#he may have broken her heart but the loss is his alone

[honeysickspirit]

i love her in a way that transcends all else. i love her so much that i’ll do the impossible to be with her. i love her enough to break and rewrite fate itself, all so i may stay by her side. you cannot say the same. you wasted her time and broke her heart, but now i can be here with her without you getting in my way. i can give her my undivided love and attention without your disturbance. how lovely for me, and what a loss for you.

[silvercloverr5]

heyyy, can i request good old enemies to lovers with so much angst but ends with fluff with sirius??? maybe they used to be friends before and Sirius just suddenly turned cold? and the reader was giving the same energy and all they do is bicker and one time the reader just burst out about how siri is being a prick and then it ends with confession?? it's very long 😭😭im sorry

Hey guys!!! Sorry I’m going through requests VERRRRY slowly atm but please feel free to leave requests in my inbox for me to get round to <3 love u all so much

Also, I included reader seeing Regulus as a little brother figure and looking after him, because I can’t not :-( sorry if it puts u off the fic!!

(CW: LOTS of angst, child abuse from walburga, sad Sirius, sad Regulus, Sirius being cold and cruel to cope with loss, basically the reader being the black brother’s best friend, ends with fluff<3)

“I used to love you.” ~S.O.B

{you were from a pure blood family, best friends with Sirius Black. You comforted him through his mother’s cruelty, and fell in love along the way. Until Sirius ran away, leaving you to protect his little brother from harm out of the love you still held. Now, when you see him in school, you give him a reciprocated glare. But why does he hate you?}

“Sirius, come here!” Came the harsh, threatening voice of Walburga Black, she sounded angry, really angry, and you watched Sirius tense, looking up from the book you were reading together. His eyes were wide, face whiter than usual, holding much more terror than a little boy should ever have to endure. You put a hand on his shoulder, warming him in this cold house. “Hey, it’s fine. Whatever happens, you can come back up to me after. I’ll take care of you.” You told him. You may have been only children at the time, but the way Sirius nodded and his silver eyes softened and glittered with tears, you knew you had a certain way with him.

Alone in Sirius’s room, you played with your hands, shoulders stiff as you listened to the mother scream ruthlessly at her son, trying not to picture the broken, guilty, vacant expression you knew would be adorning Sirius’s tear-stained face. You couldn’t hear Sirius’s responses to Walburga’s yelling, you knew he froze up when he was scared, so he’d be mumbling in response. “I DONT CARE IF YOUR FRIEND IS UPSTAIRS. YOU ARE A DISGRACE ALREADY!” She yelled. You had to cover your ears when gut-wrenching cries and wails started to echo up the stairs. Walburga was using the crucio curse on her son. Again.

~~~

Soon, the screams ceased and Sirius rushed up the stairs and into his room where you still sat. He slammed the door desperately, and crumbled to the floor beneath it, shaking like a leaf and loud sobs starting to make his small back heave. You leaped off of his bed and knelt beside him. Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his back, but he flinched away from you with a sharp, choked gasp. That was when the first crack painfully sliced its way through your heart. To see your best friend weak and bawling on the floor of his bedroom, scared of even you, was an agonising feeling. Eventually, Sirius realised you wouldn’t hurt him, and wiggled into your lap, crying quieter now. His head found its way into your neck as he cried, and you could feel his wet tears snaking down your skin.

“Sirius, I’m here.” You whispered into his disheveled black curls. At that, you felt his body weaken in your lap. Before you knew it, he was asleep ontop of you, your arms wrapped around him. He stirred, turning slightly, slipping down your body so his head lay comfortably on your chest, and your face scrunched in both pity and guilt. A puddle of thick crimson blood stuck his hair to his pale forehead. You hated yourself for not being able to stop his mother from hurting him. Watching his body rise and fall with each peaceful breath he took as he slept, you spat on your sleeve and wiped the blood away, earning a harsh twitch and broken whimper from the raven-haired boy. He deserved nothing but peace.

With Sirius draped over your body like a snow-white blanket, hair splayed over you like he’d claimed you as his own bed, the door creaked open. You tensed, holding Sirius tighter, ready to give anything to protect him if Walburga showed in the door, but instead, a small frame appeared. Regulus. “Oh, Regulus.. did the shouting scare you?” You ask softly. The boy nods. He’s the spitting image of his big brother. “Is Siri okay?” He murmurs, rubbing his eye. You nod. “C’mere.”

Regulus tucks himself into the crook of your arm, head laying on the flesh of your shoulder. With big eyes mirroring Sirius’s, he peers up at his brother. “Heard mama shouting at him. He breaked something, I think.” Regulus explains shyly. “Mh. Your mother isn’t kind to Sirius. She isn’t kind to you either.” You say, more to yourself than him. He still nods in agreement. You stroke Sirius’s hair as he shifts in his sleep. “I’ll get you both out one day. And… and me and Sirius can get married. And you can be the best man-“ you describe your fantasy to the small boy, who has a wonderful smile creasing his little face, eagerly listening to each and every detail of the life he hoped to one day live.

~~~

You were now both in hogwarts. Over the years, Sirius had become rebellious, learning to fight back to his mother, but this always resulted in the crucio curse, which resulted in him collapsing in your arms. You were, admittedly, all he had. You and his little brother, who he’d noticed following the path of his parents. He hated the fact that regulus was so obedient to their inane beliefs. He hated it. It was only you who could calm his rushing mind.

It took only one night for everything to change. You weren’t over at his house, so he was alone, and he had a particularly bad row with his mother. After using the crucio curse on the boy until his thin limbs were tangled and trembling on the ground, his jet black curls tangled and his bitten-raw lip quaking like a child’s. While he was in this state, his mother mocked him. All he wanted was to be in the safety of your arms right now. He knew that although you came from a pure-blood family, you were not evil. You were good. You were like him, but braver. Kinder.

That night, Sirius knew he couldn’t live in this house anymore. He packed a bag full of clothes, essentials, and was unable to resist taking Regulus’s old teddy bear, an old shirt of yours and a necklace that was matching with you. He tied up his dark hair and slipped on his leather jacket. He’d grown out his hair because his parents didn’t approve of it: he wore the jacket simply because his parents didn’t like the 70s-rocker look. He’d do anything to escape those sleek black suits, hair styled tidily, silver and jewels everywhere he looked. In this house, he was nothing but a decoration, so he vowed to make his appearance undesirable to his parents. But, you always thought it suited him. While he crept silently down the corridor, boots hardly making a sound on the fancy patterned carpet, he heard a creak. His heart stopped. Fuck, he thought. Its mum. I’m never getting out. Oh, god, I’m never getting out.

“Siri?”

A small voice asked. It was Regulus. Sirius spun around where he stood to see an unruly mop of black curls matching his, framing a pale, soft face that didn’t at all suit the bitter yet elegant brutality of his family. “Reg.” was all Sirius could squeak.

“…you’re leaving aren’t you?”

“…yeah.”

“Oh.”

Regulus looked at his feet. He looked back up at his older brother.

“I’ll be by myself, Sirius.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched. He fought back the tears.

“I’m sorry, Reggie. I love you.”

Regulus’s daintily perfect face crumpled. “You can’t go, Siri, I don’t-.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone. Not with them.” Sirius opened his arms. His little brother crashed into them like he’d disappear if he wasn’t fast. “I’m sorry, reg. I love you, but I can’t stay.” He murmured. Regulus was now sobbing into his shoulder. Sirius felt like the worst person on earth. He needed to get to James’s house before his mother woke up. “Regulus, I have to go.” He told him, petting the back of his head. Regulus suddenly pushed his brother back. Sirius recognised this; the anger that reg was displaying. When he was the same age, when he felt vulnerable, he disguised it with anger. He still did. “F-fine. Go. I don’t need you.” Regulus spat, his glistening silver eyes betraying him. “You’re… you’re really… really mean, Sirius, you know that?” He tried to hiss, but it turned out as a cracked whimper. Sirius felt his heart shatter in his chest. Stinging tears dripped down his cheeks.

“I love you, Regulus.”

“…”

Regulus walked to his room.

~~~

Sixth year.

Sirius had decided that he couldn’t hurt you anymore. With him leaving home, being a blood traitor, he knew he’d only cause you trouble. He couldn’t bare the thought of it. Little did he know he’d be doing just that.

When break had ended, you’d gone to greet your best friend. “Sirius! I’m sorry I didn’t see you much over the holiday, god, how’s regulus? Are you-“ your shoulders clashed together as he continued walking. much to your confusion, he walked straight past you with the icy glare of his father. “…Sirius?” You tried again, catching up with him and grabbing onto his shoulder. The physical contact from the person he loved most hurt like the touch of searing iron, and he flinched away. “Fuck off! Can’t you just.. just fucking go away?” He growled. His silver eyes were a stormy grey, he hated himself more as he watched your face fall. “What..?” You breathed, looking so heartbroken. He hated himself for making you hurt as well as his little brother.

He hated himself, he hated himself, he hated himself.

Trying to soothe the ache in his chest, he rushed past you. He left you standing in the ruins of what he had torn down.

From then on, everything changed.

~~~

Sirius Black was not your best friend anymore. He was cold and unresponsive, shooting you murderous glares whenever you saw him. He’d make offensive comments at you when he came close enough to communicate with you, and it confused you immensely. What happened to the boy who came to you for comfort? Who cried in your arms and begged you to keep him safe and warm? What happened to your boy? Your best friend? Only god knows.

You didn’t even know Sirius had run away until your parents informed you that you couldn’t go around to the Black’s house anymore. This had sparked a heated argument. “What? He ran away? He didn’t tell me!” You’d exclaimed. “Yes. To the Potter’s house, we hear. Walburga has burned his picture off of the tapestry, and-“

“Wait, what? I can’t go round anymore? What about Regulus?”

“No. Walburga doesn’t allow guests to see her children anymore.”

“What? No, no, no, I need to see Reg. come on, Dad, he needs me!”

Long story short, your argument was to no avail. You couldn’t see Regulus. You couldn’t protect him from his parent’s wrath like you had his brother. Alike Sirius, you spent some of your nights lying awake thinking about Regulus, alone and cold in that hellish house, and most of your night thinking about Sirius, and what you did to make him despise you so.

Soon enough, You and Regulus had fixed your relationship, and many nights you’d find yourself singing the youngest Black brother to sleep. You could comfort him from within the walls of hogwarts where his mother couldn’t hurt him. Even when Sirius hated you, you cared for his brother like he was your own.

~~~

At first, you’d tried to coax Sirius into talking to you. You’d stood with tight lips while he insulted you, and listened to his hateful, meaningless rants. You noticed how his friends, James, Peter and Remus, stopped egging him on when it came to you, and started nudging him or trying to distract him, as if he’d say something he’d regret. But you’d come to think that Sirius black was remorseless.

You weren’t sure why he’d switched up on you, become so mean. You did, however, decide that you would be just as harsh right back to him. You knew you could never bring yourself to hate him. He owned your heart, whether you liked it or not. You learned to hate that you couldn’t help that.

It had soon been a year. One torturous year of finding your spells book torn to shreds, looking at dark eyes that you once knew so well only to see an unrecognisable boy. The smirk that once brought warmth to your chest now opened a bottomless pit in your stomach. With each day, you ached more and more. So did he. Sirius loathed himself indescribably. He knew that if he told you, even after the torture he’d subjected you to, you’d kiss his forehead like old times and tell him it was okay. Tell him that he was good, and he’d never be like his parents, and that you were there for him. You were an amazing person, and he was horrible. But he couldn’t drop his facade now.

You were just trying to study when a voice you’d come to find agitating and grating permeated the silence of the library. “Ooh, little blood supremacist… what you studying? Dare I say dark magic?” Rolling your eyes, you slammed the textbook shut. “shut up, Black. You came from quite the same roots.” “Maybe: but I was brave enough to get out. I was good enough to get out.” He retorted with a grimace. Looking up to meet his cold gaze, you noted that his creased white shirt was unbuttoned, his crimson and gold tie hanging loose over his shoulders, only curls pinned up carelessly with his wand. A dangerous hairstyle, for sure.

“Would you give it a break? I was the reason you didn’t go crazy in that house.”

“I did go crazy in that house.”

“Yeah, I can fucking tell.” You said with a scoff. He pulled away your notebook. “So, have you got the dark mark yet? Godric knows you’ll be ecstatic-“ “why are you such a dick, Sirius?!” You yell hoarsely, jumping to your feet. His eyebrows furrowed at your outburst. Slightly, his eyes softened at the sight of your glassy ones, brimming with unshed tears. He said nothing, lips parted. “You’re.. you’re a fucking prick. I never did anything to you.” Turning away to hide your face which had turned pink as it did when you were about to cry, You started upstairs to your dormitory.

~~~

knock, knock, knock.

Someone rapped on your dorm’s door.

Knock, knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock. Knock.

Someone was incredibly impatient. You used the palm of your hand to dry your eyes slightly and sniffled. “What? Who is it?” You croaked. A voice answered, “please can I come in?” You frowned. This time, it was a voice you knew. You recognised it, broken and weak, pained, yet honey-smooth all the same. That was your Sirius. Your heart hurt again knowing you’d never have him back, not fully. You fully believed this was another of his cruel pranks.

“Come in.” You mumbled.

As Sirius muttered your name, you felt you were transported back to your childhood. When you’d play and read together. Laugh and smile. “What do you want, Black.” When you said that, his lip twitched, face scrunching slightly. He looked as if the words physically pained him. With that expression painted on his face, he looked just like he did as a child. Except now, his hair was longer, his face more angular, more beautiful. “Don’t call me that. Please.” He begged, voice cracking with emotion. You looked up at him with a waning expression of anger. “Why not? You have been awful to me, I will call you what I choose.” You say. He whimpers pitifully.

He shuts the door behind him. You hear him mumble something. “What did you say, Black?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Your body is tense. Everything is silent. You have one question.

“Why were you so angry with me when you left?”

He hesitated, before answering as raw and truthful as he can. “Because I was stupid. I knew nothing but that I loved you. And I hated myself, and I couldn’t hurt you any further.”

“What? Hurt me? Hurt me how?”

“I burdened you all those years, with my weeping and pathetic pleas for comfort after my mother hurt me. When I could only feel safe shrouded in your warmth. I needed you. And I need you now. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

Nothing felt real. You reached a hand out, and Sirius lowered himself so that his cheek rested in your palm. It was cold.

“You’re cold.” You stated blankly.

“I’m fine.” He protested.

You pulled him into your bed. Seconds later, you stretched out your arms. With a sob of relief, Sirius fell into your embrace. He cried silently into your neck for a while, reminiscent of the time you helped him as a kid, except this time you were both much bigger. You pet his hair affectionately, a tear sliding from your eye. “I missed you so much. I’m so, so in love with you. You don’t even need to love me back. I just… need this.” He said, voice muffled as he presses his face into your shoulder.

“…I never stopped loving you.” You admit, pulling him in closer.

~~~

You both spoke through the night, smiling and laughing and talking, telling secrets and jokes and all of the inbetween. He was so beautiful in the dim light of the lamp in your dorm. He was so beautiful anywhere. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, sounding lovesick and dazed. You laughed softly. “You don’t even know how beautiful you are. But that doesn’t matter to me.” You kiss his forehead, before pulling back and looking deep into his eyes. “You are good.” He practically melts into you.

Sirius falls asleep safe in the crook of your arm, and you fall asleep with one arm under him and the other around his waist, with the peace of mind that you can protect him always, now. Your boy. Your Siri.

You looked down at him, running your fingers through the roots of his hair. He moans lowly in satisfaction, practically purring as he presses himself against you. “Now we can get married: with Reggie as the best man, just like we dreamed. With a pretty house and a four-poster bed.” You said, a sweet, hopeful smile gracing your lips.

“Mmmh.” Sirius groaned sleepily. “As long as we can christen that bed.” He added, eyes still closed, with that stupid Sirius Black smirk on his face. You scoff, hugging him closer, before falling asleep yourself.

~~~

(Please don’t copy or share any of my writing anywhere else!!)

[callsign-fox]

You Can Have Me - Rafe

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Jj's twin sister)

** MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU ARE NOT UP TO DATE**

18+ ONLY!!

Written with the help of my darling BFF @fanficgirl429

This is my first dip into OBX and I am not disappointed in myself :P Leave some love if you like it xo

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

I jolted awake, the torment of my latest nightmare abruptly dissipating. The early morning sunlight caressed my skin as it filtered through the delicate white curtains. The movement beside me anchored me to the reality that I was home in North Carolina, secure, if only for the moment. 

“You good?” Kie asked beside me in a sleepy tone.

My body resisted as I cast aside the comforter and compelled myself to rise from the bed.

“I don’t think ‘good’ is the right word,” I muttered, grabbing my sports bra from the floor and moving toward the bathroom. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out before rolling away from me. 

Upon our return from Morocco, the stark reality of having lost both our home and business hit us with overwhelming force. Rafe Cameron, who seemed the most improbable of heroes, extended the hospitality of his beachfront home to us pogues. John B would say this was a gesture to Sarah and the fact Rafe would soon be an uncle. Conversely, Sarah claims it was because of me. I chose to ignore her. 

It may be difficult to comprehend, but experiencing homelessness was not the most distressing event of the past month. Upon our return home, we found ourselves one member short of our original group. My sole family member, my twin brother, is now lost to me permanently. My heart has been irreparably broken, as the only true family I ever knew was taken away by our estranged and unstable father.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. 

It has been more than three weeks since that happened. While I have not fully come to terms with the loss of a significant part of myself, I have become emotionally numb to it. I could not endure another expression of sympathy or inquiry about my well-being from anyone in the community. With that being said, for the past week, I have rarely stepped outside the small room that Kie and I shared.

I brushed my teeth and then swiftly threw my hair up in a loose ponytail. Once I was done, I grabbed some running shorts and paired it with a loose tee, desperate to release endorphins. 

“I’m going for a run, I’ll be back in an hour.” 

The door was already shut but I smiled at the muffled ‘be careful’ from Kie. 

My sneakers slid on effortlessly, and before anyone had the chance to engage me in conversation, I exited. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, I halted suddenly, intrigued by the sound of music coming from one of the open garages. It was a quarter past seven, and we were not particularly a lively bunch this early in the day.

As I approached the open door, Rafe came into sight. He was standing there, humming to the music, dressed in a snug white t-shirt and boxers. A wave of butterflies stirred in my stomach at the mere sight of him, evoking a mix of confusion and excitement within me. He glanced up from the bike, removing the black grease from his fingers onto his shirt.

“Y/N, hey.” 

I smiled at him as I leaned against the frame to the garage. “Hey Rafe.” 

A week prior to our departure for Morocco, I had spent hours wrapped up in this man. His skin pressed against mine, his lips caressing every inch of my body. The mere recollection of those moments left me feeling lightheaded. However, since our return, our communication had dwindled to almost nothing. I stood at the door to his bedroom one night, desperate to feel him inside of me again, but terrified of being denied. I went to bed tense and alone. 

My body yearned for him once more as he gazed at me with his deep ocean blue eyes. It was evident that he was attempting to decipher my thoughts, his eyes narrowing while I remained silent.

“Are you ok?” he asked, leaning on his bike. 

I pulled myself from the trance and stepped further into the garage. “Please don’t ask me that, I’m sick of people asking me that.” 

He cocked his head to the side before dropping a tool in his toolbox. “Fine. Am I allowed to ask if you are having a good morning?” 

“I am so far, but maybe check back later as things can change at any given moment. I’m going to go for a run.” 

Rafe nodded and reached down for something I couldn’t see. “Cool, cool. I would have thought maybe you were going to the shooting range or something.” 

I decided it was best to play dumb. “Why would I be going to a shooting range?” 

His hand resurfaced holding a black gun. 

Shit. 

I looked at the gun then back at him. I was careless, and couldn’t remember where I’d left. It must have been in the back of his truck. “I can explain.” 

“I actually have a few questions. One, where the fuck did you get this? And two, are you insane?” 

This wasn’t at all how I was hoping this morning would go. “Look, I know how to use it. I’ve been practicing.” 

“Oh, you know how to use it? That makes me feel much better,” he laughed, removing the clip and putting it back into the bag he pulled it out of. “What are you doing, Y/N? Are you planning on going and killing Groff yourself?” 

“Why not?” 

Rafe’s eyes widened as he straddled the bike. “For fuck sake, Y/N.” 

I moved closer, standing right beside him and the bike. “Why not, Rafe? I don’t want anyone else hurt, and we know he isn’t above killing his own children let alone my friends. I can do this, I have to do this!”

“And what if he kills you first?” 

As if I didn’t think about that. “That’s definitely a possibility.” 

“A possibility…” He had that crazed look we all knew so well. “Do you even know where he is?” He asked, clearly irritated as he rubbed his eyes. 

His question surprised me. “No, I don’t.” 

Rafe nodded, then reached for a wrench in his toolbox. “Alright…” 

I leaned forward trying to catch his gaze, “Alright what?” 

“Once you know where he is, you let me know.”  

This time I laughed. “Why would I do that, you’d try and stop me.”

“I won’t. When you know where he is, I’ll go with you and we’ll kill the son of a bitch.” 

I stood there silent for a moment, confused at the sharp turn the conversation just took. He continued on his bike as if no words had just been exchanged. Like neither of us were just perfectly ok with committing murder three seconds ago. 

“Rafe…I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You didn’t ask, I volunteered.” 

He threw the wrench back into the box and reached out to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into him. “I’m supposed to be the crazy one, but right now you’re scaring me a little.” 

My hand instinctively reached for his abdomen, applying a gentle pressure against his muscles.

“You scare me too.” 

An unexpected rush of life filled my heart, which throbbed so vigorously that I worried it might burst from my chest. He moved in closer, our lips nearly aligned, brushing softly against one another without fully making contact.

His calloused hands traversed the bare skin of my waist, then stealthily slipped under the waistband, pulling me tightly against his thigh. He smiled at me, and I could feel the heat rising, a flush spreading between my legs.

“Y/N…” his lips brushed my cheek, before moving to my ear sending a shiver down my spine to where my body wanted him most. ”I need you, and if Groff takes you away before I even get to have you…let’s just say things won’t end well.” 

I moved my hand down to his boxers, slipping beneath the elastic. My fingers curled around his firm erection, gliding back and forth. “Rafe, you can have me whenever you want me.” 

Rafe moaned, biting softly on the nape of my neck. 

He gently pulled me closer, lifting my leg so I could straddle the bike to sit on his lap. Our lips finally reunited, but this time there was no hesitation, only an intense desire. My arm encircled his neck as I leaned back on the handlebars, arching my back into him while feeling the ignition pressing against my shoulder blades. It didn't matter though, as I was completely enthralled with this man. 

Rafe withdrew slightly, his fingers gliding up my leg until they encountered my shorts. With a delicate motion, he eased them down, removing them as if he had performed this action countless times before. As he leaned in once more, his lips met my thigh, placing rough kisses upon the exposed skin. I arched my back as his mouth connected with my pulsating center, his thumb teasing the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, god.” I let out a soft sound as he moved the loose fabric aside, teasing my sensitive area.

His tongue swirled over my core, and my body threatened to tip over the edge. I could feel him smiling as he devoured me, the sounds escaping me only egging him on further. He momentarily withdrew, prompting me to reach out in protest.

“I like you begging, but I’m just getting these out of the way so I can ruin you.” 

My underwear fell away effortlessly, and before I could utter another word, he returned to his position between my legs, guiding me nearer to my peak. The sensation coursing through me was the most intense I had ever experienced. His tongue glided over my center, while two fingers rhythmically entered and exited, propelling me toward the precipice of pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” 

The apparent struggle in my voice served only to urge him to quicken his movements, and I was unable to withstand it any further. A delightful tingling spread throughout my body as I reached my peak, my heart racing and my breath becoming erratic.

Rafe reclined slightly before rising to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips, fully aware of the effect his actions had on me. His blue eyes roamed over my figure as he extended his hand toward me. I placed my hand in his, and he swiftly drew me up and guided me toward the wall. His hands descended to my waist, and he pivoted me so that my back was firmly against the wall.

“Should we stop?” Rafe asked, his fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt. 

His boxers were halfway down his thigh when I looked up at him, towering over me with a devilish grin. “You’re so fucking funny.” 

He suddenly placed his lips against my neck, leaving a series of kisses before ultimately returning to my mouth. In a swift motion, he elevated my leg and pressed his aroused tip against my core.

“You’re nice and wet, all for me.” He whispered, biting my already inflamed bottom lip.

His length entered me effortlessly, the sensation of his movements eliciting soft moans. One of his hands firmly grasped my thigh, elevating my leg, while the other hand held my backside, his fingernails creating delicate crescent impressions as they traced my skin.

Rafe's movements began with a deliberate yet pressing urgency, intensifying with each thrust. I felt myself tighten around him as the well-known pleasure surged within me. His lips met mine, our tongues intertwining amidst our shared moans.

“Damn, you feel so good.” 

My hand clung to his shirt, pulling him tighter to me.

A wave of bliss enveloped me, my head tilting back as I softly uttered his name repeatedly. Rafe was just behind me, a deep groan escaping his lips as he nestled his face into the curve of my neck.

The two of us stood there for a moment, catching our breath. Rafe reached down and pulled his boxers back up before gently placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. 

“For that, with you,” he smiled and took a breath. “…I’d kill a hundred Groffs.” 

The expression in my face revealed my own satisfaction. He gently placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me one final time, this time with significantly more passion.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally withdrew, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he returned to the project he had been engaged in earlier. "Are you still planning to go for that run?" he inquired, casting a glance in my direction.

I shook my head, “No, I think I’m good.”  

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

welcome to my masterlist! here, you'll find everything i've ever written! enjoy!

Marvel

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

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A Happy Ending- Wanda has to choose between you and Vision. But will she make the right choice?

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

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No More Hiding- You’re a super soldier fresh out of the ice, so it’s your first pride month. And you get to spend it with your girlfriend.

Enough- After Wanda cheats on you, you’re heartbroken. Luckily Nat is there to pick up the pieces.

All I Ever Asked- Promises are hard to keep as an avenger.

Yelena Belova x Reader

Always- You have a nightmare about your days in the Red Room, but Yelena is there to comfort you.

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x reader

Proud- After a not so pleasant dinner with your homophobic mother, your girlfriends are there to give you the support you need.

When They Remembered- Wanda and Nat forget your birthday. But will they remember before it’s too late?

Part 2

Take Care of You- You’re sick, but luckily your girlfriends are there to help.

Deserve- Sometimes your doubts and insecurities become too much to handle. But your girlfriends will always be there to remind you how much you mean to them.

Invisible- You feel invisible, and your powers don’t help with that fact. Can two redheads and a team of superheroes change that feeling?

Wanda Maximoff x Yelena Belova x reader

Starting Anew- You lost your mom. Yelena and Wanda lost a mentor figure. But can something good come from all this loss?

Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova x Reader

Festivities- Yelena has never had a normal Christmas before. Time for her girlfriends to give her the best one yet!

Soteria- You struggle with being kept a secret by the team and the insecurities of not being good enough. After a hostage situation, your girlfriends reassure you of your worth.

Rio Vidal x Reader

Gentle Love- She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Home- She's fading away from you. Is the love you two share enough?

Part 2

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Lavender- Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Miscellaneous

Colt Seavers x Reader

Danger- you have an issue with your boyfriend’s addiction to danger. he doesn’t see the problem. but will he see it when the shoe is on the other foot?

Colt Seavers x Jody Moreno x Reader

Sane- You’re going crazy on a miserable set with a miserable director. Thank goodness you have two wonderful things that keep you sane.

Shelby Goodkind x Toni Shalifoe x Reader

Calm in the Storm- You are not okay. But you are also not alone.

Calliope Burns x Reader

Only You- you and Calliope had something going on that had yet to be labeled. so when your friend Juliette starts to take a liking to the girl, should you be concerned?

[freaky-deaky-cookies]

Hi can I make a request I totally understand if you don’t want to write about this. I wasn’t sure if you take angst request like this so im sorry if I’ve sent this and you dont take requests like this. My request is for bg3 companions with a tav who is kind of a shell of a person. Like a demon could take their soul and they would fine with because they see no use for it. They just sort of go through life and are just waiting for their death. This is due to their tragic backstory that I won’t go into detail about but there is themes of repeated sa involved (you don’t have to mention this if you don’t feel comfortable) this request is based off of my oc which I hold very close to my heart and really just looking for some comfort right now. Like I said tho if this isn’t something you are comfortable with I completely understand.

BG3 Companions x Tav who is an empty shell (Comfort HCs)

Gale

Gale is a lot more perceptive than he appears to be

He notices the void of sadness behind Tav’s eyes

If Gale felt a genuine concern for Tav, he would ask to speak to them in private

When he approached them, he would not demand attention. Instead, he’d sit quietly beside them, offering only the weight of his presence. He wouldn’t try to fix them, but simply be there, sharing the silent knowledge that sometimes, just being was enough.

Wyll

Wyll would approach the situation quietly and calmly

He wants to ensure Tav knows that he – and the others – are a safe place for them to feel whatever they need to 

Offers a listening ear and only comments if asked

“I know what it feels like to think you’ve lost it all,” he’d begin, his gaze gentle. “But I want you to know something. You don’t have to carry this alone. You have people here who care. And that’s worth something, even when it feels like it isn’t.”

Astarion

He understands, he really and truly does

He himself has been there hell, he is still trying to dig his own way out of the void

Astarion was not a man accustomed to offering comfort. He was far more at ease with sharp words and cynical humor than with gentle reassurances. But with Tav, it was different. When he saw the emptiness in their eyes, he felt an instinct he couldn’t ignore—a tenderness that surprised him, even though he would never admit it aloud.

“You know," he’d start, his voice unusually soft, "you’re not as invisible as you think. I see you. I know what it feels like to be hollow—nothing left but the shell of a person. But you’re still here. Still standing. And that counts for something."

Lae’zel

Comfort is not her strong suit, like at all

While she may not take the most gentle approach, she respect Tav like no other and does not with to bring them any unwanted harm

She didn’t have the words to soothe the soul, but she had something she could give: strength. Her voice would be sharp, but it was clear she was trying to reach through to them, to remind them of the warrior they had the potential to be.

She wouldn’t coddle Tav, but her presence would be one of unwavering support.

Halsin

(I believe he would be the best to go to when faced with anything troubling)

His own heart breaks at the sight of someone he holds dear in so much pain

While Tav does not show it, he knows them well enough to see through that facade

“You are not beyond healing, Tav,” he’d say, his voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “It may not be quick, and it may not be easy, but you can grow from this. And I’ll be here to help you, however long it takes.”

Shadowheart

Shadowheart understood loss in a way that few could. Having sacrificed so much in the name of her faith, she had learned the deep ache of feeling lost and broken, even as she clung to hope. When she saw Tav, something in her recognized the emptiness—the hollow look in their eyes that mirrored the darkness she had once lived in.

Shadowheart would not push Tav to speak, but she would stay close.

Jaheira

Jaheira wouldn’t offer empty platitudes or tell them to ‘snap out of it.’ Instead, her words would be measured, rooted in the kind of wisdom that comes only with age and experience.

Jaheira wouldn’t rush toward Tav or overwhelm them with too many words. Instead, she’d give them space but remain near enough to show she was there, a steady presence in the quiet of the camp. Her approach would be measured, as she always was, and her tone would be gentle, but there would be no hiding the firmness of her resolve.

Mithara

When she saw Tav—someone who had already resigned themselves to the idea of being worthless, someone who had already given up on their own soul—it hit Minthara harder than she would admit. It was a reminder of the darkness she had lived in and the toll it took.

“I won’t pretend I have the answers. And I won’t ask you to simply believe in something when you don’t,” Minthara would say, her voice tinged with the knowledge of her own mistakes. “But I can tell you this: You don’t have to walk through it alone. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want silence, I can give you that too. I am here.”

She would stay by their side, offering her presence more than anything. It wasn’t a grand gesture, and it wasn’t about trying to force Tav to snap out of it or seek some grand redemption.

Karlach

"Hey," she’d say, sitting down beside Tav and offering her broad, calloused hand. "You’re not in this alone, alright? I’ve been to places where I didn’t think I’d make it through. But I did. And I don’t care how long it takes. You’re going to make it too. You don’t have to be alone in this. Not while I’m around."

Her words would be warm, her fire like a shield around them. She’d hold Tav’s hand and, even if they didn’t respond, she wouldn’t leave. Her presence was a quiet promise that they didn’t need to do this by themselves.

[darknights-beloved]

King of Hearts!Diluc R. headcanons and ideas

wc ⸺ 1.4k

cw; just a heartbroken diluc. </3. not exactly a diluc x reader as in direct insert but rather doing a personality, appearance just to properly decide on his overall character. not exactly ooc though obviously its a different au so, you get it. also lots of bittersweetness ‎૮ ꒰ྀི╥ ᴗ ╥꒱ྀིა ultimately he is the sweetest hopeless romantic ever ♡

also if this was an xreader fic then it would be soulmates trope w/ a tinge of forbidden love. so there.

At first glance.

Diluc is a king with a broken heart.

He rules over a kingdom that grows more delicate and fragile as his heart weakens the more years he spends in his immortal life, lonely with exhaustive volumes of blood dirtying his hands.

The kingdom suffers a famine due to the power loss. He lies to himself, tries to trick himself into thinking he has it all under control.

He doesn't.

Perhaps in this case, he- the king - is the damsel in distress, waiting for the one he holds dear to hold his heart in her hands and kiss it until it heals.

Comes to life, eagerly. Thump thump thump...

He waits.

Personality , Traits, etc

Diluc's eyes are canonically [ ? ] sharp, I think. It's like a hooded gaze. Alert, ready...present. always making sure that no danger is in sight. As for koh Diluc? I'd like to believe his eyes are more weary, droopier. His eyebrows, however, are always etched in a furrow. But his eyes? His eyes are just sad. Canon Diluc's dominant emotion is anger (phlegmatic-choleric) and koh Diluc is more sad (melancholic-phlegmatic). It's really the long years of his immortality, fighting alone despite his army, men and all. (But he is also secretly very kind. Any tough demeanor remains a demeanor)

You know what? Now that we're talking about the temperaments. Why not just get all into it.

I believe koh diluc's pdb is

Intj (T) 6w5 ,, tri type 615 [?] ,, melancholic phlegmatic ,, Ni > Fi > Te > Se ,, sp/sx ,, neuroticism (?) please give ideas.

Koh Diluc is so, so much more exhausted. He falls asleep on his throne with his arms crossed sometimes and furrowed brows relax into a softer expression. His Guards don't dare make a sound or try to wake him up. They know how he works himself to the bone.

He's actually a little more quieter, the only time he'd usually speak is when he needs to give out another order to his men, soldiers or servants. Other than that, he's quite quiet and keeps to himself a lot /isolating

King of hearts Diluc loves desserts. He adores them. Tarts, cookies, coffee and cake - oh, he loves cake (especially red velvet/chocolate…a little self-indulgent there haha) – caramel, little toffees, pastries, chocolate.... Gods, you name it. It’s not much of a secret since at every feast and dinner table there’s always an overly generous number of deserts and sweet treats.

Despite his cold almost burnt out demeanour hes actually very soft. He love gardening a lot and tends to his flowers. He loves reading romance novels, he loves woodwork and crafting. And blade/weapon crafting too! Usually, he keeps himself occupied to distract his mind from a lot of things. Also he's immortal. so....yeah

Aesthetics / Appearance

His color palette is wine red, velvety crimson and all reds royal. Gold as well, but it's more of a light-silvery gold. He doesn't appreciate things too bright. He really likes dark colors. But he'd also appreciate the simplicity of saturated colors. (He’s a goth/victorian king.)

Having fought for more than half of his immortal life, he had earned many scars. Printed on his skin, either a proud mark of his achievements, a proof of the brunt of his responsibilities or the shame that comes with being a king that his citizens fear.

He has claw gauntlets. They're silver and the claws are long, intricately and finely designed. Despite his battles against any corruption or evil that may seep into wonderland, the gauntlets almost remain unscathed. It was a show of both beauty and strength it held.

Also what if diluc had an army outfit. like im not sure what is called but omg

Diluc doesn't like his crown. It's heavy, flashy and it irks him more than he likes to admit. It was a crown crafted for royalty, gifted by the hands of fate. It was a sign of his responsibilities, the burdens he had to carry as a king with a broken heart. It's a striking gold crown. Adorned with the rarest gems of his world, but prominently rubies and garnets.

His cape is long, it's either a dark, commanding or an intense black. Hanging over his shoulders attractively, it trails behind him as he walks with such poised posture, and he never stutters in steps. Luxurious, soft fur drapes around his neck, coating the hood of his cape perfectly.

Diluc loves rings. He loves them, he loves them, he loves them. He has many of them, all beautifully designed for his liking. The intimacy of the beautiful piece of jewelry makes his heart thump. He's a romantic.

Secret Desires, Hidden Pain

He yearns to be a kinder, softer king to his citizens. But the fear of his vulnerability slipping, his heart crumbling, he wears a mask of stoicism. He already had a fragile, broken heart. If any enemies caught sight of his weakness, wonderland would be done for. Needless to say, the mask felt heavy and unnatural.

Because he's lonely there are times where he sits in the grand chair in the huge library, right across another, slightly shorter chair (fit for a queen). It remains empty and has remained empty for as long as he remembers. He sits in a deafening silence, letting his thoughts and the overwhelming gnawing of his emotions consume him. Before him lay a chess board, on the table. White faces against him while black faces the opposite side. A few pieces were scattered beside the wooden, intricate board. He moves a piece, slowly and deliberately as if time had melted away into a misty fog his  present couldn't make sense of. His feels as though his immortal life is killing him. He moves another piece- his rook- playing the two player game by himself. One day, he's sure all the turmoil would mount and he'd throw the board, send it flying across the room so that it hits the wall. Slowly, he moves yet another piece. The king's shoulders slump.

Koh Diluc feels like he misses someone. Feels like there is an ever lingering feeling his heart. Feels like some memories of him in his mind is blurred and surreal, something he can't make sense out of scientifically. He feels it. He feels a distant love. It's almost a dream, an illusion. But part of him vaguely knew it was a little secret of his soul shared with him - well, maybe. Or his mind playing cruel tricks on him, mocking him for his loneliness.

Another rather...personal Diluc headcanon! His heart (if healed and well, and hypothetically the famine is gone) can heal injuries of his (fated) beloved with a simple touch. Just a hug, just a kiss, just a brush of his fingers against her delicate skin...

Because Diluc and his dearest lover's heart beats as one.

Architecture of the His Majesty’s Castle + Other sights

His palace is a show of extravagance. How big it is. At first glance it may seem as though it would take two whole weeks to explore it fully. From the chandeliers that hung proudly on the ceiling to the velvet carpet on the floor. Every room, despite big or small, was created with purpose. The most beautiful paintings were pedestalized on the walls. They were adorned with golden frames, or silver ones or perhaps even a void-like noir.

Diluc harbours a library, abundant with books. Books with lacy covers and intricate designs. Each page would surely cost a fortune. The information it contained was almost prestigious, for the library held knowledge that can't be found easily outside its confines. Tall, grand shelves and and shacks filled to the brim with books. Despite the grandeur of it all, it had a comforting feel to it. Oh to be snugged up in a plump couch by the window of the castle, leisurely reading a book during the dark hours of the night...

He has a bountiful, grand and extensively handsome rose garden. The whole piece of land was designed elaborately, with the finest of care. He takes long walks in them whenever he gets the chance to, to simply take a breath and clear his thoughts even for a moment. And appreciate the beauty of the scenic area. Despite his strength and ferocity, he tends to all of them with nothing but gentleness. To say he loves roses is an understatement.

Identity, Status, Trivia, other...

It is no secret that this man is ridiculously, obnoxiously and impossibly rich. Diluc is typically rich, yes. But king of hearts Diluc? He's on a whole other level. He owns everything. Everything.

The king is a warrior. He has fought many battles in the past, taken part in wars against other worlds which threaten to rip apart the fabric of reality of Wonderland and claim it for themselves. Wonderland is whimsical, strange- truly a place fit for the curious who are either brave to delve into the world or too foolish.

This is a more personal-ish headcanon, but I'd like to think that his citizens are similar to the ones in Simulanka. While the world may [ ? ] have been not created by Alice or other mages, I just like to switch it up. A little.

I'm thinking...hamsters, bunnies, frogs, cats, dogs, horses and? May be other animals I have to research more.

okay but also wonderland diluc owns a black steed <3 he pampers it a lot lol and its the toughest horse in the land. both kinda have the same personality

Mermaids, colorful fish, knights (they have no body, their soul holds their armour together somehow), those nut-cracker like figures in simulanka? Maybe. This needs a little more work but hopefully you get the idea.

Want my wonderland to be more comforting.

also he genuinely has nerd-like interests in black (barred) owls and hooded owls. He admires them, and has many paintings of the creature in his castle.

all rights reserved @dilucidal @darknights-beloved

a/n: im open to ideas ok like 🥹♥️plis

[satubby]

•Daddy's girl Second part•

[See your face smile once again]

Here is the part before this (Maybe it doesn't even make sense but god, it was 2020, we still barely knew about Kenjaku)

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

He hears through the gloom, the crunch of bones and the sound of the city… or maybe it was his hallucination?

Satoru feels like he is in a deep ocean, drowning... Darkness surrounds him, like deep waters that drag him out of his consciousness or perhaps drown him, he no longer knows anything and he doesn't want to keep thinking about it.

Death, the feeling of loneliness that has always accompanied him... even after Suguru Geto left him alone, you had never left him, you were his daughter and yet he ignored you until it was too late to realize. The only thing that made him feel happy, the only human that saw him as Satoru and not the strong cursed sorcerer that was the imbalance in this world of witchcraft. YOU WERE his daughter... but you couldn't be with him anymore, because you were dead and before that your relationship with him was distant.

He remembers that by the time he realized how much you had distanced yourself from him, his feelings no longer mattered to you, just as he once never cared about yours... By then you were an abandoned and alone girl, surrounded by death and a father who left her to not face his fears and blinded by the pain of losing a friendship.

So although he will try his best to repair it, you no longer wanted to know anything about him even when you lived in the same house, you didn't even give him a look or a word. Maybe that's why he tried to be a better father than when he was young and stupid.

You could call it a good thing, it's kind of cute, right? But for someone broken like you, their love was false and although Satoru could see that you really wanted to accept it, in the end the pride of both of you and your injuries prevented you from getting closer. He regrets having left you alone, when you barely knew about the world, and he left you in the hands of others, fearing that when you saw him you would ask for Suguru. That you complained to him for killing his own friend who was like your uncle.

It was stupid if he's honest, looking at current things...he shouldn't have pushed you away believing you'd be better off if he didn't confront you and instead showered you with material things. Satoru did not know how to really love and now that he was lying on the ground, smiling and trusting his students... He realizes again that despite the pride of both of them, you continued to love him as your father, moments before your death how you smiled at him by hugging him and dragging yourself towards him in your last minutes alive.

It may sound selfish on his part, but he really wishes he had said 'I love you' to you even though you were mad at him for leaving you alone, for yelling at you in his teenage and young adult days, at you, his precious little sunshine.

For once he wants to be selfish, he really does, just this once... Damn!! His heart has begun to stop beating, his half is split in two, he laughs coughing up black blood... This fight may be a loss but he smiles knowing that maybe it's karma for leaving you to your fate, saving so many lives but at the expense of yours and his, which if you think about it, wasn't worth it that much.

At this thought, something new crossed his mind: Your beautiful face had not left his memories. Your expression before being hugged by him... His beautiful baby, moments before he died.

He remembers every detail of you and when you played in the bathtub with the rubber ducks, you and Suguru smiling at him, but now those are just memories, of when you both lived and how Shoko used to hit him for heating the powdered milk too much. He misses his friends, you more than anyone...

Satoru wonders, would it have been different if he hadn't left you alone and stayed by your side? He regrets having pushed you away, that you should have made your decisions in the face of his emotional abandonment and all because he was still mourning Geto, forgetting about your existence, longing and lonely like him.

"Tired" was his only answer to that simple question. That's the obvious. Look at his current state... Time, time, Sukuna looks at him, whispers words that he honestly no longer cared about and didn't listen to... his time in this place is over.

"I'm sorry my dear students... I'm sorry my mochi" And although he became a wandering being of revenge until he ran into Sukuna in Megumi's body after having killed the elders, he finally found the peace he was looking for so much. Only the king of curses can kill him now that he himself has become the thing he most swears to purge.

Then Satoru stops breathing, being 'exorcised' and so he lets himself sink into the sea of blissful death.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

The abyss became deeper, his soul fell slowly, Satoru stopped feeling little by little and the only thing he thought while he felt currents of darkness passing through him... was that lullaby.

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

The letters came and went, in the distance as if the water swallowed them, the former special sorcerer felt numb floating in nothingness, only the light of something peeking in the mist of the dark sea

The other night, dear, as I laid sleepingI dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke, dear, I was mistakenSo I hung my head and cried

Then he understood that that voice is his, Satoru smiles inwardly, that lullaby which he sang to you when you were distressed, to apologize for leaving you alone on dark nights.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

And before the last syllable of the song, he felt hands grab his face, giving him a hug, Satoru cried in silence when he saw you there, his little sun and his beloved mochi—His abandoned baby...

"Come back, dad... Do it right this time, I'll forgive you for everything!" Your voice sounded in his mind as your soul enveloped him and you walked away, letting him fall into the abyss. And like a shock of reality, Satoru opened his eyes standing in front of the bathroom, on the other side you could hear tears and sobs, it was you, well you seemed younger.

He was surprised to see himself alive and— Younger, he looked like he was in his 20's and that meant that you were 4 years old. He was happy, but then memories ran through his mind, hitting him with headaches.

Moments before you had come home from school with your babysitter, you had shown him a drawing you made for him but he ignored you, saying he was busy and you complained to him crying because he also forgot your dance recital... Which leads to why you are locked in the bathroom.

Trembling, he approaches the lock opening the door, you were curled up with swollen eyes full of tears, uncomfortable, the albino approached you, crouching down and being clumsy when hugging you.

"Shh! Ota-chan is sorry for yelling at you earlier my little one, I was stressed and I shouldn't have said those things to you, will you forgive your fool Ota-chan?" Your eyes looked at him and despite your tears, you hugged him, of course you were still that lonely and vulnerable girl who begged for his attention.

"...Ota-chan is a fool, you left (Y/N) alone at the recital, it hurt a lot" You complained looking at him with a pout, Satoru hugged you getting up with you and kissing your cheek, this time you would have ALL of his attention.

"Ota-chan I'm sorry my baby, I promise that even if I'm busy, I'll come see you and we can go for a walk... What do you want me to do to make it up to you hmm?"

His voice softens as he speaks to you, he no longer dares to be harsh with you, after everything that will happen in the future, at least if he can't stop it, he will protect you.

"Are you seriously going to make it up to (Y/N)? W-well if you don't mind, (Y/n) wants to go to the park" You didn't even turn to look at him which he understood, after years of ignoring you and emotionally abusing you in cold ways, he understood your fear.

"Then it will be Tokyo Disneyland! But for that we must bathe you, and we will clean that beautiful face, it seems that you have a duck's mouth for eyes hahaha" Satoru mocked, playing with you and pulling on your baby cheeks.

"Ota-chan, don't make fun of (Y/N)'s beautiful eyes! You were guilty!" You sulked, grabbing his hair and pulling it, then you laughed when you saw his pained faces, but he didn't even say anything to you, you're still a girl, he must be a better dad for you.

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

For the next few days he pampered and loved you, when before he would forget to go to your school projects with Nanami or Shoko going in his place, now he never missed even if he had to threaten the higher ups letting them know that their old asses were still alive because that's how he wanted it, if he killed them like he did before, it would bring a lot of chaos and the truth is he doesn't want to do so much paperwork and much less stay away from you.

He also made sure to spend hours playing with you, showering you or having bubble battles and even inviting Megumi over (well technically Megumi lived with you even though she spent time studying) He also bought you a polaroid camera, it seemed like you loved taking photos.

Little by little Satoru saw his relationship with you blossom and you opened up little by little, coming to love him as he loves you. He thought they would be happy until— What was supposed to happen happened, Yuta and all the events that came after he came under his tutelage.

Due to the many problems that his old friend caused him, Satoru did not want to see the scene where he had to kill him again, he did not want to and he even stood watching it. Geto smiled at him, saying that he sure looked pathetic, that he understood the path he took but that Satoru shouldn't feel guilty.

That night he came home reliving his memories and emotions, even though it has already happened twice he can't get over it, but unlike the past (future?) you were there hugging him, you were a very smart girl and you didn't ask anything, just hugging him.

"It hurts a lot right, Ota-chan? (Y/N) won't ask questions, she's there for you" Satoru smiled and cried, only you could comfort him, he clung to you and whispered a lot of 'I love you my baby', not this time he hid his pain under happiness and you simply decided to play to take care of him, but that simple game distracted him from his pain.

"Tonight, you will be a patient and (Y/N) the doctor!!" You laughed as you spent the entire night playing with him until you fell asleep. When he took you to the bed, he smiled softly, kissing your forehead and letting you sleep, little did you both know that your pure love would turn crazy and passionate.

♡ >>> 《☆》 <<< ♡

It was your 8th birthday, Satoru had made sure to give you the best party and although you had video calls with your acquaintances and his to congratulate you, something very deep inside him that had been brewing since he went back in time and killed his friend again, somewhat selfish and paranoid. Maybe that's why you didn't have many friends, only Megumi and those from the jujutsu technical school, maybe he was VERY selfish by monopolizing your time.

But Satoru loved having you close and his many past/future regrets made him act like this. For 4 years he has been isolating you, you no longer go to school and you have private tutors, he fears that you want to leave like in the past, that others will monopolize your time when you could well do it with him. What if it was excessive? He was, but he didn't care about other people's opinions and even if his coworkers and friends told him that it was bad to isolate you, Satoru only made them less worried, you were fine like that.

Not for nothing has he killed and sacrificed anyone who interfered with his plans with you, the elderly were the first and those who bothered you followed them, he has already lost count of how many he killed, many times you almost died and that is why he preferred to lock you up, and you as a malleable girl (as hateful as it may sound, he just thinks you're very sweet and innocent) You think this is normal, it's just your precious daddy taking care of you.

"Ota-chan!! I've grown up, I'm 14 cm taller than the table!" You laughed raising your arms, Satoru smiled hugging you and lifting you into his arms. Yes, you definitely don't need to leave the house with anyone other than him, your precious golden cage where no one can touch you, much less take you away from him, will no longer allow you to die at the hands of others or be used against him.

"Tsk, Tsk! My little baby is growing, do you want to catch up with your Ota-chan? First drink milk so you can reach me! My dwarfy!" His lips went to your belly and tickled you, left behind was that girl who was abandoned and resentful of him, but who waited until the end, loving him in silence.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

The other night, dear, as I laid sleepingI dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke, dear, I was mistakenSo I hung my head and cried

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please, don't take my sunshine away

TAG LIST: @louismae, @byakuyasgirlfriendandwife, @moonymoons-blog and 831 people from the previous post

And I thank all the people for waiting for this, damn it took me 4 years hahaha ha... I'm really sorry, but I was depressed so I had no inspiration or head for this, it's just a hobby thanks for your support [UNEDITED!]

[egglain]

Give You What You Want (‘Cause Your Love is All I Need)

Rating: E (18+) - mdni Pairing: Choso x Yuki Content: first date & first time, switch! choso & switch! yuki, pegging, cumming in pants, vaginal & anal sex (fingering, penetration), unprotected, creampie, marking (biting), oral sex (choso receiving), soft sex turned rough, edging, breast worship/nipple play, loss of virginity (choso), dirty talk (begging, praise, "baby" and "good boy" for choso), breeding, porn with plot but canon divergent, minor gojo & yuji appearances Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Choso had never been on a date. Especially not with a woman as beautiful as Yuki Tsukumo. Choso had never done a lot of things, which– in the wake of his upcoming meeting with the suspected love of his life– was a daunting thought.

A first love. A first date. A first time. But definitely not the last.

A/N: Thank you to the wonderful @melancholiaincarnate for beta reading this, and for putting up with my yapping about this the past week.

Hope you all enjoy, and thank you for 100 followers!

Yuki Tsukumo liked rough things.

She had always been like that, really.

“Dainty” was never her style. She grew up in the sticks– hands buried in the earth, cuts, scrapes, and bruises forging her thick second skin. She was a fighter; punched out more baby teeth than she could count, sent mean boys crying home to their mothers without regret.

As she grew, the scrapes and bruises faded, but the fire inside never waned. Yuki Tsukumo was a special-grade sorcerer. Her knuckles never forgot the feeling of bone giving way, nor did her blood forget the rush of adrenaline. In fact, the rough side of her grew stronger, even as her exterior mellowed. 

She had a soft spot for people who were the same.

Bleeding hearts seemed to summon her; she always ended up right where she needed to be. She took broken boys under her wing– rough-n-tumble kids who had lost their way in the world. They were like little brothers to her.

It was comforting. When darkness clouded her vision, it wasn’t because she was evil; no. She wasn’t alone in that. Geto Suguru, Todo Aoi– countless others– lived a rough life, wished for better, turned to violence. Turned to jujutsu. Turned to justice.

Yuki’s sense of justice may have been idiosyncratic. Her ideals, her musings, may have led some down the wrong path. But it didn’t weigh on her. She lived a self-governed life, followed her own feet in pursuit of something nameless– something she had yet to uncover.

But for now, lying on the floor of Tengen’s endless void, living was enough.

That… and Choso.

Yuki Tsukumo was not aware she saved Choso’s life in Shibuya.

Nor that she continued to do so.

Choso wasn’t much of a talker; as their days in Tengen’s tomb rolled together, Yuki didn’t uncover much about the man. 

When he did speak, it was usually about his brothers– recounting their childhoods (something which Yuki couldn’t quite wrap her head around), affirming the hatred he felt towards his father, or wondering how Yuji was doing. He worried himself sick over the last one.

He was something soft– something fledgling, discovering the cruel ways of the world. He was a protector, a feeler, sensitive and kind. In short, he was everything Yuki was not.

Where she was sharp blows, he was soft touches. They complimented each other, cancelled out each other’s worries. It kept them both sane in the white, endless chamber.

Choso Kamo was not aware he had saved Yuki’s life either.

Their time in the tomb came and passed; Gojo Satoru managed to escape the prison realm, take down the false cult leader, and avenge his old friend. Yuji kept Sukuna contained. It brought a serenity to Yuki that she hadn’t anticipated– all these years, she bore an invisible guilt, one so deeply-ingrained that she didn’t realize the hold it had on her.

Yuki got to meet Choso– properly, this time. Without the stress, the anger, the uncertainty.

They went out to a bar. It was Choso’s first time visiting one. He couldn’t take more than a sip of his drink– the sting of the alcohol had his eyes tearing up in a way that warmed the pit of Yuki’s stomach deliciously.

She met his little brother. They went out for crêpes. Yuki and Choso split some choco-strawberry monstrosity; Choso picked out all the strawberries for her. They were her favourite. Yuki learned that Yuji was a good friend of Todo’s– a fact that had Yuki’s heart bursting at the seams.

Choso was Yuji’s big brother, and her little brother was Yuji’s best friend.

So when he asked to take her on a date (to court her, as he put it), how could she say no?

***

Choso had never been on a date.

Especially not with a woman as beautiful as Yuki Tsukumo.

Choso had never done a lot of things, which– in the wake of his upcoming meeting with the suspected love of his life– was a daunting thought.

So he did what he always did when he had a problem.

Consulted Yuji Itadori.

Sitting on the floor of the boy’s dorm, playing with the stitching on the hem of his shirt, Choso couldn’t bring himself to meet his little brother’s eyes. As the elder, it was his job to teach Yuji about the ways of the world– not the other way around. Admitting defeat, asking for help, was difficult. 

Except when it was her.

“You said you had something you needed to ask me?” Yuji layed back on his bed, mashing buttons on a multicoloured controller. “What’s the problem?”

“I… asked someone on a date.”

A sad electronic melody signalled the death of Yuji’s character on the red screen.

“You asked someone on a… date?”

“Yes.”

“Like– romantically?”

His little brother was looking at him quizzically– his eyebrows were so far raised into his hairline that they disappeared, swallowed up by his pink curls.

“I hope that was clear to her... I think I like like her.”

Yuji dropped his controller on the bed, shuffling closer to punch his big brother’s shoulder. “Oh– wow, Cho. Shit, man. That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

Choso nodded, looking down at his hands. Yuki had painted his nails recently– purple, to match hers– and he couldn’t help the fuzzy feeling spreading in his chest.

“I want it to be perfect.”

“Aw… it will be. Don’t even sweat it.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never gone on one before. I don’t know where to even start.”

Yuji let out a low whistle, flopping onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “The planning is the hardest part, I think.”

“How do you do it?”

Yuji looked down at him, flushing an embarrassed pink. “Well uh… I’ve never actually… gone on one, I think. Well– Fushiguro and I do date-like stuff all the time, but we’ve never… spoken about it. So I don’t know if it counts.”

Choso deflated.

His best advisor was not going to save him this time.

Yuji didn’t miss the way Choso slumped into himself.

“Maybe ask Gojo? He’s super experienced with women. Megumi told me himself!”

***

A tall white-haired sorcerer whistled, gazing up at the beamed wooden ceiling of the Jujutsu Tech hallway. Golden late afternoon light streamed into the halls; Choso had spent the better part of the day looking for the man before him, but he never seemed to exist in the places he was supposed to be.

Looking at the bag in his hand– presumably filled with kikufuku, if the shop name was anything to go by– Gojo hadn’t even been on the premises at all.

The sorcerer tapped his glossy lips pensively. “Women? Mmmmm… never been on a date with one!” 

Purple nails dug into sweaty palms.

“Oh. Yuji said… nevermind. Sorry to interrupt you.” Choso turned to leave, embarrassment painted vermillion across his cheeks.

A black blindfold obscured his eyes, but Choso could feel the weight of Gojo Satoru’s gaze as it fell onto him.

“Choso Kamo– hold on. Yuji thinks I’m good with women?” A pearly-white grin stretched out pale, ethereal features. “Maybe I can help. Here. Come into my office.”

Which is how he ended up here.

Choso shuffled his chair imperceptibly closer. It was luxuriously upholstered– as everything else was, in the dimly-lit restaurant.

“So um… do you have a favourite Digimon?”

Yuki paused from where she cut into a very red steak. Brown eyes met his from under golden bangs, something akin to amusement glinting in her eyes.

“Digimon? Hmmm… Ordinemon.” Yuki skewered a sliver of meat, bringing it up to her prettily painted lips. Suddenly, Choso’s throat felt very dry. “I didn’t know you were a fan, Cho.”

“Oh–” Choso fiddled with the sleeve of his dress shirt, pushing it up just a little past his watch to feign looking at the time. Chicken scratch, miniscule, scrawled out key words Gojo had taught him. “I like… um… Shoutmon. X7. The superior one.”

Yuki tilted her head, hitting at him once again with that loaded gaze. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Choso met her eyes, downing his water in thirsty gulps. His shirt collar was tight, and was it hot in here?

The restaurant was beautiful– all dark wood and black lacquer, low golden light and modern fixtures. Another recommendation by the strongest. The waiter had plucked a cloth napkin from in front of him, folded it, and placed it on Choso’s lap upon his arrival. A golden, fizzy drink tasting uniquely sharp filled a tall, skinny glass to the brim. Multiple utensils and several plates of varying sizes spanned the table in front of him. 

Choso felt distinctly out of place, but Yuki looked right at home. It filled his chest with an ache he couldn’t describe.

He wanted more of it.

“You’re full of surprises, Choso Kamo.”

She was a vision, smiling at him so soft over the rim of her near-empty glass. She finished it, glossy lips leaving a sinful print on the side. He slid his champagne closer to her, and she took it graciously, swapping it for her empty flute.

He wanted to press his lips to her mark.

Choso’s face flushed; he hoped Yuki didn’t notice under the low lights.

A young, too-happy waiter roused Choso from his thoughts, taking their dessert order. Choso had barely touched his pappardelle bolognese. 

Yuki whispered something to the man, neatly manicured nails covering her mouth. Her eyes never left Choso’s. Her gaze was hypnotic, drinking in Choso’s face in a way that had him squirming.

He whispered an apology, eager to excuse himself to the bathroom as the waiter left. Purple-tipped fingers wrapped around his wrist as he stood.

“Choso.”

“Yes, Miss. Tsukumo?”

“‘Yuki’ is fine, Cho.”

“Sorry.” The tips of his ears burnt. “Yes, Miss. Yuki?”

It felt good in his mouth, on his tongue, and the way Yuki smiled in response had his head spinning.

“Thank you for this… it’s real nice.”

“You deserve nice things.”

Her eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. “Aren’t you the sweetest? I just wanna eat you up.”

The coo she used to speak to him had his stomach doing aerials.

Fuck.

He needed to find a bathroom quick.

“Poor boy– so embarrassed. You can go, Cho. But hurry back soon for dessert, okay?”

He nodded as fingers loosened their grip, wrapping instead around the stem of her– Choso’s– glass.

“Good boy.”

All the heat drained from his face, flooding the pit of his stomach. His legs had never moved quicker.

In the dark zen of the bathroom, Choso splashed cold water on his face. He paced a bit, texted Yuji that it was going well, made sure he ate dinner too, and drenched his face again. After patting himself dry with a soft paper towel and giving himself a pep-talk, he made his way back to the table on shaky legs.

Before Yuki sat an elaborate mess of dark chocolate, vanilla ice cream, and strawberries. A thin silver candle crowned the middle of a stout chocolate cake at the plate’s centre, letting off small golden sparks. Choso took his seat, and Yuki handed him a tiny metal spoon with a smile.

“Let’s make a toast, Cho.” Yuki carved into the cake with her spoon, dark chocolate oozing out the centre and pooling around the white of the ice cream. “To many more dates.”

The thought filled him with butterflies– the exact ones he needed to tamp down in the bathroom.

“To many more dates,” he whispered, almost a prayer.

Choso dug into the cake himself, skirting around the strawberries as he scooped up molten chocolate with his spoon. Bringing it up to his lips, warmth pooled on Choso’s tongue as the rich cake melted away. The cocoa cut through the sweetness with a subtle bitter tang, and he couldn’t help but hum.

Yuki moaned around her spoon, shutting her eyes in bliss. Scooping up a sliver of strawberry, she popped it into her mouth in quick succession.

“Fuck, that’s good. You like it, Choso?”

“Yeah– what is it?”

“Chocolate lava cake.” She smiled as she dug in for her second scoop, dragging a little piece of cake through the ice cream lapping at the plate’s edge.

Popping it into her mouth, vanilla cream painted the edges of her pretty pink lips a foamy white.

Brown eyes locked, and Yuki’s slender tongue peeked out to clean the corner of her mouth. Choso felt something low in his navel stir.

“You like dark chocolate better than milk chocolate, right?”

Choso had never given it much thought, but now that she’d pointed it out, it was undeniably true. It wasn’t as cloyingly sweet; he could fill his belly and not feel sick. He planned to do just that. With another heaping spoonful, Choso’s cheeks puffed as he nodded.

“Fun fact about dark chocolate,” Yuki whispered, jaw resting atop a delicate fist.

Under the table, something brushed against Choso’s leg. He stiffened as a nylon-clad foot slipped under his pant leg, dragging up his shin slowly.

“It’s a natural aphrodisiac.”

***

“Yuki… please…”

Punched out of his lungs, his pleas were so beautifully broken.

“Please what, baby? Can you use your words for me?”

“Do something–”

Yuki had dragged him from the restaurant as soon as their receipt finished printing. Choso looked so pretty in the passenger seat of her sports car– cheeks flushed and eyes wide as her hand squeezed the inside of his thigh dangerously close to his tented crotch. He could only speak in stuttering breaths, fidgeting in his seat as he snapped his gaze between his boner and Yuki’s fingers.

“So needy. You can be good and wait for me, can’t you?”

A half-hearted whimper escaped his lips, and Yuki rewarded him with a little slap on his inner thigh. Choso’s spine shot rigid, thighs trembling deliciously under the soft skin of her palm as she soothed the spot in gentle circles.

As much as Yuki Tsukumo preferred life overseas, she had a lush one in Tokyo too. Much like Gojo Satoru, her status as a special grade afforded her certain privileges unthinkable to the general public. Her apartment– a swanky glass-walled penthouse in Roppongi– was straight out of a magazine. Her sleek foreign car was another luxury she flaunted, especially as she sped through the bright Shibuya streets.

She might have set a world record with the speed at which she made it home.

Tossing her keys onto a stout side table and pulling Choso inside, Yuki couldn’t help but feel a little smug. If Choso’s wide-eyed stare were anything to go by, he had never been in a girl’s apartment before, let alone one as lush as this. Yuki basked in the feeling. He really was too cute.

“Wow…”

“You like? I’m glad.” Yuki slipped off her heels, tossing them aside as she padded further into the house.

With a click of a button, her fireplace roared to life, bathing the vast darkness of her living room in low, warm light.

Choso, bless his heart, stayed put at the entrance.

“Cho?”

“Yes, Miss. Yuki?”

“What are you doing over there, baby?”

The way he fidgeted every time Yuki purred out his name had her navel heating and ovaries clenching. He looked utterly edible in his little suit and dress shirt combo– he even left his hair down this time.

“Come closer so I can look at you properly.”

He undid his dress shoes and approached the couch where Yuki sprawled. With another click, soft music hummed from her surround-sound system, something to fill the silence and warm her up.

Not that she thought she needed it.

Seeing Choso up close, flush dusted over the stripe on his nose, he was even prettier. Full cheeks, soft lips, big doe eyes– he was a vision. And here he stood between her thighs, all wrapped up just for her.

“Take your jacket off, Cho. It’s just us.”

He obeyed almost immediately. Muscle ripped just beneath the thin black fabric of his button-up, chest straining against the buttons as he slipped his arms out their sleeves.

A purple manicured hand dragged down the front panel of his shirt, palming the contour of a soft pec. The ghost of a touch, and his eyes were already glassy in the dim light.

Delicious indeed.

“Choso, baby?” Yuki’s voice was honeyed, dripping in saccharine seduction.

He was nodding before he even knew what she wanted, as eager to please as a dog.

“You know why I brought you here?”

“No, ma’am.”

The way he addressed her– so formal– drew a giggle from Yuki.

“I wanna sleep with you.”

“Oh… okay.”

“You know what that means, baby?”

Choso shifted his weight from foot to foot, pants obviously tightening around the crotch. A crotch that was mere inches from Yuki’s face as he stood before her.

The man nodded, and her hand slipped lower on his torso, dragging down the flat of his tummy. 

“Mr. Gojo taught me a lot.”

Yuki stilled.

“Gojo… Satoru?”

Choso nodded.

Yuki barked a laugh.

“Oh, you poor thing. Gojo Satoru– oh. Baby, no. Never take advice from him.”

Choso flushed, eyebrows furrowing under dark bangs. Doe eyes, once starry and lustful, now filled with worry.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never gone on a date before, and Yuji said–” it was a mile a minute. 

Yuki’s heart warmed.

“Is that why you were asking about Digimon?”

“Was that bad?”

“No– no. Of course not. But you haven’t seen it, have you?”

The shake of Choso’s hung head had Yuki cooing, pulling him into her lap by the hip.

“Aw, that’s alright, Cho. You didn’t have to go all that way to try to impress me. I like hearing about what you like.”

Choso’s eyes found the spot where they met– his thighs atop Yuki’s– and she could feel the staccato of his heartbeat against her skin.

“I’ll talk you through it. We’ll go slow, okay?”

Choso nodded, and gentle fingertips lifted his gaze back to her face. 

“We’ll start with some rules. Rule one– you need to use your words. Let’s try that again. Can I talk you through sleeping with me, Choso Kamo?”

“Yes.” It was quick, almost cutting Yuki off. “I’d like that… please, Miss Yuki.”

“Rule two: as cute as it is, no ‘Miss Yuki’ while we’re doing this. Okay? Makes a woman feel old,” she laughed.

“Okay… Yuki.”

“Good boy.”

Choso preened, chest puffing up imperceptibly. Yuki ran one hand from his hip up his torso, circling his pec with gentle fingertips slowly.

“Rule three– and the most important one– if you don’t like what I’m doing, you’re hurting, or you just want to stop, you tell me. Immediately. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

Yuki pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, then the tip of his nose. Choso fidgeted in her lap, hands awkwardly folded atop his clothed thighs.

Running a thumb dangerously close to the peak of his chest, the man stiffened, breathing heavily through his nose.

“You gotta relax, baby. Here. Give me your hands.”

Purple-nailed hands– bigger and veinier than hers, but painted just the same– met Yuki’s in between them. Yuki slowly brought his palms up, placing them onto her covered breasts.

Choso was transfixed, running his fingers reverently over the soft silk of her top. The firmness was unexpected. A tentative squeeze left his mind spinning; if not for the warm weight in his palms, then for the soft pretty noise that escaped Yuki’s throat.

His pants were uncomfortably tight. And warm. And wet.

Sharp purple nails raked over Choso’s areolas through his shirt. He sucked in a stuttered breath, back arching as his hands clawed into Yuki’s clothed tits.

“Sensitive, baby?” Yuki cooed, thumbing over pert nipples.

Choso bit into his lower lip to muffle the embarrassing noises that threatened to spill out. His hips rocked on their own, rutting into the valley between Yuki’s thighs.

Yuki’s hands left his chest, and Choso chased her warmth.

He opened his mouth to whine, to plead, but her fingers were undoing the front buttons on her top. Shrugging off the silk, more skin than Choso had ever seen was laid bare.

Row upon row of abdominal muscles, paired with a soft, curvaceous frame– soft, plump breasts near spilling out a purple lace bra… he had gone to heaven.

Trembling fingertips traced the frilled trim, slipping down into the dip between Yuki’s breasts. Yuki giggled, musical and light, grabbing at his wrists.

“A gentleman helps a lady with her bra, Choso.”

His mind reeled.

Yuki slid his hands towards her back, letting him feel the clasp.

“Push the two straps closer together, and they should unhook.”

Trembling hands struggled, but Yuki’s whispered encouragement spurred him to keep trying.

“That’s it… doing so good for me, Cho. It’ll feel so much better like this, I promise.”

His cock twitched with interest, leaking into his dress slacks obscenely. As purple lace fell to the floor, Choso’s heart stopped beating.

Yuki Tsukumo was a beautiful woman.

Her face was elegant– soft in all the right places, defined in the others. She always looked put-together, even mid-fight or in the void of Tengen’s tomb. She was plump; slim at the waist and round in the ass, the type of woman that graced the screen of the films Yuji made him watch.

He had known this since he first saw her.

But these… fuck.

Fat, creamy breasts obscured his vision. Large blushing areolas accentuated firm nipples, perked under the attention. Yuki brought his hands back to her tits, and this time they were soft.

He was so hard it hurt.

Yuki’s breasts spilled out from between his fingers as he squeezed. Her nipples strained against his rough palms, and Yuki leaned back into the black leather of her couch.

“Just like that, Cho– fuck. Suck my tits, baby.”

A current ran through his lower half, tension building in his groin as he brought his lips to one of her breasts. His mouth watered as a nipple slipped between his lips, warm and firm. The tip of his tongue flicked out to feel, and the groan Yuki let out in response had him bucking his hips faster. The friction did little for his aching cock, but with each suck, jolts of arousal had his dick impossibly harder.

A clawed hand fisted into his hair, sharp nails dragging against the back of his skull to pull him closer.

“Fuck. Sucking so fucking good, baby– good boy.”

Whether it was the broken, gasped way she said it, the feel of his clothed cock against her legs, or the sweet tit in his mouth, Choso was gone.

Eyes rolling back into his skull, hands fisting into the fat of her tits as he cried out, Choso’s toes curled. Tears threatened to gather, eyes stinging as his pants grew uncomfortably warmer and wetter.

His rhythm grew sloppy against her plush thighs, breathing loudly through his nose as he hollowed his cheeks around the nipple.

The fingers in his hair rubbed soothing circles on his scalp, dark brown eyes falling on him with blown pupils.

“You cumming, baby?”

He felt hot all over, tense in his abdomen as his cock filled with sparks. He whimpered– a broken little noise– as it all became too much. His dick felt hot; he was hyper-aware of the scratch of his rough boxer-briefs, of her hand in his hair.

Yuki, of course, knew exactly what he needed. With experienced fingers, she unbuttoned his top, tossing it off to the side. She moved Choso to the spot on the couch beside her, freeing her legs to slip off her skirt. Bending over to put on a show, she made quick work of discarding her purple lace panties.

Choso whined, something so sweet and needy, as she fell to her knees before him.

“Shhh… Let me clean you up properly, Cho.”

“Please,” he gasped, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed as he looked down at her. 

Elegant hands made quick work of his belt, then of the button and zipper of his dress slacks. Choso sucked in a breath as Yuki’s hand slid down the front of his pants to palm at his rock hard cock.

Tacky warmth painted her palm, and Yuki was cooing.

“Came so much, baby– just for me?”

Choso’s little nod had her thighs squeezing and her cunt dripping.

With gentle fingers, she pulled out his softening cock. Choso’s seed painted purple nails in a pearly sheen, dripping between her fingers in warm rivulets.

Choso watched with rapt attention as Yuki brought her slicked hand between her legs, slender digits strung together by sticky ropes of his seed. A soft, gasped noise escaped from parted glossy lips as fingertips prodded between her legs. 

Choso’s heart clenched. He wanted to be the one between her thighs making her feel like that.

Long fingers disappeared into her core, pushing Choso’s semen inside. With her dry hand, Yuki tucked hair behind one ear, eyes locking with his. A lithe pink tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip, and heat pooled in Choso’s core again. His cock stirred, jumping at Yuki’s mouth, and she pressed a soothing kiss to his aching tip.

“Aww– ready to go again?”

Her pink lips stretched into a catlike grin, frenulum pressed up to her lower lip. A bead of precum welled, and Yuki’s lips were on it before Choso could blink. The soft warmth of her lips, the gentle pressure, had him pressing his thighs together.

Yuki peppered slow, gentle kisses down his length, tongue flicking at his balls as she reached his base. Working her way back up, she was sloppier, open-mouthed. It took everything in Choso to not thrash.

Pretty pink lips wrapped around the aching head of his dick, flat of a hot tongue pressing and swirling against sensitive flesh. Yuki hollowed her cheeks, and the pressure shot electricity up his spine. Choso arched back against the couch as Yuki swallowed him down, easing him into her throat. Obscene noises– slurping, moaning, and panting– filled the room. Yuki worked herself between her legs, long fingers using Choso’s seed to lubricate their glide. 

“Yuki– gonna–” Choso’s voice was pitchy, breaking as he threw his head back. 

Yuki gently rolled his balls between her fingertips, humming as she bobbed her head along his length. The white of his cooling seed gathered at the corners of her lips as she worked, and fuck. Choso’s hips stuttered forward, lodging his cock deeper down her throat as his legs tensed up.

Pressure mounted deliciously in his core, heating his length unbearably. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath.

He was going to do it.

He was going to cum in her mouth.

With desperate hands, he clutched at her hair, fucking into her throat with shallow, needy thrusts.

“Yuki!”

Pop.

The blonde pulled off his length with a cheeky smile, a string of saliva connecting those sinfully glossy lips and the pulsating head of his cock.

“Not yet, Cho.”

A needy whine bubbled out of his throat, hips rutting forward against her sheened lips.

Yuki placed a firm hand on his hip, pinning him down with a click of her tongue.

“Ah ah— be good, baby. Can you be good?”

“Yuki…“

“If you do, I’ll make you feel even better. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Choso stilled. 

“Okay.”

“Good. My room. Now.”

***

Choso wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore.

Fuck, he barely remembered his name.

Yuki had brought him so close so many times. His mouth tasted distinctly like blood, lips raw from biting into them as she toyed with his body. She had wrung moan after moan out of him— brought him to the ledge, had him teetering with his thighs trembling and his core flexed. 

But she never let him cum.

Now, heaving and trembling on the bed, Yuki parted his shaking thighs. 

“Gotta get you ready. It’s gonna feel a little weird at first, okay?”

Choso’s head lolled to the side, taking slow, shallow breaths as his painful cock leaked onto his navel.

Slender fingers pried apart his asscheeks, Yuki’s face mere inches away from his most private parts.

If he were any less horny, perhaps he would have had it in him to feel embarrassed.

Now, he just wanted to— needed to— cum.

So when Yuki licked a stripe from his hole to his shaft, Choso couldn’t help but press back into her mouth. When she spat on his entrance and slurped it back off, he moaned for more. When she got out a furiously pink bottle and poured cold liquid down his crack, he laid there and took it.

He was going to be good.

He needed to be good.

For her.

Soft fingers circled his entrance, putting gentle pressure on his rim. The sensation was new— vulnerable— but it had his back arching off the bed in anticipation.

The tip of a finger breached him, shallowly fucking that cool gel inside. He hissed, and Yuki stilled, pressing a kiss to a freckle on his left hip.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Hurts,” he whimpered, hand snaking down from his pillow to paw at his dick.

“Choso.”

The sharp tone had his hand stilling and his eyes rolling back. Inside, that finger hooked up against a spot that had his legs clamping shut.

“No touching, baby. Let me.”

Soft hands pushed his legs back open by the knees. His own hand retracted to the pillow, fisting in the silk case as Yuki’s finger slipped out, only to push back in and prod that spot again.

His mouth fell open, drool gathering on the inside of his cheek as his eyes squeezed shut. For the nth time that night, he was getting close. He tried not to think about it, tried not to feel it; he wouldn’t be finishing anyways.

“Yu… ki…”

“Getting close again, baby?”

Choso didn’t even bother answering. She knew. She always knew. 

His cock jumped against his tummy, leaking out wasteful beads of precum— lubing up his insides for something that would never come.

Yuki’s finger slid in deeper, fucking him to the knuckle before she pressed a second fingertip to his rim. Dark brown eyes gazed up from between parted thighs, a sinful tongue lapping at her puffy lower lip.

“Have to get you real soft for the strap.”

A second finger breached his hole, the sting a slow buzz that spread up to his back. Two fingertips bullied the tender spot inside him, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. Choso pressed his hips back into the digits, and fuck.

Taking them to the hilt had his body alight.

Before he could process, he was cumming— ropes and ropes of thick white semen soiling his soft pecs and flat tummy, dripping into the divot of his belly button. 

Yuki took advantage of this pliant state to stretch him open, fucking him through his orgasm on two, then three, fingers.

When she was satisfied, she was flipping him— Choso, in his post-orgasm haze, could only moan as his sensitive, too-wet cock made contact with the cool sheets.

Yuki disappeared off behind him, rustling in drawers and boxes he couldn’t muster the energy to look back upon.

As the bed creaked under her returning weight, Yuki couldn’t help but admire the man beneath her.

From behind, Choso was so beautiful. Fit and pale, he was a painting. 

She pulled him back by his sides, dragging his ass up to present properly for her. Yuki’s purple shellacked nails dug into the fat of his hips, softly accentuated by the arch of his back. 

A long, thick purple strap glistened prettily as she smeared cherry lubricant on it, taking in the way Choso’s slicked hole was clenching around nothing.

“Open wide for me, baby…”

With a guiding hand, Yuki’s strap breached his rosy hole. Watching it stretch around her girth was intoxicating; the soft groan of the bed matched the pretty noise that escaped Choso, and just like that, Yuki Tsukumo was addicted.

She chose a forgiving pace at first— shallow fucking with just the tip, hands kneading Choso’s love handles and the plush of his ass.

He was so flushed, so pliant, moaning under her. He drooled onto her white silk-clad pillow, doe eyes glassy and distant as he took her in deeper. 

He was a doll, still and obedient, opening up so nice on her cock. Yuki leaned over, pressing a kiss to his neck, then shoulder, chaste. The angle had her slipping in a little deeper, and soon, Choso was taking her to the hilt.

“How’s that feel, baby? Sucking me in so well.”

Choso moaned wantonly, thighs parted and shaking a little. His lower lip, spit-slicked and reddened, quivered. 

“Use your words.”

Yuki pulled back, splaying a hand on the small of his back as she drove in more forcefully, determined to fuck an answer out of him. With each thrust, her hips mashed into the soft flesh of his ass; the jiggle was hypnotizing.

Choso cried out as she put pressure on his prostate once again, glassy eyes welling with need. The dark spot on Yuki’s pillow grew, a heady mix of saliva, tears, and desire.

“Need to cum… need you– need…” he was babbling. It was wet, hiccuped, gritted out from a clearly sore throat.

“Cum on me, baby. Cum on my cock.” 

Choso’s pliant hole tightened, clenching rhythmically on the base of her strap. Short-nailed hands fisted the pillow next to his face, and Choso bit down on his knuckles to muffle his whimpers.

Yuki reached a hand around his smooth chest, pinching and pulling at a rosy nipple.

He was gone.

With a cry, he was spurting; gushing out his seed onto the sheets, humping the air uselessly as he met his release.

Yuki stilled deep inside, letting him bear down on her to ride out his pleasure, eyes rolling back under dark brows.

“Good boy, Cho. Let it all out for me.”

He whined, a small broken noise, as he spurted out the last dregs of his seed. His abused cock jumped in the air as a sinful string of semen connected his purplish tip to the bed.

As the last of his strength waned, Choso collapsed into the mattress, landing on his fresh puddle of cum.

“Let’s go clean you up.” Yuki leaned over him, gently pulling out before placing a kiss on his shoulder blade.

“Not… done.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not done.”

When Choso looked back at her, Yuki Tsukumo realized her mistake.

This wasn’t a man she had brought home.

This was a curse.

One who did not leave bad sorcerers unpunished.

***

Yuki Tsukumo liked rough things.

That included her men.

Not only did she like them rough— she liked it rough as well.

But this?

Choso had her bent like a pretzel. 

Her ankles dangled by his ears, purple-nailed toes curled impossibly tight. Her thighs were red and angry under strong hands, pushing them wide against her chest. Her tits— bitten and spit-slicked— bounced with each unrelenting thrust into her core, and fuck. 

She could see the outline of his cock as he drove into her.

Choso was an animal.

Dark bangs obscured his face, sweat-sheened and dripping. Dark eyes pinned Yuki down, honed in on where he was disappearing into her, or on the tantalizing sway of her breasts. His abdomen clenched and unclenched as he held her down with his big frame, folding her right in half to fuck in as deep as he needed.

He wanted to feel her womb.

Despite the rough handling— the sharp smacks of his tight balls against her plush ass— the noises he made were beautifully soft. Little grunts and groans, soft hisses when a jolt of pleasure shot up his spine; it was symphonic. Yuki’s mind reeled as he pressed those sinful sounds against her neck and jaw.

Choso’s hands fell from her thighs to her ass, lifting Yuki’s lower half up onto his cock like a toy. Her cunt, hot and dripping, was melting his dick off. He couldn’t get enough.

“Cho… so…”

He grunted in response, nosing at the column of her throat.

“Gonna— don’t stop.”

He didn’t plan on it. Not until she was bloated. Not until she was round and heavy with his seed, until she was glowing with it.

He licked a stripe along her neck, following the trail of a stray bead of sweat. She was salty, tangy— perfect on his tongue. 

Pearly white canines latched onto Choso’s shoulder and bore down. Yuki groaned into his skin, pussy squeezing tight around his shaft as she reached her peak.

The flutter of her orgasm— the moans muffled into his flesh— had Choso seeing stars.

Fuck.

He had wanted to hold on, but the tingling in his shaft, the jolts of pleasure to his tip, were not going to let him hold on for much longer.

“Inside. Has to be inside. Yuki— please.” He growled into her neck as she cried into his collarbone, pulse fluttering against her tongue and lips.

She dropped her legs, but before Choso could protest, those pretty ankles were locking behind his back, heels digging into his ass to drag him deeper.

Yuki’s pliant pussy sucked him right in, tip meeting the gummy resistance of her cervix deep inside. Choso’s brain was working overtime, instincts raring to fuck right past her barrier and finish in her womb.

But he couldn’t hold it any longer.

As soon as those legs squeezed around him, and purple nails met his back, Choso was cumming so hard he couldn’t see.

His head clouded over as white painted the insides of Yuki’s pretty pink pussy, seed gushing out against her cervix. She was so full of cock and sperm, and each shallow thrust had Choso’s release dripping out around his shaft.

He couldn’t have that.

“Have to keep it in.“ He was babbling, mouth running before his mind could catch up.

“Choso?”

“Have to hold it in so it can— can take,“ he grunted, nails clawing into the softness of her ass.

“Baby—“

“Fuck. Gonna have to fill you up again. Not enough.”

Big hands flipped Yuki onto her side, and Choso was driving right back in.

Gone was the malleable man with the pretty tears and soft voice— this was Choso Kamo, the eldest of the death painting wombs.

From the looks of it, he was going to make sure she never forgot that.

***

Morning broke early, a stunning show of rose and violet, bathing Yuki’s sleeping form in soft golden light.

Choso had never felt so much.

Twirling tawny strands with gentle fingers, his heart was on the brink of bursting.

The woman before him slept soundly, covered in the purple marks of his love. He had cried, when he came-to, over how much he had marked her— until she did it right back to him.

They matched.

He cleaned her with his tongue– then again in the bath– with unmatched reverence as she drifted in and out of a sound sleep. Each time she stirred, it was to play with his hair or coo at him. Choso had never felt warmer.

She held him in her arms so gently as she fell asleep for good. He hadn’t felt so safe, so loved, in a long time.

He knew it then; he wanted Yuki to be there for all his firsts.

In this life, and the next.

Banners by @roseschoices!

[twentiethcenturysims]

Thank you to everyone who came to trick-or-treat!

Treats will be released publicly tomorrow, November 1st.

A little more on the Loveless family below the cut (tw: child death)

Bad luck can hang like a heavy cloud over a place, for reasons unknown, causing trouble of all sorts - from mishaps to tragedies. This was the case with the Loveless home, built in 1908 and moved into the very same year by the young family. The stern and unyielding Ernest Loveless, and his troubled wife Sybilla, along with their children: bookish Verna, fanciful Leona, energetic Boyd, and little Wendell.

Did something already haunt the halls of the new house? Something inhuman, which delighted in the misery of the human residents? Ernest went first, a sudden cardiac arrest as he smoked his pipe in the parlour. His cruelty in life made him less than fondly remembered by his children in death, but Sybilla was distraught. And in her mourning, she began to forget her duties, and the children were left to care for themselves and each other.

Little Wendell was the first young life lost - drowned, in the pond, when Verna left him for a moment to fetch a book from the library. In her despair, the eldest girl buried herself deeper in her fantasy worlds, the stacks of books growing higher around her in the library until one day her piles became structurally unstable and fell on her, trapping her and leading to her death.

Leona was next. One minute, on her swing - the next, she was gone, and only a spattering of blood on the swing to suggest what may have happened. A madman, on the lose in their town?

Sybilla was broken by the loss of her children, and forbid Boyd from setting foot outside the house. She locked the doors, closed the heavy curtains, and hid her remaining child from the outside world. But Boyd was a wild young boy, and when cooped up, he couldn't help himself - he slid down banisters, climbed on furniture, and eventually took a tumble from the top of the stairs - another young life lost.

Sybilla, left alone in the expansive house, began to feel as though death pressed in on her from all sides. She felt ill, her heart fluttered, her skin seemed to yellow and age before her eyes. She had lost her husband, her children, and now even her beauty was deserting her. Worse even than this - she began to hear the voices of her departed family, and see glimpses of them in the shadows. In time, her fear turned to comfort - if they were still here, in spirit, she could pretend they had never died. And she wouldn't be alone. As she turned her mind more and more towards the ghostly remnants of her family, her health continued to decline, until one day she awoke to find her family more real to her than they had been in months - and her own body slumped over her vanity. Dead. But she was glad. Embracing her family, she swore that they would never leave the estate, and always be together within it's grounds.

So, to the young explorer who set out to explore the Loveless house, there's the answer - HAUNTED, very haunted. Extra specially haunted!

[scarlethexelove]

Gone

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1482

Warnings: Angst, Major Character Deaths, ⚠️Suicide⚠️, No happy ending.

Part 1: Please Don't Leave Me

A/n: So I tried to write a happy ending but I really just didn't like it at all. So my sleep deprived brain said fuck it and went all out. This broke my heart writing so enjoy the pain.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The room was mostly quiet. Nurses filed in and out as time passed. Slow tears still fell down Nat's cheeks as she waited. Xander slept soundly in her arms as she looked at his face. He looked so much like you already and her heart hurt. All she hopes is for you to pull through. It has been hours and the nurses refuse to tell her anything. She wants to make it right with you to build the family she never had, but she isn’t sure she will ever get the chance. 

A tear slips down Nat’s face onto Xander’s cheek. He scrunches his face up at the feeling but soon settles staying sound asleep. Nat is pulled out of her thoughts when the door opens. A gurney is wheeled in. Your body lying peacefully in the middle of the white sheets, but something isn’t right. You’re so pale and unmoving. She rushes over to you. Still holding Xander firmly she reaches for your hand. Words floating in the air but she can’t hear them. Her hand slips into yours and she almost recoils at the touch. You’re cold. 

Tears blur Nat’s eyes as she looks to the doctors. Their faces are full of sorrow and regret. “We tried everything we could but we couldn’t control the bleeding.” One male doctor who Nat has never seen speaks up. “W-what do you mean?” Her voice shakes. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.” He says. Nat shakes her head repeatedly saying no like her words could change the outcome. The word gone repeating in her head over and over again. You were gone and she couldn’t save you. 

The doctor slowly exits the room leaving a broken Natasha behind as she holds Xender close to her body. Her hand is now trembling holding yours. Tears falling freely down her face and down onto your pale skin. You look as though you’re sleeping, like she could shake you awake. Her heart is shattering in her chest. You are gone and you’re never coming back. Leaving her with your son. She doesn’t know how she can do this without you. You were always the best part of her. Without you all she is is a kill machine. Designed for death and destruction. That death and destruction is now taking you away from her and your son. She would do anything to trade places with you. To be the one laying in that bed cold and gone. 

The door slams open, hitting the wall harshly. A mix of fury and hurt on Wanda’s face. Her stride conveys her anger. Her eyes landing on your body as she bites the inside of her cheek trying to stay strong. Her gaze turned to the other red head in the room. Wanda points as Natasha. “You.” Wanda seethes. “You did this to her.” Her eyes turn a dangerous shade of red as she lets the anger take control. 

Natasha can’t help but lower her gaze, not able to face the other woman. “You fucking left her alone and pregnant. Now look at her.” Wanda demands. “I said look at her.” Nat’s gaze moves to your soft face. “She is fucking dead and it is all your fault.” Natasha is quiet as she speaks. “I know.” Wanda scoffs at her anger not yet dissipated. “She fucking loved you. Y/n fucking loved you more than anything but you couldn’t care less about her. All you cared about was your stupid job. You had the best possible woman at home and now you’ll never have that again. You didn’t deserve her and you sure as hell don’t deserve her son. He may be a part of you but I hope that he is all of her. That boy deserves much better than a deadbeat mother like you. You should be the one that is dead. One day I hope that this catches up to you and it fucking kills you.” The fury at Nat finally turning into sorrow at the loss of you. Her best friend will no longer be in her life and she doesn’t know how to live without you. 

Even though the both of them know that truely Nat had nothing to do with your death they both blame her. She blames herself, maybe you would be alive if she was around. Things could have been so different. You’re supposed to be a happy family and now you're gone. She tries to hold it together for as long as she can. Her legs are shaking as she tries to stay standing. Your loss cut her deeper than any wound she has ever had. 

Wanda is stroking your hair as she cries. She never expected to lose you. To lose another important person in her life but you're gone now and she can’t fix it. She can’t bring the dead back to life. 

Wanda can’t stand to see you like this anymore. She begins to move towards the door. As she does Nat’s legs give out under her as a sob racks her body. Xander cries at the sudden movement and as much as it pains Wanda to hear his cries she also knows she can’t do anything because Nat is still his mother. Wanda looks at Nat and shakes her head as the redhead cries on the floor clutching your son. “Pathetic.” Wanda murmurs as she exits the room. 

Nat knows that she has deserved everything that has come her way since your death. The Avengers are only helping her because of Alexander. But every single one of them is giving her the cold shoulder, even Clint. Their only focus has been to help Xander. She has become a shell of her former self as she refuses to eat or train. She spends whatever time she isn’t sleeping with Xander. It hurts her to see him. He is just a reminder of you and what she has lost. 

Today has been hard. No one is here to help her with Xander. Her mind racing with all the cold looks and hurtful words spewed her way. All of them ringing true in her mind she deserves all of it. All the hate and all the hurt. She looks at Xander sleeping peacefully in his crib. Her heart hurts as everything plays back. Wanda was right, she doesn’t deserve to be here. She knows what she has to do to make things right. 

Knocks on the door echo through the home. Wanda stops chopping her vegetables and placing the knife down on the counter. “Just a minute.” She calls out as she wipes her hands on the apron adorning her hips. She makes her way to the front door, not hearing the tell tell signs of an important news flash. Her hand on the handle twisting it open and pulling the door towards herself. To her surprise no one is there. Her brows furrow thinking maybe she just imagined it. She is about to close the door when she hears a cry. Wanda is caught off guard when she looks down and sees Alexander placed in a basket in front of her door.  

Wanda picks Xander up in her arms gently rocking him as she enters the house. “Vision!” She calls out as her mind begins to race. Where the hell is Natasha? Why was Xander left in a basket on her doorstep? Did Natasha leave him here? What the hell is going on?

A loud warning on the tv sounds and Wanda’s attention is drawn to the tv. A breaking news cast flashes on the screen. “Avenger Natasha Romanoff AKA Black Widow has been found dead in her home. At this time Police do not believe there has been any foul play involved. Some reports indicate a self inflicted wound. We will bring you more on this store as information is available.” The news caster disappears from the screen as it begins to play its regular programming. 

All Wanda can hear is the sound of blood rushing through her ears. Her head reeling from the information. This can’t be real can it. How can any of this be real? You are gone and now so is Natasha. Leaving Alexander with no parents. Breaking her heart as the reality that he is becoming just like her an orphan. 

Vision calls out to Wanda as she stares off into space. “Wanda?” Vision is able to finally break through to Wanda. She blinks her eyes not even noticing how they now shine with unshed tears. Her gaze met his confused one. He looks at Xander in her arms and back up to Wanda. 

Are Her words the cause of all of this? Did her words ring true? Wanda’s tearful gaze looking down at the bundled sleeping baby in her arms. Before looking back up to Vision. The only words that Wanda can manage to muster. “I killed her.”

Only time tag list: @fxckmiup @esposadejoyhuerta @megluv1 @leenasayeed @sgm616 @midastouch013 @ordelixx @simp4nat @dvrkhcld

[brewed-pangolin]

Salvation at the Shelter

This is my first entry into the Soap It Up Challenge by @glitterypirateduck, and apparently I'm feeling angsty. I don't write angst well, but that doesn't mean I won't try. I only used one prompt for this, and I'll let y'all find it. Sorry for the feels on for this Super Soap Sunday.

cw: mentions of loss. also a few callbacks to mwiii if you look closely

Johnny. Your beloved Johnny.

Gone.

Taken away too soon. Leaving an emptiness in your heart and a hole within your soul.

You grieve for what feels like years, yet only turns out to be days. Time standing still as you continually waist away into a fetal crouched mess alone on your tile floor.

Friends, family, and colleagues all tell you to move on. You have to.

But you can't.

For how can one heal from the pain of losing the other half of your soul?

-

It takes you a solid six months to even begin to feel anything again. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. Overwhelming. And not enough.

The emptiness both devours you entirely while continually spitting you back out like a relentless living turbine.

You try to hide the pain behind a smile. It's futile, but it works with most nonetheless. Most.

A few take notice. Those with their own scared hearts and broken stitched souls underneath a practiced expression.

And that's when a coworker confides in you what she did when she lost her husband many years ago.

-

"Go to the shelter," she says plainly over the rim of her glass.

"The shelter?" You question, raising a brow while fumbling with your lunchbox.

"Like, the homeless shelter?"

"No, silly. The animal shelter. Lots of lost souls needing a home. Maybe one there will help fill that hole inside you."

"I'm fine." You bite back. Swallowing your emotions with a gulp of Orange Fanta as you briskly rise from your chair.

"Mhm. Just give it a shot. Might help." She says before turning to walk down the carpeted hall to return to the solitude of her cubicle.

And you're suddenly left alone again with your thoughts, staring aimlessly at the brightly colored face of the vending machine. The color of the Fanta bottle in your hand so reminiscent to the Irn Bru that was consistently stocked in your apartment, you thought you'd break down right then and there. In the middle of your office hallway.

Subtle reminders of him strewn about all through your day you'd nearly become numb to the constant memory of him.

You choked on your emotions once more. Walking as casually as possible back to the devoid walls of your cubicle. Busying yourself in a desperate attempt to rid the tight entanglement of Johnny's echo buried deep within your mind.

You'd take the advice. Go to the shelter. Fill the emotionless void within your soul with at least something. Anything. Hell, even a goldfish would do.

-

The sound was defeaning.

It made your ears ring and your bones tremble. The constant barrage of barks, howls and wails nearly made you spin on your heals and exit before even entering the double doors.

Yet you stood fast. Pushing forward. Perhaps somewhere in this cacophony of canine chaos, you could find solace from your unrelenting heartache.

"I'm just here to look," you tell the attendent with a stern brow. It's a lie, of course. But you muster the strength of poise and composure as your heart and spine wither to dust with every passing moment.

"That's what they all say," the keeper, Jared by the nameplate and probably no more than 18 replies. A wisdom in his voice as he's seen the world come through those doors a thousand times.

"C'mon. And don't get too close to the cages."

You follow close behind. Eyes scanning back and forth between metal bars, taking in the mirage of fur covered lost souls while somehow searching for one that may pull at your broken heart.

German shepherds. Pit bulls. Weimaraners. Jack Russels. Dachshunds. Every breed you could name and so many others you barely could identify.

And they all seemed to mirror your expression perfectly.

Searching. Waiting.

Waiting for an absolution that would never come.

You felt their pain. Their loneliness. Their betrayal.

Still though, non called to you. Marked you.

You were told not to look into their eyes, but how could you not. It had become so second nature to get lost in his eyes you nearly forgot what it felt like to be without them.

You were rounding the corner to the main exit, only a few cages remaining, and a sickening feeling began to boil within your gut. Choking on the bile in your throat with a fruitless attempt at speech.

"That it?"

It was a total loss. Heart sinking to your knees as Jared, the wayward keeper, opened the doors to escort you out of the wing and down an adjacent hall.

"I can show you one more. He's scheduled to be euthanized tonight. He's young. But he's very high energy. And a stubborn little shit. Which is why no one wants him."

He knitted his brow, opening the door to let you in as the overwhelming sound of aggressive barking and growling filled your ears.

Reluctantly, you stepped into the confined room. The solitude had made the poor animal more ruthless and hostile to anyone who stepped through those heavy doors.

Yet something pulled you in. A feeling. A tug at your heart that swiftly moved to wrap around your spine and move you forward.

And as you shut the door, the barking steadily began to settle. The blur of furr and teeth slowed and gradually transformed into a more discernable figure.

And as you stepped up to the cage, you cautiously crouched down to meet the animal at its level and finally met the eyes of a soul you had thought was lost to you long ago.

Blue. A blue so pure yet somehow so misunderstood. An icy cerulean wrapped around tan fur and sharpened teeth topped with blacked edged ears and darkened socks on his feet.

His, because it was obvious. He hadn't been fixed yet.

"Yeah, he's got a thing with doors. He's fine while they're closed but goes ballistic at the slightest movement."

You take note of the dogs calming demeanor. Keeping a close eye on him, scanning across his back and hindquarters, inspecting his conformation for any obvious or detrimental abnormalities.

"Poor thing seems pretty docile once he's settled down," you remark. "Why'd the last family give him up?"

You slid slowly along your feet, edging closer as the canine's demeanor shifts to become more open and submissive. Ears perked with a gradual pull of its paw to expose its tender underbelly.

"They lived next to a railroad or something. Apparently, he hates trains, too."

"What's his name?" You inquire, unable to break the stare as you gently move your hand between the bars in an attempt to gain a physical connection.

"He doesn't have one. And I wouldn't do that, ma'am. He's got-"

He chokes on his words as the fearful pup inches forward to bring the top of his nose your fingertips. You remain calm, quiet. And so does Jared. More out of sheer terror of the inevitable bite that was surely to come.

With a few curious sniffs of your scent, the dog pulls himself forward and against your hand in a desperate attempt to feel your touch.

He curls his back into your palm, rolling his spine underneath the tips of our fingers while moving to lay on the concrete floor.

It's in that moment you know you've been marked. Two lost souls finding one another in the cold and metal walls of a heartache and rekindling the vigor of life within your devoid souls.

"Damn. Never seen him do that before."

You acknowledge his voice, but the only sound reverberating in your ears is the constant strum of your beating heart. Alive once more as the ancient connection between man's best friend heals the scars of an unending loss.

"How old is he?" You ask, turning to face the man standing next to you. Comfortable enough to trust the newly found bond forged as a feeling of warmth and rejuvenation bellows from within your abdomen.

"About six months, I think. Give or taken a few weeks."

Six months. It's purely coincidence.

"I'll take him."

"Alright then. I'll get the paperwork."

You retract your hand just as Jared opens the door, and the frightened pup bolts to cowar in the safety of the corner once more.

But he remains silent. A searching stare locking into your gaze to gauge how to move forward with this unknown terrain.

Slowly, you extend your hand once more into the cage to coax him back to your touch. Rebuild the bond of trust once more as you wait for the inevitable to blow through the door.

With a solemn yet comforted look in the pups eyes, he gradually crawls over and rests his chin within the palm of your hand. Soul blazing eyes staring up within the confines of furr, having a certain familiarity you hadn't seen since so painfully losing that love so long ago.

"That's it. I'll take care of you," you whsiper in a voice akin to haunting within the walls. Rubbing your thumb along his bristled jaw line, not to dissimilar to the affection you showed once before to another blue eyed angel.

The heavy door swung open once more, yet you both remained entwined within an enamored bond as the attendant gently turned the metal knob.

"Think you've found yourself a dog there, ma'am," he muttered with a smile, extending the pen and paperwork for your newly attained ownership.

"You think of a name yet?"

You remained silent for a moment. Knowing full well his name was bestowed upon him the moment you walked through that door.

With one quick glance into his eyes once more, you fell in love with him all over again. And uttered the name you'd thought was destined to become nothing more than a distant memory.

"Johnny. Gonna call him Johnny."

This is hit me just before going to bed and I had to get it out. Love them furbabies. Boop all the snoots.

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @writeforfandoms @punishmepunisher @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @ghosts-goldendoodle @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @designateddeadend @luismickydees @foxface013

[arctophyllax]

*clears throat* why I think Larian should let us recruit Zevlor:

More people are desperate for Zevlor than I thought at first. We all want to see him happy. We all want him to get all that he deserves and more. He just has SO much potential, he’s such a well written character just for his story to get cut off so suddenly? Thinking about how badly his story was neglected by Larian after they made us so attached breaks my heart. Of all side characters we met along the acts he is undeniably one of the most important and memorable ones; we fought for him, we saved him, we helped him, hells we even get the option to reject his payment for us for helping him and his people.

We practically got nothing out of helping him, especially the ones who reject his payments and i find myself rejecting the payment every single playthrough because i can’t find it in my heart to take something away from people who have nothing left already. If you betray the tieflings you get Minthara- and yes that may cost you certain companions too, but wouldn’t it be fair to be able to have Zevlor at camp if we save his people? At least after we save him in act 2? That way it would still be optional but god I need him so badly, I need to see him happy, I need Larian to let me look after him and take care of him and make sure that he doesn’t drown in sorrow and I know everyone who reads this feels exactly the same.

He went through so much, and every time his hope returned it got shattered to bits again. And it just feels like we’re forced to “give up” on him after we let him wander away in act 2. It doesn’t feel right. It will never feel right. We saw how miserable he was in that pod, how distressed and in pain he was. Common sense would have told us to take him with us. Make sure he fucking survives the night without doing anything stupid. Clean him off the blood and clean him off his worries, all that self hatred.

God, do I so hate to see him in such distress. And while a tiny part of me believes that death might have actually been a small mercy for him I was and will never be ready to give up on him.

Every time I see him on that damned screen, every time he speaks and every time I witness him interact with someone I DON’T see an oathbreaker who failed his people and had to be saved from being consumed by the Absolute. All I see is a competent leader who carries a burden not meant to be carried by one person alone.

This has nothing to do with him being weak. This has nothing to to with him being incompetent or not careful enough. This has nothing to do with any lost faith or broken oath. This has to do with the fact that he is so selfless that he wouldn’t allow himself to share this burden with anyone.

Yes he has (had?) his fellow tieflings, he has Tilses right beside him all of the time. But did he ever open up to her? Does he ever accept any help from his own people while he knows that they are already suffering? Would he EVER allow ANY of these people to carry even a SLIVER of his burden?

No. He would not. He would NEVER let them bear any of those duties, he has seen them in way too much pain already, seen them suffer far too often.

He is the type who gives and gives and gives and he never takes. He doesn’t know how to take, take anything positive.

His past, his comrades, his Hellriders- yes he had them. They gave him as much as he gave them. But they got torn away from him, cruelly and mercilessly.

His people, the refugees, family- he had them. And they gave him the respect and admiration he deserved. But they got torn away from him. Cruelly. Mercilessly.

His saviour, us, Tav- he had us. But we left him. Because we had no choice. We watched him walk of as though it was nothing. Cruelly. Because we could do nothing else.

And yes, I will always see red at that. Because we SHOULD be able to do better. We shouldn’t be just another loss for him.

And I will personally fistfight Larian if it meant hope for just a single chance at giving Zevlor what he never allowed himself to have: stability, encouragement. Someone he can rely on and share his burden with. A rest. Peace.

(Larian do you hear me I am under your bed we are going to fight)

(Scratch would like him to stay at camp, too)

(And what Scratch wants, Scratch gets. Right?)

(No because when you talk to Scratch the second time at camp during the tiefling party he actually says that he wouldn’t mind if you kept the tieflings at camp… trust me, Scratch, i wouldn’t mind either)

…I’d honestly die for him who’s with me

[cer-rata]

I did it, I finished the fic.

Cover by the amazing @nicodrawings

It's 109k and fully complete, welcome to my oc's first cursed, sappy adventure.

"Heart of Gotham"

Fandom: Detective Comics

Rating: T M

Summary:

Conrad Bishop thinks he knows who he is: A nerd, a goof, a coward. But heartbreak comes along to destroy that version of him. As he shatters, an alien ring decides that the depth of his pain has the potential to forge him into a potent Star Sapphire. While grief may be a devastatingly powerful form of love, can he survive on it alone? Maybe not. But it’s what he thinks deserves.

Everyone thinks they know who Damian Wayne is: A prince, a pariah, a hero. The truth is worse. No one thinks he’s easy to love, and he agrees. It’s fine. He doesn’t need it, he’s got duty and a body to spend in service of it until there’s nothing left to hate. But sometimes? Sometimes he wonders if that’s all he can be.

By chance they share the same science class, and--for better or worse--that's all it takes to send them on a path that neither of them would have ever dared to consider.

Love conquers all.

...Maybe

Excerpt:

Damian started changing out of his uniform and Conrad awkwardly looked away. He cleared his throat. “Hey, so, I’ve been thinking…”

“Hmm?” Damian grunted as he unclasped and slid his tunic off.

“Well, you used the ring to save me, right? But you know...the whole bit is that if you want to heal someone you have to…uh. You'd…you'd have to love--"

“Philia.” Damian cut in quickly.

“Did…did you--was that a slur?”

“…No! Philia is the Greek concept of love between friends. That’s what the ring was pulling from.” It was mostly true. It was mostly philia. Mostly.

Conrad considered that for a moment, then beamed. “Oh. Oh! So you admit it? You think we’re friends?”

Damian finished pulling a hoodie on and turned to squint at him. “How are you this stupid.”

“Oh my god you do!”

“If you’re like this for the entire ride back, there is a high likelihood that I will change my--oh come on!” Damian complained fruitlessly as he had to endure yet another hug. “I should have let you bleed out.” He hissed, and Conrad just laughed.

“I love you too, buddy.”

A tip of the hat:

Before I get into anything else, again the cover and reference sheet were done by the amazing @nicodrawings. She's terrific, professional, easy to work with (and I am ANNOYING), and I think the quality speaks for itself. Her art is tremendous and her covers are maybe the highest quality I've seen from an indie artist.

And those colors.

Her commissions are open right now and she's making a fan comic that looks so cool, and she does all this other cool stuff. Check her out, okay?

Concepts, Themes, and Character Focus

The core questions I wanted to ask were:

"Can two broken people ever be good for each other?"

"Can you actually move past the pain of loss?"

"How do you love someone?"

I love Lantern lore, and Star Sapphires specifically. Maybe too much

I was fascinated by a Corps that represented love but was usually fueled by despair and anguish instead, and wielded one of the harder to control colors of the Emotional Spectrum. So I decided to create one from scratch and place them in Earth's most notorious tragedy factory: Gotham City.

Conrad is shamelessly emotional and ruled by his affections, and was like that even before the ring. The only son of a pair of Haitian immigrants, Conrad grew up feeling very loved, and even his parents terrible handling of his attempt to come out wasn't enough to shake that. But his parents never really pushed him, and his easy-going nature meant he didn't develop a lot of self determination. Then he suffers an incredibly traumatizing loss, and suddenly his carefully laid carpet of normalcy and avoidance is torn up to reveal some structural problems underneath.

Damian is emotional and ruled by his affections, and is a little ashamed of it. He also felt loved when he was growing up, but unlike Conrad, much of the love he received was in the form of praise for his success, which had the unfortunate effect of making him seek approval in ways that were often unhelpful, most often to himself. He's tried so hard, and done so much work to be a better person, and he's even accumulated a group of peers who adore him. But he's still lonely, has trouble accepting his own progress, and the guilt he carries making new connections difficult.

Everyone is a couple of years older than they are in canon, which I did to make the content more appropriate, and also so I could play with the ambiguity of those three undocumented years, and hand wave away some of the more...uncharitable parts of canon without having to rewrite everything. This is Damian still on his early Rebirth character track, before the many resets to his character development. He's still harsh and somewhat antisocial, but he's also older, more mellow, and has worked through a couple of things. He's settled enough to allow for some honest introspection.

I didn't initially plan for this to be a love story, but their internal conflicts were complimentary and their deepest wishes slotted together so neatly that the direction felt natural. They cover many of each other's weaknesses and blind spots, while making some of their other hangups worse.

The romance isn't even the critical part really, it's just the way they end up expressing emotional intimacy. They are friends first, and that's what holds everything together. It's all about them showing up for each other in ways that are sometimes difficult, and the fact that they always will, regardless of whether they're in a relationship or not.

It's an awkward, intense, teen relationship, and it's not always a good thing for either of them--even before factoring in cosmic super weapons and secret identities.

Also, there are... a lot of cameos and odd side characters.

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II ... Part XVIII - Part XIX

It hurts to see Peter hurting.

More than the state of their city (still theirs), more than the shattered buildings (he imagines the inferno of Christmas with a little shiver), even more than the dark smudges under their mother's eyes (he and Susan make all the meals during the holidays), it's Peter who wrenches at his heart, ache welling behind Ed's sternum.

He sees how Peter yearns for a sword, an enemy, a way to make all the brokenness around them right. More than sees, though, Edmund knows.

Knows the hunger that eats at the back of the throat, the way a single page in the newspaper swamps security like a tidal wave, the helplessness that weighs shoulders and hands till falling to fury or despair seem the only choices available. Hunger and helplessness had been his old play-fellows, back Before, and now he finds their heads reared again, but he also finds himself too taken up with watching over his brother to pay much attention to them. He forgets himself in his concern for Peter.

Peter does not cry again, not that Edmund sees or hears at least. He sleeps little, laughs less.

The girls too are shaken by the alterations to what had once been their world, but Lucy laughs more than she cries, and Susan steps easily into the motherly role.

Peter does all the shopping. In the span of their three weeks holidays, he also fixes all the bicycles in the garden shed, digs up the whole bed of the Victory garden, mends two broken chairs and a chest of drawers, takes a broken clock to pieces (Ed is the one who finds the problem), and fights four different boys, two of them more than once.

Many of the children who had stayed through the whole of the bombing are quick to sneer at those who did not.

“As if we chose to go!” Edmund complains.

“Cowards,” hisses Daisy Moore as she passes them in the churchyard, and her brother laughs.

“Got scared by a few rockets, and left your poor mother all alone in her shelter, listening to us all burn?”

Ed does not relax his grip on Peter's arm until Daisy and Danny have disappeared, until the tremble of taught muscles under his hand has melted away, until the growl has died in Peter's throat.

“Look,” Ed says with forced lightness, guiding Peter toward the street where Lucy leans against a small tree, singing to herself. “I know it was terrible, but there's no call for talking like that. It might make you feel better for a moment, but it makes someone else feel horrid for awhile, so it's definitely a sum-total loss.”

Peter does not answer.

The next day he and Susan come home from a walk, and his sleeve is torn and there is blood on his knuckles.

“They insulted Susan,” is all he says to Edmund in the mirror, bent over, washing wounded hands.

Edmund is glad when they go back to school.

At St. Maurice’s, Peter's responsibilities are clear, he's respected, he has the wide open sky and the wild moors to ride over.

They step off the train at the village station, and Ed sees him breathing deep, smiling at Colin's enthusiastic greeting, leaping to catch a stolen cap and prolong a wild chase along the platform.

Ed joins Peter very early for a ride the next morning, slapped awake by the cold wet May air, but he sees the light in Peter's eyes, the way he greets each horse in turn, and Ed strokes Rose's neck, tickles under her chin as he smiles himself.

“Perhaps he'll be alright.”

But then this term Wollers is gone, graduated, good, steady old boy off to the war, and the new Head Boy ticks Peter off twice in the first week for ‘interfering’, slaps Alexander Morrow in Ed's form with a hundred lines (in French!) for cheeking him in the hall, and generally does his best to let everyone know he's in charge, while also making everyone hate him for it.

Ed hates it, especially for Peter's sake, when Peter's only a year younger and also named head of the Sixth Form. A few weeks in, Peter joins Ed on the way in to lunch, and his brow is drawn low over still-smouldering eyes, jaw set in a hard line.

“Beaumont”, he says, without preamble. “Trying to tell me what to do about Gilly when it's a Sixth Form matter. Now who’s interfering?”

“Not you,” Ed says mildly, watches Peter's shoulders drop, watches him exhale. “Just don't give him the satisfaction of marking you up for anything,” he adds.

“I know, I know,” Peter sighs. “Jolly well wish I could box him, but I can't unless he starts it. I don't know why they chose him.”

At least Pete has rugger to shine at, Ed thinks. Peter had sat his Junior Cert at the end of last term (and passed with Credit or Distinction in all subjects, which Ed is very proud of him for) so he's more relaxed with his own studies, making time for more tutoring of the young ones, and making the rugby team.

Edmund tries out for the Junior team, gets named a spare. He knows he's not strong, but he is fast, and slippery.

A letter from Dad comes, forwarded from Mum, and it is cheerful, telling them things they already know about the successes in North Africa, expounding on his work learning Arabic, giving a brief written sketch of the desert sunset that strikes up vividly at them like heat from the sand till Edmund can see it as clearly as the view west from Tashbaan.

Peter is quiet though, broody for days after. Ed watches, wonders, worries.

Three months and Peter will be 17, a year off of signing up. Sometimes Edmund is certain Peter would have already gone, fudged his age and signed his name; he doesn't doubt they would take a strapping youth like Peter with very few questions. But he'd promised Mum, and Peter Pevensie is not a promise-breaker.

He's also not the only one hurting, not the only one missing Dad, missing Narnia, but Ed doesn't like to worry his brother, doesn't want to add to the concerns Peter carries.

There are questions sitting somewhere in his stomach, and he tries to ignore them, but they've grown heavier over the days, weeks, months. Time ticking by, another spring, and something about the sunrises, the green flush racing across the quad, rising in the victory garden, the apple trees by the stables bursting into bloom, it makes the longing flare bright in him.

As always the memories stay hazy, sometimes fearfully so, only brought back in sharp relief, a cleared streak in fogged up glass, in odd moments. Ed thinks there's a pattern in it—when a lie hovers on the tip of his tongue, he hears Oreius's voice; when Peter turns with an angry word, he remembers tense council rooms; when an apology fails to melt Edmund's own shame, he sees Tumnus's face. But there are smaller, less specific flashes too, and one day, hard at work with the violin in one of the practice rooms, he gets lost in the music, notes dancing under his fingers, spinning, swooping, diving, soaring, and he plays and plays and plays until he coasts to a halt, stands breathless and a little dizzy, feeling exactly as he had after his first real flight on the back of a gryphon, and his hand on the bow grips involuntarily tighter, as if feathers and fur are slipping through his fingers.

“Oh, don't stop.”

A hoarse whisper making Ed spin round, but it is only Peter leaning in the doorway, yearning writ large across his face, until their eyes meet and it twists into sorrow.

Only then does Edmund realise his cheeks are wet, and he pivots quickly back, lays the violin down gentle, deliberate.

Peter says nothing, but he comes across the room, stands close behind, close enough that Ed decides he doesn't care, and turns, falls into Peter's chest.

Arms wrap strong around him, smile bunches the cheek that presses against his head, but still Peter says nothing, and Edmund is glad. Just for a minute he hides his face in his big brother's shoulder, and lets himself cry. Peter holds him, safe and tight, and he stays, sniffling into Peter’s vest, until Peter says, “It sounded like Narnia. What was it?”

Ed sighs, pulls away to scrub a sleeve across his nose. “I don't know. It just sort of… came over me. Or out of me. Or to me– I don't know.”

Slow grinning pride breaks across Peter's face. “So you're a composer now too!”

And Ed must needs shove him away, rolling his eyes. “I didn't exactly write it down, so I'll probably never be able to play it again.”

“That doesn't change how beautiful it was,” Peter says, hopeful and true like Edmund needs him to be.

He fingers the violin strings, plucking them gently, tick tock tick tock tick, and he says it quiet.

“It's been about ten years. In Narnia. Without us. If the time difference between the professor's visit and ours is consistent.”

“Corin will be a man,” Peter murmurs in the surprised tone of grown-ups talking about nieces or nephews they haven't seen in ages. “And what would you bet Aravis and Cor are married?”

“Peridan and Anna must have several children by now.” Ed’s voice catches in his throat at the thought of his friend, who had sworn he would make Edmund godfather of all his sons, as well as letting him teach them all how to fight. And oh, Ed had stood up at his wedding as best man, hadn't he? While Peter had given Anna away, in lieu of long-lost father or brothers.

“Erah and Pearl–” Peter starts, but can't finish.

“We weren't trying to leave,” Edmund says. “I wish they knew that.”

“We were only following Lucy into another adventure.” Peter has a little half-smile on his lips, and then his arm around Ed’s shoulders is warm.

“The professor said it wouldn't all be easy.” Edmund rests his head on Peter's shoulder.

“Do you ever wish-?” Peter starts, but cuts himself off with a decided “No, I don't.”

Edmund knows, he's wondered himself, once or twice on difficult days, but he always answers the same as Peter. He'll always be grateful they had been brought to Narnia.

But there's one question he does hesitate over, as the seasons change, and the clock ticks on, and he voices it now, barely above a whisper: “Are you so sure we'll go back?”

“Of course,” Peter says at once. “Aslan said we would always be kings and queens of Narnia. We'll get back somehow.”

“You're sure?” Edmund pulls away enough to look hard up into Peter's eyes, searching for a hint of doubt.

“Quite. We have to.” Peter swallows hard, looks away out the window where the rain falls steady in the quad. “We have to,” softer now.

Ed sees the longing in his brother's eyes, and he wishes suddenly that just being here with Edmund and the music and the rain was enough for Peter. But he loves his brother anyway.

“Alright, your majesty,” he says lightly. “Now come on, the supper bell will ring any minute.”

He snaps the clasps on the violin case closed, leads the way out of the room, humming the whisper of wings in a blue sky.

Behind him, Peter is silent.

Next

[television-overload]

heartache

Companion fic to this one I posted earlier this week. Thanks to @indestinatus for suggesting a Ziva pov chapter ♡

[AO3]

-.-.-

She had always had a hard time letting go.

The first time she sent him away, a portion of her heart — whatever she had left to offer that wasn't mangled and torn apart already — went with him. She told herself she could live without him, that she didn't need him to get through this. She watched him go, believing herself to be strong for willingly giving up that which made her feel whole and complete.

What a lie, she had sold herself.

She succeeded at giving up nothing. He never truly left. How could he, when she had a piece of him still with her always? Not for one moment had she faced her troubles alone, like she had intended. Like she thought she needed to.

He had always been the one to hold the broken pieces of her heart together. He came prepared with surgical sutures, needles, and bandages — whatever was needed — not afraid to get his hands dirty.

Now was no different.

In his absence, she learned that the blackened, shriveled bit of her heart that she kept to herself was not so irreparably corroded as she thought. Even from afar, he was responsible for restoring it to life, smoothing over the wounds she had thought would never go away. 

The healing balm came in the form of a tiny, pink, wailing child, born in the heat of summer in the very house where Ziva and her sister had first entered the world.

The sister for whom the child was named.

And so, Tali became the bearer of so many broken hearts. Her mother's, her father's and her aunt's. Perhaps even more than that. The blood pumping in her veins belonged to all those who had come before. Somehow, their hearts seemed almost whole in her hands.

It was selfish of her, to keep them all for herself. Even now, she knew she'd taken something important from Tony. Just how important, she couldn't be sure, skewed as her perception had been those last few days they'd been together.

But she felt it, that unwavering support and faith in her, which she surely didn't deserve.

She'd be safe with him, she reasoned. He would look after her.

As she packed away Tali's things, hurriedly dressing her in an outfit for the journey, she had the sensation of packing her own heart away as well. How could she protect it when the distance between them grew and grew? Would she be alright on her own, until the day she reached her father's arms and righted at least some of the wrongs that Ziva had done?

She did take pride in the healing that her heart had undergone. It may be scarred and a little faulty still at times, but surely Tony would recognize the progress that had been made. Surely he would know what she meant by sending it to him.

Yours, she wanted to tell him, presenting it to him in person. It's yours, and it always should have been.

In truth, sending her own heart away was the least of her worries. The more terrifying prospect was facing a life without him. The life she'd wished for years ago, characterized by complete solitude.

How had she ever thought that to be the ideal solution to her problems?

Here she was sending him away again, only this time it wasn't her choice. She hadn't known any better before, but she did now. She'd had him with her all this time, a piece of him she'd stolen and kept to herself, guarding it like a precious treasure. But fate had finally caught up to her.

It was time to return to him what was rightfully his.

With each inch that separated her from her Tali, she felt her heart grow cold and weary. It it twisted painfully, a dull thrum desperately pleading that there must be another way.

But how could her heart be there still in her chest when she'd just watched it disappear into the crowd, in the arms of one of the few people on this planet she could trust?

The loss of it left a gaping wound, an unseen flow of blood that no medical doctor could stem.

Someday, she promised herself, putting every last ounce of hope she possessed into the word. Someday, we will be whole again, my love.

Someday soon.

[jmnxjmnx]

For the last two days, this is all I could think about.

The videos, the songs, the moments, the concerts seen online. The cartoons, the movies, the posters I collected, now resting in my closet, far from home. The drawings I lost, the photos once printed, the covered notebooks, the pins, the rubber bracelets, the t-shirts that no longer fit as I grew. The sting of separation, the weight of farewells, broken promises, and a complicated adulthood. I often say the past doesn't exist in the present, but it’s all I cling to today. Because I'm blind. Part of me hurts, wishing it was just a bad joke, that he's still there, laughing off such bleak news.

The memories I hold onto are the ones that keep him alive in my heart. My experience with One Direction is sacred to me, a gift life gave me at a time when I needed it most. They were, are, and will always be a part of a band that saved me emotionally, that strengthened, helped, and supported me. I don't know how to thank him or the band enough. I hope life lets me meet him, so I can express what his music meant to me, how his lyrics resonated in my life.

I was nine when I first discovered One Direction, not knowing they would become my emotional support by the time I was eleven. They have been, and still are, the biggest part of my heart and soul. They were there through my best and worst days. Losing one of them feels like losing a piece of my soul. We grew up together, and though adulthood brought its complexities, it will never change the love I have for them. This man kept them together for as long as he could.

My adult self is mourning, but the little girl and teenager inside me, she’s crawling on a floor of knives, her eyes red, her body wounded. She only wishes to wake up from this nightmare. She never got to see them live, let alone see him alive. She’s shattered, and because of that, I’m devastated. My condolences go out to his family. May he rest in peace.

🤍🕊

[and i'll still see it, until i die, you're the loss of my life]

[where do broken hearts go?]