#you know I’m serious about this because I’m using more than just my go to tags lol

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’ve seen fics where Joaquin is hurt, so I thought why not do things a little differently…I’m unhealthy addicted to this man. (Have since the show but didn’t capitalise on writing for him then, grave mistake tbh though there still wasn’t much for him back then either.)

The mission with Sam and Joaquin was a success but one reckless misstep caused you to be put right into a hospital bed with a uncharacteristically quite Joaquin by bedside, his hands clasped together tightly in front of his face as his beautiful dark eyes seemed distant and unfocused as they gazed at the wall across from him.

‘You can quit mentally going over funeral arrangements for me, I’m still alive to continue being a pain in your ass.’ You tell him once you had awoken, but it seemed as though your attempts of making light of a serious situation only seem to put Joaquin even more in a sour mood.

‘You sure have a weird way of trying to comfort me you know? Making jokes about your own hurt and thinking that I’ll just laugh along?’ Joaquin said as he looked at you, eyes sharp but filled with worry as they looked over your bandaged figure. ‘Is nearly dying really a funny experience for you?’ He then adds rhetorically. It was obvious that you being hurt had more of an affect on Joaquin then it did you, maybe because you had time to be accustomed to how dangerous the job was, which resulted in giving you a weird sense of fucked up humour when you find yourself on the hospital bed.

‘Joaquin-‘ you began as you reached out for his hand but it seemed as though your friend and mission partner wasn’t quite done.

‘Do you know how I felt when I found you hurt?’ Joaquin starts, unable to keep the feelings with him any longer then he already had, hating how helpless he felt upon finding out that you were hiding an injury as serious as this as though you didn’t view yourself as someone valuable. ‘And the fact that you kept it from us, from Sam but most importantly,’ Joaquin paused when he felt himself letting his emotions rise to the surface as tears brimmed his beautiful eyes, ‘you kept it hidden from me, we’re meant to be partners y/n, partners.’ He adds in a way that made you know that what he felt towards you was a lot deeper then you two just being partners.

‘Are we not partners?’ Joaquin asked.

‘Of course we are!’ You replied without hesitation, reaching out and grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. ‘You’re my best friend and the best mission partner I could have ever asked for-‘

‘Then why did you feel the need to hide your hurt from me.’ Joaquin interrupts you, though you noticed how tightly he held onto your hand as though he was scared to let go of you, and in the moment you hated yourself for making Joaquin worry over you like this. You truly were the worst when it came to these things but with Joaquin you wanted to be as transparent as possible with him, expect when it came to needing help and your feelings for him it seems, and you couldn’t help but feed into the idea that due to this Joaquin deserved better…better than you at least.

‘The mission comes first Joaquin you know this as well as I, so why should it matter if I’m hurt or not.’ You said to him, hating how it seemed as though Joaquin could see through you whenever you looked in his dark eyes, bringing you under the impression that he seems to know you better then yourself and you feared that that was the truth. You wish you could hate him but you knew you’d be lying if you ever said that because you knew you’d love the man until you couldn’t, making you fear how far you’d actually go for him and vice versa.

‘Well it matters to me! You matter to me! So sorry for not wanting to watch my best friend and love of my life die on a hospital bed.’ Joaquin exclaims suddenly, taking you both aback by the outburst of repressed emotions but Joaquin pushed through as he moved his hand from your grasp, moving to hold your face within his hands instead as he rests his forehead again yours. ‘Especially not when I have so much to say to you that I should’ve said far, far sooner instead of hiding.’ He adds softer this time as he moved to press a tender kiss your forehead, making you smile softly at the feeling, before pressing his head back against there.

‘And what would those things be my dear falcon.’ You asked analog sheepishly as your hands reached to keep his hands again your face, caressing the backs of them with your thumbs, smiling at how while this wasn’t the ideal place for you to admit your feelings but it didn’t feel any less magical then it did right now.

Joaquin smiles for what felt like the first time since he’s been sat beside you. ‘We’d be here for a really, really long time if we want to go into specifics,’ you both laughed at this, knowing that you would spend just as long listing of the things you loved about him in return, ‘but to keep it short all you need to know is that you’re the best part of me, my better half and the one person who could make me feel like this when I’m under the impression that I could one day loose you forever.’ Joaquin sighed and closed his eyes, leaning further into you as though trying to convince himself they you were still here with him.

‘I don’t ever want to see you like this ever again, not as long as I can do something about it to keep you safe from this day onward.’ Joaquin admits and you felt yourself becoming warm and giddy it made you forget why you were in the hospital for brief moment in time, for you were too focused on the beautiful and brave man in front of you holding you like you were everything and to him you very much were.

‘Then I can only promise to be more carful on missions from here on out if it’s to keep your heart from breaking, for I wouldn’t want to hurt someone as important to me as you Joaquin,’ you then moved your hand to wipe away the unshed tears from his eyes, taking your time with it as well as you caressed his tear stained cheeks with care and held the weight of a death as though you were in fact scared of hurting him. ‘I never went to see you shed a single tear more of my reckless ass.’ You add and this time Joaquin laughed along with you as he kissed your palms sweetly, smiling against them.

‘Then I guess you’ll have to deal with me being a little overprotective on the future missions.’ Joaquin says barely above a whisper.

‘I wouldn’t mind that at all, not a single bit.’ You replied, kissing his nose and smiling, happy to know that your feelings weren’t unreciprocated like you originally thought, but also happy knowing that your heart was in the safest hands you’ve ever known.

[this-user-is-new]

"proceeds to complain that i want the show to engage with the long-term consequences of piltover’s actions." how is that spoon-feeding? i mean yeah, imagine expecting a show that presents itself as a mature, political narrative to actually follow through on the themes it sets up. wild concept.

oh, and "gassy"? wtf? whatever. let’s entertain this "fantasy gas" idea for a second.

there’s literally no reason to assume it behaves any differently from real-world toxic gases. arcane itself establishes that the gas behaves like a real toxic substance when it comes to how it destroys the body (kiramman archives). so why would it suddenly not behave like real gas when it comes to spreading? you can’t have it both ways. either the show deliberately left out consequences for narrative convenience, or this is straight-up inconsistent writing. i’ll let you pick one. but i won’t waste time on this again since you’ve already decided the laws of chemistry just don’t apply here anyway.

also, we know children work in the factories of the chem-barons. why do you think isha and other kids were running from the chem-barons' goons? what did they want from them, huh? meaning, yes, kids would have been exposed to the gas at some point. (... even if they weren't there at the moment.) because that's literally where the gas was used. but again, that'd mean you actually understand how gas works so ... yeah. i'm not talking about this again.

and no one’s saying caitlyn and her team intentionally targeted children, the issue is that the show erases unintended consequences, making piltover’s actions seem cleaner than they realistically would be. learn how to fucking read. also, funny how you keep bringing this whole thing back to caitlyn specifically, like this is just some personal attack on your fave instead of a broader critique of how arcane rewrites piltover’s crimes to be more palatable. but do you actually like her? because if anything, this also makes her villain arc boring as hell. you should want to see the consequences of her actions.

"they never erased piltover’s guilt." lmao. really? so viktor’s suffering getting reframed as a personal failure instead of systemic neglect isn’t erasure? orianna’s story being stripped of its direct critique of piltover’s pollution isn’t erasure? the show giving just enough plausible deniability for fans like you to defend piltover’s actions isn’t erasure? be serious.

your focus on viktor’s leg is just a lazy attempt to reframe his struggle. his arc was never just about mobility, it was about survival. we literally see him suffering from chronic illness: fatigue, nosebleeds, coughing fits, and even slipping into a coma. he wasn’t just looking for a "fix" out of some internalized ableism, he was dying because piltover let zaunites rot. the "beauty in imperfection" framing is a deliberate rewrite that removes piltover’s guilt. it’s not just a misinterpretation of viktor’s motivations, it’s a calculated shift to make it seem like he should’ve just accepted his fate instead of demanding more from a system that abandoned him.

"singed’s daughter wasn’t dead, she was dying." you missed the point. orianna was a direct victim of piltover’s pollution. arcane stripped that context away so piltover wouldn’t be at fault. and you’re fine with that because it lets you pretend it wasn’t deliberate.

this isn’t just about individual changes, it’s a pattern. i was asking you about that.

"the seeds were there, you’re just a bad gardener." nah, the writers just ripped the roots out. so yeah, i’ll keep pointing out how arcane carefully sidesteps piltover’s worst atrocities while you keep pretending that’s nuance instead of narrative sanitization. keep dancing around my points, though. anyway, i’m not wasting my time responding again if you’re just going to misrepresent what i’m saying over and over.

has anyone else noticed that the writers were absolutely reluctant to fully commit to the darker implications of piltover's actions? like the gas attack on zaun? but tbh the writers' self-sabotaging of arcane's potential as social commentary is not what's really frustrating, it's that it's not just a missed opportunity, it’s a deliberate avoidance. the writers couldn't make piltover that bad, at least not through the characters we have to follow.

with the gas attack, what we get are scattered hints: a single man coughing, kids praying to janna in a song (in a way that’s super easy to miss), and worship of a painting of janna. but the show never fully depicts the suffering caused by the gas. it never commits to the atrocity and by refusing to depict the actual impact, the show softens piltover’s culpability and allows a big part of the audience to either overlook or justify it.

but the gas attack aside, the writers had two opportunities to make an explicit statement about systemic oppression, environmental racism, and the true cost of unchecked industrial power but they avoided doing so. and those two clearest instances of this avoidance are in how the show handles viktor and orianna:

in season 2, viktor’s story is literally warped to avoid blaming piltover. viktor, a character who should represent the suffering zaunites endure because of piltover’s neglect, is instead pushed into the role of an irredeemable villain for a marvelesque shit show. his transformation discards his humanity so blatantly that the audience is distracted from the actual injustice: he was dying because of piltover.

his ending is framed around jayce’s “beauty in imperfection” speech as if he should have just accepted his disability rather than seeking a cure, when the reality is, he wasn’t just disabled, he was dying because of the system piltover built. that was his entire struggle in season 1, but by season 2’s end, the narrative no longer engages with it to protect piltover.

as for orianna, she is reduced to an easter egg as a gift to league of legends fans (which is funny because the show ruined her lore for them), but more importantly, to avoid critiquing piltover.

her lore was an explicit condemnation of piltover’s disregard for zaunite lives. she was a little girl who helped zaunites, got sick due to piltover’s pollution, and had to slowly replace her own body with machinery until she lost all humanity. but arcane erases this. she’s barely a cameo, and the audience isn’t even told how she died. the show doesn’t just sideline her suffering, it removes it entirely, sanitizing piltover’s guilt in the process.

more importantly, all of this lets a big part of the audience defend piltover. for instance, by never showing the gas’s impact, the show gives certain viewers the option to ignore it: no bodies, no long-term sickness, no undeniable, inescapable horror. and i'm sure we've all seen how this allows for interpretations that justify piltover’s actions in the fandom, whether that means erasing the gas attack’s consequences or framing it as acceptable because the victims are zaunites (who are often conveniently portrayed as violent criminals).

also, ekko’s line about rescuing more people because of gang fighting is a perfect example of how the show subtly misdirects the audience. yes, gang violence is an issue, but it’s not the only crisis. the gas remains, it spreads, it poisons the people, especially the children working in factories. those are also people the firelights must have rescued. but the show chooses to highlight one crisis over another, and we know why ...

anyway, it's sad that the writers had no balls. they let so many people feel comfortable not thinking too hard about piltover’s crimes, and comfortable enough to insult anyone who criticizes characters participating in those crimes, especially caitlyn and her squad.

[odileeclipse]

A wager of Fate Shadow Milk X Reader PT2

A/N this is going to be a slow burn I'm planning for 4 parts I just want the reader to slowly accept deceit and Shadow Milk is doing a pretty good convincing job.

His usual playful demeanor was an act, hiding his true sinister demeanor. His words that looked to sway your heart. You knew this but his words hung in the air, sweet as spun sugar, sharp as a knife. You swallowed, fingers tightening at your sides. The Silver Tree looming above you, it glows casting shadows across the ground. It took time to create courage, especially when you knew he was powerful. Playful as he was, play your cards wrong, and… You don’t even want to finish that thought. However you still had free will, he was stuck into the tree he needed you, not the other way around. “No” Silence. Then a chuckle, curling through the air like smoke. “No?" he didn’t sound surprised at all. But you continued. “I won’t turn my back on my kingdom,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “No matter what you offer me.”

“How noble! How predictable." He sighed exaggerated and theatrically. “Yet so naïve." He was mocking you. Of course he was to him none of this was serious. He would find a way out through you or himself. You could either choose his good graces, or be swept up in his wrath. The shadows shifted, stirring like something alive. “I do wonder…do you even know why you were cast aside?”

Your stomach twisted, but you held firm. “I wasn’t cast aside.” Though doubt pooled through your jam, you wouldn’t allow him to make a fool out of you. "Oh, but you were." The amusement in his voice sharpened. "All that training. All those years spent preparing to be the Guardian. And in the end, they chose her." Your breath hitched. "Tell me, did they ever explain why?" You opened your mouth—then hesitated. "Ah." He laughed, soft and knowing. "Of course they didn’t. Why would they? It’s far easier to let you believe you simply weren’t ready. That you weren’t enough." Your hands trembled. “White Lily Cookie is—”

"A stranger." The words were a whisper, curling against your skin. "She is not a Faerie. She was not raised here. She was not trained as you were. And yet, the moment she arrived, they gave her everything that should have been yours." A bitter chill spread through chest, pricking at your soul. “You want the truth?” You couldn’t bite your tongue. “What do you know about the truth? There’s a reason your title was stripped away.” Maniacal laughter filled the air. “Oh I’m sorry, did I hurt a nerve, future guardian? Or should I say deposed Guardian…I’m not even sure that’s fitting after all it was never even your role.” You could feel your heart aching. You couldn’t utter words for fear he may see you weak. His voice dipped, coaxing. "She was chosen not for her virtue, nor for her wisdom. Not for her fate or her kindness or any grand destiny." The shadows curled tighter."She was chosen because she was useful." Your pulse stuttered. "She came to your kingdom in a time of weakness. The seal was failing, the Tree was dying. And with just a touch of her magic, she mended it. Strengthened it. Saved it." You shook your head. “She wanted to help—” 

"And in doing so, she proved she was worth more than you." His voice turned almost gentle, a mockery of comfort. "They did not cast you aside because you were unworthy, little star. They cast you aside because you were unnecessary." Your breath was unsteady now, fists clenched so tightly they ached. "If they could discard you so easily, why do you still serve them? Are you that desperate to belong?” 

“White Lily Cookie strengthened the tree. Even if I wanted to help, there’s no way. You’ll be sealed there for eternity.” You paused faltering. “S-So how is it you’re still speaking…” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in mock delight, his voice curling around you like silk. "Ahhh, now that is a question worth its weight in silver, isn’t it?" he mused, the shadows around the Silver Tree shifting like curtains in an unseen wind. "If the Tree was saved, if its great and mighty seal is stronger than ever, then how, my dear little heir, am I still here? Why do my words still reach you?" The question settled deep, planting its roots in your mind. You had no answer. You should have had one. Elder Faerie Cookie always spoke of the Tree as an unbreakable barrier, an eternal prison for the darkness. White Lily Cookie had strengthened that magic, had ensured its fortification, so then… "Ohhh, I see it now—" he giggled, something wicked and delighted. "You’re thinking, aren’t you? Putting the pieces together? Go on then, say it. You’re clever enough, I know you are." Your throat tightened. The Silver Tree loomed behind you, its light soft and unyielding, but now… now you saw the jagged scars across its bark in a new light. "It shouldn’t be possible." The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. "And yet…?" Shadow Milk prompted, voice laced with teasing. And yet he was still here. Still speaking. Still waiting. You felt emboldened to ask questions. “Then what do you need me for? If you’re free to go, why don’t you?” 

“Ohhhh, my clever heir, always asking the right questions.” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed, a low, silken thing that curled around you like a ribbon. The shadows at the base of the Silver Tree trembled, rippling like liquid night, but they did not cross the boundary of the light. He was there, just beyond your sight, just beyond your reach. "If I could simply leave, don’t you think I would have already?" he purred. "Why, I’d be out there right now, dancing under the moonlight, turning this whole sweet little world upside down." He sighed, theatrical and wistful, as if mourning the grand mischief he had yet to unleash. "But no… this prison is clever, more clever than most, anyway." His tone turned playful again, lilting like a melody. "It does not simply hold me, it binds me, keeps me tethered to its wretched roots. The stronger the seal, the heavier the chains. And ohhh, those chains are so very heavy now…" The shadows shuddered, a whisper of something vast and unseen coiling just out of reach. "That is why I need you, little heir." His voice softened, gentle and coaxing. "A single silver thread, woven into the very heart of this kingdom. You belong to this place as much as it belongs to you. That is why you can reach me. Why you can hear me, even when no one else can." A pause. Then, softer, almost intimate— "Why do you think that is?"

You scoffed "I don't know why don't you enlighten me" Shadow Milk Cookie let out an amused sigh "Finally, some spirit. I was beginning to think you’d gone dull on me." The shadows around the Silver Tree shifted as he continued, blunt and deliberate. "You were never going to be the Guardian. Not really. You were just the contingency plan, the backup in case their precious ‘savior’ didn’t work out. But then she did, and you? Well…" He clicked his tongue. "You became nothing more than a leftover piece. A relic of a role that was never meant to be yours." You stiffened. "What’s the matter?" His voice dipped into a mocking lilt. "Did you really think all that training, all those vows, actually meant something?" A chuckle, smooth and knowing. "Please. They never saw you as the future. Just a shadow waiting to fade." The words struck deep, but you shook your head. You didn’t want to believe his words but…He once held the light of knowledge. All his lies had truth hidden within them, maybe he was even feeling kind today giving you real truth. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean I’d ever help you." "Mm, of course not." He hummed in faux sympathy. "Loyal little heir to a kingdom that barely remembers you exist. How admirable." You didn’t answer. "But let’s be honest, dearheart." The way he said it was almost gentle, almost kind. "You’re hesitating. And that’s enough." You hesitated. “Enough?” You didn’t understand what he was referring to.

 "Enough to set you free." The words slithered through the air, smooth and certain, wrapping around you like a phantom touch. "Enough to finally make you more than just a shadow in someone else’s light." His laughter was soft, a secret meant only for you. "You already know the truth, don’t you? You feel it—gnawing at the edges of your heart, whispering that something isn’t right. That it’s never been right." A pause. The air was thick, charged with something electric, something dangerous. "Tell me… was it devotion that kept you here all this time?" Your lips parted, but no words came. "You’ve been waiting for something, no, someone. To tell you it’s okay to let go. That you don’t have to suffer for a kingdom that so easily replaced you." His voice dipped lower, coaxing, coaxing. "I am that someone. I see you, truly see you, and I am offering you more than duty, more than sacrifice. I am offering you a choice." The world seemed to shrink to just this moment, just his voice curling around your thoughts. "Say yes… and you will never be forgotten again." You looked at the tree skeptically, "And how would you ensure it?"

"Ensure it?" Shadow Milk Cookie echoed, his voice curling like velvet around a blade. "Oh, you wound me. Do you think I make promises I can't keep?" The air around the Silver Tree pulsed, the seal flickering faintly. He was still bound, yes—but his voice, his presence, coiled around you like an unseen ribbon, tugging, pulling. "You think the choice is yours, don’t you?" he mused, almost fondly. "That you can simply turn and walk away, pretend this night never happened, and go back to playing the loyal little heir." A pause, deliberate. Then, a whisper, closer than before. "But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already doubt them." The Silver Tree groaned ever so slightly in the wind, the weight of its age pressing down. "I don’t need to ensure anything." His laughter was honeyed poison. "Because deep down, you already know you’re going to say yes." Your grip tightened on the fabric over your chest. You shouldn’t be listening. You shouldn’t be considering this. And yet… The Silver Tree had always been unwavering, unshaken. It was eternal, untouchable. That was what you had been taught. That was what you believed. But now there were cracks. Now there was a voice in the dark where there should have been silence. Now there was doubt where there should have been certainty. "You feel it, don’t you?" Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was smooth, coaxing, slipping through the leaves like a breeze that carried something dangerous beneath its chill. "The pull of the truth. The weight of what they never told you." Your breath caught. "You’ve given everything to them… and still, they chose another." You squeezed your eyes shut. No. No, that isn’t… But you couldn’t deny that it hurt.

"But you provide deceit not truth...not since you lost the light of knowledge....The books say so" "Ah, the books," Shadow Milk Cookie purred, his voice lilting with amusement. "Ink on pages, written by hands that feared me. Tell me, little guardian—do you believe everything you read?" You hesitated. "You speak of deceit as if it’s a sin," he continued, voice weaving through the branches like silk. "But deception is just another shade of knowledge. A sharper kind. A kind your dear books refuse to teach." You frowned. "You lost the light of knowledge." "Did I?" He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Or did they steal it and paint me a villain to keep their hands clean?" "And what is truth, really?" His tone turned almost lazy, but there was an edge beneath it, sharp as a dagger. "A thing written? A thing spoken? Or is it something felt—something that shifts when you finally open your eyes?" You hated that his words made something in you waver. The books had been written by those who feared him. Wasn’t it possible, even the slightest bit, that they had twisted the story to fit their own needs? he crooned, voice dipping to a near whisper. "If I were truly blind to knowledge… how is it that I see the doubts creeping into your heart?"

"If I accept, what happens then? I don’t want anyone to get hurt." A quiet chuckle drifted from the tree. "Always so noble." His voice coiled around you, light yet heavy with meaning. "But tell me—when has your kingdom ever cared for you?" You stiffened. "No matter," he went on, breezy and playful. "You asked what happens next. Simple. You help me, and I walk free. The Silver Tree only recognizes one soul at a time. If you command it to release me, it will." Your stomach twisted. Command it? That felt wrong. The Silver Tree was sacred—meant to be protected. "You hesitate." His voice softened, coaxing. "But don’t you want to choose for yourself, just this once? They took everything from you… let’s take something back." Your breath caught. He wasn’t lying. The kingdom, the Knights, Elder Faerie—they all expected you to kneel. To accept White Lily Cookie’s place above you. "Just a few words," he murmured. "And I will be by your side. No longer just a voice in the dark. You wouldn’t be alone." Alone. The word struck deep. You wavered, toes curling into the dirt. "And then what?" A pause. Then a silky, amused hum. "Now, now… let’s not ruin the moment with details." Your heart pounded. The choice was there, hanging before you. A rustle of leaves behind you. "You shouldn’t be here so late." Elder Faerie Cookie’s voice was gentle, knowing. He stepped into view, moonlight catching the silver threads in his cloak. His gaze met yours, warm yet heavy with understanding. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s talk."

You cast one last glance at the Silver Tree, its bark gleaming under the moonlight, the presence within it lingering like a shadow at your back. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, whispering doubt, tempting you with a path you were afraid to take. But then Elder Faerie Cookie placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding, steady. "Come," he said again, his voice quiet but firm. You swallowed hard and turned away, falling into step beside him. The air between you was thick with unspoken thoughts as you followed him through the winding halls, the Silver Tree’s whispers fading behind you. Inside his chambers, the warm glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long, soft shadows. Elder Faerie gestured for you to sit, his gaze unreadable yet kind. "Something troubles you." It wasn’t a question. You lowered your eyes, fingers tightening in your lap. His voice, though gentle, left no room for evasion. Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to step forward. “I—” You hesitated, quickly smoothing your expression. “It’s nothing, really. Just a lot on my mind.” Elder Faerie finally turned to you, his silver eyes searching yours. “Nothing?” he echoed, his tone unreadable. "Yes." You tried to keep your voice light. "I've just been thinking a lot about… my future. My duty." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Elder Faerie studied you for a long moment, his expression calm, yet deeply perceptive. Then, with quiet certainty, he spoke “You are a poor liar.” A sharp pang ran through you. Your hands clenched at your sides. "I’m not lying," you insisted, too quickly. Elder Faerie exhaled softly. “You are uncertain of something. If you cannot tell me what, then at least allow me to share your burden.” Your throat tightened. He made it sound so easy, so simple. Just say it, and he would listen. Just speak, and you wouldn’t have to face this alone. But if you did. If you told him about the whispers curling from the tree, the voice that wove itself into your thoughts like silk. what would happen? Would he understand? Would he condemn you for listening? You forced a small, tired smile. "I promise, it’s nothing serious. I just need rest." Elder Faerie didn’t look convinced, but he did not push. Instead, he nodded slowly, watching you as if trying to read the spaces between your words. “Then rest well. And remember, there is nothing you cannot share with me.” You swallowed the guilt rising in your throat and bowed your head. "I know." But as you turned to leave, you could feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy with the weight of things unsaid. And later, when you lay awake in your chambers, the voice from the tree would slither into your thoughts like a shadow stretching toward the light. “A poor liar indeed. Lies don’t suit you. But oh, you wear them so well." And in the darkness, you wouldn’t be sure if you were more afraid of what Shadow Milk Cookie had promised, or the part of you that had started to believe him. Despite the warmth of your blankets, you shivered.

A/N I'm not sure if people are enjoying this but I promise it's going to pick up soon, more of the romance is coming I just really like slow burns.

PART 3 B)

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 10

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21@dylsw@ria-s-writes@sleepymothafterhours@sukunasstomachtongue@cosmic-lovr@imm0rtalbutterfly@kyo-kyo1

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Chapter 10: After Hours

The days bled together, each one a repeat of the last. I woke up to the same white walls, the same sterile air, the same suffocating silence. The routine felt like a never-ending cycle: eat, therapy, argue with the therapist, meet with Selene, get high, fuck, then retreat back to my room to sleep off the guilt. I didn’t even have the energy to fight the monotony anymore. It was easier to just go through the motions.

Every morning therapy session felt like a war zone. I hated it. The words they said to me, the questions they asked, the way they looked at me like I was some broken puzzle piece—they all gnawed at me, and I fought back with every ounce of bitterness I had left. I wasn’t ready to confront anything, especially not the damage I’d done to myself and the people around me. Not yet.

Selene had become my secret escape. She wasn’t anyone I trusted, but in a place like this, trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. She provided the pills, the numbness I craved. It wasn’t the same as the chaos I used to embrace, but it was the closest I could get to escaping this damn place.

When we hooked up, it was just another way to drown out the noise in my head, to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of everything I’d been running from. It didn’t mean anything, not really. But it was a distraction. A temporary release.

One week in this hellhole, and I was already suffocating. The days felt like an eternity, and I found myself yearning for the moment I could leave. But each time I thought about leaving, about going back to the chaos I used to live in, I remembered the mess I’d made of myself. The last thing I wanted was to drag anyone down with me.

I closed my eyes, blocking out everything. 

This is what I deserve,

 I told myself.

 I made my bed.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t just here because of my choices. I was here because I didn’t know how to deal with everything that had happened. And I hated myself for it.

I was in my afternoon session, the clock ticking endlessly in the background. Mrs. Henry sat across from me, her sharp gaze dissecting every inch of my expression. I didn’t care. I stared back, unblinking, waiting for her to say something.

"Are you high right now, Sukuna?" she asked again, her voice calm, almost too calm. I could tell she wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.

I shrugged, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, arms crossed over my chest. "No," I shot back, my tone colder than I meant it to be. "How would I be high, Mrs. Henry? I’m not medicated. I'm an addict. Isn't that how it works?" I could feel the bitterness seeping through, like it had become my default setting, something I couldn’t turn off even if I wanted to.

Mrs. Henry leaned forward slightly, her gaze still unwavering. "You don't have to act tough here, Sukuna. You're allowed to be vulnerable," she said, like I was just another patient in a line of many she’d tried to fix.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not trying to act tough," I muttered, though I could feel the defensive walls rising in me. "I'm just telling you how it is. You think this is me acting tough? This is me, trying not to lose my mind in a place where no one gives a damn."

Her silence only pissed me off more, but I kept my face blank. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down. Not now. Not ever.

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Ask me the usual questions.”

Mrs. Henry didn’t even flinch. She kept her gaze steady, her tone measured. “Are you high?”

I rolled my eyes and bit back a sigh. “No,” I said, for the second time, just as quick and just as smooth.

The truth, though, was a different story. I was high—just enough to keep my hands steady, my mind quiet. But I needed Selene right now, more than I needed to be honest. So I wasn’t ever going to say yes.

Not to her. Not to anyone.

Mrs. Henry didn't press me any further. She knew the game I was playing, but she couldn't call me on it—not yet, anyway. She jotted something down on her clipboard, her eyes still fixed on me like she was waiting for me to slip up.

"Alright," she said, her tone still annoyingly calm. "Have you been using any substances recently, Sukuna? Specifically, Xanax?"

I could feel a familiar itch in the back of my throat, the need to lie, to deflect, to make sure she didn’t get any closer to the truth.

"No," I said again, as easily as I had the first time, my voice steady, maybe a little too steady. I forced myself not to flinch under her gaze, knowing that if I did, she’d be all over me like a hawk.

I wanted to leave. I needed Selene. She was the only one who could get me out of this fog, who could give me something that made all of it bearable. I could already picture her face, that grin she always had when I showed up, and the promise of relief she always offered.

But I wasn’t going to give her that. Not yet. I’d just lie and lie until I couldn’t lie anymore. The truth? I couldn’t deal with that right now.

"Anything else you've been doing to cope with everything going on?" Mrs. Henry asked, clearly trying to dig a little deeper.

I stared at her, my jaw clenched, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crack. "No. Nothing else," I said, the words falling from my lips like they were rehearsed.

I was running out of ways to keep pretending. But if I kept pretending long enough, maybe I could still feel like I had control. Just a little bit longer.

Mrs. Henry raised an eyebrow, not surprised by my response, but still taking notes, as if this was just another layer of the facade I was building around myself.

"That’s understandable," she said, her voice even, "But sometimes, connecting with others here can help with the process, Sukuna. You don’t have to go through this alone."

I almost scoffed at her, but I stopped myself, keeping the anger in check. I didn't need to give her more ammo.

"I'm not alone," I replied coldly. "I’ve got my family. I don’t need therapy buddies to deal with my shit. That’s not gonna fix anything."

I knew I was being defensive, but what else was I supposed to do? Letting someone in would mean they'd see the cracks in my armor, and I wasn’t about to give anyone that kind of power over me—not in here.

"Your family, huh?" she probed, her eyes narrowing just a bit. "Are they the kind of family that supports you through this?"

I glanced away, irritated.

 I don't need her judging me.

 I shook my head slightly. "Doesn’t matter. It’s just... easier when I’m not trying to pretend like everything's fine. I'm dealing with it on my own, and that's it."

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t here for this. I didn’t want to talk about my family or what I needed from them.

 All I wanted was to get through the day without feeling like I was suffocating.

Mrs. Henry didn’t push it any further, which made me wonder if she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere. But I couldn’t stop myself from wondering—if I really was alone, what would happen if I let someone in? What would happen if I stopped pushing everyone away, stopped lying about how fine I was, stopped pretending I didn’t care?

I shoved the thought out of my mind quickly, the familiar tightness in my chest taking over again. 

No. Not now. Not ever.

“Tell me about Jin.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze. My chest tightened, my mind grinding to a halt. Jin? Who told her about him? How did she know?

My palms started to sweat, my shirt sticking to my back as the room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. My mouth went dry, and for the first time in the session, I couldn’t think of a single word to say.

Everything blurred, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. All I could focus on was that name—his name—echoing in my head like a curse.

The mention of Jin hit me like a punch to the gut. My entire body tensed, a rush of heat and cold sweeping through me all at once. 

How the hell did she know?

I gritted my teeth, trying to regain control, but my hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists, digging my nails into my palms to distract myself. 

I can't break. I can’t break.

"Who told you about Jin?" I growled, my voice hoarse, as if the words were being dragged from my throat.

Mrs. Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. She just stared at me, unblinking, waiting for me to answer. It was as if she knew exactly how to push me, to get under my skin.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper

Fuck.

I didn’t want to talk about Jin. I didn’t want to think about him. Not now. Not here. 

Not when I’m like this.

"Answer me," I snapped, my voice rising, cracking slightly at the edges. "Who the fuck told you?"

She didn’t answer. She just waited, her calm demeanor unnerving. "It’s not about who told me, Sukuna," she said softly, but there was something in her tone that made me freeze. "It’s about you. It’s about how you’re still carrying that weight."

I felt a lump form in my throat, my chest tightening with the familiar, suffocating pain.

 God, not this again.

Jin. My fucking twin. The one person who knew me better than anyone. The one person I could always count on. And now he’s gone, and I’m here... spiraling in a place where everything feels wrong. Where I can’t breathe, where I can’t fix it, and where every memory of him feels like a betrayal.

I wanted to yell, scream, or throw something, but I couldn’t. I was trapped in this room, in my own mind, drowning in guilt and rage and fucking grief. 

Why am I even here?

"I don’t want to talk about it," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Just let me fucking be.

But Mrs. Henry didn’t back down. She leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp, but with a gentleness that pissed me off. "That’s part of the problem, Sukuna. You’re not talking about it. You’re burying it all inside, and it’s eating you alive."

My breath hitched, the walls around me crumbling just a bit. I hated how right she sounded, but I wasn’t going to let her see that.

"I’m not... I’m not burying shit," I hissed, my jaw clenching as I stood up from my seat. "Just drop it. Just fucking drop it."

But her eyes never left me. And even though I wanted to walk out, to escape, a part of me knew I couldn’t

 I couldn’t outrun this anymore.

She sighed, her expression softening just slightly, like she was treading carefully now. “Alright,” she said, switching gears. “Tell me about your brothers—Choso and Yuuji.”

I exhaled, long and slow, the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit. 

Finally, A safe topic.

I leaned back in my chair, relieved that she switched topics. 

Choso and Yuuji... 

It was like a breath of fresh air compared to the mess of Jin. I had to admit, even if I didn’t want to be here, talking about them didn’t feel like total torture.

"Choso’s... he's my responsibility, the kid I’m supposed to look out for," I started, trying to steady my voice. I felt a weird kind of warmth in my chest when I thought about him. I wasn’t used to it, but there it was. "He’s been through a lot, too. We both have. After... everything with Jin, I stepped up. Trying to give him something solid, you know?" I paused for a second, wondering if I was saying too much. But I kept going.

"And Yuuji... shit, Yuuji’s like a kid brother I never asked for, but somehow ended up with. He’s stubborn, and sometimes I want to strangle him, but he's a good kid. I Want to be better. I’m just trying to keep him from making the same mistakes I did, even if he doesn’t listen half the time."

A laugh escaped me, though it wasn’t really a happy one. More like a bitter one, like the sound of frustration.

"I don’t know," I muttered, looking down at my hands, the weight of the conversation starting to press on me again. "They’re both better off without me dragging them down. Hell, Yuuji’s better off without me around. Choso... he deserves better too."

Mrs. Henry studied me, her gaze unwavering as always. "You’re doing your best, Sukuna. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you’re still here for them, aren’t you? They care about you."

I felt my chest tighten again, but I pushed it away. 

No, they don’t. 

Not really.

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled. "But I’m not the guy they think I am."

I rubbed my face, trying to force down the feelings clawing at my insides. 

I’m not the guy anyone thinks I am.

She didn’t respond, just let the silence stretch out between us. And in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to shut it all out, to just stop thinking, stop feeling. 

But I couldn’t.

She stared at me for a moment then asked, “Tell me about your Grandfather.”

 I felt the tears on my face before I could even stop it. I wiped my face but the tears kept coming.

I felt a lump form in my throat before she even finished asking. 

Grandpa. 

It was like she dug her hand into an old wound, one I’d been trying to close off for months. I couldn’t help it—the tears came, stinging my eyes before I could even stop them.

I wiped my face, frustrated that I was so damn weak. But I didn’t look away. I wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction of seeing me completely unravel.

"I can't... I can't talk about him," I muttered, voice rough and thick with the emotion I was trying to choke down. 

Grandpa 

He was the only one who ever truly gave a damn about me, about Jin, about Choso and Yuuji. Hell, he took care of us when no one else would. And then, just like that, he was gone. Gone too damn soon.

I could already feel the ache in my chest, the empty space he left behind. "I don’t... I can’t. It’s too much," I said again, my voice quieter now, more fragile. I could barely even look at her.

Mrs. Henry didn’t say anything right away, and for a second, I thought maybe she was going to press the issue again. But then she just nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "We’ll move on. When you’re ready, Sukuna."

It was hard to swallow. To think about how I’d never truly be ready. I didn’t want to be. Talking about Grandpa meant feeling everything again—the guilt, the rage, the confusion. And I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

I turned away, pretending to focus on the clock ticking on the wall, but the weight of the conversation hung over me, making it harder to breathe.

 I wasn’t ready. Not now, not ever.

The room felt like it was closing in on me. My chest tightened, and I could barely catch my breath. 

Jin.

 His face flashed in front of me like a damn haunting. 

Why did I do it? Why did I let him die?

I felt the bile rise in my throat just as I realized I was going to lose control. I pushed the chair back and stumbled toward the bin in the corner, barely making it in time. My stomach twisted violently as I emptied whatever little was left in my body. The tears mixed with the vomit, and I didn’t even know where one ended and the other began.

When it stopped, I collapsed against the cold, sterile floor, my body shaking. I could barely breathe, the air thick with panic and grief. My arms wrapped around me instinctively, like I could hold myself together if I just kept tight enough.

But I knew it was a lie.

My body trembled, but my mind—

my mind was a fucking mess.

 Jin’s death. Grandpa’s. The guilt. The weight of it all. How could I even keep living with this?

"You didn’t save him,"

 I muttered, my voice cracking, barely audible. 

"You were too weak... too scared."

The sound of the door creaking open reached my ears, but I couldn’t look up. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.

"Sukuna," Mrs. Henry’s voice was soft, like she was trying to approach a wild animal. But it wasn’t working. 

Nothing worked.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, shutting my eyes, trying to block it all out. But I couldn’t.

 I couldn’t. 

It was always there.

She came closer but stopped just out of reach, probably sensing the distance in me. "This won’t fix itself, Sukuna," she said gently, but it felt like a slap. "You can’t keep running from it."

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The only thing I could hear now was the deafening silence in my mind, the pounding of my own heartbeat, and the deep, gut-wrenching ache of what I’d lost. What I was losing.

Maybe I was right. Maybe I was already too far gone.

I DIDN’T LEAVE MY ROOM FOR TWO DAYS

I heard the door creak open, and I stayed curled up in my bed, wrapped in the blanket like it could shield me from everything. I couldn’t move, couldn’t look at anyone. The guilt kept swirling, suffocating me. My thoughts were too loud—

too loud to escape.

 I killed Jin. I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve been there.

Mrs. Henry’s soft footsteps approached, and then I heard the bed creak as she sat beside me. She didn’t try to touch me, didn’t push me to look at her. She just sat there, quiet, waiting for me to speak.

I kept my eyes shut, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill again. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face anyone.

"Sukuna," her voice was calm, but there was a tenderness there I didn’t expect. "You can’t keep doing this. You have to talk about it. Holding it all in... it’s not going to fix anything."

I bit my lip, trying to keep it together, but my chest felt like it was caving in. I finally spoke, but my voice was hoarse, cracking, barely a whisper.

"I killed him," I said, the words tasting like acid in my mouth. "I killed Jin. I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve been there... but I wasn’t."

She didn’t say anything at first, just let me breathe through the wave of guilt and grief that hit me. I could feel her presence next to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up.

"Jin made his own choices," Mrs. Henry said softly, her voice steady, but somehow it didn't feel as harsh as it should. "You couldn’t have known what would happen, Sukuna. You’re carrying this weight like it’s your fault, but you need to understand... it’s not. You’re not responsible for his death."

I shook my head, the tears falling freely now. "I was supposed to protect him. I was supposed to—be there."

She sighed, a long, patient breath. "You can’t change what happened. No matter how much you want to. But you can change how you’re handling it now. You’re not alone in this, Sukuna. You have people who care about you, who want to help."

"Who?" I choked out, bitterly. "Who the hell cares? Jin’s gone. My grandpa’s gone. All I’ve done is fuck up."

Mrs. Henry was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her tone soft but firm. "Sukuna, you're not alone. I know it feels like the world is falling apart, like everything’s broken beyond repair, but that’s not the truth. You have people who care, and you can find a way to make it through this—

but you need to let them in."

I stayed quiet, feeling the weight of her words. I didn’t know how to let anyone in, not after everything. Not after what I did.

I wanted to say something back, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me. I wanted to argue, to scream that I didn’t deserve their help. But there was something in Mrs. Henry’s voice, a quiet strength, that made me hold back.

She was right. 

I couldn’t do this alone.

But 

How could I let anyone in again?

Mrs. Henry stayed beside me, her voice calm but steady. “Sukuna, you need to breathe. Look at me,” she said gently, but I couldn’t. My chest was heaving, my breaths shallow and erratic. My hands were shaking as I clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.

“Focus on my voice, Sukuna. Just listen to me.” Her tone softened further, soothing in a way that cut through the chaos swirling in my head. “You’re safe right now. Nothing is going to hurt you. You need to breathe—slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I tried, but the panic had a stranglehold on me. My head was spinning, and I felt like I was sinking, spiraling deeper into the pit I couldn’t climb out of.

Mrs. Henry shifted closer, her presence firm yet non-threatening. “You can do this. Start small. Breathe in for three seconds, okay? Let’s count together.” She started counting, her voice steady, unwavering.

“One… two… three. Now exhale. One… two… three.”

I gripped the blanket tighter, forcing myself to follow her rhythm, though it felt like my lungs were burning. Each breath felt like a fight, but slowly, painfully, the dizziness started to fade.

“That’s it,” she encouraged. “Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Tears blurred my vision as I finally managed to draw in a deeper breath, though it came out shaky. My chest still felt tight, but the suffocating weight began to lift, just a little.

“Good,” she said softly. “Now, I want you to name five things you can see in the room. Can you do that?”

I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper. “The… the blanket.”

“That’s one,” she said patiently. “What else?”

“The wall,” I muttered, my eyes darting around. “The chair. The… clock. And… the bin.”

“Good,” she said, nodding. “Now, four things you can touch.”

“The bed,” I said, my hands still gripping the blanket. “The blanket… my shirt… and the floor.”

Her voice remained calm as she guided me through the exercise, helping me ground myself. By the time I’d listed the last thing, my breathing had slowed, though my chest still ached with the weight of everything.

“You’re okay,” she said, her voice gentle. “You’re here, and you’re okay. I know it feels impossible right now, but you’re stronger than you think.”

I shook my head, the tears falling freely again. “I don’t feel strong,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I feel… broken. Like I can’t fix this.”

Mrs. Henry stayed quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Broken doesn’t mean beyond repair. It means you’re human, Sukuna. And humans can heal, even from the worst of it. But you have to let yourself try.”

I didn’t respond, but something about her words stuck with me, even as I buried my face in my hands. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could try. But it felt so far away, like the light at the end of a tunnel I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach.

              TIME SKIP 2 DAYS

It didn’t take long for me to fall back into the routine. Two days later, I found myself back in Selene’s room. The dim light and faint smell of perfume mixed with something sharper—a scent I couldn’t quite place but was starting to associate with her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she eyed me.

“You look like shit, Sukuna,” she teased, tossing a pill bottle from one hand to the other. “Rough couple of days?”

I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed, trying to ignore how my hands were already shaking. “Are you offering or just here to waste my time?”

She laughed, that low, mocking sound she always made when she thought she had the upper hand. “Always so charming.” She tilted her head, studying me. “What do you need?”

“Same as always.” I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. My heart was racing, my skin crawling. I hated needing her—hated how easy it was for her to control me with just a damn bottle. But the withdrawals were eating me alive, and right now, I’d do whatever it took to quiet the noise in my head.

Selene patted the spot on the bed next to her. “Come sit, then. Let’s talk business.”

I hesitated, then walked over, lowering myself onto the edge of the mattress. She shifted closer, her knee brushing against mine as she placed the bottle in my hand. I clenched it tightly, like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, glancing at her. There was always a catch with her.

Selene’s grin widened. “No catch. Just some… companionship. You’re not exactly hard to look at, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, twisting the cap off the bottle. I shook two pills into my hand, then stopped, my mind flashing back to Mrs. Henry, to the therapy sessions, to Yuuji’s face when I woke up in the hospital. For a split second, I considered throwing the pills away, walking out of the room and never coming back.

But then the gnawing ache in my chest returned, the unbearable weight pressing down on me. The thought of facing another night without relief was enough to push me over the edge. I swallowed the pills dry, ignoring the burn in my throat.

Selene watched me, her expression unreadable. “You know,” she said after a moment, “you don’t have to keep doing this. Killing yourself slowly isn’t as poetic as you think.”

“Spare me the lecture,” I muttered, leaning back against the wall. My head was already starting to feel lighter, the sharp edges of reality beginning to blur. “You’re not exactly a model citizen either.”

She shrugged, lying back on the bed. “Fair point. But at least I own it. You? You’re still pretending you don’t want this.”

I didn’t respond, letting the silence settle between us. The pills were kicking in now, the world fading into a dull hum. Selene reached over, brushing her fingers against my arm, and I didn’t pull away.

“You’re a mess, Sukuna,” she said softly, her voice almost gentle. “But I guess that’s why you’re here.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words wash over me. She was right—I was a mess. And right now, I didn’t care.

Selene straddled me, her nails tracing lazy patterns over my chest. It was becoming routine now—therapy in the morning, sneaking into her room after, getting high, fucking, and pretending none of it mattered. Rinse and repeat.

I should’ve been using my time here to get better, especially after my little breakdown in front of Mrs. Henry. Instead, I was right back to the same shit that got me here in the first place. I guess that’s just who I am—someone who runs from the hard stuff, diving headfirst into the chaos to drown it out.

Selene tilted her head, her messy bangs falling into her face as she looked down at me. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she said, her voice a mix of teasing and curiosity.

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Not much to say.”

She laughed, low and husky, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. “You’re always full of shit, you know that?”

“Maybe,” I muttered, placing my hands on her hips. The Xanax was working its magic, dulling everything until it felt like I was floating. Selene pressed her lips to mine, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in her.

I wasn’t sure what this was between us—something transactional, something toxic. It wasn’t love, that much I knew. But it was an escape, and that’s all I wanted.

When we were done, she rolled off me, lighting a cigarette as she stretched out on the bed. The smoke curled in lazy tendrils toward the ceiling, and I stared at it, my thoughts swirling.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do when you get out of here?” she asked, exhaling a long plume of smoke.

I laughed bitterly, running a hand through my hair. “If I get out of here, you mean.”

Selene smirked, passing me the cigarette. “You’ll get out. The question is, what then? Back to the same old shit?”

I took a drag, letting the nicotine hit my lungs before answering. “Probably. What else is there?”

She shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Maybe you could try being a better person. Get your shit together for real this time.”

“Funny coming from you,” I shot back, handing the cigarette back to her.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Fair enough. But seriously, Sukuna. You can’t keep running forever.”

“Watch me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Selene didn’t push further, just lay back against the pillows, her cigarette dangling from her fingers. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was even a point to all this. Therapy, the pills, the bullshit self-reflection—none of it felt like it was working.

I should’ve been getting help. Instead, I was stuck in this cycle, spinning my wheels and going nowhere. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe this was all I was good for.

Selene’s fingers traced over the tattoo on my arm, her touch light but intentional. “Who’s Y/N?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

I stiffened beneath her, the name pulling me out of my haze like a bucket of cold water. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“No one,” I muttered, my voice rough. “I don’t got a girl.”

Selene raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Then why’s her name inked on your arm, huh?” She smirked, tilting her head. “Doesn’t seem like ‘no one’ to me.”

I glanced down at the tattoo like I was seeing it for the first time. Y/N. The black ink stood out starkly against my skin, mocking me. When the fuck did I even get that? My head felt foggy, the Xanax dulling everything but the faint stab of panic creeping in.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t even remember getting this.”

Selene laughed, the sound low and throaty as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my neck. “Must’ve been important enough at some point,” she teased, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Or were you just drunk and stupid like usual?”

“Drop it,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She pulled back slightly, her smirk fading as she studied my face. For a moment, I thought she might actually listen, but then her lips were on my neck again, her hands sliding up my chest.

“Relax,” she murmured against my skin. “I don’t care who she is. Or was. You’re here with me now, aren’t you?”

Her words made my stomach churn, but I didn’t push her off. I let her continue, let her kiss me, let her try to distract me from the weight pressing down on my chest.

But the name lingered in the back of my mind, a bitter reminder of everything I’d been trying so damn hard to forget.

Selene’s lips hovered near my ear, her voice low and coaxing. “I could be her for you,” she whispered, her words weaving around me like smoke. “Just for one day. Whatever you want, Sukuna. I don’t mind.”

Her fingers danced over my chest, light and deliberate, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, searching for the cracks in my armor.

My throat tightened as her words sank in, dragging up feelings I’d buried too deep to face. 

Be her? She didn’t know what the fuck she was asking for. Y/N wasn’t just anyone, and she sure as hell wasn’t someone you could play pretend with.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at the floor. “Don’t,” I muttered, my voice low and strained. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Selene tilted her head, feigning innocence, but I could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “I’m just trying to help, Sukuna,” she purred. “You’re clearly hung up on her, and I don’t mind stepping in. Let me take the weight off, just for a little while.”

I hated how tempting it sounded.

 The idea of forgetting, even for a moment, felt like a lifeline in this hellhole. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about this place, about her, was real. And deep down, I knew it wouldn’t help. If anything, it’d make things worse.

“Why would you even want that?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. I finally looked at her, my jaw clenched.

She shrugged, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Maybe I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like you.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me.”

Selene leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my cheek. “Then let me.”

I hesitated, my thoughts a chaotic mess. 

Part of me wanted to say yes, to let her pretend, to drown in the fantasy for a day. But another part of me—probably the part that still gave a shit about Y/N—knew it was wrong. Knew it would only make me feel emptier in the end.

“Selene,” I said, my voice hoarse, “just stop.”

She froze for a moment, then pulled back, her expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. “Fine,” she said, standing up and smoothing her clothes. “But don’t come crying to me when the weight of whatever this is crushes you.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there, the ghost of Y/N’s name burning on my arm and in my chest.

I stared at Selene, her words echoing in my head like a challenge I was too weak to resist. 

Fuck it, 

I thought. Just this once. Just to see if it’ll dull the ache.

My jaw tightened as I muttered, “Fine.”

Her smile was instant, victorious, as she climbed back onto my lap, her hands cupping my face. “Good,” she purred, her lips brushing against mine. “I’ll take care of you.”

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to think. Thinking meant remembering, and remembering meant feeling. I couldn’t afford to feel right now.

She kissed me, soft and slow at first, testing the waters, before deepening it. I let her. I let her press her weight against me, let her fingers trail over my skin, let her pretend to be someone she could never be.

It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

But I let myself fall into the lie for a moment, closing my eyes and imagining it was Y/N. The way she used to look at me, the way her hands used to fit against my chest, the way she’d whisper my name like it meant something.

Selene pulled back, her eyes searching mine, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re so tense,” she teased, running her hands down my arms. “Relax. Let me make you forget.”

Forget? 

I wanted to laugh. There was no forgetting her. No forgetting the tattoo burned into my skin, the memories etched into my soul. But I was too tired to argue. Too tired to fight.

“Just… do what you want,” I muttered, leaning back against the wall.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

As she kissed me again, I let myself go numb, focusing on the moment instead of the weight in my chest. But no matter how hard I tried, Y/N’s face stayed in my mind, her voice echoing in my ears.

And when it was over, when Selene curled up beside me, satisfied and smug, all I could feel was emptiness.

Just this once, I’d told myself. But even once was too much.

I slowly got lost in the sensations, my thoughts slipping away as Selene’s hands roamed over my skin. Her lips moved across my neck, her breath warm against my ear. For a moment, I let myself sink into it—the touch, the heat, the false comfort.

My body reacted, but my mind drifted elsewhere. I felt her, but I wasn’t really there. Each kiss, each touch, blurred together, and in the haze, I saw Y/N’s face instead.

Her laughter. The way she’d roll her eyes when I teased her. The sound of her voice when she said my name like it actually mattered.

Selene’s lips brushed against mine, pulling me back to the present, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t the person I wanted, even though I’d told myself I didn’t want Y/N anymore. 

Liar.

“Relax,” Selene whispered, her hands sliding down my chest.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the ache creeping into my chest. I focused on the sensations—the way her fingers dug into my skin, the way her body moved against mine. For a while, it worked. I felt the tension melt away, replaced by something easier to handle.

But as much as I tried to let go, as much as I tried to drown myself in Selene’s touch, I couldn’t fully escape the weight pressing down on me. It was like a shadow lingering in the corner of my mind, refusing to leave.

What the fuck are you doing, Sukuna?

The thought hit me like a slap, but I pushed it away, letting myself drift deeper into the moment. 

It’s just this once. Just to feel something different. Just to forget.

Selene’s nails raked across my back, pulling a low groan from my throat. For a second, I thought it might work. For a second, I thought maybe I could lose myself completely.

But when she whispered my name, the illusion shattered. It wasn’t her voice I wanted to hear. It wasn’t her I wanted to touch.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, grounding myself in the sting. Selene didn’t notice. She kept going, and I let her, because I didn’t know how to stop.

By the time it was over, my body was drained, but my mind was anything but. As Selene curled into me, her breath steady and content, I stared at the ceiling, feeling hollow.

I’d wanted to forget, but all I’d done was remind myself of what I’d lost. Of what I’d ruined.

[peachhcs]

i could so see samy and will doing the “we listen and we don’t judge” trend. i thought that could be fun to write about!!

WAIT YES this is my favorite trend ever and i know samy and will would rip one another APART (i know i keep saying i’m coming back but TRUST in two weeks i will because it’s another break😛) (bare with me pls pls)

au masterlist

“you are so lucky i haven’t said no to these yet,” will rolled his eyes as he joined samy at the counter while she set her phone up. she rolled her eyes.

“come on, you think they’re fun.”

“yeah, fun is one way to describe it,” the boy mumbled and samy pinched his arm. he immediately swatted her hand away and the couple eyed one another before settling back in which meant will needed to be serious for once.

samy pressed record and then her and will repeated the phrase, “we listen and we don’t judge.”

she let the hockey player go first, watching as he scanned his list he made five minutes prior to this.

“sometimes when you sent me videos to listen to like on snapchat and i didn’t want to listen, i used to make gabe or ryan listen to them for me and respond to you,” will started off strong and his words made the girl’s mouth drop open.

“will! those were personal sometimes!”

“hey! we listen and we don’t judge,” he reminded with a small smirk. the brunette scoffed and then eyed her own list as they repeated the phrase.

“whenever i was mad at you i didn’t watch your games and then just looked at the highlights after when we talked about it.”

“i knew you did that,” the blonde laughed earning a small shove from samy.

“we listen and we don’t judge.”

“whenever you ask if you smell bad sometimes i say no even when you do so you don’t get upset,” another jaw dropper as the boy giggled to himself.

samy was in disbelief.

“dude, what the fuck? i ask because i don’t wanna smell bad. you fucking bitch,” now, samy wouldn’t have said that if her and will weren’t already best friends first.

“we listen and we don’t judge,” will emphasized while the soccer player rolled her eyes.

“when you ask if the other guy was better than you i always say no because i know you’ll get upset even if he was better,” will’s mouth finally dropped open while samy celebrated her small victory of getting back at will for all his harsh ones.

“we listen and we don’t judge.”

“when we were like 10 and i was mad at you i dipped your toothbrush in the toilet and then let you use the toothbrush until you got a new one,” why were will’s comebacks so much more mean than samy’s. the poor girl’s jaw was on the ground hearing that one.

“will, what the fuck! no wonder why i consistently didn’t feel well for months,” she slapped his arm while he just laughed.

“i know you did it to me so it’s just even,” the boy shrugged while samy looked for her next one.

“we listen and we don’t judge.”

“i used to tell the girls who liked you at games that you were such a player and that you got with everyone so they’d lay off because it pissed me off how much they talked about you right next to me,” samy laughed.

“dude what the hell. is that why i never got any girls,” will playfully rolled his eyes.

“hey, you got me!” the brunette grinned and will couldn’t help his smile seeing that.

“okay last one because i don’t have anymore,” the boy chuckled.

“oh of course you get the last word,” samy shook her head.

“we listen and we don’t judge.”

“when i got into that fight with your ex i don’t think i ever told you the full truth but it was because i liked you at the time and he knew it and wanted to provoke me. he was trying to prove his point which is why he started talking and everything escalated,” will finished and then gave the camera a thumbs up.

“wait what?”

not that kevin talked to them anymore, they were all still friends and will wouldn’t have said that if they weren’t. the blonde winked at the camera, “if you’re watching this kevin, love you. miss you.”

the video ended on that note where all the fans were dying to know the lore in the comments once it was posted.

user1 the roasting is sooo crazy omg

user2 ugh u just knowww they’re best friends bc they can say this stuff about one another and not get mad

user3 when samy smiled at will and he smiled back it was sooo cute awww

user4 is this what a secure relationship looks like??

user5 i love how none of this bothers them really

user6 ugh my shaylassss

user7 waitttt what is the tea at the end???

user8 will fighting samy’s ex??? omg i gotta know

[agent-oo-z]

I dunno if anyone will see this post but uh.

If you get the chance to go see Wild Robot, you really should.

I don’t have words for why. I can just tell you that it was the most personally impactful movie I think I’ve ever seen. I cried basically the whole time, I’m crying a bit as I type this, and that’s partly because I’m autistic and have hyper empathy issues with fiction in particular and because it was beautiful and full of animals mostly doing what animals do and also it didn’t pretend death never happens without being a story about death and I just.

I can’t say anything actually useful or insightful because I’m still riding the Big Emotions(lol) but it’s the type of film that goes beyond labels.

Check online for your specific triggers, be aware that there are sequences with flashing lights and animal deaths, but please if you can go watch it

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

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

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[woovalin]

i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

follow-up post here.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[snoopyracing]

grapes and good fortune // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: friends to lovers, mutual pining, and fluff

summary: when your plan to find love on new year's eve doesn't work a certain someone may just fix those plans.

a/n: surprise! here's a cute little lando nye fic for you! it was so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy :)

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s not the end of the world to be single. You’ve gone your whole life technically being single– each guy you’ve had a thing with never resulted in a full fledged relationship. It never really seemed to bother you that much, you’d learned to be more independent and learned that your time is in fact more valuable than men think. Though, as the years passed and your friends started to get into serious relationships you couldn’t help but feel a little left behind.

You knew everyone’s time would come and seriously you were in your early to mid twenties – you still had a whole lifetime ahead of you. But the third wheeling you seemed to be a professional at by now was starting to get embarrassing. Also, holidays just really seemed to suck while being single. You knew there was more to life than being in a relationship, but god dammit you’re a human. You crave love and affection and no matter how independent you are– you still want to love and be loved. 

Your friend group had unsuccessfully tried setting you up with more guys than you could count. Each one you really did try and give a chance, but there was nothing there. You didn’t think you had high standards by any means, but if you didn’t feel anything with these guys then why waste your time? 

“You went on how many dates this month and none of them piqued your interest?” Your friend grills you as the two of you are sitting on the balcony of your apartment. You’d come back from another unsuccessful date and decided to drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine and a yapping session. 

“Genuinely think there might be something wrong with me at this point.” You complain as you sip the sweet wine in your glass. 

“There isn’t anything wrong with you.” The two dates a week for the past month say different, but you weren’t going to actually disclose that number to her. “Maybe your heart has already laid claim to someone else?” 

“I think I would know if I was in love with someone.” She doesn’t say anything, but the way she inconspicuously sips her wine is telling you what she’s wanting to say. “Not this again.” 

She puts her hands up in defense all while having a shit eating grin on her face. “I didn’t even say anything, but you immediately assuming that’s who I’m talking about says it all.” 

“I’m not in love with Lando.” 

Yes you were. 

“I mean he’s one of my closest friends and it would just make things weird. He also for sure does not look at me in any way other than platonic. He’s got models flocking to him and literally thousands of other girls– I couldn’t compete.” Your friend remains silent once again as she sips her wine and watches the scene in front of her unfold. “Ok– just because I drunkenly admitted last year that I might possibly have a little tiny miniscule amount of feelings towards him does not mean I’m in love with him.” 

“Yes it does.” Your friend replies without missing a beat. 

“No it doesn’t” You say with a huff. 

“Y/N, babe. You don’t see what everyone else sees and maybe your brain is trying to protect itself from the small chance of destruction, but you two are so in love it’s actually ridiculous.” 

“I don’t think he’s looking for a relationship right now. If this season so far is any indication of what next season is gonna be like, do you really think he’ll want a serious relationship to juggle too?” You’d chugged the last bit of wine in your glass and immediately filled it back up. 

A loud scoff comes from your friend. “With some girl he just met? No. You are a whole different story though. You two have history and are quite literally each other’s person. Two peas in a pod. Match made in heaven.” 

You didn’t understand why your friend was so adamant about Lando and you getting together. What if it ended in flames and your friend group is stuck having to play children of divorce? You don’t want that. 

“Do you hear yourself right now? I think you’ve had too much wine because that’s not true.” 

She sits up on the edge of the wicker couch with an annoyed expression painted across her face  “Do you hear yourself? I’ve never seen someone deny themselves happiness like you.” 

“I don’t think I have actual feelings for Lando though. I really think it’s just because we are the only two single people in our friend group and it’s like I feel obligated to somehow have feelings for him. I just need to find the right person and whatever I may be feeling about Lando will go away.” 

If someone could professionally roll their eyes your friend would be a pro. “You’ve already found the right person though!”

Before you can argue back for the hundredth time tonight the familiar tune of an incoming facetime call fills the air. Your phone that’s sitting on the glass coffee table lights up and Lando’s face fills the screen. You glance over at your friend who’s got a smirk on her face that could rival the Cheshire Cat. 

“Speak of the devil.” She laughs. 

You let it ring, fully knowing that if you answer it your friend will be insufferable the whole time you’re talking to him. You do send him a quick text to make sure everything's alright and of course he immediately responds with-

everything's all right.. just missed you is all. 

Which has you locking your phone and stuffing it in the pocket of your hoodie. When you reach for your glass and realize it’s empty again you decide to just grab the bottle and drink straight from it. 

“Drinking from the bottle because you’ve come to terms with how dumb you’ve been?” Your friend teases. 

“Nope. It’s from having to deal with you all evening.” 

Alright so maybe you did have actual feelings for Lando, but you were never going to fully admit that to your friend or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want to risk ruining what you two already had, which was an amazing friendship. So for the following months you continue to go on an endless amount of dates and with each one that fails your friend's voice rings in your mind.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to find someone else if you subconsciously compared every guy to Lando. They were never funny enough or charming enough or took themselves too seriously. In the end it was simply the fact that they weren’t Lando. So maybe your heart had already dug its claws into Lando, but you weren’t going to give up without one last battle. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

New Year's Eve. The final night of the year and the one party of the year that celebrates ends and beginnings. You’d hoped that with the plan you had for tonight that your streak of horrible dates would end and the next one would be the one. The trend of eating twelve grapes under a table at midnight on New Year’s Eve had been all over your social media. According to the internet if you were to do this you’d find love or your soulmate the following year– which was something you were so desperate for. So, your said plan was to bring some grapes with you and find a table to sit under. 

As you were taking one last final look in the mirror a familiar British accent echoed through your apartment. “Are you almost ready?” 

You quickly slipped on your heels and grabbed your bag off the dresser, but by the time you turned around there stood Lando, leaning against your doorframe with a slight smirk on his face. “Been waiting forever. It’s gonna be next year by the time we get out of here.” 

His teasing, which usually always got a reaction out of you, was ignored. The sight of him had you frozen in your tracks for a moment. He had on a white button up, which he always looked good in, but it was the couple of undone buttons at the top and the necklace you got him for his birthday last year around his neck that got your attention. There was always something about seeing Lando in things you got him that made that funny feeling bloom in your stomach. Perhaps it was the fact that everytime he chose to wear them you knew he was thinking about you and that when he was away a part of you was always with him. 

“Quit staring.” 

You're knocked out of your trance and the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from getting caught is almost as embarrassing as being caught. “I wasn’t staring. I was admiring my good taste. Should have gotten one myself.” You try to play it off and push your way past him with what little amount of confidence you have at the moment. 

“I’ll get it for you, then we can be matching.” Lando says as he follows behind you. 

“I can buy it myself.” 

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna get it for you anyways.”

You stop in the kitchen and grab the little bag of grapes out of the fridge. “I don’t need you to get it for me Lan.” You’re too preoccupied with figuring out how to fit everything into your small purse to see the utterly confused look on Lando’s face. 

“Ok forget about the necklace. Why the hell are you bringing grapes with you?” 

“Incase I get hungry.” You reply without missing a beat. 

“There will literally be food at the party. I even made sure Max got those little cocktail sausages you like.” 

And there he goes again, making those feelings you’ve tried and are still presently trying to push down come to the surface all because of some damn cocktail sausages. “I appreciate that Lan, but I’ve been on a grape kick lately. Just can’t seem to get enough of them.” 

With your purse finally closed with the grapes securely inside, you head towards the door, more than ready to get to the party. 

“I’ll text Max and tell him to get some grapes delivered.” Lando mumbles as he closes the door behind him. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but there must have been something in the air tonight because you were living it up. From the dancing to the drinking and then to top it off somehow in the middle of everything you showed off your DJing skills with Lando. 

Somehow you’d managed to unglue yourself from Lando for a moment and ended up in the kitchen among the various kinds of alcohol. You’re pouring the last bit of coke into your coke and malibu when Max comes up beside you. 

“I see you finally escaped from Lando for a moment.” 

An airy laugh emits from you. “Yeah, he’s been a little clingy tonight.” You state as you turn and lean back against the counter, facing the large crowd of people. 

Max copies your actions, but not before grabbing a beer. “What are you talking about tonight? When he’s back home it’s like you two are conjoined at the hip.”  Which was true, but you didn’t get to see Lando as much as you’d like, so you make the most of what you can. “Oh forgot to tell you, your grapes are in the fridge.” He motions towards the stainless steel appliance with his beer bottle. “Lando better pay me back. Do you know how much I paid to get that damn bag delivered? Absolutely insane.” 

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape at Max’s words. “I heard him mention something about asking you to get some when we were leaving. I thought he was just joking.” 

Max scoffs. “There is no such thing as Lando joking when it comes to you. Think he’d chop off his own arm to make sure you were happy. Hell if you needed an organ he’d be the first one in line to give you one.” 

This time it’s your turn to scoff. “No he wouldn’t.” 

“Why do you do that?” Max groans. 

You narrow your eyes at him, confused as to what he was referring to. “Do what?” 

“Act like he doesn’t think the world of you.” 

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. Instead you bring your cup to your lips and fill the void with your drink. What Max had said was true, but you couldn’t help it. You figured if you forced yourself to think that Lando didn’t care that deeply about you, then those feelings that you harbor for him wouldn’t rise to the surface. It didn’t help that his behavior recently had you thinking that perhaps he felt the same about you and when you have your mutual friends in your ear implying that to be true it just makes things that much harder for you. 

“You probably haven’t even noticed that he’s been practically watching us talk this whole time have you?” 

You can feel your heart rate start to speed up just at the thought of it. As your eyes scan the room they finally land on the Brit standing in the corner with some other people, but he’s not actually engaging in the conversation, he’s too busy staring back at you. Somehow from across the room you can still see those pretty mixture of blue and green eyes of his sparkle and when he realizes you're finally looking back at him a shy smile spreads across his face before he’s quickly looking away. 

“Wish you two would stop dancing around each other and just admit what we all already know.” Max mumbles before taking a swig of his beer. 

Maybe it’s the mixture of alcohol and the fact that you’ve once again got someone in your ear about Lando and you, but you can sense those feelings starting to claw their way back up and you aren’t sure if you can push them back down tonight. 

“Ten minutes until midnight!” The DJ’s voice travels through the apartment and you’re sure Max will be getting some kind of fee taped to his door in the morning. 

Max says something about talking to you later before exiting the kitchen and you realize with ten minutes till midnight that you’ve got to get your grapes and find a table to fit under. For the moment you push Lando to the back of your mind and focus on your very important task at hand. 

Luckily for you Max had a decently sized dining table in his apartment so with your grapes in hand you crawled under the table, which thankfully was shielded by a tablecloth, and settled in for your feast. 

Lando on the other hand had been searching for you everywhere since the ten minute announcement. He’d literally just seen you in the kitchen with Max and then when he looked back again you were both gone. He’d gone in the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the closets, every single place he could think you would be and it’s like you had vanished. Max had a large apartment, especially to be living in London, but it wasn’t that big to allow for you to not be found. His texts to you had gone unanswered and he began to think maybe you had left, but he knew you would have told him if you were leaving, so that theory went out the window. 

When the five minute announcement hit his ears he began asking people if they had seen you and with each no or i think she was in the kitchen a while ago he received his hopes of finding you before midnight started to diminish. 

He’d finally worked up the courage to tell you how he’d felt tonight. After years of holding himself back and not wanting to ruin what you two already had, he’d decided that life was too short and that he would come to regret not allowing himself to truly love you like he should. He knew you were the one and there wasn’t a bone in his body that didn’t think you didn’t feel the same. So, he was finally going to bite the bullet tonight and he wanted you to be the person he was kissing as the clock struck twelve. But if he couldn’t find you, then how in the world was he supposed to do that? 

Lando was honestly starting to get worried over not being able to find you, screw the whole love confession at this point. What if something had happened to you? He’d been all over Max’s place countless times and he still couldn’t find you. With the official countdown echoing through the apartment he decided to just say fuck it and head to your place and see if you had gone home.

As he was heading to get his coat a familiar sparkly heel sticking out from under the dining table caught his attention. It was the same type of heels he’d seen you put on earlier and he did somewhat of a double take. He wondered if it was the couple drinks he’d had messing with him because why would you be sitting under Max’s dining table? 

He crouches down and slowly lifts the table cloth up, unsure of what he’s going to find underneath it. Everyone is only getting louder and with five seconds until midnight what he finds staring back at him under the table is not at all how he expected his night to end up. There you are with your now empty bag of grapes on the floor and your cheeks stuffed full of said grapes. You resemble something of a chipmunk and Lando can’t help but laugh at you. 

“What the hell are you doing down here?” 

The excessively loud shouting of happy new year from everyone while noise makers and confetti fill the air distract both Lando and you for a moment. He didn’t think this is the position he’d be in right now, he figured he’d be in that crowd with his lips on yours like so many others right now. While you on the other hand didn’t think you’d be caught in such an embarrassing situation, not to mention you hadn’t even gotten all your grapes down, so this stupid thing was probably all for nothing. 

His attention is back on you in no time and he really wants to know what you were doing. Were you that addicted to grapes that you had to hide under the table while you got your fix? If so, he may need to have a talk with you. 

“Seriously, why are you hiding under the table stuffing grapes into your mouth?” He prods again. 

Your mouth is still so full of the grapes that you can’t really talk and all you can manage to get out is leave while simultaneously trying to jab his leg with your heel. You were embarrassed and at this point scared you might choke on the grapes, and you’d rather go out in peace then have Lando cause a scene because you were choking. 

“Ouch!” Lando yelps as your heel finally makes contact with him. You know he’s being dramatic because you barely even kicked him, but you would try anything for him to drop that table cloth and let you be. “Come on, come out from under there.” Lando grabs your arm and practically forces you to come out from under the table.

Luckily, everyone else was too preoccupied with still ringing in the New Year to see you crawl out and as you dust yourself off you're still chomping on the last couple grapes left. The party only seems to be getting crazier and you don’t really feel like staying here until the party inevitably ends at an ungodly hour in the morning, especially now that your plan for love has undoubtedly failed. 

You finally swallow the last couple grapes and take a deep breath, the fear of choking and embarrassment now behind you. “Do you care if I leave? Not really feeling the party that much anymore.” 

Lando doesn’t even question your request. “I’ll walk you home, let me grab our coats and tell Max we are leaving.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The cold England air hits you as you exit Max’s apartment building and you’re thankful that your place isn’t very far from his. It’s silent between Lando and you for some time, the sound of your heels on the pavement, fireworks in the distance, and other people celebrating are the only things you two hear. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lando finally breaks the silence. 

“Shoot.” 

He takes a deep breath fully knowing once he opens this locked away side of him that there’s no going back. “Have you ever thought about us?” 

You feel your heart skip a beat at his question, yet you try to remain cool and collected. “What do you mean?” 

He stops in his tracks causing you to mimic his actions. “Like,” he motions between the two of you, “us.”

There’s not a doubt in your mind about what he’s referring to and yes you do think about the two of you. Yet your brain feels scrambled once you're actually confronted with the possibility of Lando feeling the same as you. You’d tried so hard to ignore the feelings, hell you’d tried something you saw on the internet to hopefully bring a different man into your life to finally squash those feelings. You’d just never thought you’d be in this position though and it’s throwing you into a whirlwind. 

Lando isn’t sure what your silence means and he figures he’s already started, he might as well just fully admit it at this point. 

“Fuck it. I told myself I was going to do this tonight and I’m not gonna chicken out again.” His cheeks are rosy from the cold and you can tell by the way his pretty eyes dart all around your face that he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “I’ve got feelings for you.” He finally blurts out.

“No scratch that I’m in love with you Y/N. Think I have been for some time now. I’ve tried telling you how I felt for what seems like ages, but I’ve always been too scared to. I’ve been afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same and to me I’d rather bottle up my feelings and keep you in my life then tell you how I feel and lose you. But clearly I’ve grown tired of that and realized that the reward would be higher than the risk. You’re my person Y/N. I couldn’t imagine life without you and to have you be mine would make life that much better. So here I am baring my heart to you on some street in London on New Year’s Eve. I actually had a whole plan on how I was-” 

His rambling while you loved most of the time was cut off by your desire to shut him up with your lips on his and you did just that. You grabbed him by his coat and pulled him into you, your lips crashing together. It takes him a moment to realize what's happening, but when his brain finally starts to work and he kisses you back it’s everything you could have imagined and more.

Kissing Lando is like heaven on Earth and the way his soft lips feel against yours has you wishing you would have just stopped being so stubborn and listened to your friends ages ago. His large warm hands come out of his pockets and he cups your face as he deepens the kiss, which has you feeling lightheaded and warm all over. 

There’s fireworks being let off not too far away that light up the sky above you, but you’re too engrossed in each other to pay them much mind. It’s truly like a scene straight out of a movie and you know you’ll remember this moment forever. 

You two finally pull away to breathe and it’s like you can see the world in a whole new way. The depressing grey landscape of London in the winter time suddenly looks like it was painted in technicolor and neither of you can wipe the cheek hurting grin off your faces. “So I guess you feel the same?” He asks. 

“Yes Lando Norris, I’m in love with you too. Have been for a while and like you I didn’t want to ruin what we already have. To me there was no possible way that you felt the same and I hate rejection and the idea of losing you. So, I went on a million dates trying to find someone that would replace how I felt about you, but I guess you can’t replace someone who your heart has already laid claim to.” 

You feel Lando intertwine your fingers with his and it’s like everything just feels right in the world. 

“I’m glad we stopped being so stubborn and that I don’t have to see you out with all those random guys anymore.” 

“Believe me, none of them even came close to comparing to you. It was like going on a date with a sack of potatoes most of the time.” 

His infectious laugh fills your ears and you feel your heart swell. You can’t believe this was what you were depriving yourself of for so long. 

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is spent walking hand in hand. All while little giggles escape each of you ever so often and Lando occasionally kisses you on the head or lifts your intertwined hands up to plant a kiss there. 

“I have to ask again. It’s really been bugging me. What were you doing under that table?” Lando asks as you near your apartment building. A loud groan emits from you and there isn’t anything less that you would want to talk about than that. “Come on, just tell me!” 

“Fine! I saw this thing on the internet that if you eat twelve green grapes under a table at midnight that it’s supposed to bring you luck in the love department in the New Year. Like you’d find your soulmate or something. I was so desperate to try and get over these feelings I have for you so what we had wouldn’t be ruined that I was willing to try anything.” 

He’s silent for a moment and then he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Well I’d say it worked didn’t it? You’ve found love and not to be overzealous, but I’d say your soulmate too.” 

You’re stunned for a moment when you realize that yes, the grapes did work, just not in the way you planned. The universe had put Lando in your life years ago and for some weird reason had you wait this long to finally truly be in one another's lives, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Hell, you’d eat a whole package of grapes if that meant Lando and you got to be together in every lifetime. 

“They did, didn't they? I guess almost choking to death was worth it in the end.” 

“I mean I know I’m every woman’s dream, but you didn’t almost have to kill yourself to get my attention baby.” 

You playfully slap his arm as he laughs at you. That big head of his was sometimes fully ego and you realized you were going to have to put up with it all the time now. “Oh shut up.” 

“Yeah, but you love me.” He states before pressing a kiss to your lips, which has your mind feeling like TV static once again. 

When you pull away and look him in the eyes there’s nothing but pure love staring back at you and you know that this is who is meant to be in your life, till the end. “More than you’ll ever know.” 

The next morning you receive a group text from Max with Lando and you in it.  

max: why have i found an empty bag with what looks to be a grape stem in it under my dining table??? i fully know it was one of you.

you: i don’t know what you're talking about. 

lando: me either. no grapes were consumed by us last night. must have been someone else. 

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Image this:

Danny is sixteen. He just found out he is to become King, with a capital K, when he becomes a mature ghost, which is at least 20 years after his death. So he’s got time. Everything’s fine. Except for the Observants pushing his education. Tutors shoving information down his throat like he’s cramming for finals. Princess Dora, Pandora, Frostbite, and even Clockwork checking on him frequently and making a schedule for him to come visit their territories for little learning sessions. Fright Knight has been following his every move. And let’s not forget the other random ghosts he’s never even met before coming to ask for favors or to complain or just give him their problems in general and expect him to fix it.

He can’t even let his frustrations out! All his regular rogues avoid him now! Even Vlad doesn’t want to get involved, but that could be because he’s still bitter about not getting the crown like he wanted.

Good thing he knows a king that has probably been through the same thing.

King Arthur of Atlantis. In other words, Aquaman.

Because Danny wasn’t technically king yet, crowned prince is probably the right title?, he couldn’t just call him up or send a letter asking to meet. So Danny decides to go give the man a visit himself.

Using process of elimination, he was able to find Atlantis after about two months of research and searching. He didn’t have a whole lot of free time, okay?

Turning invisible and flying through the water was a lot easier than he thought. Getting through the barrier was a piece of cake and the castle was obvious to find. What wasn’t obvious to find was the king himself. He wasn’t in the throne room, or his study, or the training grounds, or literally anywhere in the castle. He checked.

No. He finds the king playing some game with some kids in the underwater city.

It was surprising to find him there, especially after the etiquette lessons from Dora, but it gave Danny some hope that maybe he wouldn’t be miserable and burdened with paperwork and boring meetings when he becomes king.

Danny turns visible. They were still invested in the game but the guards noticed him. Spears were pointed at him in a second.

“Halt! State your business,” the guard demands.

The shout caused everyone in the area to stop and look, including the king.

Danny raises his hands in surrender.

“Uh, hi. Sorry to stop the game, I just wanted to talk- sorry, speak to King Arthur, if- if that’s okay? There wasn’t an address to mail to that I could find-“

“It’s okay,” the king interrupts. “Let’s go somewhere private to talk then. Do you have any weapons on you?”

Danny perks up at the opportunity to finally talk to him.

“Yes please! And no, no weapons, sir.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” the king replies with a smile. Danny smiles back widely.

“My king-“

The king holds up a hand to stop the guard’s worries.

When they finally arrive to the throne room of the palace King Arthur turns to Danny.

“Who are you?” He asks in a tone that was a bit more serious than it was before.

“Oh! Sorry. Hi. I’m Danny. Danny Phantom. It’s nice to meet you, King Arthur,” he answers quickly with a nervous smile.

The king nods, obviously thinking about something else as he watches Danny with guarded eyes.

“How can you breathe underwater if I may ask? I’m curious.”

“Well that’s easy, I’m not breathing.”

“You’re… not breathing,” the king repeats with skepticism.

“Yea,” Danny agrees freely. “I don’t have to breathe if I don’t want to. You know, because of the whole ghost thing.”

“Ghost?”

“Yea. Can turn invisible, walk through walls, fly- you know. Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?”

Danny tries a bit of humor with a crooked smile, but it falls when he sees the contemplative expression on the king’s face.

“Wait, seriously? You’ve never seen a ghost?”

“I’m aware of a ghost named Deadman apart of Justice League Dark but he is invisible to everyone.”

“Really?! I didn’t know that! I need to go talk to him! Where can I find him?”

“Hold on there, guppy. Didn’t you want to talk about something?”

Danny is drawn back to the topic at hand.

“Right, okay, so I was recently told I was gonna be king in like twenty years, which is news to me, and now they are just throwing everything at me with all this information I don’t know what to do with and I’m getting complaints and requests and everyone is expecting so much from me when I’m literally sixteen years old! I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, whether I want to go to college or if I’ll even graduate high school, and they want me to solve territory disputes and create new laws and provide protection for those who want to go into the living plane. I just- I don’t know what I’m doing and the only king I could think of was you, so I guess I was wondering if you could, I don’t know, give me some advice or if I could shadow you for a bit to see what an actual king should do or act. I know it’s a lot to ask coming from someone you don’t even know, but I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything and I don’t really know where to go from here and was hoping you would at least understand. My friends don’t get it and the other ghosts are kinda afraid of me now because of my title and they wouldn’t get it anyway…” he trails off awkwardly.

Arthur had never had this conversation before. He was honestly flattered and the kid looked genuine. Maybe he’d wait until one of the magic users okay-ed the young ‘ghost’ before revealing any information about himself.

He pulls out a device and throws it the kid. Danny dodges just to snatch it out of the air from reflex alone.

“That’s a communicator. I’ll send Deadman and Constantine your way and call when I get the okay. Where are you located?”

Danny’s toxic eyes were big and hopeful, shining brightly through the water.

“Thank you, sir! Amity Park, Illinois, the most haunted city in America!” He answers proudly.

The king just smiles.

[dollyichi]

OH KATSUKI

bakugou katsuki x f ! reader ᯓ★ 3.7k words. m—dni. roommates + university au / f/wb / toxic themes (slightly) / creamp!e (don’t be like them!) / bisexual katsuki / krbk open relationship / ex!sero / slight ooc / mentions of smoking & drinking / not proofread

an entry to my “ milk and cookies “ event with the prompt #5 “i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that sweetheart.” this is my self request oops!

you just broke up with your ex, and your roommate’s boyfriend is miles away. having fun together shouldn’t be too bad, right?

you’re sat by the kitchen counter. eating the reheated dinner your roommate left by the fridge. you just got home from a pretty rough night.

you’ve just broken up with your boyfriend, but that’s life. you’re sure he’s going to beg to get you back next week but it didn’t matter right now. the relationship was a mess and you were sure it wasn’t exactly love.

you hear a door open and you see your roommate getting out of the shower. “hey kats~” you say.

he places the towel on his shoulders heading over to you.

“you just got here? it’s interesting you’re actually home.” always sassy, but that’s why you liked him. it’s true, you’re rarely at home anyway. only there during exam season or at the morning. always outside at a party or with your boyfriend, now ex.

“yeah we broke up.” you say with a dry chuckle. he makes no response, instead goes to the fridge. “yikes. well that’s none of my business.” he says, not actually knowing how to comfort someone after hearing that.

the sad thing about your relationship ending was the constant sex. you were sure that was the only factor gluing you two together. he was a sweet guy, but you were sure getting your brains fucked out happened more than a proper date—and you’re sure he’s still got his ex flings on his contacts.

“you and eijirou are still dating right?”

“it’s an open relationship.” he mumbles, grabbing a glass to put water in. you’re kinda happy to know that though.

“hmm makes sense but, doesn’t it get lonely? i mean he’s in osaka and it’s a pity you’re not getting fucked while he’s gone.”

he scoffs, “who says i’m not getting fucked?”

“i know you’re home every night bringing no one over.” he shakes his head.

“tch. fuck off. what’s it to you?”

you didn’t know why you even thought of it. maybe you just wanted some type of comfort, or maybe you’re just an insatiable wreck. though nobody would blame you for finding the blonde attractive, if given the chance anyone would love to eat him up, you just wanted to know if he’d give you the privilege.

as for the ‘issue’ at hand, you didn’t cry after what happened. “let’s break up.” you repeat in your head from earlier. you didn’t know if you’re numbed from all emotion of romance but you always wanted something physical. exactly how your relationship with your ex started and now, you’ve broken up because he wasn’t being ‘a boyfriend.’

the breakup felt empty but it didn’t exactly hurt as you expected. it felt weird even. like a ‘so what now?’ feeling.

“then, let’s be fuck buddies.”

he flinches at your question. and even you were slightly surprised. still, you got it out.

“yeah right, like i could get it up for you.” though that’s a lie. he’s thought about it, once, twice. in the rare times you bring your ex over and he hears those muffled moans from the other side of your room through the wall— “come on kats. we could fuck when we’re free, how about it?”

“what even happened with that sero that you’re replacing him? or are you such a cockslut that anyone’s good?”

“we broke up so it’s fine. and i only offered to you.” he rolls his eyes and you laugh. “i’m serious! my door’s always unlocked anyway. if you wanna use your dick just come right in.”

“i’m serious, fuck off.”

you smile at him, getting excited that he’s glaring at you under the dim light of the kitchen.

“the fuck’s wrong with you today?” he thinks to himself.

you take your coat off and walk to your room. katsuki didn’t dare watch you walk away, however your suggestion lingered in his head.

you were probably drunk, you smell of alcohol and you’re not thinking properly. you were always nice to him, you were always sweet.

still, he finds himself texting his boyfriend to tell him what you just asked.

eijirou: hey baby it’s okay, you can fuck around with y/n i don’t mind at all.

he thinks about it.

you and katsuki weren’t too close to begin with. sharing this big condo with him was just for convenience. both of you were going to the same university, he needed a roommate and you needed a place.

you thought of him as a friend and he does confide in you every rare chance. eating dinner together, cooking for you while you clean the place. helping each other with some projects, not too deep not too shallow. he was a hot headed guy who’s in a ‘long distance relationship’ and sees his lover every six months. that’s mostly what he knew about you too, how you were always out with your ex boyfriend, how you were always on and off.

fuck buddies—you’re pretty, attractive, though sometimes unbearable but it’s not like you’re asking him for a relationship—like hell he’d break up with his lover for someone as crazy as you.

would it be so bad to have a bit of fun?

the next day you greet him like normal. wave at him in campus like normal, eat dinner with him like normal.

you’re giving him so much to think about and you’re acting like nothing happened and it’s slowly driving him insane.

he’s a man too, he’s got his own urges—exactly why eijirou suggested to keep the relationship open, as long as it’s purely for sex.

it’s been a while since he’s hooked up with someone either, and he’s not the type to really go out of his way just for it.

you did smell of alcohol when you brought it up, but you were the most straight forward person he knows. the biggest factor as to why he even let you be his roommate in the first place.

your offer was convenient. he knows you, you know him, he doesn’t have to drive too far cause you’re just there. your face is nice and he doesn’t mind at all.

“yeah…. i don’t mind.” he mumbles.

you didn’t think much of it the moment you turned your back on him. you didn’t want to be pushy, you didn’t like repeating questions either. so if him not acting on it is his answer then it’s fine.

“not going out tonight?” he asks breaking the silence. you tilt your head at him, “do you wanna go out? i don’t mind.” as if that’s his thing.

“nah just unlike you to be here is all.” you both were washing dishes. wiping the counter, cleaning around. bumping arms from time to time, it was silent, comfortable.

though you probably didn’t notice the slight bags under his eyes for keeping him up at night from your question.

“maybe not tonight.” he thinks.

nothing happened the next day, and the next. you’re acting too normal, only uncharacteristically staying more at your shared place with him. not going out with your friends, not drinking, though he sees you smoking at the balcony from time to time.

it was already late at night and he couldn’t sleep. you on the other hand is on the couch on your phone.

you’re fresh from a breakup, but it’s firm you just wanted to get off, no strings attached.

katsuki almosg felt pathetic from how much he’s overthinking this.

he reads a text from his boyfriend, making sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid at all.

eijirou: yes katsuki i told you i’m okay, i’m fine with it. i’d rather you be with y/n than some random too. don’t worry about it baby and just tell me what happens. <3

it almost hurt how casual it was but it shouldn’t—he’s in love with someone else. hooking up really wasn’t his thing, that’s why he rarely engages on it no matter how ‘needy’ he gets, and he’s not necessarily needy.

yet, somehow you’re getting him to be. you’re not even doing much but it’s like you’ve planted a ticking bomb in his head.

of course, he’s not gonna back down from such a good offer though.

he groans, getting out of his bed and walking over to where you were. his lover gave him an explicit yes. there shouldn’t be any issue now.

“hey kats~” you greet him, just like you did the other night. it’s sending shivers down his spine. “let’s do it.”

“huh?” you act dumb, knowing he actually agreed.

he clicks his tongue, “let’s fuck around.” impulsive but well thought.

you grin, sitting up properly to look at him from the couch. standing over you under such a dim light just like before. you didn’t think his presence would be so demanding like this. but he’s already wincing from your glare—almost crystal clear from the way you’re looking at him, how you’ve been wanting to eat him up.

you waste no time getting him seated on the couch, already on his lap while you start to grind on him.

you’re overwhelmingly assertive it’s so attractive. “how do you fuck with eijirou? tell me everything~”

his breath hitches when you start kissing his neck. getting sensitive when he feels your breath under his ears. “he tops.”

“that’s your preference? what about girls?”

“just a few times.” you hum. “usually oral or fingers. not often more than that.”

“kissing?”

“that’s the best part.” and you swore you almost swoon. you didn’t know katsuki could actually be cute.

he stops you for a bit, “are we really gonna fuck tonight?”

“well what do you want to do?”

he sighs, “just wanna feel you a bit.” you wait for him to make his move. you wonder what he'd do, what he likes.

“stick out your tongue.”

and so you do, moving your head to look at him with you tongue out. katsuki leans forward, taking the tip of your tongue in his mouth. his hands are already moving towards your chest.

katsuki fully takes your tongue in his mouth, sucking on it. you mewl against him—you never did that before.

katsuki pulls away to take off your shirt. “didn’t know you liked that.” you tell him.

“yeah? i like a lot of things.”

it was definitely like a reset on your part, almost like an awakening. seeing this new side of him, getting to understand and feel this way for the first time—katsuki was just so different from anyone you’ve ever been with, and from what you even imagined.

the cherry on top was seeing drool coming out of his lips. you should’ve just broken up with your ex sooner. and you’re so glad you never asked him to get into a threesome, that scumbag didn’t deserve to see someone as perfect as katsuki.

when your top’s finally off he takes a bit to look at them. “even your tits are pretty huh.”

this might’ve been the first time you’ve ever felt shy.

“take your shorts off for me.” you nod sliding them off slowly, making sure he sees every inch of skin that you’re revealing for him. katsuki can’t help but grin from excitement.

“thought you couldn’t get it up for me?” you say hovering over the bulge from his sweats. he rolls his eyes.

he holds onto your sides while you pull down the fabric along with your panties. his mouth’s slightly open when he finally sees your pretty cunt that’s shiny from the slick pooling. he chuckles, using two fingers to swipe between your folds, “you’re so fucking wet.” he says, moving his fingers up and down as strings of your slick stretched onto his fingertips.

you shudder when he stills on your clit. your move your hips, trying to get any stimulation from him. “too eager huh.”

he takes of his fingers causing you to whine. in a swift motion he carries you over to his room. “funny you chose yours.”

“don’t want plushie eyes watching me fuck you thinkin’ i’m their dad.” it’s cute that’s he’s trying to be funny.

"don't got a condom." he says as he lays you on the bed softly. wasting no time then to hover above you. "don't want you to use one." neither of you couldn't help but chuckle.

you're both just as needy.

“can you play with yourself for me?” his voice was raspy, breathy, almost needy. you’d prefer him touching you but him on top was enough to get your hands moving towards your clit. “yeah circle around it with your pretty fingers.”

you do exactly everything he tells you to. moving faster, slower. teasing your entrance while he pinched your nipples. he’s kissing the corners of your mouth while he asks you make yourself cum while he toys with you.

you never noticed the mirror on the top of his bed. you were rarely invited into his room, this is the longest you’ve been in there.

“what a fucking view.”

his back is so seductive, watching it move while you get off on your own fingers. the visual and the stimulation on your clit and his hot breath on your neck is getting you so sensitive—you’re almost there.

you’re almost shaking from how hot he’s being. “when are you gonna fuck me kats~” you’re already a mess doing this much. he’s stripping himself off his clothes and you’re getting so close the moment he’s flashing his happy trail.

katsuki hisses from hearing how wet you are, all for him. it’s just so different from what he’s used to.

“don’t wanna cum yet.” you say, slowing down your fingers. he pulls you towards him, maneuvering your body so that he’s on the bed.

you’re sat back on his lap, you bring your fingers covered in his slick towards his mouth which he takes in. sucking on them while he starts pumping his shaft. your breath hitches when you feel him moaning against them.

you wanna fuck him so bad.

he pulls away, lips now covered in more spit than earlier. katsuki’s getting messier each minute he’s so gorgeous to you.

“sit on it yourself.” firm and commanding, you’re sure him getting you to do the chores would be bad after this.

you replace his hand with yours, positioning the tip against your entrance. you’re surprise he even let you do this raw, someone so picky as him.

“f-fuck yeah…” he moans while he enters you. so slow yet so smooth, like a perfect fit. “i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that sweetheart.”

you elicit a long moan. you can feel him throbbing inside you, “fuck this is the best.” you hear him say.

you jolt when he pushes you down, back arching as your chest hits against his. you’re sure you could feel him so deep inside it’s driving you insane.

you’re panting, trying to catch your breath but he ignores you, gripping your hips to move you the way he wants, using you to get off like a fucking toy while you’re trying to get a hold on his shoulders. “said you wanted me to use my dick right? well aren’t you all bark.”

“your cock’s so f-fucking big!” bigger than your ex’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever fucked before.

you’re scared you could get addicted to this. you’re scared the moment you stop you’d ask for it every night.

“s-shit- katsuki-“ you couldn’t even look at him properly. you were so sure if you were eijirou you wouldn’t let him go. if you eijirou you would’ve been fucking him everyday.

he’s fucking you so good you’re tempted to ask him if you could be his second lover. you wonder would he be sweeter? more softer? would it be more intimate than this?

would he call you baby? what else would he do? would his hands touch you more tenderly?

he's handling you so well you're hoping this wouldn't be a one-time thing.

though underneath katsuki’s roughness is a man that’s easily stimulated. it’s sexy that your sweating, it’s sexy that your tits move while he bounced you on him. when he pulls on your tongue with his fingers when you ride him.

you sit back and show him your puffy clit, which he presses his thumb against, circling around the the sensitive bud. “you’re whimpering so much.”

maybe he’s getting carried away, wanting to invite you when eijirou comes for a visit. getting greedy thoughts getting you to ride him while he’s sucking off his boyfriend.

“h-hey focus on me.” you cup his cheeks with a pout.

he looks at you with half lidded eyes, removing any restraints he’s been suppressing for the past few minutes.

it’s getting so late and you’re still at it. you’re just that good. “you’re cute when you become a mess huh?”

his cock’s so big it’s still not letting up, even getting bigger with every thrust. both so focused in each other that he let his phone ring a few times before he picked it up.

“put it on speaker~” you whisper.

katsuki makes the swiping motion to answer the call, “sero.” he says.

he hisses when you clench on him tighter from hearing your ex’s name out of his mouth.

he’s always fucking ruining shit, but do you even care anymore?

you take his phone from him to place beside you. “honey~ i’m fucking katsuki~” you exclaim, wrapping your arms on his neck as you pulled him closer. katsuki looks at you with confusion, absolutely hates that you’re involving him in a feud he doesn’t care to be in.

then again, perhaps this whole ordeal got him involved automatically.

“y/n? w-what?” you hear sero’s voice break.

a new record, barely a week in and he’s getting katsuki to talk to you for him. "what a loser," you think.

you’re not interested in talking though. you've almost forgotten that your ex even existed the moment you got a taste of your roommate.

he tried to talk to you, call out to you it was so pathetic. saying how he misses you, if he could come over, only to be drowned out by your spews of, “oh katsuki,” or praises of the blonde's touch getting rougher each time your ex started to beg you to listen. it's almost bruising.

“you’re better than him.” katsuki’s sure he could hear sero’s heart break from the other side of the screen. his eyes were focused on the number of seconds of the call. only for it to end, knowing he’s given up.

he chuckles, “you broke him.” and yet he feels somehow prideful, an ego he didn’t know he had—how he’s fucking you while your shitty of an ex is struggling to get your attention, pitiful but exciting.

“nah he probably didn’t- hnngh~ get a shot with a girl that’s why he’s crawling back.”

“yeah? and i was sure he was fucking you good every time.” you yelp when katsuki changes positions. you’re now on your back again, watching him from the reflection of a mirror.

you’re such a mess, you didn’t even realized you cried.

“you made me want to fist my cock every night.” he says before thrusting back in. it was steady, hot, you’re sure you’re already melting as he picked up the pace. you didn’t know how much more you could take.

“your moans are always fucking hot.” he takes your legs to wrap it around him, “but it sounds better when it’s my name instead.”

you’re so close, he’s holding back so well. you’re probably the best fuck he’s ever had. “g-gonna cum-“ you weakly whisper.

his cock’s already twitching so much you could feel everything. “inside please- do it inside kats~” no matter how much you’re fucked out you still have it in you to tease him with that tone of yours.

it’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

as if it’s like a switch flips whenever you call out to him. how your tongue perfectly moves when you say his name, like you’re meant to.

yet you’re not his, and he’s not yours. you’re only just playing around, this was just to satisfy his urges and yours.

somehow, still, he didn’t want to let you go. and you’re the same.

he yelps when you pull his head down towards you, taking him in a sweet kiss. bucking your hips upwards to meet his as your movements turn more erratic.

cumming feels so much better when you’re kissing. all you could hear in the room was the sound of skin slapping against each other and your moans muffled from the kiss.

you grip onto him, clawing at his back and he didn’t care how much of a mark it left on him.

his thrusts become sloppier, quicker, and you feel your climax building up so fast. the knot in your chest becomes so tight.

“mmhh~” he moans loudly against you, pushing one last thrust before spilling inside, just as you asked him to. and you’re crying, feeling so full of him that you still wanted a bit more.

he whimpers while you tried to continue his movements, almost overstimulating him. katsuki pulls out and lays beside you. only to pull you close to him he plays with your pussy.

“look at yourself in the reflection for me. watch me play with your pussy.” broken breathy moans come from your lips as you bury your head further onto his chest. his other hand’s on your chin, motioning over your head to the top mirror. "such a fucking mess we made huh?"

you’re both sweaty, tired, yet he’s fucking you with his fingers relentlessly just to give you that climax you’ve given him so graciously.

“c-cumming~ katsuki~ 'm c-cumming!” it’s almost embarrassing how loud your cunt is.

that tight little knot in your stomach come undone, shouting his name one last time, your body twitching on top of his as you calm down.

“holy shit that was so hot.” you exclaim in between heavy breaths. "you liked it?" he asks you and you nod.

“then tomorrow.” huh? “i’ll fuck you even better tomorrow.”

“hah...” you breath out, laying on your chest on his to plant a kiss to his lips. “then we should let your boyfriend watch too~ to return the favor.”

“shut up.” maybe he’s gotten greedy for sure. he doesn’t even want to share you with his own lover after this.

can’t tomorrow come any faster?

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × × 

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief. 

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music. 

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky. 

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs. 

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss. 

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression. 

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

synopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

K

e

r

o

s

e

n

e

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

[inactiveaccount-lovendeepsecrets]

Domestic + Intimate Headcanons

*Minus Caleb only because his myth and cards aren't out yet, and I don't feel confident adding him when there's so much lore and little quirks we still don't know about him. I shall make a separate post for him if this goes well.

But Hi! This is my 1st hc so please go easy on me. I believe some of the bullet points on here are canon, but I can’t help talking abt how cute this all is 🫠 I'm not the best writer and I tried so hard to be impartial, but you can probably still tell where my bias lies LOL

As always these are just my opinions!!

tags: headcanon, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but these lean towards an afab + fem!reader, 18+

***MDNI; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something nsfw despite the warnings and will be BLOCKED***

Disclaimer: I personally think all of them like praise, body worship and are humungous eaters. If the specifications aren't noted under your fav LI, it's because I didn't want this too become too redundant!

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Rafayel

SFW

• Has definitely set up a date where you do that TikTok trend painting portraits of each other

• Hates the caricature you two posed for at the amusement park

• On more than one occasion you've (jokingly) threatened to frame said caricature at his gallery to shut him up during an argument

• Is an escape artist. He has a long history of being captured/on the run. It’s no wonder he could easily untie himself from your ropes

• I don't think we talk enough about how rich this man is, but I think he'd be quite into second hand fashion. Think runway archives, vintage designer pieces, custom couture, etc.

• Always drives over the speed limit

• Will never tease you during your art lessons with him

• THE best bf to take pictures of you for your social media accounts. He’d suggest different poses while contorting himself in odd positions on the ground just to get the perfect angle

• Sings you to sleep

• Surprisingly good at doing hair. If you need help dying, braiding, or putting your hair in rollers, he'd actually do a pretty good job.

• Created an entire album on his phone of candid photos he took when you weren't looking

• Also made a scrapbook of polaroids from all your scenic dates and vacations together, most of them are of you

NSFW

• He’s a mermaid. He is the motion of the ocean. The hip movements? Stamina? Best (and prettiest) dick game goes to him, I’m sorry.

• LOUD, noisy, and talkative. Starts to ramble when he’s close

• Wax play? [in the submissive]

• Nipple play [in the submissive]

• Edging + Milking

• I think his open vulnerability makes people think he’s more sub leaning, but some of it’s for show

• Because of your bond, he’ll submit; but he’ll do it in such a way that you’re right where he wants you to effectively make the switch

• Make no mistake, he doesn’t mind subbing from time to time. He loves seeing you on top of him, using his body. He feels a sense of accomplishment being a vessel for your pleasure

• There was a tweet that explained how Raf would be a bit of a bully as a dom, but in the best way (recommended read)

• Chuckles and coos at you after each of your orgasms

• Isn’t into watersports, but gets a massive ego boost if you squ*rt

• Is sometimes overly arrogant about toys, but is also so obsessed with you, that he made you get molds of each other on the rare occasions you’re apart for too long

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚

Sylus

SFW

• Has asked his private chef for a one on one culinary lesson to impress you with a home cooked meal

• A patron and secret lover of the arts. Dabbles in the opera, theatre and certain musicals

• He’s*slightly* better at drawing and singing than he lets on, but loves taking the piss

• This man is so funny, but his life and profession is all too serious, making the small moments of banter more precious for the both of you

• Will also hum to lull you to sleep

• Secret polyglot

• His way of ending petty arguments with you is by throwing you over his shoulder and going to bed

• Retail therapy connoisseur

• Surprisingly handy

• He of course, only likes visiting Linkon to see you, but also likes your apartment. While it’s microscopic in his eyes, he slowly understands what small things make a home feel cozy and tries to replicate that at his

• He’s intrigued by your self care sessions and will often indulge, joining in with the sheet masks, aromatherapy, massages and waxing (he likes the heat of the wax lol). He’ll put on a brave face and deny the pain, boasting about his high tolerance

• Spoils you in general, but especially when you’re sick or on your period

• Will carry you around just cause -much like a typical cat owner who loves to randomly pick up and cuddle their cat LOL

• Would buy out a restaurant for the night and have the orchestra play a medley of some of your favourite songs you’ve discovered from his record collection

• There’s really no such thing as small gestures with him

NSFW

• Marking

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• Blindfolds

• Certified munch; almost loves it more than penetrative sex

• AND HE 10000% HOLDS YOUR HANDS WHILE GOING DOWN ON YOU— WHY ISNT THIS WRITTEN MORE IN FICS

• Pleasure dom. He’s not sadistic or a bully when it comes to overstimulation (unlike Raf), he’s the very definition of “will talk you through it”

• Absolutely the type to coo at the sounds and faces you make. You could not look more adorable in his eyes

• Likes watching you solo

• Your satisfaction is his priority, so he’s not intimidated by toys. That being said, he definitely owns a remote vibrator

• Phone sex. No question

• In addition to phone sex, he bought those long distance bluetooth couple’s toys that sync up with each other so it’ll react to both of your movements in real time

• In the submissive, he really loves to see you in control of your own pleasure. He’ll encourage you to use him (eg face sitting, leg humping, cowgirl, etc)

• Slight masochist; those cuffs, paddles and chains are for him 😭 he’s curious to see how far you’ll go. By the end of it all, he’ll use his evol to free himself of whatever restraint he’s under

•As far as a degradation kink, I don’t see it for him, sorry. He adores you too much to call his sweetie a “slut”, “whore”, “filthy,” and so on

• Not as rough as he appears. Really the only time he’s rougher than he realises, is when he’s biting you

• If you want it more aggressive, you’ll have to ask. Even then, he’ll be cautious not to overdo it. The last thing he wants is to hurt you

• It’s canon he loves praise. Giving and receiving

𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡

Xavier

SFW

• Low-key likes to carry you around and his fav way is by piggyback ride (loves being physically close to you and the way you cling to him)

• Will fast all day just for Hotpot or Brazilian steakhouse

• Is much better at baking than cooking

• Leaves you Post-it note love letters in places like mirrors, cabinets, and drawers, before he leaves after spending the night

• Unintentional comedian. He's sometimes taken aback by your laughter, but it only encourages him to keep talking just to hear it again

• He honestly loves sharing things with you; food, books, (his) hoodies, etc. He just doesn’t like sharing YOU

• Would plan a scavenger hunt date

• Is always playing coy because he knows it triggers your cuteness aggression

• The pettiest of petty when he's upset or threatened (look up his affinity lvl 140 video call)

• Sometimes stricter than Zayne when it comes to your health & recovery. He hates to see you over-exerting yourself after an injury and has scolded you before about taking it easy

• Loves to get ready for bed with you at the same time. Showering together, doing skincare together, brushing teeth together; whatever you’re doing he’s either tagging along or sitting there watching you

• When he’s spending the night, he can't fall asleep without you playing with his hair and holding hands

• Learned your favourite flower and has been secretly sneaking into Jeremiah’s greenhouse planting and tending to a small bush of them to gift to you whenever

NSFW

• Thigh job

• Mating press

• Morning sex, specifically morning head (f receiving)

• While going down on you, he def seems like the type to keep going after you’ve climaxed, but he slows down his movements, giving languid kisses to your center to help ride out the wave of pleasure vs intentional overstimulation (though he isn’t against that either)

• It seems that the consensus on here is that he's the best eater of the LIs? I don't necessarily disagree; I'm just not completely sure if that title goes to him quite yet

• The most primal and rough of the LIs. Hair pulling, choking (safely), spanking, leashes

• Also likes it when you’re rough with him

[I know I said I wasn’t confident making any hcs abt Caleb yet, but I have a slight hunch he rivals Xavier for most primal]

• Goes feral when you say his name

• This man is a dom, don’t let the puppy eyes and bunny ears fool you 💀

• He's not as noisy as he is talkative, especially during foreplay

• BOSSY

• I don’t put it past him to feel like he’s in competition with vibrators. He’d rather him use one on you, but knows he’s being irrational

• While he’s not really into feet, he’d suck toes during missionary to see how you’d react

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Zayne

SFW

• Alternatively to Sylus, this man is comprised of small gestures that snowball (hehe) over time. One more meaningful than the next

• While he respects and admires your independence, he needs you to need him. He’ll never vocalise it, but he feels most useful and accomplished when you ask for his help

• Won’t let you carry any bags when you’re out shopping, not even your purse

• Like Rafayel, he also has an album on his phone with pictures of mostly you. Though he feels odd taking your picture when you’re not looking, he’s snuck in a photo or two when you were looking particularly lively mingling with the people at his work event

• Knows your go-to orders at all of your fav restaurants by heart

• Stargazing dates. When either of you are out of town for a while and are catching up on the phone before bed, he’ll tell you to go outside and look at the moon

• After a long shift at work, he’ll kneel by your side of the couch waiting for you to embrace him, hugging and nuzzling your waist

• He also secretly loves being the little spoon

• Subscribed to a delivery service that sends you flowers on your birthday every year

• There’s something about Zayne that makes me think dogs absolutely LOVE him even though he’s not particularly fond of their energetic nature

• Spoils you rotten when you’re on your period. Full princess treatment; plushie heating pads, full body massages, raspberry tea, and hand feeding you snacks. Basically Dr Zayne turns into Nurse Zayne

• He’s more lenient with your cravings, letting you have a small portion of desserts or snacks only after you’ve finished your meal

• Loves your laugh but knows his dry wit won’t always work, so he’ll just tickle you if the joke doesn’t land

• Fell in love with you after the Drunken Intimacy card. It made him realise how much he likes holding you and tending to your needs

• Doesn’t even bother lecturing you about how bad high heels are for your joints and muscles anymore. He now keeps a pair of slippers in his car just in case you start to complain

• He can never resist the urge to kiss your cheek or forehead when he sees you’re fast asleep (Canon 🥹)

NSFW

• Has a weakness for lingerie, lace and stockings

• In the submissive, he’d be just like the kitty butler in his card -the goodest of good boys

• …Feet? I’m not sure if it’s anything freaky. Kudos to whoever clocked that for sub! Zayne months prior to the kitty butler quad banner

• Soft dom, but not as gentle as his voice lets on. He’s already a bit strict with you in your relationship, and he’s the same way in bed. How is he supposed to know what feels good if you don’t vocalise it?

• The only time he’s pretty rough with you is when you provoke him. But he checks in with you to make sure he isn’t being too hard

• Once he loses his control, he gets a tiny bit greedy too (“We’re not done here. Quitting halfway isn’t something I would do” —Silent Poem Secret Times)

• His methods of brat “taming” aren’t anything over the top or domineering. Though he enjoys spanking, he thinks there are better lessons he could teach you to combat your brattiness

• Has definitely gone down on you and stopped altogether right before you climax as a form of punishment

• Shibari + Hitachi -girl run!

• Ice play

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• The size of your chest doesn’t really matter to him, he just really likes to hold and massage them. It’s his favourite way to keep his hands warm

• This man is so good with his hands and in more ways than one. The placement and movement of his hands in the Nightly Rendezvous card sent me into orbit. The body worship he’d do is insane

• Needless to say he’s the best at fingering

• You’re irresistible to him. He breathes you into every kiss, deepening as your bodies continue to merge. There’s no sex without passion, even the “quickies”

• Quickies usually only happen when you’ve teased or provoked him too far during (or on your way to) an event. Otherwise, he likes taking his time with you

• He knows your body like the back of his hand. He’s memorised what triggers the sounds, faces, and jolts your body makes

• Much like Xavier, he loves to hear you cry out his name

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