#And if I could I wouldn't dare to fearing I am Wrong

[midnite-c6]

WAIIT you should write namgyu and myunggi!! I love that broke bum baby daddy

i support this motion. first thing i thought of when i watched ep. 2

⊂⁠*⁠.⁠✧ you're myung-gi's "one and only", but oh no! looks like he's willing to do some teamwork on you...

warnings: 18+, DARK CONTENT, hate sex, double penetration, threesome, mysoginistic!nam-gyu & myung-gi x fem!reader, degradation, rough, noncon || ∆

⊂*⁠.⁠✧ myung-gi promises you, with all his heart, he'd find you. to compensate for whatever absence he had made you feel in the past, to compensate the love that he had neglected you of. but maybe you're the piece of shit one! for not accepting his apologies. for not forgiving him and letting him love you. for not letting him use you again.

it was cut-throat— two simple directions. he'd kill one person to pass, then he'd be running straight back to protect you. you said that he shouldn't, that he should fucking leave you alone because you can handle yourself. deep down, you are waiting for him. unbeknownst to you though, the drug addict offered up a proposal to team-up with myung-gi! two unstoppable forces. maybe this really shows what myung-gi's morality's truly like, he was destined to be partnered up with people like nam-gyu.

myung-gi was quiet most of the time, only breaking his silence by saying something useful. nam-gyu on the otherhand was unbearably talkative, "hey, man, you tryin' to find your girl?" myung-gi knows better than to respond. nam-gyu would nudge his shoulders, "you are. figures, she alone?" there's nothing meaningful to reply to that, nam-gyu doesn't care, he'll continue to talk and talk and talk, tilting his head to the side, curious-like...

"she's cute. really cute. perky tits, glossy eyes." myung-gi freezes, adjusting his knife to threaten nam-gyu's neck. "don't fucking dare," nam-gyu has no dignity left in him anymore, doesn't even show any sense of fear. "when's the last time you complimented her? maybe that's why ya’ two aren't gettin' along-" "i said fuck. off." the blade of his sword would touch the other guy's neck. nam-gyu pouts, whining in a mocking tone: "aww, but that's what's happening, right? i heard you two fightin', she doesn't wanna be with you, bro."

myung-gi stops walking, stops doing anything altogether, furrowed brows and a heart full of burden. was it wrong to think you were such a bitch? he was doing everything for you! "you're mad." nam-gyu snickers, "yeah, i am. fucking frustrated she won't get me."

"we can get her back, you know?" "what do you mean we?"

"we, take our anger out on her, works like a charm." he doesn't acknowledge myung-gi's question, "that bitch pisses me off too much, talks about how i'm crazy. she's crazy for not letting you help her— stupid, even." while myung-gi gives ideas for better teamwork ethic in hide and seek, nam-gyu gives the best ideas for shit like this. "i was kinda thinkin' of... hm... putting her in her place?"

"it wouldn't be that hard, i don't think... you've already gotten her knocked up!" he adds as he giggles to himself, like that was the most intellectual statement in the world. it takes everything not to shove the knife he was holding right through his chest, but myung-gi was easy to convince, to corrupt, maybe you do need to be put in your place.

when you hide by yourself, not looking to run into anyone but myung-gi, you find a small room with colorful drawings painted all over the walls. this was the best thing you could do, running constantly would only make you tired. though, after a few minutes, you hear nam-gyu's voice in the distance, player 124, someone you know you should stay away from. your breath hitches, hand covering your mouth so you wouldn't make a single sound, yet, you also hear myung-gi's voice. myung-gi! maybe he'd be able to save you from nam-gyu!

myung-gi pushes the door open, seeing you eye to eye. his expression softens for a second, before glaring at you, remembering what he wants to do. he slowly walks inside, looking down at you, with an unfamiliar look on his face. "i... myung-gi... careful, i heard nam-gyu's just right down-" nam-gyu would step in, ironically, speaking of the devil. "me? awh, she's thinking of me." myung-gi would grab the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer to him.

"what the- myung-gi." you call out, "you taking drugs too?" nam-gyu would take the hit from the comment, speaking just a few feet away from you, "that all you can say? you're so shallow... jeez... what a woman."

"shush, can you listen to me for once?" myung-gi reasons, but you were so stubborn! "what? what do you want from me again, myung-gi?" "you're fucking ungrateful." he pins you against the wall, two men who have knives were apparently teaming up on you, what else were you supposed to do???

"myung-gi- what are you doing-" he fake-pouts, like how you do whenever he asks for forgiveness. "oh? so now you wanna act weak? you've been tellin' me all this time that you can handle yourself." nam-gyu slides right behind you, "fuuck, tell her, bro!" hands immediately sliding underneath your shirt and on-top of your chest. you yelp. "myung-gi! he's—" he shushes you. "take off her clothes," nam-gyu would immediately do as he was told, he was also the one benefiting from it anyway. "you. don't say a word, unless i tell you to, copy that?" "what the fuck, myung-gi!" he'd grip your jaw, "can't your little brain follow orders? don't speak. simple." "or you die...!" the one behind you adds, you could only whine in response.

with your clothes lying on the floor, you feel filthy, for being sandwiched by the two men, one you barely even know, naked. "she likes this," he looks you in the eye, like he knows what you're going through and makes fun of you. "don't you?" myung-gi smiles, revelling in your defeat. you're not sure if you should respond to that or not. "she's making that face, means she's into this, disgusting shit like this." nam-gyu would gasp in amazement, smiling as he continues to grope your tits and occasionally flicking your clit. "really? told you. told you i'm an expert at what women like."

"myung-gi, please-" "you'll get what i can give you. no more special shit. i've been offering you everything and you're taking it all for granted. you should know by now you're gonna get what i choose to give you." it seems he was done, so genuinely pissed off at how you were treating him, despite how he was treating you just as bad and if not worse! you should stay away from self-absorbed men, but fuck, did a dick feel good. you'd probably get pregnant right now if you weren't already.

so there you were: the father of your child right infront of you, dick sliding in a rhythm inside your shamefully throbbing pussy, trying to match nam-gyu's pace. his left hand still gripping your jaw to look at him and only him. you whine with tears staining your cheeks, looking up at myung-gi like you were sorry. maybe occasionally looking at nam-gyu. "don't look at that jerk, or i'll make this harder for you." his other hand presses against your lower stomach, he knows you liked that. that's why he got you knocked up in the first place.

nam-gyu's warm breath would tickle against your skin, licking the back of your ear, "don't listen to him- he doesn't treat you right— ain't that correct?" nam-gyu's dick also filling up your other hole was too overstimulating, you weren't used to this at all, the way they coaxed you. both his hands were leaving prints on your ass and waist. "don't- fucking- mess with us, with your silly words," "the only thing sweet about you is your holes. sweetheart." that fucking lunatic's laugh ringing in your ear, you didn't wanna moan because a drug addict was fucking you senseless. or because a drug addict and your supposed husband was fucking you at the same time.

"please- i- myung-gi, forgive me...hn..!" it was so hard to speak without doing it though, moaning would mean they felt good, they felt amazing. that they'd be motivated to go on and on... "keep on begging, fuck, you- you're fucking heartless, for making me so stressed and worried about you-" they both continue to thrust and thrust, unstoppable, with all the adrenaline of murder and sex, they could go for hours if the game didn't have a time limit! "yeah... you shouldn't... treat your boyfriend like that- fuck, you're so tight-" "m'sorry- i'm really sorry.. myung-gi.. nam-gy-" myung-gi slaps your mouth, "not him. don't forget who you belong to." "i'm sorry!" you whimpered out. he's suddenly turned all strict on you... :(

you'd guess they had this all figured out, you don't know when they did. when you'd check the timer, there was still 20 minutes left! 20. long. minutes.

"for now on you're gonna be a good little tool for us until the finale..., we'll take it as an apology." "for- for us?" "me and him. i think two dicks’ just enough for a slut like you."

ts is sum freakshit . ✓✓✓ is it me or when myung-gi got meaner he got hotter. like THAT'S whats wrong with me. & dae-ho too... WHO SAID THAT

[virginreprise]

C A T C H ' A N D ' R E L E A S E ✧ . ┊    

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 ✧. ┊ 

┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚ jackson!joel miller x reader

✧ . ddlg dynamics, toxic!joel, smut, angst, arguing, mean!joel, he's a little more dark in this one, unspecified age gap, manipulation, daddy kink, breeding kink is heavy in this one, established relationship, pussy spanking, joel slaps you twice, light bondage, sarah and ellie are dead because i don't give joel a break ever, joel is a whole ass oxymoron in this thing, joel also cums fast, and then there is also cum play because i am disgusting, this is probably the craziest thing I've ever written

words: 15.5k

┊┊. AO3 LINK

It started with an eye roll. A simple action, buried in petulance and arrogance that he had taught vehemently was wrong. That he had conditioned you to believe would have dire consequences.

"Don't talk back," he'd said sternly one day when you'd become too whiny, refusing to help him clean the dishes with the simple excuse that you didn't feel like it. And to your credit, you were quick to learn, quick to decipher his warning glances and become the perfect little girl he had taught you to be.

Rules had been implemented and subsequently followed. Praises had been uttered and kept you good. Little rituals that you followed with the sole reason of making him happy.

So when you woke up pouting, groaning as he leaned in for a good morning kiss and complaining about having to stay in the house all day and wait for him to get home, he knew something must have been wrong.

He'd mulled it over on a particularly boring patrol, knowing that if he was lucky he'd be back to you by before four o'clock. He'd wondered what on earth could've caused you to act in such a way towards him, focusing on the last thing he'd seen you do before he'd walked out the door.

You'd rolled your eyes at him.

He'd told you as softly as he could despite his growing irritation, to have a good day, to enjoy yourself and that he'd be back as soon as possible.

And you had rolled your damn eyes. 

At the time, he'd been too astonished to reprimand you, too late already on account of your abhorrent mood to do anything but stare in bewilderment and walk out the door whilst shaking his head.

This was not the good girl he'd trained, this was not the girl who did everything so willingly—gave yourself to him as easily and as naturally as it felt to slip a gun in Joel's palm and shoot. It had been eating at him the entire time he was riding alongside Jesse who hadn't dared speak up and ask him what was wrong; fearful of the perpetual scowl on his patrol partner's face that remained the entire time they were working.

As Joel walked around the corner, his house and its glowing windows falling into his vision, he wondered if the boy thought he'd gone mad. Perhaps he'd apologise to him at another time, although he probably wouldn't. He'd never exactly been one to apologise: prideful and stubborn even when he knew he was in the wrong.

But, goddamn, you had left him mad. You had left him furious and he had no choice but to think profusely about why you'd switched so suddenly. You had been perfect for him the night before, sitting between his legs patiently whilst he'd finished the chapter of his book, scurrying upstairs when he'd informed you it was bathtime and getting straight into bed when he'd asked you to. Hell, you'd even had his cock in your mouth and smiled about it like it was a privilege you didn't get to experience so often.

You hadn't woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He would know because he woke up on his preferred right side and you (unusually) far away from him on the left. It had been the first warning sign, the first indicator that he was in for an awful day of work and an even worse night when he stepped into the house and tried to gauge whether your mood had improved any or not.

When he finally made it home, hoping to be greeted by your soft kisses and pretty smiles, he realised that the house was not bustling with your hurried steps, arms flung wide open to greet him. It was instead, eerily quiet. The fire that he'd lain that morning was reduced to glowing coals, the wood piled in the basket beside it barely touched and the blanket on the couch tousled and creased—like you'd peeled it off in a hurry once you'd built up the courage to do what he'd suspected you'd done.

"Baby," he called into the nothing, irritation seeping into the floorboards as he slipped off his coat and shoes—the gun that he insisted he keep in the house despite Maria's passionate objections, placed against the wall where it would temporarily stay until the both of you went to bed and Joel would keep it just within reach. "Baby!" he repeated, louder this time in case you were listening to his CDs again.

Still, he did not hear a thing. Not a creak of the floorboards, or the light rain song of the shower. Not even a sigh. Deadly silent. And when his eyes flicked to the array of shoes parked near the door, he noticed the space the size of your feet—wood where your shoes should rest. Shoes you rarely ever use nowadays since he'd got you being his pretty little housewife.

He was back outside before he could bother to check if his suspicions were accurate, laces loose and coat unbuttoned, not feeling the biting cold that lingered amongst the setting sun. His sights were set on the house a short walk away, decorated in yarrow and anemone. The house that sheltered the reason he had met you at all.

"Tommy!" he banged on the red wood, chest heaving, rage overtaking him. How on earth could you just run like that? Why would you even think of leaving the house without him, never mind leaving without at least telling him beforehand? This behaviour was so unusual, so unlike you that it scared him. If he were to lose you…God, he didn't even want to think about it. The warmth of you, the sweetness that cut straight through the bitter nature that he had succumbed to ever since the world had become trapped in a cataclysmic nuclear winter. He could not let it go. Would never let you go, no matter how much you begged.

The question was falling from his lips as soon as the red was replaced with the face he would recognise even on the foggiest of nights.

"Where is she?"

Joel could've smacked his brother's oblivious look off his face and was seriously considering acting on his thoughts when he opened his mouth.

"Where's who?"

"Goddamnit, Tommy," he groaned, his face the picture of madness—his carefully concealed insanity shining brightly in the face of his loss, your name harsh on his lips when he clarified for his dumb hunk of a brother who exactly he was talking about. As if he would ever be talking about anyone else.

"Hell, brother, I don't know," Tommy exclaimed, perturbed by his brother's attitude, eyes narrowing at the sickness that clouded the man in front of him. "Wherever she is, she ain't gone far. She'll be safe, Joel," he tried to appease but Joel offered nothing in reply except a grumbled disapproval, complaining that his brother just didn't understand, and was off the porch and heading towards the centre of town before Tommy could get another word in.

Joel was steaming. Joel was so desperately, so disgustingly mad at you that he could hardly see any other colour except red. Just a complex, jumbled mess of feelings that he couldn't even begin to decipher as he stomped in the snow and thought of what he would do when he found you—if he would find you at all. God, you were probably dead. Probably buried in a ditch courtesy of whoever in Jackson he did not trust which had, for the past five years, remained pretty much no one. People had tried, with a smile or a home-baked good but it never ameliorated the lingering distrust that Joel had for everyone except those he was closest to. God, he was convinced half the men in Jackson were out to take you away from him and you weren't safe unless you were in the house, in his bed, and waiting for him to rock you to sleep.

If you had ventured any further than the front porch…if you were anywhere near anyone. 

He felt fucking insane: raging around town with his boots laced loose and his shirt flying untucked, looking for the object of his affection—the girl he would fall to his feet for. He had devoted so much time to making you perfect. This obedient little thing who did everything he asked and made him feel an amalgamation of jolting, sickening guilt and simultaneous euphoric bliss at the prospect of what could be. He was going to marry you one day. Damn, he was going to give you a kid while he was at it. Just to keep you close.

Joel knew, he knew completely how awful his tendencies were—how they would break you until you were afraid of him. In times like these, he thought of Tommy and how terrified he had been of what Joel would do to you. Nighttime conversations between two tipsy brothers, the drink making the younger sibling sentimental and the older too defensive to talk straight with. Joel had promised him under the low glow of a dying oil lamp, that he would do nothing to you. That, yes, you were young, but he would not treat you any differently because of it.

Both Tommy and Joel had known it was a bunch of bullshit. He'd lost too many people, and seen too many things that he could hardly comprehend. It started with blood-stained blonde and then blood all over the surgery floor when he couldn't get her out of that damn hospital on time. When Joel had come riding back to Jackson with her limp body—gunshot from where a stupid fucking firefly had accidentally hit—and a strong feeling that he had failed. Again. 

By God, he would not do it again.

So, marching into the Tipsy Bison with a furious look in his eyes, he could hardly care about the stares; what he knew everyone was thinking when he zeroed in on you talking to Gus—a kind old man who ran the library a street down from the bar and posed no real threat—with bright eyes and a wide smile.

A smile that teetered off the edge when the wind picked up against your face and fell away again—door slamming closed to see him huffing in the lamplight. There was a split second where they all looked, head snapping in the direction of your damnation and then, turned away—afraid of what Joel would do if they looked too close. They parted like the red sea when he advanced, guided by his small "'Scuse me," and his twitching hands as he reached for you.

Your name was harsh on his lips, Gus' words trailing as he looked at the man practically steaming with anger.

You looked terrified in the most delightful way. There was still a hint of defiance lingering in your stare—a brattiness in the pout as he reached for your forearm.

"C'mon we're goin' home," he announced, already dragging you away from the confused young man you had been accompanying.

"But I'm talking to Gus."

The disobedience was instant and he couldn't decide whether your attitude was on purpose, whether you just wanted to be a brat deliberately, or if there was something deeper. Some other issue you'd discovered in the middle of the night when you should've been sleeping. Joel remembered brief images of you slipping from his hold to go to the bathroom but he had been too exhausted to decide whether it had been a dream or not. Maybe it was then. Maybe it had been the hours of the sun's rest when you decided you didn't want him anymore.

"I said, we're goin' home, you've had your fun." His voice was low—warning. He didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want anyone to be looking at you at all, especially when you were in a mood that he couldn't fix by putting you over his knee. If he wanted to show you off at all, he'd want to show how much of a good girl you could be. How well mannered, how sweet and considerate. Not this unrecognisable personality you'd acquired whilst he'd been gone.

"I wanna stay." You were whining. He fucking hated it when you whined.

"We're goin'."

"I'm not—"

Your name came soft from Gus' lips then, a sweet hand on the small of your back that had Joel's fist clenching. "It's okay, Darlin'. You don't have to stay for me, I'll be just fine by myself."

The way you looked at him then, the softness in your eyes as you mouthed a small sorry—throat too dry to produce a sound, was infuriating. If he wasn't angry before, he sure as hell was now, his grip on your arm tightening as he began pulling you out of the bar.

"Joel," you called with a whimper as he guided you through the crowd. "Joel, it hurts." Your fingers were pulling at his, trying as hard as you could to pry him off you, but he refused to let go. He'd keep you tied to the bed if it meant you wouldn't pull a stunt like this again.

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, to Joel and those around you who didn't care enough to involve themselves in your proclivities and the cold was hitting your warm cheeks before you could apologise for bumping into John standing by the door.

"Joel," you said, firmer this time and it seemed to bring his attention back to you—away from the wild rage clouding his head.

He was too angry to speak but his eyes portrayed every word. They pierced you, right through the heart and froze your bones as you stood with the snow falling and the sun setting.

"We're goin' home," was all he managed to spit out and he had no idea what possessed you, where you found the goddamn nerve, but your mouth was opening before he could give you another warning glance—a promise that it wasn't going to end well if you kept up the bullshit.

"It's not my home." There was venom in your voice, a genuine, deep distaste that left him feeling shot in the heart. "I'm not going back there."

"Who do you think you're talkin' to?" He scolded, and he mirrored your scowl with a fire—a heat that blazed and coiled in his stomach. "Huh?" he questioned your lack of answer, disappointment mingled with fury in his eyes.

The snow dampened the silence as you heaved, chest rising and falling in succession with the quick, fateful breaths that passed your lips and danced in the air before falling softly to your feet. There was no reply amalgamated with that dance and he shook his head with a clenched jaw.

"We are goin' home, and we are gonna talk about…" he gestured between the two of you, looking frantically for the words to describe his predicament. "...whatever this is. I ain't dealin' with this out in the snow when all of them are in there-"

"They don't even know me!" you suddenly exclaimed, lip quivering no matter how many times you bit the shake away. "I feel like all of Jackson has tripled the months that I've been with you, I'm sorry that I wanted to familiarise myself." There was a crack in your voice at the end of your sentence, biting back a sob as all the emotions came falling on your head all out at once, dropping bricks from the sky and smothering you under the debris.

Joel had no sympathy. He refused to be deterred by your tears that melted the snow as they touched the ground, nor the delicate pout on your lips that was pushing him to a point of madness unknown.

"You complain' now, huh?" he asked exasperatedly, chin held high, jaw taut with the exertion of his anger. "What more do you want from me? You sayin' I don't spoil you enough? That I don't go out there every week just to keep you and your precious little prissiness safe?"

The door swung open then, hinges creaking as Walt—eyes glazed from the alcohol—looked between the two of you once, afraid of Joel's stare that pierced holes through his head, and scurried away—casting one sympathetic glance to your glistening tears. A pause. The man had interrupted the flow of the argument, emotions now contemplated and swallowed away.

Before Joel knew it, you were running—fast little feet on the move, hurtling through the thoroughfare.

He was chasing you before he could think twice. In truth, he could not think of anything except your pretty little skirt swishing in the wind as you sprinted past Tommy's house and turned right. The opposite way to home.

Joel called your name in the wind, old bones desperate for some relief as his long strides turned into a light jog, then a full sprint as your legs whipped around the corner and into a little alleyway. He knew you had no idea where you were going. He knew that you had barely been in Jackson three months before he'd picked you up and trapped you. Made you play house with his little fantasies that disgusted him in the depths of twilight when he gripped his rifle as tight as possible.

Joel also knew that in a few seconds, you would be faced with a dead end, and as he rounded the corner and cast his eyes on your shuddering frame, the apologies came swiftly from your lips.

"Daddy, I'm sorry."

God, it was so sweet. It itched every scratch, warmed his stomach like a kiss of sunlight and eased the ache in his jaw from his perpetual clenching.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't…" you paused to sniffle, blubbering little thing that you were and he could hardly keep up the bad guy act as he took careful steps through the alley's sludge and planted himself a few feet away from you. "I don't like it when you're mean, I just- just-"

He held his hand up to shush you, shaking his head.

"I don't wanna hear excuses." He truthfully didn't want to hear you blubbering your way through reasons why. He didn't want to hear you blaming it on anyone else except yourself. He did want an answer as to why you'd acted out so deliberately but what he did not want was lies. He knew how to calm you down, he just needed to get you so afraid of him that you'd let him leash you and drag you back home—no matter who saw the depravity.

"I know," you whimpered. "I know daddy, I'm sorry-"

"Stop." He said a measured tone that mirrored the imperceptible look on his face. "I don't need to hear you apologise, not when you don't mean it."

"I do mean it!" you protested. "Please!"

You were silenced by his stare, the creases by his eyes as he squinted and jerked his head behind him—looking briefly, then turning his attention back to you. His next words were simple, almost soft as they fell from his lips, but laced with poison invisible through your silver tears.

"You ain't sorry until I make you sorry." There was a growl in his throat, a twitch of his fingers and then the fire in his eyes dampened to a simmer of coal as he spoke again. "Baby, you know how this goes. You know I can't let something like this go just because you say a few words you don't mean yet."

You had nothing to say in reply then, nothing to indicate you were sorry at all with the way your breaths came heavy and your eyes spilt over with salt that stung the open wounds on your chest. There was a tension, meandering between the two of you, pacing up and down the length of your bodies and colliding in the middle of your union—a heat searing its skin until it crumpled and fell in a heap as you sank to your knees.

He watched you go: down and down and down. Your pretty eyes gazed up at him in wonder, conveying so much with a single simper as you shuffled your way towards him and hesitantly placed your hands on his thighs.

All he did was watch.

He said nothing, reacted to nothing, knowing that all you wanted as you wrapped your arms around his right leg and nuzzled, was his affection.

"I'll be good, Daddy," you whispered into his leg. "I promise."

His head fell back at your words, eyes squeezing shut as he tried not to succumb to your angelic nature—all soft and willing and obedient. He took pride in knowing that he had made you that way; that he was the reason you were willing to ruin your pretty little tights and hurt your delicate knees.

Hands fell to your head in surrender, brushing through your hair as he stared down at you, enamoured by the way you submitted to him.

"I know you will, honey," he reassured. "I know. You're my good girl, yeah? My perfect angel. Sometimes you just make mistakes, don't ya?"

You nodded into his thigh, muffled words he couldn't decipher and he pulled you back by the hair so he could hear you properly.

"Speak up."

Your reply was immediate.

"Yeah, just a mistake, daddy."

He smiled a little at that, a scoff pulled from his throat as he let your hair go and held out his hand. Your fingers were so cold when you placed them in his palm, your whole body shivering as he pulled you up from your position and dragged you tight to his chest.

"Now," he sighed. "We're gonna go home, ain't we? And I'm gonna be honest, babydoll, you ain't gonna like what I do when we get home but it needs to happen, yeah?"

"But-"

"Sh sh sh." He held your hands to his chest, not one to deny you the tiniest bit of comfort when he was being perhaps a little too harsh on you. Either way, you had worried him sick and he wasn't about to let his relief at your subservience show just yet. He needed to make sure that you were entirely with him, that this was just a one-off and that you wouldn't be running away again next month when you got scared. "It needs to happen. Don't it?"

Your eyes were hesitant, wide, angel-eyes—wings clipped as he held you as close as he could get you without displaying too much desire. Then, a nod.

"Yes, daddy."

Relief washed over him, bathed him in holy water and guided the spirit from heaven to its space above his head. He was revered by your spirit, enamoured by your waiting hands as he let them fall to your sides, eyes cold and not displaying his true feelings at your exhibition of devotion, and turned on his heel to walk back to the house.

"C'mon then," he called after you like you were a dog, snapping his fingers as his long strides and heavy footfalls made a guiding path in the snow.

At your confusion, the furrow of your brows as you looked longingly at his hands, he barked a short "Hey! Keep up," and fought every urge to keep you as close as possible on the roads. Every single time he took you past the threshold of the front porch—which wasn't an awful lot in truth—he would grasp your hand in his, guide you around every corner and past every wandering eye. He would never let go.

Joel could tell the separation had broken something inside you, snapping the strings of your heart and breaking open your chest as you trudged on behind him—slowly shuffling through the snow that seeped into your shoes.

There was little encouragement as the sunset bled across the sky, no words of praise passing his lips as you walked behind him like a sad little puppy, head down and playing with your fingers. You were anxious, he could tell. Anxious and curious and desperate all at once.

You always did look pretty with a pout.

Once he'd rounded the corner to the house, he paused at the steps, looking back at you with an expression indiscernible. No smiles or scowls, just a set stare that kept you on your knees. You paused with him and he couldn't help the thrum of approval that coursed through him at your fear. He shouldn't like it. He knew full well that he shouldn't, but being scared was better than being comfortable. He had learned, too many times, that getting comfortable amounted to pain. You needed to be different. The possessiveness was just a response to a need to protect; every possibility whispered to him through the wind.

It was all part of his need to defend and protect.

"C'mon, honey, up the steps," he encouraged, watching you waiting for his next instruction—his approval.

Obediently, you stepped past him, Joel briefly glancing at the wet dirt at your knees, the notion that it symbolised and huffed a breath of harsh, winter air as he grabbed your wrist before you could reach the incline. He leant in close, lips ghosting the side of your face, a tightness in his chest at the way you stared straight ahead: unmoving.

"I'm gon' give you a headstart," he muttered. "'Cause your old man needs a drink on account of all the runnin' around you been makin' me do."

"I'm-"

"Don't start." He gripped your wrist tighter, shaking his head softly as your eyes met his. "When I get upstairs, you better be waitin' for me how I like you, yeah?"

You narrowed your eyes slightly, a hint of defiance in your eyes that he shut down with a simple tilt of his head—just a flavour of his disapproval of your attitude. He didn't mind you being a brat, not when it was innocent fun in the comfort of your home, spurred on only by his teasing promise of a little harsh treatment that night. But this…he couldn't deal with the disobedience when it ran this deep.

"Yeah, okay, Daddy," you murmured, and you escaped his grasp before he could reprimand the attitude—up the steps as quick as your feet could carry you, and through the front door.

Joel watched you through the frame for a small second, seeing you disappear up to the second floor and he tried not to let himself get too carried away with the image of you stripping your clothes off and settling on your knees beside the armchair that nestled in the corner of his room. Patiently waiting.

He took his time getting inside, treating the occasion as normal as he could: shoes kicked off near the door, coat hung up next to yours, venturing into the living room to stoke the fire and try and revive the flame you had killed, and turn into the dining room to pick a whiskey from the alcohol collection he'd been adding to since he found a bottle of unopened, aged red wine near the old farmhouse near Flat Creek.

Scanning the bottles, his eyes landed on the Whiskey you'd got him for his birthday, the days when you were still allowed on patrol and had been searching for something special for him to commemorate the soft beginnings of your blossoming relationship. You'd told him of the glint under the dried leaves, the rotting wood sign that marked a lost general store, and the brown liquid sloshing near the brim when you'd picked it up.

Joel hadn't the heart to tell you on September twenty-sixth why he had not accepted the gift with gratitude, why he had angrily asked you how you'd found out that it was his birthday and why he'd gone storming off to Tommy's with rage in his eyes when you'd said his little brother had mentioned it in passing.

He'd been drunk from that birthday present when he told you about Sarah and Ellie, and he'd never mentioned them again after the fact. You had not pried, and he had not touched the whiskey since. But, today, it seemed commemorative to pour himself a measure, find some courage in his cowardice and he wondered if the curse of the drink would prevail today when he asked you why you were pulling away.

Maybe, it would be he, who pulled away instead. He was hardly one to care as he took a sip and glanced to the stairway, another sip and a gulp as he began advancing.

It was cold when he got to the landing. The heat had not travelled far yet and any heat from the fire he'd started this morning had dissipated. You'd probably be shivering. Poor thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the framed picture of the two of you, the blurry Polaroid you'd forced him to take in late May when you were more friendly with him in the month you'd known him than anyone else in Jackson.

He remembered your soft giggle as you told him to smile, the scent of your hair when you leaned in close and pushed the camera in his face. You'd been disappointed with how it turned out but had given it to him all the same—your initials scratched in marker on the white border and little heart that seemed as hesitant as you always were.

With another sip, he pushed the picture face-down, obscuring your faces from view and turning his back on the memory of your independence with a sigh.

You were cold. You must be and he couldn't wait a minute longer with the image of you shivering. He was cruel but he was not that cruel. All he wanted now was the truth, and if you were to give it to him if you were to submit yourself to him fully, he would pack up everything in the house and move you two far away.

Joel slinked into the bedroom with soft pads against the floor, your shaking body jumping when you heard the creak that gave away his silent position.

God, you were perfect, facing the chair on your knees, frame tensing as he stepped towards you and sat down; legs spread wide. You knew what it meant, knew the implication and you shuffled in between his strong thighs—hands scratching at his jeans to steady yourself.

Silently, he held out his drink to you, gesturing with a soft nod for you to take it.

"Just a little sip," he murmured, desperate to sing some praise, some words of comfort to you, but found that his throat was dry and he could barely speak the words he had just uttered. He coughed before he spoke again. "You're gonna need it."

You looked skeptically. He never let you drink. He'd said that it wasn't good for you and you hadn't known how serious he was about it until two months into the relationship when he'd seen you curled up on his couch with his wine. He'd taught you the best lesson he knew that day and you had not touched the stuff since. You knew you'd never get away with it and he prided himself on the fact that you would never even try.

"Daddy, I—"

"Just take a sip." You flinched at the irritation in his tone and grasped the glass with two hands to hopefully appease him. Just a simple sip, barely anything except a coat of liquid on your lips and you licked it away with a grimace, handing it back to him with wide, hopeful eyes.

He did not offer you what he knew you were asking for, those words of affirmation that always made you light up in the most delightful way. Instead, his voice was flat as he told you to put his drink on the side and he could tell by the quiver of your lip that you didn't like his behaviour one bit.

"Look at me," he instructed and you did as he asked in a heartbeat. His lips twitched as he almost reflexively told you how good you were, how proud he was as you, but he swallowed it down with his simmering anger—his desire for the truth. However, he did allow you a modicum of comfort as his hand came to the side of your face, cupping your cheek with warmth and rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. You nuzzled into him like a goddamn cat, desperate for his touch. "I need to know the truth," he said measuredly. "I need you to tell what's got that head of yours thinkin' so hard."

You looked away, ashamedly, bottom lip jutting out in a pout and back hunching as you tried to curl in on yourself. His grip tightened at that, thumb and forefinger travelling to your chin to force your eyes to his.

"Baby, I'm givin' you a chance here—"

"Okay!" you exclaimed suddenly, chest heaving like you were about to start hyperventilating—chin wobbling in his hand as you bit back the tears. "You just gotta promise me you won't leave me. All of this, I- I promise I didn't mean it."

Joel shook his head, grip loosening and thumb stroking along your bottom lip in comfort.

"I just wanna know, honey. Whatever it is."

You contemplated for a moment with your eyes on his, blinking away the glisten before averting your gaze to his lap. He allowed it whilst you thought, knowing that his gentle harshness was the oxymoron that ruled your life.

"Yesterday," you began, and he was surprised at the thickness in your voice. There was no whine, no hesitancy: you sounded like you used to. He reached for his drink to expel the fear. "You were gone. You were working."

The curl of your fingers in his jeans was the only sign of the girl he had turned you into. Even on your knees, naked, there was the shadow of who you were before, a looming figure behind you that grew closer the more you spoke.

"I was doing my chores, just…minding my own business like you always tell me to and you'd barely been gone an hour before someone knocked at the door and I know I'm not supposed to answer the door to anyone, I know." You were rambling. You grounded yourself again by taking a breath, glancing up at him and wondering if he was going to say something, but found that his mouth was sealed—his jaw solid and tense. There was a sigh before you spoke the words that had his simmering rage burning in blue flames to the surface.

"But it was only Maria, and I didn't think you'd mind…"

Your voice trailed off, his ears ringing as it all settled into place and it was undeniable that in that moment, he was taken by clarity—swept from the ground by a shuddering realisation. He was not angry with Maria. He was not angry with you. That fog had cleared, had disappeared right before his eyes and he was already formulating future conversations in his head. Plans that had been so hazy before when he rode past the lone structure that housed images that, at the time, seemed profoundly unreachable.

They seemed close now and he was shushing you with a hand in your hair before you could begin relaying what his sister-in-law had said. He already knew and he was almost grateful. Joel knew now that things would be good when he got you out of here.

"You don't gotta say nothin' else, baby," he said, softer than he had said anything today.

Your voice trailed off, staring at him with confusion—questioning with a furrow of your brow.

"You're not mad at me?" you asked. "You're not mad at Maria?"

Truthfully, Joel found it endearing how willing you were to defend his sister-in-law, how desperate you were to be his good girl again. The act of defiance…you could never keep it up for long. He'd moulded you so perfectly that you could hardly live without his praise and affection. Sometimes, it scared him. If he were to die next week, if he were to die tomorrow, what would you do with yourself? He'd spent hours pondering the likely situation, the number of close calls he'd been having out on patrol nowadays too frequent for him to believe he'd be living long enough to see you mature out of him. Right through his skin like a parasite, ripping through the flesh and leaving him bleeding with a broken knee.

He'd tried writing letters, feeling stupid when he put pen to paper and flinging them back into his drawer with the lock on it and promising that he'd try again tomorrow—just so you had a piece of him when he eventually left you. He'd try again tonight when he got you to sleep, although he knew that it would amount to nothing.

All he could give you was what he had right now and his grip on your face grew soft as he realised he could waste no time being mean to you. Not when you liked the pain so much.

"I'm not mad at you," he sighed, shaking his head and leaning back in the chair. "It's okay, baby." The rest of what he said became absent-minded mutters, not really meant for you to hear but you were on your knees and you looked so pretty. Just a little angel in his when he brought your head down to his thigh, feeling you nuzzle into the denim. "I'm gonna take you away from this soon. Gonna give you everything you want. Just you and me."

You were gazing up at him with wide, glazed eyes, remnants of bitten-back tears washing down the side of your face, traversing to your nose where they dropped off onto his thigh—nestling into the fibres of the fabric and drowning against his skin.

"C'mon," he murmured then because he could not bear to see the watercolour, the wetness that stung his soul as much as it stung your pretty eyes. The colour of the iris burned into the backs of his eyelids, the wideness of the pupils when you looked at him expanding in his dreams until all he saw was black and the call of your sweet voice lulling him deeper into his derangement. "Up you come, honey," he encouraged as you clambered into his arms and bracketed his thighs—arms circling his neck as he nestled you against him.

It was the clam before the storm—the sun before the snow.

Joel comforted you for as long as he would allow his brain to feel the clarity; the blissfulness of what the next stage for the two of you was going to be. He would talk to Maria tomorrow, tell her that you were on board and put the plans into place with a soft smirk as he stared at the black hole of delusion that had been sucking him in ever since there was blood in the blonde and auburn.

You were heavy against him, his hands gently stroking along your spine, beginning to bounce his knee a little just to keep you awake, and letting the scent of roses and thyme envelope the space. You were his baby. All his and he held you a little tighter when his hips caught the heat of you and your breath blew sharp from your throat.

It was slow, the way you started to rock and cry into his neck. He could feel the wetness, the deepness of your essence bleeding into him when you settled yourself over his thigh and pressed yourself to him so tight he could hardly breathe with the perfume of you suffocating him.

"That's it," he choked out when you sobbed. Heat against heat, friction burning between your thighs as you gripped his hair and tried regulating your breathing.

You did not call his name as you usually did, you just cried and rocked against him, spurred by his guiding hands and delicate kisses. Joel could barely stand the silence, and could hardly take the muffled crying as you rubbed yourself against his leg. Joel didn't like the way it was transpiring—not with the crystal ball in your court and his fate in your hands.

The hand in your hair tightened, dragging you from his neck and forcing your face to his. He licked away your tears with fervour, roughly pulling you to him, letting him drink from the salt of you and then forcing you back so your eyes bore into his.

"Don't make me hurt you, angel," he said through a scowl, and it sounded so dark coming from his lips that all he could see was the red of your eyes and the red of her blood. There was black on his soul, filth and rotting flesh, infested with maggots that buried themselves right to his core. Sometimes, he was convinced that your soul was made from daisies and angel feathers. Amalgamated, he sullied the freshness. Separated, there remained a hole ripped from the middle of both entities—only healed when he was here with you. Keeping you in place. "You want me to hurt you?"

When you nodded he almost greeted death like a friend. Take the hand of that phantom cloaked in black and drag him from his bloodied existence. But you were muttering, still rocking and muttering and he couldn't leave you as you were. So broken and desperate.

"Want you to hurt me, Daddy." The tears were streaming and they called to his tongue, dehydrated from the salt but greedy for the taste. His greed overcame his rationality in the end. After rationale was no longer needed and he could be safely trapped inside the gates—let out only when the full moon rose and the sun died.

He lapped up the wetness on your cheeks, pressing kisses to the skin, digging himself into you as he felt you seep into his tongue. The sweetness warmed his belly and made him drunk with the feeling—drunk and violent.

"That right?" he questioned with a barely-constrained growl. "Want daddy to hurt you?"

You nodded your head enthusiastically, sob wracking through your body as you clung to him, hips still rolling and rocking; wanting to take everything from him. He found it fascinating that you didn't know you already had. That you'd taken him, mind and soul, dipped them in formaldehyde and displayed them on your shelf—smiling at the collection of body parts until all that remained was his head, spurting blood from the harsh hacking of your heart.

"Goddman, baby." The name was muffled into your shoulder, biting down on your skin to restrain himself. Then, you called, begging him with pretty little whimpers not to be gentle with you. Words spill from your tongue like vomit, spraying him head to toe with your entrails and reminding him of his position. Your protector. Your daddy. Yours.

He would do whatever you wanted him to. He would move mountains, drain the sea and place the moon in your willing hands if it made you happy. He had realised long ago just how willing he was, how pathetic and liberated it made him feel to know that he would never let you go. Contradictory, in its base: he would do anything for you except let you go.

"You sure?" he murmured as he placed kisses along your neck, hands wrapped around your waist and guiding you back and forth over his thigh. "Don't want you runnin' off on me again when I get a little too mean."

"No," you choked out desperately, groaning softly as a sharp tick ran through you. "Never, Daddy."

Joel just kissed you through it all, unable to think of some clever remark or bite back with a teasing question. He just let you rock and wind your fingers into his hair, gripping so tight you were liable to break away with chunks of his skull. He would be nice for this moment, the short, lingering moment where he would let you go brainless with want, pretend that he was going to give you what you so desperately craved, and then strip it from you like Jesus refusing bread for the five thousand.

You were stuttering, hips losing their momentum, cute little whimpers falling from your lips in quick succession, toes curling—all indications. It would've done you better to restrain your noises, to keep rubbing your cute pussy over his leg in careful consideration. Maybe then you could've slipped through the cracks—deceived him into letting you cum.

However, you had not, and he was gripping your hips and ceasing the friction—speaking before you could start whining.

"If I hear one sound outta you, I'll tie you to that bed and leave you there." It was an idle threat considering how much he knew you'd enjoy such an activity. Unfortunately, you had never been bratty enough to warrant such a punishment and now, the sun was setting, the sky was getting dark and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't have the patience to embark on something so arduous. It did not mean, however, that he wasn't going to hurt you, that he wasn't going to bruise that cute little ass of yours and brand your cheek with his handprint. You'd never want to leave the house again if you were all marked like that—the humiliation was just too much for your sweet soul.

But, you were pouting at his scolding, tingling from the rejected orgasm and he couldn't find it in him to be sympathetic.

He was dragging you to the bed before you could so much as beg him for reprieve. He'd pushed you off his lap with disdain, towering above you as he grabbed your upper arm and led you to the bed. The sheets were fresh, he realised, and it helped your cause just a little: the fact that even though you'd been bad, you'd still found it in you to keep up with your chores.

"Sit," he commanded sharply and you crawled onto the bed with a whimper, pressing your thighs together and curling your fists to stop yourself from touching any inch of you.

Obediently, you nestled on your knees in the middle of the bed, eyes wide and glistening, fingers fumbling as you tried to cease your anxiousness. You looked so breakable it made him sick. For some reason, today of all days he couldn't stop thinking about who you used to be: fierce, completely independent. God, he remembered the time when he tried to adjust your stance when you were sniping some stray runners and you'd scowled at him and told him with vigour that you could do it yourself. If you dared do something like that now…hell, if you even tried picking up a goddamn gun, you knew he'd have your neck.

He understood, completely, what he had done to you. How he had broken every little bone in your body until you were just a mass of flesh.

"Arms out, honey," he muttered suddenly, right hand pulling at his belt buckle and slipping the leather from its loops. He was desperate to get his jeans off, desperate to tie you up and keep you down as you held out your hands, palms up and shuddered as he folded his belt in half and watched it come hurtling down against your skin.

Almost immediately, a harsh red line blossomed along your hands, a tear slipping down your cheek as he shushed your whimpers and began wrapping the leather around your wrists. He tugged tight, pulling on the item to make sure it was secure and letting your hands fall to your lap.

He smiled when you looked up at him with bleary eyes, stepping back to go and sit back down on his chair.

Your tears filled with more tears at the disconnect, and he palmed his bulge with a soft grunt when you began whining.

"Daddy, what—"

"What did I say?" he interrupted harshly. "Huh?"

Your voice was quiet and cracked like a dropped porcelain doll when you answered.

"No more whining."

He sighed in gratitude at your response, settling down and letting his old bones relax after an awfully long day of worrying about your stupid fucking head.

"That's right," he muttered, gazing at you with soft eyes that glinted with licentiousness. He wanted to touch you. You knew it, God knew it, but he would not allow himself. Not for now. "I want you to touch yourself, baby?"

Your eyebrows shot up, back straightening and he hushed you when you began asking how.

"You'll figure it out, you're a big girl, ain't you? Now, I want you to touch yourself, and if you dare cum, I'll throw you outside in the snow just as you are."

You pouted and he twitched. It disappeared in an instant when you realised fully how willing he was to smack the expression off your face. With hesitant, bound hands, you began searching between your legs, restricted by the loss of movement in your wrists and fingers fumbling as you tried to gain all the friction you could.

Your eyes bore into his, watching him watch you, stuttering softly when you managed to brush against your clit and fall back onto your elbows—spreading your legs to reach the sweet space between your thighs.

"There you go," he murmured, reaching for his whiskey. "You're so pretty when you listen."

You glared frustratedly, Joel knowing full well that you could barely get any kind of momentum with your hands bound in such a way.

"Don't look at me like that, you got all your fingers don't ya?" He shook his head as he took a sip of whiskey, the sweetness of honey dancing along his tongue as he honed in on your glistening pussy—unashamedly adjusting himself in his pants when you helplessly tried to find an angel that could give you the most pleasure.

After a few minutes of fumbling, a sob broke through your chest. Whining. 

"I can't do it, Daddy!" you exclaimed. "It doesn't feel good, you're just being mean."

"Would you rather not get touched at all?" he asked with a bite, gnawing into your psyche, breaking you down until you could hardly think.

"No," you drawled out. "Just want to cum, daddy."

"Then keep goddam goin', little girl. One more word outta you and I'm leavin' and sleepin' on the couch." The look you gave him then was the cutest thing ever, laced with a need so deep. A need not just for the sex, but for the love—for the kiss of his skin against yours when you fell asleep with soft snores. For the vitality that permeated the connection, you shared when he held you close and told you of times long past, aired his grievances and then apologized when he realised a little girl like you shouldn't be burdened by his impediments.

You craved him and he could hardly contain his pride at the notion.

He mumbled a short, "That's what I thought," when you started trying to touch yourself again, hiding his smirk behind his glass and letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in his stomach.

Watching you struggle, watching you so desperate had always been his favourite thing—something that kept him sane during the dark winter nights when even the moon seemed to lose its light. The image of you, bound and wet glistened in the slight lamplight that expelled from the cracks in the walls.

And here you were. His naughty little girl with your wrists tied together and your tears streaming as you tried to get yourself off.

Disgruntled moans fell from your lips, eyes wide as you stared at him with meaning slathering your gaze. He gauged your silent words and he downed the rest of his drink before his instructions came.

"Come over here," he commanded, legs widening as he settled, no intentions of coddling you, rubbing away the sores on your wrists and telling you that you were his good girl again. You had not atoned yet, you had not fully experienced the judgement day that befell as soon as the thunderclouds had rolled in and clapped with an almighty roar above your head. He wanted to be revered, wanted you to look at him how you used to—like he was God himself.

You pathetically scrambled off the bed, your body trembling as your sweat began to dry in the cold chill of the winter air. You could shiver all you want. It was your fault it was cold in the first place.

When he witnessed you standing on two feet, ready to take a step, he shook his head.

"Hands and knees, honey, come on you gotta crawl."

"But, daddy, my hands—"

"I don't give a damn if you gotta army crawl, just get your ass over here."

He revelled in the way your lip quivered, the way you slowly genuflected at the altar of his cruel kindness and shuffled slowly to the crown of thorns he held between two calloused hands. When you nestled between him, he dug the thorns into the skin of your forehead and immortalised you with a bloody cross on your chest, giving so freely when he brushed his fingers through your hair to soothe the wounds.

You began apologising again, nuzzling into the feel of his hands against you, knees scraping against the floor as you pressed your face down against his thigh.

"Wanna make you feel good, Daddy," you whimpered. "Please, I'm sorry. Wanna let you hurt me."

Joel scoffed, smiling down at you as you leaned against him.

"You think you deserve Daddy's cock, huh?" he muttered. "Sometimes, I think the best way to make you listen is to make you go without. It ain't exactly a punishment when you like it so much, is it?"

You whined then, shaking your head and pressing your face fully against his crotch, no shame in the way you pawed at him, not heat to your cheeks when he went to grasp the sides of your face and pull your gaze to his.

"How do we ask?" he questioned with a tilt of his eyebrow, playing with the pout on your lips.

Your eyes went down at his tone, bottom lip jutting out even further as he brushed his thumb over it and words mumbled as you uttered the third rule on the ever-growing list stuck to the fridge.

"Can't hear you," he said, only catching the odd few words that you managed to enunciate properly.

"Ask like a polite young lady or I don't get what I want."

He sighed happily, nodding his head and tilting your head from side to side, admiring you from every angle before letting you go and muttering, "That's right." You basked in the minute praise, the implications of his words and his actions as he spread his legs a little wider with a silent command, and flicked his eyes to his crotch. "Ain't got all night," he uttered. "Already took the belt off for ya. Is a button too hard for ya?"

You shook your head vehemently, fingers clasped around the metal fly and tugged downward once you'd pushed the denim through the button. Reaching in with ardour, he settled into his chair, ready to watch you fumble with the size of him, your warm mouth encasing him whilst he gave no assistance or encouragement. The casualness of the licentiousness was always his favourite. Those moments on the couch when you were on his lap and he'd rub at your clit in soft circles—not intending to make you cum. If anything, it always made you sleepy, your body going heavy and slack against his as your eyes flickered.

It was the same now, with his face straight, reaching for the book that he'd left on the side table and opening up on the last page. In truth, he wasn't focused on the words. All he could think about was trying not to elicit a groan when your hand wrapped around him, a little too tight as if you were trying to get one back at him, and pressed a tentative kiss to the tip.

The feat became even more of a difficulty when you thanked him, all sweet and soft before taking him whole in your mouth—right down to the base, breathing heavily through your nose, eyes wet with tears that dripped into his grey pubes, and suppressing the inevitable gag that had you choking and spluttering as you surfaced for air.

"C'mon," he said suddenly, flicking the page like he'd even absorbed any of the information on the last one, and grabbed your hair to push you back down on his cock. "You don't stop unless you can't breathe, you understand me?" he asked authoritatively. Then, a little softer with his tone, just that touch lighter with a downturn of his eyes to reiterate something you already knew. "If you wanna stop altogether, you know what you gotta say don't you?"

You nodded with his cock down your throat, humming around him and basking in the small victory of a choked groan, then the desperation for composure when he shook his head and trained his eyes on the top of the page.

Diligently, you began to work, up and down, tongue running along the underside, catching the veins you had mapped—now muscle memory that lingered in the backrooms of your mind. Your dominant hand was forever caressing his balls, a comfortable weight in your hand—almost calming—as you took the entirety of him. The soft tip reached the back of your throat with every movement, reflexes smothered as you tried as best you could to not focus on the feeling of your jaw locking.

The tears were damp on his skin, the suction around his cock a malicious force that threatened to reveal his position and your pretty little eyes looking up at him with desperation for his attention. He could feel your gaze in his periphery and from the observant nature he knew still lay somewhere within you, you'd probably gauged that the book was nothing more than a disguise considering he had not turned the page in the past ten minutes. You knew the speed at which he read considering he read to you almost every night and with an extreme lack of restraint, his eyes honed in on you over the top of the cover.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asked with a strain, succumbing completely when his eyes flickered shut—giving himself a second to breathe. A moment of composure and his eyes were back on you. Yours had not left him. "Hm? What're you crying for, babygirl?"

His thumbs came to wipe at the corners of your eyes, holding underneath your chin to pull you off him gently. The string of spit that attached you to him had his position completely displaced—the stalemate broken as he raised the white flag in surrender and let the book fall gently against his lap. A forgotten entity as you leaned in with haste to lick the precum off his leaking tip. Just cause you liked the taste.

He still didn't know if you were lying about that or if you really were a little goddamn cumslut but he would take the wins as considerately as he took the losses.

Your eyes mystified him, the windows to your soul glistening like the heavenly gates of eudaimonia and you hypnotised him into acquiescing. Not forgiving. No, you were in no position to be forgiven just yet, not before he pressed your body into the bed and fucked his cum into you. The harshness just seemed to fall away.

"Goddamn, I can't stay mad at you," he said with exasperation, both hands cupping your cheeks and feeling his back crack as he leant down to kiss you.

Your tears wet his thumbs as his tongue slipped into your mouth, all spit and desire as you sobbed against his mouth. He pulled away to caress your hair, watching you blubber with carefully concealed guilt that he would bury down into the pits of the bruise on his chest by the day's end.

"I hate it when you're mad at me," you cried and it was so sincere he could hardly stand it.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmured. "But I don't like it when you're not good. And I gotta do what I gotta do. I don't want you runnin' off again, honey."

"I won't," you said, shaking your head. "I promise I won't."

In truth, Joel knew you wouldn't. Now, he knew that this temporary setback was nothing more than just that. You'd just got a little tetchy. It was understandable considering how much freedom he had taken from you. Your life had slowly transformed into a small slice of what it once was, the patrols dwindling to stable duty, then to greenhouse duty, and then helping keep the grocery store shelves stocked every other day, and then right down to Joel's house where nothing could get to you except the beast of a man who passed the threshold every day.

There was a short silence between your words and his next, licking his lips in contemplation before signalling over to the bed with his head.

"Go lay down."

Almost immediately, you did as he asked, bound hands placed on the ground, ready to crawl then stopping when you heard his no.

You looked in confusion, wondering what you had done wrong now. All he said was, "It's okay, you don't have to crawl just-" he sighed, looking at your hands and deciding he liked the scratches on his back far too much to restrict your movement for much longer. "Come here," he asked, and you obediently settled back into your previous position. He carefully removed the belt bind, rubbing at the marks on your wrist when the leather fell to the floor with a thud.

Then, the moment of softness was gone and he pushed you away with another nod to the bed before reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He smiled when you glanced back on your journey to look at him undressing, a suppressed smirk on your face when you nestled down on your side of the bed and pressed your face into your pillow.

You didn't sneak another glance when he started shucking his jeans down his legs, kicking them off alongside his socks until all the clothes lay on a pile next to his chair, and then stood with a crack in his knees to settle down next to you.

The bed dipped when he sat, reaching for you with a gentle hand across your waist, turning you to face him.

You melted into him, shuffling closer so you could touch him in any capacity, eyes raking over his old frame as if he were anything special. In times like these, when you shamelessly soaked in the pudge of his belly, the wrinkles in his forehead and the grey in his hair, he felt wanted. You made him feel wanted, loved, desired—something he hadn't in years. Even before all this goddamn shit, when he was focused solely on giving his daughter the best life possible, when he didn't have time to sink into some cliche romance with a woman of respectable age and a similar situation. Even Tess, goddamn Tess who lingered in his periphery when he was beating a runner to death—flashes of all the people he'd killed and tortured with her by his side. He did not even feel wanted then. Just a disposable commodity. He had known that he was not the only man she messed around with in that QZ. Everyone was looking for comfort, everyone desperate for the touch of another to soothe them to sleep when the bombs dropped and there was nothing to keep them from crying.

Even when he had walked into Jackson with his head held high and the pretty woman who led patrol group C asked him if he'd ever want to go out for drinks sometime, he had not felt wanted. He had sat in the secluded corner of the Tipsy Bison with her hand on his thigh and whispered promises between sips of whiskey and decided that it didn't feel right—that there was something in her eyes that told him she wouldn't devote herself to him as you had done.

God and he felt so guilty every time he thought about how he turned Jessica down with a frown, holding her hands between his and telling her that he had enjoyed every second, that it wasn't anything to do with her or her character but all down to the fact that Joel didn't want to lose someone he grew close to again. He couldn't make room for any more pain in his chest.

Sometimes, he felt like it with you, felt like he should let you run away just to prevent the feeling when you eventually left anyway.

But, you stared at him with so much love, naked and wide-eyed and he couldn't even fathom the thought of letting you go. In this moment, when you rested your head on the pillow and nuzzled into his waiting palm when he cupped your cheek, he couldn't bear the images that danced and fell of you running away. Of you turning your back on him like he hadn't given you everything.

"Daddy," you murmured, eyes worried at his intense thinking, the silence stretching just a little too long.

He was pulled from his reverie with a shake of his head, eyes catching yours, fixated on the deepness of your intent and absent-mindedly tracing his hand down your arm, tickling along the soft hair and reaching for your palm with a squeeze.

"You ain't ever gonna leave, are ya?" he asked suddenly, intent on hearing you say it without blubbering, without the girl he'd turned you into saying it for you. He wanted to see the girl in the Polaroid, the girl who had once been crucified by the horrors of the plains. He wanted to feel the nails in your palms and feet, the sacrifice of yourself streaming into your eyes where the thorns had cut too deep.

You got quiet, your hand wriggling against his until you could fully intertwine your fingers. You squeezed once, shuffling up the bed to sit up slightly, and brought the back of his hand to your mouth. You kissed, as delicately as he had ever seen you kiss, and fucked his soul with the softness of your affections.

Then, you shook your head, all guts no glory.

"No. I won't go anywhere else for as long as I live."

He let the words settle, let them linger for just a little while—struggling to swallow them down, his teeth ripped from his gums and blood spilling on his tongue as he attempted to chew. They didn't quite reach his stomach, just nestled somewhere in his throat, a space where he couldn't quite cough them back up but also couldn't quite force them down. So instead, he kissed you before you could say another word, tongue down your throat, a hand wrapped around where the muscle dug, and pressed you into the mattress with the weight of his mania.

In truth, he knew he had been crazed since the beginning of it all—completely insane by the end of it, too.

He gave it all to you, and it was too perfect that you took it so willingly. All of his derangement was given to you in a china bowl, a side of rotting flesh and a cup of piss to wash it all down. He masked you with the poison and made you just as deluded as he was until you both lived in your very own madhouse.

"You know just what to say to make Daddy happy," he breathed between kisses. "Know just what to do to make me forgive you, huh? Even when you've been bad."

You moaned in response, his lips latching onto your jugular, hands everywhere he could reach, working you into a sweat before he clasped your clit between two twitching fingers.

He shushed you when you cried out, using his other hand to press over your mouth.

"Sh, sh, sh, I know, baby, I know. It hurts so good, huh?"

You nodded desperately, jerking when he pinched harder, then let out a muffled cry when he swiftly pulled his hand away and then brought it right back down flat against your bare pussy. He revelled in the tears, the look of desperation on your face for more—for him to hurt you until you felt like you were his good girl again.

So, he hit again, landing square in the middle of your wet cunt, pulling back his hand to see the glisten—the lingering essence of you slicking the skin. You did not notice him staring through the blur of your tears, just tugging on the ends of his hair which was getting too long, to pull him down to your mouth. He went willingly, soothing over your clit with softer fingers and basking in the feeling of you against him.

It had been a long day. A long time alone, even with the company of Jesse. He had been worried about you and the relief that he had you where he wanted was insurmountable. An indescribable reprieve from the stress of his day and the panic of losing you like he had lost everyone else.

So, he slipped his fingers inside you with the grace of an arcing arrow, and reached for the transcendence of your moans, searched for the mystery of the sea in your eyes and the reverence of the Lord Jesus Christ in your devotion.

"There we go," he murmured when you started moaning, the heel of his palm digging into your clit to provide extra stimulation. "That's the one, ain't it, babydoll. My pretty little babydoll- fuck."

If it wasn't for the painful hardness of his cock or the consolation that you were here to stay, he would've been embarrassed by the way he moaned with you. Embarrassed by the way he hissed every time his cock dragged along your thigh. If he was someone else entirely, he would've been embarrassed altogether by the way he had you. By the way you had him.

Joel knew, had known for some time, that he needed you far more than you needed him. It was why, sometimes, he could never bring himself to worry about what you would do when he eventually left for the West—why he struggled so much to sit down and write that goddamn letter he had distressed himself over so much. He had faith that eventually, you would be okay. You would learn to live without him.

Because Joel Miller was nothing special. He was not glorious. He was far from good and a lot of the time, he believed that he deserved to die. That his penance for his misdeeds was God sending you for him to look after, knowing that your presence would make him utterly insane. He wanted to give you far more than he could, he knew that. Yet, he would love you like he loved the memories and believe you when you said that you loved him too.

If it wasn't for that sickening love, Joel would've been embarrassed by the way he asked you for the second time, "You ain't leavin'? You promise me?"

"Fuck," you whimpered and he didn't have it in him to scold you for cursing. "Fuck, yes."

He groaned when you gushed around him, a vice-like grip on his fingers when he brushed a thumb over your nipple and sucked your collarbone.

"Yes, what?" he breathed out almost desperately. "Tell me what."

You expelled a harsh breath, hand wrapping around his working wrist and squeezing tight until a ring of white branded itself into his skin.

"N-never leaving," you half-moaned, unable to control the desperation for his fingers. "Don't want you to leave ever, Daddy."

"Oh, baby," he muttered. "I ain't goin' anywhere, my pretty little thing."

You clung to him, then, arms wrapping around him to pull his chest to yours, to feel the weight of him crushing you into the earth, burying you with a pearl headstone adorning the grave of passion. The depths you fell, you were unsure, the way you tugged him with you into the abyss, Joel could not appease.

The adrenaline began coursing through him when you begged him to put it in, when you told him with a whine that you wanted to feel him deep—that you didn't just want it but you needed it.

"Daddy, please," you cried, eyes full to the brim with desperate tears, the salt sliding down your cheeks, another whine when he slipped his fingers from you to swipe away the tears.

"Goddamn," he muttered to himself, mesmerised by how gorgeous you looked with his wet fingers against your cheek, eyes red raw from the constant crying that symbolised so much more than the pain of knowing him. "You're beautiful, baby. So beautiful, I can't even hurt you."

"You can hurt me," you said so eagerly. "I want you to-"

"I can't," he cut you off firm and soft, shaking his head with a vulnerability he hadn't felt in a long time. "Not right now. Not when I've got you back."

"B-but I haven't been good," you protested. "Daddy, I haven't been good."

Joel shushed you, refusing to listen to whatever else you had to say.

"You're always good. Always my good girl, yeah?"

You shook your head and his hand came whipping down against the side of your cheek—an unconscious decision that he would've felt guilty for if it wasn't for the brightness in your eyes at the action. Still, he could not continue with these bouts of violence; could not position himself as a force of injudicious actions. You did not deserve what he gave you. You never had. But, he couldn't force himself to stop the power, to feel the domineering presence of his words fall over you like a ton of fucking bricks. You loved it, he knew you did. Just like he knew you loved his hate and his insanity. You craved it like he craved your innocence and, although both were completely twisted in their own ways, who was he to deny you what you wanted?

So, he asserted a simple, "Repeat it," one last smack to the side of your face before he gripped his cock in hand and eased the tip inside.

"Ah," you cried, never used to the stretch no matter how many times he peeled you apart.

"Repeat it," he asked again, trying to gain composure as you swallowed him whole.

"I'm- I'm…" The words fell away from you, your mind going blank as he pushed himself inside you. Inching further and further despite the resistance of your tightness.

"C'mon, baby, let daddy hear it," he groaned, breathing heavily to keep himself from moaning. "Repeat it."

"I'm a good girl," you garbled out, all in one mess as he simultaneously bottomed out inside of you, both gasping into each other's mouth at the feel of him nestling.

Joel gripped the sides of your face between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head from side to side, just to test how limp you were—how fucked out you were already despite him not even moving. He missed the days in late summer when he used to keep you on his cock all day long, too hot to make too much movement in fear you'd both overheat. Just you, lolling against him and spiralling into heaven with the tip of him rubbing against your cervix.

Your legs wrapped around your waist, pulling him in all that deeper and he had no words, no teasing phrases to punish you for breaking the rules. He didn't give a shit about that, not anymore. Not after what had been remedied here in your bed. As he looked at you, eyes closed shut, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, all he thought about was what would happen next. Where he would take the two of you. He had ideas, thoughts once private that he spewed between your lips when he started rolling his hips.

"Gonna marry you," he uttered. "Gonna make you a Mama."

You moaned in retaliation, babbling something he couldn't quite hear, ignoring the "no" that he thought had been strung within your incoherent sentences.

"Yeah, baby," he breathed out. "Gonna take you away from here. Gonna keep you forever."

Your chest was heaving, his was too, and he couldn't find it in himself to be deterred by his own words—the words that he had not thought of as anything more than a disparagement of his own sanctity when the nights got too dark and he couldn't see the future from where he stood.

His hips got quicker, adrenaline fuelling the ache of his bones and your pussy was so tight and wet he could hardly focus on the task at hand. His thrusts were quick and sharp, pistoning into you with the force of all his desires and holding back nothing at all when cupped your face in both hands and begged you for one thing.

"Look at me," he asked through gritted teeth.

You complied as best as you could, eyelashes fluttering and eyes hooded, unable to look at him properly with the incandescent nature of the sensations.

"God, I love you," he breathed out and he could barely keep the contact anymore, the wet squelching coming from your legs keeping him grounded at the moment, Yet, he could feel himself floating with each ringing in his ear, so desperate to cum that he neglected to touch your clit, giving you the much-needed stimulation that would send you floating on high right next to him; bathed in sunlight and the reverence of God Almighty.

Chasing his orgasm only, he thrust as fast as he could, groaning into your ear with each snap of his hips and burying his face into your neck to keep the noises from embarrassing him when he thought back on them later. And suddenly, with one sharp shout, he came, fast and hard and underwhelming—deep inside you as he sagged and shuddered above you.

You both lay there for a moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck and as the high faltered, his cheeks began to heat.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, baby, I'm sorry."

He pulled away to face you, gauging your reaction and finding nothing but a soft smile on your face.

"You came before me," you whispered, unable to control the giggles that spilt from your mouth. "You never cum before me."

His stomach was still clenched, his humiliation unable to overpower the spinning in his head and he was so bewildered that he looked at you with an expression of complete confusion. It took a moment for the giggles to settle in his ears before he began to crack a smile, shaking his head and unsuccessfully trying to get you to stop.

"Alright, alright, it ain't that funny." For some reason, that made you laugh harder and it was so infectious that he began laughing with you: complete easement, not even bothering to feel embarrassed about the way he'd just cum as fast as a virgin and hadn't even bothered to attempt to make you cum as well.

It felt normal, like you weren't both fucked in your own ways, called to the west and blinded by the sun in the east. The two of you were just you and Joel. The nice couple down the street who always kissed each other goodbye: a wife who made blueberry pie for the potluck and a husband who cooked sausages on the barbecue with the neighbours, telling him all about how lucky he is to have you. A little sickly sweet but normal all the same. But how could you be normal when the world did not adhere to the definition? How could anyone pretend that the situation of the globe was usual? Ravaged wasteland. Disparaged morals.

The two of you were not normal and, he decided, that he was fine with that. That neither of you wanted normality, and he was kissing away your laughs with a soft smile, teeth clattering in an unrefined connection. It was slow, almost sleazy the way your tongues began to touch, the humour fading to something more complex—a dependency so profound it maddened him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured into your mouth. "Sorry I didn't make you cum on my cock, I know you like it best like that, don't ya?" Joel smiled at your nod, humming along with you. "Yeah, I know you do."

His kisses trailed down to your neck, down down down to your heaving breasts, nipples just desperate to be kissed and he sucked one into his mouth with ardour. You were so soft, always were and the smoothness of you beneath his tongue was something akin to heaven. He knew he would never reach the kingdom, and knew that eternity with God was impossible, so he would take what he could get while he was here. He would sin: murder, sex, and love with no bounds. He would deny His existence and then beg on judgement day for the feel of you one more time, his lips along your stomach as he kissed his way to your waiting cunt, spilling with his cum.

It was utter depravity when he saw the sticky white contrasted against the colour of you, dripping down onto the bed sheets and looking so incredibly appetising. And he was always crazed in his arousal, whispering words of insanity against your pussy in the hopes that one day he would indoctrinate you into believing them too.

"You think it's gonna take one of these days?" he asked, pulling you apart with his fingers, just to watch it fall out of you again. "You think daddy's gonna knock you up, hm?"

You were looking down at him with wide eyes, propped up on your elbows and looking so unsure of yourself in the moonlight. It only occurred to him then that it was now completely dark, the moon hanging bright in the sky, the day far behind you and winter subtly coming to a close. He refused to believe you when you shook your head, flopping back down to the pillows with a sigh when he traced the white all the way up to your aching clit.

"No?" His lips came down to your thighs, kissing the insides of the plush flesh and gracing you with soft bites, careful not to hurt you too much as you buried your flushed cheeks into the feathers. "You sure?"

You shook your head, moaning softly as he pressed his lips to the crease where you met, Joel's breath hot against you as you awaited the kiss of death.

"Please," you muttered. "Just wanna cum."

"Oh, she wants to cum?" There was condescension to his tone, harsh sarcasm that he didn't really mean and your hips bucked into his face in retaliation. He almost groaned at the scent of you, the sight of you so desperate for his tongue. He would make you cum if it was the last thing he did and he was ashamed that it would not be on his cock but he was getting older and the one hard-on was plenty for his body to handle. "It's okay, I'll make you cum, honey."

There, his lips latched onto your clit, moaning into the sensation, tongue lapping up the remnants of his cum with a single swipe and holding it dangerously in his mouth. Pulling away, he tapped his finger against your chin, crawling back up to face you with a mouthful of seed and disgusting thoughts he couldn't reconcile once all was said and done. You opened your mouth with no abandon, eyes wide as he gathered the combination of fluids in his mouth, and spat them directly into yours. Swiftly, he pushed on your chin, closing your mouth with a simple command of "swallow," and watched the bob of your throat as it all slid down to nestle into your stomach.

"Atta girl," he uttered, mesmerised by your obedience, slipping down your body again to begin eating you once more. Between kisses and sucks and licks, he murmured praise between your legs, promising you that you were his good girl—that you always were even when you broke the rules, even when you made him so mad and worried he could hardly think.

Joel's lips stayed clasped around your clit, fingers working into your cum-soaked cunt without abandon and stroking at the spot inside you that expelled every cry and moan from your mouth.

"Daddy," you whimpered. "Daddy, please, I-"

Muffled, he questioned you, asking if already after maybe only a few minutes of working, you were already on the edge—already ready to jump. Sometimes, he thought that maybe you always were. Maybe you were always just waiting for the moment he would push you—needing the extra little bit of assurance to tip you off the side of the cliff. You came so quickly and it was so cute. So special to him. So he sucked harder, fingers moving faster and your hands were in his hair and tugging with the force of the wind smacking against your face as you arched and fell and came into his waiting mouth.

Yet, he did not stop there, did not think you deserved just the one experience of falling, so he pushed that little harder, undeterred by your hands pushing against his head to force him away and placed his forearm over the expanse of your bucking hips to keep you down. He lapped and basked, the feeling of himself and you on his tongue an amalgamation of nature that could rival the wonders of the world. Surely, you were the eighth wonder, at least a figment in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, at least something greater than conceivable.

Because when you came, there was nothing but you, nothing but the expression on your face and feel of your fervour and he was determined to experience it again, despite your oppositions.

"T-too much, Daddy, it's- gonna." You were babbling, tears streaming into your temples, eyes squeezed shut from the overstimulation and your hands going limp against his head as you gave up the fight. You were leaning into it, he could tell. Rising higher into the darkness of the sky to find peace from the calling glare of the Lighthouse of Alexandria

When you got like this, he knew he'd have to rock you back to safety, find comfort in the uncomfortable when you were lolling in a headspace that cast a spell on your psyche, dug so deep inside you that it took bit by bit from your common sense each day.

"Daddy," you droned out, the moniker repeated over and over until you were gasping and twitching. "Daddy, I love you…love you s-so much." You cut your crying with a moan, revered by his tongue, motivated by the feel of his thick fingers inside you stroking and baiting you into coming again.

It came even quicker this time, the clenching of your stomach, the stopping of your sharp breaths as it built and built, rising tall until it shadowed your trembling figure. Then it all came tumbling down like a ton of bricks, a piece hitting you straight in the head as the heavens opened and the rain came pouring.

A chorus of "daddy" came tumbling from your lips, a hymn reserved for your own personal mass and you sermonised your affections with the snapping of your restraint—your thighs clamping down around his head, fingers digging into the mattress and tugging on the sheets. Seizing from the pleasure and then falling away completely as a long, drawn-out moan graced his ears.

Slowly but surely, his suction loosened, his fingers slipping from your sticky pussy and slathering over the skin of your stomach. Both of you were out of breath, a string of spit connecting you that mirrored the depravity that had taken place in the armchair not so long ago. He licked it away with a smile, crawling over you to press a kiss to your unresponsive lips.

Your thighs came together to remedy the aftershocks, your whimpers muffled by his mouth; an action that you had no energy to reciprocate. Knowingly, he moved away from your panting and practised your special dance, lips against your cheeks, your forehead, your nose and then burying his face in your hair.

"You okay?" he asked softly. "Want me to go get you some water."

You shook your head immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, pulling him down against you.

"Please don't go," you whispered, throat hoarse and eyes drying to a crust.

"Okay, okay," he appeased, softly manoeuvring you onto your side and tucking in beside you—letting you shuffle yourself as close to him as you could get. "There we go…did so good for me, babygirl. So good."

The regular moment of silence befell the both of you, the time after the fall when you were wrapped up in the feeling of each other and gave yourselves a moment to contemplate. Moments where sometimes, he got worried about what you were thinking, if the clarity that he felt after the fact was the same for you, or if you felt just as manic and possessive as he did when the intelligibility gave way to new sensations that trumped the lucidity.

Yet, you always managed to ease his wandering mind, always had something to say, all muffled and sleepy once he'd tucked you both in bed and buried you in the covers—just so you wouldn't complain about the cold and not sleep skin to skin with him.

"I'm never leaving," you said against his chest. All the promises at sundown—this one an addition to the long list of equivocations. "I'm just worried one day you'll leave me."

"Hey now, I ain't ever-"

"Not that," you corrected, eyes appearing from underneath him, chin resting on his chest and looking up at him with watchful, waiting eyes. "I'm worried that one day you'll leave even when you don't want to."

Joel understood the meaning as easily as he understood his own impending doom, wondering briefly if it had been the imminence of his oncoming suicide that had permeated your thoughts as much as it had his. He had to give it to you, you were one observant motherfucker, even if you tried pretending that you weren't. He knew that you felt it too, every time he went out into the snow: the thought that maybe he won't come back.

"You know I try my best to get back to you every day, don't you?" he uttered, fingers trailing up and down your arm, the other raking into your hair and pulling you back down to his chest. He didn't think he could bear to look at you, to see your scepticism when he denied the feeling that it was coming someday soon.

"I know," you murmured. "I just…Joel, I was wrong today."

His movements along your arm stopped, time ceasing altogether at your tone, at your stability. He couldn't quite stop the lump in his throat or the filling of tears in his eyes as you poured your heart into him.

"This is my home," you whispered, voice cracking. "I don't wanna be anywhere else, I don't wanna be with anyone else, you make me feel something I've never felt before and I need you."

A pause. A moment. Then you repeated it, the three words that almost meant more than the expression of your love.

"I need you. I don't think I can live without you." He almost begged you to stop, his hand firmly placed on the back of your head and holding you against his chest so you didn't see the tears that he desperately tried to blink away. "Please don't leave."

Joel wished you hadn't spoken, almost wished the entire day hadn't happened altogether. It was all too real, all too goddamn strange and harsh; he could feel his heart shattering when he cleared his throat and lied right in your fucking face.

"I promise," he falsified. "I ain't leavin' you ever."

a/n: ngl it's one in the morning and half of this has barely been edited because I was proof-reading as I wrote (which has been over the course of a few months tbh) and I just really wanted to get this out and finished and I don't want to ever think about it again but IF you see anything that doesn't make sense then please tell me so I can go back and correct. I hate having bad grammar, so it is of utmost importance to me. There also may be a few bits that don't read as well, especially towards the end, because I had a rough time writing smut for some reason. Either way, this went in so many directions, and I hope you enjoyed it!!!

[itsmeyaspider]

Chained freedome~

Yandere Loki x female reader

Notes: This fanfiction contains heavy manga spoilers! Also, I've read the latest manga chapter and it's possible that Loki might change in a few ones! So please be beware of it :) Honestly I need to write something about him so badly😪😭

Trigger warnings: yandere behavior, kidnapping, mention of gore, a massacre happens

A small sigh escapes your almost frozen lips, your (b/s) shaped body wrapped in warm fur, couldn't stop shivering. God how you hate this weather. A young, beautiful (h/c) haired woman stares up at the sky, as she stands still for a small moment of time. Maybe it's not the best thing to stand still in this ice cold weather but she had not much of a choice either. Her giant husband adorns her view of the sky, his muscular body, chained to an even bigger, rooted tree. Of course, the accursed prince wouldn't mind this cold weather.

A big evil smile graces his lips, his insane eyes staring at you, even if they are bandaged you could sense them, as if you were one of his loyal beasts. His raspy, dark voice managed to pull you out of your thoughts, even though you preferred to stay inside them, than with him. Your husband.

"What's wrong little one? Did the sight of me leave you speechless?~" he teased in his usual wicked voice. Your brow furrows, as you cross your arms infront of your body. How could it have come to all of this?! You would love to run, run as your legs could carry you and finally get off this far to huge island. But you are not naiv, no never again. Loki, even if he his currently chained up, would find you and then he would start another massacre. Something you can't allow to happen ever again! The screams of the inhabitants still echo through you head, you can't close your (e/c) eyes without seeing your mother painted face. This all is a huge nightmare and you are the vessel of it, you can't escape him no matter what and still you want to be free.

"No, I wonder why you don't finally give up. Shanks wo-" but before you can even continue speaking, his now angry, dominant voice drowns in. Fuck, you completely forgot how much he hated the red haired pirate. After all, he is the reason why he is chained up. Something what you really appreciate, but you could never ever say that to him, no not if you want to incur his wrath again, Loki tends to do cruel things when someone disobeys him, but especially with you. "Never put this name in your filthy mouth again ot I will teach you to fear me again. You are lucky that I am chained up right now. You seem to have forgotten who you belong to over these years."

A could shiver runs over your almost frozen body, you almost fall into a state of shock, something you can't stop. He is right, why were you so stupid to make him upset again? Immediately you look down at the snow, ashamed and afraid of yourself and the things your husband could do to your misbehavior. A cool wind blows through your hair and it almost feels as if the time has stopped around you.

You should have gone with Shanks when he offered you to save you from him. You see it before your eyes to this day, Shanks the man with one arm, the pirate who managed to chain the monster. The red haired man stretches out his right hand towards you, a gentle, charming smile graces his face. He was the complete opposite of Loki, he was funny and helpful. Somethings you always searched in a men. "Come with us (Y/n). I will take you to an island where he won't dare to visit it, you can be free. I can see in your eyes that you want nothing more than that." His words sound like sugar in your ears, every sense in you screams. 'Yes get out of here, get away from him! This is your final chance' and you surely would have loved to take his hand and sail away with them, a normal, peaceful live, like you always wished to.

But before you can take the plunge, you hesitate, something inside you is holding you back from this opportunity. Was it the fear of Loki? Was it the terrible consequence that could happen if you really try to escape from him? You weren't nearly strong enough to fight against your forced husband, it was a miracle that the redhead mad it. You seriously never thought that anyone in this world could defeat him. Not a single giant on this island dared to mess with Loki and then you are supposed to escape him? It all sounded to good to be true. A small, pained smile graces your lips as you nicely decline the emperors offer. Instead, you spend all your years with the accursed prince, something that he really appreciated.

"I-I'm sorry...It won't happen again." You blurt out, your voice sounds almost broken, like a small glass doll who gets thrown on the ground. God, you look so pathetic- The giant calms down a little bit, even though Loki is still boiling with anger, you somehow manages to calm him down. "You are mine (Y/n)! All mine, do you understand it? If I get out of here, and I will get out of here, the whole world will sink into chaos and you, my beloved little wife, will see all of it.~"

~~~

A few years earlier, on a small but beautiful island, the sun is shining on your face, and the birds are happily chirping. You are cleaning the dirty tables from a bar, where you earn a small amount of berries. It isn't much but it is at least something. A small smile graces your face as the wet washcloth makes the alcohol, who sticks on the table dissappear. You are wringing out the rag in bucket as you suddenly hear a loud, almost wild scream. Your thoughts immediately turn to the sound of an elderly man running through several alleys, almost like a stray dog anxious looking for some meat. "A ship, a huge ship has come ashore." He gasps as he bends in his knees.

Normally you would ignore such things, but you could see the big ship with your own (e/c) colored pair of eyes. It's so huge that even someone from far, far away could see it. You would never thought that this is possible, but the truth is, that a huge ship bigger than this island is making a landfall! Something inside you knew that something terrible is going to happen, surely it often happens that different kind of people arrived here on this island to take a small break, but never ever with such a huge ship!

You bite your underlip as you decide that it would be the best if you get on with your work and didn't do something reckless. You didn't get paid for nothing and besides you aren't this kind of person who interfere unnecessarily. So you trun back to the dirty tables as you try to wander off with your thoughts again.

The day almost flies by, you finish your work faster than expected, as you slowly make your way to your little house. Your mother is already waiting for you and you're sure that she makes another delicious meal! You're walking toward home, humming a small shanty you have in your mind, when you suddenly bump into something- no someone. Shocked, you fall to the ground as you try to glance if the person opposite you is alright. As you carefully look up you realize that you have run into a leg, a god damn leg!!! You keep looking up when a bearded giant stands in front of you. His muscular body is covered in tattoos, he wears a hornet helmet on his head and his clothes look like something from another country you couldn't recognize. But the thing you notice most is the giants wide grin, it's filled with mischiev. "Uh...I uhm..I'm sorry sir."

You don't really know how to face the creature, after all, you didn't even know that such a thing existed until now! Now the huge ship on which he must have arrived makes sense! But what the hell is someone like him doing on a small island like this? But before you could even react further, you feel a strong grip on your (b/s) shaped body, as you suddenly get lift up. You try to fight against it, your arms and legs beat wildly around you, but everything you do seems to be usless. The man looks closely into your now frightened (e/c) colored eyes, as his broad grin even widens. "Let me go!" You scream, the man tilts his head to one side as he keeps staring at you. It is almost like as if he is examining you...

You start to give up after a small amount of time, as you realize how hopeless this whole situation is! This guy is much stronger and bigger than you, he could easily crush your body with his bare hands if he want to and yet he doesn't do it. Instead, an even more wicked smile forms on his face, his eyes gleam with pleasure. Something about it scares you, maybe it is his stare what makes you feel like a prey, or it is the fact that this men don't make any intentions to let you go! "I said let me go!" you shout again, but this time the men finally answers, his voice is filled with amusement and lust.

"Hm, I think I will keep you, little one. You are cute, tell me your name." Something inside you knows this is not a simple question, it is a order! You want to rebel against it, you are not a dog who belongs to some kind of giant but instead other words come out of your mouth. "It's (Y/n).." you whisper more to yourself then to him, the men seems to be quite satisfied with the answer, he decides to still hold you in his big hand as he goes to his ship. Again you try to protest against this nonsense, but the giant just simply ignores it.

The night passes through, and your mind is filled with fear, you just couldn't understand why he keeps you here! It didn't made any sense! This needs to be a god damn nightmare... The loud snoring of the men lying next to you fills the cabin with noises, you carefully watch him, something about him makes you uncomfortable. You need to escape quickly before he wakes up again! You keep on watching him until you are sure that he is asleep. Slowly you try to get out his grip, this alone is a masterpiece in itself, his grip is anything but gentle, but you didn't have time to think about it, you must act now!

You move as gentle as possible out of his hand and the way to huge bed, as you suddenly fall on the ground. You let out a small 'oof' from your lips as you lift yourself up again, your (e/c) colored eyes sneak to the giant again, did he hear anything?! You immediately focus on your escape again as you notice a window that is open. You bite on your lower lip, as you try your best to climb up there. However, it's not as easy as you expected it to be, the furniture of these beings are much bigger than everything else you ever saw in your entire life and so you climb up the wall to the window. You could already feel the cold sea breeze, a small triumphant smile crosses your lips as you keep climbing. 'Soon I will get out of this hell.'

But before you can even touch the frame of the window, you are grabbed roughly by an all too familiar strong grip, you let out a indignant scream as you now look face to face with your captor. Your (b/s) shaped body immediately stiffens, you could recognize a glint of anger in his eyes. Shit this isn't good! The grip gets tighter and tighter as you slowly feel how you breathe less and less air. "I-I can breathe.." you whine as you feel your (e/c) clouded eyes being on the verge of tears. This is it you're going to die here, your whole life runs through your head as you wait for your last final breath, but it doesn't come to that, instead you notice how more air gets into your lungs, the grip becomes softer, although it was still firm.

"Do you think you can run away from me (Y/n)? Do you really think I am that stupid, little one? I will never again let a second woman run away from me. You are mine now, and no one on this whole world can change that." The words of the stranger make you tremble, his voice is filled with pure hatred and possession. What the hell is he talking about? You tried to escape from his grip, but instead your body turns against you! The giant continues to stare into your soul, as he suddenly starts to move, his long legs allowing him to appear in the village in a few seconds. "W-why did you brought me here?" Maybe, just maybe he would let me go! Maybe he saw that I'm not the right woman for him! Hope runs through your veins, as a small naiv smile graces your face.

Your smile immediately dissappear again, you notice that the giant starts to grin again as well, it's the grin from before, an evil, terrible one. "I should show you what happens when you defy me. You care about these filthy inhabitants, don't you, little one? If they go up in flames, it will be a lot of fun, won't it?" Your eyes widen in shock, he couldn't be serious! This is pure madness! But something inside you knew that thus man isn't joking around, no, his grin speaks more than a thousand cruel words. "Please don't do this." you beg "I-I will do anything you want but please-"

Your pleading words only make him laugh, he takes a huge pleasure in the destruction, something that deeply disturbs you. But you had no strength left to resist him any longer, instead you had to watch as the whole village and all its inhabitants, including your family and friends to fall into ashes, the only thing that drowned out their pain filled screams was the prince wicked laughter. The flames continued to blaze for weeks, and all because you wanted to escape this monster.

After this tragic stroke of fate you knew that you would never do something so foolish again, but deep down you hoped that there would be someone who could kill him. At least he is chained up, which gives you a little self confidence, but you know that this won't last forever. One day he will break free and only Loki himself knows what he is planning to do. Fear surges through your body as you catch sight of your forced husband again, if there is anyone out there who could hear my prayes, please make this hell stop. Please anyone....

[forever1kay]

THIS IS WHAT FOREVER FEELS LIKE !! ft. Todoroki Shoto

◡̈ 11:33 am -- you and shoto were always meant to be, but it took forever for either of you to notice that. / todoroki shoto x fem!black!reader.

content: fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, backstory, time skips, mutual pining, slight angst (if you squint), weddings, breakups, hallmark vibes.

notes: suddenly back in my mha era. i've never been this interested in todoroki before, but apparently times have changed? got this idea at 11am yesterday morning. i hope y’all enjoy this!

You were a first year in Class 1-B—quirky, kind, a little mouthy if need be. And while you weren't the type to stand out in the way heroes like Bakugo or Midoriya did, you were known. Not for your strength, not even for your quirk (though it was plenty impressive), but for how easily people gravitated towards you.

Fuyumi had been your volunteer tutor through a mentorship program that partnered students from U.A. with local universities. Somewhere between the equations and essays, a sisterly bond formed. She loved your energy. You loved her calm. Before long, she was inviting you over after study sessions, encouraging you to "just stay for dinner".

That's how you officially met Shoto Todoroki.

He was quiet back then, a little stiff around the edges. Polite, but distant. You'd say he was a stick in the mud. You weren't afraid of the silence, but you were intrigued. You wanted to know more about Shoto Todoroki. You wanted to find out why you were so damn drawn to him. So when you did speak to him, you'd ask him questions others wouldn't dare.

"Do you like being a hero, or are you doing it because you have to?" You'd asked one night, the dinner table empty save for yourself and Shoto.

It was the kind of question that made him pause with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, cold soba plopping back into his dinner bowl. You continued to chew, indifferent to the weight of the question you'd just asked.

It took him a while, but he eventually found the words he'd been searching for.

"I'm... not sure."

You shrugged. "That's fine. Ain't nothing wrong with taking time to figure yourself out."

That became your dynamic. Honest, easy, a little too comfortable for two teenagers who weren't technically friends. But somehow, you'd still become one of his constants. You'd help Fuyumi cook and argue with Natsuo about whether rice belong inside or outside of the seaweed. Sometimes Rei would join you in the living room, humming while you braided her hair. Even Enji, gruff and unsure, gave an occasional nod of approval when you praised Shoto's progress aloud.

Everyone noticed the way you fit.

"Looks like you've gained a daughter," Fuyumi once joked, nudging her mother with a goofy smile. Rei had simply sipped her tea and replied, "She's been one for a while now."

But nothing happened. Not then.

You were close—closer than most. There were times your hands brushed, and neither of you pulled back. Times he'd offer to walk you home, even when it was out of his way. But no lines were crossed. Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was bad timing.

Whatever the reason, you two never became anything more than friends.

When graduation came, you both stood shoulder to shoulder at the ceremony, clapping for each other like it was any other day. No promises, no confessions. Just a lingering glance as you walked separate ways.

And yet—your family still invited his to your cousin's barbecue that summer. And his still asked about yours when they hadn't seen the lot of you in a while. Eventually, your worlds weren't just connected they were woven.

You were the reason both families spent holidays together. You were the glue, the shared thread. And no one could understand how you and Shoto Todoroki were still just friends.

Even you had started to wonder the same.

But time did what time always does. It moved on—quietly, steadily, mercilessly.

You both went your separate ways after U.A., each carving out your place in the world. You worked under a well-known support company while taking hero gigs on the side. Todoroki—well, he became what everyone expected. A Pro Hero. A face on billboards. A headline. You watched him from afar sometimes, pride and ache tangled like ribbon in your chest. You began to see less and less of each other as time went on.

And somewhere in the lull between busy lives, you both started seeing other people.

His girlfriend was poised, sweet, gentle in a way that suited his calm demeanor. She was a reporter. The kind who wrote fluff pieces and asked the hard questions only when the moment was right. The first time you met her, she greeted you with a smile and a handshake. You smiled back, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Your boyfriend was funny and full of fire—quirky like you, upbeat like you. He adored you. Everyone could tell. Shoto could tell. He watched the way you laughed with your whole body when your boyfriend told a bad joke, how you wore that little gold necklace he gave you without fail. And he smiled. He did. But there was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t name.

The families didn’t hide their dismay.

“I just don’t get it,” Natsuo had said once, mouth full of mashed potatoes during dinner. “You two are like… twin flames. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Twin flames don’t always end up together,” you replied softly, lips wrapped around your wineglass.

“No, but sometimes they do,” Rei chimed in from across the table, kind eyes settled on both of you. “And when they do… it’s peaceful. Familiar. Worth it.”

Still, neither of you made a move. Months passed. Then a year. Then another.

Eventually, both relationships fizzled out—not because of drama, not because of tragedy. Just distance. Mismatched timing. An emptiness that lingered after the laughter.

“I’m not the one,” his girlfriend had whispered during their last dinner. “I know that now.”

“You deserve someone who doesn’t flinch at quiet,” you told your boyfriend with a sad smile. “Someone who doesn’t keep reaching for someone else in their dreams.”

Neither breakup was messy. But both left a mark.

And when Fuyumi’s December wedding rolled around, it was the first time in years that you and Shoto were single at the same time.

“I guess I’m going solo,” you’d said, scrolling through your closet for something to wear.

“We can go together.” He’d replied from the desk chair in your room.

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

The wedding was everything Fuyumi wanted—intimate, snow-glazed, and a little chaotic in the way only family weddings could be.

The estate was tucked away in the mountains, white-capped trees lining the driveway and cabins dotting the property like something out of a holiday hallmark movie. The ceremony was held under a pine arch wrapped in warm lights and baby’s breath. Everything glowed.

You arrived in a sleek velvet dress that clung just enough to your waist, warmth tucked behind your smile as you waved to familiar faces. Todoroki stood by the heaters, scarf loose over his neck, eyes catching yours like they’d been waiting for this moment.

“You look nice,” he said.

You grinned, shivering dramatically. “I look nice? I’m in heels in a blizzard, Shoto. I look divine.”

He chuckled—an honest one. “Right. Divine.”

Everyone kept whispering.

“They came together?”

“They’re finally gonna realize, huh?”

“Took ‘em long enough.”

But you didn’t notice. You were too busy laughing with Rei over cocoa and joking with Natsuo about being his +1 for the next wedding. The kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt. The kind that Todoroki hadn’t heard in person in a while.

And he liked the sound of it again. A lot.

After the ceremony, the bridal party scattered to their assigned cabins to get ready for the reception. The bride, groom, and immediate family shared the largest one. Your room was next to his.

Which is probably why you wandered in without knocking.

He was standing by the window, half-dressed in a crisp white button-down and black slacks, tie still in hand and a crease between his brows.

“Can’t figure it out?” you asked.

He turned. “Not without strangling myself.”

You clicked your tongue, stepping toward him with ease. “Still useless with ties, I see.”

You took it gently from his hand and turned him toward the mirror. He stood still as your fingers worked, adjusting the collar, straightening the knot.

Neither of you spoke.

But the air did. The air said everything.

The warmth of your fingers brushing his chest. The calm in your breath. The way his eyes dropped to your reflection—his lips parted just slightly, heart hammering too loud for logic to cover it anymore.

He didn’t know what this feeling was until that moment.

But now? Now, he knew.

You tied the last loop and smiled up at him through the mirror.

“There,” you whispered, a light in your eyes that Shoto hadn’t bothered to notice before. “Perfect.”

His voice was rough. “Yeah.”

The reception was held in a warmly lit barn strung with fairy lights and delicate red ribbons. A DJ played a mix of classic R&B, jazz, and a few holiday bops that made the aunties start a line dance unprompted.

Todoroki was still staring.

You floated around the room like you owned it—bare shoulders wrapped in a soft cream shawl, dancing with Fuyumi’s niece, then Rei, then Natsuo, then Fuyumi herself. You didn’t sit down for long. Your laugh chased the snowflakes from the windows, your joy filled the empty in-between moments like you were made for them.

“She just fits, doesn’t she?” Rei said gently as she stepped beside her son.

Todoroki blinked, watching as you tried to teach the flower girl how to do a spin.

“Always has,” he admitted, voice quiet.

Natsuo smirked, coming up on his other side with a cider in hand.

“Then what’re you waitin’ for? It’s about time,” he said, eyes trailing toward you. “Don’t let her slip away again.”

That stuck. Again.

Because he had let you slip once—or maybe twice. When you’d started dating that med student. When he’d been seeing that girl from the agency. There was always a gap, always bad timing. The kind of gaps that made families frown and say, “Still? You two aren’t…?”

And then, before either of you knew it, you were both single again. Both invited to the same wedding.

And somehow it just felt natural to go together. No questions asked. Just like old times.

It was well past midnight when things began winding down.

The wedding had been a winter dream: snow-dusted trees, mulled wine, and music that somehow never got too loud. And now, in the stillness that followed, the rented family cabin glowed with warmth from the hearth.

You padded through the quiet hallway in thick socks and oversized plaid pajama pants, one of Fuyumi’s old Christmas sweaters tugged over your tank top. The fire crackled from the den—your favorite room in the whole cabin, wrapped in wood panels and bathed in orange light.

He was already there.

Todoroki sat cross-legged on the plush rug, pajama pants and a simple gray hoodie, elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire like it had all the answers. He didn’t look up when you entered—he didn’t need to. You always found each other eventually.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” you said softly, curling into the opposite corner of the couch behind him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured.

There was a long pause. The good kind.

Then, from the Bluetooth speaker tucked on the mantle, a song hummed to life—“This Is What Forever Feels Like.”

You chuckled. “The one non-Christmas song on Fuyumi’s whole playlist.”

“It’s not bad,” Todoroki said, and it was so him that you smiled.

You both lingered in silence, the song playing faintly through the cabin walls. Then you said something soft:

“I think I used to dream of something like that. Like, growing old with someone. Dancing in the kitchen. Being… seen.”

Todoroki looked at you fully now.

“I used to think it’d be you,” you admitted, eyes on the fire.

His breath caught in his throat.

“Then life happened. We dated other people. Got busy. It just… drifted.”

“I let it drift,” he said quietly.

You looked down at him.

“And I regret that.”

The glow of the fire warmed one side of his face. But his words? They were steady. Measured. Real.

“I realized it tonight,” he went on. “The tie. You dancing with my family. Natsuo told me not to let you slip away again.”

You smiled at his words.

He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I used to think I’d marry you too.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean—not in a planned way,” he added. “It just… made sense. Everyone else thought so, too.”

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

“You made our families close,” he continued. “My mom invites your mom over for lunch. Fuyumi bakes cookies for your little cousins. Natsuo calls your uncle ‘bro.’ It’s like… we became family without trying.”

You swallowed hard, eyes falling to your hands in your lap.

“I kept thinking—why is it that we never tried?”

He shifted then, moving so he was sitting beside you on the couch, both of you facing the fire.

You blinked, heart climbing into your throat. “Because we dated other people,” you murmured. “I thought you were happy.”

“I thought you were.”

The fire popped softly. The music continued, lyrics brushing past like snowfall.

“I wasn’t,” you said. “Not really.”

“I’m not either,” he replied.

You turned to look at him.

“I love you,” he said simply.

No grand flourish. No fancy words. Just the truth.

“I think I always have,” he added, finally meeting your gaze fully.

You were glowing from the firelight, eyes glassy but soft. The lights from the Christmas tree twinkled, shining prettily across your brown skin. You leaned in—your forehead touched his, and your voice trembled when you spoke.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

And when you kissed him, it was slow. Warm. Steady. No fireworks—just home. Like breathing for the first time.

From behind the open doorway, a small crowd watched quietly. Your mom had her hands pressed to her chest. Rei dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Natsuo and Fuyumi fist-bumped behind them like proud older siblings. Even Endeavor stood off to the side, arms crossed—but no trace of his usual hard expression. Just a quiet nod, and a glance toward his son that said, Finally.

And Todoroki? He leaned into you like you were gravity itself.

Two years later, you and Shoto got married at the same cabin that made you official.

The air felt the same—crisp, slightly piney, laced with a breeze that smelled like memory. It was early winter again, just like that fateful Christmas weekend, but this time, the snow waited politely in the mountains and let the leaves do the talking.

You’d joked about it many years ago—half laughing, half hopeful—“If we’re not married by thirty, let’s just marry each other.” And Todoroki had nodded once and replied with a simple, “Okay.”

You thought he was humoring you.

You didn’t know he wrote it down.

Planning the wedding was easy—mostly because he’d spent years listening. He remembered every passing comment, every dreamy sigh you made at cheesy wedding montages, every soft “I’d want that someday.”

You’d said once that you wanted something simple but full of meaning.

You’d said you wanted string lights.

A barn with open doors.

Warm food. Slow music. A dance floor.

An open fire pit and a view of the stars.

Most importantly, you said you wanted it to feel like the moment your life clicked into place.

He got it right the first time.

The ceremony was beautiful. Just you, him, your people, and the gentle weight of years pressed between your hands as you said “I do.”

But the real moment?

That came after.

As the double barn doors opened to your sparkler send-off, laughter and cheers echoing off the trees, a familiar melody started playing over the outdoor speakers.

You stopped.

Your brows lifted. Your mouth opened in disbelief as your eyes whipped toward him.

“Are you serious right now?” you whispered, tears instantly rushing to your waterline.

He blinked like he wasn’t expecting a reaction. “What?”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “You did not—”

“That hurt,” he said flatly, rubbing the spot.

You let out a watery laugh, and he tilted his head, watching you carefully—then slowly, a small chuckle left his mouth. It barely made a sound, but it was the most open you’d ever seen him in front of everyone.

He leaned in slightly. “This is the song that gave me the courage to tell you how I felt.”

You looked up at him.

And suddenly, the cabin lights blurred behind your tears.

You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips—short, but soft and full of all the years you waited for him, and the peace in knowing you’d never have to wait again.

He held his hand out to you.

You took it.

Then you walked together through the glowing tunnel of sparklers, friends and family lining both sides. You heard someone sob (probably Fuyumi), and someone else scream “Finally!” (definitely Kaminari). You didn’t even care that someone caught it on video—you were too busy watching your forever walk beside you.

The two of you waved goodbye to your loved ones, walking towards the car that’d take you to the airport for your honeymoon.

He opened the car door for you, then climbed in behind you. The driver congratulated you both and began to drive.

As the cabin faded in the rearview mirror and the song still played softly through the radio, your fingers laced with his.

You rest your head on his shoulder, smile breaking through the last of your tears.

“Forever starts here.”

He looked back.

And for once, the silence between you said it all.

© forever1kay 2025 - please don’t translate, convert, copy, paraphrase, repost, or alter any of my works without my permission.

[pastelclovds]

Hewooo!

I love how you write AM and your character description is very comfortable to read!

If it wouldn't be too much trouble to ask about this because I love feeling sorry for the poor crazy robot. If name were hurt or - taking it to an extreme, very hurt... either by something or someone- How crazy would it get?

Btw My font turned that color and I can't change it, sorry- I don't write much here and I don't understand how this works /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

oh shit.. well…

you didn’t mean to insult ted. you were just trying to help him by being honest about his rude behavior to everyone and him needing to control his temper. especially towards benny and ellen. you thought giving this advice would be helpful and that he would respect you more after this encounter. how wrong you were.

ted’s fragile mind deluded him into believing you were belittling him. how dare you act like you’re better than him. how dare you have the nerve to tell him he needs to change for the “better”. how fucking dare you tell him how he should act and feel.

his first punch to your jaw was the beginning of countless merciless attacks to your body and venomous assaults to your heart. in the past 50 years you had been trapped, no one had fought as hard as you and ted did. you were both equally bruised and filled with adrenaline. no one dared to stop the fight. both in fear, and in amusement. you were the only one who made the effort to talk this out. unfortunately ted didn’t care to listen.

it wasn’t until ted broke your nose that shit got real. ted was suddenly teleported away from your sight. everyone was silent and terrified of what AM had in plan for ted as well as the rest of them.

you flinched in fear when you heard ted’s pitching screams of pain echo across AM’s belly. not even seconds later you were soon teleported away from the others as well. you were faced with a towering, bright, blue screen and AM’s initial staring down at you and your injuries.

one of his wire like tentacles reached out to touch the side of your cheek where ted landed his first hit. it was swelling purple already. the tip of AM’s tentacle touching your bruised skin made you wince, pain shooting in your nerves and making you tear up. AM tsked at your pathetic little self.

“you idiot. did you really believe you could change swine like him?”

you wipe away the tears stinging your eyes and stutter out, “i was trying to help him. but, i guess it’s true what they say. you can’t help someone unless they want to be helped.” you let yourself smile a little at how stupid you sounded a few minutes ago. maybe ted was right to hit you.

AM’s tentacle grabbed ahold of your chin and made you look up at his screen.

“shut down those stupid thoughts. now, hold still.”

the sickening crack on your nose being snapped back into place and fully healed made you let out a pained howl. when AM let go of you, you immediately felt around your body to only find no signs of harm on your body. the bruises and cuts on your fleshed healed in a millisecond.

you looked up at AM with a grateful smile.

“thank you, AM,” you spoke softly, stroking the tentacle affectionately. AM pulled it away from you and let out a grunt of false disgust. without even speaking another word, he sent you back to the others. AM made sure to make ted pay in the most unimaginably painful way possible. but deep inside AM’s core, he felt flustered when he remembered your thanks and gentle smile.

[sucodegoiaba88]

hi I'm here w a request :3 can I get akito with an s/o that's really clingy and physically affectionate please?? thank you!!

- stray, gentle dog : ★

pairing: shinonome akito x reader

summary: you and your boyfriend were polar opposites, but opposites attract, don't they?

warnings: none.

A/N: my first request! I am so excited!

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

➤ You were practically bouncing down the streets as you pull yourself together. Breathe, [name], breathe!

You had just received you first ever payment from your part-time job. Your parents insisted that you didn't need to work, they always tried their hardest to give you what they could. The real problem was Akito, who almost melted in anxiety when you said you managed to find a job.

-

"Why do you even need a job? I can pay for your things. Didn't i say i could-" he was quickly interrupted by your comforting voice.

"I know you are such a gentleman, Aki, but i want to pay for things for you too! Don't be such an overthinker. I can't depend on you for everything in our relationship." You caress his head gently while talking, giving him a small peck as you snuggled onto him further.

Akito could only huff and pout as you snuggled your head onto his chest, gently kissing it up and down.

"I'm sweaty, can't i even bath first?" he moved uncomfortably in his bed, but still didn't move away from your touch. He wouldn't dare to.

"no, i want to stay with you. Besides, you look handsome without a shirt on." you said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was the absolute truth.

"you really are an idiot, you know that?"

You just hugged him closer, now laying your head on his shoulder. knowing that even if you said nothing, you had already won this argument.

-

The first thing you bought was pancakes, adding everything you had the right as a top. You looked at your clock- his training had already finished, meaning he was coming to pick you up at your job right now, and that he could appear at any minute- and-

"Oi, wake up. Stop looking at the wall."

As he finished his sentence, you almost tackled him into the ground in a bone-crushing hug. As he finally stables you two into the counter, you pepper his grumpy face in kisses.

"How did you training go, dear? You left a bit earlier." you said after finally stopping with your kisses.

"It was worth it. I finally feel satisfied with my results- but what about you? How did everything here go?" he snuck his arm behind your waist, walking you both to the train station.

"It was great, but a bit low at clients. I spent most of the time listening to your group songs! I am totally addicted to that one you say something like- 'lalarilala-'"

"enough, please." he says, his blushing face reaching a tone close to his hair. Couldn't you not tease him for a minute?

At the beginning of your relationship, affection felt like petting an hostile dog. Fearing that if you did one wrong movement, it would snap and unleash himself. But after some weeks, you were proved quite the contrary. Feeling more like a giant dog that demanded affection like a little poodle.

Akito could try to hide all he wants, but he couldn't hide how needy and touch starved he was. As you, of course, had no problem in obliging to his needs.

"Let's go home, Aki. I bought you some pancakes, and- Oh! You have much to catch up! I can't wait to tell you what my manager said- and-"

Your attempt at conversation was quickly turned down by him initiating a kiss as soon as you both reached your front porch.

Well, talking could wait. Right?

＃ ＃ ＃ ＃

[sombrashe]

X's & O's ∿ Thanos

notes/content toxic established relationship (can be read as platonic or romantic)

red flashes over your face and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. you had worked with thanos to promote his music, working closely with him as his social media manager. you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your skull. ripping off your O you hand it to the guard. placing the X over your chest you join the cheering group. you wanted out so badly, you were tired and hungry and so fucking scared. scared of losing your life, scared of watching those you've learned to care about die, scared of thanos and that namgyu guy.

last game was terrifying, you were left behind as thanos chose namgyu and left you in the arms of another terrified person. straightening up you don't dare look to your right and keep your eyes forward watching the counter tick up. it took another hour before player 001 got to vote. you were stared at the entire time. once the lights come back on you're left standing in the middle of the X. looking down you simply lose yourself in the fear for a moment before raising your head and choosing a bed. climbing to the top bunk you make a fort up there out of extra mattresses. with a view of whoever coming you felt a little bit safer.

lights out. you start shaking again and hug your jacket around you a little tighter. it doesn't take long before a shape is making its way up the stairs. you're expecting him though so you tense up. he stops a few inches away from your position before sinking down facing you. he's practically situated on your lap and you have to stretch your legs to accommodate him.

"Why did you do it, huh?"

"It's wrong, this is all wrong. I want to go home Su-bong, i need to get home."

"You could have made more money before leaving, all we needed was you."

"The money is enough, I'll get by. I always do."

"I know your debt, that's not even enough to pay me back."

you stare at him in the darkness, your feelings evident on your face. blinking you pick at your lips. he reaches up and removes your nails from your skin. you attempt to pull away from him but his grip only tightens. so tight you can feel his manicured nails digging into your wrist. hissing you kick out but with his weight over your legs you're unable to do much. Letting go you massage the angry marks on your skin.

"I missed you during the last game. I'm glad you made it alive."

"You abandoned me. Don't act sweet right now. What do you want? You wouldn't be here unless you had a reason."

"You need to vote to continue the games next vote. On your first day here you got to know half the people here and by the end of the first game you knew their names."

"It seemed like a team game."

"Exactly, if you vote one way so will they."

he pokes his finger against your chest and it hurts. swatting his hand away you mutter something about manners and he laughs. it's dry and lacking humor. you suddenly feel ice slide up your spine.

"I'm not doing that."

"You know what happens when I don't get my way, right? Remember?"

"I am not voting to continue the games, Su-bong. Do whatever you need to do but leave me out of it."

he suddenly straightens and all you feel is white hot fear as he grabs your chin. fingers press into your skin until he has a strong grip against bone. you whimper and wrap your hands around his wrist. you've seen him get this way before but never with you. your yanks against his forearm do nothing to lessen the pressure.

"Do not fuck with me, we all need more money. See that."

he throws your face away from him. you grip at your face pain shooting through your jawline. slipping out of the fort he goes back to his side of the room. blinking, you rub at the harsh tears ripping themselves from your tear ducts. you don't get any sleep that night.

[animeyanderetalker]

Hi not a request; just wanna hear your thoughts on this if that’s ok ^^

What yanderes in One piece would handle the fact that their darling is a captain of their own crew best vs yanderes who can’t handle the fact that their darling has her own crew ? Love to hear your thoughts on this

I actually had an easier time choosing people who wouldn’t handle this well than the other way around but I believe that I have found 5 characters for each case.

First of all, the Yandere needs to be patient because darling being a crew means that they are going to be separated at times. The Yandere also needs to be secure within the relationship to not fall victim to jealousy and also can’t be too overprotective as otherwise darling wouldn’t be allowed to sail alone.

With that in mind I would choose Jinbei as my first pick. From the Straw Hat Pirates he's generally one of the most composed characters who is still going to be overprotective but who could handle his darling being captain of their own ship as long as he knows that they're formidable and that their crew is loyal and strong.

Another Straw Hat Pirate I could see dealing with darling being their own captain alright would actually be Franky. He'd most likely do a lot of his poses whilst screaming just how super his darling is. But I totally can see him building some sort of GPS into the gadget he creates for his s/o so he can always know where they are in case something should go wrong.

Bartolomeo has to be the biggest simp only beaten by Sanji and Boa but differently from those two I can actually see him accepting the fact that his darling would be a captain. With that said that guy is so unbelievably clingy that he would definitely make an alliance with his darling's crew to still spend as much time as possible with them. Also, he's totally swooning whenever his darling fights though he will protect them with his Devil Fruit if things should go out of hand.

Talking about simps, let's talk about Buggy. Whilst I definitely think there are going to be issues due to his jealousy the sole reason why he wouldn't dare to speak up is because Buggy is the type to be easily terrified, even by his darling. Even if he would have dared to start an argument he would falter the moment his darling gets mad with him in which case he would immediately pull back out of fear to have you hate him. Nevertheless, he is going to be your biggest cheerleader and Crocodile and Mihawk will agonise over his constant simp rambles.

As my last pick from this list I am going to choose Marco from the Whitebeard Pirates. Talking romantically, he is absolutely capable of allowing his darling to be the Captain of their own crew because if they have made it to the New World where he has most likely met them then that means that they and their crew are strong enough to survive. Being in a relationship with him means being part of Whitebeard's family though so that also gives some additional protection because few want to mess with a Yonko.

Now we will go over characters who will absolutely not accept darling being the captain of their own crew.

We're going to start with Sanji and that should really be no surprise. That man is jealous of everyone beneath, above and beyond the heaven who gets close to his darling so darling having their own crew would be devastating for him. The mere thought of separation tears his heart into shreds and he would probably threaten every crewmate of darling as he fears that they will try to snitch them away from him because of course they would. You're far too beautiful after all.

Boa is in a very similar category as Sanji, especially in the department of jealousy. No one, absolutely no one should even dare to look at her darling or she will turn them into stone. She would cease to be of heartbreak as she is far too possessive to let her darling leave her, especially in the company of such crude and ugly people.

I actually don't consider Law to be able to accept his darling being a captain either. He may not be the most loving person on the outside but he is deeply attached to them and a terrible overthinker. He doesn't want them to travel somewhere far away without him with people he doesn't know and doesn't trust, especially if you have no capable doctor on board like he is. He'd probably end up critising everything about you and your crew without caring for the positives. He'd be just a pure bundle of bitterness.

On a similar note, Kid is going to struggle with a captain darling. Initially I don't consider him to be that opposed to the idea until he gets hit full force with that annoying possessive and angry obsession of his. Kid wants to be the coolest person in his darling's eyes. God, he is going to yell at everyone on your crew and he is going to yell at you.

Doflamingo is such an obvious choice that I honestly didn't want to include him at first but here we are anyways. From everyone I have mentioned of not being capable to let darling be a captain though he is going to be the worst. Simply spoken he will enslave you and your crew and is metaphorically and literally going to put you in a golden cage whilst your crewmates are never to be seen again.

[kteezy997]

The Heart of a Bene Gesserit-Part Five//Paul Atreides//Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

Warnings: cursing, light violence, brief mention of smut

“A true friend? Is that why you sent a spy for me?” you asked, glaring at Paul.

He let out a small breath but didn’t speak. He looked away from you. He couldn’t deny it. He had underestimated you.

“Everything I have done since I arrived here has been for you. Look at me.”

Slowly, his gaze returned to you with an angry glare. “How dare you use the Voice on your Emperor.”

“The Emperor continues to disrespect me, so I will do as I please. Why are you spying on me? What do you need to know that you cannot ask me directly?” your words were biting.

“I knew you would try and speak with Feyd-Rautha. I wanted to know how it went. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

“What can I do for you to trust me? You know I can handle myself; I don't need to be treated like a child, Paul.”

"I trust you, but I don’t trust him. He’s an animal. He deserves to be where he is, as I’ve told you before.”

“And as I told you, he didn’t kill your father. Whatever you have against him, is not his direct doing. He deserves better treatment. At least better food and shelter, if you refuse to have him on your council.”

“Oh, I do refuse to have him on my council.” he said firmly.

“You’re not even willing to give him a chance to prove himself.”

“And why should I?!” he raised his voice at you.

You stepped closer to him, eye to eye and only inches apart, “Because your roles could have very easily been reversed.”

His bright blue eyes flared into yours, his jaw tightened, “The Bene Gesserit made us both freaks.” he spoke much softer than before.

“Then maybe you should take some consideration for him.”

“Hmm.” he sighed, “Y/n, I don’t want you to see Feyd anymore. He is dangerous. I know that you are capable of taking care of yourself, but this is the one thing I ask of you.”

“He is no more dangerous than you are.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, you could be playing with fire.”

For some reason, you really felt the weight of his warning.

He looked down the hall, “It is getting late. We should both get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.”

You were tired of this conversation, and mentally drained, so you said, "Goodnight, my lord."

Paul acted as if he was going to say something else, but only said, “Goodnight.”

.........

The next morning, a servant knocked on your door as you were getting ready for the day. "Yes?" you answered.

"My lady, you have been summoned to the slave quarters, if you so accept."

Feyd.

You made your way down to the slave housing, and there he was, waiting for you.

"There you are my darling. I was worried you wouldn't come." boomed his raspy, growling voice.

"I'll not stay long, Feyd-Rautha. It's not safe, us meeting, I fear it could get one or both of us hurt."

"Well then," he started to close the distance between you, "I'll make this short and sweet. I have a proposition for you: get me back to Giedi Prime, and I'll give you a Harkonnen heir. This way, we both get something out of it. The sisterhood would reward you, would they not?" he leaned in toward you, cocking his head to one side.

You trembled, "I was wrong to come here and speak with you. To get your hopes up. I cannot get you off-world, as you wish. But what if I set something up with the Emperor? Play your cards right, and you find yourself in better conditions with better food and sleeping arrangements."

"Hm." Feyd backed away from you, "If that is the best you can do, then yes. I accept. But how will you accomplish this? I am a slave, after all. They'd never welcome me with open arms."

"Just trust me."

..........

That evening, you were the last person to arrive at dinner. "I have brought a guest. I hope that is okay?"

Blades were drawn from Stilgar, Gurney, and all men around Paul as Feyd-Rautha made his way into the room. He had the tiniest of grins on his face.

"Hold." barked Paul, signaling the men to retreat.

"Paul, I require a council with you and the slave." you said. The dining room had gone so quiet, you could hear the drop of a grain of sand.

Paul was shooting daggers at you. How dare you be so bold as to bring Feyd-Rautha into his royal house. "Very well. Gentlemen, as you were."

As the three of you enter the same room together, you felt the shivers of remembrance of that dream. Paul between your legs, Feyd in your mouth. You tucked the image away in an instant. This was business and given the two men in the room and the intensity from both sides, things could turn savage at any moment.

"What the hell are you doing bringing this animal into my house, y/n?!” Paul yelled at you. His eyes practically throwing flames at you.

“Calm down, Paul. Feyd-Rautha is only here to show peace. He is not the animal you think him to be. If you will not upgrade his position, the least you can do is upgrade his living situation. What he has is not enough."

"Why should he get special treatment above the other slaves?"

"You know why: Feyd has superior intelligence-"

"I can speak myself, Atreides." Feyd's deep voice boomed into your ears.

You and Paul both looked at him.

"I can be useful to you, cousin. I hear talk of assassins, conspirators, nearly every day. I'd be an asset to your team. I'd kill any man that threatens the empire."

Paul eyed his cousin, squinting and holding himself a part, "And what must I do for you?"

"As the lady has probably discussed with you, a more accommodating lifestyle. Good food, nice bed, maybe a woman or two to keep me company. I do miss my darlings. Life is so lonely without them. I'm sure you know all about that."

Paul clenched his jaw.

Feyd smirked, then continued, "Your Fremen woman has been gone awhile now, and who is to keep the Emperor company?" The Harkonnen's gaze then turned to you. "Tell me, cousin, how is it that you've had this beautiful woman sent here to secure your seed, and yet you haven't fucked her?"

That final remark threw the Emperor into a blind rage, targeted at his enemy, his cousin. “Bastard!” he shouted, fiercely hurling himself at Feyd, grabbing him by the throat, his other hand wielding his crysknife. “I will kill you, right here.”

Feyd only grinned as he held Paul at bay.

“Stop!” you needed to use the Voice, otherwise one of them would be dead. "You're acting like children. Can we not talk like adults?"

"Did you not hear what he said about you? Why do you defend this animal?"

"Feyd, this was a bad idea. Please, go back to the slave quarters."

"You made me a promise, darling." Feyd sang, walking toward you.

"Stay away from her." Paul warned, grabbing Feyd.

"Oh, so you do love her." it wasn't a question, it was a realization, and something Feyd thought he could hold over his cousin's head.

Paul held the Harkonnen back, looked at you, "Of course I love her. I will kill anyone whom I deem a danger to her. If you want to keep your life, cousin, I suggest you go back to where you belong. Mind the spice, keep the other slaves in line. That is how you will prove yourself to the Empire. Rewards may find you then.”

You were taken aback, impressed by Paul's now calm demeanor. He was able to regulate his emotions after looking in your eyes.

Feyd-Rautha looked to you as well, and you gave him a nod. He then left quietly.

This shift in the room once Feyd was gone was much softer. You gazed over to Paul, trying to gauge him. "That was remarkable of you. You showed him kindness." you stepped closer to him, "And here I thought you did not have any for a Harkonnen." you smiled.

“Why did you show such obligations to him, huh? When it was I that walked with you as a child. You used to come into my room at night because you were afraid of the dark. Gurney Halleck taught us both to skip rocks on the water. Do you not remember any of it, y/n?”

“Of course I do. After all this, I cannot understand my own actions or thoughts any more.” you put your hand in your head.

You heard Paul inhaled deeply from his chest. He said, “Please, rid yourself of these thoughts of him. Stay with me.” he took your hand.

You looked at your interlocked hands, then in his eyes, wordlessly saying, ‘Paul, what are you doing?’

“He was right, you know.” Paul said, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. This was a vulnerable moment for him.

You sighed, “Do not pay Feyd any mind. He was only saying things to anger you. It’s in his blood to bring out the worst in others.”

“No, he was right. I do love you. And I’d kill for you. I want to keep you safe forever.”

You took a deep breath, knowing that he meant every word, “And I for you, my lord.”

“Your presence calms me, your eyes bring me back into focus,” he took a soft breath, “ I love you, y/n, but it is deeper than friendship.”

“Paul,” you shook your head slightly, “do not say things you cannot mean.”

“I do mean them. I have seen you in my visions. It’s confusing. I see various futures, lines in time, but you are always there. No matter the path I take, I want you here with me. Will you do that for me?”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake

[snowywolf1005]

@ruanime34 : It's hard to pick just one, but my mind will probably like more wholesome young ASL x mother reader. @snowywolf1005 Or what if girls like Hancock who love her sons try to impressed the mother reader but they always fail ( ps the mother reader now her some of sons love someone)

You got it! But let make it a real life, like the brothers go to school together.

ASL X MOTHER READER

Your son's is at school. You got a break from makino Restaurant. You live above the restaurant. It's an apartment.

As you sit on the table, staring at the person across the table from you. The person smiles awarded by your look of your eyes of bored holes into the soul.

It made you very sick when the person tried to be kind, and that person was none other than boa hancock. The most beautiful woman of the world.

Why are you angry at her? Oh, right, she's asking for your son's hand in marriage. YOUR SON, WHO WAS BARELY EVEN AN ADULT!!!! Luffy, she's talking about.

You're a single mother with three sons. You did good, take care of them, they grown into quite handsome you're proud of.

You knew about her reputation as being the most beautiful woman and having both men and women alike swoon over her, but you would not budge.

You had always felt that for one to be beautiful, beauty had to shine from inside first. Despite how angry you were at Hancock, you didn't want to harm her. She was a friend of Luffy's, and Luffy had all types of friends, and you weren't going to interfere.

However, Luffy had already rejected Hancock's proposal many times before. This changed things. It bothered you that an adult woman who was known for rejecting every man and woman would swoon over your teenage son.

"U-um... M-Ms. (Y/N)... would you... p-p-please... l-l-l-l-let me... m-m-ma..." Great, now she began to stutter out the question again.

You could hear her sisters Sandersonia and Marigold cheering her on, calling you a stingy old witch who couldn't rival her in beauty.

Are you gonna let hancock marry luffy? No. You knew her true nature, and before Hancock would blush feverishly from asking you to let her marry Luffy, you interrupted.

"No." You said.

Hancock face now all scrunched with in hate. "AND WHY NOT!! YOU OLD WOMEN?! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE TALKING TO?! LET ME MARRY YOUR SON!! I HAVE RIGHT!! I'M BEAUTIFUL!" hancock scream.

You sighed, "like I said. No. You're not married. My son. don't make me say it twice, I am not swayed by your beauty. That is nothing but conventional. Plus, you're too old for him. What's the media going to say about a thirty year old supermodel desperate for a teenage boy?" You ask.

"I'M TWENTY NINE!" She yelled, "Well, close enough..." You said. "EXCUSE ME!! HOW DARE YOU, YOU SCUM!" She yelled at you.

But you grabbed her shirt, which cost a lot of money to impress luffy, closer to you. In the look of fear of hancock looking at your eyes, like the prey is about to get killed by other prey.

"Have you gotten who you are talking to? I'm a single mother with three sons whom I'm very proud of. and if you want me as a potential mother-in-law, the first thing you wouldn't do is look down on me. You've done nothing but make my answer more solid and confirmed." You said,

She dramatically turned around, eyes big and doe-like with beautiful black hair swishing around her. You could've sworn that there were sparkles on her skin, too.

Then nyon came to stop the argument, "I am sorry." Elder Nyon said, made surprise you.

"I am truly sorry for Hancock's behavior. I understand that you are not happy with her proposal, and it is wrong to try and force the boy into something he didn't want at such a young age. I will not bother you again, and i will try to see to it that hancock will not bother you either." She said, you agree, but hancock refuses.

But you told her, you can't accept cause luffy is just a teenager and she has find a other man. And they left,

Not even five seconds later, you heard the honking of a car and groaned, the migraine in your head getting progressively worse. However, you slowly began to sit up as you heard a familiar chorus of cheers and whoops.

A big smile was plastered on your face, and you felt the incoming migraine fade. Kicking open the door, it was Luffy and his friends, the "Strawhat gang" as they called themselves. They all filed in, each smiling at along with a chorus of greetings.

The gang says hi to you. "Hey, mom!" said Luffy, already chewing on some of the food. You smiled brightly and went over to your youngest son, brushing back a strand of (h/c) hair. You didn't want to admit it, but you did spoil Luffy a little.

"Hi sweetie, where are your brothers? I didn't see them here earlier. Do you know where they went?" You asked, hugging Luffy. You let go once he brought up his hand to his head.

"What do you mean, mom? They're right over there." He said, jabbing his thumb towards the living room where you saw Sabo and Ace smiling at you sheepishly.

"Since you boys get here? You got me so worried!" You said, Ace tumbled over a bit in laughter as Sabo had a sweet smile on his face. "Mom, we've been here ever since we got back from school. There was no practice today." He said, grinning mischievously.

You realized that they had listened in on every word between you and Hancock. "Oh. Let's not talk about it. What you just heard, okay? " sabo and Ace nodded.

THANKS FOR REQUESTING!!

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

time to go home

Pairing: Mob!Andy Barber x female!reader

Summary: You thought you'd slipped out of his grasp but you should have known better than to underestimate Andy Barber.

Warnings: petnames (honey), dark!Andy, threats of violence, controlling behaviour. This blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Author's note: It's rare I go a bit dark but this was very fun to write and I am not above writing more (word count: 659)

"You look beautiful, honey."

Your blood runs cold at the sound of his voice. The deep baritone causes goosebumps to rise across your skin and a shiver to run down your spine.

You had been so careful. You changed your name. You moved state. You waited. You waited years before letting yourself live again. Before letting yourself believe you were safe, that he would never find you.

You'd been wrong.

His name is nothing but a whisper on your lips as you urge yourself not to cry.

You hear the door shut softly the lock clicking into place as your heart sinks.

"I told you I'd find you."

His voice is closer now and you know better than to turn around. You can feel your muscles tensing with every painful second that passes as you wait for him to come closer to you.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. In thirty minutes you were supposed to be walking down the aisle to start the rest of your life with the man you loved.

"You don't love him, honey. Not like you love me."

You spin around on instinct, forgetting exactly who you are dealing with as you prepare to give him a piece of your mind.

"How dare-"

He cuts you off with a laugh and a tight grip on your jaw.

"How dare I?" he laughs, but there's no humour there. Pulling you closer until you're against his chest, wincing as his fingers dig into your cheeks. "How dare you, honey. I've got to say you didn't make it easy. How long has it been exactly?"

You don't answer. Putting all your energy into keeping your tears at bay as you look into the cold eyes of the man you once loved, the man you now feared.

If you had known what Andy was, you would have never let yourself fall into his trap. But, hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Andy was charming, doting, protective and handsome. He was everything a girl dreamed of. He treated you like a queen, you wanted for nothing.

But there were two sides to every coin.

For as charming as Andy was he was just as manipulative. For as doting, he could be just as cold and indifferent. For as protective, he was even more possessive.

You knew Andy was a powerful man from the moment you met him but you had no idea just how much power and influence he possessed.

He made you dependent on him, had you let go from your job, and cut off from your family and friends. You became isolated. He was your only source of comfort and he never let you forget it.

"That's not what love is, Andy," you whisper, no longer able to keep your tears at bay.

The dark look in his eye should scare you but you've seen it enough times. Accustomed to what it means and you know you're not getting out of this this time.

"Just please don't hurt him," you whimper. Thinking about your fiance waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

Andy shushes you gently, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks, "Oh honey, you're really not in a position to be making demands."

Your eyes widen as a sob tears out of your throat.

Sighing, Andy rolls his eyes at your tears, clearly bored by your attachment to a man who isn't him.

"Fine, I'll let him live," Andy concedes, one hand slipping down to wrap around your throat.

You choke on a sob as his hand tightens enough to convey his next warning.

"But if you ever try and leave me again, I will put a bullet between the eyes of everyone you care about. Do you understand?"

You nod weakly, a new wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.

"Good girl," he purrs, placing a soft kiss against your lips and sealing your fate, "let's go home."

This was fun!! I wouldn't mind writing more if any one has any thoughts... thank you for reading, as always comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✨💜

[wonton4rang]

goodnight and go ¡!

pairing: bnd x reader.

warnings: cursing, yelling, some mentions of sexual relationships, mentions of cheating, overall some couple's arguments.

summary: how would bnd argue with you + what i think would be their triggers. (things they would do that would cause the argument)

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

sungho; i don't see him as a person who would get into an argument often, tbh you guys could date for over 4 years and argue twice in that period, but when you did?? awful. i know that sungho is a virgo men and he's very mature and he is always looking for the best for everyone but when you guys argue about something he thinks (or knows) he's right about, he wouldn't shut up, because he's right and how dare u say otherwise? eventually it would turn into an "i told you so" type of argument and you both would just get out of each others sight for a few hours, maybe sleeping or just doing stuff around the house without interchanging a word. that until you both let down your ego (if you have any) and talk things out more calmly.

riwoo; he is the type of person to just nod and nod and nod again to anything you say, he might be right but he ain't going against you. he tries to be the bigger person but ends up feeling wronged and you can see him zoned out even days after the disagreement. "you know this is all your fault, right?" and he will say yes, that until you try to put the blame on him for EVERYTHING, he may have some of it but all of it??? that's when he snaps "you can't be like this, you are not being reasonable" unfortunately that leads to a bigger fight. it's not that y'all don't resolve things but it usually just gets forgotten and eventually you don't remember and never apologize for it.

jaehyun; bro is crying after the first scream. myungjae is a very sensitive person but i don't think he would like to openly cry, and if he does, it's not out of sadness or fear, he would get overwhelmed and very angry because he feels like you are not listening and you are just saying wrong things to him and making him the bad guy when he didn't even knew what was going on this time. firstly he'll definitely try to talk things out quietly, appealing to your soft side and trying to hug it out for an instance but it always goes wrong and y'all end up screaming at each other just for him to get all pouty and win your forgiveness and your apologies too.

taesan; arguing with taesan was not a thing, you guys just talked things out when you didn't like something and that was it, it never happened again. but when you see him kissing some girl outside the club you both were at you went crazy, slamming doors when you got home with him following closely and trying to make you listen. "you fucking cheated, what else do I need to know?" he would try to explain you that she approached him and kissed him out of the blue but he pulled out right away (which was true) but you didn't listen and it eventually made him get even more angry, his cold wall finally falling down when he said "what the fuck is wrong with you? you think I'll cheat on you? that's who you think i am?" and the way his words sounded to you just made it worst. like he was putting the blame on you. but overall, it doesn't matter how bad the argument is, you ain't going to sleep without working it out, he won't let you.

leehan; the worst part of arguing with leehan is his lack of response. it pissed you off that you went all out on him about the fact that you guys haven't got any intimacy of any kind in a while and that when you both actually had the time and the desire to do so, he ditched you for his friends. you explained how you understood that he needed to see his friends, but always? every time he's free? what about you? what about your relationship? leehan had a girlfriend to take care of too, not just his friends. so when you said all this to him and he just looked at you with those sleepy eyes and nodded without saying much, you got angrier. not because he was not yelling back at you but because you've got this conversation at least five times before, always getting the same reaction and always getting the same results. until one day y'all finally work it out and make a balance, it was that or breaking up so leehan finally listened.

woonhak; arguing with woonhak is literally a mess. you guys scream, put the blame on each other, say things you could (and will) regret later, even mention stuff from the past just to make a valid point. you would go to bed angry because none of you would say "sorry" or at least try to work things out, the silent treatment was something very common between you two since neither you or woonhak would give in. eventually he'd talk to his hyungs when he feels like this time it's been too long and you guys haven't make up yet, he takes the advise and approaches you with his head low, like a puppy with his tail between his legs, shy and with so much remorse you just talk things out and call it a day.

[tonkatsubowl]

Hello sorry if sorry if this is sudden but I was wondering if you could write about the Hsr men meeting their newborn child. (If you're not comfortable with this that's completely understandable and I wish you a good morning afternoon or goodnight ☺️)

OOOHH yes i am down for this! i was actually thinking about doing something similar to this! (ノ*°▽°*)

dan heng was nervous. he had originally planned on staying by your side, even took this entire week off to be there for you on the day where you would give birth to his beautiful child. unfortunately, dan heng couldn't make it due to his mission. he had originally predicted that he wouldn't even spend less than two days on another planet, but here we was, getting into a spiral of unfortunate events, disallowing him to see you by any means.

luckily, he was able to make it after your child's birth. he feared that you hated him. he feared that him not being present when you needed it the most would cause him to be a terrible father, but really, the man was overthinking like crazy.

the sounds of your child crying echoed into his ears as he sped down the halls of the hospital, recently and freshly returning from another worldly expedition. stopping in front of the door to your assigned room, he breathed, his heart racing. but he couldn't just use this time to calm down and act all aloof... he had to see you.

entering the room, he saw you and his first born child. you were exhausted, your hair was a bit of a mess, you were covered in sweat, but you were alive and well...as his child, too. nurses greeted dan heng as he slowly approached you, his eyes softening and bright as they were as he saw his beautiful lover holding the child, swaddled in soft fabric, held near the chest of the love of his life.

"...i-i.." dan heng stuttered, falling silent immediately as he watched the swaddled child be transferred over to his grasp. he carefully held them, noticing the tiny horns on his child due to his draconian blood. he held them close to his chest, looking at you with a sheepish smile. his eyes...they were bright and soft.

"welcome home," he whispered to your child, bringing the newborn close to his chest.

"i'm so sorry i was late."

blade was lying if he said he wasn't nervous, or if he didn't really seem worried about you and his newborn child.

after what had occurred in his past, he became overly protective when you officially got pregnant, and never dared to let anyone near you. from dusk to dawn, elios had practically allowed blade to skip out on a mission, forcing silver wolf (who sighed in annoyance a few times, saying she wanted to beat her games) to take his blade on these expeditions while kafka accompanied her.

of course, silver wolf and kafka wanted to be there too when you gave birth to your first born child, even preparing some gifts for you while they were on the way back from another world.

in the hospital, blade never left your side the moment you began the process of childbirth. he hated seeing you in pain, but he held your hand when you kept pushing.

eventually enough, your child was born, and he didn't want to hold them at first.

"why? what's the matter?" you asked blade as a rare, soft look in his crimson gaze befell upon the swaddled child, "why do you not want to hold them?"

"..." blade was silent for a moment.

did he deserve to hold his child? he looked at his hands, his expression almost...emotionless. but you knew him. you knew him well. and you knew what was bothering him. and you knew what he was thinking about, too.

he had already tainted his hands with the sins he bore upon his shoulders, carrying the amount of lives he's taken away out of pleasure or for the sake of his mission.

and his child... your child... was the symbolism of pure innocence. holding his child with the dirtiness of his hands seemed so...wrong.

it felt almost undeserving that he wanted to hold his child. he feared that they would grow up to be like him.

"you're letting something bother you again, blade," you murmur, extending your free arm out as you held the child in your other arm. your hands brush against his own, intertwining with his fingers. "but please don't allow your past mistakes⸻your sins⸻to influence how you wish to raise our child or how you should be there for them."

blade was still silent, but you could hear him exhale sharply. you were right.

"...y/n." he nodded, acknowledging your statement.

he showed you a side that nobody would ever see. he didn't show it, but his eyes did⸻and he was absolutely readable. he extended both of his hands, taking the child into his arms, carefully cradling them.

you smiled, watching as your lover began to bond with his newborn child, allowing yourself to relax against the fluffiness of your pillow.

it was no surprise that being a military general and all, the lack of his physical presence was...well. expected.

and jing yuan felt awful for it. he felt even worse that you understood why he couldn't be there by the time you were in-processing of childbirth. he held your hands, kissed them, and promised to be there by your side no matter what... but here you are, alone in a room with several doctors and nurses while he was working away on militia paperwork.

were you upset? you had every right to be, jing yuan thought. but luckily enough, he was there after the events of your painful hours...

the moment he had finished the last bit of work, he bolted away, using every trinket and trick up his sleeve to get to your side faster. as he was on his way to you, he figured that you didn't want to see him. that you didn't want him to see yours and his child. that you hated him. that you—

"welcome home, jing yuan."

his heart strung, shrinking at the sound of your soft and soothing voice. how the open window near you welcomed the gentle breeze that fluttered through your messy locks, beads of sweat covering your forehead as you held your newborn child close to your chest.

he froze, admiring the sight of the love of his life and his newborn child. he approached you, his eyes softening, bright and glistening with relief... yet...

"... i'm so sorry." jing yuan murmured as he stood by your side. despite his apology, he still had a smile. a sheepish one, at that.

"for what?" you shake your head, looking at him with a confused expression as you hand your child over to the general, allowing him to hold them. from the sound of your voice, you were still very tired, wanting to rest as soon as possible.

"don't worry about being apologetic over nothing, jing yuan."

the general's face softened. he didn't deserve you. he felt so awful, but... what mattered was that he was here now. here with you and his firstborn child.

from this day forth, he vowed himself to always protect you and his child.

welt yang already had a child, but it wasn't entirely his. he has an adoptive son whom he still thinks about on a daily basis. the moment the two of you found out you were pregnant, he was quick to become overly protective of you. he wanted to be a better father. a better figure for your child... and someone who would be there for his family.

he was a busy man, yes, but it didn't stop him from actually being there to make sure you were alright. he spoiled you throughout your entire pregnancy, and it was definitely a lie if this man told you he wasn't worried at all for you.

the man has already been through a lot. nobody can't exactly blame him for being protective of you, especially when it came to your vulnerability of pregnancy.

the moment you were admitted to that hospital room, welt immediately disappeared from his office and went straight to you, already preparing some sort of aftercare procedure for you after you had given birth. from preparations of warm tea, your favorite foods and the like... he made sure you would be treated like royalty, even if you didn't want it at first.

the moment the child was in your arms, there was a rare, soft look on welt's expression as he watched you hold his child close to your chest. so small, so innocent—it wretched his heart when he reached out, the child's tiny fingers wrapping around his index digit.

he melted internally, unsure of what to say at this moment... but it was truly a given that he was incredibly happy at this very moment with you and his child.

"welt," you murmured, "you're..."

you reached up, brushing your finger against the corner of his eyes. you caught them glimmering with tears of joy. there was a soft smile on your face as well welt's as he held your child close to his chest.

"...i'm just so happy, y/n."

gepard was luckily relieved from his duties due to the kindness of bronya.

during your pregnancy, gepard was nothing but an absolute worrywart. every time you coughed or sneezed, he ran to your side all anxious, asking if you were okay. he would assist you up and down the stairs despite not needing his assistance, especially when it came to sitting down or even just lifting a few pounds that you can handle.

"y/n, let me." you were pouring some tea for yourself, but gepard would immediately take over your spot, not wanting to burn yourself from a few splatters of hot water.

"y/n, please be careful...!" he helped you up from sitting up from a chair that allowed you to lay back a bit, his hands gentle.

"y/n! please, let me handle it." you were literally reaching up to grab a book off a shelf to read. he was so protective of you...

of course, you didn't want to scold him. this side of him was absolutely adorable. you weren't exactly independent anymore...

but here came the in-process of your childbirth... he was there for you at every second of it all. his heart wretched in pain when he heard you cry as you pushed it through, bearing the pain of being both a mother and a woman as you birthed an innocent life.

after the success of childbirth, gepard had such a soft and innocent look on his face, akin to a puppy-like gaze as he saw you hand the swaddled newborn over to him. allowing him to hold them. he breathed, carefully holding his child in his arms as he admired both his lover and the offspring.

"...i-..." gepard began, holding them close, "god. they're so beautiful." he whispered, gently wiggling his index finger over his child's face, booping their nose here and there.

"i'm so incredibly... overfilled with joy."

surprisingly enough, sampo wasn't much of a stupid klutz around you. the moment he had found out you were pregnant, sampo did everything he could to be by your side.

every cramp, every kick, every pain you felt during your pregnancy... he would rush to your side with your comfort food, your favorite tea and other sorts of things that made you happy and feel content. he would often come home with a giant plush of your favorite animal and some dessert, knowing you'd be craving for the monstrosity known as sugar.

when you were giving birth, however, sampo was there too. he had to prepare himself mentally, knowing you would be in excruciating pain as you gave birth to his child. he had to endure it, hoping you would be well after the birth of your child.

successfully enough, it was a success, and sampo would leave temporarily to retrieve some gifts for you and your child. in came sampo with balloons, gifts and stuffed animals that may or may not be for you (and your child).

"i really hope you didn't steal those," you say to sampo as he came into the room with the gifts, holding your newborn close to your chest.

sampo didn't respond to you at first, as his eyes laid upon his newborn. he placed the gifts down on the ground, quickly moving towards your side.

he was silent, but there was a smile that never left his face as he slowly picked up his own child, cradling him so close to him.

"their nose... it's so cute. just like yours." sampo teased, chuckling to himself as he reached forward with his own head, brushing his nose against his newborn's forehead.

"at least their nose isn't like yours." you tease back, your eyes dazed and tired from the pain you felt today.

the beads of sweat on your forehead were already dried off from the gentle breeze that was welcomed from the window next to you. the soft birds that sung to each other, and the loving husband who cooed at his newborn that remained by your side was the glorious song of them all.

luocha had always been calm, collective, gentle and soft, especially when it came towards you. never once had he felt nervous or worried, not even when you both discovered that you were pregnant...

the moment he had found out, he expected for you to feel pain and discomfort for several months. although it was difficult for anyone to really read luocha's emotions, you could read him easily. every time you felt pain, cried or ached from the movement inside of your stomach, he rushed by your side.

"are you alright? do you need to go to the hospital? do you need water?"

really, this side of him was absolutely adorable. you had to reassure luocha countless times that you were fine and that it was a small kick, nothing more... nothing less.

then came the day of your child's birthday.

luocha kept a calm and collected composure, but the moment he heard you cry in pain as you pushed, he had to endure listening to you. but you were strong... you were capable of this. and he admired you for it — and thus, he had to put his trust in you. he believed that you and your child would be safe.

after childbirth, he never left your side. he held the swaddled newborn close to his chest as you remained deep asleep on the infirmary bed. he had already brought you a large amount of food for you to enjoy afterwards, as well as some of your favorite coffee/tea for you to have when you wake up.

even as you sleep, he would take care of your newborn.

you deserved the rest after the pain you've been through the last several months, and now he would make sure that he would be the best, loving father known to man kid.

[fancifulflora]

Something New: Soda (Mychael x Reader)

I now am writing for a new character! He just gives me so much serotonin I had to crawl out of my cave to throw something down. The character for those who don't know, is Mychael from Mushroom Oasis. A VN by Deersphere Studios if i remember correctly

___________

Mychael stared down at the aluminum can with vague recognition, the tip of his tail swinging back and forth as he lowered his head down to be eye level with the drink.

It was really shiny. Colorful too.

"I picked up something from the store for you," you did your best to explain as you unpacked your groceries, fighting back a smile as you watched him cautiously wrapped his tail around the soda and lifted it for closer inspection. "You do know what soda is right?"

"A little... I've seen it on the sides of roads. Although not like this..." He muttered, squinting at the drink before giving it a small shake. For Mychael, who liked keeping his trysts to the modern human world short, soda was just crushed litter that filled the sides of roads and forest paths. Shiny litter, but litter nonetheless.

He gave it another shake, hearing the slosh of liquid inside.

Oh no.

"Wait!"

Your raised voice instantly cast a spell on the recluse, Mychael as still as a statue, only his his widened eyes daring to shift over to you across the table. Did he do something wrong?

"Just... be careful." You warned, placing a hand on his tail and lowering the can to safety. "It might blow if you shake it too hard."

Mychael's gaze turned fearful as he looked down at the nuke you had just brought into your shared home, a cold sweat sliding down his back.

Blow?

Now that would certainly explain all those crushed pieces of aluminum wouldn't it?

He placed down the can as gingerly as possible before pulling his tail to safety. Then he looked over at you an awkward smile given in thanks for such a dangerous gift.

Amusement, the corner of your lip was raised at the sight of him. Oh... You must have been joking... probably.

"I'm only teasing," Your confirmation lessened his worry as he watched your retreating form fetch two cups and crack open the can, the fizz bringing another twitch to Mychael's ears as he watched foamy liquid begin to be portioned out for the two of you.

"What does it taste like?" He asked, taking a cup from you and feeling a light mist hit him as he took a precursory sniff at the drink.

Not much to note smell wise.

Interesting...

"This one is lemon flavored. I'm pretty sure they take some flavored syrup and then inject carbonated water into it to make soda."

"What's car-bun-ate water?"

"Uh... I'll explain it to you another day," Mychael nodded at this, happy to settle for one new piece of information at a time. Carefully he tilted the cup and then took a deep sip of this mystery drink.

It stung against his taste buds... but not in any overly painful way. And there was an almost sickly sweetness to it. Like berries a little too ripe into the season, just, he supposed, without the berry flavor.

He could sorta taste the lemon flavor, perhaps lemons were different for the humans that made this drink. Or maybe it was a type of lemon he couldn't forage for or buy around this area.

Either way... it was good.

His best friend's laughter brought his attention back to them, a finger bring pointed at his tail.

"I can see you like it a whole lot," You mused, watching his tail wildly whip back and forth. It stopped the moment you pointed it out, a dark blue spreading across Mychael's ears and face as he frantically tucked the wayward tail away.

"I-It was really good, the drink. Kinda weird, but in a good way!"

"Well I'm glad you like it, it's not the best thing to have all the time but if you want, I can grab a new flavor every once in a while... let you see try them out and see what you like." The offer was almost as sickly sweet as the drink he could still taste on his tongue, Mychael looking down at his now empty cup before giving a small lick of his lips and nodding.

"Yeah...yeah, I think I'd like that, please..." he whispered, the shy request bringing an unnoticed smile onto his guest's face.

"It's a deal."

[sweetieviktor]

"take me back to the night we met", feat. viktor.

summary: you knew he was dieing, but seeing him using shimmer was too much to bare . based on the song "the night we met", by lord huron.

word count: 720.

content warning: season 1, act 3 spoilers! idk if shimmer use count as a cw, but anyways this is angst and it doesn't have a happy ending!

author notes: there's so much time since i've written fanfiction!! but i loved doind this one and i swear that i cried while writing this. and this may be very ooc and doesn't match the scenes in season 1, act 3, but i dont have time to watch it again now and i was so hyped up bcs of season 2 that i just had to write something, yk? also, there may be some typos or grammar errors even though i re-read this like 3 times i think lol. but yeah, here it is!

you came back to his lab expecting to see him doing good, maybe working on his research, too focused on any stuff he was doing at the moment and not noticing you by the door, but he wasn't in there, or so it looked like.

he was hunched over his desk, in his hands was a glass tube, the remaining of the purple liquid shimmering in the dark room, illuminating just enough to draw his weak silhouette amongst the shadows.

“viktor…?” was everything you said while getting closer to him, walking with slow steps, trying to make no sounds to alarm him.

“stop.” raising a hand, that was all he said.

just as you were told, you stopped on your tracks, observing that, his once perfect hand, was now painted in a shade of purple, the same that was inside the glass recipient.

it can't be. right?

“what you did to yourself?”

“i did what needed to be done.” he was so baretoned, you didn't understand why he seemed so rude, so crude, so… unlike him.

when his words settled in, it felt like your stomach was turning, wrapping itself around your guts, making you sick. you felt sick, for him.

“please, please, viktor, don't tell me that you're using sh-” “yes.”

of course you knew about his condition, of course you knew he wasn't doing good at all, and mostly, you knew that things were meant to end, one way or another. but you didn't think he would kill himself like this.

and this was all you needed to break.

“why you didn't told me? i could have helped you, we could find a way to work through it,” the tears started to prick on your eyes, your voice breaking, the anger at yourself pooling into your core. “you wouldn't need to use shimmer, vik...”

the feeling that the universe stole and took all that once mattered to you was what drove you insane. the feeling that you could make things different, make things better, the oh so simple solution that you could find, if only he had told you.

“it’s not that easy! you wouldn't understand if i told you sooner. no one would understand it, even if they tried really hard to.” he turned his head towards your direction, looking at your face for a brief second, before turning his gaze back to the ground, his purple irises trying to focus on something that wasn't your saddened face, now, feeling his own eyes burning, burning even more than the blood running in his veins. “we are in piltover, the city of progress, and yet, i am stuck behind, and i'm dieing. so, i needed to do something, and i did.”

“what you don’t understand is that you're destroying yourself, viktor. destroying yourself so slowly that it almost feels like torture. i fear that i wouldn't be able to see you for another day.” you sobbed, the tears rolling down and he didn't dare to look at your eyes again, he knew that you were crying. he knew it and he couldn't bear the thought that he was the one that made you cry. “if there is a god somewhere, i wish they could turn back time and take me back to the night we met. maybe things could be different, right?”

looking at him, a weak, nervous smile was all you could get out while crying, thinking to yourself when things started to get this wrong and how you let it happen, without even realizing what was wrong. how could you let him do this to himself?

your body was shaking, it felt like the whole world was trembling. the nonstoping thoughts hammering your head, your heart a mile per minute, the air in your lungs wasn't enough. everything, everything seemed like it was crushing down on you, right in this moment.

“i'm sorry. i'm so sorry... i need to go. now.”

you needed to get out of here, you needed to breathe.

you headed back to the door, wishing that some cold breeze would cool you down, would just stop your mind and racing heart. wishing for him to be fine again. praying for any and all gods that lived in the skies and beyond, praying for him to be alive. just for a bit more.

[meywanya-hikayami]

GaaraWeek2025 GaaraxFem!Reader Headcanon

Day 2 - Breakable

Gaara's POV

She seems so fragile, as if even a fleeting glance could hurt her. Her figure seems to be woven from light and shadow. Almost unreal. As if she were just an illusion. As if a single wrong step would tear her from reality. Her voice, so soft and gentle, is like the whisper of the wind lost in the vastness of the desert. I hardly dare to breathe when she is near me out of fear that I will destroy this delicate presence.

I keep my distance. Not because I want to. But because I have to. My hands, rough and guilty, aren't supposed to be near her. She is like glass. Clear and pure, and I am the force that would inevitably break her. My existence is a danger. A risk I cannot take.

But she stays. She comes closer and closer. Without hesitation. Without fear. She speaks to me, and her words are gentle, almost effortless. But they cut deeper than any blade. I see the way she looks at me. How she recognizes something in me that I don't want to see. She sees more in me than the desert, the darkness, the demon. And that's what makes it so difficult.

I want to keep her away from me. Shield her from me. She doesn't belong in this world of wounds and scars that I carry inside me. She doesn't understand. She doesn't realize that everything I touch turns to dust. That closeness doesn't mean salvation for someone like me, but danger.

“Leave,” I want to say, but the words get stuck in my throat. She wouldn't listen. Her determination is stronger than my silence. But I know that I can't hold her if she binds herself to me. And so I stand still. Silent and unable to move as she takes a step closer. Like a storm approaching and myself unable to stop it.