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midnightsunnyday · 2 months

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With Good Intentions (Chapter Three) ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) Masterlist A03

➥pairings: MC & Everyone, MC/Everyone ➥content warnings: Not Beta Read, We Cook Our Stories Like Solomon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Some Humor, Explicit Language, Not Canon Compliant, Though Sometimes It Is, Fighting, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Emotional Manipulation, Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lesson 016 Spoilers, Post Lesson 016, Other Additional Tags To Be Added. ➥summary: after the events of chapter 16, MC learns three important lessons: one, that Diavolo is an asshole. Two, as it turns out, being immortal doesn't make you smarter, wiser, or mature, it just gives you a thousand more chances to be a fuck up and not learn and damn thing from it. And three, that there are no therapists in hell. Though they could really all use one. Or in which MC suffers an existential breakdown and Diavolo and the brothers learn that maybe throwing a party wasn't the best response to someone dying. ➥A/N: hello everyone, it's good to see you again. I hope everyone is doing well and whether you're a return reader or just getting started, thank you for your interest in my story. Work has been kicking my ass, but still we persevere! Anyway, until next time, take care and enjoy this very long chapter.

He could tell his brothers grew tired of it. That whenever the topic of their sister was brought up, Belphegor always felt an underlining exasperation, as if they’d all been over the subject for some time and were only waiting for him to do the same, as if she were nothing more than a ghost who’d overstayed her welcome in the rebuilding of their lives.

Or maybe they were just tired of him. Tired of his whining about her. Tired of his disgust for Diavolo’s ideals. Tired of his hatred of all things human. He barely smiled, barely ate, and slept for most of the day. He wasn’t the “sweet, innocent Belphie” they knew and loved. The one who found wonder in everything around him and whose laugh, though rare now, lit entire rooms. No, something within Belphegor was broken and they’d have to accept that it would never be whole again. Not without Lilith.

But who said death was pleasant? That it was something one should simply get over? Loss never leaves one gentle. It doesn’t decide to remove itself after a month, a year, or centuries after. It stays with you, becoming part of you. Some days it gives you the illusion of respite and on those days you go through life barely noticing the quiet, emptiness of it all.

Yet on other days, it breaks you, leaves you shaking and crying, wishing for your thoughts to cease so you can finally be “normal” again. Grief, also like loss, never comes when the moment is decent, does not give you warning. Grief strikes when it chooses to, replaying the moment of your loss ad nauseam, until the whole of you becomes nothing but a shell of memories, wading away to the tides of time.

Most days Belphegor remembered Lilith. Sometimes it seemed he was the only one who did. He remembered her in lunchrooms when the desserts were particularly sweet. He remembered her in corridors, the kind they’d both raced down as fast as they could. He remembered her in dreams, luring him into the forests they used to play in, with trees as high as the sky and where the wind swept through and made waves of shimmering sunshine. In the distance would be Lilith, the years waning upon her memory, yet she waved as she always did, an insult to every petal, every ray of sun. He would run to her, feel the tears wetting his cheeks, his tongue tripping over her name over and over again: Lilith. Lilith. I’m here. Please.

He remembered blood. Too much of it. The kind that no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw, the stench would remain clung to you like death. The fall was not a pleasant one; they did not streak across the skies like beautiful jewels, they were burning, dying. The landing nearly killed them, sent the earth running each and which way in disgust of them.

How through it all even the Father, no matter how hard they prayed, was always silent. Maybe he too, saw what was to become of them, and closed his heart and ears to it. It was easier, at least for Belphegor, to believe that he’d simply abandoned them, rather than knowingly allow the pain that would scar them for centuries to come.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The Celestial Realm had no seasons, but on days when the light was mild and winds smooth for flight, Belphegor and Lilith would sneak amongst the forests, finding shelter under the tall, dense trees. For Raphael, who’d come to search for them in time, the siblings were abandoning their duties, but for Belphegor and Lilith, it was simply a break, albeit a long one.

“Oh, Belphie, he’s simply divine."

Divine. An odd choice of words for a mortal, yet Lilith thought otherwise, not that Belphegor knew enough to object. After all, he’d just learned of the man’s existence a few moons ago, and what he knew was only through her words of him. He wasn’t rich by any means. His family tended animals and sold what they could in the town market. There was a time when the family lived well, but some of the animals were stricken with disease or killed by wolves, and they suffered greatly for it. Even so, this man had “a spirit worth more than all the wealth in the world,” she exclaimed. That despite his awful predicament, he made a way for his family, taking on various forms of labor to keep them fed.

"He's very skilled with his hands." Lilith winked, to which Belphegor pretended to gag. Relations between humans and angels were not unheard of, but ones with the image of his sister he'd rather scrub from memory.

In any case, this man could "literally do anything" and Belphegor sat in awe of this. If all this were true, then Lilith found someone beyond any human he could think of.

Belphegor watched as she twirled about, nearly skipping in her joy, her long hair unfretted and chasing the wind. She was led by a tune only she could hear, her dress gathering at the thick of her sun-kissed legs.

“He’s so polite, a true gentleman,” said Lilith. “He picks me flowers, opens doors, and by Father is he handsome.” She sighed lovingly and clasped her hands against her flushing cheeks. “He could give Lucifer a run for his money, you know?

Belphegor snorted. "A man as beautiful as Lucifer is surely a sight to behold."

"It's true, you know," she said, ignoring his skepticism. "That and he’s strong. Can tend a whole field before sundown without breaking a sweat. Why, I saw him raise two goats on each shoulder and…”

Belphegor rolled his eyes. Though he had no reason to doubt her, his sister found ways to bolster the human past the point of believability, at times. Extravagant. Amazing. Beguiling. Was it even possible that so many adjectives could describe one person? Yet Lilith went on, singing the praises of this fabled man she’d found such importance in.

“He’s just so…so…you understand, don’t you Belphie? How interesting and unique they can be?”

He did. Belphegor loved humans. He found them special, more than most creatures. It was their mundane everyday ways. It was the way they sought purpose from them. It was how they loved and celebrated and burned away life until none was left. Compared to angels, who were created and bound to fates unchanging, mortals were born with the blessing of choice, and it fascinated Belphegor what they did with it. So he watched and soon enough, went to gather in their joy. However, it wasn’t long until his curiosity prompted Lilith’s own, and the young angel began to visit the human realm of her own volition.

While Belphegor didn't fully understand his sister’s ways, he couldn’t help but be drawn into her joy. She’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow, trapped in an endless spring. It’d been beautiful to witness, and while such things didn’t strike him as important before, Belphegor couldn’t help but think of his love, whenever or wherever that might be.

“Belphie, are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” He said, led from his thoughts. “What was that?”

“I said Lucifer plans to meet him.”

Belphegor shrugged. “Well, so much for that.”

“I’m serious, Belphie!” She stamped her foot, pouting. “You know how big brother is.”

“Maybe he’ll like him,” Belphegor assured, swallowing his lie. Lucifer wasn’t the best at being impartial, especially when it came to Lilith. She was the youngest, barely new to the world, and he’d sooner have her wrapped up and tucked away than allow any harm to come to her. This man she’d found, without his or any of her sibling's knowledge, was an anomaly, a blind spot in Lucifer’s ever-watchful eye.

“Honestly, he’s always so worried. I told him there was no need, but he insisted.” Lilith’s face fell, eyes widening to some unfounded fate. “What if he doesn’t like him? What if he forbids me from seeing him? Tries to lock me away, key and all? Then what am I to do? I’d have to change my name, hide amongst the humans. We’d be outlaws. Fugitives!"

“Lilly!” Belphegor laughed. She always had a flare for the dramatics. “It’s ok. Lucifer is strict, but I’m sure he’ll come to see him as you do.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I’m sure of it…probably.”

“Oh, you!” she swatted at the air between them. “But you know, maybe you’re right. After all, Lucifer would never do anything to upset me, considering I’m his favorite and all,” she said in a snobbish tone. Lucifer spoiled her. They all spoiled her, really, and it seemed to be rubbing off.

But there was one question Belphegor failed to ask. The most important of them all. “Does he have a name?”

Lilith smiled. “Of course he does, silly. H̵̸̷̶̸̨̡̘̯͇̾̀͋̓̍i̶̴̷̶̷̥̠̬̖͖̋͐̄̎͆s̵̶̷̵̵̢͈̟͕̝̊̌̅̾͒ ̷̵̶̸̵̱͕̦͕͕͑̓̀̍͠n̴̸̸̴̶͈͍͍̯̳̎͛͂̄̏à̵̷̷̷̴͚̟͈̲̃̑̍̾͜m̷̵̵̶̷͉̗̜̗̻̓̀̽̀͝e̴̶̸̷̵͔̻̜̳̣̽̃̋͑͠ ̴̷̵̶̸̧̰̲͙̺̀̃̐͗͑i̶̷̴̷̴͎̪̳̫̬̔́͐̈́͝ş̵̴̴̶̵̠͕̰͕͗̅̅͋̕…̴̷̸̶̵̯͚̲̯̺͐͌̑̔͠

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“Lucifer! Please, tell them. Tell them they can’t do this!”

Belphegor turned to his brother, who looked as if the world was ending and there was no way to prevent it.

The Father spoke through Michael: Lilith had committed the unpardonable sin, one in which there was no forgiveness. She would be wiped from the face of existence, never to be a part of the cycle of creation again. All this for stealing a fruit, though it was said a simple apple led to Eve’s downfall; what difference would there be for his sister?

Belphegor dug his nails into his palms, neck burning with heat. The Father had refused them council, choosing to lay His judgment through the only other angel he abused more than Lucifer. Did He truly not care for them? Was fighting His battles and upholding His will all they were good for?

“The Father’s word is final,” Michael’s voice was calm, yet short. “Lucifer knows this as well as I do.”

“So you expect us to stand aside and allow our sister to face a fate so cruel?”

“Belphie, please,” Lilith cried, shaking. “It does not matter my end—“

“—But it does matter. You matter.” Belphegor pointed at her with angered assertion. “Not some mortal who was fated to die sooner than you are to blink.”

“Our brother is right, Lilith.” Leviathan shook his head as if trying to unravel what was happening. “Your actions…they make no sense.”

“No,” Lilith spoke, “what makes no sense is a Father who would sit and watch while death and sickness run rampant throughout his creation while having the power to prevent it.”

“How dare she’s” and “heresies” spiraled into the air, forming a tornado of indignation that grew louder and more violent with the need for retribution. Belphegor sneered at the angels who formed a ring of judgment around his sister. It was hard to believe that at one time any of them could be called his brothers and sisters.

“Enough.” It was Raphael, who, unlike Michael, held little reservations in his approach to an otherwise dire situation. “You stand amongst the divine court. Your blasphemy will not be tolerated.”

“Ah, can it,” yelled out Mammon. Someone gasped from the crowd. “You threaten the life of our sister. You better believe we’re gonna cause more than just a ruckus.”

Belphegor looked to Lilith, his eyes imploring her, though there was no answer she could give that would make any sense to him. “Even if he didn’t die today,” he said, “he would’ve died regardless. What then? Why risk your eternity for something so finite?”

Lilith parted her lips as if to form some half-uttered verb. Then she began again, though her mouth did not quiver. She stilled her face, hardened her lips, and spoke her words simply, “For the life of the one I love, I would do anything.”

Belphegor winced, his sister’s words a slap in the face. He would be angry if only there wasn’t so much to go around. What about their love? As if theirs hadn’t outlived kingdoms for her. What love could a being of such little potential possibly give?

It was Beelzebub’s turn to speak, pain shaking his voice. “But…what about us? How could you be so willing to leave us here to grieve you?”

Lilith was quiet, her face turned to some far, distant place. Belphegor wanted to shake her, to wake her from this eternal dream of love that did nothing but harm her.

“There has to be something we can do,” Asmodeus spoke, looking desperately at Michael. “It can’t end like this.”

“And just what do you plan to do to avoid her judgment?” Raphael’s eyebrow rose with his question. “Are any of you willing to take her place?”

They all looked at each other. Not in fear of Raphael’s words, but because neither of them could see themselves as the Father’s children, the remains of their allegiance shattered and pooled in the pit of their stomachs. In the end, what they gained for their loyalty was death, but they would not go without a fight. Finally, Lucifer stepped forward. It was clear to Belphegor that something inside his brother shattered, too. Not broken, but free.

“If the father’s word is law,” he said, “then maybe such laws should be challenged.”

“Be mindful of your next words, brother.” Michael stood with all the caution of a vigilant lion. “Think of the lives of your siblings. Of what you’re sacrificing.”

Lucifer stood, clearly battling himself. Belphegor only wished to know what his brother and Michael were thinking then. Both were close, so much so that they could be mistaken for twins. Maybe they both wanted to see something in the other that was no longer there. By then, Belphegor and his brothers gathered beside the morning star, unwavering. It was clear where their loyalties lay and always would.

As if in understanding, Michael sighed, and drew his blade as if the entire issue were a mere inconvenience. “Don’t make us do this, Lucifer.” Raphael, however, had already summoned his spears.

“You all still have the chance to repent in front of the Father. This will not go without punishment, however.”

“And Lilith?” Asmodeus said, his voice almost hopeful.

“She will leave this plane in peace.”

The once favored son of morning yanked his blade from his sheath and with it t̸̵̵̵̵͙̼̫̗̥̉́̇̈́̈́h̸̶̸̴̴͚͖̥̗̖̊̾̄̒̕e̶̶̸̸̸̻͈͍̗̱͒̆͊̋̒ ̸̵̶̵̵̜̥̭͎̝̑̓̓̀̾h̷̸̶̴̸͓̠͙̹̤͌̄̈́̂̚ḙ̷̸̷̷̸̢̯͖̄̂͂̾̾͜ȧ̴̶̷̴̷̩̯͓̤͋̄͊̍͜v̶̷̸̶̷̧͙̺͇͔̓̇̽̆̔e̴̴̸̴̶̢̖͍̰̫͊̍̔̉̉ņ̶̶̷̴̵̻̣̹͗͊̉͆̎ͅs̴̵̴̵̴̝̻͚̟̖̆́̇̇͠ ̶̸̵̸̶̨̩̞̗̖͒̊̀́̓c̸̴̶̶̶̬̼͎̱͔̈́̏̑͂̑r̶̷̷̴̵̯͚̫͕̳̓̽͂͐͝ĩ̶̶̸̶̷̺̙̠̰͖̏́͆͘e̸̴̸̵̷̹̰͉̫̠̓͌̆̃͂d̸̴̶̶̵̨̻͉̮͕́̈́̈̽̈́.̷̷̵̸̴͓̱̲̘͖̑̓͒̾̕ ̴̸̸̷̴̙̬͉̱͗̉͂̀͂ͅ

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Not once had Belphegor known the smell of blood until that day. It ranked of rusted metal, and it took all within him not to vomit in the middle of battle. An angel he once played with amongst the lilacs of the Celestial Garden fell limp, a sword thrust through his chest. Mammon had done so without hesitation and proceeded to chop the head of another, his strokes quick like thunder strikes.

A scream, this time from his right. It was Beel caked in a thick carnage of blood and feathers. He’d torn through their attempt at a flank, their weapons barely grazing him as he ripped wings from flesh, bodies spiraling towards the earth.

“Look out!” Asmodeus yelled, his shield snapping against metal. Belphegor leaped to the side, a beam of light zipping downward where his body would’ve been, leaving a hole of ozone in its wake. Belphegor raised his bow in return, his arm unsteady. Shakily, he aimed, barely managing to wound the angel who’d gunned for his head.

The realm was drowned in chaos. A frenzy of limbs and wings dancing to the tune of annihilation. He’d only seen Lucifer once, his body burning white as he bathed the battlefield with righteous fury, sending angel after angel toward their doom. Belphegor had only heard stories of Leviathan’s skills in battle; it was another thing to see him flay a throne alive.

“Lilith,” he heard Mammon cry.

“I’m ok,” she called back. A twang of metal after. “Just focus on yourself.”

So many voices, Belphegor thought. It was hard to keep his bearings. He was nowhere near a child of war. He’d never honed a weapon or raised it against another. His purpose was that of a virtue, to spread the word that with faith and hard work, one would gain ever closer to what was promised. But his life had been so easily tossed aside, his diligence made nothing. And now that one was threatened and the other gone, what then would become of him? Of his brothers? For a moment, he stilled, unable to focus on the battle at hand. It was as if all the air had left him, his breaths jagged and choking.

“Belphie!” Beelzebub’s voice rumbled. Belphegor squinted his eyes toward the sky. It was hard to make them out at first, little glints of sunshine that they were, yet as they drew closer, Belphegor saw the sharpened hatred of a thousand arrows bearing down towards him. He turned.

“Lilith,” Belphegor wailed. She’d been near him, maybe trying to call out to him, for that he’d never know. By then the first arrow struck her wing, then another, piercing through her flesh as her body flailed unnaturally. Beelzebub leaped towards him, tucking him deep into his grasp as they fell downward.

From above them rang a cry so loud that it shattered the noise. Lucifer broke through the sky like a roaring flame, barreling downward towards his sister. It was then Mammon who fell after him, then Leviathan, then finally, Asmodeus. Belphegor’s ears filled with a humming static, the world becoming focused and pin-like. He willed his head to gaze at Lilith. She hurdled downward, specks of ash trailing the air as her wings caught flame. With arm outstretched, he reached for her, ţ̴̶̸̷̶̨̛̠̖̤̈́̔̋̌ḫ̸̷̶̴̵̬͉̞̗͑͋̈́̅͝e̵̶̵̷̷̼̮̝̿̀͑̓͗͜͜ ̶̶̶̶̴͓̘͓͎̼̾̋͒̏͝w̸̸̴̷̵̨͈̼̯̞̉̆͆̒̌ơ̶̵̸̷̶͖̠̬͈̻̈́̓̎̽r̴̸̸̴̵͕̘͚̬̩̾̍̑͒̕l̷̵̷̶̸͕̱̜̯̙̑̈̂̎͠d̵̴̶̶̷̡̰̼͇̊̑́̒̾͜ ̵̸̶̷̸̳͙̭̱̂̍͋̓͘͜f̵̶̶̸̷̙̪̘̟̙̊̽͂̾̕ǎ̵̴̸̴̶̪̰̣̳̫̌̓͛̚d̸̶̸̴̴̻̪̘͇̻̒̅͆̀͛ḯ̷̶̴̴̵͙͇̞̲̜̽̈́͆̔n̶̶̴̵̶͇̲̭̰̻̍̾̑͂͘ǧ̷̶̷̶̶̡̺̪̻̦̃̃͌͝ ̶̵̶̶̴͇̗̠͉̣̍̀̆̂̐

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“What?”

"̸͓͛W̴̻̒ẖ̵͝a̴̖̓t̴͔͝?̸̢̓"̵̢̒

“Come again?”

“I said have you calmed down yet?”

Calmed down. As if he were a child who’d thrown a tantrum and was placed in time-out.

“What do you mean?” Belphegor gazed at Lucifer through hair-draped eyes, annoyed at being interrupted by what would’ve been a critical moment of his performance. He’d begun talking to himself. Wasn’t sure when it started, yet if only to break the monotony of his current tenure. In his mind, Belphegor was the sole performer on a brightly lit stage. In front of him, his audience, cheering for his one-night, one-man show.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he’d say, on behalf of the entire circus troupe, I welcome you to one of the most astounding shows you will ever see! I promise you, it will be something truly special, like a wonderful, fleeting vision—“

“--Belphie?” Lucifer called to him.

Oh, right. This asshole. “What?”

“What is it with you in needing things repeated?” Lucifer said. “I told you to use your time in here to calm down and rethink what you said earlier.”

Belphegor spat, rolling his eyes to some corner of the room. If one were to ask his brother, locking Belphegor away was done for his protection. That it was love, not pride or sick devotion, which forced his hand that day. If not by Lucifer, then Diavolo, and if the rumors regarding the castle’s torture dungeon were true, therein lied the many ways of subjecting the seventh born to a fate worse than boredom. If anything, he should be grateful that the only current threat to his health was the admitted lack of ventilation and an idle mind.

Yet if one were to ask Belphegor, he would’ve gladly accepted torture just to spite him, the unyielding screams of the forsaken a welcomed company compared to the horrid solitude of being trapped in a fucking attic.

“In that case, I’m going to be stuck in here forever,” Belphegor said. “Because there’s no way I’m ever going to take back what I said. No way am I ever going to change my mind.”

He was adamant then, on his hatred of humans. The day he learned of Lilith’s death, from Diavolo of all people, was the day any ounce of empathy he had died with him. Once again, the prince would prove to be a never-ending red stain on his sister’s life. Even after death, he found ways to dishonor her memory, if not through the subjugation of his brothers, then through the announcement of his shitty exchange program, one that Belphegor vehemently denounced. Yet Lucifer, being the boot licker he was, had other plans. It was hard to tell how many days passed since then, let alone how long Lucifer planned to keep him here.

Lucifer sighed and gazed over at the canopied bed. Belphegor had found a few Christmas ornaments packed amongst the attic’s boxes--a nutcracker, a gingerbread man, and a tiny reindeer--to act as his makeshift audience. In noticing Lucifer’s quizzical look, Belphegor hissed, literally hissed, at him in embarrassment.

“Oh, calm yourself,” Lucifer said, stifling his amusement with a cough, remembering that the moment was supposed to be serious. Hell forbid it was anything less. “Regardless, we’ve gone ahead and chosen the second student from the human world.”

“Really…Well, that’s awful news,” Belphegor said, stomping over to his bed and smothering his audience with gathered sheets, his skin heated.

“This time it’s not a powerful, elite sorcerer like Solomon, but a regular, average human.” “And why are you telling me this? I’m not interested in hearing about any hu…”

Belphegor’s smile was wide. “Actually, wait. Maybe that’s not true. Bring that human to me right away, Lucifer. I’ll tear them to shreds so tiny that there won’t be anything left of the body or soul when I’m done.”

Maybe being tucked away inside that large castle of his made the prince a bit dull-minded. Solomon was deemed one of the most powerful magic users in the world, one who—without even raising a hand—could turn even the strongest demon to ash.

But a regular human with no power and no way to defend themselves? It was as if the universe simply hated this human, one that would surely shit themselves after being summoned out of thin air to a realm, as far as they knew, should not exist and amongst beings that only lived amongst the pages of their various religions and stories. It was a tragedy waiting to happen and one Belphegor, with quivering hands, planned to bring forward.

“If this precious student from the human world were to meet an end like that,” Belphegor went on, “it would bring this little exchange program to a screeching halt, wouldn’t it? And what’s more, there’s no telling what it might do to Diavolo’s reputation.”

Lucifer observed him with a sort of veiled heatedness. It was clear his tantrum held little weight, but would end it if needed.

“Oh, I know. If you refuse to bring that human to me, then I’ll call them here myself,” Belphegor clasped his hands together, pleased with his plan. “I may not be able to get out of here, but I can certainly lure a single human half-wit to me without much trouble.”

“Impossible,” Lucifer spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And why’s that?” Belphegor raised his brow, his unease growing.

“The door to this room can only be seen by demons. It’s invisible to humans. Also, I put a curse on the stairs leading up here so that no demon other than me can climb them. No one will ever find you, and no one will ever know you’re here, be they human, or demon, or any other creature.”

Of course. Leave it to Mr. Kill Joy to take the fun out of homicide.

Belphegor’s face slumped, sucking his teeth. “You’ve taken quite the precautions, haven’t you? I’m touched that you’d go to such lengths for me, your good for nothing brother.” Lucifer was taller, about a few inches so, but Belphegor met his gaze all the same. “What exactly are you so afraid of Lucifer?”

“I’m afraid of losing my brother,” Lucifer said, quickly and without a hint of dishonesty.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Belphegor said. He wouldn’t allow it. To feel sympathy for the devil. Not after losing what mattered most, and what may’ve been his only chance to correct it. He needed to be the one hurting in this situation and needed Lucifer to be as one-dimensional as possible. “What scares you is the thought of disappointing Diavolo, isn’t it?”

Lucifer was…silent. For what, Belphegor wasn’t sure. Was the answer truly that complicated? Maybe there wasn’t anything more to his brother. Maybe he had become nothing more than a loyal lap dog.

Belphegor pounded his foot against the attic’s ancient floorboards, them rattling as if to collapse. “Say something Lucifer,” he yelled. “The old Lucifer wasn’t like this. He wasn’t afraid of what someone else thought of him. He wasn’t pathetic like that.”

“You’re free to think whatever you want, Belphegor. Also…” Lucifer turned towards the attic door, his voice low and solemn, “I’d say you changed as well.”

“Lucifer!” Yet Lucifer would never turn. Never question any part of himself that held weakness.

As the bars to the attic room clanked shut, Belphegor heard his brother’s footsteps trek down the towering staircase and into the house. Once again, he was left alone, spiraling into the silence of the attic.

He wouldn’t mind being tortured at all. Not at the glint of the blade as it sliced his flesh. Not at the blood that pooled from his wounds. Not even as his limbs were torn from his body or flayed alive. The rush of pain and paranoia would keep him, startlingly, sound. At least then he could see what harmed him. Give it a name, his fury. Tell himself that logically, it was ok to cry, scream, and lash about as he was now, smashing mirrors and ripping pillows to shreds.

But in this attic, this fucking horrible attic, there was no one to blame, and it left Belphegor with only his thoughts, screaming over and over: It’s your fault. It’s always been

your fault

YOUR FAULT

It’s always been

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Not my fault. It’s not my fault!

It was a lie, of course. Your death was in motion the moment you appeared in front of him, doe-eyed and disturbingly lax for someone in your position. For all Lucifer’s scheming, he’d forgotten one fine detail: that idleness didn’t weaken sloth, but enabled it.

But it is, Belphie. It's what you did.

He didn't think you were dumb enough to believe his story. A human "just like you" who'd been captured and trapped by Lucifer, yet you proved otherwise. Even when his true identity was revealed, you continued to help him as if the threat hadn't shown itself. Things were moving about too easily; the universe truly did hate you.

No that's not...I did it for you. For us.

Admittedly, he'd wrestled in the corners of his mind about it. Argued until there was nothing left to argue. A part of him had grown to like you, strange, dull-headed thing that you were, but if he weren't to kill you, what then? Would he live his life, seeing you coddle up to his brothers? Eat from their plates and take part in their celebrations? Would you somehow charm Diavolo and have the rest of your ilk invade here? Hell forbid the fools began to fall in love with you, then he’d have to bear witness to some half-assed love story, and that he couldn't live with. So he stilled it down. Beat back the part of him that doubted his conviction. This was for Lilith, always for Lilith, and nothing more.

Oh Belphie, you knew I never wanted this. This was always about you. This was your revenge.

How he killed you was deliberate, too. Strangulation was one of the more intimate forms of death one could give. To do so was to be conscious of your victim’s suffering and to take pleasure in it, having the power of life and death weighted within one’s grip. Humans were fragile. Anything more than disembowelment would be too quick and he needed you to feel it. To know how little your life meant as he wrung every inch of it from you.

Please, I'm sorry. I didn’t know. Didn’t know what they were to you.

He admits enjoying it, laughing as the confusion mangled your face. It didn’t take much to knock you on your back, even less to pin you down. You were so weak. How you managed to survive this long was merely incompetence on his brother’s part. They were fools, too cowardly to do what needed to be done. But not him. He’d end your life and soon any hope of continuing this miserable sham of a program.

It’s not about what they were to me, Belphie. You took a life. And you can never take that back.

You withered and flailed beneath him, trying to lift yourself to no avail. A numbing high swept over Belphegor as he took it all in. The beating of your heart, the sound of wheezing lungs, the sweat that drenched your brow, the bright red of your blood. All the colors and sounds bled into a final point until he was overcome with it, twisting, clenching, enamored in the hues of your dying face. Your eyes bulged and the quakes of your death throes rumbled the floorboards. You clung to him, nails scraping the skin of his wrists. When that didn’t work, you clawed for his eyes. The desperation. The fury. He could laugh, so he does, slamming your head into the floor when you attempt to swipe at his face. Your head bounces forward, then goes limp, throat giving way to a sick crunch. He squeezes tighter, breaking through bone, through artery.

Finally, you stilled and so does he.

He assumed your death would be less monotonous, the fires of euphoria dwindling into barely an ember. A cold realization sweeps over him, sending his body to chill and his empathy to reanimate. No, he won't allow weakness. Not a moment for remorse or sorrow. He shakes them from his mind, putting it up to shock and nothing more.

He gazed at his hands, flexing them, feeling like an outsider in his own body. He sits in silence. The attic does not answer with its usual hum of wood. The house does not creak. Instead, it engulfs him in a sea of quiet, and for a moment he wades in it. Hearing his heart, his breathing, the tiny hiss of air that escapes you. For some reason, he cannot will himself to look at you longer. Your face is uncannily calm, though your neck is twisted into unrecognition, the flesh bruised and mangled.

Now, there was nothing left, but still so much to be done. He wrings you by the collar of your shirt, and it seems an eternity before he reaches the attic door. The attic steps feel smaller and out of focus, the house halls a labyrinth. He’d almost forgotten where the main entrance lay until he heard his brothers, their voices joined in a chorus of "where are they?" and "They should be" and "could be." It's the only time he smiles. Not for his brothers, though it was Beel he missed most, but because he finally, finally would have his audience.

Slowly, as he reaches the landing of the stairway, a thought inches forward. Yet this one he couldn’t shake away. Over and over it repeats itself, almost pleading:

Oh, Belphie.

Belphie.

J̸̸̷̷̴͔̪̗̱̊͑͋̈̚͜ J̸̗͑u̸̼̎s̴̬̔t̴̗͌ ̵̅͜w̵̪͘h̸̥̀a̶̮̓t̵͕̅ ̷̱͊h̸̼͝a̴̛̪v̶͕͆e̷̫̍ ̵̩̈́y̶̲͝o̶̫̕u̷̞̍ ̷͉͌d̵̦̐ọ̸́n̸̪̽e̷̫̓?̸̡́

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Belphegor lurched forward, sweat chilling him to the bone. His dreams were becoming too vivid for his liking. In the corner of his eye sat a large figure, blanketed in the cover of darkness. He blinked. Was he still dreaming?

“What...I...Beel?” He spoke, gasping for breath. How long had he been sitting there?

“It's ok,” Beelzebub said. He sat on the edge of Belphegor’s bed, stroking his shoulder as if to still the chills away. “You had a bad dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Belphegor choked, words rushing from his mouth,” I did it I did all of it I killed Lilith and then I killed them and I…I…“

“Just breathe, Belphie.” But there was nothing Beelzebub could say or do, only wait until the torturous spell was over.

Belphegor placed his hand to his chest, heart beating as if it were going to burst from him and go running off into the world.

In and out. In and out. It didn't help his breathing much, but it made him focus on something other than the panic. Everything felt so heavy like the sky had fallen upon his shoulders.

"It's all...my fault," Belphegor heaved, “my fault.”

In a way, he should be grateful. Lilith lived a long, happy life and that’s all he could ask for. Still, it all felt like a dream and in that moment, he’d forgotten where he was. That the Devildom, despite its idiosyncrasies, was a punishment. That they were damned and whatever fate held for them was often cruel and rarely giving. He knew they were uncomfortable at the party, could feel their quickened breaths rising in an off-tune chorus of sheltered panic. He should’ve helped them, walked them through their spell. Instead, he froze, feeling the judgment heavy in the room, the waves of anger and disappointment hitting him in a heated haze. He watched you run away and with it, his redemption.

“That’s not true, Belphie. Don't blame yourself. If anything...” Beelzebub paused, and Belphegor listened between breaths for the words that never came.

He was about to blame himself again, he thought, yet he could not will himself to assure him otherwise, his breaths still too quick and sharp. Instead, Belphegor buried himself into his twin. If he could not use words, he’d use his actions. Surely Beel, who wrapped his brother in a tight hug, would understand him. Beelzebub, after all, was but a wall to Belphegor’s emotions. Allowing his tears and agony to fall upon him, but never breaking himself. Instead, Beelzebub sat in silence, and together, they rocked each other through the darkness, waiting on the morning hours to break the curse that was Belphegor’s anguish.

Surely, you’d forgive him, he thought. That night at the party meant nothing. That disgusted look you gave him meant nothing.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me lilith #obey me fanfic #midnightsunnyday writes

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iamumbra195 · 1 year

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MY favourite bleach head canons in no particular order

1. the idea that all shinigami in gigai give off uncanny valley vibes

Basically like Isshin, whose not quite human but not quite shinigami, meets some of Ichigo’s friends when he was a kid like Tatsuki and she obviously met his mom before and she was nice so she wasn’t expecting much from his dad and then she meets him and her first reaction is ‘what the fuck is that???’

The kurosaki kids, who have grown up with their dad and have pretty high levels of reiatsu, don’t actually realize this while their human friends just instinctually avoid Isshin ‘cause they feel like something’s off about him

of course over time and with extended exposure to Ichigo’s reiatsu, the weirdness kinda fades away but anyone outside of Ichigo’s circle generally avoids all the shinigami that come to Karakura in gigai for those reasons

2. all animals hate shinigami except cats and crows

literally for no reason besides the fact that I like them

I love the idea of shinji with his creepy ass smile just perched on top of a telephone pole and if he stays still long enough, crows will start sitting on him XD

I also have cats that I love and I love the idea of Ichigo just chilling on his bed with an orange cat and doing the purring thing with it while he’s sleeping

And then when he goes to a pet store with Rukia because she wants to see bunnies, all the animals go ballistic anf they get kicked out XD

3. the visored + ichigo with animalistic traits

laying down on hot things because it feels nice on their skin and soothes something in their lizard brains

eyes that flash hollow yellow when they feel intense emotion (inspired the scene in the anime where Aizen says that hollowification is faster when agitated so emotions heavily affect their appearance

I like the idea that they get very tactile with people they care about (not in a romantic way) and they get into little wrestling matches over stupid stuff because that’s they’re idea of playing and bonding

Shinji gives cat vibes, you can’t even tell me he doesn’t just look at him. When cats make eye contact as they push something off the table- that’s him

I also really like the idea of the hollowification affecting their zanpakuto. Given that Ichigo was pretty much born with his hollow, he doesn’t notice the different the way the Visored do

Shinji’s whole standing upside down and reversing the gravity on himself, I like the idea that it came after his hollowification and if he wishes he can do it to others

Idk if there’s any jjk manga readers her but you know that attack kenjaku has where he makes you feel like you’re falling but you’re not really? He does it to Yuji a few times when he’s fighting mahito and I love the idea of Shinji having that ability, just completely fucking up their sense of reality and direction

I haven’t thought of the other visored abilities but from my other AU that I will never write, I mentioned that Kaien was hollowified as well so I love the idea of him just being completely obsessed with everything water related and having an affinity for any water type kido and being able to control minor amounts of water without actually drawing Nejibana and being able to breath under water

4. all zanpakuto spirits do commentary in their weilders head

but only ppl like Ichigo and Toushiro who have incredibly powerful spirits that they can literally talk to in the middle of a fight can actually hear

Like Zabimaru, haineko, and all the other zanpakuto are just constantly making fun or nitpicking the way their weilder uses them

But Ichigo is the only one who has to suffer through Zangetsu (Shiro) cackling in his head while Toushiro gets useful feedback and Ichigo’s just completely done with him

a sadder headcanon: all zanpakuto spirits talk to their weilders regularly however, the Visored because of their own fear of their hollowification have estranged themselves from their zanpakuto spirits and like Shiro is hostile with Ichigo in canon, the others are like ten times worse

5. If Ichigo every actually seals his zanpakuto, he’d be incredibly sensitive to reiatsu (I forgot to add this one the first time and I didn’t wanna make another post XD)

I personally love this little explanation of Ichigo’s powers and you know how Ichigo is just really shitty at sensing reiatsu at the beginning? Shinji commented on it a couple times and seemed pretty confused by it.

I think that part of the reason why he’s so bad at it-- especially after the SS arc ‘cause remember he was actually pretty good at sensing back then-- is because after he achieved Bankai, Hollow Zangetsu was in control rather than OMZ and with that switch in power came a significant uptick in his own reiatsu to the point where Ichigo actually feels like he’s being crushed by his own power and he can feel how close Shiro is for the first time and he’s actually scared of his own power

Hiyori even comments about how he’s scared of his own bankai because the distance between him and Shiro decreases everytime he gets stronger since Shiro gets stronger with him

Anyways, we’re not devolving into an analysis about Ichigo and Shiro but eventually Ichigo learns how to sense things properly even with his own reiatsu

So when he finally seals Zangetsu and he’s no longer covered by his own power because it’s finally sealed, he’s gonna be sensing things so much stronger and get sensory overload only it’s ✨reiatsu sensitivity✨

6. Souls in the Society age until they find an appearance both they and their reiatsu level is comfortable with (Another one because I’m an idiot and I forgot)

Excluding Toushiro’s weird case of appearanc shifting but I guess that could be attributed to his bankai’s weirdness that I don’t know much about

I don’t think we’ve gotten on actual explanation on how souls age so I’ve decided to apply this hc

Basically the reason why ppl like Unohana, who looks incredibly similar to herself from a thousand years ago, the only difference being how much less sinister she looks and how calm she looks

Plus, all the characters from the Turn back the pendulm arc barely changing over a hundred years is wild

I initially thought of it as comparing every decade a soul lives to ever year a human lives but that didn’t feel right so I chose this

#visored #ichigo kurosaki #hollow ichigo #hollow zangetsu #shiro #zanpakuto spirits #bleach #headcanons #shinji hirako #half this post devolved into stuff about him #shinigami #animals #uncanny valley #uncanny shinigami gigai

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strawwritesfic · 27 days

Text

Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 7]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #7: First impressions are important, so don't be yourself.

It didn’t take long to get used to Ellie waking you up by forcing herself into your room. That didn’t mean you had to like it. Two weeks into your stay at Jackson, and it was pretty clear she didn’t have any shits to give in regard to personal space, and it didn’t help that all the adults in her family typically let her have the run of things. You tried your hardest to get her in line, but you might as well have been swearing at the corn crops for all the good it did.

“Oh, just save it,” Ellie said one morning. “In case you’ve forgotten, you actually have to start working today, and unless you want kicked out, you can’t miss your clock-in time.”

“Who said I didn’t want kicked out?” you groaned as you threw your good arm over your eyes. Even without looking, though, you knew Ellie would be scowling at that. She tugged at your shoulders a second or tow later.

“I already let you skip breakfast.”

“Who are you, my fucking mother?”

“No, I’m your personal fucking alarm clock ‘cause you can’t be half-assed to get up in the morning. Come on.” She tugged harder. Luckily, you were a bit too heavy for her to properly move, else you might have fallen on top of her. At last, you moved your arm.

“Fine. Get out so I can get dressed.”

Ellie huffed, stood, and crossed her arms for only a moment before she turned as quickly as she could in the close quarters of your “room.” “Fine, but if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming back in, tits or no tits.”

You didn’t bother to sit up until the door snicked shut behind her. No doubt Ellie was still standing out there and would make good on her promise to barge in as soon as she decided you’d gone back to sleep. That didn’t make your movements any less syrupy as you gathered up your spare set of clothing and began to tug off the one you already had on.

Your missing arm didn’t make getting dressed any easier. You still kept trying to do things with it. Unfortunately, this made you look stupid on top of incompetent. There weren’t a lot of helpful jobs you could do in your current state. Cooking, cleaning, farming, scavenging, keeping watch—they all required two hands, or at least more grace than you could manage in your current state. Your attitude—most likely—didn’t help matters, which was probably why Tommy had looked so tired the night before.

“I really can’t think of anything other than helping out with the kids. I know you don’t like them,” he’d added, “but you haven’t really taken to anything else.

“What the fuck am I supposed to teach them if I can’t do anything?”

“You survived on your own for a few years, right?”

“I still don’t have a fucking arm.”

“Ellie can help you.”

Fantastic. So not only did he expect you to interact with human beings decades younger than those you found acceptable, but one such human being was going to do everything while you stood there and presumably directed. Unfortunately, Ellie took this job very seriously.

By the time those memories finished parading through your head, your borrowed jeans and long-sleeved shirt were where you meant them to be. The sleeve around your stump dangled several inches below where your arm ended, a hazard if you’d ever seen one—but you were too proud to ask Ellie to tie it up higher for you, even when you opened the door five seconds later to find her leaning against the opposite wall. She straightened and quickly caught up as you strode down the still-dim hallway.

Outside, the sun had barely risen. The sky was still the calming lavender-blue of not-quite dawn. Well, anywhere else, it would have been calming. If you got up early enough, everything was quiet. It was easier to hear the runners, the clickers, even the stalkers when the rest of the world was silent. You could slip in and out, find items, lose items, find people, lose people. In Jackson, everyone was already up, already watching.

One such woman, a blonde from your disastrous attempt at kitchen duty the day before, brushed past you with a glare that might have melted marble. Ellie’s eyebrows rose at that.

“Yikes,” she said.

You didn’t respond.

“So, are you nervous?”

“No,” you said flatly, because you were.

What was there to be nervous about, talking to a bunch of grade-schoolers, or their parents that thought you had something to do with that little runner mishap a few weeks back? You felt nervous, and you felt irritated, at your stupid arm, at Ellie’s stupid enthusiasm, and your stupid fucking situation. You almost missed numb—almost.

“You’re nervous,” she said. “Why are you nervous? Didn’t you go to school?”

“I went to high school. I didn’t even get to graduate, and that has jack shit to do with teaching a bunch of eight-year-olds how to get themselves slaughtered in the woods.”

“They’re not going to get slaughtered. Quit being so melodramatic,” said Ellie. “Besides, high school was at least something. I wish I could have gone to a real school.”

“Trust me, kid. It didn’t help at all.”

“Trust me, bitch. It would’ve meant something.”

“Listen, you little—”

“Do you really wanna finish that sentence?” came a gruff, familiar voice from behind you.

Slowly, you turned to gaze sullenly up at Joel. Ellie, of course, had the opposite reaction.

“Hey!” she said with a slight bounce. “I thought you had watch duty today.”

“I do,” he answered. “I’m watching her.”

“Me?” you repeated when Joel didn’t so much as look at you.

It’d been like that since the meeting a couple weeks back. You hadn’t seen him outside of meals, and even then, he ignored you. At that very moment, however, Joel’s eyes flashed in your direction.

“Yes, you.”

“What did I do?”

“From what I hear, you tried to stab a woman in the kitchen yesterday.”

“Because she said I was fucking useless!”

“You are useless,” Joel said. “You going to try and take my head off, too?”

God, if only. But you knew enough to not pick fights you couldn’t win, and Joel was more armed than you were in every sense of the word. You scowled as you looked down at your boots. “No…”

“I didn’t think so.”

Your troop fell into silence as you neared the gate. Someone must have warned the people manning in that day that class was being held outside, and that Joel would be accompanying the group, because no one asked you anything before the doors ground open.

“Now, I don’t know if I need to say this,” he continued in a sarcastically light tone, “but if you try to stab the kids, you’re out. The only reason you’re not out after yesterday is—”

“Because I’m fucking useless and she managed to beat the crap out of me herself. I know. Tommy already said. Give it a rest.”

Joel paused long enough to look at you, then snorted and continued on his way. Ellie soon fell into step beside you.

“Did you really try to stab somebody?” she asked.

You didn’t answer.

“Jeez. You’ve really got a death wish, don’t you?”

“And you just keep prolonging it coming true,” you said.

Ellie no longer seemed in the mood to trade banter. She scowled. “Don’t be like that around the rest of the kids, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said. “I’ll give that a shot.”

“I’m serious,” Ellie said fiercely, and suddenly she was in front of you, arms thrown out.

You frowned at her, and then heaved a sigh. “What does it matter?”

She took a deep breath to compose herself, which only caused your frown to deepen. On the other hand, stopping to talk to Ellie prevented you from getting to class, so you were more willing than usual to give her thinking time. After a prolonged moment, her eyes found yours. “First impressions are important.”

“So?”

“So don’t be yourself.”

With that cryptic comment, Ellie bounded after Joel. Despite her long strides, she made barely any noises as her feet covered the hardened earth. You rolled your eyes and followed after. As you drew nearer to the electric fence (which was, thankfully, not on that day), you spotted a knot of people standing by the gate. Next to them stood another man of Joel’s proportions, who nodded upon spotting Joel, and walked back up the plant.

“Hey, guys!” Ellie said to a group of eight other children, ranging from what you assumed was ten years younger than Ellie to a couple years older. They murmured a collective hello, their wide, round eyes staring up at Joel. You couldn’t imagine why except that he was large enough to eat them and carrying several guns. When he remained silent in their midst, one of the younger ones piped up:

“Where’s Miss Daisy?”

“She has the day off,” Ellie answered. She threw Joel a look, but he acted as though he hadn’t noticed.

“Miss Rachel?”

“She…also has the day off.” Ellie bit her lip and rocked backward and forward on the balls of her feet. Then, quite suddenly, she took a wide step to the left and gestured in your direction. “Miss [Name] is going to teach us today!”

“Teach us what?” asked the girl that looked the oldest in the group.

Ellie frowned, but smiled again soon after, brushing some hair out of her face. “Trapping.”

“Trapping?” “

Yep,” said Ellie. Joel, you noticed, hadn’t said a word. He was leaning against the fence, looking up at the brightening shape of the compound beyond the children. “Trapping. Take it away, Miss [Name].”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even fucking yell at Ellie for calling you “Miss [Name].” Every single eye in that group of tiny, impressionable children trained on you, and you were frozen. Their eyes—whole, trusting. Their fingers—tiny, unscarred. Eyeless. Voiceless. Your fault. Dead. More your fault.

You were off and through the gate before you even fully made the decision to leave. Your boots smashed into the foliage beneath your feet as you rushed into the forest nearby. The only thing your mind could focus on was your breath billowing wildly into your ears. Breath. Children. Death. Breath. Children. Death. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

It didn’t take long for your lopsided running and your easy exhaustion to keep you from going much further. Pretty soon, your legs were shaking with the effort to continue. Jackson remained in sight as you huddled onto the ground. Maybe no one would come find you. You hoped so—or maybe didn’t. Either way, about twenty minutes later, you heard footsteps. When you did not stand, the noise stopped. Whoever the feet belong to hadn’t left, though. A second later, you heard the distinct sound of someone sitting down next to you.

“What the hell was that?”

You groaned audibly into your arms. The last person you wanted to talk to at the moment was Ellie. Well, no, probably Joel. After that little scene, he was going to have something to say, and you didn’t want to hear it. Ellie was definitely up there, though.

“Seriously. What the hell?”

“Fuck off,” you said without lifting your head.

“No,” she answered. “You just took off without a word. Remember what I said about first impressions?”

“Shut up.”

“Yours sucked. What the fuck is your deal, [Name]?”

“None of your goddamn business!” you snapped as you at last looked up her.

Ellie scowled and rose to her feet.

“Where’s Joel?”

“Watching the class,” said Ellie. “They can’t be out here unguarded. And only Mitchell and Alice know how to use a knife. Well, come on.”

“What?”

“Well, come on,” she repeated. “You can’t stay out here. You’re going to get eaten.”

“No, I won’t! I can fucking take care of myself, okay? I did it before. I’ll learn to do it again! Just because I can’t—I can’t handle children doesn’t mean I’m a moron!”

“I never said it did. I just said you couldn’t stay out here. Anyway, what’s so damn wrong with teaching? It’s not like it’s a hard job. You don’t even have to do the physical work.”

“It has nothing to do with that!”

“Then what does it have to do with?”

You simply glowered at the ground. It really wasn’t any of Ellie’s business, and you didn’t plan to tell her. The fact of the matter was that you didn’t interact with kids, not even the last time you’d tried your hand at settling down—and that time had been willingly. Of course, to add salt to the wound, at your last settlement, you’d also had two arms. Even if you refused to interact with the kids, you were the best damn hunter of the bunch. No one was going to kick you out so long as you brought back meat and didn’t try to kill anyone in your party. Jackson had no such qualms.

“Whatever,” Ellie said, breaking quite rudely into your reminiscing. “You’re really fucking difficult, you know that, right?”

“I told you,” you said, quietly for once. “I told you all that I didn’t want to teach. There’s no point.”

“There’s always a point,” said Ellie. When your eyes found her in the shadows of the trees, she was looking away from you. Without bothering to see if you were following, she headed back in the direction of the settlement.

“I don’t want to go back there. Not with those—”

“You don’t have to teach,” she stopped to tell you.

“But what about my job? I really—” Suddenly, the tears you never cried were stuck in your throat. Your eyes felt too clogged with years of dust and dirt and gunpowder to get them out. You wrapped your good arm around your chest in the hopes that that would somehow stop the sobs from getting out. If you cried in front of fucking Ellie, you’d never live it down. You took a great, shuddering breath before continuing, “I really can’t be a teacher.”

She regarded you with no expression, for how long you couldn’t say. Slowly, your fear subsided, leaving you as dry as ever. That was when Ellie cocked her head to one side, straightened her neck, and then came up and latched her hand around yours.

“You’re such a baby,” Ellie announced as she led you through the woods. “Look, I’ll handle it.”

“But—”

“I said I’ll fucking handle it. We’ll figure out something else you can do. Something without a whole lot of people to upset, okay?”

You didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to teach. You just need to be present, okay?”

“Fine.”

Just then, the trees came to an end, and you and Ellie met the slope down to Jackson. You tore your hand free before anyone could see her holding it, but Ellie ignored this, intent only on returning to the rest of the group.

“What was that about?” the oldest girl demanded as you and Ellie entered.

Joel frowned at you, but you allowed your gaze to slip past him as you took a stationary position a few feet away.

In answer to the girl’s question, Ellie only shook her head. “Nothing. Something stupid. Change of plans, all right?”

No one argued. Within a matter of minutes, Ellie had dumped a torn book and her knife out of her backpack and started to teach them how to best maintain blades. The children crowded around, but Joel maintained his distance, without looking at you, without speaking to you. It was funny, because in that moment, you almost wished he had tried.

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astxrwar · 8 months

Text

blunt force trauma [1/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence and that is all (for now). Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content + ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[ 1 ] [2]

Bucky had known, is the thing. Before getting sucker-punched out of a fucking moving semi truck, before getting his ass kicked in a spectacularly fucking embarrassing fashion, before getting saved by two dipshits with government-financed uniforms and the most ridiculous fucking make-believe superhero names—

He had known that there were others like him.

Super-soldiers. Enhanced. Whatever.

Well—

He’d known about one.

The first time he sees her it’s March, nighttime, cold and dark and fucking raining, for like the fourth day in a row. He’s gone outside to take the garbage out, the last in a mundane and seemingly fucking endless procession of normal-human-being tasks that he is trying very hard to be comfortable in doing, day after day, the way he is also trying hard to be a normal human being in general, a concrete and intact person who attends his court-ordered therapy and grocery shops and goes outside semi-regularly and does not commit violence even when it definitely feels warranted.

He’s tired. He has a headache starting somewhere around his left temple, the muscles there beginning to tense and tighten and pulse, irritatingly, against his skull. He wants a fucking cigarette, and he’s going to have a cigarette— he keeps meaning to quit, because it’s really not a great habit, even if he’s pretty sure the serum will keep him from getting, like, lung cancer, or something. He’d been a pack-a-day asshole in the 107th because they were free, and he’d stopped when he was him because he didn’t have wants or needs or desires as a soulless killing machine, so part of it is probably just— the way that it feels grounding, kind of, the acrid burn of the smoke and the bitter taste of tar and the gently flickering embers of the cherry this bright spot of red and orange against the endless black backdrop of the alleyway at night. It’s very human. Very selfish. Very not like the person he used to be.

He doesn’t see the figure standing there until the cigarette is already half-gone, presumably because they’d been mostly obscured from him by the massive industrial-size apartment complex dumpsters and also, more importantly, because they hadn’t moved at all in the entire time he’d been outside. And it’s something about that, the unnerving and inhuman stillness, something about the way that they’re holding themselves, the vicious and barely-restrained and entirely recognizable tension he can see— feel— even just in their silhouette, the way that they’re standing, it reminds him of—

Something.

Bucky can tell when the figure realizes he’s seen them; there’s this shift in the dark line of their shoulders, like an intake of breath.

He flicks his cigarette, scattering ash down onto the pavement, the flakes drifting in the puddles of dirt and oil and city grime, becoming waterlogged, sinking in until he can’t see them.

They— she— she says his name. Her voice is quiet and hoarse and crackles like she hasn’t spoken in a while and like it had taken some amount of effort to do so now, and she says his full, legal, god-given name, like she knows him.

“How do you know who I am,” Bucky says, flat, a question, but not really phrased like one. He grinds the end of his cigarette against the brick side of the building until the ember is out, and tosses it into the open dumpster; he’s aware of her in his periphery, that instinctive part of him that he mostly tries not to think about tracking her presence and waiting for movement and anticipating, calculating, flexing the fingers of the metal arm at his sides and breathing in deep and slow and relishing in all of it a lot more than he knows he should be.

She doesn’t reply. He can’t make out her face, not with how dark it is, with where she’s standing, deep enough into the alleyway that none of the light from the buzzing and flickering street lamp closer to his end reaches her at all; there’s still something about the way that she’s holding herself that prickles with familiarity, recognition, but he can’t place it. He’s positive she’s not government or military, reasonably certain she’s not Dora Milaje, less sure she’s not some kind of HYDRA offshoot minion or some other kind of general bad news.

“Are you going to try to kill me?” he says finally.

Her breath catches, like she’d choked on it, and it’s audible even over the muted sounds of TVs playing and casual conversation and arguing floating down from the scattered collection of open windows above the alley, even over the louder and more persistent dripdripdrip of water down from the gutters, the sounds of traffic that never fully relents drifting out from the road.

“No,” she says, with enough vehemence that it stuns him, for a second– he’s taken aback by the force of the word, and then also, a second later, by how absolutely uncertain she sounds. Like she doesn’t believe it herself, or maybe more like she really doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, after a pause. “Okay, so what do you—“

He makes a mistake, then— he turns, the sole of his boot grinding softly against the wet, dirt-streaked asphalt, and he takes all of an aborted half-step in her direction.

She stiffens.

Bucky trails off, his fingers curling into loose fists at his sides–

She flees.

He hadn’t been expecting that, fucking obviously, so he wastes an essential handful of seconds just processing what the fuck even just happened. By the time it occurs to him that she’d ran, by the time he moves to the other end of the alley and rounds the corner and stares out into the adjoining street, there’s just—

Nothing. Nobody. An empty stretch of pavement. She could have followed the road down past his field of vision, the line of it blurred in the distance by the gently misting rain; she could have gone down any number of nearby alleys, could have climbed a fire escape onto the roof. If he’d been expecting it, he could have followed fast enough to see, but—

He hadn’t.

He’d honestly expected her to fucking attack him, not— run.

“Fuck,” Bucky says aloud, to nobody.

He turns back to his apartment building, kicks a rock and watches it skitter across the glittering wet pavement and into the shadows.

He lights another cigarette.

He’s wired and on edge for hours afterwards, meaning he doesn’t sleep well. That thing inside of him is itching for it, a fight, an excuse, something to break the painful fucking monotony of his life these days; his therapist keeps saying that he’ll get used to this, the boredom of normalcy, and while he nods and plays along during the sessions, he’s not sure that’s even the issue.

He is used to it. He has a routine. He cooks and cleans and does general life maintenance on a strict and unwavering schedule. He even goes out once a week, goes and gets sushi and drinks with Yori, and even if that might technically not count as a friendship, it’s– something. He has a life. A normal, boring, regular, semi-adjusted life.

He just–

He just doesn’t fucking like it.

It sucks, right, because back in Bucharest he remembers wanting this so fucking badly, wanting to just be normal, to be able to go grocery shopping and cook meals and listen to the radio and do nothing. Be nobody. And now that he has it, for real, forever, it’s like his stupid fucking brain has decided nope, y’know what, I don’t really want this after all.

What he wants, honestly, is another cause to throw himself into. Another banner to follow blind. Something that would let him relieve some of this constant fucking pressure, this itch just under his skin, this feeling like he’s forcing down and holding back and choking on all the worst parts of who he is, with no outlets to turn to, no options, no hope for relief.

I don’t do that anymore, is what he says to people, the pre-programmed line another term for the conditions of his parole.

What he doesn’t say to anyone: I kind of miss it a fucking lot, though.

Bucky stares up at the slowly-turning blades of his ceiling fan until his vision goes blurry and it turns into this meaningless shifting shape in the dark, and then he closes them, finally, and tries to will himself to sleep.

He should tell his therapist.

There’s a lot of things he should tell his therapist. I have nightmares, still. I probably qualify as paranoid. I made friends with the father of one of the men that I killed, and I go out to eat with him every week, and I think I feel just as bad about doing it as I would if I didn’t. I still haven’t figured out how to work that TV in the apartment, even though I said that I did, and I don’t even really know why I lied. I miss hurting people. I can’t sleep.

“How have you been, James,” she says, peering at him across a cheap-looking wooden table, her pen poised threateningly– okay, not threateningly, but, like, still, threateningly – over a blank notebook page. The chair he’s sitting in is straight-backed and uncomfortable and slightly too small, and he wonders if that’s on purpose. “Anything new happening?”

She always asks this, in the beginning, like an ice-breaker, or something, except it feels like the opposite. It always feels–stiff, and perfunctory, and performative. That’s another thing– before all this, he used to be great at shooting the shit, talking about weather and sports and who’s seeing who and all that meaningless, petty nothing; he missed it, too, when he first started coming out of the fucking fugue state. And then it’s like– all those disassociated and splintered pieces of himself reintegrated, fused, solidified into something vaguely resembling a whole person, and he found that actually, he couldn’t stand any of it, anymore.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and leaning back in the chair until it creaks, dangerously, like it might break. Fucking government office, you’d think they could afford decent and non-flimsy furniture. Doc glares at him like he’s full of shit and he makes a point to dial back the affected nonchalance, gauging her response to try to figure out the range of what might strike her as believable. “Nothing. Same old, same old. You know.”

Someone found me, yesterday. They knew me.

She narrows her eyes. Scribbles something down. The scratch of the pen on paper sets his teeth on edge, makes a muscle in his jaw twitch, erratic and uncontrollable. He forces himself to stay very still, not to lean over, not to try to look. Forces himself to smile.

Wonders, vaguely, if it even looks like he’s smiling, or if it just looks like he’s baring his teeth.

Days pass. Then weeks. A whole month.

At first, Bucky maintains that alertness; his senses sharpen, expectant, the handful of times he ventures out to toss the garbage or have a cigarette at night, and he sleeps in short, fitful bursts, waking with a start at the sound of cars backfiring on the street outside or the building settling as the temperature drops or the radiator when it creaks, just a little louder than usual, as the heat kicks on. He doesn’t mind any of this, actually, and that’s another thing he knows he should probably tell his therapist.

Hey, Doc, I’m kinda thinking somebody wants to murder me, so I’ve started keeping a knife under my pillow again, and I’ve really only been sleeping for like, an hour or two at a time.

Weird thing, though– I feel better than I have in weeks, and I haven’t had any nightmares.

He does not tell his therapist, for a lot of reasons. Part of that is because he guesses she’d want to have the military deal with it, whatever it even is, which is just–absolutely not necessary. He’s a grown man, a fucking ex-assassin, for god’s sake, he can handle his own shit; but then there’s also the fact that she doesn’t even really know he’s still having nightmares. She suspects, he’s pretty sure, but he’d started denying it the fourth or fifth appointment in, got tired of her saying stupid shit like let’s do an exercise; I want you to describe it to me and talking about it will help, James, and you should try establishing a relaxing bedtime routine.

Planning contingencies in case he’s attacked in his sleep, he’s pretty sure, does not count as a relaxing bedtime routine, but even still. Whatever works, right?

And it does work, for the first week, and then the second week, and then some of the third week, too, but eventually that pervasive vigilance starts to wane in the absence of any actual threat, and there’s nothing he can do to maintain it– it’s instinctive, that response, and while he can force himself to go through the motions, the checking and the watching and the knives stashed in places, he can’t bring that feeling back.

She’s never there. He looks, at night, lingers for a while and paces aimlessly after he’s tossed in the trash and his cigarette has gone out, sometimes even lights a second one and stays out even longer, leaned back against the brick and waiting, still, silent, like maybe if he goes long enough without moving at all she’d just reappear out of thin air, like a magic trick.

That doesn’t happen, because of course it doesn’t.

Eventually he starts to run short on the drive for that, too. Humans, it’s just how they are– get nothing for long enough and they’ll start to lose interest in trying. Bucky used to be above those kinds of things, or beyond them, or something like that; he could maintain single-minded focus on something for months, years, when it was necessary.

Bucky misses that, too, sometimes. But he’s human now, or some approximation of it, and so eventually he stops looking so hard. Just glances over at the spot where she’d been standing, tosses the trash in, finishes his cigarette, heads back inside. He sometimes tries to find her in the daytime, in the people he passes on the street, in the dark figures at the bar when he goes out with Yori, cataloging the stature and posture and the shapes of strangers, the way a girl holds her shoulders in line at the grocery store or how the bartender will sometimes stay leaned against the counter for a long while, perfectly still.

But he never sees her. Not once. He’d know, he thinks, if he did; he might not have seen her face, or really anything beyond her silhouette, but there was something eerily familiar and immediately distinctive about the way that she held herself, how she stood, how she moved. The pieces of that he sees reflected in other people are never enough to trigger that same automatic, visceral feeling of recognition.

That vigilance– it just keeps fading.

He starts to sleep in larger and larger chunks, unbroken, and the nightmares come back.

“How are you doing, James?”

“I’m doing good, Doc, how about you.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He’s tired and his jaw hurts and his teeth feel weird in his mouth, loose and sore and wrong– he’s probably been grinding them in his sleep again. The thought aggravates him, the idea that his body does things now that he can’t control.

“Bullshit,” she says, and he tightens his grip on the armrest of the chair, a reflex, until he can feel the wood give a little under his fingers, like it might splinter into pieces in his hand.

“Yeah, y’know what, I have a headache,” he says, mulish and stubborn and not in the fucking mood.

Doc just stares at him, lets the silence stretch and stretch and stretch– in the beginning, when she would do this shit, he’d just stare right back and say nothing for the entire forty-five minutes. Learned real quickly that just makes things worse, because she started making him come in twice a week. He’s down to twice a month, now, and would really like to keep it that way–ideally would like to make it less, even, if possible.

Bucky sighs and he shifts in the chair and he runs his tongue over his teeth and gives up on attempting to tamp down the irritation that he knows he wasn’t doing all that great a job at disguising to begin with. He thinks about what to say, and it’s like threading a needle, kind of, trying to find that sweet spot, something that sounds like honesty without feeling like he’s being fucking– violated.

He ends up telling her about how he’d went and made a nighttime routine and that’d stopped the nightmares. He does not tell her that the routine involved checking the locks on all the windows and scuffing the hinges on the door enough to make sure it would creak if anybody opened it more than halfway, taping knives under the end table in the living room and on the inside of the door to the coat closet in the hall.

She looks– suspicious. Uncertain. Like she doesn’t trust him, but isn’t quite decided on whether or not he’s lying.

Bucky smiles, again.

She relaxes, just a little.

He’s been practicing– how to do it and make sure it reaches his eyes.

It’s that same night that it happens again. He’s tired and still irritated and his jaw hurts, this tense, throbbing pain that comes and goes in waves and just pisses him off more, and he’s thinking about how much he fucking hates therapy and how ridiculous it is that anyone in the world would pay money for that, to be examined like a bug under a microscope, vivisected and picked apart until there’s nothing left.

All it’s doing is making him a more convincing liar, he thinks, bitter and sour and mean.

Bucky stops in the alleyway to have a cigarette before going inside, because he’s pissy and wants one. He does that cursory once-over of the spot behind the dumpster and there’s nothing, which is expected, and so he leans back against the soot-stained brick and shoves one hand in the pocket of his jacket and sighs and tries to just– not want to commit murder.

He notices it by chance.

From here, he can see his own bedroom window, four stories up, the drapes shuttered. It’s like six at night, but it’s April, so it’s not pitch-black, the sky that sort of soft blue-purple color with the sun obscured behind the endless sprawl of buildings. It’s still bright enough for him to be able to see the shadows of the folds in the curtains. Bright enough for him to see them move.

It’s not a lot, just a slight shift of the fabric, the shadows rippling like the air had changed inside the room– it could have been a trick of the light, he reasons, he could be overstressed and underslept and kind of loopy off all of the half-second buzz he gets from the nicotine, seeing things. It could be the stupid fucking window, the fact that he knows the seal around the edges needs to be repaired; it had been drafty as hell all winter. It could just be that the radiator had happened to switch on at that exact moment, sent a rush of heat spilling up to the ceiling that swayed the drapes just enough to make him think that there’d been– something.

Those are all perfectly viable explanations. None of them settle his pulse.

He thinks he can probably feel his senses heighten, like everything in his field of vision sliding into better focus, or maybe his awareness of them just amplified; same with his hearing, the din of constant city noise sorting out into isolated and individual sounds that he filters through as he stalks the length of the lobby hallway, takes the stairs two at a time, silent and barely breathing.

When he gets to his floor he stops on the landing. Listens. There’s the muffled noise of traffic outside, a horn going off that sparks two others in quick succession, all from different cars; the couple three doors down from his whose argument is devolving into yelling at each other, again, their voices overlapping and rising in volume; the echo of scattered, tinny applause from what’s probably a TV on in an apartment upstairs.

And then there’s this soft, unassuming thump that comes from his apartment; nonspecific, maybe just the building settling as the temperature drops, but Bucky still stops breathing entirely and holds himself very, very still and waits–

But there’s nothing else. Nothing important.

He tells himself sternly not to get his hopes up, and then realizes a half-second later that he’s not even sure what that means– if he’s hoping that there will be something or hoping that there won’t be.

His doormat is crooked. Just a little, one of the corners closest to the hallway folded over, kicked up, something that could have just happened by accident, a misstep from someone else living in the building, but–

That’s way too many fucking coincidences.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, enough to slip through and into the foyer but not quite far enough for the hinges to scrape against one another in the places where he’d scratched divots into them. The lights are off in the apartment, his living room and the adjoining kitchen shrouded in that late twilight shade of purplish-black; he sees a solid shadow in the corner by the fridge and something inside of him lights up and comes alive and floods his entire nervous system with this immediate shock of energy and it’s like everything just sharpens, his awareness of the world around him, like everything had been fuzzy and gray and muted before and now it’s not, the shadows are darker and richer and the colors are brighter and he stops feeling like he’s watching the world slip past him in this monotonous and unending blur.

She doesn’t hear him until he’s almost all the way across the living room, and even when she turns he just raises his arms up, a gesture he hopes comes off as nonthreatening.

She doesn’t move.

Bucky steps into the kitchen— it’s an open floor plan, so, honestly, there isn’t really a strict dividing line— and realizes his mistake as soon as he gets his palms flat on the counter. He’d meant to close the distance and show her that he’s not going to hurt her, keep his hands open and within her line of sight, but he’d miscalculated by a fucking large margin. There’s nowhere for her to go, he’d trapped her in the corner, not even on purpose; the door and the window in the bedroom are her only exits, and he’d situated himself directly in between both of them.

The last time, she’d ran, when he’d tried to get close.

Belatedly, it occurs to him as he watches the stiffening line of her posture that if she can’t run, she’s probably going to–

She lunges for him and swings at his head and he sidesteps it, moving down further along the long side of the dividing counter. He’s not even between her and the door anymore, but it doesn’t matter, she just keeps moving towards him, and her face, when he sees it– her expression– her eyes, that violent and single-minded focus, the strange serenity to them, like her mind is blank and her head is empty except for the way that she’s tracking him, the steady steps that he keeps taking back, and back, and back–

“Listen,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt–”

She lashes out at him mid-sentence and he jerks back and hits the wall in the adjoining hallway; he’s operating mostly on an old and familiar instinct so he twists to the side when she tries to hit him again before he can think twice about it, realizes only afterwards that he’d been standing in front of a support beam and he should have just let her hit him, it’s not like she could hurt him, and she’s going to break her fucking hand–

She hits the two-by-four dead-on and he expects to hear the solid awful crunch of the bones in her knuckles or her wrist, but what he actually hears instead is the drywall crack as an impact crater erupts out from under her fist and the plaster crumble like wet sand and the two-by-four fucking snap, bow in on itself and splinter into jagged shards like a tree hit dead-on by a car veering off a highway.

“Oh, shit ,” he says, aloud, and suddenly a lot of that instinctive and unthinking recognition starts to make a lot of fucking sense. “You’re–”

She swings for his head again and he ducks and lurches backwards and catches her next attempt with the metal arm– he deflects it harmlessly to the side, but the angle is strange and he ends up absorbing a lot of the momentum and the force of the blow jars all the way up to his shoulder, and, holy fuck, yeah, she’s exactly what he thought, she has to be–

“Will you– just– stop,” he tells her, or tries to. She’s gotten close again and the sentence is cut off when she goes for his sternum with her elbow and he barely manages to move back, a few milliseconds from having the wind knocked clean out of him, and then a second time as she steps in to knee him in the ribs and he’s force to twist to one side at some strange angle that nearly has him off-balance. She’s fucking fast, Jesus Christ; he catches her arm when she swings at him again, grabs her wrist with his hand and presses the metal one out flat to the inside of her bicep and tries to force her backwards into the wall, but she steps in and closer to him before he can gather the momentum and this time she throws her elbow towards his fucking face–

Bucky makes the split-second decision to just let go and try to put some fucking distance between them, retreating back into the kitchen.

He doesn’t want to hurt her, not if he can help it, not with how she looks right now as she advances on him— there’s something in her eyes that he doesn’t just recognize, something that he knows, it’s like looking into a fucking mirror if mirrors could be fucking portals into the past, or something.

“Stop,” he says, again; they’re following each other around the long counter in his kitchen, now, her eyes fixed on his with this startling precision, staring him down like a cornered animal. And, god, he fucking gets that, if only she’d just–

She seems to realize after a few seconds that they’re just circling, because she leverages herself up on the counter and slides across it and nearly breaks his nose with her heel.

He catches her next punch dead-on and the look of blank fucking shock on her face is satisfying in ways that he knows, rationally, shouldn’t be.

“Listen to me,” he says, and she doesn’t, predictably, but when she steps in to try to hit him and maneuver out of his grip like the last time he just uses her own momentum to get her turned around and pinned flat down to the counter with both of her arms twisted behind her back, held together with one of his hands, applying enough pressure to keep her there without tearing ligaments. She thrashes, violently, catches him with her feet a couple of times in the shins, but he’s running on adrenaline and the pain doesn’t even really register as pain at all, the way it used to, like it’s all just sensation, no more important than temperature or hunger or pressure or time.

“Listen,” Bucky says, again, trying to keep his voice nonthreatening but not sure how well he manages that, “Listen, alright, I don’t want to hurt you, just relax.“

The thing about the stupid counter in his kitchen is that it’s not really at waist height, even for him, which means when he’d forced her down onto it she wasn’t bent over at an angle deep enough for him to have the leverage to keep her there for long. The ideal position would be anything more than ninety degrees, an angle that would have someone stuck and unable to straighten against the pressure without the use of their arms; the thing about that stupid fucking counter being so high up and her being shorter than him by a meaningful margin is that the edge of it doesn’t even come close to hitting her waist and the angle he’s holding her at is incredibly fucking shallow. It wouldn’t be that hard, if she were to realize all of that, for her to drop her weight down and press into the counter with her knees to force him backwards; it wouldn’t even have to be far, there's a lip jutting out from the top that she's bent over, so there’s space between her and the side of it already. She’d only need enough room to brace her feet and push-- the legs are the strongest muscle group in the human body, and the impact when he hits whatever’s behind him would be more than enough to force his grip to loosen.

Bucky had been aware of all that, is the thing. Obviously. He’s a professional.

He just thought it might have taken her a little longer to figure it out.

His back hits the fridge hard enough that it rattles all of the contents inside and forces the air out of his lungs with a pained and entirely involuntary groan and though he tries real fucking hard to keep ahold of her, he loses track of one of her arms.

She starts to turn against his grip on the other and from that look on her face he knows— intimately, personally, from fucking experience— what will happen next. Either she will keep going, keep twisting until she can hit him hard enough to escape and tear the tendon in her arm in the process, or—

Bucky lets go.

She scrambles back and away from him. He stays perfectly still, not moving his hand from where it’s still half-outstretched and open.

She only looks at him for what’s probably less than a second before she makes for the door, but it feels like so much longer. That kind of glassy, thoughtless fog breaks, when she does, and her eyes widen a fraction and something glints inside them, fragile and expressive and aware.

It’s just that one second, and then she’s gone, the door to his apartment ajar and swaying farther open, pushed by the air that had moved when she’d slipped past it.

Bucky releases the breath he’d been holding, and slumps back against the fridge.

That night he does a bug sweep for the first time in what feels like forever. There aren’t any, which is almost halfway to a surprise; he checks again for anything left behind, and again, more carefully, for anything out of place, but finds nothing.

Later, laying on his mattress and staring up into the dark, he thinks about calling Sam. He still doesn’t know anything about her, who she is or who she works for or what she wants, from him and then just in general; she’s had some kind of serum, and she moved like she’d been trained— like she’d been conditioned, how she hadn’t even hesitated at the thought of causing herself some pretty fucking significant damage to escape, the same way an animal in a trap gnaws off its' own leg.

That’s a lot of fucking glaring red flags, and she’d broken into his apartment.

He should definitely tell Sam. Or anyone, really.

The thing is, though—

He’d recognized something in her, the very first time. If he was going to tell anyone, he would have done it then.

No, this is— it’s fine. He can handle this himself, Bucky decides, and then closes his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep for long, but he doesn’t have any nightmares.

#bucky barnes x reader #fic; blunt force trauma #yes im finally uploading this. a month after it went on ao3. because I hate formatting on tumblr dot com

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creepypastasomethingsomething · 1 year

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Could you write some x fem!reader with nurse Ann? Just little headcannons or (even better) your interpretation of her

I like her as a character and I'm quite curious to see your version of her :D

That sounds good 👍 I'll do both

Also, sorry it took so long to do this

Nurse Ann x Fem! Reader Headcanons

TW: mentions of Death and murder

Okay, let's first start off with my interpretation of Nurse Ann

I see Ann rather quiet and reserved, and pretty observant (with her surroundings and with people around her)

She keeps to herself most of the time and has trust issues (I mean, after what she went through, who wouldn't?), and only really trusts Jane, Dr. Smiley, E.J, Hobo Heart, and Liu

It did take some time for to warm up to the four guys since she didn't really like men ever since she came back to life

When she does speak, usually to scold E.J or Dr. Smiley for whatever reasons, her voice is a bit raspy

Jeff has a habit of making fun of her voice, which is pretty hypocritical of him since he sounds like he smokes several packs a day

He always regrets making fun of her after getting his ass kicked and getting chased around the forest by an angry undead nurse with a chainsaw

Doesn't stop him from doing it again, though

Since Ann is like Frankenstein's creature, being made out of different body parts and other people's skin, her limbs sometimes come loose or just full on come off

Everytime this happens, which isn't often, but isn't rare, she has to carefully sew her body back together and make not one mistake

Sometimes Liu has to get involved because he's pretty good with sewing

Ann takes really good care of her chainsaw

She cleans it from blood everytime she uses it and keeps it enclosed in a case when she's not using it to keep it safe

If anyone dares to touch the glass, Ann might have kneecaps to breaks and hands to cut off

When Ann's killing, she's usually quick with the death and saves the body for E.J so he can save the body's organs

Though there are times when, depending on the person, she's extremely brutal with them and gives them a slow and painful death

Most of her victims are men, but that doesn't mean women are safe from her rage

Whenever any of the Creeps who reside in the forest gets hurt or sick, Ann is usually where they go to so they can get fixed up

Though it is pretty hard to convince her to patch them up, especially if she hates that person *cough* Jeff *cough*

Giving her new sewing supplies to sew herself back together usually works, but not all the time

And this is mostly an idea, but I really like the thought of her wearing a vintage nurses outfit

Like from the 40s-60s

It would still be black and red like her canonical outfit she's always seen in

I also like the idea of her keeping her hair up when killing

Alright, now onto the X reader headcanons

Because Ann has trust issues, she's not close to a lot of people, and has never once dated after being brought back from the dead

But you must have done something, other than being a woman, to gain a lot of her trust if the two of you are dating

Maybe you're a human who somehow weaseled yourself into her heart by somehow surviving the forest, and somehow didn't die from her chainsaw

If that's the case, Ann protects you greatly from the dangers of the forest

She makes sure to let everyone know that if they hurt you in any way shape or form, she can and will kill them

Ann berates Smiley, E.J and Jeff the most and threatens to chop them into bits if they do anything stupid around you

She doesn't trust E.J or Dr. Smiley around you alone, because doesn't trust them to not try and eat your kidneys, and do some weird and messed up experiments on you

E.J isn't to scared since he's literally some sort of weird demon creature who could probably kill Ann, but he is just a tad bit scared if her

Ann probably makes some sort of deal with the Slender Man and his workers to make sure he doesn't get you

The Slender Man prefers kids for meals, but there's still a chance of him wanting you dead and sendng his proxies out to kill you

If you're some sort of other non-human or other-worldy creature, she'll be less protective of you, but that doesn't matter

She'll treat you practically the same as if you were a human, but less worried

Ann isn't a very touchy or words person, but wants to let you know she loves you

She gives little notes and affirmations of kindness and love to you, and probably gifts you wildflowers

You might get a small and quick hug or headpat when she feels more comfortable around you

Or even better, a small kiss

She will hold your hand the most though

If you love her back, you should probably give her compliments and let her know she's beautiful inside and out

Ever since dying, Ann hasn't really felt all that pretty anymore since she's know literally made out of other people's skin and limbs

Telling her she's pretty will boost her confidence

And she'll give you compliments back

The two of you, for fun, will, most likely than not, make flower crowns and sew different articles of clothing for eachother

You'll also read in silence together when nothing is happening

If you get sick or hurt in anyway, she's there for you to make sure you get better

Overall, Ann is a good lover who'll protect you no matter what, and make sure your safe from any monsters in the forest, and she'll show her love for you in small and sweet ways

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #x reader #nurse ann x reader #nurse ann #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #eyeless jack #dr. smiley #headcanons #relationship headcanons

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dc-polls · 10 months

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"That Really Happened?!" DC Comics Tournament Entry #14

Domestic Abuse Ghost Possession

[ID: Two page comic spread of a giant Sinestro head smiling with tongue wrapped around Green Lantern John Stewart's leg. Figures below pose in anguish and dark buildings appear in the background. John yells, "You're dead, Sinestro!" To which Sinestro replies, "Not any more!" /END ID]

What Happened?

Jesus. Okay. SO green lantern: mosaic is already a really weird comic. The creator (who we don't talk abt and also was in prison until a couple of years ago) literally said (paraphrase) "Mosaic is the book I write when I get confused writing my other books". Like bro. Anyways it follows John Stewart (Green Lantern) as he tries to establish a peaceful society between a bunch of species (humans included) taken from their homeworlds and forced to coexist on this plant. Standard comic plot. NORMAL, even. Or so you'd think.

It's revealed that John is being possessed a times (blacking out) by the ghost of Old Timer, an evil Guardian (so like a smurf looking alien) who brought all the people to the mosaic in the first place. Plot-wise this still makes sense, GL: Mosaic is a spin off and this whole plot was kind of established in the main comic. It makes sense.

AND THEN YOU GET ISSUE NO. 3. John is inexplicably in a relationship with this woman Rose. This happens completely off panel and without explanation (although they did have some chemistry in the main GL title, it was a very complicated dynamic and there was even a joke about them NOT being in a relationship) [the joke was that rose's town was super scandalized bc they thought she was dating John (because aaaaghhhhh interracial relationship or whatever [this is like 1992] and shes from rural West Virgina and was all like no guys its not LIKE that (but like it actually wasnt)) so idk that was a thing that happened

But ANYWAYS in Mosaic #3 John and Rose are dating for some reason???? And then he picks her up and flies up and then drops her and laughs as she screams and falls. He also kicks her around and like beats her up in front of her son while she pleads with him to stop. So VERY much domestic abuse 👍love some absolutely insane fucking mischaracterization what the actual hell. Also he keeps using weird nicknames like calling her Rosie and himself Johhny or Daddy while possessed(?) SO I don't fucking know what that was the fuck

Anyways it's then revealed that this behavior was because of the GHOST! who could have thunk? However instead of the ghost CANONICALLY inside his head that was literally possessing him THE ISSUE BEFORE, turns out it was SINESTRO'S GHOST! how the fuck did he get in johns head you may ask? I could not tell you! He's just there! At this point I'm wondering what the actual fuck is going on and also how many ghosts are possessing John Stewart. Like HONESTLY. I've either entirely lost the plot by now or am just in shock over what is happening. Likely both.

Anyways John goes in his brain to fight the Sinestro ghost (who like ties him up with his tongue and calls him boy (and Sinestro daddy this time) and all sorts of insanely weird awful stuff) And then his girlfriend (who he ISNT DATING) forgives him because "it was the ghost". Absolutely incomprehensible arc. This happened in ONE ISSUE of this comic. The first ghost is not mentioned at all during this story

Also the worst thing abt this whole ordeal is that this is a spin off of an arc in the main GL title which was actually REALLY FUCKING GOOD. like it was great, I loved it. And yet somehow the author (may he die gruesomely) managed to forget what HE HIMSELF WROTE and all knowledge of characterization and turn his hero into a horribly mischaracterized domestic abuser in a plot thay makes no sense.also there was def some racist wack ass shit going on with this fr. The whole comic is honestly an ego trip for the writer it makes no fucking sense and every letter page is just two pages of him talking directly to the readers and telling them how smart he is. This is issue 3 and is as far as i got. Listen to me and do not read this comic

Tournament polls will be posted after all entries are up. As always you can find all posts related to the tournament using #dc-polls-trh

#dc-polls-trh #dc comics #green lantern #john stewart #sinestro

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iceclew · 4 months

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Guys - Chapter 108 is out.

and I think I'm not OK. (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

(ok, a day later, and I think I might can cope with it..)

SPOILERY AHEAD HERE

First and fucking foremost of all, the canon kafhoshi, like the feel trains I get from them guys.... Dadka been carrying for everybody, giving it all,and WHO, I ask, has been carrying for HIM this whole time? NO, sir, NOT our badass girl Mina (still awesome and wholesome and I get to that in a second, wait a bit) Everybody like - you go Kaiju No8, kick ass and save our day, except for blueberry-head v-cpt. Hoshina there is. I... H e f u c k i n g t r a c k e d t h e t i m e, I'm sorry??

Btw, always love the sidekick appearance, like, you can tell by now, if there is Okonogi commentary, it's most likely the introduction of Hoshina screentime, which I love by the way, they're a package, she's his Robin, he's batman, OK?

But he's like so worried he won't be back to human again..? And as far as you can tell by the swoosh swoosh background, rushing to their site to help or smth? ( ༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ )

Another smth I realised: I skipped through the last chapters again - since he saves Mina, everybody adresses him as Kaiju No 8. (or gramps, that is the little fangirl of his, and my god she's cute) E x c e p t t h a t i s Hoshina. He's the only one calling him Kafka this whole time. I don't know it fits tho fcking well. Hoshina was always making it his No.1 prio to get his man back alive and human, since they found out his Kaiju.

Well now back to the non-shipper-simping of mine. I love that Mina is shown more often lately. She seemed very distant to the rest of the squads chemistry and interactions. This would feel so great as her basic introduction of - you're one of ours now, and now we can be mutual friends again. Her Char needed that honestly. Personally I think she was like not very approachable for the reader..

Uhm HELLO, is it just my anxiety, or is this series like showing hints of ... uhm.. getting finished? Like wtf? Big MinaKafka moment there, and i loved it but..but... there's so much I want to know.. so much, i need to see? Haven't seen my bebes Kikoru and Reno kicking shit for a while, also like - hello, let me see the others special weapons again please? More plot, please D: no ends here ok? - I'm holding on to the fact, it's her standing beside HIM, next to his Kaiju-Form, which is like, passing the first level boss, or smth. But his ultimate goal was HIM being next to her in human form, aight? I would feel incomplete if this was it, so I hope it's just random anxiety kicking in with me... But the villian's plot is like..quite over, and I don't think the mangaka would yet again go with *and then the bad bois got away* ...

Hmm... well.... I see the pain, people have with this, if they followed the series right from start.. waiting TBC is hard.. (´-ι_-｀)

#manga spoilers #omg the feels #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #i can't comprehent yet

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magicalqueennightmare · 1 year

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Sins & Amends Chapter 36

(Gif by @ banditthewriter)

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: In the aftermath of a bomb and a mad man setting his sights on Karen you scramble to keep up[mention of bombing, carnage]

You'd seen so much in your line of work. Babies being born, people dying. Hell you'd seen the body of the woman who had very well saved your life by getting her parents to take you in when you were both kids lying in a coffin next to her kids who were your world.

You never imagined the carnage that a bomb wreaked. Curtis had told you stories. He'd lost his leg in a bomb. The reality of rushing from victim to victim, saving who you could and being forced to walk away from those you knew you were too far gone. Bombs had went off at the ATF field office, the 10th precinct of NYPD and the courthouse. You and Alice had been working for hours on end responding to call after call.

When you made it back to the station house you were basically forcing your feet to move. You felt shaken and wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the asshole responsible yourself. You felt your phone vibrate and realized you hadn't bothered checking it. You pulled it out your pocket and grimaced when you saw all the missed calls and texts. Alice saw you and nodded "Yeah I gotta go call Kenzie"

You pulled your jacket further around you and stepped back outside. The last missed call was from Matt so you hit his number first. "Y/N! Thank god" you half smiled at hearing his voice.

"I'm good Matt. It's horrible out there but my job is running in after the fact" you heard Foggy's voice in the background "is that Y/N? Is she ok?" A full smile slipped onto your face when you heard Foggy "Tell Foggy I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you two. It's just been one call after another, ya know?"

"I know. It's just a relief to hear your voice. I know you've probably got other calls to return like Karen who's called us asking if we've heard from you. Y/N just because we aren't sleeping together anymore doesn't mean I don't care about you" before you could respond you heard Foggy holler "Jesus I don't need that mental image! And I still love her more than you do!" You laughed and said "I love you both ok? I gotta go" "Bye Y/N"

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

After returning Karen, Curtis' and Mrs Johnson's calls you hit the number you'd saved under the name of one of your friends from college and waited until Frank answered "Y/N are you ok?" "Yea. I'm good. Been working my ass off but I'm ok" you could hear the relief in his voice and mentally kicked yourself, of course his mind would go to the darkest place first. He let out a breath then said "Good to hear. Keep in contact ya hear?" "Yes sir" you said with a smile then he hung up so you knew he was satisfied you were still alive and in one piece.

You scrolled back to the last missed call and almost didn't click it when you realized who's number it was but hit it anyways. It rang twice before he answered "I'm almost surprised you called me back"

You rolled your eyes and headed back into the bays "What do you want Billy? Shouldn't you be checking on Dinah in this aftermath?" "Oh she's home. Her partner was nearly killed and is in a coma, the rest of her team wasn't so lucky so she's taken some time off" his words were so simple but it still twisted that knife a little further and you started to wonder if Matt would be up for a night just to get your mind off images of Billy and Dinah but that would fuck up your friendship with Matt.

"I know. I responded to the nine one one call. Still doesn't answer why the hell you're calling me. You made it clear a long time ago I'm no concern to you. I'm not with our mutual friend at the moment. I'm working to clean up behind the psychopath bombing our city" you pressed the palm of your hand against your eyes trying to rub away some of the tension there that had been building all day and now was trying to accumulate from this unwanted call.

"Maybe because when the news of the bombs hit the first thought I had was first responders would be right in the cross hairs of this asshole. I don't care how bad you hate me I still had to make sure you're alive to do so" the phone went dead in your hand and you weren't surprised that he'd hung up. You refused to play into whatever angle he was getting at by calling you. It had to be an angle you refused to think even a small part of him may still care about you.

You didn't have a lot of time to debate with yourself because another call rang out.

You were off and just hanging around your apartment. You were dead on your feet and was headed back in the following day for back to back shifts.

You had your radio playing for background noise and nearly jumped over the back of your couch to turn up the volume when you heard Ricky Langtry announce that his guests were Senator Ori who you personally couldn't stand and Karen. She'd gotten a letter from the bomber and her responding editorial you knew had probably damn near given Frank a coronary because it'd worried the hell out of you.

Ricky went through introductions before saying "Karen your response of a rather pissy editorial calling the guy a terrorist leaves little doubt but do you have any sympathy for this guy?" You scoffed before Karen quickly answered "No. None at all"

You sat through listening to Ori try to use the bombings as a reason to take any guns away from citizens and rolled your eyes. A laugh fell from your lips when he said "Miss Page, wouldn't you say in this day and age there's no need for an ordinary citizen to carry a gun?" God was this guy barking up the wrong tree. Karen's sigh was audible even through the radio. "Have you ever been scared, Senator? Genuinely afraid for your life? In a situation where a gun and the willingness to use it might mean the difference between life and death?"

You could feel yourself bristle up and could just imagine the look on Karen's face when Ori said "Guns are a toxin on this society. In the wrong hands they wreak terrible results. It's only a little over a year since this city was terrorized by the punisher" like what Frank did was anywhere near the senseless carnage you'd seen in the aftermath of the bombs. "That's hardly the same thing! Frank Castle killed murderers and drugs dealers" You smiled at her defending Frank so adamantly.

Ori scoffed "But where's the line Karen? Frank Castle decided he knew better than the law and was tried for killing thirty seven people" You wanted to call Ori up and say that was thirty seven that was known about but knew better than to do that. Karen's only response was "Frank Castle isn't a terrorist" and you could practically see her jaw tensing with her words.

Ricky cut in to say "Frank Castle was a hero to many that saw he was doing what the cops failed to do" yeah you knew you listened to his show for some reason. The radio cut out for a few seconds then when it came back Ricky said "Ok New York. We have a caller on the line who says he's the bomber" a beat passed and then he said "Can I get a name?"

An eerily familiar voice responded "My name isn't important. Only my actions" where did you know that voice?

Ricky took a breath "Ok you're talking to New York" the bomber asked "Why'd you say those things about me Karen?" You closed your eyes praying for once she may decide to back down but her response was "Because I despise everything you've done" Christ she needed to ease up. The bomber went on a rant saying "This country is being cannibalized by people like Ori. Shipping our jobs overseas, selling us out then taking our guns so we can't do anything about it"

Karen laughed humorlessly "You're such a coward. Those people you killed? They weren't making policy. They were secretaries and janitors and beat cops. Ordinary people. How does that help your cause? Maybe the government did something awful to you. I don't know your story but awful things happen to people every day and they don't murder people because of it!" The bombers response was "You're just a pawn, like the rest of them and Senator Ori. What a joke. You don't represent anyone but yourself. The war is just beginning and you're all on the wrong side. Sic Semper Tyrannis" that's when it clicked.

Ricky called the show and you knew since the FBI was handling this case they would no doubt get Karen back to the bulletin and have it surrounded so you hit the number for Frank. The moment he answered you said "His name is Lewis Wilson. He drives a cab and he's twenty six" "I'll get David to find his ass" you could feel your hands shaking with the images of the bombings victims and the mere thought of that happening to Karen "Don't let him hurt her Frank" "We're not losing her sweetheart. Watch your back ok?" "Ok. Call me"

The line went dead in your hand so you grabbed your jacket then slipped shoes on. You slid your purse over your shoulder and double checked the contents. Your plan was to head to the bulletin.

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

The moment you walked into the door an agent stopped you. "ID ma'am?" "She practically works here. I'll vouch for her" Ellison told the agent so he let you pass. You grinned at Ellison "Second thought, I'm gonna need an ID" he rolled his eyes "She's in her office. She's shook up but safe"

You walked into Karen's office and she glanced up when she saw you "Y/N" you cut your eyes at the agent in the room with her so she asked if you and her could have some privacy.

Once he walked out she shut the door "He's pissed..i think he's going after the guy" you didn't want to lie to her so you simply nodded. Bad news for you was Karen already had picked up most of your facial expressions and their meaning "Do you know who it is?" You shrugged "Maybe? But Karen I agree with him. This guy needs to be put down" "Christ Y/N!" She sat down heavily on her desk and ran a hand across her face.

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

You were sitting on her desk looking over her shoulder at her notes when Ellison walked in. He looked a bit pissed so you got to your feet. He looked from Karen to you. "Tell me. Did you two know?" "Know what?" You asked and he clicked on the television in the corner of the room.

A news report was playing then cut into footage of Frank sliding across the hood of a patrol car. The headline read "THE PUNISHER ALIVE" your hand flew to your mouth in shock and so did Karen's.

"Shit" you gasped staring at the screen.

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

#au billy russo #billy russo x y/n #billy russo au #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #sins and amends masterlist

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mswhich · 11 months

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20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks to @whimsicalmeerkat for the tag! I think a lot of my mutuals have done this already so I'll just say to tag yourself if you want to do this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

52, but one is still unrevealed for an upcoming exchange.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

609,172

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Lots. My top fandom is Original Work (technically not a fandom! But I have twice as many works in it as in my next-most-populated fandom). Also very actively writing in Formula 1 RPF, and I have a WIP for 2001: a Space Odyssey. I also occasionally write in Teen Wolf, Taskmaster, and Harry Potter. (Used to be my main fandom, and I still have a few WIPs I dream of finishing someday.)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Unforced Error (Harry Potter, Snape/Hermione), 3529 kudos.

Forged in Flames (Harry Potter, Snape/Hermione), 3526 kudos.

No Secrets (Teen Wolf, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski), 2331 kudos. (I would fucking love it if this surpassed my HP works at some point, just putting that out there.)

Bondmate (Original Work, Alien with no concept of consent/His human neighbor), 1135 kudos.

The Frontier Spirit (Original Work, Ship AI/Lone Crew Member), 1041 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try. I'm not always great about hitting every single one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't know about angsty, but most horrifying ending is probably A Scream is a Wish Your Heart Makes, my I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream fic. If you're familiar with the canon, you can probably guess why the ending is bleak.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write a lot of happy endings, but the one that makes me personally turn into a cat with heart eyes emoji is probably Stripped as you are.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, surprisingly enough for an unapologetically problematic author! I think the worst I've had on AO3 was a bookmark comment that said one of my fics was mid.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. The smutty kind. No but seriously, my smut tends to be kinky and very explicit. (Is there non-explicit smut? I don't know, but if there is, I'm not writing it.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have not written a crossover, but I wouldn't rule it out in the future.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

More than once. Usually I notice because a friendly reader lets me know in the comments. A couple of times it's been on AO3, and AO3 took it down after the fic was reporter, and once it was on Wattpad, which also got taken down.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly, but I did a Teen Wolf Big Bang in which @midmorning-bomb did the art for my fic No Secrets (linked above), which was a fantastic collaboration.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Jeez, I don't know. I feel like I ship everything that moves. Honestly, maybe Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, just because it ticks so many boxes for me: power dynamics, smartass characters, age gap, angst, superpowers, etc.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have most of a whole-ass novel written about a post-War Ginny Weasley/Severus Snape fic. The premise is that she's sort of kicking around at loose ends at Grimmauld Place after the War is over, while Harry goes off doing Auror stuff and being a hero. Snape gets kicked out of Hogwarts for the summer for renovations and ends up having to move in as a boarder with Ginny. After some initial friction, they start talking to each other, and he realizes she's less vapid than he'd thought, and she realizes he's slightly less of an ass. There's also a mystery plot involving the moving portraits and a loose Death Eater, and part of it's set in Chicago. Literally 85% of it is written, and I just don't know if I'm ever going to finish it, partially because I've moved on from the fandom and partially because of the fandom's creator. So I don't know.

16. What are your writing strengths?

God, I don't know. You tell me. Kinky smut, maybe? I feel like I'm good at writing dialogue for some characters; less good at others.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Too repetitive within scenes; overuse of em dashes and other quirky punctuation; too reliant on what you might call "route 1" plotting.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Only very minimally, and preferably with lots of cognates so people can at least get the gist even if they don't speak it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. The first fic I ever wrote is actually the one with the 2nd-most kudos. (1st-most until very recently.)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Crown of Neon Lights, a Mafia story about an uncle and his orphaned niece.

#me

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komotionlessqueenmm · 1 year

Text

Incorrect The Boys quote (1.0)

Soldier Boy : Honey, Pumpkin, Sugarplum-

(Y/n) cuts him off : What did you do?

Soldier Boy : Why does something have to be wrong?

(Y/n) gives him a pointed look, making him cave.

Soldier Boy rubbing his neck nervously : I may or may not have destroyed your car.

(Y/n) fuming : YOU WHAT!?

(2.0 here)

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andvys · 2 years

Note

Chapter 15?!! I loved it the flirty banter over sex pls that was cute 😂 the talk with Wayne omg he’ll be like a second dad after her uncle dean 🥹 jealous reader?!! She’s adorable! Eddie is so fucking head over heels for her there’s no way he would ever look someone else’s way! The “ I love you …I love you so much” that made me feel so warm and Eddie about to say it back❤️🥺 Steve and Eddie’s mini argument lmao Steve and Eddie needa kiss already 🤪🤪 nah but I can’t wait for them to be buddies. Chrissy can gtfo. Eddie and reader were gonna fuck that night smh they were talking about it in the van and now it probably won’t happen cause of Chrissy🙄 (I’m not a Chrissy hater at all but in this specific story she really cock blocked didn’t she or actually it was Vecna 🙃) NO BUT WAIT what if Vecna’s in love with reader too (but like obviously at an adjusted age cause eww creep)😭😭 also question is Eddie gonna get blamed like in canon or are you going to take a slightly different route?? we should blame Seth lmao that reminds me can’t wait for Eddie to beat the shit out of Seth.

-💃🏻💅🏻

I'm glad you liked it 🥰 Yes! Wayne and her are gonna get along so well🥺

You're right! She has no reason to feel jealous or even insecure. Eddie loves her so much, even when he struggles to say it out loud! Like you said, he'd never look at anyone else the same way, he only wants her.

You want the Steddie kiss so bad huh 😏

Ugh Chrissy and Vecna teamed up and cockblocked them together.. No but you're right though, if she didn't go to his trailer than none of that would've happened and Eddie wouldn't have been dragged in into all of this... I mean, she couldn't have known that that would happen but I said what I said 🤭

LMAO VECNA BEING IN LOVE WITH READER? I MEAN.... the way he showed his human form in chapter eleven.... maybe he tried to make her fall for him....

To answer your question, I'm still playing with some ideas but so far I'm thinking, yes, he will be blamed but things are gonna go a bit differently than in the show!

Seth should get the blame lmao and he deserves his ass kicked 😭

#andy’s asks #💃🏻💅🏻 anon

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin. He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #winter solider fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #winter solider smut #definitely not canon #i refuse to believe steve went back in time for some 1940s kitty kat and left his best friend behind #tony and nat are alive bc they are the only truly valuable characters #sebastian stan #also youre the daughter of agent hill #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #winter soldier #wEiNeR sOlDiEr

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oviids · 4 years

Note

pls share some of your spn fic recs 🥺🥺

ok, a few things first:

followers and mutuals who do not have supernatural brainworms, kindly avert your eyes

i don’t normally rec or even read much fanfic any more but this is a CRISIS ok (cont.)

there is so. much. content for deancas out there and i have incredibly high standards, several ancient ao3 bookmarks, can speedread, and want to spare you guys the experience of wading through it all.

i also have a section for spn femslash since I was pretty into that back in the day (sadly a lot less fan content for this :/)

I don’t really like au’s or pure smut (I honestly usually just skim or skip those scenes) so if you’re mainly looking for that kind of thing this probably won’t be very helpful to you. jsyk.

i’m not great at describing stuff but i’ll do my best, i’ll also try and add tw’s when neccesary.

i wil try and keep updating this with any other decent fics i find, feel free to rec stuff too since i’m like 7 years behind.(edit 1/25/21) this is getting looooong so i’m going to start making another list on my spn blog rather than update this one

(edit 1/3/21) since this has gotten pretty long i’ve added rating/approximate word counts and marked my particular favorites with an asterisk.

Dean/Cas fic:

So Says The Sword*** - explicit/85k. FUCK its good...au/time travel where dean is not pulled out of hell by cas and says yes to becoming the michael sword. honestly could serve as an alternative to actually watching the show, if you want to get into dean/cas without actually doing that to yourself.

Fata morgana.* - teen/6k, pst s9 finale. very bela centric and i love it, she finds cas looking for dean in hell.

Redemption Road -misc/600+k. an incredibly long fic from a collaborative writing group back in the day. canon divergent from the end of s6 on, has a cool take on godstiel and the leviathans, as well as the lovecratian mythos connection. ngl when i reread it i only made it about 28% in but imo the casual reader can actually stop around there, the rest concerns a lovecraftian apocalypse that is still good (i think i don’t remember it very well) but not required to enjoy the first half. if you prefer i have an ebook version i can send you on gdrive.

Someone Who's Feeling For Me* - mature/45k, s12. they run into lisa braeden and dean thinks cas is into her while cas thinks dean still likes her. treats lisa way better than the show ever did and the miscommunication is pretty funny rather than annoying.

a turn of the earth - mature/95k. time travel fic where cas from s10 keeps showing up in deans life from a few years before s1 to right before the hellhounds take his soul. slow burn, good character study, and at one point cas punches the dad in the face and it rules.

On the Wings of War - teen/85k, canon divergent s5. dean accidentally becomes the Horseman of War. plays fun, fast and loose with biblical lore, michael has some rights.

Named - mature/95k, alternate s5. EXTREMELY blasphemous in a fun sexy way. manages to predict metatron almost to a T. there’s one major character death and its literally jesus christ, everyone is very sad about it and it sets the rest of the story rolling. an alternate interpretation of cas’ mission to raise dean from hell which had me on the floor. ngl its kind of misogynistic at points, but its from 2010 and tracks with late oughts-2010 spn (sorry anna the author did you dirty here:/).

The Girlfriend Experience - explicit/15k. uhhh i don’t normally rec or even read smutty stuff unless someone i know is specifically asking for it but this has stuff like sam trying to be a good ally and dean thinking holding hands with cas is ‘kinda gay :/’ minutes after having gay sex with him.

i crippled your heart a hundred times - explicit/19k, s8. cas confesses his feelings and dean spends a long time getting his head out of his ass about it. truly hits different after the actual confession, despite being written six years early it feels like its actually what could have gone down more or less if the writers weren’t talentless demons who hate us.

My Roots Take Flight** - mature/125k. reverse au where cas is a hunter and dean’s an angel...OR IS IT???? an alternate retelling of s4. tw for briefly being set in a psychiatric hospital/the hospital being mentioned somewhat frequently throughout the fic, plus more references to torture in hell and heaven than usual.

The One Thing You Can't Lose* - teen/4k.you know those posts about how cas is a super-strong super-tough ancient warrior but he just lets dean tug him around because he likes it? thats it thats the fic.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built - teen/14k, post s8′s ‘goodbye stranger.’ cas is on the run with the angel tablet but keeps in touch with sam and dean by text, he and dean still manage to be terrible at Actual communication.

Autrement, Danger - or, The Account of an Exceedingly Long Day - mature/30k, post s11. a monster that takes the appearance of your soulmate leads to some wild miscommunications and dealing with years of repression, also dean gets to see cas’ true form which is always cool. tw for non-graphic mentions of underage sexual assault/sex work.

Down to Agincourt - mature/explicit/900++++k, endverse continuation. endverse!cas survives his encounter with lucifer and discovers another time-displaced dean from s7. i’ve only read the two of four parts but its really good, veeeeery slow burn, has a lot of fun oc’s and takes a rather surprising but (imo) entertaining and intriguing turn into Hellenic history and mythology. usual tw’s for endverse/endverse!cas but nothing graphic, it’s actually pretty light-hearted (relatively speaking of course).

Nothing Equals the Splendor** - explicit/8k, THEE finale fix it fic you’ve been waiting for! posits that the entire final episode was just a (very bad and lame) djinn’s vision.

like moses and batman and james dean - explicit/31k, post s8. explores dean’s trauma and internalized homophoba from his technically canon experience with sex work and its impact on his relationship with cas. the sex work itself isn’t really shown in any detail but it’s still a relatively heavy fic.

Crazy Diamonds - explicit/25k, s4/alternate s14. fresh-out-of-hell dean and dean from 10 years in the future are displaced from time and sent to each other’s present.

where the weeds take root - explicit/30k. au where the men of letters kick them out of the bunker and they accidentally move out into the country, get over their codependence and semi retire. featuring chicken coop building, sam volunteering at a dog shelter, gardening, and blissfully mundane domesticity.

No Resting Place - teen/6k. djinn dream fic, switches back and forth between cas’ dream of being married to dean and retired from hunting to the aftermath when he wakes up. tw for brief mention of suicide since, y’know, djinn dream.

any port in a storm - mature/52k. post s8 finale. cas and dean have to pose as a couple going through a rough patch for a case and actually deal with their emotional baggage, cas struggles with being human and metatron is up to stuff.

all this and heaven too* - explicit/7k. in the author’s own words ‘...a love letter to every trans person who ever projected onto Dean Winchester.’ absolutely unzipped me emotionally and theologically, its just. so good. tw for very brief mentions of internalized transphobia/dysphoria.

Because it is* - mature/6k, finale fix it. killing chuck does not bring back anyone back and the winchesters spend a very long time dealing with what they’ve lost, cas and dean SOMEHOW still manage to have signifigant communication issues even after the confession. tw for suicidal thoughts/brief attempt.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit* - teen/4k, s6. when cas fell for dean it automatically soulbonded/angel married them, shenanigans ensue when dean finds out during the angel’s civil war. funny and actually written back when s6 was airing so cas is still (or at least pretending to be) kind of an OP asshole which is fun.

Rinse, Repeat - teen/3k, s8. angsty character study of cas as he’s reprogrammed and trained to kill dean. not really dean/cas since its just cas’ pov of canon events but its beautifully written and ends with him snapping out of it through the power of love (also now a canon event!).

Emergence - explicit/59k, canon divergent after s11. dean meets a hunter he only recognizes as their friend claire novak’s missing father, but soon realizes he might be the answer behind the mysterious void in his memories and feelings (aka everyone’s memories of cas are completely wiped away for three years).

Cuckoo And Nest - explicit/10k, early established relationship/character study, cas tries to figure out how he fits into dean’s life and space in the bunker.

Build a Home* - teen/20k, canon divergent s12. sam and eileen are cute and turn the bunker into men of letters/hunters hq and everyone but cas moves in, mutual miscommunication issues and pining ensues.

Down in the River - teen/5k, early s8, cas prays to dean in purgatory while sam and dean try to figure out a way to get him out.

Teaching Poetry to Fish* - mature/52k, ?? BC through the entire series/canon divergent s14 and 15. retelling of crucial scenes throughout the shows timeline from cas’ pov, feat. actual fish and poetry.

the minor fall, the major lift - gen/4k, post confession/finale fixit. dean goes into the empty to save cas and runs into several old friends (and enemies).

With the Kisses of His Mouth* - teen/3k, gen later seasons. dean and cas keep kissing by accident.

Remaining Grace - explicit/109k, alternate s6. au where cas asks dean for help with raphael and dean, of course, does. tw for temporary major character death/semi-graphic depictions of alcohol withdrawal.

The face of heaven.* - teen/10k, au, dean is a regular guy and cas is a fallen star (think ‘stardust’, kinda).

Stories Are Made of Mistakes* - teen/5k. newly human cas has trouble getting used to a human body and humanity in general, but still figures out that he and dean are A Thing before dean does.

Hurry Up And Wait - mature/21k, canon divergent s12. a fairyland and quite possibly LOTR related case comes up and dean goes full fanboy, mary is introduced to the wonders of the peter jackson adaptions, many references and comparisons (including between cas and dean’s ‘friendship’ and arwen/aragon). also charle is still alive and has just been doing fairy stuff this whole time.

There Are Many Things - explicit/28k, s9. cas is extremely lonely/touch-starved and trying to figure out this whole human thing, as well as where he and dean stand after being kicked out of the bunker.

It's A Long Life to Always Be Longing - teen/40k, post s11 finale. amara helps dean by putting him in a magical coma so he can finally get some much needed rest and show him possible futures for him, sam and cas. meanwhile sam and cas go on a roadtrip (or several) to find componets for a spell to wake dean up. really good sam and cas friendship, they actually talk about their shared lucifer trauma and stuff.

Non-Photo Blue - gen/2k, s4/5/alternate s5. fifty moments from cas’ memories of dean.

Tall Grass - explicit/57k, canon divergent post series. cas becomes the ultimate plant dad. feat the wayward sisters gang, cathartic character growth, fun oc’s, domesticity, and lots of actual botanical info-dumping.

on vessels - no rating/gen/2k. established dean/cas, cas tells dean about how he used to imagine what it would be like to have him as his vessel.

search for tomorrow on every shore* - teen/11k, post-finale (extremely derogatory). some angels in jack’s new heaven act out and dean gets temporarily resurrected in 2003 and runs into his younger self.

Architecture of the Minotaur’s Heart - explicit/45k, very canon divergent post s1. dean’s new house seems to have a life and mind of its own, while in his dreams he sees glimpses of a world and apocalypse that never came to be and an angel that looks strangely like his mysterious neighbor, cas. loosely inspired by the book house of leaves (which i highly recommend for fans of weird horror).

The Distance Of The Setting Sun - explicit/17k, post s5. established dean/cas relationship, team free will finally takes advantage of cas’ abilities to go on vacation around the world.

diamond star halo - teen/5k, s11. dean lets cas use him as a temporary vessel while he recovers from rowena’s spell, sam is a long-suffering third-wheel.

Make Known** - teen/16k, s6/7. dean struggles to understand how cas could have become his enemy and whether he ever truly knew him in the first place.

blunt little instrument* - mature/1.4k, post finale. dean finally confronts his father in heaven, very cathartic.

my heart a compass*** - teen/10k, post confession. the empty forces cas to re-experience his most regretted moments while dean tries to snap him out of it and bring him home.

A Crash Course in Someone Else's History - teen/11k, s6. cas from the very start of s4 is brought forward in time by s6!cas to distract the brothers from his and crowley’s plans.

The Cuckoo Father - mature/8k, s7 au. the woman who found cas in the river post-leviathans does not marry him bc he was sent to her by god or whatever, but actually identifies him as jimmy novak and sends him back to claire and amelia.

The Dead Dean Clause* - teen/5k, post alt s5 ending. team free will celebrates surviving taking down lucifer by getting blitzed, cas lies to a cop and gets an impromptu driving lesson. title/description sound dark i know but it’s actually very funny and light.

Suck It, Judy Garland - mature/20k, s12 (after the ‘i love you...i love all of you’ episode). cas and sam have to pretend to be a couple for a case and dean is NOT happy about it.

By Daylight and In Dream - teen/16k, s5. pre-dean/cas, dean invites cas to use his dreams to hide from the other angels. tw for very brief mention of a memory/dream of alastair sexually assaulting dean.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven - mature/22k, post-canon. an actually happy (if sometimes bittersweet) heaven endgame written several years ago, though some details are rather eerily similar to the show’s ending.

heaven is a place on earth* - teen/2k. dean’s pov of some of the times cas left him behind throughout the show, and one alternate ending where he finally gets to stay.

I Cleanse The Mirror - teen/20k, alternate s6. dean’s body is stolen by an ancient elemental and his soul has to hitch a ride in cas’ vessel.

an exploration of gender; angelic*** - mature/4k. *oscar isaac voice* lets get into angel gender politics!! aka cas is trans.

Zenith - explicit/33k, s9. after 9x06 an angry witch curses cas with the ability to see supernatural beings and human souls.

La cucina. - gen/3k, alt s9. dean goes wild helping a newly-human cas find out what kinds of food he likes, or the early s9 domesticity we deserved!

Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest***** - teen/7k, post-finale. john and mary finally come over for dinner and john reacts to dean/cas in a rather predictable fashion. SOOOOOOOOO good omg, its so funny and a little sad and very very cathartic. part of a series that has a few other really good short fics.

The Way You Didn't Go - teen/5k, s15. coda to 15.09, dean has nightmares about the moc!cas timeline.

On Drowning - teen/28k. dean saves cas after he nearly drowns, they both try and deal with the physical/mental fallout (aka the fic where thee iconic “you only touch me when you think I’m dead or dying” originates). tw for realistic depictions of drowning/triage/misc medical information.

The Thirty-Six Questions That Lead to Love* - mature/13k. claire has dean and cas pretend to be her gay dads for a case and they play the titular 36 question game, get mistaken for swingers, and birdwatch, among other things.

Assorted F/F stuff:

Deep Breaths* - mary/ellen, au where mary said no to azazel’s deal and let john stay dead, still becomes a milf.

Like Rebel Diamonds - krissy/claire, they become hunter gf’s on the hunt for cas to kick his ass for taking jimmy. not-so-stealth dean/cas as well.

To Ash and Bone - anna/ruby, same author as the previous fic (p much all of her stuff is good from what i recall). au where ruby is a witch and helps anna when she’s cursed.

Holy Clockwork Angels - jo/ruby, STEAMPUNK au with very cool worldbuiilding.

At Day's End - jo/anna (my fucking KINGDOM for more jo/anna content, the dean/cas parallels are allllll there), au where they are both at the camp in the endverse and gfs.

these posts - ok so not actually a fic but i’m now obsessed with this hannah/meg dynamic.

Tagelied - mary/ellen, the true story of how ellen got into hunting before angels interfered.

Hell's Bells** - meg/abaddon, alternate s8/9 where meg survives crowley’s attack with sam’s help and teams up with abaddon (who she has a sk year old crush on) to take back hell.

The Ecstasy of the Rose - anna/ruby, anna travels back in time to escape heaven and becomes a signifigant part of ruby’s old human life.

Angel Underground - anna/jo, kind of an urban fantasy au with a very intriguing premise (sadly its very short, i’d love to see more if this ‘verse).

Clover, Flame - billie/mary, billie was always the reaper that showed up to take mary after her death(s) over the years.

Drag Me To Heaven - anna/ruby, a variant on the ‘last night on earth’ thing with dean.

Come Home* - jo/anna, canon-divergent au where anna is the new waitress at the roadhouse and helps jo set up a (probably not really) haunted house for halloween.

#if you told me i'd be doing this in 2020 three weeks ago i'd have laughed in your face :/#deancas #supernatural #fic recs #spn femslash #destiel #fic #the alie tag #spn posting

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years

Text

Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet

CANON DIVERGENT.

Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin

CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)

How you two met:

You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.

Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.

You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.

You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.

You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.

So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.

However, they are cautious.

And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.

So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.

The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”

The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”

Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.

The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”

“Aro?”

“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.

Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.

Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.

You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”

The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.

Edward shuts up.

“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.

The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.

Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.

Aro is getting GIDDY.

“And who is the girl.” He asks.

You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”

------

-----

His First Impression:

Of course my mate swears like a sailor.

Is Aro’s first thought.

His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.

Ah there it is.

“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.

“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”

“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”

Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”

“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.

Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.

Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.

Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.

But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.

He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.

-----

When does he know of his feelings?

When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”

Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.

“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.

You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.

He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.

“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”

“And if I don’t.”

You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”

Aro’s done.

Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.

He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.

He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.

He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.

A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”

The brothers roll their eyes.

Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.

“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.

A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.

But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.

Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.

Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.

But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.

Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.

He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.

Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.

This was going to be fun.

——

How’d you end up with the Volturi?

Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.

“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.

Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”

You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.

“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.

Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”

“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.

That’s all they wrote.

You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.

Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”

Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”

Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”

Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.

Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.

See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.

Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.

Alec can utilize air.

With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.

Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.

Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.

Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”

She never did it again.

The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.

The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.

A perfect fit Aro thinks.

——

How’d he deal with his emotions?

You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.

Literally mad.

You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”

He wants to choke you half to death.

You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.

Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.

He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”

“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”

Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.

You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.

You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.

So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.

You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.

But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.

So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—

Guard died.

You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?

Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.

You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.

His only hang up was himself.

——

Who does he ask for help?

Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.

Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.

But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.

Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.

Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!

You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”

Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.

“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”

And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.

He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.

He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.

You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.

And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.

Esme had found you.

And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.

You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.

It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.

Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.

Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.

The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*

You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.

Truly safe.

——

What happens when he tells you?

Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.

So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.

And you’re flooded with his emotions.

The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”

He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.

This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.

——

First Kiss?

The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.

Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.

Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.

Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.

With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.

But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.

You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.

You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.

Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.

You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—

The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.

But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.

No one would ever take from you again.

And you had been frightened.

Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.

“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“

“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.

Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.

Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.

That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.

——

First Time?

It’s in an elevator.

Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.

Aro is so proud.

And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.

You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.

You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.

Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.

The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.

We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?

You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.

“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.

His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—

“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.

Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.

If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.

Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.

Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.

“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.

You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.

You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”

He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.

If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”

You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.

His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.

He literally has the tongue of the devil.

“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.

Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.

Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.

“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”

That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.

“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”

You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—

You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.

But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.

Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?

Forget it.

He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.

Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.

Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.

Plus let’s face it.

Bite = Love.

He and Caius are on one mind with that.

He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.

Which turns into a bath romp.

Because ahem *REASONS*

“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.

Okay he lies.

You looked too pretty in the bath.

Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.

——

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.

Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.

But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.

After a few moments it’s settled.

You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.

Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.

But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.

No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?

But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.

But aside from that it’s you.

Just You.

Just ALL of you.

He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.

———

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)

He is quite a posessive person.

Two Words:

Breeding Kink

You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.

The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.

Beg him for it.

Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.

He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.

He has no shame.

Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.

His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.

———

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.

HE GOT DOM ENERGY.

With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)

However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.

He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.

But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.

It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.

It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?

HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.

You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.

You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.

He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.

You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”

He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”

Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”

Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.

Queen Slay.

Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.

And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.

“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”

Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.

Worship Kink.

You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.

Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.

———

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.

When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.

He has none.

But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.

You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.

Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.

You have to beg if you want it.

You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”

Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.

His tongue is even better.

When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”

He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”

————

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you in his lap.

Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.

But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.

Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.

Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.

You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.

“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”

He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.

He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.

You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.

his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”

When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…

He didn’t exactly sound angry.

But he sure fucked you like he was though.

“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”

———

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very sincere.

Teasing but only in a very sexual way.

Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.

Very serious though when he focuses on you.

He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.

———

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s ARO.

The man is vain.

The man is neat.

Clean and pristine.

He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”

———

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.

He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.

Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.

Sightseeing.

Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.

Aro has penguin brain.

He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.

You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.

They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.

“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.

“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.

Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.

He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.

Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.

You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.

Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.

All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.

———

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he do that when he has you?

He is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he has pristine control over himself.

He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.

But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.

You’re such a good girl for him.

————

———

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aro is a kinky bastard.

MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.

Worship Kink.

Edging.

Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*

Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*

Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*

Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*

Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.

Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.

————

———

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.

Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.

He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.

But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.

He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.

You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.

———

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

“Master?” You bat your eyes at him

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.

The tone you use.

He knows. You want him. That’s it.

Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.

And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.

He will be so mad at you.

He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.

You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.

His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.

Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???

Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”

And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.

He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”

“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”

“that’s my girl.”

The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.

————

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation. No.

Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.

If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.

————

———

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.

His oral game is LEGIT.

Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.

Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.

You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.

Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.

Smug as Fuck.

Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.

Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.

Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.

He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“

But with you.

Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)

But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.

“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.

“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.

Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.

Work was forgotten.

Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.

Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”

You had hummed around him ecstatically.

The reward for this is always drool worthy.

Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.

————

———

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You both fuck rough.

But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.

Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.

It just depends on the situation.

Rough And Fast:

Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.

You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?

But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?

Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?

You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.

You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.

And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.

You try to forget often. You damn brat.

Slow and Sensual

However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.

Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.

Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.

“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”

“that’s an awful long time in bed.”

Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”

“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

———

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.

He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.

So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.

Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.

“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”

The others just inwardly roll their eyes.

Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.

Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”

You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”

You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.

He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.

He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….

Okay most of the time.

Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.

I wonder Why.

————

———

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.

But he’s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.

Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”

“No…. No we haven’t….”

And that’s how it usually starts.

The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.

Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).

You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.

He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.

———

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Need I say more than one word?

Vampire.

Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.

Now— you’d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.

You’re wrong.

So wrong.

He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.

————

———

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sensory.

Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.

Ooooo he loves it.

Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.

Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.

Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.

“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.

“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.

“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”

“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”

“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.

“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”

————

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.

But so are you.

He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.

His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.

And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.

He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”

He always makes it up to you.

The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.

————

———

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.

He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.

And you love it.

You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.

No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.

———

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.

A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.

Less Jealous than Caius.

But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.

Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.

No.

The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.

His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.

You yourself are now that calm place.

At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.

But this guard.

Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.

But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.

You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—

The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.

Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.

“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.

The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.

It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.

“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.

You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.

Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.

The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.

“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.

He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”

You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.

A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”

———

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.

9” decent width, knows how to use it.

Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.

Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.

————

———

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.

And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.

One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.

Nah.

Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.

He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.

Super high.

You both are insane.

You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.

Insatiable.

Good luck!

————

———

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aro LOVES resting with you.

He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.

You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—

He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.

Makes him melt.

Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.

“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.

He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”

#aro volturi

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