#and understanding and finally a fierce need to protect

[dreamscapesofimagination]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

AN: Have a super sweet Lucifer confession. I'm so proud of her. I listened to Work Song by Hozier and this happened.

TW: Fluffy, so fluffy. Very in love Lucifer, cute sleepy Luci, I cannot overstate how much he loves you.

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

It had almost stumbled from his lips so many times. Three little words he almost said at times far better than this.

Ballroom dances in which you had been more radiant than the Celestial Palace, glowing with an air of ethereal beauty. Your hand in his, warm eyes fixed only upon him. He had imagine the words flowing smoothly from his lips, the way you would smile as you overjoyed at his confession.

The words had gotten stuck, Lucifer suddenly wondering why you would want him.

He, who had hurt you several times. Who had always treated you as less than him.

The second time had been over a glass of Demonus (wine for you) in his study. You had come to study in there, seeking its quiet solace so you could focus away from the demands of his brothers.

You had asked him a question about the subject, voice shyly apologizing for interrupting him, but you really didn't understand this sigil and its significance in the Devildom.

Some sort of superstitious inheritance to the more primitive past of demons, he had explained succinctly, watching in awe as curiosity dawned on your soft face.

He could sense them, the questions that burned in your throat. It was not the first time he had seen this curiosity, but to see it so raw, so real- he needed to hear more of your questions, if only to see how your wide-eyed gaze regarded him as if he were the most fascinating being to exist.

Questions had turned into conversation, which had led to now, you two sharing a drink while your giggles subside from a wry remark he had made ("If they had seen my father look for his shoes, they'd worship him less").

That sound. That sound was the finest he had ever heard. He could listen to it forever, his chest swelling with the knowledge that he could make you laugh.

It had almost fallen from his lips, and then he choked, wanting the moment to be just right. He wanted it to be grand- flowers, dinner, a kiss.

The third time Lucifer almost blurted out those three little words was when you stood up to him.

The week had been a particularly taxing one- dealing with missives from various members of the royalty, credit card statements from Mammon's latest gambling spree, Asmo's "much needed" shopping spree, Satan's newest bookshop binge- not to mention Levi's online orders and Beel's restaurant trip. They were wealthy, as members of Diavolo's inner court, but organizing the payments was a headache as he deducted from each demon's account. He had also heard a couple of whispered threats towards you. The culprits would never act on it (not after what Lucifer had threatened, relishing in the taste of fear as their faces went white), but now he had to organize appropriate safety measures for you. The problem? He couldn't shake the feeling that you would only be completely safe with him.

And then, Mammon had started a fire in the kitchen.

The second oldest couldn't leave you alone for five minutes while you cooked. He had bumbled in your way, causing oil to spill on the lit burner.

Sure, you had stifled it very quickly, and neither of you had been hurt, and Mammon was stammering out apologies to you, ears bright red.

Still- how could he be so careless? What if you had gotten hurt? Can't he just back off of you for a second?

After the final sentence you had stepped between him and a blustering Mammon, glaring up at him, hand on your plush hip.

The way your eyes narrowed has his brain resetting, and when you berated him for how he was speaking to Mammon, and how it was an accident.

He had nearly breathed out the words, entranced by your fierceness, your desire to protect his brother.

How a human like you was protecting a demon, and not for the first time.

Yeah, he needed to organize his confession.

And now? How he actually says it?

Just a few days after the incident in the kitchen, he found himself leaning back in his chair, groaning in exhaustion.

A peak at his D.D.D revealed the time to be one forty-three in the morning.

He had long since loosened his tie, top few buttons undone, sleeves haphazardly rolled up his arms. His hair was a mess from how many times his fingers had worried through it, glasses sagging low on his nose.

His eyes burned, swimming with mind-numbing words.

He shoved his chair back, deciding that he would work through one more cup of coffee and then he would call it a night.

He padded through the house on sock-clad feet, shoes long since kicked off somewhere into his study.

He froze at the sound of clinking around the corner, the soft sound of humming in the kitchen.

The sweet, siren song within.

He krept around the corner, hesitating in the door way when he saw you.

You puttered around in the kitchen, preparing the coffee maker and placing a mug underneath the spout. You were the picture of domesticity, old pajama pants, worn from use, oversized knit cardigan obscuring the shirt you wore. You hummed some song from the human world as you worked, placing a cookie on a plate from the batch you had made with Levi earlier (you had been insisting that since you make an effort for his interests, he make an effort to participate in yours, a fair trade in Lucifer's opinion).

He cleared his throat and you squeaked at the sound, whirling around.

If he could, he would bottle the sound of your surprise, keep it hidden away to listen too when he needed a pick-me-up.

And then you choked out an explanation (you were going to surprise him, figured he was up late and might need the coffee, and definitely a snack).

The sweet innocence of your voice as he approached, looking up at him with such a genuine, warm expression-

"I- I love you." he stammered out the words, voice low and sleepy, too tired to hold back the phrase he had almost said so many times before.

Your eyes flew wide at his statement, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you into him.

His fingers sank into the plush of your love-handles, gripping you as if he was afraid you'd vanish, like an mirage in the desert that was his life.

Your hands landed gently on his chest, looking so cute with the flustered look on your face.

And then the most epochal smile spread across your plump lips.

And you said it back.

"I love you too," falling so sweetly from your mouth.

So many times he had nearly said it, and by all there was he had wanted the moment to be grand, to give you the universe with his confession.

Yet now, while he leaned down, lips pressing carefully into yours, he knew that there would have never been a more perfect moment than this one here.

For the first time in a millennia, he found himself unsure what would happen next.

All he knew is that as long as he had you, it would be worth it.

[wri0thesley]

obsessed with the oc i made that is just my self-insert but cooler and braver and more talented [puts them through the horrors]

[xyywrites]

Tips for writing flawed but lovable characters.

Flawed characters are the ones we root for, cry over, and remember long after the story ends. But creating a character who’s both imperfect and likable can feel like a tightrope walk. 

1. Flaws That Stem From Their Strengths

When a character’s greatest strength is also their Achilles' heel, it creates depth.

Strength: Fiercely loyal.

Flaw: Blind to betrayal or willing to go to dangerous extremes for loved ones.

“She’d burn the whole world down to save her sister—even if it killed her.”

2. Let Their Flaws Cause Problems

Flaws should have consequences—messy, believable ones.

Flaw: Impatience.

Result: They rush into action, ruining carefully laid plans.

“I thought I could handle it myself,” he muttered, staring at the smoking wreckage. “Guess not.”

3. Show Self-Awareness—or Lack Thereof

Characters who know they’re flawed (but struggle to change) are relatable. Characters who don’t realize their flaws can create dramatic tension.

A self-aware flaw: “I know I talk too much. It’s just… silence makes me feel like I’m disappearing.” A blind spot: “What do you mean I always have to be right? I’m just better at solving problems than most people!”

4. Give Them Redeeming Traits

A mix of good and bad keeps characters balanced.

Flaw: They’re manipulative.

Redeeming Trait: They use it to protect vulnerable people.

“Yes, I lied to get him to trust me. But he would’ve died otherwise.”

Readers are more forgiving of flaws when they see the bigger picture.

5. Let Them Grow—But Slowly

Instant redemption feels cheap. Characters should stumble, fail, and backslide before they change.

Early in the story: “I don’t need anyone. I’ve got this.”

Midpoint: “Okay, fine. Maybe I could use some help. But don’t get used to it.”

End: “Thank you. For everything.”

The gradual arc makes their growth feel earned.

6. Make Them Relatable, Not Perfect

Readers connect with characters who feel human—messy emotions, bad decisions, and all.

A bad decision: Skipping their best friend’s wedding because they’re jealous of their happiness.

A messy emotion: Feeling guilty afterward but doubling down to justify their actions.

A vulnerable moment: Finally apologizing, unsure if they’ll be forgiven.

7. Use Humor as a Balancing Act

Humor softens even the most prickly characters.

Flaw: Cynicism.

Humorous side: Making snarky, self-deprecating remarks that reveal their softer side.

“Love? No thanks. I’m allergic to heartbreak—and flowers.”

8. Avoid Overdoing the Flaws

Too many flaws can make a character feel unlikable or overburdened.

Instead of: A character who’s selfish, cruel, cowardly, and rude.

Try: A character who’s selfish but occasionally shows surprising generosity.

“Don’t tell anyone I helped you. I have a reputation to maintain.”

9. Let Them Be Vulnerable

Vulnerability adds layers and makes flaws understandable.

Flaw: They’re cold and distant.

Vulnerability: They’ve been hurt before and are terrified of getting close to anyone again.

“It’s easier this way. If I don’t care about you, then you can’t leave me.”

10. Make Their Flaws Integral to the Plot

When flaws directly impact the story, they feel purposeful rather than tacked on.

Flaw: Their arrogance alienates the people they need.

Plot Impact: When their plan fails, they’re left scrambling because no one will help them.

Flawed but lovable characters are the backbone of compelling stories. They remind us that imperfection is human—and that growth is possible.

[washeduphazbin]

Hi, I would like to ask for a smut from Adam x fem Reader, his dear wife is going to pay him a visit at his work and in the end they almost get paid for lute

New Eve (Adam x Fem! Wife! Reader)

-SMUT AHEAD MINORS DNI-

Other warnings: Adam Being Adam

I hope I wrote this ask and understood it correctly! Adam is my guilty pleasure. I love men who are dumb as rocks and who are going to be absolutely leashed by even stronger women.

REQUESTS OPEN

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There's a saying that all good things come in threes, Lilith, Eve, and you. Adam's final wife, who physically couldn't be swayed by Lucifer because Adam had met you in Heaven. When you passed through the pearly gates, you were greeted by none other than the first human himself. You were in awe for about two seconds until you quickly gathered the first man was a complete and utter dickhead. He seemed to falter when you walked past him to greet an angel named Lute, Adam's second in command. She tensed a little as you introduced yourself, ignoring Adam's protests that dubbed you a Queen Mega Bitch.

All this to say, it took about three months before Lute caught Adam sticking his tongue down your throat with you latched onto him like a koala. You made a distressed sound at being caught while listening to Adam laugh above you. You distinctly heard him call your mouth as good as a vagina while pressing a kiss to your hairline. "Adam!" You hissed, pulling on the horns of his mask as he let out a defiant sound, "Inappropriate."

"Ugh yeah, that's kind of my thing, sugar tits."

"You need to not make it your thing, or this thing doesn't happen." You drew your line in the metaphorical sand before marching out of the room, faintly hearing Lute argue about Adam's behavior behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two years later, you were Adam's new 'Eve' in heaven with two golden rings to prove the love that formed between the two of you...somehow. Did the both of you fight constantly? Yes. Did you want to wring his neck every time he opened the gaping hole he called a mouth? Also Yes. But did you love him...unfortunately. Even though he had a laundry list of bad habits, a vulgar mouth, and gross hobbies, he had his moments. He was protective, fiercely so, and despite his fuck boy personality, he only had his sights set on you. Lute often asked you what you saw in Adam, and you'd reluctantly sigh and give a tired grin, "He makes me laugh. Plus, with proper motivation, he's putty in my hand." Lute made a sound of understanding, nodding her head,

"Ah, yes. Use your feminine wiles to control those weaker than you, even if they may be physically stronger. We must use what we are given as women. Well, you must. I'm very strong without using that to my advantage."

"Yes, exactly," You snickered as Lute stopped outside Adam's office. "Which is exactly why Sera put me in charge of convincing Adam to meet with The Morningstar's daughter." You groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "I'll see you back here later, then?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lute bowed, "I wish you luck...you'll need it. He's in one of his moods." before taking off into the sky and down the hall. You reached up with a stretch of your arms, fluffing up your wings to look extra pretty before knocking on Adam's door,

"Adam." You hummed, knocking on the grand marble door once before opening it. You leaned against the entranceway, wings brushing against the floor, as his head shot up.

"Sugartits!"

"Not my name!" You dodged Adam's hug with a flurry of your wings; he grinned, shoving the door closed with his hip. "Adam," you said in warning as he used his angelic magic to fly towards you and trap you within his arms.

"and what would you prefer I call you? My Bitch? Wifey?" He mused, peppering sloppy kisses against your cheek and down your neck. "We could go with Queen or Goddess, preferably." You shot back, dragging Adam down to sit in his chair; you hummed gently, removing his mask from his face. He leaned back, kicking his legs up on the desk as you slid down into his chest, straddling his hips. You hummed, running your fingers through his brown hair, and he melted into your touch, "My name works, too."

"I guess we can settle on Queen. Does that make me your King?" Adam preened as you scratched under his chin,

"Without a doubt...but we must talk about the Young Morningstar."

"Who?" He made a faux confused face which you raised an eyebrow back at in response, "Ugh, Lucifer's cunt daughter. What about her?"

"She's been begging for a meeting. I suggest you meet with her." Your lips began to trail down his neck, nipping at his skin as his body flushed.

"But that's so much work, sugar." He groaned, running his clawed hands through your hair, "Can't I just say fuck off back to hell we're gonna exterminate all of you regardless."

"Sera wants you to at least meet with her one time; she's giving you a lot of trust to handle this on your own."

"And if I do what you ask, what'll you give me?" He mused, eyes sparkling. You huffed, hitting him with the back of your wing, and he laughed, "Come on, you gotta sweeten the deal for me, mama."

"You're such a bastard." You huffed, moving to pull your hair out of your face. He moved his legs to the ground, and you could slide between his knees. "Robe off unless you want dirty," you commanded as Adam fumbled out of it quickly.

"I love you~" He leaned back with a sly grin, hand reaching up to move your head closer to his lip. Your fingers spread across his thighs, and you huffed softly, looking up at him.

"I love you more. If I do this for you, you promise to meet with young Lady Morningstar?"

"You can't just fuck me because you love me?"

"Bite me." You sneered, but there wasn't any malice in your voice as he stood up, picking you up off the ground and pressing your back against his desk.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure. I can't say your robes will survive, though I might need to get you some new ones." Adam popped the buttons on your robe, allowing your body to be laid bare for his eyes. He watched your breathing hitch as his long claw trailed down your neck to your chest. "Fuck I love these puppies, you know that?" Adam grinned, grabbing fistfuls of your breasts, squeezing and kneading to his heart's content. Your husband was like an oversized golden retriever. When he sees something he likes, he obsesses over it like a man deranged. His favorite playthings of yours were your tits and ass. "Any meetings?"

"None. I'm yours for the rest of the day. You can mark me how you'd like; I'm yours, my husband. Well, until you meet with the Princess."

"Fuckkkkk yeah, baby, come 'ere." Adam dove between your breasts, and he felt you suck in air through your teeth. He began to bite and suck on the supple flesh of your chest; you keened, arching into his mouth, hands tangling in his brown hair. You could tell from the way his teeth would graze against your nipples and your flesh he was doing everything in his power to leave marks on the skin.

"Adam...ngh." You panted, feeling his hand move down from your breast to slide down your stomach and between your legs. "Shit," You squeaked, feeling him tease your clit with his thumb and forefinger with a dopey grin on his face.

"There's my favorite girl," He flicked your nub skillfully; for being a massive asshole, this prick sure knew where to find your clit. One finger slid between your folds, and you tossed your head against the cold marble desk. "Damn, only one finger has you acting up? I must not be treating you good enough," He purred as another finger entered you, stretching you out to be big enough for, 'the first ever man god created.' Adam watched with delight as your wings spread out and trembled, glowing with a soft golden glow. "That's it, you're being such a good girl for me. Are you ready?"

"Yes." You panted, "Adam, please."

"God, you beg so nicely, you little slut," His hand reached up to grip your throat, causing you to let out a desperate whine, hips bucking into his fingers. "Beg Harder," He demanded, moving your hand to palm him through his trousers, stiff and aching. "Look at how hard you make me. How desperate. I need you to worship your god."

"Yes, sir." You purred, "You're my God, Adam. I need you, I'd worship for your love, your touch, your dick." You dragged your hand up your chest, playing with the swell of your own breast, "Don't you want to make me happy, baby?"

"More than anything." Adam's eyes lit up in elation, "Stay with me. Don't go to Lucifer. You're mine." He snarled, hands around your throat, "Say it."

"I'm with you. Only you. Forever Adam." His entire body seemed to relax when you said that, pressing gentle kisses to your cheek and lips. "I love you, you annoying Dickweed."

"Love you more, Sugartits." He grinned cheekily before lowering himself to you with a hiss-like laugh. "Tight as ever, and that's why I love you,"

"If you keep talking nonsense while you're literally inside me, I'll cut off your dick,"

"Sounds kinky."

"Adam."

"Fine, Fine, you're so vanilla." He mused, albeit his tone was much softer, fonder than his earlier teasing. His hands grabbed under your knees and pressed you close with a snap of his hips. You both let out a moan, yours higher pitched and needier, bucking your hips, searching for more friction than he was currently providing. You always savored the way he was able to fill you up, he wasn't the longest but god was he thick filling you in all the right ways. Every time his hips snapped into you, you could feel just how deep he kissed your cervix. "Yeah, you like that?" He panted, "Like how deep I'm getting? From the way you're dripping, you're practically soaking through my table. Your vag is like a vice, babe, so tight for this big cock."

"Hm. Your words always know how to turn me o-ng-ff." You moaned out this end at a particularly sharp thrust of his hips. "Fuck you," You panted as he grinned down at you,

"Good news, wifey, that's exactly what we're doing-"

"Sir!" You let out a scream as Lute slammed the door of his office open, you climbed against Adam's body like an embarrassed Nun. He groaned, still inside you but having the decency to cover you with his wings.

"What do you need, Lute? I'm a little busy getting it on with my sexy ass wife." Adam complained, motioning to the top of your head, to which you made an embarrassed sound of mortification. "Can this be rescheduled or-"

"The Princess of Hell is here, Sir. She just showed up-"

"Are you for real telling me that the bitch Princess of Hell is seriously cucking me right now?!"

"...Yes."

"(Y/n) If I killed her for interrupting us, would you be pissed?"

"Beyond Adam."

"Fuck."

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown - Mars Through The Houses

We speak of Mars as drive, desire, action, but beneath every spark is a story. A reason we move the way we do. A part of ourselves we’re trying to protect, prove, or reclaim.

First House

Your strength is seen, but rarely softened. You lead. You assert. You enter every room like it owes you space. But even warriors long to rest. You’ve learned to carry your identity like a shield, but who are you when you’re not proving you belong? Even fire needs a place to burn safely, without burning through everything.

Second House

You chase security like it owes you proof. As if having more will finally make you enough. You work hard. You hold tight. You protect what’s yours. But self-worth isn’t earned, it’s remembered. Let your value rise from within, not from what you build to be seen as valuable.

Third House

You speak like it’s survival. Sharp, fast, relentless. Your mind is wired for action, always reaching for understanding, but sometimes, silence speaks louder. Not every truth needs defending. Not every thought needs to be said to be known.

Fourth House

You protect your inner world like a soldier on sacred ground. There’s a storm in your ribcage that only you know how to navigate. You want peace, but sometimes peace feels unsafe. Not every memory needs to be rewritten. Some things can simply be witnessed, without turning them into wars.

Fifth House

You love loudly. Create fiercely. Every emotion becomes a firework, quick, bright, unforgettable. You chase the thrill because it reminds you you’re alive. But your joy doesn’t have to be earned through fire. Let passion be a home, not a chase. Stay long enough for it to bloom.

Sixth House

You work like your worth depends on it. You keep moving, fixing, improving, hoping the inner chaos might finally go quiet. You measure love in usefulness. But rest is also a form of service. You’re allowed to slow down. You’re allowed to just be.

Seventh House

You don’t just want love, you enter battle for it. Your passion in partnership is unmatched, but sometimes you fight because connection feels vulnerable. Not every relationship needs saving. Not every bond is proof of your power. Let yourself be met, not just pursued.

Eighth House

Intensity lives in your bones. You crave the kind of connection that consumes and remakes. Power, trust, surrender, they’re never simple for you. But transformation doesn’t always require destruction. You can release without disappearing. You can love without losing the parts you’ve fought so hard to reclaim.

Ninth House

You move like there’s something to outrun. You chase freedom with holy fire, as if motion itself can offer meaning. But freedom without reflection can leave you ungrounded. Let your beliefs evolve as you do. The horizon will always be there, but truth lives in how you carry it with you.

Tenth House

You climb. You conquer. You build. You measure yourself by impact, by progress, by proof. But legacy without soul is just performance. You are more than your public self. Let your ambition serve your inner world too. True success is showing up in both.

Eleventh House

You fight for the future. For the group. For the cause. You dream big, act fast, and pull others toward the vision, but even visionaries get lonely. When you’re always leading, it’s easy to forget to belong. Your power multiplies when you trust others to walk beside you.

Twelfth House

Your fire moves inward. A quiet battle. A sacred undoing. You’re not always sure why you act, or where the emotion is coming from, only that it demands release. Your anger speaks in symbols. Your passion hides in dreams. But what grows in the dark is not weak, it’s ancient, holy, and learning to rise in its own way.

[mssalo]

masterlist - mssalo

Welcome!

I write a mix of content, including dark themes and smut, so please make sure to always check the warnings before reading each fic. Some stories may explore darker topics, and those will be clearly marked with appropriate content warnings.

18+ ONLY.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

dirty - smut, hotgirl!reader x desperateold!joel

here

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

ma'am - smut, sub!joel

here

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

after hours - smut, sub!joel (part two of ma’am)

here

Joel Miller has been yours for a month now, and while things between you are steady, Jackson’s demands have kept you too busy for his liking. Missing you fiercely, Joel decides to pick you up after a late night, only for his mood to sour when Paul monopolizes your time. What starts as a simple check-in turns into something much more when Joel finally gets you alone or well... the other way around.

· · ─

fixation - smut

here

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

· · ─

taste - smut

here

You've slowly chipped away at Joel's gruff exterior, turning his frowns into smiles. One night, your playful teasing leads to something more, and when Joel finally gives in, the intense passion between you two becomes impossible to control.

· · ─

hummingbird - smut, dark

here: I  II

In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by an obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination turns into something much darker as his protective instincts morph into possessive desires, blurring the line between safeguarding and owning her.

· · ─

safety - smut, dark

here: I  II III IV V

Joel’s life is built around control and keeping danger at bay. But when a sweet young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. His obsession with keeping her safe quickly spirals into something darker.

· · ─

worship - smut, bestfriendswife!reader

here part two

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

· · ─

access - smut, husband!joel

here

You and your husband, Joel, share a deep understanding - your body is his, to fuck and taste whenever he desires, without question or hesitation.

· · ─

debt - smut, darkish!joel

here

Joel saved you, and now you depend on him for survival. But after one mistake too many, he demands you repay him-with your body.

You owe him, and he's done keeping you safe for free.

· · ─

dirty old man - series, smut

caretaker!reader x oldman!joel (a lot of new smut will come with this duo)

dirty old man - the beginning

dirty old man - the doctor’s office

dirty old man - on your knees

dirty old man - sleeping

dirty old man - field trip

dirty old man - cane (request)

You were assigned as Joel Miller’s caretaker, but he’s a perverted old man who just can’t keep his hands off you. And the truth is, you don’t mind one bit—in fact, you want more.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[aventurineswife]

How about Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Sunday and Blade who find out their partner has sleep apnea? They have a heart attack for a hot minute when you stop breathing and then your breathing again and now they can’t sleep lol

The Fear of Losing You

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Health Scare, Relationship Dynamics, Sleep Apnea, Protective Partner, Emotional Turmoil, Recovery.

Warnings: Contains mentions of sleep apnea, Mild panic/anxiety, Partner health concerns, and Emotional reactions to a health scare.

A/N: I would've had a heart attack too in this case, tbh 😭🙏

It was a peaceful night, the kind Aventurine rarely allowed himself to enjoy. He lounged next to you, his eyes occasionally flicking to your relaxed figure as you slept. A subtle, comfortable silence hung between the two of you—until it wasn’t.

The absence of your breath hit him like a stone to the chest. His heart froze. For a split second, time seemed to slow as he watched, terrified that he would lose you. His sharp mind immediately began calculating the worst-case scenarios, his fingers twitching to shake you awake. But nothing—no sound, no movement.

His hands hovered over you before finally shaking you gently, his voice quivering for the first time in what seemed forever. "Hey, hey... breathe, breathe!"

When you gasped awake, he exhaled in a rush, his breath shaky. His heart thudded violently in his chest as relief washed over him. You were alive. You were fine.

But he couldn’t shake the dread that had lodged itself deep in his ribs. Despite the calm look on his face, his mind couldn’t stop racing. He stared at you for the remainder of the night, watching you sleep in that peaceful, unaware state. As dawn began to break, he found himself unable to sleep—not because he feared losing you, but because he couldn't unsee the terror that had coursed through him when you stopped breathing.

He would never admit it, but the incident made him rethink everything, even the reckless games he played. The only certainty now? His inability to rest until he knew you were safe again.

It was late when Ratio sat by your side, having just returned from a long meeting with the Intelligentsia Guild. His hair brushed against his face as he settled in, gazing at you with a slight frown as you slept. For someone so intellectual and confident, he didn’t understand the complexity of your fragile sleep. Perhaps, it was a flaw in his vast intellect—he had never expected something so mundane as sleep to become a battleground.

Then, in the dead of night, a horrible silence gripped the room. Ratio froze, his sharp eyes narrowing as he observed the stillness, his pulse quickening. His breath caught in his throat when you stopped breathing. His mind immediately began to calculate the problem. Could he revive you manually? Was there something he missed in his extensive research on physiology?

In a panic, he rushed to your side, shaking you firmly. "I—I don’t understand this. You—"

A gasp escaped your lips as you jerked awake, eyes wide with confusion. Relief flooded him instantly, but he couldn’t help the flurry of thoughts that began to invade his mind. He was too intelligent for this. He had to solve this. Immediately. No amount of books or academic achievement had prepared him for this.

You, still groggy, noticed the frantic look in his eyes. "What’s wrong?"

His lips parted to explain, but nothing coherent came out. He had no words. Just the tight grip on your hand, the fierce need to ensure your breathing never stopped again. The remainder of the night was spent beside you, his mind whirring with logical explanations, though no solution seemed quite right. As dawn came, he found himself unable to sleep. How could he, when his brilliant mind was no longer sure of something as simple as human breathing?

The quiet hum of the night was soothing, and Sunday had allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation as he rested next to you. The celestial aura that surrounded him flickered softly in the moonlight, but as he watched you sleep, a feeling of unease began to coil in his chest. His wings twitched gently as the stillness of the room settled in.

Then it happened. The unnerving silence.

For a moment, it felt as if the entire universe had held its breath. His eyes shot open, golden irises wide as he searched your form for any sign of life. His own breath caught in his throat when he realized you had stopped breathing entirely. His wings fluttered in an anxious rhythm, and a rush of panic rose up his spine.

"Please," he whispered, voice shaky, as he gently reached out to shake you awake. "Breathe, please breathe."

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze dazed and confused, but the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over Sunday was palpable. His wings, trembling slightly, folded tighter around his body as he took a deep breath of his own.

"I… I didn’t realize," he muttered softly, his voice holding an unusual weight of vulnerability. The weight of the fear he’d just felt. For the first time in a long time, he felt deeply human.

Sunday couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind was too restless, haunted by the thought that he might have lost you, even though he had no true explanation for why you’d stopped breathing. The thought of being powerless over something so fragile made his celestial demeanor falter, leaving him restless and wide-eyed as the night passed by.

Blade’s eyes were narrowed as he lay on the bed next to you, watching over you with a detached sense of vigilance. Though his existence had long been consumed by revenge and a cold desire for his own demise, there was something about you that remained a quiet sanctuary, something he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore.

But as the night deepened, a sudden, terrifying silence cut through the air like a blade. His eyes flashed open in an instant, his entire body frozen in place. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he watched you, utterly still. Too still.

His mind raced. No… He could feel it. You’re not breathing.

Without thinking, he was by your side, shaking you violently, desperate for any sign of life. His hand trembled, the broken sword beside him forgotten in his panic.

Then, you gasped, eyes flying open as you caught your breath. The world shifted back into place, but for a moment, Blade’s soul felt like it had been ripped open. The terror in his chest was inexplicable, something he couldn’t fight or shove away.

"Don’t ever do that again," he growled, his voice rough, but the sheer desperation in his tone betrayed him.

You looked at him, confused but still dazed from sleep. He was already pulling back, his eyes dark with something unspoken—something almost resembling fear. Blade, the immortal, the weapon, the destroyer—was afraid. And for the rest of the night, he lay awake, staring at you with unsettling intensity, unable to unsee the brief glimpse of what losing you would truly feel like.

As the night dragged on, Blade couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, too haunted by the prospect of loss. And so, he remained wide awake, the quiet terror of that moment embedded in his bones.

[gs29]

Silent Love

Squid Game Master list

The house was quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of your baby’s tiny breaths. The night had fallen peacefully, with you finally asleep in the bedroom, the exhaustion of being a new mother having caught up with you. But your husband couldn’t rest—not yet.

You’d been so wrapped up in the whirlwind of caring for your newborn that you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes lingered longer on you, or how his shoulders were tense when he thought you weren’t looking. Tonight, though, he was doing something different. Something that felt normal, real, and right in a world that often seemed uncertain.

He stood in the dimly lit nursery, a small nightlight casting a soft glow on the room. His gaze was fixed on the crib where your baby lay. The little one had just finished nursing, and though their tiny hands were curled in fists, they were now asleep, their chest rising and falling with each breath.

Your husband’s hands—so steady, so precise in everything he did—were gently adjusting the baby’s blanket, tucking it in with the tenderness of a man who had always been good at taking care of what mattered most.

He let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. His mind was a tangled mess, his thoughts always circling back to the dangerous world he’d tried to leave behind. The job. The Squid Game. The lies. He didn’t want this life for you, for your baby. He had promised you that much.

But right now, as he stood over the crib, gazing at his newborn daughter—his heart softened. She was his, and that was all that mattered.

With a small, careful motion, he pulled the chair closer to the crib, sitting down with a quiet creak of wood. He could feel the weight of his guilt, but in this moment, it wasn’t enough to drown out the warmth he felt in his chest.

You were asleep, finally getting some rest after another long night of feeding, changing, and rocking the baby back to sleep. He’d noticed how tired you’d been lately—how the sleepless nights were starting to take their toll on you, even if you never showed it. You had this incredible strength, this light in your eyes that made him want to protect you both even more. But tonight, he had taken over. Tonight, he had to step up, because you deserved it.

He reached into the crib, gently lifting the baby into his arms. She stirred for a moment but quickly settled, her tiny body relaxed against his chest as he cradled her close, his strong arms enveloping her in warmth and safety.

He couldn’t help but smile at the feel of her, the weight of her so small in his arms. His baby. His daughter.

His thoughts drifted, remembering the promise he’d made to you. To get out of the game. To stay out of the game. He had to. For her. For you.

He hummed softly, a tune he remembered from childhood—something calming, simple. The sound filled the room, a peaceful lullaby that made his heart ache. He rocked gently in the chair, his mind quieter now, focusing only on the tiny life in his arms.

The weight of his past—of the secrets he’d kept from you—was heavy. But it didn’t matter right now. Right now, in this moment, he was just a father. A father who loved his family with everything he had. A father who would do anything to protect them from the darkness that lingered just outside their peaceful little world.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late—too late—but he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to let go of this quiet, intimate moment. He felt something stirring inside him—a fierce need to make everything right.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to just be. Not the salesman. Not the man with blood on his hands. But just a father. Just a husband. The man who loved his family more than anything else in the world.

The baby shifted slightly in his arms, and he held her closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke to her, though he knew she couldn’t understand.

“I’m going to make it right,” he murmured, his breath warm against her soft skin. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

And as the soft ticking of the clock filled the room, the weight of his secret life felt a little lighter. Not gone—no, that would take time—but a little easier to bear, just for tonight.

Because tonight, he was just your husband. Just your baby’s father.

And that was enough.

Epilogue:

The following days were filled with quiet moments like this one, as he worked to balance his dangerous job with the responsibilities of fatherhood. He was still haunted by the shadows of his past, but he knew one thing for certain: he would do anything to keep you and your child safe. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but in moments like this, when he held his baby in his arms and saw the peacefulness on your face while you slept, he knew that the fight would be worth it.

He would fight for them. For you. For the family he was determined to protect, no matter the cost.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Between Fear and Trust

Summary - Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Word count - 2032

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was a protective man, often to the point where his vigilance bordered on excessive. His concern, though rooted in love, sometimes felt stifling.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Jace said, his voice gentle but firm. I sighed softly, setting down the needlepoint in my hands before turning to face him.

"And what harm could possibly come from needlework?" I asked.

As he approached, I gestured to the fabric spread out on the table, the intricate design slowly coming to life.

"Look, it's Vermax," I said, pointing at the olive green and pale orange dragon that was beginning to take shape on the black tunic. 

The dragon's fierce eyes and outstretched wings were just starting to emerge from the fabric. I felt a swell of pride as I watched his eyes follow the delicate work.

Jace's expression softened into a tender smile as he looked at the half-finished dragon, and then back at me. The sight of my enthusiastic face, so absorbed in the craft, caused a wave of affection to surge through him. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're straining yourself," he said softly, his tone a blend of warmth and insistence. 

He stepped closer and gently helped me to my feet, his hands moving with a practised tenderness. His fingers brushed lightly against my swollen belly, and he began to rub it in soothing, circular motions. 

"Jace, you must cease this," I said with a gentle smile, placing my hand over his. His frown deepened, and I could see the concern etched into his features. "You're becoming overbearing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine. "I only want to keep you safe, to keep our child safe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped my face in his hand.

"I can't walk through these halls without feeling like I'm doing something wrong," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. "I care deeply for this babe too, but your constant worry... it frightens me."

Jace exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. When he pulled back, his frown remained, but there was a softness in his gaze.

"I don't mean to cause you distress," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. I nodded, understanding his intentions even if they sometimes overwhelmed me.

After a moment of silence, I shifted slightly "I could use some tea though," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Jace was already moving to stand.

"I'll get it for you," he said quickly, his voice filled with determination but I reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"No, Jace. I think I can manage to fetch some tea," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. 

His hesitation was palpable, a visible battle between his desire to protect me and the recognition that I needed this small act of independence. His eyes flickered with concern as he looked at me, and I could see how difficult it was for him to let go.

"It's just tea," I added softly, attempting to soothe his worries. 

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped back. "Just be careful," he murmured, his voice almost pleading as he watched me.

I gave him a reassuring smile, appreciating his concession. "I will," I promised, as I turned and made my way across the room.

As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, my thoughts drifting to a happier distraction. 

"Perhaps we could visit Vermax when I return," I suggested, my voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "I miss him dearly."

I heard Jace's quiet laughter from behind me, a sound that was both tender and indulgent. 

I knew it would take a great deal of convincing for him to agree to let me see the dragon again, especially considering my condition. But the thought of visiting Vermax seemed to lighten the mood, if only slightly.

Jace's voice followed me, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll have to charm me into it, I suppose" he called out with a fond chuckle. 

I smiled to myself as I stepped into the hallway, the soft glow of the sconces casting a warm light on the stone walls.

The castle's usual grandeur was eerily muted, the soft thud of my footsteps on the cold, echoing stone a lonely sound in the vast, empty hallway. Each step seemed to reverberate with an ominous, hollow note.

The familiar surroundings, normally comforting, now felt like a path strewn with obstacles as I descended the grand staircase. 

The slight twist in my ankle was so sudden, so unexpected, that I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling. One moment I was moving cautiously, and the next, I felt my body lurch uncontrollably.

I tumbled down the last few steps, the world around me spinning in a blur of stone and panic. 

The impact was jarring, pain radiating through my body as I came to a stop on the cold floor. My ears rang, a sharp, disorienting sound that drowned out everything else. 

A thin, red line of blood trickled from the gash on my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin but all I could think about was the deep, gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

Anxiety clawed at me as I lay there, my breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. My hands flew instinctively to my swollen stomach, pressing down as if to protect the life within me.

"Please, please be okay," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. 

I needed to get up, to find Jace, to reassure myself that everything was alright but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by fear, by the pain that coursed through me, and by the overwhelming dread of what might have just happened.

"My lady," a voice gasped, cutting through the haze of my fear. 

I blinked, trying to focus on the figure rushing toward me. The armour clanked loudly in the quiet hallway, the sound harsh against the silence.

"Ser Erryk," I mumbled weakly, recognizing the Queensguard as he knelt beside me, his expression stricken with concern.

"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His hands hovered, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. 

I could see the panic in his eyes, the same panic I felt bubbling inside me.

"My... my head," I whispered, feeling the warmth of the blood trickling down my forehead. "And my ankle... but the babe..." My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Ser Erryk, please, I need to get to Jace."

Without hesitation, Ser Erryk scooped me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. 

The movement sent a jolt of pain through my ankle, and I winced, clutching my belly protectively as he began carrying me back to my chambers.

The journey was a blur of worry and pain, every step echoing my pounding heartbeat. The closer we got to the room, the more I felt the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. 

By the time we reached the door, I was trembling, my mind a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

As Ser Erryk pushed the door open with his shoulder, Jace shot up from his seat, his face instantly pale with alarm when he saw me cradled in Ser Erryk's arms, blood smeared on my forehead.

"What happened?" Jace's voice was sharp, edged with panic as he rushed to my side, his hands immediately reaching for me. He looked between Ser Erryk and me, desperation in his eyes. 

"What happened?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears I had been holding back burst forth, and I began to sob uncontrollably. 

"I'm so sorry, Jace," I cried, my voice trembling with guilt. "I fell—I shouldn't have gone—I'm so sorry." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, my apologies intertwining with my sobs.

Ser Erryk quickly explained, his voice steady but grave. "She lost her footing on the stairs, my prince. It was an accident." 

His words were meant to soothe, but they did little to ease the storm of emotions that swirled within me.

Jace's eyes softened with anguish as he knelt beside the bed where Ser Erryk gently laid me down. He cupped my face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's alright," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"You're alright, and that's all that matters." His fingers were gentle as they stroked my hair, trying to calm me, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that was consuming me.

"I was just so scared," I choked out, my hands still clutching my belly as if to reassure myself that our child was safe. "I should have listened to you... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault." He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against the cut there as if he could kiss away the pain.

But the guilt still gnawed at me. "I just wanted to walk... to feel normal," I whispered, the words heavy with regret. "But I've made everything worse."

Jace shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you and our child to be safe. That's all that matters to me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as if to shield me from everything that had happened.

I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his tunic as he rocked me gently. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, that we were in this together.

"I'll take care of you," Jace whispered his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"We'll call for a maester," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. "Everything will be alright." His gaze shifted to Ser Erryk, who stood nearby, concern etched into his features. 

With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk left the chamber to fulfil Jace's unspoken command, the door closing softly behind him.

But as the door clicked shut, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I pulled away from Jace's embrace, my hands trembling as I looked up at him, fear gripping my heart. 

"Jace... what if I've done something?" The words came out in a shaky whisper, my voice barely holding together as I voiced the deepest of my fears.

His expression softened immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of my tears as he searched my eyes for the pain that haunted me.

"My love," he said, his voice tender but firm, "you've done nothing wrong." His words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my worries. 

"We must trust that the gods have good intentions for us. We've been blessed with this child, and we will see them into this world together."

Despite his reassurances, doubt lingered in my heart. "But what if—"

"Shh," Jace interrupted gently, pressing a finger to my lips. "No 'what ifs,'" he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "We cannot let fear dictate our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together, as we always have."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the strength in his embrace all worked to calm the storm within me. 

Slowly, I began to breathe easier, the frantic pace of my thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of his heart.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. "And I always will be."

As the moments passed, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

A/n - Inspired by that one scene of Meredith falling down the stairs in Grey's.

[animeficsworld]

Beneath the Quiet

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary:  He doesn’t say much, but Levi Ackerman never needed words to show what mattered. Through rain-soaked nights and unspoken glances, you slowly uncover the quiet kind of love, the one that stays.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Rain drums steadily against the rooftop of the old scout headquarters. The rest of the squad has long since gone to sleep, but you’re still awake, unable to quiet your thoughts, your fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea.

You’re not surprised when he walks in.

Levi doesn’t make a sound, but you know his footsteps by now. You don’t look up immediately, and neither does he speak. 

Instead, he pulls out the chair across from you and sits, letting the silence settle between you like a shared language.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He never does. 

But his eyes glance over your face briefly, reading you like a mission report, line by line, detail by detail. 

You wonder if he notices how your hands tremble just slightly if he hears the tightness in your breath.

“I cleaned your gear,” he says, finally.

You blink, caught off guard. “You didn’t have to.”

“Tch.” He looks away. “You’re sloppy when you're tired.”

It’s not an insult. 

Not really. With Levi, it's almost affection.

You sip your tea again. 

Still warm enough to pretend you weren’t waiting for him. Still quiet enough to pretend this isn’t routine now, him finding you after difficult days. 

Him sitting with you until the night feels less sharp around the edges.

“Why do you always come here?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He doesn't look at you. “Why do you always stay?”

Silence again. Except this time, there’s a weight to it. 

A shift in the air. 

You stare at his hands, scarred, steady, fingers flexing ever so slightly where they rest against the table.

“I don’t know,” you say, voice softer than before. “Maybe I like being near you.”

Levi’s jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose, slow. 

Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

You look up.

He’s still not meeting your eyes. “People. Feelings. I’m... not good at it.”

Your heart stirs because in all the time you’ve known him, all the things you’ve fought through together, this might be the most vulnerable thing he’s ever said.

You reach across the table, not to take his hand, but to let yours rest nearby. 

A quiet offering. 

He doesn’t move away.

“You don’t have to be good at it,” you murmur. “Just... honest.”

Finally, Levi looks at you.

His gaze is intense, sharp as ever, but not cold. 

Never cold with you. 

Something in it flickers, something unspoken, something careful and fragile and fierce all at once.

“I don’t want you to get used to losing people,” he says.

And just like that, you understand.

He won’t say the word “love.” 

Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

But he’ll sit with you through the storm. He’ll clean your gear, bring your favourite tea, fight beside you like the world’s ending, and protect you like his world already would if you were gone.

You reach out, just a little closer. 

His fingers twitch before brushing lightly against yours.

And in the quiet, Levi holds you. 

Not in his arms. 

Not yet.

But in the way that counts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

[narxcisse]

★ — Mama's boy Jason Todd headcanons

Jason Todd x Mother/Mother figure!Reader

CW: mention of Jason's death (+reader blames Bruce for his death), fluff, I did my best to keep it canon without romanticizing or fanonizing anything. 😭

English isn't my native language

Jason met you before his days as Robin, back when he was still living on the streets. You were one of the rare adults who didn’t look at him with pity or disdain but instead treated him with quiet respect. Maybe you ran a small diner, a shelter, or worked as a social worker with no patience for bureaucracy.

The first time Jason came into your life, he wasn’t looking for help. He was scrappy, full of fire, and incredibly proud, but you saw past the bravado to the hungry, clever kid beneath. You offered him food without strings attached, and from then on, he kept coming back.

When Bruce took him in, you were one of the few people he trusted enough to talk to. He didn’t tell you about being Robin outright, but you noticed he’d sometimes show up with bruises or a limp, his explanations half-hearted at best.

Jason sought your advice on everything—from school troubles to navigating the strange dynamics of the Wayne household. You often found yourself acting as a translator for his emotions when he struggled to articulate them.

He valued your opinion deeply. If you told him to apologize to Bruce for a fight or to take a break when he was pushing himself too hard, he’d grumble but almost always listen.

Even as Robin, Jason was fiercely protective of you. If he thought someone was giving you trouble or you were in any danger, his sharp instincts kicked in. “No one messes with my mom,” he’d mutter, even if you insisted you could handle yourself.

Jason’s growing disillusionment with Bruce often spilled into your conversations. You tried to mediate, understanding both sides but always prioritizing Jason’s feelings.

When he died, it broke you in a way you didn’t think was possible. You immediately blamed Bruce for letting him take on so much danger, not even letting him explain everything that happened. (Over time you apologized to him for what happened and understood that he was just as devastated as you were by Jason's death.)

When Jason came back as Red Hood, he avoided you for a long time. He didn’t think you’d accept him, not after everything he’d done. But when he finally worked up the courage to see you, he was stunned to find you opening your arms to him without hesitation.

“You’ve been through hell, Jason. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Those words stuck with him more than anything else anyone had said since his return.

You didn’t sugarcoat your disappointment in his methods, but you also didn’t try to control him. You understood that his pain and anger needed to run their course. Instead, you focused on reminding him that he still had someone who believed in him.

Jason acts tough, but around you, he’s a little softer. He loves the comfort of having someone who doesn’t expect him to be anything other than himself.

He calls you more than he calls anyone else. Sometimes it’s to rant, sometimes it’s just to check in. “You eat yet?” he’ll ask, even if he’s halfway across the world.

Whenever he’s in Gotham, he always makes time to visit you. He’ll bring little gifts—books he thinks you’ll like, a weird trinket from some mission, or your favorite snack.

Jason craves your approval more than he’d ever admit. When you compliment his growth or tell him you’re proud of him, he practically glows, even if he rolls his eyes and pretends to brush it off.

He’s fiercely protective of you, more so than anyone else. If he even suspects someone’s giving you a hard time, he’ll show up unannounced, ready to “handle” it. You usually have to calm him down before he goes full Red Hood.

You’re one of the few people who can challenge Jason’s darker impulses without him lashing out. “You don’t have to agree with me, but at least think about it,” you’ll say, and he actually does.

When he’s struggling with his identity—whether he’s a hero, an anti-hero, an anti-villain or something else entirely (bro seriously thinks he's Barbie. 😭🙏)—you’re his anchor. You remind him that he’s more than his past, more than his mistakes.

Jason often credits you for keeping him grounded. He’ll never say it outright, but you’re one of the reasons he hasn’t spiraled further.

Jason fixing things around your home without being asked—tightening loose hinges, replacing lightbulbs, and even rebuilding your bookshelves because he “didn’t like the wobble.”

Late-night phone calls where he opens up about his fears and frustrations, his voice quieter and more vulnerable than usual.

Cooking together when he visits, even if he claims he’s “not great in the kitchen.” He loves hearing your stories as you work side by side.

The rare moments when he lets his guard down completely, resting his head on your shoulder or letting you ruffle his hair like he’s still the scrappy kid you first met.

Jason may be a complicated, broken man, but with you, he finds a sense of peace he doesn’t get anywhere else. To him, you’re not just a mother figure—you’re his family, his safe place, and the person who never gave up on him.

The first sign something was wrong was the way Jason entered your apartment—quiet, almost hesitant. He was usually a storm of energy when he visited, slamming the door behind him and announcing his arrival with some sarcastic quip. But today, he just slipped inside, set his helmet down carefully on the counter, and stood there, staring at nothing.

You didn’t need to ask if he was okay. You already knew he wasn’t.

“Jason?” you called softly from the couch, setting down the book you’d been reading.

He didn’t respond right away, just shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. His movements were slower than usual, less precise. It was like the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders, and for once, even his stubbornness couldn’t hold it up.

You stood and approached him carefully, giving him space to come to you if he needed it. “Rough day?”

He let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Something like that.”

You waited, not pressing him to elaborate. Jason had always been like this—he’d open up when he was ready, and not a second before.

For a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then, with a deep sigh, he turned to you, his expression a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “I don’t know. I just…” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

That admission made your heart ache. Jason, who always acted like he didn’t need anyone, who carried his pain like armor, had come to you because he didn’t know what else to do.

Without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened for half a second—old habits, you supposed—but then he melted into the embrace, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I’m just so tired,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles on his back. “I know.”

He held onto you like you were a lifeline, his broad shoulders shaking slightly. You didn’t push him to explain, didn’t try to fix it. You just held him, letting him unload the weight he’d been carrying for who-knows-how-long.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time didn’t seem to matter. Eventually, Jason pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red but a little clearer.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He huffed out a small laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah, well, don’t go getting used to this. I’m not turning into a softie or anything.”

You smiled, tapping his chest lightly. “Don’t worry. You’re still the toughest guy I know.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned into your touch again, letting his head rest on your shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to just be—a son needing his mom. And you were more than happy to give him what he needed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

AN: I wrote this for my bestie, I hope you liked it. 💗🤺

[kxsagi]

Helllloo

Can you write about the reader being too hesitant to get in a relationship with the blue lock boys because her previous partner was abusive.you can choose who else to write about but please include the itoshi brothers

“𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞”

a/n: i know i wrote in my request rules that i don’t write for abuse, but just to clarify, it’s for requests about the character abusing reader. i saw elle (@neeeooon) post something similar and i agree with her, we both don’t want to portray characters that way! i also DO NOT promote abuse of any kind, whether that is physical, verbal, emotional, etc. 

oh how kaiser’s was so hard to write

and i love men i trust OMG

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael

itoshi rin

rin struggles a bit at first because he's naturally blunt and closed off. 

but he can tell there's something heavy behind your hesitance, and instead of pushing you, he retreats slightly, not out of disinterest, but to give you control. 

his protectiveness shows in small things: walking on the outside of the sidewalk, scanning the room when you look uncomfortable, quietly stepping in when someone gets too close. 

when you finally tell him what happened, his fists clench under the table. 

"i should’ve known. i’m sorry i didn’t." 

he isn’t the best with emotional words, but he changes – starts using softer tones, asks if he can touch you, waits for you to be ready. 

"you don’t have to trust me right away. but i’ll wait. however long it takes." 

itoshi sae

sae’s the kind who reads between the lines, he knows something’s up from the start. 

he doesn’t say anything until you’re ready, just gives you space and acts extra gentle. 

lets you set the pace, always. 

when you finally open up, he’s quiet for a moment, then says, “i’m glad you told me.” 

he doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t poke at wounds, he just holds your hand (if you let him) and tells you, “that’s not love. and you’ll never experience anything like that again. not with me.” 

makes a point of reminding you every day, in his own way, that you’re safe now. 

protective in a quiet, but fierce way. if anyone so much as raises their voice at you in public, he’s already stepping in. 

isagi yoichi

isagi’s patient, so patient, you’d think he was waiting for forever to start. 

he notices how you flinch sometimes when voices get loud or how you freeze when someone’s hand moves too fast near you. 

he never asks right away, he just quietly adjusts. 

speaks softer, keeps his distance, always asks "is this okay?" before he does anything, even just brushing your hand. 

when you finally open up about your past, he listens with tears in his eyes and no interruptions. 

“you don’t ever have to rush with me. i’m not going anywhere.” 

he means it. he shows you love in the calmest ways: leaving your favorite snacks, sending you good morning messages, giving you all the space you need. 

nagi seishiro

nagi may seem indifferent, but he's incredibly observant when it comes to you. 

he doesn't pressure or pry, he just... sticks around. 

when he realizes something’s wrong, he starts showing affection in ways that feel like no-pressure love. 

lets you hog the blankets, watches your comfort shows even when he doesn’t understand them, plays games next to you just to keep you company. 

when you tell him about your past, his expression doesn't change much, but he does start reading up on how to support someone who's been through abuse. 

"you don't have to be scared of me. i won't hurt you. ever." 

nagi doesn't just say it. he proves it, through every slow, careful move, through every time he lets you take the lead. 

kaiser michael

when you hesitate, he notices. immediately. not because you say anything, but because he’s lived in survival mode, too. 

he doesn’t get offended when you flinch away from touch or pull back when he gets too close. he just blinks, steps back, and pretends it doesn’t sting. 

at first, he masks his concern with sarcasm, throwing out lines like “did i scare you that bad, liebling?” with a wry grin. 

but your silence? the way your eyes dart away, unsure and vulnerable? it reminds him too much of his past. 

the joking fades. 

"you don't have to tell me anything," he says one night, voice uncharacteristically quiet, "but i know what it's like to be hurt by someone who should’ve protected you.” 

when you finally open up, he doesn't ask for details. he doesn't push. he just listens, eyes unreadable. 

"so that’s why... you’re always so careful," he mutters, then meets your gaze, softer than he’s ever looked before. "i get it. i do." 

he makes changes instantly – stops making sudden movements, starts warning you before touching you, even changes the way he jokes so it never sounds mocking. 

being loved by kaiser becomes this strange, healing thing. 

he’ll jokingly ask for consent like “may i have the great honor of kissing your hand, milady?” 

but if you say no? he doesn’t pout or guilt you. he just smiles and says “maybe next time.” 

the first time you apologize for needing space, he looks almost hurt. 

"don’t say sorry for protecting yourself. you think i don’t understand? i spent years doing the same thing.” 

the truth is, kaiser’s scared too. not of you, but of hurting you accidentally. 

he’s been on both sides of pain. so he walks on eggshells for a while, but you notice how sincere it is. 

"we’re both messed up," he jokes one night, resting his forehead against yours, "but maybe... we can be okay together." 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[trulyradicalactivist]

If not you, who?

If it’s not you, speaking up for the little boy using crutches, even though he doesn't “need” them, a boy who has a heart full of kindness, who’s told that his joy is “wrong,” then who will tell him that his light is meant to shine, not dim under the weight of someone else’s expectations?

If it’s not you, stepping forward when the teenage girl in your class nervously whispers, “I think I might be transracial,” only to be met with silence or scorn, then who will show them that how they feel is never wrong and that they are perfect as they are?

If it’s not you, protecting the transspecies girl walking home from school, terrified of being harassed because she was outed, then who will ensure she knows she belongs, that she deserves safety, and that her existence is valid?

If it’s not you defending the transage person who’s mocked in a meeting, shrinking under the weight of others’ laughter, then who will remind everyone that their words matter, and that respect for those different to them is the bare minimum?

If it’s not you, standing by the parents who are learning how to love their MAP child through confusion, fear, and a world that tells them it’s easier to turn away, then who will remind them that love should be unconditional and the strongest bond of all?

If it’s not you, speaking out when constant harassment and pain from a society who doesn't understand, threatens the very existence of paraphile and transid lives, then who will stand at the front lines, defending their right to exist and leave peacefully, as their truest and most authentic selves?

If it’s not you, showing up for the zoo adult rejected by their family, the transabled teen who feels invisible, or the questioning child who feels scared, then who will make sure they see they’re not alone?

Who will let them know that they are part of something bigger, something stronger, a community of love, resilience, and hope?

Every unkind word that goes unchallenged becomes an echo. Every act of discrimination that’s ignored grows roots. Silence fuels hate, and inaction feeds oppression.

But the reverse is true, too. Every voice lifted in defense of our community, our family, creates ripples. Every act of courage in the face of intolerance builds a bridge.

We cannot wait for someone else to do what is ours to do. The world changes when people speak up, act out, and love fiercely. Stand up for the little ones, for the ones discovering who they are, for the ones finally stepping into their truth. Stand up for them, because they are your community. They are us.

If not you, then who?

[lidiasloca]

what do you think about azriel x reader that has daddy issues, like she does small things to try to make him proud and at first he thinks she’s just being cute but he realizes the depth and her need for praise and what’s going on and just reassures her. like he immediately knew why reader was so attached to him when they first met, and he just took on the role as her provider and protector🧎‍♀️i’m just literally projecting😀

reader with daddy issues in a relationship with az

azriel x reader

a/n: this is not exactly what you ask for, but my mind clang to this scene very fiercely. maybe not entirely daddy issues, but definitely issues ig. ps; i plan to write a headcanons blurb about this.

You and Azriel had been seeing each other for a while now. Though he was falling more and more in love with you with every passing day, and so were you, deep down, you felt like you were also growing attached to him in a very particular way.

You tried not to look too deeply into your heart, to avoid understanding the needs that only your partner seemed able to satisfy.

Things like the constant reassurance of his touch—whether it was holding hands, tracing patterns on your back lovingly, or caressing your thigh when you were at dinner. Anything that involved his familiar, scarred hands touching your skin—you needed it.

You guessed it was because what you truly needed was to know he was there with you. Azriel, the male who protected you as if it were his sole duty—you needed to be certain he was with you.

Because of this, you had grown accustomed to his words of love. You always had a voice in your head asking, “Why does he take such good care of you? Why would he choose to love and protect you?” And that voice could only be silenced by his sweet words.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so much, I don’t even know who I’d be without you. I wouldn’t even want to be someone, I think,” he’d tell you as he hugged you tight.

“That was impressive, Y/N. How did I ever get so lucky that the best Valkyrie noticed me?” he’d ask.

“You are doing great, love.”

“You are so talented.”

“What did I even do to deserve you?”

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Those words he would say, you repeated in your mind like a mantra, rejoicing in the memory of him saying them.

But the joy of his love wasn’t enough to make your worry disappear. And so, you kept growing more concerned about him noticing your neediness.

And your biggest fear finally came true one night at dinner...

“Hello? Y/N?” you heard Azriel’s voice from the kitchen, where you were cooking a special dinner for him.

“Here!” You heard his tired footsteps follow your voice. “Hi, Azzie, how was the mission?” you asked when he leaned in to peck your cheek.

“Good, I guess,” he said weakly, but then he peeked from where he rested his head on your shoulder at what you were cooking. “That’s my favorite,” he mumbled, as if talking to himself.

You smiled sweetly and stopped stirring the soup to turn to your mate. “It is.”

He returned your smile, and there was a genuine sweetness in his eyes one could only find in an innocent child. “I love you,” he whispered.

You flushed, looking down at your feet at the sound of those words.

But he went on, pulling your chin up so you met his eyes. “You are too good to me. Too good for me.”

No, you were not.

“I love you,” he concluded.

I love you.

He didn’t. He didn’t. You just made soup. It probably wasn’t even good. He’d probably hate it. But he was too kind to tell you it was terrible. Just like he was too kind to tell you he didn’t actually love you. He didn’t. The soup was terrible.

“Y/N,” he whispered, wiping something wet from your cheek. “My love, what did I say? Why are you crying?”

Oh.

You were crying. “What?” you blurted. “Nothing. It’s probably the onions.”

He didn’t buy it one bit. And though to be loved was to be known, you only found fear in your mate knowing every bit of your soul just by looking at you the way he was watching you now.

“Y/N. You... Is this because of what I said? What I say?” You didn’t dare reply, so he continued. “I see your face change every time I tell you I love you or praise you. Or when I…” He sighed and brushed his hair back. “I don’t know.”

More tears were running down your cheeks. You hated seeing him so defeated and knowing it was your fault. “I’m sorry.”

He met your crying eyes in an instant. “Don’t. Love, don’t be sorry. I’m not mad, and you did nothing wrong. It’s just—I want to understand you.” He put his hand back on your cheek as if he knew how much you needed it there. You immediately leaned into the warm touch and saw how his eyes registered your reaction.

He knew. By the way he assessed you, you knew he had already figured you out. And to your surprise, the thought made you feel free.

So free that before you could think about it, your mouth was speaking of its own accord. “It’s the way I need to feel love. It’s rare,” you said, embarrassed. “You surely must have noticed it already. The way I need certain things from you…”

“Touch,” he said softly, and you weren’t sure if he was asking or simply reflecting on memories that proved what you were saying.

“Yes. Or having you around the house most of the time. Or… words of affirmation.” You were sure your face was wholly red, but, on the contrary, Azriel was all ears, no trace of judgment in his honest eyes. “I can't help but balk at your confessions, but—I… I love them deep down. Most of the time, I need to hear them. It’s... It’s terrible. I’m just very… needy.”

You wanted to run out of the room.

“I understand,” he said tenderly. “And this is nothing to be embarrassed about. Everybody has different ways they want to be loved.”

Oh.

“It’s a relief you actually like when I tell you those things. And that you love to be near me so much. Because I want to give you that, Y/N. I want to do everything you need to feel my love for you,” he explained gently.

You were left speechless.

“But know one thing—I love you no matter what, and despite everything. If you don’t have my hand to hold someday, I want you to still be certain I love you. If I don’t praise you someday, I want you to know you are brilliant. And if someday I don’t tell you how much I love you—Gods forbid that happens—know my feelings for you are just as strong.”

You were a sea of tears at that point. “Please promise me,” he asked.

“Promise you what?” you mumbled weakly.

“Promise me that, at every turn, you’ll know I love you. Promise me, Y/N.”

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters

[amyzworldds]

Last Part: Shadows of Sacrifice - Bound by Courage

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Seungcheol confronts the company, fiercely defending his right to love, while the group rallies around yn, easing her fears. Pairing: Seungcheol x reader Genre: Slightly angst, Fluff

The air in the HYBE meeting room was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against Seungcheol’s chest and made his pulse pound in his ears. He stood at the head of the long, polished table, fists clenched at his sides, facing a row of executives in crisp suits. Manager Kim lingered by the door, arms crossed, his expression a mix of guilt and quiet support. It had been two days since Kim’s confession in yn’s apartment, two days since Seungcheol learned the truth—that the company had forced her hand, coerced her into breaking his heart to “protect” him and Seventeen. Two days of simmering rage that had finally boiled over.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Seungcheol’s voice was low, and controlled, but laced with a fury that made the room shrink. The executives shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances, but he didn’t give them a chance to respond. “You don’t get to meddle in my life like this. You don’t get to decide who I love, who I fight for. That’s not your call—it’s mine.”

One of the suits, a stern-faced man with graying hair, leaned forward, hands clasped. “Seungcheol, we understand you’re upset, but this was for your own good—for the group’s future. If the fans found out—”

“Stop,” Seungcheol snapped, slamming a hand on the table. The sound echoed, sharp and final. “Don’t hide behind ‘the fans.’ You didn’t do this for me or them—you did it for your bottom line. You think I don’t know how this works? I’ve given everything to this group—my sweat, my sleep, my sanity—and you repay me by ripping away the one person who kept me grounded?”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. The anger poured out, years of bottled-up frustration spilling over. “Yn didn’t deserve that. She’s not some liability you can erase. She’s the reason I could keep going through the chaos—through the schedules, the pressure, all of it. And you made her think she was ruining me? You made her lie to me, break herself apart, because you were too scared to trust me to handle it?”

Another executive, a younger woman with a tight bun, tried to interject. “We were protecting Seventeen’s image. A scandal like this—”

“Scandal?” Seungcheol laughed, bitter and hollow. “Love isn’t a scandal. It’s not a PR crisis you can spin away. I’m not some puppet you control. I’m a person, and I get to choose who I share my life with. You don’t own that part of me—no contract, no amount of money gives you that right.”

Manager Kim stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. “He’s right. You overstepped. I told you this would backfire—I told you he’d fight for her. You didn’t just hurt him; you hurt yn too. She didn’t sign up for this.”

The gray-haired man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seungcheol, we’re not saying you can’t date. We just needed discretion—”

“Discretion doesn’t mean forcing her to leave me!” Seungcheol’s shout rang out, raw and unfiltered. “You didn’t ask for discretion—you demanded sacrifice. Hers, mine, ours. And I’m done letting you call the shots. If it comes down to it, I’ll walk away before I let you take her from me again.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like lead. The executives exchanged uneasy looks, clearly unprepared for the fire in their leader’s eyes. Seungcheol straightened, chest heaving, but his resolve was ironclad. “You don’t touch her. You don’t go near her. If there’s fallout, I’ll handle it. Me and the guys—we’ll face it together. But this ends now.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out, Manager Kim following close behind. The door slammed shut, a punctuation mark on his defiance. He wasn’t just fighting for yn—he was fighting for himself, for the life he wanted, not the one they’d scripted for him.

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

Later that evening, Seungcheol gathered the members in the dorm’s living room. The air was lighter here, filled with the familiar chaos of thirteen voices, but tonight it was subdued, everyone waiting for him to speak. Yn sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes still red from days of crying. She’d come at Seungcheol’s insistence, though she’d hesitated, guilt still clinging to her like a second skin.

He stood in front of them, hands on his hips, and took a deep breath. “You all know what happened. Yn and I… the company forced her to break it off. They thought she’d ruin us.”

Murmurs rippled through the group—shock, anger, confusion. Mingyu’s jaw tightened, Hoshi leaned forward, and Jeonghan’s sharp gaze flicked to yn. Seungcheol held up a hand to quiet them. “I told them today—they don’t get to control me. Us. I’m not letting her go again, no matter what they throw at us. But I need you to hear it from me: this could get messy. Fans, media… it might hit us hard. I won’t drag you into something you don’t want.”

Joshua spoke first, voice calm but firm. “Hyung, you think we’d let you face this alone? yn’s not ruining anything—she’s family now. We’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Vernon chimed in, flashing a grin despite the tension. “If Carats can handle dk Hyungs’s weird tiktoks, they can handle this.”

Dokyeom snorted, but his expression softened as he looked at yn. “You don’t have to worry about us. We’re tougher than we look.”

Hoshi nodded, crossing his arms. “Love’s worth fighting for. I’d do the same for someone I cared about. We’re not going anywhere.”

One by one, they chimed in—Seungkwan with a dramatic “We’re a team, aren’t we?”, Woozi with a quiet “You’re happy with her, that’s enough,” Dino with an earnest “We’ll protect you both.” Even Wonwoo, usually silent, murmured, “You don’t need to carry this by yourself.”

Yn’s eyes welled up, her hands trembling as she tried to speak. “I��I didn’t want to hurt you guys. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping you safe…”

Jeonghan slid closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t hurt us. You tried to protect us—same as Cheol always does. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Mingyu grinned, leaning over the couch. “Besides, we like you. You’re stuck with us now.”

Laughter broke the tension, soft and healing, and yn managed a small, watery smile. Seungcheol watched her, his chest loosening for the first time in weeks. His family—his brothers—had her back, and that was more than he’d dared to hope for.

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

That night, after the members dispersed, Seungcheol led yn to his room. The dorm was quiet, the others giving them space, and the soft glow of a lamp cast shadows across the walls. He shut the door and turned to her, finding her standing awkwardly by his bed, still fragile but steadier with him there.

“C’mere,” he said, voice gentle, and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, burying her face in his chest, her breath hitching as he held her tight. They stayed like that for a while, the world outside fading until it was just them—two hearts finding their rhythm again.

He pulled back slightly, tipping her chin up to meet his eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded, but it was shaky. “Better. I just… I still feel so guilty, Cheol. For lying, for hurting you.”

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t need to carry that anymore. I get why you did it—you were trying to protect me. But don’t ever do that again, hmm? If something comes up, we face it together. No more running, no more hiding.”

Her lip trembled, but she nodded. “I promise.”

He studied her, his gaze softening but firm. “I mean it, yn. If you pull away like that again, I’m not letting it slide. I’ll go public—put it all out there, tell the world you’re mine. I don’t care what they say. As long as you’re with me, I can take anything.”

Her eyes widened, a flicker of fear mingling with hope. “But the fans—”

“Carats will love you,” he cut in, his voice steady with conviction. “Maybe not all of them—some may react, sure, but that’s noise. The real ones, the ones who’ve been with us through everything? They’ll see how much you mean to me. They’ll want me happy, and you’re what makes me happy. I know that in my bones.”

She swallowed, tears slipping down her cheeks, but this time they weren’t from pain. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” he said, wiping them away with his thumb. “And even if it’s rough, I’ve got the guys. We’ve got each other. You’re not a burden—you’re part of us now.”

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Nah,” he grinned, the first real smile he’d felt in weeks. “You deserve better, but you’re stuck with me anyway.”

They sank onto the bed, side by side, her head resting on his shoulder. He laced their fingers together, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. “Tell me something,” he said after a quiet moment. “What’s one thing you missed most?”

Y/N smirked, a playful glint in her eyes despite the lingering tears. “Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol’s brow shot up, and he pulled back to stare at her, mock offense written all over his face. “Jeonghan? Seriously? My own member? I should hide Jeonghannie from you—lock him in a closet or something. You’re not allowed to see him anymore.”

She laughed—a real, bright sound that warmed him from the inside out. “Oh, come on! You know he was my bias back when I was just a fan in the crowd, screaming for you guys. I even had a whole collection of his photocards—spent way too much money on those.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. “Had? Where’d they go?”

Yn paused, tilting her head as if realizing something. “You know, they mysteriously disappeared right after we started dating. I always wondered…”

Seungcheol grinned, a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I hid them. Stashed them in a box under my bed. Couldn’t stand the idea of you swooning over Jeonghan when you had me right there.”

Her jaw dropped, then she laughed again, swatting his arm. “You’re ridiculous! You were jealous of your own groupmate?”

“Damn right I was,” he said, unapologetic. “But don’t worry—I’ve got a stack of my own photocards now. I’ll give you all of them, every version, signed and everything. You’re a Cheol stan from now on, got it?”

“Deal,” she said, grinning as she nestled back against him. “Though I’ll miss teasing you about it.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “Tease all you want—just don’t leave me for him.”

“Never,” she whispered, her voice soft but sure.

They lay there, tangled in each other, the weight of the past month lifting with every shared breath. Outside, the world buzzed with uncertainty—potential storms, battles yet to come—but in that room, it was just them. Seungcheol held her like a promise, fierce and unwavering, and yn let herself believe in it: a love worth fighting for, a future they’d carve out no matter the odds. They were bruised, but not broken—and together, they’d heal.