#content being useless drama

[incorrect-primarchs-quotes]

Is it just me or the easiest way to grow followers in this fandom is to actively engage in drama?

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader x Rio Vidal: The Prize

Summary: Agatha has been fighting to reclaim her prize from Rio for a long time.

AO3

Included: dark themes, lesbian drama & yearning, near-death experiences, smut; biting, orgasm denial, praise kink, degradation, s&m, blood, fingering, cunnilingus, use of pet names, begging

Words: 9.7k

Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @white--lillies @imtrashinflames

1750

Glowing hands press over the seeping wound, magic swirling around them, diving inside. There’s no satisfaction of watching the flesh knit itself back together. Instead, your magic drifts right back out like smoke. 

Oh Goddess. 

“Do take your time.” Agatha snaps, voice strained, “I have absolutely no plans.” 

Five types of poison are immune to tangible magic. You know antidotes for three. Staring hard at the wound, you look for the blackened edges consistent with Nightrot, finding the flesh as red and irritated as to be expected. Is it swelling or screaming that goes with Alewife’s Revenge? A glance up at her face finds it normal. Her lips are pursed. 

Your hands shake, one hovering over the open wound in her middle, the other clutching your head. Remembering has never mattered more so why is your mind empty? Pieces of information slip through your fingers like sand. Dozens of cadavers, hundreds of hours of study; useless. 

Unable to rely on your memory, you scramble across the floor for the dagger that’d flown from the wall. The little light coming from the boarded windows prompts the metal to glint. The edge of the blade is sticky with blood, beneath it a metallic sheen that can only be a witches poison. You hold it up to the slant of light to see the color. 

“Are you out of your mind? Heal me!” 

You drop the dagger the second the poison glints purple. You slap your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to course through your veins; the body’s own special brand of poison. 

How are you going to tell her?

“I’m trying!” You snap, voice breaking. 

It’s a cruel joke that the poison should be so well matched to the witch bearing its effects. You stare at the edge as it rocks from being dropped, your stomach turning when the color doesn’t change. If only you could be wrong this once. 

Were you a lesser witch, you’d curl in a little ball and quail under the weight of your failures. The idea is seductive. Yet, you turn to Agatha where she lies, pale and sweating on the floorboards. The pallor of her skin makes you whimper. 

“Agatha,” You start, your voice holding just enough, “it’s Saura’s Dread.” 

Things click into place behind her eyes despite the glazed-over look to them. She fights to find a way out of this, but you know well that the reality cannot be avoided. 

“Give it to me. You’re wrong.” 

“I know poisons better than most.” You hand the dagger over anyway. 

“That’s not saying much.” 

The comment stings, but you let it slide off you. You cannot give into petty squabbles now. With so little time to find a solution, you have to focus. 

She stares hard at the blade as if willing it to change. 

“Brew the antidote.” 

“I can’t.” You whisper. 

There’s a flicker of something in her gaze that looks suspiciously like rage. Your own internal fire leaps to meet it; of all the emotions to look upon you with—rage? As if this is your fault? You’re not the one that dragged her into this old cabin, intent on sifting through the contents. 

It’s not your fault. You know that as the truth. Yet, shame floods you. 

“You’re a healer.” Agatha spits, “What good are you if you don’t know the antidote?” 

“Someone didn’t let me stay with my coven long enough to learn it!” 

“The next time someone tries to keep you from me, I’ll let them.” 

The fire in your chest ebbs. An old argument at an inconvenient time. There will be no rough makeup sex following this argument, no unspoken apologies in Agatha’s kisses. All the time, all the bodies; they cannot be for nothing. They mean too much. 

Fleetingly, you feel pity for your old coven. In their minds they had attempted to do the right thing. Keeping you from Agatha must have seemed reasonable. But you remember how many bodies they made, how pleased it made Her. 

Saura’s Dread takes its victim within six hours. This, you know confidently. The demise is slow and painful, a poison intended for torture. You can’t stand to see Agatha in this kind of pain. You’re not ready for her to be just another body.

“I’m calling Her.” You say. 

“No.” Agatha counters, “She’ll never let me live it down.” 

“You won’t live down anything if you’re dead, Agatha.” 

“I won’t die.” 

She’s an idiot. 

Magic flowing into your fingertips, you trace familiar symbols on the floor. They glow bright and then dim as they wait. Around your neck sits an old, jagged bone, tied by a thread; you use the end of said bone to split your palm and drip blood over the symbols. 

Agatha’s mouth is moving, but you don’t listen. You mutter the incantation in latin under your breath. The words—old and comforting—curl your tongue in ways that you’ve only known between two pairs of legs. You end the incantation with the key that gets you around the waiting list; Her name, Her true name. 

There’s a blinding flash of light and a puff of fog, but the symbols contain it. You catch the glint of white teeth. 

“You rang?” 

Rio smiles, clad in darkness and bone and that same beauty that always stops you in your tracks. Upon seeing her, you breathe easier.

“We need your help.” 

“You wouldn’t have called so formally if it was quality time you wanted.” Amusement dances in her eyes. 

She eyes the symbols on the floor. They no longer glow, but still they contain her. She scuffs a foot along them. 

You smudge the symbols and the containment drops. Stepping over the magic as it sinks down into the earth, she catches you by the waist and devours you; lips and teeth and tongue dominating your own, leaving you helpless to do anything but give in. And you’re all too willing to do so. 

When she pulls back, you’re breathless. Somewhere in the fray your lip has begun to bleed. Rio soothes her tongue over the wound and you feel it close. 

“Hand.” 

You offer the demanded appendage, palm up. She places a kiss in the center and licks the blood from her lips. 

Rio turns her head to where Agatha has dragged herself to sit against the wall. The rise and fall of her chest is slow, but there. She glares at the two of you. You flush while Rio grins. 

“Hi, sweetheart. You look like shit.” Rio says, delighted. 

“A side effect.” Agatha grits out, “The same can’t be said for you.” 

Rio tilts her head back and laughs. It’s deep and rich and fills you with thoughts that are not appropriate for this situation. The hand on your waist squeezes as if she knows. Then, she releases you. 

She crosses to crouch before Agatha, devious smile shifting to something softer. One of her hands works through a lock of Agatha’s hair, brushing it out of her face. 

“What did you get yourself into?” 

Agatha’s eyes drop to Rio’s lips, but she stays silent. 

“Saura’s Dread.” You choke out, shame winding itself tight inside you, “I don’t—I can’t brew the antidote.” 

You should have done more to push off Agatha’s agenda; just so you would have finished your research. A few extra days wouldn’t have hurt. They would’ve infuriated Agatha—and Rio by extension—but then you would know the solution instead of watching her slowly wither away. 

Rio doesn’t look away from Agatha, but you know the soothing tone is for you, “It’s okay.” 

Something passes between the two that you miss. One moment, Rio holds Agatha’s face in her hand, while Agatha—hesitantly—leans into the contact. The next Rio is standing between the two of you, toying with her knife, all business. 

You feel a chill pass through you at the unfamiliar territory; staring into Rio’s eyes and finding the affection buried away. It stings more than knowing how you’ve failed. 

“You’re asking me for life in a bottle.” Rio says, grinning, “What do I get in return?”

Short of knowing that Rio would fix it should you ask, you find yourself shamefully bereft of anything with value. You search the space for anything to bargain with. Agatha’s eyes should be looking at you with knowing, but her gaze doesn’t leave Rio. 

When Agatha tilts her head and grins, turning on the bedroom eyes, you pause. 

“What you’ve wanted for years.” Agatha says, “Brew me a little potion and you can have her all to yourself.” 

Rio’s brows shoot sky high. You tilt your head, then freeze. It’s you. Agatha’s bargaining you.

There should be a sweetness in knowing you’re the only thing of value she has to offer, yet the taste is sour on your tongue. The words feel like a punishment, a reprimand—and not the kind you’ve begged at her feet for. That awful part of you would rather Agatha die than ever willingly give you up and Rio eyes you as if she knows it. Does it please her to know how they’ve twisted you?

One mistake, you think bitterly, and Agatha throws in the towel. Despite all the near-death experiences you’ve endured at her side. Despite the years you’ve spent together. You never expected a punishment of this proportion. 

You bite your tongue. At your sides, your fists clench and unclench. They glow with the anger you can’t keep hidden. 

Pride rears its unhelpful head and you speak before you can stop to think, “My life for Agatha’s.” 

Rio’s full attention is on you, then. Her eyes are bright. 

You speak directly to her, “I’m bound to you and The Road until such time as Agatha traverses it to collect me.” 

Had you not been so focused on Rio, you would have noticed Agatha flinch at your suggestion. Her wide, glassy eyes stare at you. You do not give her the satisfaction of your attention. If she is going to be cruel, so can you. 

Your terms are a challenge; and Agatha doesn’t turn down a challenge. 

Her devious, wicked mask clicks back into place. Rio’s expression is pensive. Despite the poison working through her system, Agatha almost looks as powerful as her best day. 

“You’d let me steal her away, O Death?” Agatha teases. 

The comment is salt in your open wound. You glare, wishing more than anything that you could wrap your hands around her pretty neck and squeeze. You want her not only to beg—but to apologize. 

But Rio’s eyes haven’t left you for a second. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” Rio says, “Your life, bound to mine, until Agatha comes to get you.” 

In it you understand the desire you both share; to have Agatha, one way or another. You wonder if the desire for possession is your own or something you’ve learned from her. 

From her pocket comes a small glass vial. She tosses it to Agatha, who only barely catches it. She cradles it like something precious. 

“Drink up.” Rio orders. 

Then Rio is there, arm around your waist, holding all your pieces together. You lean into her comfort as color returns to Agatha’s cheeks. 

“Te veo.” 

--

1754

“She waits for you.”

Agatha whips around, purple crackling at her fingertips. At the edge of the clearing, Rio leans her weight against a gnarled tree, eyeing the withered husks of once-witches in the grass with interest. She looks almost predatory. 

“Does she?” 

Rio nods, eyes shifting to Agatha, “Like a puppy. It’s almost pathetic.” 

It is pathetic, is what she should say. Time and affection have curbed her tongue on this small thing at least. On you. Agatha’s smile is knowing. 

Rio has pulled her punches toward you since the beginning. Agatha’s never minded. It’s almost sweet watching the oldest force in the multiverse tiptoe around a witch barely into her second century. Is it that craving for ancient knowledge in your veins that renders Rio down, or is it simply your pretty face? 

Does it matter? 

“I don’t have what I need yet.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “Witches these days don’t have the power they used to.” 

“Or maybe you’re leveling the population before they have time to strengthen.” Rio raises a brow. 

Agatha thinks, deliberately dramatic, then shrugs, “No, that’s not it.” 

With a shake of her head, Rio steps out from the treeline, and closes the distance across the clearing. Agatha watches every step with dark eyes. The stench of death and magic sends a chill down Rio’s spine; there’s nothing more delicious than a life snuffed out. 

The wind slows in the trees as if sensing her. Birds silence their sweet tunes. There is frantic rustling in the trees somewhere as creatures do all they can to get away. 

Yet Agatha stands, waiting, and allows Death to pull her into her embrace. 

One of Rio’s great loves is watching skin split so she can lap up the blood at her own pace. Yet, when her hands settle on Agatha’s hips, they’re gentle. She doesn’t open wounds with her teeth. Rather, she moves her lips over Agatha’s until she can’t breathe. Agatha is wary when she pulls back. 

Rio shrugs, “A message from her.” 

“I see. Forgiven me, has she?” A slow, taunting grin, “Anything from you?” 

“Have you earned it?” 

“These bodies didn’t make themselves.”

A tilt of her head, as if considering, “Maybe you’ve earned something small, then.” 

And they meet in a clash of lips and teeth. Rio’s hands are everywhere, leaving behind deep claw marks that make Agatha moan into her mouth. Agatha’s own nails pierce through cloth and skin at her hips but draw no blood. She tries to push Rio backward toward one of the trees, she just needs a little leverage and Rio’s thigh to—

Rio pulls back. She grins something wicked at the flash of Agatha’s purple.

“Something small.”

Agatha makes a face, batting her lashes. Rio doesn’t give in. 

“You’re awful.”

“You love it.” Rio says, then her face takes on something more serious, “Don’t keep her waiting, Agatha.”

Then she’s gone as if she was never there; the only evidence being the bleeding marks on her skin. Agatha stares at where she stood for a long time before moving on.

--

1801

The Road changes, you’ve seen, as the covens come along. Small cottages, ancient ruins—the most interesting was an old system of catacombs, though it lacked the remains you’d been intent on studying.

Your favorite, though, is the bower, absent of any illusions or spells.

Beneath a canopy of purple leaves upon a seat of grass, you watch the events unfold from afar. An old curved trunk sits at your back keeping you upright. The animals—lost familiars, mostly—wander up to you here, nibbling at fallen leaves and taking up residence in your lap.

From outside it could be mistaken for a simple tree. Yet, beneath it, the world is at your fingertips. The position of your place presents the underside of millions of glowing leaves to your view; lives, Rio said, witch and non-witch alike.

You find the one you love best among the foliage. You trace your finger down the purple veins, hoping she feels you, thinks of you, misses you. The veins seem to glow a little brighter at your touch.

Rio doesn’t enjoy you toying with them; worried a wrong move on your part will take a life too soon, upsetting the greater balance she’s beholden to. But she taught you how to handle Agatha’s. Trace, never prod. Caress, but never pluck.

A black cat settles in your lap and you sit straighter.

Soothing a hand down her back, she purrs. Her little body presses against your stomach and basks in your warmth.

“You really are too predictable.” Rio says.

She stands a few feet away, clad in dirt and muck, yet still beautiful. Always beautiful.

“I like it here. It’s comforting.”

“You like being close to Agatha.” She corrects.

The leaf in question glows brighter as if sensing the mention. You trace a finger along the edge, willing all your love into it.

“This is all I have of her.” You admit.

Something like softness creeps into Rio’s face. As soon as it appears, it recedes. She joins you under the canopy. The cat in your lap startles and leaps from your lap, darting back into the underbrush.

You had never thought to secure some token of Agatha’s, then. Now, with nothing of her’s to hold close, you settle for her life-line, begging it to tell you her whereabouts and if she’s safe; it is always silent. Rio is, too. She doesn’t mention much when you ask, though you know she knows the actions of every life tied to her.

The Road is a wonderful home. Rio is an attentive partner. But you ache, still, for the other set of hands you knew; those who were predictable in their firmness, balancing the sudden changes of Rio’s own.

“You’re crying.” Rio says.

Her face is dark, but fury lingers around the edges. Something like worry flutters in and out of her eyes. You have nothing to say, so you only nod.

Then you’re in her lap. Rio’s bunching up your dress to your waist, canines embedded in your neck. Her nails dig into your hips and the blood warms you. You whimper.

Lips kiss down your neck while a hand hovers between your legs. You bear down, desperate for any friction to dull the ache. And she gives it to you. Her hand is exactly where you want it, fingers rubbing and pressing, and you grind your hips hard, harder until you’re right there.

And then her hand is gone.

You whine. Your hips move of their own volition, searching for that pressure to send you right over the edge. Rio’s lips catch your own in a bruising kiss and you whimper into her mouth.

Needy, desperate, you can almost hear her say.

But when she pulls away and digs her nails in harder, she whispers, “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

She alternates between giving you what you crave and rescinding it for hours. You whimper, moan, and beg. She laughs and repeats herself—cry for me. You lose count of how many almost-orgasms tighten your body just to go unfulfilled. You do cry. You sob and she’s there, tongue licking up your tears and knuckle deep inside you, thumbing over your clit until you have what you want.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, after, crying against her.

--

1833

Rio’s arm is warm where you’re wrapped around it. She leads you through the winding stone streets, around grand buildings with stained-glass windows. Some of the scenes depicted in the glass are beautiful, simple; but the majority are Catholic in nature, dripping with sadness and guilt. You shake your head.

Passersby nod or tilt their hats, but don’t seem to see you. Their eyes go especially glassy when they look at Rio.

Whereas you’re clad in a dress of rich layered fabric, Rio has opted for more masculine attire. The low heels of her dress shoes click upon the stone. The unwrinkled fabric of her suit smells of smoke.

Your heels don’t quite agree with the stone. After the fifth time of a near-twisted ankle, you huff, “Could I not have worn flat shoes?”

“The heels compliment your legs.”

“You can’t even see them.”

“Yet.” She winks.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks. Another nod to a passing couple and Rio makes a sharp turn. You’re led into a damp, dim alleyway.

The ground is made from rough slabs of uneven stone. You curse when your heel slips and only Rio’s strength keeps you standing. Water slides down the walls on either side, thick moss growing in the cracks. You reach out to feel it only for your hand to come away red.

If not for Rio pulling you along, you’d have screamed. Blood cascades down the walls. From it grow dark, twisted plants you’ve studied beside The Road. Beneath the plants and out of them come bones; most have yellowed with age, but there is the occasional bright-white specimen.

Surprise aside, you lean toward the bones with interest. Still, Rio presses on.

The alleyway is growing slimmer by the second. Should it continue to do so, you’ll be forced to walk behind Rio, and the thought makes you tense.

Rio squeezes your hand, “Relax, sweetheart.”

“I’d relax more if I knew what we were doing here.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Before you’re forced to walk single-file, you come to the end. Rio traces a counter-sigil upon the stone. With a shudder, a door is revealed. Above the silver knocker, embedded in the door, sits an unblinking eyeball. The blue pierces you.

Rio pulls and slams the knocker. The eyeball falls from the door and hits the ground with a sickening pop. You nearly shriek while Rio makes noises of delight.

“Ooh,” She chuckles, “we’re not the first to arrive.”

You try not to think about what the eye must look like now, “Can I go home?”

“Why so squeamish all of a sudden? You handle the cadavers I bring you just fine.”

“That’s different. That’s research.”

“Who says this isn’t, sweetheart?”

The door opens soundlessly. Inside, the scene is much the same; another dark, slim space, though notably absent of plants and body parts. The owner of this place must be allergic to candles, the lighting situation is just pathetic.

Rio waits. When you make no move to walk inside, she sighs, nudging you with a hand on your lower back, “Ladies first.”

You’re not sure if being first or last is the worst. If anything is to jump from the walls now, you’ll take the brunt of it; you’re reminded of that day with Agatha all those years ago. Rio’s warmth at your back offers the strength you need to continue. Though, you do cling to her hand the whole way.

The hallway empties into a full room. Dark shelves match the height of the walls, on them jars full of ingredients. There are tables boasting dozens of drawers, though none sit open. Glasses and tools and cauldrons line the tabletops. In the center of it all are two figures; well, one figure and one corpse.

You can’t catch your breath. She’s as beautiful as the day you lost her.

“Agatha.” You whisper.

Agatha turns and smirks. She doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see you as you do her. Upon seeing you, her expression softens, eyes full of affection and longing. It hardens a bit when she glances behind you.

“You ruined the surprise.” Rio says, arms crossed, though one motions to the corpse, “We needed her.”

“What could you possibly need with a poison witch?”

“Our darling healer wanted to study with her.”

Something like regret turns Agatha’s face when she regards you. With a wave, she produces a thick book full of yellowing pages. You tilt your head when she offers it to you.

“Her life’s work. I’m sure there’s more here somewhere.” Agatha shrugs.

You take it and hold it to your chest reverently. All this time you thought Rio was putting you off about finding a competent poison witch and yet here you are, standing in her apothecary. She lies dead on the floor but you couldn’t care less when the real gift stands before you.

You long for her. You ache to feel the gentle caress of her hands on your face, the threat of her nails on your scalp.

A look at Rio tells you she isn’t entirely pleased with the turn of events. Yet when she sees your excitement some of her ire dissipates. The yearning in your eyes must be plain, since she gives you a single nod.

Book of poisons tossed onto the tabletop, you throw yourself into Agatha’s arms. She’s as steady as you remember. Her hand grips your chin and forces your lips to hers. Her hands are predictably firm wherever they land. She grips you as if afraid you’ll slip away. But her kiss, oh gods her kiss; soft lips and taunting, sharp tongue. The length of her body pressed against your own and so warm.

There are hands in your hair and this is all you’ve wanted—all you’ve craved for years. Why, then, do you feel the urge to cry? To rip the heart from your chest and banish it to where it won’t hurt?

Agatha is warm and steady. You bury your face in her neck and her in yours. Your hands shake with the force of clinging to her.

The feeling is bliss. Yet, it isn’t complete.

You glance over Agatha’s shoulder to Rio. She stands in the doorway, watching the scene with dark-eyed interest; but there’s a weariness in the set of her shoulders.

“Beloved.” You call, holding one of your hands out to her.

Rio raises a brow. Her eyes don’t stray from your outstretched hand.

“This is your gift, sweetheart.”

“And it’s incomplete without you.”

Her eyes stray to Agatha, who has taken to watching her, too. This time, Agatha’s eyes don’t harden. They maintain that soft look you melt for.

Agatha extends her own hand alongside yours.

“Come on.” Agatha urges, soft.

You watch the resolve break moments before she wedges her way into your embrace. Her fingers lace through yours, but her face is pressed into Agatha’s neck. She pushes and nuzzles like she wants to become part of her. It reminds you of the cat that visits the bower—Ebony—but you don’t dare say so.

Agatha’s hands leave you to caress Rio’s face. A thumb rubs along her cheekbone. You press yourself against Rio’s back, unable to glimpse her face but sure of the longing in her expression.

In a perfect world, there would be no separation between the three of you. No clothes, no emotional barriers, not even flesh to keep your hearts from mingling into one. You settle for Rio’s hand in your own and Agatha’s blue eyes locked on you.

You lean over Rio’s shoulder and kiss Agatha, your free hand fumbling with getting into the former’s pants. She chuckles darkly in your ear. It ignites a spark in your chest; a dangerous longing for this to remain, to be always. You try to push it away and focus on how Rio moans in your ear instead.

--

1869

“Will you walk with me?”

Rio nods, smiles grandly, “Of course.”

You laugh. She holds out her arm, ever the picture of a gentleman, but you lace your fingers through hers instead.

As a rare treat, you lead. You pull her along the road. The leaves change beneath your feet, from silver and black to the hues of autumn and then to pure green. The Road opens its arms into a clearing bathed in the color. Only the stone building in the center stands apart.

Upon your approach, flowers grow in the flattened grass where you step; honeysuckle and heliotrope, baby’s breath and red chrysanthemum. Rio glances over her shoulder as the blooms spring forth.

Ivy grows up the walls of the building. You brush a gentle hand over the leaves.

Crumbling, worn headstones en masse wait behind the building. 

Rio tilts her head, “What is this?”

The door is unlocked. You knew it would be. The Road cannot keep you from this place. 

Inside is warm and hazy. Papers with elegant scrawl cover every surface, books half-open litter any free spaces. Shelves line the walls, jars bearing various specimens. Plush couches overflow with deep, red cushions, begging you to sit and stay. A fire cracks in the fireplace.

Rio turns this way and that. She wanders around the room, flipping through books. A fingernail taps against a jar full of eyes. An errant paper is plucked from where it sits haphazardly atop the mantle. She stops.

You know the paper the second she comes into contact with it; can remember the way you wax poetic about how beautiful she is, how safe you feel in her arms. She picks another, then another, so on, and you know every word the second she touches them; the way she unwinds in Agatha’s arms, her face twisted in perfect fury, the lightless turn of her eyes when she teeters on the edge of wickedness.

She looks at you, vulnerable and unsure, “What is this?”

“My heart.”

“That… then why is all of this here?”

Her hand shakes the papers for emphasis. You resist the urge to laugh, lest she think you’re making light of her. Death can be cruel, but you try not to be.

You step close. Gently, the papers are extracted and returned to their places. Rio stares and hardly breathes as you take your face in her hands.

“You pulled away after that night.” You whisper, finger tracing her cupids-bow, “Do you think I touch you only because it is convenient?”

Rio’s lip curls. Fists bunch at her side, crackling with green light. You feel the rumble of her anger working through her chest. She tries to pull from your hold, but you don’t let her.

“Do you think I kiss you and pretend it’s her?”

Rio snarls, “I will kill you if you don’t stop talking.”

You smile. The threat is a real one, but you don’t fear it; the outcome is remaining by her side. With one hand you reach and pull one of her fists between you. You unravel it, trying not to flinch against the bursts of power over her skin. You press the palm of her hand over where your heart resides inside your chest.

The snarl fades just so. Fury still lingers in her eyes. You press your hand over hers and will her to see, to know.

“Look at the walls.” You order.

Upon the walls, plain and dark, shimmering scrawl appears. Agatha Harkness, it reads in shaky lettering; like a name carved into a tree. One signature turns into ten and ten into countless. Purple and shimmering is Agatha’s brand upon you. Rio yanks and reaches for the dagger she keeps handy.

Rio’s true name appears in shimmering green letters, then. Same as Agatha’s, there are countless signatures. They conjoin and overlap until the walls of your heart look like nothing more than a child’s colorful scribbles.

She stares at the walls in disbelief. The knife in her hand clatters to the ground.

“I’ve carved your names upon my heart so I’ll never forget who it belongs to.” You whisper.

“Sweetheart…”

You bend and collect her blade, pressing it into her hand, “Now do it yourself.”

Her hand wraps around the handle reflexively. Rio’s hand doesn’t leave the spot over your heart, feeling the steady, truthful beat.

“It’ll hurt you.” Rio says. She doesn’t bother hiding the desire in her voice.

You urge, “Make me hurt.”

Each artful stroke of her blade is slow. You whimper, but grip her wrist and push the blade deeper into your flesh. She scoffs when tears flood your eyes. The tears run down your cheeks while you smile, filled with bliss and ache in equal measure.

It’s a gift to love so deeply it wounds you. You never want her to stop; who, aside from your shared scar, holds such power? Who else in the world could touch your heart truly enough to carve into it?

There’s delight in her every movement. She consumes the pain of millions and yet, none of it is of her own making. She can only relish in what others have done; torture for a being who remains eternally intimate with the greatest methods of drawing out agony. Death has no free will but that you offer her—and she takes what none else would give, ravenously.

Is it enough?

Not forever, something tells you, you think it might be her, but for now.

--

1925 

“You called?” Rio asks. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re avoiding me.” 

Agatha leans against the wall beside a small window. The pane has been slid upward, letting in the sounds of the city below, releasing the smoke of Agatha’s cigarette into the air outside. 

The cigarette is clutched in gloved hands. Her expression is amused as she draws in and releases the smoke, watching it form the shapes she wills. Though it has no effect on such a witch, Rio admires the object’s capability of bringing Agatha infinitesimally closer to her. 

“We’ve been busy.” 

“Busy or not, I’d say twelve bodies earns me a visit. And with the bulk of good booze I just removed from the market, I’d say I’ve earned a little more.” 

An obvious lure with paltry bait, still Rio bites, “What do you have in mind?”

“Let me see her.” 

She should. You’ve come to accept Agatha’s absence in your life, but she sees how much time you spend in the bower, and how you flinch when her name comes up. Rio hadn’t expected the frequency of Agatha’s name on the lips of covens walking the road to be so overwhelming, but it always drives you right into her arms; that she will relish. 

But Death is not giving. She takes. Taking is, in fact, her favorite hobby. Twelve bodies is not enough to make up for the haunted look in your eyes. She wants more—will have it. Agatha has to earn you. 

“I’ll need a little more from you.” Rio drawls. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to kill that many witches here with the nightlife?” Agatha throws her hands up. Ash flies from the forgotten cigarette. 

The sounds of Chicago seem to grow louder, as if to aid her point. Rio grins. She crosses the small space and takes the cigarette, snuffing it out on the back of Agatha’s hand. The action prompts a quiet moan. 

“It shouldn’t be a problem. What I want, you have an abundance of.” Rio’s smile widens as she manipulates Agatha’s hand, removing the glove, pushing and prodding until purple flashes along the flesh. 

A cooling breeze sneaks in the window and rustles the fringe along Agatha’s dress. It’s a beautiful thing, short and decadent. Rio knows you’ve enjoyed the few sightings of the period fashion you’ve glimpsed, but like her, you’d enjoy this specific dress in a pile on the floor. 

Agatha’s eyes stare at where Rio’s flesh meets her own. Her eyes are contemplative, calculating. She hesitates. And that is her fatal mistake. 

Rio throws her across the room with a shove. Agatha’s side hits one of the walls and she falls, face-first, onto the mattress she’s been sleeping on. The springs shriek at the sudden weight. Agatha snarls, throwing out a blast of purple that slams into Rio’s chest. Rio moans something filthy. 

There’s a brief struggle where Rio does her best to keep Agatha pinned; to the bed, to the wall, wherever there’s a surface. Yet Agatha is slippery. Her magic whisks her right out of the hold Rio puts her in and wherever Agatha wills it; which currently, is behind the other witch so Agatha can kick the back of her knees. Rio kneels not of her own volition. 

She braces to stand, only to find the blade of her own dagger at her throat. 

Rio’s gaze has lost any warmth. Her affection is buried deep, beneath layers and layers of earth she craves to bury Agatha in right this second, “You’re breaking her heart.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem, you like seeing her cry.” 

“When I’m the one responsible.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes. She maintains a carefully ambivalent expression. Rio knows better; knows, under all that forced emotion, that Agatha’s heart is waging against her head, warring over her selfish desire to keep every bit of power. 

Then, something shifts. Rio feels it. Agatha has made her choice and it isn’t you. And it ignites a rage in her chest unlike anything she’s felt in centuries. 

She snatches the dagger back from Agatha’s grasp and only just barely resists the urge to bury it in her chest. If she has to drag Agatha back to you kicking and screaming, she will. You would like that, wouldn’t you?

“I’ll kill you.” Rio vows, and means it. Agatha can’t run away from the two of you if her soul is Rio’s to keep. 

Agatha’s eyes flash with fear. Then, she grins around it, “If you can catch me.” 

Latin words roll off Agatha’s tongue faster than Rio can comprehend. She recognizes the words and what they mean, where they’ve come from. Rio reaches out with her magic for the Darkhold too late; it, and Agatha, have completely vanished from her awareness. 

When she returns to The Road and finds you pacing before the bower, she stops short. 

“Did you—is she dead?” You ask, worrying your lip. Though your eyes dart every which way, looking for whatever manifestation of Agatha you believe she’s brought you. 

“Sweetheart…” 

--

1937

“Do you think if I cut you open you would heal too fast for me to do any research?” 

Rio tilts her head, considering. She’s sprawled out on the plush couch inside the physical manifestation of your heart, toying with her knife, having a staring contest with the unblinking jar of eyes while you jot down thoughts into notebook number… well, she’s lost count. 

“Probably.” She answers, “I’m also not sure I have organs.” 

You pause, “How is that even possible?” 

“Magic, sweetheart.”

Leaning back, your mind begins to race; given how old she is, it would only make sense that the organs the body came with are gone, rotted away—but would the flesh not go with it? You massage your temples. Life magic is no easier to understand than Death magic. 

There’s only one way to test your hypothesis. You stand from your place at the table and cross to her, straddling her hips where she lay on the couch. 

“I want to see.” You say, holding out a hand. 

Rio hands over her dagger and sinks further into the couch, as if that is possible. She grins up at you with no shortage of delight. You do your best to tamp down on your own grin. 

The flesh beneath your hands is warm and smells of damp earth where you peel away her shirt. Her eyes darken with every inch of flesh revealed to you. Firm and unafraid, you press the tip of the dagger down against her sternum. The action earns you an exaggerated moan. 

You rip the dagger away, glaring, “Behave.” 

“Or what?” Rio taunts, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek. 

“Or I stop letting you watch my dissections.” 

She tenses, “You wouldn’t.” 

“Wouldn’t I, beloved?” 

“Get on with it.” 

You lean down and steal a quick kiss. It melts away the darling little pout on her lips. 

When you press the dagger back down, the flesh bends, but doesn’t open. You tilt your head and press harder. Rio watches, unphased. There is absolutely no give to her flesh. It gets to a point where you’re pressing your entire body weight behind the dagger, but Rio only laughs, squirming as if the action tickles. 

You whine and sigh. The dagger is dropped unceremoniously onto her chest while you lean an elbow against the back of the couch, sinking somewhat into the cushion. 

“If you want live specimens, we can collect some.” She soothes. 

The idea isn’t intolerable, but you shake your head. 

“They scream too much.” 

“Anesthetic exists, sweetheart.” 

“I suppose that’s true.” 

You look away, tracing the walls and their offerings with your eyes. Upon them hang paintings of your own making; scenes of life, death, love, fear—mostly fear. 

The human condition fascinates you, always has. Of the emotions to study, fear is the hardest; it is always fleeting in your wake; your face is too kind, too trustworthy, wiping away any sense of the unease you seek to study. You stare at your paintings and feel only distaste, knowing they’re not quite right. 

You can’t claim to have always had such taste. No, a cultivation for the finer flavors of life and death takes time. You can pinpoint where the itch started, however; that day in your childhood village when a dying soul reached out to you—scarcely were you a day older than four—and found no assistance. 

How beautiful it was; grisly, messy, but beautiful. You did not flinch away. Rather, you found yourself drawn in, eager to see more. And being of a coven of healers, your desire was fulfilled. Death was yours before you knew her name. 

Looking down at her, she stares back, unashamed to be caught. The heart in your chest—which has felt so stagnant in recent years—warms toward something almost pure. 

Rio will one day claim your soul. This, you know, and accept; your soul belonged to her the second you watched that woman die. You fear the when. What becomes of you when she claims your soul? What if you have yet to conduct all the research you desire? There is so much still to learn and you know she’ll abandon it for the chance to keep you. 

You love her, but you’ll never forgive her the knowledge you’ll one day lose. The warmth in your chest doesn’t ebb. 

Her top is still splayed open from your attempt at dissection. A healthy amount of flesh is bared to your eyes. You trace one finger from her neck to the center of her chest and tap, just above where a heart should be. 

“When you come for me,” You say, “I want to hold your heart in my hand.” 

“You already do.” She utters. 

“Will you let me study it, then, when I’m but a soul?” 

“You can study whatever you wish as long as it leads to me.”

--

1989

Agatha dwells on mistakes, often. She just doesn’t allow them to distract from her purpose. She is ruthless, to her very core. 

She spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to open the damned door to The Road. One coven after another, all failures. There is an obscene beauty in claiming a reward for what would otherwise be failure on her part. 

Time passes, enemies made, promises broken. She shrugs them all off. Yet she can’t shake the feeling of your hands in her hair, on her face. The lingering whisper of your kisses haunts her. The Darkhold whispers to her, oftentimes in language she shouldn’t comprehend, and it offers her the solution, should she just be patient; 

The Scarlet Witch

--

2026

The power that floats before you is biting and all too familiar. 

It fights against your hold, twisting and writhing like a wild animal, desperate to return to its mistress. But you’re stronger for now. The Scarlet Witch threw this power into the ether in her attempt at playing Death, and now it is yours to hold until Agatha comes for it. 

Anger rubs against the heart in your chest like a cat. You lean into it, feeling your own power respond to subdue that which isn’t yours. 

Rio watches beside you. She runs her fingers through the purple electricity contained in your palms, laughing when it fights her. Lips press against your temple. 

“Not long now.” She assures you. 

You feel longing and fury in equal measure. 

“I want her soul, Rio.” You whisper. 

A small chuckle, low beside your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. Her hand grasps your chin and turns you to face her, her lips meeting your own. The kiss is soft. You melt into it. 

She pulls back, tone careful, “You didn’t walk The Road, sweetheart.” 

You have not earned what The Road promises to grant. 

--

2026

Agatha doesn’t expect the end of The Road to look like Agnes’ Westview home, nor does she expect to see Rio perched on the roof, leaning back, as if waiting. But every step closer to the front yard makes her more furious. 

She is owed her prize. 

Upon her first step in Agnes’ yard, the front door opens, and she is blasted with something so strong that it knocks her back to The Road, on her back. She groans. Yet, she feels more alive than she has in centuries. Her body shudders with its missing piece; her power curling up in her veins, pleased to be home. 

She sits up, wincing at the ache in her bones that continues despite the gift she’s received. Leaves stick to the back of her arms, little pieces having crunched beneath her weight and adhered to her skin. She does her best to brush them away while getting to her feet. 

Rio remains on the roof, grinning. 

There, on the porch of Agnes’ house, is you. All the glory of you. 

Agatha’s heart leaps in her chest despite the scowl on your face. To her, you haven’t aged a day; still the young, fresh-faced witch following at her heels, dizzy on knowledge and the thrumming power inside. Time has not erased the love she has—so great it threatens to bring her to her knees. 

“Dearest…” Agatha murmurs, taking a half-step forward. 

“You have your prize.” You sneer. 

Your heart aches, begging you to go to her; hasn’t it been centuries? But your pride holds you back. She left you here while she gallivanted around the world getting what she wanted. 

There’s a brief flash of hurt on Agatha’s face, before it morphs into a wicked grin. Her posture changes, too, to something more proud, as she slinks across the yard toward the porch. You resist the urge to take a step back. 

“No, I don’t.” She drawls, “Are you going to be a good pet and come home willingly, or do I have to put you on a leash?” 

Something inside you burns for her. You ache for her touch, for her to force you to do what she wants. It creeps through the cracks of your pride and turns it into something else. You stick out your chin. Agatha snickers. 

Magic pulses in your palms, pulling various items from around you to throw—not fast enough. Agatha has you kneeling with your hands bound in a blink. 

“That’s not very nice, dear. And after all I’ve done to get here.” 

You regain some of your fight, snarling, “You left me here.” 

Agatha hums. 

“Into the deal you stumbled your way into. I’m not the one who tied herself to The Road in a fit of pride.” 

“You were leaving me regardless. If I was going to be handed off, I was going to do it on my own terms.” 

“Did I specify a length of time in my proposal? Was there any explicit mention of how long She could have you before I came back?” Agatha asks, mean-spirited joy in her eyes upon watching the realization dawn in your own. All that time you spent agonizing… when you had shackled yourself, “Years lost because you wanted to be a self-righteous brat.” 

There’s a lilt to her voice that clues you in to everything you’d once seen instinctually; Agatha has been in just as much anguish as you have, left to walk the world alone. You see the pain in her eyes. Just like then, you try to get to her now, eager to fix it, to wipe it away. 

The binding around your arms keeps you stationary. You whine and pull against it. 

“Agatha,” You whine, “I’m sorry.” 

“You will be.” She says. Then she turns to your left, finger poised and accusing, “And you—you kept her away from me.” 

Rio shrugs, smiling, “I couldn’t just make it easy on you.” 

Agatha waves a hand and Rio is kneeling on the porch at your side, similarly bound. Yet where you look pained, she is delighted. 

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, “I didn’t mean to be bad.” 

“That doesn’t change that you were.” 

A cloud of purple smoke announces your arrival to the inner bedroom of Agnes’ house. It doesn’t look like what you’ve seen from Rio, though. Where Agnes had been bland and cookie-cutter, this is rich fabrics and deep wood. It is Agatha through and through. 

You and Rio kneel side-by-side at the foot of the bed, where Agatha perches. Her beautiful blue eyes don’t miss the slightest movement you make. She’s clad in a dark robe with snakes and flowers that has Rio leaning forward in interest. 

Agatha’s eyes lock on you, “You’re going to apologize. Properly.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“With your tongue.” 

Leaning back on her forearms, Agatha spreads her legs, and you feel the desire in your body rush through you. It’s so strong you feel your head begin to pound. She’s pink and dripping and all you want is to do a good job for her. 

Yet, ever the brat, you lean forward and start with kissing her inner thighs. With every press of your lips to the delicate flesh you murmur an apology. She sighs. 

A hand weaves into your hair and yanks you back. Her eyes are dark. Her face is set in a punishing expression but you see the yearning in her that matches your own. She yanks again, lighter, and you moan. 

“What did I say?” She asks, before directing you where she wants you. 

Witches don’t subscribe to the idea of what a human would call heaven, but upon tasting her, you think you could get behind it. She’s warm and sweet. You flatten your tongue and drag it along her slit just to collect a better taste of her. Agatha’s hand presses you in harder as she moans. 

Without the use of your fingers, you have to use your tongue well. You stiffen it as much as you’re able when you delve inside her and hope it is even slightly close enough to satisfy. The pathetic sounds reaching your ears—breathy moans, sweet whimpers—tell you that you’re doing fine. 

“Good girl.” Agatha breathes out. 

You clench around nothing. You’re sure that you’ve ruined your undergarments thoroughly from how wet you are. 

Eager for more praise, you direct your attention to that small, fleshy bundle of nerves begging for your attention. You swirl your tongue around her clit and her hips stutter, before they grind against your face with a renewed sense of purpose. You smile. 

“Yes—there, more—” Agatha stutters. 

You were born to do as she commands. All you want is to make her happy. Following her directions is as easy as breathing. 

The tip of your tongue alternates between circling her clit and flicking it. Every flick earns you a high-pitched oh! and a firm grinding of her hips. Her thighs are tightening around your head, but she’s putting up a good fight. Her legs quiver. 

“There—there—I’m going to—” Is all the warning you’re given before Agatha shrieks and comes while rutting against your mouth. You lap up every drop of her wetness you can get with glee. You did this, you brought her this pleasure; the knowledge sends a happy jolt through you. 

Agatha’s grip on your hair releases and you lean back, taking in big lungfuls of air. She stares down at you with a thoroughly fucked-out expression that makes you preen. 

Then she leans over and pulls your lips to hers. She moans against the taste of herself on your lips, tongue collecting the flavor from your lips. You throw every ounce of love you possess into the kiss—willing her to understand the longing you felt, the thousands of hours you spent watching her lifeline just to make sure she was safe. 

“Good girl.” Agatha murmurs, pressing little kisses all over your face, “My good girl.” 

“All yours.” You agree.

She laughs, low and smooth, “That’s not quite the truth, is it?” 

The two of you turn to regard Rio in unison. She remains in the position Agatha left her in, kneeling and bound. You admire her restraint at not breaking the bindings. Though you guess Agatha wouldn’t take kindly to that. 

Rio’s eyes are black with desire. They dart between the two of you. She takes in the wetness on your face, licking her lips. You can feel her eagerness for a taste. 

She’s writhing a bit in her restraints, pressing her thighs together and wiggling, looking for any source of friction she can find. Agatha tuts and she stops. If it were up to you, your face would be between her thighs, ears enjoying every sound she makes. But it isn’t up to you. 

Agatha scoots back up the bed until she’s sitting against the headboard. That’s when you feel the restraints on you fall away. She beckons the two of you with a finger and you both follow the command, eager. 

“Come here.” Agatha urges you specifically, patting her bare thigh. 

You obey and straddle the appendage, shuddering against the feeling against your throbbing clit. There’s a split second where you think of just grinding down and taking what you want. But you don’t—you have to be good. 

Words pass between Agatha and Rio during your silent struggle. When you look, she’s lying along the length of the bed, legs bunched up and spread wide next to you. 

“What am I going to do with you both?” Agatha muses. 

“Fuck us?” Rio drawls. 

“You, my good girl,” Agatha says, ignoring Rio as she soothes a hand through your hair, “are going to use me until you come. And my bad girl isn’t going to come until I tell her she can.” 

You shudder, whimpering, while Rio whines next to you. Agatha kisses your forehead while dealing a slap to Rio that makes her groan. 

A hand settles onto your hip and begins to guide you through the motions of grinding against her. The friction is difficult to attain with how wet you are, but you do what you can, crying out everytime the pressure is just enough to make your toes curl. It won’t take long for you to finish. 

Your face is buried in Agatha’s neck, where you press loving little kisses to the flesh. As a result you cannot see Rio. But you hear her; every movement of Agatha’s deft fingers through her wetness, every growl and keen of desire, every slap of Agatha’s hand when she gets a bit too eager. She won’t last long either, from what you can tell. 

The image of Rio and Agatha in your mind is enough to push you toward that delightful little taste of death. Your hands tighten over Agatha’s shoulders. 

“Agatha, can I—please?” You plead. 

“So obedient, asking for permission even when you don’t need to.” Agatha praises, “Go on, darling.” 

With her hand guiding you and her voice in your ear, you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes. You’re not sure what sound leaves your lips, only that your throat aches afterward. 

You tune back in to hear a brutal slap of flesh on flesh. Rio snarls. 

“Beg.” Agatha’s voice commands in your ear, though you know it isn’t for you. 

Rio stays stubbornly silent. 

The sounds of Agatha toying with her come to an abrupt halt. You don’t have the strength to lift your face from your refuge, but you can imagine that stubborn, yet pleading look in Rio’s face; wanting so deeply but not willing to give up what is required. 

“If you don’t want to behave, she can have your pleasure instead.” 

“No! I’ll—” You hear Rio grit her teeth, “Please, Agatha. Please let me come.” 

Agatha laughs. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She coos. 

Seconds—or maybe minutes—before Rio wails. There’s something primordial and animalistic wrapped inside it, almost like a growl. It makes you shudder. Then all that's left in the room is the sound of breathing. 

You spent so long aching for something just like this. It’s beautiful, though you know it can’t stay; all three of you are far too ambitious to live a domestic existence, but it’s nice for now. You missed them. The heart in your chest feels complete again, filling to the brim with affection. 

Tears seep from your eyes and you pull back before Agatha can question it, though you do feel her stiffen. You press kisses to her neck, her sternum, the inside of her wrist; then you grab Rio’s hand and press kisses to every pad of her fingers. 

With every kiss, you murmur I love you. 

--

2027 

“If you don’t sedate him at least a little bit, his heart is going to give out.” 

Rio’s sudden voice next to you isn’t surprising. You’ve grown used to her coming and going—Death waits for no one, after all. Her lips press to your cheek and you accept the affection. 

“She did sedate him. Three times.” Agatha’s voice calls from the next room. 

“Oh, I see.” 

Rio leans over to examine the man on your table with no shortage of interest. He stares back, eyes impossibly wide. His heart rate picks up. 

“What is he?” She asks. 

“Not sure. Rapid regeneration, odd capabilities. Mutant, maybe?” 

“He’s certainly not a witch.” Agatha’s leaning against the doorway now, arms folded over her chest, “Though it is taking a fair amount of magic to keep him subdued.” 

“He’s no match for you, naturally.” You compliment. 

Both Agatha and Rio grin at that. The former comes up behind you, hands settling on your hips. Her lips press against your neck. Then, she leans over and steals a kiss from Rio, who is all too eager to meet her halfway.

You smile. The heart in your chest threatens to burst—not unlike the specimen in front of you. 

“Well, aren’t you sweet today.” Agatha comments. 

“Aiming for a reward?” Rio asks. 

Rio kisses her way up the flash of skin available to her eyes, making you sigh, leaning back into Agatha’s hands. Then Agatha’s lips fasten to the other side of your neck. Your head falls back and you laugh. Then you moan. 

The experiment on your table is forgotten as you’re dragged into the next room and bent into all sorts of shapes you couldn’t even imagine on your own. Oh, well; if he dies before the six hour mark, you can always just find another one. The same cannot be said of the witches bracketing you. And oh, how beautiful that is. 

[cookies-after-dark]

Doth though have any obsessive truthless recluse being horny on main for his obsession? Cause I need some horny truthless recluse shenanigans.

Can add Smilk or black sapphire if desired Im just reply in a truthless recluse mood👀👀👀

(May I be Jade anon? If it isn’t taken yet?)

additional tags: explicit content, angst, beast x ancient

ships: truthless recluse x reader, shadow milk cookie x reader, black sapphire cookie x reader

Trust that I WILL add that emotionally constipated emo idiot on this blog bevause he's honestly just so beautiful to me. I am addicted to the angst aspect of him pushing his loved ones away while also protecting them to his abilities. Even in his costume AU where he reflects on wanting friends and wanting to heal others despite his corruption makes me want to pick him up with my teeth and shake my head really fast.

So this is actually funny, but my uselessness comes out at this point because I can only think of very specific scenarios with Truthless Recluse getting intimate with the reader - porn with plot, lots of angst, afraid of intimacy and affection, but really enjoys the attention and the physical sensation. I cannot imagine the Truthless Recluse in any other situation outside of him wanting the reader to stuff his ass but will only allow them to eat his ass out for now, because he's afraid and overwhelmed of anything deeper.

I don't think he'd even care that much if the reader also fucked Shadow Milk Cookie on the side. They also roll in the hay every once in a while (in a very hateful, distrusting yaoi way). He would quietly give you the once over to male sure Shadow Milk didn't cause too much damage before he'd give you the side eye and dismiss you. You just keep searching for trouble despite his warnings, don't you?

With Black Sapphire Cookie? Truthless Recluse gives NO fucks about that guy in any way, and Black Sapphire holds resentment and wariness for Truthless Recluse for how heavily he affects master Shadow Milk Cookie. Being caught in rhe middle of this would be quite interesting, I'd say. (Black Sapphire KNOWS Truthless Recluse cares about you in some capacity and WILL fuck with this).

Love this dynamic, filled with feelings. No senseless porn with THIS emo cookie, oh no. I gotta add some drama to it.

(and yes, you can be Jade anon)

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 3.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I had someone on Ao3 ask me about how often this will get updated and my answer is that I don't know. My IRL can be pretty unpredictable and I do deal with depression on a daily basis. I'm going to do my best to update this while still working on my Leon Kennedy fic, Unlikely Salvation! Please do bear with me as I try to figure out where I want this story to go!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2

The lab was hustling with scientists, the Wakandan sunrise filtering through the enormous windows with an intensity that made Bucky eyes hurt as he stood by the cryostasis pod where the Winter Soldier would soon be housed.

The whole trek to the lab had been uneventful: not once did the soldier fight back. It seemed that the failure to complete her mysterious mission had caused her to shut down, and Bucky was tense as she was strapped down with multiple magnetic cuffs like the ones he and Steve used back in the quinjet.

Even with the super soldier serum coursing through her veins and whatever other enhancements she might naturally have or that HYDRA might have given her would prove useless. She was strapped down nice and tight.

There was a machine hovering over her knee, the tissue and bone beneath crunching and grinding as it was fusing back together, her expression unchanging despite her kneecap and patella being exposed. The air was beginning to smell of singed flesh and hair, and Bucky felt slightly nauseous.

Bucky hated knowing how much damage his arm could inflict; how unforgiving his grip was and how hard it was to regulate the strength at times so he would break yet another glass just by holding it and trying to take a drink.

And it had been so easy to crush her flesh like it was nothing.

"Howard? Howard, oh god...oh god, Anthony...!"

Bucky clenched his jaw, swallowing harshly as Maria Stark's voice whispered to him, and he was broken out of his trance by Shuri announcing.

"Once we are finished with her knee, I would like to begin deconstructing her mind. If efforts are fruitless, I would like for you to activate her again if possible. We might be able to figure out what her previous orders were and her intentions, history, anything that would prove useful to the eradication of HYDRA."

Steve frowned, asking as T'Challa simply stayed quiet, observing the Winter Soldier as she sat complacent and quiet; seemingly not hearing a word that they were saying.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if it doesn't work?"

Shuri replied confidently, flicking her eyes over to Steve before gesturing towards Bucky with a nod of her head.

"We will have to reset completely and start over. Sergeant Barnes' rehabilitation was easy due to the flaws within his programming that HYDRA was unable to remedy. However, we do not know what improvements have been made to HYDRA's algorithm since then. It will be challenging to separate the core person that this woman was before her programming, but not impossible."

T'Challa then asked, raising an eyebrow at Shuri as she shined a light into the Winter Soldier's eyes, taking down notes and recording her vitals.

"What if you are unable to separate the identity from the programming?"

Shuri sighed deeply, shrugging.

"She will have to be built from the ground up. This woman will be like a completely clean slate down to a new name if we are unable to figure out who she was before. I am already running the best biometric identification programs within our arsenal to figure out who she could have been. I would assume that Stark is also doing so?"

Steve nodded, replying as he watched the soldier closely as her eyes inconspicuously flicked to a scientist that readying a syringe.

"Yes, he's also got Nat looking through the database that we downloaded and coursing through any previous databanks we obtained from previous HYDRA raids."

Shuri then turned to Bucky, making him quirk an eyebrow up slightly as she regarded him with a raised brow.

"What is your take on this, Sergeant Barnes?"

All eyes were on him, and Bucky sighed slightly he stared down the soldier, watching the way her brow began to tense slightly the closer the scientist got. The second the syringe touched her skin, the soldier began to freak out.

Due to the cuffs restricting her movement, she resorted to smacking her back against the chair over and over, hissing and yelling loudly as the scientist jolted and stumbled back. T'Challa immediately shoved her down, Shuri exclaiming profanities as she snatched the syringe from the scientist and shoved it into the soldier's neck.

The soldier hissed and yanked her neck away, breaking the needle, and Shuri groaned, gesturing with her hands wildly.

"Really? Now I'm going to have to dig that out. You make things harder for yourself!"

Okoye quipped, her spear pointing towards the soldier as Steve and Bucky stood tensed and ready should the Soldier somehow get out of her binds.

"How primitive! She is like a wild animal!"

The sedative began to kick in, the woman's bucking gradually stopping, and she went limp within the chair, head rolling to the side as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Bucky's heart was racing slightly with adrenaline, and Steve observed.

"Seems like she knew what the syringe meant."

T'Challa frowned deeply, leaning back and brushing his hands off slightly as he glanced back at Steve.

"An important but grave detail: she must be remembering...or perhaps, it is a recent memory."

Shuri plucked the broken needle from the soldier's neck, humming.

"I will take it as a good sign that there is at least someone beneath the rubble. I promise you, Mr. Rogers, that I will do my best to find her."

Steve nodded before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

"You going to be alright?"

Bucky glanced over at Steve, muttering truthfully.

"I don't want to do this, but I'm only doing it for you. I'm worried that she is going to somehow lead HYDRA to me and it's gonna be a shit-show all over again."

Steve was firm, declaring quietly.

"You know I wouldn't let that happen. I'd have to miss that big head of yours again."

"You're a goddamn punk, you know that?"

Bucky couldn't keep the smile from gracing the corners of his lips, and Steve smiled at him softly before hugging him firmly and backing away.

"Alright, I'm going to leave you to it. I'll check in periodically; let you all know what we find on our side of the world."

T'Challa hummed, walking towards Steve.

"I will accompany you. I would like to discuss some things before your departure."

Steve nodded, and the two men walked out of Shuri's lab. Bucky turned back around, making a slight face as Shuri cut away pieces of the woman's clothing, revealing a black and tight-fitting compression camisole.

There were numerous scars and marks all over her body, some jagged and unforgiving while others were clean and precise. Shuri hummed softly, muttering as her fingers grazed a jagged scar that ran beneath the woman's neck.

"The things this woman must have been through...HYDRA is truly despicable."

Bucky couldn't speak. Hell, he couldn't even think outside of the boiling hatred and rage that was beginning to consume him at the sight of the gruesome scars that covered her upper body. Bucky could only assume that it got worse beneath her uncut clothing, and he had to bite his tongue as hard as he could.

Whip scars, burn marks, mutilated flesh that never regenerated, her body was a canvas; a horrendous painting that HYDRA had taken delight in decorating. This was more than just punishment, it was a warning.

A warning that disobedience will not be tolerated.

How many times did they slash her throat for the scar to become so prominent? How many times did they burn her skin to the point that the serum couldn't work to regenerate? How often did they beat and prod and jab and shoot and stab at her until she was too weak to fight back?

In a morbid way, Bucky took it as a sign that despite her being activated and still dangerous, her history of resistance let HYDRA know that the person that used to be there still existed.

There was someone still underneath the rubble, as Shuri had put it, and Bucky hoped that Shuri could pull her out.

But even so, would it help? Would it be right to let this woman have to live with the memories and nightmares of what had happened to her? Was it right to subject her mind to the torture of HYDRA even after being rescued?

Was it right to try despite knowing how traumatized and desolated the woman was going to be once she was free? Hell, there were times were Bucky could still smell the scent of the cologne his Handler wore when punishing Bucky, and now Bucky couldn't stand to smell the scent without being pushed into a panic.

"Don't worry, White Wolf. I am going to do what I can to help this woman."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

His voice was choked, cracking slightly as he rushed to respond, and Shuri tilted her head at him, asking Bucky with a curious gaze.

"Then what is it that plagues you?"

"I just...is it right to do this when she's gonna have to live with the memories and the nightmares?"

Bucky felt ashamed by the frown that crossed Shuri's face, but was slightly relieved to know that the disappointment that flashed within her eyes was not directed at him.

"I understand the concern, and I understand that it will not be easy for her...but that is why you are here. You have survived HYDRA and are free of the programming they worked hard to instill within your mind. With living proof that persistence yields peace, I truly think that she may become a person again...it will just take time and a lot of work."

Bucky nodded, and Shuri was quiet for a moment before she murmured.

"While it may not seem fair to save her...it is truly a tragedy to deny her the chance that HYDRA never gave her."

The words left a profoundly bitter taste within Bucky's mouth, and he could distinctly taste copper from him biting into his cheek too hard. Shaking his head, Bucky looked away from the woman as Shuri began to assess her further.

"Reactivating her will come with a risk. I would only be able to activate her, but I don't have the knowledge to deactivate, if that's even possible. When I was activated...the longer I was out of cryostasis and hadn't been wiped, the easier it was to resist the programming. I don't know if it will be the same for her."

"As I said: reactivation will allow us the ability to communicate with her. She has not been wiped, it would seem, so it is possible that this woman knows something."

Shuri grabbed a butterfly needle and a vial, putting on gloves and tying a tourniquet around the woman's arm so that she could find a vein. Once she found it, Shuri inserted the butterfly needle, taping it to the soldier's skin.

"I am now going to collect bloodwork to run DNA diagnostics and input the data into the biometric identification program to see if we may be able to identify her this way. I'm also going to do some testing to see what serum she might have been injected with to trace it back to the creator."

Bucky nodded and sat back, watching and listening intently as Shuri described what she was doing and what the programs did on a deeper, intellectual manner. While Bucky was listening and trying to absorb the information, he couldn't stop glancing over at the scars that lined the woman's body.

Horrific couldn't even describe it. It made him sick to his stomach. If Shuri noticed that Bucky was slightly distracted, she gracefully didn't comment on it. Instead, Shuri tried to distract him the best that she could while the machine she was operating was taking a scan of the woman's brain.

After a moment, Shuri hummed, a perplexed look on her face as she sauntered around the hologram of the woman's brain, tendrils of red seeming to pulse all over the organ, and Shuri's brows furrowed as she thought to herself. Bucky asked with an intrigued look on his face.

"What is that?"

"This is a digital recreation of the woman's brain as well as the areas most affected by HYDRA's programming."

Shuri looked proud as she began to move the hologram around, zooming in and out of different areas and lobes before breaking it down into layers.

"Thanks to the work that I did for you, I was able to develop an AI that was capable of identifying HYDRA's programming, as well as detect the intensity and depth that it runs. It gives possible solutions and suggestions on what to work on first...and tells me when something activates the program."

Shuri's voice seemed to lower slightly, side-eyeing him for a moment before she looked back at the hologram, but Bucky didn't notice. Bucky was floored, in awe at the ingenuity of the AI that he couldn't help but to whistle lowly.

"That's incredible, Shuri."

"Please, compared to her, you were like a walk in the park."

Shuri waved him off before she hummed, pointing to a area that was largely red within the hologram.

"However, unlike your programming, her programming is much more complex. There are multiple layers where the programming intertwines with core pieces and memories, which will make unraveling the ties difficult. There might be parts of her that will not be salvageable."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly, shaking his head as he replied gently.

"Like you said: from the ground and up if needed."

Shuri smiled widely at Bucky, her eyes crinkling as she teased gently, pointing at him.

"See, now you are beginning to understand."

Bucky rolled his eyes before he asked as Shuri began to work, a screen popping up and flashing slightly.

"So, what is that?"

"If we are going to salvage as much as we can of the core person she was before she became a Winter Soldier, we will have to analyze every piece of her psyche. Unfortunately, I cannot do much with HYDRA's program basically firewalling me. It is like they added some sort of encryption to her so that any attempt of undoing their work would be unsuccessful or too risky."

Bucky tilted his head, becoming slightly confused as he pointed to the red parts of the woman's brain.

"Is that why those areas are red like that?"

"Yes. If you look closely, it is almost as though these red areas are wrapping around the parts that are otherwise untouched by HYDRA's program. If we can get past the encryptions, we might be able to get through."

Bucky nodded along, crossing his arms before he glanced down at the woman, asking apprehensively.

"Are you going to make me activate her?"

"For now, no. I do not think that it will be necessary. All I need to do is bypass the encryptions, break them down, and then I will begin to root out the memories with the most significance to her."

Shuri spared Bucky a glance, relaying to him honestly.

"If possible, I would like to keep you from doing so because of the mental repercussions activating her will have. I will entrust the process to Okoye if activation is the only option we have left."

Bucky shook his head, murmuring to Shuri as he glanced down at the woman again as her face scrunched slightly.

"No, I'll do it...let's just hope that I don't have to."

Shuri became quiet, staring Bucky down for a moment before she turned away and suggested.

"Perhaps you should see the Captain off. Breaking through the encryption will take time, and I can tell that you are starting to become brain-dead listening to me."

Bucky chuckled before bowing his head slightly, shaking his head.

"I'd rather not upset your brother by leaving you with her by yourself."

Shuri made a face at him, the expression reminding him of Steve pre-serum.

"Do you think I am not capable of defending myself? This is my territory, white boy."

Bucky raised his hands in surrender, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry, your highness, but I've been on the receiving end of your brother's foot."

Shuri barked out a laugh, and Okoye made her presence known by snorting while a couple of the Dora Milaje stood by the entrance to Shuri's lab.

"At least he knows what he would be up against. Do not worry, Sergeant Barnes, I will stand watch. The Captain is about to make his departure."

Bucky nodded before expressing his gratitude, nodding gently to Shuri.

"Thank you. I'll be back shortly."

Bucky turned and left quickly, his steps quick and urgent as he arrived outside. However, the quinjet was already flying away, making Bucky purse his lips. T'Challa's voice greeted him, making the man look over at the King as he spoke.

"You just missed him."

"He's always running off on me somehow, so I'm not entirely surprised."

T'Challa chuckled slightly, before he glanced over at Bucky.

"How are you feeling about all of this?"

Bucky glanced over at T'Challa, regarding him with an exhausted look before he turned back front, watching Steve leave again.

"I'm worried, honestly. There's so many things that could go wrong. What if HYDRA is trying to find me and was using her to do it? HYDRA must know that the Avengers have been raiding the old facilities that aren't in use anymore, so why not leave her to be found and taken in?"

T'Challa hummed, clasping his hands together as he replied.

"Let them try. They will not make it very far."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly before he murmured.

"It's...strange, honestly...seeing this from an outside perspective. I knew that this was serious, but I wasn't aware of how bad it actually was. Standing on the other side of the glass...it's almost poignant."

T'Challa nodded, replying with a hum.

"When my father was killed and I was under the assumption that it was you in Vienna, a deep hatred rooted within me for HYDRA. While I understand now that it was Zemo's schemes...that hatred for HYDRA has never wavered. Even now when knowing the dangers that lie beyond those doors, I still hope for peace."

Bucky was quiet, listening intently to T'Challa's words as the king spoke, his brown eyes downcast as he continued.

"Nobody deserves to be subjected to such horrific torture."

Bucky wasn't sure on how to respond. Instead, the man just nodded and took a moment to breathe before he settled, glancing over at T'Challa.

"You're right, and if we have to start from scratch, then I'm willing to help how I can...both with rehabilitating her and eradicating HYDRA once and for all."

T'Challa nodded quietly before turning to walk back towards the lab, suggesting over his shoulder.

"You should get some rest...and maybe put that on ice."

At the mention of the wound on his temple, it began to pulse, and Bucky just sighed.

"I'll sleep it off...and thank you for listening."

T'Challa didn't respond, but a smile graced the king's lips as he disappeared through the doors. Bucky's shoulders sagged slightly, and he rubbed his temple gently, wincing when he pressed down to hard.

He had to admit: that woman could give a mean right-hook.

-

STORY NOTES: Bucky, T'Challa, Steve, and Shuri are all within her lab with the Winter Soldier. So far, the Winter Soldier has made no move. Shuri is using a machine that heals and reconstructs the soldier's knee, and Bucky is perturbed by the damage he had inflicted. He reflects on the hardship it took to regulate the strength of his grip in his metal arm; reminiscing about the difficulty of clutching a glass of water.

Shuri then tells the group that she would like to begin deconstructing the Winter Soldier's mind to get an understanding of her intentions, and suggests activating the Winter Soldier again should Shuri's efforts fail. Steve is apprehensive, and Shuri voices that if neither efforts are successful, then she will have to completely reboot the Winter Soldier.

Shuri elaborates that she is currently attempting to figure out the identity of the Winter Soldier, and makes a remark that she hopes Tony Stark is also doing the same. Steve comments that Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, is also combing through the databank Bucky had downloaded, as well as previously recovered databanks.

When a scientist attempts to inject a sedative into her, the Winter Soldier begins to resist; causing a scene and consequently breaking the needle of the sedative within her neck. Steve observed that the woman understood what the syringe meant, and T'Challa points out that it might be a sign that she is remembering.

Before Steve's departure, Bucky voices his fear that HYDRA is using her to get to him, and Steve reassures Bucky that he won't let HYDRA get their hands on him again. Steve exits with T'Challa, and Bucky and Shuri are left alone within the lab. Shuri begins to remove a bit of the woman's clothing, and more scars are revealed.

Bucky becomes upset by the sight of the scars, understanding what they meant, and Bucky begins to become apprehensive about saving the woman. Shuri reassures Bucky that what they are doing is right. Later, Shuri shows Bucky a digital rendition of the Winter Soldier's brain and explains what she is going to do in order to save the woman's core identity.

Shuri comments that Bucky should see Steve off, and though Bucky tries to get to Steve before he leaves, he is unsuccessful. Instead, he meets with T'Challa. They begin to converse with each other, Bucky revealing his concerns, and T'Challa reassures him that HYDRA would not make it far into Wakanda if they attempted to retrieve him. Bucky makes a final thought on the woman and reflects on her strength. End scene.

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @tilldeathripsusapart

[thecrabbybarista]

We should talk about The Lords in Black I'm gonna do that right now because I wanna talk about their trope subversion and symbolism and shit.

So obviously The Lords in Black are a subversion of Cosmic/Eldritch horror and I'm gonna explain how using an ant metaphor

So the classic ant metaphor for cosmic horror is to imagine that you're an ant encountering a piece of human technology, right? I believe it's usually a circuit board. The whole point is you're witnessing something deeply incomprehensible and unfamiliar.

The ant metaphor for the Lords in Black is: imagine you're an ant and a teenager starts burning you with a magnifying glass.

It's still incomprehensible, but not in the way the complexities of a circuit board is. If you were suddenly stricken by a scalding beam of light, the only way you could rationalize that is that it was an act of a god. You and your ant colony would invent and fear this god.

The Lords in Black each represent a kind of strange and inscrutable cruelty that the modern world offers, the cursed lasers that cut into our souls, from places we have no power over.

Wiggly is obviously the idol of capitalism. Animalistic desperation, commodity fetishization, and the exchange of money, products, and emotions. All of the things that the other Lords represent stem from elements of capitalism, hence why Wiggly is THE Lord in Black, the leader of his brothers. What Wiggly offers will never be enough. He is what leaves you always unsatisfied.

Nibbly is the idol of the consumption of human beings as products. Obsession with self image and presentability, trends of all kinds, and the beauty and fitness industries. People in the modern age are desperate to be consumable, and some would go to any lengths to do so. This is an attitude that especially impacts women, who feel that they need to wear make up every day just to earn respect. And when we feel the need to change to be respectable, the need to look appealing and to be consumable, the bourgeois eat well. Our quest to look special makes us like any other customer, filling. It's no mistake that the two leads of Honey Queen are women desperate to be noticed and respected. It makes them all the more eager to be eaten.

Tinky is the idol of infinity and repetition. Dead end jobs, middle class suburbia, and the inability to escape one's circumstances. It's no coincidence that the first time we see Tinky is at a wedding, a ceremony dedicated to eternal commitment, or that he's associated with CCRP, a company in which most of the workers do useless busywork all day. When you look at the life you have ahead of you, it can feel crushing. Will you ever have a real career to be proud of, or will you be stuck at this job until you die? Will you ever not struggle to make rent? Will you really love your spouse forever? What if you don't? Isn't it just easier to continue the routine than to address the problem? After Ted is driven to insanity by the Bastard's Box, after he discovers that he can't escape the person he's become, he becomes homeless, one of the most terrifying eternities a person can find themselves in, fully dependent on random acts of kindness to survive while your situation drives you further into insanity.

Blinky is the idol of the panopticon. Gossip, public drama, and unwanted attention. One of the first things Blinky does on screen is sexually objectify a girl who's fresh out of high school, and this plainly displays a consequence of living in a content driven world. There is constant scrutiny and interpretation given to your every action. At any moment, you could have over a thousand eyes on you, whether you want them there or not. The panopticon we live in captures us in moments of time, and turns the person we were in that moment into an object deserving anger, embarrassment, lust, admiration, judgement, or anything else a watcher might assign. But Blinky also targets another fear, the fear that we feel when we can't see the danger, and cannot protect ourselves or those we love. Alice's anxiety that Deb might cheat on her when she's not around are made manifest in Watcher World, and Bill's frustration at not being let into Alice's life are used against the family. We are inclined to both want and fear the panopticon. We hide, and we seek, and we expose.

Pokey is the idol of tyranny. Complacency, sedation, and obedience. The world revolves around the few and uses the many in service of this. We are all expected to fill some role in service to the rich, to work for a corporation and to buy the products of those corporations, and when we cannot fill these roles we are at risk of starving, or being kicked out of our homes. We must join them in their quest for profit, or die. But we must also accept their pacifiers or we will be driven insane. We must choose between complacency or despair in confronting our place in the world as a pawn, as an ant in the colony. Isn't it easier to accept the comforting lies? Your job is important. Corporations give people what they want. People in power deserve their power. People in power are using it well. We are happy. America is great.

These are the magnifying glasses that are being used to torment us, that we cannot make reason out of, that we've made dark gods out of. But this isn't the first time humanity has encountered scorching light from the heavens. When the people of ancient Greece witnessed burning rods of light, falling viciously from the heavens, they invented Zeus.

But we know where lightning comes from now. We know the science behind electricity and its place in the world. We know what keeps lightning away and what attracts it. We can protect ourselves from it.

But there's an important difference. Lightning is natural. It's existed long before we have and it will continue when we're gone.

The unorthodox cruelty of being alive today is not natural. We cannot logic our way into surviving it because it does not operate under a sound logic. But we can make things a little more bearable by focusing on what is sound, understandable and natural.

There is humanity. There are families friends and lovers who would go to the ends of earth to protect each other. As long as we have this humanity, we have hope.

That's why Miss Holloway's deal with the Lords erases her from living memory after her temporary deaths. To have the powers that she does she gave away the power most important to have under the Lord's rule: human connection. The only real thing we have left.

Alice and Bill escaped Blinky's manipulation through the love they have for each other

Emma survived the longest out of any character in tgwdlm because of the genuine hope Paul gave her of a better future

Lex snapped Tom out of Wiggly's control by reminding him of what his son really means to him

Ted couldn't escape Tinky's plan for him because he was too jaded to make a genuine connection with a woman.

Linda was eaten by Nibbly because she didn't have a loving connection with her father, because her father always made her believe that she was never good enough, because this mindset led her to take for granted the connections she did have in her life.

The world no longer cares about us. We have to care for each other. It's the only thing we have left

[porty]

for my starlight

SUMMARY: yn is being stalked by an unknown person who goes by the name “dimming star”. after seeing her for the first time at a film festival, their obsession grows with every cryptic message they send. her friends try to protect her, but dimming star just won’t let go.

CONTENTS & WARNINGS: please note this story is about stalking, if that is a topic that makes you feel uncomfortable. please take care of yourself and please do not read! most definitely out of character || crack (for like a chapter) || influencers || dark humor (kys/kms jokes) || drama || slow burn :^) (with someone in the friend group!!) || ig a thriller idk || lowercase is used intentionally || i’ll add more as the story continues…

STATUS: ONGOING updates will be every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays

PLAYLIST: each chapter is a song ;’)

Index

Please note anything with ✴︎ will contain a written part!

the core 5 || who?✴︎

1. voulez-vous✴︎ 2. tonight you belong to me

3. we belong together✴︎ 4. le monde✴︎

extra 1: love me, love me✴︎ 5. sinking boat

6. ashes to ashes 7. oblivion✴︎

8. haunted 9. hey kids

10. talking in your sleep 11. tag, you’re it✴︎

12. creep 13. burning pile✴︎

14. (don’t fear) the reaper✴︎ extra 2: useless kid✴︎

15. dark necessities 16. teen idle

17. invisible 18. break on through (to the other side)

19. psycho killer 20. little dark age

21. oh ana extra 3: the contortionist✴︎

22. house of the rising sun extra 4: losing my religion✴︎

25. california dreamin’✴︎

Taglist: @aionishoh || @inojinieeee || @rinniebinniebay || @twilightsumu || @dremerys || @thatmf-jay || @amvpk01 || @yxruxp

@porty || do not plagiarise or translate any of my work. I do not own any of the Blue Lock characters all rights goes to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura.

[icey--stars]

Azris request prompt 4: forgetting an important date

Imagine it's Azriel's birthday and Eris forgets because he is so swamped with work and court stuff. Eris remembers a week later when someone mentions one of the gifts they gave Az and Eris is HORRIFIED!!! (Drama queen fr)

Man is literally heartbroken because how could he forget his MATE'S special day and he is all up in his head about being a terrible, neglectful mate (cue thoughts about Beron- we all know realistically anyone's head would go there-- also cue do I look like himmmm?????) - sorry I had to go there

Meanwhile Az is literally so understanding like darling, chill it literally doesn't matter I still love you 😚

You can choose if you want to lean slightly into the angst +fluff side or just pure fluff (I just love the dynamics of Eris/Beron because you know that man is still haunting our boy even when he's dead)

Hope you like the idea

-🎉

Amber

Eris overreacts a little when he learns he missed his mate's birthday. But hey, puppies are cute. - 2k words.

A/N: I took some creative liberties and let the brain word vomit on page while still hitting your points. enjoy XD

The “Vanefire” is like the miniature version of a chinese dragon (with little feets), and a Pterolycus is literally just a feather-winged wolf. (this is said in the writing, but I’m putting it here anyway.)

TW: Self-depreciation, Mentioned domestic abuse

{ original prompt list }

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Eris straightened his jacket out as he winnowed to the usual meeting place for Cassian and him. Even with Azriel as his mate, it seemed their benevolent High Lord still needed more contact with him. Luckily, over the years, these meetings had grown to be much more pleasant than the usual intimidation and insults. In fact, it’d grown into more of a reunion of sorts. Eris and Cassian weren’t family per se, but they were growing into more friends.

Cassian was already waiting, leaning up against a nearby tree. He grinned when Eris appeared at last. “Been busy, eh?” The male teased.

Eris shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered.

Cassian huffed a soft laugh. “How’s Az? He missed dinner last week.”

“Content,” Eris answered. “And somehow getting more persuasive by watching my hounds’ puppy eyes.”

The winged male burst out in a laugh. “Guess he has to learn the art somehow,” the male joked. “How’d he like that dagger I gave him for his birthday?”

Eris froze for a split second. Birthday? What? Azriel had a- Fuck. There was a new dagger that his mate had been carrying around on his hip with some gold accents on its sheathe. Azriel seemed to have taken a liking to it but Eris, the fucking dumbass that he is, didn’t seem to thing where the fuck he got it.

Nervously, he laughed it off, brushing his hair back, but in a way yanking it to strangle himself for forgetting Azriel’s fucking birthday in the midst of his work. “Yeah, he’s been carrying it around a lot. Seen him shining it with some new oils too,” Eris responded calmly.

Cassian nodded, seemingly accepting that answer. Fuck.

Eris suddenly stood at attention, acting as if he’d just had a realization. “Fuck, Cass, I’ve got to cut this meeting short. Forgot I had a council-”

“Oh, go on,” Cassian said, chuckling and waving him off. “I really only come down this way for the nice flight anyway.”

Eris nodded with a strained smile. “Have a good day,” he said in a rush and then winnowed right into his and Azriel’s bedroom in the Forest House. How long had it been since his birthday? Eris glanced around. There was one day where Azriel seemed to be more joyful than usual about three days ago and that was when he saw the dagger at first-

FUCK.

He immediately winnowed out when he heard Azriel knocking on the door, likely already sensing him come home early. He went to the markets, panting terribly as he threw up a useless glamor. How had he forgotten his own mate’s birthday?! He felt so neglectful. How could he get himself so caught up in his work that he forgot to even pay attention to Azriel’s fucking birthday.

He had to make this right. That was about his only thought right about now. But how the absolute fuck was he meant to “make it right” when he forgot his mate’s fucking birthday. It felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out if he had to be honest as guilt tore him apart.

It was like Beron. Eris never once knew a celebration for anyone’s honor set up by Beron except for the man’s own selfish fuckery. He was neglectful like his father to his mate. To his mate. He had been trying so hard to be better. To not be the neglectful, abusive, hateful asshole that Beron was. But here he was, turning into the male just like Beron always said he would.

Eris paused at a puddle when he spotted something eerily familiar.

Fuck, he even looked like the male. That was probably even worse. His mothers and brothers probably only saw Beron in him. He’d been trying, but clearly it was useless since he was just inherently as bad as his father. Fate was never kind to the Vanserras it seemed.

He went rushing through the markets, trying to think of anything to give Azriel as a gift. Anything to prove his useless worth to the male who’d been so fucking kind despite everything Eris had done. Truly, he found nothing that seemed good enough to give the male. His mind was running on reserves already but he refused to stop. What in the world could he get his mate?

Not daggers. That was everyone’s gift to a warrior. Something sentimental? No, Eris wasn’t exactly known for that kind of thing. Something interesting to capture his mate’s attention? No, that would likely be a book and Eris was not giving his mate a fucking book for his birthday. A fucking puppy? He thought, becoming more desperate by the second.

He paused.

A puppy.

That may work. The puppy may be cute enough that Azriel wouldn’t immediately choke him to death. Maybe enough time for Eris to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. What kind of puppy? All of the Ghosthound breeders he knew of were on break so the dogs weren’t being treated like shit. Was there some other type of cute animal that could work? Did anyone train ravens around here? But Azriel already had his shadows. Plus, the male seemed to like his Ghosthounds more anyway than any bird. It may be good that a raven could fly however…

He groaned as he slumped against the back of a house, huffing in annoyance with himself.

He jumped violently when a voice came from his left. A familiar male was standing there. Hue, his brother.

“And what is my brother doing?” Hue mused playfully.

Eris groaned as he just pressed his hands into his face. “Do you know any animals that can fly but aren’t some trained fucking bird?”

Hue raised a brow. “Why? Are you looking for a new pet obsession?”

“No,” Eris mumbled.

“Then what?” Hue asked, his voice a little softer as he slid down the wall to sit beside Eris.

“Azriel,” Eris merely answered roughly. “His fucking birthday was a few days ago and apparently, I’m as bad as Beron at remembering to give my fucking mate a gift for a holiday like that.”

Hue scoffed. “Eris, Beron wouldn’t be having an anxiety attack behind the markets because of this,” Hue reminded him with a bit of amusement in his tone. “So, you’re looking for a gift?”

“Yes,” Eris muttered. “A pet seemed like a nice idea.”

Hue hummed. “You’re not wrong. It would be incredibly adorable to see that scary male that you call your mate with a little puppy trailing at his feet.”

“I won’t get him some pet to look at,” Eris muttered. “It has to have some sort of use.”

“You might be in luck then. The coastal port has a trader with continental animals for sale,” Hue mused. “Wanna go check it out together?”

Eris sighed, forcing his body to calm. “Yes,” he said and reached out a hand for Hue. They winnowed to the market square of the largest coastal port they had. Hue was immediately leading him through the crowd of people and then stopping right before a trader who had cages galore with animals he’d never seen before.

Eris tilted his head as he examined the animals. He was surprised to find so many winged variants among them.

“Hello sir,” Hue interrupted. The trader turned and then went pale when he spotted them both and coughed, waving away the person they’d been having a conversation with earlier.

“High Lord, and Lord Hue,” The trader said respectfully. “Welcome to my stand of continental treasures.”

“We’re interested in the animals you have for sale,” Hue explained. “Have anything interesting that can fly?”

The trader perked up and smiled. “Indeed! We have many creatures available that can fly! I have a phoenix egg that can hatch under the right conditions for the right person; a Vanefire, the long skinny winged snake creature over there; and a Pterolycus pup which is a winged wolf.”

Eris raised his brow as he glanced at the Vanefire first. It only snarled at him viciously.

“Ah, yeah. Those don’t make good cuddlers unless you raise ‘em from the egg,” The trader admitted with a chuckle.

“Where’s this pup?” Eris asked.

The trader perked up immediately and then leaned down to reach into a box underneath the tables and brought up the most adorable gray wolf pup with large feathered wings sprouting from its shoulders. “Pterolycus,” The trader repeated. “Commonly pack creatures, but this one was found next to its dead mother I’m afraid…”

Eris hummed and reached to take the pup from the trader’s hands. He cradled it in his arms for a moment where the pup instantly cuddled up close to the warmth. Then he held it in front of his face and couldn’t help the little grin on his face when the pup licked his nose.

“How much?” Eris asked. This would do. Cute. Could fly. Fit in with his pack and likely only needed a little bit of extra care for the pup’s wings. He could ask the Dawn Court Peregryns if he needed to know more.

The trader listed off numbers and Eris only bartered with him a little before settling on a price. Soon enough, he was hesitantly walking through the halls of the Forest House with the little wolf pup cradled to his chest.

Azriel’s shadows came out from their hiding, curiously rolling over the creature. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward determinedly into their shared bedroom. “Azriel-” he began.

Azriel was instantly sitting up from where he was on the bed. “Where the hell have you been?” The male demanded.

“Uhm…” Eris hesitated. “Picking up your birthday gift?” He responded and then quickly handed over the cute wolf pup.

Azriel made a slight noise of alarm before he grabbed a hold of the wolf securely and looked down at it before looking up at Eris.

“This is what you’ve been panicking about since your meeting with Cass?” Azriel asked incredulously.

“I was not panicking-” Eris began defensively.

“And you forget you practically scream your emotions down the bond when you’re stressed,” Azriel interrupted. “Don’t lie, Eris. Why so worried?”

Eris sighed and silently considered actually going to his knees in front of his mate. He decided against it, but began in a shameful tone, keeping his head down and eyes averted, “Because I forgot your birthday.”

Azriel scoffed and Eris lifted his head in alarm. “That’s what has kept you in a fit all day? Eris, I’m over five-hundred years old. I didn’t even know you knew my birthday.”

Eris raised a brow. “But-” he began.

“No buts,” Azriel interrupted. “I’m flattered that you care, but there was no reason to worry that much.”

“But Cassian got you a gift,” Eris protested.

“And? The asshole does it as a joke every year,” Azriel said, chuckling softly. “Always gets one good gift and then manages to prank me within the week with it. I’m still awaiting it.”

Eris was flabbergasted. “So… you’re not mad?” He asked.

“Eris, I love you. This puppy is adorable, but the gift wasn’t anything to worry about, fireheart,” Azriel replied, petting the wolf pup gently. “This is probably the best gift I’ve gotten in centuries, Eris.”

Eris felt a little inflated at those words and sighed in relief. “I’m still sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve been so caught up in my work I’ve been practically neglecting you.”

“Eris, you’re doing good work. I don’t feel neglected. Get that through your beautiful head,” Azriel said sternly. “Now, how about we welcome this little guy to the family instead?”

Eris perked up and nodded. “It’s a Pterolycus from the continent according to the trader,” he explained. “A winged wolf. This one was found by its dead mother.”

“Aw,” Azriel cooed and petted the pup more as if comforting it. “Poor little thing. I bet Percy will happily take it.”

“Her,” Eris noted with a smile. “Figured you might be happy to have a flying buddy later.”

Azriel chuckled. “Very thoughtful, Eris. Thank you.” He leaned forward to kiss Eris gently.

So, maybe Eris had overreacted a tiny bit. But they did get a new family member out of the deal. And Percy already fell in love with the little pup. They’d decided to name her Amber after her eyes that were brighter than any of Eris’s other pups.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies, @skyesayshi, @lilah-asteria,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468

@irithiadourden :)

[cupidzgf]

FACETIME | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: have you seen those tiktoks with girls talking about how they've been "traumatized" on facetime because their boyfriends said, "keep talking" while secretly getting off to their girlfriend's voice over an innocent call? let me set the scene for you…

contents: mdni, nsfw, afab reader, male masturbation, a little bit of sub satoru, voice kink, basically one-sided phone sex, lmk if i missed anything, w/c: 1.5k

SATORU lies on facetime with you in the late hours of the night. he's been across the country for the past two weeks due to a cursed womb (or so he says; you never understand what he is talking about). so you two settled for calling one another any night he was available, even though he loved to rub, "aww, did you miss me, sweetheart? i bet you're bedridden with sadness over my departure," in your face.

week two comes to a close on saturday night, and still, he's stuck with another sorcerer he claims "gets in the way of his technique" and is "virtually useless." you try to remind him to be kind, but it goes in one ear and right out the other.

he had already recounted his day to you, albeit tiredly, but he filled you in with the same happy-go-lucky attitude you're used to from his luxurious hotel bed as he turned his attention to you for you to do the same. throughout your recollection of the past three days, he grows increasingly antsy, fidgeting too much for it to be nothing. his phone constantly scrapes against the bed sheets as he adjusts the angle, but you don't comment on it, more focused on how nice it is to talk to him after three days since your last call.

no matter how much gojo is gone, it never ceases to leave a hollow hole in your chest, crawling with pits of negative emotions. knowing bits and pieces of the danger he faces does nothing to ease your worried consciousness over his well-being when he's away. he knows this and does well to accommodate the loneliness and anxiety that follows his absence, ensuing these calls when he can. not that he isn't as obsessed with you as you are with him, but he's more considerate than most people give him credit for.

you continue recounting the details of work and its latest drama, something satoru is usually very attentive to. in his line of work, drama comes in a much different form, which is why you assume that yours is a distraction from his. yet his lack of response begins to raise warning flags. his typically energetic and reassuring demeanor is replaced by eerie silence. questions about his behavior start to filter and infiltrate your scrambling thoughts.

it was easy to assume that it was your fault. maybe he was tired and didn't want to hear you ramble? perhaps he doesn't want to be rude and tell you to shut up? what if you're annoying or boring him? even as he's assured you hundreds of times before how he loves to hear you talk and share your life with him, the insecure part of your mind starts to turn on you with bared teeth and fangs.

as you finish your sentence, a beat of silence passes, and you wait with bated breath for a huff of laughter that never comes. he doesn't respond, heavy breathing filtering through your phone's speakers so quietly you have to strain your ears to hear it. you furrow your eyebrows, biting your nails as the silence stretches on.

"toru?" you softly ask, tilting your phone screen to get a better angle of the dark room staring back at you through the screen. the hotel room provided little in the way of light.

"yeah?" he replies, his voice strained with a tinge of breathlessness.

"are you okay? you're not injured, right?"

a shaky hum vibrates your phone ever so slightly, and you catch a glimpse of his spikes of white hair in the darkness. "yeah…yeah, sweet cheeks, just keep talkin' f'me, alright?" i'm close, goes unspoken, but he's too focused on the sound of your voice that could have only been gifted by the heavens and his hard, leaking cock to dwell further.

it's been two weeks, and he feels like he will go insane before the semi-grade 1 he's supposed to supervise exercises the curse.

suguru had recommended that the kid be moved to a grade 1 sorcerer, which was fine with him. he didn't interact with his juniors often but figured his calmer other half had a plan. why should he care? that was until he'd been put on assignment with him to exorcise a special grade halfway across the country, and suddenly, he cared a whole fucking lot.

it had only been because of suguru and leiri that he didn't whine and complain until they assigned someone else about why he, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, was given something so….so….(suguru hadn't let him finish the sentence before he was given a cold glare). but the old bastards had a way of making his life hell, and now he was left to sleep in a rundown hotel (the kid insisted it was the fanciest thing he'd ever seen), pent-up and irritated out of his mind.

you, however, had been his saving grace when after a particularly long day, you called him. sporting the cute pajama set he likes to smack your ass in, how was he not supposed to find your voice attractive? i mean, come on, he hadn't even had time to jerk off in those two weeks; what was he supposed to do? not as quietly as possible, take his cock out of his pants?

at your end of the call, his out-of-character attitude makes you suspicious. however, for the sake of conversation, you attempt to brush it off until it hits you, and you pause for your next word. "what are you doing?"

silence. you are met with piercing silence and then an unsteady chuckle. you can imagine him shaking his head as he clears his throat uncomfortably. "listening to you, whad'ya ask?"

"you're really quiet…and i can't see you. if you don't want to listen to me, just say so," you murmur softly, delicately even. the next second, there's a poorly concealed grunt, teetering on the edge of a whine. both of you pause at the same time, the humming of the air conditioning outrageously loud in the stillness that follows.

"fuck, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry. i just can't take it anymore." moaning, the vulgar sounds of wet slick fill the air, and it's then the realization comes crashing down.

your jaw slackens, utter shock overtaking your now stiff body. "what the fuck?" you breathe, astonished. "h-how long–"

"since you started talking," he strains, and the familiar build of an orgasm from his hand frantically pumping his length drenched in pre is a lewd sight. spreading his legs further from where he lies on the bed, he whines back, arching as the tightness in his balls makes him feverish, his cock impossibly hard. he's become desperate to hear you speak, pleading for you to give him that push off the edge and into the insanity of release. "oh, fuck, keep going, please--"

"oh my god, you're such a perverted freak! i wasn't doing anything sexual, and you're beating your cock to my voice—"

he knows he's depraved, but cumming to the sound of you degrading him over the phone has to be a new low. especially the way his pent-up release feels like heaven crashing over his body in a tidal wave and sweeping him off his feet. he moans, shuddering with a sweet cry when you gasp in that cute voice of yours as you realize he came.

panting, satoru slumps on the bed, his hand and the bedsheets drenched in his seed. his eyes follow the mess he made to his phone, where spurts of sticky white land where your face is on the screen.

"you're sick." he knows you don't actually mean that. you're just in shock, right? turned on? maybe you'll even take off your pants, and he can get a glimpse of that sweet pussy… "i'm breaking up with you."

satoru is violently ripped out of his lust-filled fantasy as he grabs his phone in a flurry, cringing at how his fingers stick and smear over the metal. "no, no, no, no. i'm sorry, pretty baby; i didn't mean to make you mad."

pouting, a face that he knows garners your sympathy, he attempts to coo his words in a sickly sweet, desperate voice he knows you love. "i've just been so pent up without you and your pussy that i couldn't help myself. you were being so good for me, i couldn't hold it in anymore. :("

he holds the camera to his face, praying it captures not only the sad tone but also his frown and sad eyes of apology. "i'll be better next time, sweet girl, i promise."

your eyes move across your face before you stand and pace around your shared room, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "i hate you," you murmur, and his face lightens up with an ear-splitting grin as you grumble about how he could have at least done it with you. all was forgiven as far as he was concerned.

"ugh, you're disgusting. just… go clean up." sighing, you sit back on the bed, side-eyeing him when he doesn't move.

he perks up, grinning as his following retort comes to mind. "only if you talk me through it."

automated beeps from the now-ended call are the only things that reply.

©2023 cupidzgf. do not copy, translate, modify, or repost my content onto other sites without my permission

[saerotonins]

jotaro and boobies

ft. kujo jotaro x gn!reader (headcanons + scenario)

content warnings: 4taro, fluff, jotaro being a cute pookie, suggestive (? but just to be sure), reader has boobs, just some corny shit i decided to write, not beta read

wc: 1127

while i definitely agree that he's a thigh man, he appreciates boobies too!

any size, any kind, his hands WILL fit

sometimes or most of the time it's not even sexual, he just likes to touch them because he likes the feel of them

a free stress ball for him if you will

at this point your bras are useless, what's the point of having them when his hands are RIGHT THERE

would be willing to be your bra if he could tbh

he's kinda obsessed with them and would be glad if you're down to prance around your shared apartment with no top on

on a particularly really stressful day, he just wants to lay his hands on your boobies and call it a day

maybe squish them but not too much

would probably fall asleep while he holds them

the hold he has on them is really comfortable, this man's hands are the perfect cups (hah, see what i did there, ok bye)

jotaro came home later than usual due to some deadlines that he had to catch from office. while this is not unusual, today is particularly draining for him since his research partner decided to be more difficult than they were before.

"you're still awake," was the first thing he said the moment he entered the door. the sight before him is welcoming and cozy. with you sitting comfortably on the couch with your pajamas and socks and the comforter hanging around really made you look inviting. immediately, he somehow felt his shoulders lighten up a bit.

his voice made you look in his direction and he could clearly see how happy you were to finally see him home, safe and sound. these are the mundane things he looks forward to every day. the domesticity makes his heart full and happy, and while he'd be damned to admit it out loud, it's something that he wouldn't trade for the world. 

you stood up and walked up to him to greet him with a chaste kiss on the lips, "welcome home, darling, food's waiting for you in the dining table, come?" jotaro nods to your invitation. you held his hands as you gently guide jotaro towards the dining room. the patter of your sock-clad feet as you walk sounds relaxing, he thinks. 

"the food is a little cold but we can heat it up," you said as you sat, "this is fine, i'm starving," you knew what he said is extremely true since you noticed that he immediately inhaled the food served in front of him. 

jotaro must have noticed that despite being seated with him, you were not eating, "why aren't you eating?" he asked out of concern.

"i already ate a while ago, i just want to make sure you'll have a hearty dinner since you seem tired when you came in," your answer made pause as he chewed his food.

he cannot believe how lucky he got. if he told his teenage self that he would find love that will wait for him until the sun sets and prepare him a meal ready to eat when he comes home, dote on him on the regular and makes him feel special, he would've been beaten up. 

"something wrong, dear?" 

your voice seems to snap jotaro out of his thoughts. he shakes his head and continues on with his dinner.

by bedtime, jotaro settles himself in bed while trying to read a book. while the dinner and shower he had earlier somehow let some tension out, he cannot help but feel like it's not enough. something is still weighing his heart down and he couldn't shake it away even if he tries.

the comfortable silence in your bedroom is suddenly interrupted by your phone.

"what's that?" 

"oh, i'm just watching a drama that i started yesterday," 

jotaro hummed as acknowledgment. while he would like to stay up with you and keep up with your interests, the yawn he let out thinks otherwise. 

"you should sleep now sweetheart, you're pretty tired today, i'll wear my earphones so you won't get bothered," you didn't hear an answer from him, instead, you felt him shift on the bed and put his arms around your waist. a smile was brought up on your face. such a simple gesture yet you know it's jotaro's way of saying that he appreciates you even in his worst days.

a few minutes passed, the silent whirl of your air conditioner enveloped your room. while all is well and cozy, jotaro still couldn't help but feel like something is missing. exhaustion from his body telling him to sleep, the warmth of your body beside his, the early call time that he has to meet tomorrow, yet none of those things were enough to make him fall asleep.

until jotaro had an idea. 

he initially thinks it's stupid but it's worth a try.

while you were focused on the show that you were watching, you felt jotaro poking your shoulders. 

"what's wrong, why aren't you asleep yet?" you asked jotaro while you take your earphones off.

there was a slight pause in the air and you swear you feel the hesitation but opt to let him speak once he's ready.

"can i– can i touch your breast?" jotaro feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. he feels like a stupid teenager for asking such a ridiculous request.

while you were shocked to say the least, entertaining a simple request from your beloved shouldn't be a problem

"okay," jotaro could practically hear the amusement on your voice but he couldn't care less. once the green light is given to him, you can feel his calloused yet gentle hands go under your shirt and towards your boobs.

you feel him cup you breast gently, "is this fine?" you gave him a subtle nod. it's actually quite comfortable, you thought. his hands provided warmth and his hold is gentle enough not to hurt you, like his hand is a mold of your bosom.

you can hear jotaro release a sigh of relief in your ear and felt him cuddle closer towards you.

the two of you stayed that way while you continuously watch your show until some time, you felt his hold from your chest loosen, indicating that he finally fell asleep.

you smile at the thought and decided to close your phone and shut your eyes, ready to meet jotaro in your dreams.

ever since that faithful night, jotaro always asks if he could touch your breasts from time to time while you cuddle or take a nap if his day gets too overwhelming for him.

and you couldn't be any happier to oblige to his request.

[luinhealthcare]

(hey so remember way back when I asked about what the boys were learning and brady arrhythmias came up? and I said I was willing to learn about those too? yeah so you can save this ask for whenever you'd like but like I am Down to learn more from the boyos)

Content warning: detailed discussion about IVs and needles

“Twi, if you’re gonna be floated to the ED so much, you need to act like a legit ED tech,” Warriors huffed, waving a hand. “Honestly, it’s just sad that you can’t start IVs.”

“EMTs don’t do IVs in the field,” Twilight fired back grumpily. “You can’t expect me to use a skill I never learned! And I can’t help that they keep floating me down here.”

“Tsk, don’t be so annoyed about it, you love being with us,” Warriors replied with a snort. “We’re far more exciting.”

“Also fewer kids.” Legend shuddered. “I hate pediatrics.”

“You don’t like kids?” Twilight asked before thinking about it. “Yeah, you know what, that sounds about right. They’d be too honest about your grouchy demeanor.”

Warriors wheezed while Legend glared at his friend. “Shut up! I mean I don’t want to deal with them being sick and hurt. I don’t have a bunch of experience with pediatrics, anyway.”

“That’s fair,” Twilight conceded. “But the point is, the advanced providers did the IVs, not me. I’m just a basic EMT.”

“Well, you’re gonna learn IVs now,” Warriors clapped his hands together. “If you’re stuck with us enough, we’re going to put you to work!”

Twilight hummed, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Is this even allowed?”

“Dude, EMTs start IVs all the time in the ED,” Legend explained. “Wars isn’t wrong.”

“Well… fine.” Twilight finally conceded, shrugging. “What do I need to know?”

Warriors and Legend smiled at each other conspiringly. Five minutes later, the pair had managed to snag supplies for starting a line and a victim.

Twilight stared at Wild. “How’d they rope you into this?”

“Legend said he’d taken me to the fancy restaurant we talked about the other day,” Wild answered cheerfully, holding his arm out. “Now hop to it already!”

“W-wait, I don’t even know what I’m doing!” Twilight waved his friend off, swatting his arm away.

“All right, the first thing you need to know about starting an IV is what to look for,” Legend explained. “Doesn’t matter what you use if you can’t find a suitable vein.”

“Now, you have to understand this about veins,” Warriors continued as he showed his own arm. “They have personalities, they have good and bad days, they have their own drama and problems.”

“Veins have drama,” Twilight repeated, deadpan, while Wild wheezed.

“Okay, but I’ve got to hear the tea from Twi’s veins,” Wild laughed. “What—what even constitutes as vein drama, Wars?”

“Lots of things,” Warriors answered, grabbing Legend’s arm, causing his friend to yelp. “For example, Legend’s constantly dehydrated, so his veins are probably on strike and in hiding.”

“Hey!”

Warriors then pointed at a vein popping out of his own arm. “I, on the other hand, have veins that are clear as day because I hydrate.”

“That’s not tea,” Wild grumbled, rolling his eyes. “What if Twilight’s arm vein is best friends with his wrist vein but then his arm vein is secretly best friends with his armpit vein and the wrist vein feels betrayed?”

“Alternatively, Twilight could be an illicit drug user and shoots up and his veins are destroyed as a result,” Legend cut in dully. “That’s vein drama.”

“The point,” Warriors said loudly, trying to redirect the conversation. “Is that you have to know what you’re looking for. Seeing a vein isn’t always the answer. Feeling them is the main thing.”

“Feeling them?” Twilight asked.

Legend grabbed a tourniquet and tied it around Wild’s arm. “Yeah. Good veins are bouncy. That means they have enough plumpness to them that you can use them to draw blood and give medicine. Those little spidery veins you see but can’t feel are useless for that. Putting a tourniquet on allows back pressure to build up in veins, which helps plump them up.”

“Does the hand pumping them do anything?” Wild asked as he flexed his fist.

Warriors shrugged. “Eh. Sometimes. Not always, though. Your biggest help is gravity and heat. If you’re having trouble finding a vein, put the tourniquet on and let the arm hang with that gravity helps blood not flow back to the heart in that extremity. It’s fighting an uphill battle trying to go up the arm, you know? Helps the blood pool in the vein.”

“Heat makes them pop up too,” Legend added.

“Veins love massages,” Warriors said, pointing a finger in the air like this was an important fact. “Rub the spot where you expect the veins to be, friction and heat bring them up.”

Twilight laughed as he poked around Wild’s arm with his finger. “I guess they do have personalities. A little.”

“AC is your best friend,” Legend said, pointing in the crook of Wild’s arm. “Bigger vein, closer to the skin, among the easier places to get access.”

“NO.”

Everyone turned to see Four approaching, hands on his hips.

“Do not put the IV in the AC,” Four argued. “Every time the patient bends their arm it cuts off the flow of whatever infusion is going into the IV because the catheter gets kinked!”

“Access is access,” Legend fired back, crossing his arms. “You go for whatever’s quickest and easiest. The point is to keep the patient alive, not worry about your IV pump beeping about an occlusion.”

“Can’t keep them alive if the IV pump is constantly stopping because of an occlusion!” Four snapped. “Upper arm is better!”

“You can hardly get an upper arm vein without ultrasound help,” Warriors rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for that.”

“I got a chest vein once,” Legend noted thoughtfully. “That was interesting.”

“Where’d you put the tourniquet??” Wild asked, eyes wide.

“If you say the neck, I’m punching you,” Twilight grumbled. “You know Wild would believe it.”

Legend cackled.

Warriors sighed, pulling the tourniquet off Wild. “Important to note you can’t keep the tourniquet on too long. Veins get impatient too. Especially on frailer patients. Older veins don’t last too long if you build up too much pressure. They just vanish. Find what you can and go for it.”

“Okay, so put on a tourniquet, look for a vein, look for a bounce because it’s about feel and not seeing it,” Twilight noted. “Then what?”

“Cleanse the site and pick the appropriate sized needle,” Warriors answered. “The size depends on situation and the patient. Traumas and strokes always get 18G at the smallest. Needles go by gauge size. The bigger the gauge, the smaller the needle. In other worlds, 18G is a bigger needle than 20G.”

“Anybody who needs to get contrast in CT has to have an 18G,” Four piped up.

“When in doubt, get an 18 if you can,” Legend summarized.

“Or a 16G,” Warriors smirked.

Legend gave his friend a side eye. “I remember that, you piece of sh—”

Twilight blinked. “Huh?”

Warriors eyes sparkled with delight, and Legend pushed him so hard he fell off his chair, the travel nurse hastily saying, “Don’t worry about it! We’re going to talk about angle of entry now!”

Four bit the inside of his cheek, knowing better than to aggravate Legend as he himself had run into a similar issue and he didn’t need the entire group to know. “Usually when you’re first inserting the needle you want to line it up with the vein, and the bevel—the hole—should be facing upward. The initial stick is at a forty-five degree angle. Basically as soon as you’ve broken the skin and gotten through, you level out so you’re slinking into the vein instead of stabbing through it. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Twilight nodded. “Then what?”

“You’re going to look for flash,” Legend explained as Warriors dragged himself back into his seat. “Flash is when you see blood in your needle. It’ll either show up in the catheter surrounding the needle or in the little box above the needle called the flash chamber. Depends on the needle make/model. But once you see that, it means you’re in. That’s when you thread the catheter off the needle and pull the needle out. Remember, the only time when a needle is in the patient is during the initial poke. After that the needle is pulled out and the catheter—basically a straw—is all that remains.”

“Now here’s the kicker,” Warriors said as he smoothed his hair. “Some needles are self occluding, and others are not. What that means is you have a straw in a vein pumping blood. An open straw. So if you don’t attach something to it that prevents back flow, you’re going to basically just bleed your patient out over a long time. Some needles prevent back flow until you attach IV sets to it. Others don’t. So to avoid making a giant mess and making your patient pass out, know which one you’re using.”

Wild groaned, leaning back in his seat. “So are you going to stick me or not, I want to eat!”

Twilight bit his lip. “I don’t know if I… I mean, I definitely would rather not let Wild be the first person I poke.”

“We’ll get a training arm,” Legend said easily. “Or you can poke Wars as many times as you like.”

“Hey!”

Four waved the tourniquet in the air like a flag. “When you’re done with everything—attached the extension set, flushed and seen blood return and all that jazz—do not forget to remove the tourniquet.”

“Wait, but we haven’t talked about the extension set,” Twilight said, baffled.

Wild huffed, rising. “That’s it, I’m starting an IV on myself.”

“Oh my gosh, Wild, fine! We’ll go eat!” Legend rolled his eyes while Twilight laughed. “Honestly, you’re such a glutton!”

[briechyne]

I Did Nothing All Day

Well, except for binge-watching a ton of K-dramas that I’ve been putting off for weeks.

The luxury of doing absolutely nothing feels like a reward after spending an entire week running around, being everywhere and anywhere.

I made a promise to myself that at least once a week, I would stay at home and avoid going out—simply because I hate it. Or rather, I love the comfort of my home. Of course, it does get boring sometimes, which is why, during the week, I squeeze in moments to go café-hopping to study, meticulously plan my hours, take a walk along the boulevard, or visit the park after class. I need that time to decompress and let my mind breathe.

Speaking of the park, I love sitting there with my iPad. I don’t carry physical books—mainly because of their weight. Let’s be honest, they’re heavy, and my bag is already burdened with enough stuff. So, my iPad it is. But sometimes, I do miss the feel of flipping through actual pages. The crisp sound of turning a page, the scent of a new book, the satisfaction of seeing how far you’ve read—it’s something digital reading can’t fully replicate. Maybe one day, I’ll go back to carrying at least one paperback with me, but for now, my iPad is my best companion.

Today was unexpectedly great.

The sun was out, the weather was perfect. I woke up at 8 AM, binged all the K-dramas I’ve been meaning to watch, and finally tackled all the content work I’ve been delaying for months because, well, being a student is exhausting. Some tasks just need to be prioritized.

The funny thing is, even though I spent my entire day just lounging around, I still felt productive in a way. Watching K-dramas isn’t just about entertainment for me—it’s also about storytelling, character development, and emotions. There’s something so engaging about diving into different worlds, experiencing different perspectives, and living through the highs and lows of fictional characters. And the best part? No stress, no deadlines, no expectations. Just pure escapism.

In other words, Delulu.

I’m joking.

I’m not exactly proud of spending the whole day lying down, but given that I wake up early, go to university, juggle endless projects, and constantly feel drained, I think I deserved it.

Honestly, I’m not ready to go back to uni on Monday. Mentally, I need a break.

You know that feeling when you haven’t done any physically demanding work, yet you’re exhausted? Like all you did was sit through classes, stare at notes, and somehow, you’re still completely drained?

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

Next week already feels overwhelming, and I don’t even want to think about it.

I just…

Ha…

I need a vacation with a view of the mountains right now.

Or maybe a cozy cabin in the woods, where I can wrap myself in a warm blanket, sip on hot cocoa, and just exist in peace. No responsibilities, no noise, no obligations. Just me, nature, and the quiet hum of a world that isn’t rushing me to keep up. That sounds like a dream right now.

Anyway, I hope you had a productive week. And if you’re a student like me, I see you. We’re all tired. We all feel like giving up sometimes. But whatever your dreams may be, a degree is still important. I don’t care what billionaires say about degrees being useless—sure, you might find a career path unrelated to your studies, but having that degree gives you something to fall back on.

It’s not necessarily an “advantage,” but it’s a safety net. And in this world, sometimes, that’s enough.

Even though I complain a lot about school, I do recognize that education is a privilege. Not everyone gets the opportunity to learn, to pursue a career, or to have choices about their future. It’s easy to forget that when you’re drowning in assignments, but I try to remind myself that this temporary exhaustion is leading somewhere. Somewhere that, hopefully, will be worth it in the end.

So if you’re struggling too, just know you’re not alone. We’re all in this together, and one day, we’ll look back at this phase of our lives and be proud of how far we’ve come.

Get my point?

Have a wonderful day, friends! And if you’re feeling exhausted like me, take a break—you deserve it.

Want More?

Thanks for reading my thoughts on missing out! If you enjoy my ramblings, reflections, and general overthinking, you can find more on Instagram and Patreon.

This blog isn’t behind a paywall because these are things I want to share freely. But if you’d like to support my writing, get early access to other posts, or see exclusive content (like commissioned moodboards and extra thoughts), check out my Patreon!

📷 Instagram: @briechyne ✨ Patreon: Lena Brie

Your support means a lot, whether it’s through Patreon, sharing my work, or just sticking around to read. 💙

And, yes, in this blog we have an Extended Edition. So, please, please, please, check that out!

[acediaedeus]

I just know coming off of the battle high after a spar with Ichigo makes Grimmjow a little bit dumb, and he’s suddenly all loose, and relaxed. a cat readying for a nap after eating a mouse it caught for lunch.

so obviously this state of his leads to some interesting revelations. because the first time Ichigo witnesses this abrupt relaxation he immediately goes into panic mode, and hurries over to check on Grimmjow. but all Ichigo gets when he grasps his forearm to pull the fucker up and get him into the healing spring, is a half-lidded look full of reverence and satisfaction, which hits him like a freight train, and makes him go dumb too. because, sure, he’s witnessed his fair share of Grimmjow’s satisfied looks. but all of them were marred by blood splattered across Grimmjow’s everything, coating his sword, his hands, a lot of the times his teeth (asshole loves taking a bite out of him), they were pure battle and blood thirstiness. this? this is wholly uncharted territory. it’s soft, and contented, and all around nothing like what Grimmjow is. and then it hits Ichigo that maybe he doesn’t know what Grimmjow is like at all. and then, for the first time in his life, he finds himself jealous, of all things. because there definitely someone that does know this side of his favourite Arrancar (there isn’t).

also, let it not be forgotten, that Ichigo’s kind of an idiot, at least when it comes to things that aren’t beating up thugs and gods, or Shakespearean tragedies and dramas. so it should be no surprise that this also happens to him. that just like Grimmjow, he too, becomes just a tiny but dumber. but instead of a cat that got the mouse, he’s more akin to a lizard basking on a sun-warmed rock.

revelations come from this too. and although at the start of their arrangement Grimmjow isn’t even close to being so nice as to help the asshole up, and make sure he’s fine, that doesn’t stop Ichigo from propping himself up on his elbows and beaming an absolutely blinding smile at Grimmjow, before passing the fuck out. and because Grimmjow is still unsure of what’s to happen now, and also not at all accustomed or prepared for human interaction, he thinks the bastard’s good will ran out already, and this is some pathetic last resort attack on his senses. but Kurosaki’s not moving, very obviously sleeping (and isn’t that an insane power move? “hey look, I’m so sure you’re not anywhere near my level, that I’m going to sleep right in front of you, my enemy.” downright mocking, how dare he). he opens a Garganta, and ditches as fast as his sonído will allow, before his brain even starts trying to find any other explanations as to what THAT was. he tries not to think about it, and swears to, from now on, leave before Kurosaki attempts any bullshit.

but the next time it happens some stupid curiosity wins out, and he stays, and he watches as the Shinigami does the whole routine all over again, and… Grimmjow suddenly can’t breathe, can’t take his wide (surely from fear) eyes off of Kurosaki’s prone figure, his face bursts into flames, his mouth runs dry, and that useless dead heart in his chest beats out of rhythm. whatever he’s doing, whatever that attack is, it’s working, and Grimmjow better get away fast.

later, much later, Grimmjow will realise that the reaction he, at first, classified as a symptom of poisoning, was him falling in love with the way Kurosaki’s permanently scowling face stretches out in an expression of pure joy just for him to see.

[theextendedbriechyne]

I Did Nothing All Day

Well, except for binge-watching a ton of K-dramas that I’ve been putting off for weeks.

The luxury of doing absolutely nothing feels like a reward after spending an entire week running around, being everywhere and anywhere.

I made a promise to myself that at least once a week, I would stay at home and avoid going out—simply because I hate it. Or rather, I love the comfort of my home. Of course, it does get boring sometimes, which is why, during the week, I squeeze in moments to go café-hopping to study, meticulously plan my hours, take a walk along the boulevard, or visit the park after class. I need that time to decompress and let my mind breathe.

Speaking of the park, I love sitting there with my iPad. I don’t carry physical books—mainly because of their weight. Let’s be honest, they’re heavy, and my bag is already burdened with enough stuff. So, my iPad it is. But sometimes, I do miss the feel of flipping through actual pages. The crisp sound of turning a page, the scent of a new book, the satisfaction of seeing how far you’ve read—it’s something digital reading can’t fully replicate. Maybe one day, I’ll go back to carrying at least one paperback with me, but for now, my iPad is my best companion.

Today was unexpectedly great.

The sun was out, the weather was perfect. I woke up at 8 AM, binged all the K-dramas I’ve been meaning to watch, and finally tackled all the content work I’ve been delaying for months because, well, being a student is exhausting. Some tasks just need to be prioritized.

The funny thing is, even though I spent my entire day just lounging around, I still felt productive in a way. Watching K-dramas isn’t just about entertainment for me—it’s also about storytelling, character development, and emotions. There’s something so engaging about diving into different worlds, experiencing different perspectives, and living through the highs and lows of fictional characters. And the best part? No stress, no deadlines, no expectations. Just pure escapism.

I’m not exactly proud of spending the whole day lying down, but given that I wake up early, go to university, juggle endless projects, and constantly feel drained, I think I deserved it.

Honestly, I’m not ready to go back to uni on Monday. Mentally, I need a break.

You know that feeling when you haven’t done any physically demanding work, yet you’re exhausted? Like all you did was sit through classes, stare at notes, and somehow, you’re still completely drained?

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

Next week already feels overwhelming, and I don’t even want to think about it.

I just…

Ha…

I need a vacation with a view of the mountains right now.

Or maybe a cozy cabin in the woods, where I can wrap myself in a warm blanket, sip on hot cocoa, and just exist in peace. No responsibilities, no noise, no obligations. Just me, nature, and the quiet hum of a world that isn’t rushing me to keep up. That sounds like a dream right now.

Anyway, I hope you had a productive week. And if you’re a student like me, I see you. We’re all tired. We all feel like giving up sometimes. But whatever your dreams may be, a degree is still important. I don’t care what billionaires say about degrees being useless—sure, you might find a career path unrelated to your studies, but having that degree gives you something to fall back on.

It’s not necessarily an “advantage,” but it’s a safety net. And in this world, sometimes, that’s enough.

Even though I complain a lot about school, I do recognize that education is a privilege. Not everyone gets the opportunity to learn, to pursue a career, or to have choices about their future. It’s easy to forget that when you’re drowning in assignments, but I try to remind myself that this temporary exhaustion is leading somewhere. Somewhere that, hopefully, will be worth it in the end.

So if you’re struggling too, just know you’re not alone. We’re all in this together, and one day, we’ll look back at this phase of our lives and be proud of how far we’ve come.

Get my point?

Have a wonderful day, friends! And if you’re feeling exhausted like me, take a break—you deserve it.

Want More?

Thanks for reading my thoughts on missing out! If you enjoy my ramblings, reflections, and general overthinking, you can find more on Instagram and Patreon.

This blog isn’t behind a paywall because these are things I want to share freely. But if you’d like to support my writing, get early access to other posts, or see exclusive content (like commissioned moodboards and extra thoughts), check out my Patreon!

📷 Instagram: @briechyne ✨ Patreon: Lena Brie

Your support means a lot, whether it’s through Patreon, sharing my work, or just sticking around to read. 💙

And, yes, in this blog we have an Extended Edition. So, please, please, please, check that out!

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

One thing that I absolutely love is how in those god awful light novels, the other characters tell other people how Bakugou's totally the best even though he could go kick rocks.

"Forgiving was just a small deed for Midoriya." Kirishima, after being explicitly told that Izuku was a victim of Quirk related bullying at the hands of Bakugou. Then right after, Bakugou's behavior gets them kicked out of where they're studying... and Bakugou blames Izuku for this.

"Katsuki isn't Katsuki without his bad words." Uraraka, after a kid tells her that the way Bakugou treated her at the Sports Festival was wrong. She says he was taking her seriously, even though he clearly and explicitly wasn't.

*Also, Bakugou literally referred to people helping others solely out of kindness as "sickening", and explicitly compares his relationship with Izuku to Shoto and Endeavor's relationship... so take that however you want.

Oh god, the light novels and OVAs somehow make MHA worse. Remember how Shota paired Eri, a trauma victim, with Katsuki so that Katsuki could learn how to behave around kids? Or how about when Shota threw an entire building on his students as one of his ‘logical ruses’? Or maybe you remember that one Drama CD where some perverted dude takes control of four minors and has them sexually assault one another? There’s also that one time where Miruko called Izuku useless and praised Katsuki for his aggressive behavior…

Simply put, a lot of the bonus content for MHA really doesn’t make canon look any better. In fact, I’d say it makes things far worse.

Somehow Vigilantes made it out relatively fine though. In fact, I’d say it’s well written and enjoyable. If you want a series that treats its MC and side characters with respect, has a quirkless vigilante who’s tough as hell (bro destroyed Stain in a fight and kept up with Shota to the point where heprobably would’ve beaten him if the fight didn’t end), and neat villain ideas, then I’d recommend picking up Vigilantes.

[helluvapurf]

Thoughts on latest HB ep "Ghostf**kers" (*now that I've regained a bit more energy post-Halloween weekend lol*):

So the newest ep of HB has came & went from what I've seen- aaaand naturally feels like the best time for me to finally ramble about it now that its settled in my brain some more .3. Thoughts (+Spoilers) below~ NOTE: Most of this -does- get a lil rant-y below sooo... read at your own risk lol .w.;;

First things out of the way to start things off on a good note, the Pros:

To start off with... FINALLY we got some Millie focus for a major episode plot (-or more specifically, focus that doesn't get revolved back to Moxxie somehow lol)😭👏👏. Even if Millie's spotlight here did have to be shared with Blitz for a good chunk of the ep, their friendship was actually genuinely sweet & compelling to watch (esp. their backstory & how Millie was allowed to stand up for herself, give him space, BUT also coming around to acknowledging the good in Blitz, when it all came down to it🥺👏). Which ngl, after these previous episodes reigning down HARD on this dude... idk, just felt refreshingly wholesome to see for this series, yknow?😊

New villain Rolando was pretty cool, and surprisingly spooky to watch as the second-half went on oml- .o.;; While I'm still a teensy bit confused how his powers/demon lore work (at least to what we already know about Hell limitations crossing to the human world, ex. succubi & their crystals), his underwater monster vibe gave some fun visuals to watch up until the climax. I'm not 100% familiar with John Waters' works, but damnnn he should take up voice-acting more often ngl~ 👀

FINALLY MAMA TILLA MAKES AN (on-screen) APPEARANCE 😭😭Her whole vibe & Blitz's clear love and regret over what happened to her... hhhhh my whole heart ;n; 💔

That pink client lady (Rita, I think her name is?) who assigned the hotel mission? I dig her vibe, its cute~ :3

I.M.P. feeling like a legitimate workplace family for once, with even Loona & Moxxie getting a nice lil moment towards the end?? More. Of this. Please. 👌👌

Even with the lil undertones of the Stol*itz drama from the past couple eps, I very much appreciate Blitz (+the show itself) acknowledging that what's been going is NOT a breakup ('cause... yknow, they never actually dated to begin with lol🤷‍♀️). It may not 100% fix how messy that particular narrative's been handled as of late (which I'll get to in a sec-), but eh... its a start in the right direction, I guess? .3.

Enjoyed all the colorful flashback looks given, never would I have thought I needed mercenary!Millie with a fluffy ponytail til nowww hlkjlk😩❤️

Aaaand as for the not-so-good bits (imo), aka the Cons:

Pacing felt kiiiinda all-over-the-place, I'll admit; like one min we've got a whole intro & a half to deal with Blitz's whining fest (+some other pointless banter at the hotel)... then the next it feels like we're breezing past Rolando's whole presence as the "big bad" villain. Which... idk, I guess I shouldn't be too harsh on given the production drama behind-the-scenes (aka: the leaked content that had to be cut & redone awhile back)... buuuut yeah, its just one of those things you can't help but take notice of, critique-wise lol 🤷‍♀️

The humor wasn't... exactly at its strong point here, mainly just a lil overdone in the sex joke department imo though I guess thats kind of "par-for-the-course" in the Hellaverse series nowadays, so lol

Now, idk if this may be an unpopular opinion or not; but was I the only one who felt like Blitz's month-long mope fest over Stolas was rather... OOC, all things considered? .-. Like, okay its one thing for Blitz to still be (understandably) upset over how the last two eps went down (but being the "boss" he is, continues working anyway to keep I.M.P. afloat, like in the latest HB shorts)... but for Blitz of all people to just randomly use ALL his company's funds on useless junk, force his daughter Loona to stay up all night/not go home, drive Moxxie in a panic from all the budgeting issues this past month was just... wut- 🤦‍♀️ ...Mind you, this is meant to be the SAME Blitz who not even a few episodes ago begged Stolas to not take away the Grimoire (aka the key to his + his employee's livelihood), clearly being willing to do anything to not lose all that he holds dear. You seriously expect me to believe he'd be the type to throw that all away (for a WHOLE month)... all to simply whine over some blue-blooded bird not noticing him? ...Yeaaaaah sorry, but I'm gonna have to call bs on that, chief- 🙄

Kiiiinda tying in the last point, but as much as I enjoyed the tense thills gained from the "Rolando enters Blitz' mind to make him see his own flaws/past mistakes" sequence... I do have a few issues with some of these other "flashbacks" added to the mix: 1) Loona's groin kick towards Blitz in "Seeing Stars" (*wasn't Blitz's fault since ALL he did was tell her to be nice to clients... and was right about to apologize to Loona just seconds before the kick 😒*) 2) Blitz pushing Stolas' hand away in "Ozzies" (*which Blitz only did after Stolas hide his face/didn't defend Blitz during the song*) 3) Stolas' hurt expression at the end van scene of "Ozzie's" (*mind you, taking place while Blitz is rightfully standing up for himself/telling off Stolas for being a privileged creep all of S1*) 4) Stolas trying to present the Asmodean Crystal gift in "Full Moon" (*a whoooole mess in of itself I already covered prior-*) 5) Stolas angrily walking away from their pool fight + trash-talking Blitz in the "Motherf**kers" song + drunkenly dumping his problems on him + making out with a whole other dude in front of Blitz (*again, a huge mess I covered prior but TL;DR... most of that WASN'T fully-Blitz's fault in those instances??😑*)

Like... I dunno man, I don't mean to sound like I'm just ragging on Stolas per-episode as of late... but these last few points just keep giving me mixed signals than any genuine idea as to WHY Blitz even has these "feelings" growing for Stolas, atm?🤨For any canon couple in fiction, I WANT to see reasons for why they work best together, what kind of interests/aspects they've got in-common, what special "spark" is there that helps them stand out above all the other dynamics in-canon... but from what I see so far on Blitz's end (& the narrative continuing to guilt on him being "the problem")... it honestly feels more like he's only now fallen for Stolas out of pity... not because of any genuine affection or attraction :/ Which... ngl, sounds like a really sad precedent to send for a main-endgame couple, regardless of series genre imo... 🤷‍♀️

-------

Soooo yeah, all that rant-y rambling aside... not a bad ep in the grand scheme of things! 👍👍Here's hoping the last few remaining eps (+possible shorts) for S2 keeps up the good work! 🙏

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: After a sweet apology from Arthur your budding friendship grows! You have plans to meet Arthur outside of work for the first time, but must deal with some drama in your café first.

Content Warning: Mention of drinking, men being creepy, threats of violence.

Chapter 2: Headaches

Arthur's POV

It's been about a week since your social blunder at the café. You've been offering to go on hunting trips to avoid going into town. You would rather come face to face with a bear than make a fool of yourself in front of Y/N again. You kick yourself for being worried about his opinion of you in the first place. That shouldn't matter, why are you even thinking about it?

Luckily, you don't encounter any bears, but today's hunting trip with Charles was the most successful one you've had since you settled down in this spot. Everyone back at camp was elated. So elated that as the hearty deer stew was being served, bottles of whiskey and rum were opened and passed around the campfire with equal enthusiasm. You remember the women's tipsy giggles, and the men getting a little loud and rowdy, but not much else.

As you open your eyes you feel your head screaming in pain. You roll out of your cot, swallowing and forcing the rising bile back into your stomach. The morning light is blinding, you squint and shield your eyes as you exit your text. As your vision adjusts you can see everyone else feels just as miserable. There's a collective groan as the gang members each start working on their tasks for the day. You know you'll be absolutely useless until you nurse this headache, but the smell of the coffee over the fire almost makes you gag. The only thing you think you could stomach is the coffee from the café in town. You sigh, weighing your options, and decide you would do anything to make your head stop pounding, even if it means risking an awkward conversation. As you ride into town, you rehearse a long overdue apology in your mind.

Y/N's POV

A few slow, monotonous days pass by you. You find yourself watching the door to your café, silently willing it to open. Every time you hear that bell ring you get a small rush of excitement, but it's crushed every time you look up and see a regular's face.

Did I somehow scare him off? You replay your last interaction with Arthur over and over again in your mind. It wasn't the first time you had caught a customer staring at you, but it was one of those rare instances where you weren't mad about it. Small towns feel smaller the longer you stay in them, so new faces excite you. Maybe you got too excited. You begin to convince yourself that you were too forward, or he was just traveling through town, or is flat out avoiding you when you hear the bell above the door ring once again.

Expecting disappointment at this point, you can't keep your eyes from widening in surprise when you see Arthur in the doorway. He is fidgeting with his hat in his hands as he approaches the counter. He has dark circles under his eyes and squints slightly as he looks in your direction. Working in a coffee shop for so long has taught you to instantly recognize a hangover. You intentionally keep your voice at a lower tone and quieter than usual as you greet him, "Hey friend, welcome back. Rough night?"

"Very fun night from what little I can remember, just a rough morning," He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the other day."

"There's no need, really, you didn't do anything wrong-"

Before you can finish your sentence, Arthur interrupts you, "I was rude to you after you were kind to me and you didn't deserve that." He stares directly into your eyes, and you can see they're filled with sincerity, "I'm truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, and for rushing out the way I did."

You feel paralyzed by the weight of his stare, and you can see the guilt in his eyes. Even though you don't think he did anything warranting such a genuine gesture, you can tell he won't let it go until you accept his apology.

"Alright," You sigh, "All is forgiven."

The beginnings of a smile quickly shift into a wince of pain on Arthur's face. "I'd love to accurately express my gratitude but I think I might die if I don't get some coffee in me soon," He slides some change across the counter towards you, "And whatever you have on the menu today smells amazing, I'll have one of those too."

"Thank you! It's mini strawberry shortcakes today, now go sit down before you pass out or puke on my floors." You smirk, trying to ease some of the remaining tension.

Arthur lets out a small chuckle, "Good idea." He slowly walks over to his usual corner table.

As you prepare his order you think about how to handle Arthur. Based on how he's acted the past few times you've seen him, you come to the conclusion that you'll have to let him come to you, like a stray dog. Being too friendly too fast might scare him off again. You're also thankful that instead of letting one awkward conversation snuff out the sparks of a new friendship, you were both able to move past it.

Small talk comes easy to the two of you now. Arthur comes in nearly every day. You ask him questions about work and he gives you vague answers. He asks you about baking and why the décor in the café is so "unique" as he politely put it. About a month of these pleasantries go by. One day he asks you what you do when you're not working.

"I sometimes try to come up with new recipes for the menu! Or I go to estate sales for cups and furniture."

"That doesn't count, that's just more work!" A laugh escapes you as you realize he's right, "Come on, you've gotta have other things you like doing."

You shyly mention that you like to draw and document the insects and plants in the area.

His eyes widen and the corners of his mouth curl up in excitement, "No way! I have a journal that I draw in."

"Really? I'm surprised, hands like yours usually aren't holding pencils." You smirk at him, narrowing your eyes and hoping your snide comment might pry more information about his unspecified line of work out of him.

He simply laughs, "Ha! Explains why I'm not very good at it."

You roll your eyes at another failed attempt to learn more about his job. Is he avoiding the subject on purpose or just being dense? "Well if you ever want to share of see some of my art, my house is just a ten minute walk down the road. It's the little one with the wooden wind chimes."

Arthur seems taken aback by your invitation and takes a moment to respond, "I'd like that. When should I head over?"

"I close up shop at two and if I get through my cleaning fast enough I can probably be home by four. Does that sound good?"

"I'll have to run a quick errand but it shouldn't take too long." Arthur drains the last of his coffee and stands up, "I'll see you later, Y/N."

"See ya, Arthur!" You wave goodbye as he leaves. You can't help but smile to yourself as you clean off his table. You check your pocket watch and sigh, it's only ten.

The minutes sluggishly pass by you as your giddiness grows. You try your best to avoid checking the time in between each task, knowing that will only make the day go by even slower. You're washing plates behind the counter when two unfamiliar men stumble through your doors. Before you can greet them they walk right past your register and over towards one of your customer's tables. You follow their gaze and see they have their eyes locked on Eva, the eldest daughter of one of the local farmers. She comes here in the afternoons to read without having to worry about her rambunctious little brothers bothering her.

She's so engrossed in her book that she doesn't notice the men saunter over, about two steps closer than they should be. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as one of the men clumsily places a hand on the table, knocking over her cup and spilling coffee into her lap.

"Hey! Watch it-" Eva looks up from her book and sees just how close these men are. Her eyes widen as they lean over her.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing sitting here all alone?" The shorter man's words practically slosh out of his mouth. He tries to put a finger under her chin, but Eva slaps his hand away.

The taller man grabs her wrist. "That's no way to treat someone who's just being nice to you, missy." He hisses through gritted teeth.

You clear your throat and stand with your arms crossed over your chest, hiding your shaking hands, "Excuse me gentlemen, I don't take kindly to folks that harass my customers. I'll give you to the count of three to back away from her and get out."

The men glare menacingly at you, "Or what?"

"Or this pot of boiling coffee is gonna make it real easy for the law to identify your ugly mugs." The thugs glance at each other, and then back at you, "One. Two-"

"Fine." The taller man drops Eva's wrist and drags his companion out the door behind him without another word. The scent of whiskey lingers in the air behind them.

You let out a long exhale. You knew you wouldn't have been able to win that fight if things had escalated, but they didn't need to know that. "Eva, are you alright? Do you need me to walk you home"

"Oh I'll be alright," She stands up and tries to wring the coffee out of her dress, "Thanks for scarin' them off!" She gives you a big smile as she collects her things. You wrap up the remaining shortcakes and send her off with a treat for her troubles.

You check your pocket watch again and you're grateful to see it's finally two. You flip the sign on the door to "Closed" and rush through your closing tasks, quickly forgetting about the incident as your planned meeting with Arthur grows closer. You can't remember the last time you were this anxious to get home. You finish your chores in record time, lock your café doors, and begin walking home. You're so caught up in your excitement that you don't look around for insects to draw like you usually would, but you do notice the squirrels and rabbits in the surrounding forest are skittish. They seem to make much more noise than usual as you follow the trail through the woods.

As you unlock your front door and turn the handle, you hear a voice behind you.

"Look who's all alone now."

//

Thank you so much for reading! Forgive me for the long absence, April is a terribly busy month for me and I was also getting extremely burnt out from work. To be super real the only reason I was able to get this typed out and posted is because I got sick and couldn't get out of bed all day (lol). Tumblr is also being super weird and not letting me indent no matter how I type this out or where I copy and it paste from. Anyone else have this issue?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 coming soon!

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