#it’s the softness of it all that kills me

[gluttonousgoddess]

As a simple example, that 8 glasses of water thing was a lie spread by scientists that were partnered with Gatorade. Just drink when you're thirsty.

Diamonds and bacon are in a similar boat. People love them mostly because of advertisements. That's why diamonds cost so much, too! Now, granted, gems are pretty, and bacon tastes good, but the ads did more harm than good.

And cutting calories doesn't work because calories are just how much energy it takes to boil it in water, and your body runs to use whatever nutrients it can when it has a deficit. It's not uncommon for it to eat at your muscles and other soft tissues instead of fat. As ironic as it is for someone like me to say, the best diet for losing weight is a balanced one. Sugar is the main issue, btw, not fat. In fact, fat is healthy for you, gets turned into lipids which can be beneficial for brain health. Now that doesn't mean you should just eat fat, it's all about balance and moderation. Grease is in a similar vein, it's not quite the best for you but a bit here and there won't kill you. And frankly, a bit of a belly is good for humans, it protects the body from bludgeoning and slashing damage. Sure, it'll hurt like hell, but you're more likely to get a punctured innards or have them fall out if you are thin than if you have some fat blocking the way. The main danger is the oily fat that surrounds organs, not the kind that covers your body. External is fine, internal is dangerous.

Then there's the BRAT diet. While it is easier on your digestive system, it can actually make diarrhea WORSE because the food is so soft it leaves acid left over. Same with grapes and meal substitute drinks. Especially meal substitute drinks! Liquid diets in general do this, but these are the worst because you drink enough to fill your stomach, prompting it to generate acid...for something that is pretty much already digested...I think you see the problem.

Everyone knows cold helps with swelling. Problem is, swelling is important for recovery, and putting ice on it actually slows recovery down. You actually want to put warmth on it! You want more blood to the area, because it brings nutrients and cells that fight infections.

As well, everyone knows to use IcyHot, right? Wrong, the chemicals used to make that work, especially the stuff that directly puts it on your body like the rollers, actually damages your skin and can lead to skin cancer!

And then there's Red 40. A synthetic chemical that also gives cancer!

Everyone knows you have to cook meat. Problem is, the smoke and char that can cause leads to cancer too. Not the meat itself, though. And I still don't trust any meat that isn't well done. Way too risky. You do know there can be germs inside the meat, right?

Everyone knows vaping is supposed to be a safe alternative to smoking. Problem is, water vapor in the lungs can easily lead to mold and infections. And the nicotine is so concentrated it's actually worse than cigarettes!

And my personal favorite, everyone knows Pokemon Gen 1 was held together with duct tape and dreams, except the glitches actually occur due to them using things to make other things happen. For example, having the name "Old Man" show up is done by storing your name in the town Pokemon tables. Those get reset when you enter a new route. But the area by the islands are coded to be water tiles within the city in the English versions. Not an issue, just program an encounter table for them...oh, right, since it's an English oversight, there was never an intended table. Really the easy fix would have been to extend the routes to include those edges. But yea, the reality is that the games did so much with what they had that hiccups occur. Same with Gen 2, that's why you can get a Celebi by using Beat Up, same index number. Gen 3 they got enough space to not have to be bleeding edge, so their glitches are from things interacting in ways nobody expected, like Glitzer Popping.

So yea, there's nothing wrong with fact checking "common knowledge", because we learn new things all the time. Common knowledge could easily be lies, or misunderstandings, or assumptions.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena crouched down and carefully undid the buckle, pulling the watch from Lex’s limp wrist. His cold hand fell to the floor with a soft flopping sound and his eyes stared at nothing, unfocused and dull. Lena had once read that a dead man stared as if trying to solve a complex problem, but Lena did not see metaphor in her dead brother’s eyes. She saw only an absence that was a presence, a nothing that was somehow something.

Lex finally had his father’s eyes.

The gun was still heavy in her hand, her palm and wrist tingling from the force of recoil, ears still ringing from the blast. A single hole marked the center of her brother’s forehead; the meat of his genius was splattered across a bank of screens all playing surveillance footage of Kara performing inhuman feats.

(Two to the chest, one to the head, he had taught her, teaching her to repeat the mantra as he held her wrist to guide her aim as she took her very first shot)

The world was starting to come back, sweeping in. She couldn’t be here. She’d have to figure out what to do with the body and the evidence. She had to get out.

The interface on the watch was simple enough. The portal flashed open and she stepped through into her apartment. That could be convenient.

The watch crystal was dotted with her brother’s blood. She threw it and it skidded across the kitchen counter and it fell on the floor. She looked at the weapon in her hand. She would have powder burns.

Looking up, she spotted her reflection in the stainless steel of her fridge, blurred but real. There was red on her.

Lena never wore red.

There was more than she thought. She was covered in blood. In a panic, she ran for her bedroom and began shedding clothes on the tile floor of her bathrooms, wrapping the gun in a towel before throwing it on the bed. Stupid, stupid. That revolver was registered to her in Metropolis, and like all guns sold in-state, the police had a spent shell casing from it, fired and then stored for police records before it was sold.

Fuck.

Hot water blasted her skin. She let her hair fall down around her shoulders in wet locks like streaks of ink smeared across her pale skin.

(Why must you be so pale? You look like a dead fish.)

(That’s enough, mother. Leave Lena alone.)

She wasn’t sure when the tears started, or when she began to sob. She scrubbed at herself with a wash cloth and soap until her skin was raw and beet red. She was still sobbing when she stumbled out of the shower and threw on a robe, choking back tears as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, but who to call?

Not long ago she’d have called Kara, or perhaps her sister. She could have called Nia or Brainy but they had all fucking lied to her. Even James. James knew while he was… while they…

It was Kara. Kara has asked her boyfriend to spy on her, questioned her motives.

Kara… Kara had lied most of all.

She stared at the phone. There was Sam, but Sam was away from all this madness, busy with her work and her daughter. Lena would just be a burden to her.

She stared at her list of contacts- the only people she knew outside of her employees and associates were in Kara’s circle, except for Sam…

…and Jack.

Lena jabbed the call button and waited.

It rang, rang, rang again.

Finally, he answered.

“Lena?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“I must say I’m surprised- it’s rather late, and we haven’t spoken in a while. What’s on your mind?”

“I shot Lex in the face,” Lena said, shocked by her own hollow, distant voice.

The line was silent for too long a beat.

“Dear God, you’re serious.”

Lena choked out a sob.

“I had to, Jack. She was never going to be safe while he was alive. He almost killed her this time. He would never let her live if he knew how I feel.”

“Lena, darling, please, you’re not making sense. Look- I’m booking a flight out there now, but please, stay calm and try to tell me what happened.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she went back to the beginning, when she had learned how to trace Lex’s portals and followed him back to his lair.

She stopped herself before she gave it away.

“He showed me Supergirl’s real identity. He had proof.”

“I see.”

“I… she…”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. It hurt you, I know that. Listen to me, Lena- I’ve charted a flight and I’ll be there in six hours. Where is the gun?”

“I have it here.”

“Unload it, please. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

Lena flicked open the cylinder and dumped the shells into her hand, three spent and two unfired, then closed it again.

“Now, lock it up.”

Once it was in the safe she said, “done.”

“Now I want you to lie down. Stay in the apartment and wait there for me, I’ll be there presently.”

For once in her life, Lena did as she was told. Somehow, she fell asleep and didn’t wake until she heard the intercom buzzing.

Without thinking she pulled on sweats and a Midvale High Mathletes sweatshirt.

Kara’s.

When she opened the door she found a haggard Jack Spheer on the other side. He was a little older, beard salted with gray, but he was still him.

He swept into the apartment without a word, found the liquor cabinet, and poured drinks.

“Talk to me.”

Lena sat down and downed her two fingers of scotch in one motion. He poured her another.

“Kara Danvers is Supergirl.”

“The Kara Danvers? Your reporter friend? Your best friend?”

He took a drink.

“Your crush?” he added.

Lena stared at him. He met her gaze levelly.

“What you said on the phone before I left. That he would never let her live if he knew how you felt.”

Lena’s throat felt like sandpaper. She took another drink. It didn’t help.

“She’s not… I’m not… I don’t…” The words would not take shape. “She lied to me,” Lena finally choked out. “She did something I shouldn’t forgive and she used her double life to play both side against me. I don’t know what part of our relationship was real now.”

Jack studied his drink for a long time. He picked up the bottle and pretended to read the label.

“The last time we spoke she seemed quite taken with you. I assume that Lex knew all of this, or most of it.”

“He knew the broad strokes, I’m sure. I think he hoped that if he showed me, I’d join him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Lena said, in a tiny whisper. “I killed him.”

“Your brother is dead.”

“Yes.”

He poured more drinks, another round for both of them.

“Tell me about him.”

“You’ve heard all the stories.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Lena considered that for a moment, then began talking, rattling off whatever popped into her head. She started with the first time she ever met her brother when he and Lionel had come to Ireland to take custody of her, then began jumping around in time from the treehouse he tried to build to the time he told Lillian he’d kill her if she hurt Lena to his college graduation to when he declared to her that he was going to kill Superman, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Eventfully she ran out of stories, and they were running out of scotch. There was enough for one more glass each.

It was The Next Day by now, and mid-morning sun filled the penthouse.

“Are you ready to tell me about her?”

She was. Lena began with the first time they met- the mousy little wannabe reporter who followed Superman into her office as he posed as a reporter, how the Man of Steel himself seemed unimportant compared to Kara, how even then her heart fluttered and she felt a hot pressure low in her hips and Kara seemed to feel spending too.

She told Jack all about it- not just Kara but Supergirl too, about the plane and the office full of flowers and the lunches and brunches and movie nights and how this woman had burrowed into her life and made a home there and gave a home in return, about all the times she had saved Lena’s life.

Again the words ran out.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Talk to her. The woman cares for you deeply, that much is clear. Talk to her and see where you stand.”

“But,”

He raised a hand. “I’m telling you this because I think you’ll listen to me. You want my real advice?”

Lena swallowed. “Yes.”

“Your psychopath brother is gone. You own and run a Fortune 50 company. You’re on a dozen lists, 30 under 30, most influential women… you have virtually unlimited wealth and, if I dare say so, a woman who loves you.”

Lena sucked in a breath.

“Take the money, take the girl,” said Jack, “and live your life.”

She looked down at the empty glass, feeling the cold austere minimalism of her stark penthouse around her, and the tears began to flow anew. She wrapped her arms around herself and didn’t flinch when Jack took her in a bear hug.

“I want what’s best for you, and right now I think what’s best for you is ignoring that little voice in your head that’s telling you to blow up your life because you think you can’t be happy.”

“I knew,” Lena finally admitted. “I knew the whole time. I knew she was Supergirl and I knew I was in love with her.”

Lena wept softly on his shoulder for a time. He ended up staying the day and slept on her couch before leaving to return to Metropolis.

She was still wearing Kara’s sweater when she made the call.

“Lena? Are you alright? I was worried about you,” Kara said.

“Please come over,” Lena whispered. “I need to see you, Kara. You can come in through the balcony. The door is open.”

There was a too-long pause, and then the double impact of Supergirl’s boot heels on the concrete.

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 9

Author's note: Hey guys! I promise I have not disappeared my school semester is just kicking up and I'm focusing on that. Anyway I started up a Ko-Fi so you want to you can leave a tip. Link is my bio. As always thank you for reading my work and all the engagement. Writing this has been oddly therapeutic so I'm glad that someone is enjoying it.

Prev

The Library was once again quiet as you walked in. One of the librarian nodded to you as you strolled by. Quietly opening your bag, you returned some of the books you got the other day. A part of you still felt buzzy and hollow. The strange tickling feel lingered in your chest like a bad habit. A part of you felt like that feeling was going be there forever and you hated that. You were saved from it when you caught sight of your investigation notebook inside your bag the feeling changed.

The tingling shifted into a burning rage that smoldered in the pit of your being. Filling the hollow space inside of you with venomous smoke. It killed the small pieces of hope that said your 'family' was telling the truth, that they didn't know. The smoke took the hollowness away. You loved the rage for that, embracing it like life-line.

Turning to the study areas in the back you moved to the one you used yesterday. Talia wasn't there yet. In the isolated part of the library, you began to update your journal.

First you scraped your orginial list. Things were changing, you couldn't punish the whole family. No it wouldn't be fair to those who were involved. Plus you knew you needed to hone your intentions from experience. Even though you could have gone after all the scientists and guards during your escape, you focused on the exit instead to ensure you got out. It had more you more efficient. That's what you needed here.

Obviously there was Bruce simply because he had to have approved the whole thing. You wrote Bruce Wayne at the top left of the page. Under his name you wrote the evidence you did have, the financial records. You thought back on the past days than wrote down, "Past injuries to Robins/Allies=Motive?"

On the right side of the paper you wrote Richard Grayson. Under his name you wrote attempted to get information, admitted to knowing boarding school was a lie, was one of four to know 'real' boarding school location. Thinking a bit you decided to add "potential motive= over protective of allies/ Jason's death?"

Halfway down the page under Bruce's name you wrote Alfred Pennyworth. Beneath it you wrote pretty much the same thing as Dick; knew about the boarding school and was one of four to know real location. Afterwards you wrote "painfully loyal to Bruce. Would have information on what happened? Motive=Unclear."

On right side of the page and on the same lines as Alfred you wrote, Cassandra Cain/Wayne. Under her name you wrote "Choose the 'boarding school'. May have read investigation journal. Spied on me two years before kidnapping." For motive you simple drew a question mark. You honestly had no clue why she would have chosen to help Bruce with the experiments.

You considered adding Barbara but stopped yourself. Yes this morning had been a lot but the signs on her were mixed. If she was acting the part much like Dick was than she was just as dangerous to interact with. Yet if she wasn't and genuinely wanted to help than maybe she would be a good source of information. She might be a good source either way. You'd leave her off the list for now.

Turning the page you had just barely written out Edward Davis and Clint Owen when someone cleared their throat. Closing the notebook, you saw Talia standing at the entrance of the study area. Giving her your best easy going smile you greeted her, "Hello Ms.Talia"

"Hello dear. How are you doing today?" She set her bag down on the table. It let out a soft thud when she set it down. You guess she had learning tools in it. That or books, it was a library after all.

You nodded to her and began to pull out different notebook. Tucking your investigation notes away for bow. She watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. Her mouth quirked to the side and she tilted her head towards your bag. A nervous laugh left your mouth, "Yeah, I'm doing okay. Sorry this one's my diary, don't think I should mix personal problems with Arabic notes."

"Oh, I'm glad you journal. It's good for development." She gave you that mother's smile she had. Something in you preened at the look but it was under cut by your own sarcastic thoughts. 'Would she be proud if she knew what it was really for?'

She gestured behind her to someone hidden just out of sight from the little alcove. "I have someone I want you to meet."

A man stepped into view. He was slightly taller than Jason but not by much. His hair appeared to be well groomed, almost like it was permanently styled. Parts of his hair were white, not in the salt and pepper white of aging but in a way that felt intentional. His features were stoic and calm. Something about him reminded you of half your family. Maybe it was sure footing or the steady stance but you knew he was trained to fight.

Yet that wasn't what stopped your brain. He was familiar. Not in the I've seen him on the street before way but in a deeper, I've known you in the past way. It felt like something in you cracked it's eyes open. That hidden part of you whispered to watch, to learn, to leave. Need this new thing in you be quiet you spoke quickly, "I'm sorry but have we met before?"

Talia blinked looking at the man. He also gave a slight look of surprise that disappeared quickly. Whatever their reactions were it was enough to get that part of you to quiet down. Tension left your body as you watched how the man would respond. There was an edge to his smile that told you he was impressed, "I don't believe we have. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, I am Talia's father."

"I'm (Fake Name). Are you one of the material art teachers Ms.Talia mentioned?" You held your hand out to him. If he was slightly impressed before he was completely impressed now.

Shaking your hand he asked, "How could you tell?"

You thought for a minute before answering, "The way you stand. Everyone I know who has had extensive training of some kind stands a certain way. Almost like they can't help but do it automatically."

That seemed to be the right answer. Both him and Talia shared a look. Ra's gave a subtle nod that made Talia's smirk grow the smallest but. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say 'watch' before clapping her hands once.

"Well than, after your lessons today my father will show you some of the basics." Talia offered, pulling things out of her bag. You looked at the items intrigued, it seemed to be learning aid for a different alphabet. An eager smile crossed your lips as you readied your notebook.

Jason leaned against his motorcycle holding a kid sized helmet. A cigarette hung out of his lips as he waited, watching the library doors like a hawk. Roy was nearby on his own bike. Neither one of them spoke.

Finally (Name) came out from the library. She was clutching her backpack looking around the space. When her eyes caught on him, she got a confused look. Jason put out his cigarette, gesturing for her to come over. "Hey kiddo."

"What are you doing here?" She walked up to him. Her body was angled away from him. A habit she seemed to have picked up with everyone.

Jason shrugged, "Tim told me to pick you up. Didn't he text you or something?"

Her face slackened before she bluntly stated, "I don't have a phone."

"Shit, did that get stolen too?" Jason rolled his eyes. Of course her kidnappers would take her phone, that was kidnapping 101. Maybe they could track it down to try find some evidence.

She gave he an absurd look, "No. I've never had a phone."

"The fuck..." Jason rubbed his eyes. Bruce was going to send you to a foreign country without a phone. No fucking wondered she got kidnapped. He tossed her the helmet, "Okay, we're fixing that. Put the helmet on let's go."

"And where are we going to?" She caught the helmet but didn’t put it on. In fact she gave it a strange look before turning her gaze back to him. Her look told him she didn't trust him. That wasn't good, he needed her to trust him.

Before he could answer, Roy spoke up. Jason couldn't tell he wanted to punch Roy or thank him for what left his mouth, "We're gonna go get lunch than see if we can max out your Dad's credit card."

"Sorry what?"

"Yeah, take you phone shopping than grab whatever else you need. Or want honestly." Roy snubbed out his own cigarette before lazily stretching. (Name) looked at the helmet for second before looking back to Jason and Roy. Jason could see consideration in her eyes.

"Can I get one those fake nose piercing things with the magnet to give Bruce a heart attack?" She gave them a sweet guilty smile and batted her eyelashes. Jason snorted, trying not laugh. Roy didn't care and double over laughing.

Of course her first thought was how to piss off Bruce with this. There was a surge pride in his chest. She gave him a hald assed shrug. Jason gave in to the laughter, "Fuck. You are my sister!"

"Hell yeah, let's go!" Roy pulled himself together enough to get on his bike. Jason gestured for her to put on the helmet and hop on. He secured her in the seat behind where he would sit before hopping on himself. After giving her a quick safety brief, they were flying down the highway.

The rest of the Outlaws were waiting for them at a Burrito Buck down by Jason's apartment. He lived relatively close to Crime Alley so if her goal was give Bruce a heart attack he was helping already. Everyone was passing around greasy Mexican food when him, Roy and (Name) pulled in. Jason could feel his phone going crazy in his jacket pocket. Handing his sister over to Roy he pulled out his phone to see what was going on.

4 missed calls from B

7 missed calls from Dick🖕

2 missed calls from Cyber Stalker

8 missed calls from Human Flashlight

3 missed calls from Murder Germlin

4 missed calls from Purple Chick

1 text unread message from Tim.

Jason sighed running his hands through his hair. What the fuck could have happened for them to be calling this much. Just when he was about to call one of them back he saw the preview of Tim's text. "She doesn't want to see Bruce" the rest of the message was faded out. Jason went to click the notification when his phone started ringing again.

"Great..." Jason rolled his eyes. His phone blaring a custom ringtone warning that his brother was calling. Pressing answer he launched right into it, "What do you want, Dick?"

"Where are you? You were supposed to be back by now? Is (Name) with you?" Dick panicked voice came out of the phone. Jason almost rolled his eyes again. This is what got them all panicking. Did they seriously not trust him with her?

"Yeah, (Name) with me. She said she was hungry so we stopped to get food." Jason shrugged moving towards the restaurant's window. He could see Roy leading his sister to the table. Kori immediately got up to hug her but was pulled back by Artemis.

"Dude, we were going to take her to get lunch before doing a family day." Dick half whined in his ear.

Jason paused. He racked his memory for when someone mentioned a family day but couldn’t come up with anything really. "Hold up. When did you guys decide to do a family day?"

"This morning at breakfast. Steph pointed out that (Name) and Duke have never been apart of a family day. So we decided to have one." Dick said it like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Jason popped his jaw to relieve the tension that shot through his body. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the one picking her up he wouldn't have been invited. Rolling his neck he sarcastically drawled out, "Okay. So when were you going invite me?"

There was a heavy pause. Dick said the words like he handling a bomb, "when you got here with (Name)?"

"Alright." Jason smirked to himself. If they wanted (Name) they have to find her. He knew his phone location was scrambled, a habit he picked up somewhere. "We're at the Red Lobster in the Heights. Haven't placed our order yet so if you wanna join in be my guest."

"The Heights? Dude what are you doing over there?" Dick asked. Jason didn't have to hide his mischievous smirk. The family would lose their shit on him for this but he didn't care.

"Didn't the one by the manor close down. Beside this one has the best cheddar biscuits."

"Just stay there we'll be there in 10 minutes." Dick said before hanging up. Jason nodded his head and clicked his tongue. He was going to have so much fun today. Turning his phone off, he went inside the Burrito Bucket.

His sister was sitting next to Roy listen to him tell a story. She had a taco in hand nodding along to what he was saying, sour cream stuck in the corner of her mouth. She giggled as Roy finished his story, "Yeah so after leaving me in a Denny's Bathroom for 30 minutes without pants, the dude had the audacity to sit there showing me photos."

"What story did you just tell her?" Jason squeezed into the booth with the rest of the Outlaws. One look around the table told he really didn't want to know. Everyone at the table had a shit eating grin. His sister let out a devious little giggle. He started to hope it wasn't an inappropriate one.

"You left him in a Denny's without pants to go and watch my 2nd grade science competition?" She sounded half shocked and half amused.

Jason groaned face palming. Oh course it was that story. Roy would never let him live it down, "Please tell me you didn't tell her why you were pantless in a Denny's Bathroom."

The Outlaws started to laugh. It was Artemis that responded to (Name)'s question, "He's done shit like that to all of us. He had Bizarro fly him back to Gotham leaving me somewhere in the Amazon Rainforest for a Christmas recital."

Bizarro nodded with a huge smile, "He did not."

"Yeah, and than he'll sit there showing us pictures of the event he ditched us for." Roy laughed before taking a bite of his burrito. Jason was hiding his face behind his hand. Sometimes he forgot that the Outlaws loved to embarrass him.

(Name) turned to him. Her expression was a mix of confused and happy. His heart dropped at she said, "I thought you didn't show up to any of those cause you hated me."

Jason blinked looking at her. He had shown up but stayed hidden from her. He was dangerous to be around, he knew that much. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be there. He sighed pulling her into a side hug. She tensed but let him, "B depends on the day of the week honestly, but you never."

She looked up at him with bright eyes, the small amount of sour cream still stuck to the corner of her mouth. He grabbed a napkin and wiped it away.

Maybe it was parental instinct, that made Roy keep an eye on the girl. She was close in age to Lian. Whatever it was he was glad he did. (Name) showed startling signs of PTSD. From the hypervigilance to disassociation to increase anxiety, shame, sadness and aggression. It was made worse knowing the family she was in. The Wayne's would support her but it was unlikely she'd get the professional help she desperately needed.

They had gone to a mall with a phone store to get her set up. Kori and Jason's Sister were up ahead of them talking. Suddenly there was a squeal of excitement from the little one and she bolted ahead. Kori shrugged, "She saw something she likes."

With that Kori ran ahead to keep an eye on her. Roy stopped Jason before he jog to catch up to the girls. The vigilante seemed confused when Roy stopped him. Taking a deep breath Roy began, "You need to get your sister help."

"What?" Jason gave Roy a weird look. The two look at each for a moment. Roy took a deep breath, not a great way to start this conversation. Still he pushed forward.

"You and your family have a bad habit of just toughing through your mental health issues." Roy placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. He continued on, "Yes, you all support each other but when it comes to the more serious stuff all of you tend to just destroy yourselves. She doesn't deserve that. If you get her actual therapy and help than she has a chance of being normal. Or at least not implode on herself."

"Dude she'll be fine. I'm gonna keep her safe from now on." Jason shoved Roy away from him. Roy watched as Jason walked towards her with a sinking feeling. This didn't feel right. If (Name) didn't get the help she deserved, he could only imagine the path she'd end up going down.

They found her and Kori at the pound's adoption in the mall set up. The two girls were currently playing with a small cat. The paper displayed said the kitten was a russet dark ginger cat named Churro. (Name) looked up at them with wide begging eyes, "Can we keep him?"

"B told Damian no more animals." Jason sighed shaking his head. The little girl's face dropped slight before morphing into a pleading smile. Roy looked over to Jason who had a contemplating look.

"He told Damian no more animals. He has literally never said anything to me." She spoke in an pleading tone, pulling Churro closer to her. It was adorable to watch but the last sentence caught Roy's attention. He couldn't explain what it was about it, the tone or the wording. That hurt seemed to be coming back with a slight rage.

"I don't know. I don't think it's safe to drive with a cat and a kid on the back of a motorcycle." Jason scratched his head. She looked down at Churro in despair. The kitten mewled before nuzzling into her arms. She gave it a little kiss to the forehead, giggling when the cat began to paw at her hair.

"I can watch her well you go get the car from your apartment." Roy offered to Jason. He could tell she was emotional attached to the kitten. Maybe it would help her when her world felt like too much. Similar to how he use to hold Lian when his world was too much.

Jason sighed before rolling his eyes. "Okay fine let me fill out the paperwork real quick."

Once Jason was gone to get the car, Roy sat next to the girl. She was petting Churro who was curled up in her lap. Kori was currently talking with the adoption lady about the different cats. Roy nudged her once, "Hey kiddo. Can I see your phone?"

She stopped petting Churro to consider him cautiously. Roy gave her a reassuring smile feeling his chest tighten. Finally she handed him her phone. He put his secondary number Jason didn't know about in her contacts as 'Uncle Will.' He than add his main number to her contacts under his real name.

"There. Now you can call me anytime you need something from this number." He pointed at his contact with his thumb showing her the screen. He than showed her the Uncle Will contact, "This one you can call if you are ever in a situation where you need a pick up no questions ask. All you have to do is press Call and say hey Uncle Will I got your message. The only thing I'll is where are you and are you safe, okay?"

"Why are you giving me this?" She took her phone back looking at the new contacts. Due to it being a new phone those contacts and Jason's were the only ones there. She had insisted on not getting any of her other family members numbers.

"I've made a lot of mistakes around your age." Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Saying it felt like a understatement, he had taken part in massive fuck ups. Looking at (Name) reminded him that angry kid though, "I like to imagine if I had someone I though would pick me up no questions asked, I wouldn't have made at least a quarter of them. So if I can get you out of at least one dangerous situation, I'll consider it a win."

"Okay, but why give this to me?" She gestured towards herself with the phone.

Roy thought for a minute. He wasn't certain what was making him reach out to her. Maybe it was guilt for his past mistake or the little kid he use to be reflecting in the girl. Whatever it was may this necessary. So he decided to give her what he had wanted, "Because something tells you just want someone in your corner that cares regardless of what happens."

She blinked her face turning into a sad form of shock. Looking at the phone, she smiled. Roy considered reaching out to hug her. Yet before he could her face fell into a resigned melancholia. "Thanks, I guess."

"Come on, I have a great idea for giving Bruce a heart attack." He stood from the bench gesturing to a beauty store nearby, "I think that store has a hair dye called Arsenal Red."

That got her to smile. Roy sighed to himself slightly, hoping everything would turn out okay.

Prev

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[rizzanon]

His place

a tim drake and batsis! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: you remind your brother what his role is in the family | events somewhat align with pre-Red Robin if you squint

Tim Drake barely registers the destruction around him. The broken glass, the overturned books, the scattered papers—all of it blends into the edges of his vision, insignificant in the face of the storm still raging inside his chest. His breath is shallow, uneven, like he’s just come up for air after drowning. His hands are curled into fists against the floor, his nails digging into his palms, but he doesn’t move.

He can’t.

Everything feels wrong.

Bruce is gone.

Dick is Batman.

Damian is Robin.

And Tim—

He is nothing.

There’s a raw, open wound inside him, and he doesn’t know how to close it. Doesn’t even know where to start.

The word ‘replaced’ makes his stomach twist, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? It had taken Dick all of two seconds to strip the title away from him and hand it over to him.

Damian.

A murderer. A child who barely understood what this family was supposed to be. Who had killed and barely flinched. Bruce had spent months trying to reach him, trying to ground him, and now Bruce was gone, and Dick thought the best thing to do was put Robin’s colors on his back?

It’s like spitting on everything Tim had ever fought for.

He exhales shakily, the weight of it pressing down on him. He’s spent days holding himself together, clenching his teeth and pretending it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t unraveling beneath the surface. He knew Bruce isn’t dead, he knew something isn’t right, but nobody would believe now, would they?

And now, standing in the wreckage of his own room, he feels like all that certainty—the thing keeping him grounded—has slipped through his fingers.

His room is a disaster—papers strewn across the floor, glass glinting under the dim light, books lying open and discarded like corpses. The air is thick with the weight of his own fury, his grief, his goddamn exhaustion.

And yet, it still isn’t enough. He still feels hollow.

The room feels too small.

He blinks hard, staring down at the floor. His chest feels too tight. His heartbeat is too loud. The mess around him is suffocating, but he can’t bring himself to move, to clean any of it up.

And then—

The door creaks open. A quiet, deliberate sound.

Tim tenses.

He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you.

You step inside quietly, careful with your movements. He listens to your soft, measured footsteps, the way you move carefully, deliberately, like you’re navigating through a minefield. You don’t speak. You don’t rush. You don’t even let out a sigh, though he knows you must want to. Instead, you just move toward him, stepping over broken pieces of whatever he destroyed, before lowering yourself onto the floor beside him.

Not too close.

But close enough.

Tim stares ahead, fixating on the cracks in the broken lamp, the scattered books, the torn papers. He listens to your breathing, slow and steady, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift slightly.

He wonders if you can hear how unsteady his breathing is.

You don’t push him to speak. You just sit there, patient.

You don’t sigh. You don’t try to fill the silence.

You wait.

Tim clenches his jaw.

For a long moment, there’s only silence.

Then, finally, he exhales sharply through his nose. “What, did Dick send you?” His voice is rough, bitter, but the exhaustion drags it down, taking most of the bite out of his words.

He regrets it the second it leaves his mouth.

Because you aren’t the problem here. You aren’t the reason everything feels like it’s caving in.

You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger.

You glance at him. “No.”

Tim scoffs, shaking his head. “Right, you here to tell me I’m overreacting then?”

“No.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Great. That makes one person in this house.”

You don’t react, don’t flinch, don’t tell him he’s wrong. And for some reason, that makes his chest tighten.

“Why are you here, (Name)?”

You don’t answer immediately. You shift slightly, glancing around the mess of his room. Tim wonders if you’re judging him for it. If you’re piecing together everything that must have led up to this moment. If you’re staring at the wreckage and seeing him for what he really is—angry, bitter, and more lost than he wants to admit.

When you finally speak, your voice is softer than before.

“I just want to talk.”

Tim scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah? What’s there to talk about?”

You glance at him, and he hates the way your expression softens just slightly. Like you’re seeing right through him. Like you already know.

And then, finally, you say it. The thing he didn’t want to hear.

“You know you still have a place here, right?”

Something twists in his gut.

Tim swallows, forcing a scoff, his fingers dig into his knee. “Do I?”

“You do.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s real funny, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Dick made his choice.”

You don’t react the way he expects. You don’t rush to correct him or try to argue. You just look at him. Your gaze was steady and unwavering.

And for some reason, that’s worse.

“Dick needs you.”

Tim scoffs. “Yeah? Sure didn’t seem that way when he gave my suit to Damian.”

“He didn’t give your suit to Damian,” you say. “He just… gave him a suit.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” Tim snaps. “Like I should just be fine with the fact that he handed Robin to someone who doesn’t even understand what it means.”

You exhale through your nose. “Tim—”

“No.” He turns to you now, eyes burning, his voice sharp, bitter. “He knows. He knows what Robin is. What it means to me. And he still—” He clenches his jaw, forcing down the words that feel like acid in his throat.

He still chose Damian.

The words taste like poison in his mouth.

Like betrayal.

Because he and Dick worked together. Because Tim trusted him. Because Dick should have known better.

Robin was never just a suit. It was never just a name.

Dick made Robin a symbol, but Tim made it a legacy. He had built on everything that came before him, upheld it, protected it. He never saw himself as a sidekick—Bruce never treated him like one. And neither did Dick.

But then, the moment Bruce was gone—

The second he was gone—

Dick had replaced him.

He had given Robin to someone who didn’t understand it. Someone who didn’t earn it. Someone who treated it like it was his by default.

Someone who had killed.

And that—

That was something Tim couldn’t forgive.

“He didn’t replace you.”

Tim can feel your gaze on him. Studying him. Assessing him. You’re quiet, like you’re deciding what to say to him—what not to say, as if he was a bomb ticking. He hates that.

“You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

That makes his stomach twist, because you actually mean it. There’s no pity in your voice, no condescension. Just quiet sincerity.

Tim exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His thoughts are spiraling again, overlapping, contradicting. He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling, how to put it into words without it sounding pathetic.

But you’re still watching him. Still waiting.

So he just—

He lets it out.

“Robin was mine,” he mutters, voice tight. “I—I earned it. I worked for it. I built on it. It wasn’t just a name, it was—” His breath shudders slightly. “It was a legacy. And Dick—he just handed it over to him like it didn’t mean anything. After everything. He didn’t even—” His voice catches for half a second before he forces it steady again.

He hears the shift in your breathing. Feels your hesitation.

“Tim… with Dick as Batman now… you and him can never have a Batman and Robin dynamic. Not really.”

Tim stills.

You hold his gaze. “You were partners. He respects you and your judgement. He trusts you to call the shots, the same way Bruce did.”

Tim’s chest feels tight. His hands twitch slightly against his knees.

“He doesn’t see you as a kid anymore,” you continue. “That’s why he couldn’t make you Robin. Not because he doesn’t want you by his side. But because he doesn’t see you as someone who needs to be Robin.”

Tim’s throat feels tight.

“You don’t need Robin, Tim.” Your voice is gentle but firm. “And Dick knows that.”

His jaw tightens.

“He believes in you, Tim. He always has, and he always will.”

Tim lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. His thoughts are spiraling again, analyzing every interaction, every choice, every word. He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Had he really—?

Had Dick really—?

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, but for some reason, the words hit something deep in him, something fragile and unspoken.

Dick trusted him.

He always had.

But Tim—he had been so focused on what he lost that he hadn’t seen what was still there. It was hard not to. His mom, his dad, Conner—

Tim exhales sharply through his nose, looking away. His hands curl into fists against his knees before slowly unclenching.

You shift beside him, your voice softer now. “You’ve already made your place in this family, Tim. Nothing can ever change that.”

Tim presses his lips together, staring at the floor.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Because the anger is still there, the frustration, the bitterness. But underneath it—buried so deep he almost missed it—there’s something else.

Something that makes his breath come a little easier.

He knows you’re right.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

His fingers tighten against the fabric of his jeans. He stares at the floor, at the pieces of his broken lamp, at the mess he made in a moment of pure frustration.

You don’t push him to respond. You just sit there, quiet, patient, letting him process, letting him breathe.

Eventually, after what feels like forever, Tim exhales, voice barely above a whisper.

“…It still hurts.”

You shift slightly beside him. When you speak, your voice is just as quiet.

“I know.”

“Where does this leave me?”

You hesitate. Tim feels the way your breath hitch, feels your gaze on him once more.

“Still here.”

And somehow—somehow, that’s enough.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore.

He barely notices. His pulse is pounding in his ears, his mind buzzing with too many thoughts at once, overlapping, colliding, turning over and over until he feels like he’s going to short-circuit.

His mind is spinning too fast, circling around the same thought, the same certainty that he knows—he knows—what he’s saying is real.

He lifts his head, forces himself to look at you. His voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper.

“Bruce is alive.”

The words are heavy, pressed between his teeth like something sacred. Something unshakable.

You shift beside him. He feels it before he even looks.

A pause.

Then—

“Tim—”

“I can’t tell you how,” he cuts in, sharper than he means to, his chest rising and falling too quickly. “I can’t tell you why.” He turns to you fully now, his hands gripping his knees, his eyes burning. “But I know.” His breath shudders slightly. “He’s still alive.”

You’re looking at him now. Tim watches every movement, every flicker of hesitation in your expression, every breath you take before responding. He can already feel the doubt coming.

You hold his gaze, steady but cautious. Then you sigh, exhaling through your nose as you place a hand on his arm.

“Tim…” Your voice is gentle. Too gentle. It makes something inside him twist, makes his throat go tight, because he knows what that tone means. You’re trying to ease him into something. Trying to let him down gently.

It makes his stomach sink.

“We saw Bruce’s body,” you say, fingers tightening slightly against his sleeve. “We can’t change what happened during Final Crisis. Bruce… he—”

“He’s alive.” His voice rises, strained, cracking on the edges. His pulse is too fast, his breathing shallow. His skin feels too tight, his own body suffocating him. “He’s still alive. I can feel it.”

You still.

You freeze.

Tim sees the way your lips part slightly, the way your shoulders subtly tense, the way your fingers twitch before curling against your lap. He sees it, and it sets something uneasy, something cold, deep in his chest.

You hesitate.

He can feel your hesitation.

You hesitate, and suddenly, Tim can’t breathe.

“We always base things off facts, Tim,” you say slowly, carefully. “You always base things off facts.” Your brows furrow. “But now… you’re trying to tell me Bruce is still alive because you can just… feel it?”

Tim’s stomach twists.

It hurts.

It actually fucking hurts, and he wasn’t prepared for that.

Because—because you were different.

You had always been different.

You were the one he could always turn to, the one who listened, who never brushed him off or made him feel like a stupid, reckless kid. You never doubted him. You never judged him. You never looked at him like he was losing it.

That’s why he told you first.

That’s why he needed you to be the first one to hear it.

And now—

Now, you’re hesitating.

Now, you’re doubting.

Now, you’re looking at him exactly how everyone else has.

He clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists. His throat works around something thick, something unbearable, something raw and ugly that he can’t let out.

He doesn’t have an answer to that.

Because you’re right.

You’re right.

And yet—

He clenches his fists against his knees. His mind is racing again, replaying everything, twisting the words over and over, trying to find the logic, trying to find the missing piece, trying to prove it.

You don’t believe him.

You think he’s lost it.

Just like everyone else.

His breath hitches slightly, his body tense, his muscles coiling. He can’t tell if his chest feels tight from anger or something worse.

Finally, his voice comes out hoarse, strained, desperate.

“I know—I know it sounds fucking stupid.” He swallows hard, his heart slamming against his ribs. “That I don’t sound sane right now.” His chest is too tight. His vision is too sharp, too focused on the way you’re watching him, on the doubt in your eyes. His jaw clenches as he looks at you again, searching, pleading. He forces the words out, desperate.

“But you’ve got to trust me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Tim watches you. Scrutinizes every tiny shift in your expression, every flicker in your eyes, every breath you take.

You aren’t responding.

You aren’t saying anything.

Your eyes dart slightly downward, like you’re processing, debating, deciding. The way your fingers slowly uncurl from his sleeve before settling against your own lap.

And suddenly, Tim knows.

He knows you think he’s lost it.

Just like Dick.

Just like everyone else.

His breathing hitches slightly, panic creeping up his throat. He tries to fight it down, tries to swallow it back, but he can feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly where they’re clenched into fists.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you—

“…Okay.”

Tim stills.

“I believe you.”

His stomach drops.

His mind goes blank.

“What?”

You hold his gaze, expression unreadable. “You’ve proven to me so many times that nothing is really what it seems. That there’s always more to a truth. More to a fact.” You exhale. “And if you say that Bruce… somehow… is still alive?” Your voice softens. “If you really believe that, then maybe—just maybe—you’re right.”

Tim doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

He can’t.

His mind is blank, wiped clean, like he just walked into an ambush he should’ve seen coming but somehow didn’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to say anything at all.

He can’t process what just happened, can’t process what you just said, can’t process the fact that—

You believe him.

You actually believe him.

And suddenly, before he can stop himself, before he can even think—

He’s pulling you into a hug.

You barely have time to react before his arms wrap tightly around you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his grip desperate, almost painful, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go.

His voice is rough, barely more than a whisper.

“Thank you.”

It’s not enough.

It’s not enough to convey what this means to him, what you mean to him, but it’s all he can manage.

You don’t hesitate this time.

You just return the hug, solid and grounding and warm, and the feeling of it—the reality of it—hits Tim all at once, makes his chest feel too full, makes his eyes burn slightly, makes his throat ache with something he doesn’t know how to name. His heart is still hammering, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating him.

After a long moment, your voice murmurs against his ear.

“So… what are you going to do now?”

Tim swallows, pulling back slightly. He meets your eyes, searching for something—he doesn’t even know what.

“I’m not sure.”

You watch him, knowing. “I can tell you’re planning to leave.”

Tim lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Hah. Maybe…” He smirks faintly, something bitter in the curve of his lips. “But you know I’ll always come back, though, right?”

You sigh, shaking your head.

“You better,” you mutter. Then, softer, “And take care of yourself.”

Tim holds your gaze, memorizing every detail, every flicker of warmth, every ounce of trust.

He nods.

And this time—

He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.

lowkey self indulged with this lol 😅🫣 tim was really going through it in the comics during this period but hey! at least it gave us Red Robin Tim Drake 🤭

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n | ask to be added <3

[luvfae]

WITHDRAWALS

summary: after a year of no contact, su-bong shows up on your doorstep in tears.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral (thanos receiving), mention of addiction, drug withdrawals, swearing.

You and Thanos had broken up over a year ago.

Going no contact was the hardest decision you’d ever made, but it was necessary. Cutting ties with someone who had once been your world felt like tearing out a piece of your own soul, but loving him was killing you.

His drug habit had spiraled into a full-blown addiction, and no amount of pleading or begging could get him to see reason. You couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved. So one night, with a note left on the kitchen counter, you disappeared from his life.

Since then, you’d rebuilt yourself. A stable job, a cozy apartment, and college classes that filled your days with purpose. You were piecing together a life you could be proud of, even if sometimes, late at night, memories of him crept in.

So when you heard a knock on your door past midnight, your heart twisted with a premonition.

“Who the hell…?” you muttered, setting aside your textbooks as you padded to the door. ���Hello?

“Y/N, it’s me.”

That voice—hoarse and broken—cut through you like a knife.

“Su-bong?” Disbelief and dread knotted in your stomach. “What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?”

“I ran into your friend,” he admitted, shame thick in his tone. “She told me.”

You made a mental note to reevaluate your friendships, but that was the least of your worries. Through the door, you could hear it—the edge of desperation in his voice, the quiver that spoke of tears held back too long.

“Please let me in,” he whispered. “I… I don’t know where else to go.”

Against every instinct screaming at you to keep the door closed, you opened it.

He collapsed into your arms, a tangle of limbs and choked sobs. You wrapped your arms around him, rubbing circles into his back as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, pulling back just enough to see his face—eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollowed by a suffering you couldn’t begin to understand.

“I’m two days clean,” he confessed, voice cracking. “I’m going fucking insane. Everything hurts.”

You sighed, a mix of relief and sadness washing over you. “Why are you here, Su-bong?”

He shrugged, wiping at his eyes. “You’re the only person I can think about now that I’m sober. I needed to see you. I needed to apologize for everything I did.”

His hands trembled, and you could see the raw pain of withdrawal etched into every line of his body. You guided him to the couch, disappearing briefly into the kitchen to make him tea—exactly how he liked it. Some details you couldn’t forget, no matter how hard you tried.

When you sat beside him, he took a shaky sip, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice barely more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you replied, though you knew you were lying to both of you. It wasn’t okay. But his vulnerability chipped away at the walls you’d built, and you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away.

“It’s not okay,” he insisted, setting the mug down with a trembling hand. “I put you through hell. I took the best thing in my life and destroyed it.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, not from longing but from the ache of seeing him so broken. “I’ve moved on, Su-bong. I’ve had to.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted, voice thick with guilt. “I think my grieving was numbed by all the drugs. Now you’re all I can think about. I fucked up so badly.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d vanish. And maybe you should have pulled away, set boundaries, protected yourself. But the old wounds still ached, and some part of you needed closure that hadn’t come from silence and distance.

Without thinking, you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing the tear tracks on his cheeks. Then your lips met his, soft and tentative at first, a tentative crossing of a line you thought you’d never touch again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with yours.

“Shh,” you murmured, your forehead resting against his. “Let me make you feel better.”

His eyes flickered with confusion and longing. “Why would you want to? After everything I did…?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, voice raw with honesty. “Maybe because part of me still cares. Maybe because I want to believe you can be better. That we can be better.”

You straddled his lap, your arms looping around his neck as your lips sought his again, deeper this time. His hands hesitated before finding your waist, gripping like he needed the anchor.

In the back of your mind, you knew this was dangerous—inviting old wounds to reopen, risking the stability you’d fought to build. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of his mouth and the desperate clutch of his hands, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Your fingers fumbled with the buckle of his jeans, and he lifted his hips just enough for you to drag them down, his boxers following.

But before you could go any further, Su-bong’s hand wrapped around your wrist, his touch warm, trembling. His eyes searched yours, clouded with exhaustion, with longing, with something unspoken.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered.

“I know.” You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “I want to. Do you?”

He nodded, almost instantly. Of course he did—he had never once denied himself the pleasure of you.

You slipped onto your knees, the carpet soft against your skin.

Your hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly until he hardened under your touch.

Then, you leaned forward, running your tongue along the underside of his cock, your eyes flickering up to meet his. His breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides before they found their place tangled in your hair.

And then—

That groan. That deep, desperate sound that had been imprinted in your memory like a scar.

Fuck, you had missed him.

As much as you wished you hadn’t, you had.

You took him into your mouth, warm and familiar, and his head dropped back against the couch, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. You worked him with slow, deliberate movements, your tongue flicking, your fingers squeezing—anything to pull him from the pain of his withdrawals, to give him something else to focus on.

“Fuck,” he choked out, his grip on your hair tightening. “You’re so beautiful.”

His voice cracked, and when you looked up, tears were slipping down his cheeks.

You hesitated.

“Keep going,” he said, barely above a whisper.

So you did.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand in sync with your lips, dragging him to the edge with each bob of your head. His moans turned into breathless, desperate whimpers, hips rocking involuntarily against your face.

He came down your throat, a broken groan spilling from his lips, his whole body shaking beneath you.

You swallowed, gasping for air as you pulled away, licking the taste of him from your lips.

His hands found you instantly, pulling you back into his lap, holding you close. His lips trailed over your forehead, your temple, your cheek, then finally—finally—your mouth.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured against your lips. His arms tightened around you, as if afraid you’d disappear all over again. “You hurt me so fucking bad when you left.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair—the hair you once knew as black, now dyed a deep shade of purple.

“I called you so many times,” he continued, his voice raw, fragile. “Just hoping, by some miracle, you’d unblock me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I had to leave, Su-bong.”

“I know.” He exhaled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know, baby.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, wrapped in each other, breathing in the weight of everything you had been, everything you had lost.

Then—soft, hesitant—he asked, “Do you think we could ever be us again?”

You hummed, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “We could work it out,” you said.

His grip tightened. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I know you don’t.” You smiled, just barely. “But I’m willing to try—if you promise to stay clean.”

His breath hitched, his hands pressing against your lower back.

“This is the Su-bong I fell in love with.”

His forehead dropped against yours. He was shaking again, but it wasn’t from withdrawals this time.

“I’ll stay clean,” he whispered. His lips ghosted over yours, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. Something worth saving. “For you.”

A pause.

“I promise.”

[marbofmoorock]

I am convinced this is a Daydream Zooble has.

I'm making an abstragedy story out of this:

TADC AU: Skater Gangle Universe

Cast:

Gangle: Kind of a jaded, yet friendly tomboy punk, she's more like Zooble in this Universe, kind of passive aggressive with a bit of an edge, but she kills it on the board, shredding everything in the circus, adventures included. Caine is secretly impressed, and Zooble is infatuated with Gangle, always doing doodles of her and the other cast members. Gangle is pretty bold, not taking any of Jax's junk, often calling out his pranks before he can pull them on her, often breaking it with her board, due to being fed up with Jax(Caine often snaps her board back to normal with no problem). Often Gangle spends her free time in her room designing boards. She's also great at surfing and snowboarding. She sticks up for herself and what she knows as right, taking on an honest outlook on the circus, knowing she's trapped and enjoying it.

Pomni: A new arrival to the circus, she pops into the circus with her Jester outfit, trying to enjoy the adventures. In this Universe, Pomni has a knack for telling really lame jokes as a way to deal with the fact she can't find the exit. Cringeworthy dad puns which get on Jax's nerves such as "What wears shoes, but has no feet? The pavement." (Haahahahahahaha). Constantly laughing at her own jokes, she lives up to being the Jester, constantly cackling and giggling at even a semblance of humor. Everybody treats Pomni kind of like the crazy one, as Pomni sort of acts like Kinger, laughing maniacally at times and speaking of nonsense due to occasional memory lapses.

Kinger: in this Universe, Kinger is intact mind wise, and loves to spend time with the others. Sad over Queenie's death, he commits to helping the others in her honor, being like a group father and uplifting everyone while sharing trivia and fun facts. He and Ragatha immediately take Pomni as if they're both Aunt and Uncle, looking after her as if she was her niece. Ragatha is super cuddly, especially with Jax.

Zooble: Shy and Sweet, sort of swapping personalities with Gangle, Zooble is timid, shy, and very agreeable. Often letting Jax Jax play with her parts and throw them around until he gets bored, Zooble kinda just plays along to the adventures and goes with the flow, often indifferent to Jax's antics in order to get him to stop in a more subtle way. She's always lending a hand because she has so many to spare, sensitive, easily upset by others.

Ragatha: Kind, gentle, and devoted, Ragatha in this universe is about the same as the digital circus Ragatha, with one exception. She is more openly loving towards all members of the cast more than she was before, always putting her heart foot forward to provide them with her love with Kinger being like an uncle to Her Ragatha and him working together to be the group mom and dad so nobody is left behind, which annoys Gangle slightly(but reluctantly agreees), but Zoobie and Pomni are happy that there is a group. Ragatha and Jax are close.

Jax: Jax is mostly the same character we all know and love/hate, but with a slight twist. Instead of being a jerk and purposely hurting others for fun, Jax in this AU prefers to pull harmless pranks instead, and go soft on others, especially Ragatha, whom he had a HEALTHY relationship with(too much abusive relationship posting with bunnydoll shippers).

TADC AU: Shredding Mask

"I wish she would shred me..." Thought Zooble, as she stared in awe as Gangle boldly skates and slides on a railing and around the tent, lots of sparks trailing behind, leaving Zooble in awe.

Gangle sees Zooble watching and gives her a wink, and Zooble falls backwards fainting, all her interchangeable limbs falling apart when she falls on the ground. "Gosh, I hope she skates holding my head next time, mmm, yes~" Says Zooble, blissing out getting to see Gangle do tricks yet again.

Jax walks up, "Well, well, I guess somebody really broke down, huh? You and Gangle should get a room already."

Zooble is too focused on Gangle to even hear Jax, which he shrugs his shoulders at.

Ragatha then walks up, helping Zooble get back together, Jax assists Ragatha and soon she's back together but easily dazed. If she had a nose, it would be bleeding.

"Golly..." Muttered Zooble as she was still dazed by Gangle.

Ragatha chuckles, " Come on Jax, let's give our friend with a crush some space."

"Whatever you say, dollface. " Says Jax as they glance toward each other in their own flirtatious way, happy to be with each other as they give Zooble some space.

Pomni and Kinger are watching all of this go down.

"So, they're like, in love?"

"HA-Well, I suppose that could be the case for Zooble. Maybe Gangle hasn't fully noticed yet."

"Oh Gosh, it's one sided?!"

"Ha-Don't worry, word will get around fast. I remember when Jax was trying to tell Ragatha how he felt. It was the same old story, but Ragatha's certainly no Tomboy like Gangle."

"The Skater Punk and Bashful Artist, I think there's potential..."

Gangle rolls over and does a circle around Zooble, to which Zooble watches quietly.

"Hi Gangle"

Gangle stops, and kicks up her board in her hand, somewhat huffy from her workout. "Yeah, What up, Potato Head?"

"You think I'm a...potato~?" Zooble blushes intensely.

Gangle, slightly weirded out, responds: "It's a joke, but whatever."

"You're funny... you know that?" Zooble says in a wistful sort of way.

Gangle found Zooble's statement kinda odd, but didn't dislike her or anything, so she walks over and helps her up.

"So uh, did you draw anything cool?"

Zooble gets giddy and excited hearing her say that, but then tries to play it cool so she doesn't freak Gangle out.

"Yeah-Oh, uh, yeah, yeeeah...feel free to check it out or whatever."

Zooble gives Gangle her notebook, and Gangle looks through it, finding a bunch of pictures of her skateboarding.

"Wow, these are really good. I look awesome. Thanks Zooble."

Zooble blushes doing her cute signature hand wave(Ep. 4): "Ohoho, it was nothing, I like drawing you. You're so inspirin-" Zooble tries to stop talking, embarrassed she unveiled so much about her feelings gushing.

Gangle was touched as she looked through more of the album, realizing half of the pictures were of her, so she turns to Zooble, and uses a softer tone as she didn't realize how much Zooble noticed and cared about her until now.

"Zooble, I...am really happy you drew these pictures of me. You're a very talented artist."

"I am?" Says Zooble, flustered by Gangle's sudden complement.

"Yeah, I reeeally like it." Says Gangle, as she gazes at Zooble.

Zooble sees Gangle's pupils dilating as she gazes, and she gazes back.

"Gangle..." Says Zooble as she stares, "I...always wanted to tell you..."

"No need," retorted Gangle, "I already know."

They walk over to each other and share a long heartfelt hug.

Pomni and Kinger are still secretly watching from behind a corner.

"Ha-they're a total item now."

"Yeah...It's so adorable..."

"Reminds me of Queenie, she always loved hugs the most, she'd whisper bug trivia while we hugged, it always made me chuckle."

"That's so sweet, in the most nerdy kind of way."

"I did study computer science for 7 years. Nerdiness comes with the territory, as does an insect collection and obsessions with game shows."

"Oh Kinger, i have a joke for you."

"Haha-Lay it on me Pomni."

"Did you hear about the Circus Fire? It was in Tents."

"Haha, Good one PomPom."

Caine watches secretly out of sight from an orb, excited about shipping everyone!

"Yeees, YEEESSSS, GANGLE AND ZOOBLE ARE IN LOVE, YEEESSS! NOW THEY'LL ENJOY ALL OF THE ADVENTURES MORE. Now we have an Abstragedy and BunnyDoll! And Pomni and Kinger have a father Daughter thing going on! WAHOOOOOOO! I AM SUCH A GOOD RINGMASTER!"

"Yeah you are." Said the Moon flirtatiously, walking up to Caine, massaging his shoulders.

Caine then Turns to face Moon. "Oh Moon, I am so glad you're here."

"You know i love you~"

Caine Blushes: " I do. I really do."

"Kiss me already with those teeth lips of yours."

Caine and the Moon Kiss.

The End.

Skater grill gangle bc i like grills

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

i see the light.

ft; nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

synopsis: the moment when it was only you and him in the world.

nagi seishiro

the sound of persistent hums of the heater and tappings of thumbs to screens on nagi’s phone soothed you.

due to the harsh and frankly unexpected winter, the power had went out in the school dorms. you had been horrified; it was dark out, you couldn’t even see in your dorm, and you were alone. if only you still lived with your parents like reo instead of deciding to live in the crappy school dorms because you wanted to be more mature.

when you thought of reo, that’s when a brilliant idea had wove its way into your mind. you could just go to nagi’s dorm instead! he’s too much of a pacifist to get angry at you, he lived close, and he’s got a nice heater too. you had silently crept out of your room and into nagi’s room, knowing that he thought that it was too much of a hassle to lock the door.

now you were lying down next to nagi’s figure, who was sitting up and clicking away at the buttons on his phone from the game. nagi was quiet; he could tell that you were cold and tired, and he didn’t feel the need to bother you any further. plus, it would be a hassle to.

well, that was until nagi heard the soft snores.

“hey, hey.” nagi placed his phone face down next to him, leaning down to look at you. locks of your hair was in your face, a small line of drool at the corner of your lips. “you’re asleep? hey. it’s too much of a hassle to move you away. and there’s only one bed.”

at your lack of response, nagi poked your arm. no reponse. he your cheek. still no response. nagi eventually decided to stop and just pull an all nighter; the leaks of the sequel to his favorite game was coming out tonight anyways.

nagi looked at you for a little longer, his eyes lingering at your face before zeroing in at your lips. “you’re not that bad when you’re asleep.” nagi mumbled. his eyes softened; he didn’t mind this. sure, it was a hassle for someone else to sleep in his bed, but this was you. and for some strange reason, nagi’s chest felt all warm and tight. he didn’t understand this, but the feeling was addicting, and he wanted more.

the lights and power may have been out, but the light that you beamed was enough to light up his entire world.

michael kaiser

kaiser knows that having been put in jail at age 15 definitely necessarily scream “im such a good influence and good person!” to most people.

most people.

kaiser knows that you’re not most people when he is let out of jail—due to the efforts of ray dark—and you’re right outside sprinting towards him and tackling him with a bear hug. sobs escaping you as you squeezed him. “mihya! god, you’re back! i was so worried for you in there!”

kaiser was in love with you. when you laughed, warmth pooled at his stomach and happiness filled his veins. but when you cried, kaiser felt the need to kill whatever is making you cry, to make you smile again. but kaiser didn’t know that it was love. he didn’t know that what he was seeking had been in you, his childhood best friend, all along.

“you…you’re here. why? i was in jail.” kaiser muttered. “shouldn’t you be in school or something? you shouldn’t be here.” at that, your jaw dropped, and you stepped back, hands gripping his shoulders.

“mihya! what are you saying? i could care less about day or two of school when my literal best friend is in jail for something that he didn’t even do! you worried me to death, mihya!” your eyebrows knit together, looking up at him. kaiser noticed how pale you were, the dark eyebags under your beautiful eyes as if you haven’t slept in days.

suddenly, kaiser felt as if a weight heavier than his father was on his shoulders. you didn’t sleep because of him. you looked so pale because of him. you were upset because of him. kaiser felt doubts cloud his mind again; at the end of the day, he really was no different from his father. “just because im your best friend? that’s stupid. im not worth that much.”

your eyes widened before they narrowed, and you grasped onto his shoulder tightly. kaiser knew this would leave a mark later, although he could care less. you should leave. you shouldn’t be here. you should be at school. you shouldn’t waste your life on a piece of shit like him. you deserve better than a fucked up subhuman like him. you glared at him, your hands trembling from how tightly your grip was on his shoulder. from that alone, kaiser knew that he fucked up.

“michael fucking kaiser, you’re my best friend and the love of my life, and you better not say that again. you are worth it. you are most definitely worth each and every moment of my time. you hear me?!” you shook kaiser back and forth. but kaiser couldn’t focus on your current actions, a phrase that you had called him of all people was tattooed onto his mind.

love of your life.

he was the love of your life.

and suddenly, kaiser wasn’t subhuman. he wasn’t a piece of shit. he wasn’t an accident. he wasn’t hated by everyone. he wasn’t weak. he wasn’t not worth it.

he was loved. loved by you.

and kaiser will be grateful for that even in the afterlife.

isagi yoichi

blue lock had changed isagi.

at least, that was what everyone said. his parents, his classmates, his former soccer teammates, his friends, even isagi himself. but not you. you didn’t say that or think that. blue lock didn’t change isagi, it had instead just awakened something hidden inside of isagi.

that might be why your reaction to isagi’s goal at the end of the blue lock fetuses u20 japan match was so underwhelming. you were his lover; you should have been more enthusiastic about it. instead, you only stared down mindlessly before smiling and clapping. isagi had looked up at you with a smile when he was celebrating with his blue lock teammates, in which you had waved at.

then came the 2 week break.

you had been on a walk with isagi like old times, before he had left for blue lock. a heavy silence was over your shoulders; isagi himself thinks that he’s changed, after all. the sunset painted your’s and isagi’s cheeks bright red.

“do you mind that i’ve changed?” isagi finally stammered out. he braced himself for some harsh answers and disapproving shaking of heads, but was instead met with more long silence before a single word.

“no.”

he glanced at you, shocked. “i don’t think you’ve changed at all, yoichi. im glad. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you this happy to be playing soccer.” you looked up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips. “it just awakened something inside of you.”

but isagi wasn’t satisfied. not yet. “you don’t mind that im practically throwing my life away for my soccer career? i won’t be able to just call or text you whenever i want to at blue lock, you know.” you giggled gently before sighing.

“i know you can’t, yoichi. but you’re happy, right? and you’re living your best life right now. so who am i to interfere? as long as you’re happy, then you can be whatever or whoever you want to be. i’ll always be there.”

at your words, the ice in your tension melted before isagi looked at you once again. even without the golden setting sun, you still looked like you were an angel, glowing with the most ethereal of purity and the most precious of love.

a/n: title is obviously from the tangled song. i literally love that song so much oh my god.

[heliosunny]

Your writing for Phainon is soon good 💖 How about something with a Dragon-shifter!Reader who kidnaps Prince!Phainon as dragons do - maybe to get a nice ransom from the royal family - the only problem is that he ain't interested in getting rescued. And may have just slaughtered the knights sent to free him and slay the dragon himself.

Yandere!Phainon x Dragon-shifter!Reader

The sky was dark by the time you reached the ruins of the castle, the stone walls jagged and broken from age, yet still standing against the weight of time. It was a place long forgotten, nestled deep within the mountains, far beyond the reach of any kingdom, perfect for keeping a prince.

“You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that.”

Prince Phainon mused, his voice calm despite the chains coiling around his wrists. His silver-white hair was tousled from the rough flight, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight.

“Most would hesitate before daring to steal a royal away.”

You ignored him, dragging him forward. You had to admit, his lack of fear was… annoying. Maybe even unsettling. He hadn’t even screamed when you plucked him from his fancy palace, claws closing around him like a vice. He merely stared, as if daring you to drop him.

"Don’t waste your breath" you muttered, shoving open the rusted iron doors. Dust rose from the disturbance, swirling in the air. "You’re not here for conversation."

Phainon chuckled, unfazed. "No? Then why am I here, oh mighty beast?"

You tossed him forward. He landed on his knees with a grunt, but when he lifted his gaze, there was something dangerously amused about the way he looked at you.

"Ransom" you finally said. "Your kingdom will pay handsomely to get their precious prince back."

His laughter filled the place.

Your brow twitched. "What’s so funny?"

Phainon grinned up at you, shoulders shaking. "Oh, you poor, clueless thing. You really think they’ll come for me?" He leaned back, tilting his head. "Let me spare you the disappointment, they won’t. Not before they send someone to kill you first."

You narrowed your eyes. That was expected, of course. Kings rarely sent gold before swords. But it didn’t matter. You could handle any knight they threw your way.

"Then I’ll just have to deal with them." you said.

Phainon hummed, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. He tilted his head, his smirk never faltering.

"You truly have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?"

You ignored him. The sooner you got him locked away, the sooner you could rest. The flight back had taken a toll, not that you’d ever admit it. Transforming, carrying a fully grown man in your claws, keeping to the shadows to avoid unnecessary fights… It was exhausting. And the moment you’d dumped Phainon inside the ruined halls of your abandoned castle, all you could think about was tending to your aching limbs.

Chains had been enough to keep him in place, or so you assumed. You doubted he’d escape, and even if he did, where would he go? You were deep in the mountains, miles away from the nearest civilization.

And so, you left him to his own devices, disappearing into one of the castle’s still-standing chambers. A cracked mirror leaned against the wall, reflecting your disheveled form. You frowned, brushing dirt from your arms before pouring water into a rusted basin, splashing it against your face.

Just a quick rinse. Then, rest.

You didn’t notice the absence of chains.

Didn’t hear the soft, amused laughter echoing down the halls.

Didn’t realize your supposed prisoner had already slipped away.

Phainon rolled his shoulders as he strode through the forest, fingers brushing over the hilt of the sword he had so generously reclaimed from the ruins. His smirk widened. Really, he should be thanking you. It had been far too long since he had been truly entertained.

Ahead, the sound of armored footsteps drew his attention. He didn’t slow his pace, letting the knights spot him first. Their reactions were immediate- relief, determination, wariness.

"Your Highness!" One of them, a captain by the look of his insignia, rushed forward. "You’re safe! We came as soon as we heard-"

"Safe?" Phainon interrupted smoothly, tilting his head. "Was I ever in danger?"

The knights exchanged glances. "The beast-"

"Was nothing more than a misguided fool" he finished, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "I was just about to return, after dealing with my own business of course. No need for all this… concern."

The captain hesitated. "We can’t allow that, Your Highness. We must escort you—"

A sigh. Phainon turned his gaze to the trees, as if contemplating. "Ah, what a shame" he murmured. "I told you I would return."

He moved before they could react.

Steel flashed. Blood spattered against bark. The knights barely had time to scream before his blade cut through them like a whisper. Limbs crumpled, bodies fell. Their eyes, wide with shock, stared at him even in death.

Phainon exhaled, stepping over the corpses without a second thought.

"Now, then" he murmured, wiping his blade clean. "Where were we?"

With a smirk, he turned back toward the castle.

His little dragon was waiting.

Phainon pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing through the abandoned chamber. His eyes flicked over the dimly lit space, stone walls worn by time, a tattered bed of old furs, and there, lying in the center, a figure.

Not a dragon.

A human.

His brows lifted slightly, the only sign of his surprise. The realization came quickly, his captor was no ordinary beast. The dragon and this person were one and the same.

Leaning against the doorway, he observed you. Your breath was steady, though he noted the faint twitch of your fingers. He could slit your throat now, end this little game before it spiraled further.

But where would the fun be in that?

He stepped closer.

The moment his foot scuffed against the stone, your eyes snapped open.

Your instincts took over before reason could settle in, because your captive was free, because he had a sword again, because he stood over you with an unreadable smirk.

You moved in a flash.

Your hands shot out, grabbing at his limbs, forcing them down. Chains slithered from beneath the bedding, precautions you had set up, ones that now snapped into place with ease. His wrists slammed against the cold floor, and with a sharp twist, you locked his legs as well.

You pressed a knee against his chest, breathing heavy. "How did you escape?"

Phainon merely chuckled, entirely too amused despite his current position. "You should be asking yourself.. how did you fall for it?"

You narrowed your eyes.

His strength was not that of an ordinary man, you realized that when he shifted slightly beneath you, and your balance nearly tipped. He was holding back.

"You really are something else" he mused, tilting his head, the flickering firelight casting shadows over his sharp features. His blue eyes dragged over you, lingering, intrigued. "What should I call you? Or do you prefer ‘beast’?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. "You’re quite breathtaking up close, you know."

You scowled. "Spare me your empty words."

He laughed. "Oh, but I never lie." He shifted slightly, testing the chains, his muscles tensing beneath you. "And I never let myself be bound for long."

You barely had time to react before he tore free, a sheer burst of strength shattering his restraints like they were nothing. You leaped back, but not fast enough, his hands shot out, grabbing your wrist, flipping you before you could reach for another weapon.

The cold edge of his sword pressed against your throat.

For the first time, you truly looked at him, not as a mere human, but something far more dangerous.

His grip was firm, yet his touch was almost playful. His smirk was unreadable, a dangerous mix of amusement and something else entirely.

"You were saying?" he murmured.

Your lips curled, sharp canines glinting. "You assume too much."

Before his blade could descend, your form shifted- partly.

Your tail, thick with scales, shot forward, blocking the strike with an echoing clang. Sparks flew as his sword clashed against it, the force sending a tremor through the room.

Phainon’s smirk faltered for only a second before morphing into something else- pure, unfiltered intrigue.

"...Oh" he breathed, almost in awe. "Now this is getting interesting."

Phainon barely had time to act before you twisted, your tail sweeping low and knocking him off balance. His sword arm jerked, and you seized the opportunity, shifting back into your human form just enough to move swiftly, you grabbed his wrist, spun behind him, and yanked it up toward his back.

"Persistent" he said, amusement still lacing his voice, even as you forced him down.

"Annoying." you countered, your grip like iron as you shoved him to the cold stone floor.

The chains were still broken, so you resorted to something sturdier. From the corner, you grabbed thick, enchanted rope- strong enough to hold even creatures of great power. You looped it around his wrists, pulling them behind his back, then secured his legs in a way that left minimal room for struggle.

Despite being effectively restrained again, Phainon’s smirk remained, sharp and taunting. "You do like tying me up, don’t you? Should I be flattered or concerned?"

You yanked the rope tighter. "Be quiet."

A chuckle. "As you wish, my dear captor."

With a roll of your eyes, you stepped back, observing your handiwork. He was bound tightly this time, no easy way out, not unless he wanted to snap his own limbs.

But before you could relish your victory, he sighed dramatically.

"At least let me bathe before you keep me here like some caged beast" he drawled, his expression the perfect mixture of false suffering and noble exasperation. "I reek of blood. Is this any way to treat a prince?"

You scoffed. "You are a beast."

"And yet, I still deserve some dignity" he quipped, tilting his head. "Unless you enjoy the scent of dried blood and sweat?"

Your nose wrinkled. You didn’t.

Annoyance prickled at you, but you relented. He was still tied up. What harm could a bath do?

"Fine" you muttered.

Before he could gloat, you grabbed the ropes binding his limbs, dragged him up, and hauled him across the room.

Phainon let out a surprised grunt as you tugged him along. "Ah—so forceful. If you wanted to drag me somewhere private, you could’ve asked."

You ignored him.

The abandoned castle still had an intact bathhouse, a large pool of water fed by an underground spring. With one final tug, you yanked him forward and—

SPLASH!

You threw him in.

Phainon resurfaced with a sharp inhale, his silver hair now plastered to his face, water dripping down his broad shoulders. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he tilted his head up at you, his smirk both impressed and incredulous.

"You know" he mused, "when I asked for a bath, I expected something a little more… dignified."

You crossed your arms. "Be grateful I didn’t throw you off a cliff instead."

"Ah, but would you really? You seem far too attached already."

You grabbed a bucket and unceremoniously dumped more water over his head.

"Pfah!" He sputtered, shaking his head like a wet dog before blinking up at you again, lips curling into something downright mischievous. "If you wanted to get my clothes off, you could've just said so."

Your face twitched.

You promptly turned and walked out, leaving him tied up in the bath to deal with himself.

"Wait—! You’re just leaving me here?"

"You'll figure it out."

His laughter echoed behind you. "I like you more and more, little dragon."

The morning greeted you with an unfamiliar sound—soft, deep, and far too close. A hum. A HUM?

It took a moment for your groggy mind to register it. A gentle, unhurried melody, smooth as silk, drifting through the cool air of your chamber. You stirred, cracking one eye open, only to groan and bury your face into the pillow.

Phainon.

The silver-haired prince, your supposed prisoner, sat beside your bed, his arms resting casually on the frame as he leaned forward, watching you with the ease of a man who belonged there. He was freshly bathed from last night, his damp silver locks tousled slightly, his tunic loose at the collar. But what was most irritating was the absolute serenity in his expression as he continued to hum.

It wasn’t even an unpleasant sound. If anything, it was oddly calming.

"Shut up" you muttered, dragging the blanket over your head.

Phainon merely chuckled, his voice still low with sleep. "Good morning to you too, little dragon."

"Not a morning person?"

You groaned louder, pressing your hands over your ears.

His humming didn’t stop. If anything, it turned into an actual song, low, lyrical words spilling effortlessly from his lips.

You flung a pillow at him.

He caught it easily, smirking. "Tsk, so violent. I’m just trying to lighten the mood."

"You shouldn’t be here." You finally sat up, glaring. "How are you here?"

Phainon tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "You tied me up, threw me into a bath, and then left me. Did you really think that would keep me contained?"

Your frown deepened. He was strong, you knew that, but you had used enchanted rope this time. He shouldn’t have been able to slip free so easily.

As if reading your thoughts, Phainon propped his chin on one hand, smirking. "I’ll let you in on a secret," he murmured, voice dipping. "I’ve never been trapped. I just enjoy watching you try."

You hated how easily his words sent a flicker of unease down your spine.

But before you could reply, the distant sound of armor clanking and hurried footsteps caught your attention.

Phainon let out a sigh, stretching leisurely, as if the mere idea of more interruptions exhausted him. "Ah. Took them long enough."

You shot up, shoving him aside. "Stay here."

You didn’t wait for his response. Rushing down the stone corridors, you made your way to the castle’s entrance. The knights were already spilling into the ruins, swords drawn, scanning the area. Their captain, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek—stepped forward.

"You there!" he barked. "We received word that Prince Phainon was taken by a dragon. Where is he?"

You hesitated. Your first instinct was to tell them you were the dragon, but something in your gut warned you against it. You had no love for humans, but you weren’t bloodthirsty either. You had taken Phainon for ransom, not war.

But before you could decide how to respond— Phainon let out a chuckle.

He stepped out from behind you, his gaze sweeping over the assembled knights like a wolf among sheep. His sword was already in his hand.

The captain’s face twisted in relief. "Your Highness! We came to rescue you—"

"Rescue me?" Phainon repeated, voice laced with mockery. "From what, exactly?"

The knights stiffened. "From the dragon—!"

Phainon then moved.

Steel sliced through the air, swift and merciless. Blood sprayed across the stone.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

The remaining knights recoiled in horror, some shouting, some scrambling to draw their weapons. But it was already too late.

You could only watch.

Your breath hitched as the last knight staggered back, his sword shaking in his grasp. "Y-Your Highness, what—?"

Phainon drove his blade clean through the man’s chest.

A ragged gasp. A final shudder. Then, nothing.

As the last body collapsed, Phainon exhaled, flicking blood from his blade. His posture remained relaxed, unaffected, as if he had merely completed a morning exercise.

Then, slowly, he turned to you.

His smirk was still there, unchanged, unwavering. But his eyes…

Cold. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Where were we?"

Your breath came in ragged bursts. The scent of blood—fresh, thick, suffocating, filled the abandoned halls. Around you, bodies lay strewn, once armored knights reduced to mere corpses. And at the center of it all stood him.

Phainon, the prince you had kidnapped, the human you thought was nothing more than an arrogant, troublesome captive. Now, standing before you, bathed in crimson, he was something else entirely.

"You…" Your voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. "What have you done?"

Phainon tilted his head, flicking stray droplets of blood from his blade. "What needed to be done" he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your claws curled. You could feel the shift pulling at your skin, your instincts screaming at you to fight. "They came to help you."

He chuckled. "Did they?" His piercing blue eyes met yours, unblinking. "Or did they come to drag me back to a place I had no intention of returning to?"

You gritted your teeth. "You killed your own men!"

"And yet, here I stand." He took a step toward you, slow and deliberate. "And you, little dragon, haven’t run. Haven’t struck me down. Why is that?"

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had so many reasons. The problem was, you couldn’t pick one.

Because you were stunned. Because your mind still reeled from what you had just witnessed.

"You’re a monster" you snarled.

Phainon exhaled, his smirk softening, something almost fond flickering across his blood-smeared features. "I never claimed to be a hero."

That was it. That was the moment your restraint snapped.

You lunged.

Your tail lashed out, striking toward him like a whip, but he was fast. He sidestepped, blade flicking up just in time to meet your claws. Sparks flew as steel met scale.

"That’s more like it" he purred.

You growled, twisting, your tail sweeping at his legs. He jumped back, but you were already on him again, clawed hands gripping his tunic, shoving him hard against the stone wall.

"You think this is amusing?" you hissed, your breath hot against his face.

Phainon smiled.

"You’re magnificent when you’re angry" he murmured.

Your grip tightened. "I should rip you apart."

His smirk didn’t waver. "But you won’t."

Damn him for being right.

You hated that you hesitated. You hated that your instincts, your dragon instincts, were at war with something else entirely.

"You’ve fascinated me from the moment you took me" he confessed. "At first, I thought it was amusement. Curiosity." He tilted his head, the sharp edges of his expression easing just slightly. "But it’s more than that, isn’t it?"

"You could have killed me" he continued, as if weaving the truth between you both. "Yet you didn’t." His eyes traced your face, your form, like he was memorizing every detail. "And I could have killed you. Yet I won’t."

Your chest heaved. "Why?"

His fingers brushed your wrist, so gently, so deliberately.

"Because I don’t want to." His smile turned wicked. "Because I want you."

Your world tilted.

Your claws flexed, your mind screaming at you to reject it. To deny him. But Phainon only looked at you like he had already won. And you hated that you didn’t know if he was wrong.

You were still seething when Phainon led you toward the kingdom’s gates.

You should have run. You should have killed him.

But instead, you were here, walking beside the man who should have been your prisoner, yet somehow, you felt like the one who had been captured.

The city was alive with murmurs the moment the two of you entered. The scent of blood still clung to Phainon’s clothes, a stark contrast to his relaxed demeanor. People gasped, whispered, stepped aside as he walked through the streets with you in tow.

But it was nothing compared to the reaction inside the royal palace.

The moment the throne room doors burst open, the king and queen, seated on their ornate thrones, turned with sharp, wide-eyed disbelief.

"Phainon?" the king's voice was filled with stunned relief. "You're alive?"

The queen clutched her chest. "The knights said.." She hesitated, gaze flickering toward you. "Who is this?"

You barely had time to part your lips before Phainon slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

His next words sent a ripple of shock through the room.

"This?" His smirk was downright predatory. "This one belongs to me now."

The king's expression darkened. "Phainon!"

"You sent knights to retrieve me," he interrupted smoothly. "And they failed. Miserably." He glanced down at you, as if you were some prize he had won rather than a kidnapper-turned-reluctant-companion. "So I took something better in return."

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Careful, little dragon," he murmured against your ear, low enough that only you could hear. "You wouldn’t want them thinking you’re protesting too much, now would you?"

Your body tensed. He was toying with you. In front of his entire court.

The queen’s hands trembled. "You’re injured—"

"A small price for something so valuable." Phainon mused, tilting his head. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

The nobles in the room exchanged whispers, none daring to speak aloud.

The king exhaled slowly, fingers tightening over the armrest of his throne. "What are you planning, Phainon?"

The prince's smirk widened. "Why, to keep them, of course."

The king finally spoke, his voice cold and measured. "Phainon, do you even understand what you're saying? You cannot simply claim someone as yours—"

"Oh, but I already have." Phainon’s grip on you was firm, his tone laced with amusement. "And I dare anyone to take them from me."

The challenge hung thick in the air, sending another wave of murmurs through the court.

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. "I am not some trinket to be owned."

Phainon turned to you, unbothered by your defiance, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "Of course not." His hand brushed against yours, a deliberate taunt. "You’re something much rarer than that."

You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks, not from flattery, but from the sheer audacity of this human.

"Fine" you bit out, eyes narrowing. "But don’t think for a second that this means I belong to you. Make sure to keep your promise."

Phainon chuckled, tilting his head as if indulging a joke only he understood. Then, leaning in, he whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

"Oh, little dragon… you just haven't realized it yet."

And with that, the prince turned back to his stunned parents, still grinning like a man who had won everything.

You exhaled slowly. Knowing at least you won't have to live a miserable life anymore.

-----

To the person who requested this, I had fun writing. I think they'll make a cool dragon-prince duo on the battlefield. :333

[zorosangell]

hi! hope you had a wonderful holiday. i wanted to stop by and share a fic suggestion. could you write a story for zoro x f!reader? the reader is a strawhat and is the crew’s massage therapist. both zoro and reader have feelings for each other and are close friends but haven’t told each other of their feelings. zoro has a session with her and it turns nsfw. :)

⛥ﾟ・。 pleasures

synopsis: in an effort to get him to relax, you give your moss-haired boyfriend a massage, and get him riled up in the process... how else is he supposed to repay you?

cw: nsfw (pretty tame), tooth rotting fluffy fluff, lovey zoro, in-love zoro, tender zoro, sprinkle of jealous zoro.

a/n: i'm so lonely...

"(y/n), I told you, I'm fi—"

"If you say I'm fine again, Zoro, I swear to God..." you dismissed, using all your strength to sit him down on your bed like an unruly child.

It was a testament to your willpower, seeing as the man was incredibly heavy, and had been dragging his feet since you yanked him from the crow's nest

"Since you don't wanna listen to me, I'm gonna have to take matters into my own hands."

"C'mon, (y/n), I gotta get back to training," he sighed, trying to stand up. "I don't have time for this."

"Your weights aren't going anywhere," you stated, sarcastically, moving over to your drawers to grab your supplies.

At that, he grumbled, looking off to the side.

"You act like it's gonna kill you to sit down for two seconds," you sighed, huffing out a small puff of frustration.

"It's gonna kill us if I'm not strong enough to defeat the next enemy we come across," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Zo, you're already, like, the strongest guy I know..."

"There's always someone stronger."

"That's not your burden to bear."

"With Luffy as our captain, it is."

"Okay, correction: that's not your burden to bear alone."

"Everyone on this ship has their own job. You do yours by helping the others relax. This is how I do mine."

Your expression fell, a slight pang of annoyance touching your chest.

He wasn't budging.

Rather than let his girlfriend give him a nice massage—an opportunity many men would jump at the chance of having—Zoro instead sat there with a pointed look on his face, you standing in front of him, lotion and massage oil in hand.

Quickly, you racked your brain, hoping to find something to get him to stay before he scurried back to his push-ups.

That is... until you found it.

With a sink of your shoulders, you let out a fake, defeated sigh, fighting off the mischievous grin threatening to rise to your lips.

"Well, if I can't force you, then I've got other patients to treat," you caved, turning toward the door. "I gotta find Sanji. He was complaining about his legs the other day."

At the mention of the cook, Zoro's chest roared to life with fury, the mental image of you caressing and doting on the blonde—or any other man, for that matter—making his eye twitch.

Before you could even take a single step forward, you were grabbed, roughly yanked back into Zoro's lap by your hips.

"You touch him. I flay him," he warned, brows furrowed and grip bruising around your waist.

"Little overkill, doncha think?" you raised a brow, amused.

"Not for me, it isn't."

"It's my job, Zo."

"And your clients are Nami, Robin, and Chopper. That's it."

"And you?" you cooed, innocently, as your finger came up to trace his collarbone, the flesh tensing under your touch as you pressed a soft, sensual kiss on his jaw.

He grumbled, a crimson flush rising up his neck and to his cheeks as he avoided eye contact.

Usually, Zoro considered himself a relatively disciplined man.

He often prided himself of his self-restraint and ability to abstain from certain pleasures for the greater good—drinking, fun, and rest being the first few on that laundry list.

You, however, did not make the cut.

The swordsman had come to terms with your presence in his life a long time ago, and came to the final—albeit embarrassing—conclusion that you were something could not do without.

The way you lit up every room you entered.

The way you naturally commanded respect.

The way you cared for him so effortlessly.

Being around you became as easy as breathing.

And who could blame him for wanting a deep breath?

"C'mon, Zo... just one little massage?" you pleaded, voice lowering to a sultry tone, one you knew made him agree to almost anything. "I promise it'll be quick... you'll be done before you know it."

Zoro couldn't help the extra beat added to his heart's rhythm at the sound of you, the swordsman internally scolding himself for being so pathetic.

'Dammit....'

He suddenly had the urge to lay down.

"Five minutes, woman," he caved with an "annoyed" groan.

"Yes!" you cheered with a giddy smile, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before crawling out his lap.

Although he tried to mask it, he couldn't help but be infected by your warmth, the feeling so potent that he had to physically bite back his own grin.

"How's that feel?" you asked, shifting the heels of your palms to work a little deeper into your swordsman's shoulder, gauging his expression for any form of discomfort.

Zoro let out a small grunt, eye screwing tight at the sensation.

"Hurts," he admitted, slightly muffled by the comforter. "But good... Feels nice."

Internally, you pumped your fist in victory, covering your tracks by moving to the other side to work the next shoulder.

You sat completely upright, straddling your boyfriend's hips as he laid face first in your bed, allowing you to work his back muscles without much of a fight—surprisingly.

If you couldn't tell already, this was about thirty minutes into his five-minute session.

But you didn't mind.

You were too preoccupied with your free show.

With his back turned, you allowed yourself to gawk freely, eyes greedily taking in the thick muscle that twitched under your fingertips.

His skin was perfect, completely unmarred by scars or scratches, while your seat allowed you to turn around and catch a beautiful glimpse of his ass.

He hated whenever you smacked it—said that it made him feel like a girl—but you'd be a liar if you said the thought didn't cross your mind.

'Goddamn...'

Suddenly, as if your body had a mind of it's own, you leaned forward, placing a feather-light kiss between his shoulders.

"You're so handsome, Zo, y'know that? I don't think I tell you enough."

Flush instantly burned up his spine, his face akin to that of a tomato.

Your compliments always came out of nowhere, and when they did, he had little to no idea what to do.

"I... you..." he sputtered, instantly wanting to throw himself out a window, "...Thank you."

You smiled at his awkwardness, moving to pepper kisses all over his arms.

"So strong..." you muttered into his flesh as you made your way down. "So brave..."

In your travels, you came across a large, serrated scar, taking a moment to give it some extra attention.

"So tough..."

You went on like that over his entire backside, whispering praises into his skin like they were irrefutable facts.

Because to you... they were.

No man in the world could ever compare to your swordsman in terms of anything, as he was easily your favorite person on the planet.

Zoro would do anything for you—a truth you were very familiar with—go to any extreme, cut down any foe, lay down his life.

Of course, you would do the same, but it wasn't like you could provide him protection as reassurance, like he did with you.

So you did the next best thing.

You provided him with pure, unwavering, and unconditional affection.

Abruptly, you were bucked off his back, the sharp yelp you let out swallowed by the lips of your swordsman as he caged you to the mattress.

"You fuckin' drive me crazy, y'know that?" he smirked, his knee slotting between your legs to press against your core.

You let out a soft gasp, the movement applying delicious pressure against your clit.

"It's my job, Zo'" you repeated, breathlessly, flashing him a sly grin.

At that, the man practically pounced on you, quickly returning to your lips as his hands slid down to massage your hips, squeezing and caressing them the way he knew you liked.

"So damn sweet all the time," he muttered into your mouth, the tip of his nose gently rubbing against yours. "Gonna give me cavities if I'm not careful..."

Desperate for friction, you ground your hips down against his knee, soft sighs of praise slipping from your lips.

"Zo... can't wait," you whispered in his ear, running your hands over his shoulders. "Been waitin' so long... need you."

"I know, baby," he nodded, eyes trailing down to your shorts as his hand gripped the fabric. "Gimme a sec."

In instant, your shorts were gone, having been torn off you with terrifying ease.

And your panties were quick to follow.

"Christ, (y/n), you're soaked..." he marveled, a cocky grin rising to his lips as his middle finger gently carded through your folds. "All this f'me?"

"God, yes," you whimpered at the teasing sensation. "Zoro, please..."

"Alright, alright," he caved with a soft chuckle, shifting his weight to tug off the towel you'd wrapped around his waist while you pulled your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. "You ready?"

Fervently, you nodded, and he carefully lined himself up with your hole before sliding in, feeding you every inch at a snail's pace as a precaution since you had no time to prep.

As much as he wanted to take you right then and there, your comfort was his top priority.

His urges could wait—yet another thing added to his laundry list.

It wasn't long before he was completely in, filling you to the brim and then some.

"Tell me when you're ready, okay?" he assured, pecking a few kisses under your eyes and across your face to distract from the large stretch—and his debilitating urge to move. "Doin' so good f'me..."

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, staring up at him with a doe-eyed look that made the swordsman weak in the knees.

"M'ready," you assured, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

With a grin, he captured your lips, his calloused hand coming up to hold your face as he trailed kisses down your chin, starting to move.

"Fuck..." he grunted, working to keep his pace a bit more controlled than usual. "Gonna go slow this time. Wanna feel you."

"O-Okay," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut at his delectable drag against your walls.

He didn't like that one bit.

"Nuh uh," he shook his head, fingers squeezing tighter on your cheeks as his lips dragged over your jaw. "Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see you."

You whimpered, but complied nonetheless, forcing your lids open to greet the smirking, green-haired man above you.

"There she is..."

'Gods...'

You bit back the moan threatening to escape your lips, fingers tightening around his hair.

This man was going to be the death of you.

Encouraged by your expression, he picked up a little speed, keeping his thrusts purposeful and deep as he rocked you back and forth.

A mixture of grunts and pants flowed into the air as you both clung to each other for dear life, the shared air between you warm with passion and love.

Zoro groaned as you clenched around him, a sharp hiss sliding through his teeth as you threw your head back in a throaty whine, your nails digging into his shoulders before dragging along the flesh of his back.

"F-fuck, you feel so good—" his moan was caught when squirmed in place, giving him a better access. He nipped your neck, giving it a small lick and a kiss after. "Look so pretty like this."

You always adored how lovey and mindless Zoro got during sex, no matter the setting.

He always made you feel so special, so wanted, like you were the only woman in a world.

And if we're being honest, you might as well be, as the only thing running through the swordsman's mind at the moment—or at any time really—was you, you, and you.

His thrusts hit deeper with the new angle, forcing you to fight the roll of your eyes in fear of him stopping.

You were nearly there, already so close to coming undone.

"Zoro..." you exhaled, stomach fluttering as he buried his face into your cheek, pressing lazy kisses against the flesh.

"I know, baby. M'close, too," he rumbled, hand cupping your neck and pulling you closer to steal your lips once again. "We go together, yeah?"

You frantically nodded, humming with contentment as you kissed the corner of his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you.

Close wasn't close enough.

You wanted him closer than that.

You wanted him so close that you felt as if you'd die if he pulled away.

"Zoro!" you cried, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you arched into him. "I... oh, fuck!... I love you!

You creamed around him, muscles and walls clenching harshly on his pulsing cock as you felt his hips stutter, emptying inside you with a feral growl.

"I love you, too!" he grunted into your forehead, pressing a tender kiss against it.

After that, he stilled for a moment, still not removing himself as he looked you over, caressing your cheek lovingly as he admired your face.

You felt as if you were glowing, and from his perspective, you were; your hair sprawled out on the pillows forming a halo around your head, looking as if he had a true angel beneath him.

His thumb brushed your lips, his chest swelling with pride at the dreamy, enamored look he'd plastered on your face.

"Good massage?" you asked, cheekily, your hand rising to cup his cheek.

Amused, he let out a light chuckle, leaning into your touch before resting his hand over your own.

"Good massage."

[rats-secret-stash]

Welcome to my BG3 (male romanceable companions focused) ANTI-SIX-PACK RANT /HEADCANONS

[Warning - bad English and possibly incorrect interpretations of characters] [It’s just my headcanons, based purely on vibes. I also want to make it clear that I enjoy and respect various other hcs and portrayals of these characters (and i’ll probably draw them in various ways too). Do not fight me, i’ll cry lol]

WYLL

I’m a firm believer in Wyll being the only male companion with a (fairly) well-defined six-pack

He spent years training and he’s a son of a Grand Duke – so he probably ate well and learnt how to take care of his body properly

I also think he cares about the way he looks (/he’s aware how it can affect the way people perceive him) – so his muscles would be formed partially by practical use (fighting, training) and partially by some conscious muscle-building exercises. In other words, he’s the only male companion I can imagine doing planks and sit-ups in front of his tent lol

However, when I say “well-defined” abs, I mean a nice healthy balance between muscle and fat. None of that dehydrated “flexing 24/7” bullshit

ASTARION

I’m not sure if vampires sustain the body they had before being turned, and i kinda like this idea bc it could explain why Astarion looks like he’s in a good shape when we meet him in Act 1

However, my hc is that his body changes and gets healthier as the game progresses

In Act 1, he should be really thin. And I mean sickly thin. He was starved and tortured for centuries, and I can’t imagine him doing sit-ups in the kennels and working on a six-pack while barely surviving all the physical and psychological torture

After being tadpoled, he finally gets some freedom and is able to eat regularly (especially if Tav/Durge lets him feed on them, which is especially important in Act 2 where there aren’t many animals or alive enemies that he could feed on) – Astarion would get healthier and finally gain some weight

But still, I can’t imagine him doing core workouts in front of his tent. Let my boy rest.

He’s got some muscles (with emphasis on “some” bc that 8 in strength is.. you know), he builds them while doing all that rogue sneaking and killing – but overall he stays slim

Slim BUT (and i’ll die on this hill) he gains some softness. He finally gets that extra roll of fat on his stomach, a little bit of body getting squished by the waistband of his pants. He’s finally healthy and healing

Now we’re getting to the part where I start to scream at Larian for the crime of giving these men six-packs

HALSIN

What do you mean – we get a BIG elf, BIGGER than average elf should be, a man who resembles a BEAR, a man who often QUITE LITERALLY IS A BEAR(animal) – AND YOU DON’T MAKE HIM LOOK LIKE A BEAR(man)??? WHAT DO YOU MEANN??

Putting a high-definition six-pack on this man is a crime.

He should look like a bear, like the hammer-throwing athletes, like Thor in God of War, like a man who can lift a whole ass log while helping build a new shelter for his community. I need him strong. I need him big. I need him huggable. I need him to look like he would survive the winter

He should have strong arms (let’s ignore the fact that he has 10 in strength and that even Shadowheart is stronger than him)

He has muscles, build by physical work and for practical purposes – but they’re hidden under a healthy amount of fat

This man is not hitting the gym to form a six-pack. He’s got shit to do, place to be and people and nature to guide and protect

But, he wouldn’t overindulge in food – he believes in balance and all that, and I think he might view overeating as a waste 

But still, the fat is there bc.. bc it just is, let him eat dammit

GALE

Larian when I catch you. Larian you cowards.

Why does his 8-strength ass have a six-pack. For why. What was the reasonn??

He doesn’t even have to move a finger to do anything, he can magic everything. Fighting? Magic. Having to move the couch in his room? Magic. Telekinesis probably.

This man doesn’t need a six-pack and you can’t tell me he was doing core workouts in his wizard tower – he’s been too busy reading and researching and mastering his spells and romancing a goddess (COUGH or rather being groomed cuz that power imbalance is nasty COUGH)

Also, he mentions food a couple of times, doesn’t he? He can cook, he likes to eat – that’s canon bc i said so. He looks like he enjoys his dessert after dinner. AND HE CAN AFFORD IT. If he can afford all those books, he can afford some snacks too

That being said, if we were allowed to have a fat romanceable man, it would be Gale. He doesn’t need to be slim, he doesn’t need to be ripped. There is nothing in his lore that would justify that (imo) – let his stomach be soft, amen.

(However, I also kinda like the idea of Gale using some sort of illusion spell and that his six-pack is magical lol. Imagine, the rest of the party finding out that this whole time he’s been wasting a spell slot and his concentration ON A SIX-PACK SPELL)

FEMALE ROMANCEABLE CHARACTERS

When it comes to the girls, I can see all of them having well defined muscles and six-packs – they’re all physically strong (or at least stronger than the guys) and they all have a history with fighting/training 

I can also see them without six-packs – especially Shadowheart and Karlach (a bit more on it below)

LAE’ZEL – has the least body fat. I think her muscles should be the most visible. This is the only character who is allowed to have dehydrated muscles, and that's purely because of the way githyanki look

KARLACH – probably didn’t have a chance to rest and eat properly while in Avernus and then while being on the run. I think she could (similarly to Astarion) gain some weight throughout the game – she would finally have a chance to rest, eat and heal a bit. Also, she enjoys a nice meal and some beer

MINTHARA – I have to admit that I don’t know much about her. But she gives me the vibes of someone who likes a routine and takes their physical appearance very seriously (in a military-way, not fashion-way). I can see her building her muscles through fighting but also through purposeful exercises intended to keep her body lean and well built.

SHADOWHEART – she could have a six-pack, I’m down with this hc BUT. I can also see her having more curves and softness. Yes, she had to go through training – but she also can use spells in fights… so it should be fine for her to be softer

In conclusion – let them eat, let them be hydrated, let them look like people and not marvel superheroes

Doodle of Astarion going from starved and newly freed to eating better and getting chubbier

Controversial, but i'm six-pack hater. Out of romanceable male companions only Wyll should be allowed to have defined abs. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Widow's Bite of Love🕷️ | Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x black widow!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, flirtatious banter, mentions of canon violence, canon divergence | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Having returned from an intense mission with the Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm receives a welcome home from his girlfriend that's both a reminder to always remember making his presence known, and that behind her rough exterior there's a softness reserved only for him.

note: yeah, Joseph's Johnny Storm already has me in a chokehold and the movie isn't even out yet. I'm having to improvise of course since we don't know much but I'm having fun creating AUs in the meantime. Enjoy 💌

------------------------

Johnny knew better than to not announce himself when he entered the apartment past midnight after returning home from a week's long mission. It’d take him a second to shout, “Honey, I’m home!” but all the energy in him was exhausted. The mission took longer than planned. He was bruised and covered in dried blood from superficial cuts to his face and shoulders. Staining the crisp blue and white suit he wore. All he wanted was to get out of the suit, spend an hour in the shower, and bury himself under the covers to sleep until the end of time. 

However, that would have to wait. 

As Johnny practically dragged his feet across the floor in the direction of his bedroom, forgetting to turn on the main light in the living room, he was knocked off his feet with a knee to his stomach. “Ummph!!”

His attacker pushed him into a wall, his body ricocheting off and dodging the next kick which would’ve hit his side. Their arms wrapped around him, maneuvering him with brute force to put him on his back and Johnny groaned at the pain that shot up his spine. He may not have broken any bones but that didn’t mean he was in great condition. 

Using what little strength he had, Johnny put his whole body in pushing the figure off him. They let out a grunt and Johnny froze. It was hard to see, but there was something familiar about the moves his attacker was throwing at him and the familiar grunt that echoed in his ears. Then he caught a glimpse of their side profile thanks to the moonlight flickering in from the living room blinds.

‘Oh fuck…’ 

Johnny scrambled up and he heard her do the same. But whereas he raced to the light switch, she went to the coffee table and Johnny felt his blood drain. Thankfully he reached the switch first, flicking it on right as a dreading *click* filled the space. 

“Baby!” his hands waved frantically, matching the tremor in his tone. “It’s me, baby! It’s Johnny!” The gun trained on him hesitated, and Johnny let out a breath of relief when he saw the instant recognition in her face. The relief only lasted a second though, because then he winced as it was replaced by fury. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!! I could’ve killed you!!” Her scream echoed off the walls and matched her eyes full of wrath. “What the fuck did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?!” 

“I know! I know--I’m sorry!” his hands stayed up, threatening to fall down but he didn’t want to use any sudden movements knowing she was pumped full of adrenaline. Judging by the sweats and tank top she wore plus the wildness of her hair, she had to have been asleep and heard him come in. Sending her into agent mode. “I--I was distracted and I forgot to shout. I didn’t know if you were--I don’t…I don’t…” the words struggled to fall. His mind, fogged with fatigue, was racing with thoughts making it difficult for Johnny to get a grasp on them. 

Plus, his heart was pumping from nearly being shot by his girlfriend. 

Y/n, taking in his appearance fully for the first time since their unorthodox reunion, frowned and clicked the safety on the gun, tossing it on the coffee table where it’s usually hidden. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that without confirming--.” Johnny gently cut her off.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” His arms fell to his side as he moved to ease his body on the armchair closest to him. Every muscle in him screamed, and while the fire that consumed his veins helped, it wasn’t enough. “It’s one in the morning. You were probably asleep and I knew better than to just walk in and expect you to know immediately that it was me. After all,” he grunted with a wince, watching as she moved to the kitchen to flick on the kettle before approaching him. “We were supposed to be back two days ago.”

“Yeah I figured something went wrong when Sue refused to answer my calls,” her body crouched down so she was level with his knees. “I was tempted to come after you guys.”

“Why didn’t you?” he leaned forward with a wince, smiling sheepishly at her look at disapproval. He obviously wasn’t great at hiding his pain from her. 

“Because you always have everything under control. You’d pull through,” she assessed his features, glowering at the cuts that marked his skin painted with dried blood. The splotches on his suit and slight tears in the fabric. “Looks like this time you had a little more cut out for ya.” 

Johnny chuckled, “you could say that.” The whistle of the kettle sounded, and Y/n got up to begin making Johnny a cup of herbal tea. Handing him the steaming mug before squatting once more. The heat of the cup was comforting, and thanks to his powers Johnny didn’t have to worry about burning his tongue when he took the first sip. “Thank you, darling.” 

Her hand came to his cheek, making him lean into her touch as she pressed a kiss to his temple that was free of blood. His bottom lip was bruised with a small abrasion, so she refrained from kissing his mouth and instead left one on the corner. Laughing when he tried to catch her lips, but she pulled away causing him to groan. 

“Wait here and drink your tea while I go run you a bath,” she squeezed his knee as she started to stand. 

“Wait, no, no, no, baby--I don’t need a bath.” His hand snatched hers before she could walk away. Y/n let him hold her in place, but her brow raised with a knowing look. Johnny gave her his best puppy dog eyes, “The shower is perfectly fine and you have training in the morning. You go back to bed--I’ll be fine.” 

Y/n scoffed lightly, “Bold of you to assume I’m not taking the day off, Johnny Storm. You just got back and I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least three days.” His face flushed red, causing a smirk to appear on her. “Plus, as if I need training. You and I both know it’s really for my sparring partners. Not me.” 

“Which is why--,” he pulled her forward, letting his chin rest on her stomach as he tilted his head up. Sighing when her hands cupped his cheeks. “They are counting on you. You’re the best person for the job, Widow.” 

“I’m off the clock,” Y/n smirked at the name, fingers going up to his hair to smooth it out. “That name only works on me when I’m on. Now stop trying to switch the subject.” She scolded, stepping away despite his refusal. “You’re going to drink this tea, get out of this suit and have a nice hot bath. Then you’re going to bed and sleep the rest of the day. Got it?” She left no room for argument, and Johnny wasn’t going to attempt, nodding with a tired yawn.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she leaned down to kiss his temple one last time. “Don’t move till I tell you to.” The response she got was a lazy two finger salute, and Y/n retreated to their bathroom. As the water filled the tub, she went to Johnny’s drawers to remove a t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers, placing the clothes on the countertop before grabbing a packet of Epsom salt, bottle of bubble bath, lavender oil, a fluffy towel, a face towel and some candles from the cabinet. She also made sure to grab the first aid kit hidden beneath the sink. 

She poured the bubble bath liquid once the water reached about ⅓ of the tub. Then lit the candles and placed them on the stained-glass windowsill. Shutting the water off when it got just below the brim of the tub, Y/n poured a cup of the Epsom salt and let it sit for a minute before returning to the living room. 

“Alright, pretty boy, let’s get you cleaned up.” The smile on Johnny’s face was enough to light up a galaxy. If someone would’ve told him when he first gained powers rivaling the sun that his heart would be captured by a woman with deadly skills like the spider she’s named after, he’d say they had lost their mind. But the universe had a funny way of proving him wrong. 

Carrying the brute of his weight, Y/n’s left arm went over his shoulders while the other wrapped over the front of his waist. Encouraging him to lean on her as she helped him off the chair and to the bathroom, “Baby, we’ve been over this before, you’re not going to hurt me,” she grumbled when he tried to keep himself steady. 

Eventually they made it to the bathroom, perching Johnny on the edge of the tub where Y/n unzipped his suit and got it down to his torso before turning to allow him some privacy while he removed the rest and eased into the water. 

“All good?” she asked, opening the first aid kit to retrieve bandages and alcohol pads. 

“Yeah,” he moaned, welcoming the hot water as it hugged him. Instantly soothing the strained muscles that were already relaxing. Yeah the shower would’ve been a bad idea. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for putting you down when you were already,” Y/n’s tone was apologetic, and Johnny gave her a look. Silently telling her to stop being sorry for the incident ten minutes prior. Y/n dismissed his look, bringing the wipes and bandages over as she took a seat on the stool beside the tub. “Also, how many times have you done this for me?” Now it was Johnny’s turn to smirk.

“A few, give or take.” More like a dozen. Y/n’s returned back from missions covered in blood and bruises so much that Johnny’s already got the bath set when her jet lands. 

“Exactly,” she says with a hum, bringing his face toward with one hand while the other gathers water on the face cloth. “Now let me take care of you.” 

For the next 40 minutes, Johnny soaked in the bath as Y/n wiped the blood off him and tended to his wounds. She washed his hair while he relayed the details of the mission. Telling her how he came to be all battered and bruised thanks to an explosion he didn’t anticipate, too close to the line of fire. With the lavender oil Y/n massaged his shoulders and back, paying careful attention to the bruising so as to not hurt him any further. 

When she was all done, Y/n pressed soft kisses all over his face. The contours of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows. His temple, his jaw, the corner of his lips. By the end of it Johnny was begging for her mouth on his. He craved it. Going as far as to murmur, “Please, baby,” when she pecked his chin. Eventually Y/n caved in. Meeting his plush lips for a shot, but sweet, tender kiss. There was a bit of pain on Johnny’s end due to the cut, but he didn’t care. He needed this. 

The water remained warm due to his elevated body temperature, but once satisfied Johnny got out of the tub and dressed while Y/n put everything back in its place. The two then left the bathroom, Y/n flicking the lights off on their way out and led Johnny to the bed. “Oh,” he moaned just like the bath, relishing the feeling of the plush mattress gave him. It felt like laying on a cloud. “That’s so nice.”

Y/n laughed, urging him further into the bed so she could pull the comforter over his torso. Practically tucking him in before moving around to her side, joining him under the covers. Instantly Johnny pushes himself onto his side to curl up against Y/n, who laid on her back and welcomed him with opened arms. As he tucked his face in the area by her shoulder and neck, one hand went to her stomach to sneak his hand beneath her tank top and rest it on her waist. 

“You know tonight reminded me of the first time we met.” He spoke after a minute, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her fingers move to card through his blonde hair. The action made him shudder, pressing himself further into her side.

Her chuckle made his body move slightly, a teasing tone in her reply, “You mean when I tried to kill you?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it caused his own to appear.

Johnny remembered it like it was yesterday. He and the Fantastic Four were on a mission to locate a highly dangerous radioactive substance that could level an entire country. Recovering it was crucial God forbid it landed in the wrong hands. So they should’ve expected they weren’t the only ones after it. 

Something they found out the hard way. 

During the extraction, Johnny found himself face to face with the barrel of the gun in the hands of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dressed in a black tactical suit with too many weapons for him to count and a stare enough to send him to the grave. Johnny felt a bunch of emotions at once. From fear at having a gun on him, to confusion at the red hourglass on her belt. 

The encounter ended with Johnny getting a taste of what he would come to know as the widow’s bite. An electroshock weapon via gauntlets on her arms. Strong enough to put Johnny on his ass allowing her to escape with the package. The next day during the Four’s debrief, they discovered her identity. 

Her name was Y/n L/n. A highly trained and enhanced assassin of the now disbanded and classified program, the Red Room. Called the Black Widow, Y/n was an expert marksman, master of weaponry, professional in hand-to-hand combat and possessed equipment the Fantastic Four had never seen. The files indicated she’d been a key part in the dismantling of several European governments and linked to a dozen political assassinations. The records alone were enough to make their skin crawl. And frankly the Four were confused as it was common knowledge that when the Red Room disbanded, they killed all the Black Widows under their command to prevent their secrets from getting out. 

Turns out, they missed one. Who happened to be their best asset ever produced. 

Why was she after a radioactive substance? They didn’t know. But whatever it was they needed to find out fast and locate her before whoever she was working for got it. 

Their answer took weeks to uncover. And when they did the events following resulted in Y/n turning on the man she initially stole the package for and aligning with the Fantastic Four to bring him down. Initially they were suspicious, naturally so. Y/n was a spy, breaded and forged to become the best Black Widow the Red Room had ever produced. She was formidable, highly intelligent. A weapon in her own right. 

But she was their best chance at beating the guy. She knew his weaknesses. Knew his plans. It was an unlikely alliance, but the odds were against them. 

That was years ago. Now after saving the world too many times to count and nearly losing their lives, the assassin turned agent laid in Johnny’s bed in their shared apartment of Baxter’s Building. Holding him in her arms with a softness that took his breath away. The complete opposite of the threatening aura she possessed in the field. 

“I love you, Y/n,” He breathed into the night as sleep overtook him. Succumbing to the exhaustion as his heart fluttered at the feeling of her lips attached one last time to his forehead. 

“And I love you, my darling Johnny Storm.” 

[rafesbabygirlx]

JJ having a couple years long crush on kook princess reader and gets super flustered when out of nowhere reader starts flirting with him every chance she gets

I'm talking gobsmacked JJ losing all his game and blushing super hard at reader, stammering and everything (even if all his friends were there watching) and reader just finds it adorable so she keeps finding ways to fluster him and see how much she can get away with before his brain explodes ahahah

Hiiiii omg flustered JJ 🥹🤭

𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

You always noticed the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention—like he was trying to figure out how someone like you, a Kook princess through and through, had ended up orbiting the same world as him. He always kept his cool, flashing that signature smirk and tossing out some cocky remark whenever you caught him staring. But you wanted to see what would happen if you flipped the script.

It started small. A playful touch here, a lingering glance there. A teasing remark about how good he looked with his shirt off after a long day on the water. The first time you did it, he choked on his beer so hard Pope had to slap him on the back. You’d only barely brushed your fingers against his arm and murmured, “Damn, Maybank, didn’t know you had that kind of muscle on you.”

From that moment on, it became a game.

JJ Maybank—the most confident, flirtatious, smooth-talking Pogues of them all—was utterly useless against you.

He tried to keep up at first. He really did. He’d throw out a flirt of his own, something meant to get you blushing, but the second you doubled down—tilting your head, biting your lip just enough to send his brain short-circuiting—he was done for. His usual cocky demeanor crumbled in real time, replaced by wide eyes, red cheeks, and stammered nonsense that had the rest of the Pogues howling with laughter.

“Dude, you’re embarrassing us,” John B teased after you had leaned in just a little too close, dragging a finger down JJ’s chest under the pretense of dusting off some sand.

“Shut up,” JJ muttered, glaring at John B before whipping back to face you. “You—” He pointed accusingly at you, as if trying to form a coherent thought, but whatever he was going to say died before it left his lips because you just smirked at him.

“What about me, J?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

It only got worse from there.

You brushed against him unnecessarily when squeezing past him on the boat to get off The Wreck's dock. You played with the hem of his shirt and told him how soft it was—while he was wearing it. You leaned in just a little too close whenever he was talking, acting like you could barely hear him when in reality you just liked watching him lose his train of thought every time he got a whiff of your perfume.

And the best part? He was so obvious about how much it wrecked him. His ears turned pink. His hands fidgeted. He ran a hand through his hair so much you thought he might rip it out. He couldn’t even look you in the eye half the time.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Kiara muttered to you after JJ nearly walked straight into a post at The Wreck because he’d been too distracted watching you lick salt off the rim of your margarita glass.

“I know,” you mused, barely holding back a laugh. “But it’s just so easy.”

That was the thing about JJ. He was smooth with girls—other girls. The moment it came to you, it was like his brain fried on the spot. And you weren’t about to let up anytime soon.

Not when it was this much fun.

just realized I didnt tag anyone :,)

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[avaredava]

Virginity!

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list

⯌ Sum

Sukuna takes your virginity ( ˘ ³˘)♥

(fem!reader)

⯌ Wc

1.3k

⯌Warnings

Soft!dom sukuna, Soft sex, blood, oral (fem receiving), full form sukuna, hand mouth, crying, consent, checking in, "Good girl" and "Your doing so good..." That kinda stuff, reader has tattoos and piercings, worried Sukuna, extremely gentle Sukuna, Fingering, sweet cooing and kissing, violence towards his servants, pet names, mild breeding, aftercare, he's only gentle to you <3

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Ryomen Sukuna was a violent man but a complete sweet man too you. Yeah, maybe he isn't super kind and sweet but he definitely would never hurt you or let anyone hurt you.

He thinks it's useless then just saying "I love you." He thinks its cringy and idiotic. He prefers to show it in his actions. He makes you food, he would never make anyone food. He massages your belly on your period, god knows he would never do it for another woman.

You trust him with all your soul, he does too. He was there squeezing your hands when you got nip piercings, tattoos on your arms and back and a cute one on your ass.

One thing you've never let him do is take your virginity. It's not that you don't trust him it's the fact that you're scared to do it. You always find some excuse because you don't want to be pathetic for him. Because he is the king of curses.

But today wearing that small skirt and crop top, both of his cock's got hard. He grabbed you and you let out a little yelp as he throws you on the bed. He begins to strip you, and before he gets to your panties you yelp,

"I haven't had sex before!"

He looks at you with surprise in his eyes not saying anything but keeping his warm big hands on your thigh. "I'm fucking sorry" you whine. You get up to leave before he picks you up and sits you on the lower one of his four arms.

"I'm not mad doll, I just wish you would've told me." This is the most gentlest he's ever been. With anyone really. He could never let anyone hurt his perfect angel, not even himself. He gently strokes your hair.

"You wanna try? I'll be gentle." He says as he looks at you with gentle eyes. One of his servants walks in and he screams at them to get the hell out and almost kills them with a flesh wound. You realize how much you mean to him. He definitely loves you but would never verbalize it.

So you trust him dearly if he basically is a completely different version of the King of curses with you. He put you on the bed after you nodded and slid off your panties. "You're so pretty..."

"Thank-"

"I wasn't talking to you."

He points at your pussy and it shines with your juices, and fully shaved it just turns him more on. He takes off his clothes with kisses on your forehead for comfort. He finally took off his boxers and your eyes widened.

"Whats wrong baby?" He questions rubbing his sharp nails up and down your thigh. "You're really big." You say with a slight shake to your voice. "You're only taking one cock don't worry." His cocks are huge and throbbing as they hang from him in between his thighs.

"I'll get you ready first but tell me when to stop get faster or add more fingers. Okay?"

"Okay."

He slowly adds one thick finger and the sting of the stretch hurts a bit but you wrap your arms around his neck with your eyes squeezed shut.

He quickly kisses your temple wrapping his two upper arms around your body and one of the lower one on your hip while the other one slowly thrusts a finger with his other hand.

" Kuna!..." You whine as the pain increases the deeper he thrusts his finger. It was all pain before he found the yummy spongy spot inside you that he began to rub and thrust into.

The pleasure slowly showed up until the pain was fully gone. He held you down and rubbed as you squirmed and whimpered. "Atta girl." He proudly says as he felt his fingers get soaked enough to add another finger in.

He looked at you with gentle eyes asking permission for another finger. He slides his finger and you moan. You were about to cum and then he pulls his fingers out and you pout your eyes glassy.

He grins, he enjoys seeing you fall apart under him. This is the first time he ever saw you like this and it most definitely won't be that last. He gets up from over you and sits down his back against the head board.

His tummy smile grins and sticks its tongue out. He pulls you to sit on his tongue and you shriek as it shoves inside getting you ready for one of his cocks. It slid in perfectly since it was soaked. There was a bit of a stretch but it wasn't too bad. Your sweet spot was getting abused and finally you came.

He sucked on your clit hard, prolonging your orgasm. You hollered and shrieked as you squirted for the first time. Your tears rolled down your face as his actual mouth licked your tears while his stomach kept sucking.

As he finished sucking he did one last lick to your slit and pulled you off his tummy and closed its mouth. He holds you close and gently whispers in your ear. "You ready doll?" He mumbles.

"How much will it hurt?" You question with a worried look in your eyes. "A little bit doll, but i'll take care of you my little brat. I promise."

You nod trusting him fully. He puts you under his body leaving small kisses on your cheek. He pushes your knees to your chest in a mating press. Your nipples perked with arousal.

He slowly pushes his cock in gently and you suck you sharply breath in and grab his shoulders. "S-Sukuna i-it hurts..."

"I know, I know." He gently coos. He massages your thighs. He's never been like this to anyone. He would never even care if it was one of his hookups before he met you.

But now he has his lips pressed to your forehead and he's not even moving his hips and bottomed out waiting for you to say to continue. He feels bad about you being hurt.

He's killed, hurt, and tortured others, but now he's hurting your sweet pussy and he's fucking losing it. "It really hurts..." You mumble.

"I'll make you feel good, just let me, it might hurt a little." You nod with permission and he starts shallow thrusting. He let's out little groans and growls. His sharp teeth shine in the dim light as his jaw clenches and eyes shut tight with pleasure. His lower hands grab your hips and the upper grab your tits tight.

"I-it's starting to feel good." You whine into him as you try to squirm but you're squished in too tight of a mating press and his arms on you don't really help.

"I know it's feeling good, you're doing so, so, good. Such a good girl for me." His thrusts become more reverent your pleasure becoming unimaginable. His balls smack against your clit rubbing it when he rolls your hips making you holler with overstimulation.

"Fuck pretty girl you feel so good." He lets a small whimper as you tighten around him. His face flushes when he makes that noise but it feels too good to care much anyway. "Fuckkkk..." He groans.

"I'm gonna give you a baby. Fuck!" With that he cums inside with some drool rolling down his chin and you moan loud as you cum right after.

He pulls out watching his cum drizzle out. He pushes the cum back in with his fingers making sure he has an heir. Making sure he has a little him and you. Making your first time special in his eyes.

He held you tight with him under you holding you close pulling your pink hello kitty blanket over you kissing your forehead.

"Such a good girl for me." And with that he was vulnerable for the first time in his life.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

@mzmalice3 for you bbg <3

[writing-for-marvel]

Alright, so I know what kind of pain I’m in for with this first part, I’ve prepared myself as best I can but something tells me that I still won’t be able to handle it without sobbing my eyes out

“I only scream when there’s good reason.”

This feels like foreshadowing and if she ends up screaming it *will* be the end of me

“You’re hovering again, Barnes,” you say without looking up, and feel his gaze move away from you. Even after all this time, he still doesn’t trust you one bit.

“Show-off,” you mumble as you slip past Bucky and his smugly raised eyebrow.

Eeeeeep it’s the start of their journey and I cannot wait to see them eventually so mushy in love 🥰

Then, there’s a sickening cracking noise, and the pressure is gone from your throat. You stumble forwards, coughing, before you’re pulled back to your feet, fast but not roughly. Blue eyes find yours, a look almost like concern in them.

I know they’re teammates, and I know he’d want to save her anyway, but that *concern* ahhh I just sense he’s already got a soft spot for her

“Well—it’s—tradition!” Each of your words is punctuated by a punch. “And why are you looking at my thigh, Bucky?”

Yes sir exactly whatcha eyes doing gazing down there hmmm

He looks like he’s going to kill you himself. “Geez, I hate you.”

Yeah I *totally* believe you Buck

He catches you by the elbows and shoves you to the side in one fluid motion the same moment another shot sounds.

IM NOT READY

You fall to your knees next to Bucky, frantically pressing your hands on the wound in his chest. There’s so much blood. How is there so much blood?

WHY MUST THIS BE SO PAINFULLL

His blue eyes find yours. They’re impossibly wide. “So—so stupid,” he pants and his face distorts in pain.

HE IS ON THE BRINK OF DEATH AND HE IS STILL TEASING HER IM SOBBING BUT THEYRE STILL SO CUTE

You scream.

I KNEW IT

You scream because nothing is okay, because you’re useless, because none of this should have happened and it’s all your fault, and you’re clutching Bucky’s hand in yours because maybe if you hold onto him tightly enough, he’ll come back and all of this will seem like a bad dream.

THATS IT IM DEAD NIKA YOUVE KILLED ME ALONGSIDE BUCKY 💀💀

Okay I needed to take time to calm down… even though I knew what was going to happen, I couldn’t handle all the emotions.

You swallow down the bile that rises in your stomach and carefully twist your rings around on your fingers, one after the other. All of them are completely pitch black, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

Why is it that even though I’m in the comfort of my own bedroom that I need to actively remind myself that this isn’t actually happening to me… the emotions are just so vivid

Still, you’ve never gone this far back. And isn’t this about making today a better day, really?

Mmmm something in my gut is telling me she’ll somehow find a way to make this day worse if that’s even possible

Damn those dopamines your therapist keeps telling you about.

lol this made me laugh, just hits a little close to home

“You used that one earlier,” you say, shaking your head in faux disappointment. “Are you running out of nicknames, Sammy?”

Their banter is EVERYTHING 🥰

You turn, surprised at the question, to find Bucky’s gaze lingering on your hands. Not for the first time, you silently curse his perceptiveness. “Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms.

Just his perceptiveness… or perhaps it’s his interest in you 👀

AHH AND THE ENDING!!!! I’m so excited to drive back into this series Nika, I know it’s your baby and I can’t wait to read all the love and care you’ve put into creating such a unique story, you’re fucking brilliant

My favourite thing about how you write is just how many emotions you can make me feel in such a short span, and this chapter is the best example of this, how you give a snippet of hope only to crush it each time (you’re so cruel for that but it makes me love you even more)

time after time [1]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 6.0k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, accidentally starting a time loop, banter, pretty angsty to start us off with ngl, reminder to read the fic premise. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: happy groundhog day and welcome to the first instalment of the series i’ve been sitting on since july. i’ve always loved time loop storylines, so i thought, why not indulge myself and put my own twist on it?

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

one: turn back the clock

Your mother used to call it a gift, but for most of your life, your powers had felt more like a curse.

It began when you were a toddler; small hops backwards through time barely noticeable to anyone but yourself, or an afternoon lost to everything speeding up around you. Sometimes, the world would just stop spinning for an hour or two and you would wander between the frozen people, crying and confused, until things finally picked up speed again and your parents would shout your name because you’d simply disappeared before their very eyes.

When you got older, you found out that this little quirk of yours could be useful every now and then. If a teacher asked a question you didn’t know the answer to, you learned to will yourself back just enough to keep up your participation score. It didn’t particularly feel right, but it was one of the few benefits your strange powers provided, then.

For the most part, you couldn’t control it, though. For the most part, it meant having to relive painful moments and rush through the good ones. It meant screaming into people’s unmoving faces until your voice got hoarse because you couldn’t figure out how to get time to move again.

You assumed what you were going through was what everyone was talking about when they spoke of déjà-vu, until you mentioned it to your mother one day and she sighed deeply and said, “oh honey, I thought it had stopped.”

Maybe your family had more secrets than you’d given them credit for.

“You’re such a special girl,” they would tell you later. Such a special, clever girl. This is a great thing, you know. It’s your talent to make things right, make them the way they should be.

It was your own mistake that you started to believe their lies.

*****

“Something is very, very wrong here,” you say quietly.

“You always say that,” Sam says, securing the room ahead and then nodding for you to follow him.

“Yeah, and I’m usually right.” Your fingers are itching for you to flick them and speed up this terrible silence so that you can at least know what’s going on. You ignore the urge, but keep one hand held out in front of you, your thumb and first two fingers pointing upwards. The other hand grips tightly around your automatic.

The hallway doesn’t stretch out very far, but what little of the low sunlight makes it in through the dirty windows gives it a strange, eerie atmosphere. Maybe that’s what you’re picking up on, you try to tell yourself. The air is thick with a stench you can’t identify.

“Lovely interior design,” Sam mumbles. You follow his gaze to a pile of bones that lie scattered in one of the rudimentary holding cells you’re walking past. A spider runs from his flashlight and you grimace.

“Sam,” you say, focusing on the half-extended wings on his back again. “Did you invent this mission to get us to go to a haunted house with you?”

He snorts lightly as he pulls the cloth off the crates that are stacked alongside the wall. There’s a single red handprint near the bottom right of each of them. You almost sigh.

“Do you think I’d pass up the opportunity to hear the two of you scream in terror when the vampire puppets creep up on you?”

“Gotta disappoint you, cap,” you grin and wait for him to check the map. “I only scream when there’s good reason.”

“I don’t wanna interrupt,” Bucky interrupts over the intercom, “but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on.”

“You’re no fun, Bucky.” Still, your eyes flick to your rings. Almost all of them have turned a deep black, with specks of emerald few and far between. Useless. “I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again.”

“I prefer heroic,” Sam says and turns back to you, a concerned look on his face. “You alright?”

You nod. “Just haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since London.” Between Sam’s snoring on the plane ride back and the early mornings, you are currently running mostly on strong coffee and lots of sugar. “It’s gonna be fine. Just try not to get killed.”

“Good old-fashioned survival. Reminds me of old times.” Sam’s voice might be light, but you know him well enough by now to tell he’s still worried. Your stomach twists with it.

“Can’t say that, bud,” Bucky says. “Twenty seconds.”

“You need to repair Redwing,” you tell Sam. “Being the lookout makes Barnes cranky.”

“You forget that he’s always cranky.”

While you’re still bantering, you place the explosives you’ve brought next to the wall Sam has pointed out. It’s not the most elegant way, but there hasn’t been time to research key codes or break in quietly, so you’re going in with a bang.

Sam and you take cover behind the shield. The little timer starts counting down from ten.

“Any time, Buck,” Sam says. “Five. Four.”

Two shots find their marks outside. You turn your head to see one of the people in white fall through the far entrance of the hallway, holding their knee in pain.

“One.”

You shut your eyes just in time before the door gets blasted off its hidden hinges. A cloud of dust hits your face and you start coughing violently.

“Everyone alright?” Bucky shouts and you grimace at the volume of his voice in your ear.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Our wrinkle in time here just decided to inhale some metal.” He claps you on the back a few times until the grime has finally cleared from your lungs. “You good?”

“All good,” you rasp, roughly drying your eyes with your sleeve.

It’s times like this, you think, that your powers are truly the most useless. There’s no way for you to go back and unclog your lungs of whatever atrocities you just inhaled. You’re cursed to always stay exactly as you are.

“Are you guys waiting for a formal invite?” Bucky asks, walking past you without a single glance in your direction.

“Any more comin’?” Sam looks down the now opened entryway. Just like you expected, the lab on the other side seems empty.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bucky answers, “but I’d rather not stick around to find out.”

You take a look over your shoulder back down the hall at where the white jacket is still lying, unconscious. In the gloomy light, there are strange reflections moving across their goggles, and you can’t help but frown as the uneasy feeling sinks deeper into your bones. Like a tingle that claws its way down your spine to settle in your fingertips. You pull your gun out of the holster.

“Don’t you feel like this is way too easy?” you say quietly, reassuming your position between the two of them.

“Yup,” Sam says, shield still held up in front of him. He keeps moving forward.

The lab is smaller than you expected, crammed with tables that are overflowing with strangely colored concoctions and stacks upon stacks of papers. You take a step closer, trying to make sense of the strange chemical formulas scribbled next to a bunch of tables and graphs. It’s not exactly your strong subject, though, and you can’t really concentrate with someone else breathing down your neck.

“You’re hovering again, Barnes,” you say without looking up, and feel his gaze move away from you. Even after all this time, he still doesn’t trust you one bit.

“This isn’t it,” Sam says, closing the last of the filing cabinets with a bang. “They must’ve cleared out before we got—here. Alright.”

Bucky makes him take a step to the side before hooking his metal arm into the cabinet and pulling. With a screech of protest, the entire thing slowly moves open to reveal a broad winding staircase leading downwards. Another wave of the horrid smell hits you, even stronger now, like something metallic that’s being set on fire.

“Show-off,” you mumble as you slip past Bucky and his smugly raised eyebrow.

The stairs go down deeper and deeper for a lot longer than you'd expected, lit by motion detector lights that turn your shadows into overly large figures on the opposite wall. It doesn’t ease your premonition in the slightest. Finally, everything opens up and you look down into a large, almost cave-like room. It extends pretty far backwards before it splits into several tunnels that remind you of the one you spotted when you got out of the quinjet earlier.

But despite the stone walls and your being several feet underground, it is surprisingly warm down here, probably due to the several giant containers placed along one of the walls that seem to be the source of the atrocious smell. They are also faintly glowing.

“Are we gonna get radiation poisoning?” you ask. “Because you definitely don’t pay me enough for that.”

“I doubt they’d send their own people ‘round the perimeter with nothing more than a face mask if those things were radioactive,” Sam says. “And you’re here voluntarily.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” you mumble, but you follow him anyway.

Unlike the lab upstairs, everything here looks orderly, almost pristine. Not a single sheet of paper is unfiled, the metal tables are empty and wiped clean. There’s a gentle whirring sound that leads your gaze to several monitors, some of which are showing different maps and security camera footage while others seem to be tracking the progress of some sort of test.

“Look at that,” Sam says, stepping closer to the containers. “What is that?”

A dark blue liquid is slowly dropping out of a hole near the bottom of one of the containers. Bucky kneels down next to it.

“Don’t touch that!” you say quickly and he rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to.” Sam hands him a little glass vial and Bucky carefully scoops up some of the liquid with his left hand.

“Maybe we can send that to Banner, have him take a look.” Sam walks over to the computers and plugs in a drive. “We’ll make a copy of that for Torres and then get out of here.”

“What do you think that is?” you wonder, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Once again, this mission has you feeling unbelievably superfluous.

“Not the serum. Wrong color,” Bucky answers as if he could read your thoughts. He pockets the vial in his jacket and stands up. “You’re hovering again, Y/L/N.”

You’d roll your eyes, too, if you didn’t know that’d only make that stupid smirk reappear. “Can we leave before I do something he’ll regret?” you shout at Sam.

“That’s sweet,” Bucky smirks anyway.

“I think we have another problem right now,” Sam says, looking up from the monitors. “We’re getting company.”

Only a moment later there’s a thunderous crash and the table to your far left bursts into flames. You stumble backwards. Right overhead, there’s a large round hole where the floor of the small lab on the first floor used to be.

All of a sudden, dozens of people descend upon you from all directions, swarming the lab and surrounding you within seconds. They’re all dressed exactly the same, white jackets over their black overalls, identical white face masks and goggles, and matching black berets.

“Oh, this is like a nightmare flash mob,” you shout as you avoid the first kick to your face. “They must’ve sounded a silent alarm!”

“D’you think?” Bucky huffs, punching another white jacket in the jaw.

You aim your gun just as Sam flings his wings out, swishing your target off their feet. Behind them, another group closes in. You fire without a second thought, and three of them drop to the ground.

Just as you try to reload your weapon, someone rips it out of your hand and hits you across the face with it. You stumble, eyes welling up, as they grab you around the neck, dragging you backwards with such strength you are forced to the tips of your toes. Your heart is thundering with panic, unbidden mental images threatening to come back to the surface as you try to pry their hands loose to no avail. Black dots are starting to dance across your vision.

Then, there’s a sickening cracking noise, and the pressure is gone from your throat. You stumble forwards, coughing, before you’re pulled back to your feet, fast but not roughly. Blue eyes find yours, a look almost like concern in them.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you gasp. “Thanks.”

“You tryin’ to suffocate today?” He hands you your gun back and you shrug, pressing the memories all the way back down again.

“Sam might give me a day off if I faint.”

Another explosion has both of you turn your heads up. A shower of glass splinters and burning pieces of paper rains down through the hole on the first floor, taking bits of the ceiling down with it.

“We better get moving,” Sam shouts. “If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Wordlessly, Bucky holds up his arm. Sam throws the shield, hitting two more white jackets in the face before Bucky catches it with ease. You kick another one of them in the groin, wrangling the weapon out of their grasp.

“Who the fuck brings a knife to a fight like this?” you shout.

“And what’s that thing on your thigh, you planning a picnic?” Bucky replies, holding up the shield to protect both of you from hailing gunshots.

“Well—it’s—tradition!” Each of your words is punctuated by a punch. “And why are you looking at my thigh, Bucky?”

Before he can answer, there’s a string of curses and the sound of breaking metal directly in your ear. You let go of your weapon as your hands move up, and it stops its fall in mid air as time screeches to a stop.

The sudden silence in the middle of everything that’s been going on would be disconcerting if you weren’t so used to it by now. Everyone is frozen around you as you turn and take a step from behind the shield to see what’s happening on the other side of the room.

Sam is still up in the air, and even from a distance you can see the grimace on his face and the splotches of red on his stomach. One of his wings is at a strange angle, and you look around quickly to find the white jacket still aiming the blaster that must’ve hit him.

You take a deep breath and reach backwards until you feel the old familiar tingling between your fingers. It’s fickle, like it always is, and all the more unpredictable because you’re tired. Still, you force it to wind back, if only a little.

Time resets with a start.

“—on your thigh, you planning a picnic?”

“Two o’clock,” you gasp.

Bucky reacts almost on instinct, taking out the shooter before they can do any harm while you punch your opponent in the face again. It takes you two more blows than last time to take them down. When you look at your hands, they’re shaking. There’s nothing but the slightest wisp of green left swimming in the black of your rings.

“I’m really gonna need you to not be stupid from now on,” you shout as soon as you catch your breath again.

Bucky curses. “Sam, we’re coming now. There’s too many of ‘em to wait ‘round for this stupid thing to copy.”

“Do you need me to come get you?”

“No.” He bashes a white jacket on the head with the shield and throws it against the last one that’s still standing. It doesn’t fly quite in the same elegant way as when Sam does it, toppling over itself and landing on the ground next to the unconscious guard. “Just get the jet started. Can you walk?” he asks you.

“‘Course I can walk,” you say, slightly annoyed, but your eyes are fixed on the monitors on the far side of the room. “I think it’s done.”

“Just get out of there,” Sam says through the comms. “I can see at least another dozen heading in up here.”

You look at Bucky and his eyes narrow at the resolute look on your face. It’s your fault you’re even here in the first place, though. You might as well fix it. It’s only going to take a second, anyway.

“No—” Time glitches. “—thing—” Time stumbles over itself. “—stupid, damnit!” Time moves at an unsteady pace and then moves again as you almost trip over your own feet, pulling the drive out of the computer and holding it up triumphantly just as Bucky reaches you.

“See?” you grin. “All good.”

And then the computer explodes.

You’re thrown against Bucky, who catches your fall somewhat, rolling both of you over and out of harm’s way. Your ears are ringing, and you can tell by the buzzing that your intercom is probably broken. Surprisingly, you both seem unharmed apart from that.

Bucky stares at you, face only a few inches from yours and fury still blazing in his eyes. It almost makes you want to laugh. In fact, it’s exhilarating.

“Do you wanna get out of here or what?”

He looks like he’s going to kill you himself. “Geez, I hate you.”

You get to your feet with a low snort, the adrenaline making you strangely giddy as you catch up with Bucky, who is already stomping back in the direction of the tunnels. “I think this was a great success,” you say lightly, stepping over another body. “If Sam hurries up, we might even make it in time for the fireworks—”

He catches you by the elbows and shoves you to the side in one fluid motion the same moment another shot sounds.

Your head whips around and you throw your knife without hesitation. The assailant slumps backwards. There’s still steam coming out of the blaster that never hit Sam, but you barely notice it. You fall to your knees next to Bucky, frantically pressing your hands on the wound in his chest. There’s so much blood. How is there so much blood?

“No, no no no, this isn’t happening. Bucky!” Your head is empty of coherent thought. There’s just panic. “Sam!”

“Ther—half a—”

You tear the broken intercom out of your ear. “Buck, you have to stay with me. We’re, we’re going to get you home, okay?”

His blue eyes find yours. They’re impossibly wide. “So—so stupid,” he pants and his face distorts in pain.

You feel sick to your stomach. “I know. I know, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I’m gonna fix this.”

You flick your fingers, again and again, but there’s nothing. There’s absolutely nothing. You don’t feel the pull, not even the tiniest bit of a quiver. You’re just grasping at air, your powers betraying you once again. A curse.

Bucky starts blurring in front of you and you blink the tears away, refusing to let him out of focus. “Please.”

With concerted effort, he raises his hand to lie on top of yours. “S’okay, doll,” he gets out, his mouth contorting a little. “Y/N. S’okay.”

And then his eyes glaze over.

You scream.

You scream because nothing is okay, because you’re useless, because none of this should have happened and it’s all your fault, and you’re clutching Bucky’s hand in yours because maybe if you hold onto him tightly enough, he’ll come back and all of this will seem like a bad dream. Maybe if you try again, and again, and again, you can make this go away, make it actually okay again, because you don’t know how you’re going to live with yourself if you can’t do the one fucking thing you were supposed to do.

Useless.

You don’t let go of his hand as you press your eyes shut and try to grasp at the edges of your power, try to feel the ridges and flickers in the fabric of everything, reaching out for something, anything, any point in time or space that they can connect to and drag you out of here.

And then they do.

It’s tiny at first, a miniscule spec of something, and you cry out again as you reach out. You feel like your soul is being stripped bare by the effort alone.

Then, it crashes over you like a tidal wave, knocking you forward into Bucky once again. You feel yourself covering his head, cradling it as if that would make a difference. It’s an almost automatic reaction.

Your self seems to expand further and further and shrink at the same time, way worse than it ever has when you’re using your powers, and you feel almost seasick. You press your forehead against Bucky’s.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “It’s going to be okay.”

There is an explosion of green light all around you that lifts you up into the air, and then nothing but darkness as you fade out of consciousness.

***

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

For a moment, you’re completely disoriented, staring at your surroundings in confusion. You’re in your own bedroom back at the Tower, your feet tangled in the sheets and eyes still bleary. You almost let yourself believe that it was all just a nightmare, another horrible dream conjured up by some subconscious remnants of the past, although even the worst of your dreams haven’t felt as real as what you just went through.

The idea is short-lived, anyway.

Your hands are still shaking when you lift them to your face. There’s blood all over your palms and stuck under your fingernails, leaving crimson stains on your bedding. Bucky’s blood.

You swallow down the bile that rises in your stomach and carefully twist your rings around on your fingers, one after the other. All of them are completely pitch black, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

Then again, you’ve never tried anything like this.

You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “FRIDAY?” you say cautiously. The music quietens as the A.I. comes to attention with a gentle tinkle. “What day is it?”

“Today is Friday, July 4th,” FRIDAY tells you.

You huff incredulously, your heart still pounding wildly. Somehow, you did it. It’s yesterday morning again. You actually did it.

Stumbling, you reach your tiny bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. There’s a tiny nick on your left cheek from where the white jacket hit you with your gun last night, but you couldn’t care less because you’re back. It worked.

You scrub your hands under the hot water until it runs clear again, still stunned. You can’t remember ever jumping backwards that far, not without feeling completely exhausted anyway, but right now, you’re strangely alright, even though the adrenaline is still rushing through your veins.

The mix of emotions running through your head is so confusing that you don’t notice the band around your wrist until you’re drying off your hands.

It’s so close to your skin it almost looks like a tattoo, partially translucent and glowing dimly emerald. Instinctively, you try to rub at it, but your fingers go straight through it and you feel a tiny spark of electricity. When you hold out your hand at the right angle, you can see it’s made up of tiny symbols forming geometric shapes, moving around your arm in a slow, seamless circle. The longer you stare at it, the more hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

There’s a pounding at your door, followed immediately by Sam’s voice. “Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!”

You look at the clock on your bedroom wall. It’s shortly before 8 a.m., which gives you almost the entire day before you’re called on that mission. More than enough time to recuperate your powers and figure out a plan to make sure everything goes smoothly this time.

Until then, you just have to act normally.

“Not gonna happen, birdbrain!” you shout back, just like you did yesterday, and go through the pile of semi-clean gym clothes by the foot of your bed. As you get changed, you take another second to look at the strange emerald band around your wrist. Then, you pull a sweatband over it to camouflage it. You’ll deal with this later. For now, it’s training with Sam, a shower and breakfast.

And discreetly checking up on Bucky in a normal, non I Just Watched You Die kind of way. You can totally manage that.

“Don’t ever wake me up like that again!” you call out to Sam, closing the door to your room behind you.

He pushes away from the wall and falls into step next to you, grinning. “Sweet white teenage angst not your style?”

“You’re the worst.” The song is stuck in your head now, too, just like yesterday, but unlike then, you can’t find it in you to be mad about that fact. You did it.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sam remarks as you’re climbing up the stairs and you look at him in surprise. This is new.

Yester-today you didn’t talk at all on your way to the gym, what with you being both tired and annoyed at him. You’re usually wary about changing details during your redos, because the tiniest things can make the outcome of a situation unpredictable.

Still, you’ve never gone this far back. And isn’t this about making today a better day, really?

So you smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” Sam says, eyebrow still raised. “Suspicious, maybe. Are you gonna salt someone’s coffee again?”

“I did that one time.” You roll your eyes as you push open the door to the gym. It’s a lot smaller than the one at the Compound was, and you particularly miss the swimming pool, but the view from the Tower is without compare. Midtown looks magnificent in the early sunlight.

You drop your rings into the little metal bowl you keep next to the window and climb into the boxing ring after Sam, stretching your back.

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Before Sam and Bucky found you, you hadn’t sparred for months and not exactly missed it. Training with soldiers and former assassins who held back every single punch and still managed to drop you on the mat with infuriating ease had never been very fun for you, and what with the universe saved and all, you hadn’t really seen the point in keeping up the practice once the dust blew over. Now that you’re regularly going on missions again, though, you have to stay in shape.

And although you hate to admit it even to yourself, there is something calming about being back in a routine like this. It keeps your head from getting stuck in the fuzzy grayness of it all. Damn those dopamines your therapist keeps telling you about.

Today, though, this today, your eyes are continually drawn to the door while you’re dodging and blocking Sam. It makes you sloppy even by your standards, which are mediocre at best thanks to your impatience. Of course it doesn’t escape his notice.

“What is up with you today?” he asks when he helps you get back to your feet for the third time this morning.

You dab the sweat off your face, hissing when you accidentally rub the cut on your cheek. At least Sam hasn’t said anything about that. “Slept weird,” you say evasively.

“Nightmare?��� he offers with a compassionate look.

“Sort of,” you answer. “Feels a little … déjà-vu-y.”

“I know the type,” Sam says. “Wanna talk about it?”

You do. But the time stuff is your problem to deal with, and so you shake your head.

“Alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and raising an eyebrow. “Come on, then. You gotta get one kick in, at least, and hurry up, because I’m starving.”

“You could stop moving, then we’re done faster,” you grin. Your stomach is growling, too.

“Nice try, McFly.”

“You used that one earlier,” you say, shaking your head in faux disappointment. “Are you running out of nicknames, Sammy?”

“I’m not gonna be creative for someone who can’t kick above their waistline.”

“How dare you!”

You lose that round, too, but Sam deems you motivated enough to call it a day. He throws his towel over his shoulder and heads to the showers while you lay your head down on the mat and close your eyes for a moment. Waiting.

Yester-today, you didn’t hear Bucky come in, either. He was just sitting next to the ring when you looked to your side, hair sticking to his forehead and shirt clinging to his muscles, still a little damp after his shower. Then, you felt a slight rush of embarrassment at how much of a sweaty mess you were.

Now, you couldn’t care less.

“You look like shit.”

You turn your head and there he is. Living, breathing proof that you actually did do it. And for the first time in a long while, you feel nothing but gratitude for your powers.

Oh, fuck you, Barnes. If you’re sticking to the rules you’ve set for yourself long ago, that’s what you’re supposed to say, because that’s what you said the first time. Change as little as possible.

But even if you hadn’t broken them earlier, you couldn’t do it now. Not when you’re feeling this happy to see Bucky alive again. Alive and well, and slightly grumpy as ever.

So what falls out of your mouth instead is, “You’re looking good.”

Bucky squints at you and you smile at the way his cheeks are still slightly pink from his morning run, proof of his heart still beating. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You laugh. “Why, can’t I say that you look good and mean it?”

Bucky tilts his head slightly, but then shakes it. “Nah. You’re messin’ with me.”

“No, I’m not,” you tell him earnestly, sitting up to look at him properly. At his chest, solid and whole and moving calmly. “I’m just … glad you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he frowns.

“I don’t know,” you say, tugging at your sweatband. “It’s been a weird couple of days.”

“Yeah.” He looks at you for another beat, then he shakes his head again and gets up. “Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You smile at him again, but he averts his eyes.

***

“I probably only have one reset left,” you say, trying to ignore the chill that goes down your spine. “Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again.”

“I prefer heroic. You alright?”

And for a moment, you hesitate. Because even though the rest of the day has passed pretty much exactly the same as it did the first time up until this point, you’ve felt the doubts creeping in ever since you laid down for a nap in the early afternoon, tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, only to find your rings hadn’t regained even the slightest speck of green.

You’re terrified of the moment you’re going to have to use your powers, because what if with this large jump, you overdid it? What if this time, there won’t be any redos?

No. You’re made of stronger stuff than your doubts, you know that. Things are going to be okay.

You nod with newfound determination. “‘Course I am. It’s gonna be fine.” You flex your fingers to reassure yourself. “Just try not to get killed.”

It’s a plea more than anything else, but of course Bucky doesn’t respond, not to you. Not to it.

“Can’t say that, bud,” he says instead. “Twenty seconds.”

But who’s counting? You close your eyes and hold your breath, balling your hands into fists so tightly it hurts.

“I don’t wanna complain,” Sam says as the dust settles. “But I did expect this to be more difficult.”

“Don’t jinx it, Sam,” you say wrily.

“You’re such a pessimist.” He still raises his shield a bit higher. “Any more comin’, Bucky?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Your heart twinges slightly, but you bite your lip. Your job is to make sure the mission gets done and everyone stays alive. Both of those things, not just one. “I’m right behind you.”

The lab looks exactly the same as it did the first time, small and crammed and somehow even gloomier today, though that’s probably just your imagination. Now that you know to look for it, you can tell the file cabinet on the far side of the wall doesn’t quite touch the floor, something that Bucky must’ve picked up on immediately.

You feign interest in the papers on the table again, shuffling them to keep your hands occupied. “You’re hovering again, Barnes.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

You turn, surprised at the question, to find Bucky’s gaze lingering on your hands. Not for the first time, you silently curse his perceptiveness. “Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms.

His jaw sets, but he doesn’t comment on your dismissiveness. He just moves to open the cabinet. You don’t find it in you to say anything, and so he doesn’t look quite as happy with himself. It doesn’t give you any pleasure.

When the downstairs lab fills with white jackets, your stomach is still threatening to drop, but you grit your teeth. This is exactly the kind of situation you’ve trained for; the most important thing now is remembering the order of things. Like a dance recital.

Duck to the side. Bucky steps right. Wait for Sam’s move. Shoot. You take another step back before the white jacket can drag you away by the throat again and kick them in the stomach until they stay on the ground, which is a way kinder fate than yesterday’d brought them. You shudder slightly as you turn to look at the hole in the ceiling. Three. Two. One.

The second explosion goes off at the same time as someone shouts your name, and you whip your head around only to be roughly shoved to the side and fall the ground. A large piece of ceiling lands right where you’d just been standing. Which is obviously a different place than yesterday because you knocked that white jacket unconscious. Wow, you’re an idiot.

Bucky seems to agree. “Whatever’s happening right now, you gotta snap out of it.” There’s something about the look on his face that makes your blood boil.

“What’s happening is that I’m trying to fix this,” you say sharply.

“By getting yourself killed?!”

“We need to get moving,” Sam’s voice says on the intercom before you have time to reply. “If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Bucky stares at you for another second as if he’s trying to decide on the thing that’s most wrong with you right now. You shove him off you.

He rolls his eyes and gets back on his feet, holding up his arm for Sam to throw the shield his way. By the time you see the white jacket aiming their gun, they’re already pulling the trigger. You throw up your hands.

A surge of emptiness goes through you, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Time seems to still for just the blink of an eye as Bucky’s head is thrown forwards.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. The room seems to wobble in front of you as you scramble to your hands and knees in bed, trying to get a proper breath of air.

“FRIDAY.” You almost flinch at the panic in your own voice. “FRIDAY, what day is it?”

“Today is Friday, July 4th.”

chapter two

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[kisspurins]

perverts ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ an riize series

୨୧ warnings｜dark content，religious themes，cult themes，noncon，dubcon，stepcest，cannibalistic themes，etc.

୨୧ inspired ｜the films : 'carrie'，'pearl'，'bones and all''，and ethel cain (with the help of my genius girlfriend @bubbleseo)

୨୧ playlist

୨୧ reminder｜this is a series that will be done with a large amount of time and not entirely consistent. it will be paced throughout the year because I work and go to school, please be patient and understanding with me!!!

a woman, a bride, a mother 𝜗𝜚 osaki shotaro

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，cannibalism mentioned，forced marriage，dubcon，anal，corruption，slapping，freak nasty taro，humiliation，brat taming，hard core bdsm，kidnapping，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain

in your small town, a serial killer known only as "the cannibal killer" has been terrorizing the residents, mostly targeting members of the church and leaving behind a single body part. the killer's true identity is hidden, until the day they strike at the heart of the community, killing the priest and taking you. with signs left of the priest behind but not for you, the killer's motives are questioned. but you, you are his special special bride.

୨୧ released｜soon

an ode to eaters 𝜗𝜚 song eunseok

୨୧ warnings｜cannibalistic themes，strict power dynamics，yn has no sense of self，love bombing，bite play，dubcon，dom eunseok，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain，the film bones and all

In a world where it's eat or get eaten, eunseok, an eater, falls in love with you. a love destined to fail from the beginning, but eunseok clings to a future where you can live happily without the fear of internal and external forces. while you would let eunseok have you, bones and all.

୨୧ released｜soon

perverts 𝜗𝜚 jung sungchan

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，age gap relationship，manipulation，grooming tactics used，corruption，ddlg themes，mean dom sungchan，naive yn，raw penetration，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain

bible studies teacher sungchan who starts a "innocent" love affair with one of his new students. convincing her that this is what is in God's will, that this is a good thing, and those who shame you will have to repent. It only makes sense when you get completely brainwashed into believing him, brainwashed into thinking of only him and his approval. you are who you are, and that is nothing unless sungchan says.

୨୧ released｜soon

two headed mother 𝜗𝜚 park wonbin

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，cult themes，stepcest，inexperienced!yn，inexperienced!wonbin，dom wonbin，raw penetration，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain

living in a secluded cult with wonbin, you are bound by an unexpected and powerful connection. during a mysterious ritual, fate pulls you together in ways neither of you can explain, and since then, you can't seem to stay apart. despite the fact that your parents are getting married soon, nothing can come between your intense connection with wonbin and you don't want it any other way.

୨୧ released｜soon

sun bleached flies 𝜗𝜚 hong seunghan

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，cult themes，dubcon，priest!seunghan，nun!yn，cult themes，corruption，gagging，mean dom seunghan，spit play，raw penetration，exhibitionism，humiliation，yn calls him father，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain，my genius girlfriend @bubbleseo

you've despised sovereign monasteries since you were old enough to form an opinion. living a rebellious life was one way to seize control until you were forced into a journey of purity. being a nun was one of the best things, you thought, until you started working side by side with priest seunghan. he had the same past as you but became reformed after joining the cult. to others, you pair to set a perfect example of evolution, but as time goes on, the longer you spend with seunghan alone has you questioning what your morals are, if purity is worth it, if your convent is worth it.

୨୧ released｜soon

strangers 𝜗𝜚 lee sohee

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，noncon，manipulation，raw penetration，soft dom sohee turned hard dom，mentions of gore，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain，the films carrie and pearl

you've been told you're off-putting your whole life. even after making your faith a big part of who you are. so you gave up on conformity, indulging in your twisted desires. sohee, a devout churchman, is sent to "save" you and bring you back to purity. however, the more time spent with you, the more he gets sucked into your dark world and starts losing his morals. what begins as a mission to fix you turns into a spiral of corruption for you both.

୨୧ released｜soon

house of psychotic women 𝜗𝜚 lee anton

୨୧ warnings｜religious themes，cult themes，noncon turned dubcon，bdsm，bondage，yn gets treated like a pet，humiliation，dumbification，yn has absolutely so sense of self，tba.

୨୧ inspired ｜ethel cain

you've never felt a stronger love than when you saw anton presenting his new plan for your cult for the first time. he was older than you, twenty at the time when you were thirteen, but you knew that was the man you were going to marry. the man you needed to marry. over the years, you slowly corrupted yourself into nothing in hopes of getting his attention, but got you nowhere but outcasted for not following in God's true will and for not being holy and pure. but that didn't matter as long as you got closer to anton. at eighteen, your parents had enough and sent you to his reform school, and he was as perfect as ever. thinking you have a chance until one of the girls says he married, and the world around you tumbles. I mean, it's not your fault what happens. whats a girl supposed to do when shes in love?

୨୧ released｜soon

© KISSPURINS 2024 ✿

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 19 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇sighhh…don’t kill me for this chapter…pregnancy happens

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n stirred awake, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her limbs ached, and a deep nausea curled in her stomach, making her groan softly. She tried shifting to her side, but the moment she did, a sharp wave of dizziness hit her, followed by the unbearable churning in her gut. She barely had time to sit up before she was scrambling out of bed, her feet unsteady as she rushed to the nearest basin. The sickness overtook her in violent heaves, leaving her trembling as she clutched the edges of the table for support. Her throat burned, her body weak, and yet the sensation wouldn’t ease.

Raphael wasn’t in the room—thank the gods—but Adonis stirred in his crib nearby, letting out a soft, sleepy whimper. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavily as she tried to steady herself. This wasn’t just exhaustion. It wasn’t stress. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach, her breath catching in her throat.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

Her body had felt different for weeks now, the fatigue, the subtle changes in her appetite, the way certain smells made her stomach turn. But she had been too afraid to acknowledge it, too afraid to put the pieces together. And now, with the sickness gripping her so suddenly, the realization crashed down on her all at once.

She was pregnant.

Her chest tightened, panic creeping into her veins. Her knees buckled, and she barely caught herself against the table, her breaths coming out shallow. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This child—it wasn’t supposed to exist.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she swallowed back a sob, her gaze flickering toward Adonis. Her beautiful boy. He was supposed to be Telemachus’s first and only son. He was supposed to be raised in Ithaca, safe and loved. But now—now there was another. A child born of her suffering. A child who would never know peace.

Her hands clutched at her stomach as her body shook, overwhelmed with fear, grief, and something else—something she couldn’t name. Because no matter how much she wanted to reject the thought, no matter how much she despised the man who had done this to her… the life inside her was innocent. A choked sob escaped her lips, her shoulders trembling.

What was she going to do?

She sat on the floor, her back against the bed, knees drawn up as she cradled Adonis tightly to her chest. Her arms trembled as she rocked him, her tears falling silently into his soft curls. The weight of her realization, the horror of what was growing inside her, pressed down on her like an unrelenting storm. “Telemachus…” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely above a breath.

Adonis cooed sleepily against her, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. He didn’t understand—how could he? He was just a baby, innocent and pure, untouched by the cruelty of the world. “Telemachus…” she repeated, the name breaking apart as another sob tore through her.

She wanted him here. She needed him here. If she could just hear his voice, feel his arms around her, everything would be okay. He would fix this. He would take her away from this nightmare. But he wasn’t here. And for all she knew, he never would be.

Her chest tightened, her grip on Adonis desperate as she pressed her cheek against his warm head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, though she didn’t know if she was apologizing to her son, to herself, or to the husband she might never see again. She squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body trembling. “Telemachus… Telemachus… Telemachus…”

She kept saying his name, like a prayer, like a lifeline, like if she said it enough times, he would hear her. He would come for her. And gods help anyone who stood in his way.

——

Raphael pushed open the door, his body slick with sweat from the rigorous training session, his muscles aching with exertion. His breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling as he stepped into the dimly lit room. But the sight before him made all of that fade into the background. She sat on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around Adonis, her whole body trembling. Her face was buried in the infant’s dark curls, her silent sobs making her shoulders shake.

His jaw tightened.

“What now?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair. He was exhausted, irritated from training, and the last thing he needed was her sulking over whatever pathetic thing was on her mind. Still, with a sigh, he crossed the room, crouching in front of her. “Y/n,” he said, voice steady but laced with restrained impatience. She didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

His brow twitched in annoyance. He grabbed her arm, not rough, but firm enough to pull her up. She didn’t resist, but she was limp in his grasp, like she had no strength left to fight. That unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down with surprising gentleness. Her arms instinctively curled around herself, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Raphael sat beside her, hands braced on his knees as he studied her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice more level this time. No immediate answer.

His patience frayed. “Y/n,” he said sharply, reaching out and gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Talk.” Nothing. Just those damn glassy, distant eyes.

His fingers twitched, his jaw clenched, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t know why he was holding back, why he wasn’t shaking the answer out of her. Maybe it was because she looked so… broken. More than usual. Finally, he clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered, letting go of her chin and leaning back. “Stay quiet, then.”

His eyes darkened as he studied her trembling form. Whatever this was, she wasn’t going to tell him. And that pissed him off. But he’d let it slide, for now at least.

——

She had become a ghost in her own skin. She moved through the days in silence, her once fiery spirit snuffed out like a candle in the wind. She barely ate, barely spoke. When Adonis cried, she would hold him, but there was no warmth in her touch, no gentle cooing to soothe him. She only existed, her eyes hollow, staring off at nothing. Raphael, for all his cruelty, had grown irritated—no, bored—of her state. At first, he had taken over caring for Adonis out of necessity, but the longer she remained locked in her grief, the more frustrated he became. He would talk to her, taunt her, even grab her chin to force her to look at him, but she would only blink dully and turn away.

He finally snapped when she ignored him for the hundredth time. “Enough of this pathetic act,” he snarled, grabbing her wrist and yanking her to her feet. She barely resisted, just stumbling after him like a ragdoll as he dragged her out of the room. “You’re going to a doctor. You’re going to get yourself fixed.”

She didn’t respond. The visit was short, the doctor clinical as he examined her, asked questions she barely answered. Then the words came, and even in her numbness, she felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Pregnant.

Raphael was silent at first, processing. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his face, one of pure delight. “Another child,” he murmured, almost in disbelief. He turned to her, his expression giddy, boyish, excited. “We’re having another child!” He wasted no time, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to his chambers with the energy of a man who had just won a great battle. As soon as they were inside, he spun her toward him, laughing, actually laughing as he placed his hands on her stomach.

“I knew it,” he grinned. “I knew you’d give me another heir. This is fate, my love.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath warm, his hands possessive. “I should throw a feast,” he said, voice dripping with excitement. “Or perhaps just keep you here all to myself.” He trailed kisses down her temple, sighing in contentment. “We’ll be a family, just like I promised.” She stared over his shoulder, her hands limp at her sides. She couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t cry. Couldn’t scream.

She was trapped.

And now, there was no escape.

Raphael sat beside her, his eyes alight with an almost childlike excitement. His fingers traced absentminded patterns over the silk sheets of the lavish chamber he had imprisoned her in. He had been in this mood ever since she told him—or rather, since he had figured it out himself. The signs had been there, her nausea, her exhaustion, the subtle change in her body. And when the healer had confirmed it, he had been nothing short of euphoric.

“Our child, y/n,” he murmured, his voice reverent as if speaking of a divine blessing. “Can you imagine? A perfect little thing, made of us. You’ll be such a beautiful mother.” He leaned forward, placing a hand gently over her stomach, as if he could already feel the life within. His other hand reached up to cup her cheek, his grip just firm enough to remind her of the control he held over her. “A perfect family.”

She stiffened beneath his touch, her body betraying none of the revulsion curling in her stomach. She had endured his delusions for so long, the constant whispers of devotion, the possessiveness disguised as love. But this—this was too much. Something inside her snapped.

She shoved his hand away, her eyes blazing as she finally let her anger spill forth. “This isn’t your family,” she hissed, her voice shaking with the sheer force of her rage. “You’re insane if you think we’ll ever be anything but this—this nightmare you’ve forced me into!” Raphael froze, his expression darkening for the briefest moment. His grip tightened around her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn her. For a second, she thought she had truly angered him, that she had pushed him too far.

But then, as if reining himself in, he let out a soft chuckle. The fire in his eyes dulled into something eerily patient. He reached forward again, this time with a gentler hand, and patted her head like one would soothe a temperamental child. “Oh, my love,” he cooed, tilting his head as if indulging her outburst. “It’s just your pregnancy hormones talking. You’re overwhelmed. That’s all.” His fingers trailed through her hair, his touch sickeningly tender. “You’ll see things differently soon enough.”

Her breath hitched, her body rigid with fury. She wanted to scream, to claw at him, to make him feel even an ounce of the helplessness she had suffered at his hands. But she knew better. He wanted her to fight. He wanted her to resist so he could remind her who held all the power. So she swallowed the fire in her throat, forcing herself to look away. But inside, her rage burned hotter than ever.

One day, she would make him regret ever thinking he could own her.

——

Raphael had always been possessive, but now, with her carrying his child, it had only worsened. He hovered over her constantly, treating her as if she were made of fragile glass. Every time she so much as shifted in her seat, he was there, hands outstretched as if she might break. “You shouldn’t be moving so much, my love,” he murmured as he guided her back onto the plush cushions of the chaise. “It’s not good for the baby.”

She clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I can walk just fine, Raphael.”

But he only chuckled, his expression softening as if she were saying something endearing rather than snapping at him. “Of course you can, little dove. But you don’t have to. You must be so tired.” He smoothed a hand over her stomach, his touch lingering as he gazed at her with adoration. “You’re carrying something so precious. Our child.” She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat.

He had turned her pregnancy into his obsession. He spoke of it constantly, as if it were some divine miracle rather than a result of his own selfish desires. Every meal was meticulously prepared, every garment tailored for comfort, every moment filled with his doting attention—attention that felt more like a cage than care.

He refused to let her do anything alone. If she even tried to brush her own hair, he would take the comb from her hands with a chiding smile. “Let me,” he would say, as if she were incapable. He delighted in the smallest tasks—adjusting the pillows behind her back, feeding her pieces of fruit with his own fingers, draping warm blankets over her shoulders even when she wasn’t cold. And worst of all, he spoke to her like she was a child.

“My darling, don’t pout,” he cooed one morning when she turned her face away from the breakfast he had personally arranged for her. “You need to eat. The baby needs to eat. Come on, just one bite.”

When she ignored him, he sighed dramatically, picking up a small piece of honey-soaked bread and holding it to her lips. “Y/n,” he hummed in that sickeningly sweet voice, “are we being fussy today?”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I am not a child.”

Raphael only laughed, pressing the bread to her lips until she had no choice but to take it. “No, but you are mine,” he whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And that means I take care of you. Even when you’re being stubborn.” She felt suffocated beneath the weight of his affection, beneath the sickly-sweet way he fawned over her. It wasn’t love. It was control, wrapped in velvet and laced with poison.

And she was drowning in it.

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