#but im always happy to be here with all of you

[oldermenfucker]

i saw your robby post. i dont have much ideas about an au or anything but i do have a smutty idea thats been eating away at me for so long and i havent had the time to write it out. so im gifting it to you (if you may be interested!)

HE PUTS HIS COCK IN BUT HE DOESNT MOVE AT ALL (even if youre begging) AND WANTS TO GET YOU OFF ON HIS COCK BEFORE HE FUCKS YOU???? you also get so overwhelmed by the way hes stretching you out that you cant control your eyes going cloudy and some salty tears falling down your flush face. but his hands are soothing and cooing at you and just like major praise kink yk? anyways yeah okay love you byyeee (gets shy now) whejsjke xoxo

His Good Girl | M. Robby

summary: the request on the top🤭

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, cockwarming, Robby has a fat cock it’s canon, praise kink HEAVY HEAVY PRAISE KINK!!, lots of cooing, reader calls him sir & doctor a few times, THE GLASSES STAY ON, heavy breeding, just Robby using that filthy mouth teheee

word count: 2.4k+

an: We shall have a spring wedding my love YOU GENIUS YOU ABSOLUTE GOD PLEASE OMG THIS IS SO FUCKING DELICIOUSSSSSSS!!!!! please don’t get shy I love this thank you THANK YOU I LOBE YOU TOO BABE!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaa please send more thots and ideas I’m always BEGGING to brain storm with others about this delicious man😩

When you arrive home from work, you are exhausted. It’s near nine p.m., your feet ache, you are hungry, and you want nothing more than to jump into your boyfriend’s arms without a care in the world.

  You fiddle with the keys in your hand, slowly opening the door in case Robby is sleeping, but when you hear the low sound of a song playing through the house, you relax and let the warmth welcome you.

  “Hi,” you announce your arrival, dropping the keys on the shelf on top of his wallet, kicking off your shoes, and dropping your bag next to his backpack before you walk towards the kitchen.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he replies, watching as you grab a glass of water from the kitchen while he leans back on the couch with several documents on the coffee table in front of him. “How was your day?”

  You try to act nonchalant, you really do, but with the way his nose looks under those thick black reading glasses makes you swallow the drool that gathers in your mouth, you know you are anything but unbothered.

  He narrows his eyes at you, watching curiously as you purse your lips, running your tongue against your cheek while you stare at his face, and it finally dawns on him what got you in such a state.

  “Don’t tell me it’s the glasses again,” he pushes the matter, totally enjoying how you squeeze your thighs together when he raises his eyebrows at you. But it is the glasses, again. They are the bane of your existence, and you can’t go a day without thinking about them, replaying the memories you two have made with them on his face.

  He chuckles, his chest rumbling with both affection and desire, his bambi eyes darkening with each second that you look at him with your mouth agape, as if you are begging him to do something about it silently.

  “Come here,” he pats his lap, dropping the pen he was holding on the stock of papers as he repositions himself, spreading his long legs while he waits for you to come. His eyes drag over your body, watching you closely as he stretches, giving you a peek of his soft skin and that happy trail that leads to what you need the most.

  He throws his head back and laughs when he watches you bite your lip at the sight, making your way between his legs before he reaches out and grabs your hips, squeezing the flesh in his large palms.

  “One inch of skin is enough to make you wet, huh?” He asks, his voice teasing and cocky, because he knows what effect he has on you.

  “How do you know I’m wet already?” You tilt your head, trying and failing to mask that in fact you are dripping, “But no… your skin is enough to get me going, Doctor Robinavitch.”

  “You know exactly what to say, don’t you?” He grins again, pushing your pants down along with your panties, nodding at your shirt so you can strip yourself. Robby leans down, pressing open-mouth kisses along your stomach, nibbling on the skin as he helps you step out of your pants, “Come on, honey.”

  You pull the fabric of your shirt off, grinning at Robby, who makes a sound of ‘woohoo’ in a very hushed and raspy tone when his eyes fall on your covered breasts before you mount him and sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

  He rest his head on the back of the couch, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer, smashing his lips into yours. You moan into the kiss, the taste of his granola bar evident on his tongue as he pushes the muscle into your mouth, exploring you eagerly.

  You can feel his hard length against your thigh, and you can most certainly shape the outline of how huge he is even through his sweatpants. Rolling your hips down, you elicit a deep groan from him, breaking the kiss to pull on his sweatpants.

  “You can’t look this good and expect me not to pounce on you,” you whisper, lips hovering over his as he raises his hips enough to push the pants down, sighing in relief when the chill air of the room hits his heated cock.

  Your mouth waters at the sight of Robby’s thick member resting heavily against his thigh, already hard and ready to burst. You look back at him, finding him blushing and rubbing the back of his head as he smiles sheepishly at you.

  “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier—“ you gasp when his hands move to the globes of your ass, squeezing them in his tight grip.

  “Be a good girl and don’t keep me waiting,” he pecks your lips, holding you up when you reach between your bodies to grab him by the base, lining up the fat tip with your soaked entrance. “That’s it, baby. Look at me when you sit on it— there you go…”

  You bite your lip as you hold eye contact, lowering yourself on his thick cock gently, his fingers digging harsher into your asscheeks the more you take him in. 

  You really try to maintain eye contact, but the feeling of him splitting you open when you take him fully inside your cunt makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. He is nestled so deep inside your gummy walls that it makes your head spin, leaving you breathless and needy for more.

  You rest your hands on his shoulder, fixing your knees next to his thighs but with each little movement, his cock reaches deeper inside you, making your lips part in quiet gasps and whimpers.

  Robby stops you before you have the chance to move more. He grabs your hips, keeping you seated down on him. 

  “Not yet, baby,” he groans when you clench around him in his deep voice, one hand moving up and down your back while the other grabs your jaw to move your face towards him, looking up at your darkened eyes.

  “Why?” You breathe out, pouting slightly when he only smiles and presses your cheek together, pushing your lips out more, “Please, I wanna ride you–“

  “No, no, honey,” he tutts when you whine, grinding your hips down to feel him more, but his hands squeeze you hard enough to warn you, “You can’t do that now.”

  “But why?” You whine again, and he pulls you down on him, chest to chest with your belly rubbing against the soft podge of his stomach, “I thought about doing it all day, Robby…”

  “Very tempting, beautiful girl,” he threads his fingers through your hair, holding your face to the crook of his neck as he whispers in your ear, “But I wanna make you come on my cock before I fuck you.”

  You literally vibrate with excitement when he says it, knowing full well what an entertaining night you are going to have, but a bit of pushing never hurts you, right?

  “But I really wanna ride you, please—“

  “Ah uh,” he shakes his head, kissing your chin as his free hand begins to rub circles on your thigh, “Be a good girl for me, yeah? Keep me warm and wet, sweetheart. I had a long shift, I deserve a sweet treat, don’t I?”

  You nod helplessly, burying your face in his neck when he bends forward a little, somehow his cock managing to push even deeper inside you with such a slow movement.

  “So big,” you say dreamily, wrapping your arms around his head, nuzzling your face against his like a milk-drunk cat, “Feels so good, Michael.”

  “Yeah? Imagine how much better it would feel if you come like this,” he presses his cheek back into yours, enjoying your warmth as your walls quiver around his cock in delight, “Oh, sweetest girl,” he pulls your head back a little by his fingers in your hair so he can look at you, “You’re already on edge, I can feel you shaking.”

  You can’t utter a word; your brain is getting foggy with lust, senses overwhelmed with his scent, you can’t even think about anything but Michael and his deliciously big cock filling you up completely.

  “Look at you,” he coos, his glasses moving on the bridge of his nose as he looks where you are connected, his thumb rubbing mindless shapes on your navel as it travels down closer to where it needs more attention, “Taking me so good, honey. I wanna stay inside you forever.”

  Your walls spasm around his girth so beautifully that it draws a deep groan out of his chest, his fingers tightening on your body. He helps you straighten your back, his breathing now heavier as he takes in the state of your face; all flustered, pouty, and needy. You look fucked out already and he hasn’t even touched your cunt yet.

  “Aren’t you the prettiest girl in the world?” he groans as you shift to hold yourself up by your hands on his shoulders. He reaches behind you, unclasping your bra with ease before he pushes the straps down, leaning up to kiss the path they take to fall from your shoulders.

  It is torture, you are sure. Because with each subtle movement, a wave of pleasure shoots into your core, making it much harder for you to keep your composure and not push him against the couch and ride him till dawn.

  “You’re killing me, Michael—“ you gasp as he sucks a red mark on top of your breast, finally getting rid of your bra. He grins and keeps his mouth attached to your skin, gently biting the curve of your breast before he moves to your nipple, pulling it into his mouth as he starts swirling his tongue around the tightened bud.

  You throw your head back; the pleasure slowly builds inside you with his tongue lapping at your flesh and his throbbing cock inside your tight and very welcoming pussy.

  Moaning out his name, you feel his thumb finally making its way downward, rubbing just above your buzzing clit softly — he must be torturing you. There is no other explanation for how much he is taking his time exploring your body as if he hasn’t done it a million times before.

  “Best fucking pussy, baby,” he lets go of your nipple with a lewd sound of ‘pope’ before he rests his bearded chin on your chest, looking at you with a glint in his eyes that you can see the adoration in, “Keeping me all warm, you have to see yourself really. All stretched out and pretty for me.”

  “Please, sir—“

  “Oh, baby,” he leans back, keeping you straight with his hand playing with your nipple, gently tugging at it and watching you moan in delight, hips bucking to get some friction desperately but he stops you by his long fingers grabbing your hip, “Enjoy this, baby, then I’ll fuck you until I have to get ready for my next shift, yeah? A pretty girl like you deserves to be taken care of for hours, don’t you think?”

  You nod immediately, bringing his hand that is dangerously close to your clit up to your mouth, wrapping your lips around his thumb as you wet it for him, coating it in spit before you guide it back to where it was.

  “Good girl.”

  You smile shyly, looking at him from beneath your lashes. He looks so good with his glasses on, and you can see his eyes much better this way, those soppy brown orbs that are hooded with pleasure. His hair is messy, his beard even worse but this cozy look he has got is enough to make your pussy pulse in need.

  “Look at you, baby,” he coos again, pressing down on your clit with his thumb, rubbing fast circles just on the right place that makes your legs shake around his thighs, “You’re such a good girl for listening to me. Maybe I should tie you up one day and only speak dirty to you until you come? What do you say?”

  You can only nod, your mouth opening in a silent scream as the knot in your lower stomach tightens with each circle he draws over the bundle of nerves.

  Robby watches you closely as you fall over the edge of your peak; you barely hold yourself up by your hands on his belly, back arching as your cunt clenches around him, wetness dripping from where you are connected to each other.

  “Yes, yes,” he moans as well, and you feel his stomach tightening, “hmm, you gonna make me come too, baby. Fuck, you’re so beautiful—“

  He is cut off by you crashing your lips into his, salty tears dripping down your eyes as your orgasm drags out as he keeps his finger attached to your puffy clit, making sure you gush around him until there is nothing to give.

  You feel him twitching inside you, and in a second, you pull back to stare into his eyes through the glasses as the warmth of your cunt envelopes his senses completely.

  Robby comes with a groan, filling you up to the hilt with his seed, his hands flying to your waist to keep your pelvis pressed into his. He holds onto you tightly, throwing his head back as he pumps you full, and you take advantage of the sight of his Adam’s apple before you lean in and pull the skin of his throat into your mouth.

  “Jesus fucking christ,” he laughs breathlessly, pulling you up from his neck by a hand behind your head, looking at your tear-streaked face before he kisses down the dried path, “You did so good, honey.”

  “That was… something,” you drop down on top of him completely, letting him hold you close in his embrace, “Were you serious about it?”

  “About what? Fucking you till sunrise or tying you up?” He smirks, his eyes glimmering devilishly, his hands caressing your spine slowly.

  “Both,” you stroke his chest over his shirt, “Cause those were such huge goals for an old man like you.”

  “This old man made you come so hard you started crying,” he pinches your side, kissing your forehead, “Behave now, you were such a good girl just a second ago.”

  “I’m always a good girl,” your smirk matching his, “But you must keep the glasses on. Nonnegotiable.”

  “You got a deal.”

[darling-flora]

diamond boy, keep me so shiny

oscar piastri x yn - social media au

fc: cindy kimberly

summary — oscar being an obsessed boyfriend who spoils his girl

note — short smau because the concept was plaguing my mind... let me know what you think!! reblog's and comments are appreciated ❤

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yourinstagram

Liked by oscarpiastri, user2 and 1,869,944 others

yourinstagram pheww today drained me

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user1 you did all the heavy lifting 💪😫

->yourinstagram you get it 😉

user2 the most insane face card to grace the earth holyyyy

user3 8 text messages and oscars p1... 81 🤯

user4 shamelessly took picture of my tv when they showed you at the podium...

->yourinstagram wait that's so real ->yourinstagram i literally do that whenever they show osc and im not there 😭 ->user4 stop that so cute 🥺

user5 wait... him messaging her before the podium is so cute omg

user6 THE PASTRY SHIRT??? i need

user7 they are such parents ughhhh my heart

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f1spotted

Liked by oscarpiastri, user2 and 148,044 others

f1spotted y/n l/n for her brand Loba!!

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user1 god she's unreal

user2 oscar always in the likes if y/n's there

->oscarpiastri god forbid a guy likes what he sees 🙄 ->user2 omg... yourinstagram is he always this sassy??? ->yourinstagram yes. ->user3 the full stop 😭 she meant that

user4 such good quality i can't wait for the next drop

user5 i need every piece !!!

user6 the shoes 😍

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oscarpiastri

Liked by yourinstagram, user2 and 5,132,044 others

oscarpiastri quick trip around japan, suzuka here we come 🏎

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user1 omg that looks so yummy

user2 the flowers!?! so cute

user3 the bagss where did you get them yourinstagram ??

->yourinstagram no clue, osc got it for me ->user3 ugh i need to pick my boyfriends better

user4 love how he always puts her pictures first 😭

user5 does oscar just buy everything for her? i would hate to be him

->oscarpiastri you'd hate to be rich buying things for your girlfriend because you want to..? ->oscarpiastri okay sure.. ->user6 girl my jaw just dropped ->user7 "okay sure" this diva ->user8 he's always gonna defend his girl IKTR!!!

user9 2 y/n pics... he knows why we're here

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yourinstagram story!

[pic 1 : get yourself a boyfriend who gets you flowers on his birthday] [pic 2 : p3 for the birthday boyyyyy love youu]

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user1 he's so obsessed with you i love it

user2 his fit??

->yourinstagram he dresses nice from time to time 😁

user3 gets you anything you want too, oh i need a rich man

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yourinstagram

Liked by oscarpiastri, user2 and 3,209,444 others

yourinstagram everyone say happy birthday to my mannnnn ❤❤

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user1 our boyfriend!!

user2 he looks so good omg

user3 your so lucky to wake up next to that 😫

->yourinstagram he's so handsome 🤭 ->oscarpiastri i tell myself that every morning i look at her ->yourinstagram bro can't take a compliment... ->oscarpiastri "bro" ->yourinstagram your so cute ->oscarpiastri so are you 😉 ->oscarpiastri i'll only take the compliment if it's from you ->landonorris can you guys flirt somewhere else ->yourinstagram IT'S MY COMMENTS DUMMY ->landonorris okay sorry... ->user4 exactly!!! put him in his place ->user5 oscar and y/n are so cute im gonna throw up

user6 happy birthday oscar!!!

f1 Happy Birthday Oscar and to many more!!

user7 only saying happy birthday because y/n told me to 😔

user8 she's the best wag 😩

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[prosypepper]

hi mootie, here’s a good morning forehead smooch 💋

i’m looking for a f!plus size x toji fic 🥀 my obsession with his grimy ass has came back ten fold.

maybe something along the lines of being his ‘bestie’ (let’s be so fr this man has NO friends.) and he invites u to the beach so he doesn’t have to go with just shiu or sum like that…

sees u in a revealing swimsuit n goes bonkers. OR MAYBE kinda like a comfort bc reader doesn’t feel good in the suit…

even if u choose not to write this it still felt great to get out of my system, ily pls don’t go bald mwah

BABE MY LOVE I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE U BACK ON THE DASH!!! I MISSED YOUUUUUUU!!!!! also i have some thoughts………ur so smart.

a/n: smut, comfort of insecurities, plus size fem reader, this is lowkey SO BAD and im so sorry but i wanted to do this for u 🫶🫶🫶 18+ mdni!

“where have you been hiding that?”

toji whistles when you walk out of the bathroom you’d been forced to share for the weekend, sleazy grin on his face from where he’s sitting on the bed.

“you’ve seen me naked like four times,” you retort, climbing onto the bed beside him to rummage through your bag of clothes, “also i’m changing. i look disgusting.”

toji’s taken aback by your statement, utterly dumbfounded at a pretty thing like you saying such harsh things about herself. he’d never denied how attractive he thought you were, always flirting and riling you up when he had the chance. hell, you guys had even fucked before, albeit on all sorts of drugs, but now?

toji thought you looked better sober. you’re the first girl he’d ever thought that about, too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“disgusting?” he repeats after you, word tweaking into a question.

“yes, disgusting. gross, ugly, nasty, whatever. i hate this stupid bikini but i didn’t have the cash to buy a new one,” you complain, still angrily shoving through your bag and getting angrier when you didn’t find anything to cover up with.

“babydoll,” toji coos, smoothing a hand over your back, “what makes you say that?” toji’s voice is dropped lower, concerned, almost. it was so unlike you to say such a thing. toji didn’t care for many people, but you’d been there for him in the most trying of times, there was no way he’d let you think that about yourself.

especially when he was about to lose it at just the sight of you.

“i just..” you sigh, slumping your shoulders, “i don’t know. i just feel so gross now, like nothing looks good on me and i just feel so ugly. like i’m surprised you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me—.”

“woah, slow down,” he interrupts, taking a breath to collect his thoughts, keeping the soothing hand on your back. “you’re.. damn gorgeous, y’know that. i tell you all the time.”

“yeah but that’s different, we’re friends, plus we only had sex when you were drunk or whatever so obviously you have to be in an altered state to wanna—,”

“stop.”

you’re shut up immediately, looking at toji confused, because why did he care so much? the both of you hold eye contact before toji’s eyes flicker down, causing you to do the same—down his chest and torso, right to the tent in his swim trunks.

“toji!” you laugh, shoving his chest—and toji just grins. cocky.

“that’s all you, babe.”

“you’re so gross.”

“show me how gross you think i am.”

“toji!”

“yeah, baby, scream my name just like that.”

there’s barely room for you to get any words out with the way toji’s stretching you out on the counter of the bathroom. you’re teetering on the edge of the marble, the only thing holding you up are toji’s arms and the desperate grip you have around his neck.

fifteen minutes ago you were complaining about your looks.. and now, he won’t even give you the chance to complain. your bikini bottoms are pulled to the side and the top is resting below your tits, showing all of you off to him.

you’re beautiful like this.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” toji mumbles, looking down at your blissed expression—eyes glued shut, eyebrows knitted together, mouth dropping open and closing with miniscule whimpers. “hold on tight, doll.”

without much warning, toji picks you up with one motion, holding your legs around him with strong hands. a slew of words come out as you try to tell him he’s going to drop you—but you never hit the floor. he’s still for a moment as he slides himself allll the way in, practically stabbing your cervix, you’re sure.

“fucking—pleaseplease, wait,” you babble, not used to the stretch of toji’s cock inside of you, “too much—it’s, mmph—toji.”

“too much, gorgeous?” he chuckles, cute name slipping off his tongue naturally, laughing more when you nod quickly. yet he does anything but pause, bouncing you up and down on his length like you’re weightless.

“sorry, pretty. can’t help myself.”

[heartsforkatsuki]

it’ll be okay. ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pov ; your ex boyfriend gets you out of a depressive episode

pairings ; ex bf!katsuki bakugo x reader

tags ; angst, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, happy ending.

your alarm went off, again. you keep forgetting to turn it off, knowing full well you’re not getting out of bed any time soon.

you’re huddled up under atleast 3 layers of thick blankets, and wearing pajamas from who knows how long ago, but no underwear. you ran out of clean pairs a long time ago, and haven’t bothered to do laundry since. you haven’t been sleeping this whole time, just laying. anything felt better than getting up and facing the world right now. it’s so quiet you can’t even hear your own thoughts, just the sheets rustling when you slowly shift your laying positon. nothing really mattered at this point.

well, you don’t atleast. you still care about izuku, and ochaco, and eijiro. they matter to you, your closest friends. he matters too though, your heart whispers but you push it back down. everyone matters, not you though. you’re just there, and nothing would change if you ever weren’t.

that settles in your head for a couple minutes, lingering as you stare at your nightstand.

this is nice.

however, your nice moment is ruined when you’re blinded by the light coming through your bedroom door, so you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face with blankets. it hurts your head so bad you can’t even process unless it’s slowly closed, and you feel a presence over you.

“izuku, i said i’m okay, go.” you can’t even recognize your own voice anymore, it’s so bitter and mean, and cracked at the edges. you dont mean to snap at him, but you can’t help it.

“fuck you, im not deku. don’t talk to me like that.”

that voice. your eyes bust wide open under the covers, and your heart drops, but your body doesn’t tense. no, it’s too tired to.

“leave, bakugo.” your voice is more hushed now, hurt. “im fine, i didnt ask for you to come.”

“you didnt have to ask me, idiot. deku said he hasn’t seen you in four days. he doesn’t think you’ve been eating, so i came anyways.” he’s quieter too, now. there’s no disgust, or a condescending tone like everyone else has been talking to you lately. bakugo isn’t like that.

“fuck izuku..” you groan, turning your head into your pillow, still hidden by covers. “you’re my ex, bakugo, not my caretaker. please leave, im fine.”

“we agreed to stay friends, so i’m here as one.”

yep. thats true. the breakup was mutual, you were in school, he was climbing up the hero ranks. both of you were too busy to keep it up.

fuck izuku

“what do you want”

“to check on you. make sure youre okay.”

you finally peel the covers off your head, cracking your eyes open slightly, though your vision is blurry. he looks so .. unbothered. brows furrowed, like always. his usual black tee, grey sweats, and messy blond hair. if you were capable, you’re sure you would have thrown up at the familiarity of his presence.

“yeah? well, im fine.”

“you’re an awful liar, [name].”

“then leave.” you snap, turning back under your covers.

“i think imma do what i want, [name]” he snaps back, snatching all the blankets off in one layer and throwing you over his shoulder.

“katsuki!! put me down, now!!”

your struggle literally only makes him chuckle as he turns the living room light on.

that damn light makes your headache resurface, and you groan as you cover your eyes by burying your face into his neck.

oof!

you’re dropped onto the couch, and katsuki sits on the coffee table, facing you.

you curl your legs, laying sideways, not meeting his eyes.

“have you been missing therapy?” your eyes shoot to his.

he always knew you went to therapy, but you never talked about it.

you shake your head.

“how about class? or work?”

you shake your head, again.

“you haven’t done any school work at all?”

your voice quiets again, “i dropped out.”

and of course, his reaction was inevitable.

“dropped OUT?!” he bursts, standing from the table, looming over you as you close your eyes, your lower lip trembling.

“you’ve been obsessed with school for.. for forever, [name]! that was your dream! to graduate, to be.. accomplished! why the fuck would you drop out?!”

“i just did, okay?! i was.. i was tired!” your voice only grows softer, and you can’t stop the tears that follow your words. “don’t scream, please.”

“shit, [name]…” he walks around the table, looking up at the ceiling as he runs his hand over his mouth. “fuck.”

you open your tear-blurred eyes to see him back on the coffee table, still staring up as you wipe your face.

“okay, ill go easy on you.” he lays a hand over yours, pressing ever so lightly. “have you eaten?”

“no” you meet his gaze.

“yesterday?”

“…no.”

“okay, let’s get you fed and then cleaned up. you look and smell rancid.” he stands, patting his hands on his thighs.

“katsuki..”

“hush. im doing this for you, so hush.”

you dont need this. but maybe its not so bad.

“come on, cheer me on while i cook.” he reaches out a hand, pulling you to stand for the first time in god knows how long. you almost fall right back onto the floor, but he stabilizes you with his hand. “jeez..”

he guides you into the kitchen, seating you onto a stool facing the stove on the other side of the kitchen island. he grabs a blanket from the basket behind the table chairs, wrapping it around your body.

not even a minute later he was whipping around your kitchen, grabbing tupperware and materials you forgot you owned.

while you were zoned out staring at the stove, he sets a glass of water infront of you, and then you notice the open, empty fridge.

“you don’t have shit to eat in here, [name].”

then you looked over to the countertop next to the stove. a ramen packet, and butter.

when was the last time you went grocery shopping?

no point, you couldn’t cook and he wasn’t here to help you with it. takeout it was.

“ill just go rob deku, be right back. dont move.” he points at you.

a couple minutes later, the door opens again, and you see flashes on blond and green hair, breezing into your kitchen, arms filled with food. bakugo walks past you and gets to work, but izuku stands staring, like if he was surprised to see you in your own apartment.

“[name]. how are you?” it sounded a little, panicked. but you knew he meant well.

“awful.” his eyes widen and he blinks. “you knew that, though.”

“ah.. okay..” he shifts his weight, “well, ill leave you to it!”

“izuku” you gesture for him to move close, and he complies. you wrap your arms around him, “thank you.”

“yeah, anytime [name]. i love you.”

“however, next time you call any of my exes again, consider yourself a dead man.”

“bu-” he knew it was pointless to argue. “okay, wont happen again..”

“thanks for the food.”

“anytime.” he leaves and shuts the door.

you’re not who you were even half a year ago, and definitely not the same person he fell for back at ua. you used to be sharp, full of energy, sometimes sarcastic or even confrontational. in college, when he finally asked you out, you were still full of life—maybe a bit more cynical, but still passionate and curious. when did that change? when did you become so withdrawn, quiet, and sad? if he’d just looked a little closer, made more of an effort, could he have seen the signs earlier? if he’d stayed in touch as a friend after things ended, would he have still needed deku to point out that you were struggling?

4 minutes later, katsuki sets a bowl infront of you and hands you chopsticks.

“nothing fancy, just dumplings and noodles. eat, please.”

he eats his own bowl aswell, you sit in silence. then, the conversation shifts and he ends up telling you how he started taking night shifts, hence why he’s here and not working, but that he also called a day off to check on you.

“i was worried for you.”

“you dont get worried, katsuki.”

"tch. you idiot. i’m constantly worried, especially when it comes to you. when deku told me he hadn’t seen you and that you weren’t eating, i panicked," he admits, his usual confidence slipping. "i was scared something terrible had happened... that i might walk in and—" he cuts himself off, unable to say it. instead, he wipes at his eyes with both hands and curses under his breath. "i wouldn’t have been able to deal with that," he says, your name falling from his lips, rough and full of emotion.

you don’t know how to respond, so you don’t.

he stands to your side, staring down at you, then suddenly pulls you into his chest. you stumble into him with a quiet “oof” as his arms wrap tightly around you. it’s comforting, familiar—so natural that you sink into it without thinking, hands clutching at his shirt as your body goes slack. he holds you steady, resting his chin on top of your head. the hug is a bit intense, a bit possessive, but after feeling so empty for so long, it’s a relief. your chest starts to ease, and before you even realize it, you’re crying—not out of pain, but just to let it all out. to finally feel something.

“it’s gonna be okay. i got you.”

a couple minutes later, he convinces you to get cleaned up, to which you tell him you want a bath.

in the bathroom, he gently sits you on the closed toilet lid and turns on the water. he even digs through the cabinet to find your favorite hibiscus bath salts, adding a generous scoop to the tub. then he starts undressing down to just his boxers, and you quickly look away, suddenly very focused on the dirt on the floor tiles.

"lift your arms," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. you lift your arms and he pulls off your sweatshirt and t-shirt in one smooth motion, tossing them into the already full laundry basket. you don’t bother trying to cover yourself—it’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before. his gaze lingers for a second before he kneels to pull off one of your fuzzy socks.

he can’t help noticing how much you’ve changed beneath your clothes. you look softer now, maybe haven’t worked out since he left, and there’s a tired slump to your shoulders he doesn’t remember. but to him, you’re still beautiful—every familiar curve still there. it takes effort not to grab your waist the way he used to. he peels off your other sock, tosses them both toward the laundry with perfect aim, then helps you stand. the sweatpants are the last thing to go, sliding easily down over your hips.

you feel fully immersed in the quiet comfort of it all as he lathers up a washcloth and gently moves it across your skin in slow, soothing circles. you let him guide the moment, tilting your head as he rinses your hair and works shampoo and conditioner through it with careful fingers. you let out a soft laugh when he cleans between your toes, and finally, when he decides you’re all rinsed and done, you lean back against him, fully at ease.

"why’d you break up with me?" his voice is quiet, spoken into the hollow of your shoulder.

"we both chose to," you answer without thinking, the same rehearsed line you’ve repeated to friends and family to keep their concern at bay. mutual, mutual, mutual—it’s what you’ve clung to.

"yeah, but you’re the one who brought it up."

you’re relieved he can’t see your face right now. it gives you a small shred of composure. you trail your fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread as you try to find the right words.

"we were both so busy. and i thought— i didn’t want you to give up anything for me. your career means so much to you, and i couldn’t ask you to pull back, not even a little." he inhales sharply like he’s about to speak, but you keep going. "and i guess i started falling back into that mindset i had in high school. i never told you—didn’t tell anyone back then—but i used to get stuck in these spirals for days. i’d get so focused on one thing that i stopped taking care of myself. and sometimes... that thing was dying. i thought about it so much, it felt like i already had."

you told him about an incident that happened in your senior year, where you went into a spiral and almost succeeded in taking your life.

"anyway," you press on, like you haven’t just shattered something inside of him, "i could feel myself slipping back into that place, and i was too ashamed to go back to therapy, like i’d failed. i didn’t want to put that on you, didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and honestly, it just felt easier to run from it all.”

he falls silent for a beat.

“does anyone else know?”

“just izuku. he’d bring me food and notes.”

“you cou- no, should’ve told me.”

"no, i couldn’t have."

he lets out a frustrated breath. "yes, you could’ve—"

"no, you don’t understand. i couldn’t even face it myself for years. yaomomo only knew because aizawa told her—she was my closest friend and top of the class. i didn’t want anyone else to find out," you lower your voice to a whisper. "it wasn’t about you, katsuki."

he presses his forehead against your shoulder, growling in frustration before trying a different angle. "then what about when we were together? isn’t that what being in a relationship is for, to rely on each other?"

"for me, it was about loving you. not about making you carry my weight."

loving—you still love him, but it would feel too harsh to say it now.

"idiot. i loved you, too. i didn’t want you to go through this alone. you never let me handle anything by myself. remember the workouts for moral support? when you’d hold my hand and stay with me in the hospital after the war? you dumbass, why didn’t you think i’d do the same for you?"

you feel the heat of his tears on your collarbone, trailing down your chest. it startles you; bakugou hardly ever cries. carefully, you turn in his arms to face him, gently placing your hands on his face. he’s really crying—tears streaking down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. he still has that scowl, but you softly smooth the furrow between his brows until it relaxes.

"i’m sorry," you whisper, your voice full of meaning, putting everything you feel, "i’m still in love with you," into those words. you kiss his forehead lightly, then wipe his cheeks dry with your thumbs.

he lets out a long, heavy sigh, his tone more serious than you’ve ever heard, his hands resting on your hips as he gently rubs circles with his thumbs. "will you let me now? now that i know, will you let me help and care for you? even if it’s just as a friend?”

your heart skips a beat.

this is why you fell in love with him. after everything, he still stays. nothing can scare the way this man loves you.

like instinct, you lower your head and kiss him, pouring your soul into it.

you pull back, stabling yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

“im so-”

“stop apologizing.” he rests his forehead on yours.

“move in with me.”

“okay.”

and maybe he’s right, it’ll all be okay.

LMFAO i hurt a lot of people with the last angst fic so here’s a happier ending … LMAO. @jealousmartini @sofiathehobo @wildberry-101 @intimidaid

[florihaei]

• ౨ৎ ────── HEAVY HANDS, TENDER HEART ⟡ 🫐 ₊ ˖ ་.

˖ ！for my love lee jeno ❞ 💭 ( 이제노 ) ꒰ lee!jeno x fem!reader

in which … lee jeno fights battles inside and outside the ring, but the hardest one is keeping you at arm’s length. when misunderstandings and bruised hearts threaten to pull the both of you apart, jeno has to choose, keep guarding himself, or fight for the one person he can’t afford to lose ⟡ 🫐

⟡ 🫐 - boxer jeno !, angst/ suggestive/fluff- miscommunication, mentions of physically injures(bruises, cuts), happy ending!, names : pretty, baby, pretty girl, angel!

౨ৎ … WC - 2k! ( FLORIHAEI’S VALUT )

⟡ 🫐 秋のメモ… ︵ ︵ ིྀ - decided to do a little change to the theme, i don’t know how to feel about it! let me know!!, but feedback and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!!, please enjoy!!

©florihaei 2025 ꒰ do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without permission ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

the gym always smelled like sweat every time you came. punching bags swayed the ceiling, the sound of gloves hitting the leather echoing off the concrete wall as. and the center of it all stood. lee jeno, your boyfriend, your boxer, your biggest heartbreak waiting to happen.

you watched him from the corner bench, arms crossed tightly against your chest. his movement were sharp. there was something so captivating about how focused he was. but today, you weren’t just here to admire him. today you were here because he hadn’t answered your calls in three days.

jeno ducked under a punch form his partner and finished with a clean uppercut. the partner stumbled back, waving a gloved hand to signal to end the match. jeno ripped off his gloves, tossing them to the side, and finally after what felt like ages his eyes met yours.

you stood up, tension stiffening in your spine.

“hey” he said as his voice was low and rough from his match you guessed.

“hey..” you stared at him, taking in his he bruises that were going along his jaw. “you good?”

he shrugged, wiping his face with a towel. “it’s just training.”

“you didn’t call me back” your voices cracked a little bit, and you hated that.

jeno avoided your gaze, tossing the towel onto a bench. “i’ve been busy.”

you stepped closer, feeling like you were standing at the edge of a cliff. “too busy to text me once?”

there was a moment of silence. the sound of gloves hitting bags filled the air again, but it feels like the world had shrunk to just you and him.

“im not trying to hurt you” jeno muttered, finally looking at you, and you just wished he hadn’t. his expression was closed off, his expression was closed off, his guard up, like you weren’t just another opponent.

“then what are you trying to do jeno?” your voice was small, honest…

he breathed out sharply through his nose. “im trying to focus, i have a fight coming up. I don’t need distractions..”

those words hit harder than any punch.

“oh” you laughed bitterly, wrapping your arms around yourself: “right .. im a distraction”

he flinched like he hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. but it was too late. you were already backing away, your chest filled with hurt.

“good luck with your next fight” you said tightly, turning before he could see your eyes blur with tears.

-

you didn’t hear from jeno for a week.

you didn’t watch his fight, event those you saw it trending online.

you didn’t answer when he text late at night, with two simple words, “im sorry”

you didn’t trust yourself to answer, because if you did, you knew you would forgive him to easily, and you weren’t sure if you should.

but love is messy, it’s stupid, it doesn’t listen to your logic.

so when someone knocks on your door at midnight two days later, you knee before you opened it that it was him.

jeno stood there, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, hands shoved into his pockets. a fresh cut split the corner of his lip, and bruises shadowed his knuckles.

“can i come in?” he asked, voice horse.

you hesitated, every instinct screaming at you to protect yourself, but you stepped aside anyway.

he walked in slowly, like he was scared to break something. you stayed by the door, watching him like he might vanish.

for a long moment, neither of you said anything.

then jeno finally turned to face you, his walls down for once, his eyes raw and vulnerable.

“i won” he said quietly. “the fight.. i won”

you nodded stiffly. “congrats”

he swallowed hard. “it didn’t feel good.”

that caught you off guard. “what?”

jeno ran a hand through his messy hair, pacing a little like he was in the ring again, trying to find the right angle.

“i thought winning would fix everything, i thought if i just.. pushed everyone away, i could focus.. be better. be stronger”

he stopped, fist clenching at his sides.

“but i was wrong, i was so fucking wrong baby.”

you pressed your back against the door, trying to keep steady as he stepped closer.

“you’re not a distraction ___” jeno said, his voice breaking. “you’re the only thing that’s keeping me sane”

tears stared to prick your eyes, but you blinked them away. “then why did you push me away jeno?”

he looked at you like you were asking him to pull his own heart out. “because i was scared angel.. scared that if i let myself need you, and something happened.. i’d lose everything”

“you wouldn’t lose me jen” you whispered. “you never had to choose between fighting and loving me.”

he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heart radiating off him, you could smell the faint scent of leather and sweat clung to his skin.

“i know that now pretty.”

his hands hesitantly, then dropping again, like he didn’t know if he had the right to touch you anymore.

you reached for his first.

your fingers brushed against his bruised knuckles, gently and tenderly, and jeno let out a shaken breath like the smallest touch was enough to undo him.

“i’m sorry” he whispered again. “for everything baby”

you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. then he reached up, cupping his batted face, pulling him down for a kiss.

it wasn’t perfect, he winched slightly against the cut on his lips, but it didn’t matter. it was real, it was yours.

when you pulled away, jeno pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“i love you” he said, his voice raw.

you let out a broken laugh, tears finally slipping free. “i love you too idiot”

he smiled, it was small.. real, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen in weeks.

“stay?” you whispered.

he nodded without hesitation, pulling you tightly against his chest like he was scared you might slip away again.

“always..”

jeno was a fighter in and out of the ring, but when he was with you, he didn’t have to fight anymore he could just be him.

[mediumgayitalian]

try shit tuesday reference post

ongoing and (hopefully.) frequently updated! here is a list of my current ideas & hopefuls including any outlines or snippets i have available. the nsfw will be linked from a separate post on my sideblog, @subwillsolace. set up will look like:

idea

general outline/summary

snippet

5+1s (from yalls suggestions):

5 times Will wouldn't accept help and 1 time he did

cecil pov. five times, in the process of growing up, cecil watches his friend refuse help -- from his brothers, from chiron, from cecil himself (when his brothers were gone), from lou ellen, from his younger siblings. and one time cecil sees will accept help from nico.

"Solace, if you don't give me something to do right this second, I'll shadow travel myself right off a fucking cliff," Nico threatens. Will scowls. Cecil straightens, eyes wide. "Fine, you jackass," he grouches, all but flinging a roll of bandages at Nico's head. "Do it right."

5x Hazel had to learn something about the modern world and 1x she didn't

hazel pov. honestly i dont have much of an idea for this one yet so ill come back to it (& would be happy to brainstorm w the person who suggested this).

Will one 5x Apollo campers didn't make it and 1x one did

longer fic, will pov. cass's death, then diana's, then lee's, then michael's, then coming back to the overcrowded infirmary to realize he's alone. to kayla and austin's claiming, as if that will help, this time. and then one time he gets his siblings back -- from nero, when his father rescues them.

Will knows something is wrong because Michael doesn't let him see. Michael always lets him see. He struggles in Michael's grip but he doesn't struggle hard, because he is afraid. He can see the ends of Diana's hair but he cannot see Cass, and he can feel the grass, soaking beneath his bare feet. He does not look down. Instead he clenches the back of Michael's ratty hoodie and breathes through his mouth and says, "Michael, let me go. Please."

five times nico helps will fix his outfit and one time will helps nico fix his

nico pov. the first time he gives will clothes, which is a spare t-shirt because his got blood-soaked fixing a field injury. the second time is because they are going on a stealth mission and no, will, wearing all black is actually not conspicuous in any capacity, i know im doing it but it Fits With The Vibe, you are blond. yes i am discriminating. yes you are going to wear the polo shirt im giving you. sorry. the third time is a toga because will is visiting new rome and is Super pumped about it and oh my gods he looks good in a toga no one is supposed to look good in a toga??? it is a bedsheet???? huh???? the fourth time is. a very homoerotic collection of gifts. for his birthday. it is a wardrobe basically. like acessories and everything. he makes will try it all on in his cabin and it starts silly and gets real gay real fast. the fifth time is a full on tux he makes will wear to his cousins wedding because NO, a dress shirt and jeans is NOT black tie are you on crack. and there is a moment with fixing the bowtie that is. well its something. and there is dancing as slow songs play etc etc. the plus one is a horrible 'if lost return to mr. cullen' 'i am mr. cullen' twilight couple's shirt set will buys nico that he is so excited about that nico has to wear and then endure the immediate onset humiliation from all observing parties.

"Like -- this?" He pushes through the door, mouth screwed up in confusion, and Nico's mouth goes dry. He is -- Nico is not sure whom to blame, exactly. He does not make the robes, he left no instructions with the tailor, only get him a toga for the love of the gods he cannot go to council in shorts and please make sure it fits. But he had not thought to specify the robe be Roman; he had not thought he'd need to. Because what Will is wearing is a chiton. And it looks good. Nico feels his disgusting amount of honey cake do a full, enthusiastic barrel roll in his stomach, gunning for the track up his esophagus. "It looks bad, doesn't it." In other words, he is about to die.

five times nico can’t sleep and one time he can.

nico pov. once in early early camp days, where he misses his sister and sneaks out of the hermes cabin, sneaking up on and scaring the Shit out of a blond boy spying on chiron arguing with a camper in the big house. a second time the first night he is on the streets, sobbing, scared and furious and alone. a third time, half-delirious, trying to fix his own injury in a random country he has shadow-travelled to. a fourth time, in the barracks at new rome, aching with guilt over lying to percy. a fifth time, in the infirmary, watching will work. and in that same first time, when will quietly offers to help.

im leaving the following blank cus i dont have idea for them YET ill come back later

five times will gets trauma flashbacks and bottles it up and the one time he doesn’t.

five times will gives up his personal life for camp and one time he decides to put himself first.

five times nico is away from home and one time he returns

5 times people meet Will for the first time and 1 time he sees someone again if that makes sense

omg five times nico ends up at the infirmary (ill/ injured) and one time (the only one time ever) will gets nursed back to health again

five times will had an emotional breakdown and one time he finally explode (plus if nico is the one he break into )

five times nico didn’t accept will (thinking he doesn’t deserve him) and one time he finally does (bonus if will too try to accept nico) (bonus bonus the timeline is when they were new into relationship aka before toa)

bigger fic (aka probably several chapters) ideas:

lee's backstory.

starting with a pretty young lee. generally just a long story going through his life thinking hes a mortal, although a weird one, in new york, including the time his mother sits him down the nth time he freaks out about monsters he cant prove are there and quietly telling him schizophrenia runs in the family. his teen years as he gives up trying to make people believe him and just learns to take the monsters on himself, decking weird dog head things and stabbing cyclopes in their stupid massive eyes. he wakes up to a bow, once, on his bed. he doesnt tell his mother. he uses it. all the way to his first year at camp, where hes 15 years old and taken by a satyr when his school is blown up with him in it. all the way to the day he wakes up, older sisters already gone, battle on the horizon, and knows he is going to die.

He’s not looking at her when he walks in, just barely before the last second of the bell. She’s looking at him, though. “Lee Fletcher?” Lee whips his head up, pausing at his seat. The woman has the greenest eyes he’s ever seen — unnaturally so, like pools of chlorophyll — and they lock onto him like the scope of a crossbow. “Uh. Yeah.” There’s a click as the door closes. Lee swallows, sliding slowly into his desk, keeping his hand, as surreptitiously as he can, down low by his thigh, just out of view. “You the sub?” Cody sneers from beside him. “You having another episode, freak? Mrs. Cobb has been here all semester.” Lee glances over at — Mrs. Cobb. She watches him carefully, strange eyes carefully blank, scared hands still and stiff on the arms of her chair. He has been in this Calculus II class for seven months now. He has never seen her once. Cody hasn’t either. But Cody’s a fuckin’ dumbass. “Right,” Lee says lightly. “I’ll up to dosage to three batteries a night. Can always count on you, Codster.” Cody scowls deeper, kicking over Lee’s backpack. His books go flying across the front of the classroom, papers fluttering about like butterfly wings. “Whatever, tardo.” “Language,” says Mrs. Cobb. Her voice is low, gravelly; like Lee would expect for someone her age, only there’s an undertone to it, a smoothness he’s never head before. Like the rustling of leaves in the breeze right before you fall asleep. She watches him, again, eyes the only thing that track him, rest of her as stiff as a branch. “If everyone is ready, we’ll get right to it.” Without waiting for input, and completely ignoring the group of kids gossiping away in the corner, she wheels towards the blackboard and starts writing. It does not take long for the few students awake to lose interest. She doesn’t seem to care. “You have a desk, Lee Fletcher.” Lee blinks, coming back to himself; his books have been gathered and his backpack has been zipped. His knees ache, and there are at least four spitballs in his head. Mrs. Cobb pauses, tilting her head to the side. “It’s a challenge in the classroom, isn’t it?” Lee curls a hand around the strap of his backpack. “What is?” “The ADHD.” She taps her stick of chalk, tap, tap, snap. “Useful out in the world, though, I bet. Makes you quick.” There is no reason for her to know about that. Even if she has been his teacher this whole time — and Lee knows she hasn’t, even though he cannot recall who she’s replaced — the school does not have the information. Lee knows. He filled out the forms. He gives up on pretence. “Who the hell are you?“ “Your teacher.” She wheels around, thick eyebrow raised. “And your elder, so I’ll thank you not to speak to me that way.” Lee’s mind races. She is human-sized — Lastrogonians can’t hide that. Neither can cyclops. An empousa would never in a million years choose an elderly form, and their concrete brick of a school is nowhere near so much as a sprout for her to be a dryad, even one of the nicer ones. If it was a minotaur, he’d already be dead. He fuckin’ knew he shoulda read more in his Ancient Zoology: An Alpha to Omega Guide on Ancient Creatures book. Stopping at P was a mistake. “I know you’re not human.” He unzips, as quietly as he can, blindly ruffling through the smallest pocket. “You’re not fooling me, I’m not —” The background sounds of the school go white. Lee faintly, in the back of his tongue, tastes copper. Mrs. Cobb reacts half a second before he does. “Everybody down!” ——— He woke up to ash and heat. Slightly more heat than ash, if he had to quantify.

cabin 7 fic the one time will got really sick

the time will got a fever as a kid and his body went so sun hot when trying to fix it that he would burn anyone who touched him and his siblings just had to watch him suffer. lee pov. him slowly noticing that will is getting sick and then quickly trying to do something about it but it happens FAST and will gets a really really high fever but not just high for a human -- high for will. it burns to touch him and he glows so brightly it is impossible to even look at him without scorching your eyes. hes in pain and hes in danger and lee is terrified because he doesn't know how to fix it. (as referenced in the kayla & lee fic)

Lee probably would have caught it a little sooner -- any of them would. Except: Apollo kids don't get sick. Not really. Not when flu hits hard and fast, as it does every summer, not in '01, Cass tells him, and half the camp got cow fever, somehow. Someone needs to tend to the sick and dying. Their father knows that, and has blessed them. Lee can't really remember being sick ever, except a cold, once, when he was about four. At first he thinks it's another one of Will's migraines. These, all the blessings in the world cannot cure. There's nothing viral about inflamed blood vessels in the brain, there's nothing bacterial about a fever from white blood cells fighting off an illness that isn't there. When Will starts shrinking from the light and wincing at every scattered sound, that's when they know -- the four eldest, Cass, Diana, Lee, and Michael -- know to guide him carefully back to the cabin, pick him up if he's fighting, and send him to sleep before it gets worse. Pray it doesn't stick around when he wakes up. They're not perfect, and they miss it sometimes. They come on suddenly and fast if he's been crying, or if it rains. Sometimes he gets good at hiding it. This one they just miss.

will is turned into a nine year old and keeps asking about his long dead siblings

the outline is huge im posting it separately and linking it here

Will wiggles his feet into falling apart, light-up Star Wars shoes, stomping them once to check that they work and grinning when they do. "Where's Lee, anyway? He's supposed to work mornings so he can do archery in the afternoons." He looks up, hands on his hips in a pose Nico recognizes, intimately; a pose that says I am about to reveal information I gleaned from being a diary-reading little snot and I'm cute so I'm gonna get away with it too. He says: "Allegedly it's because the range is less crowded in the afternoon but the real reason is because his boyfriend said one time that he looks regal in full sun. So." He looks out to the gathered gaggle of them, beaming. The silence rings louder than a mausoleum. No one speaks. "Oooookay," Will says, rocking back on his heels. "Michael, then? Where is everybody?" It is Annabeth, finally, who thinks quickly. "They're on a quest," she blurts. She clears her throat, looking away. "Uh, brand new. As of yesterday." Will tilts his head. "All twelve of them? I thought the rule was three." "...They're going on four separate questions." "Oh, okay. How come I wasn't allowed to go?" "Well, on account of you being nine." "Aw."

the one story where will has a ptsd episode in front of the entire camp and percy as the only one who recognizes it for what it is helps him through it.

another big outliner posted here

They're a lot, mostly. Enough that there is no one looking when a couple giggling Hermes kids load a whole watermelon into a half-rigged trebuchet. There is no one looking when it sails across the sky, thundering through the air; there are a few people looking, when it cracks clean across the ground, showering onlookers in a sea of red. But there are a lot of things sailing through the sky. Some more prudent than others. (Someone gets brisket-ed. That someone, coincidentally, begins their lifelong commitment to veganism.) There is no one looking when Will Solace freezes. There is no one looking when he stands, blank, to steady feet, and walks slowly across the warzone, miraculously safe from cakes and breads and fruits at all kinds of speeds. There is no one looking when he kneels, hemline stained crimson, in the wreck of the stone floor. There is no one looking when he pieces the chunks of jagged green rind in his hands, and starts to sing.

nico raising lee and michael's ghosts to make them give permission for will to get divorced.

this is so funny i’m so mad at past me for never writing it fully. will’s older siblings (read: lee and michael) convinced him that since this was an ancient greek camp they had to follow the ancient greek rules. and children had to get married before they were ten or they’d have to marry mr d. and will was CRYING about it terrified so he went and got married to cecil with like the ancient oaths and stuff so that he didn’t have to marry mr d, and when his siblings found out there were like oh fuck 💀 but like what are you going to do. unmarry them. so nico asks will out years later and will is like i. i want to say yes so badly. but unfortunately we’re going to half to get my husbands permission first. and nico is like your WHAT and will is like IM SORRY IM SORRY ITS SO STUPID BUT I DONT WANT TO PISS OFF HERA. IM SORRY. MY FUCKING BROTHERS WERE SO STUPID. lol.

“Oh, Nico.” The small smile drops completely from Nico’s face. Blood curdles in his veins, it feels, going sour at Will’s wide, round eyes; identical to his dropped open mouth, parallel to his arched brows. Rings of pity. Nico tries, barrenly, to mitigate the damage. He searches the blind-white plains of his mind for an escape, for an excuse; for a waved hand and laughter, for a quiet, dignified nod, for an easy shrug and a sharply turned heel. Instead the inside of his skull scrapes hollow, echoing the swelling pound of his chest, and his eyes burn hotter, hotter, hotter. “Nico.” The misplaced distress in Will’s voice is intolerable. I am so sorry, it says. I didn’t know you felt that way. Nico can feel the bricks rapidly laying in the space between them, thick and heavy and blocky, carved with don’t worry about it  and of course we can still be friends. He saves them the trouble and stumbles backwards, away from Will’s outstretched hands, strangled flowers scattering on the splintered roots between them.  “Nico, hold on –” The new air between them is cold enough to sting his face, and Nico uses it to propel himself into motion, stumbling backwards and flinging himself through the trees, through the shadows of them. Will follows quickly, still shouting, but Nico knows the forest better than he does and Will’s a klutz. Every other word gets cut off by a yelp, by the sound of branches snapping and dryad cursing, by frantic, distracted apologising.  “Nico, you fucking jackass, hold on a second! Let me – speak, godsdammit!” Not a half chance in Hell, except for the genuine anger in Will’s voice. Worry, he could understand – it is in Will’s nature to worry. About Nico especially, he has found. Guilt, even more likely; pity obviously.  But anger confuses him.  He hunches in the shadow of an old pine tree, half-shroud in its bending needles. Will runs right by him, needles catching in his frizzing hair, slowing to a stop in a burst of sunlight. “Feel free to help me fix this!” he shouts, face turned at the sky. Immediately, several thick clouds are almost dragged over to hide the sun, an astounding act of paternal bravery to which Will responds with several choice words about child support and two stark middle fingers. “Thanks a lot!” “You’re going to get smited,” Nico croaks. The state of his own voice startles him almost as much as Will, who jumps three clean feet in the air and would have twisted his ankle on the way back down were his bones not blessed with holy grace. "Nico!" he cries, dashing over. "Nico, my brothers were fucking stupid!" Nico pauses. He blinks. He swallows, glassy eyes drying. "Huh," he says, eloquently.

trans girl will.

in a hecate cabin mix-up, will gets turned into a girl. a few things are noticeable to nico: 1) will is very, very pretty. 2) his face falls, perceptibly, when well-meaning friends insist that regardless of what he looks like he is still the will they know and love and they should refer to him as such. 3) clarisse, stubbornly, refuses this. 4) will does not avoid her. 5) will does avoid nico. nico intends to get to the bottom of what is going on with his boyfriend. girlfriend. partner. maybe.

...brushing by Clarisse as he walked by. She caught him by the wrist, and he stopped, waiting. Even that was almost impossible to see from this angle. Clarisse looked at him firmly. “Don’t look at me like that, girl. I can play the villain.” “I know.” Will hesitated. “Thank you.” She nodded, and Will scampered off, ducking around the back of the pavilion and disappearing into the Big House. Nico watched closely. When Clarisse caught his eye, she snarled at him. Something was definitely up.

will’s garden of grief.

after the massacre of Every fucking one of his siblings will just went silent. totally mute, wouldn't speak a word. walked around camp like a ghost. and like. it's not that no one noticed it's just that Everyone was grieving right. no one was very attentive of everyone else. you were working thru ur own shit. chiron, tho, who is Millenia old and is unfortunately very practiced at grieving, did his best to help. by which i mean he kept naomi informed when she asked, because when she called her son he would just sit there. so i like to imagine around october naomi got tired and picked him up. drove him to the town they grew up. but not only is he silent hes Angry. and its obvious. he's stiff and miserable and fights but is impossible to fight with because he Wont Fucking Speak and hes thirteen years old so what is she supposed to do? honestly? hes thirteen and his eyes look thirty two. hes haunted. so she sends him to her parents. now naomi is no longer close with her parents. never could be after they kicked her out. will isnt much close to them either, but they love him, and theyve always wanted a relationship with him, even if its strained. so he gets booted off to their ranch and naomi cant tell if hes mad about it or just at the world. she doesnt go with. she stays home with di and cries a lot because she knew some of those kids, too, they wrote her letters, and shes grieving in her own way. in some ways she lost her son. and in his year at the ranch will learns to…live with his grief? kind of? its just work. day in day out. his grandparents care for him but they dont quite know how, so its not like hess talking about his feelings, not like theyd know what to say if he started. he just wakes at dawn and works til twilight. apollo comes to visit him once. grandparents dont know what to do. direct him to the stables will is cleaning. and apollo just sits. will keeps working. they dont say anything. will is furious with him and apollo knows it. apollo is weeping. hes grieving too. when will finally looks over at the end of the day the sun is setting. and apollo is gone. but there are packets of seeds where he was sitting. and will whips them at the fucking wall in fury. how dare he? thats what his siblings are worth? seeds? new growth? get fucked, apollo. get fucked all the way down. how dare you cry. but few days past and those seeds start growing. theyre no normal plants. not really. they glow, and they dont die. there's something odd about them. the animals are intrigued, but wont eat em. snakes and mice sit quietly together among the growing stalks. will's grandpa builds a fence around them. just to keep the horses from tramplin' 'em. they don't tend to, but it cant hurt. they're pretty to look at any way. slowly will comes to sit with them. and then to care for them. and slowly, he starts planting his own next to them. bay tree for michael. borage for diana. carnation for cass. chamomile for lee. flowers for all his siblings, every one, and then it keeps going, he keeps planting; moonlace for bianca, oak for beckendorf. he is obsessed. he spends all day in that garden. he barely sleeps. he barely eats. he passes out in the moonlight, in between the carnations. he heals in that garden. sobbing into his hands. one day he brings nico there. shows him the moonlace.

"Will. Say something, to me." There is nothing but the labored edge of his breathing. Even that is near soundless, muffled as it is; the phone is off the receiver and dangling halfway to the floor, she knows it is. She can picture him, leaned against the cracking office chair, blue eyes blank, connecting dots in the popcorned ceiling. Hands limp at his sides. Still. "Will," she begs, again, and tries not to cry. "Will, baby."

michael's videos.

everyone in the infirmary cus it’s a rainy day and they’re bored and they go to turn on the ancient vcr player and it starts playing a home video michael made. will drops what he's doing and half-walks half-crawls over to the tv, hairs on his fingers raising as they brush the screen. everyone watches with held breath, as they see and hear the thousands of different ways will was loved, will was taken care of.

“Will, I’m bored.” Nico will never say it to his boyfriend’s face. He’s smarter than that. But gods above, is it fucking funny watching his eyes twitch. In Will’s defense he is of course justified. He has been nagged all morning and afternoon. In fact, most of the brats whining at him in the infirmary probably don’t even need to be here — it’s just cold and rainy, grey and sad, and the infirmary is light and warm and sweet-smelling. If Nico had to listen to thirty complaining demigods waste his time for upwards of six hours, he’d lose his shit too. But he’s not the one with a saviour complex, so he gets to enjoy the several deep, calming breaths Will takes, sniggering into his DS. He gets to enjoy Will's eye twitching as he slaps a smile on his face, visibly shoving down the murderous urges. “The really cool thing about me not being your mom,” Will begins, voice carefully measured, “is that your boredom is not my problem.” “But Wi-ill!” “Fucksake, Cecil, fling a pen at someone! Count to three-hundred thousand! Hold your breath until you pass out, I dunno. But let. Me. Work.” He stands for a moment, glaring, then stomps off to the nurse's station muttering to himself, slamming a bunch of vials and jars onto the counter. Nico starts to feel a little bad. But then the complaining starts up again, and it is hard not to laugh.  Four people whine in tandem: “But you’ve been working all daaaaaayyyyy!” "You're boring," Gracie adds, sticking her tongue out at her brother.  “That one actually is your problem,” Nico points out. He ducks back down behind his DS when Will whips around to face him, betrayed, biting back his grin. Will's glare goes nowhere.  “Just saying.” “How about I punt you into the sun, di Angelo. Gods. You heal a guy outta the goodness of your heart.” The thing about Will, though, as much as he huffs and rolls his eyes, is that he does, in fact, care, and people’s discomfort does, in fact, bother him, even though it shouldn’t and he should probably spend less time going out of his way. Whatever. He’ll learn. Now, though, he stomps over to a forgotten corner opposite to the door and drags out the most ancient TV Nico has maybe ever seen, which is saying something because his family actually owned one of the first TV sets to ever hit Italy, and shoves it towards the middle of the room, because he hasn’t learnt, and probably won’t. “Woah.” Kayla blinks. “Where’d that beast come from?” "Dude." Will blinks right back at her, aghast. “It’s, like…been here.” “It has?!” “The whole time, Kayla.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “How many shifts have you worked in this building, again?” “Oh, shut up. Like you can name every single thing that exists collecting dust in this place.” “I can so! I clean it!” “Sure, Jan. The four inches of dust on the VCR play — gods, the VCR player, that’s fucking crazy — say otherwise.”

mortal diner au w hot goth drifter nico and absolutely whipped gone for him immediately waiter will.

will is working the diner easter somethin cus there’s no school and he’s finally old enough to get paid on paper (14). nico comes in, he’s 16, with his own car (pickup truck) and a job to do in town (tile the pastors backyard). will brings him his order and sticks, endlessly curious. nico is blunt but perhaps amused. every year nico comes on the same day to do the same job. he’s been emancipated since the day he turned sixteen and doing odd labour jobs, tiling mostly, all around the south. he reads in his spare time. and he writes will letters, to which he tries to reply but never knows where nico is so nico only ever gets them when he’s in the state with his p.o. box. every time he’s there he and will hang out for longer and longer. earlier when will is fifteen and it’s nico second visit he comes broken. scarred up hands from a year of working and a broken bone that ain’t healed right. will quietly has him come back to his and helps heal him up. THIS is the first time nico stays a while, but he gets spooked and leaves a little early. he sends a letter, though, to thank him, and will sends it back, and di grumps when she notices. comments on what shes heard about who will is writing letters to damn near every day and he should watch himself. naomi tells her its harmless and she had her puppy crushes too. di reminds her that this boy will is obsessed with is a deviant with an eyebrow piercing. and must she forget that the her puppy crushes on boys with eyebrow piercings is the reason will exists. and naomi has nothing to say to that but helps will smuggle his letters out when he needs to.

when will is seventeen he and nico spend The Night together, wherein they sleep together. this is after day after day after day of letters, and the rest of the day hanging out. clear for the first time that nico is serious about him. will is wide eyed and desperately desperately happy. will waits and waits the next year. eighteenth birthday comes and goes. college is right on the horizon and nico won’t know where he is. he plays with the defer sememser button, unsure. but nico finds him, the last sunday before september. wills stuff is already packed, he’s washing tablecloths. he hears nicos truck rumble and sprints out so fast nico damn near hits him, throwing open the already unlocked passenger door and pressing nico against the window, kissing him. he runs back in to write a note and jumps back in, and they drive into the sunset. based on the song suds in the bucket.

"Trucker?" asks Lou Ellen, voice tinny over the landline speaker. Will hums, leanin' over the counter. "Contractor, I think. Tools in the back." "What kind?" "Contraptions, Lou, I dunno. Cutter, maybe. Blade'a some kind. One'a them -- mixer, thingies? Lotsa buckets." "Someone gettin' a pool in, maybe?" "Could be. Could be." Will's doodled-on homework slips to the sticky floors, facedown. He doesn't notice, busy reachin' up to his tiptoes tryna see 'round the cracked-open door. The engine finally kills, but the lights stay flicked on, spotlightin' a table in the far back corner that has yet to be cleared from its patrons this morning. "Betcha he's forty. Divorced, drifting 'round with nothin' to do on the holidays. Baldin'." "He's not baldin'," Will argues, laughin'. "You guess every man is baldin'!" "'Cause each one'a them is!" "Naw." Will flicks his eyes over to the clock, bitin' his lip. "Betcha he's cute." "Oh, you think he's cute. Shocker. Betcha he's short." "What, 'cause he's in a truck? He's a contractor, Lou." "Truck raised?" "...Yeah." "He's short. He's short and forty and divorced and will leave you a quarter for a tip, if any. Stop lookin' right now." "Well, I gotta feed 'im." "Yeah, pie. Put them other thoughts away." Will ducks his head to muffle his snort. He has no other thoughts -- well, not really -- but it's fun to rile her up. "Whatever you s --" The lights flick off, front door shovin' open. Will jerks his head up, eyes wide -- "Is he out? Is he short? Tell me he's short!" -- and leans so far over to follow the black boot that follows that he tumbles right over the counter and joins his textbook, shrieking. The poor landline clatters to the floor, cuttin' Lou's every other word. "Will -- what -- you -- okay -- murderer??? -- I'm --" He rushes to stand, managing to dust himself off just as the man pushes the creaky door open wide enough to walk in, glancing up at the bell-less frame. "Huh," he says. It's a boy. Or -- a teen, rather.

mortal au but it’s not actually mortal is it ft. slowly dawning horror and amnesia.

nico wakes up to nothing on his phone but one contact labelled ‘will texas’. cannot remember anything else. and is like well. shit. and calls going “are you — will texas?” and will laughs out loud he’s like well technically! who are you? what do you need.

and they meet up and it turns out nico had amnesia and has maybe been a victim of some kind of robbery?? or something. so will, the youngest doctor in the state — made headlines and everything — takes him to work to get him checked out. they even stay together, because will recognises him: they dated, for a little, in their late teens. the gag is they fall slowly in love. roommates to lovers kinda deal. but they also fall slowly into realisinf something is Wrong (the real will and nico have been cursed by a god to slip into a dream realm when they’re out fighting them or something, except they’re so down bad and so in tune with each other that they fall into the SAME DREAM and get each other out without realizing).

Nico jerks awake on a bus. Which feels — wrong.

teacher au

will was a paediatric nurse who noticed a lot of the long term care kids were falling severely behind and spent most of his shifts tutoring them, realised he loved teaching and went into that, where he met nico -- the band teacher ('failed' music prodigy, who ran from the practice when his sister was killed and has not been in contact with his father for years). (fair warning this one is gonna be set in. toronto. bc thats what i know. lol.)

The building is old. Run-down. Will waits, outside the doors with the broken windows. He is -- certified, still, technically. His friends tell him the hospital remains short-staffed in the two years he's been gone. He could go back, right now. Turn around. They'd take him. He inhales, squaring his shoulders. He forgets to exhale and sways a little. This does not bode well. He taps his fob on the scanner beside the doorbell and manages to walk inside without tripping.

retelling of canon from BoO

slight divergence where everything is mostly the same except the entire time nico can see the ghosts of lee and michael hovering over will's shoulders, accidentally clouding him from the sun.

There isn’t enough time to clear a cot. Will barrels in their direction almost faster than Nico can see, sliding to a spot on a clear spot on the grass, right before they drop him. There is blood everywhere. Pooling. The gets heavy. Like a ringing in his ears, Nico starts to hear strings. “Hear that?” murmurs Michael, grinning. He nods over at Will, where he is muttering, where he is shifting. The strings play louder, and louder. “That’s the violins.” Lee nods. “They play in his head.” There is a background of cello, Nico things, every two beats; arpeggioing over ever half-note, over every minor second. Paolo moans, and the music swells. Enveloped in green, in golden, Will slams his hands to the ground. In a perfect circle around them, extending to the edge of onlookers’ toes, grass dies — bees stop hovering, dropping like stones before melting into the ground, disappearing with the dandelions into the packed earth. Will inches closer to Paolo’s prone, bleeding form, waving a white-hot hand from skull to knees, breathing heavy. Nico kneels to the ground, slowly. He presses his hands over the soft grass, and exhales, closing his eyes: he winced at the onslaught of noise, of rapidly birthing and dying spirits singing so high they screech, scrabbling over each other for a spot, for a moment of touch to the solid ground. He pushes, slowly, as far as he can outwards, past the song of snake and slug, cell and skeleton; he extends his reach to the firm line of Will’s circle and pushes through the hardened ground. It is silent. His eyes fly open. “Sterile,” he breathes, mouth falling open. “It’s sterile.” “As a wine barrel,” Michael confirms, grinning. “Ah, yes. The yeast-addled wine barrel. Famously free of microbial life.” “Fine. Whisky barrel.” The archer turns to his brother, scowling, and punches him on his blood-spattered shoulder. “Man, you ruin all my fuckin’ metaphors. Sterile as a whiskey barrel. Sounds like shit. Asshole.” Lee grins through the broken V of his mouth, unrepentant. “Not my fault your metaphors are dogshit.” He shifts to put his crushed eyes in Nico’s direction, skull-pierced eyebrows wagging. “The music is getting louder. Something big is going to happen — keep an eye on the sky.” Nico glances up, dutifully, and indeed the few clouds are churning: they’ve circled, now, in the dead centre above them, previously powder-white cumuli darkening something serious. Nico hears muttering again and drops his gaze back down to watch it, to watch Will slow the blood flowing from Paulo’s stubs, watch him hold a hovering, heated hand over the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest, two waving lines extending from his thumb and pinky to circle around the protruding bone. He can understand it, for the first time, Nico realises. His muttering as he heals. Gravelly and under-his-breath, the koine Greek travels neatly to Lee and Michael’s waiting ears, echoey like weeping along the Styx. Lee, whispers the voice, tickling Nico’s cochlea, what do I do? Lee steps forward, humming. His cracked fingernails are gentle on the heated skin of Will’s neck. “Well,” he murmurs, squeezing his shoulders, “what can you do?” “Enabler,” Michael snorts, nudging Nico’s elbow. “He’s gonna get him smited.” The violins slow, and Will’s breathing follows. He closes his eyes for a half of a second, leaning into Lee’s touch. “Arms,” he orders, in English. Lee floats back. Several onlookers shift nervously. “Will —” “Arms.” Annabeth passes them over, shaking. He lines them up below both stumps, turning them carefully, and exhales, quick and sharp; when his closed eyes open again, they are nothing but sockets of pure light, glowing with every breath, pulsing along with every measure, with every intensifying bow.

no gaia au where a few years post Battle of Manhattan

nico is streaming a video game and gets attacked mid-game but the goddess he’s fighting sends him back in time as a final effort to beat him. it works, landing him in medieval europe, but he manages to keep his stream somehow. in his quest to get his ass back to the future and stay alive in this wack ass place where no one washes their hands he meets the town apothecary, will solace, who everyone thinks is insane and who, as a seer of the future, believes nico’s story immediately. nico takes him back to the modern world with him when he finally makes it back.

He panics and it is stupid, it is, because he is still a fucking demigod even though he is a demigod 500 years ago. He can fight. He can handle himself. He can shadow-travel wherever the fuck he pleases, for Hades' sake. But he's also human, with a human brain. And human brains have evolved very little since they were invented a hundred thousand years ago so when he gets chased with actual pitchforks and torches the part of his brain that can do calculus or whatever ceases functioning, and the bigger part of his brain that has been around since lizard times goes gronk should leave. And Nico, who is no greater than the stone age man clubbin' about in his noggin, leaves. At great speeds. He runs, is what he is trying to say. And shrieks a little. The mob is big, okay. There are like. Ninety people. And none of them can be hurt by his sword.

nico and will sending each other constant letters

nico leaves for a long mission for his dad in the underworld. will is convinced they were about to kiss goodbye but nico got spooked and is Furious and Blushy about it. few days later he gets a letter and ends up More Furious and Blushy. the fic gets both mellower (in terms of will's attitude) and more desperate as their letters get more poetic and yearning in nico's absence and will really, truly starts to miss his best friend. i haven't figured out how to end it yet i just Really want to write their letters.

And Will screamed his frustration so loud the camper jumped out of his skin, squeaking out an excuse, and walked quickly off, which was just as well because Will doubted he could be very much help when he was so busy stomping back to his cabin, burying his face in his pillow, and screeching until his voice went hoarse. "Fucking boys!" he shouted. Lou Ellen, in his cabin for some reason, flipped a page of her magazine, snorting. "Hear, hear." And that was that. -- -- -- Except that wasn't that. Because Nico sends him letters. "I don't get any of those," Percy observes , peeking over his shoulder. Will slams the paper to his chest. shoves his face away, and storms off, face burning. "Maybe because you are a tool," he mutters darkly, and flushes worse when he does not mutter at all, and Annabeth laughs so hard she chokes. He ducks into the stables and presses his steaming forehead to the wood, eyes squeezed shut, letter clutched to his chest as he waits out Annabeth's wheezing, Percy's hurt mumbling. "I'm not a tool, am I?" "Oh my gods I am going to pass out." Once she reassures him, giggling, and drags him off Somewhere Else, Will peeks out. There is Clovis, curled up on the ground, but he is out cold. There is Miranda, a little ways away, tending to an olive tree, but she minds her own business. There is Connor, rigging...something, but that is okay. Will knows his pressure points. He exhales, willing the heat away from his face. It doesn't work. He sits down in Guido the Pegasus's stall, anyway, shooting him a small smile in greeting, and smooths out the letter on his thigh. It reads:

i wrote these ones down but i cant remember what my idea was for the fuckin life of me so:

will's burn scars & abilities exploration ft. post- toa apollo.

the seer will mortal au.

that one little will pov piece from vampire money.

time loop fic where will wakes up every day as an eight year old, in his first year of camp, with all his siblings alive. every day it gets harder and harder to try and get out — it’s just so safe there, and he is surrounded by everyone who he failed in the present. to get back to the present he has to let go of the past. (i remember this one i just dont have a lot to say about it rn ill come back to it later)

royal au long story (i.e. from the beginning) (i didn't forget this one either but i can't find my fucking outline so i'll come back when i do find it)

nsfw list here

remaining (i think) 100 ways:

“No, no, it’s my treat.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Watch your step.”

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Look both ways.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Drive safely.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“One more chapter.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“That’s okay, I bought two.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I picked these for you.”

“I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“Did you get my letter?”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“Call me when you get home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Have fun.”

“I made reservations.”

"I don't mind."

“I’ll pick it up after work.”

“I’ll help you study.”

“I did the dishes.”

“You didn’t have to ask.”

“I bought you a ticket.”

“I’ll meet you halfway.”

“We can share.”

“Do you want to come too?”

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

“Is your seatbelt on?”

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I hope you like it.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I believe in you.”

“You can do it.”

“Good luck.”

“I brought you an umbrella.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“Be careful.”

[equallyshaw]

on the corner of Clark | Charlie Reid x voight daughter! 1/2

warnings: swearing, mentions of overdoses & addiction. gun shots + wounds. word count: 7.2K

seeing these gifs + others, reawakened the chicago fan in me from 2014..i was an OG watcher, and being born and raised in chicago- i just HAD to watch it lol but but, im using some older characters from Chicago Fire, because i haven't watched since 2021, so it'll be off a little bit. Jay Halsted is also still in this world, etc.

also slowburn af lol 97% proofread lol

The corner of Clark and Halsted. Always Clark first, then Halsted—because Jay Halsted always came after Clark. It has been a place of chaos, sirens, and loss. A cursed landmark where things always fell apart.

For once, this corner wouldn't be marked by blood and heartbreak—but by the quiet, unwavering kind of love that would stay.

Clark Makenzie 'Kinzie' Crawford and Jay Halstead grew up just a few houses down from one another on the South Side of Chicago. Her, Jay, and his older brother Will—three kids racing up and down the block in every season, every kind of weather, at all hours. It was their corner. Their world.

That was before everything changed.

She was twelve when it happened—when the weight of her mother’s addiction finally crushed what was left of their little home. Years of drug abuse ended the way it so often does: in silence, in grief. And that grief left her at the doorstep of her godfather, Hank Voight.

Voight had always had a soft spot for her. She came before everything—always. Even when distance stretched between them, even when years passed without a word, he kept watch. Made sure she was safe. Made sure she was cared for. Provided for.

Because that’s what you do when someone is yours, even when the world falls apart.

And so, the corner of Clark and Halsted was no longer home.

It was memory.

She hadn’t stepped foot on that block in years.

But the name still came easy. The rhythm of it. The weight.

Clark first. Then Halsted.

Even through it all, it would always be home— even if it wasn’t.

━━━

Twenty years had passed.

Clark was now thirty-six. She’d made it through graduations, sorority life, shuffled from apartment to apartment with college roommates, hit major milestones, and found her own slice of happiness—free, fulfilled, and in love.

Hank Voight had missed all of it. Her graduation from high school, her undergrad years at Notre Dame & paramedic school.. Finding her place—her home—at Engine 51, on the South Side. He missed it all.

Clark hadn’t seen her godfather in two decades. Not since she’d packed up her things and moved into her godmother’s house on the far South Side—where it felt like the suburbs, even with a city zip code. Lakeshore Drive was only twenty minutes away, but it felt like another world. She’d left after her junior prom, just sixteen, after a public blowout with Voight. He’d been more than her godfather—he had been her dad in every way that mattered. She’d never known her biological one, and Voight had filled the void. He raised her. Molded her into the woman she became.

But that night? That humiliation? She ran. Told herself she’d never set foot in his district again. That she’d go anywhere else—anywhere with a bed, a warm meal, a little peace.

And yet… here she was. Back on the marble steps of his precinct.

Trudy stood above her, exactly where she always had, like a queen on her throne. No hesitation. No second glance. She rushed down the stairs like time had never passed.

Trudy loved that girl. She always had. Spent countless nights helping her with homework, keeping her company while Voight worked long hours. She was the first one to know when something was wrong at school. The first to buy her Girl Scout cookies. And often, the shield between Clark and the brutal truth of what Voight did for a living.

Without a word, Trudy scanned Clark—an old habit—and Clark gave her a look that said more than words could.

“Sit, sit,” Trudy said softly, and Clark obeyed, settling on the step with her black tote and the duffel bag that Kelly Severide had packed for her.

Then Trudy stormed upstairs.

Voight was mid-argument with Charlie Reid, who wasn’t exactly welcome in this building, when Trudy barged into Intelligence.

“Voight!” she snapped, throwing the door open.

He sighed, already irritated. “I’m in the middle of something, Trudy.”

But she gave him a look that cut through the noise.

“Boss, you need to see this,” she said firmly. No explanation. No hesitation.

He sighed again but stood up, brushing past her. Reid followed, sensing something had shifted.

“What is so important that you needed to dis—” His voice stopped cold.

There she was.

Sitting on the steps, arms on her knees, eyes straight ahead.

His heart clenched.

His mind had to be playing tricks—blaming the lack of sleep, the endless cases. But it wasn’t a dream.

Clark.

His goddaughter.

The same expression from all those years ago when she was left at his doorstep by CPS. The same look of quiet pain and guarded hope.

His mouth parted, but the words caught somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“Sweetpea…” he whispered, stepping down slowly, one stair at a time.

She turned to him, her face crumbling the moment their eyes met.

He sat beside her without a second thought.

“Hey, hey…” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her like a lifeline.

His voice was softer than anyone in the building had ever heard. Except Trudy. She’d seen it all—the heartbreak, the sleepless nights, the moments Voight thought he lost her for good.

He brushed a strand of hair from Clark’s face as she leaned into him.

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” she whispered, the words breaking like glass between them.

Voight pulled her tighter into his chest. He didn’t need an explanation. Not yet. Not now.

From the doorway, Trudy’s eyes brimmed with emotion. Charlie Reid watched too—quiet, curious, trying to understand the magnitude of what he was seeing.

That was Clark.

Voight’s goddaughter.

The one from that night.

And though the years had changed everything, one truth remained:

She was still his little girl.

No matter what.

━━━

It had been two weeks since she sat on those marble steps. And now, she was back at her childhood home.

Still the same—lived-in, creaking, yet somehow warm.

It still felt like home.

Voight had lived in Bridgeport for years. Decades, really. He’d never left. Which felt like a small corner of the city.

It was a little after midnight—post-shift at the firehouse—and she had decided to bake cupcakes.

Vanilla, to be exact.

Voight would never tell a soul, but those were his favorite.

He also wouldn’t tell the world he had a huge sweet tooth.

Their baking nights, back when she came home to him at twelve years old, had become a tradition. Sunday afternoons often bled into Sunday nights, filled with the smell of sugar, the hum of reruns—Seinfeld, later The Office as she got older.

Now here she was, twirling around the kitchen like she’d never left.

Wearing her staples: an old CPD shirt of Voight’s (something about their own ‘summer’ Olympics in 2004), trusty wool socks, and boxer briefs she’d definitely stolen from Kelly.

His name still hit her like a truck, igniting every emotion she’d worked so hard to box away.

Kelly—who had broken up with her just two weeks ago.

Seven years. Gone.

They’d started dating a couple of years after she joined 51. Sneaking kisses behind closed doors, brushing hands around corners, the not-so-subtle glances that everyone pretended not to notice.

Even after their brief breakup following her 29th, they’d found their way back. Strong. Steady. Sturdy.

They were a couple you could count on—rivaled only by Dawson and Casey before Gabby left for Puerto Rico.

But now?

Now, it was tense. Stressful. Anxiety-inducing.

And still, she was trying.

Trying for the house.

Trying for herself.

Trying for her sanity.

Clark was mid-spoonful of homemade buttercream frosting when a knock sounded at the front door.

Her brows pinched together as she checked the time—12:05 a.m.

Who the hell was knocking at this hour?

She sighed, spoon still between her lips, and made her way toward the door.

The old wood floors creaked beneath her feet with every step.

She paused just before the entryway, double-checking that the firearm tucked into the dead plant by the door was still in place.

It was.

And the plant was most definitely dead.

She pulled the door open—and froze.

A man stood there—tall, brooding, in uniform. His eyes swept over her—feet to face, assessing. He didn’t mean to pause at her legs, at the way the fading t-shirt hung just above her knees. Her 5'4" stature, now more apparent than ever. But he did. His jaw tightened when he caught himself.

Clark arched a brow, taking a small step back. “You got the wrong house, Officer.”

The man didn’t budge. “Clark Voight?”

Her fingers twitched near her waist, “Who’s asking?”

“Detective Charlie Rowe.” He held up the small manila envelope in one hand, the other tucked neatly into his jacket. “Voight’s expecting this. Off the record.”

Clark blinked slowly. “You’re Charlie?”

The name clicked.

She remembered that night now—he looked older, rougher. Silver streaks cut through his hair, no longer the dark brunette with that hint of auburn. He was much more attractive than she remembered—more than she expected, even.

Her eyes snapped back to his, skeptical but intrigued. “You sure Halstead didn’t send you to check on me? Make sure I didn’t torch the place mid-cupcake crisis?”

Charlie smirked, barely. “Cupcake crisis?”

“You heard me,” she said, folding her arms, still leaning against the doorframe. “Last night off for the week, and I’m spending it with buttercream and self-pity. Wild times.”

“I’ll try not to disturb the frosting,” he replied, his tone dry, but there was a hint of humor there. She blinked, catching it. Not completely humorless after all.

Still, she didn’t step aside. She just held her hand out. “Gimme.”

Charlie hesitated, his fingers brushing hers as he handed over the envelope. The brief contact sent a jolt through him. Her expression didn’t change, but something in the way she stood—it was like a live wire.

Clark tucked the envelope against her hip, tilting her head as she studied him. “That all?”

He gave a small nod, eyes steady. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say thanks. Didn’t smile.

Just nodded once, then turned and began closing the door. But before it shut entirely, she leaned into the frame and gave him one last once-over.

“You’re weirder than I remember.”

Charlie’s mouth opened, but the door clicked shut before he could respond.

Inside, Clark let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She set the envelope on the counter and returned to her cupcakes, heart racing just a little faster than it should have for someone who’d just answered the door in pajamas.

Outside, Charlie stood frozen on the steps for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes flicked to the plant near the door again.

He knew exactly what he saw.

And she knew he knew it.

━━━

It had been a week, and she was finally clocking out of the firehouse—for good, at least for a few days.

Sleep was on the agenda. Maybe catching up with Voight, too. Maybe.

Clark pinched the bridge of her nose just as Casey called out from the office area. “Phone call for you.”

She nodded, eyebrows drawing together, and made her way over. She gave him a faint smile. “Thanks,” she muttered, then picked up the receiver.

“Crawford speaking,” she said, her voice casual but clipped.

“Well, well, well... if it isn't little Miss Voight.”

Her stomach dropped.

Her eyes snapped toward Boden, busy at his desk, then flicked to Casey, still signing off his paperwork. She turned her back to them, shielding herself.

“Who is this?” she asked, voice low. Controlled.

The line chuckled, warped and static-filled. “Don’t you remember? All the fun times—well, your mother and I, at least.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. A deep pounding started behind her eyes.

Her mom.

“That's neither here nor there, sweetpea. Just wanted to say hi... maybe catch up. Actually—wanted to touch base before I send some not-so-innocent pictures of you, sweetpea.”

She gasped, the breath sucked from her lungs.

“What would Daddy say,” the voice continued, “if he saw those snapshots of you and Charlie last week? Just socks and a shirt—nothing underneath. Practically begging him to come inside.” A pause. “Daddy wouldn’t be thrilled, would he?”

She gripped the counter with one hand, the other fisting by her side.

The voice chuckled. “Or—what about Roman? Officer Roman. Six years ago? That night you tried to forget?”

She froze.

They knew.

They knew about Roman. About the night she buried deep and never once spoke of. About the ache, the anger, the recklessness. About how she’d been a grown woman with a teenage girl’s ache for revenge. And how Roman had been just stupid enough to go along with it.

The voice laughed again, sharp and delighted.

“Maybe I’ll send cupcakes to Voight. Or, better yet—email him the video.”

Her heart stuttered. For a few seconds, it didn’t beat at all.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

Seeing was different than hearing. Seeing would destroy everything.

“Talk soon, sweetpea.”

Click.

Silence.

She stood there, the receiver still cradled in her hand. The checkered floor blurred beneath her gaze. A sting hit the backs of her eyes. She sniffled, wiped her nose, and gently set the phone down.

Then, without a word, she turned and walked out.

Maybe if she pretended it didn’t happen… it’d all go away.

━━━

It was 5 days later, when she was walking out of the firehouse—her back-to-back shift had just ended.

She was walking out in front of Casey, Severide, Hermann, and Kidd. She was practically bolting out of the station that morning.

Anywhere that wasn’t Voight’s—her house, she didn’t feel safe.

She felt like she was being watched, and she knew she was.

A deliveryman stepped up to the driveway and paused, looking around at the house before meeting her eye.

"Delivery?" she questioned softly, and they nodded. "Is Clark Voight around?" they asked.

She felt her heart plummet again. "It's, uh, it's not Voight, but that's me," she said nervously.

Her hands visibly shaking as she reached for the box of Vanilla Cupcakes, she knew what was in there.

Casey stepped next to her, seeing her hands shaking, and he took the box for her.

"Thanks, man," Casey bellowed, and the deliveryman left.

She sighed, staring down at it, her mind a million miles away, Casey surmised.

She bit her lip as Hermann spoke, "Ooo! Cupcakes!" He cheered, pulling the top of the box open, as Casey studied her face like a military man.

Hermann pulled the top open, revealing a small letter placed on the side, addressed to her.

She pulled it from the box and sighed.

"Who is it from?" Kidd asked, and she shrugged, opening the letter carefully.

God forbid, it’s laced.

If Voight knew, he would have opened it himself, not allowing her near it. Just in case.

Severide stepped up to the group now, peering into the box before signaling his 'goodbye,' his gaze lingering on Clark, who stared at the letter.

Clark shook her head, opening the letter.

Dear Miss Voight,

Hope this letter finds you well! How much would it take for Kelly to never find out about that night, hmm? What would it take for me to be silent to your father? To burn the pictures? To make sure Voight never sees you in that way, scarring your relationship even more?

Clock is ticking, Sweetpea.

Talk soon!

Signed, X.

Casey watched the blood drain from her face before slapping Hermann’s hand softly.

"Don’t eat the cupcakes, just in case they’ve been laced," he ordered.

Hermann and Kidd sighed. "Now I’m gonna be thinking about cupcakes all day," Stella cried, and Hermann laughed.

"I guess I gotta drop by Jewels to grab some, I see," Hermann said sarcastically.

Stella laughed. "It’s Jewel, singular—no 'S', Hermann," and Hermann waved her off.

Clark finally tore her shaky and glassy eyes from the letter to Casey.

"I need Boden," she stated.

Casey pulled her inside after calling for Severide, just as he was about to hop in his car.

She now sat facing Boden, waiting on pins and needles for her dad to arrive. As well as Jay, whom she specifically requested, but knew her dad would head over anyway.

It was just them two. When Jay entered the room, he immediately walked over and pulled her in for a hug.

Before he pulled back slightly, checking her for any injury or signs of distress.

"I’m fine, I promise. Dude, stop," she said, pushing his chest back a bit before he sighed.

"You’re gonna give me an early death, I swear to God, Kinzie," he huffed, standing up as Severide, Casey, Voight, and Reid entered.

Why the fuck was he here?

Jay stood up, moving to the side of Clark, his back facing the windows.

Voight and Reid both gave her a once-over, checking for any injury.

All they found were her shaking hands, threaded with each other’s.

Her right knee was also thumping, and no cease was in sight.

"Miss Crawford has informed me that she received a phone call yesterday, as her shift ended. Casey was the one who originally received the call, out there in the office. And today, she was met with a delivery person—who delivered her vanilla cupcakes and a letter inside."

She bit the inside of her cheek as Voight took the letter that lay next to it on Boden’s desk.

He saw the signature, "X." and he handed it to Reid, as Voight spoke.

"I know who it is..." he paused, looking briefly down at his daughter, who stared straight ahead, and he sighed.

"It’s a disgruntled gang member I took down in 1990. He’s been out since '99." Her head raised, turning ever so slightly.

The year her mother died.

Before she could speak, he continued, "I’ve been tracking him for years. Keeping tabs on him, and have been waiting for him to strike—"

She cut him off, now fully rising from her seat.

"You knew all along, and kept it from me?!" she questioned, voice rising with anger.

"I did it to protect you, Clark," he stated.

She shook her head. "You knew, you knew for over 20 years, and now you're saying something? Let me guess, he's somehow connected to prom night, hmm?" she bellowed, arms crossing her chest.

Voight didn’t need to respond; his silence was deafening.

Kelly and Jay both saw the tell-tale sign that she was about to lunge forward.

Jay grabbed her from behind, pulling her back, whispering, "Not right now, Kinzie, not right now." He hummed, and she thrashed against him once.

"Kinz," Kelly started, stepping in front of her, between her and Voight.

She looked up at Kelly in disbelief.

He shook his head softly. "Not like this," he stated, his words and tone calming her just a bit.

"Let’s go," Jay breathed softly, before she complied and walked out with him and Kelly.

Reid watched with a stoic expression, sensing that there were years of unresolved issues between Voight and Clark.

His mind raced with the weight of the situation. It was clear, though no one had outright said it, that Voight’s protective nature had crossed into dangerous territory—keeping secrets for decades. Reid couldn’t help but wonder how Clark must feel, betrayed by the very person who should have been her protector. He knew how damaging silence could be. As an investigator, he had seen it happen before: families fractured by long-held secrets. But this… this felt different. This felt personal.

Reid’s eyes flicked to Voight. The man’s cold demeanor seemed to harden even more in the presence of his daughter’s fury. He couldn’t blame her for lashing out. He had no idea how anyone could live with such a burden, knowing your father had kept something this huge from you. Reid couldn’t even imagine carrying that kind of weight for so long.

As soon as the door shut, leaving him, Voight, Boden, and Casey, Voight was already explaining their plan for the time being.

Praying to God, they could get this son of a bitch, just before he sent those photos—Voight prayed to God he’d never see.

But Reid couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The calm before the storm.

━━━

Voight had known. He'd known for over twenty years.

He’d followed her silently through the rest of high school—after that fretful prom night, through her final two years at the Catholic school, all the way to Notre Dame, then paramedic school. Every step she’d taken, he had eyes on her.

She’d only recently put the pieces together—how perfectly timed certain coincidences were. The professors who “happened” to check in. The neighbor across the hall who just so happened to work security. He’d had people surrounding her for years. Without her knowledge. Without her consent.

He told her everything the night he got back.

The case. How he’d accidentally killed “X’s” daughter during a bust gone wrong. The connection to her mother—how it was him who had sold her the drugs the night she overdosed. A truth he’d carried like a weight, dragging behind him.

It took her a full week to speak to him again.

She was shattered. Her trust, cracked. Her heart, stitched back together in a rush of anger, grief, and disillusionment.

Now, here she was—a month later. A different kind of battle. A different kind of silence.

Clark nudged her father into the dining room chair with a firm, guiding hand, while Charlie took the seat opposite. The stew was slow-roasting in the kitchen, the mashed potatoes simmering beside it. Brownies—because of course there were brownies—were cooling on the stovetop.

Reid had come over that Sunday evening. Off the record. Unofficial. Maybe even unwise.

She’d convinced him to stay with some mumbled excuse about having made extra “just in case Voight got a 2 a.m. craving.” Voight had rolled his eyes. Clark had smirked.

And Reid? Reid had watched her. Quietly. Closely.

The way she moved—graceful and gritty, like someone who had built a life out of ruins and recipes. She flowed between the kitchen and dining room like she belonged to both.

And she made Voight—Hank fucking Voight—laugh.

Not just grunt. Laugh.

Something about her muttered sarcasm, the way she flicked a dishtowel at his chest when he tried to sneak a brownie. “You’re gonna lose a finger, old man,” she warned.

Reid didn’t laugh. He didn’t move. But his chest did something strange—tight, warm, and protective all at once.

He’d seen brilliance before. Trauma, too. But this was something different. This was a woman walking around with a bullet lodged in her soul and still managing to set a table with love.

And God help him—he wanted to sit at that table for as long as she’d let him.

Clark - herself - too, studied him. Watched the way she and her father interacted with one another.

Calm. Steady. Stealthy.

Everything her father was, but in his own twisted ways.

She felt herself drawn to it, listening in on their hushed voices.

Her body stilling just briefly, when she heard his voice drawing closer, and then he stepped into the kitchen.

He took a few steps in. "Voight said there were drinks in the fridge?" He asked, waiting for a confirmation.

She nodded, looking over her shoulder, her hair waved loosely, draped over her shoulders like a waterfall.

He swallowed, with a soft nod before walking over to the fridge - closer to her, and opening it with ease.

She turned back to the pot roast and began to plate it.

Redi shut the fridge behind him, moving towards the small recycling bin that was next to the garbage.

One of the lasting effects of Clark, from when she was younger.

As soon as she heard the beer top fall within it, she snickered softly.

Her mind replayed the time she finally got Hank to get a recycling bin, and to actually use it.

"You ok,?" Reid asked softly, and she turned back towards him, chin over her shoulder and nodding.

She turned back towards the plates, cheeks blazing, "Yeah, just remembered something, funny story," She hummed, turning around with the plate in hand, her back leaning back against the cool counter.

Counteracting the heat pulsing through her body.

His gaze lingered on her before drifting to the plate, and back to her.

"All for me?" he asked, voice low.

She smirked, eyes locking with his. "Well… you did show up uninvited, and technically on unofficial business. Figured I’d feed you something before Voight starts embarrassing me."

"I did now, huh?" he shot back, sarcasm curling off his tongue.

He stepped closer, taking the plate from her hands.

Their fingers brushed—hers suddenly on fire, his breath catching. A jolt passed between them, same as before.

The way she stood there—unbothered, tempting, powerful— She was a live wire. A blaze waiting to be touched.

He stepped back a few steps before walking out.

She bit her lip- hard once he was out of the kitchen.

She turned back towards the two plates and sighed.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

She walked back into the dining room, with two plates - one for her, and the other for Hank.

She placed it down in front of him, and he thanked her.

Reid had waited to dig in until she came in.

She took notice of the surprise, respect, or kindness.

Clark pulled a knee up to her chest and dug in.

The three of them's conversation flowed naturally. She jumps in at random points to add a small tidbit, humor relief, and, honestly, to embarrass her dad just a tad.

Clark and Reid found their gazes lingering on each other as the other conversed with Hank.

A few times, they met one another's eyes before looking away quickly.

At one point, Hank returned the favor- ripping a few laughs from his daughter.

Reid watched the way she eased into their conversations, etching herself within his mind and soul, small smiles that she could only form on his face.

"Well- it's been fun, you two, but I have some things to get done," She began, standing up from the table, both men's eyes following her.

"It was good seeing you, Detective Reid," he cut her off, "Charlie," and she nodded.

"I'll see you in the morning." She hummed, turning towards her dad, who nodded, "Night, Sweetpea." She smiled at that.

◦

It was now 2:15 am when she pulled herself from her bedroom—interrupting her Dance Moms marathon, an essential night ritual for her—to grab a piece of brownie. The rich scent of chocolate filled the air, and she sighed in contentment.

She stood in the kitchen now, wearing her typical outfit of an oversized t-shirt, mismatched shorts, and thick wool socks, the only comfort in the middle of the night.

Clark had just taken the brownie out of the microwave when the phone rang, startling her from her thoughts.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the old-fashioned house phone, still connected by a thick chord. She hesitated before pulling it off the receiver, the weight of the phone suddenly feeling like a heavy burden in her hand.

She stood there for a moment, fingers lacing around the cord, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Voight residence," she said, her voice more composed than she felt.

"Oh, why, good evening, Miss Voight," the voice on the other end made her body freeze. A chill ran down her spine.

Not him. Again.

"Aw, don’t look so shocked, Sweetpea," the voice purred, dripping with malice. "Just wanted to check in on my favorite cop killer’s daughter..."

Her stomach churned as she quickly cut him off, her words coming out harsher than intended. "Wha-What do you want?" she demanded, gripping the phone tighter, leaning into the counter.

She could feel the apprehension crawling up her throat as she instinctively licked her lips, the words sticking.

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Wanted to check in to see how you and daddy are. I see you guys had company over for dinner, and…" He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

Her head whipped around, her eyes darting out of the kitchen window, scanning the street outside, looking for anything out of place.

"Don’t get paranoid now, Kinzie," he sneered. The sound of her name on his lips, twisted with that cruel tone, made her blood run cold.

No one outside of Jay, Kelly, and Will Halstead called her that. Not even Hank.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, the air feeling thicker, suffocating her.

She swallowed, the soft sound of it audible over the line. She could almost hear him smirk on the other end.

He didn’t give her time to respond. "How about you and I meet?" His voice dripped with something darker. "How does that sound? Maybe then you can figure out the real reason why Kelly broke up with you, hmm?"

Her breath hitched, panic clawing at her insides. She cut him off before he could say more. "Don’t bring him into this!" she shot back, her voice trembling but firm, a thread of warning wrapped around her words.

"Oh, I see," he mocked, a sharp laugh punctuating the air. "Or you’ll do what?"

Silence. The weight of her fear made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

"That’s what I thought, Sweetpea…" He hummed on the other end, drawing out the last word in that nauseatingly familiar way.

She clenched her jaw, her heart pounding against her chest, but she wasn’t done. "Don’t call me that," she growled, her voice a warning now, dripping with pure venom.

His voice lowered, the mockery in it thickening. "Your threats aren’t that scary, Missy. But maybe I’ll loop in Reid somehow... oops, I mean Charlie!" He chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying the torment he was causing. "Besides, I saw how close you two got tonight. How you relaxed as soon as he stepped into the room... the way your cheeks flared as you turned around… and that comment? You cheeky, cheeky girl."

Her stomach twisted with disgust, her pulse quickening.

"Talk soon, Clark," he purred before hanging up.

Her hand shook violently as she held the receiver, her knuckles white as she slammed it back onto the base. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, reverberating in her chest.

Her vision blurred, and she had to blink hard to clear the moisture from her eyes. The weight of the conversation, the underlying threat, and the impossible fear settled heavily in her gut.

She stared at the brownie on the counter, forgotten and left out to cool, its edges hardening into something that no longer resembled the sweet comfort it once was.

Just like her exterior now—hardened, cold, and brittle.

And just like her interior, a shell of what it used to be.

━━━

She hadn’t planned to be here.

Three weeks ago, she never would’ve believed she’d willingly return to this corner.

Clark & Halsted—the root of all her demons.

And yet, somehow, still the backdrop of a childhood laced with magic.

Clark had always come first. Then Halsted. It was his name she whispered when things got bad. His voice she remembered in the darkest hours. And now, Clark held her hands inside the gray pockets of a worn CFD zip-up.

Her breath was shaky. Uneven. And altogether—not enough.

Sweat beaded at her temple, clinging like a warning. The wind kicked up, tugging at the hem of her sleeves.

The street was too quiet. Too still. Like it knew what was about to happen.

Her head snapped at every sound, haunted by the devil she feared most— the one who’d stolen her mother, her childhood… and Voight, even in the crosshairs of prom night.

Clark sighed beside her as she waited on pins and needles. Her eyes drifted up to the green street signs nailed to the light post.

Clark & Halsted.

Her mind spun—scattered, unfocused. All she could hear was her own frantic breathing. She didn’t hear the firefighters checking out the gas leak down the street. Because there wasn’t one. She didn’t hear the silent fleet of police SUVs barreling toward her, lights flashing without sirens.

She didn’t know that the ones who loved her most were just around the corner— gathering at the greatest intersection in her mind.

She was looking at the streetlight when she felt it.

She hadn’t heard it. Hadn’t seen it coming.

But she felt it.

Three bullets sliced through the air from across the street, several houses down.

Two of them found her— One to her chest. One to her hip.

Without a beat, she collapsed.

And in that moment, she begged for death.

She begged God—or whoever might be listening—to take away the pain, to bring her home.

Despite the fire in her chest, despite the agony searing through her veins— She was here. Still present.

Clark felt the blood pooling out of her, thick and unrelenting. And then the world rushed in—

Tires screeched against pavement. Firefighter boots pounded the asphalt, growing louder.

Torment. Absolute torment.

Hands pressed to her chest. Her eyes fluttered from the night sky— to Jay.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only blood came out.

She couldn’t speak. Her voice was trapped— but her mind was screaming.

“Oh God—oh God—oh God,” Jay cried, panic cracking his voice. “Hank!”

Not Voight. Not Sergeant. Hank.

The father of his best friend. The only one who could fix this.

Severide dropped to the pavement beside her before Jay could. His hands found her hip, screaming into the radio for Ambo 61 to move faster.

Her house had been the one with the fake gas leak. She hadn’t known they were just around the corner when the shots rang out.

But she knew— Severide and Casey would always be the ones running toward danger while everyone else ran away.

Voight fell to his knees, muttering broken no’s, his hands cupping her face as if he could keep her here.

Her eyes locked onto his. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking. Not his usual gravel—this was something softer, rawer. A father’s plea.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he said, more to himself now, rocking slightly. His thumbs brushed away blood that kept coming, no matter how hard he tried to wipe it away.

“Don’t do this to me,” he choked out. “Not you. Not again.” His forehead rested against hers, grounding him—grounding her—against the chaos.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

For a second, he was just a father. Not a cop, not a sergeant—just her dad. And in that second, the whole world collapsed around him.

The ambulance skidded into view. Brett jumped out before the vehicle fully stopped.

“Move!” she yelled at Jay.

Jay stood and backed away, arms raised, hands trembling. Then he paced. Tugged at his hair. Mumbling prayers. Begging whoever was listening to keep his best friend—his sister—alive.

Severide remained on his knees, staring at the darkened stain of her blood, his soul ripped out and left on the pavement.

Hermann, Kidd, and Mouch helped Brett and Mikami load her into the ambulance.

Voight followed without hesitation, his steps steady but his mind a war zone.

He climbed into the truck just before the doors slammed shut, watching in quiet agony as Brett fought to save the one person who still connected them all.

Casey placed a firm hand on Severide’s shoulder. They stood there, frozen, before Casey stepped away and joined Boden, who spoke urgently into the CFD radio.

Reid had been the one to call in backup the moment the shots rang out. He’d been just yards away when he heard them— and his blood had gone cold before he even saw her fall.

Now, he stood several feet back from the mess of uniforms and blood, heart breaking— but pretending he wasn’t falling apart.

This wasn’t his scene. Not officially.

But he would never let her down again. Not if it killed him.

He hadn’t touched her. He couldn’t. He hadn't earned that.

So he did what he was trained to do: He barked orders. Coordinated units. Shut the block down fast and clean.

It was easier than looking at the red-stained concrete, easier than seeing Voight wrecked.

But his hands were shaking.

And when someone called his name, it took him too long to answer.

Jay, meanwhile, had turned away from the scene, sobbing into his hands. Her blood on his palms. Now smeared across his face.

He didn’t hear his mother calling his name from the sidewalk.

He hadn’t even thought about his childhood home, not since arriving at the scene.

Only her.

“Jay,” she said softly.

He turned, and immediately crumpled into her arms.

She’d stepped out of the house the moment she saw Casey standing with Boden. Her stomach dropped.

If Casey was there— Jay couldn’t be far behind. And if not Jay… then Clark.

She had prayed she wouldn’t see either.

But here he was. Her son. Absolutely falling apart.

She pulled him in tighter, whispering comfort he couldn’t hear.

Then, without a word, he stepped back and headed for his SUV.

“Jay!” she called, but he was already opening the door.

Severide looked up from the blood-stained concrete. As soon as he heard the door creak open, he moved.

He slid into the passenger seat silently, just before Jay could drive off.

The firehouse exhaled the breath it hadn’t realized it was holding.

One of their own had just gone down— and none of them knew if the last time they saw her would be as she bled out beneath that damned streetlight.

━━━

Clark lost consciousness on the way there, Brett working tirelessly through her own sobs, hands soaked in her best friend’s blood. Panic blistered through her every breath as she drove, racing the clock. She didn't even realize when Clark’s body went still—didn’t let herself.

And as the lights faded, so did Clark.

But not completely.

Not before her mind slipped away… back to the night her life changed forever.

Prom. 2006.

She and Jay had made it back from the afterparty around 1 a.m.—buzzed, tipsy, a little too carefree. Jay’s parents were out of town, so naturally, the night continued at his house with a few others.

By 2 a.m., after several awful beers and a shot she definitely shouldn’t have taken, her phone rang.

Voight.

Begging, pleading, screaming for her to come home. Telling her to get out of that house.

He thought she knew better. Thought she understood what alcohol could do to a person.

But all Clark heard was control. Authority. His voice shattering her teenage high. She screamed back, cursed him out, told him he was ruining everything—her night, her freedom, her growing independence. She could still hear the things she said. Words that dug into him like bullets.

She didn’t even realize she was crying as she snatched up her keys. Jay shouted for her to stay—begged her—but he didn’t follow. And he’s hated himself every day since for that choice.

The car was a gift. Her 16th birthday. A silver Toyota Highlander—technically still registered to Voight, who claimed he gave it to stop her from borrowing his every weekend. But there was love behind it. Pride. But he made it clear that it was a luxury—not a right. A privilege most kids in the city didn’t have. He’d drilled that into her like it was gospel. He’d told her that day, “It’s a privilege, Clark. A damn luxury. Don’t be stupid with it.”

She was. That night, she was.

Blood alcohol: 0.08. Barely enough to slur her words, just enough to kill someone. Enough to destroy trust.

She pushed herself into the seat, blurry eyes locked on the road, shaky hands gripping the wheel. She made it a few blocks down Clark Street, inching toward Lake Shore Drive—her favorite stretch of road in the entire city.

And then it happened.

Right by Lincoln Park Zoo. She was struck—t-boned from the passenger side in a blinding collision that stole the sound from her ears. Not even her fault. But it didn’t matter.

She blacked out.

When she came to, her lungs were panicked, desperate. Every breath hurt. Her limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. Sirens in the distance. She clawed for the door, kicked it open, stumbled out.

A stranger ran toward her, yelling for her to stay in the car, but she didn’t listen.

Then: hands. Not the Samaritan’s. Stronger, steadier. He caught her before she hit the pavement. Pulled her into his chest, held her like he knew her.

“Clark. Clark, hold on for me,” he said, rough but calm.

She sobbed into his chest, hands fisting his uniform. He smelled like city streets and something faintly sweet—gum or cologne, she never figured out which.

She didn’t know him. But she clung to him like a lifeline.

Then: headlights. Paramedics. Her father’s voice tearing through the night like a gunshot.

“CLARK!”

Voight was there—racing, frantic, shoving past officers, grabbing her name from the air like he could pull her back with it.

She didn’t even notice when she was transferred from arms to stretcher. Not until the officer stepped back, badge catching the light.

4038.Nameplate: REID.

Her dad turned on him like fire. “What the hell happened, Reid?!”

“I rolled up just after the crash. The other driver took off—I didn’t catch them,” Reid explained, voice tight.

Paramedics worked quickly. “Vitals are stable. No obvious concussion. Maybe whiplash. We'll run a breathalyzer to be safe—”

“No,” Voight cut in. “She doesn’t need that.”

His voice was sharp. Defensive. He believed his daughter was smarter.

The EMT insisted. “It’s protocol, sir.”

Clark’s stomach sank. Her chest ached.

The test beeped.

A pause.

The paramedic’s face fell.

0.08.

Voight snatched the device from their hand. Stared at it like it betrayed him.

She watched his face twist. That look—the disappointment—was worse than a broken bone.

“Other than this, she’s alert,” the EMT offered. “We can take her in, or she can go home with you, or—”

Voight turned. “I’ll make a call.”

Clark didn’t have to ask who. Godmother. South Side. Always came running. Because Voight couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Strike one.

She sat on the curb with a foil blanket around her shoulders. Cold. Shaken.

He came back and stood over her.

“You’re just as dumb as the rest of them,” he muttered.

Her heart cracked open.

“What?” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Were you that dumb, Clark? Leaving Jay’s house like that?” he snapped.

“You told me to!” she cried.

Wrong move.

“Don’t you scream at me, Clark Makenzie Crawford!” he bellowed, finger jabbing toward her like a knife.

She recoiled. Shrunk into herself. Reid took a half-step forward, watching.

“Don’t you dare act like your mother. Don’t you dare become her.” Voight’s voice cracked under the weight of those words.

She flinched.

He wasn’t mad at her. He was terrified of losing her to the same demon that stole his best friend.

"You should’ve told me. Why’d you act like a damn child and get behind the wheel?!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was shaking, barely able to breathe.

“You know what this does to me? My reputation?”

She stared at the ground.

“A fucking disgrace. Embarrassment,” he muttered, turning his back.

Nobody dared to stop him.

The paramedic touched her shoulder. She flinched.

“I want my mom,” she whispered. “I want my mom.”

Another medic knelt beside her. “Want me to call her?”

Voight turned around, his voice ice-cold. “Call who?”

“Her mom,” the medic said, confused.

Voight stared at her like she’d spat in his face.

“Don’t bother. She’s dead,” he snapped.

Clark didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Her eyes flicked toward Reid. Just once. Just enough to see that he hadn’t moved. Still there. Still watching. Still with her.

When Voight stormed off, Reid quietly stepped into his place.

He stood beside her for the next half hour.

Didn’t ask anything. Didn’t say a word.

Just stayed.

She never even learned his first name. Didn’t remember his face. Didn’t remember anything— Until she saw him again.

Twenty years later.

━━━

Voight sat there, torn between fear and grief. Fear for the daughter he'd nearly lost, and grief for everything that had ever gone unsaid between them. The last twelve hours had been a relentless hell. He couldn’t shake the image of her, bloodied and broken, from his mind.

He’d waited in that sterile hospital hallway, every second stretching painfully longer. Dr. Will Halstead had given him no updates in three hours.

She was stable. That was all they knew.

Now it was in her hands—if she wanted to wake up.

Jay and Kelly had been there, camped out in the family waiting room for what felt like an eternity. Will had to drag his brother away at one point, force him into clean clothes and a sink to scrub the blood from his face before he scared the elderly patients walking by.

Casey had come to check in and dropped off clothes, which Will finally got Kelly to change into. But Voight… Voight stayed rooted. Eyes glued to the sterile checkered floor. Still holding her hand. Still hoping she'd squeeze back.

He wasn’t a religious man. Hadn’t been for decades. But tonight, he found himself praying—praying to a god he hadn’t thought about since her mother died. A god who took good people. A god who, if he were listening, owed him a goddamn miracle.

Clark never deserved this pain.

At exactly 4:04 AM, she jolted awake.

That moment—you know the one, where you’re drowning in a dream, lungs full of water, everything closing in? That’s how it felt to Clark. Only in her dream, it wasn’t water—it was her own blood. Filling her lungs, thick in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. Then, just like that, it shattered into clarity.

Prom night. The ambulance. The searing pain. Jay’s voice yelling her name before everything went black.

Her eyes snapped open. The sterile scent of the room hit her like a slap. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t move—couldn’t think. Until her gaze landed on her father.

Voight had been watching her the whole time, silent and still. But the second their eyes met, she saw the fear melt into raw, overwhelming relief.

He saw the freeze in her chest, the panic, and before she could even process it, a breath rushed from her lips.

“Sweetpea.”

His voice cracked. He kissed her hand—the same hand she'd unknowingly been gripping.

“Oh my god… Clark,” he whispered, tears rushing to his eyes. She hadn’t expected him to react like this—hadn’t expected him to break.

He kissed her hand again, then pressed it to his temple like it was sacred. His eyes stayed on hers, full of emotion, full of regret.

And she remembered it all.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. Her throat ached, her voice was paper-thin. “For everything. For pushing you away. For what I said that night. I didn’t mean it. I—”

Voight shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But I—”

“No.” His voice dropped, thick with guilt. “It wasn’t you, sweetheart. It was me. All me. I should’ve been better. I should’ve listened more. Loved louder. Protected you harder.”

He leaned in and pulled her into him, careful but unflinching. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Clark. But I’m damn lucky you’re still here to give it.”

Her arms found their way around him—weak, but real—and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unspoken softened in the quiet between them.

Then came a knock. The door creaked open.

Will Halstead stepped inside, clipboard in hand and a crooked, exhausted smile on his face.

He looked between them—Clark clinging to her father, Voight holding her like she was still five years old and scared of thunderstorms.

Will exhaled. “Well… looks like I lost a bet.”

Voight didn’t say a word. Just slowly turned his head and gave him a look so cold, so piercing, it could’ve stopped a heartbeat.

Will raised both hands in surrender. “Kidding. Totally kidding.”

Clark, despite everything, cracked the tiniest smile.

"How ya feeling, Kinz?" He questioned, full attention on her.

Clark nodded, “I’m okay. Slightly uncomfortable, but okay," she managed to say, offering him a tired smile.

Will couldn’t help the grin that broke out, “Well, you’ve got some gnarly pain meds coursing through you right now, Kinzie,” he said as he flicked on the monitor next to her.

He glanced at her, catching the fear that flickered behind her eyes. “We’ve got you on heavy Oxycodone, but we’ll slowly adjust that as you move upstairs, okay?”

Her eyes widened slightly. Oxycodone. A drug her mother had been addicted to for years. She couldn’t help but flinch.

Voight caught her reaction immediately. He shot Will a pointed look, his eyes narrowing. Will, understanding, immediately nodded in response.

"No, I get it,” Will said, his tone sincere. “We’ve given you a safe and controlled amount, but I’ll talk to the ICU about switching it to something else, alright?”

Clark nodded, grateful for the understanding.

Will tapped her arm gently, a quiet gesture of comfort. “Let me go make the switch, and I’ll grab Jay for you.” He gave her a smile before stepping out of the room.

Voight, who had been quietly watching the exchange, stood up. “I’m gonna call your godmom real quick, kiddo. Charlie will be right outside if you need anything.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple before stepping out.

As soon as he left, Clark saw him.

Standing just outside the post-op room, his broad frame leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning the hallway. He was standing guard, watching over her as if he always had.

She stared at him, hoping, waiting for him to turn around. When Voight was finally out of sight, he looked over. Caught her eye.

He wasn’t expecting her to be watching him.

He checked the hall once, then moved into the room, his presence filling the space with quiet tension.

“You're here?” Clark asked, disbelief coloring her voice as her brows furrowed.

He stilled for a moment, then slowly sat in the chair beside her, nodding.

“Yeah, your dad didn’t trust any other cop to do as good of a job watching over you,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t anything personal.

But Clark felt it. Hank fucking Voight had never trusted anyone like this. Never allowed anyone to take this kind of responsibility over her.

It felt… intimate.

“Well, he picked a great guy,” she replied with a smile, her voice steady.

Reid raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You were the one to pull me from that car, weren’t you?” She asked, her tone softening. “You were the one to call your dad, stayed by me when he couldn’t. Gave me the shred of comfort that he couldn’t that night.”

She paused, letting it settle in the air.

“And for that, I thank you. And for now, of course,” she hummed, glancing at him.

Reid’s smile grew, warm and genuine. “You’re very welcome, Miss Clark.”

There it was again. That subtle pull between them, lingering just beneath the surface. She was the fire. He was the catcher.

She smiled softly, her hand reaching out, grasping his. A squeeze. A quiet connection.

Then, as if the air shifted, Reid smiled to himself, more to his own thoughts than to her. But Clark caught it. And the warmth in her chest flickered brighter, something fragile and real.

It stayed there—for a moment.

Then Jay stormed through the hallway, halting when he saw them.

And something inside her stilled.

Because Clark knew. Knew in the pit of her stomach that this—this moment— might be the last time she’d feel that kind of comfort. Might be one of the last times she’d ever hold his hand. Might be the last time anyone saw her this whole.

aaaaand there we have it (:

PLEASE like and reblog, if you enjoyed! would love to hear any feedback or thoughts, in the comments

xx anna

pt ii coming up- shortly !

[bloomiize]

TEASER - I'LL BE WATCHING

a/n HI GUYS IM SORRY ITS BEEN A MINUTE!! Im still working on cleaning up this fic so I don't have a release date yet BUT YAY NEW FIC SOMEWHAT SOON! yes there will be smut when I put out the full fic LOL

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

When you asked his name, he looked up, staring right at you.

"Jay."

You gave him a warm smile at his answer, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

[meisaer]

the way you can tell the difference between >7 kinich and <7 kinich :(

i dont think hoyo wanted to make things too confrontational so they used bright colours and warm lighting* but regardless, look at his clothing in the top image compared to the bottom one. torn shirt, patches on his pants and all those bandages. i think you can also see dirt (or bruises??) as well.

*it's stated that this was kinich learning how to use a grappling hook (for the first time?). i think the warmth of the scene is very fitting for the freedom and relief he probably felt during that time.

post-orphaned kinich clearly worked his butt off to get more comfortable clothes. it took me an embarrassingly long time to realise he's researching(?) either a dish for himself or some sort of hunting bait. this is definitely pre-elder leik so you can tell how far he got all by himself. the weapons, scrolls, ropes, even the hut itself was all from his own efforts because he refused help from the scions. he was indeed an outrageously mature seven-year-old (lowk he's probably nine or ten here but still)

also he pierced his ears lmao??

sidenote i think its interesting that he's always had those eyes!! theories that ajaw caused them just went down the drain lol.

anyway i hope they show more of his backstory later down the line. id appreciate a little more blatant darkness from character stories (as in, obvious, outright stated ones). but im happy with this!! wasnt even expecting a kinich-centric event anytime soon lol cant wait for the next one

[miranalvjy]

Introduction/What to expect from this blog!

First of all HEYYYYY!!! <3

I'm Mira/Mirana, depends on what you want to call me but I listen to anything fr-

I'll try and make this intro post a WAY better one then what I had before, cause uhh yeah no- if you saw that one... no you didn't :3

So, if you wanna know everything about me read down below:

First and foremost what's important:

I'm Hungarian, I speak english fluently but it's NOT my native language, blame me all you want I will have mistakes here and there (but if I do notice one I'll definitely correct it instantly cause it bugs me)

My pronouns are she/her, but I don't really care, you can prefer to be as a sewer rat and I'll be happy about it :3

I have ADHD, OCD and some 'tism so my dearest dear mind works differently, yes, bear with me

I'm bisexual and polyamor, single and ready to mingle with a pringle (that was shitty but funny, pls laugh)

I live in Mexico, so I do understand Spanish but I don't really prefer it, I'd much rather speak in english (I actually prefer english over hungarian-)

The shortest shortie mother fucker you'll ever find, me and my 152cms against the whole world (4'11 to everyone else who uses this)

I block freely, and if you piss me off or if you're being the wrong type of freak I'll block without a damn thought :3

My asks are always open, if you have anything you wanted to ask me, annoy me with HEL YEAH hit me up :3

I'm an atheist, but I respect everyone who is something else

I'm very openminded

Okay That's the most important part there, now let me just yapp about myself a bit and what I like to do and what I like in general:

Music:

I'm going to list some bands/singers in no particular order that I love and could yapp about for hours, what I will most likely reblog/yapp about :3

Black Veil Brides, Ashnikko, Baby Bugs, Bring Me The Horizon, Måneskin, DeathbyRomy, Death Spells, Delilah Bon, Mad About Marilyn (IM BEGGING YOU GO LISTEN TO THEM), Depeche Mode, Falling In Reverse (sue me- the music is good), Fall Out Boy, Frank Iero (solo projects), Gerard Way (solo projects), Get Scared, Green Day, TX2, Palaye Royale, Jann, Leathermouth, Letter For The Oddities, Lovejoy (again, just sue me), L.S. Dunes, Luke Black, MANDRAGORA UK, Mileo, Mindless Self Indulgence (just give in the papers), Mother Mother, Motionless In White, My Chemical Romance, Negative 25, Nirvana, Panic! At The Disco, Pencey Prep, Pierce The Veil, The Relentless, Sable, Sleeping With Sirens, Sleep Token, The Smashing Pumpkins, Twenty One Pilots, Vana, The Warning, Yungblud, Ayesha Erotica, Jiinzo,

Hobbies:

I have so many of these bitches I might as well make a list :3

Reading (HEAVY on it), Writing, Gaming, Diamond Painting, Crocheting, Journaling, Other small handy crafts, Yapping

Other Topics:

Anything else I might yapp on here about, or something I'd love to yapp about with you :3

Philosophy, Religion, Horror movies, Paranormal, Clothes and Styles, Theories, Random stuff

Games:

The video games I play, hyperfixated on :3

Stardew Valley, Five Nights At Freddie's, Dave The Diver, Slime Rancher, Don't Starve, Cult of the lamb, Minecraft, Potion Craft, R.E.P.O., Pony Island, Undertale, Subnautica, Little Inferno, Dorfromantic, Oxygen Not Included, Bear And Breakfast, Forager, Life Is Strange, Detroit: Become Human, The Forest, The Long Dark

My other blogs:

@miranareads My blog to yapp about books and reading, everything associated with books and reading goes there :3

@ghost-of-the-once-loved-child My sideblog for poems... I haven't had a lot of time to really write a lot, but when I do I post it here (from my older poems, please spare me, those typos kill me but I don't have the fucking urge to correct them anymore)

And a secret third one for fanfiction :3

@miranascreams I literally just did this blog, uhh- freak blog, sexual content and very much explicit, mostly about celebrities or just horny thoughts in general :3

Me:

Since I am indeed pretty comfy with showing my face, here I am, in all my glory :3

I also have more pics but I'm lazy, and you'll probably get bored of my ass real fast anyways :3

My Friends, Moots whom I adore:

@im-literally-so-dun - My wife and my one and only BBQ grilled chicken <3

@hexxyyxoxo - IRL pookie who got on tumblr because of me but she does not know how to use it so we only have an interaction on here every once in a year or so

@daffodilrambles - My unhinged diva twin sister <3

@m1lkywaymikey - Writer pookie who I love to annoy <3 also newer additions is that I simp over this hoe, so uhh yeah have fun reading my insane amount of horniness over this lad

@lobot0mmy - Tag game bruv, we only interact in tag games most of the times but shhhh :3

@sebbywebster - Gaming pookie, go to yapper, literal sweetheart <3

@yourinnerhealthplus - Should interact more, but this bitch lives far away so we don't :( GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE POOKIE

THAT'S ALL- OR AT LEAST I THINK SO... IF NOT I'LL UPDATE IT <3

BYEEE LOVE YOU MWUAH

[trynsave]

tryn save shoppers

greeting. althou this once prolific simpsons blog has laid dormant for many years. ive always keep the accont up.

im proud of this work.

i started this blog back in 2012 as a depressed stoner junglist as an afterwork hobbie. id get viloently high in my car on the way home. watch 2 or 3 epsiodes form the dvd id puchased at amoeba records over the years second hard. started with 6,

the infamous homer box.

then 5 4 2 6 71

i have seasons 1 - 8 in a little dvd case.

that case has been recovered but unfortunately disc rott is a thing.

i have been temped to start posting more but i feel more like lisa than i do bart. no its not a trans thing. i did at one point think to change the blog to trans n save. but thats nither here nor there.

what im saying is i love music. i love art. creativitly.

im not talking about the, for lack of a better term flanderization version of lisa you see today. but the younger sibling who looks out for their older sibling.

i may or may not be an uncle soon. but i have a feeling that is in the near fututure.

i woudlt like to wrap this message up by saying thank you to one individual person.

and indivdual who reached out and complemented my efforts. letting me know that i was her favorite blog. at the time my dreams were to write a book. make jungle music. and travel.

and

im going back to school to complete an english major (and finally rub it in my big. double major, sisters face) BUT more so to learn more about the english language. then eventually spanish.

i had a dream to start a south american eddition of thrasher magazine called thrasher so.

it would be spanish only. compl;etley differnt from gingo thrasher. but an underground look at the spanish undergroundskate scene

but skateboarders tend to be a very tough bunch. not to mention san fransisco is a spooky town with alot of history. you gotta watch what you say to who. cuz theres eyez everywhere.....

but again i realied that that may not be in the cards.

skate or die isnt a the best motto to live by all the time.

rave music can get complicated. when you grew up just standing near the djs memorized by what the djs were doing. it gets messy when illict substances can get involved. sometimes you can lose years of your life lost if your not carefull. worst you could... just straight up die from a bad pill. its scary.

thats when things got diffrent.

i remeber the first club expericnce seeing a dnb dj after 21 really opended my mind to what a dnb dj was.

it was goldie and it was at a bar on market street in sf that was no longer there. around 2011.

goldie steped up at 1130 and was suposed to stop at 2.

either he has that much clout or no one could stop the man but it was tune after tune . speakers on 11.

litterly.

i checked the miser after the gig and saw the master volume at 10. the mids and high and gain fully cranked and the bass eq in the middle.

thats what made me realize that music is meant to be played at a loud volume. if your in a residential neighborhood there alll gonna hear it.

330 in the morning the man is wrapping his set up with "timeless" and not a dry eye in the room. i walk up to goldie afterwards. complemented his sick custom adddias metalheadz jersey. and ask him as a joke , " what song is the metalheadz logo listen to"

music m8

i wouldnt be able to have pulled this mix off i realeased today if it wasnt for the encouragement of that individutal. im finally happy and free. and its because i worked hard and focused onj staying healthy. not just body but mind and sprit to.

thank you for every.

-L

ps thank you to all the other try nsave employes who contributed, this account wouldnt have been as popluar without your help,

[returntosunder]

Hi!! I hope you're having a great day :D I saw I could share my AU with you here (a friend told me), so, here goes nothing:

Forgottentale

(alternate timeline of Undertale)

After the player completing the game, felt something strange—a sense of incompletion. They couldn't leave. They become obsessed. They began running through the routes again and again—Pacifist, Neutral, Genocide—searching for secrets that they might have been missed.

But something was different.

As the resets piled up, the world began to glitch. At first, it was subtle—backgrounds flickered, music warped, dialogue lines appeared twisted or broken. The characters began to behave oddly. Personalities shifted. Their appearances mutated or looked weird. Even their SOULS, their very essence, flickered and fractured into something… wrong.

Sans was the first to notice. He tried to laugh it off at first. He always did. But the anomalies kept piling up.

Papyrus noticed too—but unlike Sans, he ignored it, desperately clinging to the belief that everything was fine.

The monsters turned hostiles. Friends became enemies. Familiar places became surreal, corrupted echoes of themselves.

In a desperate effort to protect what little remained, Sans began killing corrupted monsters. Not out of cruelty, but out of mercy and fear. Little by little he descended into madness, haunted by memories that didn’t belong, timelines that never happened, he started to get corrupted too, causing his eyes to have some cracks but for some reason, he didn't transform completely like the others.

He wanted to protect his brother by any cost, but, The corruption began to spread through Papyrus. His form twisted, voice distorted, and eventually, he became something else. Something horrible.

Every monster started to transform by the corruption, until Chara appears, the demon blamed for the destruction. Sans confronted them, demanding answers. But Chara didn’t offer comfort.

''The things you’ve done,'' they said, ''will always haunt you. Not because they’re wrong, but because you kept doing them even after knowing what would happen.''

Sans realized: the world was never just a game. And neither was the player.

The last remnants of the world glitched, twisted, and crumbled into static. Undertale was no more, just a void, echoing with fragments of laughter, screams, and broken code.

That's all, lmao-

some curious facts:

After all this happened, Sans called himself 'Shade', because he wanted to forget everything he onced did, the killings and all that stuff that happened in his world. By becoming "Shade," he distances himself from those memories, even if they never truly leave him. They still disturb him, making him go a little crazy about it. (poor of my boy)

He's currently married and he has kid, he lives happily now, and i wonder who is his husband… (Void!sans by @air-png) // This doesn't affect the main AU, but it's funny to mention it

He likes the Echo Flower. He says is because is pretty, but his answer is not entirely true. When he killed monsters in his world, he would go to these flowers to ask for forgiveness for the souls he had killed. And in the present, he still murmurs to these flowers, apologies to Papyrus, regrets about the monsters he had killed, questions he no longer expected answers to..etc. He liked them because: They never judged. They never changed. He prefers to tell his truths to these flowers, because he knows that if he does it with living people, they will judge him or hate him. (As I said he currently lives with Void, he probably has these flowers somewhere in the house)

He cries in blood strangely??? probably from his corruption that is still in his body (i didn't remember this lmao)

He's bisexual. (no words)

FINALLY FINISHING THIS OMG-

Here drawing of Shade;

Woah, that was a lot of writing, sorry

Have a nice day!!! :)

Ooo im happy ur sharing! Send your friend my thanks ^^

OOO I LOVE RESETS HAVING CONSEQUENCES IN AUS OMG!!! Everyone slowly getting corrupted each reset is so scary cause just watching people you know slowly becoming different in that way hurts omg. And Sans having to kill them just as a way to show mercy is even sadder

Aww him asking the echo flowers is so sad but sweet :(

BROS MARRIED!?!?! (Lmao leaving it as just hes Bisexual and nothing else is so funny to me)

I love this omg Ty for sharing ^^

[lilacella]

Ohhh thank you so much Maddie!!

I am awful at remembering lines but I will do my best!! As a good multishipper I will now bring the wolfstar crowd into this heheh (Also because most of my trusted prongsfoot moots seem to be already in this post 😂)

larger than life by @caslyra

Even before he turned five, it had already been decided that Remus Lupin would, for the rest of his life, turn into a murderous, man-killing beast once a month. Consequently, at eleven years old, he had earned himself the intimidating nickname ‘Sprinkle.’

This is the very beginning of a canon compliant lovely long-fic, accompanying the marauders through their lives.

Lyra's characterizations are so spot on that it makes me squeal and giggle with excitement sometimes - even when the scene is not very joyful at all ahahahhahh And I love a good Hogwarts fic eventhough longfics always intimidate me 🙈

A Night to Remember by @neege

“Can we get fries?” She hears the smile in Sirius’s voice when she responds, “We can always get fries.”

Lesbian wolfstar prom au!

It was easy to spot my favorite line here because somehow I am feral about this moment! It is such a tender and sweet moment with both of them in the car 🥰🥰🥰

The whole vibe of this fic is immaculate and makes me very happy. It reads like a queer coming of age novel and im obsesssed

On the shores of Lombok by @plecotusauritus

In the darkness Remus can only make out the profile of Sirius’s body. Not seeing his face or expressions makes him a little bolder. Maybe the sunrise can wipe out everything that happens under the new moon.  He huddles closer to Sirius until their faces are only a few inches apart, and presses a tender kiss on his lips. For a second it seems like Sirius is not going to return it, but once Remus starts to back away, utterly mortified, a hand sneaks behind his head, pulling him into another, much deeper kiss. 

A wolfstar healing in the tropics after PoA fic 🥰

Put a whole ass scene this time because I really loved this pre-kiss considerations 💜 Lovely oneshot overall, perfect soothing tropical vibes and everything between Remus and Sirius is feeling so tender and delicate.

A different kind of tag game?

Hopefully people are keen and @annabtg, @tedwardremus and @jamesunderwater aren't going to kill me for picking them.

I wanted to highlight something of their work that did something to me, and I am hoping at least one of them picks up the ball from here. I want this to be low pressure. It's not necessarily about favourite lines or passages (which dear lord how to narrow that down - there are too many good writers and fics?!). It's more about recreating a bit of the last line / WIP snippet logic with other people's works.

I wondered whether to flag spoilers as two of them pull lines from towards the end, but I wouldn't actually call any of this spoiling. If you read To Shine a Light of Truth, and don't know how it ends, you haven't read the books.

The Chaperone by @annabtg

"Too magic for Petunia, too Muggle for Hogwarts."

Eight words that have stuck with me, to the point the idea manifested itself in one of my fics, something I only realised a couple of months later, re-rereading it.

An Unexpected Ally by @jamesunderwater

Lily Evans had yelled at him, just like always.

I mean I've said it before, this fic broke me. It just did. Obviously, it's a little personal.

To Shine a Light of Truth by @tedwardremus:

There was no obituary in the Daily Prophet. No statement from the Ministry. Just another name gone missing. A whisper in dark rooms occupied by people hiding in a war that was all but lost.

Perfect All Quiet on the Western Front (one of my FAVE novels). It was the most perfect ending to this most perfect fic. And speaking of influencing, Benjy is now a journalist in my story too. I can't not picture him like that after this.

[glitterghost]

I am quietly decorating this space with things that sparkle ✨️ little lights twinkling in the room, setting little snacks 🍬🍭of all sorts on the table to lure any of you spend time here. There's a chair there *points* or colorful cushions with glittered stitching on the floor there *points*

I'm going to turn on some soft music 📻 and grab some tea for anyone who would like some, and we can sit in the soft glow & comforting vibrations of each other's laughter until the new year rings in. Being thankful to have each other, hand in hand, pulling each other into another year of "I'm grateful for you", "I don't know what I'd do if we weren't friends" & "What if I hadn't met you". To "I'm here for you always, no matter the time or distance." To the most important, "We are connected always. From the stars in the sky or the moon at night. To every sunset we watch together, but apart."

You all are always with me. Carried safely, tucked away in the softest parts of my heart and in my pocket. Thank you for another year of sharing this life with me. 💫✨️🫧🤍

[delicourse]

Snake Year

[sunflowers-and-scales]

almost christmas