#IS THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE WITH HIM DEAD AND ME ALIVE.

[jiminiecrickets]

KILLER? I BARELY KNOW HER! FUSHIGURO TOJI / M!READER

summary. shadows of your past catch up to you – but you're the strongest, and there's nothing you can't handle.

wc. 5.5k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom toji. mentions of underage drinking. sorcerer + teacher reader, enemies-to-lovers (with extra steps), sorta sugar baby toji/rich reader, doggystyle + missionary, mentions of exhibitionism + filming, unprotected sex, brief degradation (r. receiving), brief breeding kink, implied shower sex

notes. every dark-haired male jjk character deserves a silly and illogically powerful best friend with whom they have romantic tension :3 you're him. literally.

The pleasant chime of the doorbell echoes throughout your home. You're not expecting anyone.

You know you should be careful. In fact, you shouldn't be staring at the back of the front door at all. Opening it would ruin the carefully put-together façade of the closed-curtain windows and dark rooms.

Maybe you're tired, and you forget, moving on instinct. Maybe you're bored.

Maybe you're hopeful.

The door inches open, and a man looks up from where he'd been staring listlessly at the flower-spotted bushes lining the patch of green between the entrance and the driveway. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and his eyes are dark, flickering with an emotion you can't quite catch before it flutters away.

"Toji?" you say, the surprise in your voice teetering on warmth. "Hey..."

"Hey," he replies – exhales, really, something like a hum. He reaches up by his shoulder, the action too familiar for you not to stiffen, but he just rubs the back of his neck, stretching out the cricks of his body. "So. New place, huh?"

Your hand rests behind the door. He knows better than to expect it to be empty. "Old, technically. It was my first property purchase."

He tilts his head. "Yeah? When did you get it?"

"Fifteen. A birthday present for myself – a gift for surviving another year of high school. And curses, I guess. Surviving them was way worse because getting their blood in my mouth made me want to die."

He scoffs, and the raised scar over the corner of his lips shifts with his amusement. "Fifteen... And what does a teenager do with a house?"

You shrug. "Drink. Party. Pirate movies. The usual."

"Hah. Sounds like you were a fun kid." Toji scuffs the toe of his sandals against the ground absently. Then he rolls his neck and sighs. "Look, I didn't come all the way here to talk history. Long-ass way out, too, so just let me in."

Lifting an eyebrow, you give him a once-over that feels keener than it should be. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What, you think I'm here for that bounty? Who do you think I am?"

"Don't blame me. You seem very well aware of it."

"Isn't worth the effort for the price. 'Sides, you've given me more than that over the years, haven't you? I like to keep my options open, and it seems to me like it's a better investment to keep you alive."

"You talk as if you could kill me at all," you mutter, a little disdainfully, but it dissipates swiftly when Toji cracks a smirk, so familiar and entwined deeply with your favourite memories. The breeze stirs lightly, and Toji's hair ruffles, almost blue in the sunlight.

"Couldn't I? You're the one who runs away."

"Yeah, after immobilising you. Not a lot of fun to be had if you're dead as a doornail. Say – how deep are you in the jujutsu world? You must be rusty. I'd be willing to help you train."

"You'd help me kill your fellow sorcerers?" He chuckles and arches a brow. "I'll have you know I'm looking at a contract worth thirty million from a bunch of religious crazies."

"Peanuts." You wave a dismissive hand. "Now that I mention it, I'm getting complacent, too... I could use the challenge. Keep in contact with me and I'll pay you double."

"You're paying me to use my body?"

"Your words, not mine."

He holds your gaze steadily for a while, and despite his airy voice, his eyes are thoughtful. "Let's not talk business on your doorstep. Lost your manners, have you?"

Finally, your shoulders loosen, and the tension in your body vanishes. With a soft chuckle, you pull the door open further and step aside. "Don't make me regret this."

"Please," he says, slipping out of his sandals and into your home. "You never do."

Zenin. Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. All of his names, all of his history, and yet, to you, he is just your baby – your Toji. It'd be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed, he thinks as you draw him into a rib-shattering hug. Instead, he feels smug.

Before that Gojo kid, there was you. It wasn't a position you were born for – like the kid was – but you trained your way up and eventually found yourself most suited for the role, all but waltzing into it – because what youth wouldn't want to be number one? It was almost gross, your selflessness and single-minded ambition, and Toji knew how that sort of mindset made the people in power feel. They commissioned him for your death at one point, after all.

It was fun. You were both so young: dancing around each other's weapons as if it was all a stage, chasing each other's clues like a couple of dogs running after a bone. Still – you were society's best, the cream of the crop, and for you to be his, of all people, was a selfish triumph he indulged in too many times to count.

His hands creep up beneath your baggy shirt as he leans up to kiss you, tongue slipping between your lips to share in the taste of some expensive whisky he can't name. He hums – a low, rumbling sound, like a tiger chuffing – as his fingers bump over thick, warm muscle.

Blood and bone. That's what you all are, when it comes down to it.

"You should wear tighter clothes," he murmurs against your lips. "Less to grab in a fight."

The backs of his thighs press into the edge of the kitchen bench, where a forgotten glass of water sits – the remnant of your half-hearted attempt at being a good host while his lips found your neck.

You huff. "A 'fight', huh? I wasn't expecting one."

"You should always expect a fight. While you're at it, always expect to lose. Stops you from being disappointed."

"Sounds pessimistic."

"That's the price we pay for being good at what we do."

"As if you pay for anything, Toji."

He chuckles. He drops the hem of your shirt before sliding his palms up your chest – what a tease – and cupping your face. His hands are warm, callused, thrumming with lifeblood. He sweeps his thumb absently over your cheek, committing every pore of your face to memory. You have the urge to pull away, look down, like a schoolboy with a crush – but Toji's hands are firm.

"C'mon, at least look me in the eye before we kick this off. You that ashamed of me?"

Startled, your gaze flicks up to his. Instead of the half-wry look you expect, he smirks and pulls you in to meet his lips. His fingers interlace loosely at the nape of your neck, caging you in place, and you have no choice but to bend to his whim.

"Stupid," you mutter against his lips, mostly to yourself. "Stop playing with my feelings, Toji – that's manipulative. You're breaking my heart here."

Rather than pulling away himself, he pushes you away, a palm flat on your chest but without any real power. It remains there as he leans back against the stone countertop. "My bad, baby. It's just funny."

"Funnier than you calling this," you gesture between your chests, "something to 'kick off' after... how many years? If you weren't all over me seconds ago, I'd think you came over for a beer and a game."

He lifts his hands in teasing surrender at your accusatory tone. "All right. We'll fuck, then. Maybe include some heavy petting for the B-roll, if you're up for it. Sound good?"

You cross your arms over your chest and muster up a suitable amount of annoyance for a glare. Toji finds it hard to take you seriously – what with your dumb jokes and ridiculous inclination towards flashy fighting – so to him, it's more of a pout. "So, you got lonely without me, huh? Yeah, nah. We're not filming ourselves."

"Hm." It's not a yes, but it's not a disagreement, either. "Why not? It'd be hot."

"I'm a teacher, Toji," you remind him, clicking your tongue when he shrugs, one hand on his hip. "I don't want that kind of thing to exist. If it got out..."

"So you are ashamed of me," he mutters. He steps forward to grab your hands when you start to protest, visibly distressed. He snickers. "Kidding, kidding. Fuck, it's fun to play with you. You don't care about the other one, then? The one from the abandoned restaurant?"

"Well—" Your breath stutters when Toji absently compares hand sizes and laces your fingers together. You watch as he aligns four of his fingers against your ring finger specifically, one at a time as if comparing again, but this time...

"Well?" he prompts, his grin broadening. His shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Well, I don't look like I did ten years ago, and as far as I know, my face isn't in it..." All logic scatters like leaves in the wind when he looks up at you through his lashes, that playful, pretty smirk of his tugging at your heartstrings just right. It's like the years never passed. You swallow. "I-It was different," you finish lamely.

Toji's eyes flicker down to your lips. With a flick of his wrist, he twists a hand in your collar and tugs you down so that your faces are inches apart. Your chests collide roughly. He doesn't seem to care, his gaze trained on you with a heavy, smoky intensity. "Fine. If you won't let me film it, you better make it memorable. I'll decide later if it was worth coming here for."

—

Toji should have known you were serious when you pulled the bedframe about six inches out from the wall. He'd laughed at first, insulting you for such uptight behaviour regarding something as boring as walls, but you'd just dragged him to the bed with a roll of your eyes.

With how loud he was moaning, you could only be glad that he didn't find you at your apartment property.

"Toji," you breathe, your gaze trapped on the tight, firm ass ricocheting off your hips. Your grip tightens. "Toji."

"Fuuuck," he drawls as his cock throbs, prying his eyes open to narrow them at you over his shoulder. Lust has turned the usual green of them nearly black. "What?" he bites out.

"I missed you. Missed this. Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight."

He lets out a throaty chuckle, turning back around to rest his head on his forearms. With a shift of your hips, your cock punches his prostate, over and over, and his eyes roll back briefly, a pleased groan rumbling from the depths of his stomach. His dick pulses and swings uselessly between his muscular thighs.

"M-Men are all the same," he grumbles. You click your tongue, though you don't miss the way an involuntary moan makes him stutter.

"Awful way to greet an old friend, you know. I thought you were smarter than that. Try being nicer," you slam your hips forward, making his eyes fly open with a gasp, "and you'll get what you want."

His skin prickles when you glide a warm hand up his side and come to rest it upon his shoulder, holding him down with just enough strength to make his muscles flex to fight it. Your thumb rubs little circles into the back of his neck, tracing the dips of his shoulders until you find what you're looking for. You dig into the taut muscle, making him wince.

"Stressed?" you hum, and your voice is gentle. Gentler than he deserves. "Is it money problems again?"

Something like guilt stirs in his belly, but a well-angled thrust has his thoughts unravelling. "No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats. You hum in response and don't push the matter further.

Your hand lifts from his shoulder, and already he can feel the stiffness returning. Damn those God-hands of yours. He finds himself arching back, bracing against the bed, in an effort to return your hands to their rightful place.

You hush him sweetly, pressing your chest to his back and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The angle has the shaft of your heavy cock pressed right up against his prostate and his body jolts with the fiery burn of pleasure, his knuckles turning white as he fists the sheets. "No need to chase me anymore. Not going anywhere. 'M right here, baby."

Toji manages to scoff, and his voice is steadier than he expects. "Not chasin' you, asshole."

"Yeah? Then what do you call showing up at my door as you did, unannounced?"

"Welfare check."

You roll your eyes. "I hate you."

You punctuate your sentence by yanking his hips back on your cock, the wet squelch of lube and precome making him shudder. Despite the rough treatment, a moan tumbles from his lips, and he laughs, loose and breathy.

"Fuck me like it, then," he dares, knocking his temple gently against yours.

One hand lifts to card through his hair. He groans softly as your nails scrape his scalp, but his eyes fly wide open as you grab a fistful and tug, wrenching him up to kneel. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as you wrap your hand around his leaking cock, jerking him off at the same pace as you fuck into him – he swears he sees stars as your thumb and index finger twist roughly around his swollen tip. His cock squelches in your fist, bubbles of precome sliding down his tip and smearing across your palm.

"Fucker," he snarls, ceasing his split second of flailing to grip your hip and thigh. You'd consider it painful if you hadn't also had the pleasure of being stabbed, slashed, shot, and bitten. "Nngh – so fuckin' big—"

"Going back on our word, are we, honey?" you say slyly, twisting your fist up and down his wet cock. "Tsk, tsk, Toji... so forgetful. I'd say you're getting old."

You glide a fingernail up the line of his vein, making his hips stutter and forcing another curse to slip from his lips, and you dig the tip of your finger roughly into his leaking slit. He moans and his back arches against your hold as your throbbing cock easily slides deep into him, the harsh, rapid smack of your balls against his ass almost disorienting.

He shudders. The heat of his body pulls his skin too tight, makes his tongue heavy and clumsy. Your hands are not quite soft – years of weapons training and hand-to-hand combat would do that to someone – but they're sweet on him. Loving, nearly. Your warmth softens the rub of calluses and tough scar tissue, and Toji learns them anew.

"C'mon, baby... want you to talk to me. Love your pretty little sounds." You end the sentence in a whisper, patting his stomach with the absent sort of friendliness you had as a youth. You never shied away from touching him, rewarding him with your weight draped over his shoulders or entwining your fingers when he did something that pleased you.

That familiar feeling jolts him back to reality. He glances your way – perhaps to say something, but he doesn't remember what about – and you capture his lips with yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip.

He keeps them sealed, airtight.

You groan into the kiss and nip at him pleadingly, because you'd have to break Toji's jaw to get him to open up – and you couldn't do that to your favourite killer. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer is too sweet to pass up on.

Eventually, with enough petting and kisses, Toji relents, if only to see you perk up like a puppy tossed a bone. He groans softly as you explore his mouth, tongue curling around his and gliding over his teeth.

Your breath is hot and sweet against his, your lips shockingly gentle despite the quick and steady pace of your hips bouncing off his ass. He jolts every time your cockhead kisses his prostate, swollen and sensitive from your unrelenting pace. His dick bobs, dark red and pulsing hotly in your palm, and he groans like an injured animal. It's almost desperate.

Your shaft drags against his slick walls, which clench with a rippling squeeze as if he's trying to milk you dry. With each hungry snap of your hips, your tip punches the breath out of his lungs. His vision blots out, and he swears he can feel your cock in his damn throat.

Without warning, and without a word, he comes, his expression going lax with pleasure as he releases thick ropes onto his stomach. It's four hard spurts and two weaker pulses, the slow, measured tugs of your wrist twisting in a way that has his thick thighs trembling.

You coo softly, and Toji's face is uncharacteristically warm. Little kisses drift their way up his shoulder and neck and he sighs softly, eyes shut and head tilted back against your shoulder. You press your palm against his chest to feel the heart thudding beneath his ribs, the rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You cup his chest and squeeze.

He cracks an eye open, disapproval furrowing his brows. In response, you grin cheekily and nip at his earlobe as you smooth your fingers through his hair – a silent apology for being so rough.

To his credit, he lets it go. Doesn't even smack you for being an ass. He does, however, clamp down punishingly around your cock when he pulls off, making you hiss at the scrape. It bobs and you shiver at the cold air.

Thoughtfully, Toji glances down at it, still hard as rock and curving upwards towards your stomach. He reaches for it.

Your eyes widen when he slips a nail under the edge of the condom. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Don't sound so scared. I know we're both safe. Said ya missed me, right?" He grins, dark and sharp, with eyes half-lidded – almost coy. "I'll let you finish inside me. For old times' sake."

"Contract-sanctioned stalking? I thought better of you, Toji." Despite your flippant words, your breath hitches, and Toji's grin widens. He tugs the slick condom off and tosses it aside – without even tying it up, the bastard – and before you can grumble about it, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and presses his lips to yours.

You groan softly as he parts his lips and allows you in. He shifts closer, his knee between yours, and grabs your hand. He brings it down between your bodies.

"Baby..." you whisper as he wraps your hand around your lengths, pressed together. He is hot and velvety in your palm.

"Mm." The sound is deep and content, and he blinks up at you slowly like a cat. "I know. I want it."

Then, slinging his arm loosely around your shoulders, he pulls you down with him.

You barely manage to catch yourself before crushing him, your instincts and reflexes dulled by familiarity and a dreamy languor. Not that you think he'd mind – not with that grin.

Toji spreads his knees and hooks his calves around your thighs. He guides your cock into him again, and he rumbles out a pleased moan as it buries itself hilt-deep into his slick warmth.

His head falls back against the pillows as you press your hips flush against his ass. "Ah, shit..."

"You good, baby?" you murmur, swallowing harshly as his gummy walls flutter tightly around you, as if he can lock you inside forever. Your dick twitches.

"Mmh, fuck, jus' sensitive. Move."

It's only natural that you obey.

Toji feels hotter now that you don't have the layer of plastic to contend with – hotter, wetter, hungrier. You thrust shallowly at first, but as his moans grow louder – less restrained – you allow yourself to move tip-to-base, deep and dirty the way he used to like it. Seems he still does. The rim of his puffy asshole catches on the ridge of your cockhead and his nails rake down your shoulders and back, leaving stinging raised lines in their wake.

Pride fills your chest, inflates your ego. An infamous assassin, the Sorcerer Killer, spread wide and inviting with his cheeks all flushed – he's certainly given you a thousand little deaths. You grip the meat of his ass and lift his hips off the mattress, fucking into his wet heat at a new angle that has him shouting your name.

Maybe it's because you can see his face – see all the pretty cock-drunk expressions that wash over his features – that you find yourself chasing the precipice of release embarrassingly fast. He locks his legs around your waist, thick and muscular, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Why would you ever want to leave?

"Toji," you grunt, panting softly. "'M gonna..." Your breath fans against his sweat-slick skin, making him shiver and arch into your touch. He cups the back of your neck as you nibble and suck dark bruises into his tanned skin, his lashes fluttering as you shift his thighs on your lap and leave far too many deep red hickeys printed on his skin. You even scatter a few across his collarbones and chest, and you're only pleased when he looks like he was mauled by a bear.

He pants softly, his bitten moans making your cock throb even harder. Fuck, you're so hard – the shape of your teeth printed into his skin for all to see makes you prouder than you'd ever admit. You trace the marks gently with your fingertips and Toji's chest stutters.

Gazing up at you with lidded, unfocussed eyes, he laughs, freer than he had since you met him earlier. Your heavy cock plunges into his stretched hole, again and again and again like you're trying to make him take, and your grip on one of his thighs is tight enough to leave red crescents. He grasps your face, turning it down towards him, and offers a sleazy, roguish grin, breathless. His eyes trace the cut of your cheeks, the curve of your lips.

"You look less stupid than usual. S'all you're good for, ain't it? Fucking me nice an' deep with that fat cock of yours – f-fuck. S'mine, yeah? All mine?"

You shudder and groan, bone-deep, and Toji can feel the heavy throbbing of your cock leaking inside him. The slick feeling of you against his walls builds a hot ball of arousal in his lower belly. Your chest heaves against his and your stomach tenses, familiar planes of muscle firm against his hand. Excitement roars through him like a wildfire – eager and keening.

He yanks you down for a devouring kiss as you come, catapulting off the precipice into white bliss. You gasp into it. His ass clenches around you with his own release as he moans, his soft walls stroking you and sucking you in.

He's so fucking warm, so fucking wet. His body is slick with sweat and he shoves his tongue into your mouth like a man starved. Maybe he is. You groan, low and pleased, and his thighs tighten around you like a cage, possessive in his hungry, unyielding embrace.

Spilling into him is heaven. You've died and ascended, you're certain of it. He drinks you deep, as if he was made for it, and lets his head fall back against the pillows with a less-than-steady sigh as your balls tighten and pulse hotly against his skin. Dragging it out, you grind your hips into his ass in lazy circles, huffing and puffing against his throat as if you've run a marathon. Your fingers graze his own, fluttering in a way that seems almost... uncertain.

Hah. As if you knew what that word meant. You were unshakeable, infallible. The strongest. You'd hold onto that title for as long as you could; the burden was heavy.

Rather disappointingly, you don't choose to hold his hands. They glide down his waist and hips, making him shiver, and you slowly pull out, the solid but gentle grip on his thighs never wavering. You set him down as if he was made of glass and his body twitches as thick come leaks from his stretched hole, dripping and pooling white below his ass.

He tosses a lazy arm over his eyes, bending one knee and bracing against the bed. Another hot gush of come. "Ah, f-fuck... shit. You still come like a truck..."

Your gaze, once so dark and sultry as if you were about to eat him alive, now snaps to him, wide and kind and so embarrassed that Toji can't help but crack a grin.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Other than the hickeys, no. Wouldn'ta minded it anyway," he adds slyly, peering out from within the shadow of his arm. "Pretty hot when you get creative."

Shuffling off of the bed with a soft chuckle, you pick up the discarded condom and toss it in the bin. You pull open the wardrobe with a flex of a wall of muscles that Toji watches keenly, spreading his knees to eye you through them. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"Y'know, I was thinking," you begin suddenly, rifling through clothes and drawers.

"You can do that?"

"Shut up. I was thinking about you – your situation."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into your bed. "When'd you have the time? Not while you were fucking me, I hope."

"Just listen, Toji." You turn around, washcloth in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. Dark, but loose and unremarkable – as he prefers it. You toss the clothes at the bottom of the bed and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, raising your voice as the faucet squeaks on. "I was wondering if you'd wanna... you know – catch up. Or at least let me help you."

You continue, "I could find you a place in a better school zone, get you set up legitimately. Honestly, actually, you wouldn't even need to work. You could just focus on your family and I'd take care of the rest."

Toji sits up, ignoring the pinch of pain and the mess between his legs. It'll ache later, so he'll deal with it later. "What?"

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. But why?" He lowers his voice as you return to him and begin to clean him up. He meets your eyes and his mouth takes on the beginning slant of a smirk. "My ass that good, huh? You want me to be your sugar baby?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "You're not that hot, Toji. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Wasn't talking about my face. Still – it's not like you to beg me to go on the straight and narrow. What's with that?"

"At the risk of sounding humiliatingly sappy after sex," you sigh, sitting back and dropping the cloth aside, "I still care about you. A whole fucking lot. I only want good things for you, Toji, and I have all this excess wealth that I can't donate fast enough, so if I can change just two more lives – I'd beg for the chance."

The desire to change lives without ending others'. He can understand the sentiment.

"What would you want from me?"

For a moment, you're taken aback by the tiredness in his voice. You blink. "Nothing? Like I said, the money would just vanish into a charity otherwise. Well – maybe I'd like to be invited over on the weekends, and maybe drop off-slash-pick up itty-bitty Megumi every so often. He's that age, right? Oh – and you gotta let me into the kitchen. I make a mean lasagne. Wonder if the boy would like it..."

He snorts. "That's a lot of conditions."

"Well, I am offering to let you live like a plump and happy housewife, so..."

He's quiet for a while, his hair falling over his eyes in a way that blocks your view of his face. You toss a rolled-up towel at his head, and he catches it without looking.

He lowers the towel. "You... don't seem to care that I left you."

"No, I didn't at all care that my friend dropped off the face of the earth without warning." You cross your arms and scoff, the smile slipping from your face. "I only heard about what happened months after you vanished, and by that time, there was nothing I could do to search for you. I had too many people looking at me to dig up old underground contacts and not enough time to comb through the country myself. You could have talked to me, you know," you say, your voice softening. "I would never turn you away."

He shrugs, noncommittal. "It's like you said – too many people looking at you. Would be alarming if I came strolling up to your door, wouldn't it?"

"You did today," you point out.

"Yeah, when there's a bounty on your head. I could be killing you right now."

You scoff, though the hint of a smile flickers across your lips. "You're impossible. But fair point. Just... think it over, okay? Come find me after all this bounty business is over and done with. You know where I live."

Toji chuckles softly, and he accepts your offered hand. You lead him to the large bathroom and he threads his towel over the rod next to what must be yours. He stares longer than he should, but the sight of the two towels beside each other – his green, yours blue – forms a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. His heartbeat quickens.

The sound of water hitting the tiles fills the bathroom. He raises his voice over it. "Hey."

Glancing over, your arm shimmering with water droplets from where it rests against the faucet handle, you tilt your head wordlessly.

"I should be picking up the kid in a couple of hours," he explains, "at six. As far as he and the childcare know, I work a normal nine-to-five like the rest of 'em. You could go."

Your eyes widen, and you let out an endeared laugh. "Toji, Megumi doesn't know who I am. The last time we met, he was a newborn. I'm not about to give everyone a heart attack by showing up on your behalf."

"It wouldn't be on my behalf, dumbass." His tone borders between disparaging and fond. "I'd go with you."

"Wh—?" Your throat bobs harshly. The shower seems forgotten, and Toji pushes you backwards into it with a palm on your chest because he's not about to waste the water. It pours onto your head, your hair beginning to stick to your face, and it still doesn't seem to register. A smile pulls at his lips as he reaches for your body wash, scanning the label while your brain putters out and short-circuits.

You didn't expect an answer that soon.

"You heard me," he says coolly, as if this is a normal Tuesday for him. He squirts a dab of body wash onto his palm. "Isn't this what you asked for? In my opinion, it's not that fun. I get a lot of women chattin' me up while we wait. Awkward as hell since I can't be rude or they might tell their kids, and then their kids won't like Megumi... ah, it's a big deal. You being there will help. You love to talk, so you can do it for me. Good game plan, right?"

"Toji, I..."

"The fact that I'm talking more than you worries me."

"You said pick-up's at six, right?" you say suddenly, the glint in your eyes intensifying.

He arches a brow, glancing up at you. "Yeah."

"That means we have an hour." You lean in, trapping him against the glass of the shower. There's a hint of mania in your gaze, starved with a vehement zeal. "I'm gonna fuck you, now."

His eyes widen. A feral grin spreads across his face. He laughs against your throat and moans when you press your thumb roughly into one of the many hickeys littering his neck and chest. "You're crazy. Fuckin' crazy – oi."

It's disturbingly easy for you to lift him by his thighs and press him against the cool glass. His skin prickles as he grips your shoulders and mutters, his breath mingling with yours: "If you drop me, I'll kill you."

"Promise?" you ask with a breathless grin.

He crushes his lips to yours. No one else gets the privilege of taking your little deaths.

[headfullof-ideas]

Okay it took me all afternoon, but I finished the base doodles of my own version of @thedeepfanpage’s tangled AU, only because I’m obvious, I did it with Ant instead of Fontaine! And it’s a Tangled AU in that Tangled is sitting in the corner of the room. Its presence is there, but it’s not fully there, you know what I mean?

My idea was that, in this world, instead of the flower being from of drop from the sun, it was actually from a drop of Monumential blood, being blue rather than yellow. Almost the same powers, but a different color with a couple different extra things and rules. One, it’s not activated by singing, but by willpower. By need, by urgency. Adrenaline. Second, it can be placed into conduits, gems powered by the same magic from a dead Monumential thousands of years ago. Third, there’s more to it than healing. Surges of energy can be expelled, longevity can be bestowed upon something, light can be made. And fourth, there is a limited supply of it. Unless a source is fed externally from a sort of battery, its magic will die out. This magic is very fleeting and limited, and there isn’t much of it still around anymore. What there is, is stored away from a society dedicated to making sure this very power doesn’t end up in the wrong hands. However, that doesn’t mean people like Proteus still can’t make their way in and try to utilize it for bad.

Proteus learned along with Nereus that a person can actually have this power harnessed within themselves. Nereus tucked the information away as interesting to know, but Proteus immediately wanted to use it for himself. He wanted to live forever, so he could spend all the time he needed to learn to harness the full power of the dead Monumentials, and use it to gain control of the world. All attempts at giving himself powers with it failed, so he turned to a younger person, Alpheus, hoping to turn him into his very own conduit to leech off of. Alpheus was a little more susceptible to it than Proteus in his already old age had been, but it had only affected his physical appearance, changing the color of his eyes to a much brighter blue. No powers fell upon the unknowing Alpheus, and Proteus was at his wits end on how to make a person get powers.

With the Nektons, the King and Queen of present day Lemuria were expecting another child, but Kaiko was getting ill. Nereus had been keeping an eye on them at the request of Will’s late parents, and remembered the information about how the residual magic could be used to heal and rejuvenate. He helped the Nektons find just what they needed, telling them what he knew it could do, and Kaiko got better. When Ant was born, he had blue hair and blue eyes. Nereus said that with no outer conduit to latch on to him, and eventually using up what had been used to keep Kaiko alive, Ant’s hair and eyes would return to the color they were naturally supposed to be. Other than that, he was a healthy happy baby.

Proteus heard about the Nekton’s baby though, and found the answers to his dilemma. He hadn’t known that you needed to introduce the magic to a person while they were still developing in order for anything to stick. Proteus kidnapped Ant, having slipped amongst the Guardians who were now aware of his actual intentions. He made off with Ant, disappearing without a trace. The Nektons parents were devastated, and Nereus vowed to track down Proteus and find Ant and bring him home.

Twelve years later, Proteus had been keeping Ant in an underground Lemurian sanctuary, hidden away from the rest of the world and all the Guardians searching for Ant. Ant lived alone with just Proteus, away from any other person and unaware of what the outside world even looked like. Proteus had found a conduit, using it to feed magic to Ant, keeping the magic inside him alive, and also store magic from Ant, for Proteus to use.

Now, Proteus is not as sly as Mother Gothel, too impatient. The combined efforts of his own temper and Alpheus tracking him down to repeatedly fight and antagonize him and Ant over Proteus choosing Ant and abandoning Alpheus, led to Ant not being so fond of Proteus himself. He knows that Proteus isn’t a good person. However, with no knowledge of the outside world beyond Alpheus and Proteus, Ant is led to believe that even if Proteus isn’t a good person, Ant’s safer with him. Especially when Alpheus keeps making attempts at sucking the magic out of Ant to prove that he would have been better with it. Ant is also fed a fair number of lies in how his powers work. He knows what they’re capable of, but he thinks that they’re also the only thing keeping him alive. With no one to fact-check the lies Proteus feeds him, Ant is led to believe that his body naturally produces magic of its own. However, too much of it can kill him, meaning Ant has to put some of it into Proteus’s staff, powering it, to stay alive. But getting rid of all of it will kill him, meaning that Ant has to keep at least some of it. Ant stays with Proteus not just because he doesn’t know if or how he can leave, but he thinks that he’s safer with Proteus despite the fact he knows he’s not a good person, and that Proteus is the only person with the staff that can keep Ant ‘alive’. Ant doesn’t want to die, and doesn’t think he has anywhere or anyone else to go to, so he’s stuck with Proteus. Proteus is happy keeping Ant under his relative thumb, using the magic he leeches away from Ant with his stuff to prolong his lifespan and energy, with Ant none the wiser.

Every year, once a year, the dead Monumentials body releases a torrent of magic into the sea. It’s not magic that can really be harnessed, otherwise Proteus would have been stealing it years ago. It’s nothing more than lights, but they’re beautiful, lighting up the ocean and surrounding rivers and streams that it can reach. There’s an underground river that flows through the sanctuary that Ant is kept in, and he wants nothing more that to see the actual ocean that he reads about in the old books kept there, and he wants to see it lit up by the dead Monumential. Proteus won’t let him leave though, and Ant isn’t sure if he’d make it if he left the sanctuary and it’s natural magic and Proteus for too long.

Back with the Nektons, Fontaine is frustrated with her parents trying to keep an eye on her at all times. She knows that she had a baby brother who was stolen days after he was born, but she doesn’t know that he had blue hair and eyes because of Lemurian magic. Determined to prove that she won’t be in danger if she’s on her own, and that she can handle herself, she signs up to join the captains guard. On an excursion out into the woods for training, she comes across Alpheus, who was stealing something. What I don’t know, just that it was mildly important and maybe something that was Ant’s. I didn’t get that far, just that he stole something, and that Fontaine gave chase. Alpheus manages to lose her not far from where Ant is, Proteus out for a few days on his usual trips in search of Lemurian stuff, and Ant sees Fontaine lose Alpheus. She stumbles across him, and he hits her over the head with the mandatory frying pan in a panic.

Fontaine wakes up, and after a bit of bickering, Ant convinces her to take him to see the ocean in exchange for knowing where Alpheus is. Ant figures that if he has someone with him, he can be taken to and from the ocean in relative safety, back before Proteus knows what happened. Fontaine’s just wondering why there’s a weird kid with blue hair and weird blue eyes living underground. But, she’s willing to reluctantly play babysitter for this weird kid if it means she has a lead on that other weird, blue-haired guy.

Shenanigans are had for the next few days, with the Dark Orca pirates, Kaiko and Will, Nereus, Alpheus, eventually Proteus who figures out Ant left and immediately tries to re-kidnap him again, and an assortment of other incidents happening while Fontaine and Ant bicker, bond, freak out over the other freaking out over Ant’s powers, and eventually grow pretty close for knowing each other only a few days. Ant activates Fontaine’s sleeper big sister instincts, and Fontaine slowly gets Ant to realize that maybe Proteus was lying about a lot more than he initially thought. That the outside world wasn’t as dangerous as he made it out to be. That Proteus was worse than Ant believed. That maybe his parents didn’t abandon him because of his powers. Fontaine takes him to Lemuria where they do the whole Kingdom Dance scene, Fontaine avoiding her parents to the best of her ability because she is DEFINITELY grounded the moment they get their hands on her. After the scene on the ocean in the boat, Fontaine tries to pop the question of if Ant actually wants to go back to Proteus. Ant says he’d die if he stayed away too long, but Fontaine’s not sure that wasn’t just something else Proteus was lying about. Before they can finish talking about it though, Alpheus and Proteus find them. Both are trying to grab Ant for different yet very similar reasons. Proteus wants to take Ant back to the sanctuary so he can hide him even further away, never to see an ounce of light ever again. Alpheus wants to transfer Ant’s powers to himself for his own gains. Ant and Fontaine get separated, and while Fontaine gets back what Alpheus stole, Proteus gets away with Ant. The palace guards catch up. Alpheus is arrested and Fontaine is grounded for a very long time.

She’s determined to save Ant though, and breaks into the prison to get answers out of Alpheus. Alpheus tells her what exactly Proteus has been wanting with Ant, and what Ant’s powers can do. Fontaine steals a horse and rushes off to save Ant. Haven’t figured out the specifics of what happens next, but Proteus gets shoved off a cliff that leads into a deep chasm in the sanctuary, Fontaine get’s stabby-stabby’d, and the staff holding both what Proteus had been leeching off of Ant and the conduit feeding Ant’s magic gets shattered, leaving Ant with only whatever his own body had stored. Not in that order, but that’s the gist of what happens. At the end, Ant is panicking, because Fontaine is dying on the ground, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s still not entirely sure that he won’t die if he uses up all the magic in his powers, but he decides to try and save Fontaine anyways. He ends up using every last ounce of it he had left in his body to bring her back, and his hair and eyes return to normal afterwards. Crying and happy tears and relief and did-we-just-kill-a-man happen, and Ant and Fontaine head back to her parents. Fontaine introduces him to them, and it’s only when it gets revealed that he used to have blue hair and eyes that anyone realizes who Ant actually is

This is a very janky explanation because A) I’m tired and B) I don’t have the most solid scene-by-scene description of my version of this AU. So it’s a little jankily worded and laid out. But I have drawings for it! And another one I’ll post after this because I didn’t have room here, and a few others I wanna do!

[joshriku]

at any and all times i'm thinking of this

[summer-sapphic]

Hi I'm mad

[seventh-district]

CW: mention of death and health issues (but it’s in a relatively positive light, for once!)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[fangdokja]

"Romance is a garbage genre, but if I have to play, I might as well do it on easy mode."

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 1,366

♡ Yandere! Love Interests who don’t appreciate your attempt at speedrunning this otome hellhole by seducing minor NPCs.

♡ Yandere! Love Interests who have already survived multiple assassination attempts from you—poison, garrote, magic entrapment, even a sacred blade through the chest—and instead of dying like normal people, they decided this was romantic foreplay.

♡ Yandere! Love Interests who, after watching you reject every romantic flag, every heartfelt confession, every predestined moment of emotional awakening, are forced to endure the ultimate insult: you, in your deadpan, anti-romance disgust, deciding that if you must complete a route, it will be with some irrelevant, bottom-tier, side-character background NPC.

You do not care that he’s an unimportant knight with three dialogue lines. You do not care that his face sprite barely moves. You do not care that he is written solely to make the main love interests look better.

You are logic incarnate. If you must be trapped in this hellish world, then you will find the most harmless, disposable, and easiest-to-manipulate idiot to romance your way to an ending and finally escape.

Except—

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince who walks into the throne room just in time to see you smiling at a low-ranking baron. Who hears you utter sweet, rehearsed nonsense with all the emotion of a dead fish but still—still—sees your fingers lightly graze his sleeve.

It takes him 0.2 seconds to recognize the threat.

He laughs. Loudly. A dangerous, triumphant sound that echoes through the halls like a death knell. The guards, the nobles, the advisors—every soul present—stiffens in collective terror.

Because it is not a sound of amusement. It is a sound of calculation.

"You," he says, voice warm but distant, like a blade dipped in honey. "Would choose this man over me?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes."

His gaze does not waver. His smile does not falter.

And then, without breaking eye contact with you, he runs his sword clean through the baron’s chest.

The entire room erupts into chaos. The nobles scream. Blood splatters across your dress, warm and sticky. You take a slow breath, calculating exit routes, already planning your next escape.

He steps closer. There is a terrifying, frenzied delight in his eyes.

"Try that again," he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple, "and I will erase every man in this kingdom."

———

♡ Yandere! Archduke who catches you attempting to flirt with a random scholar in the library.

You are sitting beside him, pretending to be interested in whatever history text he is reading, nodding along, offering the occasional hum of agreement. The scholar, barely able to believe his luck, stammers as he tries to keep up a conversation.

And then—the air turns cold. Suffocatingly, skin-pricklingly cold.

A shadow looms over the table.

"Ah," the Archduke drawls, voice dripping with mockery. "I see you've found a new toy, darling. How precious."

You do not react. You merely turn the page of your book. "Can I help you?"

The scholar, a fool, is still trying to piece together why his instincts are screaming at him to run.

The Archduke smiles at you—a perfect, fanged smile that does not reach his eyes. He leans over, placing one gloved hand on the table, the other coming to rest on the scholar’s shoulder.

"Did you know," he muses, "that there is a rather fascinating execution method in the East?"

The scholar pales. "I—I’m sorry?"

"They strip the skin from a man’s fingers first," the Archduke continues, eyes locked onto yours, waiting for a reaction. "Then they move onto the arms. Then the torso. All while keeping him alive."

You sigh. "Subtle."

He grins. "I do try."

And then, with a single movement, he drives a dagger through the scholar’s hand, pinning it to the table.

The scholar screams.

The Archduke watches your face carefully, waiting for the moment when you might flinch, might show fear.

You do not.

You merely close your book, rise from your seat, and mutter, "I’ll find another one."

His smile widens. "No, you won’t."

———

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage who catches you in the act of slipping aphrodisiac-laced tea to an unsuspecting alchemist.

You figured—if you must suffer, you will suffer efficiently. The alchemist is harmless. He will fall in love quickly. The route will be easier.

You do not expect the teacup to vanish mid-air.

Nor do you expect to feel a hand grasp the back of your neck, tilting your chin up to meet dark, unreadable eyes.

"Ah," the Supreme Mage murmurs, inspecting you as if you are a particularly fascinating experiment. "Creative."

Your expression remains unimpressed. "Do you mind?"

He does not release you. If anything, his grip tightens, a soft hum vibrating from his throat.

"This is fascinating," he muses, studying you the way a scientist studies a specimen. "Tell me, did you choose him because he is weak? Because he is controllable?"

He tilts his head. "Or because you thought I wouldn’t notice?"

You stare at him, blank and unbothered. "Yes."

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then—your body locks up.

Magic pulses through your veins, foreign, overwhelming, suffocating. Your lungs tighten. Your limbs refuse to obey. Your knees hit the floor.

The Supreme Mage kneels beside you, trailing a gloved finger down your cheek.

"You are so utterly resistant to romance," he murmurs, "and yet so very good at manipulation."

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"How delightful."

———

♡ Yandere! Demon King who burns an entire village to the ground because he saw you smile at a commoner.

The smell of charred wood and flesh fills the air. The screams are already fading.

You stand at the edge of the destruction, arms crossed, staring up at him.

He watches you in turn.

He does not speak at first.

Neither do you.

The silence is filled with the sound of flames crackling, of dying breath rattling in collapsed lungs.

Finally, he exhales. Slow. Almost measured.

"You are angry," he notes, voice a low, gravel-raked hum of amusement.

Your fingers curl against your sleeves. You breathe in smoke, exhale exhaustion.

"That was unnecessary."

His head tilts, considering. "Was it?"

Your eyes meet his—burning, devouring, endless.

"Yes."

He steps forward. The ground trembles beneath his weight.

"Then tell me," he murmurs, clawed fingers reaching, gliding along your jaw with a touch as reverent as it is possessive. "Why do I feel so utterly justified?"

Your gaze does not waver. You have never feared him.

"You saw me smile at someone, and you slaughtered them all."

He hums, deep and pleased. "Yes."

There is no remorse in his tone. There never is.

You inhale again—slow, deliberate, as if to cleanse yourself of the rot curling at the edges of your reality.

"You would rather throw yourself into the arms of some pathetic, forgettable insect than accept me?"

"Yes."

The smile that spreads across his lips is a slow, creeping thing. A patient, monstrous thing.

He lifts his hand from your jaw, brushing a clawed thumb across your lower lip, dragging it down—a promise, a claim, a warning.

"Then I will remove every option."

Behind him, the last of the screaming dies.

There is only fire now.

And then—gently, effortlessly, inexorably—

He tilts your chin up and kisses you.

The world behind you burns.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[a-lurking-fae]

Thinking about the reader being Focalors/Furina's grandchild. What if they adopted a child, and let's say that the kid could have been transported between worlds, they end up in Gotham, taken in by Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Now, after a couple of years, readers mom ends up with Bruce. He takes in Dick, then Jason, after your mom gets pregnant, and during childbirth, she dies. Instead of Bruce neglecting the reader because "They were the reason why my love is dead." type of neglect (っ- ‸ - ""), which is always pretty stupid if you ask me,

He can't look at the reader because you look like a mix of both the two women he has truly loved in his life. His mother, the one who sang him bedtime songs, the one who brought him to his love, your mother. The one who accepted him for his faults, the one who was there during rough times, the one who gave him the greatest gift of all time— you.

But instead of treasuring the precious diamond he was given, Bruce ends up throwing you away. A shame, really, after all, how can he look at you without being reminded of them? How can he look into your eyes, which took the shape of his mother, and held those (e/c) eyes that used to look at him with so much love?

Dick would also have a hard time acknowledging you. After all, you were sort of the reason why his mother had died (reader's mom), but you were her child too. You can't experience what he and Jason got from her, bedtime stories and all.

But at the same time, he can't help but look a little closer, enamoured by the same eyes that saw him, acknowledged him, loved him. He really doesn't know what to do, so he avoids you when he has the chance.

Now, Jason— he's a good child before he died. He's definitely your best friend before he died. How can he not love you? The child of his parents, how could he possibly turn away from you? So imagine his surprise and disappointment when both Bruce and Dick actively ignore you.

Oh, he is angry. How dare they! He argues with them during meal times, but they shut him down! Let's time skip a few years now, Jason is dead, then he turns up alive, apparently?

You try to approach him, hoping he was still that big brother you once knew, even though he looks a bit scary and big right now! He avoids you like the plague, you don't recognise your big brother anymore...

When Tim was taken in by Bruce, you hoped that you'd form a bond with your new brother, and he's very smart too! You hope he can help you with homework, but he says that you're not really worth his time. That stung a bit!

Then Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie are in the picture. You still had a bit of hope that you'd bond with your sisters! They might be different from your brothers! Ah— it's the same thing over again.

Finally, Damian, he's your younger brother. Clinging on to your last hope, you approach him, hoping— but to no one's surprise, he rejects you. He hates you so much. He hates that you were so weak, how, although he is strong, forced to cater to his mother and grandfather's wishes, robbed of the childhood he dreamed of, you ended up with a peaceful childhood, the one thing he always wanted. (He didn't know you were robbed, too.)

It's honestly your last straw, so after packing your bags, you head to your mother's home— Fontaine, and it's a hell lot more nicer than Gotham. The fresh breeze of the sea, cute adorable sea creatures, and a whole lot more things you could explore!

Your grandfather, Neuvillette, adored you, both of your grandmothers who loved you so much, the friends you made in Fontaine, even adventures you went off to. It's no surprise that you didn't want to go back. Yeah, Alfred would miss you a lot— but you're sure he'd be happy to know that you're in a better place, safe from the crime-filled-gotham!

Now, enjoy the last days in Teyvat because they want you back. How could they not? Bruce and Dick never hated you— no. They'd kill themselves before that. It's just that it hurt too much to see you! But, they've realised their mistakes now, they'll make it up to you, don't worry! Bruce will throw you lavish parties anytime you want! He has deep pockets, after all, and that old room of yours? Your new room will be next to him, to make sure you're safe.

Dick will be there for you. Even though he wasn't there before, he'll be next to you every step of the way this time and make no mistakes. He won't let you out of his sight, not anymore. You can count on the best big brother in Gotham to make sure you'll be safe. With a little help from Tim, who'll place trackers on you when you get home. It's for safety precautions, you'll understand.

Jason blew when he realised you've been missing for weeks— and none of them have noticed! He was the best big brother to you, right? Won't you come back home to him? He knows you, and both of you could bond by the things you guys used to love, right? You probably still like the colour (f/c) you don't anymore. He'll cook your favourite food with you, and all you have to do right now is to come back home.

Casandra, although a perceptive person, she never realised the small figure that trailed behind her grew up, not to be seen in weeks. She knew something was missing. The small figure that she'd see in the kitchen during ungodly hours, who'd leave her little notes of praise time-to-time, was not there anymore.

Every time Barbara and Tim had migraines, you'd be there, handing a tray with two cups and medication. They wondered where those always came from, and then it suddenly stopped. To think it was their sweet baby sibling all along! Those little hints that you were there weren't really noticed, but they appreciated you and the small actions you did for them. They want to repay the favour, don't you wanna play games with Tim? Or get ice cream with big sis Babs?

Damian will demand attention from you. How dare you give your love to those good for nothing children of lower breeding, he's your blood brother! Sure, he said he hates you— but he really didn't mean it! He didn't know you were robbed of the same childhood as him. And without his older sibling, how can you expect a complete family? You don't have to worry about being weak. He'll protect you. He's strong enough for both of you.

Neuvillette is having trouble closing the multiple portals they tried to create. With the help of the Justice league, of course. Don't worry they'll get you back sooner or later.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

This was already posted!<33

[bandsofmarv]

Cutting Ties (Ghostface Bucky)

Bucky becomes dangerously obsessed with you even going as far as eliminating those around you.

warnings - murder, obsession.

The first time you noticed him, you thought it was just a coincidence. A dark figure at the edge of your vision as you walked home from the coffee shop. A fleeting shadow that seemed to disappear the moment you turned around.

Brooklyn was always alive with people, even at night, so you chalked it up to paranoia. But it wasn’t long before the coincidences became harder to ignore.

A knock at your apartment door late at night. No one there when you checked.

Your name written in the condensation on your bathroom mirror.

The faint feeling of being watched, even in your own home.

And then the killings started.

The first victim was your coworker, a sweet woman named Rachel who’d always made an effort to check in on you. You found out through the news the next morning. Stabbed in her apartment. No sign of forced entry.

The police called it random, but you knew better. Rachel had just been at your apartment two nights before, sharing wine and gossip. She’d been your only real friend in the city.

Her death left you shaken. But the city didn’t stop, and neither could you.

A week later, it was your neighbor, Marcus. He’d offered to help fix your leaky faucet the night before he was found in the stairwell, his throat slit.

The pattern was impossible to ignore now. Everyone who got close to you seemed to end up dead.

That’s when you saw him.

It was late, and you were walking home from work. The streets were unusually quiet, a thin fog rolling in from the river. The air felt heavy, suffocating.

And then you saw the figure at the end of the street.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black cloak, the Ghostface mask gleaming white under the streetlights. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching you.

Your heart pounded as you froze, clutching your bag like it could protect you.

“Who are you?” you called, your voice shaking.

He tilted his head, the mask turning slightly as if amused by your fear.

When he finally took a step forward, you bolted.

————————————————————————

You spent the next week barricading yourself inside your apartment, refusing to answer the door or your phone. Sleep was impossible. Every creak, every shadow set your nerves on edge.

But no matter how hard you tried to shut the world out, you couldn’t escape him.

A package arrived at your door one morning. No return address. Inside was a single black glove and a note scrawled in messy handwriting:

“You don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

Your stomach twisted, bile rising in your throat. This wasn’t random. He was obsessed with you.

The next time you saw him, it was in your apartment.

You woke up to find him standing at the foot of your bed, the Ghostface mask blank and staring. You couldn’t even scream, your body frozen in terror.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. Low, gravelly, almost familiar.

“Who are you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He reached up, slowly pulling the mask away.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky?”

James Buchanan Barnes—your quiet, brooding neighbor who always seemed to linger a little too long in the hallway. The man who had offered to carry your groceries up the stairs, who had fixed your squeaky door without you asking.

“I’ve been protecting you,” he said, his blue eyes soft but unrelenting. “They didn’t deserve you. None of them did.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You killed them… Rachel, Marcus… Why?”

His expression darkened, the softness replaced by something far more dangerous.

“They were getting in the way,” he said simply. “You don’t need anyone else. I’ve been here the whole time. For you.”

You tried to scramble out of the bed, but he was faster, his Vibranium arm pinning you in place.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

The days that followed blurred together. Bucky didn’t leave. He stayed in your apartment, always watching, always nearby. He cooked your meals, cleaned up after himself, even smiled at you like none of this was horrifying.

But the mask stayed, perched on the table like a silent reminder of what he was capable of.

You tried to escape once, when he was in the shower. But the moment you opened the door, he was there, dripping wet and furious.

“Don’t make me lock you in,” he warned, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful. “I don’t want to do that.”

You realized then that there was no reasoning with him.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a broken man. He was completely unhinged. And you were his obsession.

One night, as he sat across from you at the table, you decided to speak.

“Why me?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head, considering the question.

“You were kind,” he said after a long pause. “The only person who looked at me like I was more than… this.” He gestured to his Vibranium arm, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I couldn’t let you slip away like everyone else.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice calm, “this isn’t love. This is—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his jaw tightening. “Don’t say that. I love you. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve made sure no one else could hurt you.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. What could you possibly say to someone who believed their obsession was love?

All you knew was that you had to find a way out. Before he decided that even you weren’t enough.

[starrrlights]

Two Sides of a Coin

alt!TimeBomb x reader

A/n: Ekko's uni! reader is a firelight. Fem!reader. a mix of ekko's pov and third person. Dialog is accreate to the show, but then I gave up halfway.

Also, thanks for all the likes on my Vi post, 🫶🏻

And if anything seems out of place or funky, just tell me and I will fix it. Tumblr has been kicking my butt with my drafts.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

He could feel the hairs on his neck practically stand when he looked around. It was Zaun, yes, but it was oh so different. And not in a way that it had gotten worse or had different people in it. No, it was better, cleaner, brighter.

Ekko was definitely not supposed to be here, but he was, and he was damn sure that he just saw one of the dead firelights walk around.

He had his book out with drawings of the Arcane out, pencil markings of the circular ball of magic spreading multiple times over the span of a page. He wasn't even sure if it was his own hand drawing them. His hands were so clean and more fresh looking than his own back in his original universe, not to mention the green suit he was wearing. Definitely not something he could be caught wearing back home.

His leg bounced nervously, watching carefully with his surroundings, but mostly Vander and Benzo. oh Benzo, it he could hug him again he would, and again and again. the old man was like a father figure to him basically, and the fact that the was alive here made him feel sick and jealous. jealous of the world that could've been his but wasn't.

it was until Powder snapped him out of his thoughts again, her pale fingers snapping in front of his face. He looked at her with wide eyes, it was like he didn't even recognize her.

"Hey, spaceboy, I'm not talking to myself over here."

Ekko couldn't help but look back down at his book and look back at her, straightening his composure.

"What is up with you? You've been out of it all day."

"... I feel like, I woke in the wrong universe."

Ekko glanced at his book again, the mindless drawing of the Arcane roughly drawn over words that he couldn't care less to read right now.

"This is what happens when you stay up all night. Those synapses start firing around like drunk slugs."

Powder said jokingly, but Ekko looked back at Vander and Benzo, who were talking amongst themselves at the bar. Vander leaning over behind it and Benzo sitting in one of the seats.

"there's still plenty of time before the competition, okay? Plus, toots will help us work out the kinks. we've got you."

Powder put out her hand reassuringly on Ekko's forearm, but Ekko flinched away, still under the haze and shock of what was happening to him right now. Could it be the sickest and worst nightmare he was having right now? Or was it actually happening. He couldn't tell the difference.

A cup that was next to Powder tilted over from the sudden flinch, spilling over onto the table. Ekko put his hand to his head as a weird headache came on, making him feel woozy and dizzy. Powder looked at Ekko almost weirded out and confused. Her brows furrowed down in thought before she picked up the cup.

"Ah, if it isn't Zaun's royalties. My liege"

Powder watched Ekko as he stood up with a shocked expression on his face, keeping his eyes on the owner of the voice and the people around them.

The owner of the voice was from Mylo, and the right of him was Claggor. They looked different. Mylo had grown facial hair and Claggor was even larger than before, now practically Vander's height if not shorter. It wasn't until Ekko looked at the (h/c) girl when his heart almost stopped. It was (Reader), his closest best friend and co-leader of the Firelights. She looked different, a good different.

She looked healthier, cleaner, and livelier, almost like she had never fought anyone before physically, at least. You looked like how he would want you to be if you had never gotten into the mess you had called life back home.

Powder shook her head and chuckled at Mylo's teasing before nodded down to the chairs next to her.

"Sit down."

"Hey, hey, little man. Trouble in paradise?"

Claggor moved to the seat nearest to the wall that the table was tall table was next to. Ekko watches him in disbelief, watching as Mylo sat down as well, before looking at you.

"Just the usual project woes."

"Tell me about it."

Claggor said sarcastically before you chimed in.

"I'll be able to help tonight before the competition like I said I would. I'll also bring extra coffee this time."

you joked, thinking about the last time you helped the duo and ended up passing out with either limbs or heads laying on each other before the night was over.

Claggor explained the problems with his machine to the group as you stood behind Ekko and Powder, putting one hand on Powder's shoulder and moved your other hand to do the same with Ekko's before Powder stopped you. You gave her a confused look and she shrugged, mumbling something about how Ekko was a little jumpy today.

It was a little bit before the Inventors Competition too, so it was probably just jitters before the big thing if the gadget that Powder and Ekko had been working on if it would work or not. You could understand that.

Everyone looked at Mylo as he brushed back his eyebrows, giving knowing looks and head shakes. Everyone in the group knew of Mylo's crush on Gert, if he wasn't so obvious about it enough. Claggor shook his head before looking at Powder.

"I'll be right back."

"Oh no. Go, save him from himself."

Powder nodded, as you gave her a shoulder squeeze, giving her a 'good luck' smile. She gave a thankful one back and took your hand in hers, giving it a squeeze before walking over to where Mylo was making a fool out of himself.

Your gaze looked back at Ekko, looking at him the same, warm way you had done for Powder. He did look really tense today, and something about that didn't set right with you. The look in his eyes just, wasn't him; not really anyway.

Without hesitation, you put a hand on Ekko's shoulder. He flinched away from your touch, as he had with Powder, and looked at you freaked out.

Your hand went back to his shoulder a little more firmer, giving him a worried look.

"Are you alright, Ekko? You're really jumpy today."

You could see the slight movement of Ekko's neck as he gulped, eyes softening but flicking back and forth from you to the table and back. Your hand moved to his back, just where the collar of his suit is, rubbing the area affectionately.

"I'm alright, just tired from staying all night."

He said nervously, referencing what Powder had said to him, but mostly what he mostly caught to in that conversation. He glanced at Powder and Mylo, who were talking to the waitress, probably bugging her or something.

"..just, get some rest before the competition then, yeah? I'm sure you'll be better by then."

And by that, you gave Ekko a kiss on the hairline and walked over to Powder and Mylo to join in on the teasing that was happening; leaving a shocked and surprised Ekko behind.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

You and powder ended up working on the gadget as Ekko was with, what was his name... Hemindiger? He was an odd little fellow, quite... whimsical in your opinion. Always going around with smart inventions and his little ukulele.

It hurt a little when Ekko changed plans so quickly, and so close to the competition when there were still some kinks to smooth out. At least Powder was with you, even if it wasn't the same.

You tightened a bolt that had loosened during a test run, turning it around to make sure everything looked good before glancing at Powder. who definitely looked good.

She was currently twirling around a piece of chalk as she stared at the many drawings and words on the chalkboard. Her hair was tied back into french braids with her bangs sprawled put everywhere from her hands running so much through them, but were now mostly gathered to one side of her face, giving it a side bang look.

It looked really good on her.

As if she had some sort of pulling device on you, you slowly got up from your chair and carefully set the gadget down. You crept up behind her and gently wrapped your arms around her torso, placing your chin on her shoulder.

Powder looked at you from the corner of her eye and smiled, leaning her head on yours. The calm silence made you close your eyes, pulling her into you a little bit more.

The creak of some floor boards got your attention, as well as Powder's. You both looked over to the culprit, who was a wide-eyed Ekko.

Was he still shaken up? It's late now. Maybe the competition being so close to ate is messing with him. Sure, he was a sweetheart, and could sassy at times; but he wasn't this bug eyed for this long.

"Hey."

You and Powder both said, dropping your arms around her so you both could walk towards Ekko, a hurt expression still lingered on her face. You looked at her worriedly, then back at Ekko with the same expression.

"What is up with you today? You're still jumpy, and not the usual nervous kind or anything."

"Not to mention this morning."

Ekko's eyes shifted as if he was hiding something, and you were 100% sure he was. You didn't want to push too hard, in case it was something personal, in that case you would understand. But some context clue on what was happening would be good.

"Um,.. it's nothing. I just woke up from a bad dream, I'm just worked up about it still."

Was he nervous because he was lying through his teeth, or was he nervous because that was the truth? You couldn't tell, but you needed to drop it for the sake of getting anything done tonight.

A sigh left your nose as you looked at Ekko, noticing his gaze softening just a bit under yours. A weak smile stretched on your lips as you wrapped your arm around Powder's shoulders and reached out to do the same with Ekko's.

"Come'on, we gotta fix the damn thing before the competition before anyone else becomes more jumpy or stressed."

Ekko didn't flinch away from your touch, but tensed a little, letting you pull him with you to the table along with Powder. A warm feeling washed over his skin, the same feeling of when you would touch him in his home universe, a touch that he hadn't realized he needed in this moment until now.

He wanted to freeze this moment and bathe in the ways of this universe works. The way that you looked better (in a healthier way), and the way that Powder was happier.

Ekko's gaze went to Powder, and caught her gaze. but before she could look away, he gave her a sorry smile, as if to say: 'sorry for this morning'.

Powder gave him a warm smile in return.

In the back if his head, Ekko couldn't help but feel as if that smile was wrong, in a sense. He has seen Powder smile all of the time as kids in his home universe, but when she became Jinx, he hasn't seen a warm smile from her since.

But this, this was nice, Ekko had decided.

And he wouldn't mind staying a little longer here with you and Powder.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

(Bonus scene)

"-and then she kissed me! well, on the head but still!"

Ekko had been ranting about his day, to the second when he gained consciousness in this universe. About how Powder never became Jinx, how Zaun was different. How everything was different.

Hemindiger couldn't help but chuckle, he had been in this universe for how long, and had already went through the shock that Ekko was going through, in different ways of course.

"Well, boy, it's because you're dating."

Ekko's eyes grew wide at the older man's words.

Dating?

You?

Heat flushed his neck at the thought and cleared his throat. Yeah, he really liked you back home, but dating here? Practically a dream come true almost.

"...Is that so?"

"Quite yes, and you both with Powder as well."

...

As well?

The realization popped up in Ekko's head. You were giving Powder looks that no friend should give to their friend. The same way you looked at him as will her. But it didn't mean his body didn't get warmer at the thought of all three of you dating each other.

Who would've thought that a alternative version of him was getting with both of his dream girls.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

endure & survive | i. endure & survive

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader

chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), grief, gun talk/threats

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist | next chapter

READER

Everything was brutal in the wild open land that used to be this country before the world as we knew it crumbled before us. 

I’d spent fifteen years in the Denver QZ before I’d had enough. Food was scarce and often tainted with mold, animal droppings, or just plain inedible. Hunting and growing food wasn’t an option either, not in the crowded, dilapidated, concrete confinements of the QZ. The powers above tended to hoard all of the fresh shit to themselves anyways and hand out the scraps as if it was a blessing rather than a betrayal of the system they were put in place to uphold. But when you’re starving, even scraps and trash become appetizing. Sickening, most often, but appetizing nonetheless. Luxuries like new clothes, fresh sheets, a decent pair of shoes, and a place to take a warm shower were non-existent. All we had was all we had. You either made do, or you took from someone else. Someone dead, or someone you planned on killing. People like me--people who couldn’t stomach the violence against my neighbors as easily as some of us--chose to just make do.

It was a miracle that I made it out of the QZ alive. 

It was even more miraculous that I’d been able to survive out here in the open for as long as I had. 

Eight years, to be exact. But I hadn’t been alone for all of it. 

I used to have a partner, someone willing to brave the unknown and dangerous at my side, until a nasty bout of pneumonia we couldn’t treat took him from me. Kit and I were as close to married as two people could be in this post-apocalyptic world, and we’d made it longer than most people did outside the supposedly safe walls of the QZ. Together, we rebuilt the dilapidated cabin nestled somewhere in Wyoming that I still call home and built a secure perimeter, shielded by thick evergreens and overgrowth. He was with me for a little under two years out here, but even though he’s gone now, a piece of him remains with me. 

Our son. 

As I lay on the threadbare mattress tucked in the corner of the open cabin and count each of Colt’s breaths, I feel a familiar pang of longing and grief. Longing for his father. Grief that he’ll never get to meet him. 

He’s six now. Just entered that stage of troublemaker and explorer and everything that would stress out any parent in a normal world. But in this world—a world where one slip up could mean the end, or worse—it’s more than stress I feel. I’m terrified. 

It’s been months since anyone has gotten close to our safe haven, and even longer since I’ve come across an infected, but the threat is always there. When Colt was younger, it was easier to manage the thought of having to pull that trigger when someone—or something—got too close. But now I worry about what it’ll do to him to have to watch me kill in order to protect us. I worry it’ll change him, mark him for a dark and violent future he should have never had to chance. 

But I’ll do what I have to do in order to keep him alive. 

I’ll trek across the entire country, chart a boat and sail to new worlds, kill and fight and give my life if it means he has the chance to live his. 

For now, though, he’s safe and sound asleep in my arms, soothed by the rise and fall of my chest as I prepare for another sleepless night. 

JOEL

The mileage is wearing on me. I know it. The pain in the ass teenager besides me sure as hell knows it, if her snarky comments about needing to find me a cane or a walker are anything to go by. 

My boots have seen better days, but it’s been that way for years now. Usually, I’d have found some way to snag a newer, less worn pair off a dead man or tucked away inside some crumbling building, but I haven’t been able to take as many chances with Ellie with me. 

We’ve already had enough encounters with danger between Boston and wherever the fuck we are now. Clickers, tyrants, and more death than either of us would like. Kansas City alone was almost enough to take both of us out. I have no desire to test our luck all for the sake of warmer feet. Besides, Ellie’s shoes are alright. No holes, no soles coming apart. If she’s good, I’ll find a way to manage. 

But there’s no denying the limp in my walk, no matter how hard I try to hide it. It’s cold as hell out here in the woods, and at my age, with my past injuries, it’s taking a toll on me. My joints scream with every step, my back aches like it’s on fire, and that’s only the physical. 

My mind is feeling the wear and tear of this journey more than I’d like to admit. I’m panicky and exhausted and paranoid as all hell, and I can’t be any of that if I want to keep us safe. 

The kid’s gotten pretty good with a gun, but given our limited ammo supply, she hasn’t gotten as much practice as either of us would like. But at least I know if it comes down to it, she’ll know what to do. I cling to the hope that she’ll never have to put that knowledge into practice, but I know better than that. She’s already had to bail my ass out more times than I’d like. 

“I can see steam coming out of your ears with all that thinking, old man,” she says as she sits across from me at the campsite we’ve claimed for the night. There’s a fire crackling between us, big enough to ward off some of this icy chill but small enough not to bring too much attention. “Whatcha thinking about?”

I heave a sigh that has little to do with her and everything to do with the fact that I’m thinking about too fuckin’ much these days. 

Safety. 

Food. 

Warmth. 

Sarah. 

“Thinkin’ how much longer I’m gonna have to put up with this twenty questions shit you like to play,” I say instead of the truth. It’s easier if she doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. She’s just a kid, whether she sees it that way or not. She doesn’t need to add my shit onto her plate. 

“Well, we’re like…what? Only a few hundred miles away from Salt Lake now?” she asks, tracing her finger over the map on her lap. “All goes well, me and my charming commentary will be out of your hair in a few weeks.” 

Doubtful, but I don’t voice that thought. I still don’t have much faith in anything related to those goddamn Fireflies, but a plan is a plan. Tess made me swear to see this thing through with Ellie, and as much as I hate the fuckers, they’re still the only people that might be able to point me in the direction of Tommy. 

“What kind of music did you listen to back in the day?” Ellie asks as she folds her map back up and into her backpack, seemingly content to move onto another subject. “Wait—no, let me guess. Something old and boring like the Beatles.”

I scoff out of amusement. “First off, the Beatles aren’t boring. But no. More of a country music guy, myself. Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Marty Robbins. That kinda thing.”

She shrugs. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“They were before your time,” I say, shifting my legs so that they lay outstretched along the thin blanket I’ve got beneath me to keep the snow from dampening my clothes. “Before my time, truth be told.”

“So you just like old shit, then,” she says, and I shoot her an unamused look. 

“Y’know, it’s been about twenty years since we’ve had any new shit come out, so anything you like listenin’ to is pretty damn old, too,” I reply before tacking on, “Smartass.”

“How old’s Nirvana?”

“90’s.”

“Pearl Jam?”

“90’s.”

“Shit. What about Metallica?”

“Jesus, that’s what you like listenin’ to?” I ask, shaking my head. “No wonder you act like that.”

“Like what? Totally fucking cool and wise beyond my years?”

“Was gonna say feral, but yeah, sure,” I say, fighting a chuckle. 

Despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that I’d long since forgotten how to laugh, this kid almost brings it out of me. She’s the total opposite of Sarah, and yet I can’t help but think the two of them would get along like peas in a pod. After all, their favorite pastime is the same—busting my balls. 

“Y’should get some sleep,” I say, ending her game of twenty questions before she talks me to sleep. “Sun’s gonna be up in a few hours, and we need to get a move on. Storm’s comin’ in soon, and last thing we need is to get stuck out here in it.”

“A little breaking and entering in the books tomorrow, then?” 

“If we can manage it,” I reply with a sigh, watching her as she rolls onto her side and stuffs her backpack beneath her head like sleeping out here in the wet snow is completely normal and not fuckin’ miserable. “Y’need an extra blanket over there?”

“No, mother,” she sighs. “Youth keeps me warm. Too bad those days are long behind you now.”

I roll my eyes and look up at the dark sky, counting stars to keep myself from chuckling. “Shut up and go to sleep, then.”

READER

A crunch outside wakes me from my sleep. I’m a light sleeper at best these days, a raging insomniac at worst, but that’s what’s kept us alive this long. My ears have trained themselves to detect even the slightest of unusual noises around the cabin. Even in my sleep, I’m able to distinguish the sound of an animal crossing our land from an intruder—or worse. 

Thankfully, this doesn’t sound like an infected or a clicker. I don’t have the mental or physical energy right now to deal with a rabid creature, for lack of a better word. 

I shift my weight carefully so as to not disturb Colt as he sleeps beside me, and climb out of our bed. My boots and clothes are still on, as are his—you never know when it’s going to be time to run, and the few minutes it takes to get ready might mean the difference between staying alive and becoming a monster. Grabbing the shotgun I keep beside the bed, I carefully step across the wooden floorboards of the cabin, avoiding the loose ones I know creak under even the slightest bit of weight. I don’t need Colt waking up and asking questions. Not when I don’t know who’s waiting outside. 

All of the windows are boarded up, save for a few peepholes I intentionally left for moments exactly like these. I’d be an idiot to swing my door open without getting a peek at what waits for me on the other side, shotgun or not. Sticking my eye up to the sliver in the old wooden boards, I scan the front of the property, taking in the thick blanket of snow covering the ground and looking for footprints marring its surface. When I find none in the front of the property, I move to the window on the side of the cabin, searching there, too. 

And that’s when I see our intruder. 

A man--older than me by a decade or two--carefully scans the clearing around the cabin, no doubt searching for traps. He’s lucky he’s managed to get this far without running into any. That, or he’s simply done this enough to know exactly what to look out for. 

When he nears the side of the cabin, only a few feet from the window I’m pressed up against, I force my breath to steady and carefully move back to the front door with my shotgun cocked and in hand. I don’t give him time to find his way up the steps of the front porch--that would be too close to Colt for comfort. Instead, I slowly, silently, open the door and step out into the icy cold. Tiptoeing across the snow-damp wood, I round the corner and lift my shotgun just like Kit had taught me all those years ago, aiming directly for my intruder’s head before issuing a single, clear warning. 

“You’ve got five seconds to turn around and forget you ever saw this place before I shoot your fucking head off.”

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[coco-loco-nut]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Pairing: None

Summary: Being a woman in F1 has it's challenges, especially when you are constantly seen as a threat

A/n: McLaren history revision, actually, a lot of it might not make complete logical sense, just ignore that. i’m not great at angst

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

_________

You've scared everyone in the F1 world since you started driving in 2014 for McLaren, more dominant than Max Verstappen, the only driver other than Lewis Hamilton to challenge you. Your aggressive driving style and ability to get the most out of your car has lead you to three championships. Men don’t like that.

You are in a bit of a slump this year after moving to Mercedes, not having won one of the first three races, but you are poised for attack, ready to take your place at the top.

“Daddy, who’s that?” you hear a little girl ask as you walk to the paddock.

“Y/n L/n, we don’t like her,” his fragile masculinity practically yells the comment into your ears. With a smirk you look at the pair, walking over and bending to the little girls level.

“What’s your name?” you ask, your voice bordering on being sickly sweet.

“Sarah,” she squeaks, eyes wide with fascination. You remove your team hat and pull out a sharpie from your pocket, signing your hat.

“Don’t let any man tell you you can’t be better than the boys. You can do anything, you’re a girl,” you smile, putting the hat on her head. You wave over your assistant. “Get her sizes and buy her some team gear, charge it to me,” you tell the assistant, who eagerly nods. Of course, the F1 social team caught the incident and posted it.

“Y/n! How does it feel to be in a slump, as some are calling it? Some fans are even calling you washed. Quite sad isn’t it,” one reporter asks.

“You guys keep saying I am in a slump, or I’m being replaced by younger drivers. My bare hands paved their paths, you don’t get to tell me about sad. If you wanted my career to be dead so bad, you should’ve just said so,” you roll your eyes. Nothing makes you feel more alive than driving, but annoying the media is a close second.

“What about your move to Mercedes next year? Why switch?” another reporter asks. Couldn’t you just get to your motorhome without being hounded by reporters for once?

“It was a mutual decision, it was time for us to part,” you walk away, reflecting on the last few months.

You hadn’t planned your exit from McLaren to Mercedes, the scandal regarding your exit being contained by NDAs. You had punched one of the engineers who made a sexist joke at your expense. You promptly decided you didn’t want to be there anymore, especially when they didn’t fire the engineer.

“I feel bad that this is how it has to happen,” Zak said at the end of last season.

“You don’t get to tell me you feel bad, if you actually did he would’ve been fired and I wouldn’t have to leave,” You told him, visibly upset.

“It was one joke and he was reprimanded. You don’t have to leave,” Zak says, you sharply inhale.

“It wasn’t one joke. It had been ongoing for years, it’s a wonder it took me this long to break. What did you want me to do? Laugh until I cry?” you asked Zak, who seemed shocked.

“Then I truly am sorry, I’ll launch an investigation to see why it wasn’t reported to me before. You will have always have a friend here,” Zak tells you, a small comfort.

“Thank you,” you give him a small smile. You spend the whole offseason steeling yourself and working to be the best driver you can be. You stayed longer at the gym and sent more time on the sim.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Daniel asked one day over a glass of wine, he’s known you since you both were karting, and he’s watched you spiral the past few years. Daniel is your best, and one your few friends.

“It’s so hard being a woman in F1. I am a completely different person than I was before I joined,” Daniel doesn’t comment, he knows you felt like a caged animal so you acted like one.

“Why did you leave McLaren?” Daniel asks, knowing you wouldn’t leave unless there was a good reason.

“I signed an NDA, so you can’t share any of this. After I started at McLaren, an engineer was hired who would say sexist remarks all the time. Over time I stopped being nice and just got mean back, and I finally snapped. I gave him a nice right hook to his face,” you sip the wine, giving the shortened version. “Zak didn’t know, no one had reported the engineers behavior, so we signed NDAs and I left.”

“I’m sorry, That plus the media circus of being a woman in F1 can’t be easy,” Daniel sympathizes.

“That’s why I forced myself to be like this. If I can make myself seem untouchable, it doesn’t hurt as much. Being the villain is easier,” you tell him.

“So how will you approach Mercedes?” Daniel keeps you talking, knowing you need a good trauma dump.

“Lay low for the first couple weeks, let the drivers think they took out my claws, hung me to dry. It won’t be enough to ruin my season, but enough to catch them off guard. During the fourth or fifth race, I’ll leap from my gallows and crash their party, exposing the sexism within Formula One,” you smirk.

“The old ‘who’s afraid of little old me’ tactic,” he smiles, enjoying your plan.

“They should be afraid,” you say, explaining your interview with Suzie that is going to break the internet, after all, the NDA only kept you from talking about the punch.

Just like you predicted, the media and fans were divided. Some called for a public apology from McLaren and the FIA for the treatment of female drivers, most called you over dramatic, and said you only wanted to attention to distract from your poor performance and waning stardom. They said not everything is about you and the people who hurt you didn’t do it to hurt you.

You wanted nothing more than to argue back and show the media and fans just how disturbed they had made you, but Toto told you to let your driving do the talking. That race you said one thing to the media, “you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.”

“Chills, your interview was phenomenal. Thanks for citing me as one of your biggest supporters by the way. Scooch over, let’s see what insecure men are tweeting,” Daniel hands you a glass of wine and sits beside you on your couch, air playing his phone screen.

“I like that one, I’m always drunk on my own tears,” you laugh. Daniel logged into his spam account, letting himself reply to the haters.

“I like this one. Y/n L/n is the kind of person to sue you for stepping on her lawn,” Daniel laughs.

“The reply is better: she’s fearsome, wretched, and most importantly, wrong,” you both think of a funny reply.

You show up to the track and win, and win, and win, until you are holding the trophy for your fourth world championship.

In your post-championship interview with the F1 media team, you make what may be your biggest announcement yet.

“In the wake of people calling me crazy after sharing my experiences as a woman in motorsport, I’d like to make a very special announcement. I am who I am because you trained me to be like this, so to make sure no other girl has to go through what I did, I will be sponsoring two F1 Academy drivers with added mentorship and sponsorship opportunities. I’ve seen the work that Susie Wolff has done, and I cannot wait to help grow the presence of women in motorsport,” you say, sitting beside Susie.

“We will make sure she doesn’t terrorize the girls too much,” she jokes at your request.

“Who’s afraid of little old me?”

[librarygarten]

I’ve been thinking about the infodumping to the chain about Zelda games post and all I want to do now is tell them about the speedrunning in botw 💀

Like imagine looking Wild dead in the eyes and telling him that he could’ve beaten Ganon with a pot lid and a spoon completely naked not even a day after he wakes up habdmdvsusjsbd

Even better, imagine the potential angst if the boys DID use speedrun strategies... because of Isekai! Reader. Reader is their player, and the line between their control and the boys' free will is incredibly blurry at best >:]

#1 Chain x Speedrunner! Deity! Isekai! Reader - Who's in Control?

Part 1 includes Wild, Four, and Warriors Part 1 (you are here) ✿ Part 2 ✿ Part 3

When you first fell through the portal and joined the chain on their quest, you had revealed that they were only stories in your world. It had taken a while for them to understand the concept of a video game, and even longer for them to come to terms with the fact that some of the most traumatic events of their lives were reduced to children’s entertainment. However, as they talked with you, they came to another horrifying discovery: YOU were their “player.” Your actions in your world, the decisions you made while playing the games, directly influenced their own lives. What’s more, you were a speedrunner.

Wild

It was a peaceful day in camp. You were sitting near the fire, watching Wild cook, chatting about nothing in particular. Suddenly, his head snapped up, as if he suddenly realized something important.

“You made me fight Ganon in my underwear.” he says. He stares at you. You stare back, unsure how to respond. Anything you could say dies in your throat. He continues. “I couldn’t beat Ganon back when the Champions were alive. Back when I had the Master Sword. But you managed with a pot lid and a spoon.”

“Well, that was still you.” You can feel the sweat run down the back of your neck. “The line between what’s me and what’s you is kind of blurry. It didn’t feel like you were being controlled, did it?”

“No. I just remember thinking I had to get to the castle as soon as possible.” Wild looks down at his hands, contemplating his next words. “I did things without thinking, really. When I jumped around and shot that arrow, I didn’t know why. It just seemed… natural.”

You were aware of what he was talking about. A common way to skip Windblight Ganon. The only things needed were some well-placed jumps and an arrow. Shooting the arrow at just the right place would make it get stuck in Windblight’s head, essentially one-shotting him.

Wild turns back up at you.

“You made me fight Ganon in my underwear.” He emphasizes the last few words, as if he still can’t come to terms with this reality.

“I’m sorry?” You really don’t know what to say. Nothing could possibly make this situation worse. “It would have made a difference, really. I wasn’t planning on getting hit, so armor was pointless.”

“That’s right. I didn’t get hit once.” Wild looks shocked. “I dodged everything.”

“So everything worked out!” You smile nervously.

“But why?” He asks incredulously. “Wasn’t it hard? Why would you go straight to the castle?”

“Gotta go fast?”

Four

Another busy day at camp. There was food to cook, clothes to mend, weapons to fix. While the others went out to gather materials, you and Four kept yourselves busy, trying to get as much done as possible before they got back.

“Y/N. You played my games, right? You kind of influenced what I did and stuff?” Four asks out of the blue.

“Yea, why?” You put down the shirt you were mending and looked up at him. He was staring into the distance, as if lost in thought.

“Are you the reason why I could walk through that wall?” He turns to look directly at you. His gaze is almost paralyzing.

“Which time are you talking about?” You laugh nervously. “There’s a couple areas in The Minish Cap where you can glitch through walls into other areas.”

“The Octorock!” He exclaims, “I pushed a pot into the wall and went through the wall! Did that actually happen? I thought I was going crazy!”

“Oh, yeah. The Octo Clip is essential for speedrunning.” You explain. “It’s one of the few glitches available in your game for the 100% category.”

“Speedrunning?” He tilts his head, confused. “What’s that?”

“It’s a thing people do when playing video games. It’s like a challenge to see how fast you can beat the game. People compete to get the fastest time.” You pick up your needle again, praying that would be the end of the conversation. Talking about the nature of the chain’s free will was uncomfortable to say the least.

“Did you win, at least?” Four asks. He could understand competition; one of his games was mostly a competition between the colors.

“Ugh, not even close. I messed up the timing on the final boss so the fight took way longer than necessary. I ended up missing the top ten by a whole minute.” You lament.

“I think I remember that. I was fighting Vaati, and suddenly started panicking. I thought I was just scared.” He points an accusing finger at you. “But that was you, realizing you messed up?”

“I guess?” You shrug. “It could be both. Like, maybe you just happened to feel fear at the same time I realized I messed up? Or maybe you felt fear, causing me to mess up? It doesn’t have to just be me influencing you. It’s the multiverse. You probably influenced me too… right?” You try not to sound too desperate with your question. Surely, this connection went both ways. Otherwise… you don’t want to think about the possible implications.

“Maybe.” Four nods, but you can tell he doesn’t really believe it. With nothing more to say, you slip into silence.

Warriors

(I legit cannot find speedrun glitches for his game??? Let’s dive even deeper into the nature of freewill lmao.)

Warriors was silent as you walked along the trail. The rest of the group had run ahead, apparently excited about something they had spotted over the horizon. The last thing you heard was Wild shouting something about Hinox toenails. You were glad to have a moment of silence. You loved the boys to death, but they were a bit much at times. Unfortunately, the silence was short-lived.

“I’ve been talking to the others about their adventures. Now that we know about you, some things are starting to make sense.” Warriors’ voice is quiet, his voice low. Almost threatening. You don’t say anything. He continues. “Four told me you like to do something called speedrunning? Where you try to beat the game as fast as possible.”

“Yeah,” you say. You can feel his gaze on you. “I’m not very good at it. Most of my times don’t even get on the leaderboard.”

“And your behavior during the games influences our world.” It’s not a question. He knows.

“I guess?” You chuckle nervously, suddenly finding the dirt beneath your fingernails very interesting. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Multiverse travel be wild.”

“Was it worth it?” His voice is laced with venom.

“What?”

“What is worth it?” He repeats, then scoffs at your confused expression. “You wanted to beat my game as fast as possible. You’re the reason Zelda and I were constantly trying to push forward. Even when our supplies were low. Even when we knew we were outnumbered. That. Was all. YOU.”

You don’t know when you stopped walking. You only realize when you notice the small wet spots on the ground in front of you. You wipe your eyes, trying to stop the tears. It doesn’t help. Warriors only watches.

“I’m sorry.” Your lip trebles, but you keep looking at the ground, using your bangs as a curtain to hide your face. You don’t want him to see you start sobbing. That wouldn’t help anything.

“Sure you are.” He continues walking, leaving you standing in the middle of the path, completely alone. Before he’s out of earshot, he turns to look over his shoulder, and sarcastically remarks, “Glad you had fun.”

[blackenedsnow]

michael myers x reader? like they’re together and they just live together lol. id love to know what your take on just living with michael is

through the mask

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Michael Myers x Reader

NOTE: Hi!! This idea immediately got my brain going, so thank you! Hope you enjoy, and sending you all the love in the world! Take care of yourself <333

SUMMARY: In a quiet moment at home, you and Michael Myers share an evening together that’s both unsettling and strangely tender.

There was something oddly calming about having Michael Myers in your living room.

Sure, most people would have screamed or fainted or bolted out of the nearest window if they saw him standing in their house. The Shape. The Boogeyman. The man who sent babysitters running for their lives and whose mask still haunted countless urban legends.

But for you? This was just… Thursday.

Michael sat on the couch in his usual blue coveralls, mask in place, and his massive frame somehow managing to look both relaxed and entirely alert. He had his nasty, dirty boots on the carpet—something you’d scolded him for a hundred times but had long since given up on.

“Y’know,” you said, standing in the doorway with a mug of tea in hand, “it wouldn’t kill you to try a hobby that doesn’t involve blades. Maybe knitting? Painting?”

Michael didn’t respond. Not that you expected him to. He just turned his head slightly in your direction, the empty black eyes of his mask fixing on you.

“Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of your tea. “Why paint when you can just… silently judge me? Very on-brand.”

You could’ve sworn his shoulders twitched.

Living with Michael was… an experience.

It was quiet. Uneasy, yes, but oddly mundane at times. The tension always lingered in the air, but you’d learned to live with it, much like someone might live with a perpetually creaky floorboard or a neighbor who mowed their lawn at 6 a.m.

Except, instead of a floorboard or an annoying neighbor, it was Michael.

Your relationship wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination. You weren’t even sure how it had started, exactly. One day, he just… didn’t kill you. And then he came back. Again and again, until eventually, you just sort of… accepted his presence.

And somewhere along the way, things shifted. He started staying longer. Watching TV. Sitting at your kitchen table while you cooked dinner.

The fact that you weren’t dead yet still baffled you sometimes. But here you were, alive and kicking, sharing your house with the literal embodiment of fear.

You plopped down on the other end of the couch, careful to leave some space between you and Michael. Not that you thought he’d mind if you sat closer, but you’d learned early on that he valued his personal space.

“What are you watching?” you asked, glancing at the TV.

The screen was paused on some old horror movie, one of those cheesy slasher flicks where the killer was about as subtle as a neon sign.

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re watching that? Isn’t that, like, a little too meta?”

Michael didn’t answer. He just leaned forward and unpaused the movie.

You sighed, settling back into the cushions. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

The movie played on, the room quiet except for the occasional scream from the TV. Michael stayed still for most of it, but every now and then, you’d catch him tilting his head slightly, like he was analyzing the killer’s methods.

“You’re judging them, aren’t you?” you said, smirking.

He didn’t move.

“You think you could do better.”

Still no response.

“You know you could do better,” you added with a laugh.

At that, he turned his head toward you, the blank eyes of his mask locking onto yours. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until finally, he reached over and tapped his knife against the arm of the couch. Once. Twice.

“Point taken,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “You’re the expert.”

As the credits rolled, you stretched and got up, heading toward the kitchen. “Want anything?” you called over your shoulder.

Silence.

Right. Dumb question.

You grabbed a bag of chips and wandered back into the living room to find Michael still sitting there, his knife resting on the coffee table now. He looked… calmer, somehow. Less like a predator waiting to pounce and more like someone who’d just finished a long day at work.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting back down beside him. “You okay?”

He didn’t move for a moment, but then he turned his head ever so slightly, just enough to let you know he’d heard you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I hope you’re… happy.. here. With me.”

You weren’t sure if he understood—Michael was an enigma, a puzzle you’d long since stopped trying to solve. But for a moment, you thought you saw his shoulders relax, just the tiniest bit.

And then, in a move that shocked you more than anything else he’d ever done, he reached out and placed a hand on your knee.

It was brief—barely a second before he pulled back—but it was enough to send your heart racing.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest despite the ever-present fear that came with loving someone like him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, leaning back against the couch. “Me too.”