#What goes up must come down and down and down

[museanddream]

All Night Long (Lucy Bronze x Reader)

Summary: Miraculously, Lucy still has some energy to burn off after the Sweden game. And you’re so moved by her performance that you’re eager to see what she can do off the pitch too.

Warnings: 🔞 | some degrading language and mild spanking

Word count: 3.2k

It’s past 2am when Lucy pushes you against the wall of her hotel room.

Extra time. Penalties. Celebrations and commiserations and too many journalists wanting a bit of Lucy’s time when it should be yours. But you’re finally back in her hotel room. Alone.

Her firm hands pin you to the wall. Her mouth is on your neck, teeth much less careful about not leaving marks than usual. She’s on a mission, almost feral.

“Luce,” you gasp, though it’s not much of a protest when your hand comes up to the back of her head to hold her in place as she teases the pulse in your neck with her tongue. “You must be exhausted…”

“Nah,” Lucy murmurs against your skin. “I’ve got too much adrenaline … I could run another two hours if I wanted to.”

You’re pretty sure Sarina and the England physios would have some stern words to say about that, though it’s impossible to point that out to Lucy when her hands slip under the hem of your top and down the back of your shorts to palm at your ass, pulling you against the thigh she slots between your legs.

“Are you not tired at all?”

“Are you tired?”

Lucy pulls back from her assault on your neck to stare at you with an intensity that you can’t shy away from.

“No…”

“Good.” Lucy smirks at you, familiar and devastating. “Because you won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

Her hands drop to the back of your thighs and she lifts you up effortlessly, giving you no choice but to wrap your legs around her waist.

You want to protest. Lucy’s body is surely in no shape to be carrying you, even just a few metres to the bed. But Lucy is nothing if not committed to a cause, she proved that in abundance on the pitch tonight.

You have a feeling she’s about to prove it to you in other ways too.

For all that Lucy has implied she’s going to take her time with you and make this last all night, she makes quick work of getting you out of your shorts. As soon as she’s deposited you on the bed, her eager hands reach for the waistband and yank them down, throwing them carelessly onto the floor behind her.

One hand pushes your knees apart, the other goes between your legs, her thumb brushing against the thin strip of fabric covering your aching centre.

“You’re wet,” she comments, continuing to trace a teasing path up and down your clothed cunt.

“Can you blame me? You put on quite a show out there tonight.”

“Which bit did you like the most?” Lucy asks cockily, as she finally pulls her hand away to tug her own t-shirt over her head. “The goal? Or my penalty?”

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what part of Lucy’s performance tonight turned you on the most. Maybe it was the way she kicked the advertising board in a passionate celebration after scoring her goal. Or perhaps the absolute power behind her winning penalty. Or, sweet Jesus, the way she so expertly strapped her own leg with physio tape so that she could keep fighting until the end.

But it’s the memory of the damn rainbow armband worn around her wrist that comes to the forefront of your mind, of the way she stepped up when it counted and led the team to victory, of the way she would’ve dragged her teammates over the line if it had come down to it.

“You looked so hot out there. All fierce and commanding.” A pause, and then you add, “Captain.”

A flash of arousal crosses Lucy’s face, hunger in her eyes.

“You know I don’t care about the title,” Lucy says, as she crawls between your legs.

“No, but I know you like being in charge. Giving orders.”

Lucy reaches for the waistband of your underwear, hooking her finger into the elastic and pulling it before letting it snap against the skin of your lower stomach.

“Take them off,” she orders you. “Take it all off.”

You curl your legs up to your chest and pull the underwear down your legs obediently, throwing them aside. Then, you sit up and remove your t-shirt just as easily. In only your bra, you prop your weight up on your elbows behind you and meet Lucy’s gaze, waiting for her to make the next move.

“I said all of it.”

She doesn’t give you time to correct it yourself. In what feels like a single movement, she’s reaching behind you to unhook the bra herself and flipping you onto your front.

Her hand collides with the soft skin of your ass with a resounding crack.

“Disobey me again and you’ll regret it.” It’s almost scary how quickly she can switch characters. Like there’s several different versions of Lucy - focused athlete, loveable girlfriend, sex goddess - and she only has to press a button to cycle between them. “Brats don’t get to come, remember?”

“Yes, captain.”

Lucy manhandles you into place with the assured confidence of someone who knows exactly what she wants. Exactly how she wants you. A hand under your hips lifts your ass into the air, while she pushes your knees apart and places her other hand on your back until your chest is against the mattress, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

You hear a rustle, then the soft sound of more clothing hitting the floor. Before you can turn your head to watch Lucy undress, she’s kneeling her way onto the bed between your legs, the front of her hips pressing into the back of yours.

“Wish I had a strap with me,” Lucy murmurs in a low voice, curling her body around your back and bringing one of her hands round to grope at your chest. “I’d have you begging for it. Screaming loud enough that the whole hotel knows you’re my whore.”

“Lucy…”

Her hands moved lower, sliding over the skin of your stomach until it’s dipping between your legs, collecting your wetness on her fingertips as she draws lazy circles around your clit.

“Tell me you don’t want it,” she coos into your ear. “Tell me you wouldn’t be begging for me to fill you up.”

She teases you, fingers teasing lower at your entrance but never quite dipping inside.

“Fuck, Lucy, please.”

You feel more than you hear the chuckle she lets out as her chest rumbles with it against your back.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Lucy growls, before two of her fingers push inside you.

You let out a noise, half-mewl, half-cry as her thick fingers fill you. She thrusts roughly, no flair to the way she moves in and out of you, like her sole purpose is to make you feel her stretching you out. And yet each time she pushes back in again feels as devastating as the first.

“Lucy…”

Lucy’s free hand connects with your ass, the same spot that’s still smarting from earlier.

“That’s not my name.” Another spank, this time on the other cheek, then, “Is it?”

Lucy’s fingers continue to pump in and out, and you barely manage to squeak out, “No.”

Lucy curls her body around yours again, trapping her fingers inside you as her hand gets squashed between your bodies, then murmurs in a voice so low that it has every hair on your body standing to attention, “No, what?”

You let a shudder ripple down your spine, then lift your head from the bed far enough to say, “I thought you didn’t care about the title.”

You know that antagonising Lucy when she’s worked up like this is a bad decision. Still, the way that you feel her tense around your back sends a thrill through your body.

A beat of silence, then Lucy asks again, “No, what?”

You groan, not because of anything that Lucy is doing to your body, but from the shame of knowing that she’s got you so completely and utterly cornered. Moreover, that it’s exactly where you want to be.

“No … captain.”

“Good girl.” You can practically hear the grin on Lucy’s face as you give her what she wants to hear. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She leans back again and resumes the steady thrust of her fingers, filling the room with the slick sound of your wetness. But now, on every third or fourth thrust, she adds a little curl to her fingers, hitting that spot inside you that has you starting to spiral towards inevitable destruction.

Your arms stretch out before you, fingers clawing into the bedsheets, but it gives you enough leverage to start to rock back into Lucy’s fingers.

“Slut,” Lucy exhales with a scornful laugh. “What, is it not enough for you? You want more?”

All you can do is let out a whimper and continue to fuck yourself on her fingers. But it’s enough of an answer for Lucy.

“That’s what I thought,” Lucy continues. “Then beg for it.”

She hooks her fingers inside you with every thrust now, demanding your pleasure.

“Please,” you whine.

You know you must sound pathetic. And clearly Lucy thinks so too.

“You can do better than that,” she teases you. “I said, beg for it.”

You let out a drawn out moan than can surely be heard beyond the walls of Lucy’s hotel room, but you can’t find enough of your dignity to care about that. Maybe Lucy was right. Maybe you are just a slut who wants the whole world to know exactly who you belong to.

“Please Lu-” You catch your mistake before it fully slips out and correct yourself. “Please captain. Please give me more. Fuck me harder. Show me who’s in charge.”

When Lucy pulls her fingers out all the way, you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing.

When she pushes back in a moment later, this time with three, you know it was the right thing to say.

“That’s it,” Lucy growls, setting a punishing pace with her fingers. “Take it.”

And you do, because she gives you no choice.

It’s not always like this, not always quite so one-sided, with Lucy taking such complete control over you until you’re a helpless writhing mess beneath her. But you can’t deny that you sometimes crave it like this.

It’s usually when she puts on a strap. Something about stepping into the harness sends all the power to Lucy’s head, pushing and pulling and bending you over until she’s got you exactly how she wants you, then pounding into you until the only thought in your brain is the knowledge that you belong to her.

But sometimes she makes it work with her fingers too. And when she does, it’s even better, knowing that it’s all her doing this to you, no extra appendages required.

Your hands grasp at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto. Below you, the mattress rocks with the power that Lucy puts into each flourish of her fingers. It’s rough, yet still feels so deliberate. Lucy knows exactly how hard to fuck you, exactly how to twist and press her fingers inside you.

Exactly when to bring her palm down against your stinging ass, the sensitivity combining with the building pleasure between your legs to pull a debauched cry from your throat, one that’s half Lucy’s name and half incoherent wail.

“Another?” You can hear the smugness in Lucy’s voice. “You want me to stuff you full?”

She doesn’t give you time to answer before she’s tucking her pinky finger alongside the other three, working all four digits into your cunt in a way that feels like it might actually be turning you inside out. The garbled noise that leaves your mouth is incoherent at best, but perhaps borderline deranged is more accurate.

The pace Lucy sets is unforgiving, barely even offering you the chance to breathe. Four of her fingers pound into you, her soft part of her thumb rubbing against your clit with each powerful thrust. You sob into the bedsheets as she rails you, inescapable pleasure building deep inside you. Climbing higher and higher and higher until-

“Come for me.”

As soon as she gives the order, your entire world shatters. Your climax starts deep, a warmth in your gut, before it explodes outwards like a supernova, until even the very tips of your fingers and toes are affected by its power. You writhe and tremble as it courses through you, wave after wave of uncontrollable pleasure, the only physical thing you’re really aware of being the fingers that don’t stop pressing into you throughout.

When the tremors start to subside, your body limp against the sheets, Lucy withdraws her fingers and rolls you onto your back. One of her hands pushes your knee up, allowing her the space to settle between your legs, while her other hand teases your cunt where it’s still twitching with aftershocks.

She barely gives you the chance to appreciate the sight of her muscular form towering over you, before three of her fingers are pushing back inside.

“Again,” she growls.

It’s such a Lucy thing to demand more. She’s never quite satisfied with what she’s got, always striving for more goals, more wins, more trophies. And your orgasms are like another prize for her to claim. After the first one, she always wants more.

You’re still so sensitive from before but it only takes one look from Lucy, like she’s staring deep into your soul, for your legs to fall open as far as they can in an invitation.

Lucy’s lips curl up into a smile, then a single word leaves her lips.

“Whore.”

If she was determined before, Lucy is single-minded now in her efforts to get you off again. The wet sounds she draws from between your legs are obscene, though you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame for how turned on you are.

You’re ruined, you both know it. No point in denying or hiding it.

Lucy works you through the fierce sensitivity like an artist who has been studying her craft for decades. You never used to be able to come twice in such quick succession before Lucy but she knows your body well enough to know exactly how to get you there.

A firm hand holding your hips down where you try to writhe away from the sensitivity. A twist of her fingers inside you. The exact right amount of pressure from the heel of her hand against your clit. And you’re coming again.

“Fuck! Lucy!”

You’re vaguely aware of her laugh as you sing her name into the room. Your back arches, the power of another orgasm too strong, even for the arm across your hips. Or maybe Lucy lets it take over you, lets you fall apart into a desperate semblance of yourself against the sweat-soaked sheets.

Lucy’s fingers stay inside you, unmoving now, but definitely still there, until long after the final aftershocks rock your body. When she finally pulls out, you let out a little whimper that she’s quick to soothe with a slow kiss against your parted lips. Your muscles are too limp to move, but Lucy’s warm body as it covers you is a comfort that keeps you grounded in reality when your mind is trying to float away.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” you mumble breathlessly, your words slightly slurred. “Then I’ll show you exactly what I thought about you strapping your own thigh mid-game.”

“Mmm, sounds fun,” Lucy murmurs with a chuckle, slotting said thigh comfortably between your own as she settles half on top of you. Her face presses into your neck, still sweaty from being fucked into the mattress, but Lucy just inhales deeply as her muscles go loose on top of you, like the sheen on your skin is yet another prize for her efforts.

Though she may be giving your body a break, your mind is still overwhelmed by thoughts of Lucy. As you try to get your breathing under control, you start to name the emotions you feel as an exercise in bringing yourself back to the real world. Attraction, obviously. Affection. Happiness. Admiration.

Perhaps above all else, you feel pride.

There’s nobody else on the planet quite like Lucy. And she’s all yours. You get to see her brilliance on a daily basis, the little things that make her unique that nobody else is privy to. But being able to stand in the crowd with her name proudly emblazoned on your back while she shows the entire world how special she is, will remain one of the greatest honours of your life.

As your breathing begins to settle, you realise that your girlfriend really is quite insane. To score as often as she does from the right back position, good goals too, significant goals. To keep running and fighting far beyond when most normal people would give up. To hold her nerve and send her penalty straight down the centre of the goal, even after watching so many of her teammates miss theirs.

And to do all of this with a hairline fracture in her leg.

None of this is normal.

Yet all of it is Lucy.

“Have I told you recently how incredible you are?” you voice your thoughts aloud into the otherwise silent bedroom.

Lucy usually has one of two reactions to your praise. Either she gets shy, brushing your words off as if they are nothing, though you can always tell by the pink tinge in her cheeks and the way she fights off a smile that she secretly likes it. Or, usually when she’s full of confidence from a success on the pitch or making you come so hard you’ve seen stars, she leans into the compliment, playfully agreeing with you in a way that has you swooning over her casual cockiness.

She’s rarely silent, and you decide to call her out on it.

“You’re quiet,” you tease her.

The response you get is a gentle hum, like she’s heard you talking but hasn’t actually taken in the words themselves.

And sure enough, when you lift your head to look down at where she lays against you, her eyes are closed, dark lashes against freckled cheeks. Her breathing gradually slows, the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath as her body finally chases sleep.

Apparently there are limits to what even the great Lucy Bronze is capable of achieving in a single night.

“All night, huh?” you say softly, chuckling under your breath. “It’s not like you to break a promise.”

You wouldn’t dare question her stamina if she was fully awake. Or maybe you would, knowing that the consequences for taunting Lucy would surely be as pleasurable as they’d be torturous.

And, as the whole of Europe has seen on the pitch tonight, a Lucy Bronze with a point to prove is something really quite remarkable.

[araswritingblog]

Hii!! :) I have a request for how the dateables would react to the house owner/player having t1 diabetes?? Specifically when it comes to having a (really) low blood sugar 😊🤗 <3

Dateables with a player who has Type 1 Diabetes

(Thank you for the request. This was an interesting one to think about. My brother actually has t1 diabetes, so I'm using him as my basis. Sorry if this one's a bit all over the place, I just had so many ideas and wanted to get them all on the page before I forgot them. As no characters were specified I just picked a handful that I felt fit the prompt)

Firstly, the kitchen dateables are on top of everything: Mitchell is your steadfast meal planning companion, Stefan and Errol have all kinds of recipes to suit your needs, Freddy is organized and on top of everything you have in the fridge/freezer, ready to remind you when you're running low on something. He keeps an eagle eye on your insulin (it's his top priority and a job he takes very seriously). If you wear a CGM Freddy has developed a sort of pavlovian response to the sound of its alerts - his doors open the second the first beep sounds, ready for you to grab whatever you need.

Now, you've been helping the dateables non stop since you received the dateviators, working yourself to the bone. You don't mind of course, you love them all very much and want them to be happy. However, some of them start noticing that you've been eating less, sometimes forgetting mealtimes altogether. It isn't on purpose but they can't help but worry. Still, you always make your way to the kitchen for something when your monitor goes off or you feel the first symptoms of a hypo. For some of them that's enough - at least you haven't completely forgotten to take care of yourself. But for others, the worry runs deeper.

Dorian keeps a closer eye on you; he knows what symptoms to look out for and will firmly tell you to take a break if he notices you overdoing it.

Betty can see exactly when you start to get weary and will guide you to bed, ready to pamper you until you're well. She'll call on Mitchell to bring you something to eat.

When you have a headache or are just feeling overwhelmed Phoenicia will become your glucose alarm, because let's be honest those things get loud, and you would much rather listen to Phoenicia's voice gently reminding you when it's time to get your sugars up.

However, let's say you don't use a CGM, or maybe it disconnects for whatever reason one day (as they always seem to like doing). You go about your daily business, helping out wherever you can around the house, moving from room to room with vigor. With a routine like this it's easy to lose track of time. The dateables notice the warning signs before you do, or at least they're the first to acknowledge it.

You're assisting with maintenance at the Breaker Box when Eddie notices you swaying. He immediately sits you down and asks when you last ate. Your hesitation and tired expression tell him all he needs to know, so he asks Volt to take you down to the kitchen while he gets Farya. Volt guides you down the stairs with an arm around your waist, gently scolding you with a face full of concern: "You really must pay attention to these things, Livewire."

Once you reach the kitchen things become a bit of a blur. Volt sits you at the table and hangs back, giving the kitchen crew space to do their thing. You blink the haze out of your eyes and suddenly there's a glass of water and a serving of whatever your go to hypo food is in front of you. Along with a dozen or so expectant faces.

Once you've eaten, prepare for some royal treatment. It's not every day you slip like this, and the dateables are not about to let this opportunity to coddle and care for you pass them by.

Farya is going to be glued to your side for a while, periodically checking your blood sugar levels until they've been regulated with a concerning degree of excitement. She'll probably ask a few invasive questions about the experience, but will back off if you ask. Maybe humor her just a little bit: it would make her day, and you know the attention comes from a place of love.

Hector will do whatever he can to help regulate your body temperature while you recover. He hates seeing you in this weakened state so anything he can do he will.

If you're overheating, Freddy has a cold compress on hand, although simply hugging him does the trick just fine.

If you're cold and trembling, Mateo and Dante will work together to make you warm again.

Daisuke will gently massage your hands to ease the tingling in your fingertips. Pressing sweet kisses to each one and asking if you can feel them. Say no (a little white lie never hurt anybody).

Stella will lend an arm as you climb the stairs in case you get lightheaded or stumble.

She passes you over to Dorian once you reach the top. They both know you're perfectly capable of walking on your own, but they insist on helping. What's the point of having a house full of lovers and friends if they can't dote on you every once in a while.

Dorian guides you to your bed, double checking that you're feeling alright before returning to his post and letting Betty take over.

Betty stays by your side, stroking her hand up and down your arm as you close your eyes and wait for the vertigo to pass.

Meanwhile, River, Bathsheba and Winnifred are preparing a lovely bath for you to decompress in.

After which Tyrell will dry you off and accompany you for the four steps it takes to get back to your room. When I said coddle I meant coddle, they aren't taking their eyes off you for a moment.

Timothy creates a strict timetable for your mealtimes, and he is going to make sure you adhere to it. The minute it's time for your evening meal he's there with his arm held out, ready to escort you to the kitchen where Stefan has prepared your favorite.

Yes they are all taking advantage of this situation: it's the perfect excuse to shower you with love. No, they are never going to let things get to this point again, your health is their top priority and they will not let you neglect it, even accidentally.

(Whoo! That was a long one, wasn't it? The ideas just kept coming. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I've had quite a few requests come through recently which is exciting, but it also takes time as I don't like to rush these things. So, please do send your requests, just be mindful that they may take a bit to complete).

[billysgirllol]

“stop tauntin’ me, billy bonney.” they all know she wants to definitely see him in a uniform, she’d lose her mind thinkin’ of him as a police officer. “you’d be real handsome.” she slips, letting that much out. “it sure would.” she gently laughs at his silliness. he’d wear it with honor and dignity, wouldn’t respect no one or abuse his power— but that makes her glad he’s not one because it being such a dangerous job. “if you notice, all the greatest love stories are the most complicated. have you ever realized that?” tilting her head, letting that thought sink in and realizing that must be the explanation to them. “it is, ripe and good,” munching with a sweet smile adorning her face as he comes to touch her face, “you want a bite?” lifting the tomato up to him. “what you want me to sit down for so bad?” it coaxes her to laugh, taking a step back, “but all right, guess i will cause i don’t want you gettin’ hurt in those shoes.” walking herself over to where he goes, she drags the next folding chair next to his and takes a seat. “i’ll take some of that.” if he can make it at least half sweet.

“i do agree.” last night didn’t show his character well, something she’s still in the back of her mind dwelling and angry about. but— at the end of the day, she knows his heart’s in the right place. he’d never be crooked in a field like that. “i agree you’d be a lot better one.” lucy gray replies, smiling adoringly up at the taller brunette. “well, you’re probably right.” saying sweetly, a smirk on her face because he’s definitely right. “i love you too, billy.” saying quietly, softly smiling to herself as the words sink into her heart. she was just about to ask his theory… then happy to hear he goes answering for her, glad he does because it reminds her exactly why she’s mad at him but still loves him. everything he replies is right. “all of that is right, i do know all of that.” confirming with a honey saccharine smile, heart pounding all over again at his hand on her cheek. once he slips away and comes back, eyes following what he’s doing, noticing he looks at her eating a tomato— hoping he doesn’t think she’s too weird for it, before going back to eating another bite. swiping her hands off on her shirt, her eyes fall on his arms first, finding it absolutely handsome the way he looks strong and talented throwing that axe around. paying attention to his muscles flinching but then she sees his shoes and that doesn’t sit right with her, especially when there’s a piece of wood right beside his shoes he could easily twist his ankle on in shoes like that. “well you can’t be throwin’ an axe around with shoes like that on,” she comes to scold, letting him know she’s here before grabbing his hips, “go find some kind else of shoes to put on, billy. you’ll get hurt wearin’ those, that’s like flip flops.”

[insomniac4000]

Will request!! You’re FWB / casual relationship and you’re both like genuinely happy and chill with the arrangement until one night reader goes to his house and they don’t even sleep together and she starts to notice that they’re just… dating.

Or maybe they have like lovely sweet sex instead of hookup / rough sex and she’s like….. wait….

You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This- WillNE

Slight smut MDNI

The first time you and Will slept together you were drunk. It was at one of his friends weddings. Will was actually meant to go with Mia but they broke up a couple of months before so you went instead. You both put it down to too much wine and both of you getting over heartbreak.

But then it happened again, at his birthday a couple of weeks later, alcohol was involved again.

Soon you fell into a rhythm, semi regularly you’d hook up most of the time after you were drunk but sometimes you were sober. You were both happy with the arrangement, neither of you were looking for anything else, why would you when you were both satisfied. Both of you claimed you weren’t in the mood to start dating again but you got to fill any urges with each other, it really was a win/win situation all round.

You and Will had very little shame when it came to it, there wasn’t a place in either his or flat you hadn’t done it. Bed? Of course, sofas? Check Showers? Your favourite place the next morning, bent over the kitchen counter because you couldn’t wait? Absolutely.

When you got the message from Will one day saying “Had a shit day, James drove me mad fancy a Chinese?” you thought you knew what you were in for. You grabbed a couple of beers and a bottle of wine and made your way to his flat, you lived about a ten minute walk away from each other and could probably do it with your eyes closed if you really wanted to.

You got there and buzzed his flat, he let you in straight away not saying a word knowing it was you, when you got out of the lift he was already standing there front door open expecting you with a relieved smile on his face.

“Man are you a sight for sore eyes,” he told you, kissing you cheek and engulfing you in a hug when you were close enough. The gesture took you aback a little, when the pair of you were simply friends hugs like this were common place but since the pair of you started sleeping together physical touch was simply reserved for sex.

“Wow you have had a bad day. Come on lets get this open and order that Chinese,”  you suggested holding up the bag with alcohol.

“Already ordered pet but I could do with a drink.”

“Wait you’ve ordered? What did you get me?” You asked wondering how on earth he had ordered already as he took the bag from you and started to take out the bottles.

“Crispy chilli beef and veg chow mein, you’ve ordered the same thing every time babe,” Will told you with a smile. You smiled back impressed he remembered these things, he was right.

When your food arrived the pair of you settled on the sofa, ate your meal and both of you had a couple of drinks. With the leftovers on the table Will started playing something on Netflix, knowing you had a penchant for serial killer documentaries and mystery’s he chose Unsolved Mysteries. As you watched you shuffled closer to one another. Will’s arm started off behind you on the back of the sofa but it ended up around your shoulders and your head wound up on his chest.

You must have dozed off, the flat was warm, you belly was full, and you were comfortable.

The next thing you know, it’s pitch black. your neck hurts and you’re blinking awake to a dark room and the soft thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek.

You jolt upright. “Shit. I fell asleep.”

“Yeah. It’s alright,” he replied his voice low.

You expect him to say you should probably go, or I’ll call you a cab, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he just says, “You can stay. If you want.”

You thought about it for a little while, it was late and you were too tired to faff about with walking or Ubers so you agree.

You don’t need to be shown where his room is, you shuffle behind him groggily and he gives you an old t-shirt and a toothbrush that looks new. After sorting yourself out in the bathroom you crawl into bed next to him, he places his arm out his bottom lip pouting slightly. You smile and slide into the space. You wait for him to reach for your arse like he always does.

He doesn’t.

He just says, “Night.”

You whisper it back. And that’s it.

You fall asleep in Will Lenney’s bed, and for the first time since this whole mess started, the pair you don’t have sex and somehow, that feels more intimate than anything you’ve done with him before.

You didn’t even have sex the next morning, instead he made you a coffee, was mock offended when you asked for a hot one rather than Rodd’s and you went on your merry way.

Two days later, he texts you: Coffee?

You stare at the message for longer than you should, you and Will did not do coffee. You went to each other’s houses and went for the odd drink before stumbling back to a flat. You wanted to know just what he had meant by that. Just coffee? you type, then delete it. Too obvious. You asking me on a date? No wayyy too obvious. Deciding to keep in casual you ended up just saying sure. You’d ask him what he meant by it later on.

When you arrived Will was there waiting there already, his hair tussled looking gorgeous.

“You’re early,” you say, sitting down.

“I wanted first pick of the pastries.”

“God, you’re romantic,” you joked rolling your eyes.

He pushes his pain au chocolat toward you. “For you, darlin’.” He winked and you swore you felt a shiver down your spine in a good way. You just smiled a response and started eating your pastry.

“So why the impromptu message and meet up?” You asked, picking up your cup, oat flat white of course, he knew.

“I just missed you,” he pouted, actually pouted like a child. You looked at him, really studied him; his icy blue eyes which always gave away his feelings. They sparkled when he was feeling mischievous, they dulled when he was upset. You studied him closer from his jawline which was getting sharper from his fitness journey to the little creases by his eyes which deepened when he laughed. You had to stop yourself from thinking and getting too carried away, why were you now feeling like this?

“You only saw me a couple of days ago. I can’t have that much allure can I?” You probed slightly, too scared to come out with it directly. What if you were wrong? What if you were only seeing things that weren’t there.

“You need to have a higher opinion of yourself,” Will commented, you looked down.

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered.

“I think I’m doing a lot better.” You smiled at Will’s admission, he did have a bit of a low time for a while and he was doing better, you could see that.

“I’m proud of you,” you told him earnestly and you swore he blushed.

When Will come over on Friday night you assumed it would be business as usual, and initially it was. His text came with a winky face, you shared a bottle of wine with your takeaway and when you were full he kissed you full on.

Now Will wasn’t an arsehole, he always made sure you were okay with things but usually it was just a look. This time he looked at you square in the eyes with a dopey smile on his face.

“You okay?” He breathed and you just nodded and kissed him deeply. It has been a while since the pair of you had been together like this and you missed his touch.

Usually the pair of you had sex where you were but this time Will scooped you up bridal style and carried you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed gently and started to kiss you again, you thrust your hips up desperate to feel him, smiled but not his usual mischievous smile but a big genuine one.

“God you’re beautiful,” Will commented as he kissed that sweet spot behind your ear. You froze for a second, you were used to him calling you hot, begging to be inside you but this? This was different.

You carefully studied each movement, he slid off your trousers with ease but gently instead of yanking them down like he always does. When you moaned “I need you” rather than making a cocky comment about how he could feel how wet you were for him he simply stated. “Me too.”

He entered you gently, again he would usually comment about how tight or hot you felt but this time he told you that you felt “good.”

As he found his rhythm you couldn’t help but notice how different his demeanour was. He was softer, more gentle, he whispered things in your ear instead of making crude but hot remarks, he kissed you more. He asked you what you wanted instead of assuming and going for it, he looked at you in the eyes and smiled at you.

When you were finished Will beamed at you and kissed you gently, usually he would make some comment about how good it was, you’d joke around for a bit and one of you would leave but not this time. He looked at you, you stared at him back. Feeling all sorts of different emotions, this was WILL the pair of you didn’t do emotions, so why did you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did that feel different to you?” You asked, still trying to catch your breath back, it was different but no less intense.

“Yeah.”

“You’re different,” you commented as Will rolled off you.

“In what way?” He asked propping up his head with his arm as he lay on his side.

“Please tell me if I’ve got this wrong but… it didn’t just feel like sex,” you blurted out and studied him as he smiled.

“What it was making lurrve,” he teased and you hit him slightly. “Ow domestic abuse!” He cried rubbing his arm.

“WE actually have to be in a relationship for that to be accurate,” you replied desperate to know what his follow up would be.

“I’m game if you are,” he responded his face serious but his eyes, oh those eyes looked so hopeful.

“You’re on.”

He kissed you again.

[lieutenant-lithuania]

hiii i just read the yandere dad who grew up rough post and i love him so much!!! do you have any more of him around here? i want to make a shrine of him (sorry if my english is bad)

AHHHH THANK YOU!! also your English is perfect so dw about it!

I currently don't except for that one drabble but here's more about him, sort of connected but can be viewed as different sections;;

 ⁠~⁠♪✧⁠*⁠。

He's read multiple books about kids, how to raise them, their potential future behaviors and whatever else he could get his hands on. But you were a case that no book is yet to help him with. When you were a baby you cried your little heart out until he came and picked you up. Just when he thought you'd settle he put you back down and there you went crying again. He would groan, lean over your crib and just look at you for a moment. He couldn't for the life of him understand why you kept on crying when put down. He moved your crib from your room to his room, then from his room to the living room, and even in the kitchen. Did you calm? Nope. He was losing sleep and so were you. He scoured his books for an answer just to find none. It was only when one of his friends came over and noticed how exhausted he was that he found out you probably just constantly missed him and wanted him near. Was that answer probably obvious? Yeah, but don't blame him. He never wanted to be around his parents so it never came to mind that you'd like him enough to care that much.

He ended up wrapping you in his hoodie and placing a bottle warmer next to you, and you never cried again. As much as he didn't like it when you cried, it now showed him how you loved him. You wanted him to stay, to be there— so it came to him as a surprise when now as a teen you didn't want him in any of your business.

 ⁠~⁠♪✧⁠*⁠。

When he'd ask about school you'd just reply "it was fine." And nothing more. When he even glanced over your shoulder to peer into your phone you'd cover it up and tell him to back off. He would respect your privacy and do so. But then he looked at online forums of how teens your age tend to go where they're not supposed to and meet people with malicious intent. Oh, now he's terrified. You're hiding something from him, aren't you? You're probably talking with an online friend that's actually an old man, aren't you???

He feels bad, he swears, when he slips your phone from your room at night and looks through your social media and texts. He just wanted to check to see if someone he didn't recognize was on there, but then it delved into something much worse. Even though your phone was clean and innocent, he couldn't help the tightness in his chest and the way his hands clenched your phone. Something in his gut told him you're not safe. Your phone is one of the few places he can't supervise to make sure you don't put your nose where it doesn't belong... Or can he?

You'd hate him if you found out, but he got his friend to break it in and put spyware on your phone. Now, your dad can see everything. He can see what you're doing at any moment. It eases him. He knows how furious you'd get, but if you had your own kin to worry about, he swore you'd understand.

 ⁠~⁠♪✧⁠*⁠。

You got called into a meeting after being accused of hitting your classmate. It wasn't true, and you kept on telling your teacher and the principal that, but she wouldn't listen nor back down. You were frustrated, but honestly more nervous than anything else. Your dad barely goes inside the school, mostly because you tell him to (god forbid he embarrasses you). This time he has to come, and you don't know how he'll act.

"You could face serious repercussions, Y/N." The principal stated, hands intertwined in front of her as she sat at her desk. You were slumped in your chair, you couldn't bear to look up and look at her condescending face. "I didn't do it.."

She only sighed, adjusting something on her table. "We'll see when your father comes in."

As if speaking of the devil, the door opened.

"Ah, you must be Y/N's—"

She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. He was wearing a wife beater with a leather jacket over it, one from his childhood that he got multiple sizes too big by accident. It was riddled in patches and embroidery done over the years. It was basically him if he was a jacket. To put it shortly, he looked like some gangster.

Your dad didn't even introduce himself, he didn't even acknowledge her as he plopped down in the chair next to you. The poor thing gave a pathetic creak as he put his weight down on it, and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. Oh no, he's already mad.

He stared at the principal, and it wasn't until he cleared his throat that she stuttered back into reality.

"Ah, y-you must be Y/N's dad." She spoke, hands clasped together as she awkwardly looked at him. Your dad gave a curt nod and the principal continued after a moment of silence.

"Well, to get to the point, a teacher of Y/N's reported back to me that Y/N might have hit one of their classmates."

Your dad turned to you, one brow raised and then looked back at the woman in front. "The teacher saw it?"

"No, the classmate that was allegedly hit told the teacher."

Your dad sighed, leaned back in his chair as if this was all a waste of time and asked her once more "Did said classmate have a bruise on their face, or wherever on their body?"

The principal thought for a moment "Well, I don't recall—"

"Well then Y/N didn't do it." He scoffed.

You were glad he didn't believe her, but it blew you away with how he was acting. He always told you to be respectful and sensible, the teachers deal with enough as is. Something must have really ticked him off if he didn't even bother to sit straight.

"If there was no bruise and the teacher didn't see it, then there was no hit, and therefore no reason to have this whole meeting." He gestured as he spoke, as if leading the principal through the conversation— holding her hand as if she didn't have the capacity to understand it herself.

Your dad was genuinely acting like an asshole, what is it with him??

"well, we will investigate further, but—"

You flinched when your dad shot up from his chair, and then took your hand and hoisted you up as well.

"If you find something out, send me an email." He muttered, dragging you out of the room. You glanced back at the principal, having the same flabbergasted expression on her face. You didn't speak to him until you were both in the car and buckled up. You might have not uttered a word if it wasn't for him just sitting there, hands on the wheel and staring off into the distance.

"...uh, dad, you okay?" Your fists clenched at your sides nervously and you meekly gazed up at him. For a moment your eyes met, and finally the tension in his shoulders lessened.

"yeah, why?"

You wondered how you should put your next words out correctly. You blew up at the principal, and I'm glad you didn't take her side, but you were overreacting. Nah, you don't want to fuel the hidden rage in his chest. "Uh, you just seemed... Tense in there."

He smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Yeah, sorry, just don't like it when they accuse you of something you clearly didn't do." He ruffled your hair and finally turned on the car to drive off.

Didn't like it? He sugarcoated that word so hard you couldn't taste the seething spice of it underneath. He hated them for even imagining you doing that. They made this whole scene to ruin your reputation and just thought he'd go along with it. No— they just saw you, innocent and pure, and decided you were too defenseless to fight against their allegations. How dare they.

But it's okay, you have him. You won't need to ever worry your Smart little head about it. He'll fight back for you, as long as you're safe.

"How about enrolling into online school?"

"Huh????"

 ⁠~⁠♪✧⁠*⁠。

A//N: hope you enjoyed these! Feel free to request if you want anything specific! :))) also if u don't like the small font format I can also change it just in case it's too difficult to read

[insanelyadd]

What if I fucking exploded.

One day I'm going to have the most public and violent crash out this world has ever seen over people who call themselves theorists and analysts and still earnestly (or at least publicly) believe that the mysteryman sprite is not Gaster or that goners (like goner kid) have no relation to Gaster or even those that say we can't be certain he's a skeleton.

Fuck it that day IS TODAY.

"He's not a skeleton"

I am going to bite my own fingers off so as not to be as condescending as my most angry inner self desires but. The only two other characters in this entire game with font names are skeletons. Those two characters are inspired by the comic "Helvetica" which is ABOUT A SKELETON. NAMED HELVETICA.

You're right, Gaster happens to speak wingdings but is Not named Wingdings Gaster, since nobody actually fucking calls him wingdings, unlike the other two font-named font-speakers, his real name is William Derek Gaster and he's a 60 lb wheel of parmesan cheese wearing a lab coat. Of course, it is so simple, how were we so blind before.

"He's not linked to Goners"

People say this because for some reason they want Gaster to not have been erased/forgotten, as Goner Kid implies in their dialog but like. Let's think about this logically, starting from UT only evidence and then building into DR evidence for why THIS IS FALSE.

Literally why the fuck would the only grey fun event character that existed on launch that's not explicitly labeled a "Gaster Follower" not be Gaster related at all? "But why is the sprite labeled differently! They must not be related!" bro if you walked into my fucking house and my clothes didn't all have my name on them despite the fact that I am the only motherfucker who lives here WOULD YOU ASSUME THEY BELONG TO SOMEONE ELSE?

UT Pre-DR release update: Goner Clam

Deltarune is super Gaster related and if you argue against this then I will put a plague upon your home. Gaster announced the release, the Deltarune Website in 2016 had a black image with barely visible WINGDINGS that said "THREE HEROES APPEARED AT WORLD'S EDGE", the opening, WE WILL GET TO THE OPENING. But, Clamgirl, the only fun event that previously was not even tangentially related to Gaster and seemed relatively normal, was updated (in the Switch release I believe) to tell us that "The time you will meet [Suzy]." (turns into a goner in front of our very eyes) "Is fast approaching" which foreshadowed the release of the very first DR demo, the "SURVEY_PROGRAM"

Deltarune opening sequence: IT'S LITERALLY NARRATED BY HIM AND EVERYTHING IS LABELED "GONER MAKER"

Arguing that Goners are completely unrelated to Gaster at this point does not seem enlightened, it does not even seem reasonable, it makes you sound like a fucking contrarian who doesn't actually care about evidence, you just want to throw out a hot take that goes against "fanon" (which, like, you all fucking know I HATE fanon, but COME ON, EVEN A BROKEN CLOCK, MAN)

People seem to only want this connection to not exist because they don't want him to be forgotten when:

Gaster is literally a functional piece of meta-commentary on cut content, he IS FUNCTIONALLY FORGOTTEN IN EVERY WAY THAT MATTERS

Literally what fucking contradicts this

"MysteryMan isn't Gaster! It's not even labeled Gaster!"

Get a load of this sterling, brilliant observation. You're right. The mysteryman sprite is not labeled Gaster. BECAUSE THAT'S THE FUCKING MYSTERY!!!!!! Literally are there any other men who are mysteries and associated with sixes since that's the fun event number the sprite shows up at IN THIS WHOLE GOD-FORSAKEN GAME? Additionally:

Gaster is important in Deltarune

There are continued references to the appearance of the MysteryMan sprite in DR such as:

The poem hidden in the code of the first chapter

Is that a cut on your face or part of your eye? The gash weaves down as if you cry The pain itself is reason why*

(*this part is the corrupted Latin Lorem Ipsum when roughly translated, the only other place lorem ipsum appears in these games, IIRC, is the MemoryHead amalgamate fight, the amalgamates that we never learn the origin of and that look like melted, fused together Gaster Blasters)

Knight has holes in their hands LIKE HOW BASICALLY EVERYONE INTERPRETED THE MYSTERYMAN SPRITE

So hey if the mysteryman sprite is not Gaster, but Gaster is important to DR in some way, then what does it mean that the mysteryman sprite seems to be too

What if I fucking exploded. What if I lost my fucking mind.

If your only defense to any of this is "It's not spoon fed to me via sprite file names that any of this is true" THEN YOU ARE NOT ANALYZING OR THEORIZING, YOU ARE TURNING YOUR BRAIN OFF WHEN THE NAME GASTER IS UTTERED

WERE YOU EXPECTING TOBY FOX TO PRESENT THE MYSTERY OF GASTER TO US ONLY FOR HIM TO NAME THE MYSTERYMAN SPRITE "WingDings Gaster The Skeleton Who Was Forgotten" LIKE BE FOR REAL

[fatkish]

The Avengers and Their Kids

—————————————————————————

*Thor is playing hide and seek with his three year old twins*

Thor: 28…..29…..30! Here I come. Now where did (twin 1) and (twin 2) go *begins to walk through the house*

Thor: where could they be hiding? *walks right past one child who’s legs are sticking out from under the area rug in the living room*

Thor: *sees the kids legs* I wonder where (twin 1) is?

Twin 1: *giggles and kicks their legs*

Thor: my children are just too good at this game. *sees the other kid standing behind a glass door watching him*

*later*

Thor: I still do not understand why I must pretend like I don’t see them when they clearly are not hidden

Y/n: it’s because they’re children and they don’t understand how hiding works

Thor: your midgardian rules make no sense

—————————————————————————

*Narasha and Y/n are on a mission and asked Peter to babysit their 7 year old son while they’re away*

*Peter is working on his college homework and takes his eyes off the boy for five minutes while the kid is supposed to be getting ready for bed*

Peter: *his Peter tingle goes off* uh oh, not good

Peter: *rushes into the bathroom to find the boy has shaved a strip all the way down the middle of his head*

Peter: *immediately grabs the razor and webs it to the ceiling* oh god. Nat’s gonna kill me.

—————————————————————————

Loki: *has his arms crossed and looking down at his 11 year old daughter* I don’t know whether I should be upset or proud

Y/n: *exasperated* what do you mean proud? Our daughter turned the neighbor’s kid into a frog

Loki: yes and it’s rather hilarious

Y/n: not for the parents, now turn the child back to normal

11 year old daughter: but mom/dad

Y/n: no, turn them back

Loki: aw, it’s not that bad

Y/n: *getting angry* turn them back or I’m telling grandma Frigga

Loki and his daughter: Alright! We will!

Loki: please don’t tell my mother.

—————————————————————————

Steve: *has his infant son strapped to his chest while running with Sam and Bucky*

Sam: why are you always carrying your kid?

Bucky: cause the kid cries if you sit down or put him down

Sam: no… Really?

Steve: yup

Sam: nah, you’re joking

Steve: *sighs and walks over to a bench and sits down*

The baby: *immediately starts crying the moment Steve sat down*

Steve: *stands up*

Baby: *stops crying*

Steve: see

Steve: *continues jogging while his son giggles*

—————————————————————————

*y/n was on a mission and left Bruce to look after their 4 year old daughter*

Jarvis: Sir, you are receiving a call from Big green, would you like to answer it!

Tony: uh sure… what’s up Brucie?

Bruce: *who’s on the other line* I need your help

Tony: what can I do for you

Bruce: just come to the location I sent you and don’t tell anyone, especially y/n

Tony: okay?

Bruce: and bring your Ironman suit but be discreet

Tony: should I be worried?

Bruce: *hangs up*

Tony: alright fine.

*30 minutes later at the location*

Tony: you called me for this?

Bruce: y/n is gonna kill me

Bruce’s 4 year old: Hi papa. Hi Unkie *waves at them smiling while clutching a teddy bear from inside of a claw machine*

Bruce: I took my eyes off of her for a second and somehow she crawled inside of the machine and I don’t want to hulk out

Tony: *sighs* alright, I’ll get her out

—————————————————————————

*Sam and Bucky decided to go fishing and brought Bucky’s 4 year old son with them*

Sam: *while Bucky is getting his son’s fishing rod ready his son picks up one of the bait fish* you got a fish there little man?

The 4 year old: *giggles while holding the fish*

Bucky: can I see the fish buddy?

4 year old: *proceeds to bite the fish’s head off*

Bucky and Sam: *panicking* no no no no no *Bucky takes the headless fish out of his son’s hands and the kid spits the head out and starts crying*

Sam: aw, it’s okay little man.

—————————————————————————

*after Peter and y/n got married and had kids*

Y/n: *late at night while laying in bed with peter* honey, your powers aren’t hereditary right?

Peter: no, why?

Y/n: you don’t think our kids will inherit them do you?

Peter: uh… I don’t think so, why? *turns to look at y/n*

Y/n: *looking up at the ceiling* so that’s probably not our 8 month old on the ceiling, right?

Peter: *looks up at the ceiling to see his 8 month old baby sticking to the ceiling smiling down at them* I’ll make sure to baby proof the ceiling tomorrow.

—————————————————————————

*y/n decided to take Loki and their 5 year old son to the local amusement park*

*as the three of them are walking through the park, loki sees the mirror maze sign*

Loki: what is that? *points at mirror maze*

Y/n: oh a mirror maze! Come on, this will be fun *drags Loki and their son into the mirror maze*

Y/n: *is expertly walking ahead of Loki and their son*

Loki: *is getting frustrated by continuously bumping into the glass walls* this is very aggravating! Why would mortals enjoy this?

Loki: *watches his son run right into the glass and fall down* this must be some kind of torture aimed at children. How despicable

Y/n: *has already made it through and is simply covering their mouth whilst giggling watching Loki and their son attempt to navigate the maze* you guys are doing great!

Loki: *grabs his son and teleports out of the maze next to y/n* never again are we doing that. And you are in for it tonight when we get home *glares playfully at y/n*

—————————————————————————

*Steve is outside his house raking leaves with his 4 year old daughter*

Steve: *rakes leaves into a pile to put in a bag*

4 year old: *takes leaves out of one of the bags and adds it to Steve’s pile*

Steve: *sees the pile is bigger* what?

4 year old: *brings over more leaves from the bag*

Steve: aw, you helping daddy, thanks doll

4 year old: *giggles and runs over to the bag for more leaves while Steve watches*

Steve: *shoulders slump as he chuckles and shakes his head* I should’ve known

—————————————————————————

*Bruce and Y/n are glaring at Tony while returning a children’s car Tony bought for their kids*

Tony: I still don’t see what’s so wrong with buying your kids a kiddie car

Bruce: Tony, our oldest just ran over her little brother with this car

Y/n: I specifically said we didn’t want our kids to have one of these until they were older and more responsible

Tony: they’re old enough, the store clerk said so

Bruce: Tony, our kids are 3 and 5 years old. They can’t even take a bath without adult supervision in case they accidentally drown.

Tony: okay okay, I’ll take it back

Bruce: thank you

Tony: what about the swords Thor gave your daughter?

Bruce: *turning green* he did what!?

Tony: uh oh

—————————————————————————

*Steve, his 6 year old, and their dog return from their morning run*

Steve: *opens the front door to reveal their large dog’s legs covered in mud and their 6 year old has mud covering their entire front*

6 year old: *grumpily trudges towards the bathroom grumbling to themselves*

The dog: *is wagging their tail*

Y/n: what the sassafras happened?

Steve: *smiles awkwardly* remember how you said the dog might be too big for our son to walk alone?

Y/n: *raises an eyebrow* yes

Steve: *rubs the back of his neck* you were right. (Son’s name) wanted to walk the dog when we got to the park so I gave him the leash, then Max (the dog) saw a squirrel and dragged our son through the mud

Y/n: *facepalms*

—————————————————————————

*Tony’s 4 year old son is bringing him coffee in a mug*

Tony: hey buddy, is that for me?

Toddler: *spills a few drops of coffee*

Tony: oops, you spilled a little

Toddler: *looks down at the spill causing him to tip the mug and spill more coffee*

Tony: don’t look down at it

Toddler: *proceeds to drop the mug thus spilling coffee everywhere as he backs up*

Tony: did you panic?

—————————————————————————

[crazykinkiwi]

Angel | Crazy Oneshots

Pairing: Abby Saja × Fem!Reader

Genre: Dark romance, supernatural thriller, psychological horror, yandere elements

You were born with light in your bones. It pulsed beneath your skin like a quiet song—warm, gentle, constant. You were a guardian angel, a being created to guide, to shield, to watch from above. But your heart… it didn’t just guide. It ached.

Every cry, every punishment, every judgment passed on Earth reached you. You weren’t supposed to interfere—not unless Heaven commanded—but how could you not feel? When a child stole bread to feed their siblings and was cast aside by fate… you wept. When a lonely man screamed at the sky, begging for a second chance… you listened. You loved, even when the heavens told you not to.

“Mercy must be measured,” your superior once warned you, wings fanned wide in silent judgment. “Compassion without wisdom is ruin.”

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to.

You watched criminals fall and felt pain for them. You saw liars break down and thought they deserved forgiveness. You even prayed for the cruel ones. To the angels above, it was weakness. To you, it was faith.

Then… came the moment you made your greatest mistake. You didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

You questioned the universe.

“I don’t understand,” you had whispered, eyes wet with quiet fury as you gazed down at a battlefield littered with broken souls. “Why must they suffer? Why are they punished for pain they didn’t choose?”

A silence fell across the heavens like ice cracking.

And then the voice of God—not gentle, not cruel, simply final—echoed through your bones.

"If you question my will, then live among them."

There was no time to plead. No moment to ask for forgiveness.

One blink.

Your wings flared, and then burned into nothing but ash.

And you fell.

—

Your eyes flutter open to blinding light.

You’re lying on something soft—not clouds, not the gentle warmth of Heaven, but coarse fabric and the faint scent of detergent. Your fingers grip the sheets, and you sit up, heart pounding.

Your gown of white silk is gone. The glowing ring above your head—gone. Even the weight of your wings, that constant comforting stretch behind your shoulders… gone.

You’re in strange clothes now—black slacks, a crisp white shirt tucked in neatly, a badge clipped to your chest. Your bare shoulders feel too exposed without feathers brushing against them.

“What… is this place?” you whisper, scanning the cramped, unfamiliar room.

A sudden, sharp sound pierces the air.

You jump. The noise repeats—a chiming, melodic tune coming from a small, rectangular object vibrating violently on the table beside you.

You frown, hesitating before reaching out. “Is this… what they call a… mobile?”

The moment you pick it up, a loud male voice bursts from the device, so sudden you nearly drop it.

“Where the hell are you?!” the voice barks. “Do you know you’re late for work?”

You blink, lips parting. “I—late for…?”

“No excuses! Get down here now! We have a schedule!”

There’s a sharp click as the line goes dead.

You stare at the device for a beat longer before swallowing hard and nodding—though no one can see you. “Right… yes. Work.”

Moments later, you’re hurrying through unfamiliar streets, following a glowing arrow on another screen the mobile device provides. The city feels suffocating compared to the skies you once knew, the hum of traffic and chatter pressing against your ears.

The location leads you to a towering glass building. A man in a dark suit stands outside, arms crossed, glaring at you the moment you approach.

“You!” he snaps, marching toward you. “Do you have any idea how late you are?!”

You freeze, hands up slightly. “I—uh—”

“No. Don’t ‘uh’ me. Go check on him. He has shoots today.”

You tilt your head. Thinking, “He… who?”

The man’s nostrils flare. “Don’t stand there staring at my face! Move!”

You flinch and bow quickly. “Ah—yes! Yes, right away!”

Inside, the building smells faintly of cologne and coffee. Your shoes click against the marble floor as you weave through hallways until you find a door with a golden nameplate. You knock lightly before stepping in.

The room is dim except for sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds. A figure reclines on a sleek black couch, long legs stretched out, a glossy magazine covering his face. He doesn’t stir as you step closer.

You clear your throat softly. “Sir…?”

The magazine shifts, and a head of soft pink hair appears, tousled in an effortlessly styled way. He lowers the cover enough for you to meet his eyes—sharp, assessing, lingering just a second too long as they trail from your face down to your shoes and back again.

A smirk curves his lips.

“Good morning… manager,” he drawls, voice deep, laced with lazy amusement.

Something in your chest tightens. Manager?

But you find yourself nodding quickly, as if you’ve always been. “Your schedule today includes—”

He waves a hand, cutting you off. “I’m not in the mood for that.”

Your brows knit. “Pardon?”

He leans forward just slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes still locked on you with a glint that feels far too unreadable.

“Why don’t you… cheer me up instead?” he says, tone teasing, but there’s an edge to it.

You blink at him, unsure if you heard correctly.

He watches you for a moment longer before a short laugh slips past his lips��low and almost too casual, as though he’s already amused by something you haven’t realized yet.

Then, without warning, he pushes himself up from the couch.

The movement is fluid, almost predatory, and suddenly he’s close—too close—his height casting a faint shadow over you. The air feels warmer, denser, and you instinctively take a small step back… only to find there’s nowhere else to go.

“Oh, well…” he murmurs, his smirk lingering as his eyes skim over you again. “I’d like it if you called my name.”

He pauses there, his gaze locking onto yours, holding it in place like a hook sinking into water.

“Say it,” he orders softly—no smile now, just the faint curl of challenge at the edges of his mouth.

The words tumble out before you can think, like they’ve been resting on your tongue all along. “Abby.”

You freeze. Abby. The name means nothing to you—yet somehow it feels… right. Like you’ve spoken it a thousand times in dreams you can’t remember.

His grin returns, sharper now. “Good girl.”

Without another word, he turns, the faint scent of his cologne brushing past you as he strides toward the door.

“Let’s go,” he calls over his shoulder, his tone suddenly brisk. “We’re getting late, no?”

The reminder jolts you from your thoughts. “R-Right,” you murmur, snapping into motion.

The studio is already tense when you arrive. The man who called you earlier—your supposed boss—stands near the set with his arms crossed, a frown carved deep into his face.

“Abby!” he snaps the moment you both step in. “You’re late again! Do you think the crew’s time is free?!”

Abby doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his smirk deepens, as though the scolding is nothing more than background noise to him.

You, however, instinctively step forward, placing yourself slightly in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, bowing your head. “It’s my fault. I should have made sure we left earlier.”

The boss’s glare swivels to you. “You’re his manager—then manage him.”

Abby tilts his head, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Oh, c’mon now… don’t scold her too much.” His tone is playful, almost lazy, as if this is all part of some private joke only he’s in on.

The boss clicks his tongue. “Then behave yourself and get to the set.”

Abby rolls his eyes, clearly unbothered. You turn to him and—without really thinking—reach up to brush a stray lock of pink hair from his forehead, smoothing it neatly into place.

He freezes for a half-second, then grins down at you. “Ah… how cute.”

Your cheeks warm, but before you can react, he’s already strolling to the set. The crew moves quickly—lights adjusted, cameras rolling, a sharp “Action!” cutting through the air.

From the sidelines, you watch closely, determined to keep him in line this time. You murmur small reminders between takes, “Please, Abby… if you keep making trouble, it’ll hurt both of us.”

But no matter how many times you try, he only seems to test the limits further—flubbing lines on purpose, tossing cheeky comments at the director, deliberately missing his marks.

And every time, the boss’s irritation turns toward you.

“I told you to handle him!”

“Why aren’t you keeping him focused?”

“Do your job!”

You bow your head each time, accepting the sharp words without complaint. You can’t stand seeing anyone punished—not even someone as difficult as him.

And through it all, Abby lounges off to the side between takes, watching. There’s a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite name—something between amusement and fascination—like he’s enjoying every second of watching you take the blows meant for him.

—

By the time the celebration rolls around, your entire body feels heavy with exhaustion. Days—weeks—of taking scoldings that weren’t yours, cleaning up Abby’s messes, and running yourself ragged have finally caught up to you. But at least… at least the album dropped without a hitch. That, in itself, feels like a miracle.

So when someone shoves a shot glass into your hand, you don’t refuse. One becomes two. Two becomes… well, you lose count. The room grows warmer, the edges of the world softer, the air filled with music and laughter.

You slump into a chair at the far end of the lounge, nursing yet another drink, the alcohol loosening your tongue into a stream of half-formed sentences. You’re mid-way through a ramble about how clouds should be edible when the door creaks open.

Two figures step in.

Jinu—sharp-eyed, the quiet one—and Romance, whose very smile feels like it was designed to fluster people.

Romance’s lips curl into that knowing smirk the moment his gaze sweeps over you. “Oh my,” he drawls, strolling closer, “never thought I’d see you in person… especially like this.” His eyes glitter with mischief, flicking to the half-empty bottles on the table.

Jinu, ever the more grounded one, tilts his head. “Are you alright? That’s… a lot of shots for someone your size.”

You nod enthusiastically, grin stretching wide. “M’fine! More than fine! I’m—” you hiccup, giggling— “great. You guys… have really soft hair, has anyone told you that? Like… clouds. Fluffy clouds. Oh, wait, I already said that, didn’t I?”

The two exchange a glance over your head—something unreadable passing between them—before Jinu leans slightly closer.

“So you really don’t remember?” he asks.

Your drunken smile falters just enough to frown in confusion. “Huh? Remember what?”

Silence.

Romance takes a slow step forward, then another, until he’s looming over you—his shadow spilling across the table. His voice drops to a low, velvety murmur right next to your ear. “Guess it’s fated then…” A pause. His lips almost brush your temple as he finishes, “Be my manager instead… Y/n.”

Before your muddled brain can piece the words together, the air shifts.

Romance is yanked back, hard—his collar fisted in a hand you’d know anywhere.

Abby.

The warmth in the room feels like it shatters as he hisses something right into Romance’s face—sharp, dangerous words you can’t quite make out through the fog in your head.

Then, without a word to you, he turns.

And you yelp as the world flips—his arm hooking behind your knees, the other steady at your back, before he shifts you higher and throws you over his broad shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Wha���hey—!” You kick weakly, more startled than anything, your voice muffled against his jacket.

But Abby doesn’t stop. Doesn’t explain. He just strides out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him, his grip firm and possessive as if daring anyone to try and take you back.

The door slams behind you before you can even register the change in scenery. Abby doesn’t bother to set you down gently—he tosses you onto the deep black leather couch like you’re something weightless, something his.

You barely have time to push yourself up before his shadow falls over you. He leans down, close enough that you can see the glint of something feral in his eyes, his voice low and deliberate.

“Smiling like a fool,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, “in front of someone who just wants your soul…” His lips curl, a mockery of a smile. “Aren’t you just too daring, my little manager?”

Your mouth opens, but the alcohol makes your tongue heavy. The words won’t come out right, and you can’t decide if you want to defend yourself or demand an explanation.

Abby doesn’t wait. His tone drops, silk over steel. “If you’re really that desperate… you can give it to me.” His gaze drags over you in a way that feels less like looking and more like claiming. “I’d love to suck the soul out of you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you shift, trying to put space between you. “I… I don’t understand,” you manage to murmur, voice barely audible.

His hand shoots up, fingers gripping your jaw with sudden force. The warmth is gone from his expression—what replaces it is sharp, dangerous. “Drop the fucking act,” he hisses, the sound like a blade against your skin. Then, slower, almost amused, “Oh well… I can help you remember everything.”

Your pulse kicks, panic sparking in your chest, but before you can move, his other hand slides against your back, palm trailing down until it rests just above the center—where your wings once were. His touch there is almost gentle, almost reverent, but his next words freeze you solid.

“It would have been more fun if it was me… breaking your wings.”

The world tilts. You stare up at him, heart pounding, mind blanking. The pressure of his hand is suddenly unbearable, and you push at his chest, trying to wriggle away. “I don’t really understand what you’re saying… please, move—”

He doesn’t. His grip on your jaw tightens just enough to still you, his voice low, almost coaxing. “Y/n… you’re just a broken angel. Who’d want you?” His smirk returns, cruel and sure. “Except me?”

Then, without warning, pain blooms sharp and raw where his hand presses. It’s not a cut—it’s deeper, wrong, like something is being clawed from beneath your skin. Warmth spreads—no, wetness. Blood.

You gasp, a strangled sound that turns into a cry. Tears sting your eyes, spilling before you can stop them, your body twisting instinctively, but his hold pins you exactly where he wants you.

When you look back at him through the blur of tears, his grin has widened. And then you see them—his teeth, sharper than they should be, catching the low light. His eyes aren’t human anymore—they glow faintly, unnaturally, like embers in the dark.

“Well…” his tone is almost playful, though the edge beneath it is lethal, “it’d be no fun to suck your soul right away. Maybe first—”

He stops mid-sentence, his gaze drinking in your face—the fear, the betrayal.

“You… you lied…” your voice breaks, shaking with disbelief. “You… no… why—”

You don’t get to finish.

His mouth crushes against yours, the kiss nothing like affection—it’s a claim, a seal, his laugh breaking against your lips as he pulls back. It’s unhinged, too loud in the stillness of the room.

“You think we monsters only live in hell?”

The words sink into you like ice, and you finally understand—Abby was never the one you thought you were protecting...

Masterlist

[thisisnotthenerd]

what do you think of all the lore of zood in the first half of cloudward, ho! so far? there's so much to dissect

i think it's been fun! answering this did make me want to compile what we know so far about zood.

the mythic land of zood lore

gath

in gath, zood is the mystical 28th continent.

it's associated with mysterious disappearances by way of the effulgent biangle, a legendary beam of light that unpredictably appears, taking cities, people, battalions, animals, and lots of other stuff with it

these include the legio rex of the tressian empire, goldbeard, etc.

it serves as an explanation for sailors lost at sea and wind riders lost at air, and other unnatural phenomenon

the effulgent biangle appears to be the only way to reliably travel to zood save for whatever means the eyeless hand have

at comfrey macleod's south pole research station, there appears to be a remnant of an ancient castle, with an artifact connected to the energies of zood and zern (the sliding tablet)

zood

zood is a tube that is braided with zern. zood has several types of native energy, but its primary energies are solar and lunar light. zood likely operates on an altered timescale, given that the people they have met from gath have all been aging slower, and things that happened thousands of years ago in gath are treated as more recent phenomena in zood.

flora & fauna

zood is home to many fantastical creatures, including

nocturnal zebras

parasitic ticks

moving moss

flying turtles

feathered bipedal lizards

explosive sugar gliders

carnivorous giraffes

herbivorous panthers

baboon

cricket?

dinosaurs, including pterosaurs, brachiosaurs, velociraptors, and tyrannosaurs

myconimus magnamensa, which switches the bodies of living beings that have come into contact with it

locations

tabira city, a city of wanderers in the desert that wanders just as much as its inhabitants

oda

zumhara (crystal people)

lost cities of hawk and luin

a sea of asteroids in close orbit, which occasionally come to surface and also play host to many pirates and the house of fehujar

temple of ramansu - a power station that channels multiple types of energy & potentially cultivated myconimus magnamensa, remnant of the illangan empire, the prophecy refers to people paying for their power bills as it was collected and stored onsite. comfrey macleod performed some research here

the ramansu 'prophecy' goes as follows:

the power of ramansu is not given freely all must pay the price when the moon is full the bill comes due for all who wield the light

ectic research station - research station in the ocean, where comfrey was doing research and investigating threats to zood. comfrey rushed there after hearing about damage to a submersible known as the langosta five

flying temple of katur - temple created near the end of a period of war between zood and zern when zumhara was nearly destroyed by straka, which supposedly halted the attacks. originally flying, likely now sunk in the ocean, and ectic research station is near it

pirate hideout among the islands, which is home to many many clockwork beings and also lots and lots of fun trinkets, weapons, and junk from all over zood. sort of zood's scrapsylvania.

groups

the house of fehujar: viking raiders turned bankers who take their viking long blimps and offer bank accounts at their establishment and raid those who refuse them. they worked with comfrey for some time and financed her work, before chasing her down after her research did not turn up results for them

legio rex: a battalion of tressian soldiers and their imperator who underwent the 'zood switcheroo' and ate their old bodies. they switch their leader into the body of a new t-rex every time the t-rex gets to old for him to live in it. desperately want thumbs

the eyeless hand: assassins / cultists with some means of teleportation, who seek to awaken a nameless god with some connection to zern. supposedly, van chapman is the last piece of their puzzle, as she is likely connected to something that opposes them.

phenomena

calendar and seasons:

there are 4 months in zood:

amravi, which corresponds to fall and leads into

nuha, which corresponds to summer and leads into

tahal, which corresponds to winter and leads into

currently unnamed spring month which leads back into amravi

directions:

4 cardinal directions: nox, nef, vim, vex

nox and nef are like east and west; relative and infinite as one goes around the globe/tube

vim and vex are absolute points, with vex being closest to zern and vim being furthest from zern.

biangles:

effulgent biangle produces light, serves as a point of connection between gath and zood where beings and objects can cross over. zood is associated with this light

calefactory biangle produces heat, likely serves as a point of connection from zern to gath and zood, possibly where straka emerges from.

obtenebrant biangle relates to reflections, though the name is more closely related to shadow. very likely the entrance to the dimension that hosts the entities that van is connected to, as well as what the eyeless hand utilizes to teleport.

zern

associated with the dark, fiery, mechanical energy that matches with straka, the corvus exitium, the mechanical crow made of trash who takes vengeance

home to automata and naughtomata of various tribes

was at war with zood for some time

a queen who subjugates the naughtomata such that they do not have moral qualms with conquering zood in turn

possibly related to ludmila, marya's protege

in correspondence with the eyeless hand regarding the destruction of zoodian artifacts and 'dimming the beacons'

aganti zernai are the tribe of automata from which torse originates

water world?

the chapman family made a deal with an entity from this dimension, which involves them being a) the best sailors on the sea and b) dying young. something like a warlock pact.

may be another plane, may be solely related to the depths of the ocean. my guess would be a plane that connects the depths of each plane.

connected to the eyeful hand which was found at ramansu power station. this hand is very responsive to van's energies and may or may not be the hand that she lost a decade ago.

full of tentacle entities, which van can summon upon great damage to herself.

let me know if there's anything i've missed!

[lollygaggingloser]

Hugo has always had a difficult relationship with physical touch. It's so invasive to him. The few times he was forced to engage in close proximity to another being, it was through fights, punishment, or simply being pushed around. He didn't grow up knowing that physical contact could be nurturing. Any experience of being hugged, supported, or comforted by touch was forgotten by him at an early age.

He got used to being shoved, pulled around, and hit. Living life as a criminal makes this type interaction commonplace.

The few moments Hugo experienced touch outside of extreme violence unnerved him. When he failed a mission, Donella placed a hand on his shoulder. She told him she would give him another chance and that she knew he wouldn't disappoint her next time. The sensation of her fingers squeezing him was not comforting, and her words were laced with barely veiled malice that her statement came off more as a threat.

Cohorts in Donella's gang would smack his back, roughly mess up his hair, or pat him on the cheek when he did a "job well done", but it was done in a condescending manner, like he was a dog instead of a person.

The worst was when people touched him for their own satisfaction. The early missions where he was sent to collect intel and had him feigning interest in people, pretending to be in the palm of their hands, were barely tolerable. Strangers would brush their fingers against his, push their body against him, and sweetly caress his arm or thigh. All the while, Hugo could do nothing but put on a fake smile, play along, and get them to continue talking until he had the information he needed to leave. The sensation of their touch was not violent or painful, but it made his blood run cold. If it were up to him, he'd rather be punched than fondled.

So when it comes to interacting with people on his terms, he avoids physical touch as much as possible. If he must engage in it, he's the one in charge and to initiate touch, even if he hates it. He's the one who will pull and push people along, who will start a fight, and who will break others personal bubbles to fake flirt. At least this way, he's in control.

Then he meets Varian, Yong, and Nuru. Varian is the first to pick up that Hugo doesn't like to be touched. The few times he pokes at Hugo's arm or shoulder to get his attention are met with surprised twitches and glares. In response, Varian refrains from prodding Hugo and gives him space. Varian actually prefers this as he finds Hugo nearly intolerable at the start of their journey.

Yong is a different story. Full of energy and eager to be close with his teammates, he accidently tests Hugo's patience by popping up too close to him, bumping into him, and pulling him along. Hugo goes so far as to shove Yong away when he's too close, but that doesn't deter him. In fact, Yong ends up doing something that starts a change in Hugo.

After a successful completion of the water trial, Yong excitedly holds up his fist up to Varian.

"Pound it!" the firecracker exclaims and Varian chuckles before bumping his fist against Yong's. Yong then looks at Hugo and holds his fist up to him. Hugo hesitates for a second but mimics Varian's motion. Yong cheers when Hugo fist bumps him and, for once, Hugo doesn't mind the brief contact.

When Nuru joins the group, Hugo is glad to discover she's not touchy touchy what so ever. Growing up as a princess, a role where you are stuck constantly in contact with people (shaking hands, entertaining, and being fussed over), Nuru is glad to have a reprieve from the overstimulation of it all. But unlike Hugo, she doesn't react negatively to regular touch. She's fine with Yong being close to her and is always down to offer a hug to the kid or Varian. An action Hugo would never see himself being willing to offer.

Instead, Hugo sticks with the little interactions Yong provides (fist bumps and high fives). Occasionally, he'll take part in a group cheer when Yong has them all put their hands together for morale. The turning point comes when Hugo and Yong try out an experiment to create a mechanical moving contraption that causes distractions with fireworks and noise.

When the two succeed in getting the contraption to go off without bursting into flames, Hugo is so elated that he turns to Yong and holds up his hand for a high five. For the first time, he initiates the form of physical contact with the purpose of wanting it. Yong happily smacks his hand against Hugo's and the joy of it makes him smile.

But while strides are made with Yong, physical contact with Varian and Nuru doesn't progress. There's an afternoon when Hugo is struggling to lift some supplies onto the wagon and Varian offers his help.

"Here, let me-" Varian starts, rushing over to aid Hugo in carrying a large satchel onto the wagon. Hugo isn't prepared when he feels Varian's hands grab his while trying to hold the bag steady, and he pulls away instantly. The bag, unsupported, falls, causing its contents to spill across the floor.

"Great job, Goggles," Hugo lashes out, kneeling down to collect everything.

"I was only trying to help," Varian protests.

"Well, I don’t need it! Why don't you go make yourself useful somewhere else, okay?!"

In reality, Hugo doesn't mean for his words to come out so sharply, but he can't bring himself to look at Varian or try to mend his response. He's rattled from the accidental touch, but too prideful to take back his shouting. All he can do is focus on putting his items back in the bag, his ears burning with an inkling of shame. Varian sighs and walks away to go help Nuru instead.

That interaction plays over and over in Hugo's mind, and he thinks it's out of guilt, but there's something else he can't pinpoint that unsettled him over it. Late that night, after Varian finishes up some lab work, Hugo joins him in putting away the lab equipment. He keeps his distance from Varian, not wanting a repeat of that afternoon.

"You don't need to help me clean," Varian tells him. "I have this-"

"Just let me help," Hugo softly pleads. It's the closest Varian gets to an apology for the outburst. Once everything is cleaned up Hugo mumbles to him an awkward goodnight and leaves back to his tent.

A few weeks later, Nuru and Hugo are sent out to collect firewood for the campsite. Distracted by mosquitoes, Hugo foot sinks into a hole and he stumbles down a rocky hill. Nuru, seeing him fall, carefully makes her way down to check on him.

"Are you okay?" she asks, standing by. Hugo hisses in pain as he gets up from the floor.

"I'm just fine," he grumbles, but Nuru winces when she sees a pool of blood bloom across his shoulder blade, staining his clothing.

"Yeah, you're not," Nuru argues. "Let's get back to camp to get a better look."

Hugo argues with Nuru on the way back to the campsite, trying to tell her he'll bandage himself up and that he's fine. But as stubborn as he is, he's no match for Nuru when she puts her mind to something. Thankfully, Varian and Yong are still not back from the nearby village where they went to collect more food and supplies, so Hugo only has to deal with one nerd stressing over him.

"Take off your shirt so I can see your wound," Nuru commands him, having him sit down on a nearby log. Hugo reluctantly obeys, but only because Nuru is standing with her arms crossed at a reasonable distance.

"Its just a scratch-"

"It's a deep one."

"I can bandage it-"

"You need stitches, Hugo. I'm getting my medical kit."

"I don't need-"

"Hold still."

And then he feels her hand on his shoulder.

"DON'T!"

Hugo scrambles up and turns to glare at her. He's pissed, but when Nuru looks into his eyes she sees a flash of fear. Nuru stares straight at him, meeting his glare with a calm but stern expression.

"Hugo," she speaks evenly. "We need to stitch you up. You can't bandage this on your own. I know its not ideal, but if you let me, I can patch you up quickly. Or do you prefer Varian and Yong to see you this hurt?"

Hugo hesitates. He doesn't answer Nuru, but he walks back to her and sits back down. Nuru takes out her kit and sets it down next to Hugo where he can see her pull items out of it.

"...I'm going to clean the wound first," she says, taking out a clean cloth and water canteen. Hugo watches as she dampens the cloth before walking behind him and washing off the blood. Hugo doesn't flinch as she cleans up the blood. She then sets the cloth down and picks up some cotton and a bottle of disinfectant from the kit.

"I'm going to disinfectant it," she explains. "This may sting."

As Nuru stitches up Hugo, she informs him step by step what she's doing, taking very short breaks to grab and place things in her medical box. As she does, Hugo expects when he'll feel her hands on him, and it keeps him from flinching.

Nuru is right. She is able to patch him up quicker than expected.

"All done," she announces after a few minutes. Hugo let's out a soft hum as he stands up and grabs a clean shirt from his tent. As Nuru places away her kit, Hugo pauses next to her.

"I...you....," he struggles. "You stitched me up really fast."

Nuru raises an eyebrow, but understands what he means.

"You're welcome, Hugo," she simply says before putting their collected firewood in a neat pile. For the next few days, Hugo let's Nuru check his injury, making sure it heals correctly. If she has to clean or rebandage, she tells him before doing so. The injury leaves Hugo struggling to properly tie his hair up as lifting his arm makes it ache terribly. Nuru offers to tie his hair for him and even wash it, at least until his shoulder heals. Hugo declines at first, but after a day of dealing with loose strands of hair getting in his face, he gives up, and accepts her help.

Nuru is gentle as she gathers his hair and neatly ties it up. Hugo is surprised by how soothing it feels. He's used to people yanking at his locks and would normally tense up, but with Nuru, he can relax. Her patience and care calms him, and he begins to trust her. Even after his shoulder fully heals, he let's Nuru fix his hair whenever she offers. Knowing Hugo secretly enjoys the pampering, Nuru offers to tie it up at least 3 times a week.

Varian catches Nuru tying Hugo's hair, and smiles, happy to see the two getting along. Yet a part of him feels envious. With Yong and Nuru, Hugo is more open to them being physically close to him. But with Varian, he's still apprehensive. He still avoids him.

This doesn't change.

Not for a long time.

Not until the storm.

[petalborn]

soft gator request : him comforting you after you wake up from a nightmare

my soft guyyyyy. i feel like he’s the type to mirror your emotions bc he cares tooooo much

you wake up all at once—like breaking the surface of deep water—gasping, heartbeat hammering, soaked in sweat under the heavy weight of the blanket. it’s too dark, too quiet, too still, and for a second you’re not sure if you’ve really woken up at all. the dream’s still clinging to you, sharp around the edges, your chest aching with it, lungs too tight to breathe properly.

next to you, gator stirs. he doesn’t say anything at first, just rolls toward you on instinct, one arm curling around your waist, pulling you back to his chest like he always does. he must feel the way you’re shaking, the way your breath keeps catching, because after a moment, he murmurs, voice low and hoarse with sleep, “you alright, sugar?”

you try to nod, but it comes out a broken little sound instead—half sob, half apology.

he’s fully awake now. you can feel it in the way his body tenses, how his hand cups the side of your face, tilts you gently toward him in the dark.

“hey, hey. look at me.” his thumb brushes your cheek, wipes away the tears you didn’t even realize were falling. “what happened? what’d you see?”

you swallow hard. it’s stupid. it’s not real. but it feels real, and you know he’ll understand.

“it was the dream again,” you whisper, barely audible. “about roy.”

you feel him still, just for a moment. not pulling away, not flinching—but you can feel the shift in him. the heaviness that settles over his shoulders, the way he draws in a slow, careful breath like he’s trying to keep it from shaking.

“same one?” he asks, his voice gentler now, almost reverent.

you nod, curling in closer to him, your face pressed against his bare chest. “he… he had me. again. he dragged me out of the house. you weren’t there. i was screaming for you, but he—he looked at me like he knew he was gonna get away with it this time. like you weren’t gonna come.”

his arms lock around you tighter. he buries his face in your hair, breath warm against your scalp, jaw clenched so tight you can feel it when he presses a kiss there.

“you know that ain’t ever gonna happen,” he says quietly, like he’s saying it to himself as much as you. “not ever. i’d burn the whole goddamn world down first.”

“but he’s still out there,” you murmur, voice breaking. “and sometimes i—I don’t know, gator. sometimes it still feels like he’s watching. like he’s waiting for you to slip up.”

you feel his breath hitch, just once. “i ain’t gonna slip,” he says. not angry—just steady. firm in a way that makes you believe him. “i got you now. and i ain’t ever lettin’ go.”

his hand strokes slow down your back, fingers splayed warm across your spine. you’re still trembling, but it’s easing now, softening under his touch, under the quiet cadence of his voice.

“you know what happens in that dream?” he murmurs after a long silence. “you call for me. you’re screamin’ for me, scared outta your mind. and i ain’t there.”

you nod again, barely.

“that’s what fucks me up the worst,” he admits. “not him. not what he’s doin’. just the idea of you callin’ my name and me not hearin’ it.”

his voice goes quiet, raw at the edges. like he’s holding back something he’s scared to feel.

“i hear it sometimes, y’know. in my head. when i’m drivin’. when it’s real quiet at night. i hear you screamin’ for me.”

you lift your head, looking at him for the first time since you woke up. his eyes are glassy, jaw tight, throat working around words he doesn’t quite say.

you reach up and brush his hair back, gentle. “but you were there, gator. in real life. you found me.”

he blinks a few times, lashes damp. nods. “yeah. i did.” he cups your cheek, presses a kiss to your forehead, your temple, your jaw. “and i’d do it again. a thousand more times.”

you settle back into his arms, your legs tangled with his, the warmth of his chest easing the last of the fear from your bones.

“can you hold me? tighter?” you whisper.

“always,” he breathes. and he does. pulls you in like he’s trying to mold your body into his, like if he can just get close enough, he can shield you from anything that would ever try to hurt you again.

“you fall asleep first,” he says softly, lips against your hair. “i’ll keep watch.”

and you know he will. because he always does.

[salt-and-sin-and-spn]

Ughhhh i need your lovely filthy minds to assist me here 😭🙏🏻 - can you please, please write this? So it is said that your partner can taste what you ate - so the reader is "training" Dean to eat healthy. Like, she goes on an diet and takes him too, and rewards him every time he's eaten healthy by letting him eat her out? Dean is such a sub, istg, she uses him like her throne haha

No pressure ofc 😭 - your just such good writers can never get enough, ishshkahbwlsi ❤️

⛥ Notes from the confessional #16 ⛥

35 minutes.

That's how long Dean's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, celery stick in hand, waiting for you to come home.

You texted him, but you must have stopped somewhere along the way. No way your drive from the gas station could take that long. He sighs, rolls his eyes, drums the celery against the door frame. And then he finally hears the door clicking.

Dean springs into action immediately. Bites off the top of his veggie stick and walks towards the door. He's timed it perfectly.

He's a couple of feet away, still chewing, when your face appears in the door. Your expression is somewhat tense, but it lightens immediately as you see him. Chewing on that thing.

He wraps an arm around you, pulls you into a kiss as you greet him, evidently happy about him grabbing a green snack instead of chips and a beer. Dean chuckles, nonchalantly, pretends like he didn't have this planned all day.

He has eaten more veggies than this lousy piece of celery today. He got some fruit in. He knows just pretending to eat clean won't do it in the long run, because you can taste it on him. And he does want you to be happy.

Because when you're happy, just in a general good mood, you get hornier, and you'll let him eat you out for hours and hours. And there's just nothing better in the world than the taste of your pussy, especially now that you decided to actually give a crap about your health.

So the celery might only be a prop, carefully picked to remind you that Dean's been a good boy, that there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Not even skip double-bacon-day at Biggerson's. But it has the exact effect Dean was hoping for.

"Baby," you whisper in his ear, your fingers already raking through his hair. "Have you been eating nothing but greens all day?"

Dean nods vigorously.

"You must be quite hungry then."

He nods again. Almost shaking in anticipation already.

"Good thing I brought your favorite treat then," you say, grabbing his hand, leading him to the couch. Dean has your jeans around your ankles before you sit down, drops to his knees, pulls them off completely. It's become muscle memory for him by now. He's pleased to see you're not wearing any underwear. And then he gets straight to work.

He runs his cheek over the inside of your thigh, he knows you like the way his stubble burns you. Peppers little kisses all over your soft skin, nibbles at you. Takes his time to appreciate the full experience. He's eager, but he knows he'll get his reward. So he tries to calm himself.

He digs his fingers into your skin, pushes your legs apart, marvels at how beautiful you look, splayed out in front of him like that. Lets his eyes flutter shut, relishing the way you feel and smell.

And then he feels your hand on his head, guiding him, your grip firm, but gentle. You push him closer to your core, where you want him, and he can feel the pleasant shivers traveling down his spine at the mere thought of it.

He kisses your lips, trying not to rush, his heart beating fast in his chest. But he's never been good at denying himself what he wants, so every kiss becomes a bit more open-mouthed, and at number 4 he just sticks his tongue out, licks a broad stripe right over your entrance, through your folds.

He moans before you do, gets his tongue back where the good stuff is waiting for him, deep into you. Kisses, licks, swallows before he looks up at you, just pausing for a second.

You look down at him in surprise, Dean knows exactly that it's because he usually doesn't even come up for air until he's made you come at least twice. But this is nice, too. Looking at your face, nice and relaxed. Beautiful.

He runs his tongue over your entrance again, lapping up as much of your juices as he can, without taking his eyes off you.

"You went and stopped at that fruit stand for more pineapple, didn't you?"

⛥Come and share your own headcanons here! The confessional is open.⛥

[velocitross]

This is one of my absolute top favorite shots @synnevp has taken, and I’m so grateful to her for letting me use it with this! ♥️ SO intimate, my god

Regency Week Day 6!

Day 6: an anguished profession of love

“After two and a half weeks of misery and separation, Rolan makes a decision.”

Here is our second E-rated chapter! And another of my favorites, coincidentally 😌

Preview below and read the full chapter on ao3 here!

***

Rolan breathes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. He passes his hand over his face to rub at his temples.

He can’t discern how much time has passed when the heavy oak door to the study creaks open behind him. He can’t even tell whether he’d been asleep or simply sunk so far down into his mire of drunken regret he may as well have been. The fire has burned down, drawing the darkness of the room in closer. A footstep groans on the floorboards.

“I told you I do not wish to be disturbed,” Rolan snaps.

(continued below)

A long silence; he can tell it’s both Cal and Lia from the heavy air of unspoken communication settling into the room. He pulls his hand from his face and fixes his burning sideways glare on them as they both come into view.

“Sorry, Brother,” Cal says, as he hops up to sit on the edge of Rolan’s desk the way Rolan has been telling him not to since he’d been a child. “Stank so badly through the door we were worried you’d died.”

Rolan gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He does stink—he’s drank so much the past two weeks the stench of stale sweat and alcohol oozes from his pores no matter how recently he’s bathed. The mild, politely restrained distaste has been plain to see on his guests’ faces. He sits here in the rumpled shirt he’s worn for two days now and wallows in the sourness of its smell.

“You know this isn’t helping your reputation,” Lia says more sharply. She stands beside her younger brother with her arms crossed, glaring straight back at Rolan. “Stinking like a brewery while trying to make a good impression on the other nobility.”

“Oh, I don’t care, Lia,” Rolan says as he turns his eyes back to the fire. “I already know I’ve ruined everything. For myself, for my family, for . . . ” He forces a thick swallow down his throat before he can say the blacksmith’s name.

Again that heaviness of wordless communication between his siblings. He watches them exchange looks from the corner of his eye and then falls back to glaring into the fire.

“Rolan,” Cal says. “Is it really so bad to allow yourself to be happy?”

“I told you I do not wish to discuss this!” Rolan snarls, and wishes for a single bitter instant he still had the bottle in his hand to hurl at the wall. It had been impossible to keep the particulars of the scandal from his siblings. “I have ruined everything! My actions have affected not only my reputation, but this family’s security. I cannot forgive myself for that. I cannot do a single thing right.”

He draws in a sharp breath and blows it out in a blustering sigh.

“So please,” he says, “leave me alone and allow me to repair this.”

A long moment passes before either of them moves. Lia steps closer to Rolan’s chair while Cal hops down from the desk. She lays her hand on his shoulder to Rolan’s deepening expression of miserable anger.

“We’re here for you,” she says, and goes.

The door closes behind them.

Rolan sinks deeper into his chair. It would be bad enough to sit here plagued by thoughts of his own indiscretion and failure, must he truly also be plagued by these persistent thoughts of Dammon? The second Cal and Lia are gone his mind wanders back to the man, to his scent, to the way all burdens become lighter in his presence. Rolan presses his eyes shut. A solid knot of yearning aches in his chest.

The man’s soft-spoken, earnest nature, that look of pure devotion he’d fixed on Rolan in the pavilion. Gods, he’d had him. And he’d let him go. No, worse than that. Rolan grits his teeth, unable to turn the direction of his thoughts from what he least wants to think about. Spitting those words at the blacksmith and storming out past him, leaving him there. How deeply he’d wounded him, and in doing so, himself.

He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear burns down his cheek. The first time he’s felt anything like this for someone, and it’s a man of low class. Why must the right thing never happen? It’s an agony to know what he desires most in the world isn’t right, he cannot have it. He shouldn’t even want it.

His yellow eyes blink open on the inky darkness of his study. A deep sense of clarity opens in his mind, parting the despondent, inebriated haze. He stares into the last dimming flames of his fire as they lick toward the masonry.

Something needs to happen. There is a final decision to be made. He must either completely sever ties with Dammon and purge the man from his mind . . .

Or he must embrace him. Give his heart what it wants, and damn the consequences.

(Full chapter on ao3 here)

***

[ruzz9]

Hiiii!! So there's this idea in my head and I cannot get rid of it so here-

It's basically the lyrics from the song "Party 4 you" by Charlie XCX with the lines

"I only threw this party for you, for you

I was hoping you would come through

I only threw this party for you, for you, for you

I'm about to party on you

Watch me, watch me party on you"

So i don't have a concrete idea yet but I'm thinking it could take place either when they're teens or as professors, where they're friends but she's more popular and well-liked? She throws a party for him (but he doesn't know its for him) and its just full of pathetic yearning where she's constantly looking at the door for him, but he's outside the door deciding whether or not to go??? Eventually he goes in and she excitedly goes up to him (maybe the night ends with a kiss)??

I feel like i would prefer if it happened as professors but I also feel as though the idea works better as teens??? Idk thoo

I'I only threw this party for you, for you, for you

I'm about to party on you

Watch me, watch me party on yo

For You, Only You

Severus Snape x Fem!Professor!reader

Summary: Snape received an unexpected recognition from the Ministry and, reluctantly, attends a celebration—unaware it was held in his honor. But it’s not the party that unsettles him... it’s the woman who planned it. Your warmth and persistent attention have begun to soften him.

A/N: Heeello! I decided to play with a different kind of narrative this time. Told from Severus’s perspective. I love It. Hope you do too¡!

Warnings: None, Fluff 🤏

2,2k Words

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The door was closed. From inside, music filtered through, muffled but persistent. A soft melody, interrupted by bursts of laughter, the clink of glasses, footsteps moving across stone. Familiar voices, mixed with others he preferred not to hear, even when they were sober.

Despite the years, he still didn’t understand the fascination with social gatherings. Since adolescence, in his more naive, youthful version, he had longed only for the opposite: silence, privacy.

And yet, there he was. Outside that room.

His head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on the hand resting on the doorknob. He had been like that for over five minutes. A grown man, aged by experience and years of hardship, unable to move his fingers to enter one damned room.

It wasn’t cowardice. It was disinterest. That’s what he told himself.

The event was, supposedly, an informal gathering among colleagues. Just another excuse to pour wine and engage in banal conversation. You had told him the time. You had told him you would be there. You were the one who invited him directly.

With that light smile that almost felt like a joke: “A modest gathering, Severus. I’d like you to come.”

But you never do anything modest. And he knew that.

He had felt it, sensed it, in some uncomfortable corner of his stomach, that something about this gathering had to do with him... but he dismissed it immediately. Because it seemed like an arrogant thought. Because he wasn’t used to mattering. Because he didn’t want to believe that you—you, with your warmth, your overwhelming presence, your effortless charm, might have organized something thinking of him.

Him.

The one who can’t even sit down to lunch with the others without chilling the atmosphere.

The one who barely utters more than three consecutive sentences unless it’s about potions or poison.

The one who’s always lived—preferred to live—on the margins.

And if it really was something for him? And if he just ignored it and left...?

No. That same stupid thought again.

What would change if he entered or not? It was already late. Everyone must have been inside for at least half an hour. Toasting. Laughing. Carrying on without him. As always. As it should be.

And yet, he didn’t move. Because you were there. Because you were inside.

And that, for some reason he still refused to name, was enough to hold him in place.

You, with your way of being, that lightness that never goes unnoticed.

You are that kind of light he never asked for, and would hardly admit to needing.

And yet, you look at him.

He doesn’t understand why. And the worst part... is that he’s starting to want to.

The noise swells on the other side of the door. A sudden burst of louder music. More laughter. A moment of stillness in his chest.

And then, for you, only for you, he turns the handle.

And steps inside.

The air was warm, slightly heavy. It smelled of liquor, wood, perfume, and something sweet coming from the back table, radiating subtle magic to keep itself replenished—figs, pastries, small bites. The staff, along with a few Ministry members, scattered in small groups, drinking, conversing.

A short distance away, Slughorn, visibly drunk, was wrestling with Lockhart in some kind of clumsy verbal sparring match, which Minerva was trying to contain with dignity, gripping Slughorn’s arm firmly to prevent public humiliation.

He saw you before you saw him

You were sitting beside Sprout, a glass in hand you had barely tasted. You had that expression, your expression, the one you wore when listexpre attentively, but not entirely present. Just polite. Proper.

You were sitting beside Sprout, a glass in hand you had barely tasted. You had that expression—your expression—the one you wore when listening attentively, but not entirely present. Just polite. Proper.

As if you were waiting for something... or someone. And then you looked up. And saw him.

Your face changed. Lit up. With that unexpected warmth that always caught him off guard.

As if his mere presence was enough to bring you joy. Because yes, you had been waiting for him. And he knew it. And hated it a little.

Because he felt it too, that unexpected, uncomfortable warmth, like something giving way deep in his chest.

You stood up without hesitation. Didn’t look around. You walked straight toward him.

He felt a knot form just below his sternum. A pull—small, but real. Something very much like anxiety. And he didn’t know why.

In your proximity, you hugged him.

He hadn’t expected it. His body, rigid by reflex, hesitated for just a fraction of a second before responding. Only because it was you, because your warm body was against his and demanded an answer he didn’t know how to deny. He placed his hands—untrained for delicate gestures—on the curve of your back. Gently. Awkwardly.

The gesture was brief. But it left a strange trace in his chest.

“Thank you for coming,” you said softly, stepping back just enough to look him in the eye. “I didn’t think you would. Most... didn’t think you’d come”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t usually waste my evenings,” he muttered at last, with the edge of sarcasm he used as armor.

But you didn’t take offense. You smiled, as if you understood that, coming from him, it was a form of acceptance. A gradual surrender.

“I’m glad you did,” you added. Then your voice dropped slightly, as if you were finally stepping out of the character you'd been all night. “And I’m sorry.”

Snape tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“For what?”

“I threw this party for you,” you said. And for the first time, you seemed nervous. “I should’ve told you. But I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew. And still... I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say. A party for him. A celebration following the recognition the Ministry had granted him. Attention he hadn’t asked for or wanted. Words, toasts, smiles. All of it, thought out by you, for someone like him, who didn’t know what to do with attention. Who wasn’t used to receiving anything that wasn’t demand or fear.

And you, with your way of giving everything. Giving more than you should. More than anyone ever asked of you.

It was disconcerting. It was absurd. But devastatingly warm.

There was a brief moment of stillness between you. The music played in the background. And then, like a gunshot in the middle of everything, Slughorn’s voice burst from somewhere across the room:

“There he is! My man of the hour!” Slughorn bellowed, stumbling over his own words. “Severus, my boy, come closer!”

The impact was immediate. He felt the room turn toward him. Some heads lifted above their glasses, others turned with idiotic curiosity.

And Slughorn, with his glass raised, swayed dangerously on the brink of collapse.

“A toast! To Severus Snape! Genius, martyr, educator! And... though he’ll hate to hear it—a loyal friend like no other!”

A chorus of laughter and scattered cheers followed, fueled by some people’s drunkenness and others’ discomfort.

Snape tensed immediately.

He wished he could vanish.

Or transfigure himself.

Or kill Slughorn.

But the evening was only getting worse.

Lockhart, of course, tried to climb onto the nearest table, glass in hand, ready to add some invented anecdote. Severus closed his eyes for a second. Enough.

He was about to turn on his heel and leave, but you saw him first.

You saw the way his expression hardened, how his lips tightened as he reached for what little patience he had left.

Without giving him a chance to escape, you took his wrist—naturally.

“Come on,” you said, just loud enough over the noise, “before Horace spills his wine on you.”

And he let you. Without a word, he followed without resistance, retracing the path he’d entered just minutes earlier. You slipped away before the toast even happened, before the glasses clinked in his name.

He left behind the echo of applause and Slughorn’s sudden disappointment, arms raised as if his hero were fleeing.

But Severus walked at the edges of that gathering, safely out of the spotlight.

He didn’t know where you were going—and yet, it felt like the best place he could possibly be.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, drowning out the applause, the toasts, and Lockhart’s grandiose voice. The music faded into a distant hum.

The corridor was filled with darkness, barely lit by floating torches along the walls. Silence, at last.

Snape released his wrist from your grasp, gently, without abruptness, but with the pressing need to reclaim control of his boundaries.

“So... a modest gathering,” he said, voice low, cutting, almost mocking.

You smiled, letting out a quiet laugh, and somehow, it disarmed him more than any provocation could.

“I couldn’t help it, Severus.”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as if the posture could shield him.

“You never organize anything modest, not even your classes. You try too hard.”

Your lips pressed together, and your eyes dropped to the floor, as if you didn’t want him to see how much those words affected you.

“I know this isn’t your thing,” you murmured. “I shouldn’t have...”

“No.” He interrupted you—too quickly. Much too quickly.

Silence. His chest rose and fell in a contained rhythm, almost imperceptible.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve it,” he said at last. “Your gesture is... admirable. But I don’t know how to belong to it. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“You haven’t disappointed me at all,” you said, taking a step closer—just enough to invade the space he guarded so fiercely.

Your hand rose slowly. Rested on his cheek with a warmth that unbalanced him.

Snape didn’t move. He didn’t know how. His eyes deepened into yours.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, almost accusingly.

“Doing what?”

“You look for me,” he went on. “You watch me. You acknowledge me. Why?”

Your thumb barely grazed the line of his cheekbone, deliberately soft, and you let your hand fall away.

Your voice, when it came, was almost a sigh:

“Because you deserve it.”

He pressed his lips together, and his expression hardened.

It had been weeks like this. Weeks of late visits, tea he hadn’t asked for, conversations stretching longer than they needed to, glances he avoided when they became too comfortable.

Weeks in which his body reacted before his mind, and his mind refused to accept the obvious.

He didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand what you saw in him. He only knew you kept coming back. And he didn’t push you away.

“I’m not an easy man,” he said, with calculated coldness. “Not pleasant. Not approachable. I’m a inconvenience—even to myself.”

“I know.”

“Then?”

“Then shut up for a second,” you whispered. “Just... shut up.”

He held your gaze, as if your words had pushed him to the edge of something inside himself.

His hand drifted to the back of her neck, slow and deliberate.

The touch was soft, his fingers slipping barely into your hair. A gesture that betrayed his control—tentative, exploratory, toeing the line of what was allowed.

“You don’t give without expecting something in return,” he murmured, closer now, eyes fixed on yours. “What do you want from me?”

“Do you have to make everything difficult?”

He gave something close to a smile. A faint curve, laced with irony.

“I don’t know how to do it any other way.”

And suddenly, the soft gesture turned firm.

His fingers closed suddenly in your hair, gripping tight, not painful, but commanding.

He held you like that, fixed, as if he had finally decided to stop retreating.

The pull was unexpected. It didn’t hurt. But it made it clear: he had crossed a line.

His eyes—so dark, so bright now—searched yours with a mix of anger, desire, and fear.

“Tell me,” he said. “What are you trying to do? Move me? Screw me over?”

His breath brushed your lips. He was very close.

“I’m not trying anything,” you said softly, without moving. “I just... stayed.”

A heavy pause. His breathing was no longer steady.

There was sweat on his brow—pressure rising from having you so close, from not knowing what to do with you.

“You’re insufferable,” he murmured.

“And you’re a coward,” you replied—without raising your voice, but with a firmness that cut through him.

His brow twitched. His eyes narrowed.

The word stung more than he’d admit—

because it was true.

“Yes, a coward,” you repeated, with a certainty that asked for no permission. “A coward to feel, to ask, to accept that someone might... care.”

And then he did it.

He took your mouth with force, capturing your lips with the urgency of someone who had repressed too much.

His hand was still at your nape, fingers tangled in your hair, pulling with a tension that spoke more of frustration than tenderness.

And you... you didn’t pull away. Your lips answered. Not with submission—

You had been waiting for this moment just as much as he had denied it.

[strwbrrymo0on]

the covenant of flesh and fate

[five guys, no burgers, no fries]

Bound by a curse older than time, five souls must entwine their fates to unlock the memories that could set them free. But salvation demands surrender: body, mind, and heart.

Synopsis: In a world where past lives bleed into the present, your fractured soul finds itself caught between love, power, and destiny. Surrounded by enigmatic men tied to you through time, you must navigate a delicate dance of memory and desire to break a curse that binds you all– if only you could trust them enough to remember.

Content Warnings: Astra mentioned, explicit sexual content, multiple partners, consensual non-monogamy, bondage, oral sex, fingering, voyeurism, use of restraints, submission and dominance dynamics, light BDSM, intense emotional themes, slow burn romance, mental manipulation, references to curses and supernatural elements

Crossposted on AO3

You don't know when it started happening.

The feeling of being watched.

The eerie, uncanny sensation. Like a smile being wound too tight across a neighbor's face.

Xavier didn't move after you declined his invitation to get hot pot. He stood on your doormat, still smiling.

“Uh, Xavier? You're kind of freaking me out.”

“So I didn't convince you to come with my award-winning smile?” He looked down, dejected.

“Yeah… you're going to have to work on that a bit more.”

“Okay,” he shuffled his feet, “I'll try another time.”

“Yeaaah. I'll see you at work Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

You shut the door, trying to make sure it didn't seem like you were rudely slamming it, not moving until you heard him shuffle away.

Fucking weird. You lock the door and go back to your room.

You always liked Xavier, his quiet demeanor was usually endearing, but lately…

You can't put your finger on it, but everyone around you has been acting off.

Xavier has been way too smiley, he barely smiles, and now he does…with teeth.

Caleb has been bringing you groceries almost every day, even if your fridge is full.

Sylus has been letting you win every game, and he usually never goes easy on you.

Rafayel has been less annoying… but somehow whinier? How often can a guy get sick if he never leaves his studio?

And Zayne… actually Zayne was still the same. Or maybe not. It's hard to tell. You're paranoid enough nowadays not to trust anyone. Not even your own mind.

You changed into a flimsy black nightdress you had bought many Halloweens ago. You’ve been too damn scared to go down to the laundry room in your building’s basement– your only free time is at night, and you don’t feel safe leaving your apartment after dark anymore.

Double-checking your alarm was off for the weekend, you curled under the duvet and tried to sleep.

જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ જ⁀➴ 

“When did she get so heavy?”

“You're barely even carrying her.”

“It's probably all that hot pot you've been shoving into her!”

“...”

“Stop trying to make my bodyguard round, okay?”

“Will you two quit bickering? If she wakes up she'll be harder to handle.”

You slowly open your eyes, realizing the voices weren't part of your dream, but all you could see was darkness.

It felt like a few people were ...carrying you?

Am I being kidnapped?

By who?

Keeping still, you try to listen.

Then you felt yourself being lowered on something soft. A bed?

Something cool was wrapped around your foot, then tightened.

A restraint?

Hell no.

You started thrashing around.

“Hey!”

“Hold her down!”

“Be careful not to hurt her.”

“Go one limb at a time.”

Who the fuck are these people?

You try to kick in the direction of the voice, but your foot only meets air.

“Our feisty girl. Calm down and we'll be gentle.”

A hand strokes your head through the cloth.

It's hot in there. Your rapid breathing is the culprit.

But you calm down, letting them tie your ankles and wrists to what you assume is a bed.

You feel cold in this starfish position, your flimsy dress not helping. A hand pulls your hem down as if reading your mind.

“That's a good girl.”

Another hand brushed the side of your calf.

“We're going to leave the sack on, for now.”

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“Anyone else offended she can't recognize them, anyone? Just me?”

“Rafayel?”

“Yes!”

A smack.

“I mean.” (In a deeper voice) “ I am just a bad guy. Who is Rafayel? Sounds like a cool guy, though.”

Another smack.

“Ouch! Keep your bionic masturbator away from me.”

“Caleb?”

“You idiot.”

“Me?!”

“Will you two children stop, I know younger people who have more decorum in their pinky fingers than both of you put together.”

“Sylus?”

“Shit.”

“You can recognize everyone else but not me?”

“Xavier?”

“Hi.”

“What the hell is going on guys?”

Someone cleared their throat.

“What the fuck is going on? How do you all know each other now? Why am I tied up?”

You pulled against the restraints, trying desperately to break free. The cloth sack over your head only added to the urgency.

“Hey pips, you need to relax, you're going to hurt yourself.”

“Ex-fuckin-cuse me? Hurt myself? What about what you're doing to me, Caleb?”

“Look, if you calm down then we can talk, cutie.”

A hand rubs your shoulder, “Can you do that for us, kitten?”

Hearing that name Sylus gave you has the opposite effect. It ignites more fire in you, the itch to remind him that cats have claws burning bright.

Despite the pyrotechnics within, you somehow managed to stop your flailing and stay still, the heave in your chest dying down to a normal pace.

“Good girl. Now we'll remove the sack, and tell you what is going on. But if you scream or react crazily, the cover goes back on and we leave you here alone and unanswered. Is that understood?”

You nod your head despite mentally spitting at Caleb for using his Colonel voice with you.

The cloth slipped off your head and you squeezed your eyes, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

Four men stood around you. Men who were your friends. Something uneasy was tugging at your gut. That these guys had something sinister planned.

“Now.” Caleb sits at the edge of the bed, not quite looking at you. “What we say is going to sound really crazy, but we believe it, so don't think you can try and talk us out of it.”

“We've waited too long for this. When everything was aligned. When our lifetimes finally crossed.” Rafayel stared at you, his fist curled around the belt of the restraint on your left foot.

“Some of us from the past, some from the future.” Xavier looked at Sylus.

The red-eyed man nodded.

“You are the key to ending our suffering.” Sylus took a book out of the air. It was old and ratty, but bound and sealed with silver.

“We will finally be released from the clutches of Astra.” He drawled.

“Astra- what are you guys talking about?”

Caleb tutted at you, lifting the black cloth to remind you of your promise.

You clamped your lips shut.

“My dear, you have been stuck in a cycle of doom and pain. Do you not feel it?”

Sylus held your chin, making you look at him.

“And we have been stuck in those loops with you, do you not remember?” Xavier traced circles on your forearm.

“We remember.” Caleb stared at his metal appendage, flexing the fingers into a fist.

“And now we have the solution. So you have no say.” The darkness in their voices makes your stomach drop.

“H-how?”

They looked at you.

“How do you break the curse? What do you need from me?”

No one answers you.

All four of them leave the room, lights off.

As soon as you felt they were far enough away, you started pulling at the leather cuffs binding you.

If I can just get one arm free…

You decide on your right, trying to slip your hand out. But it seems the more you pull, the tighter it gets.

With a frustrated exhale, you laid back down, breath heavy.

Before you could think of a plan B, the door opened again. The men filed in, circling the bed like shadows closing in.

“It is time.”

“Time for what?” your gaze darted over them. They're all naked except for towels slung low on their hips.

Sylus made the book appear again, black smoke curling from the air beside your head.

He flipped through brittle pages until he stopped on one, fingers pausing on the ink.

“In every life, she'll be reborn.

In every life, they'll find her.

In every life, she dies before they can make her remember.

Because Astra, the fractured god of fate and memory, bound her soul to suffering, in exchange for his own eternal sleep.”

The other men station themselves at each corner of the bed, surrounding you completely.

“And the only way to sever that chain?”

Sylus’ eyes locked with yours, his voice low and deliberate.

“Five offerings. Five anchors. Five climaxed bonds. The body must be opened, the soul shared, the memory unlocked, through each man who’s held a piece of her in every timeline.”

The others spoke as one, their harmony unsettling:

“To free her from the fate she can’t recall, her body must first remember it all.”

“What are you guys talking about? Remember what?” you pull at the restraints, arching your body in defiance.

“We aren't going to hurt you,” Caleb said, “but to free us all we have to help you remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Your lives, past and future.”

“Your lives with us.”

“But– if we just talk about it maybe you can tell me about it and I'll remem–”

“No.” Rafayel's foot hit the floor sharply.

“You won't remember unless we unlock it.” Caleb's warm, heavy hand closed around yours.

“Just let me go, please.”

Xavier shook his head slowly. “We can't, we have to break the curse. This is the only chance.”

“You're serious?” You searched each of their faces– the exhaustion in their eyes, the fragile hope, like they feared your rejection might end the world. Then it hit you.

“I-I don't know why but I believe you. My dreams–”

The men leaned closer, listening.

“I've had dreams…. of strange lives and each of you in them. But I thought they were just dreams…”

“They weren't just dreams.” Xavier said, gripping your leg like an anchor. “They have happened, or will happen.”

“They're nightmares.” Rafayel muttered, Caleb patting him on the shoulder.

“We've suffered your loss too many times.” Sylus’s voice was quieter now. The book dissolved into smoke, and he took your hand in both of his. “Help us end this.”

“Please.” Rafayel kissed your knee, his gaze searching yours.

“What do I have to do?”

“Be with us.” Caleb pressed his lips to the hand he held.

“Accept our love.” Xavier's fingers slid along your ankle, undoing the restraint.

“Remember us.” Sylus kissed the crown of your head.

“You mean….okay.” Truth be told, you didn't need much convincing– you liked each of them more than you should have.

When they didn't move, you sighed dramatically. “Weird way of asking for a foursome but okay, I'll bite.”

“We're all clean too, just saying.” Rafayel added proudly. “We got tested as soon as we figured out the ritual.”

Rafayel’s grin lingered, but something in his eyes sharpened, sunlight shifting into candlelight.

The air in the room shifted too.

“Then let us begin,” Sylus murmured, as if you’d agreed to more than just bodies tangling together.

One by one, the leather restraints slipped off your wrists and ankles. But new restraints, warmer and softer– made of flesh and breath– wrapped around you in their place.

You trembled as gentle lips traced sacred paths along your skin, tender but deliberate, painting you with the weight of promises and ancient rites.

Sylus’s mouth moved with careful worship, nibbling at your wrist, his eyes sparkling with something unspoken. Your lips parted instinctively, a quiet invitation. You wanted him to deepen the kiss, to claim you, but he held back, slow and deliberate.

A delicate fingertip slid along your bottom lip, coaxing it open before turning your face toward Caleb’s waiting mouth.

Caleb’s lips brushed against yours in a soft kiss that grew in urgency. His hands cupped your face, steadying you, grounding you as if to remind you that you were safe in this moment, even as the air thickened with something holy and intense.

Meanwhile, at the foot of the bed, Xavier and Rafayel knelt reverently. Xavier’s fingers traced slow circles along your ankles, heat radiating from his touch. Rafayel’s lips followed the line of your calf, warm and feather-light, his breath a gentle whisper against your skin.

The two of them moved in quiet harmony, their attention a reverent dance, weaving together the physical and the spiritual. Your body arched instinctively, responding to their ministrations, the restrained power of their reverence igniting something deep within you.

Caleb’s hands began to travel lower, caressing the curve of your neck and trailing down your collarbone, each touch a vow. Sylus’s lips followed the path of Caleb’s hands, kissing your throat with worshipful tenderness.

Your breath hitched, each moment stretched into eternity as they moved with deliberate, tender grace, not rushed, but full of weight and meaning.

The room felt charged, like a consecrated space where time folded in on itself. Where your body and soul were being rewritten, reborn by the worship of four men bound to you across lifetimes.

Caleb’s kiss was softer, coaxing rather than claiming, tasting you like something rare he’d been promised for years. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb stroking slowly as if memorizing your shape.

At the other end of the bed, Xavier’s palms smoothed up your calves, pressing into the muscle with slow, deliberate circles. His grip was warm, firm, almost reverent, each knead coaxing tension from you until your toes curled. Rafayel followed in his wake, lips brushing the insides of your ankles, the heat of his breath traveling up to the tender hollows behind your knees.

The four of them moved like they’d rehearsed it, not in hurried lust, but in the patient, inevitable way tides claim the shore.

Sylus’s teeth grazed your ear. “Breathe,” he murmured, as if the act itself was part of the ritual. Caleb’s tongue teased yours in languid sweeps before pulling back, letting the connection stretch, ache, demand.

Xavier’s touch slid higher, thumbs framing the bend of your knees as Rafayel’s mouth trailed upward, feather-light kisses turning into deeper, wetter ones. You could feel the shift in his grin against your skin, the same sharpness you’d seen in his eyes moments ago, as though he was about to make good on some unspoken promise.

Sylus’s fingers threaded through your hair, angling your head. Caleb kissed you deeper this time– a seal pressed into wax, binding something unseen.

Caleb’s hands slid from your face down your neck, tracing the curve of your collarbone with airy touches that sent shivers down your spine. Sylus’s lips trailed from your ear to your jaw, nibbling softly as his fingers tightened gently in your hair, tethering you to this moment.

At your knees, Xavier’s hands shifted, palms warming the backs of your thighs as Rafayel’s breath grew heavier against your skin, sending flickers of heat where his mouth lingered.

You could feel the weight of their attention like a flame licking closer, the slow burn spreading from your feet upward.

Your breath hitched when Sylus slipped his hand beneath your nightdress, cupping your breast, his thumb circling and teasing over your hardened nipple.

You moaned into Caleb’s mouth as Xavier hooked your leg over his arm.

“Fuck, she’s so wet already.”

“Mmm, you wet for us, cutie?” Rafayel’s voice was low as he brushed a finger over the damp spot on your panties, earning another moan for Caleb to swallow.

Sylus’ mouth was suddenly hot on your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking and nibbling at it.

You gasped when Xavier ripped your underwear away in one rough motion, baring you to Rafayel’s hungry mouth.

“I’ll take those.” Caleb broke your kiss just long enough to pluck the panties from Xavier’s hand. He eased you up, supporting your arch as Rafayel’s tongue began its work, so he could slide in behind you.

Sylus offered Xavier your other breast, snapping the strap so the dress slid down, fully exposing it.

Caleb hooked his arms under your knees, spreading you wider so he could control your movements.

Rafayel, kneeling between your thighs, licked your pussy in broad, languid strokes with a flattened tongue. The slow, wet rhythm made you arch back against Caleb with a shudder.

Xavier paused his nibbling to watch, and you whined, reaching blindly for him until your fingers wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck–’re so big, Xavier.”

He pushed closer, groaning at the friction of the towel against your hand.

Caleb hummed by your ear, lips trailing down to lick and bite the curve of your neck.

Sylus left your breast and moved down, claiming his turn between your legs. “Wider,” he murmured.

Caleb pulled your knees up toward your ears, leaving your full weight against his chest. Rafayel didn’t want to move, so he rolled onto his back beneath you, pulling your ass down to his mouth to lap sloppily at your pucker.

Sylus straddled Rafayel’s chest, tracing your inner thighs with his tongue and teeth until he reached your cunt. He teased at your slick folds, tasting you slowly before delving in with deliberate hunger.

Xavier swore, yanking off the towel and kneeling close. Caleb tilted your head toward him, guiding you to his cock. You stuck out your tongue, letting him rest the tip on it, before wrapping your lips around him. Xavier hissed when your mouth closed over him, swirling his head with your tongue before licking down the thick vein as far as you could reach.

Behind you, Caleb ground his cock along your back, earning impatient smacks from Rafayel whenever he pulled you too far from his face.

Sylus paused his tongue-fucking to slide a finger inside you. “Tsk, tsk… not enough for her.” He slid in another finger, then a third, curling them until you cried out.

“Ahh–fuck, Sylus–”

Xavier shoved his cock back into your mouth with a low groan.

“You like that, pretty girl?”

“Mmhmm.” You couldn’t answer properly, not with Xavier’s hips rocking into your mouth.

Rafayel stopped licking just to watch Sylus finger-fuck you above him.

Sylus withdrew, offering his soaked fingers to Rafayel, who sucked them clean with a pleased moan.

Caleb had had enough. He lifted you higher on his chest, positioning you so his cock could slide into your slick heat in one deep stroke.

“Mmm–” The sound left your throat as Xavier and Caleb fucked you from both ends, each thrust making you jolt.

You caught sight of Rafayel and Sylus watching you get fucked while they made out, hands stroking each other’s cocks in time with Caleb and Xavier’s movements.

Caleb’s hand slipped between your legs to rub your clit, winding the spring tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. You came hard, gushing around him as Xavier spilled across your face with a choked curse. Caleb followed with a deep thrust and a groan, filling you with heat.

Rafayel pulled you from Caleb and laid back, guiding your mouth to his hard cock.

“Open wide, cutie.” He brushed your hair back from your face, watching you obey. “Fuck– look at you, taking all of me.”

Behind you, Sylus gripped your hips and lifted you onto your knees.

“Fucking good, kitten.”

He pushed into you slowly, groaning as he filled you.

Sylus sank into you inch by inch, savoring every twitch, every gasp you gave him. His hands tightened on your hips, steady and grounding, but his thrusts were anything but gentle.

“Perfect,” he murmured against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin as though worshiping each sound you made.

Rafayel, still buried in your mouth, groaned and let his head fall back. “Gods, you’re fucking unreal.” He kept his pace slow at first, brushing the hair from your cheeks, watching the way your lips sealed tight around him. But when Sylus started pounding into you harder, Rafayel’s restraint cracked, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth with ragged hunger.

The bed creaked under the force of them. Sylus’ deep strokes pushing you forward, Rafayel’s desperate pace pulling you back down again. You were caught between them, every nerve alight, their grunts and your muffled moans tangling into something primal.

Sylus reached between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Your body jerked, the pleasure flooding through you so fast it stole your breath.

“Come for us, kitten,” he growled against your neck.

And you did. Hard. Your whole body clenching around Sylus as Rafayel groaned loud and deep, spilling down your throat. The sound of his release and the pulsing heat inside you pushed Sylus over the edge, his hips slamming into you one last time before he came with a shuddering gasp, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

They eased you down between them, your chest heaving, every inch of you flushed and trembling.

That was when you heard the low chuckle from the doorway.

“Starting without me?”

You turned your head– and there was Zayne. Tall, broad-shouldered, green eyes bright like wildfire under the dim light. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click that felt more like the start of a hunt than a simple entrance.

Zayne’s eyes glinted with dark amusement as he stepped closer, the tension in the room thickening like a drawn bowstring.

“Didn’t think I’d miss out on all the fun,” he said, voice low, smooth, but carrying an edge that hinted at something far more dangerous beneath.

He peeled off his shirt slowly, muscles flexing with each movement, revealing skin flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat catching the light. His gaze locked onto yours, hungry, piercing, almost predatory.

Without another word, he knelt at the foot of the bed, fingers trailing a slow path up your calf, sending shivers in his wake. You swallowed hard, breath catching as his touch was firm, reverent, yet commanding.

Sylus and Rafayel watched, their earlier intensity fading to satisfied exhaustion, leaving space for this new fire.

Zayne’s hand slipped beneath the hem of your ruined nightdress, sliding with deliberate patience over the curve of your thigh, tracing toward the place where your need pooled warm and slick. He paused, his breath ghosting over your skin, the heat of him intoxicating.

“You’ve been claimed,” he murmured, lips brushing your knee, “but you’re mine now.”

His fingers pressed lightly, teasing, coaxing, before he dipped a finger inside you, slow and sure, curling it with a gentle growl that vibrated through his throat.

You gasped, arching instinctively, craving more even as your body still trembled from the others’ touch.

Zayne leaned in, mouth capturing yours with a kiss that was both a promise and a challenge, soft at first, then deepening with a hunger that grew impossible to restrain.

His hands slid to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks but careful not to hurt, as he pressed himself close. The heat of his body against yours was a sharp contrast to the cool air, grounding you.

Then, with a fluid motion, he sank inside you, slow and controlled, giving you time to adjust, to savor the feeling of being filled, claimed, worshipped.

His green eyes never left yours, holding you captive in a storm of desire and something deeper. Something sacred.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice rough. “I’ve waited for this. For you.”

His hips began to move, slow at first, each thrust measured, deliberate– building a rhythm that teased and tortured, pulling every shred of resistance from you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as the pace quickened, hips bucking in time, matching the fire in his eyes.

Zayne’s breath hitched, lips moving to your throat, biting softly before licking the sting, his control slipping with every passing second.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin.

“Gods, you taste like home,” he breathed, voice thick with need.

His pace broke free, wild, hungry, desperate, driving you both toward the edge with a fevered urgency.

Your moans filled the room, mingling with his ragged breaths and the slick, urgent sounds of flesh meeting flesh.

Zayne’s hands gripped your waist tightly, fingers digging in as he buried himself deeper, faster, no longer able to hold back.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter until it shattered in a crescendo of pleasure that sent shockwaves through your body.

Your nails raked down his back as you came hard around him, breathless and shaking.

Zayne followed moments later, a guttural cry escaping him as he spilled into you, muscles trembling with release.

For a long moment, you both lay tangled together, hearts pounding, sweat mingling, the air thick with the taste of freedom.

Then, slowly, the room seemed to shift. The weight of years of pain and memory lifting, the curse unraveling like smoke in the wind.

Your vision blurred with tears, not of sorrow but of release, as a warmth spread through your chest.

"We’re free. Finally." Zayne whispered against your skin, voice soft now, "Fuck you Astra."

You smiled weakly, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin.

The four men– Sylus, Rafayel, Caleb, and Xavier– watched from the floor with tired, triumphant eyes.

The chain that had bound you all for lifetimes was broken.

At last.

Thanks for reading <3

✦ STRWBRRY'S BULLETS

[heldbybarnes]

🧷 The Darker Side of HBB

This is where the shadows live. Kinks, NSFW heat, and stories that dip into heavier, darker themes. Consensual, intense, and sometimes just a little unhinged—enter only if you know your limits.

ABOUT ME - REQUEST GUIDELINES - PROTECTION POLICY - TAG NAVIGATION

The Lighter Side of HBB

✨ Just a Heads-Up: You’ll find a mix of things here — emotional angst, soft healing, a few metal-arm meltdowns, and yes… smut. Some stories deal with trauma and recovery, others lean spicy. Check the tags, read what feels right, and always take care of you first 💙

‼️ = OC name is used | ⚠️ = NSFW 18+ ONLY

Other emojis used indicate stories requested by emoji anons. Current anons: 🩵🐸🫧🫒🔮🖤🐛

Long-form stories with chapters & slow burns galore

Kinkmas in July | Master Post Twelve filthy nights. One possessive Bucky Barnes. A kink for every craving. Dom!Bucky x Reader. Intensity, control, praise, and ruin.

Violation of Terms | Master Post 🫒⚠️ They’re not supposed to fall in love. They’re not even supposed to like how good it feels to surrender to each other like this. But they do. A lot. And it’s starting to show.

Because healing takes time. And not everything is easy.

The Nurse Who Knew | Read Here ‼️ The only light during Bucky’s Winter Soldier years is found again... in a cryo chamber.

Red | Read Here ⚠️ A scene goes too far. Reader safewords—but Bucky doesn’t hear it the first time. Now they both have to reckon with the fallout.

The Vault Doesn’t Lie | Read Here The Vault pulled him under. Now you’re the only thing anchoring him back.

Where the Light Used to Be | Read Here When Bucky’s mind begins to slip away, you promise to stay—even when he forgets who you are.

Eternity | Read Here He lost you, and nothing has felt like home since. What he wouldn’t give for one more touch… one more second.

The List | Read Here ⚠️ You find Bucky’s secret list of fantasies. Some are soft. Some are filthy. You give him all of it.

Before the World Went Quiet | Read Here After a miscarriage, Bucky shuts down, consumed by guilt. In the quiet of their cottage, he and Reader learn how to grieve, stay, and slowly find their way back to each other.

Smoke Under The Door | Read Here Bucky opens up about what it felt like to be wiped. You stay—and listen.

Where Hands Don't Hurt | Read Here In your studio, healing doesn’t come fast—but it comes. With each quiet session, Bucky learns that touch doesn’t have to hurt… and maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to want it.

Cold Hands, Warm Heart | Read Here Bucky hates the cold—but with you around, it starts to feel a little less cruel. You make it your personal mission to keep him warm, in all the ways that matter.

Blood In The Snow | Read Here You’re taken by Hydra. Bucky spirals. When he finally finds you, the Winter Soldier comes out to bring you home—bloody, brutal, and unstoppable.

Where It Hurts | Read Here You get hit on a mission, and Bucky finds you bleeding out behind enemy lines. His hands won’t stop shaking—but he doesn’t let go. Not this time.

Non-Negotiable | Read Here You ran. He found you. And in the snow-covered quiet, he didn’t bring you back to Hydra—he kept you. Not as a prisoner. As his.

You Were What They Couldn't Take | Read Here Every time HYDRA wiped him, he remembered you. And begged them not to take you.

The Sky Between Us | Read Here Reader is diagnosed with cancer—and together, she and Bucky must help their three daughters understand. Tender, raw, and full of quiet love as Bucky carries them through it.

"No One Sees" | Read Here A love that survives war, but not the silence after. Bucky left the battlefield—but it never really left him.

Unravel | Read Here Two worlds that constantly collide but can never stay together.

Say It Before the Silence Wins | Read Here Bucky won’t talk about what’s haunting him—and you’re done pretending that silence means safety. When he finally breaks, it’s not chaos that follows. It’s healing.

You know what you’re here for.

🔞 NSFW content ahead — explicit smut, kink elements, and mature themes. Minors do not interact. Please heed individual fic warnings. This work was not written for readers under 18.

Between Missions | Read Here Reader, Bucky, Steve. A little jealousy becomes a lot of fun.

The Tank Top Incident | Read Here Bucky wears a white tank top. Reader completely loses their mind.

You’re Not Getting Away That Easy | Read Here Bucky Barnes doesn’t do well with being ignored. You think a little cold shoulder will make your point—he’ll make sure you never try that again.

Wherever You Want, Doll | Read Here You’re sick of Bucky’s smug mouth. So naturally, he offers it for you to sit on.

Surrender | Read Here You said you could handle anything. Bucky takes that as a challenge.

Read Between My Thighs | Read Here You came in here to borrow a book. You’re leaving with a bruised throat.

Mine, Even When You're Mad | Read Here A mission misstep turns into a blowout fight, a bar dance, and an alleyway reminder that Bucky Barnes doesn’t share.

All Swagger No Mercy | Read Here One comment about Bucky’s dangerously cocky strut turns into a mirror-rattling, thigh-shaking reminder of exactly what that walk does to you.

Can't Take It, Can You? | Read Here Beefy Bucky Barnes has a size kink. He doesn’t hide it. You don’t want him to.

Say It Again Dolcezza | Read Here A few Italian words. That’s all it takes to push Bucky over the edge—and this time, he’s not holding back.

Red Means Ruin | Read Here You wear it for comfort. He sees red and forgets how to breathe. Lace, worship, and the best kind of ruin.

All Mine | Read Here You saw the thirst traps. Read the comments. Now you’re on a mission to remind Bucky—and everyone else—exactly who he belongs to.

Say It Like You Mean It | Read Here Sex in a supply closet. Sharon overhears. She spreads the filth—but Bucky sets the record straight. “Don’t confuse my degradation with disrespect.”

Just a Peek | Read Here It was just supposed to be dinner—garlic, pasta, a little music. But one ripped pair of jeans and a black lace thong later, and Bucky was on his knees worshiping you like a man starved. Domestic bliss has never been so filthy.

Quick hits of emotion, steam, or soft chaos—bite-sized Bucky, perfect for scrolling.

The After Dark Files | Read Here Kink, heat, and a little bit of chaos. The NSFW side of things — where Bucky gets filthy and the shadows run deep.

Snapshots of who he was, who he is, and the moments that stitched it all together.

Five Firsts and One Final | Read Here 5 times Bucky held your babies for the first time + 1 time they held him for the last.

The Times You Carried Him | Read Here 5 times Bucky broke down in silence + 1 time he finally asked you to hold him.

The First Time, The Last Time | Read Here The five times your IVF transfers fail and the one time they don’t.