried to be friends. But every single time without fail it fell apart.

But tonight, it was different. The pull of his presence was stronger than ever, a beacon you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much time had passed.

You remember the last time you'd been on a rooftop with him seeing him standing on one in that very moment made you think of it, the two of you looking out over Hell’s Kitchen. The city was lit up below, and you both had been trying to pretend that things were okay, but everything had been unraveling. He’d held your hand tightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles absentmindedly as he spoke about a case—about something that didn’t even matter to you in that moment. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of him beside you, had made everything feel like it was still possible.

There was another memory, one of the times he'd dragged you to his favorite diner, where the food was terrible but the coffee was always hot, and you laughed over shared plates of pancakes and too much whipped cream. You had been so sure of each other back then. So full of hope that even in a world that had always been out to break him, he would be okay because you would be with him.

Your hand instinctively touched the space near your neck where a necklace once rested—one Matt had given you years ago. It was small, simple, and silver. But the way his hands had trembled when he put it around your neck, as though offering you something precious, something irreplaceable, flooded back like it was yesterday.

And then the moment in the hallway of his apartment, when he pulled you close and whispered, "I don’t want you to leave.” He had been so desperate, so raw in that one moment. But it wasn’t enough to stop the inevitable. You could still hear the sound of the door closing behind you, leaving him on the other side, as the reality of everything set in.

Tonight, the pull was too strong to deny.

You knew deep down—this wouldn’t be the last time you'd feel it.

As you stood up from the table and excused yourself, the group barely noticed, lost in their own thoughts and banter. You didn’t need to look back. You didn’t need to hear any more of their chatter.

You could already feel it pulling you forward—closer.

Matt was near, and that feeling, the magic that bound you to him, was only growing stronger. It was like the strings of fate had tugged you back to him, and you couldn’t resist the call.

The rain danced in the streets beneath you, but the world around you felt distant. The memory of Matt’s warm, calloused hand holding yours under a streetlamp years ago flickered in your mind like a ghost. The way his lips had quirked in a smile when you'd caught him sneaking up behind you, the way you’d laugh at his stubbornness, but you'd always be there for him, just as he'd been there for you, even when he couldn’t feel the world the way you did. It had always been the two of you against it all.

And then there was the last night you'd seen him, in that cold, sterile room. The last time you tried to speak to him, but the words just wouldn't come. The silence, like a weight between you both, hung in the air—unspoken truths, unhealed wounds. It had been the end. For both of you.

Now off you went, away from your new colleagues and towards someone you were supposed to forget. 

The rain had been falling since morning. Not the kind of summer storm that roared and passed through like a tantrum, but the slow, relentless kind—the kind that settles in and refuses to leave. The sky hung heavy, thick with clouds, a deep gray that made the city feel smaller, more suffocating. The sky seemed to swallow everything beneath it, as if even the heavens had given up on trying to make sense of the world. It was as if Hell’s Kitchen itself had become a place caught between worlds: too dark for comfort, too bright for rest.

Matt didn’t use an umbrella. He never had. Something about it felt like a surrender. Like it was an admission that he still cared, still needed to protect himself from the world he fought against every night. But that wasn’t him—not anymore. The rain, the cold, the way it seeped into his bones, only made it clearer. You’re still here. The world still touches you. And that, for better or worse, was something he couldn’t escape. He stood alone on the rooftop of a building that Foggy had once loved.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a crumbling four-story walk-up a few blocks from Josie’s. The roof had a view of the skyline—small and confined by taller, more aggressive buildings, but open enough to feel the city breathe. Foggy had always liked it here. He used to come up after long days, beers clinking in a plastic bag, and talk until the sun slipped away, leaving the city lights to take over. They’d talk about cases, about Matt’s questionable choices, about what could have been.

Matt hadn’t been back here since the funeral. Not really. He hadn’t meant to come tonight. But, as always, his feet led him to places that remembered him. And Foggy’s ghost had been louder than usual lately—nagging, insistent, like a soft echo in the back of his mind that he couldn’t silence.

The air was thick with the scent of wet concrete, of burning metal, of something old, like a thousand forgotten stories clinging to the bricks below. Cars hissed through puddles far below, their tires hissing like whispers. The rain pattered softly on the broken gravel, the bent AC units, the rusted rails. But Matt didn’t move. He stood still, his soaked black suit sticking to his skin, the fabric heavy with the weight of a life he didn’t know how to carry anymore. The cold didn't bother him—not really. Not compared to the cold inside.

He tried to picture Foggy’s voice. The way it would catch in a laugh, the way he would joke about Matt’s 'questionable decision-making,' or how he'd say "Murdock" like it was both a tease and a challenge.

But tonight, even the rain felt quieter. Even the wind held its breath. Matt inhaled deeply, trying to shove the tightness in his chest away. He hadn’t cried at the funeral. It felt like something inside him had broken so cleanly, so suddenly, that it left no room for tears. No room for grief. Just an absence. A chasm too wide to cross.

He was supposed to be the strong one. The protector. The one who carried the burden. But the world had taken Foggy anyway. And Matt had let it. Behind him, the door creaked. Quiet. Controlled. But not so subtle that Matt missed it. He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

The footsteps followed—soft, measured, familiar in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They weren’t the clumsy steps of a stranger, but neither were they the confident, casual pace of someone Matt knew like the back of his hand. They were deliberate. Cautious, almost. Calculating. He spoke before the figure could cross the threshold into the dim light of the rooftop. His voice was raw, cutting through the silence like the first drop of a storm.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A pause. Then, a voice he hadn’t heard in years. Your voice.

It cut through the rain, like the sound of glass breaking, but softened by the weight of memory. "I could say the same to you."

Matt didn’t flinch, but his heart did—just for a beat, just long enough to remind him that the world hadn’t quite moved on, no matter how hard he tried to pretend it had. He knew you were alive. Somewhere. The flicker of your presence, a shadow in the corners of a dozen cases, had never really faded. He’d felt you before—out of the corner of his mind, tucked in the spaces where reality bled into the things he couldn’t understand. The whispers had turned to reports, and the Thunderbolts had your name now, or something close to it. But even then, he'd never seen you. Not since… that night.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to listen to the way your heart was nice and slow. The way you stunk of blood and alcohol mixed somehow the smell of a clean sweet perfume leaked through it all. He could hear the way you weren’t trying to hide your presence by the way your boots smacked onto a puddle on the hard roof top. 

 “You tracked me,” he said, flat, almost accusing.

You shrugged, but there was something unspoken in the way your eyes lingered on him. "I wasn’t looking for you."

“But you found me anyway.” He was now fully facing you, and fuck did he look bad. His entire body just looked beyond exhausted and even though he was standing straight it looked like it was taking a hell of a lot to keep him even standing. 

You didn’t deny his comment. Didn’t need to. Matt’s voice lowered, like he was trying to keep any sort of decency between the two of you. “Still working with the heroes? Or did you finally go full Castle on someone?.”

You took a step closer, the sound of your magic rolling in with the rain. It was wild—untamed, like something ancient buried beneath the skin that you couldn’t sense but he could. He always did. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t burn or crackle in the air. But it hummed underneath everything, a constant thread that never quite let go of Matthew.

“I came because of Foggy,” you lied, and there was something steady in your voice, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You had learned how to lie to Matt, not that he cared enough to really look into what you had to say. 

Matt’s throat tightened, the sting of loss sharper than any rain. “He didn’t even know you were alive.”

“I know.” There was something heavy in your words. Something you didn’t want to say out loud. You had been good friends with him, but more often than not the two of you spent countless conversations trying to figure out Matt or moreover what you could do to help Matt. So you never really got to know Foggy, but you did know how much he loved and cared for Matt. Even when you walked away you knew that with him in tow he would be okay. That was all gone.  The silence that hung between you two felt like it was going to swallow the whole night. You could feel it—the pressure of it, the way the world shifted, the weight of a thousand unspoken things sitting between you, pressing down on you both.

Matt nodded at you.  His face was slick with rain, but his eyes—those eyes—were distant. Lost in the nothingness. It had always been that way between you two—close, and yet always a few steps too far apart. You saw the pain in his face, but it wasn’t just grief. There was something else too, something deeper, as if he had been unraveling long before Foggy’s death. You held his gaze, feeling that tug inside you—a reminder of what you had once been to each other. Something old, something raw, buried deep in the ache of it all. And that’s when it hit you—the moment.

You could still see it. That night. That last night. The night he had stood on the edge of a dark decision, teetering between life and something darker. You had tried to stop him, tried to pull him back from the edge. But in the end, you hadn’t been able to save him from himself.

And now, you couldn’t save him from this.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” you whispered, that was no lie, and you didn’t just mean Foggy. You meant all of it, all of them, everything. 

Matt blinked. Just once. The briefest of cracks in the armor. But it was enough. Enough for you to see the truth, the rawness that he had buried so deep, even the rain couldn’t wash it away. Neither of you said the one thing that hung heavy in the space between you. None of us did. But my god did the look of his state bring back a haunting memory,

The apartment was too quiet. The sound of Matt’s breathing—raspy and labored—was the only thing you could hear, the hum of the city faint beneath the heavy weight of what had just happened. You had come home to him, once again, lost in the dark. You had warned him before, begged him to talk, to open up, but that night… that night was different.

The sharp smell of whiskey still lingered in the air, clinging to the walls like a stain. You found him, sitting on the edge of their bed, looking out of the window into the street below. His back was hunched, his shoulders tense with the weight of the world—too many ghosts, too many scars.

You knew, even before you spoke, that something was wrong. That Matt was never one to drown his demons with alcohol unless something serious has finally got him.

“Matt,” you whispered, your voice shaking just a little, afraid that any louder you'd shatter the fragile silence. “Matt, talk to me. Please.”

He didn’t look at you. His hands were shaking slightly as he held the bottle of scotch. You could hear it clink as he set it down, the liquid inside sloshing, too full for comfort. There was a dangerous stillness in him now, a hollowness that made your heart race.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" he asked suddenly, his voice distant and dark, like a man lost in his own thoughts, “If it would just… stop? All of it. The pain. The endless cycle of being this guy, this devil, when all I want is just... peace.”

Your stomach twisted, your eyes almost popped out of your head at his sudden expression of pain. You took a step closer to him, trying to keep the tremor in your voice under control. "Matt… please don’t say that. Don't say things like that."

But he wouldn’t turn to you. He kept his eyes on the window, his expression unreadable. It was almost worse this way—the cold, silent version of him that you’d never quite been able to reach. He could feel how fast your body was trying not to succumb to the brutal panic that was threatening to rid you of your senses and collapse you into the floor.

"You don't understand," he muttered bitterly. "You can’t. You’re not in this. You don’t have to fight every day.” He was wrong, so very wrong, you did have to fight every single day whether it be with Matt or in your own private way for a hunt you were put on. 

You took a deep breath, swallowing the fear that was rising in your throat. "Matt, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare think that I wouldn’t understand. You think I don’t see the way you carry this all by yourself? I see it, Matt. Every day. But that doesn't mean you have to face it alone."

It was there—the breaking point. It had been building for months, the quiet rage, the withdrawal. But this was different. This was the breaking point where all the careful walls he had built around himself, the walls he never let anyone breach, finally began to crack. Suddenly, his hand shot out, knocking the bottle of scotch from the table, the glass shattering as it hit the floor. The violent sound echoed in the small apartment, the sharp noise punctuating the unbearable tension between you two.

He stood up abruptly, his movements jerky and erratic, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. “I am alone,” he spat, eyes blazing with a fire that didn’t belong to him, "I’m always alone. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not."

"Matt," you said, stepping toward him, reaching out. But he backed away, putting distance between you, his hands shaking with emotion. "Don’t push me away," you pleaded, "Please, just talk to me. We’ll figure this out together. We always do."

But he shook his head. The way his body was moving, the way he was pivoting clearly injured, his mind was distant, like he was a million miles away. "I don’t need anyone," he said, voice dangerously calm, “I can do this alone.”

You took another step forward, your voice thick with emotion, heart aching for the man you loved. “No, Matt,” you said, firm despite the tremble in your chest, “You’re not alone. Not anymore. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. And then, before you could stop it, you blurted out the words you had been holding back for months. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you throw your life away, Matt. I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”

His expression darkened, a sharp edge to his features. “You think I’m destroying myself?” he laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it. “You’re the one who’s trying to save me. You don’t even see what this has become. You’re not even real in this anymore. I’m just—just—this thing that you need to fix.”

You flinched as though he’d slapped you, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you’d ever admit. But before you could respond, he took a step backward and grabbed the edge of the window sill. You saw his fists clench. You knew what was happening before he did.

“Matt, no,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t walk away from me.”

But he was already turning, already walking to the window. You reached out to him, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him, but his hand was already reaching for the latch.

You were too late.

“Matt, please—”

But the world seemed to tilt in that moment. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling into the cold, unforgiving night. He didn’t look back, didn’t give you a chance to stop him. He was that close, just a few inches from taking the final step. The night air seemed to freeze in place, and you felt the coldness in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

You had never felt so powerless. So small.

The memory of that night—of your first real fight, the first time he had pushed you away so violently, so completely—came crashing back like it was yesterday. You could still hear his words in your ears, still feel the sting of his rejection. The rain continued its quiet assault, but it wasn't the storm that held them. It was the way the water seemed to slow time itself, the way each droplet against the cracked pavement felt like a reminder. A reminder of what they'd lost. What they'd been too afraid to fight for.

The city stretched out in front of them, a blur of dark silhouettes and faint lights, and yet in this small corner of Hell's Kitchen, it felt as though the world was holding its breath. Matt stood motionless, he was thinking of all the same things if not worse, it was your voice that was killing him. The quiet, the scared little voice that peeped out to tell him you didn’t get to say goodbye. You weren’t a ghost, not anymore. You were flesh, you were real, you were still here. And God, the way you stood there, just inches from him, made the space between them feel infinite.

The soft sound of your breath. The slick shiver of your coat against your skin. The rain dampening your hair, your skin—drenched in the same grief, the same unspoken pain.

And then, those words. His voice, breaking. "I’m sorry for everything."

He shot you right back, that man knew how to kill and tonight he was choosing to. Matt was always sorry, but you hadn’t heard him say it in so long it felt new all over again. It was a confession, but also an admission of what both of them had known deep down for far too long: there was nothing left to say except the truth. Your heart ached with that truth. Matt had spent years hiding in shadows, pulling away from the very thing that could’ve saved him. You had, too.

"Matt..." You whispered it again, barely audible over the rain. And he did the thing he always did. He turned. He pulled away. It was his reflex. The instinct to protect you by keeping you at arm’s length.

Except you weren’t having it this time. You advanced toward him as quickly as you had run toward his presence. As quickly as you had run to him the night you had been married. Just as quickly as the night he had first entered through the bedroom window shattering the glass needing help. 

"No, Matt. No more," you said, shaking your head, each word like a weight lifting from your chest. You were getting louder as you moved forward, the wind whipped around but it was not strong enough to even make you falter, nothing in the world, not even nature was going to keep you from this, "You can’t do this to me anymore."

Matt stiffened at the force of your voice, but you saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his fists clenched at his sides. His entire body is a coil of tension, wrapped up in some desperate need to push you away and pull you closer at the same time. His eyes flashed with something wild. Something desperate. You were now standing toe to toe with him and he couldn’t move, you had now taken away another sense of his, he couldn’t feel a damn thing. 

"Why didn’t you fight for us?" Your voice broke the silence like a thunderclap, you were screaming in his face sharp and raw. "You say you love me, but why the hell did you let me walk away? Why didn’t you tell me that you needed me? Why didn’t you... fight?"

His expression faltered. There was a flicker of shame—regret—and then, an unraveling that was so subtle, yet so violent, that it sent a chill down your spine. He was letting you assault him in the only way you ever could. 

"I couldn’t." The words came out strangled, as if they had to fight their way through his chest. He took his glasses off, and you saw it: vulnerability, raw and unguarded, like the soft skin beneath his armor. "I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think I deserved anything... good."

A painful silence stretched between you. And in that silence, you both felt it—the undeniable pull. The space between you and him was so small, but the distance  was even smaller between your hearts. The words of the past had been cut with a blade so sharp, so final, but this moment felt different. You wanted to scream more, to just lose your shit, but the flame in your heart was fizzing out. It had been lit for so long, the anger fueled it, but maybe that was all you needed to yell for. One last spark to fly before it all went out. You were both scared, weren’t you? Scared of this love that had been tested by time, by loss, by mistakes too big to ignore. Scared of the future you didn’t know how to face. But here, now, in the middle of the storm, you both knew that the walls, the defenses—everything that had kept you apart—had fallen.

He stepped closer, the two of you were practically touching. The familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the damp air. His heartbeat, steady but fragile, rang out in the silence. The way he reached for you—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he should. You didn’t give him the chance to question himself. You stepped forward, closing the last of the space between you, your hands reaching for him—just to touch. To remind him that you were here, still. You wanted to fucking cry, so bad but you knew he would sense it and this would all be different, he needed this more than you did. 

His arms wrapped around you like a promise, he was so warm for someone who had been standing in the cold, his jacket felt like fleece blanket against your face. His hands were solid against your back, one of them moving up and down his fingertips getting lightly caught on the suit you wore to protect yourself. "I can't live without you," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, you could feel him taking in deep breaths the air from his body making cool spots in your hair momentarily. 

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of everything, of years spent apart, of love twisted into knots, of the aching hope that maybe—just maybe—you could find a way back to each other. You put your hands to his back and felt the muscles, the ones so prominent from his fighting completely relax. Though still solid they felt almost smoother. Holding onto him again was like trying nicotine for the first time all over again, and with that same type of headache kicking in you whispered back "I can’t either.”

For a moment, there was nothing else. No past. No guilt. No regret. Just the rain. Just the two of you, standing there in the quiet, the world outside forgotten. If only it were snow, then it would have been a full circle moment to the first date you ever shared. But no, it was teetering on a full blown storm, neither of you cared. 

Matt pulled back, just enough to take a hand from your back and cup your face. Tears welled up, he would blame it on the rain if you planned to say a thing about it. But he rolled his thumb under your eye as if you were the one crying. "You’re all I’ve got. You know that, right?"

The words hit you hard, but not in a painful way. In a way that felt like a lifeline.You had just started a new life again, but this, you needed this more. One more time for the hell of it. No. Twelve more times. The rest of your life. It was never going to be done. You nodded. "I know. I’m not going anywhere. Not again."

And then, just as it had always been, the distance between you was no longer a barrier. You got up on your tip toes and grabbed his face with a tight grip,  kissed him, your teeth practically clacked together at the force. He reciprocated the same urgency grabbing the back of your head, tightening a hand in your hair. He could feel the small knots and tangles in the strands of hair that the  wind and whatever you had been up to previously had created. The rain felt harder, touching him like this was crashing reality down. The droplets felt like sweat bees as they pricked at your exposed skin. The world had otherwise faded into the background—gone, erased. All that mattered was the promise in his arms, the feeling of his lips against yours, and the surety that, no matter what the future held, you were in this together. 

When you pulled away, he smiled softly, releasing your hair and touching across the back of your neck, the first time in a long while that it wasn’t forced, you were his favorite sin. There was nothing better or more tempting than the shit you pulled with one another, "We’re going to try, right?"

You smiled back, breathless but certain his lips were slightly redder than before and all puffed out from your initial assault. But the added color made him look better than when you had first seen him that day. You could’ve ran away, just said I’m sorry the way he always did and left him there on that rooftop. But instead you spoke with conviction. "Together. Always."

And for the first time in years, Matt Murdock didn't feel so alone.

And neither did you.

[venusscore]

Bruce Wayne finds out he has another biological child (reader), except they’re a teenager:

From the get-go, Bruce is nervous around you. He partially feels guilty for missing so much or your life, so he doesn’t know if he can really parent you

He does his best to discourage you from being a vigilante. He doesn’t need another kid to worry about

The first time you gave him some of that teenage attitude, he was shocked. You didn’t seem too sassy, but then he realized you were also a high school student. He had to expect this. He tried to be stern, but it was so difficult! He was so used to his other kids, whose forms of rebellion ranged from fighting villains twice their size without backup, to becoming full on criminals (cough Jason cough). He knew he needed to be stern with you, but how could he when your little sarcastic comments and dressing in clothes he didn’t approve of were the worst you do?

Dick has already had many siblings, and you’re not the first he’d met when they were a teenager. You are, however, the first to not be a vigilante. He wants to relate to you, he really does, but his childhood was a mix of acrobatics and then fighting criminals, so he’s resorted to just listening to you complain about classes and drama, throwing in the occasional “mhm” or comment to show he’s listening and he cares

Jason is NOT used to someone who cannot only take his comments, but fires back with twice the burn. As intelligent as Damian is, he usually results to threats, rather than matching Jason’s tone

So one day, when Jason and you are bickering, he tries to end it with “whatever floats your boat,” in a slightly condescending tone. Before he could walk off, however, you say “at least my boat can float.”

Tim gets along great with you! He’s also a teenager, and he feels somewhat normal when you and him chat about your days

You tell him all the drama and who you’re angry at that week. He loves it. Heck, he even knows some of the people you’re talking about! (Forever 17) With that, you also love to give him advice on his love life, regardless of whether you have or haven’t dated guys.

“Trust me, he was not weirded out when you kissed his cheek last night.” You assure him for the third time while doing your homework. “Are you sure?” He asks again, to which you nod and close your book.

Damian, depending on your age, might have different opinions on you.

If you’re closer to his age (14/15), I’d imagine he’d at first be competitive with you. He’d constantly look down on you and your lack of skills. However, since you’re both in similar (or even the same) classes, he eventually found companionship and asks you for advice. He also constantly listens to your gossiping and drama

If you’re older, though, I think he’d see you similar to how he does Tim. Think maybe the way Sheldon Cooper treats Howard Wolowitz. No, he doesn’t hate you. No, he doesn’t really like you as much as everyone else, but he does internally respect you. He just looks down on your lack of physical ability, compared to him

Stephanie loves you! She remembers being your age, and listening to your high school life is so awesome for her. I think she’d connect with you a bit better if you’re a girl, but you also would be in her favor anyway

Similar to last time, she wants you to be smart. She tries to do brain teasers with you and get you to challenge yourself, to which you humor her with, but there’s been moments you’ve had to just say you’re not in the mood

Duke also gets along great with you! (Depending on the comic, he might be in high school or college, which I’ll base it off of) He’s close in age, and honestly, he too sometimes feels a bit out of place in this huge family, and he’s probably had one of the more normal childhoods out of the group, so you both bond over finally having someone to relate to. He also LOVES when you give that teenage smartass attitude to the others. It makes his day

Cassandra is probably the least close to you. She’s sweet and all, but you both just… don’t relate. However, she one day catches you watching her while she’s training, and is caught off guard. After that, sometimes she’d teach you some basic martial arts moves, just to keep you safe in the danger-zone known as Gotham. You picked up quickly on her non-verbal cues, and now you two are good buds

Extras! (Again):

Barbara likes you a lot! She thought being a teenager was great, and she looooves taking you out to go shopping, chat about friends, or generally just hangout. You’re one of the few she knew as a regular person first, not a vigilante. She was never freakishly smart, and had to always study for good grades, so she happily helps you if you need it, since almost everyone else either didn’t go to school, or is naturally intelligent

Selina is always happy to talk to you. She at first tried to get along so you’d leave a good word to Bruce for her (she’s been pining for too long), but now she genuinely likes you! You tell her about school drama, and in turn, she complains about boring adult stuff and gives you gossip on your dad- it’s great!

Now whenever Bruce complains about women talking to him, or the new date he went on (you can take the man out of the playboy, but not the playboy out of the man), you always throw in something like “Well there’s always Selina” or “Selina would never.”

——————

Guess who has exams next week 😭😭

I already did one of these with toddler reader, but I actually was going to make the original post a teenager, but then I was like “I should do all stages of life!”

But I got burnt out after the first, so I decided to continue that here

thanks for the support on the last one! Y’all are so sweet! I plan on making more bcs this is really fun! Again, if I messed anything up, feel free to lmk

if anyone has any other ideas, I’d love to see them in comments/reposts/messages!

Have a good one!

(Also I love reading reposts/comments in general, so don’t be shy on opinions)

[hoe-days]

Hiiii , I saw the post about the reader's ex, and I was wondering how others will react to a mean ex harassing the reader when she's pregnant with Senku's child? And how would Grandpa Stan react to seeing his daughter being harassed?

I hope you have a nice week~

- 🐑

‼️🐑 ANON ACQUIRED‼️

This can only end bad for the ex😭

The ex wouldn’t be foolish enough to do it when S/O is with others, hell the entire science kingdom would ride at dawn for S/O. So this would happen when S/O is in their personal office in the science building. Senku and the other members on the science team would be working on something dangerous and didn’t want S/O to be around the chemicals, so she went to her office to run calculations. That’s when ex would have the opportunity to strike. He’dve been playing it safe, never showing his true colors around anyone, so nobody has an issue with him. He’d be on the battle team, probably revived by Tsukasa way back when. Since he’s on the battle team he’d have access to the building. He played his cards right to be trusted enough. So now he can “patrol” in the science building.

Now Stan is one of the few people that can just go wherever he pleases. Which is why he decides to stop by S/O’s office after helping Xeno with something. He knows all too well that the sciencey types forget to eat and drink so he brought her some food and water, which isn’t new, they often eat and chat.

Stan has made a habit of leaving his cigarettes outside when he talks to S/O, that way he isn’t tempted to light one unconsciously. He’s leaning down to set the box on the floor beside the door when he hears talking. Now he’s not one to eavesdrop, not when he doesn’t have to at least, but what he hears raises immediate red flags for him.

“Come on S/O. Put in a good word for me. You’re always around all the important people. I want to be at the top of the world when humanity is at full swing.”

“That’s not what we’re doing any of this for. If you want money opportunities go talk to Ryusui.”

“No. You’re gonna talk to him for me. He knows you.”

“No I-“

That’s all Stan needed to hear before barging in. Ex jumped slightly. Stan narrowed his eyes, looking at how close Ex is to S/O.

“Something wrong here?”

“No sir I was-”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to her.”

“Mister Stanley I’m fine.”

“Y’ don’t look fine.”

Stan walks up to Ex and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You get a five minute head start while I check up on our lovely scientist here. After that, you and me are gonna have a proper chat.”

Stan lets him go and watches him run out before looking at S/O.

“Don’t let people walk all over you, kid.”

“I normally don’t, he’s uh..a different case.”

Stan nods, understanding her meaning.

“Gotcha. I’ll handle it. I’ll have someone come sit with you.”

He sets the food down on her desk.

“When I get back we’ll work on that assertiveness.”