#that might not have been the best fit for you

[evansbby]

𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, minors dni, dark, noncon, dubcon, daddy kink, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, controlling behaviour, cum play, jacking off, lingerie kink, dom/sub dynamic, frat party setting, asshole fratboys, ari levinson mentioned lmao.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you run into steve at another frat party. this time, it's in his territory. (alternate continuation of chapter two of wicked games, but this has ZERO impact on the wicked games story. again, this does not affect the plot of the original wicked games timeline, it's just a fun little detour, a completely separate story if you will. you can read this without having read wicked games).

“Can we leave? I’m not really in a party mood,” you frown, tugging at the hem of your dress and regretting how short it is. It’s deep purple and form fitted, with a hemline that sits right below your butt. You’d thought the sexiness of it would help you get more into the spirit of things since Wanda had insisted on dragging you here tonight, but clearly that hadn’t worked. 

“Don’t do this right now, Y/N. We need to be seen at these events if we want to be popular.” Wanda smiles and waves into the distance as if she’s recognised a friend. Despite the fact that this is a St. Jude’s party and you know as well as she does that everyone here is a complete stranger to the both of you. 

You wrinkle your nose, “Well, I don’t really care about being popular–”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Wanda’s eyes dart around the very crowded, dimly lit basement of the frat house as if looking for someone. 

“But we don’t know anyone at St. Jude’s!” You tug at your dress again, feeling more insecure than ever. 

Tonight was originally planned to be a girl’s night – and you’d already picked out a movie, laid out the facemasks and bowls of popcorn, and pulled on your comfiest pyjamas only for Wanda to show up to your dorm in a slink black dress and strappy heels, telling you there was a frat party at the rival college that the two of you just couldn’t miss, and that she was giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.

“Yeah, but this morning I overheard some cheerleaders, and they said Curtis might be here.” 

Oh. Of course. Now it all made sense. Ever since the night of the last frat party the two of you had been to, the one where Wanda had slept with Curtis Everett… Well, ever since then she’d become a teensy bit obsessed with him. And that was also the same frat party where you and…

“Wanda! If Curtis is here then Ari will be here too! I don’t wanna see him!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Relax. I also heard the cheerleaders say that Ari went back home for the weekend. Sharon Carter was all upset about it, because apparently he didn’t even bother inviting her and she hasn’t met his parents yet. But anyways, keep an eye out for Curtis, would you?”

“Okay…” Begrudgingly, you scan the room. A part of you is happy that Ari is out of town, because it makes it easier not to think about him, knowing he’s miles and miles away. Out of sight, out of mind - that was going to be your motto when it came to him moving forward.

“Looking for someone?” 

The deep voice feels like velvet against your ear, and you inhale sharply at the familiarity of it. Your whole body starts to buzz when you feel a warm hand press against the small of your back, the stranger’s touch brimming with confidence as he easily turns you around. 

You’re faced with a chest. A big, muscly, expansive chest covered in a grey shirt that’s deliciously tight against it. Slowly, you peek up at his face. Blue eyes. Cocky smile. Handsome. Angelic.

“Steve!” you breathe, relaxing at the familiar face, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, casually grabbing your hip and squeezing it, “Well, considering this is my frat house, it would be weird if I wasn’t.”

Your eyes widen, “It is?”

“Yep. Thanks for coming over, sweetheart. I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you after that party.” He winks. And you have to admit - he looks good. All six foot six inches of him, looming above you with that charming smile on his face, that smile being one of the only things you remember from the night you’d last seen him, where he’d been such a gentleman and dropped you home after everything that had happened with Ari.

He’s got a backwards baseball cap on his head, but tufts of his blonde hair peek out from underneath, and his blue eyes sparkle as he watches you, as if he knows you’re checking him out. And unabashedly, he does the same, his pink tongue licking over his lips as he drinks in your body, his hold on your hip tightening. 

“I…uh… yeah,” you feel self-conscious, tongue-tied after the embarrassingly long amount of time you’ve just spent checking him out. “Thanks for giving me a lift home, by the way. I was super drunk.”

He nods, the glint still in his eye, “I should be the one thanking you for that cab ride.”

You blink, “Thanking me? Why?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. And oh, he’s so intense! That’s another thing you remember about him. How his eyes felt like they were boring holes into your very soul.

Finally, he smiles. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. You looked so cute and helpless, I knew I had to step in.”

“Hey! I wasn’t completely helpless…”

He laughs, “A damsel in distress if I’d ever seen one, and…” he pauses, bringing his thumb up to stroke your lip. Oh, he was so forward too! Considering you’d only ever met him once before and there’d been nothing sexual between the two of you. “Do you remember what I told you that night?”

You shake your head, half in a trance by how he’s just touching you so openly. Except you don’t really want him to stop.

“I told you that if you were my girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside a party like that one. Or this one, for that matter.”

You purse your lips, “Fine. I’ll leave then.”

Steve chuckles, encircling both his arms around you as if he owns you, “Too late. I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night.”

“B-But I’m here with Wanda…”

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend. She brought me here, and–”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my house and you’re here with me now. Okay, baby?”

He strokes your cheek and says it so sweetly, that the controlling nature of his request doesn’t even sink in for you. No, you’re way too distracted by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the confidence in his smile as he yanks you closer, till your chest is pressed up against his, and an embarrassing squeak escapes your lips. 

“I…uh… Steve, I…”

“Say okay,” he commands you, “you don’t have to think so hard when you’re with me, sweet girl. I promise I’ll take care of you just like how I did last time.”

“Uh… I… o-okay…I ju–”

He smirks, “Cute little tongue-tied baby. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

At that moment, Wanda reappears, a mildly annoyed look on her face. 

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for Curtis? What do you think you’re doing–?”

She stops short, her eyes widening when she sees you’re not alone.

“Wanda, this is the guy I met the other night–”

“–Steve Rogers,” Wanda cuts you off, beaming up at him, “What are you doing with Y/N?”

Steve blinks, “Why would I not be with Y/N?”

She looks you up and down, and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn her eyes flash and narrow, “Uh, you know she’s with Ari Levinson, right?”

Your jaw drops - why would she say that? She knew you’d vowed never to speak to Ari again!

But Steve looks completely unperturbed, and he lazily throws his arm over your shoulders, yanking you into his hard chest. And you know it’s a display of ownership - he’s been doing it the moment he saw you tonight after all. And it should bother you, but it doesn’t! Oh, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t!

“You know what, Wilma? I think I saw Curtis outside by the pool.” He flashes her that charming smile that you thought was only reserved for you.

Your best friend’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely there.”

“Thanks, Steve!” She sidles up closer to him, accidentally bumping you out of the way – well, you hope it’s accidental. She strokes his chest, her manicured nails scraping against his shirt, “Would you show me where the pool is please? This place is so big, I couldn’t possibly find it on my own.”

A sudden fire ignites inside you, burning its way up to the surface of your body alongside this weird feeling of… well, you don’t really know. But you stand there, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction unfold in front of you.

But Steve remains by your side, “Up the stairs and outside the sliding glass door on your first right. You won’t miss it.”

“I’ll come with you, Wanda,” you try to shake off Steve’s heavy arm. You don’t really want to leave him, but it’s only right that you go with your best friend.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. I can see you’re busy.” And she’s off without another glance at you, but she makes sure to brush past Steve as she goes, despite the fact that there’s enough room for her to not have to do that. 

Steve snickers, “That’s your best friend?”

“She’s drunk, I think. Usually she’s a lot friendlier…” your voice trails off as you watch her leave the basement in a hurry. “Is…uh… is Curtis really up there? By the pool?”

Steve smirks as he grabs your hand and tugs you to the stairs, “If that bald-headed fuck was anywhere near here, I’d personally kick him out myself. Now come on, let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Steve’s room is neater than you’d assume a basketball player’s room in a frat house to be. Not that you have anything to compare it to since Ari had never invited you into his room. But this one is muted, grey, minimalistic with some basketball memorabilia scattered around. 

He’d wasted no time in getting you alone up there, practically half-carrying you through the crowd of people and up the stairs, his grip on you tight and confident. As if you’d been his girl all your life, as if it was a concrete fact that you belonged to him tonight. And it’s like your body was too entranced to even put up a fight to stop him.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Good thing I got you out of there before things got too rowdy,” Steve shuts his bedroom door behind him, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock. And you know you should feel more alarmed than you actually do - but it’s Steve! He wasn’t like Ari Levinson - he was nice! He could’ve taken advantage of you at that last frat party, but he hadn’t! The only person who’d taken advantage of you that night was Ari.

You could trust Steve.

“Do your parties usually get super rowdy?”

“For babies like you, yes.” Again, he unabashedly stares at your body, at your bare legs accentuated by your high heels, your tight dress that hugs your curves, the dip of your cleavage and the way it rises up and down as you breathe shallowly. “As I said before, I don’t want you down there. Not where they can all see you.”

You wrinkle your nose, “No one was looking at me. I’m from a different college, no one here even knows me.”

His muscular arms wrap around your waist with that same charming confidence, as if he’s known you way longer than he actually has. As if he knows you won’t pull away. How does he know that?

“You’re more innocent than I thought, baby girl.” To your shock, his hands press flat against your thighs before moving upwards, straight up under your dress to cup your bare ass cheeks. You gulp, yet remain rooted in place as he gently squeezes the soft flesh. “Skipping into a frat house looking so fucking sexy, and thinking no one’s gonna notice you?”

“Well, I didn’t skip…”

“You may as well have,” He presses his hard crotch against your front, and he’s so much bigger than you that you can feel his boner digging against your midriff, and it sends jolts straight down to your core. There was just something so hot about him being so big, you being so much smaller, him calling you innocent, him being so forward and unpredictable… It actually reminds you a bit of… NO. No, don’t think about him!

“And guess what?” Steve whispers in your ear as he gently walks you backwards to his bed. 

“Wh-What?”

“I’ve rescued you from not one, but two parties now. You owe me.”

You squeak as he sits down at the edge of his bed and pulls you on top of him. Till you’re perched on his lap like a baby, your butt on his knee and your legs draped across his beefy thighs.

Steve smirks, “Comfy?”

“I think so,” your mind’s frazzled, and your body is buzzing with heat. When did it get so hot? Now, he’s pressing his lips against the nape of your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your body in a way that has you shaking on his lap. Oh, it was too much, it was–

“Look, you have another varsity jacket!” You blurt out, pointing at the familiar blue and white jacket draped over his desk chair. Exactly the same as the one he’d given you the night of the other party. “I still have to return the one you gave me.”

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You keep it, baby girl. It looked cute on you.”

You duck your head, the compliment making you shy. Somehow, him calling you cute had a way bigger effect on you than him calling you hot, “Really?”

He pushes your chin up with his pointer finger, and it’s all these little touches that he’s administering so casually are getting you so hot and bothered, so worked up on the inside in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you. No one’s ever made you feel like this except for one other person…

He licks the shell of your ear, “Yes. I liked how big it was on you.”

“It wasn’t that big…”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay fine, it was pretty big. But that’s not my fault, you’re literally a giant!” You giggle when he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It’s ticklish but it also feels kind of good.

“You like that I’m so much bigger than you?” Nonchalantly, his finger dips down to hook the hem of your dress.. 

“Well, uh, I don’t not like it…”

“Answer properly.” 

It’s crazy how casual he is, yet at the same time so quietly demanding, so dominating, so in control. How quickly he’s switching from charming and sweet to intensely serious. But it makes you want to do whatever he’s asking of you. 

“Yes,” you squeak, too shy to look into his eyes except he has hold of your chin and is able to keep your gaze locked with his. “Yes, I like it.”

Steve relaxes, “Good girl.”

The compliment makes you feel nice, and you sit there in his lap basking in it for a while. You don’t even notice him hiking your dress up higher and higher, till he snaps the elastic band of your thong. 

“Cute panties.”

“Hey!” Hastily, you push your dress back down, a part of you snapping out of whatever spell he’d cast on you since the moment he’d dragged you up here, and you shoot him your fiercest look. Which only serves to amuse him, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. 

“Does the bra match?” 

“You-You can’t just ask that!” 

“I just did. Now answer.”

His brashness should get to you, but for some reason all it’s doing is getting you wet. He was being so inappropriate, and yet it’s like you’re being held prisoner by your own body, which seems to love how he’s touching and petting you right now. How he’s demanding you answer all his questions, how he’s essentially ordering you around. 

“Actually, I have a better idea, baby girl. I think you should show me.” He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, running his tongue over his lips. His skin is pale, but his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. And oh, he’s so handsome! It makes you want to listen to whatever he says…

“Show you?”

“Yes. You’ll take your dress off and show me what you’ve got on underneath, won’t you?”

“I will?”

Steve smiles easily, smiles like he’s having the most normal conversation on Earth and you’ve just said something funny. “Of course you will. Because you like listening to me. It makes you feel all small and cute, having someone like me be in charge of you.”

Your jaw drops, and yet… Oh, why does him saying that make your core throb?! And you know you shouldn’t… but maybe it would be okay if you did what he asked just this once? After all, he just wanted to see if your underwear matched. There was nothing untoward about that, was there?

A part of you knows you’re being delusional, but you’re also pressing your thighs together subconsciously. As if just him talking like he’s so in charge is getting you so hot and bothered, so turned on. And a bigger part of you, the hornier part of you, can only focus on how big he is, how in control he is, how small you feel in his lap, like you’re his baby and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants with you, and you’ll just let him.

“Stand up,” Steve orders, “Let me see you properly.” 

It’s comical how quickly you scramble to obey him. As if the you who’d arrived at this party feeling bored, irritated and out of place has been replaced by a girl controlled by lust and want, her body betraying her as Steve taps into your most submissive inner desires, and you can’t help but listen to him. 

He nods in approval when you stand between his legs.

“Good. You’re so hot, baby girl.”

“I am?” You beam, despite the fact that you knew you looked good the moment you’d put this gorgeous purple dress on earlier tonight. Despite the time crunch Wanda had put you under, you’d still managed to look more than presentable. And now, a part of you wonders what Ari would think if he saw you—NO STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. JUST STOP.

”Yes, you are. Now take your dress off.”

“B-But Steve…”

“Do it.”

Cheeks burning, yet pussy throbbing at the same time, you unzip your dress. Trying to make your breathing sound less laboured, you keep your eyes on his. Only because his gaze is so intense, and you’re afraid he’d object if you looked away. 

The dress falls down to pool by your feet, and you stand in front of him in your lacy black set, with high heels to match. Steve inhales deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks you up and down. And oh, you feel so awkward yet at the same time so turned on when you see that dark look of lust in his eyes. 

“Twirl. Slowly.” He grabs a bottle from the side of his bed, unscrewing it and taking a gulp. You catch a glimpse of the Grey Goose label, vaguely wondering why he has a bottle of vodka stored beside his bed, and how you didn’t know anyone to just drink it straight up like that - no mixers or anything. 

You twirl for him, concentrating on not tripping in your heels. You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, and yet your movements feel sluggish out of nervousness. But you hear a low whistle behind you, before the feel of his large hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Fuck, look at that cute little baby ass in those panties. Get back on my lap,” he growls. But before you can climb back on, he raises his hand to stop you, “Put my jacket on first.”

“Wh-What–”

He slaps your ass, pushing you in the direction of his desk chair with his varsity jacket draped over it. You gulp, slipping it on carefully. And it’s gigantic on you, the sleeves too long and the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. But Steve only licks his lips, beckoning you over once more. 

“It’s a bit big,” you bite your lip.

Roughly, he yanks you back into his lap, catching your lips between his in a searing kiss. Kissing you like he’s obsessed with you, and your eyes widen as he deepens it, sinking his teeth against your bottom lip carnally. As if he wants to eat you up, and his hands are all over your body, slipping underneath his jacket to touch your bare skin. 

“You’re so sexy, baby girl,” he breathes after he’s had his fill of kissing you. But even then, he pecks your lips between words, and you jolt in his lap when his thumb brushes against your erect nipple through the lace of your bra. He smirks against your mouth, “And you know it, don’t you?”

“No,” you lie, because the way he’s looking at you with such dark, almost carnivorous eyes… Oh, it makes you feel like the sexiest girl in the world!

“Of course you do. That’s why you wore this hot little lingerie set.” He snaps the strap of your bra against your skin and you yelp. “It looks so sexy on you, baby.”

“Thanks!” Most of the fancy lingerie you owned had been bought for you by Ari, but this was one you’d treated yourself with. Which was just as well, because there was something unspeakably awkward about sitting in the lap of one man wearing bra and panties bought by another man.

It was also funny how different Ari and Steve’s tastes were. Ari almost exclusively wanted you in pink or white sets, always something super girly and sweet and innocent. Steve seems to be the complete opposite, with how his eyes are glued to your black lingerie now.

Steve takes his baseball cap off, perching it backwards on your head. Another mark of his ownership, and yet your frazzled mind doesn’t have the capacity to think much into it.

He dips his head, licking a stripe down your cleavage. You gasp, automatically gripping a handful of his hair. He grabs your breasts, pushing them together against his face and nuzzling, licking and nipping as if he’s starved. Pushing the cups of your bra down, he latches on to your nipple, sucking on it roughly. You moan, and it eggs him on, he presses you forward, taking your whole breast in his mouth and sucking hard, covering it with his spit like he’s marking you as his property.

“Such pretty tits,” he mutters, flicking your nipple with his tongue, practically bullying it till it’s hard enough to cut glass, and you’re mewling because it’s so sensitive. But that only eggs him on, and he bites down on it like he’s starved. “Want me to fuck your tits, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs devilishly. It was crazy how angelic he looked compared to how filthy he was being right now!

Again, he pushes your breasts together, licking down your cleavage like he’s obsessed, a wicked smile on is face when he finally comes up for air. “Every party I’ve seen you at, you’re always wearing some cute little dress that barely covers anything, like you’re some sort of goddamned tease. Tell me, baby. Are you gonna be a tease tonight?”

Meanly, he pinches your nipple, chuckling when you cry out. Your brain is too fried to answer his question properly, and so you just whimper.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it, doesn’t force an answer out of you like how he’s been doing all night. Perhaps too distracted by your chest, his head dips back down. His hands are ruthless, so big, rough and calloused from basketball. Squeezing your tits like they’re just toys to him, like your body is his to play with, and he knows exactly how to touch you, almost as if he’s done it before.

“S-Steve,” you feel lightheaded with pleasure, amped up at how carnal he’s being. How he’s not holding back at all, how he’s acting like he knows your body despite this being the first ever time the two of you have hooked up. How is he even doing that?

“Is that what you call me?” Steve comes up for air, flashing you a warning look before switching to your other breast, flicking your overly sensitive nipple with his tongue and making your breath hitch.

“Daddy,” you moan, finally letting go of any inhibitions you had left. You rut forward, rubbing your panty-covered crotch against his thigh. And oh, the denim of his jeans feels heavenly, and for a moment, you get a strong sense of dejavu that almost knocks you out of your lust-fuelled haze. Almost.

“That’s right, rub your little pussy against me. Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing. I noticed last time too.”

Huh? Last time?

“Fuck, didn’t expect you to fall into my lap again tonight, baby girl,” He kisses up your neck, holding his varsity jacket against you because it’s so big it’s slipping off. “Can’t believe you just showed up at my house looking like sex on legs with your cute little doe eyes in your tiny little dress. Did you really expect you were gonna walk out of here in one piece, baby?”

“I…uh…nngh!” You moan incoherently, hardly registering what he’s saying as his teeth clamp down on your neck, and he bites and sucks at the sensitive nape, making you squirm in his lap.

“You thought you could stumble into my party looking like a clueless little baby and not expect to end up in my bed?” He bounces you on his lap roughly, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure, the action sending thrills straight to your pussy. You rut against him in response, growing more desperate and delirious by the second.

“D-Didn’t know this was your house,” you pant, breathless from the way he’s kissing and fondling you, playing with your body like you’re just his toy and nothing more.

“Bullshit,” he breathes, “you wanted to see me again, didn’t you? After that night? You couldn’t forget, could you?”

“I–”

Your voice dies in your throat when Steve suddenly grabs your panties and yanks hard. They rip instantly, and you gape at the tattered lace in his hand. He brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like you want to get fucked,” he mutters, his voice deep and thick with lust, his eyes pitch black and intense as ever.

Sure enough, your panties are wet in his fist, and you can smell your own arousal on them even from a distance. Hell, you feel your wetness seeping down your bare thighs, staining his jeans and again you get a fleeting sense of dejavu, like this has happened before. And a hazy, dream-like memory flits through your mind, just for a moment before it’s gone, and you’re snapped back into the present.

Steve, without breaking eye contact for even a second, takes your panties into his mouth, sucking on them while you watch him with wide eyes. He grabs your hand, pressing it on his hard crotch. You squeak, it felt big and almost… alive under his jeans with how it was throbbing under your palm.

“So sweet, baby,” he breathes, “I missed out on tasting your little baby cunt last time. She tastes just as sweet as I imagined.”

Last time? You’ve barely wrapped your head around what he’s just said, but his face is so devastatingly handsome in that moment, so angelic and yet there’s a darkness in his eyes that cuts through it. Makes him look like an angel hell bent on playing his wicked game, and you’re more than happy to be his pawn.

“Steve–daddy, please. I need… I need–”

“Take daddy’s cock out,” he commands, his voice deep and guttural with raw lust. So gruff, so to the point, and it makes him even more attractive in your eyes. Powerful and in control. In charge of you. Using your body for his own pleasure. Fuck. You were so far gone down the haze of lust, there was really no coming back from here.

Steve takes your hand and pushes it past the waistband of his jeans, and presses it against his huge, hard cock. And oh fuck, it feels so fat and throbbing under your dainty palm, so big like it was capable of ripping you apart and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Just touching his hot, rock-hard flesh makes you rub your pussy against his thigh once more, pleasure jolting through your veins in anticipations.

You take it out, a low whimper escaping your throat because of how red and angry and big it looks. Oh fuck.

Steve pushes something into your hand, and it takes you a handful of seconds to register the lace of your black panties. Your pretty, tattered panties that he wraps around your hand before pressing it back on his fat dick.

“Jack me off, princess,” he orders you, his voice all velvety sweet and charming again, and it’s crazy how quickly he’s switched back to that now. “Show daddy what your pretty little hands can do.”

He hisses when you start pumping him, moving your hand up and down and the lace of your panties snagging against his smooth, rock hard cock. And he can’t keep his eyes off it, how your fingers don’t even wrap around half of his fat length.

“I-Is this okay, Stevie?”

SMACK.

“Daddy! Sorry, I meant daddy!” you cry out, your ass blooming with pain after his huge palm cracks down on it warningly.

“Mm, sweet sexy little baby girl,” Steve murmurs, watching intensely while you jack him off with your black lace panties in your hand, running them up and down his thick cock. “Jerking daddy off with your hot little panties that you wore just for me, right?”

“Didn’t-Didn’t know you were gonna be here!” You squeak out, regretting your decision to be truthful immediately when his hand cracks down on your bare thigh in another sharp slap.

“Say you wore your sexy little panties for me.” He bits down on your shoulder, tearing the skin with how hard he does it. As if he can’t help it, and you cry out in pain and yet you’re still feeling so much pleasure from rutting against him, chasing your own high while at the same time serving him and doing what he wants you to.

“Wore them for you,” you whine, bucking your hips with more frenzy now. The way he was speaking to you, oh it was getting you so fucking turned on and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was making your brain melt, only the submissive part of it reigning over every other rational side, and you pant when your clit catches against the denim of his jeans. “Daddy, please. F-Feels…feels…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos at you, voice dripping in condescension. And you feel so small, almost like a delicate little fairy in the domain of a literal God. That’s how powerful and big he looks to you in this very moment, like you’re at his mercy and you’d do anything for him. “You like jacking me off, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I – I…”

You’re talking gibberish, and desperately chasing your own pleasure as you continue to rub against his leg. And yet you look down at his dick, how fat and thick it is, how it makes your hand look so tiny. How he’s got you jacking him off with your own lacy panties, how he’s watching it so intently and you can feel his cock hardening even more, if that’s even possible.

“You like my cock, princess? Like how big it is?”

“Yes!”

He grins devilishly, “You want it inside you, baby?”

Your jaw drops. He wouldn’t, would he? Oh, would you let him? Right now, your lust-crazed mind can’t find a single reason as to why not.

“I’d fuck you so good,” he whispers beguilingly into your ear, like he’s the devil himself persuading you to do something that you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing. But why not?! It wasn’t like you had a boyfriend! Ari had made that crystal clear! “Bounce your cute little pussy on my big daddy dick till you pass out on top of me. Would you like that?”

You whimper once more as his hand reaches down between your legs, and you gasp when he spreads your sopping folds. Now, you can feel the rough denim of his jeans even better, your engorged clit practically crying as it throbs uncontrollably. The rough pads of his fingers rub against it rhythmically, and you grind back up against his hand, humping it like you’re nothing more than a bitch in heat.

“Answer me,” he slaps your pussy hard, the squelching sound echoing across his bedroom, mingling with your scream of pleasure which only eggs him on. Again, he slaps you down there, and then another time. Till you’re quivering and crying and humping blindly against his palm, spreading your arousal all over him.

“I’d like it!” you cry out, a part of you ashamed with how easily you’ve given in to him.

“Mm, you know you’d have to be carried out of here after I’m through with you,” he says, manhandling you on his lap, dragging you back and forth on his thigh and creating the most delicious friction you’ve ever felt. “Not that I’d ever let you leave, baby girl. I’d keep you under my wing, in my bed because that’s where you belong.” He gives your ass another harsh slap that has you howling, “Say it. Tell daddy where you belong.”

“I-In your bed,” you manage to get out, feeling like you can hardly string a sentence together because all you can really focus on is the intense pleasure that’s building up inside you. “I…I belong in your bed, daddy, I don’t… I can’t… I…oh!”

Your release takes you by complete surprise. You squirt everywhere, on Steve’s cock, his shirt, and some even lands on his face. He smirks, swiping his finger over his cheek and sucking on it, his eyes glinting darkly. So dark and with such hunger, almost like he wants to eat you.

“Sweet little princess pussy,” he murmurs while you melt in his arms, unable to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaking like crazy, and he hugs you tightly against his chest, although one of his hands covers your own, ensuring it stays pumping his dick no matter what state you’re in. “She tastes so sweet, baby girl. How is she so sweet yet so naughty at the same time?”

Despite everything, his dirty talk has you feeling sparks down there again. Oh fuck.

“Steve, I–”

“Nobody told you to stop, princess,” he says darkly, bouncing his leg underneath you and causing you, in turn, to bounce on top of him. Your poor, sensitive pussy, still reeling from the remnants of your strong orgasm, “Get back to it. Hump your little pussy on daddy’s leg until I tell you to stop.”

Knowing you’re weak to the point of almost passing out, he’s got a firm hand clamped on your own, and he starts making you jack him off again. Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, your black lace panties rubbing alongside. The sight alone gets you going again, and once more you feel a spark of pleasure down there.

The party’s going on in full swing downstairs, heavy music blaring and yet all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting and moaning. His sweet voice uttering the dirtiest of things into your ear as you both masturbate each other. And it’s so raw, so primal, how you writhe on top of him like a goddamned animal, how he’s got the most carnal look in his eyes as if he’s a beast and you’re a lamb and he’s about to devour you.

He kisses you, and it’s so sloppy and animalistic, and you’re shocked at how desperately your lips work against his. How his hand wraps around your neck, how your fingers card through his hair. He spits into your mouth, biting and sucking at your lip till you taste the metallicity of your own blood. Or his. You’re not too sure.

The air is hot and thick with sex, and his dick twitches in your hand, so ready to blow and that’s when his fingers squeeze around your throat.

“You ever gonna walk into a party unattended ever again?” Steve grunts, pinching and bullying your throbbing clit like he owns it.

“N-No!”

“Damn right. Where do you belong, baby girl?”

“In-In your bed, daddy – oh-oh my!”

You squirt again, and this time, Steve follows suit. You watch, entranced, as he blows his load. Streaks of hot, white cum land on your hand, your black panties, your stomach, your face, everywhere. And you cum so hard, you can feel your pussy cramping with how intense the pleasure feels, waves of it radiating through your very being, egged on by Steve who keeps rocking you against him, muttering profanity under his breath as his thumb circles your poor, overwhelmed clit.

“Good girl,” he says after a few moments, looking like he’s barely broken a sweat as he pats your cheek. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. I needed that.”

And you watch with wide, glassy, fucked out eyes as he takes your poor, tattered panties, the ones you’d used to jack him off, now drenched in his thick cum. He brings them to your mouth, prodding them against your lips.

“Open, baby,” he commands softly. And you do, and to your shock he places the panties in your mouth, a smirk on his face, “Suck.”

You suck Steve’s cum from your own panties, unable to get over how hot your poor, frazzled, cock-drunk mind is finding this debauchery to be. He tastes salty, manly, and you feel so submissive, so under his mercy as he watches you suck like a good, obedient little baby.

“That’s right, swallow it all,” he murmurs, “You like that, don’t you? You like being a little cumslut baby?”

 You whimper out a quiet “y-yeah” and he nods in approval, finally taking the lacy fabric out of your mouth, holding it tight in his fist. “I’d make you put ‘em back on but…” His voice trails off, and he chuckles as he throws your poor, torn panties somewhere on his bed behind him.

All you’re able to do is sit on his lap like a little doll. And he’s not even done with you, still fondling and touching your body, squeezing and hugging you close like you’re a doll and you can’t get enough. He’s particularly enamoured by his cum staining your stomach and chest, and he gathers some of it with a swipe of his finger.

“Does your baby cunt want some?” Steve asks devilishly, and you gasp, again just watching as he puts his hand between your legs again, this time opening your folds and spreading his cum into your poor, sensitive pussy. “Look at that, baby. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it right up.”

“Steve, I…”

“Shhh, baby girl. You don’t need to say anything.”

You’re thankful for that, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. Oh, you hadn’t expected all of this! Hell, you’d been forced to come to this party against your will, and now… Oh gosh, how had things come to this? How did you even feel about it? How–

The bedroom door is thrown open. You yelp, holding the big varsity jacket around you as you turn around to see a burly basketball player standing by the entrance. Steve growls at the intrusion, holding you closer against his chest. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Sorry for interrupting, Cap, but they’re all here. The St. Andrews’ assholes. Everett, Drysdale, Levinson… He’s looking for her, I think he knows she’s here.”

What?! ARI WAS HERE?! Oh, how dare he?!

Steve picks you up and places you on his bed before getting to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath. “He knows better than to fucking come here.”

Shakily, you try to get to your feet but to no avail. Your legs are still shaking. “M-Maybe, I should–”

“Stay right here.” Steve says, an air of finality in his tone that indicates he means it as an order with zero objections. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

THE END! guys!! I'm literally so insecure about posting this. Idk, I just feel like lately I've lost my mojo, like my writing has lost it's spark? But I pushed on because I wanted to get something out for you guys. And honestly?? BRO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO END IT bc I wanted this story to continue bc WDYM ARI IS HERE?!?! I wanna see the confrontation lmfao!

But anyways, just to be crystal clear - THIS IS JUST AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DRABBLE! It has nothing to do with the original wicked games story! That's why I wrote Steve here like how he is in chapter two of wicked games, and NOT like how he is in chapter 3 and 4! He's gone through a lot of character change and development in the original fic, but I didn't want to show that here! THAT IS IT'S OWN STORY HEHE. i know yall get it but i'm still reiterating lmao.

ANYWAYS. what did you guys think??? PLEASE PLEASE let me know! feedback genuinely would mean the world to me. I'm so fucking insecure about this fic it's like I've forgotten how to write!!

BUTTT. as usual here are some questions (you don't have to answer them, you can write whatever feedback you want but just in case hehe)

1 - HOW WAS THE SMUTTT??

2 - Do you think they would've gone all the way and had sex had they not been interrupted??

3 - How did Ari even know she was at this party??

4 - Opinions on our fav gal Wanda in this chapter?

ANYWAYS i love you guys, thanks for sticking by me and supporting my writing especially lately when there hasn't been many updates. LOVE YOU. pls lmk what you think!

[aimmyarrowshigh]

(via @mythopoeticlicense)

OOF. Yes. Absolutely this. Tags so good I had to reblog the same post again.

The coopting of "fandom" by large franchises in the last 10 years -- mostly the MCU, Game of Thrones, and Star Wars, although the fandomization of some books like ACOTAR and the Raven Boys certainly fits, too -- has absolutely been used to control and redirect fannish activity and expectations. They want to sell the merch they already invested in, so they need the characters and pairings and worlds they invested in to be the most popular.

And most people -- people who are not naturally inclined to transforming what they love and being unhinged by the third guy on the left with no lines who dies ten minutes in, or whatever -- are primed to say, "Oh, that's the popular pairing, so it must be the one I like, too! Because I enjoy this popular thing!" So they go out and buy the merch that's being sold to them... rather than making their own. And they pay for supplemental novellas or comics or whatever... instead of making their own. It's a quietly insidious way to get people to stop creating and stop engaging in good faith with those who do. Because capitalism.

And I may be saying this as a 2025 Stucky fan and viewing through a Stucky lens, but I honestly think a big part of why the MCU has pushed Peggy Carter so hard as The Most Important Woman In Existence (per What If, etc.) is to push back against the fact that the most popular thing to actually organically grow out of their billion-dollar franchise is a gay ship they never intended. (Or two gay ships, if you also count Steve/Tony fans.)

They can't market the gay ship because homophobia/investors/homophobic investors/whatever, take your pick, so they have to Kill It Dead. And the best way to do that without actually saying homophobic words that might (MIGHT) invite pushback is to make it seem like the M/F alternative is So Obviously Much More Powerful And Better And If You Disagree You're Crazy. (While also getting to make money off Captain Carter merch out the ass.)

[sparrowsgarden]

As I have been promising for years, the eye color chart is all cleaned up and ready to be shared! I'm totally ok with this being saved and passed around, that's why all my info is on it.

Basic image description is in alt, and a full transcript of all text in the image is under the cut.

This model has been in a process of expansion and tweaking for a very long time. Huge huge thanks to all the folks who contributed and hunted down photos, helped me name all the colors, and gave the final proofs!

Sparrow's Eye Color Chart 2025 Edition

Eye colors in cats are difficult to model because they vary to a significant extent on two axes. This is my best attempt at a general model of cat eye color based on observation and research into how eye color works across species.

Pigmentation refers to the amount of pigment in the colored layer of the iris. Higher pigmentation causes darker colors.

Refraction means the extent to which light is scattered in the structures of the iris. Higher refraction causes deeper blues or greens.

Eye colors are related to coat color, but not as closely as breed standards might have you believe! Most coat colors can have most eye colors outside of purebred lines selected to meet breed standard.

What Color Are My Cat's Eyes?

Color names are descriptive of the actual color of the cat's eyes - I chose them all to sound nice so that breeders can use them if desired. Note that breed standards have a much broader use of color names - "Amber", for example, may include much of the golden to orange range.

Colors are based on pictures of cats in full white light (such as midday sun fully illuminating the eye), and tweaked to look good on properly color-calibrated screens. Always determine eye colors based on how they look in full light.

Main Block

standard eye colors possible with most pelts

Every cat is assumed to have genes that specify some genetic eye color in the main block, but certain other alleles can depigment the eyes partially or completely, creating the lower block.

Pigmentation and Refraction are modeled here as dependent on multiple genes, which seems to best fit the wide spectrum of possibilities in cats. The actual number of genes is unknown and could be very many, but for simplicity they are shown here on a scale from 1-7.

In theory, the genetic eye colors of the offspring should tend to fall somewhere between the genetic eye colors of the parents. Then, any depigmentation factors are applied, which may result in an actual eye color somewhere below the genetic eye color.

Lower Block

occur with phenotypes which cause depigmentation of the iris.

Gray-blues: Fairly rare coloration. The cause of gray eyes in humans is not well understood, but one theory is that collagen or very small amounts of pigment in the eye alter the scattering of light.

Blues: Most common depigmented colors. Can be caused by white spotting/dominant white, colorpoint, and sometimes mocha. There are also multiple Dominant Blue-eye (DBE) mutations known which cause blue eyes as the main effect.

Albinistic: Caused by complete albinism, which also fully depigments the back layer of the iris meant to keep light from getting through. This allows the red color from the retinal blood vessels to bleed through, and also causes poor visual acuity.

Following is a list of all eye colors shown on the main diagram. Rows are pigmentation levels starting from the highest pigmentation, refraction increases from left to right.

Main Block: Copper, Chestnut, Umber, Walnut, Earthen, Olive, Moss; Ochre, Caramel, Bronze, Serpentine, Artichoke, Fern, Forest; Orange, Amber, Brass, Peridot, Avocado, Clover, Malachite; Saffron, Butterscotch, Shrub, Spring, Jade, Pine, Emerald; Gold, Citron, Pear, Lime, Mantis, Grass, Viridian; Yellow, Chartreuse, Sprout, Laurel, Mint, Turquoise, Teal; Canary, Chiffon, Honeydew, Sage, Celadon, Aqua, Cerulean.

Lower Block: Gray-blues: Frost, Opal, Flint, Storm, Steel, Slate, Cadet. Blues: Ice, Powder, Celeste, Sky, Azure, Lapis, Cobalt. Albinistic: Pink, Mauve, Lavender, Periwinkle, Cornflower, Royal, Indigo.

Combo Colors

Cats can exhibit a few different heterochromia types, most commonly a blue with a non-blue. The other most common cause for heterochromia appears to be localized hyperpigmentation, which can be caused by damage to the eye. It can also happen simply due to differing iris structure or unusual pigment migration within the iris.

It is also relatively common for the center of the eye to be a slightly different color, without being marked enough to constitute full heterochromia. My provisionary term for this is "dual-toned". The boundary between this and "true" central heterochromia is somewhat subjective.

For any form of heterochromia or dual-toned eyes, my recommendation for describing them is to note both colors with a slash. For dual-tones, I generally write the outer color before the center one.

Complete Heterochromia Blue/non-blue is commonly caused by white spotting/dominant white, other combos are rare.

Sectoral Heterochromia Blue/non-blue sometimes occurs with white spotting/dominant white. Can also be from hyperpigmentation.

Central Heterochromia Can occur due to hyperpigmentation, uneven pigment distribution, or iris structure. More common in certain breeds.

Dual-toned Irises Relatively small differences in central eye color are common in cats.

Iris Atrophy Iris atrophy due to old age can cause a distinctive lighter ring in the center of the iris.

All writing, art, and chart design ©Sparrow Hartmann 2025

Icon designs are released to the Creative Commons under a CC-BY-SA license and will be made available for download.

Go to sparrows-garden.com for more genetics resources!

[bootycallin]

since the oscar’s literally js happened i thought of something. cw: fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus (r! receiving), swearing ig, a lil titty play. written w modern! vi in mind for obvious reasons. not proofread.

“vi… vi!”

you spoke between giggles as vi attacked your chest, kissing your tits, sucking on your nipples. you had jokingly said that if you two’s favorite actress won, you would make love. and, if she lost, you’d fuck. well, you’re in luck.

“terms of service,” she groaned, kissing your sternum, groaning softly. her palm is rubbing your cunt over your little shorts. she was more than a little eager, and stressed, as the awarding went on and on and that damned actress got nothing. she knew you were joking, but she was already horny and prepared the strap.

“vi—vi, she didn’t even get best actress!”

“don’t fucking care,” she grumbled, shutting you up with a kiss, hand slipping under your bottoms and rubbing at your clit. she had already seen you didn’t have panties on. every other minute of the celebration, you were looking sideways at her, teasing. she’s never watching any awards with you, ’cause this is hell.

she swallows your moan, two fingers slipping into your pussy with the ease. you’re so wet, so easy. how is she supposed to wait any longer?

“fuck, she won, right?” she asks, lowering herself till she was between your legs, already in the process of pulling your shorts down. “right?”

“she didn’t even—ah,” you gasp as her tongue licks right over your clit. “she didn’t even get up there y-yet…”

“but her movie won, right?” she didn’t give you time to answer, sucking strong on your clit, kissing and licking the puffy member like she was making out with your cunt. she might as well have been. her fingers are relentless, scissoring you open, until yet another finger fits in, curling up against that spongy spot deep inside you. she fingers and sucks on your cunt, your folds, licking a stripe up the slit. it’s practically worshipful, your pussy a temple for her. she’s drunk off the way you taste alone.

she notices your eyes are fixated on her, and stops just to say, “keep watchin’.”

“vi…”

you turned your head to the tv, shaky sighs and moans escaping you. how long did these speeches even last? she had been down there for five minutes tops and you were already building up to an orgasm. your neighbors would definitely be complaining.

“shit, vi—“ her fingers curled up just a little bit rougher. she practically growls as she sucks on your clit, rough, eyebrows knit together in concentration. it taken a few more thrusts of her fingers and suctions of her tongue before you’re cumming right on her face, to which she just removes her fingers and mouth from you. you whined at the sudden loss of stimulation, pulling a grin from her, as she just shoves her tongue into your hole, tasting your release.

“ah-shit, vi…!” you moaned, giggled all the same, head thrown back, one hand in her hair to keep her close. she doesn’t stop until your thighs close around her, nearly suffocating. she wrenches them apart with her hands, pulling away from your puffy, abused cunt—not before kissing your clit, tongue and all.

her lips crash against yours immediately. you can taste yourself on her. only parting to lick her fingers, she kisses you again, just to make sure you can taste all of her, all of you. one hand on your nape, yours tangled in her hair, moaning and groaning reverberating, until…

“she lost best actress,” you said, breathlessly, both looking at the tv simultaneously. she shrugged.

“it’s a win-win, then.”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[ekingston]

Hi; I don't know if you're still following the word-stream stuff, but the app is back online on the app store as "booktok - books and podcasts". The reviews marking it as having AI scraped data are still on the page itself, even though the name has changed, and duckduckgo still directs to their page if you look up "word-stream audiobooks"-- although if I don't know how long that will last. The website is seemingly gone, but the app still presumably has access to all the stolen works in the database.

Best regards, -someone else whose fics were stolen

yup

word-stream is back

it just calls itself—in an obvious attempt to profit from the TikTok upheaval—BookTok, now. and it’s not just the app, either: the whole website is back online, same as it was just before Cliff Weitzman took it down.

(in case you missed it, here are the original story & the update.)

fortunately (so far) the fanfiction category hasn't been re-added, but if you go to the store page for the app you can see that it’s still using 'fan-created universes' as advertising.

Weitzman didn't register the app under his own name this time, but through something called 'Oak Prime Inc'. hilariously, however, the email address listed in BookTok's privacy policy still refers to word-stream.com, so if Cliff was trying to scrub the connection between Speechify and his BookTok app, he didn't do a very thorough job.

here's the thing (and i'm about to put this up in a separate, more easily digestible post): if you take a look at the terms & conditions of Cliff's other platform, Speechify, it claims a truly comprehensive license to use the works uploaded to that platform in any way Cliff sees fit, including publishing and monetizing it elsewhere. and i keep seeing posts on Reddit and Bluesky from both readers and writers, happily using the Speechify app to read fanfic, advanced reader copies and their own yet-to-be-published work to them.

this is a BAD IDEA. Cliff has already proven that he will take work authored by others without their permission and redistribute it wholesale if he thinks it might make him money.

Cliff is the financial beneficiary of both Speechify and word-stream/booktokapp. it seems pretty obvious to me that he's trying to claim, via Speechify's terms & conditions, that every work uploaded to Speechify is his to do with whatever he pleases, which naturally includes moving them to this other platform so he can charge people for two subscriptions instead of just the one.

thank you so much for keeping an eye on this, anon, and for reaching out!! like i said, another post will go up today about the above, but i'm going to ask you all to help ensure that my posts & my name aren't the only ones giving voice to this message. when i tried to approach people about this issue on social media, often the—completely justified!—response was 'why should I take your word for it?' and Wikipedia only allowed the mention of Weitzman's copyright infringement to remain on his page when 'The Endless Appetite for Fanfiction' was listed as a source.

it can't just be me. DON’T take my word for it. do your own research (i would love to be proven wrong about this!), talk to your friends, engage with posts on social media similar to the ones i mentioned above (those are just some examples, don’t pile on to the OPs!) and make sure people know what they're jeopardizing. help me protect authors from money-grubbing shitheads like this one.

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

I have spent my life studying premodern European literature.

Let's start there. You cannot study premodern Europe without grappling with the fact that you're going to end up reading things that are absolutely horrifying from a modern perspective. This goes double if you're from a marginalized group, triple if you had to learn the actual meaning of the word "intersectional" to define how you fit into the world.

There are works of art (books, films, music, visual art) that I love--and I do mean love, as in baked into my very soul and being--that were created by people who, if they met me on the street, would spit in my face at best and possibly do far worse. I have studied these books, learned them through and through, taught them to other people as things I love. But I will never be able to unsee or ignore the fact that the author would have seen me, a fellow human being, as subhuman.

This requires time and patience. It requires sitting with yourself, with what you love, and understanding that just because you love it, that doesn't make it perfect or right. Human beings are flawed, and so is our art. To deny that is to deny everything that went into that art.

Nor is it as simple as throwing up one's hands and yelling about Barthes and the death of the author. Because art (of any sort) is not produced in a vacuum, nor should is be treated as such. You cannot properly understand any artwork without understanding its context.

And, let's be clear: Terrible people can produce beautiful art. Richard Wagner was a piece of shit trashfire, but Isoldes Liebestod is hard-wired to make me cry.* Perhaps more relevantly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Joss Whedon were foundational to my understanding of media and to my own writing style. I still see fragments in my writing to this day. Does that make me a bad person for having been influenced by a bad person? I like to think not. But I'm also willing to look back on Buffy with fresh eyes and see the flaws alongside those things I still love about it.

In a sense, it really is about perspective. And maybe the problem with so many of these viral posts is that they're being blasted out before anyone has taken the time to think about them. It took me a long time--not to mention 4 years of graduate school and 10+ of teaching--to get to where I am now. We shouldn't expect everyone to immediately figure out how to read critically, and it's not fair to dogpile people for things they haven't learned yet. But this goes both ways--if you like a thing, and somebody points out a problematic aspect of the thing, maybe stop assuming they're wrong and consider you might not know as much as you think you know.

* The fact that Jessye Norman sings it so divinely would probably also make Wagner really mad.

Of course, it borders on stating the obvious to point out that all the people in the notes of that one txttletale post going "actually no, conservatives ARE incapable of making good art because good art requires empathy/compassion/kindness/understanding other people's perspectives/[insert vaguely good-sounding virtue that conservatives supposedly lack here]" are just mentally doing the whole "every media i like is secretly leftist" thing.

But digging down further and on a less obvious note, I think the reason WHY so many liberals and vibes-based leftists are constantly doing the "every media I like is secretly leftist" thing is because they don't actually fundamentally disagree that much with the basic assumptions about the world that support conservative ideologies, they just dislike when they manifest in the form of explicit bigotry.

So when those assumptions are baked into a piece of art (especially a piece of art that is *good*) in the form of undertones instead of explicit bigotry they just come off as The Way The World Is and completely fail to register as conservative to them.

[lexirosewrites]

Day 3: Love Confession

for @stmarchmm

When Eddie had initially confessed to his interest in Steve, Steve had appeared like he may faint or puke.

Or both.

Despite the obvious chemistry between them during the Upside-Down and their defeating Vecna together, Steve still hesitated.

Admittedly, that made Eddie panic a little bit too.

He’d been so sure that Steve returned his amorous feelings, but now it doesn’t feel quite so obvious.

“If I misread this completely, I can leave. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Stevie,” Eddie chokes out, heart in his throat.

That seems to snap Steve out of it.

“No! No, you didn’t. You read it correctly, I just—”

And then he pauses. A very long pause.

One where Eddie could fit a lot of words if he wasn’t trying so hard to kick his own habit of filling awkward spaces by rambling endlessly.

“But?” he’d finally prompts Steve.

“I don’t know if I’m actually capable of doing that again.”

That’s where Steve loses him.

“Doing… what again?”

Steve avoids his eyes, arms wrapping around his middle like he needs some extra protection. From what exactly, Eddie is unsure.

“Loving someone.”

Eddie knows about Nancy.

Steve had gotten incredibly wasted one night and cried on his shoulder until he fell asleep, sobbing about how hurt he’d been by the painful rejection.

As Nancy’s friend, he’d wanted to take a neutral stance.

As an alpha falling in love with Steve, he’d been furious and wanted to tear the world apart with rage.

The sweetest omega alive had poured his heart out to his alpha girlfriend and she’d rejected him, broken his spirit with her carelessness.

She may not have meant to do it, but Nancy changed Steve fundamentally.

So, “I love you,” Eddie states plainly.

No frills, no goofy gestures, no silly voices.

Just the facts. What Steve needs to hear.

“Eddie, you really don’t have to do th—”

Steve looks like he’s going to cry. Eddie won’t allow that. Never again, if he can help it.

“I love you,” he says again, louder. “I love you and there isn’t a single thing you can say to change that, sweetheart.”

Steve stares at him then, mouth partially agape in what appears to be shock.

Eddie takes pride in the fact that he can still manage to surprise him at all. Steve’s so used to his antics that nothing seems to phase him anymore.

“You— you don’t really mean that,” he protests softly.

Except. Yes, Eddie truly does.

“I do though. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything else in my entire life. I love you, Steve. I love you, even if you never love me. If you decide that there’s no room in your heart for an alpha like me, I will keep loving you. I’ve made up my mind already.”

The tiniest crack of a smile. Barely there.

Did he do it? Did Eddie finally do something right in this life— so right that the most perfect omega of his dreams might actually take a chance on him?

A chance on them.

A chance for what Eddie believes is definitely the best idea he’s ever had.

“So even if I tell you that I’ll spend every day with you terrified of how this relationship could ruin me again?”

The words are serious, but he can see the clear look of amusement in Steve’s eyes.

He’s trying to play cool and unaffected. A game of testing boundaries and Eddie’s determination.

The good news is that Eddie doesn’t have healthy boundaries anyway.

If Steve needs him to wake each morning and say, “I love you,” stop every hour and declare, “I love you,” and go to bed with an, “I love you,” on his lips, Eddie will make it happen.

He’s crazy, but he’s crazy in love too.

“I’m not afraid of loving you, Steve Harrington. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours. Patience, reassurance, blind loyalty and devotion— they’re all yours, baby. You couldn’t pay me to go away, even if you wanted to!”

Steve’s beautiful, beaming smile isn’t hiding any longer.

God, he loves Steve.

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

‘It’s different from the books’ sure it’s different but are you judging elements based on how they fit within the new transformative narrative that the show adaptation is presenting? Or are you purely judging each element based on how different it is from the books?

Does the new narrative that the show is telling have cohesive arcs and structure that work within its specific logic? Do the elements present, intentionally different or inspired or lifted directly from the books, work together to tell a story that shares most of the same overall themes and important story beats as the entire book series? Are they setting up the long term development of character arcs well?

Or are you just mad your favorite character isn’t just saying all their lines from the book directly and we need to have the ‘characters aren’t people regardless of our parasocial attachment to them, they’re storytelling tools that fill roles within a narrative conflict’ conversation again? Like, neither the author(s) nor the book characters themselves are gonna fuck you, just so we’re clear.

Mat having a weakness for helping and protecting children, Perrin being traumatized about using the axe as a weapon and worried about harming people he loves, Rand wanting to help men who can channel, everything about Egwene’s late stage character arc, Nynaeve’s innate potential and her constant early struggle with her unconsciously blocking that immense power away from herself have all been set up extremely well in the show, and all by making some pretty distinct changes from the books.

And every wot fan agrees that the books are not perfect in various ways, rearranging and tightening of the plot was always going to be necessary in an adaptation, let alone in one that is only allowed to span 8 seasons. But the main beats of the story are all there, and individual changes to characterization and the specific roles that characters play for certain bits of the narrative are not bad just because they’re different and I simply can’t take any criticism of the show that doesn’t account for that seriously.

Also like. Can we stop blaming the writers for stuff that is fully the producers’ fault. Season 1 episode 1 and episode 8 both got fucked over on rewrites and/or covid restrictions during filming, so the pacing and execution is kinda fucky there, but that’s not on the writing team. The rest of season one the pacing is better and better yet in season two, which honestly was kind of a banger start to finish.

The development in s2 of all the themes around channelers losing access to the power or autonomy over their channeling and the griefs of outliving your loved ones were explored so well, and all those ideas are very important for the rest of the plot from later in the books. And the choice to introduce all the forsaken sooner and develop them more than is present in the early books was brilliant, they’re incredibly effective and engaging villains and the show is utilizing them to full effect. Shit rules. I’m stoked for s3 for a lot of reasons but especially for more forsaken shenanigans.

When I want to reread the books I’ll reread the books. I’m doing that right now and having a great time. But I’m glad the show is different in a lot of ways and I like the way they’re reading the original text, including by changing the stuff that makes wot one of those book series you can’t really recommend without an asterisk because RJ’s grasp on feminism and queerness and gender theory was. Loose at best.

Idk man, just treat adaptations of books you love as really high budget fanfiction produced by a team of people who all care about the original text but are also of course gonna put their spin on it, and you might have a more enjoyable time watching them.

Howl’s Moving Castle by Miyazaki? Fanfiction.

NBC Hannibal? Gay Fanfiction.

The Wheel of Time on Prime? That’s right, it’s increasingly higher budget fantasy fanfiction with less gender essentialism, extra emphasis on all the milfy magical politics, and queer subtext made text, hell yeah.

[lunammoon]

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook? Probably something that they can put in food. Like Basil or Rosemary. Just not mint because they already have Too Much in a way that anyone who has planted mint will understand. Harding still tries to give them mint. Again, for reasons anyone who has grown mint can understand.

Do they like Harding's cooking? Harding's Yam and Jam slams are not that bad, but Harding gets bonus points for the thoughtfulness of the gesture more than anything. During the first couple of months where Ezra is legitimately trying to figure out how to separate Lucanis and Spite after the first attempt, but before the second and last attempt (because if anyone could do it without hurting either of them they're sure that they could) in trying to express how fucked up what Zara did to them was on a purely metaphysical level says calls the Ossuary experiments "Facinating in the same way that what Harding does to potatoes is fascinating. "

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook? I'm torn between some kind of cat, and some kind of dog. If it's a dog, then it's specifically a grim.

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin? Ezra loves the fresh air and the sunshine and the way Arlathan feels alive. They also enjoy spending time with Davrin and Assan. Sometimes they'll invite him out instead of waiting for him to invite them.

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case? Things related to spirits but unrelated to the deceased. Particularly blood magic, which is used to bind spirits to objects. In like, an au where Ezra is Ezra and not Rook, and Neve was hired by Caterina to locate her grandson (maybe in a timeline where the Inquisitor and Varric successfully talk Solas down long before the 9:51) and she had picked up enough info to know what was happening down there, she would have asked Ezra to assist.

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish? No. While fish is the only meat they eat and they basically only eat if if they're out in the wilderness and it's the easiest food to access. They tried it once since they'd already been given to them by Neve and didn't particularly like them.

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen? They might join in if it intersects with something that they know about. Or if they're helping Bellara work out an issue. Otherwise, they just sit and listen. They like to listen to Bellara work through a problem.

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together? Yes. Ezra goes out of their way to find good ones for them to read with, as many containing happy endings as they can.

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks? I don't know what the exact dish is, but it's either some kind of stew or some kind of pastry stuffed with vegetables.

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market? An empty notebook small enough to fit in their coat pockets. They end up filling it entirely with information pertaining to helping him and Spite. It's a coincidence that it's the notebook Lucanis gave them mind you. They just need a separate notebook for it since the plan is that when they're done they give the notebook to Lucanis to either keep or burn instead of submitting the contents to the Mourn Watch as part of their research like they normally do.They don't want Lucanis to feel like a thesis project.

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best? The Vinsomer. They are correct.

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often? Yes absolutely. Ezra doesn't drink much, but Spirits like them and so they'll sit and talk with them for a while.

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte? They adore it.

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook? If Ezra is making themself tea, it's always mint. But I feel in my heart that if Emmrich is making it, then the answer is a strong black tea. Something so strong that they can taste it and nothing else.

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down? Davrin - When Ezra is reaching a point where it seems like they're going to lose it, Davrin will come up with some excuse why the three of them (Davrin, Rook, Assan) need to go to Arlathan forest so that they can Touch Grass.

Small Rook & Companion Questions:

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook?

Do they like Harding's cooking?

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook?

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin?

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case?

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish?

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen?

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together?

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks?

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market?

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best?

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often?

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte?

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook?

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down?

[padf-0-ot]

You try to convince them to do the “Do you even have back muscles?” trend in Magicam with Vil Schoenheit and Malleus Draconia

note. might as well do everyone ^^” (even the ones whose one flick away from dropping dead)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

You were scrolling through MagiCam when a particular trend caught your eye. It was a simple yet devastatingly effective challenge — someone would record their boyfriend pulling off their shirt or jacket, revealing their back muscles, and the comments would immediately go feral.

You would too for them, but we won’t speak of that. And of course, your mind went straight to them.

Would they agree to it? Would they even care about the challenge? Honestly, you had no idea. But that didn’t stop you from trying.

So, you asked.

“Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

Vil didn’t even look up from his mirror, expertly applying a touch of moisturizer to his already flawless skin. “I refuse to subject myself to the whims of a trend so tacky. I have no reason to entertain the desperate thirst of the masses.”

You crossed your arms. “Tacky? Vil, it’s literally just a fitness trend. A simple show of strength and physique—”

“Exactly.” He finally turned to you, amethyst eyes sharp, assessing. “Simple is dull. Predictable. And I am neither of those things.”

You had expected resistance. What you hadn’t expected was Vil’s complete and utter dismissal, as if he were above the mere concept of proving himself. Which — fair. He kind of was. He was Vil Schoenheit. The epitome of physical discipline and aesthetic excellence. But still—

“...So you’re saying you could do it.”

The slight twitch of his brow was all the confirmation you needed.

A slow smirk crept onto your face. “Oh. You are built, but you just don’t want to be lumped in with the commoners, huh?”

His fingers halted against his temple. For a single, fleeting moment, you saw it — the hint of a nerve struck, the glint of something both irritated and calculating in his gaze. And then, in one fluid motion, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back with practiced ease.

“Fine.”

You barely had time to react before he reached up, undoing the delicate clasps of his dorm uniform, shrugging off the pristine white coat with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible. The silk of his dress shirt followed suit, each button slipping free with deliberate precision, until the fabric slid from his frame like water—

And holy shit.

Vil was divine.

His back was a masterpiece — taut, sculpted, every muscle honed to perfection. Broad shoulders framed an expanse of smooth, meticulously toned skin, the elegant curve of his spine leading down to a lean, devastating waist. His traps, his lats — everything was balanced, refined, the result of years of dedication to both form and function. There was nothing excessive, nothing overdone — just immaculate symmetry, beauty carved into strength.

And he knew it.

With an exhale, Vil reached for the nape of his neck, gathering his golden locks in one hand, tilting his head slightly to the side. The movement sent a ripple of motion through his back, subtle but mesmerizing — the kind of controlled power that didn’t need exaggeration.

A simple, effortless display.

You swallowed. “Damn.”

Vil hummed. “I should hope that suffices. I am perfection, after all.”

You were still staring. Possibly drooling. The Magicam feed was already on fire.

With a sigh, he released his hair, letting it cascade back into place before buttoning up his shirt. “If you’re going to insist on recording, at least ensure my best angles are captured. I won’t have my efforts wasted on poor cinematography.”

You weren’t sure anyone would survive this.

This was a mistake. A grave, irreversible, world-ending mistake.

You should have known better. You should have never brought up a Magicam trend to Malleus Draconia. The moment the words left your mouth, you felt a shiver — an instinctive, primal warning deep in your gut, telling you that you were about to witness something that mortal eyes were not meant to see. But it was too late.

Malleus had already set his book aside.

Had already stood to his full, monstrous height, the dim lighting of Diasomnia’s lounge casting long, imposing shadows across his frame. The air around him crackled faintly with energy, like the hum of a storm right before the first strike of lightning. His expression was calm, curious, but there was something unreadable beneath the surface — some silent, unknowable power stirring in the depths of his emerald gaze.

“Show my back?” His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was a glint of intrigue in his eyes. “Is that the nature of this challenge?”

You gulped. "Uh… yeah?"

His head tilted ever so slightly, the motion fluid, almost too graceful. “I see.” A thoughtful pause. And then, with zero hesitation — zero hesitation — Malleus reached up and unfastened the clasps of his high-collared coat.

And the world stopped.

The heavy fabric slid from his shoulders, folding onto itself in a way that seemed impossibly delicate for someone of his sheer size. He removed it with practiced ease, as if he had done this a thousand times before. It should have been elegant. It should have been effortless. But to you — it was catastrophic.

Because now, you could see everything.

And everything was devastating.

Malleus was inhuman. There was no other way to describe it. His frame was sculpted, carved from something far beyond the flesh and blood of mortals. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his traps forming a sharp, sloping curve that led down to a back so defined that it looked like something out of a myth. His lats framed the length of his spine with an absurd level of precision, each muscle shifting in perfect synchrony as he rolled his shoulders back. His posture was impeccable, his stance unwavering. Every single movement was controlled, deliberate, yet terrifyingly natural.

But it wasn’t just the size of him that had your soul leaving your body. It was the presence.

Malleus Draconia was too much.

His magic crackled through the air with an unrestrained hum, unseen but felt — a weight pressing against your chest, the charge of a storm waiting to be unleashed. His horns, ever so slightly curved, cast long shadows against the flickering candlelight. And then—

Then he stretched.

A slow, effortless roll of his shoulders, his head tipping back just slightly, exposing the column of his throat. His shoulder blades shifted beneath flawless, pale skin, his traps tightening before relaxing again. His lats flared for a fraction of a second — just long enough for you to register that he was dangerous, that his body was built for a kind of power that no ordinary person could fathom. His back muscles were alive, moving with a kind of fluid grace that was utterly hypnotic.

And then, Malleus reached up.

With an almost absentminded motion, he gathered his inky black hair with one hand, lifting it from his back to expose the full, unobstructed view of his physique. And gods help you — his spine curved, the muscles along his lower back shifting subtly with the motion, his waist narrowing into a taper that should not have been that unfairly well-proportioned.

You had never known fear like this.

Malleus glanced over his shoulder, curious at your prolonged silence. The movement sent another ripple through his muscles — smooth, effortless. “Does this suffice?”

You tried to speak. Failed.

Your soul had departed.

“Child of Man?” His voice was tinged with genuine concern now, because of course Malleus had no idea what he had just done to you. The very concept of thirst traps, of Magicam trends designed to reduce people into feral masses — he had no understanding of it. He had simply obeyed your request with the same grace he did everything else, not realizing that he had just single-handedly obliterated whatever shred of composure you had left.

Your hands were shaking as you tried to steady the Magicam feed. You weren’t even sure if you were still recording at this point. You weren’t even sure if you were still alive.

“Are you well?” Malleus asked again, his brows knitting together in mild concern. “You seem.. unwell.”

Unwell?

Unwell?

You were about to combust.

Diasomnia’s dorm had never known such an abrupt drop in sanity. The moment this hit Magicam, NRC would not survive.

And Malleus — the absolute menace — merely blinked in quiet amusement before rolling his shoulders one last time, then carefully refastening the clasps of his coat.

As if he hadn’t just committed an act of war.

© 2025 padf-0-ot . i only post in this app ^ᴗ^

[megalony]

Undo What's Done- Part 2

Here is the second part for my new Emperor Geta imagine, hopefully I can get a third part done for this little series too.

Please let me know what you think.

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@eddiesguitarskills @ziggeddie @silentwhisper666 @mysticalstar30 @sheneedsrocknroll92

Main Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: (Y/n) and Geta have always known they were betrothed to each other, and their love bound them too. When (Y/n) becomes pregnant before marriage, Geta asks his father to arrange their marriage sooner. But the Emperor is sadistic and puts (Y/n) and her unborn child in jeopardy.

(Set before the twins become Emperors)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tears of indignation burned down (Y/n)'s cheeks as she tried to follow after her mother who was still arguing with her, despite her fast-paced walk down the long corridor. She moved fast considering the state of fluctuating panic and anger she was in and sometimes it looked like she was gliding through the air rather than walking.

(Y/n)'s feet tripped over the hem of her dress but she didn't bother to pull on the waistline and yank it up, she didn't have the time or the effort for that.

She couldn't keep following her mother around like this, and she certainly didn't want to be stood arguing in the halls of the palace where anyone could overhear and witness them.

"Mother please-"

(Y/n) skidded to a stop, almost crashing into her mother when she stopped so abruptly and spun around on her heels to face her.

"The Emperor has told your father what's happened. I'm going home to speak to him, and you best not join me. He will throw a fit when he sees you, we shall have to bed his forgiveness and hope he is in an understanding mood."

She found herself shaking her head at her mother's words which cut deep no matter how true they might be. This is what (Y/n) had been afraid of. Her father finding out the truth. She had prayed that getting married to Geta would quash those worries, that the Emperor would back down and her father wouldn't have to know the truth why her marriage had happened in such haste with such little notice.

Clearly she had been lying to herself and the world was starting to crumble around her.

If her father knew then he was going to be enraged. He would lose his temper that was barely contained on the best of days. He would make it known that (Y/n) was no longer his daughter, that she had brought shame onto her family and therefore had been cast aside. She wasn't sure there was anything that her mother could say which would dissuade her father from exiling her from their family.

If the Emperor didn't allow this marriage and he broke off the betrothal, (Y/n) will have ruined her family. She could find no greater match than a Prince, and no one would want her if she was with child out of wedlock.

"The Emperor can't annul this marriage, he can't. Father will have to accept this too."

How could he? How could he annul something which had been orchestrated by a Priest, a man of God? No man could go against the word of God, it was sanctity and there was no good reason for the Emperor to try and ruin this except out of spite and for being undermined by one of his sons.

(Y/n) reached out for her mother's hand but her breath caught in her throat when her mother yanked her hand away. Those eyes that had always been full of love and tenderness now showed resentment and disappointment, everything which (Y/n) strived not to be in the eyes of her parents.

All she ever did was try to please them. She abided by their rules, she studied well, took all of her lessons to heart and strived to be respectable and bring them good fortune and happiness. All she was guilty of was getting ahead of herself with the man she was betrothed to, something that shouldn't be shamed on. Something her parents would never of known about if the Emperor had only done the right thing in the beginning.

"In the eyes of Rome, he is a God." Her mother hissed those words like a serpent while her narrowed eyes glanced around the halls, watching for any servants who might report back to the Emperor. "He can kill who he likes with no repercussions, and you think he cannot undo a matrimony he didn't sanction? You have disgraced us all."

The way those cruel eyes dragged up and down her frame made (Y/n) flinch and she recoiled back a few steps while her arms bound around her waist, hugging herself to hold all of her broken pieces together.

"I will no longer be a burden on you."

The defiant words barely managed to pass the lump forming in (Y/n)'s throat and she tried her best to hold her head up high.

Her teeth gritted together and she spun on her heels to backtrack down the long hall that seemed to stretch on for miles now that (Y/n) felt like running away like a scolded child. Tremors rattled through her limbs that barely moved under her coordination.

Tears began to blurr her vision and (Y/n) prayed she remembered the way back towards Geta's chambers. She had frequented the palace often over the years, but she never ventured past the drawing rooms or the great hall. Seeing the upstairs of the palace was like entering a maze and trying to remember the way she walked in.

Geta kept a knife under his pillow; perhaps that instrument might come in useful.

The sudden thought seized her mind and sent her heart jumping in her chest. That wasn't something (Y/n) wanted to contemplate, but she couldn't help but ponder about it in the dark recesses of her mind. She knew Geta had a knife hidden beneath his pillow, purely for protection, he had told her a few times about it and why he felt it necessary.

(Y/n) couldn't really use it, she wouldn't be able to bring the blade to her throat or impale it into her skin and she didn't want to. God knows she didn't want to hurt herself or end her life, but she had to think about her options. Being with Geta was the only viable option (Y/n) had and it was the only one she wanted to take.

Doing as his father said- or rather insulted- and being one of Geta's concubines wasn't something she would lower herself to and not on the whim of an Emperor who ruled with cruelty than kindness.

Something had to be done. They were running out of options; and time.

***

For what felt like the hundredth time, (Y/n) ran her hands up and down her face, smearing fresh and dried tears across her face and rubbing at her eyes that were desperate to close and block the world out.

Her feet were aching from where she had been pacing the floor, walking up and down so much that she had left a smudged pattern along the glistening marbled floor that shined her reflection up at her. Her fingers began to scratch down her neck and her body reduced to shivers despite the warm heat rising from the hearth across the room.

She didn't know what to do.

Walking the palace by herself didn't seem safe, not when she didn't know what kind of rumours the Emperor might have spread. For all (Y/n) knew, he could have told the guards that he didn't want her here anymore and get them to escort her out. Her father might have told them to send her home at once if they saw her.

She couldn't go home, never again. She couldn't bear to see her father and endure the arguments, slurrs and insults he would throw at her when they were face to face. Her mother was at the point of shunning her too if this situation didn't settle down soon.

(Y/n) didn't feel safe leaving Geta's chambers and walking the palace, not without him.

And she had no idea where Geta was.

She hadn't seen him since early this afternoon, before she had tried to talk to her mother who was most presumably at home now, arguing or pleading with her father. Geta never said where he was going and the longer (Y/n) waited, the more panicked she was becoming.

All she had done for what felt like hours was sit or pace his room. She couldn't settle to try and read one of the few books he had scattered around his room. She couldn't try and sleep despite how heavy and hurtful her head felt and she couldn't relax or do anything when her future was in turmoil.

Unbridled terror coursed through (Y/n) when the sound of the door clinked and the hinges groaned as the old wooden door was prized open.

Instinct told her to move, to go and hide and be out of sight in case it was a maid or servant coming in to tidy the room. Her feet shuffled back and she was just about to turn and flee when a glimmer of golden hair caught her attention.

Her body paused as she watched the golden hair flash in the warmth of the hearth fire and with how ruffled and skewed the hair seemed, (Y/n) sighed. Caracalla. But surprise flooded her eyes when the door slammed shut and she realised it wasn't Caracalla after all, it was Geta who entered the room.

What had happened to him?

The terror doubled and burned within (Y/n) as she stared at her husband who she hardly recognised. He looked disshevelled. It was usually Caracalla who had toussled hair which he could never be bothered to tame or let the servants brush and tend to. But tonight, Geta's usually kept hair was stuck up in various ways, almost as if a fist had clutched at the strands and the hair around his temple was ruffled and messy.

(Y/n) dragged her eyes up and down Geta's frame with growing trepidation as she realised why he looked so strange.

His chest was heaving beneath his gown as if the silk cloth was far too heavy for him to bear. His rose rose and fell and his head kept ticking back and forth as he struggled to gain back a proper breath like he had been running the length of Rome. His pasty pink lips were now blushing red and parted to let him pant for air and his upper lip was curled into some kind of strange grimace that wasn't usual for Geta.

Those beautiful dark eyes were distant and he seemed to be staring at the far window like there was something strange in the outside world that he had never seen before.

But it was the blood (Y/n) could see that sent her heart rocketing into her throat. Blood was splattered in dots and patches on his striking silver gown. There was a large patch near his shoulder and a splotch over his lower chest and tiny splatters were dotted all across the front.

He had blood covering his hands. Both hands were repeatedly clenching and unclenching into fists like he was straining and stretching out his fingers and it showed how badly he was trembling. One or two dots of blood had dried and stained his face and looked more like freckles against the thin white make up that had been applied to his features this morning.

(Y/n)'s hand moved to cover her mouth, trying in vain to hide her shock and stop any strange sound from eliciting past her lips.

Her body seemed to be on slow motion as she stepped forward with caution in her movements.

Geta wasn't moving. He was stood in front of the closed door, head slightly angled to one side and that faraway look bubbling in those distant eyes. He looked like he had been cast under a spell.

"Wh- what happened?! Are you hurt?"

He wouldn't answer her. He looked like he was in some strange state of shock. Geta's lack of reply sent (Y/n)'s stomach hurtling up into her throat and her hands trembled as she tried to reach out for him. She didn't want to touch him and startle him or have him reel away from her in haste.

But Geta didn't seem to acknowledge her touch. (Y/n) shakily slid her hands up his neck and cupped either side of his face, and Geta didn't seem to notice. He didn't lean his cheek into her palm like he usually would have done. He didn't look down at her or step forward into her embrace or even raise a hand to cup her wrist.

(Y/n) refrained from scratching her nails into his skin to gain some kind of reaction and instead she angled his head down in her direction and pushed up on her toes to try and be level with him. She leaned up close enough that their noses were almost touching and her eyes searched left to right until Geta finally latched onto her gaze and looked at her.

There was such a strange aura in his eyes. It felt like (Y/n) was staring up at a stranger or as if Geta didn't recognise her.

The deep breaths Geta took finally started to mellow from staggered and laboured to deep and easier. The shaking that had settled into his bones simmered down somewhat with (Y/n)'s body pressed up against his own and her hands cupping his face, grounding him.

Geta's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile when he looked down at (Y/n), but he couldn't quite manage it.

His eyes narrowed on her but he made no attempt to move or speak or incline to what had happened.

Unease washed through (Y/n) when she glided her hands down towards Geta's biceps instead of cradling his face. He didn't seem to react to her touch again, but she was relieved he didn't oppose when she tried to coax him to move.

He began to walk, shuffling alongside her as (Y/n) urged him into the room and guided him towards the sofa. Her hands squeezed his arms and she nudged him back until Geta flopped down onto the sofa and for a moment, he looked like a clay figure that had melted out of shape. He slumped into the back of the sofa and took a few moments to gain his breath back and seem to work out what he wanted to do.

Just as (Y/n) slowly knelt down on the floor before him, Geta pushed forward and sat upright like his back was now made out of wood and couldn't bend in any direction.

His eyes locked with (Y/n)'s once again and the anguish she saw flooding those beautifully broken eyes made her heart stutter. Her hands moved down to grip his thighs and she leaned forward until her chest was pressing against his knees and she was as close to him as she could manage.

"Geta, sweetheart, what has happened? Tell me, please." Her warm hands glided across his thighs in large circles and she stared up at him with pleading eyes, begging to know what had happened.

If he didn't say something soon (Y/n) might have to go and find a healer in case something was gravely wrong with Geta. That was the last thing anyone needed, for Geta to be ill or in a state of shock that they needed him to break out of. (Y/n) had no idea what a healer might do for Geta if he continued to be unresponsive like this.

But finally, finally, he seemed to snap back into some partial sense of reality.

(Y/n) wasn't sure whether he hadn't noticed that it was her before him until now or whether he had just realised that he needed to explain. Either way, his hands finally moved down and he gripped her wrists with a sudden sense of urgency that had his tense fingers and knuckles cracking into place.

His lips parted and curled and the dried splatters of blood on his face started to flake with each movement of his facial muscles and expressions.

He leant forward until the end of his nose was pressed into (Y/n)'s and her eyes had no choice but to stare into his pupils that were getting darker and darker with each passing second.

"It's done."

His voice was rasping and his chest began to heave again as if the words had taken all the effort out of him. But Geta's frightening words were nothing more than a whisper on the wind that (Y/n) had to process carefully to ensure she hadn't imagined them or misheard him.

That was worrying. Geta spoke as if (Y/n) had sent him out on a crusade- which she certainly had not done. What had her husband gone and done while they had been apart? Had he spoken to the Priest? Had he convinced the Emperor to back down on his revenge and give in to what must happen? Had he made an announcement to all of Rome to say he was married like he said he would if necessary?

There were numerous possibilities for Geta's words and (Y/n) needed more information to know how to help and what she was supposed to do now.

"What's done? I don't understand." (Y/n) tried to flex her hands in Geta's strong grip but he wouldn't release her wrists. She tried to drag her fingertips along his thighs in an attempt to calm him down, but he only gripped her tighter and cut off the circulation to her hands.

The pleading look in (Y/n)'s eyes must have done something to Geta for his expression flickered and something swirled within his eyes.

"Geta-"

"He can't threaten us anymore, I took care of it." Finally, Geta let go of (Y/n)'s wrists in favour of knotting his hands together and resting his arms on his thighs.

He didn't oppose to (Y/n) resting her hands on his forearms and when she tilted her head down to kiss the back of his hand, he almost wanted to smile. (Y/n) could feel his foot tapping against the marbled floor which caused his knee to jitter up and down, but it was soothing. Geta was never someone to sit as still as a statue, he was always fiddling or moving and having him back to that restless state proved that he was calming down and coming back to his senses. Somewhat.

"You- you mean your father?"

He had taken care of it. That had to mean the Emperor. Geta had to mean that he had spoken or argued with his father and had finally sorted this mess into something fathomable and acceptable.

But with that thought in mind and with Geta nodding in agreement, (Y/n)'s face fell. Her jaw slacked and her mouth fell open as tremors rattled through her entire being. Geta was splattered with blood like a tainted work of art. What had happened with his father?

Her hands released his forearms and her fingertips frantically began to search up and down Geta's body, along his arms and torso to try and find some kind of wound or impact. Her hands travelled up towards his shoulders and her abdomen pressed into his knees as she leaned over him with a sudden fever that set Geta off guard.

He couldn't help but tilt back, his eyes wide as he watched the panic scour his wife's face. But then it clicked. She thought he had been hurt. She was looking for the marks. She knew the Emperor was one for taking his wrath out on his sons and if they had argued, the Emperor might have swung or attacked Geta. It wouldn't be the first time, most of the servants in the palace knew what the Emperor was like and how the Princes both suffered because of it.

"What did he do? Did he try and hurt you-" (Y/n)'s frantic hands stopped when Geta shook his head and took her wrists again in a ferociously tight grip that made her pause.

"He wouldn't listen, he never listened to me. He broke his word, he would of caused a scandal, he was prepared to ruin you- ruin us. He won't be making anymore careless decisions."

Deep down in his heart, Geta had known. He had known the moment he told his father about the marriage that he wouldn't agree. He knew his father was doing this to be spiteful. And Geta knew if the Emperor got his way, (Y/n) would be cast aside like a commoner, like a concubine and he would arrange a marriage for Geta to some other nobleman's daughter and that marriage would happen with haste.

He could see it happening before his eyes. He could see his father doing this to gain another ounce of control over Geta, to hold him in line and mould him into a ruthless ruler. His father didn't believe in love or happiness that wasn't gained by torture and control. This was a game, and Geta was done playing.

He wouldn't let his father break his word and he wouldn't let him ruin what Geta wanted for himself. He had never asked for anything in his life, he accepted all the decisions that were made on his behalf and he let his father guide his destiny and mould him into whatever shape he desired. But this, this was something that Geta was taking for himself; even if it was the one and only thing he did.

"Ooh Geta, you- what did you do?"

(Y/n)'s breaths caught in her throat and she surged forward, cupping Geta's face in her hands so he was forced to look into her eyes. But the way he shook his head and rose one brow made her stomach give an awful twist.

Her hands dropped from his face and she slumped back on her heels with a defeated gasp. That callous look on Geta's face was new, he had never looked like that before and (Y/n) wasn't so sure she liked it.

"Sweetheart please tell me you didn't…"

Geta's pointed features stared down at her as a sharp expression took over his face and his lips curled up into a snarl.

How could she look at him like that? How could she speak like that, as if what she knew to be true was so horrid? Geta had done them both a great deed, he had done Rome a service like a true Emperor should. (Y/n) shouldn't be looking at him like that, she shouldn't have such sorrow in her eyes for someone who deserved no sympathy at all.

"He wasn't fit to be Emperor! He raised us to rule and to be ruthless in doing so. I did what I had to for the good of Rome, and Rome is now mine. He's dead, it was the only way."

She couldn't breathe.

Stars flooded (Y/n)'s vision and her hands scrunched up in her lap, fisting and raking her dress along her thighs in a vain attempt to calm herself down.

She was partially to blame for this. She had helped to cause this. If she and Geta had only abstained from each other, if they only asked for their marriage to be started and the proceedings to happen, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

But what else could she have done? This was their situation and Geta had done what he thought he needed to.

He had killed his own father. He had done an unthinkable task, something that Rome would not be pleased about. All of Rome would try and usurp him from the throne if they learned what he had done. A brutal leader could be followed, but one who had killed and taken the throne for himself was someone the people would not want to follow. That kind of thing was left for the gladiators in the colosseum. This was unbecoming of a future Emperor.

Geta could be detained for this, he could be trialled by the Senates for what he had done, and he was young. The people didn't have much faith in him or Caracalla yet because they were both young and hadn't proved themselves worthy of Rome yet.

"I had to." Geta's voice turned deeper and his tongue dragged across his dry lips as he stared down at his wife, waiting for her response. For her understanding.

He was somewhat relieved when he watched (Y/n) nod her head, muttering "I know," under her breath.

He had to. What other choice did he have?

The Emperor wouldn't listen. Geta gave him every chance to do the right thing, every opportunity. Geta went around him and got married, he had rectified the situation and then his father tried to ruin everything. Again. Geta tried one more time this afternoon.

He went to his father's study, he explained that the Priest couldn't sanction an annulment and he explained that (Y/n) was and should be his wife and that this was for the best. The Emperor laughed. He had the audacity to laugh and tell Geta that he was God and he could do whatever he liked, and he did not want this marriage to go ahead.

There hadn't been a choice. He slapped Geta, he pushed him and waved his knife as a threat. He had cut Geta before; when the twins were little he had gone after Caracalla with a hand knife and Geta had stood in front of his twin and bore the impact. He still had the scar along his back to prove it.

Suddenly, something had washed over Geta. He could see his life draining away. He could see himself forever being stuck under his father's imposing rules and ways and anger. Then the knife was imbedded in his father's throat. And slashing against his chest. Cutting through his skin like scissors through silk.

"Geta, come with me."

A frown settled deep into Geta's features and he broke out of his trance-like state when (Y/n) suddenly took his hands. Her touch was gentle, something Geta wasn't quite expecting, and he let her pull him up from the sofa. The feeling of her thumbs gliding over the back of his hands was calming and he felt like he was gliding through the air as she guided him into the bed chamber.

One brow arched up when (Y/n) nudged him to sit down on the bed and when she let go of his hands, Geta suddenly felt like he was falling through the air, unsure where he was about to land.

He watched her with uncertainty and curiosity as (Y/n) shakily but quickly fluttered about the room.

The pitcher of water on the table was moved to the floor beside Geta's foot along with a wash bowl and cloth. And shivers tore through his skin when (Y/n) stood in front of him once again.

He didn't know what to do or what she was trying to do, but when she began to push the gown off his shoulders and down his chest, Geta simply watched her. He let her slide his arms out of the garments but before (Y/n) could do anything else, he leaned forward.

He took her by surprise by attaching his lips onto hers and taking a searing kiss from her. His touch was somewhat frivilous yet needy and desperate and his hand reached out to cup the side of her neck as he inhaled the air from her lungs like he needed it more.

His lips trailed a path from (Y/n)'s lips along her jaw and down the side of her neck and with each kiss, Geta leaned more and more into her until he was at risk of toppling off the bed and onto his wife. He could feel her hand gripping his hip to try and steady him and make sure that he didn't fall, but his intentions were crystal clear. He was seeking comfort and solace in his wife's embrace.

"We- we have to get you changed. I can get rid of these without the maids seeing."

(Y/n) kept her left hand deadlocked on Geta's hip while her right arm tried to scrunch up Geta's gown and toss them onto the floor beside her. She could feel Geta's lips pausing against her neck and his hand stilled against her face as if he was trying to work out what she was talking about.

"Why?"

"You killed him, Rome might thank you for this, but they also might revolt. We can't trust the guards until we know you have their undying respect. Who knew you went to talk to him?"

(Y/n) wasn't sure how she managed to think so clearly when she knew what had happened and what this could mean for them if anyone found out. The panic within her was screaming at her to cry, to sit down and break and collapse and let all of her frantic worries rise to the surface in the form of tears.

But she couldn't. There was no time to sit and wallow. This time had to be used carefully, to set things right and make the best of the situation they found themselves in.

The people of Rome would be happy the Emperor was dead, he was a tyrant and the twins would be welcomed to the throne, but not if they knew what Geta had done. And (Y/n) couldn't ask the guards to help with this situation, not if they weren't one hundred percent loyal to Geta. All it took was one guard to whisper rumours about or tell the Senates and then Geta would be in jeopardy, and so would (Y/n) and all of Rome.

They had to sort this out themselves and they had to be quick about it.

"No one."

"Good, because you were here with me, okay?" (Y/n)'s hand moved up to cup Geta's face and she felt somewhat relieved when he nodded.

She could see that he wasn't taking much of this situation in, but at least he wasn't in that shocked, frozen state he had been in when he came back to the room.

She prayed no one had seen him go into or leave the Emperor's study. If someone saw him they might suspect once the guards and the residents of the palace found out what had happened to the Emperor. They couldn't suspect Geta, they couldn't suspect either of the twins. If they wanted a smooth ascent to the throne then they had to be above suspicion.

When (Y/n) began to clean the flecks of dried blood from his skin, Geta allowed his chin to tilt down into his chest so he could observe his naturally pale skin beneath her touch.

He was suddenly glad that his father hadn't bled much, at least not on him. All the blood had accumulated on the study floor and had soaked into his father's silver gown.

He hadn't been lathered in blood when he slit his father's throat or plunged the knife into his chest or slashed at his skin. It was surprising that none of the blood splatter had tainted Geta more than this. If any servant noticed the bloodied clothes before (Y/n) got rid of them, they could just as easily assume he had suffered a nose bleed.

No one would suspect the truth.

***

"Brother!"

A brief amount of terror flooded Geta's chest and surged into his heart that had already taken enough stress from today to last him a decade.

His head shot up from where he had been laid across (Y/n)'s lap and his blearly eyes looked ahead to see his brother stood in the doorway to his bed chamber.

Caracalla looked disshevelled. His golden hair was ruffled, knotted and askew in every direction. The dark blue robe he wore was hanging off both shoulders and exposing his chest and part of his abdomen and he hadn't bothered to tie the strings around his waist. He had one hand fisted around the robe to ensure his modesty was covered, although he had burst into his twin's room more than once when he was wearing nothing at all, so he had nothing to fear.

His bare feet were cold against the frozen marble floor and it was making him shiver and writhe on the spot, but the sense of glee in Caracalla's eyes was unwavering and almost frightening.

Geta groaned as he pushed up from (Y/n)'s lap and sat up straight in bed, looking towards (Y/n) for a moment. He didn't know what time it was, but it had to be late, and yet (Y/n) hadn't slept.

Geta had been wiped out, all of his energy had dissolved once (Y/n) had helped him wash and change and disposed of his clothes safely and securely. He had laid down on her lap and gone to sleep almost straight away.

It had been the first time in years that Geta had managed to fall asleep straight away. And he hadn't had one bad thought. He slept like a child.

"What is it?" (Y/n) took the words right out of Geta's mouth.

She reached her hand out to glide her fingertips through Geta's hair at the nape of his neck and she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. It was strange how calm she tried to be on the outside when inside of her, an orchestra was composing a horribly symphony of panic and clattering drums and her heart was going so fast it might just give out at any second.

"Brother! Brother, we- we are changed men!" Caracalla's bewildered expression matched the ludacris tone to his voice and the wide smile spreading across his face.

"What?"

"Father is dead, someone has slain him. We are to rule now."

Oh. Geta's shoulders dropped as he stared at his brother like he was an angel bringing news from above. It slipped his mind, what had happened to his father. Shock plastered across his face that was genuine and true and he figured it was better that he forgot what he had done for it gave the impression to his brother- and any servants who might wander in- that he had no idea about this before now.

They were to rule. They were to be Emperors. It had always been an agreement between the twins since they had been old enough to understand their destiny that they would rule together. Side by side. One no more an Emperor than the other; this would be the start of their joint reign.

Seconds ticked by into minutes as Geta stayed motionless, sat with (Y/n) feigning shock as she huddled into his side and waited desperately for him to say and do something.

He ran his hand across his face, scratching his smooth skin and down his neck before he sighed and a placid expression secured onto his face.

"Then assemble the council. We have an announcement to make."

***

"We have a lot to discuss gentlemen, Sires. And I think the first proposition should be-"

Something stirred within Geta as he looked to his left and locked eyes with Caracalla. He knew he didn't have to say anything to know that his twin was thinking along the same lines as him. They had the same understanding, that much was evidently clear.

Geta wasn't sure what made him feel so confident yet tiresome and uncaring like this. It was as if he himself were made of gold, untouchable and unbreakable by the people in this room. Maybe it was knowing that he had a secret that no one else in this room knew and could ever know.

They would never understand the strength it took for Geta to do what he did and that it was done in the name of Rome and for his family. No one, not even Caracalla, would ever understand.

Geta glanced at his brother, stood in midnight blue and golden garments dripping off him like he had fallen from the sun itself. And when he looked down at his own silver and golden gowns, he felt that confidence building. All that was missing was the crowns from their heads and they would be untouchable. Gods. In control of everyone and everything.

"I have a proposition to discuss gentlemen, which takes precidence here." Geta felt like adding 'if you have no objections' but he didn't. He didn't want to give them chance to oppose or try and control the meeting.

This was his and Caracalla's game now, and they were in charge.

No one opposed or said anything, instead, heads nodded and all eyes fell to Geta to see what he wanted to discuss.

"I think the first announcement to be made should be my marriage. I doubt any of you are aware that before our father was slain, he had granted and acknowledged my marriage to Lady (Y/n). I have the Priest here at the palace to vouch the sanctity of our marriage and our betrothal in writing from my father."

Wide eyes and open mouths stared back at Geta like he had spoken his inner truth, his secrets, and expected them to applaud him.

He waited for the begrudgements, for the quibbles and disagreements and chastising. He waited for someone to say that this wasn't proper, that there should have been a discussion and proper arrangements and a ceremony for the public to know about and the Senates to attend.

What he got instead surprised him. Agreement. The nodding of heads and mutterings of 'of course Sire' and people murmuring that this should be a priority.

They could hardly announce the Emperor's death and his son's rising to the throne and then state afterwards that one of the newly appointed Emperors was in fact married. This was something of priority to take care of first.

This is the kind of acceptance and agreement that Geta had been after in the first place. This simply validated his actions. His father had to go, he had been an obstruction to Geta and the good of Rome.

"Very well Sire, we shall make announcements shortly."

"Before we announce about the Emperor's death, we must try and pursue any leads to find out who was behind this massacre."

Nodding heads and agreements flooded the room but Geta and Caracalla didn't acknowledge them. That wasn't what they wanted. Geta's marriage and the twins ascent to the throne was their main priority. The people didn't have to know that the late Emperor had been slain. That could be a rumour at best, it didn't have to be the truth that all of Rome heard.

"What does it matter?" Caracalla tilted his head to one side and rose a brow as he began to drum his fingers against the table in front of him.

"Sire, someone murdered him, someone got into the palace undetected… it could have been a guard-"

"That doesn't matter." The curt tone to Geta's voice snapped through the air and asserted dominance over the room.

His expression was unamused and his lips formed a thin line while his head angled to the right and one brow arched. He exerted a wave of authority over everyone in the room before he had been crowned Emperor. This was a sense of dominance that Geta never would of had if his father had died under normal circumstances. He never would have felt so uncaring and hard and confident if he hadn't been pushed to the brink of a cliff.

"With all due respect-"

"If you wish to show us respect, then listen to us. Our father's murderer has committed treason, but Rome will be relieved not to have him on the throne any longer. Once the guards swear their allegiance to us, and you have all publicly acknowledged our ascent, then the matter is closed."

The moment Geta finished his speech, Caracalla leaned forward and slammed his palms down on the table with enough force to spill the glasses and rattle the quills and ink pots.

If the guards happened to find someone they suspected of this crime, Geta would go along with it. But as far as he and Caracalla were concerned, their father got what was coming to him. Rome would be relieved to have him dead and buried in one of the chapels. They would be happy to have the twins on the throne.

And once the guards and Senates and councilmen had all acknowledged Geta and Caracalla as their Emperors, then things would be different. It wouldn't matter who killed the late Emperor. His death would be an old chapter that had been closed.

Geta's marriage was no longer in jeopardy. (Y/n) was safe, her honour was in tact and would never again be questioned or put at risk. Their child wouldn't be born out of wedlock and would be in line for the throne.

Everything would work out for the best now.

Geta took a deep breath and allowed a smile to form on his lips as he clasped his hands together in front of him and cast his eyes around the room.

"A new era is upon us gentlemen."

[urstruly-ghst]

im pretty strong, see? - heartslabyul !

in which a you, someone significantly shorter, carries him like a princess!

author's note: do u ever wanna cuddle trey.

octatrio ver.

riddle rosehearts

riddle is very active, he may look petite for a boy his age, but he can put up some fight. his mother urges him, as always, to be fit and healthy. what is a doctor if there are not healthy? so, riddle never underestimates anyone.

however, despite being aware that looks does not equal to strength, riddle still finds it a big struggle when you casually carry him as if he was just a light flower. you were laughing as you picked him up with ease and swinging him around as if he was some princess in those movies.

"my rose!" riddle yelped as he clung onto your shorter frame. he was flushed and trying to find a rule in his mind to see if there was a rule against just lifting him up; there has to be one!

"put me down! but gently, this is unfit for the image of the queen!"

trey clover

trey is very big, even if he likes to think he is average. he is known to have a semblance of being "built" due to him carrying sacks of flour, kneading big batches of dough, and more physical activities that may entail his daily routine.

even if he was known to be perceptive of everyone's traits at one point, trey was still in for a shock to see you just carry him with no tension, as if he wasn't literally the giant between you two.

"dear, am i not heavy?" trey said as he sees you lift him up with no pain or even complaints. you giggle and shake your head, trying to swing him again but trey yelped and even gripped hard on your frame.

"it might be best to put me down!" trey flushed as ever as he tried to reason. though, even if he was completely blindsided, he was oddly charmed. what other things have you hidden under his watchful eyes

cater diamond

cater wasn't always active nor was he built, but he goes to the gym and he has a whole section and "dump" of photos for his escapades there. cater also looooved to tease you on how your stature was smaller compared to his, he deems himself as "cay the strong"

it would soon be "cay has been defeated" as you carry him to lift him to reach one higher up rose on the tall rose bush. before he can summon another cater to help him, you lifted him up!

"split..! wah!" cater squealed as he wasn't done saying his spell to summon his clone. he saw you lift him up with a smile as you gesture to the rose he had a hard time reaching. cater blushes as he reluctantly paints the rose.

"am... i not bothering you, sweetie? i can..." he blushes as he finished his duties. you smile and brag how you finally defeated the great cay-kun!

ace trappola

ace wasn't that strong, but he bluffs about it. it was something he always does with that grin, alongside kissing his bicep and proclaiming he's "so strong" because "he needs to protect you."

he would soon be eating his words when you carried him as you both run away from another incident grim put you in. ace was clinging but also convincing himself he cast a spell on you so you can be strong.

"hah! like my spell, i totally cast that so we can run faster hahaha... haa" ace say as you put him down. you look at him and played along, and gracefully bowed at him.

but then you picked him up again and he screams, "put me down!" but deep down, ace enjoys it.

deuce spade

deuce is strong, ever since he was training under vargas, he has grown more muscles than before. deuce has those biceps from also lifting machinery stuff. so imagine his shock when the both of you were carrying the same thing, he thought ace was next to him!

after all that work, you still had the gall to carry him too. deuce blushes as he sputters a random sentence, not making any sense.

"uh... uhm.. prefect!" deuce said as you carried him while laughing. he had no idea how you both ended up in this situatio, what was the context? but it didn't matter because you, someone with a significantly smaller stature, carried him as if it was a breeze.

"am i not heavy?!" he asks with the biggest blush

[writing-for-marvel]

I’m back on the hurt train ready to get absolutely railed again

I’m pretty sure I said this in my first read of the chapter but the fact that your amazing mind chose to start and end this chapter, a fic about time loops, in flashbacks is actually genius

There was something almost like bemusement that appeared in the curl of Natasha’s lip, but she didn’t kick you out, which you took as a sign that your little outburst might have been closer to the truth than you’d really expected. You leaned back ever so slightly.

Oh this just feels so Nat, you’re characterisation feels so spot on, even down to the detail of her just needing to stare reader down and reader just keeps rambling like shes justifying herself

Then, without warning, she threw her glass at you.

You obviously can’t see me but I literally flinched out of the way reading this like it was me she had done this to 😂 but I love this scene with Nat so much, it’s such a *her* thing to do, the details are just perfect

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be able to do that,” you said flatly.

Literally took the words out of my mouth

So it appears you’ve gotten yourself stuck in some macabre version of Groundhog Day. Alright. Cool cool cool. You can work with that, probably. Maybe.

I love the inner monologue you have written, it’s honestly so refreshing and actually hilarious

It’s moments like these that make you miss Nat the most.

Stop it we can’t have more death and grief than we do already please

There was something about that woman that made everyone around her open up, whether they wanted to or not.

Literally flash back to what I said before about reader just rambling under her stare without her saying a single word

“Buck?” He huffs, even though he continues to wear his usual exasperated expression. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You raise your eyebrows in fake surprise. It’s so easy to fall back into your usual bickering, even with everything that’s going on. “You’re right, I don’t. Your cat probably got into my room again and let out her past week’s aggressions.”

“See, that’s exactly what she wants you to think.”

Eeeee they make me giddy 🥰🥰🥰

“Nope. This is my spot, too.”

“Great,” you sigh, angling yourself away from him. “I’ll be sure to make a reservation next time.”

I’m literally just giggling and kicking my feet every time they interact

“Try the floor,” Bucky says as you’re almost out of the room. He doesn’t turn when you do, but he seems to feel your questioning gaze. “If you can’t sleep. It helps, sometimes.”

Oh my baby 😭 just the thought of him sleeping on the floor for comfort actually hurts my soul

With a sigh, you get settled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling until your eyes get too tired.

Oh she takes his advice 🥺🥺🥺

When you see your own body still lying in bed next to where you’re standing, you almost trip over your own feet.

See I knew this was coming this time and yet it still felt like a shock to the system!!!

It’s one of your favorite comfort novels. You take good care of your books for the most part, but this one is quite battered; you’ve been bringing it with you on missions for years. A bit of home that fits into your pocket and helps calming you down on countless quinjet rides better than pictures ever could.

If someone comes into my room and insults one of my favourite books you can best believe I am finally learning to throw a punch and clock them in the jaw

“It happened because you activated the time stone,” Strange sneers. “Your powers are a lot stronger than you even care to realize, and it was idiotic to keep them a secret.”

She cares so much about Bucky that she’s activated the time stone??? Nika your mind wtf 🤯🤯🤯

He must have hit his head on the side of the big table, but the shield had protected him from the sharp edge. He’s pressing a hand to his wound and he’s conscious and fine. He’s fine.

I’m just sat here waiting with bated breath for this whole sequence

You fling your knife as fast as you can, but his single moment of hesitation was long enough for the trigger to be pulled a second time. You turn just in time to see the realization on Bucky’s face, the shock and panic in his eyes as they meet yours.

You’re telling me he dies in every rendition of this god damn day Nika it’s too painfulllllllll

Bucky figuring out that somethings wrong 😭😭 they barely spend any time together and yet he’s already worked her out 😭😭 don’t mind me imma just sob over here

Things were finally starting to look up.

Right just the kick to the gut I needed at the end of this torture (affectionate; I love it)

Nika I love it, I am after two chapters already pulling my hair out every time we have to see Bucky die, but the story itself is exceptional!!

Your writing style is absolutely gorgeous, I always feel so present in the moment with all of their conversations, all the characters feel so *real*, I adore them all

And I honestly can’t say enough about the magic system in place and readers powers, like I’m bewildered by how your gorgeous mind came to that. I can’t wait to dive more into it and learn the backstory behind it all

time after time [2]

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: 8.2k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, the angst continues, another reminder to read the fic premise; a couple of guest appearances; flashbacks are my establishing shots and i’m going to make it everyone’s problem

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: 2am updates are kind of my brand at this point. big shout-out to @barnesafterglow who read a good chunk of this yesterday and is still talking to me <3 thank you all for your patience and your love for chapter one!!

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

two: twice upon a time

The first time you met Natasha Romanoff in person, a few weeks after the Snap, she only had to look at you for a couple of seconds to be able to read you like a book.

They’d compiled a file, of course, filled with all the general academic credits and official family information that was still available to the public and definitely more than a few things you’d tried to bury, too. Even then, the folder was reassuringly slim.

She’d have to take you at your word about what you’d come to offer her, anyway.

“And why would we want to have you?” she asked. As if she were interviewing you for a job. Which, technically speaking, she was.

You were on edge and Natasha knew it, even though you tried to hide your ever twitching fingers in your lap under the table, picking at the skin around your nails until you felt it break. You took a deep breath.

“Look, I know that I’m not exactly a soldier, or a—a superhero type, but I … I don’t know, I would just like to use my … thing to do good, for once. You know, stuff that will help people.”

And do it on your own terms. It stayed unsaid, then. You didn’t admit that part until much later.

Natasha’s face stayed perfectly neutral through your rambling, and you weren’t sure whether that was calming you down or making you more anxious. You reached for your necklace, tugging at the chain.

“But I can’t really do that on my own,” you continued, “and you, well, all of you, you’ve done it for a while and you’re good at it. And I think I could help with that.”

She still didn’t say anything, just kept waiting while you sat awkwardly in that uncomfortable office chair, regretting your decision of ever following through with your crazy impulsive idea of coming here.

But where else would you have gone?

“Also,” you remarked in a sudden burst of boldness, “I think you could use every extra pair of hands you can get at the moment.”

There was something almost like bemusement that appeared in the curl of Natasha’s lip, but she didn’t kick you out, which you took as a sign that your little outburst might have been closer to the truth than you’d really expected. You leaned back ever so slightly.

You couldn’t be sure, then, if she’d pieced together what little information they’d had on you in your file or if she’d just figured you out while you were sitting in this office, but it didn’t make all that much of a difference. She didn’t have to ask why you’d decided to offer up your abilities to the Avengers now, after everything, when they’d been hidden away for most of your life.

“You’re lonely. And you need a purpose, like all of us,” she said, looking you up and down apprehensively.

Then, without warning, she threw her glass at you.

You flinched to the side and it shattered on the wall behind you. The leftover drink slowly sank into the carpet as you turned to stare at her in shock.

Natasha lifted one of her perfectly trimmed eyebrows. “You wanna try that again?”

Really, you should’ve expected the test.

You closed your eyes and raised your hands.

It’s a strange experience, going back in time. No one had really asked you to describe what it was like, and you probably couldn’t have if you tried. It felt a little like retracing your own steps in your head, relocating your conscience to an earlier moment, second by second, in a rapid backwards motion. Like very vivid remembering. Only, it’s not just that.

“You’re lonely,” Natasha said, swirling the dregs of her glass, her green eyes tracing over you. “And you need a purpose, like all of us.”

You were expecting it this time, but the glass still slipped through your fingers and broke into tiny shards on the floor. Not good enough. You didn’t wait for her reaction this time, cursing under your breath and pulling yourself back again. As always, it took considerably more effort.

You tried your best not to stare at the glass while Natasha spoke, but you didn’t really listen anymore. This time, you caught it, even though its contents spilled over your hand.

Natasha smirked. “Not bad. First try?”

“This is when I lie to sound capable, right?” You shook the liquid off your fingers, sure she’d already noticed the sweat on your temples. No use in lying to a spy, anyway, you supposed, so you admitted, “Third.”

“We’ll work on that. But honesty’s a good start.” She held out her hand and you returned the glass. “Have you ever done combat training?”

You could barely stifle a nervous laugh. “Do I look like I’ve ever done combat training?”

“I don’t tend to judge people based on how they appear,” Natasha said, uncrossing her legs. “Come with me.”

You followed her back out of the office into the wide, empty hallway. You hadn’t seen anyone else around on the whole Compound, even though it could probably house hundreds of people on the ground floor alone. The clacking sound of your steps on the tiled floor seemed to echo all around you.

It felt like you were announcing yourself to everyone within a two-mile radius while Natasha moved around on her bare feet without a single sound.

A glass elevator took you down to the subterranean level of the building. Once the doors slid open, Natasha marched straight to a double door with square windows and large metal handlebars.

“Leave your shoes and bag by the door,” she told you. She waited for you to untie your laces and awkwardly wiggle out of your boots before she let you both in.

The Compound gym was even bigger than you’d expected. You weren’t sure if you were more surprised by that revelation or by the presence of a certain super soldier kicking the life out of a punching bag on the other side of the hall.

“Hey Rogers,” Natasha shouted as it got smacked to the ground. “Brought a new recruit!”

“Really?” he called back, unwrapping the bandages around his knuckles.

“Really?” you said. Sure, that was what you came here for, but even so, you were a little shocked it had been that simple.

“Like you said, we’re a little desperate at the moment,” she winked.

“I didn’t say that,” you muttered anxiously as Captain America jogged over to join you, a towel thrown over his shoulder. Despite his workout, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand with a smile.

You shook it, slightly bewildered, and introduced yourself. He repeated your name back at you and you had to take a moment to think how strange this whole situation was, even in all the madness that’d been going on. How unreal.

“I’m sure it’ll be good to have ya,” he said, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Thankfully, you caught yourself in time.

Meanwhile, Natasha had dragged one of the thick foam mats away from the heavy equipment and rolled it out. Cracking her neck, she stepped onto it and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Okay. Show me how you’d throw a punch.”

She held out her hands flat in front of her and nodded her head for you to join her on the mat. You’d never felt so stupid in your life as you tried to rack your brains for whatever little you took from those self-defense lessons however long ago. At least Captain Goddamn America seemed to be politely ignoring you in favor of putting some weights away.

“Just move on instinct, you’re not getting graded,” Natasha said calmly.

Your instincts were telling you you were absolutely getting graded and this was your worst idea to date, but you tried your best. She had you aim at different heights a few times before she stopped you.

“Okay, your posture’s terrible. You have to straighten your back and bend your knees more, see?” She demonstrated the right stance, waiting for you to copy her. “There you go. That’s your standard pose.”

“Alright,” you said, testing it out with a little bounce. “And what do I do with that?”

“Depends on what you’re trying to do. With the right training, you can use your own weight to your advantage in a fight. Steve?”

“Oh, great, am I volunteering?” He joined you on the mat and you moved to give the two of them enough space.

“You love it. Now watch me,” she added, looking at you.

Before Steve could even properly raise up his arms, Natasha launched into a handflip and somehow managed to wrap her legs around his body. The sudden movement made him stumble backwards. He lurched his body forwards to get her off his shoulders, but she used the momentum of her fall to kick him off his feet onto the mat. She gracefully landed on all fours like a cat. It looked effortless.

“You’re right,” Steve groaned, “this is very fun for me.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be able to do that,” you said flatly.

“I don’t expect you to,” Natasha said, pulling her hair behind her ears again. “But you do have to be able to survive in a fight, even without your powers, if you want to join the team. We can’t babysit you.”

You pressed your lips together, slowly curling your hands into fists and opening them again.

“Alright,” you said, your voice strangely dry. “When do we start?”

*****

Your initial reaction is relief.

Relief, because it’s Friday again, which means nothing has actually happened, which means Bucky is still alive.

Then, the implications of that fact hit you all at once.

You must’ve blacked out for a second or two, because when you open your eyes again, you’re lying on the floor next to your bed, heart still pounding a mile an hour. Your breath comes out in short gasps, and you force it to slow just in time for the knock on the door.

“Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!”

“Just gimme a minute!” you shout back and stumble to the bathroom.

Your hands and face are speckled with blood and you wash it off furiously, biting your lip as the tiny cuts on your skin left by the glass shards burn under your touch. Turning off the faucet, you keep leaning onto the basin and stare at your hands.

You’re not sure what you expected. Your rings are still the blackest you’ve ever seen them, and the dimly glowing symbols keep slowly circling around your wrist. It doesn’t take you long to put two and two together, because once is a coincidence, a strange, fateful accident, but twice is a pattern. And of course you’ve heard about this kind of thing happening. Only not like this.

Life everlasting.

No. Definitely not like this.

So it appears you’ve gotten yourself stuck in some macabre version of Groundhog Day. Alright. Cool cool cool. You can work with that, probably. Maybe.

“Did you get lost in there?” Sam remarks with a grin when you finally step out of your room, still looking slightly disheveled.

“I—” You stop yourself, blinking at him until he starts looking slightly concerned.

“You alright? You look …” His eyebrows raise even higher. “Shell-shocked.”

Well, this isn’t exactly an everyday occurence even for me, Samuel, you want to tell him. Instead, you say, “Don’t ever wake me up like that again.” It lacks yesterday’s punch.

“Sweet white teenage angst not your style?”

You hum, but don’t reply otherwise, still lost in thought as you climb the stairs, trying to assess your situation and come up with some sort of plan.

It’s fairly obvious you fucked up your reset the other day. So much for the precious space-time continuum; oh, you hate it when the wizard people are right every now and then.

You glance sideways at Sam while he stretches his back in the ring. He seems fine, completely normal, unaware of what’s going on with you, and of course he would be. Nothing unusual about that part of your powers. Or what’s left of them.

You raise your hands experimentally.

“I’m not high-fiving you until you get one kick in, at least.”

Not even the slightest hitch. It’s like your powers have just up and left you completely. A strange heaviness settles in your stomach. Fucking useless.

You avert your burning eyes from Sam’s gaze.

It’s not like you … talk.

None of you do, not really. Sure, you chat. You’re great at chatting. You’ve had years, countless tries of perfecting smalltalk, of knowing the things you can get away with saying to certain people. It’s made you reckless in the past, knowing you could probably replay entire conversations in the blink of an eye, the pressure of expectation gone completely.

Ever since you started coming out of hiding again, though, the fun has drizzled out of that more and more. It’s one thing to impress strangers and another to be several steps ahead of the people you’ve started to consider your friends.

Because even though sometimes it sure would be easier, having people un-live conversations they’ve had with you, particularly hard or emotional ones, is sort of a shitty move if you continue to spend your time around them afterwards. And you’ve grown determined to not intentionally hurt people with your powers. Not anymore.

So yes, you chat. You know Sam’s favorite color and the video games his nephews want for their birthdays. You know what kind of music Bucky listens to, mostly because he forgets to turn on the soundproofing in his room and Jazz trumpets are surprisingly loud. You know their habits, the foods they like, the movies they hate.

But you don’t … share. Nothing that goes deeper than the general stuff.

It’s moments like these that make you miss Nat the most.

There was something about that woman that made everyone around her open up, whether they wanted to or not. You’re almost resolved to call her as soon as you get back to your room before you remember.

You’re gonna have to do this on your own. Back to square one.

“What is up with you today?”

“I’m fine,” you grunt, but make no effort to get back up again. “Didn’t sleep well. Ow.” You narrow your eyes at Sam. “Did you just kick me?”

“I wanted to see if you’re still alive.”

“Horrible. I’m quitting. You can go spar with Bucky again.”

“At least he puts up a fight.” Sam crouches down next to you. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

Yes. You shake your head. He probably wouldn’t believe you, anyway.

“Alright,” he says, clapping you on the shoulder. You scrunch your nose. “I’m gonna hit the showers. But we’re doing a rain check for tomorrow, and you sort out your pea under the mattress situation.”

“Okay.”

You listen to Sam’s receding steps and the sound of the door opening and closing again. Then, there’s nothing but silence and the ticking of the clock on the far wall.

Even though you know you should probably just head out as well, you can’t help but linger again. Just in case.

“You look like shit.”

Your head rolls to the side. Fuck you, Barnes. “Hey, Buck.”

Same spot on the bench next to the ring, same hunched over position, same concentrated look on his face while he cleans up the shimmering golden nooks in his arm.

“Buck?” He huffs, even though he continues to wear his usual exasperated expression. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You don’t answer, just keep staring at his profile for a little while longer. Your eyes are drawn to the nape of his neck, to the center of his chest. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Bucky says lowly. You turn your gaze back to the ceiling.

“Nothing,” you answer, pulling an arm over your eyes. The sweatband rubs against your eyebrow.

Maybe, you think, just maybe, it could still be a fluke. Only one more time to get things right, and then all will just go back to normal. Maybe you’ll be fine today. He’ll be fine.

There’s a buzzing in your ears, and you’re not sure if it comes from the green symbols gyrating around your arm or if you’re just imagining it altogether.

“What happened to your face?” Bucky asks unexpectedly, casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you dove head-first into a rose bush.”

“Hah.” You slowly sit up, your muscles aching for a hot shower. Three days of training and fighting in a row are not agreeing with your body. “Must’ve scratched myself in my sleep.”

If he sees through your lie, he doesn’t call you out on it. “Didn’t know you have talons.”

You raise your eyebrows in fake surprise. It’s so easy to fall back into your usual bickering, even with everything that’s going on. “You’re right, I don’t. Your cat probably got into my room again and let out her past week’s aggressions.”

“My cat slept soundly, thank you very much,” Bucky says dryly.

“See, that’s exactly what she wants you to think.”

“Funny.” He stands up, hanging the piece of cloth over the side of the boxing ring to air out. “Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one.”

“Thanks, Buck,” you say with a smirk. He ignores you.

***

The shower is what brings your mood back down again. In the silence of the water hitting your back, there’s enough time for you to think about the upcoming day that you’ve already been through twice.

Up until the mission, it’s gone by fine, unremarkably so, which only makes the build-up to the evening even worse, in your opinion. You face the stream of hot water directly, trying to rid yourself of the image of Bucky lying on the floor, bleeding out in front of you.

You need to be rational about this.

First, you need to figure out what’s going on with your powers. Then, you have to make up your mind about lunch, because while you don’t exactly resent the thought of your third pizza in as many days, your stomach sadly doesn’t agree with that notion. And finally, you’re going to break this damn cycle you’re in. Easy as that.

You turn off the shower with your newfound resolve and grab the clean towel.

Your determination lasts up until you get back to your room and realize you don’t actually know how you are going to fix your powers. They’ve always been somewhat fickle, unpredictable even to you, acting up whenever it’s most inconvenient. Impossible.

No one has ever been able to tell you where they came from, nor how you could properly control them. Everything you know you had to figure out through trial and error, replaying the same scenario over and over again, and, more often than not, lucky coincidences.

Usually, when your rings are black and your powers are weakened, it helps to let your body regain its strength first. In other words, you need to sleep.

This is something you probably should have thought through before getting your morning coffee with an extra shot of espresso, out of habit, but that’s not something you can change right now.

The living room area wouldn’t usually be your first choice for a midday nap, but you’re not ready to face the bloodstains on your bedding quite yet, so you’ll have to make do with one of the suspiciously IKEA-looking throw pillows on the couch. The TV is chattering away in the background, just loud enough to somewhat distract you from your own thoughts.

It’s not enough to fall asleep, though.

You keep tossing and turning, half-listening to three or four episodes of some nineties sitcom, while your anxiety gnaws away at your insides. There’s a constant low pounding in your head that drives you up the wall, and again you swear you can hear the symbols looping around your wrist. You keep scratching at your sweatband, but it’s no use.

You don’t know how much time has passed before the pattering of small paws makes you sigh in disdain.

There’s an obnoxiously loud meowing close to your feet, followed by a sudden weight dropping on your stomach that almost invites your garlic bread back up for a double feature. You peer out at the white shape on top of you, innocently toying with the hem of your shirt.

In general, you like cats just fine, but something about Alpine has always unsettled you. Sure, she’s a cute-looking ball of fluff, but she’s also quick to scratch unsuspecting people bending down to pet her, and she seems to have a particular bone to pick with you.

“Maybe she’s just a good judge of character,” Sam jokes whenever you complain about it.

“She doesn’t like you any better.”

“Yeah, but I’m allergic to her,” Sam shrugs. “The farther she stays away, the more a favor it’s doing me.”

In truth, the only person Alpine likes is Bucky, and she loves to show it every chance she gets.

“You’re in her spot.”

Alpine graciously allows you to push up to your elbows with a groan. Bucky’s tall figure is looming over your head; there’s a bemused expression on his face. He must’ve just walked in through the door, because he’s still wearing his jacket.

“Why does the cat need a spot on the couch, exactly?” You try to shoo her off your lap, but Alpine digs her claws deeper into your shorts and you wince. “You really need to teach her manners.”

“You gotta be gentle with her,” Bucky says, pulling her off you without a hitch. “Move over.”

You swing your legs off the couch with a roll of your eyes. “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

“Nope. This is my spot, too.”

“Great,” you sigh, angling yourself away from him. “I’ll be sure to make a reservation next time.”

Alpine starts purring as Bucky scratches her under the chin. “You watchin’ that?”

“I was trying to nap,” you mumble, throwing him the remote with a little more force than necessary. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Thirteen twelve hours.”

“Please stop just saying numbers when I ask you that.”

Bucky smirks again and switches channels. “Quarter past one-ish.”

You blink at him tiredly, surprised to find out he’s been back so early. The past two days, you didn’t see him around again until the broadcast was about to start. Then again, you didn’t really pay attention at that point, either.

There’s that tick in his jaw that he always gets when something is bothering him, even as he’s distracted by a playful cat in his lap. You’d better relieve him of the burden of your presence.

“Well,” you say, standing up. Alpine whines indignantly at the sudden movement. “I’ll try to find a cat-free spot in this tower, then.”

“Try the floor,” Bucky says as you’re almost out of the room. He doesn’t turn when you do, but he seems to feel your questioning gaze. “If you can’t sleep. It helps, sometimes.”

You hide your hands in your pants pockets, even though it’s far too late by now. He’s already noticed your black rings.

With a short hum, you briskly walk back to your room, leaning against the door as it closes behind you. This is getting ridiculous, you think, worrying the ring on your pinkie finger with your thumb. As if you didn’t have enough reasons to get a hold of your powers again; you don’t know what you would do if Bucky really got suspicious of you now.

Taking a deep breath, you eye your bed. Compared to yesterday, the blood stains on your sheets are barely more than a few specks, because you weren’t as close to Bucky when it happened. Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Fine,” you mutter in annoyance, grabbing one of your pillows and throwing it on the floor next to your bed. “FRIDAY, can you wake me in time for Sam’s speech?”

“Of course,” FRIDAY tells you. “Do you want me to use the same song as this morning?”

“Please don’t.” A little idea pipes up at the back of your head. “Do you have any record of playing that song before?”

“Last dates played. Friday, July 4th 2025, 07:50 a.m. Playtime: forty-five seconds. Thursday, March 13th 2014, 02:49 a.m. Playtime: one hour, twenty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds. End of record.”

Interesting night for Tony, then, but not exactly telling when it comes to your time loop situation. With a sigh, you get settled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling until your eyes get too tired.

You’ll think of something once you’ve had a bit of sleep. He’ll be fine.

And then, just as you’re finally about to drift off, you feel a sudden jolt go through you. It’s a bizarre sensation, like you’re falling and jumping at the same time, but your body isn’t actually moving with you. Like someone pulling at your very consciousness.

Your eyes fly open and you gasp for air.

You’re still in your room, which should be good news, but everything looks … weird. Not as out of focus as it would be if you were simply dreaming, but somehow crooked, the angles unusually pronounced. The colors are all off, the lights way lower than they should be this time of day, and when you reach out for the edge of your bed, your hands—

You take a sharp breath. Your fingers are bare, no trace of your rings anywhere, and even worse, your hands are partly transparent. Cautiously, you get up on your equally as see-through legs and turn around.

When you see your own body still lying in bed next to where you’re standing, you almost trip over your own feet.

You stare at yourself in disbelief. One of your body’s hands is tucked under the pillow, and it’s breathing regularly. Carefully, you take a step closer and reach out your noncorporeal hand. Your shoulder feels warm and solid underneath your fingertips.

Your body wrinkles its nose in its sleep and you jerk back again, losing your balance and falling to the floor. Your body doesn’t react at all, even though you pull part of the blanket with you as you go down.

“Okay. This is a dream,” you tell yourself, even though you feel your heart pounding. “Just some weird-ass dream, and I have to wake up.” Again, you can’t help but look at the sleeping body lying in your bed.

You press your hands over your eyes, willing yourself to slow your breathing. The edge of your nightstand jabs you painfully between the shoulder blades, too real to be nothing more than an act of your imagination.

“You’re not what I expected.”

The man’s voice makes you flinch slightly. Slowly, you peek through your fingers.

You either didn’t notice him while you were taking in your surroundings or he’s just blended in with them seamlessly, although you’re not sure how that last one could even be a possibility. His back is turned to you, his frame covered by a long, deep red cloak with intricate patterns stitched along the seams. He’s perusing your bookshelf, picking up old copies seemingly at random.

For some reason, your shock at the sight of him is outweighed by immediate irritation. Something about the man instantly irks you.

“Thanks, I think,” you tell him, throwing the edge of the blanket over your sleeping body again as you get up, never letting the man out of your sight.

He turns around, one of his eyebrows raised. Your eyes immediately fall on the amulet around his neck and your heart gives a stutter. You ignore it.

“Not a compliment.” He holds up a book. “This is how you spend your time, then?”

It’s one of your favorite comfort novels. You take good care of your books for the most part, but this one is quite battered; you’ve been bringing it with you on missions for years. A bit of home that fits into your pocket and helps calming you down on countless quinjet rides better than pictures ever could.

“Sue me for trying to relax in between saving the world,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Of course,” the man says wryly. “Because god forbid you use those powers of yours to their full extent, we wouldn’t want that.”

“And what’s it to you?” you snap.

The man calmly puts the book down again; not where he picked it up from, you notice in annoyance.

“My name is Doctor Stephen Strange,” he says, watching your face for your reaction. “Ah, so you have heard of me.”

Of course you have. You know who he is, you must’ve seen his picture hundreds of times during the Blip, and even before that, you’d heard about his reputation. As one of the keepers of the time stone back when it still existed, he’s on your list of people you least want to see, ever.

You narrow your eyes at him. “How did you find me? What—” You take a quick look back at your own sleeping form. “What is this place?”

“The astral plane,” he says, swiping your bookshelf for dust and inspecting his fingertips contemptuously. They’re shaking ever so slightly. “Something you would know if you hadn’t spent the past decade avoiding every single chance to use your powers responsibly.”

“Wow,” you huff. “You don’t know anything about me or about my powers.”

“Don’t I, Y/N Y/L/N?” Strange’s cloak flaps slightly as if it were shrugging.

“I spent the last couple of years trying to save lives.”

“You’re riding on luck and pretend it’s control. You have no idea what this could do to the grand scheme of things.”

“Well, I never asked for these powers, okay?” you say defensively. “I just have them. What I don’t have is any interest in being a pawn in some grand scheme of things when I never wanted any of this.”

“People don’t generally get a choice in that matter.” His gaze drops to your wrist. “And now look where your resistance to accept your responsibilities got you.”

The green band of symbols is still leisurely circling around your arm. You bite your tongue. “I don’t know how that happened,” you say, your voice breaking slightly on the last word.

“It happened because you activated the time stone,” Strange sneers. “Your powers are a lot stronger than you even care to realize, and it was idiotic to keep them a secret.”

“Why, so you could use them for your own gain?”

“So I could prevent this exact kind of thing from happening.”

You throw your hands in the air in frustration. “So end it, then. Or did you drag me here just to berate me?”

Strange chuckles humorlessly. “This is not something others can just fix for you, Miss Y/L/N. You cast a very powerful spell in creating this loop, and you are the only one who can lift it again.”

“Great. I’m screwed, then, is that what you’re saying?” You might not be inside of your body at the moment, but you can still feel your cheeks heating up. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You need to calm down,” Stange says sharply.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, get out of my—head, or whatever this is. Get out!”

“Alright then. Continue to play stubborn. See how far it gets you.” He holds out his right hand and there’s a crack in the air behind him; almost like a doorway, or a mirror. “I’ll be here when you’re done acting like a child.”

You come to on your bedroom floor, feeling almost more tired than you did when you laid down earlier. It takes your bleary eyes a moment to adjust to your surroundings again. When you sit up, a thin throw blanket that you don’t remember pulling over your shoulders falls into your lap.

This really is just a whole bunch of disasters stacked on top of each other.

You don’t even have to look at your rings to know there’s still not the slightest green spec in sight. Your fingers find your necklace and you tug slightly to reassure yourself of its presence. How the hell did Strange even find you?

There’s no time to think about it for too long, because once again, there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“We got a lead on that lab,” Sam shouts on the other side. “Jet’s leaving in half an hour, get ready.”

You blink at the clock on your wall in confusion. Even though you feel like you only spent a couple of minutes in this other dimension you were dragged into, several hours have passed in this one.

Time is seriously out of your hands, and it’s only getting worse.

***

“Don’t you think that maybe they have an alarm set or something?” you say, contemplating the explosives laid out in front of you.

Sam raises his eyebrows, adjusting the intercom chip in his ear. “Is that a hunch or are you telling me?”

“Both.” You flex your fingers. “It’s just that announcing ourselves probably isn’t in our best interest right now.”

“And you couldn’t have said that earlier? As in, before we landed?” Sam sighs.

Bucky snorts as you shrug your shoulders helplessly. Your body desperately needed the half hour of uneasy sleep the flight has afforded it, even though your powers seem to be unimpressed by it.

“Look, it’s gonna be fine,” Sam continues, squeezing your arm. “We’ve handled worse. Besides, if they do have an alarm set, they’re gonna come to us whether we knock down that wall or not.”

“I guess,” you mumble, grabbing the explosives. “Let’s play knock-knock with terrorists then, that oughtta be fun.”

“Reminds me of ‘44,” Bucky says, more to himself than to either of you.

When you follow Sam down the hallway once again, you can’t help but search for the cameras you know are hidden here somewhere, but it’s impossible to tell in the dingy light. You should bring a stronger flashlight next ti—no.

You blink, stopping that thought before it’s fully formed.

There won’t be a next time. This thing ends tonight, once and for all.

Third time’s the charm, right?

About as charming as a kick to the face, you think as you find yourself delivering just that.

Sam takes off. “We better get moving. If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Bucky catches Sam’s shield as you disarm the white jacket with the knife and duck as the shots ring out. You’re sweating in your kevlar vest.

“Two o’clock, Bucky,” you tell him, throwing another punch. You’re so sick of this white-coated asshole in particular; it’s like they think you’re in the rumble from West Side Story. “And whatever you do, don’t throw that shield, alright?”

“You’re bossy today,” Bucky huffs, taking out the one with the blaster.

“I think you mean thorough,” you reply as Riff finally goes out cold.

“You tell yourself that.” He reloads his gun instead, shield firmly locked around his right arm. “How much longer for the transfer?”

You glance at the monitors and try to remember. “About a minute, maybe two.”

“Sam, you copy?” The last white jacket goes down.

“Ready for take-off in five,” Sam confirms cheerfully. “Heads-up, there’s at least another dozen heading your way.”

“Got it.” Bucky bumps your shoulder as he starts back towards the computers, leaving you only a second to process the different turnout of events.

Shouldn’t he insist on leaving?

The only thing that differentiates this mission from the first one is that you haven’t had to jump back to know what to look out for, and therefore don’t suffer the immediate side effects a redo usually has on you. You suppose that’s what they initially expected your powers to be like; flawless, useful, magical.

It’s like a slap in the face, even though Bucky doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The fact that he really does think lesser of you because of your stupid, faulty powers stings more than you care to admit.

You shake yourself back to the present moment. “Take the drive and then get away from there!” you shout, trying to catch up with him. Your lungs are burning. “They’re gonna blow up the—”

The blast of the explosion throws you backwards and you land on one of the unconscious bodies on the ground. Coughing, you roll to your hands and knees.

“Wha—ppening?” Sam’s cut off voice comes through the broken comms.

“Bucky?” You stumble towards the flaming mess that was the lab corner.

He must have hit his head on the side of the big table, but the shield had protected him from the sharp edge. He’s pressing a hand to his wound and he’s conscious and fine. He’s fine.

You can’t stop a relieved laugh as you crouch down next to him. “Wanna get out of here or what?”

The reflection of the flames makes his eyes almost look green as he squints at you, groaning. “Geez, I hate you.”

“Come on, tough guy,” you say and he lets you pull him to his feet, almost toppling over at his unsteadiness. “Let’s get you home.”

You keep turning around as you make your way to the tunnels, keep looking back towards the staircase you came down, worrying about the reinforcements Sam told you about. Maybe that’s your mistake.

Because you haven’t made it this far before, you don’t think to check that the unconscious white jackets are all still unconscious.

You still have Bucky’s shield arm around your shoulder as he jerks, sensing the motion on his left before you do. He catches the first bullet with his metal arm as you twist out of your hold on him, grabbing your knife and whirling back around. He makes a side step, taking a big swing—

Only you told him not to throw the shield.

You fling your knife as fast as you can, but his single moment of hesitation was long enough for the trigger to be pulled a second time. You turn just in time to see the realization on Bucky’s face, the shock and panic in his eyes as they meet yours.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and–

“Okay, alright, turn it off, FRIDAY!”

By the time you wipe your mouth and flush the toilet with shaky knees, hair and face still caked with blood, you’re finally starting to understand how well and truly screwed you are.

***

You lean against the fridge, staring at Sam while he’s typing away at the kitchen island. He likes working standing up for some reason, particularly when he has to write some sort of statement.

“If I have to give the speech standing up, I’ve gotta write it standing up,” he’s explained it to you once. You can’t pretend to get it, but you suppose it’s also a perk to be within an arm’s length of snacks at all times while you’re getting stuff done.

“What do you want?” Sam says evenly. His gaze remains fixed on his laptop, his fingers never stopping to move.

You bite your lip. It’s a bad, very bad, terrible idea. You shouldn’t be bothering him with your fuck-up. You don’t even know how to go about it without having him laugh in your face.

“What if I told you that I’m stuck in a time loop?”

The question comes out weirdly flat, as if you’re joking. Fuck, what’s happening to you? You’ve always been fine with being the person who knows more than anyone else in the room. This situation though …

It’s different. It unrattles you in a way your powers never have, because even though it’s your own doing, it also seems so out of your control.

Sam raises an eyebrow, still not looking up. “I’d ask when you started drinking today and why you did it without me.”

Honestly, you should have expected something along these lines as long as you have no way of proving it to him.

“Well,” you say light-heartedly, as if you’re merely chitchatting. “What would you do if you were reliving the same day over and over again?”

“Enjoy my time off, probably,” Sam says, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m starving. Shouldn’t the food be here by now?”

You check your phone. “About half a minute.”

It gives you an idea for the future.

Lo and behold. You startle the poor delivery guy, opening the front door right before he can knock. “Hi,” you smile, handing him a generous tip. “We don’t know each other, right?”

“Uhm. What?”

“Do you have like, two minutes?”

“Did you have to haggle for them, first?” Sam calls over when you finally make it back to the kitchen, closing his laptop and helping you put down the boxes and containers on the counter.

“Had to convert to Pastafarianism,” you say, getting out the cutlery. “Ready for blasphemy?”

Sam chuckles.

By the time lunch is done and Sam has left for Madison Square Garden, another wave of exhaustion catches up with you. You pull your rings off and leave them on the table before you lie down on the second couch in the living room area, hoping that maybe this time, you’ll get a little bit of rest.

Only once again, it’s no use. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in the lab, watching Bucky get shot. The background buzz of the TV isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of your cursed memories.

Or the sound of the cat whining next to your ear.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Alpine settles on your chest this time, leaving long white hairs all over your shirt and hitting you in the face with her tail. You grimace, trying not to inhale any of her fur.

“You’re in her spot.”

You don’t bother turning your aching head. “I thought her spot was over there!” you say accusingly, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the living room.

“Who told you that?” Bucky says, a bemused tone in his voice as he scoops Alpine up in his gloved hands, careful not to touch you. “Move over.”

You blink at him. You did.

You feel his expectant glare on you and sigh.

“Really, you too? We have plenty of room, you know.” You pull your knees in.

“I do,” he says, sitting down next to you and reaching underneath the cushions. “But you’re always hoggin’ the remote.”

You put your cold feet on his thigh in retaliation. Bucky tenses.

“How are you so cold, it’s like ninety degrees outside.”

“Emphasis on outside,” you shrug. “I just run cold.”

“That you do.” He switches channels, then pulls his gloves off and puts them on the table next to your rings.

You bite the inside of your cheek and roll to the floor inelegantly. Alpine meows in disdain, like a knife scratching the whole diameter of a dinner plate.

“Please tell your cat to chill, geez,” you mumble, slumping down on the other couch and stretching your legs out again with a contented sigh.

Bucky doesn’t reply.

“My dear girl,” a thickly accented voice on the TV says, “you cannot keep bumping your head against reality and saying it is not there. The evidence was definite. We can’t remove it by wishing or crying.”

“He trusted me,” a female voice answers. “I led him into a trap, I convicted him. Is that real enough for you?”

“There is no one to blame,” the first voice continues. “The case was a little deeper than you figured. This often happens. You must realize now one thing, it is over for both of you.”

“What are you watching?” you ask.

There’s a short pause before Bucky answers. “Hitchcock. Spellbound.”

You can’t help your reaction.

“Why’d you just do that?” Bucky says.

You stare at the ceiling. “Do what?”

“You flinched.”

“Did not.” You can taste blood in your mouth.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

You turn to the side and demonstratively stare at him, even though it makes your insides twist. Bucky’s face doesn’t change at all as he gazes back at you, frown deepening between his eyebrows. It’s like he’s trying to drown you with the endless blue of his eyes.

You drop your gaze and shake your head.

“What’s your point, Bucky? Not everyone likes staring at people like you do.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird. And invasive.”

“It’s invasive to look at you?”

“Yes,” you say, “if you do it like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” You sit back up again in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Bucky?”

You look at his face this time, not his eyes. It still makes your cheeks burn, because his jaw sets that way again and he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, finally, and you hide your face between your hands in what you can only hope looks like frustration. Then you realize that that’s only making your missing rings more obvious.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you snap, balling your hands into fists.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you!”

“You promised,” Bucky says coolly. “Remember?”

Your stomach plummets.

“Yes,” you say, forcing your voice to stay calm. “But I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry. I’ve got this.”

You feel his eyes on your back all the way to your room, and you’re not sure if you’re lying to him or to yourself, even as you slam the door behind you and look anywhere but your bed.

Your book is lying in the wrong place.

*****

“Honestly, Nat, you could’ve killed her.”

“Don’t be dramatic. She’s made of stronger stuff than that.”

There were yellow dots dancing across your vision when you opened your eyes, groaning at the bright neon lights hitting you in the face.

You were lying on the mat in the gym of the Compound and your nose had been ripped clean off; at least that was what it felt like. Judging by your red-soaked shirt, your guess wasn’t that far off, though.

“Hey,” Natasha said, kneeling down next to you. “Sorry, that must hurt like a bitch.”

“Your head is bery solid,” you replied, touching the blood still dribbling down your face. “Ow.”

“Thank you,” she said and handed you a wet towel. “Put that in your neck and lean your head back.”

“Di’ I faind?”

“You knocked yourself out, honey,” she said with a sly grin.

“It isn’t funny, Nat,” Steve shouted. You snorted, then winced in pain.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha winked. “You’re gonna be as pretty as before once you clean up. Already reset your nose while you were out.”

“Thangs.”

Surprisingly, this was the first serious injury you’d sustained in the past couple of weeks you’ve been living as a rookie Avenger; though in truth, that was mostly due to the fact that Natasha had only had you build up your stamina and agility up until today. Your first proper day in the ring was nothing short of humiliating.

“You could always go back to the moment before you decided to headbutt me,” Natasha said once the bleeding had finally stopped.

You wiped your nose carefully, taking a few breaths to clear your airways. “Sadly, that’s not how it works,” you said, letting her help you slowly come upright again. “I’m the one moving through time, so I stay exactly the same. I can help you guys avoid the punches, but I’ll still be the one receiving them.”

Cursed to stay the same, just like you’d always said.

Natasha tilted her head. “That seems like something you could work on with proper help.”

You grimaced. “I’ve tried that before. There’s no one who can help me, no one who can … fix me, or my powers.”

There was worry in her eyes, then, and you were taken aback by how genuine it seemed. It left a crack in your shell.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said quietly.

But it was. “I mean it,” you said, your lip twitching. “You can’t tell them that I’m here. For all they know, I got dusted just like everyone else.”

She knew; it had been the one condition you’d set in exchange for your help. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

There was a prolonged pause until Natasha nodded. “All the more reason to get you proper training,” she said, getting back to her feet and helping you up. “Let’s get you some ice cream. Good for the healing.”

You smiled when both she and Steve kept worrying about you the entire way to the kitchen, even though both of them tried hard not to make it obvious. It still filled you with a strange sense of warmth that almost had you forget about the pain.

You were safe here.

Things were finally starting to look up.

chapter three

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[thatdesigirl17]

all i need is you I part one

series masterlist. masterlist.

a/n: so the first part is up! it’s short and not that interesting as it just like sets the scene but I promise interesting things are coming ahead, hope you like the series, I’ll try to put the parts up asap and maybe even a playlist, there are no warnings I think except the curse words

It all started in the third year when Y/N had lost her baby fat and had a glow-up, making her stand out in Hogwarts. So when Adrian Pucey asked her out she agreed to go on a date with him. Adrian was sweet until they reached back to the castle, he started getting a bit too comfortable which bothered Y/N. She politely declined all his advances and wouldn’t put out, which damaged Adrian’s fragile ego. He left her stranded in a courtyard and stormed to his dorm. She returned to her dorm, alone. 

Over the next few weeks, people started looking at her differently, judging her, whispering about her. Adrian and his friend group had spread rumours about Y/N having a one-night stand with all of them, earning her the reputation of being the Hogwarts’ in-house slut. No matter how much she tried to deny it and save her image, the damage was done and all her efforts reaped nothing. Instead, she decided the best option for her was to lay low and live with it. That’s when she decided she would never even talk to another Slytherin again. 

Being in Hogwarts was a blessing and a curse, since the whole incident Y/N had been on a few more dates but all of them ended badly with the boys wanting nothing more than to sleep with her. 

This had what happened with Cormac McLaggen and this was the reason Y/N was currently storming towards the Black Lake, late at night, after curfew with her clothes slightly dishevelled.

She reached the edge of the lake and slipped out of her shoes setting them aside and letting her bare feet dangle in the cold water. Her tears spilled and the voice of her sniffling filled the air. 

‘Waiting for your date, Y/L/N? What did you already use all the rooms inside the castle?’, a taunting voice came from behind. She didn’t even have to turn to recognise that voice. ‘Fuck off, Nott.’, she spat. She turned her head around looking at the beautiful Italian, standing behind her. Theodore Nott, the infamous pure blood who fit into every Slytherin stereotype, or so most thought. This was the reason that had made Y/N have a strong resolve against pursuing her crush on the boy. 

Theodore took in the tears that shined on her face in the moonlight as his gaze softened. ‘What happened?’, he asked as he fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in her direction. ‘Aren’t you a gentleman?’, she said sarcastically catching the piece of cloth. He rolled his eyes and his dead eyes stared into hers still waiting for an answer. ‘Don’t act like you care, Nott. I’m not going to fall for whatever sympathy act you might do, I’m not gonna sleep with you.’, she said, dabbing the soft cloth under her eyes drying her tears. 

‘As if I’m dying to sleep with you.’, he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes again, ‘I don’t need you to sleep with me, love, I’ve plenty of girls ready for that.’ He leaned on one of the trees and lit up a cigarette.

She sighed and got up from the edge, turning over to face him, ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ ‘You didn’t answer me, what happened? Found no guy to sleep with for the night? Want me to change that?’, he smirked taking a drag of his cigarette. 

‘For fuck’s sake.’, she murmured under her breath as she ignored him and started walking towards the castle. Theodore grabbed her wrist, turning her around to face him again. ‘You are so rude, Y/L/N. I ask you something and you just ignore me?’, he smirked, a playful hint to his voice that seemed to annoy Y/N further. ‘Come on, Y/L/N, please. Maybe I could help you.’, he pressed, stepping closer. ‘Yeah right.’, she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She held his gaze and his determination did not seem to waver. 

‘You won’t understand, you’re just like everyone else.’, she sighed. ‘You wound me, let me assure you I’m not just like everyone.’, he said, feigning an injury on his chest. ‘You are. Even you believe those stupid rumours.’, she said, crossing her arms around her chest. ‘What rumours?’, Theodore asked, searching her eyes that seemed to well up at the mention. ‘Oh’, he sighed, ‘You did not sleep with them, did you? Adrian and his little friend group.’ She shook her head, gulping, trying to stop herself from tearing down. ‘Those fuckers.’, he scoffed. ‘What happened today?’, he pressed the matter further. Y/N couldn’t avoid his question anymore.

‘Nothing really. Just what always happens. Went on a date, he tried to sleep with me and got mad when I said I won't.’, she said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Who?’, he asked, the briefest hint of protectiveness in his voice. ‘McLaggen.’, she answered, her voice breaking. ‘You really know how to choose them, don’t you?’, he smirked, trying to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Y/N let out a shuddered breath, hugging herself tighter, trying to blink away her tears. ‘Hey, hey, hey, I was kidding, love.’, Theodore said, throwing his cigarette away and as he pulled her in, hugging her. ‘You aren’t wrong.’, she mumbled against his chest, breaking down. He comforted her, soothing her back. 

After a moment, the gravity of the situation settled into Y/N’s brain, registering what was happening as she stepped out of his embrace, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what got over me.’, she sniffled, wiping her tears from the back of her hand. ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’, he said quickly, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging. 

The awkward silence surrounded them as she broke it, ‘I better get going.’ She gave him a short smile and turned walking back towards the castle. ‘Let me help you.’, he blurted out, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Help me? Help me how exactly?’, she said, turning to face him, confusion showcasing on her face. He pondered for a moment, ‘Be my girlfriend.’ ‘What?’, she scoffed in disbelief. ‘My fake girlfriend.’, he quickly corrected himself. ‘Fake girlfriend? What do you mean to say, Theo?’, she asked. ‘Let’s pretend that we’re dating. It’ll be a good thing for your reputation and if you do this, I can help you by making Adrian Pucey come clean about the rumours he started.’, he explained, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pocket. ‘Why help me? What’s in it for you?’, she asked, crossing her hands. ‘Let’s just say, I have someone to make jealous and doing this would accomplish that.’, he explained nonchalantly. ‘Who?’, she pressed. ‘None of your business’, he smirked as she glared at him, ‘Alright, Daphne.’ She chuckled hollowly but before she could speak, he interrupted, stepping closer, ‘Don’t make any rash decisions, sleep on it. Meet me tomorrow morning, near the quidditch fields with your answer.’ He tucked a strand of her stray hair behind her ear, winked and walked past her back to the castle. Y/N stood there dumbfounded her mind processing all of what had happened and the lingering question that Theodore had proposed.

[seirabaaahon]

CotL fic recommendations: February 2025

Alright, folks, the second list is ready! Looks like we updated 130 fics last month that fit below 50k, and I checked a good chunk of them! In case you don't know what I'm doing, I thought I would make a monthly list of the coolest fics I checked that either updated/had been published in February. This list will be continued next month and will contain only the stories under 50k. Please note that it's not a list of literary criticism but a short recommendation list with stories that made an impression on me. Same as last month, feel free to add your propositions in the comments! 1. Cult of the Lamb: Redemption by Rooney_2108 (Narilamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/55033615/chapters/139518334 Alright, so, I admit I do appreciate two things: a well-written hurt/comfort and Narilamb starting as enemies. This fic has it both. While the start might be a little slow, I actually enjoyed coming back to it after work, and I think it's a solid read if you're looking for something to relax with. 2. Pin Feathers by april_island (Narilamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/63091189 Super cute, short, and in character! I loved how assholy carrying Narinder was! The writing was beautifully smooth and on point, too. I highly recommend sparing your 10 minutes here.

3. (E!) In His Skin. by Wiolli (Narilamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/63004246/chapters/162494956#main A sweet body change story in which Narilamb is trying (emphasis on trying) to not be horny and miserably fail. The smutty parts got my top notes.

4. Thawing Hearts by twooftheluckyones (Narilamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/62883583 I seriously liked the characterisation of the Lamb as a weak, slightly lost leader and Narinder as too tired and too cold to deny his feelings anymore. This fic shouldn't have 300 hits, you all. Honorary mentions: A Cowpoke's Sweetheart by MsWikit (Narilamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/58406584/chapters/148769491 I recommended this fic last month, but we got two new updates in February, and I'm vibrating seeing every single one of them. You don't like Westerns? Me neither! Dinos? God, I only know t-rex! Go read it. It's the best thing that was updated this year.

Romantic Torture by Divinities_Hymns (LeshyLamb) https://archiveofourown.org/works/55670350/chapters/145379476#workskin I'm still on chapter 4 here, but the general idea is making me invested in this story. An accidental wedding, manipulative husbands, the god of Chaos trying to regain his power while falling in love? With Narinder still looming in the shadows? I'm smashing that next-chapter button every time. JANUARY RECOMMENDATIONS

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I wanted to ask about whether a character of mine would be alright. This character is a double above-knee amputee in a futuristic setting, and I wanted to know if having prosthetics that work a bit more reliably (like under-knee prosthetics, as they replicate the functionality of a knee) would be okay. They don't use their prosthetics all day and do still cause pain like other prosthetics, nor do they give them any other advantage. They still do also use a wheelchair for most of the day, and do not use prosthetics for most of it. For reference, there are also other major characters with limb differences that do not use prosthetics, as well as few other wheelchair users (ambulatory and non ambulatory), some of which have done so due to traumatic injury, and others that were born with limb differences or other congenital issues. This character in specific is in a position of privilege that gives them the chance to opt to the best available technology too.

I wanted to approach this carefully and make sure it wasn't falling into a harmful trope. I'm also physically disabled, for context, although I am not an amputee.

Hello!

Standard disclaimer, we don't have amputee mods right now.

Yes, it's fine to give your character prosthetics that work - they work for a lot of people. We just stress that they aren't a miracle cure-all because usually in fiction, prosthetics are treated as essentially aesthetic (if the author wants to show they Done Research, they will mention that the character has phantom pain once). But prosthetics, just as other mobility aids, are well - aids. They have their cons and pros, and sometimes they are useful and sometimes they aren't, and there's a billion factors that go into that.

We do currently have prosthetics that essentially mimic a knee, they're called microprocessor knees and they basically try to adapt to how the person walks. They're quite expensive, but I know that a lot of amputees who use them find them really helpful.

This obviously still doesn't make them perfect in every way. It's still, for example, more tiring to walk on prosthetics. You're using less muscle to move around more weight. This can sometimes be difficult when going up and down the stairs, for example. A lot of the DAKAs I've seen walk with very straightened legs, and many of them need to use a handrail to maintain stability when using the stairs. In this video you can see someone who is (presumably) similar to your character (a young fit guy) and he himself says that it's a bit of a complicated process. You need to use a lot of momentum. All of this gets easier with more practice, so you might have to consider how long has your character been an amputee for - if they were born like this, they'd probably have a lot of this long time figured out, but if it's more recent, they might still be in the relearning phrase; it's not easy to just change the way you walk overnight.

I know some DAKAs who use "little leg" prosthetics (I'm honestly not sure what the english name is), they're basically shortened prosthetics that take the calf part away, and you have much more stability, etc. Some people use these at home since you can save energy and don't have to walk anywhere too far. So that could be another option you could include that I don't think I've seen in anything ever.

TLDR; yes, it's perfectly fine to give your character a working mobility aid - just keep researching as you write, and don't be afraid to check even the most basic "how do DAKAs do XYZ" stuff - there's some nuance even in figuring out how to get up from the floor after you fall down. :)

mod Sasza