#plot drop: for the greater good.

[kingpains]

i don’t know where to find other people who were disappointed in Geekish Celibacy Advocates Gotta Go to commiserate with. don’t wanna clog up the main tag with negativity because people just browsing abojt a musical they like don’t need that. but holy shit was this show a letdown for me and i cant find one other comment or review anywhere that acknowledges Any flaws :(

edit: censored the name of the show and didn’t tag @ all w/ the show’s name, but this’ll still pop up in searches for starkid and the effort required to edit tags on tumblr is INSANE, so i’m adding Starkid Negativity to the front of the post for blocking purposes of anypony doesn’t want this in their search!

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[utilitycaster]

Sorry if you've answered this kind of question before, but yesterday's ask about the villains made me think about the opposite: what kind of story do you think Bells Hells could have worked well in, the way they are? With their complete disinterest about the world I struggle to imagine them working in anything but a monster of the week kind of format where things are just kind of thrown at you...

Hey anon,

This is a fantastic question because it gets to the crux of something I don't know if I've properly articulated and honestly might not have the right words for so if any of my mutuals who have a greater degree of expertise in narratology/storycraft than I do want to mark this up with red pen, go nuts.

The way I approach characters in stories is not just who they are initially; but who they become through the process of the narrative in which they find themselves. I'm not immune to a first impression! I repeatedly find myself initially drawn to more driven, serious, emotionally closed off, genuinely good but kind of a bitch about it characters; and dismissing the ones I see as chaos gremlins, and then having to recant myself if/when the chaos gremlins show more depth through their actions. I rarely find myself drawn to a character like Nott or Fiedra (to use a couple recent examples) from the start; both won me over utterly. This isn't always the case! Sometimes they don't win me over! But my point is that I think most people have archetypes they immediately latch onto and are comfortable with and even might ultimately prefer through the course of the story (and I am no exception), but character and story are inherently intertwined with each other. It's essentially nature vs. nurture but for narrative.

So: a big part of the problem is that Bells Hells were given a story that failed to challenge them in such a way that they would grow into it. They were told what to do and infodumped at and their own motivations often wrapped up remarkably early in the narrative with little effort on their part so that we could get to the Moon Plot, and then suddenly the bottom dropped out and they were suddenly supposed to do a bunch of vitally important quests with relatively little guidance or oversight, and like many a sheltered teen going 1000 miles away for college, they did not respond well. Unfortunately, instead of taking the "well fuck it I'm going to do jaegerbombs and see what happens" route they went the "I'm going to beg whoever I see as an authority for answers while also resenting them for not giving me the answers I wanted or worse, suggesting I try to come up with my own" route.

I think had Bells Hells had an introduction rather more like the Mighty Nein's or what we know of Vox Machina's, they'd have become people who could make those decisions! Because the thing is, both those parties kind of did have a Monster of the Week format early on because that's a really normal way to start a campaign! If they'd spent their lower levels having to reluctantly work together without any benefactors and take watch in a hostile environment and take on weird jobs for money, I can't guarantee that they would have become decisive and self-motivated and interested in the world around them, but I think it would have been much, much more likely! No one was particularly intelligent, but to give an example, Imogen did have a lot of interest in finding out about her powers! A narrative in which that was not a "we have to give her the answer in the first 50 episodes so we can get to the moon plot" but rather a slow burn that required seeking out knowledge and following threads throughout the campaign would have meant regular trips to libraries or archaeological dig sites or academic institution, and that could have served as an ongoing motivator and as a means for other characters to learn more about the world while Imogen was reading about her magic. But because those avenues were largely closed off after the beginning of the campaign and the answer given at like, the 40% mark, there was no opportunity for her to grow or change or develop other interests.

There's a reason why the classic D&D setup is "you meet in a tavern, you take weird jobs on the job board, and you eventually fight god" and not "you meet in a tavern, you have a series of benefactors, you resolve 90% of your backstories in the first 40 episodes, and then the BBEG happens" and it's because taking weird jobs on the job board is what turns you from "only fit for Monster of the Week plot" to "a group of people who can make complicated decisions and who have a deep interest in the world." The only reliable way I've seen to get around this is by explicitly telling your players "This is the basic premise of the story I want to tell, so I need you to play curious and decisive people from the jump." Disliking the odd jobs route of an early campaign but wanting a complex ending is like wanting to run a marathon but refusing to train for it.

I've been trying to focus my critique of Campaign 3 on the campaign itself and not its fans at this point but I think this is relevant: I find a lot of fans are not really that happy with much of what happened, but are big fans of Bells Hells as people (to the point of treating them with more personhood than their detractors). This has led to some statements I can only describe as wildly stupid and in bad faith in which they seem oddly incapable of processing the idea that one's opinion on a character can - and should! - change over the course of the story based on that character's actions; whenever I and others were like "hmm, I don't like the turn Ashton is taking" it was interpreted as some kind of Rapid Onset Bigotry That Exclusively Applies to Ashton And Not FCG (or Dairon, or Yudala, or FRIDA, or like, any other nb characters) or (hilariously given what I just said) inconsistency and not "if you used to like someone and then they said something really shitty, you might not like them any more". And the thing is, that is the problem of Campaign 3 in a nutshell, even without the fandom - Bells Hells seemed to be simultaneously terrified of seeming like bad people and also all too willing to be self-absorbed and inconsiderate, and most crucially never seemed to realize that stasis and indecision are themselves horrible qualities that many people dislike. Bells Hells as the characters who showed up in Campaign 3 episode 1 were not doomed to be the people they became; the narrative (and obviously the player choices) led them into that. I do not, after 121 episodes, give points for lost potential; but a different campaign from the start might have actually brought out that potential and made them into characters who could be the focus of a good story.

[melodygatesauthor]

The Only One

Dark - Duke Leto Atreides X f!Reader

Not Beta Read

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Summary

The duke needs an heir, or Caladan will fall under the rule of his enemies. There's one woman is capable of saving the planet...she's the only one.

Tags/Warnings

Disclaimers: This fic does not comply with canon, throw everything you thought you knew about the Dune lore out the window. The duke is (in my opinion) in character for this situation, despite the obsessive tendencies. There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks. NSFW, non-con, rape, kidnapping, sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, lactation kink, pregnancy, blood kink, cockwarming, forced pregnancy, non-consensual bondage, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, body worship, pregnant sex, oral sex (f receiving), Dark fic, Dark Duke Leto Atreides. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)

Word Count: 6k

Prelude

After many years of trying for an heir, Duke Leto has begun to give up hope. Without an heir, the emperor threatens to give away his birthright, strip him of his title, and hand Caladan to his enemies. He has been given only one final year to produce a son who will carry on his family name. While searching for someone who could give him what he needs, he happens upon a mysterious woman. The strange woman tells of a prophecy, one that Leto takes very seriously, because he has no other choice. "In a village, not far from here, my lord, there's a girl. She is not of noble birth, but I have seen her future, and she will give you many sons." Duke Leto, a kind and gentle man, would never hurt someone so innocent on purpose, but when faced with the choice of taking you, or losing Caladan to those who meant to oppress it, he must set aside his morality for the greater good...

The duke entered his chambers where you were suspended from the lofty ceiling, as he’d requested his men to do once they found you. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of you, so beautiful, so scared. Leto stepped forward, nearly jumping when your head shot up and your tear-stained eyes locked on with his. He held one hand behind his back in a regal manner, holding the other out to touch your cheek as he closed in on you slowly.

“W-wh…” you cleared your throat, “where…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of your beautiful face, “you’re safe now. There’s no need to panic.”

Despite his words, it was clear you were terrified, struggling to breath in a normal, even heave. No matter the fear you displayed in your eyes, the duke’s expression remained calm, and filled with adoration.

“I know you’re frightened. It is…expected,” he said softly, standing up straight and casually walking to his wardrobe. “Would you care for some wine perhaps? Or I can call for the doctor, he could provide you with a mild sedative?”

He turned to look at you, your head was hung downward once again, naked body trembling and rattling the chains that held you in place. He wasn’t a cruel man, though he suspected you thought he was. He’d never done something like this before, sending his guards out to retrieve a young woman to keep in his chambers indefinitely. A nearly inaudible sob escaped your lips.

“No need to cry my dear, you’re not in any danger,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal piercing through the room. “In fact, you’re going to be very well taken care of here. Do you have any idea just how lucky you are?”

You cried harder, sobs becoming even louder as you looked up at him again. He removed his shirt, revealing his warm, sunkissed skin. It was hard to tell, but he appeared handsome through the blur of your tears. You dropped your head again, your neck aching from the position you were in. Your arms were pinned behind your back, body bent forward at the hips, leaving your rear exposed and open. Your thighs ached, legs spread wide, forced open by a metal pole secured between your knees. The ache in your chest from your labored breathing was horrid enough, only made worse by the chains wrapped around you, keeping your torso held upward and parallel to the stone floor.

“You don’t even realize that you are the most important piece to maintaining our way of life of Caladan,” he continued, removing his pants completely and letting them fall to the ground. “I have been unable to find anyone compatible. Perhaps it’s that my genetics are too much for the average woman to carry to term.” He stepped closer to you, cock bobbing heavily with every stride. “But you’re not average, are you my dear?”

“P-please,” you croaked, “I…I…”

“No no, not another word. You’re frightened now, yes, but you’ll soon realize the important work that you were made for,” he walked past you, running his hand along your arm and to your hip as he did. “The important job you’ll be doing for me…”

You whimpered, struggling slightly against your restraints but to no avail. The duke used to pride himself on being an honorable man, and even in this morally reprehensible moment, he felt justified in his actions. He didn’t always like what his duty called him to do, but knowing it was for the greater good, he would do almost anything.

“You see my dear,” he cooed, “you were found for me, a beautiful, fertile woman who is prophesied to give me many children…” he leaned into your ear, “many.” His tone turned to a low rumble. “So even though this may seem sudden, you will realize with time that you’re fulfilling your purpose…your destiny.”

His right palm splayed over the globe of your cheek, moving toward where your body was spread in two. He didn’t like hearing you cry, but he knew it was inevitable. No normal girl would consent to being abducted and restrained in a man’s bedroom, not even the duke’s bedroom. He saw your puckered hole, and he pressed his index finger to it gently, inciting a gasp from you, followed by the rattling of the chains. You cried out, begging him to release you, but your wails fell on deaf ears.

“I know you care about Caladan, our people. I know you care about the Atreides legacy, and you know…” he spit between your crack, letting his warm saliva trickle from your rim down between your folds, “you know I need a strong, healthy heir.”

Leto positioned himself behind you, using his hand to fist the fat tip of his cock at your glistening entrance. The metal pole keeping your legs spread for him creaked with tension as you struggled to close your thighs, a pointless endeavor. He sighed heavily, gliding his head between each crevice of your pretty little cunt, making himself slick with your arousal.

“You must think me to be a cruel man, but you’re mistaken darling. I don’t want to hurt you, and if you’ll relax this will be much less painful for you.” His breath was ragged with an almost animalistic desire. “You must understand, however, that I care far too much about the future of my people not to provide them with an Atreides heir.”

No matter how hard you tried to escape the flesh splitting thrust of his wide girth, your attempts were futile. A pained scream echoed off the walls of his chambers, followed shortly by the warmth of your blood against his thighs as he slapped them against yours loudly. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he wanted to get your first time over with, and not drag it out any longer than necessary. He slowed down after a moment, once your screaming turned to soft whimpers.

“You’re doing so well…” he huffed through his nostrils harshly “…I know this isn’t easy for you,” Leto leaned forward, grabbing one of your hanging breasts in his large hand, pinching the nipple gently, “b-but your body was built for this…it was built for me…”

“No, n-no…” you trailed off, feeling your head fall back down, neck aching still from the strain. A small moan left your lips, despite your attempts to keep it in.

“O-oh sweetheart is…is it starting to feel good?” The roll of his hips remained at a steady pace. “That’s wonderful, it will help with the pain, and your time will be more enjoyable for you if you can gain some pleasure from this as well, I don’t want you to feel misery if I can help it.”

“S-stop, please, my lord…”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, continuing to palm at your breast.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your spine. He could feel your tied-back hands fidgeting against his ribcage. His free hand moved to your left hip, holding it tightly to angle himself deeper.

“I’m going to fill you with every bit of me , every-single-drop,” he punctuated each word with a harder thrust. “I need to make sure you get it all, need to make sure it takes…mmph!”

Surely your noisy whimpers could be heard in the halls, yet no one came to help you. They all knew what was happening in there. You were to be the mother of the next Atreides heir. You would be made to bear child after child for the legacy obsessed duke. A breeding vessel for a desperate nobleman, torn between his kind nature and his need for the security and wellbeing of his people.

“The emperor will take everything I have if I can't secure my bloodline. He’ll give it t-to the…” he whimpered and gulped deeply, “Harkonnens, and I can’t let that happen to my people.”

You could hear nothing over your whimpers save for the wet slapping of his skin against yours as his pace quickened. You didn’t know what he was going on about - destiny, legacy, an Atreides heir? - He snapped forward again, a gravelly rumble falling from his chest. He moved to an upright position, letting your breast hang loosely once more. You wailed loudly, the feeling of his thick fingers leaving their impressions in the flesh of your hip.

“M-my lord, my lord…it hurts so…s-so-much-s-sir!”

“I know, but you’re taking me so well anyway aren’t you?” He looked down where your puffy little hole swallowed his crimson painted cock. “Look at that.”

His index finger touched where you were stretched around him, that little bit of skin that held onto his cock like it never meant to let go. You whimpered, chains rattling around you as your body involuntarily moved, only serving to sink you down further on his length once more. He could hear you hyperventilating, a panic-stricken whine punching out of your chest that he felt a tad guilty for inciting.

Until he remembered what your purpose was…the reason he’d had you brought to his castle in the first place.

He reached an arm around your leg, sinking the pad of his finger into the wet, bloody mess between the slippery lips of your cunt. In the sea of your arousal, he found the swollen bud that made your walls flutter around him. You gasped, and seemingly on their own, his hips slid forward, chasing that delicious feeling of your body finally accepting him, pulling him deeper inside.

“You like that don’t you?” He bit his lip, a breathy chuckle escaping through his teeth with the knowledge that he’d found a way to settle your terror, if only for a moment. “I promise, no matter how terrible this may be, that I won’t allow you to stay like this…and-s-suffer-oh-my…”

He felt your body squeezing tighter, walls contracting around his cock. He thrust forward again, shuddering at the way you were taking him, pulling him deeper, like your body was begging for his cum, like you needed him to feed your hole until you were stuffed and overflowing.

“Mmm-m-my-lord…p-please–”

Your tone was different now, more sultry and full of desire. It was good to hear you like that, moaning instead of crying, grunting with pleasure instead of pain. This would be so much better for you once you gave in, he knew that much. He could give you everything: make your body shake with orgasm after orgasm, clothes made from the finest silks, and comforts that were reserved for only the lords and ladies of Caladan.

“Your pleas don’t go unnoticed sweetheart, don’t think me cruel, I wouldn’t do this if the circumstances were different,” he huffed, breathing becoming more ragged with every glide of his hips. “I need you…Caladan needs you–needs-you-full-ah!”

The smooth roll of his hips slowed as his seed spilled into you. You felt it, warm and slick as it coated your insides white. You felt a sensation you’d never felt, rolling over your entire body and pooling in your core, causing your legs to shake and your mind to go blank. It was euphoric; a reprieve from the pain you’d endured for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than several minutes.

Leto felt your pussy walls squeezing, crushing down over his girth in waves while you moaned. What a sweet sound, one that made him feel mental relief that he’d given you something in return for your suffering. His finger slowed around your hardened clit, letting you come down slowly from your high.

As your pleasured whines subsided, you thought he would remove himself from you, letting your hole relax after such an ordeal, but he didn’t. The duke stayed there, hips pressed flush against your rear, making no motion to release you from his hold. You moved slightly, but he gripped tightly on your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“No, no darling, no.” His voice was calm but raspy, still settling after his climax. “I’m going to stay like this for a moment longer, just to make sure it takes. We wouldn’t want to waste it.”

He looked down, seeing the way your body had bled on his, coating his pubic hair in a deep red shade. He felt for you, truly he did, but once you realized what an honor it was to be in your position, he knew you’d find it was worth the sacrifice. Your breathing was slowing, going back to normal, and after several moments he pulled back, letting his limp cock fall from where it had torn you open. 

You groaned, feeling yourself become empty all at once. Your head hung down, neck finally too tired to hold it up any longer. You heard the duke tsk behind you, his palms pressing against your cheeks and spreading them further. The sound of dripping cum on the floor echoed through the room.

“Let’s keep it all inside, sweet one, I need you to give me a son,” he pushed his spend back inside you with his finger, what little was still there and had not fallen to the floor.

You winced and hissed, the metal holding you in place rattling once more. His thick middle-finger slid in deep, Leto shuddered as your hole clenched in response. He could hear you crying, a soft, defeated sound he wished one day would stop. But he couldn’t expect that from you, not now as he broke you in for the first time. He expected you would be like this for a while until you were used to him, used to his size, used to the way he kept you as full as possible, as often as possible.

“Your body handled me very, very well darling,” he said, idly fingering you as he spoke, continuing to push his spend back inside you. “Looks like I’ve made quite the mess of you, but don’t worry, I’ll have you cleaned up in a moment.”

He kept true to his word, once he was thoroughly satisied he’d kept his cum in you long enough, the duke turned onto his back, positioned himself between your thighs, and propped himself up on his elbows so his lips could reach your cunt with ease. A gasp shot from your lungs, the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your sore folds bringing comfort to the ache. You moaned, a sound that represented more than just sexual pleasure, but a sound that told him you were at least accepting your fate…for the moment.

He was right, there was no more fighting, and it was clear your words weren’t going to change his goal oriented mind. His desire to have an heir was stronger than his desire to act honorably. His tongue went flat, you felt it soothing the tear of your hymen, then dragging upward and flicking once it reached the peak of your folds. You exhaled a sigh, cunt throbbing in response to the way he lapped at you masterfully.

“You know not many,” he kissed your pussy lips, “can say,” another peck, “they’ve been lucky enough to carry such an important role for Caladan. Even I’m not as important as you are right now.”

His hand reached up and pressed against your stomach while his mouth continued to melt into your cunt, soothing you even more as he cleaned you. He never felt such pride as he did in that moment, knowing that this was a good effort, even if it didn’t take. The sheer amount that he ate from you, in combination with his already discarded seed on the floor underneath him, gave the duke a sense of relief to know that he was producing sufficiently on his end. It wouldn’t take long for you to give him a healthy child, if you were indeed the girl the old woman had told him about.

You whimpered still when his tongue would touch your wound, though it was always followed with the relief of him dragging it over your clit. He slurped quietly as he continued, not making an indication that he would be stopping any time soon, despite the likelihood of you being clean already. The hand on your stomach moved, reaching up and cupping your breast, holding it and squeezing softly.

“Oh, my lord, y-yes…”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the heat pooling at the base of your abdomen once again. Was it even worth trying to deny the way it felt? He was the Duke of Caladan after all. If he wanted a hundred concubines tied up to his ceiling he could take them, and no one would stop him. You should be grateful it was he who took you, and not someone who might’ve been much more cruel in their claiming of your body.

He hummed into your folds, breathing heavily through his nose as he did. His hand slid over to your waist, gripping around you and holding tight. The vibration from his moans, and the brush of his peppery beard against your thighs was causing your body to near release once more. That would only be the second time in your life that you’d felt it, and you wanted it more than you could bear.

“Mm, let yourself go my dear, I only want you to feel good from now on, now that I broke you in a little.”

His mouth never left your cunt as he spoke, his words only serving to draw your next climax from your body faster. You felt it fall over you, warm and heavy, making your body melt once more, going limp save for the involuntary crashing of your walls around the emptiness the duke had left behind. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were fully satisfied, head hanging down again and breathing returned to normal. 

With a grunt he rose from beneath you. You heard him padding on his bare feet to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. If you turned your head just a little you could see him, much clearer now than before. He looked at you as he put a loose cotton shirt over his shoulders, then leaning down to pull his trousers over his legs.

“You’re simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said in a gentle baritone, moving back to kneel in front of you. “I do not kneel for many, but I’ll kneel for the mother of my children.”

You strained your neck to look at him once again. He cupped your cheeks to help you, seeing your struggle and feeling sorry for the part he played in your suffering. He kissed your forehead, feeling the salt from your sweaty brow upon his lips.

“I’ll return every day, at least until I’m sure you’re pregnant,” his lips curled into a compassionate smirk, “then I’ll let you rest while your belly grows.”

He stood, striding to the washroom and leaving you hanging there, like a prized animal on display. Before long, the same men who’d captured you returned, undoing most of your bonds, save for the ones holding your hands behind your back. They weren’t rough, just like before when they’d abducted you. You felt your entire body sigh, your bones and muscles feeling relieved to fall back into place. 

You weren’t sure when exactly you’d conceived. It must’ve happened at some point between that first time when he tore you apart, and the following month when your period didn’t arrive when it should’ve. By then you’d become, not unlike, a piece of furniture in Duke Leto’s chambers, restraints much less restrictive and painful than your first meeting. Only a week after he’d broken you, you’d become more willing for him, crying less when he came to take you. 

“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here, despite your situation, and since you’ve become so compliant, I think I can afford to make you more comfortable,” he’d explained.

And so he had you moved to the bed. Though you weren’t completely free. That was a risk the duke could not afford. So he had metal cuffs around your wrists, and chains that connected them to the stone wall behind the bed. You could move easier, but you could never leave.

When another week went by, two weeks after your torment began, he was swelling with pride, seeing you spreading your legs upon his entry into his chambers without prompt. You said you appreciated the silken evening dress he’d had the servants craft for you, the one that fell open on either side of your hips when you presented your cunt to him. He wasn’t supposed to love you - it wasn’t necessary for him to love you - but he felt himself overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t contain every time he saw you.

Three weeks after that first meeting, you kissed him. It was clear he’d been holding back, allowing you to maintain some level of autonomy, despite having taken your body for himself so many times. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force you to be intimate with him if that wasn’t what you wished.

So it was a shock when he was several moments into fucking you, cock sliding wetly along your walls in a desperation to fill you with him again, and you grabbed his face on either side. His hooded eyes shot up, meeting with yours but then quickly flicking down to see your precious lips closing in. You closed your eyes, and so did he, and everything seemed to slow down for a moment, including the pace that he thrust into you.

The slow roll of his hips was heavenly, and was soon accompanied by the feeling of his hand on the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, gliding his tongue inside your mouth so he could taste you. The duke filled you faster than ever that night, being so engulfed in the moment that he couldn’t hold on any longer.

And now, it was just over a month beyond your arrival to Castle Caladan, you were sitting with the physician while he examined you, confirming that yours and the duke’s efforts had been fruitful.

The way Leto looked at you in that moment, was a look you’d never seen before. His dark brows turned up and stitched together, soft lips parted just before a smirk curled over them. He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, the glossy sheen of tears apparent in his eyes.

“After years of trying to produce an heir, I finally found a perfect vessel, such a precious thing,” he cooed, touching your stomach before leaning in and finding your lips with his own. “My most wonderful treasure.”

Leto heard nothing else as the doctor murmured about you, voice seeming background to where his focus lied. Part of him was still shocked that the old woman was right. She told him in his search of her prophecy that you, a normal village girl, would produce many sons for him, and she was right. 

That night, the duke did everything he could for you. His kisses were softer, less desperate and more deliberate. His hands didn’t grab your flesh as a means to hold you, but rather to feel you. And when he sunk his cock into you, he did so in a way that emphasized your pleasure over his own, angling for those spots that made your body quiver.

You may not have been of noble birth, but to the duke, that night you were his empress. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been brushed by the coarse hair of his bearded chin. He worshiped you, giving you an evening dedicated to only your satisfaction.

For many weeks he would come into his chambers and ramble on about how proud he was, and how well you were doing. He would whisper the most depraved, while beautiful, things in your ear about how the people of Caladan owed you their lives, and how he couldn’t wait until it was time to breed you all over again. All of that praise was nothing though, not compared to the way he looked at you after coming back from his trip to Arrakis.

When he walked into his chambers, and you were there on his bed, only a couple short months away from birth, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt like the words were trapped in his throat, and his feet were stuck to the floor. All he could do was stare, and take in the beauty before him. You were simply radiant, pregnant belly full with his son, his heir; swelling breasts nearly spilling out of your dress.

Once he found the ability to move again he slowly walked over to you, taking off his coat as he sat beside you.

“Look at you…” his voice trailed off.

“Hello my lord,” you greeted softly.

His hand reached for yours, and he was quickly reminded that you’d been a captive there, metal cuffs still wrapped around your wrists, rattling as he held you. He felt a pang in his chest, wanting desperately to release you. Every time the thought crossed his mind though, he worried you would run. You didn’t seem like you would try to leave, having become much more docile since your arrival months ago. There was also the glaring fact that you were pregnant, and it wouldn’t be easy for you to get away even if you managed to pass every one of the guards who might see you before reaching the doors of Leto’s home.

There was always that small chance though, no matter how slim, that you would leave. It was a risk he couldn’t afford to take.

He looked back at your body, eyes wide and trained on your stomach. The duke leaned in, kissing just above your navel, a satisfied hum escaping his lungs as he did. It was hard not to like him, and that was what you hated about him the most. The man was dedicated to his people, to his title, and his legacy more than anything. The longer you were around him, and the more time you’d spent under his care, the more you’d begun to understand your purpose within his walls.

The idea of the Harkonnens, or any other house for that matter, claiming the right to Caladan, should House Atreides produce no heir, was a frightful one. He broke you from your thoughts, eyes trailing up your chest and to your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat, he looked so handsome, lips slightly parted with a few stray hairs falling into his dark eyes. Despite holding you captive for the sole purpose of breeding an heir from you, you’d begun to fall for Leto Atreides, against all odds.

“My sweet girl, my darling, you’re doing so well, growing my child in your womb. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to give me a son, to give House Atreides its heir,” he whispered, cupping your cheek, bringing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been disappointed so many times.”

“Thank you my lo-”

“No sweetheart, no, shh…” he pressed a finger to your lips gently before replacing it with a tender kiss, “you should be worshiped by Caladan, it's people…I want to worship you.”

His hand grabbed at your waist, pulling you against him into a deeper kiss. You felt his growing arousal against your thigh, followed by an involuntary rut of his hips. You whined, trying not to be bothered by the incessant ache in your chest, your engorged tits becoming too heavy and painful to bear. It was hard to focus on the duke’s soothing touch when you felt such discomfort.

He stopped kissing you, looking at you with concern, “are you alright sweet one?” His eyes trailed to your tits, “are they sore? Oh you poor thing.”

You nodded and whimpered, wincing as he pulled one of your straps down and pulled a heavy breast from its confines. Your puffy nipple had a bead of white sitting on it, threatening to trickle down the mound. His pink tongue darted out, lapping up the milk that nearly fell from your breast, and humming in approval of its taste.

“Let me help you my dear,” he said softly, leaning in and latching his mouth over your chest.

You gasped at first, the coarse brush of his beard stinging against the sensitive skin, but it very quickly gave way to a much better, more soothing sensation. You sighed in relief, feeling him suckling at your flesh, drawing out the milk that had been causing your breasts to swell beyond belief. He moaned against your skin, rolling his hips idly as he did. This was very unusual for him, to be so needy and desperate for you, clinging onto your body the way he was.

In the past, Leto would’ve just taken you if he wanted to, but with your body so soft and full with his child, he would resist. Of course he knew you could take it, you weren’t made of glass, but he wanted to give you nothing but comfort, emptying you instead of filling you with more than he already had in the past. He felt your hand reach up and grab the back of his head, delicate fingers massaging between his peppery locks.

“Mm, my darling, so sweet,” he muttered against your tit, a little milk dribbling down his lips.

You felt his hips moving more, now more deliberate before, as though he were accepting of his primal urges to find release, rather than suppress it, but still unwilling to ask you for help.

“It’s alright my lord, you haven’t…mmph…you haven’t been satisfied in some time. Do what you must.”

Even though he was trying to remain stoic and refined, your permission was all he needed to throw all that aside. With his free hand he tugged at his belt, keeping his lips pursed around your nipple as he did. You heard the unmistakable clanking and rattling metal as he found success, pulling the leather from the loops and tossing it to the ground. His dexterous fingers then made quick work of his pants, pulling them to his thighs.

Leto Atreides was a nobleman, not one to give in to such animalistic delights so easily, but something about drinking from your chest, and how perfect you were serving him and his house with your pregnancy made him feral for you. His hands were shaking as he tried to bring his cock to your hole. He’d done it so many times before, why was he struggling now?

“Sir…” you pushed him off your breast, biting your lip at the sight of him as he looked up at you.

His eyes were hooded, milk-drunk and heavy. The lips that had been suckling for a while were now pink, puffy, and covered in a white, glossy sheen. You lifted your leg, sliding yourself into a position that you were both parallel to one another. You wrapped your leg around his hip, angling his fat tip to your slippery entrance.

“You’re too precious, too g-good…oh…” His hips stuttered forward, opening you wide around his cock once again.

You hadn’t been with him in so long, your body had nearly forgotten how to take him. You winced, needing to readjust once again, but he was patient, holding himself flush against your hips while your walls moved aside for his girth. He let out, what sounded like, a low growl as he mouthed at your neglected tit. His hips remained in place, making no attempt to retreat, nor to glide in further. His cock rested there contentedly, throbbing every now and then.

He gulped, humming into your breast as he drank more, the ache in your chest slowly subsiding with every moment that passed. Eventually he moved his hips lazily, pulling back after a time before rolling back forward.

What the duke was feeling with you in that moment was more than a simple sex act. What he felt now was comfort, his cock buried in your soaking, slippery heat, and his lips pursed around your nipple. Leto swirled his tongue in a slow roll over your peaked mound, taking a moment to inhale several shaky breaths before going in for more.

The way he drew more and more milk out of you was causing your body to relax further, your walls becoming more open to his slow movements and deep strokes. A low moan escaped you, forcing his eyes to shoot up, still so dark in their feral hunger. You tugged his hair, forcing him to pull off your breast with a loud pop. Without hesitation, you kissed him, filling your mouth with a combination of your sweet fluids and the duke’s own signature taste 

“You’re like no other. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to hold you close sweetheart…”

He brushed his nose against yours, eyes moving slowly from your lips, to your eyes, and back again. A swell of emotion poured through him, his desires going beyond just wanting to give you his seed, but it was something more. Your last name…it was wrong. He never wanted to take a wife, in fact, he’d vowed never to do such a thing, but you’d changed the very fiber of his being from the moment he’d found you.

“After my son is born, I’ll give you the best gift I can, the only gift I can give a woman of such importance…oh my…g…”

The duke lost himself, holding you tightly against him, though careful not to squeeze against your stomach too harshly. His choked moans vibrated against your chest while he filled you, pumping your body with his cum once again. You felt your own climax wash over your body, inspired by his own, drawing everything it could from him as it did, both of you a trembling, moaning mess.

He sighed with contentment after his mind cleared. He looked at you once more. 

“I’m going to keep you,” he kissed your lips breathlessly, “I’m going to keep you here with me. I’m going to give you my name, and until the day I die you’ll be mine, my precious thing.” He pecked you again, and then pressed his lips to your stomach.

“I can’t wait to have your name, sir, and to be able to walk around the castle freely,” you said softly.

Leto’s blood ran cold. 

Walk around freely…

Perhaps you’d misunderstood him, in fact, he was certain of it. He could see how his words may have been misconstrued. Evidently he would need to be more clear with you. The duke’s gaze darkened when he looked back into your eyes.

“My sweet girl.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead. “Until the day you are barren, I cannot risk any harm to you, nor your body.” His words were chilling, but his gaze was warm. 

“You’ll never leave this room, so long as I can help it.”

Duke Leto Atreides Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist ! this one is pretty long tbh, i cannot sleep, can only write

Bellamy Blake - Dropship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You stumble across a knocked-out person, and you drag his body to your cave not knowing what to do; if only you knew what this would lead to. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: smut, lots of plot, violence, nsfw, grounder reader

Finding unusual things in the first wasn't uncommon. In fact, it became a normal occurrence for me. I had loved studying the animals in the Trigeda, always finding them astounding, every one acting a different way, how they'd interact with each other.

It was different from how humans interacted, with the animals it was peaceful; the circle of life. And with humans it was tough, always using violence as the first means of answer, their reasoning always being 'Jus drein jus daun.'

Blood must have blood.

Lincoln had told me about the boat people, how my views and theirs didn't share many differences. But I knew I couldn't condemn my life to one stuck on the water, surrounded by miles and miles of sea and fish.

I loved the wholly green trees, and the spots of color by the flowers when a welcoming spring came; a sign of forgiveness from the harsh conditions of a rough winter just weeks before, when the animals would go into hiding.

When the Sky People initially landed it scared off the animals for miles around the drop ship, it took two weeks for them to return to their natural acts.

I knew Trikru weren't fond of the Sky People, they were like all the other clans- instantly resorting to violence and wars. They fit right in here on Earth.

So when I found a boy who bore the symbols of Skaikru in the middle of the forest unconscious, I had to do something.

I knew what they'd do to him if they found him here, and I'd never forgive myself if I let that happen knowing I could've done something.

I had tried picking him up but he was fairly heavy, and I was fairly weak. I felt bad dragging him, not knowing what lay between the grass but it was the only option I had.

Luckily for him, my cave was nearby.

I dragged him all the way inside my cave before assessing what had happened.

I felt very awkward feeling him up and down, feeling as though I was invading his personal space; which I was. But it was for the greater good.

I think.

Once I was sure he didn't have any wounds I felt his face, his freckles, and dirt hid underneath my palms as I cupped his cheeks. His temperature was high but he was breathing fine, possibly dehydration? Starvation? Either way, I couldn't do anything until he woke up.

I removed his jacket and placed it under his head as a sort of pillow while also trying to take his body temperature down I rubbed a cloth with water across his dirty face.

Once the dirt was off his features were much more prominent, his freckles littered his face with underbags like he hadn't had a good night's rest in days. My guess was either blue or green eyes.

Deciding to let him sleep I backed away from the boy. I stepped towards my meat rack and grabbed two pieces of provisions, then placed the meat on the metal rack above the smoke to get something ready for when he awoke.

It didn't take long for him to wake up, the smell of cooked meat filled the cave in a warm atmosphere.

The boy shot up, looking around cluelessly before his eyes landed on me. He instinctively grabbed for a knife, instead gripping onto nothing.

I probably should've dressed less like a grounder.

I knew little of English, only really hearing it when I went to Trikru villages or Polis.

He backed up into the cave wall, struggling to stand on his feet.

"Shhh," I spoke softly, placing my hands out in a calming manner, if I could calm animals I could calm humans right?

"Where am I?" His voice was loud and rough, it boomed off the walls of the cave.

"Cave," I simply state, grabbing my knife from my pocket as the boy's eyes widen. I knew he'd feel safer if he thought he was in control. I tossed the knife over to him, showing him I had no other weapons.

He quickly leaned in to grab it, now aiming it towards me.

"Why am I here?" His voice was less louder this time, but still fairly rough in octaves.

"Asleep in the forest,"

The dots seemed to connect in his mind as he lowered the knife, still weary about my every move.

My hand slowly went to my side, grabbing my canteen and sliding it across the floor to him.

"Drink," I demanded, giving my best trusting smile.

He kicked it back to me, untrusting the contents. If I wanted him dead I would've done it when he was asleep in the middle of the forest!

Even animals trust easier than this.

"You first," He said.

I rolled my eyes and took the canteen to my lips, taking a small sip to save the rest for him.

Sliding it once again to him he swiftly took it and drank the remaining contents in a very fast manner, like he's never tasted water that good before. His swift actions made a giggle erupt from me, making him look weirdly at me.

"Why?" He asked, placing the knife in its respective holster.

I looked at him confused, unsure of what he was referring to.

"Why save me?"

I thought about the words for a moment, unsure of how much trig he knew- or if he knew any at all.

"I am much kinder than Trikru," I said, walking towards the smoke rack. "Food, eat,"

He wasn't sure if he could trust me, even after I just saved his life, he thought I'd want some unrepayable favor back, or that I was just waiting for my leader to show up.

I sighed and walked to the wall of the cave, sitting down and leaning back on my arms. "Okay, starve," I said.

His face was one of inner debating, not taking long before getting up and taking his share of the meat.

"What's your name?" He asked, now sitting down in the same spot he was before, which was fairly close to me. Though he held the knife in his hands as he ate; I didn't mind.

"Many questions," I say with a smile, "y/n."

He never returned my smile, instead turning his expression into one of seriousness "I'm gonna have questions for the person who dragged me to this cave,"

I scoffed, "You have a knife, gonot,"

There was no use in helping someone who won't take it, it's like chasing a rabbit who doesn't wanna be chased.

The boy rolled his eyes, his head shaking as well, he knew enough to know I told him to leave. He used his knee to prop himself up, heading towards the cave entrance with one last look at me.

Brown eyes. He had deep, brown eyes.

It had been a few days since my last encounter with the brown-eyed boy. I hadn't thought about him much, only before I went to bed, when I woke up, when I was watching animals, and when I was talking to Lincoln. I'd like to think that wasn't much.

I couldn't shake the fact he hadn't even thanked me for saving his life, nobody had ever treated me with such coldness before. Especially after I help them. Maybe it was just a Skaikru thing, maybe they weren't used to common courtesy. He hadn't even told me his name.

The boy on the other hand had also been thinking of me, the grounder who saved him.

Though he didn't like that word.

Instead, he told everyone he camped out in a cave with a grounder that he held hostage. He couldn't believe the grounders were kind, not after the lives they took, the torture they put Skaikru through. But he couldn't help repeating my name in his head, repeating that day over and over.

A grounder saved him.

I wasn't sure why I was so drawn to the boy with the brown eyes, but I just knew I was.

Walking through the forest I was picking random flowers, feeling bad for them as I was ripping them from their bodies stuck to the ground, but it made great feed for the rabbits.

I was twirling the daisy between my fingers when a loud voice boomed off the barks of the trees, scaring the crows from their nests.

"Don't move!" I heard a voice yell from behind me.

My entire body froze in fear, I had never been put in a situation like this, never having made many enemies.

"Turn around, slowly!"

I did as told, moving as slowly as I could until I was face to face with a boy, this wasn't the boy from the cave, this one had bright blue eyes you could see from miles away and a messy middle part with a particularly big nose.

I felt like a deer that was spooked by hunters, everything in me was telling me to run, escape, and take my chances. But my legs wouldn't cooperate with my head. I couldn't take this guy on, I wasn't a fighter, I never learned.

He could sense the fear radiating off me, "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you, grounder." He spoke with such spite as if I was a disease or plague.

I couldn't form any sentences, my heart was beating against the cage of my chest, and I prayed that anybody would come and save me.

I didn't wanna die.

I didn't wanna die before learning his name.

I was about to die and he was the first thing I was thinking of, unbelievable.

"Speak!" He shouted once again, stepping closer to me with his gun aiming towards my head.

"Murphy!" The familiar voice filled my ears.

Murphy, I'm assuming, looked back quickly before letting out an angry groan.

The brown-eyed boy appeared, and when he saw the scene he was angry.

He marched up to Murphy and grabbed ahold of his jacket, making him drop the gun.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He yelled into Murphy's face, still gripping his jacket as strong as ever, he practically lifted him up.

"Finishing the job man!" Murphy tried pushing the boy off but it was no use, fear seeped into Murphy's voice.

"Finishing the job?" He repeated though it wasn't a question.

"C'mon, Bellamy, she's just a stupid-," Murphy tried reasoning.

Bellamy.

"She's what!?" Bellamy yelled, slamming Murphy into a tree before grabbing him again, "She's what!?"

I couldn't lie to myself, seeing this side of Bellamy was attractive. Knowing he was already so protective over me, I couldn't let him kill Murphy.

"Bellamy!" I shouted.

Bellamy didn't look towards me, instead, he glared into Murphy's eyes before throwing him down and backing away towards the dropped gun.

Only then did he meet my gaze, examining me from feet away to make sure Murphy didn't harm me.

Murphy took a while to regain his composure, standing up and dusting himself off while looking between us.

"Let's go," Bellamy said, looking towards Murphy.

Bellamy stole another glance at me before leaving for their ship, leaving me standing there still processing everything.

That day came and went, and so did the next. I had begun missing Bellamy, I roamed the woods hoping I'd run into him but I never did.

I even debated on just running into their camp, but the big weaponry scared me off. All I could do was hope and pray he was okay, that Trikru hadn't gotten to him first.

I spoke with Lincoln the day after the incident, I told him about Bellamy, about Murphy. And he admitted he too saved a girl from Skaikru, she was Bellamy's sister, and she wasn't like the rest. Octavia was kind, and gentle with Lincoln, a calm contrast to the way most people had treated him.

I was happy for Lincoln, he found someone he was interested in, and it was nice to have someone relate to the same experiences I was going through.

Bellamy was worrying about me just as much as well. After the previous incident, he wasn't sure I could handle myself if another person were to threaten me. The thought alone had his blood boiling.

He wanted me there, in camp, where he knew I'd be safe. But after what happened with the grounders he didn't think the rest of the camp would like that idea.

He tried everything to go outside the walls, to even catch a glimpse of me but he knew the camp needed him there now. The wall wouldn't build itself. He'd always find his mind coming back to me, carefree picking flowers and talking to the animals.

Most would find it crazy but he found it mesmerizing. In such a dark world there was such beauty, and I knew how to find it in even the darkest of times.

I was in my cave when I heard someone call me.

"y/n."

It was Lincoln.

I smiled when I saw him, Lincoln was one of my best friends, well, my only best friend.

"Yea?" I ask, walking up to him, his expression is a mix of anger and worry.

"They're going to attack tonight, the bridge,"

Lincoln didn't need to explain further for me to know what he was talking about.

Trikru was going to march on Skaikru.

I needed to warn them.

I swiftly ran past Lincoln, but he quickly grabbed my arm.

"Lincoln! I need to-"

"Be safe."

I gave him a nod before rushing off to the drop ship, my mind only worrying about Bellamy and his people. With every step, the sky got darker, and my legs began to get sore but I had to push through.

And then I saw it.

The big wooden fence made of scraps.

"Grounder!" I heard one of the men atop the wall yell. "Don't move!"

Bellamy was the first to open the doors, his face turned to one of surprise, but I didn't have time for reunions.

"Don't shoot! She is safe!" Bellamy yelled.

I ran to him, "Bellamy," I looked into his eyes, "They're attacking soon, from the bridge," His expression dropped to a more serious look.

"We know," He said, "Ravens working on a bomb right now,"

My face must've contorted enough for him to notice.

"For the bridge," He finished with a smile.

A breath of relief passed through my lips.

"Come in, I'll catch you up."

It took him an hour to explain everything, from Murphy going missing to him returning with a temporary sickness infecting everyone but the immune. It was something Trikru did to thin out the battlefield, my heart felt for all the souls who couldn't make it past the sickness.

"Bellamy!" I heard a girl from outside his tent call, he gave me a look before exiting the tent and I curiously followed, receiving stares from everyone around us.

"Raven? What's up?" He asked Raven, she had a tan complexion with a high ponytail.

"We did it, now we just need to make it there and shoot it."

Bellamy nodded, "I'll do it,"

I immediately looked towards him, "No!"

"I have to, it's for my people," He said, now looking down towards me.

I couldn't stand the thought of possibly losing him, what if something went wrong and he never came back?

"There isn't any other way?" I pleaded, worry evident in my face and tone.

"Our other shooters are too sick and I'm the last good shot," His hands went to my arms in a comforting matter, "I'll be back before you even know it."

His words did little to calm my worries, but I knew he was set on his decision. All I could do was nod in reply.

Raven handed him a sniper and mixture, "Pour the gunpowder around the jelly, then run far away."

With every word she spoke, I could feel the fear and sadness crawl up my spine.

Bellamy was ready to leave but before he did he looked at me before approaching another boy "If anything happens to her, they answer to me, got it?"

The boy nodded his head in reply.

I watched as he left the gates and as they slowly closed behind him, the anxiety growing within everyone in the camp. If Bellamy failed, it was over for everyone else as well.

For the next few hours, I stayed in Bellamy's tent, lying in his bed and curled up under his blanket which still smelled like him. I was beyond worried for him, I hadn't known him long but I deeply cared for him.

"Don't think I just forgot." I heard a voice say, now entering the tent. It was Murphy.

The same scared feeling returned throughout my body.

"What do you want?" I ask, sitting up off the bed, trying to seem as tough as possible knowing deep down I was terrified of the man standing in front of me.

"You made me look weak!" He shouted at me, his grip on the knife becoming stronger as his knuckles clouded over with a white shade.

"I don't know what you mean," I tried defending myself, Murphy stepped closer and brought the knife to my throat. The cold metal sent shivers and goosebumps down my body.

I wanted so desperately to defend myself, to take action, but I just couldn't.

"Shouldve done it when I had the chance,"

"Done what," Bellamy said before entering.

I almost started crying at the sight of Bellamy, his curly hair now matted in the dirt, but he never looked more handsome.

Murphy instantly dropped the knife and turned around, the moment he did Bellamy's fist locked with Murphy's face, making him scramble on the ground. Bellamy grabbed Murphy by the collar of his jacket and dragged him to the gate, not even letting him get up.

What scared me most is the fact Bellamy hadn't said a word since he found us.

The gates opened and he threw Murphy to the ground, giving him a nice kick to go with it.

Once Murphy was out of the way the gates closed, everyone watching in worry and fear as whispers erupted from the crowd.

Nobody had ever protected me like Bellamy had, I felt more safe with him than I've ever felt before.

Bellamy wasted no time in returning to the tent, seeing me wait there for him.

I ran into his arms and cupped his cheeks, locking our lips together finally.

His hands snaked down to my lower back, pulling me closer into his embrace as he led me to the bed laying me down gently.

I pulled away to catch my breath and he took this time to shrug his jacket off.

"I missed you," I said breathily, smiling up at him while he took his shirt off, revealing his toned chest which I swiftly ran my hands over, feeling every crevice, wanting to engrave the feeling into the pads of my fingers.

"I missed you too, princess," He returned my smile slyly, sneaking his hands under my top and sliding it off with ease, revealing my bare chest as he looked in complete awe.

Being under his gaze made my face flush with a deep red, suddenly feeling vulnerable, it didn't take him long to get his hands working up and down my body, feeling over my breasts and sides before slipping my pants down slowly revealing my soaked cunt, I bit my lip at the coldness meeting my warm pussy.

Bellamy let out a groan, feeling his bulge harden against his tight jeans. Tossing my jeans to the side he slid his fingers in between my slit, coating his fingers in the juices and trailing them up my thighs.

"This fine, princess?" He asked, staring into my eyes with his beautiful brown eyes.

I nodded my head quickly, needing this more than anything at the moment.

I heard his belt unbuckle and his zipper become undone. His hands grabbed my thighs and spread them open before lining himself up with my hole.

Bellamy let out a soft groan after only pressing his tip into me, he slowly pushed deeper into me causing sweet moans and pants to fill the tent.

It was the sweetest sound Bellamy had ever heard, he needed to hear more.

Once Bellamy was fully inside me he began slowly grinding his hips into me, not wanting to fully pull out. The feeling was ecstatic, unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

My hands reached for anything to grab onto, landing on his arms I grabbed onto them as the pain flooded my body from the abuse my sweet spot was going through.

"Doing so good," Bellamy groaned out, grabbing ahold of my hips while my legs wrapped around his waist. He gazed at the facial expressions I was making, the faster he pounded the better they got to him.

Bellamy wanted to be rough with me, to thrust into me until I couldn't take it anymore, but he knew he needed to be gentle with me. At least for now.

His grip on my hips forced me to stay still, unable to properly arch my back making him hit the deepest spots in me. I knew I couldn't last, I knew my climax was reaching me this soon.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck... Bell!" I moaned out loudly, my climax washing over my body as I shook in Bellamy's grip.

The tightening of my pussy drove Bellamy crazy, he couldn't be gentle, not like this, not when I was below him being so irresistible.

His slow thrusts soon turned rough and fast, each thrust ending with wet and lewd sounds.

Tears began streaming down my cheeks at the overstimulation, my hands going to his chest trying to push him away but my attempts were futile.

"Just keep looking pretty under me," Bellamy said, his eyes not looking away from my face, only taking quick glances toward my breasts.

His praises were addicting, making my legs start to shake erratically.

His face was coated in a thin layer of sweat, causing his skin to shine as the light from the small lantern lit the side of his face, I wanted to remember this moment forever, him above me making me feel so insanely good; better than anyone could ever make me feel.

Bellamy's hand trailed up my body and to my neck, he squeezed lightly giving him a better angle to fuck into me.

The pressure on my neck was enough to make me cum again, my body shook uncontrollably as another orgasm washed over me, painting Bellamy's cock in a thick white layer, making it easier to slip in and out of me.

Bellamy was close to his own climax, chasing the high.

"All mine, all mine," He breathed out, leaning down and kissing my neck while giving light squeezes to my neck.

His groans became louder in my ear, and it wasn't long before I felt him pull out and finish all over my stomach.

He leaned into my shoulder and caught up with his breath, smiling into my neck and breathing me in.

"You did so good," His voice was rough, a slight contrast from before.

He stood up slowly and grabbed a nearby cloth to clean me up, discarding it after.

"You're okay?" Bellamy asked sweetly, while I crawled into a more comfortable position on his bed.

"Mhm, lay with me," I said meekly.

Bellamy smiled at the sight of me curled up in his bed, he crawled in beside me and pulled me closer to him.

"Stay here with me," He whispered, stroking my hair lovingly.

"What if Murphy comes back?"

He thought for a moment, "For you? I'd banish him a thousand times over,"

I smiled up at him, placing a small kiss on his lips.

"I'll stay then,"

With Bellamy's fingers stroking my hair, the heat coming from our bodies, and the safety I felt beside him, I drifted off to sleep.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑑

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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“...did I give you permission to touch her?” 

The cursed spirit just stands there, wildly in disbelief. Until just a moment ago, it was focused entirely on you. It wasn’t interested in Itadori at all. It could have continued toying with Itadori for quite a while longer, but it knew it had to deal with you first. From the moment it took note of your presence, it was determined to kill you. 

And yet, the boy that it had previously overlooked is now breathing down its neck, and he even managed to… rip off one of its arms? 

Instinctively, it realizes that something has changed. The person standing before it is someone else. Someone completely different. 

Someone… strong. 

The cursed spirit hastily jumps back, putting as much distance between itself and Sukuna as possible. The reaction is immediate, reflexive. For the first time since it manifested, an unpleasant emotion rises to the surface, impossible to ignore.

The cursed spirit doesn’t want to admit it, but…

It’s terrified.

“You’re such a fool,” Sukuna scowls, leaning down to pick you up into his arms. He’s already healed Itadori’s body back to normal. He originally didn’t plan on restoring Itadori back to full health, but he didn’t have the time to control his power. He was too focused on jumping in to save you. 

Ha. To think that the King of Curses would actually save someone… it’s almost laughable. 

But that just goes to show how much you’ve captivated him. 

“This girl is off-limits,” Sukuna declares. “I couldn’t have cared less if you killed those other two brats. You picked the wrong target. You made a grave mistake.” 

The cursed spirit is panicking, without a doubt. When faced with such overwhelming, oppressive power, it doesn’t know what to do. It feels as if it’s been backed into a corner. It feels as though its only choice is to fight or die. 

And so, it chooses to fight. 

The cursed spirit lets out a scream as it channels a beam of cursed energy. Sukuna clicks his tongue at the sight. Even while holding you in his arms, he isn’t the slightest bit fazed. All he has to do is shift you around a bit to free up one of his hands, extend it outwards, and just like that—the cursed spirit’s attack has been blocked. 

“What a pain,” Sukuna sighs, so irritated that he can’t even derive any joy from the curse’s horrified expression. “It seems you still don’t know your place. In that case, allow me to spell it out for you. The moment you decided to lay your filthy hands on this girl… you were already dead.” 

Sukuna gently sets you down, and before the cursed spirit can even react, he lunges towards it, teeth bared. Just like the curse did to you earlier, he stomps down on it with his foot, but significantly harder. Part of the structure they’re standing on breaks into pieces, straight down the middle, and the cursed spirit drops down into the water below. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna takes you in his arms again and chuckles softly as he admires his work. “What a joke. Can you believe it? Apparently, both of us are classified as special-grade. You and me. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m not sure who came up with these labels, but I’m offended to be put in the same category as a weakling like you.” 

Still holding you, Sukuna drops to water level alongside the curse. It lost even more limbs during that attack, all of which are buried haphazardly in the wall it got slammed into, like pieces of a broken puzzle. 

The curse grits its teeth as it strains to forcibly remove itself from the wall, and at the same time, the lumps of its dismembered flesh gradually change shape—until all of its limbs have been restored back to normal. 

The cursed spirit then jumps back down to the ground and smiles proudly at the feat. 

Sukuna tilts his head. “You look happy. Were you expecting me to praise you? Regeneration comes easily to cursed spirits, unlike with humans. You’re so ignorant that it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Fine, then. This is a good opportunity, so allow me to show you what true jujutsu sorcery is.”

He sets you down again, freeing up both his hands. The cursed spirit considers striking again right then and there, but instead, it simply watches with bated breath. It gets the sense that something is about to happen. It needs to be ready to react. 

Of course, by the time Sukuna brings his hands together, it’s already too late. 

“Domain Expansion. Malevolent Shrine.” 

The cursed spirit freezes up, rendered motionless by sheer terror. It wouldn’t have made a difference even if it tried to run. It never had any chance of escaping to begin with. 

Within the blink of an eye, it’s dead.

“You really are weak,” Sukuna sighs, very much unimpressed. He approaches the cursed spirit, which has been brutally sliced into pieces, and retrieves another one of his fingers. It was a boring, tedious fight, but at least he got something out of it in the end. 

Sukuna pockets the finger, then turns back towards you. You’re still unconscious, of course, propped up against the wall he sat you against. He had to modify the conditions of his domain to ensure you weren’t caught up in any of the attacks. As a result, you’re unharmed. Well, no more than you already were to begin with.

“How unpleasant,” Sukuna remarks, brows furrowing together. He doesn’t like seeing you this way, with your body all broken and ugly. Your fascinating circumstances aside, he can admit that he’s rather biased towards your pretty face. If you’re going to become his woman, he can’t very well leave you the way you are. It’s an eyesore.

Sukuna reaches his hand out, ghosting his fingertips over your skin, starting with your soft, supple cheeks. His reverse cursed technique allows him to heal both his own body, as well as anyone else’s. Normally, he would never be caught dead doing something like this, but right now, it can’t be helped.

After all, he’s not even close to being done with you. 

“Ah, much better,” Sukuna hums. You’re back to your normal, pretty self now. He leans closer without even realizing it. It’s the first time—apart from when he first reincarnated—that he’s gotten to be this close to you, while in control of this body. Normally, that stupid brat is constantly trying to silence and suppress him. 

But now, he can touch you to his heart’s content, and the realization makes a horrifically gruesome smile spread across his lips. 

Sukuna pulls you into his arms again, closer and closer, until your foreheads are touching. You’re unconscious, but you’re still alive. He can see your chest rising and falling along with each breath. He can even feel your heartbeat from this distance. You feel comfortably warm in his arms, and he has the sudden urge to lay claim to every inch of your body. 

He chuckles softly, bringing his lips mere inches from your own. 

But then he stops himself. 

“No,” he mutters. “No, no, no.” 

How shameful. The King of Curses has no business stealing a kiss without you being none the wiser. It’s a pathetic, cowardly tactic. Why should he have to sneak around? If he wants something, then it goes without saying that it will become his. Besides, kissing someone while they’re unconscious is no fun.

It’ll be much more fun when you’re actually awake, fully aware of what’s happening. He wonders what kind of expression you’ll make then. He wonders how you’ll react to his advances, and what you could possibly do to try and stop him.

Either way, it’s bound to be absolutely delightful. 

Sukuna chuckles again. He squeezes you tighter, and instead of claiming your lips, he settles for lightly kissing your forehead this time. It’s enough to tide him over for the time being. He’ll be sure that you realize you owe him your life. You’re lucky you happened to catch his eye.

Otherwise, he would’ve had no qualms slicing you up into ribbons, just like the special-grade curse.

“Alright, I’m done,” Sukuna mutters, knowing all too well that this moment won’t last. He continues to hold you, but in just a second, now that you’re all healed, Itadori will take control again. “I said, I’m done. So frustrating. If you’re going to switch, hurry up and switch already!” 

There’s no response. 

Strange. Itadori has never struggled to suppress him up until now. What is he taking his sweet time for? Is he being deliberately annoying, by making Sukuna feel like he finally has some freedom, only to inevitably tear it away from him? 

“Brat?” Sukuna calls out for the second time—but yet again, there’s no response.

More time passes. Nothing is happening. Sukuna can still feel that he has full control over this body. Unlike all those times before, there isn’t that uncomfortable, nagging sensation. The one that makes him feel like he’s being forced deep, deep down. 

Surely, by now, Itadori would have taken over. 

Which must mean that… he can’t.

Sukuna’s grin stretches out even wider. First being able to see you in the flesh, and now this turn of events. 

Today just keeps on getting better.

Fushiguro successfully escaped. He dropped Nobara off with Ijichi, who agreed to take her to the hospital to get treated. Even now, he can’t help but feel as though he took the coward’s way out. He left both you and Itadori behind. Itadori promised to switch with Sukuna, which means that he’s most likely safe, but as for you…

Is he stupid for holding out hope that by some miracle, you managed to survive? 

Fushiguro lowers his gaze to the ground. No, he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Even if you lasted long enough for Itadori to make the swap, the fact that you were trapped in there with Sukuna, of all people, may as well be a death sentence. Sukuna can easily kill the special-grade curse, and he’ll protect Itadori’s body because that’s his vessel, but he won’t bother to have mercy on you. He could care less about whether or not someone lives or dies. Earlier, he even outright stated that he wanted to kill all of you.

She’s dead. 

As much as Fushiguro doesn’t want to admit it, he knows that it’s true. He clenches his fists, shoulders trembling slightly. He’s suddenly reminded of your bright smile, and all the silly, oftentimes ridiculous things you would say. Maybe he was too harsh on you. Maybe he judged you too quickly, purely because of your strange circumstances. You seemed so happy to move into the dorms and spend time with him… and yet, he was only ever cold to you. 

Before Fushiguro can sink further into a bout of depression, something in the air shifts, and when he looks back towards the detention center, he can tell that the Innate Domain has disappeared. 

“The special-grade curse is dead,” Fushiguro mumbles. “So, Itadori must be—” 

“That brat isn’t coming back.” 

Sukuna is standing behind him. Fushiguro’s entire body tenses up on reflex. He feels as if all of the air just got knocked out of his lungs. He’s so scared that he can barely move a muscle. 

But then, out of the corner of his eyes, he sees. 

Sukuna is holding you in his arms. 

“Don’t be so frightened,” Sukuna muses, cradling you gently, as if you’re something precious. “I’m in a great mood right now. Let’s chat for a little while.”

Fushiguro still isn’t moving, but despite how terrified he is, despite the fear running rampant through his veins, he also feels relieved.

You’re alive. 

“Put her down,” Fushiguro demands, hoping his voice comes across at least somewhat stern. “Let… let go of [Name]. Get away from her.”

“This girl? How rude,” Sukuna sighs. “I’m the one who saved her, you know. She would have died to that curse if I didn’t step in. Even when the brat swapped over to me, ultimately, saving her was still my decision to make. I even went out of my way to heal her. You wouldn’t believe the state she was in earlier. Now she looks pretty again. Just how I like her.”

Sukuna… saved your life? 

Come to think of it, one of the first things Sukuna did upon reincarnating was say that he recognized you. He tried speaking to you back then, but Itadori intervened by suppressing him. And ever since, he’s been making strange remarks, like repeatedly asking you to explain yourself, and trying to interact with you every chance he gets.

It’s obvious that Sukuna has some sort of fixation on you. Fushiguro kind of already knew that. But for him to go as far as to actually spare your life…? It’s difficult to believe. Even if it was only done for selfish purposes.

Right now, none of that matters, though. The only thing that matters is that you’re still alive. 

And Fushiguro intends to keep it that way. 

“It was nice,” Sukuna continues, pressing his cheek against yours as he continues to hold you close. “I was able to spend some quality time there with this girl. Alone, away from prying eyes. With no one to disturb us.”

You’re fully unconscious, so naturally, you don’t react. But even though you aren’t aware of your surroundings, the image of you, trapped inside that domain, passed out and completely at Sukuna’s mercy…

It’s enough to make Fushiguro feel like throwing up.

“You sick bastard,” Fushiguro grits out, on the verge of exploding. “What the hell did you do to her?!” 

Sukuna shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk. There’s no need for any outbursts. Don’t worry. I didn’t deflower her.” He pauses for a moment, intentionally gliding his fingers up your uniform, and stopping just in front of your chest. “It’d be no fun if she wasn’t awake to enjoy such an intimate act. I decided to hold off until later.” 

Fushiguro knows he doesn’t stand a chance against the King of Curses. He should be desperately trying to run away right now. He should be attempting to create any kind of opening in order to escape.

But after that disgusting remark Sukuna just made…

He’d be lying if he said he was still thinking rationally. 

“Anyways, just relax,” Sukuna chuckles. Before Fushiguro can completely lose control of himself, Sukuna gently sets your unconscious body down on the ground, up against the trunk of a nearby tree. “There’s no need to worry about the girl. I don’t plan on hurting her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered saving her in the first place. The fact that I’m able to move freely right now must be because that brat tried to use me without any kind of pact. He seems to be having trouble switching back. Still, it’s only a matter of time until he regains control. Which is why I thought about what I can do right now.”

Without warning, Sukuna rips his shirt off and plunges his hand deep into his chest, then rips out his heart—or rather, Itadori’s heart. 

Blood trickles down the corners of his lips as he chuckles cruelly, and a pool of crimson spills onto the rain-spattered ground. He grips Itadori’s heart firmly, and with every passing second, Fushiguro’s expression unravels more. 

“Wh-What are you doing…?” he asks fearfully. 

“I’m taking this brat hostage,” Sukuna grins. “I can live without this, but the same can’t be said for him. Swapping with me right now would mean certain death. Oh, and… I also have this, just for good measure.” 

Sukuna pulls out the finger he retrieved from the special-grade curse and promptly swallows it, thereby increasing his strength even further. Fushiguro can only watch, terror-stricken. Sukuna tosses the heart aside and wipes a hand across his bloody mouth. His grin still shows no sign of disappearing. 

“I guess that makes me a free man. Feel free to be scared now. While I’m here… I think I may as well kill you. For no particular reason. Just because I can.” 

Fushiguro casts a quick glance over to you. “Itadori will come back. Even if it means dying. That’s just the kind of guy he is.”

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Sukuna brushes off. “He’s just a dimwit who’s a little tougher than most humans, that’s all. Earlier, he was whimpering like a baby. He couldn’t believe how weak he truly was. He knew he couldn’t save the girl on his own, which is why he had no choice but to rely on me. Such a pathetic weakling… I know for a fact he doesn’t have the guts to kill himself.” 

Fushiguro takes a step back, narrowing his eyes. Sukuna is clearly capable of healing himself and others. He healed you, and even Itadori’s arm has been restored. He may be able to live without a heart, but it must still be damaging to him. He needs to feel as if he has no choice but to put his heart back. He needs to believe that he can’t win in his current state. 

The odds of overpowering him are incredibly slim. Fushiguro knows that all too well. But whether or not he can actually do it doesn’t matter. 

He will do it. 

Not only for Itadori, but for you. 

“If you kill me,” Fushiguro begins, assuming a fighting stance, “what do you plan to do with [Name]?”

Sukuna just stares at him for a few moments. The rain seems to be picking up even more. For a while, the only thing that can be heard is the sound of raindrops pelting the ground, drowning out virtually everything else. 

Until Sukuna laughs, that is. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he grins crudely. “I’m going to make her mine. And once she’s mine… I’ll do whatever I please with her.” 

Fushiguro grits his teeth. 

Like hell is he going to let that happen. 

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[avastrasposts]

Bona Dea - part 5 The End

Plot: Stumbling through a dark town, general Marcus Acacius encounters the festival of Bona Dea. But what at first seems like just a pleasurable way to spend the night leaves a greater impression on him than he counted on.

Series master list

General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Warnings: Explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate if you're a Roman noble lady in 2nd century Tuscany?

Word count: 8.4k

A/N: Fifth and final part of Bona Dea (at least until I watch the film next Sunday and start making up new stories....). All happy endings here! Please come tell me your thoughts, yell in my inbox, ask me about all the strange Roman customs I squeezed in here, I'd love to hear from you all!

A few notes on the Latin. I think most of it is pretty self-explanatory but just in case: Caligae - typical Roman sandals Carrisme - dearest or sweetest Sepmer - always Amica mea/Amica meus - "my love" in female and male form Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia - Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius - Wherever you are, I will be

The next morning, just after you’d finished breakfast with the family and Alba, one of the servants came in to announce a guest. Your heart caught in your throat when you heard the name. Alba gasped loudly and it made Titus look up at first her and then you, when he saw your shocked faces, he quickly understood something was not right. 

“Who is he?” he asked, rising to his feet as you did the same. 

“My father,” you replied, your hands shaking as you smoothed down your stola, “I didn’t think he’d risk the journey, but it seems I was wrong.” 

“Siro,” Titus called to the servant who had brought the news, “Send word to general Acacius at once, tell him Domina Lunaris’ father is here and he should come at once to meet the father of his bride,” his words were light but the grim tone spoke volumes 

Titus gave you a reassuring look as Siro left the room, “Don’t worry, Marcus will come as quickly as he can and make sure your father does not interfere.” 

“We’ll come with you to meet your father,” Antonia told you, coming to your side with Alba and taking your hand, “You won’t have to face him alone, and Marcus will be here soon.” 

“Thank you both,” you replied, still nervously smoothing down your stola. Alba squeezed your hand and gave you a scared look. 

“He can’t say anything, can he? You’re a widow now, and under the protection of general Acacius.” 

“She’s not just under his protection,” Titus said, “She’s his betrothed, he’s given her a ring and shown Rome that she belongs to him now,” he beckoned you all to follow him, “Come, let’s see what your father has to say and show him that you are not some lost young girl.” 

Your father was seated in the reception room and stood up as Titius walked in through the door, and then you, arm in arm with Antonia. 

“Nerius Vernio,” Titus greeted him, “Welcome to my home.” 

The two men bowed and Titus introduced himself and his wife as your father eyed you. You dropped your eyes to the floor and curtsied low. 

“Father, I didn’t know you were coming to Rome, I hope your journey was uneventful,” you greeted him and he gave you a cursory nod. 

“Daughter, I’ve written and requested for you to return home several times, but my letters have gone unanswered,” he said and then turned to Titus, “Aurelius, I’m grateful you’ve taken in my daughter and her cousin after the bandits attack that took her husband’s life. I’ve arranged for accommodation for us and I’ll take her into my care now.” 

You immediately shook your head but your father ignored you, “Alba, pack up both of your belongings, I have a letica waiting for  us outside.” 

“No, father, I’m not-” you began to protest, but Titus interrupted. 

“Vernio, there is no need for them to leave, we are happy to have them stay and they’ve both become very good friends of my wife. And your daughter has made a very happy connection while in Rome. And-” 

“I’ve heard of this connection, and the upcoming wedding,” your father snapped, his eyes on you and not Titus, “But you are still my daughter and you belong to my family and I will not allow you to marry anyone without my consent.” 

“Father, I’m a widow and can choose my own husband now,” you replied, but he shook his head, interrupting you again. 

“No. You will come back home, we will set Lunaris affairs on order and then I will choose a new husband for you,” Vernio was grabbing at your arm now, ushering Alba at the same time, trying to make you leave, “I will not have you dishonour our family name by running off and remarrying mere days after your husband dies.”

You tried to dig your heels in, and Antonia was reluctant to let go of your arm, “Please, father, I am not going back. I don’t care what tradition says, I’ve found a good man to marry, many times better than Lunaris and I love him.” 

He scoffed in reply, looking at you with contempt, “Love? When did love ever play a part in marriage? You’ll marry who I choose and if the gods will it, you’ll grow to love your new husband as much as you did Lunaris.” 

“I never loved Lunaris,” you cried, pulling to get your arm back now as your father looked close to slapping you in his anger, Titus looked appalled and stepped in to calm the situation. 

“Please, Verio, your daughter is allowed to have a mind of her own, she is no young maid going to her first marriage,” he said, placing a hand on your arm, “Both law and tradition says a widow can choose to marry whom she wants.” 

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity by the door of the reception room and the next thing you knew, Marcus was striding over to you, his face dark with rage. He was dressed in his full armour, the dark leather decorated with the intimidating Medusa, his gladius hanging on his hip. The sight made your father abruptly drop your arm and take several steps back as Marcus reached your side and immediately cupped your cheeks. 

“Amica mea, I came as fast as I could,” he said, looking only at you and not acknowledging your father with as much as a glance. 

“Thank you, amor,” you replied, smiling up at Marcus and taking immense satisfaction in the way your father seemed to be almost cowering from Marcus’ imposing form. It felt like having a fearsome lion as protection, storming in with a roar and making sure everyone knew that you were his to protect. 

“My father has arrived,” you said finally, after Marcus had dropped his hand to your waist and turned to the room with you securely in his arms, “Father, I’m pleased to introduce you to my betrothed, general Marcus Acacius. General, this is my father Fabius Nerius Vernio.” 

“Vernio,” Marcus said, giving your father a short nod. Vernio on his hand seemed to have lost his ability to speak, he only stared at Marcus. 

Marcus continued to look at Vernio with thinly veiled rage, and your father seemed no closer to finding his tongue and the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. You were delighted seeing your father squirm under Marcus’ sharp eyes and had no intention of easing his uncomfort. Eventually it was Titus, ever the diplomat, who broke the silence. 

“General Acacius is one of Rome’s most celebrated military commanders, and enjoys great favour from the emperors. I’m sure you can understand that your daughter is making a very wise choice in accepting his proposal,” he said, almost imperceptibly and gently ushering your father towards the door of the room. 

“I’m still her father and I can’t allow her to marry some stranger,” he protested weakly, “Lunaris estate must be taken care of.” 

“Oh, so that’s where your concern is!” you exclaimed, only Marcus’ arm around your waist stopped you from stepping closer to your father, Marcus tightened his grip and held you back. “You only want Lunaris’ assets so that you can marry me off to someone with lands next to the olive groves!” 

Next to you, you felt more than heard Marcus’ growl. Your father tried to bring himself under control and took hold of the edge of his toga, nervously adjusting it on his shoulder. Under Marcus’ glare he seemed pitiful. 

“Your daughter will want for nothing when she is my wife,” Marcus said, his tone betraying that he had no patience for this conversation, “If it’s money you want to let her go, then you can have whatever you want. Unlike you, my only aim is to make her happy and I don’t need money for that.” 

He turned to Titus as he took your hand in his, “I’m taking my future wife to the temple to prepare for the ceremony, I trust you to have evacuated your guest when we return, Titus.” 

Titus gave him a smirk, a look exchanged between the two old friends that spoke volumes, “Of course, general Acacius.” 

And with that Marcus led you from the room, stepping between you and your father as you passed by him, you kept your eyes from him, not wishing to see his reaction.

Later, when you reclined next to Marcus in his private reception room, you went over the events in your mind. After Marcus and you had left Titus’ villa he’d taken you to visit the temple of Juno to honour the goddess of love and marriage. On the day of your wedding you’d have a ceremony at the temple of Jupiter, but it felt right to honour Juno and ask her to protect your love for each other after your father’s anger today. 

Afterwards Marcus had asked if you wanted to see his villa, the place you would effectively be taking control of once you were married. So now you sat next to him in his private rooms, picking at the food the servants had brought from the kitchen.

“I think, in reality, he loves the idea of a great Roman general as husband to his daughter,” you told Marcus, thinking of your father, “both he and Lunaris were obsessed with power and you’re certainly more powerful than Lunaris ever was.” 

“He didn’t seem too keen today though,” Marcus replied as he pulled you closer on the seat you were on, “You’d think his daughter was marrying a homeless sewage collector.” 

“I think he was mostly angry that he had no say in it, he hates not being in control,” you said, “but I won’t let him ruin this. I’m marrying you and I’d marry you even if you were a sewage collector.” 

Marcus chuckled at that and playfully pinched your nose between his thumb and forefinger, “But you’d make me bathe every day before I came home? Or would you let me into your bed smelling like the excrements of Rome?” 

He laughed as you giggled and squirmed under his grip, finally letting go and capturing your smiling mouth in a tender kiss. 

“Would you love me even if I smelled like shit, carissime?” he asked with a mischievous grin. 

“Maybe a smidgen less,” you laughed, accepting his insistent kisses along your neck. 

He kept you occupied in that way for some time until it was time for you to return to Titus’ villa. Your lips were swollen and your hair less than smooth as he escorted you through the gates. 

“How are the preparations for the wedding going?” he asked, walking next to you with his hands clasped behind his back, keeping his roaming paws to himself to stop too many rumours to spread amongst the slaves at the villa. 

“We are almost done, the clothes are prepared, Antonia has made the wreaths for our heads, and the jewellery will be delivered tomorrow,” you replied. The big door was opened by an unseen slave and light spilled out onto the courtyard, “Will you come in?” you asked. 

“Yes, I need to discuss something with Titus,” Marcus said, “But I’ll say good night to you now, my love, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

“I wish it was our wedding day tomorrow,” you smiled, “I don’t want to wait any longer to be your wife.” 

Marcus smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Sleep well, amica mea.” 

Alba woke you up the next morning, insisting on an early visit to the villa’s thermae, dragging your sleepy form along. 

“Antonia and I want to make sure your wedding day is perfect so we’re rehearsing it all today,” she said, “do all the steps so that we have time to make changes.” 

“Sounds sensible,” you yawned, “but why so early and why do we start in the baths?” 

“Because there will be a lot of standing around getting adjusted today so we’re starting with a relaxing bath and massage.” 

You were too tired to question her and both the massage and bath were enough to put you back to sleep, snoring lightly on the marble slab until Alba woke you up again. Antonia then greeted you in the largest reception room, where the servants had just finished setting up a light meal. So while you tried to nibble on sweet dates, you were shrouded in all your wedding finery. A brand new, pure white tunic was pulled over your head and your hair then fiddled with while you yawned again. Alba and Antonia were debating how to best braid your hair while making the customary flammeum, the bridal veil, stay attached. It would be seen as a very bad omen if it fell off. You had to squint to see through the fabric as they finally agreed on how to fasten it. 

You admired the white tunic and the bright yellow veil in the polished brass mirror that was being held up in front of you. You remembered how much you’d hated it on your first wedding day, now you smiled at your reflection as Antonia tied the belt securely around your waist until you realised what she was doing. 

“No, wait, don’t tie that yet. Only Marcus is supposed to untie it and the wedding isn’t for another three days,” you protested, but it was too late, the Hercules knot was securely in place.  

“You’ll just have to stay in your wedding clothes until your wedding night then,” Antonia laughed and you frowned at her, untying the knot was a major part of the ceremony once the newlyweds were alone in their new home. Only when the husband untied the knot and slept with his wife for the first time were they truly married in the eyes of Rome and the gods. 

You were about to protest again as the doors to the room slammed open and Titus rushed in. 

“Protect the bride!” he called in a dramatic voice, throwing his arms up in the air as Marcus stepped in behind him and pushed him aside with a grin. 

“No man will stop me from robbing this woman away from her family and making her mine,” he called, striding over to you with long steps, mischief glinting in his eyes as Alba and Antonia tried to hide the bright smiles. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed, “The wedding isn’t for another three days.” Tradition held that the groom would pretend to steal his bride away from her family, and the bride should act as if she was both sad to be taken from her home, but also excited to begin her new life. But now he was three days early and you were confused when he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him towards the door as Titus pretended to try to stop him from leaving. 

“I’m claiming you as mine, we will go to the temple of Jupiter this very day and let the gods know that you will be my wife from this day on,” Marcus said, keeping the tradition with a stern voice, but you could see the glint in his eyes. He pushed Titus to the side, who made a big show of falling to the floor and Antonia ran over to him, pleading with the gods to stop Marcus. The smile she gave you made you realise she’d been in on it all along and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing out loud. Marcus had taken your hand in his and now he was ushering you along the hall, across the courtyard and into his carriage. He helped you step inside and you managed to wave to Titus and  his family who had followed. Now they were throwing walnuts over your heads as the family’s slaves joined in, shouting well wishings. You suddenly realised, you were getting married today, somehow Marcus and Titus had moved things forward, and now you were on your way to the ceremony. 

Marcus climbed into the carriage and you couldn’t help beaming up at him. He was dressed in white armour adorned with gold details and he was grinning widely at you as he pulled you into his side, laughing as more walnuts rained down over the carriage. 

The procession to the temple of Jupiter was filled with blessings called to you both from the people on the streets, many joining in behind you together with Titus and his family. By the time you arrived in the square before the temple of Jupiter, the crowd was pretty large. The flamen Dialis, the head priest of Jupiter, stood at the top of the stairs, awaiting your arrival together with his wife. 

“You changed all the plans,” you said to Marcus as the carriage made a lap around the square. 

“I talked to Titus and he sent out messengers last night,” he replied, his smile disappearing as he looked at you with serious eyes, “We didn’t want to risk your father trying to disrupt the events. Neither Titus nor I trust him to not try to influence someone to get control over both you and Lunaris’ assets,” he cupped your cheek and let his thumb caress your skin, “And honestly, I was tired of waiting for you to be my wife, we have spent enough days apart, now I want you to be mine.” 

“Then let's pay our respects to Jupiter so that you can take me to our home,” you smiled at him and he smiled back. 

The carriage came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Marcus tenderly kissed your forehead before he took your hand and helped you step down. The large crowd cheered as you began to climb the stairs, Titus’ family and Alba behind you. At the top of the stairs you stopped in front of the Dialis and he called up Jupiter to make your marriage a long and happy one. Two slaves brought forward a sow and the auspex performed the sacrifice to the god Ceres, reading the entrails of the dead animal as its blood dripped down the stairs. After much humming and mumbling, he finally stood up straight and loudly declared the omens to be good, loud enough for the crowd to hear. A big cheer erupted and you saw Marcus smile from the corner of your eye. He took your hand and turned you so that you were facing him, and the Dialis told you it was time for the groom to look upon his bride. 

Up until now you’d enjoyed the spectacle, it felt like your first real wedding day, not the unhappy day you’d married Lunaris. But now suddenly you felt the weight of the moment, emotions racing to the surface as you looked up at Marcus. He could only see the shadows of your features through the veil, but his smile was warm and tender, his eyes soft, as if he could see through the veil and into your nervously beating heart as you lifted your shaking hands and removed the flammeum.  

“Semper amare,” he whispered, so low that only you could hear it, and his words filled you with calm as you slowly lifted the bright yellow veil from your face. Stillness filled your mind as you met his eyes and you smiled back at him and took a deep breath. 

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” you said, your voice loud and clear, carrying across the square. 

Marcus reached out and took your hands in his and replied as was the tradition; 

“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

His voice also carried across the square and the crowd cheered as the Dialis cleared his throat and looked pointedly at where Marcus was holding your hands. 

“General, you need to let go of her so that I can initiate the dextratum iunctio,” he said and Marcus chuckled, dropping your hands. 

“I got carried away, apologies.” 

The Dialis took your hand and then Marcus’ and joined them together again. 

“Your hands are joined in the concordia, the mutual bond of affection and marriage. Now offer this bread to Jupiter.” 

He held out a small piece of round bread to Marcus, who let go of your hand. With a grin, he broke the bread over your head, showering you with crumbs before offering you a piece to eat. The bread was dry but you smiled back at him as you chewed and swallowed it down as Marcus did the same. 

The Dialis brought forward a tablet and you both signed the papyrus, marking your names to the contract that would now bind you together in Roman law. The last time it had felt like a death sentence, reluctantly scraping your pen over the surface. Now it felt like you were signing your release papers, setting you free from your father’s influence and becoming a part of Marcus’ family, his name now attached to yours. Marcus moved closer as you placed the pen on the table, his arm over your shoulder, as a sign to the crowd behind you that you were now under his protection.

Together you walked back down the stairs towards the carriage, the crowd had swelled and they cheered as they saw the patrician newlyweds. Again Marcus helped you up into the carriage and then waved at the crowd as his driver turned back up to the Palatine, this time returning to his villa. 

The crowd followed you all the way back, continuing to shout blessings. When you performed the rituals of entering the house the first time as mistress of it, blessings of good omens showered over you. Marcus picked you up, lifting you into his arms with a big smile and carried you not just into the courtyard and house, but all the way into the reception hall, followed by Titus’ and his family and a few of Marcus’ closest officers who had been told at the last minute that the wedding was changing days. 

The feast was a small affair, just as Marcus had promised you. Alba sat across from you at the best table together with Titus and Antonia while their children chatted away at another table. And although the food was excellent, and the wild stories about Marcus from his closest friends made you laugh until your sides ached, you wanted nothing more than for it to end so that you could have Marcus to yourself and perform the final part of the wedding ceremony. 

But there was one detail that made you want to stay a little bit longer. A young man, only a few years older than Alba, caught your eye. He was looking at Alba with admiration as she told him about a weaving technique she’d been taught. For a young man to be so immersed in weaving could only mean one thing, and you carefully nudged Marcus to look in the man’s direction. He gave a low chuckle when he saw the way the boy seemed to hang on to Alba’s every word. 

“Octavian Livius Catius,” he whispered close to your ear, “A junior in my army and Titus’ mentee. He comes from a fairly low birth but he has a good career in front of him, Alba could do much worse if she wishes to marry.” 

“Is he a good man?” you asked, keeping your voice low as you tried to glance at the two of them without being seen. 

“He is, Titus says he has good morals and a stable head, he’s fostering him to become a strategist too. And of course, since we’ve been away for two years, he’s well past the age most boys marry, I’m sure he’s looking for a future wife.” 

“Only if Alba wants him,” you replied immediately, “She’s in my care and I won’t let her be married off without her consent.”

“I would expect nothing less, domina,” Marcus mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Now, I think we have been polite enough to our guests, let’s leave.” 

Taking your hand, he stood and pulled you to your feet as the small group of guests grew quiet. 

“I’m now fortunate enough to call this incredible woman ‘my wife’, he said, addressing the room, “And it is time for our final ceremony and to honour the gods, to thank them for bringing us together and letting us have this happy day.” 

He smiled down at you as he continued to speak, “Never could I have imagined that a chance meeting on a dark street would lead me to such a happy end. I’m still not convinced you’re not Venus stepped down among us mortals.” 

You squeezed his hand and brought it to your lips for a kiss as you felt heat rise in your cheeks at his praise. 

“Please, enjoy each other’s company, the wine, the food, have a glorious evening,” Marcus told the guests and then turned to you again, “Come, wife,” he smiled at the word, “let me untie the knot.” 

Titus raised his glass and cheered, and the others joined in as Alba got to her feet and gave you a big hug, wrapping her arms tight around you. 

“I’m so happy for you both,” she said and kissed your cheek. 

“Thank you, my darling Alba,” you replied, “and his name is Octavian and Marcus says he’s a good man,” you added with a whisper in her ear, smiling as you pulled away and looked at her. Her cheeks went red as she giggled. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grinned and gave you a little push, “Now go with your husband and tell me everything tomorrow.” 

Behind you, you heard Marcus chuckle at Alba’s comment, and his hand took a firmer hold of yours. “I agree with your cousin, come now, carissime, I have waited long enough.”  

He wrapped his arms around you as he guided you through the villa, towards one of the few rooms you had yet to see in what was now your new home; his private bedroom. It sat on the second floor and as the short December day was nearing the end, the sun glowed golden outside the windows. One of the servants had lit the oil lamps in the room and they filled it with a warm light, illuminating the warm colours of mosaics that decorated the walls. Thick rugs covered the floor and the bed was draped in soft looking blankets and pillows to warm against the cold night outside. 

Marcus closed the door behind the two of you and let out a deep breath that made you turn towards him. 

“Why such a deep sigh?” you asked and he gave you a small smile as he took your hand again and led you to the bed and sat down. 

“It’s a relief to close the door, to finally have you to myself, as my wife,” he said, “I didn’t realise until yesterday how much I’d feared that something would hinder our wedding. But when your father turned up…” Marcus sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face, “I knew I had to act fast, I hope you didn’t mind the surprise this morning.” 

You smiled at him and cupped his cheeks with both your hands, smoothing out his worried frown, “Not at all, if anything I’m delighted I didn’t have to wait another three days. Now, untie this knot and prove your virility,” you teased, “Antonia made it very tight so I hope you’re up for the task.” 

Marcus laughed and took your hand, making you lie down in the middle of the bed as he sat next to you. 

“I’d say you already know my virility is just fine enough,” he said, his smile turning more mischievous as he let his eyes roam over your body. The look in his eyes made your skin tingle and you sighed when he finally put his hands on you properly and caressed your curves. He toyed with the belt, tugging at it to pull you closer as he leaned forward. 

“Marcus….” you said, your voice a low whine when he pressed his lips to your cheek instead of your lips, his hands still not touching the knot.

“Patience, domina,” he hummed, pulling away and getting to his feet, his eyes darker now. 

With slow, practised movements he unwound the long toga from around his body, laying it on the seat next to the bed, loosening his belt and caligae next. When he pulled the tunic over his head, you held your breath, it had been so long since you last saw him fully naked and standing tall in front of you. He was just as glorious as the first time, his strong body littered with scars, his posture proud and powerful like the statues of Mars in the temple. 

He smirked at the way your hungry eyes drifted across his body, from his wide shoulders, over his chest and down to where his heavy cock was rapidly growing. When he put his knee on the bed and crawled over your body, your insides squirmed and his grin widened. He knew the effect he was having on you and he planned on taking it slow on this first time as a married couple. 

“Domina…” he all but purred, lowering himself onto his forearms and caging you underneath him. You were still fully clothed and writhing with impatience as he dipped his mouth to your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sensitive skin under your ear, a wet kiss following. 

“Marcus…” you pleaded again as he moved further down your body, his hands caressing and kneading as his teeth nipped through the thin fabric of your stola. 

“Patience is a virtue, mi amor,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice against your breasts. 

Your breath was coming in short huffs, and you struggled to stay still, as he reached the knot in your belt. He was kissing your body around the knot, through the fabric, his hands stroking your thighs, reaching up under the stola and grabbing at your hips. His body was nestled between your legs but still he wasn’t touching you where you needed him the most, and with an impatient whine, you arched yourself up against him, seeking any friction. 

Marcus growled, and grabbed both your hips, pinning you down with his weight, “Patience…” he smirked.

He began to mouth at the ornate knot in your belt, keeping you where he wanted you with a strong grip. The edge of the stola was pressed into your core by his firm chest and you could feel how you’d soaked through your undergarments already. With a moan you reached down and grabbed at Marcus’ bare shoulders, urging him to move faster even though you knew he was intent on taking it at his own slow pace tonight. 

When you glanced down to see him stretched out between your legs, you were met by the sight of the strong planes of his back working as he held you down, his teeth grabbing the knot and pulling it loose. With a wicked grin he flashed you a look, before he began to work the stola up over your hips, the belt falling loose to the sides.

He pushed up to his knees and pulled the stola with him, finally freeing you of it as it slipped over your head. With an impatient wave you tossed it over the side of the bed and reached up for Marcus again, willing him to kiss you and sink his hard cock into you, you could feel the heated drag of it over your thigh. But he ignored your hands, instead he grabbed your thighs and spread them, sinking down with his eyes fixed on your centre.

“Carissime, I’ve missed this sight,” he hummed, slowly dragging a finger through your slick folds, reaching the aching pearl at the top and circling it as he looked up at you. Your eyebrows were drawn together, your mouth open and panting. It made his cock twitch to see you so laid out for him, and with all the time in the world to pull you apart and make you cry his name in pleasure. 

Your warm thigh rested on his shoulder as he leaned in closer, brushing his nose over your soft curls and tasting the salty liquid. A shuddering breath left your lungs as you seemed to melt into the bed at the sensation, and Marcus licked a wide stripe up your centre, making you gasp again. 

His fingers spread you open, making more room for his tongue, and methodically he began to explore your cunt in earnest, taking the time he hadn’t had on the night of Bona Dea. Every sound you made, your whimpered pleas and moaned cries of his name, it made him try even harder, his own arousal aching and pressed against the bed. Your hands found his hair and he groaned when you pulled him closer, burying his face in your cunt, driving his tongue in as deep as he could while you made his nose rub against the swollen nub at the apex of your sex. 

“Marcus…please….” you panted, your skin flushed and hot as you felt yourself begin to crest the wave he was building up. 

“Carissime, you taste so good,” he mumbled into your flesh, moving his tongue up to lap at your most sensitive part, “so sweet and delicate, my wife’s perfect cunt.” 

With a deep breath he began to suck at the puffy button, his fingers digging into your thighs and pushing them wide, burying his face between your legs with a growl. 

His mouth seemed to be making red hot flames shoot out through your body, your hands tightening their grip on his curls as shockwaves rocked through your limbs. Crying out, you threw your head back, his name the only word you could muster and each lick and suck from Marcus brought fresh moans of pleasure from you until your throat felt raw and dry. He was working you into hysteria where all that existed was his mouth and the way he made your body sing. 

You pulled tight like a bow string and with a strangled cry of his name, you snapped, sobbing as Marcus continued to lick and suck at your cunt, clenching around nothing. Your body was begging for him to fill you up as the orgasm coursed through you, but your mind couldn’t find the words, there were only stars streaming across your field of vision as your body shook and trembled under his tongue. 

Panting hard you finally fell back against the bed, your taught body relaxing in Marcus grip and he gave your folds a few soft kisses before he pulled back. With a low chuckle, he nuzzled your thigh, trailing sticky kisses across the hot skin as he made his way up to lie next to you. 

“My sweet wife…are you still with me? Do you think you’re wet enough to take my cock now?” he smiled as he pressed kisses to your cheek and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your body felt like liquid and Marcus chuckled again as you smiled back up at him with half closed eyes, unable to form a coherent response yet.  

“It seems I did a proper job as husband,” he said, letting you pull him closer, “Are you satisfied, wife?” 

“No, husband,” you replied, seeking his mouth out for a slow kiss, “You did good, but I know how good it feels to have you fill me up, and now nothing else will do.” 

Marcus smiled and caressed your cheek as he moved to cage you under his wide shoulders again, your arms around his neck. 

“I want to take you slowly, feel every part of it,” he said in a low voice as you spread your legs to make room for him, the weight of his cock pressed against your core, “feel your kisses when I fuck you deep into our bed, feel every tremble in your body as I fill you up again and again, keep you here underneath me until we forget everything except this.” 

He rolled his hips, the fat tip of his cock catching against your opening, making you both hiss. 

“Nothing exists except you, Marcus,” you whispered, cupping his face between your palms as he moved again. The head of his cock breached your tight hole and you could feel his jaws clench under your hands, a tight breath escaping him. 

“You feel so good, Marcus, amica meus,” you mumbled, caressing his soft beard, tracing your thumb over his plush lips. The feel of him slowly pushing inside made your core clench, your hips trying to rise up to meet him, but his heavy weight kept you pinned underneath him, your legs locked around his waist. With a groan he squeezed his eyes shut and drove himself in to the hilt, the liquid heat of your tight cunt closing around him. 

“Gods, domina…” he panted, “keep me in your bed and let me fuck you, let me always feel this tight cunt around my cock, it’s all I ask, and I’ll be the happiest man in the world…” he rambled. “So tight and wet and hot, my sweet wife’s cunt has me on my knees until it milks me dry…” 

He slid out and drove himself in again with a loud groan, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he buried his face against your neck, “Goddess…” he moaned and you felt his mouth suck at your skin as he rocked himself into you, his cock filling you up and making you gasp every time he sheathed himself fully.  

Your hands grabbed at his back, his golden skin warm and damp to the touch as you dug your fingers into his tightly wound muscles. Over you he was unravelling, mumbling into your neck between kisses and bites, his control slipping as he continued to fuck you, lost in his own haze of lust. He came up for a deep breath of air and leaned his forehead against yours, his dark brown eyes locked on yours as his hips continued to thrust his hard cock into you, your breaths mingling as you both gasped at each impact. 

“Amica mea, I love you, my wife, I can’t believe you're finally my wife,” he mumbled, his hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you down on to him again and again. 

“I love you too. My husband,” you whispered between gasps, “amica meus, semper.” 

Marcus pressed his mouth to yours, his tongue slipping between your lips as he picked up his pace, and you squeezed your legs tight around his waist. The coarse hairs around his cock were rubbing against your swollen pearl, each slide making sparks ignite and shoot out all the way to your fingertips, even your toes were curling at the impact of his cock deep inside your weeping cunt. 

The pace grew frantic, Marcus groaned loudly, pressing his mouth against yours as his body began to tremble, he was gasping, slamming his cock into you, chasing his release as you cried out underneath him. He was hitting a new spot deep inside, new stars appeared in your field of vision but you tried to keep your eyes open and watch your husband as he began to come undone. His eyebrows pulled tight, his hips stuttering into yours, he dug his fingers almost painfully hard into your shoulders as he grimaced and cried out. With a loud shout he slammed into your cunt a final time, grinding deep inside as your own climax hit again. He rolled his hips over yours, milking himself and pushing you through each wave of pleasure as it washed over your bodies. 

He was heavy on top as he finally relaxed, his body hot and sticky with your arms and legs wrapped around him. He could feel your hands begin caress him, slowly bringing him back from the haze that had taken over his mind as he finally let go and fucked you as hard as he needed too. The heavy thumping of his heart echoed in his ears and he knew he should move, but you didn’t seem to mind his body pushing you into the mattress. So instead he turned his head and leaned his cheek against your chest, his softening cock slipping out, making him hiss. He felt you press a kiss to the top of his head, his hair damp, and your fingers raked carefully across his scalp. 

“You make me happy, Marcus,” you mumbled against his soft curls, “so happy.” 

He sighed against your warm skin, a long, content exhale, “Then I’m happy too, carissime.” 

With another sigh he pushed himself up on his forearms, smiling down at you underneath him. His hair was a halo of dark curls, his eyes soft and warm, and you cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for another kiss. Your lips felt swollen and tender but you still moaned with satisfaction when he licked into your mouth and deepened the kiss. It took several long moments before you both were satiated again and he carefully rolled off you and got out of the bed.  

“Let me clean us both off, I’m too tired to go to the thermae now,” he said, going over to the wash basin and picking up one of the washcloths. 

Your body felt loose and almost as if in a liquid state as he began to gently wipe the cool cloth over your skin. You hummed and smiled at him as he paid extra attention to the white liquid slowly dripping from between your legs. 

“Proud of your work, husband?” you teased him and he chuckled, running the cloth between your legs again and making sure to apply just a little bit too much pressure to your most sensitive area. You hissed and arched against his hand. 

“If I was a younger man, the sight would make me hard enough to do it again,” he replied, grabbing at your hips to make you spread your legs for him, “such a perfect cunt…”

He smiled at you and began to wipe himself down, running the cloth over his soft cock as you admired the sight. 

“Next time, I want to do that,” you said, watching as he pulled back the skin to clean himself. 

“Next time, I want your mouth around it,” he replied, and the look that he gave you, made heat shot through you again. 

Marcus grinned and tossed the washcloth to the side and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over you both this time. His body was warm and firm as he made space for you, his arms pulling you into his chest. 

“We have all the time in the world now, carissime,” he said, his lips close to yours as you looked up at him, “And I intended to make good on my promise to keep you in my bed night and day.” 

“I only have one more thing that’s going to make me leave this bed,” you said, smiling at his confused look and pressing your lips to his when he opened them to ask. 

“Later,” you mumbled, “now I want more kisses from my husband.” 

Marcus chuckled and you could feel the rumble in his chest, “Anything for you, wife.” 

The people going about their daily business outside the great structure of Circus Maximus may have stopped and looked an extra time as the patrician carriage drew to a halt outside the wall of the nearby temple. The general who stepped out was dressed in his formal armour, the white and gold shimmering under the bright sky. The woman he helped down with a gentle hold on her hand, was dressed in a similarly rich stola, the veil loosely wrapped around her head but leaving her face bare. 

“Here we are, carissime,” Marcus said, putting his arm around your waist and leading you to the entrance of the temple, “I’ll be waiting outside, let Bona Dea know I’m forever her servant too and that I apologise for delaying our visit to her temple for a full two weeks.” 

“I will, my love,” you smiled at him, “And I’m sure she understands that newlyweds have trouble leaving the house. I only wish you could be allowed inside the temple too.” 

“The rules of Bona Dea must be obeyed,” he laughed, “I learnt that in the best way possible.” 

You laughed with him and gave him a quick peck on his smiling lips, before leaving him behind and entering the temple grounds. 

Alba followed close behind as the vestal virgin returned your bows, and then led you up the stairs and into the sacred rooms. In the package you carried were cakes and breads you’d made yourself that very morning, using the best ingredients that could be found in the market. Alba carried an amphora of olive oil, and one of wine, the finest Marcus had in his storage, and as you reached the great altar, you both placed your offerings on the ground. 

The priestesses began the rituals and you gazed up at the marble statue standing tall behind the altar. The cornucopia in her left arm was overflowing, a symbol of her generosity, and in her right was a bowl, a snake feeding from it, a sign of her healing powers. The goddess had certainly been both generous and healing when dealing with you and Marcus, and it was time to repay her and honour her influence. 

“I thought I was trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life,” you said, looking up at Bona Dea, “No children to distract me, just a vile man who blamed me for my barren womb, and made me question why I should even wake up each morning. But you brought Marcus into my life and steered his actions, making it possible for us to be together as husband and wife. And for this, both him and I will forever be your most humble servants.” 

The priestess tossed the bread and the cakes into the sacrificial flames, making it hiss and spit as Bona Dea accepted your gifts. 

“And I have one final prayer for you, Bona Dea,” you said, kneeling down as Alba looked on in surprise. 

The cool marble of the floor was smooth under your forehead as you prostrated yourself fully at the feet of the goddess. You closed your eyes and sent up a silent prayer, the smoke of the sacrifice in your nose, the silence of the temple heavy in your ears. The gods had never spoken to you, but as you sent up your plea to the one who seemed to have seen you at your most miserable, and sent a saviour, a calm came over you, a sense of completion. 

You took a few deep breaths, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill, and then sat up onto your heels. 

“Thank you.” 

The sunlight was still sharp as you left the temple, and you pulled up your veil to shield your eyes. Marcus was standing next to the carriage with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight. You had come to recognise this as his ‘public persona’, the powerful general who expected everyone to obey him. In private, he softened whenever you were near, and became the Marcus you loved more with every minute that passed.

“Carissime,” he smiled as you and Alba came out from the temple gates, “all done?” 

“Yes, husband, the goddess accepted our sacrifice and the priestesses seemed most pleased with the generous contribution.” 

You took his hand and held him back as Alba stepped into the carriage. 

“Bona Dea has given us another gift,” you whispered, and he raised his eyebrows in question as he leaned closer to you. 

“Another gift?” he asked and you brought his hand to the front of your stola, his eyes widening. 

“I always thought I was barren, but now someone grows inside me thanks to her healing powers.”

Marcus stepped closer, his arms going around your waist as he pressed his palm across your belly as if he could already feel the heartbeat of the child within. 

“Truly?” he whispered, his wide eyes filled with hope. 

“I’ve missed my courses twice since our first night, it’s still early days, but yes, truly,” you smiled up at him. 

“Carissime…” he whispered again, bringing his hands up to cup your face, pressing his lips to yours, “I thought I couldn’t be happier but now I feel like my heart will explode.” 

He pulled back a little, you could feel tears spilling over and rolling onto your cheeks, and he wiped at them with his thumbs. 

“Are you happy, amica mea?” 

“Yes, Marcus, you make me very happy,” you smiled through your tears, “And it makes me even happier to have a new family with you.”

“A new family,” he hummed, pressing kisses to your face and lips, “a new family with my beautiful wife and our beautiful child.” 

He smiled and kissed you again before taking your hand, “Now let me take you home and spoil you rotten while you care for our child, she already holds my heart in her tiny hands.” 

“‘She’?” you asked curiously, and Marcus laughed, a bright smile lighting his eyes. 

“I’m certain Bona Dea will give me a daughter as beautiful and strong as her mother, so that I can live the rest of my life worshipping two incredible women,” he replied, still smiling, “That will be my lot in life, my heart held captive by the two of you.” 

“You are the most wonderful husband and you will make the most wonderful father, Marcus,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes again as Marcus smiled and wiped your cheeks. 

“My sweet wife, carissime,” he said, placing his palm on your belly again, his touch gentle and warm as if he was already cradling his daughter, “I would give up every title the emperors have bestowed on me only to keep two.” 

He kissed your left cheek and then the right, his soft lips brushing gently over your tears. 

“Your husband, and her father.” 

Tagging some lovely people who showered the first four parts with love: @gothcsz @missladym1981 @txlady37 @timelordfreya @bluesweaters15

@indiegirlunited @jessthebaker @likeficinthewnd @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @inept-the-magnificent

@angiewatson @wintersquirrel @sheepdogchick3 @asobeeee @harriedandharassed @cozylittlepigeon

@i-own-loki @pedrit0-pascalit0 @lady-bess

[an-annyeoing-writer]

idol!Baekhyun x fan!Reader: truth be told.

Word count: 2382

Date of release: 11th November, 2024

Genre: angst, slice of life, half ounce of a fluff, established relationships, mentions of break up and dysfunctional relationships, way too much emotional yapping as for barely any plot.

I'm as surprised as y'all that I wrote something like this. You know, no vampires, no action, no one's actively dying? It's very much not my kind of writing, but I was feeling very emotional at the time. Just don't get used to it.

„It’s not good for you. I don’t think it’s good for me. It’s not healthy for either of us.”

He felt as if the knife you were cutting vegetables with cut right through his heart as well. You deliberately distracted yourself with the activity while he stood nearby, staring at you blankly, but not knowing how to respond.

In the recent weeks, he felt the two of you falling apart. It was like an avalanche that started with a small rock which he didn’t notice at the time, but which escalated into a disaster. Talking less, avoiding meeting up, and until today – the day you announced, as gently as you could, that you wanted to move out and live on your own. You said that it’s just because you want to become more independent, that you shouldn’t rely on him this much. But what will his apartment feel like without you? Your presence here, doing small things such as cutting vegetables, became a staple part of his life.

“Are you still talking about living together? Or about… us?”

Your movements were more frantic than he knew you for. With one a bit too sudden of a motion, the blade cut through the skin of your finger, and you let out a low murmur to cover up the hiss of pain, putting the finger to your lip in mild annoyance. It was more than clear that the cut was not the only reason behind your frustration.

Baekhyun didn’t move.

In any other situation, he would react – mock you a bit for being clumsy while being the first one to bring the first aid kid, maybe pretend to be a vampire struck by the scent of your blood, maybe even panic a little in this cute, puppy-like way if he felt that the amount of blood is greater than acceptable.

But now he didn’t, and it sparked a bit of hurt in you as well, but also brought your attention to the fact that maybe dismissing things and try to make them gentle only worsened the pain that would eventually come. The anxiety of the future that you exposed him to was not like the boil-the-frog that you planned to perform. You wanted to avoid confrontation for as long as necessary, until things dropped naturally. You didn’t expect him to hold onto it.

“Can you be honest with me? Are you able to?” His tone started to show that he, too, was growing frustrated. “Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen? I’m sorry if I can’t catch the clues, but if you made it obvious, then I’m just plain stupid.”

“Nothing… happened. And I’m sorry, I didn’t make it obvious. I didn’t know, how.”

He frowned ever so slightly, taking a step towards you. You backed against the kitchen counter, placing your hands on each side – your finger stung a little, but it was merely a scratch. The real wound was growing in your soul.

“If nothing happened, then why? Did you grow bored of me?”

“Of you?”

“Yeah. Please be honest with me. Just no more sweeting things up, alright?”

His tone was calm, but it lacked softness, it was almost business-like.

“I don’t know how anyone would get bored of you, Baekhyun” you admitted in a breathless whisper. You were starting to feel foolish, really. “And especially myself. That’s why I don’t think I can take it. I don’t think it’s fair to you. But I’m also not fair to myself. You just mean… too much to me.”

 “Too much?” The frown of the man’s face only deepened. “Why is something telling me I should not feel flattered?” A bit of frustration was slipping into his own tone as well.

You let out a deep sigh.

“I started off as your fan, Baekhyun. I thought that with time, it’ll be more… normal. That you’ll feel like a normal person. But somehow it’s not like that. Somehow… it feels like my life is even more about you than it was before. I feel like a creep. Like I’m using you to fulfill a fantasy.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You denied right away, but your voice faltered. “I… don’t know.” You crossed your arms on your chest, fixating your gaze somewhere down below.

To your surprise, Baekhyun let out a breathy laugh. The laughter didn’t feel light and cheerful, like his usual ones – it was heavied with worry, with some sort of underlying agony.

“Okay, let’s talk about this. We need to talk about this.”

His hand reached towards you and he pulled you by your arm, almost throwing you off balance when he pulled you towards the living room, snatching a paper towel on his way and putting it into your still bleeding hand. “You’re right. Do you think I didn’t consider it? That this wouldn’t work out? That it would feel fake? Heck, I talked to so many friends about it, and most of them said it’s not a good idea. But you know what?” He pushed you onto the couch and sat himself on the stool, bringing it close so that your knees almost touched – if only you let yourself relax, they would rest against each other naturally, but you were stiff and trying to almost shrink within yourself. “You know what? I’ve known you for a year. And I could always trust you. You’ve had so many chances to take advantage of me, and you didn’t. So I don’t want to think about how you could – potentially – hurt me. But we need to talk about the other part.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious that…”

“No, no. You’re thinking about what it’s like, for me, to date a fan.” He didn’t even let you finish, but it was as if he could read your mind, already knowing your thought process. “I want you to be honest and tell me what it’s like to date an idol. Because you’re right, you could be using me. But you also said it’s not good for you. And you’re right, because I could be using you, too. So be honest with me and tell me if I ever hurt you.”

So many memories came flooding at once – not of pain, not at all, but of all things that could have led to one tragedy or another. Your whole relationship, like a videotape.

Sure, your relationship was not always perfect. Barely a year has passed. Not long enough to develop a deep understanding of each other, but long enough for many things to happen, to get to know each other at least.

Not all of it was beautiful. There were arguments, some of which almost ended in a breakup. But they made you stronger, that much was undeniable – with each and every single time you almost fell apart, it felt like you knew each other a bit better, knew what things not to do and not to say, but which helped to soothe the atmosphere and help you get back along.

You had one, most important rule in your relationship.

That no matter what happened between the two of you, you would play fair.

That one time he lied to you about being at work while he was not – that one hurt. When you found out he’s not at the office in the first place, you even thought he was cheating. Wouldn’t that be understandable to assume in such a situation? You had every chance to cause a scandal on spot. But you didn’t. You knew that pulling his whole career down because of your relationship wouldn’t be fair. No matter how much it hurt, it was completely out of the equation.

It turned out he was with his friends – he really wanted to go out, but felt bad for not giving you much attention these days. You felt almost pitiful, seeing him crumble in front of you, all worried that you will feel like he doesn’t want you, when he genuinely didn’t have that much time, and it was just one evening with friends. You smacked him in the head for feeling bad about spending time with friends. And he learned that he can be honest with you.

Another time, you were all excited upon his album release. Seeing him on the stage later on made you feel all kinds of things, the way he moved, all the effects, clothing, makeup – all putting emphasis on his heavenly physique, as if you were watching an angel dance. He came back home disheveled, with remains of makeup on his face, but as excited as you were. You would give all of you to him at that exact moment, more than he would ask for, more than you would feel confident to give any other time.

But it was still early in the relationship, and Baekhyun knew that you weren’t ready. That, drunk on him as you were, you could regret it later, even feel disgusted with giving yourself in this easily, that your gentle mind wouldn’t be able to trust yourself with your own body. So he indulged you with kisses here and there, and then gently tucked you into bed, making sure that it all went smoothly, that it didn’t feel anything like a rejection, but a gesture of utmost care.

It took a few more months before you opened yourself to him fully, and he never rushed or reminded you of how eager you were back then. He could have had it all back then, but he decided to wait. That’s how you learned he’s more selfless than you ever even aspired to be.

“You didn’t” you spoke after what felt like ages, to the point you wondered if you even responded to the correct question. “You didn’t… hurt me. Did I ever hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t. You’re just hurting yourself all the time” he mentioned, jokingly motioning towards your hand, which you wiped hastily with the paper towel. “So if nothing bad happened, why the ifs? You realize it’s not going to stop if we just break up?” It was a rhetorical question, and you glanced up at him with a pout, feeling almost schooled by the way he talked. “You believe it’s a matter of just us, but, as much as it sounds ridiculous to say it, it’s all in your head. No matter who you’re with, you’re going to assume the worst. Won’t it be like that? Be honest with yourself.”

You crossed your arms again, feeling defiant for a moment, because his words were almost too much for your ego to take.

But there was some small part of you, somewhere at the edge of your consciousness, that not only knew that he’s correct, but also wanted it to be correct – because if it was just you, then you could learn to maybe keep those pessimistic parasites at bay, and… you wouldn’t have to suffer the loss that, despite weeks of preparation, didn’t feel like any less of a torment and regret that would come, were you to finish things as you originally intended.

All the beliefs, all the dogmas, that you carefully built over the past weeks, were falling apart in front of your eyes, confronted with very simple logic on Baekhyun’s end. You almost felt stupid for letting things get this far without confronting him earlier. Weren’t you the one who demanded honesty? Wasn’t he the one who proved you can trust him with your vulnerability?

“I’m… sorry.”

You felt yourself fall apart as well. Your body slumped down, relaxed knees rested against Baekhyun’s, and he put his hands on top of your thighs, as if in this exact moment, while knowing that he has you with him, he didn’t want to risk losing you again.

“Don’t be for feeling like that, things are never easy, now are they?” Here it was – the signature smile, the warm one that tore through the clouds of the darkest of your days, warm and welcoming. “But I am upset that you held it from me for so long” he whined. With the whine, he finally moved from the stool and onto the couch next to you. His arms shamelessly snuck around you, engulfing you in the close embrace that you knew so well, felt so good within. Partially pulling you into him, and partially leaning into the back of your shoulder, Baekhyun released a long sigh against the skin of your back, warm air slipping underneath your blouse – you missed it. You almost didn’t realize how distant the two of you became, and how long has it been since you felt his body against yours. But now, despite all of that, it felt good, it felt right. As if your souls have never detached from each other.

Maybe there was some form of destiny between the two of you; maybe it was not just a parasocial relationship that evolved into something that could turn dysfunctional so, so easily – maybe it was written in the stars that one way or another, the two of you would find each other, and it just so happened that you spotted him first, from afar, slowly making your way.

How else would the two of you find each other, after all?

Maybe you learned something this time, too. Maybe it wasn’t much, just the beginning of a stronger, even more intimate bond that would last years and years, and light years, and through all your reincarnations, with some of them as pitiful as they could be. Maybe it was just an accident that this time you were in such a position – in another life, would you be a princess, and he be a peasant?

But these were only some other ifs, fun to think about, but not worth spilling your heart over.

In this life, in this universe, you were his, and he was yours. And everything else was just more or less accidental circumstances that brought you closer together.

Only at the back of your head, you wondered if one day, the tale of hopes and stars would fall, and that dream would turn into a nightmare, fueled by your lives’ imbalance and selfishness that neither of you knew in each other.

Maybe you just didn’t have to think about it just yet.

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

[Masterlist]

[Part 4]

Chapter 108

Fractured Bonds

The air was heavy as they approached the base in Siberia, the tension between them momentarily put aside in favor of the greater mission. The abandoned facility loomed ahead, shadows stretching across the snow-dusted ground as Steve, Y/N, and Bucky led the way.

Tony arrived moments later, the heavy double doors slamming open and making them all flinch.

"At ease, soldiers. I'm not here for you—yet," he said dryly, gesturing casually toward Bucky’s raised gun, Steve’s shield at the ready, and the crackling swirl of green and red energy dancing around Y/N’s fingers. His gaze landed on her last, softening the tension in his face just enough for her to lower Bucky’s weapon with a gentle nudge.

Tony’s expression shifted, humor flickering across it like a mask barely hiding real concern. “Y/N… why are you here? I told you before—you shouldn't be out in the field.”

“And I told you, I’m protecting my brother,” she replied, her tone calm but firm. Still, her eyes flicked toward Bucky with a quiet unease—an instinct whispering that maybe she was protecting him more than Steve now.

As they moved deeper into the facility, the silence stretched, thick and wary. Tony, ever the deflector, broke it with a forced smirk. “So, are we placing bets on the baby daddy yet? Because right now, my money’s on Robocop over there.”

Anyone else would’ve earned a slap for a comment like that. But it was Tony. And for now, Y/N was just grateful he was here—and on their side. 

Y/N could feel something gnawing at the edges of her mind—something wrong. Her powers, though still inconsistent due to the pregnancy, prickled against her skin, warning her of a disturbance ahead.

The doors creaked open, and the stale air of the base greeted them. The room was dimly lit, the flickering overhead lights casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. In the center of the room stood Zemo, his posture unnervingly relaxed. Behind him, the cryo-chambers holding the other Winter Soldiers stood open—yet lifeless.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Where are they?”

Zemo tilted his head slightly before stepping aside, revealing the horrific truth—each super soldier lay slumped in their pods, bullet wounds fresh in their foreheads.

Y/N’s stomach churned at the sight.

“They were too powerful,” Zemo said simply. “Too dangerous. And besides, I never needed them.”

Tony stepped forward, fists clenched. “Then what the hell was all of this for?”

Zemo turned to face him fully. “Revenge.”

Y/N felt it before he even said it. The deep, dark grief that radiated from him like an open wound.

“I lost my family in Sokovia,” Zemo continued, voice eerily calm. “A wife. A son. A father.” He turned his gaze toward Y/N, eyes piercing into her. “People like you destroyed my home and walked away unscathed.”

Y/N flinched at the weight of his words, guilt settling in her chest like a stone. She had fought in Sokovia. She had been part of it. Part of the chaos.

“But I knew I could never kill you all,” Zemo continued. “Stronger men than me have tried.” He exhaled, stepping toward a nearby console. “So I found a different way.”

He pressed a button, and a screen flickered to life. Grainy security footage filled the display—black and white, timestamped from December 16, 1991.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Bucky stiffened beside her, his breathing growing shallow.

Steve’s hands curled into fists.

Tony’s face was unreadable as he watched the footage unfold. The Winter Soldier—Bucky—lunging at a car on a dark, lonely road. The sickening impact. The crash. And then… the unrelenting, brutal slaughter of Howard and Maria Stark.

Tony’s entire body went rigid.

Steve took a step forward. “Tony—”

Tony’s gaze snapped to Bucky, fury blazing behind his eyes. “Did you know?”

Bucky swallowed hard, silence.

“Did you know?!” Tony roared.

Steve stepped between them. “Tony, don’t do this.”

Y/N reached out, placing a hand on Tony’s arm, trying to ground him. “Please,” she murmured. “This isn’t who you are.”

Tony spared her a quick sympathetic glance, laced with venomous fury in his eyes. But Tony was already moving, repulsors charging. “He killed my mom.”

The fight started like a wildfire—fast, consuming, and unstoppable.

Tony was the first to strike, raw pain driving his every movement. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back. His repulsor beams shot through the dimly lit chamber, forcing Steve and Bucky to scatter.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, watching the people she loved descend into violence. Her breath hitched as Bucky barely dodged another blast, the heat of it singing the air beside him.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was vengeance.

"Tony, stop!" she called, but he wasn’t listening.

Steve lunged, shield raised, deflecting Tony’s next attack. The impact sent sparks flying, illuminating the anger on Tony’s face.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Tony spat at Steve, his voice shaking with fury. “All this time, you knew what he did.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. His silence was an answer in itself.

Tony roared, launching forward. Steve blocked the hit but staggered back from the force. Bucky took the chance to strike, landing a punch to Tony’s side that dented the metal of his suit.

Y/N flinched.

She wanted to move, to intervene, but something inside her held her back. Maybe it was the weight of the moment. Maybe it was knowing that no words—no power—could stop what was happening.

Tony turned on Bucky, eyes blazing. "You remember them?!" he shouted. "Do you even remember killing them?"

Bucky panted, shoulders heaving. His voice came out hoarse. “I remember all of them.”

Tony’s face twisted in rage. His repulsor charged again. This time, he aimed for the kill.

"No!"

Y/N moved on instinct, reaching out, sending a wave of energy toward Tony’s arm, just enough to throw off his aim. The blast hit the concrete, exploding dust and debris into the air.

Steve took advantage of the moment, tackling Tony to the ground. They rolled, fists flying, metal scraping against metal.

It was brutal.

Tony’s gauntlet cracked against Steve’s jaw. Steve grunted but didn’t let up, using his shield to slam into Tony’s arc reactor. Tony gasped, the air knocked from his lungs.

Bucky joined in, pinning Tony’s arm to the ground, trying to wrest the gauntlet away from him. Tony gritted his teeth, exoskeleton shifting as he sent an electric surge through the suit, electrocuting Bucky in place.

Y/N screamed as Bucky collapsed, body jerking from the shock.

Steve reacted instantly, slamming his shield into Tony again, forcing him back. But Tony wasn’t done.

The suit scanned Steve’s movements, calculating his patterns, his attacks. The next time Steve swung, Tony dodged and retaliated with precision. His gauntlet locked onto Steve’s shield and ripped it away, tossing it across the room.

Y/N’s heart pounded.

Tony took another shot at Steve, hitting him square in the chest. Steve fell back, groaning, blood dripping from a cut above his brow.

Tony loomed over him, repulsor charging.

This was it.

Y/N’s body tensed, her fingers tingling with power, ready to intervene—

But Steve wasn’t finished.

He surged up, dodging at the last second, grabbing Tony by the arm and twisting him onto the ground. He rained down blows—relentless, unforgiving.

Tony tried to defend himself, but Steve was stronger.

Then, the final hit.

Steve raised the shield high, bringing it down—

Y/N gasped.

At the last second, Steve shifted, slamming the shield not into Tony’s head but into the arc reactor in his chest.

The light flickered violently before going dark.

The room fell silent.

Tony gasped for air, chest heaving, his body sagging against the cold floor.

Steve stood over him, shoulders rising and falling. He let the shield drop with a heavy clang.

Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment, exhaling shakily. It was over.

They turned to leave, Bucky already limping toward the exit.

But Tony’s voice rang out, raw and broken.

“You don’t deserve it…”

Steve stopped.

Tony pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes burning with betrayal.

“My father made that shield.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He only looked down at the shield one last time before walking away, leaving it behind.

Y/N lingered for just a second longer, turning back to meet Tony’s eyes.

There was nothing left of Iron Man’s bravado—only a wounded man, grieving what he had lost.

Her chest tightened, her guilt settling in like a storm. She gave him a sorrowful look before following the others.

She had something else to take care of.

---

Outside, near the cliff’s edge, Zemo stood in the cold, gun in hand, staring into the abyss below.

Y/N approached cautiously, her boots crunching against the gravel.

“I know why you did it,” she said softly.

Zemo didn’t turn. “And yet, you stopped me.”

She moved closer, stepping just within arm’s reach. “Because I know what it feels like to lose everything.”

He finally glanced at her, and for the first time, his expression wasn’t one of malice. It was exhaustion.

Y/N reached out, gently placing her fingers against his temple.

And then she let him feel.

The guilt. The grief. The weight of every battle she had fought, every innocent life lost in the crossfire. Sokovia. Washington. Lagos.

His breath hitched.

For a fleeting moment, he trusted her.

Then her voice turned colder.

“But now you’re just as bad as us.”

Zemo blinked. His hands clenched.

Before she could react, he raised the gun to his own head.

Y/N’s power surged.

The gun flew from his grasp, skidding across the ground.

She stared at him, eyes burning. “No more death.”

A new voice entered the moment.

“The living are not done with you yet.”

T’Challa stepped forward, regal and unwavering, she had sensed he had been here the whole time. His gaze met Y/N’s in mutual understanding before settling on Zemo.

The defeated man exhaled, closing his eyes.

His fight was over.

And as Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, she realized something.

So was hers.

[wingedhallows]

bloody party; wolfstar

pairing: wolfstar x reader | 0.9k words plot: finding your bofriend cheating you at a gryffindor party sucked, good thing sirius and remus liked you bloody all the same. prompt: "bloody party" authors note: this might have a second part, since it has an open ending. I hope you like it :)

navigation

The bass thumbed through you, faintly. The smoke filled your lungs between quiet sobs, the tears probably smudging your makeup. Your bloody knuckles hurt and shivered as you tried to hold onto the cigarette. How could he throw your relationship away like this? Like it never meant a thing?

It was a good night, good music, good people and greater booze. Remus and Sirius went out for a smoke so you made it your mission to find your own boyfriend. Fleetwood Mac was playing and you felt on cloud nine. Your hair flew with a twirl and a big smile was evident on your face, you felt pure bliss.

Marlene slumped her arm over your shoulder, yelling along to the music as she pushed a cup of mystery liquid to your lips. You took a sip with a smile, bacardi cola, and swayed along with her for a few more moments.

You caught a glimpse of James talking to a pretty blonde, his face adorned with a flirtatious smile.

You left Marlene to her friends and kept on searching for the boyfriend in question.

Felix had to be somewhere here, right? A few more steps forward you were able to see him, his reddish hair, the black watch you had given him for Christmas last year.

Then you saw the full picture, his hand was entangled in a brunette's hair, his other on her bottom and his lips on hers. Their mouths seemed to dance to a song you couldn’t hear, to taunt you.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as your fists balled. You saw red, deep red.

Your jaw tightened as you stared at the both of them, your feet seemed to have developed a mind of their own as they got you right to them.

As his eyes found yours, he pulled away. The girl turned around, her eyes wide. You see, you had a reputation. Not a good one but a reputation, alright. You were prone to use your fists before talking so as you got real close and whispered.

“Run.” She didn’t think twice and took off.

“Y/N, honey. My love, this is a misunderstanding.” His hands tried to keep you at a distance, his eyes wide. People around you formed a circle, excited to see you give way to your reputation but also scared for Felix.

“You’re dead.” You snarled before you sent him to the ground with a right hook. A tooth clattered along the stone tiles as he held his cheek.

“You don’t cheat on me.” Your hands twitched in anger as tears threatened to spill. You got on top of him and threw punch after punch, the boy now unconscious, blood everywhere. The music was still playing, people danced and you stared down on your bloody, beat ex-boyfriend without a twinge of remorse. 

Suddenly your arm was yanked and you were pulled off of Felix, who didn’t move.

“What the fuck, Y/N.” Tristan, Felix’ best friend yelled in your face. He yanked your arm once more but the more you looked at him, the more he annoyed you.

You saw Sirius and Remus approaching with worried expressions on their faces. Sirius had Tristand by the throat in an instant and Remus held you, examined your face and body.

“He’s alive.” Lily threw in, wiping her hands on her black dress.

“If you touch her again..” You didn’t listen any further as you turned around, bent down to Felix’ unconscious form and robbed him of his pack of cigarettes. Without looking back, you walked off.

“Y/N, love.” Remus called after you but you just gave him a tight smile. “Five minutes, Rem.”

He nodded and turned back around to help Sirius who was still holding back a very agitated Tristan. 

Your white summer dress was ruined, it was full of Felix’ blood. The cigarette was nearing its end and the alcohol was slowly but surely wearing off. The bliss you had felt hours ago, was gone, utterly destroyed.

“This bloody fucking party.” You mumbled more to yourself than anyone else.

“Here you are, birdy.” Remus came into sight, Sirius right behind him. “We searched for you, dove.” He spoke and sat down next to you. His hand brushed some hair out of your face, his thumb tried to gently rub some blood off your cheek but you just took another drag from your cigarette.

“We made sure no one talks.” Sirius said as he took another sip from his beer.

“He was an asshole anyways.” He tried again, but you just wouldn’t answer. Remus and Sirius shared a look, worried.

“He was undeserving of you, dove. I hope you know that.” Remus spoke before he sank to his knees before you. His big hands rested on your knees.

“You deserve so much better, someone who would wreck the world for you.” He spoke.

Your eyes now found his as you flicked the done cigarette to the ground.

“Someone who loves you unconditionally.” He rested his hand on top of yours, Sirius joined, his hand now also on yours.

“Who’s that?” Sirius hand found your cheek, thumb on your lips as he whispered. 

“Who do you think?”

[astrobei]

hi i love your fics and I was wondering if you had any byler fic recs

thanks

hello there! in all honesty, i have not had the time to read a lot of byler fic as of late, but it’s been a while since i posted some recs so i’ll drop a few that i’ve enjoyed recently! as always, i do endorse every fic in my bookmarks to the highest possible degree, so always feel free to look through those for new reading as well <3

say it with your hands by pseudologia (@hellfiremike) — will is a new employee at the movie theater mike works at, and mike starts thirsting over will’s hands to a degree that’s downright detrimental to his employment status

GOD. this fic. i gushed in their dms immediately after finishing it because this might be my favorite modern will characterization of all time, and this is coming from someone who has a million and one takes on modern era will byers. this fic just checked all of my boxes — from the summertime romance to mike’s painfully in-character teenage angsting to will being a frequenter of star wars reddit threads and an enjoyer of sufjan stevens. and the TENSION. oh god the tension. i’ve read all their fics probably three times over each, and i also highly recommend like i am home again, a college au set during a halloween party which made me stare at my phone refreshing ao3 hourly until it updated, and can this be a real thing (can it?) wherein mike and will reunite in a gay bar. enough said

landslide by chamb3rs — the party’s senior year of high school

i don’t often reach for chaptered fics since i usually have such limited reading time, but i’m sooo so so happy i stumbled across this one. there have just been very few fics that have touched me like this one did. i blew through this in one sitting a few weekends ago and subsequently experienced the full range of human emotions (and then some) all in the span of a few hours. everything about this was perfect — the will pov, the weird liminality of transitional periods, the party and byhop family dynamics, down to my favorite portrayal of theeeee jennifer hayes in any fic ever. on top of all of that, this fic perfectly captures the heartbreaking euphoria of being in love with your best friend, and all the ups and downs that come with it. i crawled out of the ao3 tab covered in blood and my chest was hurting and i was shaking and i had damn near chewed my own arm off — and then i sent the link to my friend 10 minutes later and watched her experience the same exact thing like a train wreck in slow-mo HAHAHA

what a time to be alive by passerine_in_jade (@newlesbianprideflag) — will disappears and haunts mike from the upside down

i’m forever a total sucker for a good haunting metaphor, so it’s absolutely not a surprise that this fic is appearing on this list. the premise for this was so so so cool and interesting, and it’s another chaptered fic i’m glad i had a little extra time to read. the way the author had me rooting for mike and will the whole time even though half of the pairing was offscreen for a large majority of the fic is a highly commendable feat. mike’s unyielding loyalty to will and will’s constant faith in him felt so true to their canon selves, and there were so many moments that were so quiet and intimate and tender that i really felt like i was intruding on something. good good stuff

that’s what you get for falling in love by harriet_vane — will gets his first boyfriend in college, and mike, ever the ally, has very normal feelings about it

i want to preface this by saying that this fic is rated m, mostly just for mentions/allusions to sex, and one largely non-explicit portion of a scene in the last chapter. if that’s not your cup of tea, it’s easy to tell when it’s coming up and to skip past it without detracting from the plot, but i think it would be a greater detriment to not rec this fic at all, because it has quickly made the list of my favorite byler fics of all time. something about this take on jealous mike especially resonated with me — his inner monologue is simultaneously hilarious and depressing, and his obliviousness regarding his feelings for will feels so true to life without being overdone or cartoonish. you can tell just how much they really care for each other, and the conflict in this actually made me start crying because it felt so visceral and so fundamentally them. you can tell this author really understands their characters, and the love put into this fic is soooo palpable. it’s the kind of fic where you want to bonk their heads together to knock some sense into them, but you are helpless to do anything but hold on as you’re swung along for the ride.

finally, i try not to just rec fics written by my friends, but my recent reading list would be incomplete without these two wonderful additions:

the way you love me by strangeswift (@strangeswift) — byler exes (absolutely heartwrenching edition)

i’ve been hearing abby talk about her ideas for this fic for the better part of a year as she worked on it, and she actually edited and posted the first two chapters while i was visiting her! and by god is this world a better place with her byler exes concept in it, because if you want angst, you’ll never have to look further than her ao3 page. something about the way she writes will in this fic just makes my heart shrivel up and die in my chest — his quiet resignation, the bitterness (always love a good bitter will byers moment) and the Longing that never quite went away. mike’s characterization is also top notch, and you can really feel the chemistry between them during every interaction. at the time of me posting this list, chapter 4 is not yet up, but trust me when i tell you guys it’s going to soooooo be worth it. :-)

the end is here by bookinit (@bookinit02) — a speculative byler-centric season 5

if you’ve been following my blog for any amount of time, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that haven’s canon rewrite series is hands-down my favorite series across any pairing and fandom. her creativity with her season 5 concepts never fails to astound me — from the scripts she’s been working on as an alternative to the episodes she rewrote for s1-4, to her ideas for possible plot lines, and just incredible writing all around. i’ve had the privilege of reading through her scripts before she posts them to her blog (definitely go check them out) but special privilege bias aside, it takes soooo much skill to create such a visually powerful story in a medium that allows for such little narration, and the corresponding chapters just totally pushes it over the edge. pre-s5 required reading for every byler, and 100000% my new canon if the show doesn’t pan out

this definitely is not an exhaustive list because i have a million and one fics on my to-read, and one day i will get around to reading them all, but i hope there is something on this list that strikes your fancy!!

[minzis]

Atonement

Art Credits: The Ludovisi Ares by Lysippus

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ A Shigaraki One-Shot༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Summary: Leading the life as a vigilante, an offer comes from Shigaraki asking you to join the League. After hesitantly accepting to join hoping to find solace and family in the League you find yourself drawn to the same man who brought you in. He can’t be all that bad right?

Tags: 7.1k, Dead Dove: do not eat, no mentions of gender, heavy angst, mentions of violence, blood, hurt/no comfort. Listen it’s gonna be sad through and through so yeah💜

Authors Note: I’M BACKKKK and more hurtful than ever, honestly though I have no excuses besides having no idea what to write. I have like multiple drafts with lots of writing just can’t find the words to actually FINISH it. But I’ve had this odd urge and need to write a fic for my baby Shigaraki so you’re welcome.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Your knife swished through the air drops of blood drawing down his cheek from the gash left behind. You flipped and twisted the knife back towards his throat, the sharpened blade just inches from sinking into his flesh. Your movement only stopped as his hand caught your throat in an iron grip. His fingers sat tightened around your throat, a single one kept up.

“Seems we’re at a stalemate,” he spoke in his raspy voice.

Sure he could kill you but it wouldn’t be fast enough to stop the rush of your knife. Your knife gleamed with a light shine from the flickering light of the streetlight. Knuckles turning white from the grip you had on the base of the knife. You wanted to press the blade into his skin. To see him bleed and finally call all this petty fighting to a close. You knew how to kill, craved to kill but it’s not what hero’s do. Who are you to play god? Who are you to decide who lives and dies just because someone was deemed oh so evil.

He was evil though, despicable even. He’s the starring villain in all the stories parents tell their kids about to keep them from acting out. He is the so-called boogeyman that stalks in shadows plotting and meticulously planning out the pieces of his game. The same stories that’ll create a hero’s image in a young child’s mind, of what right and wrong looks like.

God the man even smelt of white lilies and death, the smell was nearly suffocating. Just how many people have died at the same hands sitting around your throat.

“Then we’ll both die here,” you spoke through angry gritted teeth. It was only natural for the hero to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. That’s what being a hero is isn’t it? Putting others needs and wants before your own cause how dare you decide that you’re more important. Maybe that’s why he always drew your attention, not simply hatred but that burning and itching curiosity. His selfishness to always feed on his own indulgent needs. To be able to kill and not have a single worrying thought of whether it would affect your status as a hero.

His laugh was loud and harsh echoing in your ears leaving a light ringing. His eyes sharpened looking over your expression before suddenly releasing his grasp. The movement surprised you assuming this had to be another psychological tactic, a quirk isn’t always the most powerful weapon in one’s arsenal. You didn’t move your knife at first until you heard the sounds of sirens and helicopters closing in. The single second it took you to glance away he was already gone by time you looked back. The streetlight above you flickered, the only sign he had been here was his dried blood on your hands.

“Fucking psycho.”

The days after were almost custom made to drive you insane, cause you were just seeing things. No you couldn’t have seen him, maybe he was really back to finish the job. Sometimes you could’ve sworn you spotted him out in the crowd, his aspen blue hair peeking from underneath the hood. His eyes met yours briefly followed by the light smile and within a blink he was gone.

You couldn’t even go to the station and tell them what had happened because that meant telling them why you were out there that night. Being a fucking vigilante like you even had right. But with a quirk like yours there wasn’t much the hero agencies wanted to do with you, at least for good reasons. You weren’t even all that special if anything you were more brute strength over quirk. I mean honestly what the hell are you supposed to do with erasing memories through physical touch? It doesn’t stop you from getting hit in fights, so you learned to be more quick on your feet. The oddest thing is how many people often came to you asking to forget someone or something.

“I just want to forget that asshole.”

“Well you could just rid me of everything I know about her!”

The list of reasons was endless but people fail to remember the brain may forget but the heart doesn’t. It can’t still ache without remembrance, the heart always knows. So often you tried to tell people after the memories are gone you could never give them back. Many people’s memories were stored in your own mind, that you could never give them back but people’s decisions remained an admit yes.

The power couldn’t even be well used in investigations because people had to willingly let you in. If you were to forcibly remove memories you could take more than you were meant to, destroy more than what was asked. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue ‘helping’ them, not after the innocent man’s life you ruined. You were just really coming to terms with your power hoping you could learn to do good with it. You were possibly no older than fourteen and asked to help extract a man’s memories to further a murder investigation of the mayor’s son.

But you were a scared teen and filled with a need to be useful, hardly knew much about your quirk yourself. You didn’t know how dangerous it could be or how deadly it could be. You did extract the memories but by a lack of knowledge and understanding you took more than needed. Leaving the man’s memories permanently out of order and jumbled, he had to be hospitalized and ultimately died unable to remember those around him.

The man had been innocent; they caught the culprit a few days later. His name was Jett Kingston, he was forced to leave behind a wife and two beautiful daughters.

Though you truly had no idea your quirk would do such a thing, the moment you were old enough to earn a living you began sending his family money. Every month on the same day his family receives from an anonymous donor and it will stay that way until you’re dead. After that incident you refused to offer any services to the police, it left you feeling sick for years to come. You weren’t even a real hero, just some vigilante with an odd sense of justice. Mostly catching pesky criminals that the police were too busy or unbothered to catch.

You could never be a hero, it was a title you believed you’d never deserve. Hero’s are saints, the good and best parts of the world. You had destroyed a family’s world and that was something you’d never forgive yourself for. So maybe as some way to pay back a never ending debt you started your vigilante endeavors.

The people knew of your name but kept your name unspoken and mouths shut because you did enough good for the smaller folk. At the least to a handful of people you were a hero, you never asked for anything in return. Despite your refusals of anything in return people often left small gifts at your door, food baskets, coupons to their restaurants, whatever they could offer in their unfortunate circumstances just as a thank you. That did feel good, you didn’t need the whole world to think of you as a hero. You already had your good of people and that was okay, it was enough.

It was late as you were coming home with some groceries for the month. You brought in another basket left by your door, grumbling as you set everything down on the counter. You mentally scratched off all the things you still had to do for tomorrow. There was an older couple you needed to help out with their shop. You flipped on some lights as you moved throughout your kitchen.

You glanced towards your hardly lit dining room, you stopped in your tracks. Your eyes adjusted to the low sight, someone was sitting at the table, their fingers traced the flowers you recently put in a vase. The flowers disintegrated under their touch, your face grimaced with a mix of disgust and fear. This fuck was in your house, he broke into your house.

“Been looking for you for a minute, you’re hard to keep track of,” he spoke softly, turning to face you. You turned away, continuing to put your groceries away. Not tonight, you were tired and starving.

“Shigaraki get the hell out of my house, I don’t feel like fighting tonight, come find me tomorrow,” you muttered, throwing out some old food from the fridge. He didn’t respond for a moment, his finger tapped lightly on the table as he thought.

“Not here to fight you, just a few questions,” he spoke tone unchanging, the chair scraping against the floor as he stood up. He pushed the chair back into its place before approaching you. An annoyed sigh fell from your lips after finishing putting everything away, “a phone call or text would suffice, breaking and entering is an odd way to have to question someone.”

“Would you have answered a call from me?”

“Probably not.”

“Well then you see why I’m here now don’t you?”

You didn’t respond as you turned to him, folding your arm in-front of your chest. He laughed despite nothing being funny.

“Why are you a vigilante?” He asked bluntly, his tone seemingly genuinely curious. You blinked at him wondering over your response. There were plenty of reasons but you already knew the main reason.

“To atone,” you said blankly, a response almost too quick. He perked up at the words he moved to speak but stopped.

“A vigilante with a hero complex, how typical,” you could tell by the look on his face he knew there was meant to be more to your statement. He also knew there was no point in asking questions that were meant to stay unanswered. It went the same when he introduced you to the rest of the league.

You picked through your thoughts hoping to find some logical reason as to why you bothered following him, why you bothered trusting a word he said. You didn’t, it didn’t take a detective to realize all he ever spoke with was lies. The other members didn’t bother asking questions, it genuinely surprised you how you were merely welcomed with open arms.

What an odd crew of misfits, the thought made you chuckle. Here you were sitting in a room with a bunch of wanted criminals having a drink like it was a normal evening. You were hesitant in following him when he offered you a spot in the league. It was more concerning why he didn’t think you wouldn’t run to the hero’s with all this new found info. Unless he already knew everything about you from the beginning, of course you couldn’t run to the hero’s being you ran from those exact people years ago.

You sipped your drink, the glass lightly thudding against the wooden counter after you sat it down. Toga was currently chatting your ear off over various subjects. Not that you minded, she seemed like a sweet enough kid. She could’ve been but it seemed everyone here was dealt a shit hand and did what they needed to survive. They all would’ve been really amazing heros if only someone had given a shit before it was too late.

You had hoped hatred like this would never find you, that you would never be suffocated by a forever suffering loss similar to theirs. Everyone here has suffered a horrible loss or abandonment because of something they couldn’t change. These weren’t horrible and villainous people, they were all kids who were hurt by the same system that was setup to help them. Anybody would be sick with anger and resentment, you wondered how they all could even laugh at all after such events. Then again having something to come back to after so long of having nothing, it’d make anyone happy.

The days turned into weeks and before you knew it your apartment had become their second home. You were sure Toga stayed at your home more than the League base. She even decorated the spare room claiming it was missing something but you were pretty sure she just wanted a place to call her own. You mostly served as a support and backup on missions. Very rarely were you called out but it didn’t matter with how often you got too see them. Even Shigaraki came around frequently, probably more than the others. Though there were often moments sat in silence, it was comforting.

Instead of being alone you could be alone together, because god forbid you claimed it was spending time together. He’d rather drop dead a million times over before calling it that, he was just ‘dropping by’ as he’d like to say. As if the others would believe you anyways that you were who he spent most of his time with, not like you’d tell a soul to begin with. It was a secret understanding you shared with him.

Maybe it was an off day the first time he showed up at your doorstep injured and bloodied. He swore up and down that he was fine yet he could barely stand on his own.

“Don’t fucking touch…” he cursed stopping himself mid sentence. You had offered to help him to the couch yet he practically yanked himself back hitting the wall in the process. “Just pull up a chair,” he said harshly, his hand pressed against his stomach. You couldn’t tell where the injuries started and ended. You dragged a chair from the dining room closer to the front door. He sat down with a pained groan, by time he blinked and opened his eyes again you were already back with a medical kit.

“Gloves,” he pointed half-hazardously at the exam gloves in the kit. You handed them to him confused until you realized he didn’t have his own on.

Oh, oh.

“Yeah of course,” your voice was soft as you worked to clean his wounds off. He slipped on the gloves before settling in the chair, you helped him slip off his jacket and shirt. Apologizing after each flinch he’d make when you accidentally pressed too hard or the antiseptic stung. It was such a shame someone as beautiful as him was such a horrible tragedy in the making, constantly writing and rewriting itself as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“It might hurt while I stitch this so please bear with me,” you wore an apologetic expression smiling despite it. He felt like being mean but it seemed a bit too much now. You numbed the area as much you could before beginning to stitch the wound.

“It’s fine nothing new,” he denoted. It upset you the lack of care he found in his own wellbeing. Dying never seemed to be a fear nor was keeping himself out of harm’s-way. If anything he happened to be more injured than uninjured.

“Learn how to dodge or something,” you muttered angrily.

“You make it sound like you care?” He replied, the sarcasm evident in his voice. He glanced down at you as you worked to stitch the gash he had along his abdomen. A new scar that’ll be added to the old and newer scars that practically covered his chest and stomach already.

You snipped the end of the thread tying it off, finally bandaging over the stitches you made. You worked as gently as you could trying to make the process easier for him. Your fingers traced the old scars without thought, face grimacing at the bigger scars. “And if I do care?” You questioned raising an eyebrow, a bit offended at the question of having simple empathy.

“Then i’d say it’s the dumbest delusion you’ve had since we met,” he laughed but it quickly died down to groaning, his hand finding his stomach again. You threw away the used supplies and put the medical kit back where you kept it.

After you finished cleaning you stopped back in front of him intending to give him a mouthful over his recklessness. But your mind couldn’t seem to push out the useless cruel words. “Why are you so…uncaring? Life shouldn’t be so meaningless,” your brows furrowed at him as you made a face he hadn’t quite seen before.

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“That’s not what I meant Tenko,” he froze at the name. His eyes flowed into a glare, of course you would figured it out. The thoughts were wiped clean as you leaned towards him, he had to be holding his breath from this distance it would’ve brushed against your face. “Please stop treating yourself as replaceable,” you whispered your words, the back of your fingers caressing his cheek. The touch was so gentle it almost hurt.

His eyes met with yours and for once he couldn’t find the words. To find some sort of reason to why he doesn’t deserve such kindness. Your face wore an expression as if you were in more pain than he was.

He lifted his hand towards your face before hesitantly pulling his hand back. Did the thought of even gloved hands touching you seem so unthinkable? “I could kill you by mere accident.”

“I know.”

“I’ve done horrible things.”

“I know.”

Your lips met with his the feeling fleeting, but he could’ve sworn it was the closest he’s ever felt to being at peace. The closest he would ever find to inner peace. It was cruel that he couldn’t even hold you in return. He could barely bring himself to hold the edge of your shirt because what if he slipped up? All it took was getting too comfortable and you’d be just gone.

He was so used to the need for destruction, the desire for wreckage that the thought of never wanting to hurt something, someone. It was a terrifying thought. If he cared, that means having something to lose, he had already lost everything that mattered and he couldn’t bear to go through that again.

“I don’t like touching the things I like,” he pulled his head back, turning his face away from yours. He let out a sharp breath he didn’t remember holding. He hated how much he cared but he hated himself even more. “It’s unfair, to not even be able to touch you without fear,” his tone broke out in honesty, a rare occurrence for a man of his stature. “You deserve someone you don’t have to be at a distance with,” he frowned, his words leaching out like a darkened abyss.

He never once spoke of that night; it was as though it never happened at all. You thought maybe things would be different, that maybe you had finally erased the line he kept drawing but each time you even hinted at that might he brushed you off. Because it was what he did best, he knew nothing other than pushing others away. Letting people in was a lot harder as opposed to just keeping everyone out.

You couldn’t help being angry, of course you knew what type of person he was. You really couldn’t help it though, he had to care enough to be upfront with you. To at the very least let you down gently, why did he even bother telling you anything at all. It was obvious there was truth behind his words, that he did care but apparently he didn’t care enough. It could’ve been that reason alone to the now never ending bickering between you more often. You were angry at him for plenty of things now, the main one being his constant drive to never let a soul get too close to him.

Maybe there were these infinite reasons, it could be justified but you couldn’t help the aching feeling of how it hurt. So it’s possible you might’ve caused more trouble out on missions, the few missions you did get to go on. Insisting on not needing his help. Disagreeing with everything he said just to aggravate him, to find some sort of reaction other than nothing at all. He’d never show anything besides a blanked expression of never ending rage towards his mission.

Oftentimes it felt like he refused to ever agree with you on anything, as if you constantly just had to be at odds. You quickly noticed how fast he’d work to destroy the small bridges you’d build to get closer. Because something just always had to be wrong if it was about you and him, if there was a you and him. But it was hard trying to convince someone so devastatingly doomed that there was still a way to crawl out the darkness that encased him.

It was just as every other time constantly at each other’s throats since agreeing to disagree was something neither of you could do. You wanted to understand why, why he couldn’t for one moment choose to have a sliver of empathy and choose to be better even if it was just a moment.

“Tomura, those were innocent people. Why must you insist on choosing the worst possible choice every single time?!?,” you yelled slamming your things down the various bags clattering down on the floor. The door shut behind you two, his footsteps soundly after yours. You turned glancing at him, voice raising quickly once more as though your complaints on the way back to the base hadn’t been enough. The base leaked of emptiness aside from the two now yelling voices that shared insults back and forth.

“Why do I always have to drag your sorry ass back from another stupid damn decision,” your fingers found the bridge of your nose, a headache slowly growing. “Well I sure didn’t ask for your help, you just keep shoving your nose in where you don’t belong,” he tilted his head at you as if curious to your insistence on remaining beside him despite everyday being a new complaint on what he was doing wrong.

“It’s clear you obviously can’t take care of yourself, you’re so reckless it’s dumb luck you haven’t died yet,” you spat out motioning towards him. He was covered in countless scars, ones that seemed to have multiplied rapidly over the few months you’ve started working with the League.

He stepped towards you, his gaze practically seething in itself, “why do you keep acting like this is new? You fucking knew when you joined how this would be,” his reply came out like a freshly sharpened blade.

“See there it is again ever so insisting you have to be this horrible fucking person,” you pointed at him frustrated. Cursing underneath your breath. You slumped against a nearby wall letting your hands fall to your sides. “Be damned if even for a moment you’re considered a good person.” You couldn’t even be sure why you were so angry with him. He had long since been upfront about the type of man he was, it was hardly ever a secret the type of person he was. He didn’t want to get better, so why did you keep trying to make him so? But you couldn’t help this persistent need to help him become something other than this picturesque villain.

“I’m no good, you know that,” he gritted his teeth almost offended by the idea of possibly even being a good person. The world had already written him off as a villainous monster, and that’s all he would ever be. He could never be any good because he’s already convinced himself he wasn’t. He’d show the world he could be worse. He stepped forward towards you, his hand hesitantly dragged across your cheek. The sudden touch in itself nearly made you jump. You didn’t think he would hurt you, he didn’t seem to have that intention even from the start. There were many times he could’ve killed you but he didn’t.

You swallowed harshly, eyeing the man in-front of you. His face was blank as he looked over you, his hands moved to cup your face. Even then his gloved hands never touched your face, they sat hovering near your face. Close enough the heat could be felt but the simple touch never came, his hands found their place back at his side.

“I could never be good to you, I promise you nothing about being with me is pretty,” his tone wasn’t soft or harsh he was simply speaking as if it was normal. It wasn’t normal, far from it but this was his normal, being with him would mean a new normal.

“I’d let you burn to watch the rest of the world go down in flames too,” his eyes weren’t widened in seriousness or a promised threat. He wasn’t even angry, it was as if he had stated the obvious. There was no emotion to his tone, it was just how he seen fit. He wouldn’t change for love, he’d sacrifice it all in a heartbeat to watch the world rile and wirth in a pile of rotted ashes. A wretched man he was.

“So, I’m not stupid I just want to help. I want to help you,” your voice was adamant and clear. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as if he was about to smile or laugh but he didn’t. His hands squeezed into fist before releasing the tension as he stepped back. He turned his back to you leaving without a word.

Love is a nasty disease, one that means having to care, having something to lose and that was not something he was willing to disable himself with. To make himself weak and vulnerable, creating his own personal weapon to be turned against him. That was not something he’d let himself feel again because it would only end up in flames. Every single version of his story never ended with a happy ending so why should he bother taking someone else down with him, he already had his targets. You should be lucky to not be on that list too.

He said you were being bothersome the first time you two had a mission together. Despite his complaints it became a frequent occurrence of going out on missions with him. More so you having followed him a few too many times and he just decided it was easier just bringing you along over trying to convince you to go back home. Fighting alongside him came as second nature, it was easy. Your fighting styles coincided with each other, he came back with more wins and rarely ever a loss when he brought you along these missions.

Although you spent more days together than apart he still kept his distance. You liked to think it was a bit closer than before, he stopped stepping back instinctively when you approached him. Regardless of it you learned to be okay with it all, we all had our lines we don’t cross and this was one of his you learned to accept. He never touched you even when his hands were gloved, it was always you touching him. The first time he didn’t move away from you whenever he usually would’ve found you a tad too close, everyone noticed it. It’s hard not to notice a man who would adamantly avoid physical contact no longer complaining about a distance needing to be kept.

It started out with simple things, tapping his shoulder when needing his attention. Grabbing his arm to drag him along behind you. He shivered away from it at first but eventually he stopped finding faults in it. He wish it didn’t affect him but it did. You knew every horrible thing he’s done, what a shitty person he was. In spite of it you never once flinched away from him. Someone considered him worthy, valuable and that was a complicated new feeling. He hates it, he should right? You’re too nice, too good, you couldn’t be this righteous. It’s most definitely hatred he’s feeling nothing more nothing less.

His hand accidentally fully touched you, he didn’t think about it and that was the problem. He should’ve been paying attention, he immediately backed away yelling at you not to touch him. He waited to watch you disappear right before his eyes just like he did as a scared child running to his mother. He allowed himself one simple moment of peace and this is what it got him. He waited for minutes staring wildly as you tried to reassure him.

“I’m fine, see? I would’ve been turned into dust. Your hand barely touched me,” your tone was as warm and light as you could make it but the look in his eyes, it was fear and nothing else. He looked petrified in the silence refusing to speak, he didn’t even realize his hands were gloved the entire time. You wanted to offer some sort of comfort, what was there to tell?

“Don’t touch me again,” he spoke in a soft voice, he never did that. He was mean and rude, him being any sort of kind was rare. This wasn’t kindness, it was a plead for you to stop crossing every line he makes. He’s starting to care too much, he couldn’t. He won’t.

“Tenko please, it was an accident, it’s okay.”

“Yeah? What about next time hm’? What about when you turn into dust because of a fucking accident, I don’t make accidents.” He stared at you with disdain, his voice coming out in a harsh manner. Your lips parted intending to find another excuse to make up for him but you knew he was right.

“Just-” he paused intending to speak further but the sight of your tears had stopped him. You expected him to demand you stop crying or offer some comfort, he simply left. You didn’t think he’d ever find it in him to fight to put a meaning behind what ‘us’ should mean. There aren’t enough words to describe what you two had, it was everything and nothing all at once. Maybe you did deserve better but there was nobody else you could ever want besides him. ‘Quite pathetic’ is what he’d probably say to that.

He thought you had to be some sort of insane to down yourself to his level. There are very few people he ever thought highly of, not that he’d ever tell you. You thought you’d be okay with it all, trying to find it in yourself to stop caring so much. After a while he stopped coming by your apartment, Toga as well. The visits from them became more scarce, to none at all. The few times you found yourself visiting the League’s base maybe only one of them would be there. Shigaraki never was though.

A week had gone by of radio silence from everyone, so you thought one last try and that would be it, you’d be done with it all. To your surprise everyone was here at once, hell even the members that’d only ever drop by for some intel or a job were here. They spoke amongst each other, you were able to get a quick gist of it all. The mission they were heading out in was serious enough to bring in backup. You knew whatever they were getting ready for was big, big enough to where ‘see you when I get back’ became whispering goodbyes. This meant everything they’ve been working towards was finally coming to an end. This was going to be the final chapter of their stories, they knew it too. None of them seemed all that sad about it though, if anything you had never seen them more at peace. Liberated even, they were going to mean something.

“Where do you want me in this plan?” You questioned moving to stand next to him, wrapping your hands tightly until your knuckles were covered. Figured you’d end up dealing with a-lot of hand to hand combat. You were already buckling on your vest and strapping your blades in their places when Shigaraki spoke.

“You’re not coming,” he didn’t pause his movements, he continued briefing the rest of the League on the plan all over again.

“The hell you mean I’m not coming?” Your face scrutinized him immediately. You grabbed his arm demanding his attention, he turned towards you annoyed. His gaze left no doubt in his words he meant it. Meaning this plan of his had little chance of truly succeeding. Your eyes frantically searched his in anger and panic.

“Don’t do that, you can’t put me out of this when we’re right at the goal?” You released his arm as he stared at you. You did plenty of bickering but it was the first to be arguing like this infront of the others. You bit your lip drawing blood sinking into the never ending thoughts. He was an idiot, he couldn’t be this stupid and reckless?

“As I said you’re staying here, we don’t need you dragging us down.”

“Dragging you down? The only person who can drag you down is yourself. I mean you-” you paused eyeing him. Ah, that’s what he was doing, he was doing what he does best.

Pushing you away.

Your hands found the collar of his shirt yanking him down to your height. You tried to find it in you to stay angry, that’d make it easier. It’s easier not to miss someone when you’re angry.

“Even after all of it, after us? You’re a coward, you know that?”

“Yeah and you’re the one who keeps seeking out this deluded idea we even have anything at all,” his words reached out like a venomous snake, it had to be just poisonous lies. This couldn’t be his truth? There had to be some other kind of feeling behind his angered expressions. There had to be something beyond his eccentric need to wreak havoc wherever he sees fit.

"Honestly, when this is all over I hope we don’t meet again."

"You can’t be serious? Tenko, please don’t act as if we have nothing. Don’t stand there and tell me all of this, all of us means absolutely nothing to you," you wondered if you were yelling, you had to be with how sick he was starting to look. Your hands fell from his collar as he stepped back slightly.

"I'll curse you until my dying breath, you can't go. It's stupid and reckless even for you. You'll die out there and I'll be left here alone," you were yelling now if you weren't before as you hit at his chest.

"Y/n stop," he whispered the words as if it pained him to speak. He did even bother attempting to stop your attacks.

"Don't you dare leave me here alone again. You can't," despite it all, you simply couldn't bring yourself to be angry with him, at him. You still looked at him with that same damn comforting gaze.

He hated it, so why couldn't he hate you?

"Stop fucking looking at me like that," now he was yelling too, he tried pushing you away but he couldn't bear to let go.

‘Like what?' You didn't even have to say the words, they were already written on your face.

Like he was important.

Why did you have to look at him as if you’ve known him for years? If only you could see the look on your face whenever you spoke to him, it was pure endearment. It was like you didn’t need anything in return because he was already enough, oh how he hated it. He couldn’t stand the look on your face, like he was good, as if he’d ever be worthy of devotion and love. It made him feel sick, he felt himself aching with guilt. He was used to using people for connections, their wealth or maybe even weapons but playing with one’s heart?

That’s simply cruel.

The heart can tear and heal itself but it doesn’t forget, he hadn’t forgotten the way his heart was left in shreds by his own mistakes. Why can’t you just stop making him feel things? Why weren’t you selfish and self centered? Why was the universe finally giving him the light at the end of the tunnel when he was already comfortable within the dark. He just wanted everyone to suffocate in the darkness as he had been for years but my god was your light bright.

“You’re not one of us, you’ve never been one of us,” his words cut out sharp and loudly, you stepped back from him. Talks of the group had long since become hushed whispers. You searched his face for some sort of underlying emotion that told you he didn’t believe what he said, that he said it out of anger not because you truly never had a place here, even as a wanna be villain.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Your hand raised quicker than you could think, the sound of your hand slapping against his face echoed out. The rest of the group stood up and around in shock, nobody moved as a deafening silence took over. His own hand rested on the red mark blooming on his cheek, your own hand stinging from how hard you hit him.

“You’re a lie Tenko, you’re a fucking lie.”

“Get them out of here.”

You went to raise your hands once more to grab at his shirt but hands grabbed at your arms. You didn’t bother to look who it was, rather you didn’t care as you screamed at him. You weren’t telling him to take it back, you were begging him to. Asking him if he truly meant it, he didn’t mean it because if he did you truly didn’t belong anywhere.

You could’ve never been like them, you never had been, the world had long since pointed their fingers labeling them villains. The world had never done that to you, so you would and couldn’t ever know what it was like.

His back was the last thing you seen before a heavy darkness overtook you.

The wreckage was hell on earth, it was gruesome. A live graveyard was in its making, how many bodies lay in the ruins of a city was uncountable. He knew most were probably innocents, maybe he deserved this lonesome death.

For a moment the world had seemed beautiful. The flicker of light in the demanding darkness, and it almost made him want to be good. For a moment the world was telling him, calling for him to be the good. It’s sad it was only a moment, if only it’d had been longer. Maybe he could’ve been the good and not just the bad.

He suddenly felt apologetic for the times he hadn’t said what he should’ve. He could have told you how much he needed your existence more than his own, or the first night he spotted you on a late night mission. You taking down a group of low level villains as if it was nothing at all and he had a thought, a simple one. He had never seen something so beautiful, so bright it could never be snuffled. A beauty that he would never have the pleasure of keeping. So he told himself he’d watch from afar wishing it could always be his to keep but like the greedy selfish man he was he talked you into joining the league. Cause that’s better than not being by your side at all right? He thought maybe after a while he’d stop mourning a person he could never truly have but even now as he bled out every single feeling he had was for you. He should feel sorry for not telling you how he felt, the things he chose over taking your hand.

But he didn’t know how to be sorry, he could never be sorry.

They weren’t lying when they said dying sucked, such a stupid death too. He would have laughed if he had it in him but nothing about it was funny. If he tried to laugh he’d only choke on his own blood quicker but he already knew he didn’t deserve the pleasantries of dying quickly. If he was sorry for something he might’ve been sorry to you, he really did hope there was a next life where you would choose him again.

He turned you in, being left at the steps of one of the hero agencies. Waking up in the cold and disgustingly unclean cell, stuck waiting as they investigated and interrogated you to see if your story suddenly switched up. Stuck in a cell day in and day out with no more light other than a window covered in iron bars that would take years to rust away. You stuck with the same story he always told you to tell, that you were held involuntarily for information. Despite the questionable circumstances and thorough investigation, you were later released on having no solid evidence to legally keep you in holding. Though hardly any hero agency was willing to work with you after the investigation. Everyone knew what you had done but they couldn’t prove a thing.

You didn’t understand until you seen it on tv, them celebrating with his blood splattered across the pavement. As if it was some spectacle, cheering wildly as they announced his death in gleeful laughter and applause. The images of the League were plaster all over every channel and station about how their reign of terror was over. Anybody who made it out the battle had been immediately hunted down and tossed in prison.

Suddenly it all made sense, you weren’t thrown aside from lack of use. You hadn’t failed or done anything wrong. If anything you were too valuable, too important to burn with the rest of them. The one person he couldn’t think of dragging down with him. He was putting you out of harm’s way because he only knew how to be mean and not speak with honesty. It seemed the only way he knew how to love was by boxing himself so tightly there’d never be a chance of him being the death of you. The thought made you angry he couldn’t have bothered to even give you a decent fucking goodbye. He didn’t even bother to admit the truth. What a truly awful person he was. How rotten of a man he was to have lied to you.

How he wouldn’t have let you burn to see the world burn too.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Okay, I've Read Worm: A Retrospective Part 5: What Was I Fucking Surprised By?

So, as you may remember, I got into Worm thoroughly spoiled by the wiki and Wormblr and r/parahumans and r/Wormfanfic and actual Worm fanfic. I knew pretty much all the basic details of all the plot twists. And yet, of course, there are things I didn't expect, things the fandom or the wiki mislead me about, etc. Things I was surprised by.

So let's talk about a few:

Taylor Hebert: As I've said, I kind of worried, before reading Worm, that I'd find Taylor insufferable. The sort of character that tries to be a hero and then convinces themselves to do all sorts of bad stuff while telling themselves they're still a hero/good person/etc is hard to write well without being really unpleasant to read/watc/etc. Self-righteousness in general is hard to enjoy for me. Taylor, honestly, stops thinking of herself as a good person partway through the post-Levi period, in most ways, and she never gets self-righteous about it. So Taylor was much more sufferable than I thought. Which is good, because I would have dropped Worm like a hot potato if she'd been insufferable as the main POV.

Eidolon & The Endbringers: (Sounds like a band name). The whole 'you needed Worthy opponents' thing, and the way people talked about Eidolon (seriously, this fandom as a whole is hugely unfair to the guy, istg) really gave me the impression of like, this vainglorious piece of shit guy who wants adulation and doesn't care how he gets it. And like... I don't get that impression from his Interlude at all? He doesn't seem to give two shits about fame, just about knowing what he did mattered. And he knew that well before the Endbringers. Obviously, he subconsciously created them, and then [High Priest] got all goddamn malicious in his compliance but he's not the vainglorious asshole who charges off to face Scion in single combat or w/e the way the fanfiction gave me that impression. Also, like, maybe it's just me, but I define 'Worthy Opponent' as 'something the person could have a reasonable chance of defeating in a solo fight'. So for me, a worthy opponent would be a rowdy 12 year old with maybe a white belt in karate. the Endbringers are not solo-able opponents for Eidolon. So absolutely not doing what he actually wanted. I really think the fandom is unfairly hard on Eidolon.

Interlude 15.x: Look, at the risk of starting discourse - I'm sorry. I've read 15.x Backwards and forwards and there is just Nothing pointing towards rape in the text, even looking for it as I was. I really expected I'd see some line, some implication, some fucking hint and there's just... absolutely nothing. The text of Worm as written, whatever Wildbow claims he meant and whatever he did mean, does not support a rape interpretation of events. And that sure as fuck surprised me.

Extinction 8.6: The way people - and even some fics - talked about the scene where Amy messes with Taylor post-Leviathan made it sound like Amy straight up ripped off Taylor's mask or something extreme like that, and then Taylor sees unmasked Sophia while trying to run and hide after being unmasked. What we got was Amy being a bit of a bitch, deliberately refusing to answer a question Taylor asked because she knew not answering would upset the girl (not cool), Amy's bedside manner being shit, and Taylor's own paranoia (and the godawful choice of the heroes to handcuff her to the bed) filling in the blanks. And this absolutely tepid-ass shit is pointed to by people as proof that 'Amy was a bitch the whole time'.

The Leviathan Fight: It was a lot shorter than I expected. I enjoyed reading it in ways I was worried I wouldn't.

Cauldron: Now, here's the thing. Characters that do bad things, knowing they're bad, but in pursuit of a greater good? That shit is my goddamn jam. I fucking love characters like that. They're my catnip! And I went into Worm sympathetic as FUCK to Cauldron. and I come out of Worm going 'Jesus Christ what a bunch of fucking idjits!' Their shoestring illuminati was run by a bunch of teenagers who never grew up and a college student who's a worse control freak than Taylor. Their incompetence appears to be the whole point (until Wildbow's WoGs turned everything into Cauldron social engineering and he went out of his way to make a big thing about how Cauldron was totes necessary for making things better. Man just cannot shut up). They try for decades to put some final fight against Scion together, and they fail epicly. No groundwork, no real success, and they turned to ACCORD for their post-apocalyptic plans. And apparently had no plan for a mass Case-53 breakout/attack. Which is... sure a choice. Dumping the Case-53s the way they did. The choice of which Case 53s to dump (Sveta sure was a choice of who to just... let out into the world. Like, not an issue with her personally, but you don't release that kind of uncontrollable murder tentacle out into the world, maybe? Just maybe?). I went into Worm thinking I'd be on Cauldron's side, at least a little, and I came out just... god no, you people are stupid.

Amy's Birdcage Arc: I really thought we'd see more of Amy's time in the birdcage, but 16.z really was all we got.

Alexandria's Death: I don't quite know what I did expect, but I didn't expect Alexandria's death to be so goddamn Darwin-award worthy. The woman died like the biggest of CHUMPs and that was much funnier than I expected.

The Drugs are Fantastic line: I knew it was being taken out of context, but it wasn't quite in the place I expected, I'll be honest. Not sure what I did expect.

Taylor's Weaver Arc/The Timeskip: I expected... I dunno. Less of an abrupt transition, I guess? I thought the timeskip would be like, a series of small scenes skipping ahead over two years between them? Instead, right in the middle of Arc 25, it just jumps ahead two years without ceremony. Did not expect that. At all.

Slaughterhouse Nine: I was not prepared for just how goddamn boring the Nine were. I don't think I read any spoilers about how Jack Slash being boring af was the point until I'd already started the S9 arc, but I especially didn't expect how pathetically bland as characters Manny the Kinless and Burnscar and Crawler and Sibby the Friendly Neighborhood Cannibal would be. Cherish managed to be interesting by being such a failure, and Bonebitch, to my eterntal frustration, managed to be funny, but the rest? Also, I thought Manton would die in the Bay, rather than be killed unceremoniously offscreen while in Boston.

The Butcher: For a character who appears in all of two chapters, the Butcher has a much larger presence in the fandom. But that is Worm for you, because groups like the Elite and the Fallen also show up more in the fics than their presence in the main story merits (Though the Fallen have more of a presence in Ward, even if I gather Ward kinda sorta retcons like half the details or at least presents irreconcilable visions of the organization)

Empire 88: They were way out of focus, compared to how much they appear in fics. But it is fun in fics to see Nazis get beat up all the time, so this is valid. But also, like, even their post-Levi remnants were weaksauce af. Someone in a server the other day said that taking out Marquis took out an entire faction, and that Levi proved that taking out Kaiser (or Allfather before him) doesn't stop the Empire, gesturing to the Aryan's Chosen and the Pure as proof but like... lbr. Both groups were pretty damn pathetic in the post-Leviathan bay. Regardless, I expected to see more of the Nazis getting beat in Worm itself, and we really didn't. But this is one time where I don't care, because as I said, seeing Nazis get beaten up over and over again in the fanfic is fun.

Ward: I was worried reading and finishing Worm might make me want to read Ward. Thankfully, it did not. *whew*

Now, there are probably others, but nothing else as major. But there are also some things I just plain wasn't surprised by.

Amy Dallon: I went into Worm expecting her to be my blorbo, and that didn't change. She's definitely my character type. I feel the same about her storyline in Worm as I did going into it.

Tattlebitch: I expcted to hate her, and I stayed hating her. Lisa sucks. Like, she has her redeeming moments and features, but overall, I still hate Lisa.

Carol Dallon: My Sympathy for Carol remains about as theoretical as it always was.

The PRT/Protectorate: I suspected the PRT/Protectorate was not as useless and incompetent and ACAB as a lot of fics painted it and... I was right.

My Ultimate Opinion: I went into Worm thinking it wasn't really for me, but that I'd probably find it well written and that many characters would be engaging. I figured it would have massive gaping plot holes and that I would never find it to be the 'amazeballs perfect wonderful' that some people seem to find it. And yeah, I was right about that too.

[spockandawe]

God, i always feel like I'm full of things to say and have no energy to say them. What have i been reading since the last time i posted here?

The governor's illness something is wrong with the governor: Fine! Had some tasty components, but didn't super stick with me. It felt like it struggled to find its momentum and didnt have strong end to end flow

Is my attacker a ghost?: Fun, the bullying sections are a bit hard to read, and it did feel like it blew its load before the actual end of the story, but I have an increased appreciation for spoopy stories that aren't full-on HORROR

I excavated an emperor to become my wife: only partway through, but enjoying it! I wish this had a bit more spoop, but the concept is very fun to me

My husband and i sleep in the same coffin: also only partway through. It's fun, but having trouble finding its momentum, and I think the combination of fully decamping to the modern world plus trying to Humorously describe a person of..... multiracial descent? (i think???) kind of stalled me out. (his name means white jade, which is funny, because his skin is very DARK, you see) (I'm not sure how much is on the translator versus the author versus my own understanding, but it kind of killed my momentum)

After marrying the disabled god of war as my concubine: a delight!!! Some of the most fun I've had reading an imperial succession story, and it's such a galaxy brain move to make the modern person suddenly dumped into the past a professional history nerd (university history lecturer)

You yao/are you okay: holy shit, so clever and fun. The idea of having a world not dealing with a SINGLE transmigrator, but a SYSTEMIC PLAGUE of transmigrators, and then playing with concepts like a connecticut yankee in king arthur's court on that scale.... hot damn. This is the same author as the next one, and their brain is SO big.

How ridiculous/how dare you: okay, so a modern office worker transmigrates into a book. She transmigrates into a TRANSMIGRATION BOOK. I'm not done yet, i had to put it down because it was SO good that i got overwhelmed and stressed out. But i would officially follow this author into hell now

Married the scum gong's villain brother: good, but in a quiet way where I don't feel much urge to return or gush about it! In modern mundane settings, where the only significant plot thread is getting the relationship pinned down, i feel like it's relatively easy to set up a compelling beginning, but much harder to see it through to the end with as much momentum. It wasn't bad! But it wasn't notable.

After being forced to marry the evil star general: still not done, but it's the book in progress I'm most active on. This. This is tasty. It's not as clown4clown as peerless was, but it's one of the closer books ive found to the antagonistic fascination those two leads brought, if you follow. It's a lot of fun! One main character very much has a stone cold bitch energy a la cui buqu, though also like him, the lines between a natural rancid personality and a deliberate act are also blurred. This one is compelling!!

And, not a cnovel, but a korean one: got dropped into a ghost story, still gotta work. So imagine. There was a fictional universe kind of like the scp foundation fused with the greater creepypasta ecosystem. And imagine some poor fucker transmigrated into that universe as a drone worker in a business that profits from harvesting these stories. And imagine he's a massive fan of the universe, but is ALSO a massive horror weenie who can't even handle looking at the pictures sometimes included in these stories. YEAH, IT'S DELIGHTFUL. This book isn't actually complete yet, which I'm grumpy about, i had the distinct impression it was when I heard about it, but part one appears to be complete and it's BEEFY. Even incomplete, there's some really awesome stuff in here.

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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It’s pouring. 

You look up towards the sky, lips twisted into a grimace. Of course, you already knew it would be raining, but it really is strange to see everything play out, down to the smallest details. The weather was predetermined. Regardless of your influence, things like that can’t change. The creator of the story wanted to set the tone by making the day as gloomy as possible, and clearly, it’s working, because you feel more unnerved by the second.

“Our window confirmed the cursed womb’s existence roughly three hours ago,” Ijichi explains. “Once roughly 90 percent of people inside were evacuated, the detention center was closed off. Citizens close nearby have also been evacuated.” 

“What’s a window?” Itadori frowns. 

“It refers to someone with the ability to perceive curses. They will often notify us of a cursed spirit’s appearance. However, they aren’t sorcerers themselves.”

Man. Knowing what lies inside that facility, being a window is starting to sound really good right now. 

Unfortunately, it looks like you’re fated to be a sorcerer. Thanks a lot (not), isekai gods.

“Moving on,” Ijichi continues. “Detainee Block 2. Presently, five inmates are still trapped inside with the cursed womb. If this cursed womb is the type that can metamorphose, we predict it will become a special-grade cursed spirit.”

Both Fushiguro and Nobara wear stern expressions, because they clearly understand the gravity of the situation. Itadori, however, doesn’t know any better, and looks as laidback as ever.

Which is ironic, because once all of you are inside, he’s the one who’s going to be dealt the worst hand. By far. 

Nothing’s even happened yet, but the knowledge of what’s about to unfold makes you feel guilty beyond repair.

“Hey, so, I still don’t really understand what special-grade means,” Itadori says. Fushiguro and Nobara both grimace, of course, and Itadori leans closer to you with an inquisitive look on his face. “[Name], do you know? Well, I guess this is all pretty new to you too, so probably not.” 

Unfortunately, you do know what it means. 

You know it all too well. 

“I-I’m not sure,” you nervously brush off. “But they used the term special-grade to refer to Sukuna as well, right? So I’m assuming it probably describes a cursed spirit that’s… really strong.” 

Ijichi nods. “Yes, I suppose that’s the general idea. In any case, allow me to explain in a way that even idiots would be able to understand.” 

Alright, damn, Ijichi. You didn’t have to come for us like that. 

“First off, we have fourth-grade. If I could use an analogy, even a wooden bat would suffice to defeat them. For third-grade, if you were to have a handgun, you can rest easy. Second-grade. It’d be a close call, even with a shotgun. First-grade. Most likely, even a military tank wouldn’t be enough. Then we finally reach special-grade. How can I put this… let’s say you might stand a chance of winning if you were to repeatedly carpet bomb the curse. And even then there’s no guarantee.” 

Itadori’s jaw drops open. “Wait, so… isn’t that really bad?!” 

“Normally a sorcerer on par with the curse would take on the mission,” Fushiguro sighs, massaging his brow. “But since Gojo is still away on business, it can’t be helped.”

“Our line of work is always lacking in manpower,” Ijichi nods gravely. “You will often have to undertake missions beyond your capabilities. This particular case is truly abnormal, and hence, why it urgently requires our attention. You are not to fight, under any circumstances. When confronted by a special-grade curse, your only options are to run or die.”

Run or die, huh…? What a lovely pep talk. 

Naturally, none of this comes as a surprise to you, but now that you’re actually here, standing right outside the detention center, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting cold feet. 

Actually, even that’s an understatement.

You’re scared shitless right now.

“Please, listen to your fears,” Ijichi advises. “And above all else, remember that your mission here is strictly the verification and rescue of survivors.”

His words are a harsh reminder as to just how dangerous this new world you’ve found yourself in is. 

Well. Better than Attack on Titan, you suppose.

“E-Excuse me!” 

There’s a woman calling out to you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is, and the sound of her voice alone is enough to make your stomach twist into a knot.

“Tadashi… my son,” the woman mumbles, tears in her eyes. “Is my son okay…?”

You can see the way Itadori’s chin trembles, and you can tell that his heart aches having to watch this poor mother fear for her son’s life. He hates seeing others in pain. This must be eating him up inside.

And the same goes for you.

Because you know that Tadashi is already dead.

“Please step back,” Ijichi says, facing the woman with a solemn expression. “There’s a possibility that someone has spread poisonous gas throughout the center. We cannot share any more detail at this time.”

The woman just stands there at first, rigid and unmoving, but gradually, more tears fill her gaze, and she crumples to the ground, breaking down into a full-blown sob. She wails and wails, asking why in the world this has to happen, and begging for someone to bring her son back to her. 

The more he watches her, the more Itadori’s expression darkens. He isn't his carefree self anymore. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes. 

“[Name], Fushiguro, Kugisaki,” he says. “Let’s go. We’re… going to save everyone.” 

Nobara furrows her brows, but agrees with Itadori without so much as a second thought. Fushiguro is every bit as stoic as ever, but even he nods slightly. Every single one of them is fully intent on going in there to rescue the survivors. 

You’re the only one. The only one who knows that what lies inside is nothing but a gruesome massacre. There isn’t anyone left to save.

And what’s even more depressing is that you have to pretend like you think they actually have a chance. 

“Y-Yeah,” you nod weakly. “Let’s… do our best.” 

Igichi directs all of you towards the entrance you’re using, and he proceeds to bring down a Veil, which will conceal all of you from the outside world. This is necessary, for obvious reasons. The average person doesn’t even know that curses exist, after all.

“Whoa, it got dark all of a sudden,” Itadori marvels. “That’s so cool!” 

“God, you’re ignorant,” Nobara scowls, rolling her eyes.

Fushiguro sighs and brings forth his Divine Dogs. Just one of them for now. The fluffy white wolf, and he lets out an adorable little awoo as he manifests. Truly the goodest boy. 

“He’ll let us know if the curse gets close,” Fushiguro says. He motions to keep advancing, but nobody follows him right away, on account of the fact that all of you are busy petting the fluffy good boy.

“[Name], he seems to really like you,” Itadori grins. “Look! He’s so affectionate!” 

“I see doggo, I pet doggo,” you respond matter-of-factly. Sure enough, his tail seems to be wagging a good deal, and he repeatedly nuzzles his cute little snout up against your body. 

Can’t we just pretend this mission doesn’t exist and play with the fluffy sweetheart instead? 

“We need to get moving,” Fushiguro sighs, and he goes as far as to grab you by the wrist and start pulling you along. The white wolf follows closely by your side, occasionally peering up at you as if he’s hoping for more pets. He’s absurdly cute, especially when compared to the horrific situation you’re about to walk into.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself as the doors open. Fuck. Is it really too late to run away? Gojo isn’t here right now. Maybe you can flee the country somehow. Get far, far away from all the craziness that has yet to unfold. You’re starting to have second thoughts. You really don’t know if you can do this. You don’t know if you have what it takes to see that thing from close up.

In the canon series, nobody died. Itadori was able to survive thanks to Sukuna, and Fushiguro and Nobara were able to escape relatively unharmed. 

But where do you fit into this? It’s already clear that things can—and will—change. What if something goes terribly wrong? In that case…

You’re dead. 

“...[Name]?”

Itadori gently nudges you, expression rife with concern. You didn’t even realize that you were shaking so much. Even Fushiguro and Nobara must have noticed, based on the way they’re looking at you. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, swallowing hard. “I’m just a bit scared. I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to hold anyone back.” 

“It’s going to be okay,” Itadori reassures, and perhaps it sounds a bit silly, but just those few simple words—coupled with his warm smile—help ease your tremors. He grabs your hand for a moment and gives it a light squeeze. “We can do this. I’ll be right by your side the whole time. I promise.”

Nothing is a guarantee. You already know that. Still, Itadori’s words aren’t just for show. If he says something, he means it.

Thanks to him, you feel a little bit braver. 

“Wh-What’s going on in here?!”

Now that you’ve all stepped inside, everyone is rightfully taken aback. You were supposed to have walked into a two-story dorm for the inmates. What lies before you is an unimaginably large space. Much larger than what the building could ever fit inside. 

“It’s an Innate Domain made from cursed energy,” Fushiguro says, unable to keep his eyes from widening. “The dormitory expanded in size. Even so, it’s my first time seeing one this big. Wait! The door—!” 

It’s long gone. You knew from the moment you stepped inside that you wouldn’t be able to backtrack. Of course, there is a way of getting out of here. It’s just that the exit has changed. 

“Don’t panic,” Fushiguro says—even though Itadori and Nobara are doing exactly that. “This guy remembers the smell of the place we entered from.” 

He gestures to the white wolf, AKA super good boy, who is already wagging his tail and looking up at you expectantly. 

You grin and pet his head. “That’s amazing! You’re so strong and smart, aren’t you? If it was up to me, I’d be feeding you all the treats you could ever ask for.” 

“Take this more seriously, please,” Fushiguro mutters. “Even if we’ll be able to find our way out, it doesn’t make the situation any less serious.” 

“But it’s okay, since you’re so reliable,” Itadori grins, also petting the doggo. 

“Yeah,” you nod in agreement. “Fushiguro’s the kind of guy you can always depend on. Thank you for looking after us. And for letting me play with your cute wolf friend.”

Fushiguro doesn’t respond, and instead awkwardly averts his gaze. You can’t tell if he actually likes being complimented or not. He’s so stoic that it’s hard to read his expressions most of the time. 

“Let’s keep moving forward,” he finally says. You pet the wolf one last time, perhaps as a form of reassurance, because if memory serves correct… you won’t like what you’re about to find in the next room.

For more reasons than one. 

Itadori’s face instantly drops. Just as you anticipated, you’ve walked into the room with the dead inmates. Most of their bodies have been mutilated beyond recognition, save for one of them, whose torso and head are still intact. 

Horrified, Itadori reaches out towards the inmate and grabs onto the collar of his jumpsuit.

You don’t even have to get closer to know that the name tag reads Tadashi. 

The scene is gruesome, to say the least. Your stomach turns at the sight of such obvious brutality, and you quickly look away. But you aren’t just avoiding the image of blood and gore. You aren’t being overtly squeamish. 

Rather, you are frantically glancing all around the room, searching for the cursed spirit—because you know it’s here somewhere.

Where the hell is it hiding? How is it concealing its presence so well? Shit. You’re already shaking from head to toe, but the fact that you don’t even know exactly where it’ll appear from makes it a hundred times worse.

“I’m taking this body home,” you overhear Itadori mumble. “He’s that woman’s son. The one that asked us for help earlier. We weren’t able to save him… so the least we can do is retrieve his body for her. His face hasn’t been damaged much. I don’t think she’ll be able to come to terms with his death otherwise. And this way, he’ll be able to have a proper burial.”

Fushiguro pulls him back. “Leave the body. We still need to confirm if the other two people are alive or not.”

“Huh? Earlier, the entrance we used disappeared. If we walk away now, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to make it back later.” 

“I didn’t say we were coming back later. I said leave it. He’s not even worth saving when he’s alive. Why the hell would I save his dead body?” 

“Not worth saving?” Itadori gapes. “What are you talking about?” 

Fushiguro grits his teeth. “This is a juvenile detention center, you know. Jujutsu sorcerers are granted access to all information about the scene beforehand. That’s how I know that Tadashi guy hit a little girl while he was driving without a license. And that was already his second offense. I know you’re fixated on saving lots of people and guiding them towards proper deaths, but what will you do when someone you saved ends up killing someone else in the future?” 

The argument that ensues is one you’ve already heard, of course. They both have wildly different opinions on the matter, and whether you tell them to stop arguing or not, they probably won’t listen to you. In any case, you don’t have the luxury of paying them much attention right now. All of the nerves in your body are on high alert. You keep looking and looking, but you can’t for the life of you see any sign of the cursed spirit.  

The white wolf nuzzles up against your leg, and you pause before leaning down to pet his head again. 

“Do you sense it?” you ask nervously. “Can you… tell if the curse is nearby?”

He starts sniffing the air and glancing around. There’s no way to know exactly when the curse is set to appear. You don’t have a precise time frame for any of this. All you have is your own memory to rely on, and even that isn’t perfect. But surely it should show up any moment now, right? You feel like it was sometime in the middle of their argument… 

Suddenly, the wolf’s head turns, and by the time you follow his line of sight, it’s already too late.

The cursed spirit is right in front of you.

You aren’t even able to scream in time. It attacks, and if not for the wolf jumping in front to protect you, you’re willing to bet that you would’ve been decapitated. All you can do is jump back and hasten to put as much distance between you and the curse as possible, and only then do Fushiguro and Itadori realize what’s happening.

“My Divine Dog,” Fushiguro mumbles in disbelief. “Kugisaki’s missing, too. We need to… run! Itadori, [Name], we’re leaving right now!” 

If only you could. That cursed spirit is absurdly strong, not to mention fast. It isn’t special-grade for nothing. Before Fushiguro can say anything else, it appears right next to him and Itadori, close enough that it may as well be breathing down their necks. 

Itadori is the first to react. He instinctively brandishes his weapon and aims for the curse’s head, but you already know it’s pointless.

The next second, Itadori’s severed hand is lying on the ground, in a puddle of blood.

“Sukuna!” Itadori cries out. “I doubt I can escape in this state, and if I die, you’ll die too, right? If you don’t want that to happen, you need to cooperate with me!”

He won’t. 

“I refuse,” Sukuna responds, just as you predicted. “Even if the parts of me inside you die, I still have eighteen other fragments of my soul. That said, I’m not in control of this body. If you want to switch, go ahead and switch. But as soon as you do, I’ll kill that brat before the cursed spirit can. That other girl, too. The spunky one that was taken away. As for the last…” 

He stops himself before commenting on you. You’re not sure what he intended to say, but it hardly matters at this point. Itadori needs to be the only one left alone to fight the curse. You, Fushiguro, and Nobara will escape. And then everything will unfold the way it’s supposed to. There won’t be any casualties today. Even Itadori won’t actually die. As long as you run away now, it’s all going to be okay. 

Except you can’t run. 

Once again, the curse appears right in front of you.

Why…?! It came to me all of a sudden—

You’re forcefully blown back, hard enough that you collide against one of the walls. Out of sheer instinct, you managed to raise your hands as the curse struck you. You keel forward, vision blurry, gasping for breath and spluttering up blood. Your arms… are still intact. Earlier, Itadori’s hand got sliced off in one fell swoop. Is it because you subconsciously concentrated enough cursed energy around your body in order to minimize the damage? You still have all of your limbs, but your arms are shaking uncontrollably, and the skin where the curse hit you is bloody and raw. You swear you can feel your bones creaking.

Holy shit, it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! It hurts so bad that you’re tempted to cry, but all of the air got knocked out of you just now, and the most you’re capable of is a bit of strained, painful wheezing.

The curse purposefully attacked you just then. It was right next to Itadori and Fushiguro until just a few moments ago. Why did it divert its attention elsewhere? Why do all of these curses seem to come after you with a vengeance? Is it because they instinctively know you don’t belong here? Do they feel threatened by your inexplicable existence? 

God… you’re so scared.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori screams. “Take [Name] and Kugisaki and get out of here! I’ll hold the curse back until you leave this place. When you’re safely outside, give me some kind of signal, and then I’ll swap with Sukuna. That way, no one has to die.” 

Fushiguro stares at him in disbelief. “Are you an idiot? That’s a special-grade curse! You won’t even last long enough to bring out Sukuna before we escape!” 

“Look at it. That thing… it’s laughing. It’s totally underestimating us. I should at least be able to buy you guys some time.” 

“There’s no way you can—” 

“Fushiguro,” Itadori says, expression painfully resolute. “I’m counting on you.” 

You groan weakly, and Fushiguro casts a fearful glance towards you. He must realize you’re already in a terrible state. It’s a miracle you even survived just now. The sheer volume of your cursed energy is what saved you, but against an opponent as powerful as a special-grade, it’s no use if you don’t actually know how to fight.

So, he grits his teeth and rushes over to you, then picks you up and lifts you onto his back. You’re in so much pain that even just clinging to consciousness proves incredibly difficult, but the feeling of being pressed up against Fushiguro’s warm back fills you with relief. He’s going to take you and Nobara out of here. The nightmare is almost over.

Fushiguro runs towards the exit, already preparing to summon his other Divine Dog. You feel terrible having to leave Itadori behind. If you were stronger at this stage, strong enough to help him fight that cursed spirit, he wouldn’t have to suffer so much. You know that he isn’t actually at risk of dying, but still. You can’t help but lament your weakness.

That’s why you need to survive today. So that you can be there to help when countless other lives are on the line. It’s unfair that Itadori has to shoulder this burden all on his own. He’s going to experience a sense of fear and dread that can’t even be put into words. 

I’m sorry, Itadori. I promise to try and help another time. I’m just… too weak right now. I’m really sorry. 

You’re nearly out of the room. Safety is almost within your grasp.

But yet again, the future you know changes. 

The cursed spirit blocks your path. 

“Fushiguro!” Itadori screams—but it’s too late, because he’s nowhere near fast enough to keep up with that thing. It may as well be teleporting with how quickly it moves around. Fushiguro just barely manages to leap out of the way before it delivers an attack strong enough to decimate the spot where he was just standing. 

You splutter again, dust clogging up your lungs. Something feels completely and utterly wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The cursed spirit was supposed to have ignored Fushiguro and allowed him to escape, and instead focused all its attention on Itadori. But it’s barely even glancing Itadori’s way. 

It refuses to take its eyes off you. 

I’m not going to escape. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. If you try to run away again, along with Fushiguro… he’ll die. Itadori would have died without Sukuna’s help. The same is also true of Fushiguro. He’s not strong enough to take on that kind of opponent. No matter how many times he tries to escape with you, the curse will follow him. Relentlessly.

“Leave,” you mumble brokenly, and Fushiguro’s eyes widen, in visible disbelief. 

“What? But I can’t—” 

“It’ll chase after us. As long as I’m with you.” You slowly stand up, wincing as you do, and you hurry to wipe more tears away before they can fall. “Cursed spirits hate me. I can’t explain why. Every single one I’ve encountered gets aggressive when I’m nearby, and the weakest ones have outright fled because they can’t stand being close to me. Out of the three of us, this curse is most likely to attack me. That’s what my gut is telling me.” 

You should’ve known from the moment you found yourself in this world that you were far from lucky. Everyone dreams of meeting their favorite characters in the flesh, being able to talk with them, laugh with them, become part of their lives… but at what cost?

Either way, you already know one thing to be true.

From now on, until however long you manage to survive, your life will be filled with suffering. 

“Find Nobara, and escape together,” you say, doing your best not to let your fear show. You refuse to be the reason everyone dies. The two of them need to get out of here, at the very least. This is probably the end of the road for you. This is the most you were able to accomplish with this measly life of yours. 

If you’re going to die, at the very least, you don’t want it to be a pathetic death that leads everyone else to their demise.

“Just fucking leave already!” you cry out. “Why the hell are you still here?!” 

Fushiguro flinches, taken aback by your uncharacteristic harshness. He might seem cold at first, but you know that he cares deeply for people. He never wanted to leave Itadori by himself in the first place. The thought of abandoning both of you must make him feel like absolute shit. 

Still, he isn’t an idiot. He’s logical. Pragmatic. He knows not to let his personal feelings get in the way of important decisions.

And so, he runs.

You watch him disappear out the exit. As expected, the cursed spirit doesn’t bother trying to follow him. Even now, it’s still staring at you with that wide, disturbing smile. 

“[N-Name]?” Itadori stammers. “You… stayed behind? But why? You can’t be here! It’s too dangerous, you just can’t—”

“That thing won’t let me leave. Should I have put Fushiguro’s life at risk, too? It’s better this way. At least he and Nobara can escape. I refuse to drag them down with me.”

The cursed spirit continues to stare at you, cackling ever so often. You’re nowhere near as cool as you’d like to pretend to be. To think that you had all these plans, all these hopes and dreams of saving people from their gruesome fates, only to walk into death so soon. How embarrassing. You’re probably the single most pitiful isekai protagonist to exist. 

Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted. 

You suppose you’re going to die now. 

The cursed spirit launches itself at you, and like before, you instinctively bring up your arms, praying that you can coat yourself in enough cursed energy to avoid certain death. You’re blown back, just like last time, and you skid along the ground, gritting your teeth in an attempt to endure the pain. Your arms are looking bloodier and more fucked up by the second. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll even be able to move them for. 

“Leave [Name] alone!” Itadori screams, jumping to your rescue. Unfortunately, since he has yet to learn how to control his cursed energy, and he simply doesn’t have as much as you, he takes significantly more damage than you do.

He’s flung against one of the walls like you were earlier, but the cursed spirit doesn’t bother to finish the job and instead turns back towards you again. 

“Why?” you grit out. “Why are you so obsessed with me, you ugly freak? You’re not even my type!” 

The cursed spirit doesn’t laugh this time. It just stares at you, looking slightly unnerved. It must be wondering why your body isn’t as broken as Itadori’s. It seems frustrated with itself for not being able to kill you yet.

It attacks again. This time, it grabs onto you and slams you down into the ground. You wail out, almost positive that you’ve cracked a few ribs, and it proceeds to hold you in place, channeling what’s sure to be a devastating blow of pure, concentrated cursed energy. 

Shit. I think I might actually die now. This is so fucking scary. I don’t want to be here. I want to run away. I want to make it all stop. 

You bite back your tears and desperately try to remember that sensation from before, when you exorcized that curse in the abandoned building. It was a much weaker curse, without a doubt, but if you could just remember how you channeled your energy. If you could try to replicate that feeling, then maybe, just maybe, you might be able to inflict a bit of damage.

Even though it feels like all of your muscles are outright screaming at you, and your vision is clouding over more and more by the second, you manage to reach out your hand and place it against the curse’s body. 

In that moment, you envision being powerful enough to defeat your opponent. You imagine being as powerful as Gojo—no, Sukuna, even. You imagine a world in which you’re strong enough to protect the people you care about. A world in which everyone can survive.

What a beautiful world that would be. 

For a split second, you feel something similar to what you experienced before. A pulse of energy, something hot that courses through your entire body, in search of release. The cursed spirit is in direct contact with you, so your attack lands. 

Did it… work? 

You squint through your bleary eyes. The cursed spirit pulls away from you in a hurry and looks down at its arm, which appears distinctly burnt, as if it was just doused in flames. However, it clearly didn’t take that much damage. It’s still perfectly fine. 

Which means you failed. 

“Fuck,” you chuckle humorlessly. “I really thought I did something there.” 

The cursed spirit turns towards you again, angrily mashing its teeth together. Despite the fact that it’s still relatively unharmed, it clearly isn’t happy. It seems to be getting more offended by the second. Its ego must be huge.

Too weak to move after all the damage you’ve taken, all you can do is watch, hopelessly, as the cursed spirit raises its foot, no doubt imbuing it with more cursed energy than you can even fathom, and stomps it down right onto your arm.

You scream again. You’ve been screaming practically nonstop for the past few minutes. This time, your arm is broken. It feels like your bones have been completely pulverized and turned to dust.

It keeps punching and stomping on you, like some kind of little kid throwing a fit. With every blow you endure, the light in your eyes fades a bit more. You only made it this far because of some kind of glitch with your cursed energy. Sheer luck, essentially. But you aren’t invincible, and your body is starting to accumulate more damage than it can handle.

The cursed spirit lets out some kind of frustrated screech, and it stomps down on you one last time, breaking your other arm. 

You’re out cold now. The pain was too much for you to bear. You lie there, utterly defenseless, and as Itadori weakly hobbles towards you, he realizes your death is imminent. 

“No way,” he breathes, tears pricking his eyes. “Was I always… this weak?” 

He couldn’t do anything. The cursed spirit barely even paid attention to him. He may as well have been a fly buzzing around it. That’s how much of an afterthought he is. That’s how pathetic he turned out to be. 

And to think that he promised to protect you before. What a fucking joke. 

“Hey!” Itadori cries out. “I said, hey! Look at me, dammit! Look over here! I’m still alive, you bastard! Why don’t you leave her alone and finish me off instead?!”

The cursed spirit doesn’t even bother to turn its head. Itadori’s shoulders begin to tremble, and a sob escapes his lips as he’s forced to watch the curse dig its fingers into your hair and pick you up like some kind of ragdoll. You’re going to die. He can’t get over there in time, and even if he could, it wouldn’t make a difference. 

Itadori promised his grandfather that he would help people. And yet, he failed to help the person he cares about the most. He hasn’t even known you for very long, but you’re the closest friend he has. You met the last remaining family he had left. His grandfather adored you. 

How is he supposed to face him in the afterlife, if he lets you die here? 

Itadori has finally realized just how truly weak he is. Fushiguro hasn’t even given him the signal yet. Him and Nobara are probably still somewhere inside. If Sukuna finds them, there’s no guarantee they’ll be able to escape. But right now, he can’t think that far ahead. All he can do is focus on what’s right in front of him. 

He can’t save you. At least, not alone. 

“Sukuna. I’m going to switch over to you,” Itadori trembles. “But you… you have to save [Name]. You can’t let her die. You’ve always talked about being interested in her. You don’t ever shut up about her. There’s no way you would be okay with her dying here. Right? So, just… help her. Not for my sake. Do it for yourself. It doesn’t matter what your motives are, just… do it.” 

The cursed spirit prepares to deliver the finishing blow. It pulls his fist back, slowly building up more and more cursed energy. Its manic grin spreads out even wider as it readily anticipates your demise.

But then, it feels someone grabbing onto its arm, so it turns around. 

Only to realize that its arm has been fully ripped off. 

Sukuna stares at the cursed spirit, eyes dangerously narrowed.

“...did I give you permission to touch her?” 

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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[prettyinpwn]

How Gravity Falls Could Have Been Better + Poor Ford and Wendy (GF Writing Analysis Pt. 2)

GF Writing Analysis Series: Pt. 1 - Ford Pines: A Masterclass in Writing a Good Flawed Character Praise the Axolotl, I feel horrible just writing that title. But let me preface this post with three statements:

I've been in this fandom since the first episode aired. I participated in this fandom while it was airing, and I will always cherish this fandom, those memories, and Gravity Falls itself even when I'm a crusty old lady in a rocking chair someday.

Gravity Falls is still my favorite show of all time, even as someone now nearing thirty years old. Nothing's ever topped it since in my mind, and I don't think anything ever will for me.

Writing and making a show is hard. It's easy for me to sit here and smash my little lady hands on a keyboard and criticize the Gravity Falls writing team's decisions. I'm sure if I'd been on that team, I'd have done a lot worse under that burnout and pressure, and I doubt I'll ever write anything anywhere near that critically acclaimed or beloved.

But... every time I've watched Gravity Falls from beginning to end, I've always felt that there was something off. And in recent rewatches, after I'd studied creative writing in college as a part of my minor, plus just having studied and done a lot of writing in my free time for years... I found out finally what it was:

The flaw, in my opinion, is the pacing. Gravity Falls is - and I mean this in the most respectful way to the writers, and I'm saying this as someone who will praise this show to my grave - poorly paced overall.

So what do I mean by that? Each contained episode is tightly written and nearly flawless in the pacing, but the overarching plot? I'll describe it like this: Picture a rollercoaster starting on a very, very slow incline. The scenery on the way up is gorgeous and entertaining to look at, but damn, you want to get to that peak that was teased in the advertisement of the ride. That first tease is what keeps you going on the slow incline. You know you're going to get there, but...

Okay, we're focused on getting accustomed to the seat, the people around us, how this rollercoaster feels, but... you check your watch. Are we there yet? What about that peak that was advertised? No, it's still a glacial incline. You inch upwards. It's godawful slow. You wait - and for those of us who watched when it aired during the hiatuses (which were more Disney's fault than the core team's, to my understanding) - it takes months to years.

Jesus Christ, you think. What about that tease? I want to know what's at that peak! Yes, I get tension and slow buildup, but this is taking FOREVER, and there have been no glimpses of the peak for eons. And then... suddenly, it gets more intriguing. There's a little bump. And another. And finally... there's another hint of the peak that you saw teased all the way back in the Stone Age.

Now, the ride consistently offers you little fun hills after that long, slow first incline. But seconds later BOOM! You skyrocket to that peak so fast your facial skin is flapping behind you. WOO! This is a blast! But holy hell, this is going a little fast compared to what it was like before. The last third of this ride must be MINDBLOWING, with lots of loops and spins and turns and even greater thrills, right?

And then the ride just drops almost face first to a plateau again. There are no more bumps, really. No loops. No twists. Just an almost straight, logical line back to Earth. Half the ride was pretty and made you laugh a lot despite how long it took, but the other half of the ride went so fast in comparison that it was just a blur. You're at the finish line now. Yes, it concluded like it was supposed to, but... is that it?

Rollercoaster metaphor over with, that's the pacing of Gravity Falls. For a more detailed visual example:

(Note - each episode is listed by their overall number. For example, 1 is Tourist Trapped, the peak at 31 is Not What He Seems, and the finale Weirdmageddon episodes are 38-40. Also, this is a rough, subjective view of the pacing tension, but generally... episodes that hinted or contributed to the overarching plot and tension earned higher points, and ones that added almost nothing besides comedy and character development that didn't necessarily add to the overarching plot were lower. The Weirdmageddon episodes are at a plateau since they - as finale episodes - serve to create as much tension as they do resolving it.)

Now, there are no hard and fast rules in writing, and every writer plots differently, but generally, this is the kind of pacing tension that's considered "good" (and that most common outlining techniques follow, just in different forms):

(Credit - please check out this page for a full explanation of each act.)

Generally, the trend is slow buildup. There's no plateau for eons, BOOM, then faceplant, like Gravity Falls. So that gets us to my main thesis of this post, building on what I bolded before:

Gravity Falls was too short because it's a three act story squished into a two act structure; the first season is paced like they were expecting three seasons - a season for each story act - and the second season is paced like they had to quickly fit the last two acts into one.

Why do I say this? Because there's a common writing plot point called the Midpoint / Plot Twist. So for those unfamiliar with writing techniques, let's explore what a Midpoint is:

"The Midpoint occurs at the 50% mark, halfway through the Second Act and (obviously) halfway through the book itself. Although many writers neglect the Midpoint in comparison to more noted moments such as the First Plot Point or Climax, the Midpoint is arguably the most significant beat within the story. It is what director Sam Peckinpah called the “centerpiece” of the entire story. Everything hangs upon it. In many ways, it is the moment that decides the ultimate fate of the story." "The Midpoint will feature at least one, possibly more, momentous revelations. Within the primary character arc and thematic exploration, the protagonist will encounter a Moment of Truth that forever changes his or her view of the story’s central philosophy. This revelation, perhaps in partnership with a further external revelation about the nature of the conflict itself, will forever evolve how the protagonist approaches the conflict—on both a personal and practical level. It signals a thematic shift from Lie to Truth (or vice versa) and an external shift from ineffective “reaction” to increasingly effective “action.” (Credit).

"But PrettyinPwn!", I hear you protest. "Gideon Rises is the episode smack dab halfway through the story and seasons! And that has a big reveal. And we learn a truth about Stan."

Yes, my sweet friends. Gideon Rises - and the reveal of what Stan's hiding in the basement - is a revelation, but the way the first season is paced, in my opinion it's what writers refer to as the First Act climax or Break Into Two. The Break Into Two is:

"Main character makes a choice and to go on the journey, and our adventure begins. We leave the “Thesis” world and enter the upside-down “Anti-thesis” world of Act Two."

(Credit).

Traditionally, this Break Into Two is literally stepping into a new world. Harry Potter getting to Hogwarts. Katniss Everdeen getting to the Capitol. Yadda yadda. But in Gravity Falls, it's more subtle:

We go from the "ordinary" world of Gravity Falls in Season 1 / Act 1 (which is anything but ordinary, but you get the point) where things are bizarre but lighthearted, to the "new" world of Gravity Falls in Season 2A / Act 2 where things are bizarre and definitely not lighthearted anymore. We've started to see the dark underbelly of this strange place and family, the seriousness ramps up, and... lo and behold... a B STORY pops up right at this point in full force, just like B Stories typically do right during or after the Break Into Two point. And that B Story? Is Stan's work on the portal and his search to find Ford, which was teased in the hook, all the way back at Tourist Trapped.

So no, Gideon Rises is not the real story Midpoint. The real story Midpoint is this nerd:

Let's look at those two plotline graphs again; Gravity Falls' and the typical one you see with three act structures:

Yes. Ford's reveal / Not What He Seems should have been smack dab near halfway through the series. But it's not. It marks the 75% point instead. Technically, if we follow the idea that the Midpoint should be roughly around 50% through the story, Not What He Seems should have taken place near where Gideon Rises is in the episode roster, and Gideon Rises should have been halfway through Season 1 (roughly near Fight Fighters).

So what caused this? Oh boy, I'm getting into speculation territory, and I know Hirsch has said it was meant to be this way, but based on the pacing flaws, here's my theory:

Hirsch and team wrote Gravity Falls Season 1 assuming there'd be three seasons; a season for each act of the story. They burned out, so compacted it down to two seasons, and fit all of Act 2 and 3 of the story into Season 2. That's why, at the time the episodes aired, Season 2 was referred to in two halves: Season 2A and Season 2B. Translation? Season 2A is Act 2 and what was supposed to be Season 2 but condensed, Season 2B is Act 3 of the story and what was supposed to be Season 3 but condensed.

TL;DR: In Gravity Falls, Act 1 = 50% of the story, Act 2 = 25% of the story, Act 3 = 25% of the story. AKA poor pacing. The equivalent in, say, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, would be if Harry spent 50% of the story at the Dursley's before getting to Hogwarts.

If Gravity Falls had had three seasons total, the slow buildup in Season 1 would be totally justified, as the first act of most stories takes its time to establish the characters and world. But we instead go from slow plateau to BOOM to faceplant, instead of a slow ride up to the top that consistently raises tension with a few peaks here and there, then a fun, bumpy ride of resolving the tension on the way down.

That's why Season 1 has a little hint of the overarching plot in Tourist Trapped with the Stan vending machine tease at the end of the episode - that's known in writer's circles as the "hook" or promise of the premise - and then literally almost nothing until the end.

I will reiterate: Season 1 is written like the writers thought they had enough time to pace Act 2 and 3 out over the same amount of episodes for each Act.

All this, combined with the fact that Season 2 has some very out of place episodes concerning the tension (*cough* Roadside Attraction *cough*, and no, I don't care that it was retconned later to have made sense), well... yeah.

But this didn't just affect the pacing. It also affected the characters' writing. Wendy barely got developed, Stan and Ford's backstory AKA the B plot got squished into two episodes, the government agents as an antagonist were "defeated" too soon to try to quick switch over to Bill Cipher for Season 2B / Act 3, and the most oof-worthy part? Ford got the short end of the writing stick.

I mentioned in another post that I think Ford is a fantastically written character as a concept, but unlike Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, his good writing relies more on subtext, rushed plotlines, and external materials (Journal 3, mainly). Thematically, as the show focuses on twins, parallelisms, juxtapositions, Ford should have had just as much "let's get to know this character!" focus and time to develop to the viewer as Stan did. But no, he got... what, roughly 4-5 episodes, some of them where his story was only the B plot? Literally, let's count:

Episodes with Stan plotlines: Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel, The Inconveniencing, Dipper vs. Manliness, Irrational Treasure, Boss Mabel, Bottomless Pit, Land Before Swine, Dreamscaperers, Gideon Rises, Scaryoke, Soos and the Real Girl, Little Gift Shop of Horrors, The Love God, Not What He Seems, A Tale of Two Stans, DD&MD, The Stanchurian Candidate, Roadside Attraction, Weirdmageddon 1+3.

Episodes with Ford plotlines: A Tale of Two Stans, DD&MD, The Last Mabelcorn, Dipper and Mabel vs The Future, Weirdmageddon 1+3.

Ford feels like an afterthought. Dipper, Mabel, and Stan get 100% of the story to develop, and Ford gets less than 25%. Also factor in how Ford is the peak the viewer is waiting for, the whole mystery that keeps viewers on their toes for most of the story... and he gets ~5 episodes, and none of those are 100% focused on him.

It's like hosting a multiple course meal promising the main course - the steak - is gonna blow your mind. And then you get it 75% of the way through the meal and it's like... dime sized. It's a damn good little nerd steak, but it's so small, and we ate like three hundred Dipper and Wendy crush and Mabel crush and really well written and funny but effectively filler episode salads on the way here, including ones that weren't even canon (Bottomless Pit and Little Gift Shop of Horrors), interspersed with the occasional hint of steak with episodes like Dreamscaperers. Which would have been fine had there been an equal and increasing amount of steak, but no. To ask an age old question... WHERE'S THE BEEF?

A summary of Ford:

Worse yet, let's compare his introduction to Stan's introduction.

Stan (in Tourist Trapped): "Heya, I'm a grumpy old conman runnin' a tourist trap, and all I care about is money, but... hey, you kids want something from the Gift Shop?"

Ford (in A Tale of Two Stans): "Greetings, I just returned from sci-fi sideburn land, I'm just going to punch a character - my brother - beloved by the audience in the face after he did something very nice for me, tell my long backstory that kind of makes me look like a douche in multiple ways, plot convenience the antagonist away, then tell said beloved by the audience character / brother to get off my lawn."

No wonder why - after ATOTS aired - lots of people thought Ford was a Class A, prime US Grade, grass fed dick. And to this day, more people seem to love Stan over Ford in the fandom. We get context for his decisions later in... drumroll please... Journal 3. And subtext. Not even an episode.

We THEN understand that Ford punched Stan because of the thirty years of hell he went through, that he was just about to defeat Bill Cipher when Stan activated the portal therefore interrupting him, and Ford was upset that the Shack had made a mockery of his paranormal studies plus Stan had literally stolen his identity, completely turned his house around, and made him look like a conman... so we then have an 'OH!' moment and realize, "Hey, wait a minute, this guy has reasons for what he did. Maybe he was more justified than we thought, or at least as justified as Stan was.".

But not in the show. In a book released after. He is actually equally as well-written as Stan is, in concept. He's a great protagonist with realistic flaws and reasons. But he got a sad little salad in the writing department compared to Stan, Mabel, and Dipper's whole ten course caloric explosion buffet.

So what would have fixed this? Just like the overarching plot's pacing... another season. Season 1 + the first half of Season 2 could have been solving the mystery of Stan, and the second half of Season 2 and Season 3 could have been solving the mystery of Ford.

And that, my friends, is why Gravity Falls is too short.

~

Where does this leave us? Well, er... my next thought is... how would I have written Gravity Falls using the typical pacing progress?

Well, for starters, let's decide this: how many seasons do we want overall? The two options are...

A. Two seasons like it is now, but shorten each story Act.

B. Three seasons, each season is one Act of the story.

If Gravity Falls were just two seasons long in this hypothetical outline, this is what I'd do:

Take out the Dipper/Wendy love subplot. I'm sorry, we all knew while we were watching it that it would go nowhere. I remember watching it as a teen girl as the show aired and being so damn bored with it as a subplot. Especially because... as it stands, most of Wendy's purpose is as Dipper's crush. She never got her own episode.

Put Gideon Rises as Episode 10 instead of Fight Fighters. Make Not What He Seems as the Season 1 finale.

Take out a lot of the "filler" episodes in Season 1. I hate to say this, because I love a lot of the Season 1 episodes. But to pace it better, I'd say order the episodes in Season 1 like this: Tourist Trapped The Legend of the Gobblewonker The Hand That Rocks the Mabel The Time Traveler's Pig Little Dipper Boss Mabel Carpet Diem Land Before Swine Dreamscaperers Gideon Rises Scary-oke Into the Bunker The Golf War Soos and the Real Girl Sock Opera (Any of the "filler" episodes from Season 1 or 2 here) Blendin's Game Society of the Blind Eye Northwest Mansion Mystery Not What He Seems

And as for season 2:

A Tale of Two Stans Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons Then... Here we have a big gap, because we put many Season 2 episodes in Season 1. We squished all that plot into Season 1, so what do we fill episodes 3-17 of Season 2 with? I'll tell you what: More Wendy and more Ford. In this version of the outline, Dipper and Mabel are present characters in every episode, with a special focus on Stan and Soos to a smaller extent in Season 1. So to make it even, I'd make this version of Season 2 have a big focus on Ford and then Wendy to a smaller extent, mirroring how Stan and Soos are focused on in Season 1. And just like the antagonist of Season 1 - Gideon - with a little bit of the government agents, have this season have a few more episodes with the government agents and then Bill as the big final bad.

This gap here gives us ~14 episodes to develop these characters. I also think The Last Mabelcorn should be in here somewhere, so make that 13. If we parallel Season 1, then roughly... Bill should get two episodes as a main antagonist like Gideon did before his finale in Gideon Rises. Wendy should get two episodes as a deuteragonist like Soos did in Season 1.

The Bill episodes could hint more at his backstory like Journal 3 did, have him mess with Ford more and tease at Ford's "sing to me O Muse" backstory with him (because more Ford parallels with Odysseus are always welcome).

The Wendy episodes could delve into the same issues Soos' episodes did: Wendy Episode #1: Her dating issues, but instead of finding someone like Soos did, she's happily single at the end. I vote a plot where Wendy is ready to date again after the Robbie fiasco, Mabel tries to set her up with someone new, tied to a B plot with Ford where Mabel digs into his dating life, finds little to none, and then both Ford and Wendy realize at the end that it's okay to be single and not ashamed of it in a romance obsessed society (also Ford on the ace spectrum ftw, personal headcanon though). Better yet, have it have a kid friendly explanation that some people love differently; actually show that Wendy is Bisexual and Ford is - I'd argue - Ace (or straight or gay but just super bad at relationships because of pouring himself into his work and his other flaws, fear of sharing his baggage with others, etc). Not that Disney would have allowed LGBT+ at that time, because, well... Disney.

This would simultaneously make Wendy A. NOT just a crush figure tied to romance, as female characters often get relegated to, and B. help Ford parallel some insecurities about how he compares himself to Stan, just like Stan compares himself to Ford in the episodes that actually aired, especially if we keep The Stanchurian Candidate as one of the episodes but involve Ford more in it. Have Mabel pull a Jane Austen's Emma and learn to stop being a busybody matchmaker. This idea - in my opinion - is way cooler and less ethically ambiguous than The Love God.

Wendy Episode #2: Her family issues, AKA her dead mother. Make it real tearjerky with a B plot tie to how Stan or Ford never got to see their parents again after the portal accident and before their parents died, and parallel it with Wendy regretting something regarding her mother before she died. This would give us a chance to explore more about Wendy as a character, and both Filbrick / Caryn (AKA Stan and Ford's parents) as characters, as well. I would also lean more towards having her bond with Ford over Stan in this episode. Or, alternatively, you could tie this to Dipper and Mabel and their parents. Because you can't tell me that their parents did NOT have questions about what was going on after Mabel sent that letter home about her "two grunkles".

But why so many Ford with Wendy plots? Because Soos is already the Shack employee tied a lot to Stan, so to parallel, you could have Wendy bond more with Ford. At first glance, this seems like it'd be an odd duo, but Wendy probably could relate to Ford's experiences of feeling like the responsible one in the family, hiding how much they care about things under a more calm facade, the fact that Wendy's dad built the Shack for Ford, maybe add Wendy having an underlying interest in science or the paranormal that she deadens down to fit in that Ford finds out about and tries to encourage her to not hide anymore to tie in with his theme of "it's okay to be weird". You could do a million things with Ford and Wendy subplots.

So that leaves us with a total of nine other episodes to devote to Ford here in this season space. I mean, picture it... in my original counts of how many episodes Stan vs. Ford got in the real version of the show that aired, Stan had around 23 episodes that featured him.

In this version of the outline, Stan would get 14-15 episodes featuring him. Ford would get 14 episodes featuring him. CHEF'S KISS; EQUAL TREATMENT BY THE WRITING. But what would these episodes be about?

A. More bonding and arc between Dipper and Ford. Dipper would go from "notice me Ford senpai / hyperventilating" to "holy crap the Author is as awesome as I thought he'd be!" to "wait a minute, this guy's got some flaws" to "maybe this isn't who I want to become?" to make Dipper's rejection of the apprenticeship feel more natural and take the blame heat off of Mabel (as the fandom's been eager to place).

If Dipper's reasoning for rejecting the apprenticeship was not just "Mabel needs me" but a combination of "Mabel needs me, Stan needs Ford more than I do, Mabel was right and I don't need the Journals / the Author / Ford to be a hero, and I don't want to become Ford", it'd make a lot more sense. Because thematically, the plot of Gravity Falls resolves BECAUSE Dipper and Mabel don't become Ford and Stan; they avoid the mistakes they made, and in doing so, heal the literal and metaphorical rift. And it also makes more sense for Dipper's character arc, which was always about self-confidence.

That, and I think it'd have been great for Dipper to have had a trust - distrust - trust again arc with Ford like he did with Stan. "Oh, Ford's so cool" to "Ford lied to me about Bill!" to "Ford is flawed, but he's still the great uncle I love now". Put a Dark Night of the Soul in there, where Dipper literally 'Trusts No One!'. Not even Ford. Have him teeter on the precipice of going down Ford's dark path, but Mabel saves him from fully falling into it. And have Ford have a Dark Night of the Soul, where now even Dipper doesn't trust or like him, and so Ford feels totally outcasted by his family like Stan felt years ago.

B. Slower plot twist revelations about Ford's past with Bill Cipher. Start him out reluctant to talk about it, especially in front of Dipper, who views him as a hero that Ford so desperately wants to be. Explore some of his trauma, what his choices have cost him, etc. Hell, I'm pretty sure Ford's got some form of PTSD, so throw a plotline in there about Ford isolating a lot because of it. Of course, since kids are a primary audience of the show, you can't get too dark, but you can't tell me Ford didn't experience some messed up stuff on the other side of the portal.

C. Goddamn, take some of Ford's multiverse explorations from Journal 3 and make them actual episodes. What a wasted opportunity in the show. And it better have Jheselbraum in it, or I riot.

D. More Ford bonding with Mabel. Please, for the love of God, I know Dipper and Ford are nerdtopia buddies, but Ford and Mabel would get along so well. They're both weirdos at heart, sweater twins, the older twins, and love the odd and the artistic. Make a B plot with Stan and Dipper bonding, maybe even after Dipper's loss of respect for Ford, and have Dipper "side" with Stan while Mabel starts to "side" with Ford more, almost getting lost in Stan and Ford's rift themselves. Because goddammit, we're riding this juxtaposition and parallelism and thematic train into the Sun!

E. GIVE FORD MORE MOMENTS TO LOOK LIKE A CARING, SWEET GRUNKLE. Stan got a truckload of chances to shine and for the twins to bond with him. Can... can Ford have the same thing? Please? Here, elevator pitch: Ford being forced to put science away to watch the twins for a day because Stan's busy, he reluctantly agrees, and by the end he's just as much of a softie for them as Stan is. Or have Dipper and Mabel get in trouble, Stan and Ford have to work together to save them; have them sabotage each other, trying to look like the better Grunkle, but then pulling their heads out of their asses and working together reluctantly and realizing they actually have fun on adventures like they used to (which would foreshadow their choice to go on Stan-O-War II adventures later).

F. By God, I don't care if Gideon's already in jail by this point, plot-wise. This boy spent episodes chasing the Author's journals. I need to see the look on his face when he realizes the Author is his arch-nemeses' twin brother / great uncle. Please. Have him start a rivalry with Ford that goes as horribly as you'd expect because Ford would use 30 years of multiverse experience to punt this kid into the next dimension for multiple reasons, one of them being having summoned Bill Cipher, another being having used his journal for nefarious purposes.

G. Don't make the government agents go away so easily. Foreshadow Stan's return of memory in Weirdmageddon 3 with the agents remembering what happened before the memory gun wipe in Not What He Seems, not only to utilize them better as antagonists, but to increase the stakes, and also to make Stan's memories returning later seem more plausible. Have Ford play a part in getting rid of them as a threat.

Or have them switch from antagonists to allies once they realize Bill Cipher is the real threat, but have them fail to neutralize Bill to make him seem that much more insurmountable and the Pines' defeat of him that much more of a feat. To wrap up them as an obstacle, just have them thank the Pines at the end and then have them put forth the whole "Never Mind All That" act and keep the stories of the weirdness contained to Gravity Falls. Have them try to lock Stan and Ford up still, though, but realize that they're gone on the Stan-O-War II trip (which, if that story's ever made into a show, they could serve as continued antagonists chasing after the Stans).

H. More Pacifica. Make her redemption more believable. Give her another subplot in Season 2, maybe following the plotline she had in the Lost Legends comic side story with Dipper. In fact, give her a B plot episode storyline with Ford; have them bond over having had to be perfect golden children with a parent(s) that care way too much about money, and it gives Dipper and Mabel more context and understanding about Ford's struggles. There. It writes itself.

I. More McGucket. I want to see Ford angst more about what happened between them. Then, finally, after all these episodes with The Last Mabelcorn somewhere amongst them... Dipper and Mabel vs. The Future Weirdmageddon 1 Weirdmageddon 2 Weirdmageddon 3

And ta-da! You'd have a version of Gravity Falls with two seasons with more fair attention to Wendy and Ford, more evenly paced tension and plot twists, and an antagonist cycle that goes from town enemy to world enemy to multidimensional enemy. ~

As for a three season version of this outline, keep Season 1 completely as is, make Not What He Seems episode 10 of Season 2, and... this is a bold suggestion, but turn the Season 2 finale into Dipper and Mabel vs The Future and make the Weirdmageddon episodes into a whole season. Make the failure to stop the rift really hurt, and use the whole of Season 3 to have the Pines figure out how to stop the end of the world. Use some of it to rebuild the portal, explore some of the Multiverse to find a solution, have them try to find Jheselbraum to help discover more about Bill and his weaknesses and his previous attempts on Earth to break reality (like Modoc's story in Journal 3, in fact, have an episode where they time travel back to Modoc which would give him inspiration to have drawn the prophecy wheel on the cave wall that Ford found hundreds of years later), gather the whole gang and build the Shacktron, have it fail and have to use the prophecy wheel... But wait, it fails, too, and Bill scatters everyone involved across the Multiverse instead of making them into banners - while also destroying the portal - to buy himself some time to get Ford to give up the solution to breaking free from Gravity Falls. Explore the Multiverse more to gather everyone again, use each episode to devote yet more time to developing each character, parallel Ford's journey in the Multiverse for 30 years. Maybe even have a bit of a subplot where Ford breaks from Bill and tries to rebuild the portal to get everyone back, paralleling Stan's struggle to get him back for 30 years.

Learn more about who Ford was those thirty years he was gone. Use the Multiverse episodes to make Stan sympathize more with what Ford went through for thirty years. Have Jheselbraum reference the whole "you have the face of the one who will destroy Bill" to Stan instead of Ford like she did in the past, and have Stan be confused at first, thinking Ford will be the hero again. Dark Night of the Soul up in this season, man, and make the prophecy wheel fail again, and Stan realize yep, time to brain zap, Jheselbraum was right, but HE'S the one that has to stop Bill, not Ford. And THEN try Stan's conman trick to trap Bill in his mind.

And that's how I'd rewrite Gravity Falls as three seasons.

~

I'll say this: after all that criticism I just laid out, you might think I hate Gravity Falls as it is now. No. I love this show. It won't leave my brainspace and lives there rent-free, like Bill does in Stan's mind. And I will say, I understand 100% why it was written the way it was. They seemed to have had a plan in Season 1, switched gears between seasons, and tried to wrap up two seasons of plot in one season for Season 2.

And they did it with little to no flaws in terms of the overarching plot. They told the story they wanted to. They pulled a Stan and took some shortcuts, but had good intentions and got the job done. And the show is still like... an A- to solid A grade show even with these flaws.

But it could have been nearly flawless and A++ had they either planned for two seasons from the start, or powered through the burnout to make three whole seasons (which is easy for me to say, as someone that didn't have to live through what must have been hair graying levels of stress).

All in all, I'm curious to hear others' thoughts on my critique, or if anyone would like to add more about what they'd put in this hypothetical Season 2 or 3. Or if you'd prefer the two seasons still as they are, or as I hypothetically rewrote them, or as the three seasons idea I explained above. Or if you think I'm just crazy, and that Gravity Falls is perfect as is.