#i have never felt so alive & so terrified i hope you stay this time i hope this is enough i hope fate smiles on us

[fenharel-babe]

Tagging: @zombiefishgirl , @amoaliquis @museinthemiddle @fenharels-chewtoy bc yall said you were excited so here you go hehe :)))💙.

Okay here goes my rant of Solas and how he is such a good lover. His romance has been broken down to hell and back but I DONT CARE! I’m adding my thoughts and just stirring the pot of Solavellan on tumblr. A community I love with all my heart.

Okay, so. The reason I believe Solas is such a good lover is because of how he respects Lavellan and likes to know more about her. That man was definitely wanting to kiss her when he was in that Haven dream, but he let her do it. He said she changed everything, but still didn’t take initiative and let Lavellan do it. Once she did and he knew she felt somewhat the same, THEN he went all in and used tongue. He was so down bad already. SO DOWN BAD!!!

And then he ends up asking for time and not wanting to lead her on. He’s open about his feelings though that’s definitely terrifying. Yes, he’s not telling the full truth about his past BUT he is talking about his feelings in the present and telling her the truth about that at least. I feel like he would understand if she wanted to end it and move on, and he sets boundaries and it makes sense. This man was a spirit of Wisdom that suddenly took a form and was used and abused his whole life until Inquisition, so he barely had time to understand FEELINGS and especially LOVE. He had little to no time to understand that, so he sets a boundary, lets her know he needs time. He needs to think before he does anything else. I see that as very sweet and considerate since he doesn’t want to lead either of them on and basically be a terrible lover because he isn’t sure he DOES love her. He isn’t sure and needs time, and it’s respectful and good to be HONEST about that, and he was.

Then talking about how he wants to know her more, I think about the talk on the balcony when he asks her if the mark has changed her. In my opinion this is when his view on the world has begun to change. He sees people as people and actually alive. Lavellan (at least my Lavellan) has helped refugees with blankets and food, helped a man’s dying wife get a potion she needed from her son, helped a random woman get justice and her wedding ring back from Templars when they killed her husband, and had done so much to help people. And she has to go out of her way to do this!! She was busy as hell yet still took the time to help them. She did all of this and he wondered if the anchor somehow changed her. In my head, he possibly was scared or worried of falling for someone that was changed, but then he learns she has always been this way, and it makes him cement in his feelings. He loves her and he cannot hold it back anymore, though he tries. He tries one last time to pull back, but her telling him to stay made him see how she also loved him and wanted him badly, so he gave in. He kissed her and told her that he loved her, speaking in his language to show how serious he was. We know if he speaks in elven, it’s gotta be serious and it was.

I believe Solas didn’t love freely and possibly never did romantically to anyone in ancient Arlathan. Not just for the trope of her being his first love, but because of how he had to do war and did such horrible things (due to Mythal and others) and definitely didn’t have time to get close to people, but this time he did. He got to know a woman that was a ‘shadow’ of his people, but she was really a light. Like Cole described her at the end of DAI, when he looked at her she shined bright and it was like looking at birds as they flew past the sun and how it hurt to look for too long. Feel like Solas looked at her and she was so bright and a unique spirit to see now due to how corrupted spirits could become and how the world was full of corruption and pain. Yet she still survived and was a beacon of light and hope. Hope to him especially.

Then, I think of how he left her. Leaving her was definitely a Choice™️ and feels dumb….but when I look at it in Solas POV I do understand a little bit. He is full of guilt and remorse and he knows he cannot love Lavellan to his full potential as long as he feels that way. He will focus on that guilt and regret and he can’t do that to her. She loves him, but she doesn’t know the Full sides of him, and it hurts. He loves her so much that he can’t lead her on. So he tries to tell her, but he can’t. He’s overwhelmed with fear and she doesn’t know about his past until he literally CANT hide it from her anymore. I think breaking up was sad and painful but it was considerate when you look at it from Solas. He wanted to protect her, and he believed leaving was the best option, and maybe it was. It’s sad it happened, but he at least thought of her in the moment, in my head anyways.

And then the FLYCAM SCENE OF HIM LEAVING DAI AND HOW HE TURNED AROUND ONE! LAST! TIME! TO LOOK AT LAVELLAN!!! Crazy guy. This asshole (affectionate).

And then Trespasser comes. It is an asshole move that he let Lavellan suffer the anchor for his plans, but if I’m right; he could’ve just let her die. But he saved her (and friend and rival inky but you get what I mean) and actually admits the past. The small “thank you” when Lavellan says she didn’t think he was capable of that is PAINFUL! STABBING ME IN THE HEART!!!! MURDERING ME!!!! Regardless, he told her the truth finally, saved her from Qunari spies and a whole war plot, and saved her life from the anchor. Plus, I think about how they first meeting Trespasser and how this MAN. THIS MAN THAT HAS THE POWER OF A GOD!

Takes a step back and hangs his head whenever she steps forward and yells at him.

HE STEPS BACK?!?!! Tell me you’re ashamed of how you left your GF and still love her and are terrified of her anger without telling me.

Her touch would destroy him!! A MAN WITH GOD POWERS!!! A MAN THAT DID A MIND BLAST THE SIZE OF A BOMB. And then the quiet “my love”!!!! And “I wish it could, Vhenan,” AND “I will never forget you,” AAAAAH. THIS MAN LIVES FOREVER!!! BUT HE WILL NEVER FORGET HER AND WILL LOVE HER FOREVER!!!! And then he still wants to be wrong. Well, he doesn’t but he does. He would treasure the chance to be wrong once again. IM CRAZY ABOUT HIM!!!

Anyways, now we’re talking about The Dreams. I’ve read fanfics/posts on tumblrs saying that they believe Solas, the first time at least, entering Lavellan’s dreams was an accident. I can totally see that…..however I see it as on purpose. This man was so in love that I cannot see him truly cutting her off all the way. He needs to at least see her, even if it’s in dreams. They used to be in the Fade together so many times until he ended it, so it’s so…natural to see her in dreams. He can’t sleep without seeing her and knowing she’s okay.

And from my understanding this most likely means Solas timed his sleep/meditating time with Lavellan’s sleep schedule. I could be wrong but when entering the Fade, you gotta be asleep or doing something with your mind and how could Solas do that simply awake? He couldn’t. He had to know when she was asleep!!! He knew her schedule and prayed it hadn’t changed AND IT DIDN’T! He remembered her schedule and met her in dreams…..but would leave when she tried to touch him because if she did it would just hurt more. I’m going fucking crazy.

This man is FULL of LONGING and LOVE and PAIN and OVERWHELMING EMOTIONS BECAUSE HE WAS A SPIRIT!!! AND NOW HE’S A PERSON!! AAAAAAH!!!!!

Anyways: now onto DATV. I find it funny when Rook mentions Lavellan and Solas is just “uh…she is a good woman,” and then smiles when Rook asks if he regrets loving her and he’s basically like “absolutely NOT”. He has countless regrets, yet he has come to cherish her more than his victories. His battles he won? They couldn’t compare to the love he got from her. To the love they shared. It couldn’t compare……

And god….the reunion at the end. I think we can all agree that the sound and music people went HARD on this scene. The CHOIR SWELLING WHEN LAVELLAN SHOWS UP??? Now that’s dramatic and totally what I was craving. But anyways the way Solas literally lowers the dagger and looks at Lavellan, and even turns his body completely to her! His eyebrows tilt up, his mouth is slightly open with shock, and his dagger is lowered as he whispers, “Vhenan…”. It almost feels like he couldn’t say it louder. And tbf he probably couldn’t given he just got the shit beat and BIT out of him LMAO.

But anyways he’s vulnerable in this moment. I believe if they wanted to kill him, this would’ve been the moment to do so. Lavellan was the perfect distraction, even if she wasn’t used that way. She still was. He gives her his attention in an INSTANT, and he can’t believe she’s there. And the “I forgive you!” line has to have hit him DEEP. Most likely no one has said that to him, so it’s just a lot when she says it out of everyone. And then finally being set free from Mythal (fuck that bitch) and having LAVELLAN lean down and whisper her love to him—one that never died or dwindled—and he sobs. It’s a breaking point.

And then the kiss and hand holding. I’ve seen the flycam of Solas holding onto her hand with BOTH of his hands. He missed his wife….and doesn’t want to let her go. But the BIGGEST act of love (well maybe 2nd biggest) is the final moment of leaving. He doesn’t turn to look at her or beckon her after she said she’d join him. He tells Rook thanks and then walks ahead….without looking at Lavellan. He doesn’t want to guilt her into following him down this path. It is her choice and she follows willingly.

He even WARNS HER!!!! He is Wisdom and wants her to know the truth of this path, to know it will be hard and terrible, BUT IT WONT BE AS LONG AS THEY’RE TOGETHER!!! He doesn’t look at her because he didn’t want to give orders. But she goes anyways. She places a hand on his shoulder, most likely very gently given his state, and then they disappear forever. They go into the Fade together, both changed yet still in love.

To me, Solas telling Lavellan she doesn’t have to go and warning her is a big sign of his love once again. He wants the best for her and KNOWS she’s suffered through these years—partly his fault—and doesn’t want her to any longer. He wants her to live happily, but she can’t without him. Still, he warns her, doesn’t ask or command her to follow him. He didn’t want to give orders. It’s like the saying of if you really love someone you’ll let them go or something and it fits Solas. He was willing to let her go if she wanted and would go into eternity alone. BUT SHE WOULDN’T LET HIM!! AND NOW THEY CAN LIVE FOREVER!!!!!

And now….Papae Solas…..Solas would be SUCH a good dad. He’s definitely freaking out and panicking and all that, but he would love his children so fucking hard. He’s holding such a small being, one that relies on him for love and care, and WISDOM!’ THEY NEED TO LEARN!!! There’s no way he ain’t there teaching them fucking math or how to answer the questions of life when they can only babble back and he takes it so serious. He’s like “yeah why didn’t I think about that?” WHEN ITS JUST BABBLES!!!!

That motherfucker will DRAW them!!! Draw a family portrait, draw Lavellan holding the baby, draw HIMM HOLDING THE BABY!! Everytime they change—like height or stage of life—he paints them. He’s such a good dad. He would never abandon this small creature that needs his guidance. He would definitely SOB when his kid calls him “Papae” OKAY? DEFINITELY. He cries when he sees Lavellan sing and rock them to sleep, and is just emotional!!!! He helps Lavellan when she’s sleep deprived and is so Tired and he’s like “baby let me get the baby it’s okay. You sleep💙” and she trusts him so much and it’s OKAYYYT!! THEYRE A TEAM IN THIS!!! They’re both learning from each other in this. Solas holds the babe the first time and needs instructions and Lavellan guides him with a gentle voice.

If that baby cries in his arms he will definitely cry as well LMAO. But he’ll eventually learn it’s just what babies do. They cry a lot. He’ll learn to be a parent, how to raise something so small into an adult, and genuinely give them allllll of his love. That man would not be an absent father. He would be the most PRESENT father! He would be the dad that steps up for everything.

All in all……

Solas in a nutshell when it comes to Lavellan:

His agents most definitely made fun of him whenever he went to meditate and they caught a glimpse of the Inquisition throne. Anyways, hope you enjoyed :)))). I love Solas sm. Can forever and ever talk about him.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʜᴇ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ/ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ/ᴊɪɴx/ᴠɪ/ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 7595 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʟᴇꜰᴛ (ᴊɪɴx)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴡᴇʟᴘ @xbakai , ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ (ꜱᴀᴅ) ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ. ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ (ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ)

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴠᴀʀʏ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

The room had never felt so small.

It was Silco’s office, high above the murky streets of the Undercity, its windows stained with grime and flickering reflections from the chem-lamps below. The walls were lined with papers, maps, ledgers of power and plans and blood. The room had always felt vast when he was alone—room enough for ambition, rage, loss. But now, with Y/N sitting across from him, it was suffocating.

For hours, they had talked.

Father and daughter—torn apart by time and tragedy—piecing together the shattered mirror of their lives.

Silco barely spoke at first. He just listened. She told him everything. Of the crash. Of waking up alone, surrounded by strangers. Of the family in Piltover that had taken her in, cared for her, loved her as their own. She painted memories with careful words: holiday dinners, sunlit courtyards, books and school and laughter he had never heard.

She smiled as she spoke of them, but never boastfully. There was warmth in her voice, yes—but also caution. She didn’t want to hurt him. She knew what this must feel like. And yet, she couldn’t lie.

They had given her a good life. A safe life. Every word was like a quiet blade, twisting deeper.

Silco sat still, his elbows resting on the edge of his desk, his fingers steepled just beneath his chin. The dim light caught the uneven curve of his cheek, the red tide of his corrupted eye. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t interrupt. But inside, something was unraveling.

He should have been there.

He should have been the one to raise her, to hold her after nightmares, to tell her stories by candlelight and kiss her forehead before bed. He should have watched her take her first steps, cheered her victories, comforted her failures.

Instead, he had buried her.

In his mind, in his heart, she had died. And in the wake of that loss, he had scorched the world. Built an empire of ash and vengeance and resolve. A monument to the pain that had hollowed him.

And now, she was here.

Alive.

Laughing softly over a story about how Jayce had once ruined an entire kitchen trying to make breakfast for their adoptive mother.

Silco’s jaw clenched. He forced his voice into silence.

He had never envied Piltover before. Never. Not the polished brass of their towers, not the smug, pristine arrogance of their people. But now? Now he saw what it had given her.

And what he never could.

Still, he listened. Because her voice was something holy now—something he’d thought he’d never hear again.

When she finally fell silent, looking at him with cautious hope, Silco exhaled slowly. His fingers twitched against the desk. The weight in his chest was unbearable.

Even now—even reunited—one truth sat like lead in his gut. He could lose her again.

The thought twisted around his spine like rusted wire. He had just found her. And the world, cruel and relentless as it was, could still take her from him. He swallowed hard. Looked at her—really looked.

She was older, yes. Not the little girl who had once clung to his leg while he walked the alleys of Zaun. But there were pieces of her that hadn’t changed. The sharp eyes. The stubborn mouth. The familiar way she tilted her head when confused.

His Y/N. And he couldn’t lose her. Not again. So he made his decision.

"You should stay in Piltover," he said at last. His voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it.

Y/N blinked, brows drawing together. "What?"

Silco met her gaze. His mismatched eyes held no malice—only something fragile. Fractured. Terrified. "It’s safer there. Safer for you."

She stared at him, stunned. "But I just got you back—"

He raised a hand, gently, halting her. His expression never wavered. "I know. I know what this means to both of us. But Zaun... is not a place for peace. Not for people like you."

"People like me?"

"Innocent. Hopeful." She almost laughed—but the tears in her eyes betrayed her.

"I’m not a child anymore."

"You shouldn’t have to become what this place would make you."

She rose from her chair, pacing now. The room felt too still, too cold. "So what, we just go back to living apart? Pretending this didn’t happen?"

Silco stood as well, not towering, but steady. "No. Never that. You’ll return to Piltover, yes—but you won’t be alone. Sevika will watch over you. Quietly. From a distance." Y/N turned to him, disbelief etched into her face.

"You’ve already thought this through."

"I started planning it the moment I saw you walk through that door." Silco’s voice shook then—barely, but she heard it. "Because the second I knew you were alive... I knew I couldn’t keep you here."

She looked away. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "I want to be here."

"And I want to keep you alive." Silence fell between them, thick and trembling.

"You’ll come when it’s safe," he added softly. "We’ll meet in the in-between. You’ll send word through Jayce, and I’ll make arrangements. But you will stay in Piltover."

Y/N closed her eyes. It felt like loss all over again. But she understood. He wasn’t choosing distance. He was choosing her life.

"Okay," she whispered. Her voice cracked like thin ice. "Okay." And then Silco moved—just once. He crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment, she didn’t breathe.

He held her like she was made of glass.

"You are the only softness left in me," he murmured against her hair. "And I will protect that. Even from myself." She buried her face into his shoulder, fighting tears.

"I’ll come back," she whispered.

"You’d better," he replied, his voice rough, almost a smile—almost. "Or I’ll come find you."

They stayed like that for a long time.

And when she finally left—when her footsteps faded into the smog and shadows—Silco sat in the silence of that small, dim room.

The office had never felt emptier.

And so, for the next few years, they lived in the shadows of each other’s worlds.

Time did not move gently for them.

In Piltover, Y/N walked the pristine streets with a smile that didn’t always reach her eyes. She attended council galas, spoke at charity events, dined with the elite. On paper, she was the perfect ward of the Kirammans—a symbol of their mercy, their open arms. The city saw her as a miracle, a girl who had survived the impossible and risen through Piltover’s golden halls.

But beneath that gilded life was a secret stitched carefully into the lining of her world: Silco.

He kept his promise.

Through Sevika, he became her shadow. No matter where she went in Piltover—gallery openings, university lectures, even simple walks through the city gardens—there was always someone nearby. Watching. Protecting. Threats, even whispered ones, vanished before they reached her ears.

Those who leered too long at her were found days later nursing bruises and broken fingers. An arrogant son of a councilor who once cornered her at a party lost his family’s shipping license overnight.

Silco never said a word to her about these things. But she knew. She could feel his reach, quiet and cold, curling through the gears of Piltover’s underbelly like smoke.

And still, she found her way to him.

Under cover of darkness, cloaked and careful, she slipped from her rooms like a ghost. Sometimes she climbed down ivy-covered walls. Other times, Jayce turned a blind eye, claiming she had taken ill or gone to visit a friend in the country.

He had fought her on it at first.

"You’re walking into the Undercity alone," he’d snapped, pacing the floor of her parlour. "To him. Do you know what that looks like? What it means?"

But he wasn’t cruel.

He had seen how she changed after Silco re-entered her life. The way she softened when she spoke of him. The rare peace in her eyes when she returned from Zaun. Jayce didn’t trust Silco. He never would. But he did trust her.

So eventually, he helped.

==

Some nights he escorted her to the lift himself, standing like a sentinel until she disappeared into the shadows. Other times, he smuggled letters on her behalf, messages folded tight and passed through secret hands.

It was dangerous. Reckless. Foolish.

But it made her feel whole.

Each reunion was quiet, tucked away in dim rooms or hidden alleys. Silco would greet her with a nod, never quite reaching for her, but always looking at her like she was the last true thing left in his world. They didn’t need long speeches. Sometimes they didn’t speak at all. She would sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he smoked his cigar, and they would simply exist in the same space—father and daughter, against the odds.

He never asked her to stay. She never begged to go. They understood each other.

But the Undercity was never still for long.

Silco ruled Zaun with a careful, brutal hand, and enemies were always stirring beneath the surface. His days were filled with tension, with strategy, with whispered threats. And yet, in the cracks between wars, he always found time for her.

He watched her grow. Not as the leader of Zaun, but as a father.

He noticed when she began wearing her hair differently. When she developed a fondness for painting, for old books, for spicy Undercity food. He teased her when she wrinkled her nose at Zaun’s rain-soaked streets, and she teased him back for how he hovered like an anxious shadow.

But not everything stayed quiet.

Because there was someone neither of them had accounted for.

Jinx.

=

She had always believed Silco’s daughter had died.

He’d never spoken of her much. A few passing mentions, maybe—wistful, strange moments where his eyes would drift to nowhere. But Jinx never pressed. She assumed it was ancient history, a wound long scabbed over. She was his daughter now. She was the one who mattered.

Until she saw them.

It had been an accident—one of those rare nights where she returned early from a mission, grime still on her gloves, boots still stained with soot. She had crept into the hideout like she always did, expecting to find Silco alone in his office, maybe sipping from his usual glass, brooding over maps.

Instead, she saw her.

Y/N.

Curled into one of the armchairs. Laughing.

Silco leaned forward, cigar burning low between his fingers, a real smile ghosting across his lips. His entire posture was different—softer, open. His eye wasn’t cold. His voice wasn’t sharp.

And the girl... she looked like something out of a dream. Out of a memory.

Jinx didn’t make a sound. She stood in the shadows, her breath caught like a bird in her throat.

Her mind spun.

Who was she? Why did Silco look at her like that?

She waited until the girl left—slipping into the dark like a secret—and then she asked him.

“Who was that?” Silco didn’t lie. He didn’t explain, either.

“She’s someone I thought I lost.” That was all he said. But that was all Jinx needed. The seed of doubt was planted—and it thrived.

What if she’s taking him away from me? What if he doesn’t need me anymore? What if she’s his real daughter?

The thoughts grew louder. More jagged. She followed Y/N the next time she came. Watched her greet Silco with open arms. Watched him smile again.

Jinx didn’t sleep that night.

The whispers came. The ones that sounded like her own voice, and her sister’s.

She’s replacing you. He’ll forget you. He already has.

She watched them more. Always from a distance. The more she saw, the more it twisted her heart.

She was losing him. She had lost everyone else. And now him too? She couldn’t let that happen.

So when the night came—the night the smoke was too thick, the city too loud, and her own heart too sharp—she made a decision.

She painted her lips. Packed her satchel. Loaded her guns. There were too many ghosts in Silco’s life already.

And she refused to become one of them.

The table was set. Not for peace. Not for family.

But for chaos.

Jinx had planned every detail herself—right down to the flickering candlelight that cast dancing shadows over the long, cracked table in Silco’s old office. There were places set for each of them. Plates. Cups. Silverware stolen from above the fissures of Zaun. She had even found a wilted bouquet and set it in a rusted tin can, like this was a celebration.

Like this was normal.

The scent of scorched metal lingered in the air, mixing with the sour tang of sweat and blood. The floor creaked underfoot, each sound echoing too loud, like the room itself held its breath.

Across from Jinx, Vi sat chained to a chair, her wrists rubbed raw from struggling. Her knuckles were bruised, and her jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Caitlyn, not far from her, glared with quiet fury, a shallow cut across her cheek still bleeding from the ambush. Her uniform was torn, her usually-pristine blue jacket darkened with soot and grime. Neither had spoken in some time. Words had become dangerous here.

Silco sat at the head of the table.

His jaw was set so tight it looked carved from stone. There was no commanding presence in him now—no mask of composure. Only tension. Restraint. Rage boiling just beneath the surface. But he didn’t lash out.

Because he knew what Jinx was capable of when pushed.

And right now, she was already unravelling.

She paced behind her guests like a lion in a cage, her blue braids twitching with every sharp step. Her smile flickered in and out of existence—more a nervous tick than a true expression of joy. Her fingers danced along the edge of her gun, tapping the metal like it was a piano key. Her eyes darted to the clock. Then to the door. Then back again.

Something was missing.

No—someone.

“She should be here by now,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Can’t have a family dinner without everyone, right? Not when Daddy’s favourite is late.”

The door creaked open. Two of Jinx’s goons dragged Y/N inside.

She was barely conscious, her steps stumbling, head lolling slightly. Blood had dried at her temple, and her wrists were chained in front of her, metal digging into her skin. Her dress—something soft and elegant she’d worn earlier that day in Piltover—was torn and grimy, stained with soot and fear. Her cheek bore a bruise where someone had struck her. Her lip was split. Her eyes, dazed and unfocused.

Silco’s heart stopped at the sight of her. His body tensed, muscles straining against the restraints that kept him bound to his chair. His hands, cuffed tight to the arms of the seat, clenched in desperation as he struggled in his restraints, his gaze fixed on her.

“Y/N—!” he cried out, his voice ragged with emotion.

He tried to rise, to move toward her, but the chains held him fast, forcing him back into the chair. The metal dug into his skin as he fought against the restraints, but they were unforgiving. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling in frantic desperation, but it was no use. His arms were immobile, trapped.

Jinx, standing just behind her two goons, raised her gun, her hand shaking as it pointed directly at Silco’s chest. Her eyes gleamed with panic, not malice. A tremor ran through her as she spoke, her voice thin and hollow, barely a whisper.

“Don't move,” she ordered.

Silco froze, his face contorting with a mix of helpless fury and sorrow. He couldn’t reach her. He couldn’t protect her.

Jinx’s breath was shaky, and her fingers twitched nervously around the gun. The room, which had been filled with tension, now held a heavy silence, broken only by the ragged sound of Silco’s struggle against his bonds.

Y/N, still dazed, was shoved roughly into a chair across from him. The impact made her flinch, but she didn’t cry out. Her gaze, unfocused at first, slowly found Silco’s. There was a flicker of recognition, a spark of something in her eyes. But it was fleeting—lost behind the fog of pain and exhaustion.

Silco’s lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. “Y/N…” he whispered, his voice strained.

But Jinx only tightened her grip on the gun, her whole body shaking as she waited for something that wasn’t coming.

“Dad…” she breathed. And for the first time in her life, Y/N saw it.

Fear.

Not the fear of a crime lord, not the calculating dread of someone with something to lose—this was raw. Unfiltered. Fatherly. His hand trembled as he reached across the table, but the distance between them felt impossible.

“Jinx,” he said slowly. Carefully. “Let her go.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

The question was soft, but underneath it was a trembling fury. A sadness buried beneath denial.

“You told me everything,” she went on, pacing again. “You told me Vi was dead. You told me I was your girl. Your family. You said you lost her. But you didn’t, did you?”

“Jinx—”

“She’s alive.” Jinx stopped. Her gun pointed at the floor now, her finger twitching on the trigger. “She’s real. And you brought her back. You let her take you.”

“I did it to protect her,” Silco said, his voice cracking in a way that made even Vi pause. “You know our world. You know what Zaun does to the innocent. I had to keep her hidden. If I had told anyone… she wouldn’t have lived.”

“Bullshit!” Jinx shouted, slamming her hands on the table. The plates rattled. “You chose her over me. That’s what this is. You were going to replace me—weren’t you?!”

“No,” Silco said quickly, but the damage was already done.

Vi stirred, her eyes widening. “Jinx… you can't...” Her voice was raw. Honest. “That’s Y/N. You remember her, don’t you?”

Jinx froze.

Vi pushed forward in her chair. “She was with us. Before everything went to hell. She helped us steal bread when we were starving. She bandaged your knees when she fell. She kept us warm in winter. You cried when she left, Powder. Don’t you remember?”

Jinx’s expression trembled. For a moment, a flicker of something—recognition?—glimmered in her eyes.

“She always loved you,” Vi said softly. “You were like a little sister to her. She never stopped asking about you, even after she was taken in by Silco. She never gave up on any of us.”

Jinx shook her head slowly. “No… no, she left me. Just like you did.”

“She didn’t leave,” Vi whispered. “She was taken. Just like me. Like you. We were all taken. But this—this doesn’t have to end like this.”

Y/N tried to move. Tried to speak. Her lips parted, but the pain was sharp, her body not cooperating.

“Powder,” she whispered. “Please…”

That whisper sent something sharp through Jinx’s chest. Her grip on the gun tightened. Her heart was pounding like a war drum. Her thoughts were screaming. She wanted it to stop.

“I wanted this,” she whispered. “I wanted this. All of us. Together. But now you’re here. And he doesn’t look at me the same way anymore. You ruined everything.”

“Jinx,” Silco said, standing now. “She’s not your enemy.” Jinx’s face twisted. Her eyes filled with tears.

“She’s not?” she asked. “Then why does it feel like you don’t need me anymore?”

Silco stepped toward her. “That’s not true.”

But Jinx didn’t hear them.

Her mind was a whirlwind of screams and flashes—hallucinations swirling around her, twisted fragments of memories that weren’t hers to keep. She heard voices, but they weren’t real. No, they couldn’t be.

“Jinx, stop—” Vi’s voice, distorted by the chaos in her mind, felt like a rope tugging at her heart.

“Don’t do this,” Y/N’s voice followed, softer, almost pleading. But Jinx's hand trembled on the gun, and her eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at the chaos unfolding before her. She couldn't separate the real from the imagined, and every thought that cut through her mind felt like a blade scraping at her very soul.

The face before her blurred, flickered, and Y/N’s voice cracked through the fog, so weak, so desperate, it almost broke her resolve. “Jinx, please... stop...”

Y/N’s eyes were wide, barely focused, blood dripping from her mouth as her fingers twitched, reaching out toward her. There was something there—something real, something that reminded Jinx of the girl she once knew, the sister she thought she'd lost.

For a brief second, the hallucinations faded. The voices of her loved ones, all of them, reached out to her.

But it wasn’t enough.

She could see Silco in her mind—his face, full of disappointment, his eyes seething with anger, his lips twisting with betrayal. “I chose her,” his voice snarled, cutting through the haze. “I will always chose her.”

Jinx’s breath quickened, her hand shaking harder, as if her very grip was losing its strength. The world around her bent and warped, and in her fevered mind, she saw the girl—Y/N—standing there, her eyes hollow, her voice pleading with Jinx.

“Please... don’t.”

But the words didn’t sink in.

"He's mine" Y/N laughs at her, towering over her.

“NO!” Jinx screamed, her own voice shattering the fragile thread of sanity she had left. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

=

The deafening roar of the machine gun filled the room as bullets tore through the air. They ripped into the walls, the table, the air, until everything was consumed by the chaos. The sound reverberated in her head, amplifying the pulse of madness that pushed her to the edge.

Y/N’s body jerked from the impact, each bullet sounding like a thunderclap inside Jinx’s skull. The image of her—bleeding, breaking, so close, yet so unreachable—was the last thing Jinx saw before her mind snapped.

The room fell silent except for the ragged breathing of those still alive. Y/N, barely conscious, felt the wetness of her own blood against her skin, and the weight of Silco’s frantic hands on her.

But Jinx didn’t see it. Didn’t understand.

Her machine gun, now smoking, was lowered slowly as Jinx’s breath caught in her throat.

And in that moment, the world seemed to freeze. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Time stood in suspension.

Y/N's body jerked, her head lolling as the weight of her injuries overtook her. She slumped forward, her body sagging against the chains that bound her to the chair. The metal cut into her skin, but she barely reacted to the pain. Blood soaked the front of her torn dress, seeping into the cracked floorboards beneath her. She gasped, her chest heaving for air, but the sound was barely more than a wheeze, like a fish pulled from water.

Her fingers twitched weakly, reaching out toward Silco, but the restraints kept her arms pinned in place, forcing her to remain in the chair, hunched and helpless. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, but the overwhelming darkness pressed against her.

Silco's breath caught in his throat, his gaze locked on her. His body fought against the restraints, but the chains held him fast, his muscles trembling with the effort to break free.

"Y/N..." he rasped, his voice cracking, helpless and desperate.

But Y/N couldn't respond. She was trapped, bound in both body and mind, and all she could do was twitch weakly against the restraints, her eyes searching for Silco as though her very soul was reaching out to him.

And in that moment, everything around them seemed to fade. There was only the sound of their breathing, the weight of the silence, and the shared understanding that the chaos was about to consume them all.

Silco roared. The sound was inhuman.

He broke free of the bindings at his wrists with a fury none of them had ever seen. His shoulder slammed into the table, knocking it aside as he dove to the floor. His knees hit hard. His hands found her—pressing into the wounds, trembling violently.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, Y/N. Please.” Silco’s voice broke, his hands trembling as he pressed against her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to focus. Her lips trembled, and she tried to speak—tried to say his name.

But blood filled her mouth, choking her. She gasped in frantic, shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last.

“No. No. Don’t do this to me,” Silco pleaded, his voice splintering as he struggled to keep his composure. His chest tightened with every passing second. “You can’t leave me again. Not again…”

His hands, shaking with panic, moved swiftly to cut the chains binding her to the chair. The metal clattered to the floor as he freed her, lifting her limp form into his arms with a raw urgency. He didn’t think. He couldn’t think. There was no time.

Gently, he laid her down onto the cracked floor, her body sagging into the cold wood. He pressed his hands against her abdomen, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. His breath came out in short, sharp gasps, his heart racing as he frantically worked to stem the flow of blood.

Her eyes, glazed with pain and confusion, locked with his. The same eyes. The same deep, haunting eyes he knew so well, the ones he once cherished, the ones that mirrored his own. They were his. She was his.

Y/N’s fingers twitched weakly, her skin pale against the shadows of the room. Her chest hitched, her breath a broken, gurgling sound as blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth.

“I—I'm here,” he whispered, his voice a raw rasp. His hands shook as they pressed harder against her wounds, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop the blood. His heart twisted with the knowledge that he might lose her, just like he’d lost so many before.

Her lips parted, the words barely a whisper, choked with the effort to breathe. “D-Dad…” she gasped, her voice barely audible. She coughed weakly, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth. “I... I’m... s-sorry…”

“No, no,” Silco said, his voice desperate as he brushed her hair from her face. “Don’t talk. Just stay with me. You’re not leaving. You’re not.”

Her chest rattled, her breath a strangled wheeze. She tried to reach for him with trembling fingers, but they fell short, landing weakly on the floor. “...L-love… you…”

“Y/N, please—” Silco choked, his heart breaking as he pressed his hand against her wounds with a frantic urgency. “I love you too. Please, don’t go…”

Her eyes flickered as she fought to stay awake, but the light in them was dimming, and with a final, weak gasp, she whispered, “Don’t... forget... me...”

And then, her hand fell limp, her body stilling in his arms.

Vi was screaming for help. Caitlyn was shouting orders. But Silco only heard the slowing pulse beneath his hands.

And then, like a man possessed, he scooped her into his arms.

He didn’t think. He couldn’t think. He only acted. He tore her from the floor and ran. His footsteps echoed like gunfire down the hallway. He had only one thought. Only one hope.

One name on his lips:

Singed.

The journey to Singed's lair was a blur. Silco’s mind was a maelstrom, every thought lost in the haze of panic, of raw, overwhelming fear. His steps were frantic, the sound of his boots slamming against the ground deafening in the silence of his own mind. His arms clutched Y/N’s fragile form, his only focus her bloodied, lifeless body. The world outside felt distant—irrelevant. He didn’t care about anything but her. She was all that mattered.

When the door to Singed’s lair finally burst open, the chaos in his chest mirrored the violence of his entrance. “Fix her. Now,” he rasped, barely able to form the words as they were torn from his throat. His voice was raw, frantic, his breath sharp and ragged from the frantic pace he'd set.

Singed, ever the calm, collected presence, didn’t waste a second. But there was something in the way he moved—something too methodical for the urgency Silco felt clawing at his insides. When the chemist’s fingers found her wrist, searching for a pulse, Silco was holding his breath, his entire being tense with hope.

But when Singed met his gaze, his expression cold and steady, Silco saw it: the pity. The quiet sorrow that burned like ice in Singed’s eyes. And that was when the truth hit him like a freight train.

Before he could even think, Silco grabbed Singed by the collar, yanking him closer, his fingers tightening in desperation. “Do something!” he roared, his voice breaking, the command coming out like a plea, like a child begging for salvation. “She’s not gone—she’s not—” His breath hitched, his words cracking under the weight of his own fear.

Singed’s gaze remained steady, but there was something colder in it now. Detached, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. His voice was low, even, the clinical tone of a man who had seen too much to be shaken. “It’s too late.”

The words fell like lead into Silco’s chest. They sliced through him, deeper than any blade could ever reach. His whole world fractured in that moment.

His grip on Singed’s collar loosened, his hands going slack as the last of his strength drained away. The fire that had once burned in him—a fire fueled by vengeance, power, and an iron will—died in an instant. Silco sank to his knees, pulling Y/N’s lifeless body against him as if he could somehow breathe life into her again. His trembling fingers brushed her bloodstained cheek, tracing the soft curve of her face that once held a spark of defiance, of life, of everything he had fought for. His vision blurred, but not with tears—not yet.

No, this wasn’t the moment for tears.

He couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t.

His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her closer as if he could somehow reverse the irreversible. He whispered her name, over and over, like a prayer, like a curse, like a desperate, futile attempt to bring her back.

“Y/N… Oh my darling girl…”

But the silence that followed her name was deafening. His breath grew shallow, jagged, and the reality of it—the cold, cruel finality of it—sank in.

=

And that was when it happened.

A sound—something broken, something raw—tore its way from Silco’s chest. It wasn’t a cry, not in the traditional sense. It was something deeper, something primal, like a wounded animal in its last moments. It was grief, pure and unadulterated, something so far beyond his carefully constructed façade that even he couldn’t recognize it. It was a sound of a man undone, of a father who had lost the only thing in his life that had ever truly mattered.

Singed said nothing. He simply turned and left, allowing Silco the solitude he had never wanted, the space he could never have asked for. He gave him the room to unravel completely, as Silco cradled Y/N’s broken form in his arms.

Alone in the dim light, Silco held her close. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there—time lost all meaning. The room around him seemed to close in, the walls pressing in on him, but still, he didn’t move. He refused to move.

His fingers, stiff with cold, gently brushed the strands of blood-matted hair from her face. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, the life that had once been there gone—snuffed out as quickly as a candle’s flame. His tears came then, slow and steady, falling like droplets from a broken dam, each one a reminder of everything he had failed to protect. But he didn’t weep for his lost empire or his empty ambitions. No, his grief was for her—his daughter, the one person he had ever allowed himself to love without reservation.

Silco had lived a lifetime in the darkness. He had walked alone for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to care for another soul. Y/N had reminded him. She had brought color to his existence, something bright and warm in the cold, gray world he had built. She was the reason he had kept fighting, kept surviving. She was the reason he had clung to life when it seemed pointless to do so. And now, she was gone.

He pulled her closer, his body trembling as he rocked her gently in his arms. The soft weight of her—once full of warmth and light—was now only a hollow echo. He closed his eyes, feeling the coldness seeping into his bones, but still, he held her close, unwilling to let her go.

This was where it had all started. Where he had first held her in his arms, the small, fragile infant who had depended on him for everything. And now, he was holding her again, this time for the last time. He leaned back against the table behind him, the cold wood pressing into his back, but he didn’t care.

He could almost feel the weight of those early memories, the ones when he had cradled her against his chest like this, when she had been small and helpless. He would sing to her back then, in the rare moments of peace, moments that now felt like another lifetime.

His breath hitched again, and his fingers traced her face one last time, brushing away the blood and the grime that had tainted her. She looked so different now—so far removed from the girl who had once smiled up at him, full of curiosity and defiance. But in her eyes, he could still see the same reflection. The same soul.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I remember the first time you smiled at me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You were so small, barely a month old. You looked up at me, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel so alone.” His fingers trembled as he gently stroked her cheek. “You were always so curious. Always asking questions. Always wanting to know more.”

Silco closed his eyes, the weight of the memory nearly crushing him.

“I used to tell you stories, you know?” His voice cracked, but he pushed on. “You liked the ones about the stars. You used to laugh when I told you the stars were watching over us. You said they would keep us safe.” He chuckled bitterly, but the sound was hollow. “I promised you I would always protect you. That I would never let anything happen to you. And now…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

His fingers brushed through her hair, and his breath shuddered as he let the memory take over. “You were never afraid. Not like me. You were strong. Even as a child, you were strong. That’s why you fought so hard, wasn’t it? You always wanted to prove you could handle it all, even when the world tried to break you. I admired that about you. I always did.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips trembling against her cool skin.

“You were always the light in my darkness,” he whispered, voice full of despair. “The one thing that made the endless nights bearable.” His hand slid down to her lifeless fingers, still warm but slowly losing that vital heat. “And now… now I’ll never see you smile again. Never hear you laugh. I’ll never feel your hand in mine again.”

His heart cracked. He didn’t think it was possible to break any further, but it did. It shattered.

“You deserved more,” he murmured, his voice thick with grief. “You deserved so much more than this.”

He pulled her tighter, as though he could somehow shield her from the world that had taken her. His chest heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his emotions too much to bear.

“Please, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw and desperate. “Please forgive me. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you. And now... now I’ll have to live with that.”

The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of his shallow, unsteady breathing. Silco clung to her, unwilling to release her, as if holding her tightly would keep her tethered to the world, keep her alive in some small way.

=

As the hours bled into each other, he whispered every memory he had of her, every moment that had once been a glimmer of joy in a life full of darkness. The nights they had spent together, her laughter, the moments she had reached out to him for comfort and strength.

In his arms, Silco held the remnants of his world, the only part of his life that had ever made sense. And as he rocked her gently, he vowed to never forget her. Never forget the girl who had been his heart, his reason for breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, his voice cracking with a pain he could not contain. “I’m so sorry.”

But the words meant nothing now.

As the hours dragged on, the lair remained silent, save for the soft sobs that racked Silco’s body, as he sat there, still holding her close, unwilling to let go.

And in that quiet, dimly lit room, a father grieved the death of the one thing he had ever truly loved.

The rain was falling softly by the time Silco made the climb to Piltover.

A gray morning, quiet and cold—the kind that seemed to mourn with him. The sky hung low, heavy with unmoving clouds that smothered the light, casting a pale, funereal hush over the world. Each drop of rain that struck his worn coat felt like penance. Every step forward was a wound splitting open anew, an agony that sank into his bones and clung like a shadow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look back. His arms, cradling the weight wrapped in white, never faltered.

Y/N was swaddled in a plain linen sheet, white and clean. A small mercy—one last kindness. The rain had dampened it, made it cling softly to the delicate contours of her form, but Silco ensured it stayed wrapped tight and neat. As if preserving her dignity could somehow preserve the memory of her light. The blood, the bruises, the violence of her final moments—gone now. Hidden. All that remained was stillness. Too peaceful, too cruel. She looked as though she were simply sleeping—like he might whisper her name and she would stir.

He had made the decision in silence.

There had been no debate, no orders given. Y/N had called Piltover home. The city she’d once dreamed of. The place she’d wandered with quiet awe in her eyes. Piltover had given her hope, purpose, even when he couldn’t. Silco had always hated the city—its hypocrisy, its pretension—but she had seen something different in it. She had believed in it. And in the end, if he could not give her life, he would give her the peace she’d longed for.

Sevika had tried to take the burden from him when they reached the edge of Zaun.

“Let me carry her,” she said softly. Her voice was rough but reverent. “You’ve been walking all night.”

But Silco only held tighter, jaw clenched, the rain running down his face like tears he refused to acknowledge.

“No,” he rasped, not meeting her eyes. “I will carry her.”

She said nothing more. Just walked beside him in silence, shoulders bowed under the weight of her own grief.

=

They passed through Zaun like phantoms. People stepped aside without a word. Some lowered their heads. Others simply turned away, unable to stomach the sight of the man who had ruled them now hollowed out, carrying something precious and lifeless in his arms. The whispers followed them—soft, stunned murmurs echoing off the stone.

By the time they reached the bridge to Piltover, the rain had thickened into a steady curtain. Enforcers flanked the entrance, their weapons uncertain in their hands. They didn’t stop him, not right away. Something in the way he walked—the slow, reverent pace, the figure wrapped in white—made them hesitate.

It wasn’t until Jayce arrived, armor hastily thrown over his shoulders, that the gates parted.

He halted at the sight, eyes locking onto the bundle in Silco’s arms. His breath caught.

“…Y/N?” he whispered.

Silco gave a single nod, the movement stiff, deliberate.

Jayce stepped forward instinctively, his gaze drifting to the linen-shrouded form. “What happened?” he asked, though his voice already held the tremor of someone who knew the answer.

“She’s gone,” Silco said simply. Absolute. Final. The words hung in the air like a guillotine’s fall.

The rain fell harder.

For a long moment, neither man spoke. Enemies by design, by principle—now just two grieving souls in the eye of a storm neither of them could control. Whatever history lay between them, it quieted now. Y/N had lived between their worlds, between their wars. And now, she lay still in Silco’s arms, beyond the reach of politics or pride.

“I want her buried here,” Silco said after a beat. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with light.”

Jayce swallowed, his throat working around words that refused to form. Finally, he nodded.

“There’s a garden,” he said, voice rough. “She used to go there. A cliffside. She said it reminded her she could breathe.”

Silco gave no reply, only started walking again—toward the heart of the city.

Jayce walked beside him. Sevika trailed behind.

=

Through Piltover’s quiet streets, past the stone and glass towers, past the curious onlookers who froze at the sight. Silco walked through the city like a ghost, but he did not hide. He carried her still, his grip never loosening, every step filled with the devotion of a man burying the last good thing he had.

The garden was just as Jayce remembered—high on the cliffs, overlooking the silver sea, with flowers blooming despite the cold. Pale petals trembled under the rain. The air was still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

A grave had been prepared. Jayce had sent word ahead.

Silco approached it slowly. The earth was damp, freshly turned. He knelt and laid her down with a tenderness that made Sevika’s eyes sting.

She knelt beside him, silent, as he unwrapped the cloth just enough to reveal her face. Together, they fixed her hair, brushed her brow. Jayce moved forward without hesitation and placed a simple white flower in her hands.

No words were spoken—not at first. None of them trusted their voices. The grief was too raw, too holy.

But as they stood in a solemn triangle around her, it was Silco who finally spoke.

“You were always the best of me,” he whispered, kneeling beside her once more. His voice cracked. “And I never told you enough. I never told you…”

He closed his eye, bent his head low, and pressed a kiss to her brow.

Sevika stepped forward next. She knelt without a sound, calloused fingers trailing lightly over Y/N’s hair. She swallowed hard, blinking fast.

“Rest easy, kid,” she murmured.

Jayce lingered last, hand trembling as he reached out. His fingertips brushed her hand.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said. His voice barely carried over the wind. “I should’ve…”

None of them finished their thoughts. Some things were too big for words.

Together—Silco, Jayce, and Sevika—they lowered her into the grave.

Jayce passed the first handful of earth to Silco, who scattered it in silence. Then Jayce. Then Sevika. The sound of soil striking linen echoed like thunder in their chests.

When it was done, Silco stood back, his hands streaked with dirt and rain. His face was unreadable, but his eye was distant—somewhere lost in memory.

Jayce planted a small wooden marker at the head of the grave. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t ornate. But it was enough.

They stood there for a long time, the three of them, shoulder to shoulder, with nothing but the sound of the sea and the quiet hush of rain around them.

Eventually, Jayce was the one to break the silence. “She wouldn’t have wanted us to keep fighting.”

Silco gave no answer. He didn’t need to. In that moment, there was no fight. Only loss.

And when the time came, when the rain had turned to mist and the sky began to pale, Silco turned.

He walked back through the garden alone, his coat trailing behind him like a shadow.

But just behind him, a step or two away, Sevika followed.

And Jayce watched them go, the weight of a world settling on his shoulders—lighter now, perhaps, for a moment.

But only just.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: in which he realizes you were the one for him

warnings: none i think !

wc: 1100

Hoshina wasn't a player. He wasn't one to say yes to everyone who came his way nor was he one to lightly pursue just about anyone who slightly interested him— not to mention he didn’t fall easily to begin with. He was a busy man in a dangerous line of work so having a relationship simply didn’t make sense most of the time.

However, this is not to say he hasn’t had a few relationships here and there. He loved those he dated, he really did. He did not believe in dating for the fun of it nor did he believe in starting a relationship he knew would end at some point, but subconsciously he tried not to get attached. He kept his distance and locked away his heart to keep from getting hurt. Was it unfair? Well yes, but he was scared. Everyone has something that terrifies them greatly, this just so happened to be Hoshina’s.

Yet, recently he could tell that something was different with you. It had only been a few months since you started dating, but he feared the shift in his feelings. He knew what it was— he knew very well, but as soon as he admitted it, it would be over. There’d be no going back for him. He knew he was being rather irrational, he knew that if he sat down and confronted these emotions he’d realize they weren’t that big of a deal, but he couldn’t. He’s never been able to.

However, while fighting this kaiju, it became plain obvious that he was simply in denial. 

It upset him how important you were to him, but more than that it upset him that he knew he was important to you. You had made it so painfully clear that he meant the absolute world to you and that broke him to pieces every single time.

To him it was easy being alone— he just had to make sure his job was complete before he died. If he could ensure everyone’s safety or at least help Mina out, there was nothing more he wished for. Yet while fighting Kaiju no. 10 today, when he saw his life flash before his eyes, his immediate thought was of you. If he died you’d cry. And that alone was going to get him home alive.

He’d rather die than make you cry. Especially not alone.

As he stood up again, he could see his blood dripping from his wounds and immediately it made him chuckle. You’d cry anyways when you see the state he’s in. 

I’ll have to be around to wipe your tears at least, he said to you in his head.

He was incredibly lucky that you didn’t work on the battlefield, his heart simply would not be able to take it. But he did, and for you he’d have to get home safe. Even if no one else cared that much, not even himself, he knew you would.

All of a sudden, it was easy to admit. He was hopelessly in love with you, in a way he didn't know he was capable of. He wished that he would spend the rest of his life with you and he hoped you would spend the rest of yours with him. Perhaps he was just afraid and a little flustered to admit that he was important to someone, especially someone special to him too. He had seen how painful it was for those left behind, a little too often. 

But there was an easy solution to that, he’d just get back to you safe every time. He just won’t make you worry and he’ll be there for you. This was supposed to be a dilemma, something he thought he'd stress over, but in the moment he felt eerily relaxed, definitely not like he was fighting an identified grade kaiju. The rest of the fight was a blur, he couldn't remember much. His head was clear but the fatigue had taken over at that point, but before he knew it, the kaiju laid in front of him still.

He was faintly conscious as they rushed him into an ambulance and patched him up. Once he was properly treated and awake, they had warned him to stay put and take it easy, but all he wanted to do was see you.

As soon as he left his assigned room, he immediately bumped into you. You had been waiting to be let in to see him. You took one look at the way he was patched up and tears welled into your eyes. He could tell you didn't mean to, you didn't want to worry him.

“Please don't cry,” he said softly, wiping your tears away. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“I'm not crying,” you said with a scowl on your face, but the way your voice cracked was not very convincing. “I'm so glad you're back.”

“Can't live without me?” he teased. He knew you couldn't live without him, but he couldn't either. Yet, now he even hated the thought of you living without him, let alone with someone else, so here he was. And here he always will be.

“Shut up,” you said. “You know I can't.”

He knew, but hearing you say that still made his heart flutter. He reached out with his right hand to grab your left and held it carefully. He leaned in to kiss you, but it was so much sloppier than the careful ones he usually gave you. Forgive him, he was terribly exhausted.

“I can't either,” he said, snuggling his face into your shoulder.

“You can't?” you asked, a little surprised. It broke his heart that he had possibly made you feel such way.

“Not for a second,” he said, still avoiding eye contact. “I'd rather die than wake up without you next to me, actually.”

You wouldn’t reply, so he brought his head back up to look at you.

“Oh, don't cry,” he said and chuckled a little, wiping your tears away as he kissed you again. “I didn't mean to make you cry.”

He hadn't let go of your hand and although he was gentle, he held it firmly. He didn't say anything, but he vowed to himself that he'd put a ring on it someday. He wasn't letting go of you ever.

You were the one for him.

[hxzbinwrites]

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560

[akamitrani]

omg i just read your dht fanfic and it was so good!! if your taking requests could i request that reader is married to david and she was with him on the set if terrifier (2024) and reader asks him to make love to her with his Art costume still on? Thanks!’ (sorry if this makes no sense lmao)

— The After-Hours Act —

David Howard Thornton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, established relationship, costume kink, roleplay (?), kissing, pining, choking, rough sex, public sex (well, kind of).

Summary: It's late at night, filming is practically done. Your husband, David, gives his final performance of the day.

[A/N: Omg hi, yes I accept requests! Thank you so much for liking my last fic 🤍 Hope you enjoy this one too, it's my first time doing smut. I absolutely loved the idea and probably had way too much fun with it lol.]

The set was alive with chaos. Flickering lights casting long, jagged shadows against the cracked walls, making the abandoned warehouse look even more sinister. Fake blood is pooled on the concrete floor and the air is thick with the smell of sweat, latex and the metallic tang of stage blood.

In the middle of it all stood David, fully transformed into the unnervingly silent and grotesque Art the Clown. His smile stretched wide under the white mask, black lips curling into a grimace that was equal parts amusing and horrifying.

You watched from the shadows just beyond the set, your eyes never leaving him. David had always been able to command a room and, as Art the Clown, he held a power that drew you in no matter how many times you had seen him in character.

The director yelled “Let's wrap it up!” and the tense energy of the set dissipated like smoke. David instantly broke character, his terrifying expression melting into his usual boyish grin as he exchanged a few words with the crew. His eyes flicked over to you and he gave you a subtle wink.

Your heart skipped a beat as he made his way toward you, still in full costume. The other crew members busied themselves with cleanup, leaving you and David in a pocket of relative privacy.

“Enjoy the show?” – he teased, voice low and familiar despite the eerie costume.

You couldn’t help but smile, mix of nerves and excitement – “You were terrifying, as always. But...” – you replied, eyes lingering on the smeared makeup around his lips – “I have a little request tonight”

David’s brow quirked in curiosity, he stayed silent, slipping back into Art’s mute persona for a moment. You took a deep breath, stepping closer so only he could hear your words...

“Can you stay in costume... For a little playtime, with me?” you whispered getting closer to him, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

For a split second you saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, it was quickly replaced by a mischievous glimmer... He understood the idea. He nodded slowly, slipping fully back into character, his smile turning wickedly playful. Stepping back, he walked towards the door of the warehouse, locking it.

You felt a thrill shoot down your spine, you were completely alone with him now – No crew, no distractions. He moved closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. The game had begun.

David – or rather, Art – stopped just inches away, tilting his head in that unnerving, silent way.

“Are you sure about this?” – he whispered, the question hanging in the air like a dare. You could see it in his eyes, he was more than ready to play along. You wanted to see just how far he would take it, how much you could handle... You nodded.

Without warning, he lunges forwards, pining you against a cold concrete wall. A gasp escapes your lips as his gloved hand wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but enough to send a wave of adrenaline through your body.

The pressure of his hand on your throat sends waves of heat between your legs, your breath coming out in short gasps. He leaned in closer, his painted lips brushing your ear, he remained silent, true to Art's unsettling nature.

You whimpered softly, feeling the undeniable desire. David's grin widened and he pushed you harder against the wall, his free hand slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, his gloves rough against your skin. His eyes bored into yours demanding submission.

You gave in willingly, letting him take control over you. The grip on your throat tightened just slightly, enough to make you even more wet.

“David...” – You breathed his name. A futile attempt to break the spell of Art's menacing silence.

But he wasn't ready to break character yet. Instead, he released his hold on your throat and captured your lips in a messy kiss, taste of makeup and sweat mixing between you two.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you. For a moment you thought he might speak, but instead he let out that eerie silent laugh, his shoulders shaking as he looked at you with a mocking expression.

“You really are good at this...” – You said, voice husky with arousal and fear.

He flashed that terrifying grin again and in a heartbeat lifted you up in his arms. You look at him with a surprised look as he carries you to the prop bed in the set and carefully throws you in it. He hovers on top of you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. This time you completely feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, making you moan – “Hmm yes...”

David's hands start to wander around your body, you're completely under him, completely at his mercy. His fingers slid under your dress pushing it up, revealing your black lacy set of lingerie. He pulled back and paused for a moment, he had an idea, suddenly getting out of bed – you look at him confused.

"David? What happened?" – You asked, afraid you did something wrong. He doesn't speak, instead he silently laughs gesturing for you to wait with an excited expression.

You watch him happily reach for Art's infamous black trash bag that was in a corner, open it dramatically and start looking for something inside of it. You were about to say something, but before you could do that he threw the bag away, in his hand is a black knife with fake blood still on it. He smiles devilishly pointing to the knife... then you. You freeze, feeling genuine horror with his actions now.

David senses your growing tension and gestures with both hands as what can be understood as 'relax, I'm not going to hurt you... probably'. What an imp. He starts crawling on top of the bed towards you with a hungry look, reaching your legs. He signals for you to open them and you gladly do so, without asking questions. He pauses for a moment as if savoring the situation, the position you're in – He gives you his trademark creepy smirk.

He reaches for your panties, his finger lifted one of the side edges and in a swift motion he uses the knife to slash it, removing it and revealing your throbbing cunt – now on full display for him. You inhale sharply, the cold air making you shiver. He throws away the knife and your undies somewhere around the set.

He pulls you towards him roughly, demanding, pushing your legs more far apart. You notice his bulge is very prominent now, poking through his clown costume. David hovers above you, one hand beside your head and the other ghostly stroking your sensitive bud making you moan. You don't want to wait, can't handle teasing now – you shift slightly as a form of protest.

“Fuck me now” – You breathlessly groan

He stopped in his tracks and looked you dead in the face, up until now he has been real soft with you, taking things slowly... But if you're such a needy bitch with no patience then he will give you exactly what you want.

David pulls back slightly and gathers your legs in front of him, pushing you to the side forcing you to change positions. Your back now is exposed to him, your ass completely tilted up, he uses his knee to once more spread your legs. You tried to look back at him but he shoved your head down in the bed and unspokenly demanded you to stay this way. Not wanting to defy him again you accept his command.

You stayed like this for a few seconds wondering why nothing has happened, you couldn't help but listen to your surroundings, especially behind you – focusing on any sound, any clue to what will happen. Unbeknownst to you, your husband – Art, at the moment – was dazed at the sight before him. Pussy swollen with desire and wetness threatening to drip down your groin, enough to make his dick beg to be released.

A sudden sharp noise of tearing cloth invaded your ears, making you jump a little bit. You were scared to look back but your curiosity was louder at the moment and you couldn't help but slightly glance to the source of the sound. David had torn his clown suit to free his dick, now holding his fully erect member in his hand leaking in precum, pumping it a few times.

He caught you looking and in a futile attempt you tried to avert your gaze, too late now. He smiled wickedly and as punishment, he gave you an unexpected ruthless slap to your butt, making you hiss in both shock and pleasure. The stinging sensation only adding to your burning heat. He continued – two, three, four, five slaps – smacking until you were moaning for the pain, for him.

“Mmm-aah fuck” – you moaned – “fuck me, just fuc-”

Your phrase cut short when he entered your pussy, shoving his dick deep inside you then completely out in a excruciatingly slow speed. He was taunting you, giving you what you wanted but not in the way intended to.

“Mmmm Dave, please ah- please...” – You cried out. You could feel the clown smirking behind you.

David started picking up speed, pounding hard, grabbing your waist for stability. There will definitely be some purple digits engraved there tomorrow.

You can hear his ragged breath and occasional whimpers, you're surprised he could maintain Art's silent persona this far. David is usually quite vocal, he enjoys praising you during sex. The difference is noticeable, you're still unsure about it... On the other hand, his much more dominant demeanor when portraying Art makes up for it.

He takes his dick out and flips you on your back to face him again, he takes your legs and puts them on his shoulder. He promptly aligned his shaft with your entrance again, staring directly at you. David's half-lidded blue eyes peaking through the white mask, black lips slightly open indicating breathlessness. Pounding you, he pushed your bra out of the way, he loved the erotic sight of your tits bouncing just for him.

His cock deliciously hit your sweet spot with expertise – he just knows how to make you feel good – feeling the climax build up more and more on your stomach on each thrust he gives, you're almost there.

He leans in closer to you, one of his hands grabs your throat while the other stays at your waist, pining you completely onto the bed. He's choking you mercilessly, cutting your oxygen this time.

David picks up his speed really fast, making the prop bed creak loudly, the sound of rough slapping skin filling the set – Your orgasm threatening to crash down. The stimulation is overwhelming and you can't hold it anymore.

His dick hits hard and deep in your pussy – you deliciously cum, your juices spilling all over his shaft. He nods maniacally feeling your tightening warm cunt around his cock, it was all that he needed to reach his peak – closing his eyes and throwing his head back, he ejaculates inside you with one final thrust. He releases the hold on your neck allowing you to gasp for air.

You see his face contorting and you think he might break character now. Instead he opened his eyes and smiled at you while clapping his hands cheerfully. The way he stayed silent, embodying Art’s menacing playfulness, drove you to the edge.

He removes himself from you, sweating, panting. You suddenly feel the exhaustion and so does he – literally plopping himself on the bed, by your side.

“I love you so much, you know that?” – he finally spoke after some minutes, the real David finally breaking through.

It was such a relief to hear his voice again – “I love you too... Even when you're being a complete psycho” – you teased, still breathless.

David laughed, genuinely – “I hope I wasn't too rough” – he said, pressing his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting embrace.

“Maybe a little” – you admitted, resting your hands against his chest – “But I like it when you surprise me”

David smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your head, filled with all the tenderness you knew him for. It was just the two of you, sharing a quiet moment.

“Thank you” – he murmured – “For loving all sides of me... Even the creepy ones”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his chest – “I wouldn’t have it any other way”

You knew this was a moment you’d cherish – a memory of the man you loved, both the sweet husband and domineering clown... And tonight, you have experienced both.

“Alright, alright. I think we've given Art enough playtime for one night.” - he murmured, gently caressing your back. He kissed you one last time before preparing to get out of bed.

“I think I'll have to buy another clown costume” – he joked, pointing at his groin area, where he had ripped the fabric.

“And new panties for me, ruined my favorite one” – you added with a fake pout pointing at the long gone undies, currently at the floor. (rip undies)

“Yeah, sorry about that... I- I don't know what I was doing honestly” – he said looking down

“No, no. None of that. I loved everything. All of it.” – You quickly replied, forcing him to look at you. You could swear you saw a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“C'mon, let's get out of here” – He said sweetly, slipping his hand into yours – “We've had enough fun for one night”

Some minutes later as you both walked out of the darkened set hand in hand, you realized what you had just experienced was a moment you'd never forget. Fear, love and desire collided in the most thrilling way.

[solxamber]

Hi Sol! Hope your having a good February so far!

Could I get a: Leona, Romantic with Shivers by Ed Sheeran?

Happy early Valentine's day!

"Like my soul's on fire" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Shivers by Ed Sheeran

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy Ending, Realization of feelings

Leona Kingscholar doesn’t chase things.

The world has always handed him its expectations, its disappointments, its half-hearted praises wrapped in thinly veiled insults. He’s learned to shrug it all off—to take only what he needs and sleep through the rest.

But then there’s you.

And Leona doesn’t chase, no—but he follows.

Because when you burst into his life, wild and restless, dragging him by the wrist into whatever chaos you’ve concocted this time, he finds himself moving before he can think. He groans, he complains, he calls you a menace—yet he always follows.

And it should irritate him. The way you throw yourself into things with no plan, no hesitation. The way you insist on midnight road trips with no destination, on dancing under flickering neon signs, on sneaking onto rooftops just to stare at the sky. It should be exhausting, annoying—

But damn it, you make his blood burn.

And Leona, for all his grumbling, has never felt more alive.

Tonight, it’s the city. You’re out past a reasonable hour, the streets buzzing with life, headlights flashing against wet pavement. There’s a chill in the air, but you barely seem to notice, too caught up in whatever scheme has taken hold of you this time.

Leona leans against the hood of his car, watching you with that lazy half-smirk that does nothing to hide the heat in his gaze.

“Tell me there’s a plan,” he drawls, even though he already knows the answer.

You flash him a grin, eyes alight with mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And of course, he should’ve known. You live for the rush, for the spontaneity, for the feeling of wind whipping through your hair as you take a leap without looking. And the worst part?

You make him want to jump too.

Before he knows it, you’ve grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. And for all his complaints, he doesn’t resist.

He never does.

Hours blur together—bright lights, laughter, stolen kisses in the shadows of alleyways. Leona doesn’t remember the last time he let himself have fun, not like this. Not in a way that didn’t feel like a performance, like something expected of him.

But with you, it’s different.

With you, it’s easy.

You don’t want the prince. You don’t want the strategist, the second-born, the disappointment, the afterthought. You just want him.

And it terrifies him.

Because Leona has spent his whole life avoiding expectations he can’t meet, avoiding fights he can’t win. He never lets himself want things too much. It’s easier that way.

But then there’s you—laughing, warm, pressing close to him as the night lingers on—and he knows, deep down, that this is a battle he’s already lost.

It’s nearly dawn when you both end up somewhere quieter, the city still humming in the distance. You’re leaning against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you, but you’re smiling, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the back of his hand.

Leona watches you, his mind a mess of things he’ll never say out loud.

You make him want things. You make him ache.

And then, in that quiet, reckless way of yours, you say, “Leona, let’s stay like this forever.”

His breath catches.

It’s a stupid thing to say. Impossible, even. Forever isn’t real—not for people like him, who have spent their lives being second place, almost-enough, not-quite-worthy.

But you look at him like you mean it. Like you really believe it’s possible.

And damn it all, maybe he wants to believe it too.

Leona exhales, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “You sure you can handle forever with me?”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, your smile soft but certain. “Try me.”

And Leona, who has spent his whole life avoiding the things he can’t win, decides—just this once—to stop running.

If this is a dream, he thinks, then he never wants to wake up.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[cosmiclily]

hey, here i go again, this came up to my mind, so if you want and have the time, here it is

what about an angst with Vi, where she dreams about reader wearing a wedding dress, and she's in a suit, it's their wedding, but then she wakes up crying, cause knows she can't have that

btw, hope you're having a good week! 🩷

i sleep so i can see you

vi x reader

wc: 1.6k

cw: hurt no comfort, there is a little description of a panic attack

notes: 😼😼 i love angst and i love to make my comfort characters suffer muahahahaha, jk. there is like 5 seconds of happiness in the beginning and then suffering. thank you for the request!! i’m having an okay week nothing special, hope yours is going well! 😽

Vi was never the marriage type. If you had asked her as a teenager whether she ever wanted to get married, she would have scoffed and said, “Marriage is stupid. Why would I want the state and the church involved in my business?" But she never really meant it.

She wasn’t against marriage out of rebellion or some grand stance against tradition. No, Vi never imagined herself getting married because, deep down, she never believed anyone would stay.

When you lose your parents, grow up in the system, get separated from your sister, and watch every sense of family you ever had slip through your fingers, it becomes hard to believe that anyone would stick around. That anyone would want to stay. That anyone would be willing to put in the work to understand the mess that lives inside you—the trauma, the scars, the weight you carry every single day.

But you did.

You stayed.

You saw through the walls she put up, understood her in a way no one else ever had. You made her feel safe, cared for, like she didn’t have to fight the world alone anymore. You peeled back her layers, tamed the wild animal. And for the first time in her life, Vi found herself thinking that maybe marriage wasn’t such a bad idea.

Maybe sharing her life with someone—sharing everything—wasn’t so terrifying. Maybe growing old with the same person, waking up to the same face every morning, wasn’t a curse.

So when she saw you walking down the aisle, draped in white, makeup done, the biggest, most breathtaking smile on your face, she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

You held a bouquet of violets in your hands, and that small piece of her with you meant the entire world.

Everything was perfect.

Your parents were there, her sister was there, Vander, Ekko, Mylo, Claggor—everyone. Smiling. Happy. Whole.

It was almost too perfect.

Then, as you took another step forward, something shifted.

The aisle stretched, growing impossibly long, like you were further and further away from her. Your smile—so bright, so warm—began to twist at the edges, turning wrong.

Vi tried to move, but her feet were cemented to the ground.

She tried to call your name, but no sound came out.

She tried to run to you, reach for you—anything—but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

Vi jolted awake, gasping.

Her body was shaking, drenched in cold sweat, her chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven. Her face was wet. It took her a second to realize she was crying.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

She wasn’t getting married. You weren’t in a wedding dress in front of her.

Vander wasn’t alive.

Her sister was gone. You were gone.

And she was alone.

Just like always.

The room was dark, suffocatingly quiet except for her ragged breathing.

Vi didn’t even have the energy to think, to process. All she could do was drag herself to the bathroom, sink to her knees, and empty her stomach into the toilet.

She spent what felt like hours on the bathroom floor, her back pressed against the cold tiles, hands trembling, hair sticking to her damp forehead. Vi’s chest rose and fell unevenly, breath hitching as she fought against the weight pressing down on her ribs. It felt like she was drowning.

She’d been through this before—with you.

The nights she’d wake up gasping, screaming, clawing at reality until she felt your hands on her, grounding her, pulling her back. You always knew what to do. You’d whisper soft reassurances, hold her until the shaking stopped, remind her that she wasn’t alone. That she was safe.

But you weren’t here.

And it was her fault.

Everything was her fault.

She was never good enough for anyone to stay. That was her curse—every time she let someone see the real her, every time she let someone in, they left.

And why wouldn’t they? Who would want to deal with this? With her?

Vi forced herself to move, to do something other than spiral. She turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto her face, gripping the edges of the sink as she tried to anchor herself to reality. But everything still felt off—like she was stuck in some inescapable dream.

Her eyes flicked to the clock. 4:57 AM.

Too early. Too late. Meaningless.

Her hand reached for her phone before she could stop herself, fingers scrolling through her contacts until she found your name.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

Maybe you’d pick up.

Maybe you’d tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she was fine, that you were fine. That everything was okay. That you were coming home.

But you wouldn’t.

So she didn’t call.

Vi locked her phone and let it drop onto the counter with a dull thud. Then, with a heavy breath, she dragged herself out of the bathroom and back to bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come.

When her alarm went off, she was still wide awake.

But even if she was falling apart, life didn’t stop for her.

So, she forced herself up, took a shower, and went to work. It was an uneventful day at the shop—no tattoo appointments, no familiar faces walking in, just a single girl wanting a belly button piercing. By the time 3 p.m. hit, she had nothing left to do.

She thought about going home. Maybe she could force herself to be productive. Maybe she could drown herself in work, find something to focus on so she wouldn’t have to think.

But she knew exactly how that would go. She’d sit in silence, overthink, spiral.

So instead, she took a detour.

Vi knew your habits. She knew you liked to go to that small coffee shop by the river, the one with the rickety outdoor tables and the faded green awning. She knew your order by heart.

And there you were.

Sitting outside, a mug in your hands—probably tea, since you were trying to quit coffee—watching the ducks drift lazily across the water.

You looked exactly the same.

Like you.

And that somehow made it worse.

Her phone felt heavy in her back pocket, like it was calling her name, demanding that she did something. That she said something. That she stopped standing there like a coward, staring at you from a distance, pretending like she wasn’t the one who ruined everything.

But instead of pulling it out, instead of calling you or walking up to you, she just stood there.

Frozen.

She was the one who screwed everything up.

The one who said awful things. The one who pushed you away. The one who locked herself up so tight that even you—the person who had always been so patient, so understanding—couldn’t get through to her.

In her head, it had been inevitable. You were going to leave eventually. Everyone did. So if she accelerated the process, if she pushed you away first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. Maybe she could brace herself, prepare for the pain.

But like hell that worked.

Because here she was, standing across the street, looking at you like a ghost from another life, and it hurt just the same.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes met hers.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, just as quickly as you saw her, your expression hardened, and you turned away. Not just looking past her, but through her. Like she was nothing.

Like she was no one.

That was what finally made her snap.

Before she could think, before she could stop herself, she was crossing the street, stepping onto the café’s patio.

“Hey.”

You froze, your grip tightening around your mug, but you didn’t look at her.

Vi clenched her jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna pretend you didn’t see me?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, finally turning your head. “What do you want, Vi?”

And it wasn’t the words that got to her. It was how you said them. Tired. Like you had already run this conversation a million times in your head. Like you had already decided she wasn’t worth the energy.

Her hands curled into fists. “I—” She hesitated, suddenly realizing she didn’t have a plan. “I just… wanted to talk.”

You scoffed. “Now you wanna talk?”

The bitterness in your voice stung.

“What do you expect me to do?” Vi shot back, voice rising. “Act like we didn’t—” She stopped herself, taking a sharp breath. “I know I messed up. I know I said things I shouldn’t have, but damn, you really hate me that much now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, finally setting your mug down. “Hate you?” You stood up, and she realized just how much closer you were now. “Vi, I don’t have the energy to hate you. I wasted too much of it trying to love you.”

That hit like a punch to the gut.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something, anything, but you weren’t done.

“I gave you everything, and you threw it away” you continued, voice shaking. “And now you’re here? Just expecting me to what,forgive you? Pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“No,” Vi said quickly. “That’s not—”

But you weren’t listening anymore.

“Where the hell was this energy when I was begging you to let me in?” You took a step forward, eyes burning into hers. “Where was this Vi when I was trying to help you?”

Vi clenched her teeth, anger bubbling in her chest—but not at you. At herself.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make things right.

You just stared at her, something unreadable in your expression. Then, after a beat, you shook your head.

“I hope you figure your shit out, Violet.”

And with that, you picked up your things and walked away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding on her chest.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

[rubyvhs]

early mornings | sam & dean

tags. pure fluff, mentions of sex once, 800 words lailas notes. loved doing this, first time trying headcannons style nd you didn’t specify so I did both sam and dean. theme inspired by @sammyluvr their’s is honestly so so gorgeous.

sam winchester !

— .✦ You both had sex the night prior, and so Sam is the sweetest human in the morning. It's in the bunker and you're still asleep but he wakes up for his five am runs and just admires you for ten minutes.

— .✦ You eventually wake up and at first are very much panicking. Where is he, did you do something wrong, is he mad.

— .✦ He comes back with breakfast. In bed. 

— .✦ "Sam, I'm really impressed that your best quality isn't your di—"

— .✦ "I'm trying to do something sweet." Yeah but why would he do it if not to hear your teasing?

— .✦ You also just hide your insecurities behind jokes and banter so maybe that's why Sam shut it down when he heard it. You both eat in bed and he picked up your favorite which makes you fall in love (and scream inside) a thousand times more. 

— .✦ You're so insanely terrified but you're also comfortable. He's your best friend and now he's something so much more. You thought yesterday was a one off but he's so clearly in this for the long run that you're beaming the entire day. It's the best morning you've ever had.

— .✦ He even tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, which is just so very fairytale Sammy. And it makes you feel unreal. 

— .✦ He's surprised when you kiss him after you're both done and off the bed. He's even more surprised when you don't immediately leave his room, instead shower in his bathroom and change into his clothes. 

— .✦ He kisses you the second he sees you in his flannel. And he blushes like crazy.

— .✦ Sam hopes he can spend the rest of his mornings in bed with you, and if all it takes is some breakfast he's more than ready.

— .✦ He tells Dean he'll be looking for cases in his room today and doesn't let you go. He never wants the morning to end. He spends the day in bed with you, your head on his lap or his chest, anything as long as you're touching him. 

dean winchester !

— .✦ Your alarm blares AC/DC and he wakes up with a jump, arming his gun under the pillow until he sees that there's no threat.

— .✦ He almost wakes you up just out of principal because why the fuck is your alarm doing nothing to you but waking him win a frenzy.

— .✦ Then he notices how cute you look, hair ruffled on the bed. Your soft breaths make him smile and he leans down to kiss your hair. He's blissed out for a moment and forgets about what you did to him. 

— .✦ Then he checks the time and it's already eleven which means that was your emergency alarm (in case you don't wake up at a reasonable time, you mentioned once). 

— .✦ "Sweetheart, wake up." He says, against his will. He only slightly shakes you but you get up pretty easily since someone else is touching you. You've always been a much heavier sleeper than Dean, not being a hunter from such a young age and all that.

— .✦ He's surprised to see how quickly you get up and into the bathroom to brush your teeth and take a shower (which he joins you in) and then get dressed.

— .✦ But that's about as much as he lets you do. He knows you're an action type of person but that means that sometimes you might not take a moment for yourself and just feel instead, which is the worst thing Dean can think of. 

— .✦ He doesn't want that for you so he gets you back in bed (after he makes it, you're very picky) and you spend a good few minutes above him, straddling his body as you both talk about random things, mostly the plan for the day and it's the most domestic Dean's ever felt. 

— .✦ Your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, it's everything he's ever wanted. Someone to want to be alive with because the only reason you stay alive is to share it with someone else. (After a while Sam doesn't cut it and he'd rather have you over his pain-in-the-ass little brother any time.)

— .✦ You eventually do get on with the day and walk around the bunker, find cases, go grocery shopping, but Dean only does all of those things in suspense of what's to come the next morning; which is another lazy few hours with this ‘one’.

[dmwrites]

The End seemed safe. Cleo thought. Nothing was safe, therefore, the most dangerous place to be would probably be the safest. She knew it didn’t make any sense, but nothing did, with gravity losing its pull and blocks getting sucked up into the sky and the damn moon not so much setting anymore.

Cleo went to the End by herself, and she regretted it. Not just becasuse the endermen were agitated and began pulling her rotting corpse of a body apart, but because she was alone. But the endermen were annoying too. Cleo understood it, to some extent. The world was ending, and it was either pulling up the few blocks of endstone that made up the ground under their feet, or pull her apart. They tore at her, her skin and bones taken from her body with screams to echo her own. They stayed angry, even if she didn’t look at them.

Cleo stopped fighting after a while. As far as she knew, everyone in the overworld was probably dead or gone now, so what really was the point? She was alive, but in the hands of terrified endermen. Soon, surely, she would join her friends in the afterlife. At least, that’s what she hoped.

And when the end of the world came and went, what remained in its wake was everywhere. Cleo lay in pieces, watching the world around her fall apart in ways that didn’t even make sense. She tried to call out for death, but there was no sound. The very little bit of her undead consciousness that remained held on, watching in horror.

And then, there was silence. For a long, long time. And Cleo was alive. Well, she was dead, but she’d always been dead. Death, it seemed, didn’t want her.

Her body lay in pieces, unseeing, hurting, and she wondered, in thoughts that took eons of effort to construct, if she would remain in this vacuum of time and space forever- almost nothing, but painfully enough.

And then, something changed. It wasn’t obvious at first, as the pain consumed her constantly. But then something touched her cheek. Something smooth, soft, warm, so different from every feeling that had consumed her for so long. Cleo couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, was torn so far apart that she was hardly anything at all, and yet she felt the warm touch of a human being. And then, a touch on her eyelid. Then her bottom lip. Then her neck. Someone was putting Cleo back together.

The pain was still there, but lessened now, day after day, as her body was reconstructed. Nerves and muscle and tissue were woven into place, and Cleo became more and more aware. First it was touch, the tugging of string, the swipes on a hand. Then smell. The person smelled of flowers, of sun-soaked soil. Then she could hear, a gentle humming that soaked into her very skin.

And then, one day, Cleo could see. Hands pulled away from her eyes, and there was a face hovering over her own. Long brown hair curtained Cleo’s face from the outside world, wherever that might have been. Cleo blinked hard, and the face came into focus. A long, angular face and wide blue eyes. Familiar. Not here, not in the reality Cleo had been pulled apart in. But familiar.

“Hi Cleo,” Pearl said. “You can hear me, can’t you? Blink twice if you can- your voice box isn’t re-installed yet, sorry ‘bout that.”

Cleo blinked twice, and Pearl’s face lit up in a huge smile.

“Cleo! Oh, I’m so glad you can understand! Golly, I… I’ll keep plucking away at this- you! Just… stay with me, okay?”

Pearl sewed Cleo back together with strings of sunlight and moonlight, all intertwined together to make her skin whole again. Gentle touches as she moved muscle and bone back into place, somehow reforming Cleo like she was clay. Pearl talked as she worked, fingers flying with hesitant assurance over Cleo’s body.

“I just never expected my cousin to actually come to visit. Silly girl.”

“It was horrible, just horrible to fall into that hole and not know where we were going to come back out. My wonderful friends, each one of them popped out of existence, one after the other.”

“They’re safe now, though. I saw to that. You will be too, Cleo. We all will. I promise.”

“I knew I had to find the rest of you, bring us to our new home.”

And at some point, Cleo opened her mouth and spoke.

“Pearl.”

“Oh golly goo! Cleo! Oh my god! You scared the life out of me! Does it hurt at all, does everything seem right?” hands flew to Cleo’s throat, gently palpating and examining. Pearl had a huge smile on her face.

“It doesn’t hurt. Not at all,” Cleo answered.

Pearl laughed, a kind of choked up noise that was so painfully human, something Cleo thought she’d never hear again. For the first time in a very long time, Cleo felt hope.

“Oh, I’m so glad, Cleo. You don’t know how afraid I was. Still am, because you don’t exactly have all your bits back, now do you. There is still your legs, and more nerve endings…”

As Pearl went to put a hand to Cleo’s face, Cleo grabbed her wrist. “How are you doing this, Pearl? This shouldn’t be possible. What you’re doing is… I don’t know, magic?”

Pearl shook her head. “Cleo, please just let me work. It’s not… just trust me, okay?” She wrenched her hand out of Cleo’s grasp.

Cleo knew this was real. She could reach out, touch Pearl’s hair, her face, her hands. She could see Pearl work now, leaned against an obsidian tower, looking out over a vastness of endstone, and darkness beyond that. An end island she distinctly remembered watching fall apart into nothingness. But here it was. Whole. Here she was. Almost whole. And there was Pearl, finishing up the stitching on Cleo’s legs with golden string that seemed to shine with a light that came from within itself.

Cleo stood.

“Who are you?”

Pearl walked her, arm in arm, to the portal in the middle of the island.

“I’m Pearl.”

Cleo looked at her. Underlit from the swirling portal like this, she looked tired. Her sunflower crown was wilting. Her green dress was coated with endstone dust. She was Pearl, but Cleo knew she was someone else too.

“Are you coming with me?”

“No. I’ll meet you there. I have others to find,” Pearl reached forward and hugged Cleo tight before stepping backwards into the end portal and disappearing.

The End was quiet now. Endermen had reappeared at some point, strolling among the reconstructed pillars and paying her no mind. Cleo looked over the island in grim amazement, more questions in her mind then answers. She ran a hand down her arm, assuring herself once more that she was real, she was as whole as a rotting corpse could be, and all of this was real too. It was. She was. Despite it all, she was going to be okay. She was going to see her friends again.

Cleo jumped into the end portal and closed her eyes.

——

The first day on the Hermitcraft season nine server, Cleo found herself counquoring a woodland mansion (“who on earth does this first day?” Cleo asked herself multiple times) with Impulse, Gem, and Pearl.

Pearl and Cleo died to a creeper explosion at the same time, and ended up respawned in the bed they’d set just for that purpose.

“Hi.”

“Hi Cleo.”

Cleo looked at Pearl. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie, hair thrown back messily. Cleo almost wouldn’t have believed that this was the same girl who had stood over her in a flowing green dress, with her magic needle and thread, if it wasn’t for the knowing smile Pearl gave her.

“I guess I owe you,” Cleo said.

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Pearl replied, shaking her head.

“But-”

“Cleo! Pearl! Impulse just found a library and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna get blown up by creepers! You gotta come watch this!” Gem interrupted, yelling at them from a broken window.

“Coming!” Pearl replied, and took Cleo’s hand. “Come on, Cleo. We’ve got much more fun ahead of us. The past can wait.”

Cleo followed Pearl, still with more questions then answers. But Pearl was right. They were all together again, and there was much fun to be had. Cleo pushed the memories of pain, of light, of hope, into a small corner of her mind, and went to watch Impulse climb a ladder. He did get blown up, as it turned out. And it was hilarious.

[tommorowonlymaybe]

Hi! I just found your account, and I love your work (^.^) I was wondering if we could get some headcanons or a scenario whereas the turtles are fighting the shredder with the reader, who was kind of forced into it, and ends up jumping in the way just as Shredder's about to impale one of the turtles and takes the hit for them!

I hope all is well, thank you!! (^.^)

Tmnt 2012 x Injured!Reader

Hi! Thanks for requesting. I didn't know which ending to do, so I made two - a happy one, where you survived, and a sad one, where you died. Enjoy!

Everything was happening too fast.

Blades clashed, sparks flew, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. The turtles had fought Shredder before, but tonight—tonight felt different.

And you were in the middle of it.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t even supposed to fight. But one thing led to another, and now you were standing in the crossfire of a battle you were never meant to take part in.

And then you saw it.

Shredder, towering and merciless, his claw raised, aimed directly at one of them. They didn’t see it.

But you did.

You moved.

Pain. White-hot, blinding pain.

The force knocked the air from your lungs. Something sharp tore through your side, impaling you. The world blurred as blood dripped from your lips.

The turtle—whoever it was—stared at you, horror-struck.

You tried to smile. Tried to make it okay.

And then, everything went black.

During the Fight:

Leonardo

The moment your body moves in front of him, everything slows down. One second he’s ready to counter, the next, he’s watching you take the full force of Shredder’s attack.

He’s trained to control his emotions, but all of that discipline shatters the second he sees your blood on the ground.

When you fall, he catches you before you hit the ground. His hands are trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate—he orders the others to get you to safety while he stays behind to finish the fight. And this time, he’s not holding back.

He blames himself. He was the leader—it was his job to protect you, and yet you nearly died saving him.

Raphael

He sees red. Pure, unfiltered rage.

The moment your body moves between him and Shredder, he screams. He tries to reach you, but it’s too late.

He sees the way your body jerks from the force of the attack, the way your blood stains the ground, and his vision goes red.

“No, dammit! What the hell were ya thinkin’ ?!” His voice is raw, desperate, shaking as he drops to his knees beside you.

He’s never felt this kind of helplessness before. He presses down on your wound, but his hands are shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When he turns back to Shredder, he’s gone feral. There’s no restraint, no tactics—just raw, violent rage. And Shredder is about to pay. He fights like a man possessed, not stopping until the enemy is down.

After, he stays by your side but is angry at you. Not because he’s mad, but because he was terrified.

Donatello

The moment you move, he knows what’s about to happen, but his body won’t move fast enough to stop it.

The sound of your pained gasp is something he never wants to hear again. His heart stops, and for a terrifying moment, he forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t care about the fight anymore—he has to get to you. The logical part of his brain shuts down. All he can focus on is keeping you alive.

“no… no, No, NO—this can’t—hold on, I can fix this, I have to fix this—” The next second he is already next to you. hands frantic as he works to stop the bleeding.

He’s muttering calculations under his breath, trying to figure out how much time you have, trying to ignore the crushing fear that he might not be fast enough.

In the lair, he works tirelessly to treat your wounds, barely resting until he knows you’re okay. He won’t sleep for days—he’ll stay by your side, making sure you don’t slip away. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

Michelangelo

“No—WAIT!” But it’s too late. You’re already moving, already taking the blow that was meant for him.

Panic. Pure, raw panic. One moment you were okay, the next you were bleeding out in front of him.

His stomach drops when he sees you collapse. He doesn’t think—he just runs to you, shaking as he kneels beside your broken body.

“No, nononono—this isn’t funny, dude, c’mon, open your eyes—” His voice cracks as he shakes you, desperate for any sign that you’re still with him.

He’s crying, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s in the middle of a battle, that Shredder is still there—none of it matters if you’re not okay.

And when he turns back to Shredder, there’s none of his usual cheer. No jokes. No laughter. Just cold, burning rage. (Oh yeah, when there’s serious Mickey, you know it’s over)

After the fight:

The moment the fight is over, all four of them are at your side. They don’t care about anything else—you come first.

Donnie is frantic, hands moving fast as he presses down on your wound. His voice is shaking as he tells you to stay awake. Does everything he can to save you. Literally doesn't sleep, constantly checking your stats. No one talks about it, but everyone sees how desperately he clings to hope.

Leo is silent, but his expression says everything. He looks calm on the outside, but his grip on his katana is tight enough to break. He doesn't talk. Like, at all. He just sits next to you, squeezing your fingers in his hand. He feels guilty for what happened. He should have protected you, but instead you protected him. He tries not to show his emotions to anyone, because he doesn't want to upset others even more. He is a leader, he must be strong… But at night he stands at the head of your bed, hoping for a miracle.

Raph is pissed. At Shredder, at himself, at you. Because you were reckless, because you almost died, because he was scared. But he doesn’t leave. He just sits there, gritting his teeth, fighting the urge to break something. Sometimes his rage turns to silence, and at that moment he looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Mikey is crying, but he won’t leave you alone. He keeps talking, trying to keep you awake—“Stay with us, okay? We’ll get pizza after this! My treat!” He hates silence. It scares him. He talks to you a lot, trying to pretend everything is okay.

“You’re strong, right? You’ll make it through, won’t you? Move your pinky if you will… pretty please?”

Sometimes he’s afraid to look at you, because then he’ll have to admit that everything is really bad.

Happy ending

When you wake up…

The first thing you see is the four of them asleep around your bed.

Donnie is knocked out cold at your bedside, clearly exhausted from taking care of you.

Mikey is literally hugging your arm in his sleep.

Leo is sitting upright but has definitely dozed off.

Raph is leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but his face is softer than usual.

The second they realize you’re awake, Mikey tackles you into a hug. He literally jumps on you, forgetting that you are still wounded. (And Donnie yells at him because “THEY’RE STILL HEALING, YOU DUMBASS.”) After that, he does not leave your side for a single step. He is not going to give fate a second chance to take you away.

Leo exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. After the fight, he doesn’t leave your side. Even when you wake up, he’s unusually quiet.

Raph scoffs and mutters, “Next time, don’t be an idiot and throw yourself into a blade” but then he ruffles your hair. There's such weariness in his gaze, as if everything he's been holding in for so long has finally let go of him the moment you wake up

Donnie just rubs his face and sighs in relief. He almost falls over from fatigue, because he had hardly slept before. After that, he becomes even more careful with you. Now he is developing armor that can protect you in the future.

They don’t say it outright, but you can tell… they thought they’d lost you.

Bad ending

Silence.

The turtle’s lair was unrecognizable. No one spoke, no one tried to lighten the mood. Even the TV was off, for the first time in a long time.

Donatello sat next to you, holding your cold hand. No heartbeat. He checked everything. Five times. But the miracle did not happen.

When Donnie says you won't wake up, Leo doesn't react. He just looks at you.

"That's not true."

He becomes even more withdrawn after that. He blames himself. Sometimes he stands on the roof, staring into space, but if anyone came closer, he would simply leave. Now any little things that are left from you are carefully stored in his room, in the safest place. In future battles, when he wants to give up, it is these things that will give him determination.

Raphael became even more short-tempered. The smallest thing could set him off. When alone, he would go to the training area and beat the training dummies until his fists bled.

Donatello barely slept. He built, he designed, he studied. If only he had created better weapons… better armor… Maybe then, you would still be alive.

Michelangelo stopped joking. Stopped playing games. Stopped being himself. But still, after a while, when the mourning passes and turtles move on after your death, he still comes to his senses. Although, sometimes, when he was sure no one was listening, he would sit by the bed where you had spent your final days and talk to you.

“I miss you, Y/N…”

And silence was his only answer.

They don’t move for a long time. Not until Splinter arrives and gently tells them… “It’s time to let go.”… and they do. But still, something in the air is changed. Without you, It’s never will be the same.

[stylesispunk]

"Unholy christmas" day 3/3

outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After spending months wandering outside in the wild, you and Joel find safety inside the gates of Jackson just around christmas. A confession and a kiss lead to other things and you wake up wrapped around each other's arms.

wc: 4,5k

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut and no proofreading at all, sorry my head hurts.

a/n: welcome to the third and last day of my joel's fic christmas version event. This one didn't turn out as i planned but is still cute. (my personal favorite was merry christmas, please call me) thank you so much for being here and reading and I wish you all a merry christmas, i hope you all have a beautiful night either if you spend your night with other people or alone. happy reading and merry christmas 💌♥️🌲

You couldn’t believe your eyes the first time you stepped inside Jackson. How the gates creaked open, or how the snow crunched beneath your boots as you and Joel made your way. A town in the middle of the hell you had faced felt almost surreal. After months of wandering through the wilderness, living on edge, Jackson felt like stepping into a dream, all decorated and bathed in warm lights, strings of Christmas decorations you thought you would never see again.

As you made your way inside, Joel glanced at you, his rugged features softening for just a moment when he took a glimpse of your awe expression. Something inside his heart felt at peace for the first time in months.

He had put you through so much during this time. Dragging you through the danger and fighting just to kept you both alive, and doing terrible things just for him to allow you to see another sunrise. He didn’t regret the things he had done for keeping you safe, not for an instant, but when the weight of it all bore down on him. When you were sleeping clung to him at night and he’d lie awake, watching the firelight flicker against your face, wondering if you would be better off without him.

But what would it be of him without you?

Your existence overwhelmed him. In a way his heart would stop beating the second your gaze locked with his. In a way his breath caught up his throat when you held his hand or simple touch him when sleeping.

It terrified him how much you had become a part of him, how much he depended on the sound of your voice to lighten the weight on his shoulders, or how your simple presence was enough to silence the worst of his thoughts. His chest ached whenever your gaze locked with his, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

He felt alive and vulnerable all at once, and it scared him. But what scared him more was the idea of losing you.

Without you, the hollow emptiness he had spent years suppressing would swallow him whole. He had fought so hard to keep you alive since you gave him something to fight for.

And now, looking at you smiling at the big Christmas tree in the middle of Jackson, he felt whole.

He stayed rooted in place for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of you. How could someone like him, a man who had done unspeakable things, deserve to stand by your side? But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when you looked at the tree with the kind of joy he thought was lost forever.

“Joel?” Your voice broke his thoughts, soft and questioning as you turned to face him.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, the snow crunching beneath his boots. “Yeah? You okay?”

You nodded, a small, wistful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I saw a Christmas tree.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you. “Yeah, it is.”

Joel opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of approaching footsteps on the snow made him pause, breaking the moment between the both of you. You both turned to see Tommy and Maria approaching, their faces lit with warm smiles.

“There you two are,” Tommy said, his tone teasing. “Figured we’d find you here.”

Maria stepped forward, her eyes flicking between you and Joel. “We’re heading over to the hall for dinner. Thought you might want to join us.”

You blinked in surprise, glancing at Joel before looking back at Maria. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Maria said with a nod, her smile widening. “The community does it every year around Christmas. Everyone pitches in—food, music, decorations. It’s a nice way to celebrate together.”

Joel shifted beside you, his hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets. He glanced at you, silently asking what you wanted to do.

“That sounds… nice,” you said after a moment, the idea of a communal dinner feeling strangely foreign after so long on the road. “We’d love to join.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back. “See? Told you it’d be good for both of you to settle in a little.”

Joel grunted something under his breath, but his gaze softened as it lingered on you. “All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

The walk to the community hall was short, the warm glow of lights spilling out through the windows guiding your way. Inside, the hall was alive with the buzz of conversation, the smell of roasted food, and the soft strum of a guitar from one corner.

As you followed Tommy and Maria to the community hall, the air around you felt festive, filled with laughter and the warm glow of lanterns strung along the path. The hall itself was bustling with life, long tables set up with trays of food and steaming mugs of cider. People greeted each other warmly, their voices blending into a symphony of holiday cheer.

You and Joel stepped inside, your eyes taking in the scene. For a moment, it was overwhelming—the sheer normalcy of it all after so many months of survival.

Maria nudged your arm gently, pulling you from your thoughts. “Grab some food and find a spot,” she said with a smile. “Tommy and I will join you in a bit.”

You nodded, glancing at Joel, but he was already being pulled away by Tommy, who had clasped a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward a group of familiar faces.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Joel muttered, throwing you a quick glance before disappearing into the crowd.

You made your way to the serving table, piling a plate with roasted vegetables and slices of bread before settling at a spot near the corner of the hall. From there, you could see Joel easily.

At first, it was endearing to watch him interact with Tommy. It reminded you of how hard he had fought to came here in order to be reunited with him all over again. And it was endearing, the sight of him, relaxed, the rare ghost of a smile playing on his lips. But as the minutes passed, your gaze lingered longer, drawn to the way people seemed to gravitate toward him.

Women. several of them.

They approached him with bright smiles displaying on their lips. Some were close to his age, others younger, their faces lighting up as they introduced themselves or leaned into a conversation with him. Joel, ever the gentleman he was, nodded politely, his deep voice lost in the noise of the room.

You knew Joel wasn’t the type to encourage attention, but the sight of him surrounded by all these women, some of whom placed a hand on his arm or laughed a little too loudly at something he said, sent a nagging feeling creeping into your chest.

You had never had felt the feeling of sharing before, it has always been you and him.

Until now.

You tried to focus on your food, but your appetite had vanished. The hall, went from feeling warm and inviting, to feeling suffocating. You told yourself it was nothing, that Joel was just being polite, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

And you felt alone as if you were a burden Joel had to carry with him because he didn’t have the heart to left you behind.

Your gaze dropped to the table, your fingers toying with the edge of your plate, but what did you expect? Joel had done so much for you, had carried you through hell, he had brought you to a safe place where you would be able to live a life again.

The nagging feeling twisted into something sharper, something you didn’t want to name. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your eyes drifted back to Joel, now leaning slightly as another woman spoke to him, her hand lingering just a second too long on his forearm.

You set your plate down, your appetite gone completely. For the first time since arriving in Jackson, you felt an urge to leave, to escape somewhere else.

The sight of Joel, so effortlessly blending in and laughing softly at something Tommy said, nodding politely as the women around him vied for his attention, made you feel like an outsider looking in.

And then it happened.

Joel’s gaze found yours across the room. His expression softened, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the kind of smile you rarely saw from him, one that seemed reserved just for you.

For a fleeting moment, the world quieted, the knot in your stomach loosening ever so slightly. But as your eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiarity shared between the townsfolks you felt it again. That foreignness. Like no matter how hard you tried, you’d never quite belong here.

Joel might. He was already starting to, even if he didn’t realize it yet. The way people looked at him, sought his attention, told you he could find a place here, a life.

But you? You weren’t so sure.

The thought settled heavily in your chest, and before you could overthink it, you pushed your chair back and stood.

You didn’t look back as you walked out of the hall, the cold night air biting at your skin as soon as you stepped outside. The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation followed you briefly before fading as the door swung shut behind you.

The town was quiet, the snow under your boots crunching softly as you wandered aimlessly. The lights strung along the houses glowed warmly, but they only deepened the ache in your chest.

You stopped at the edge of the main street, your breath visible in the cold air. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stared up at the sky, the stars barely visible against the glow of the town.

The crunch of snow beneath your boots was the only sound accompanying you as you wandered, drawn toward the faint glow of the Christmas tree in the center of town. It stood tall and proud, adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments that glittered like tiny stars.

As you reached it, you came to a stop, the cold biting through your coat, but you barely noticed. You gazed up at the tree, and a flood of memories washed over you, brief, fragmented flashes of a childhood long gone.

A living room dimly lit except for the glow of a tree like this one. Laughter, faint and warm, as presents were unwrapped. The scent of pine and the soft hum of a Christmas carol your mother used to hum under her breath.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, a lump forming in your throat. That world felt like it belonged to another life, to someone else entirely. The woman standing here now, hardened by years of survival, couldn’t reconcile with the girl who once giggled over snow angels and stockings by the fireplace.

Joel stepped outside, the cold air biting at his skin as he scanned the bustling streets of Jackson. It wasn’t like him to let things go unsaid, especially not when it came to you. He’d noticed the way you pulled away, your silence heavier than usual. He could feel the weight of it, pulling at him, gnawing at him.

You inhaled deeply, your breath shaky as it clouded in the cold air. This was why you felt out of place here. Jackson was built on hope, on community, on remnants of a world you weren’t sure if you were going to fit into.

He’d watched you slip away from the warmth of the hall, your figure disappearing into the night. Without a second thought, he followed. He couldn’t let you disappear into the night like that, not when something was so clearly eating at you.

The snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way toward the glow of the Christmas tree. The town was quieter now, the hum of conversation and laughter fading as he walked through the streets, searching for you.

He found you standing under the towering tree, your face lit by the soft, flickering lights. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, so small against the backdrop of the glowing tree, lost in thought. Your gaze was fixed on the ornaments, the lights reflecting in your eyes, and for a moment, he just watched you.

His chest tightened, and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. He couldn’t stand to see you like this, so distant, so detached from the world around you. It was like you were still trapped in the past, somewhere far away from here, far away from the safety of Jackson and everything it had to offer.

“Hey,” he finally called out, his voice low but steady.

The sound of Joel’s voice startled you, low and rough but unmistakable. You turned to find him standing a few feet away, his broad frame silhouetted against the glow of the Christmas lights. He was breathing hard, like he’d been searching for you.

“I wondered where you ran off to,” he said softly, his eyes scanning your face.

“I just needed some air,” you replied, your voice quiet.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until he was standing beside you. His gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until he was standing beside you. His gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone there”

“Don’t worry.” you said quickly, but even to your own ears, the words felt hollow.

Joel's brow furrowed slightly, sensing the distance in your voice. He could see it in your eyes, the same unease, the same weight that had been there all night. Something was pulling at you, and he could feel the space growing between you both, even as you stood so close.

“I know you don’t like crowds,” he said, his voice softer now, as if trying to tread carefully around your thoughts. "But you don't have to be alone, not here."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. "I just... need to figure things out."

Joel turned his body to face you more fully, his expression open but intense. He wasn’t going to let you pull away from him, not now. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers along your arm, his touch warm against the chill of the evening.

"Hey," he said, his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

You hesitated, glancing back at the tree. “About us. About how maybe it’s time for me to… move on. Find my own place here. I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore, Joel. You’ve done so much for me already-”

His jaw tightened, and before you could finish, he cut you off. “Stop.”

You blinked, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I think it’s time we go our separate ways," you said softly.

Joel froze, the words slicing through the cold air. "What?"

You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You’ve done so much for me, Joel. You got me out of the QZ, kept me alive out there...but I know I’m just a burden. You don’t have to keep looking out for me. Tommy can find me another place."

He stared at you, stunned. "You think I’m tired of you?"

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Aren’t you?"

Joel closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands gripping your arms gently, but firmly enough to make you look at him. "No," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I ain’t tired of you. Not even close."

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his tone. "Joel, I just don’t want you to feel like-"

"Like what?" he interrupted, his jaw tightening. "Like you’re something I have to put up with? You aren’t. You’re the one thing that makes this goddamn world a little easier to stand. Don’t you dare think I’d ever want you gone."

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in. The way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in his life, made your heart ache.

"Joel?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why would you want me to stay? I don’t… I don’t bring anything to the table."

He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over your sleeve. "You bring more than you’ll ever know. You keep me sane, keep me fighting. You’re the only thing in my life that feels right."

The lights from the Christmas tree flickered behind you, casting soft patterns across his face as his voice softened. "I need you, baby. And if you ever think about leaving again, you tell me first. I’ll set you straight."

You let out a shaky laugh. "You really mean that?"

Joel’s lips twitched into a faint, crooked smile. "Damn right, I mean it."

Before you could overthink it, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his torso. He held you close, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

Joel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands still resting on your arms. His eyes softened, a quiet intensity behind them that made your heart skip. The flickering glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his gaze, but it was the warmth in them that held you still.

He tilted his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re not going anywhere."

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as if asking for permission at first, as if testing the waters. The world seemed to stand still as his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your skin.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, carrying a quiet desperation that told you everything he couldn’t put into words. He was telling you that you were his world, that you were his, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze lock with yours, his breath mingling with the cold night air. His voice was rough, almost a whisper. "You understand now? I don’t just want you here. I need you here. With me. We are a team."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you smiled, your hands resting against his chest. "Okay, I promise I won’t go away from you.”

He closed his eyes briefly, relief washing over his face, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. Then, he went all over for your lips again, this time deeper, as if he wanted to imprint this moment on his heart forever. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, while his other arm wrapped securely around your waist.

You melted into him, your fingers clutching his jacket as if to anchor yourself to the only steady thing in your chaotic world. The cold air nipped at your skin, but you barely noticed, lost in the warmth of his skin, of his presence, on the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go.

When the kiss broke, you both stayed close, breaths mingling in the frosty air. His thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze soft yet unreadable.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “let’s get you back inside before you freeze.”

You nodded, but your hand found his, intertwining your fingers as he led you to the house. The walk was silent, but the tension between you was electric.

Inside the house, the fire burned the room dimly lit by the soft orange glow of the embers between the both of you. Joel shut the door behind you, his eyes lingering on you as you removed your coat. There was no space for words now, just the unspoken language that pull you back to him.

He crossed the room in two strides, his hands finding your waist, his lips meeting yours again with a quiet urgency. You let him guide you toward the bed, his touches careful, his gaze searching yours for permission every step of the way.

You gave it to him, silently, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips that almost felt like they burn, his breath hitched, but he didn’t stop, he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him with those puppy eyes that made him feel like he was your biggest treasure.

That night, the world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just you and Joel, tangled together beneath the blankets, your mingled warmth chasing away the cold. Every touch, every kiss, every whisper of his name felt like a promise you didn't dare break.

Later that night, the room was dim, only the crackling of the fire providing light. You could feel his breath on your skin, slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you, every moment with you leaded to this and his hands moved with a gentleness that surprised you, as if he was treating you like something fragile, precious he has promised himself he would protect.

But there was nothing fragile about the way you felt. With him, there was strength, a connection that ran deeper than anything you could put into words. You felt it in the way he held you, in the way his body responded to yours. It was raw, but it was also tender, and that combination left you breathless.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. You wanted to show him how much he meant to you; how much you needed him in this moment.

Joel’s lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss was slower, more conscious. It was a silent plea, an exchange of everything you couldn’t say aloud. You didn’t need words. You had each other, and that was all that mattered.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, soft bursts. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, a faint hint of concern threading through his words.

You nodded, your hands slipping into his hair, tugging him back down to you. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered, taking his lips on yours again.

But Joel’s voice broke the kiss as he pulled away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips before he stood, turning toward the small table in the corner of the room. “I, uh... I got you something for Christmas,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, but there was something softer behind it.

You blinked, surprised. Christmas hadn’t really felt like Christmas since the outbreak, and you hadn’t expected anything, certainly not from him. As he turned his back to you, his broad shoulders and his muscles in his bare back caught your attention. He was a picture of raw strength, but in that moment, you saw something else in him, vulnerability, tenderness, and a depth of care you hadn’t expected from the man who had carried so much loss during his life.

Your chest tightened as a strange, overwhelming sense of clarity washed over you. It was like everything had all led to this. To this moment, with him. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need a world full of certainty or things that made sense. With Joel, every simply made sense.

He reached for something on the table, a small wrapped box that was too carefully wrapped. His fingers lingered on the edges of the paper before he turned back toward you. His expression was unreadable, though there was a small, almost shy smile on his lips.

He stepped toward you, the firelight casting a warm glow on his face, illuminating the lines and scars on his temple. When he stopped in front of you, he held the gift out, his eyes meeting yours, softly “It ain’t much,” he muttered, “but I thought... I thought you deserved it. I got a while ago but since we’re here and we can celebrate Christmas again, I feel like I can give It to you.”

You took the small box from his hands, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your heart skipped a beat as you met his eyes, seeing the love in them, the thought behind his gesture. It was so simple, so genuine, that it took your breath away.

You slowly unwrapped the box, your hands trembling just slightly as the soft paper fell away. Inside was a delicate silver necklace, the pendant a small, simple heart with intricate engravings along its edges. It caught the firelight, glimmering softly, and something inside you fluttered as you held it in your palm.

Joel watched you, his gaze soft but intense. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for your reaction. You could tell it meant something to him, something more than just the gift itself.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from flooding your voice. “Joel...” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edges of the pendant. “It’s beautiful.”

His face softened, the corners of his mouth curling into a quiet smile. “I saw it a while ago,” he said, his voice low, almost uncertain. “Thought you might like it. And... I didn’t know when the right time was, but I guess now felt right. This... this is for you to carry me with yoy everywhere you go.”

You felt the warmth of his words seep into you, settling in your chest as your heart pounded. This wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a symbol of the quiet love he had for you, the love that had been building ever since you had met in the ruins of the world.

Your eyes lifted from the necklace to his, you cupped his jaw, feeling his breath catch as your lips met his again, soft at first, but deepening as the world around you seemed once more. It was just the two of you, lost in each other, breathing each other in.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your chest heaving with the emotions swirling inside you. “I didn’t get you anything,” you murmured, the guilt creeping into your voice.

Joel’s hand brushed through your hair; the soft gesture meant to comfort you. His eyes met yours, the warmth in them determined. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but then he leaned in, his voice softer this time, laced with something tender. “But, uh... Can I call you love?”

His question caught you by surprise, but it also made your heart skip. The simple, honest sincerity in his eyes made your chest ache with affection.

“Love?” you echoed, testing the word in your lips. It felt strange and foreign, but in his presence, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He nodded, his gaze earnest. “Yeah. If that’s alright. That would be a gift for me, for now” he clarified, smiling at you.

You felt the warmth of his words wrap around you, making your heart flutter with a mix of emotions. The sincerity in his eyes made the world feel smaller, like everything was finally making sense.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you gazed up at him. “You can call me love.”

A smile stretched across Joel's face, his eyes softening with joy. He leaned in again, this time his lips capturing yours with a tenderness that made everything feel right. The kiss was deep, filled with the promise yet to be written, and as you pulled away, your heart ached with a love that had been growing between you, unspoken, until now.

Joel gently guided you back onto the bed, his hands roaming over your body with a careful urgency. You felt his warmth radiating from his body as he settled beside you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire, but in that silence, everything spoke.

You pressed your cheek to his chest, your hand splayed across the warmth of his skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. It was a beating you could now call yours, a melody that you caused.

“Merry Christmas to me, then, I guess,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection as he pulled you closer. His body felt like a shield, protecting you from everything that had ever threatened to tear you down.

You smiled, nestling into him even more, your own fingers tracing patterns along his skin. “Merry Christmas, baby.” you whispered back, feeling more alive, more complete than you had in years.

In the quiet darkness of the room, wrapped in his arms, with the world outside frozen in time, you knew this was where you were meant to be.

And that was enough. The world could wait. Tonight, it was just the two of you.

[bowieandqueen11]

Sanji With A Clingy Reader Would Include...

Request: OH BABY telling about one piece is like unlocking a whole second heart of mine i have fully for that anime and manga and live action. and so, if you ever decided of course, you writing something similar to something you did on marvel once and sanji with reader that has no personal space and is touchy would be amazing. but also... kissing zoro is great to, if you ever decided? anyway! HOPE YOU LOVE IT (one piece i mean), and if not ignore me UwU

Ooh yess babes this is so SWEET!! :3 I LOVED IT omg hello to my latest obsession not me ordering the first collection of the manga

This was really sweet and fun to do, but I did stay up all night writing it so all comments are much appreciated!

Warning: slightly spicy, some mentions of fighting!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fanpageknight.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look at this man. Seriously, look at this man with his little bottom lip bite and eyes like the sun shines heavily out of them and tell me he would be anything less than absolutely madly, heart wrenchingly, soul crushingly enthralled with a clingy reader??? That's right you can't take the l on this one.

It all started that day when the three of you ended up shipwrecked on that sad sack excuse of a rock. When you and Sanji huddled on one side of the forsaken isle to stay away from the terrifying Pirate Zeff. His hands had shaken as he drew them up to his chest, but he mustered the nerves to string open the sack Zeff had thrown at his feet. Once he had counted out the cans, he offered all the food to you.

He wanted you to stay alive far more than himself. Ever since you had landed on his ship he had been smitten, and his weary heart would beat its last under this smothering sun as long as you would live on for the both of them.

To keep him calm: to stop his gasping, tortured heaves as he tried his best not to writhe in panic at the thought of never stepping back on safe land again, you would spent most of those 85 days sitting over the cragged edges. Sanji couldn't tear his eyes away from peering down at the gushing shards of stone below that seemed to rip up in tides and tear for his swinging feet; to try and distract him from sniffling any longer, your hand would tentatively creep over the rock until it landed flatly, and unceremoniously on top of his own. His fingers flexed beneath your own, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he folded them upwards, giving your hand a shaking squeeze: a dutiful promise, a flitting confession of love, that you just happened not to feel in your ruminations of the circumstances.

In fact, he asked you that night, in an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful voice, if you would keep his nightmares away by holding him like his mother used to. You felt terrible: you were so stunned that for a moment you stood with the last piece of mouldy bread you had in your hand in shocked silence. Poor Sanji thought you were about to reject him outright: throw what little he had left of his heart - that he had so carefully lifted out and placed in his hands to offer to you, only to have it thrown back to his feet in the usual ridicule he got for his love. His bottom lip began to tremble, until you nearly knocked him onto his bottom with how fast you dropped everything and flew over to lock him in a tight hug, not minding the fact that your shoulder was growing wetter and wetter despite the brewing rain each time Sanji buried his snivelling head against it.

So you would let him rest safely in the bracket of your arms: his left cheek resting in the warm stretch between your collar bone and your neck, his right hand draped leisurely around your waist as you told him stories of pirates and treasure: of the Deep Blue and tropical fish that shone like bursts of fragmented starlight every time their fins graced the water. Although he would groan any time you removed your hand from where you were stroking the wet strands of his hair back from his forehead, it was quickly replaced with wonderment as you would point up at a cluster of stars and whisper excitedly: 'look, there's some now!'

He had never been afraid of nights ever since that moment, not when the stars were still out and he could trace with the butt of his cigarettes the fish you had drawn specially for him in the skies. It was like a secret message: a lover's reminder that he was never alone. That you were always with him. That your beauty - your light, it shone everywhere, no matter where he was.

It was the first time he had kissed you, two forgotten children lost underneath the dripping crevice of your little hideaway. As your belly began to rise and fall underneath his elbow, and he believed you had exhausted yourself out after trying to make him feel better, he dared to dart up from your shoulder and press his lips firmly against your cheek. It had been quick, almost gliding past time like a dolphin leaping up out of the water, but it had meant so much to him that he curled up into a ball in your side and flushed a bright cerise, having to shove his fist into his mouth to stop his manic giggling from waking you up.

But you weren't asleep, and as Sanji settled back into your neck with a smile bright enough to rival the shine of buttercup petals, you swore as he began to drift off in the first peaceful dream he had had in years that one day you would return the favour, but in full.

The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, to the point where Zeff became so distracted by your antics that he often tried to separate the two of you by making you work the floor and Sanji either in the kitchens, or off fishing at the docks. Ten seconds later though, he'd be kicking through the kitchen doors again to find you leaning on the kitchen counter next to an eager faced Sanji, whose to busy to register Zeff's shouting. Instead he places the spoon to your lips, having spent half of lunch service prep cooking you a brand new recipe he had spent the whole night creating out of a medley of your favourite foods. He subconsciously licks his bottom lip, the tension in the room felt by the other chefs who try to carry on washing pans and cutting vegetables enough to put everyone on edge as Sanji refused to look anywhere but your lips. Holding his hand under your chin, his dipped eyes were broken by a sudden grin as a loud 'mmhhh' left your mouth and you chewed in sweet bliss.

Still ignoring Zeff's increasingly erratic rant, as Sanji goes to start cleaning up his pan you slide down to stand behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around your back and jutting your chin into his shoulder blade like a baby koala. You can tell he's laughing silently by the way his shoulders shake against you, but all he does is pull up your hand from his belly button to press sweet, dainty kisses up and down the lengths of your fingers, before dropping it down to press your palm flatly against his heart.

'I think that might be your greatest dish yet, buttercup!'

'From you, that means everything my precious heart.'

'Why do you call me that?', you murmur, refusing to lift your lips from his shirt.

'Well my sweet love, why do you call me buttercup? I mean, I always know I smell of butter and the likes-'.

He's distracted by your snort against the side of his neck, but the two of you are too love-strikingly embarrassed to say anything again. Even if neither of you could see the warm peach rushing up both your cheeks, Zeff could. He could also hear the padding thuds of Sanji's heart as he gripped his fingers that almost imperceptibly bit tighter around your hand, and he found himself sighing at how oblivious you two idiots were.

Sanji is definitely just as clingy as you, if not more so. You've definitely met your match in this man. I mean, any time you're out on the floor, handing out bread to tables and scanning the room to check if there were any patrons you may have to throw out by the scuff of their collars later, his eyes are trained on yours. He leans against the banisters, not even trying to remotely hide how obviously he's tracing your path with a dumbstruck, lit up smile. If you're in the kitchens, desperately trying to bite your tongue and not tear Zeff a new one as he chops his hands together and rushes you to plate up? He's sliding up to your side in an instant, throwing scathing looks at the man while trying to help you spoon thyme onto your bass, nuzzling the side of his head into yours encouragingly. If you have any free time at all? Sanji is fast on your heels, darting after you like someone's firing shots at his dress shoes, as if you have his heart tied to a string on your wrist as he seeks out whatever nook you're going to relax in. It doesn't matter if you're at the bar, watching the docks, or trying to hide from Zeff in one of the cupboards in the pantry: Sanji is squatting down and grunting as he shoves himself in right next to you. He sits criss cross, only satisfied when at least one of his knees is resting heavily over yours, and he has full access to watch what you're reading over the side of your neck.

He only fully settles, though, if you touch him in some way. He genuinely will begin mewling once your hand reaches over to brush your knuckles over his jawline, or your hand finds itself guided to bunch itself up in his hair. One time, he guided your hand into his lap, and you began to absentmindedly stroke your pointer finger along the seam of his inner thigh. Thank goodness you had your head buried in a book one of the pirate crews had come to swap some dried meats with you for, because it took every muscle in Sanji's body twitching: every finger clenching and unclenching into his knee until he drew blood not to knock you flat right there and then and kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

He gets a MASSIVE nosebleed - so gushing, in fact, that he tries to reassure you he's fine as you hold him by the elbows and lead his tilted back head and pinched nose down to Zeff for some help.

It becomes a very major recurring issue every time he looks at you. He makes sure to carry a handkerchief in his breast pocket from then on.

God, if he didn't love you more than anything in all the seas. If you weren't the only one that he let see past his charming nature: if you weren't the only person left in his life that truly could recognise the young boy left in his eyes, in his gait, in his smile, in his dreams. That little kid on that great big ship, the one who had found you stowed away behind one of the barrels of rum, and instead of calling for the crew had taken your trembling hand and led you into the kitchens, introducing you as his newest sous chef. That same kid, who stood beside you and held your hand so gently, so heartbreakingly gently under his as he guided you through lessons of chopping onions and sautéing garlic, breaking out into long strings of rushed, praising French every time you got it right. The same one, who would frown as if he were the one who had been hurt any time you burnt your hands or sliced your fingers. Who would unravel the knot at the back of his apron, and tug it over his head to carefully place it over yours.

'This always brings me luck', he would say as his fingers daintily tucked the strings underneath your shirt collar. 'But I don't need it anymore, because you've brought me all the luck and happiness a man could ever dream of, my cherie.'

The same kid who would tip toe out of his bed to sneak down to your hammock, crawling in and burying himself underneath your blankets where you slept in the brig, telling you fantastical stories about his mother until you fell sound asleep. He would watch you from where he lay on his side, hands folded by your head, as if you had hung every star in the wide skies. He would brush his fingers over the edge of your cheek and curl up beside you, wishing that every minute of every day of the rest of his life could be spent with you.

Yeah, smitten wasn't enough to cover it. Only destiny could be raw enough to draw the two of you to each other, Sanji always thought.

As teenagers, you would end every shift outside, sitting on the wonky boards of one of the jutted docks. Just sitting side by side, as you always wanted to be, pretending you weren't playing a game of chicken as the two of you teased and pressed and glanced your fingers over each other's, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Sanji always appreciated the better chance it gave him: shrouded in naught by wisps of moonlight and the rare flashing neon of ship string lights, to take you in as much as he could. You didn't mind the fact that he spent the whole time staring over at you. In fact, if you hadn't been so lovestruck, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that always seemed to pour out of his eyes and beam only on you. It always felt like warm sunlight, sitting next to him, and so you finally dared a chance at grabbing his fingers and intertwining them between your own, pretending it was because of the sea chill spraying a fine mist over your legs.

Again, the squeeze he gave your hand was almost, almost imperceptible, but you felt it this time. And you could feel the look of enduring devotion he pierced into your skin, a warm tingle washing like a spring tide through your tired body.

He always knew. He always knew that if he had stayed on that rock, he would have been content to. Happy, even. Because he would have been with you.

'I love you', he said without words. He gave your hand another squeeze. 'I'm going to love you forever. No matter how many lifetimes. No matter who I am. I'm always going to find you, and I'm always going to love you.'

His voice nearly made you jump, surprising you at how it started with his usual buttery smoothness, before cracking with a thick gulp as his words trailed of. 'Never leave without me.'

'I promise, as long as you don't leave without me.'

He shakes his head. 'You never leave me. Not even for a moment.'

Sometimes, when the two of you are older, he still comes stealing into your room at night, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as his lips wobble into a frightened frown. Turns out, as he draws the covers back and comes reaching in for you, he had another nightmare that pirates had come to steal you away from him again. With an aching sigh for how stricken he looked, how desolate, you let him claw at your shirt and bury his head into the side of your neck until the rest of the world melted away.

He kissed you again, that night. When the feel of his legs strewn familiarly between your own began to burn against his skin, and the weight of hand perched over his thrumming heart became too heavy to bear in secret. With nothing but the light streaming like shards of pearly stars through the porthole to betray a moment so special, so longed for, Sanji let his eyelashes flutter close as he slowly... slowly pressed his lips against your cheek again.

This time, his eyes widened in shock as the feeling of your hand gripping at his jaw and turning his face straight on to your own. Before he can even open his mouth in confusion, the sweet pressure of your lips pressed against his top one. For a moment, Sanji doesn't move an inch: doesn't even breath, not even processing that the thing he’s spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he found you on that boat was actually happening, right here right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own.

When he finally pulls away, he lets out a loud 'OW' as he pinches his arm.

'What did you do that for!?'

'I had to double check this wasn't a dream, my sweets!'

And then he's on you again, like a ravished man gasping for air. God, he wasn't sure if soulmates were real, but when your top lip pulled down against his, and he could feel the thud of your heart synch against his own beneath the tips of his fingers, if he didn't know that he was yours.

He stays in your room a lot more often after that, using it as an excuse for you to help him button up his shirt during sleepy mornings, smiling at the feel of your fingers as they knocked against the muscles of his chest. It was also his favourite part of the day - the good morning kiss the two of you shared before you raced down to be at your shifts before Zeff decided to knock your heads together.

One time you forgot to give him one, too distracted by one of the sous chefs busting into your room with a bloodied nose and a chipped front tooth, whistling through the gap as he begged you to come down to the main foyer and help him break out a fist fight that had started between two gangs of rival pirates. The pout on Sanji's face that day was enough to make even the most bounty-heavy pirate's knees tremble. Every other chef steered way clear of his station, watching the arch of his back and the jaw in his muscle jump as he busied himself by frying his steak of tuna, so gutted at the loss of just one kiss. Not angry, no: just grief stricken, because this man seriously just adores you that much.

When you finally get your lunch break, the first thing you do is throw your napkin down on the kitchen ground and grab Sanji by his suit collar, enjoying the surprise tilt of his head as he drops his spoon onto his serving tray and allows you to lead his feet backwards to the fire exit. As soon as he's outside, you slam him gently against the wooden beams of the Baratie restaurant, and kissed him silly to make up for it. His look of trusting confusion suddenly melt into jumping heart eyes when your knee slides up between his thighs to try and pin him in place. His breathing comes out in harsh, shallow gasps between ferocious kisses, and you have to press him back against the wall every time he comes arching forward to follow your head for even more kisses. No, this was about you making him feel good. And by goodness, as your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips and tentatively ran over his front teeth, if he wasn't two seconds away from falling to his knees right there and then.

When you let him go, he slides down the wall like putty until he's sitting with legs stretched out and both his suit and hair a ruffled mess. He's literally never been more deliriously happy in his whole life.

Your favourite time of the day is when the restaurant closes, and the two of you finally have the kitchens to yourselves. Once you've tossed your aprons back onto the rack with a tired sigh, the only thing that can cheer you up is the sound of Sanji kicking his chair back with the toe of his shoe, and the sight of him beckoning you over to him with that tilted head and pearly beam of his. Mmh, how safe you feel, how loved as you collapse down to sit on his knees, and he tucks you in between the brackets of his arms in a vice so tight it could match any Marine knot.

You take one of his hands off the pen he was holding, turning his palm round to face you so you could fiddle with the rings he was wearing. You draw one up, curling his finger before your eyes, before slotting one off and sliding it onto your own ring finger. It was the one his father had given him: one he so loathed to wear, and yet felt guilt bore down too heavily on his conscious to ever take it off. You turned the one on top of it, one you know Zeff had given him after his first day working at the Baratie, and you smiled at the memory.

'You know', you start, still fiddling with his hand, feeling him shift his thighs as you pressed a gentle kiss on the pointer finger you were currently grasping onto. 'I may just have to keep this one.'

'Oh yeah?', he says dreamily, and you could feel his grin growing as he hid his burning face in the nape of your neck. 'Don't worry sweetheart. One day, once I find the perfect one, I'll give you a ring of your own.'

The two of you sneak out and share cigarettes out the back door a lot, where Sanji steps forward and kisses you like a man possessed every time you pinch the stub from out of his mouth and draw it along your bottom lip teasingly. When you try to get him to go back in, he just wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you around to stop you from leaving him alone. Laughing, you try to shove him off, swatting at the hands that form a tight clasp over your belly button, until his large fingers finally slide down to hold your waist. You glance behind you, smirking at the way his eyes are tightly shut in euphoria as ducks down, chest nearly enveloping in his desperation to reach your face again. His kisses become sloppier: smoke stained as they leave wet trails up your jaw, before he finally gives in and tries to make you laugh one last time by nibbling at the lobe of your ear.

Whenever he has a fight with Zeff, you have to hold him afterwards. The feel of your fingers curling the hair at the nape of his neck, or rubbing soothing circles into the sore muscles of his shoulders stops the furious darts of air from flaring his nostrils almost immediately.

Man has blaring heart eyes 100% whenever he's in a fight with rowdy customers, and you get to kick the flashy knife out of the last one's hand before the pirate could launch straight for Sanji's neck. He tilts his head at you with those amazed eyes, a gentle smile growing almost shyly on his face like a secret wink, before he throws his now empty plate at the pirate trying to sneak up behind your back. The crash echoes out through the booth area, a cry so furious: so full of rage that anyone would try and dare hurt you, that it makes all the remaining pirate crews crawl out towards the door on their hands and knees.

Stitching each other up afterwards is a motherfcking mess though, that Zeff straight up just abandons all hope of being able to use his kitchen. With a defeated rub of his pounding temples, he lets the door slam shut on his heel because he just can't deal with the two of you. He'd much rather pick up a brush and start sweeping bits of crushed and splattered asparagus off the floors than have to watch you to battle it out in a stiff competition of who could be more sickeningly, maddingly in love with the other. Between you standing between Sanji's entrapping thighs, closing you in tighter so you could have full access to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple as you use a rag to swipe bits of dry sauce off his neck, and him throwing his head back and whimpering, Zeff was going to go insane. Even worse, as soon as you're finished, Sanji's reaching between your fingers to lick split consomme off your nose.

The two of you are literally insufferable, and if every one apart from Zeff doesn't find it the cutest thing I-

When Luffy comes and wrangles Sanji into joining his crew, the chef's first thought is to be distraught. He seeks you out straight away, nearly breaking some poor fisherman's pole as he tries to hurdle over it and grip onto your shoulders, making you drop the barrel of dried meats you were carrying from Luffy onto the planks and watching Luffy nearly dangle off the edge of his ship to stop it from rolling into the ocean.

'Y/n- I- I can't go!'

'You're hardly scared!'

'I'm not scared of going, I'm terrified of going without you!'

You let him pour his heart out for a moment, before stopping his rambling, near sobbing mess of a sentence by bopping the tip of his nose. You giggle, swiping some hair from his forehead. 'Sanji, Luffy asked me to come first. I promised I wouldn't go without you, and I meant it.'

You manage to unlatch his twitching hand from your left shoulder, and give it an almost imperceptible squeeze. The tears that threatened to fall from his eyes finally cascade down, although he's so relieved that he's smiling through the blurriness. You swipe them away with your free thumb, finally, after all these years, feeling the squeeze of your hand that Sanji gives you back, before he envelops you in a breath taking hug.

'Awww, you guys are so sweet!', Luffy calls out from where he's hanging by his sandal off the railing of his ship. 'But could someone give me a hand before my hat falls into the waves? That would not be very cool.'

The first thing the two of you do once you're on The Going Merry is to find your bunk. Sanji isn't very subtle when he kicks your door shut with his heel, and comes scampering towards you like an upended sand crab, pinching for you until he's hefted you up over his shoulder and has unceremoniously landed you in your shared hammock. He's quick to jump in, straddling you as the hammock sways back and forth with the commotion.

He nearly starts crying again when he sees a flash of silver poke out from underneath your neckline; he grazes his hand over the chain, recognising it as his father's ring you had taken months ago. The one he had hated so much. The one you had tried to save him from. A small piece of him. A weight you tried to bear for him. A reminder of how much he was loved.

A confused Zoro, not realising there are new crew members on board, follows the sound of Sanji's voice crooning out how much he adores you, and how he loves you more than every star in the sky, down past the window on your bedroom door. Let's just say, he's not very impressed when he catches sight of the hammock swinging wildly from side to side, and an array of clothes thrown out and discarded in a mess around it.

[bachibabe]

— Heaven

synopsis: choso never expected spring break to be so difficult, honestly. just a few weeks to relax with his brother and his brothers girlfriend… it sounds like the dream doesn’t it? seeing his brother happy, so in love with you. but heaven for one is hell for another-- and it seems to be your very life goal to make him live with both.

✧*̣̩┊: choso x fem! reader (some itadori x fem! reader)

✧*̣̩┊: wc: 7.0k

✧*̣̩┊: content: dubious consent at times, cnc + full consent at others, switch! reader,switch!choso, dom!reader, sub!choso, nipple play, voyeurism (choso listens to itadori and reader have sex), m!masturbation, pervert choso, massages, blowjob, p in v, overstimulation, multiple creampies, choso is kinda gross, cheating!reader (as far as choso knows), choso is refered to as puppy/cocktoy, degredation (choso receiving), choso degrading himself too, please lmk if I missed any!

✧*̣̩┊: notes: it’s lily! back again with another perverted jjk man! this turned out way longer than i originally thought it was going to be. originally it was just going to end with the masturbation scene buuutttt i got a little carried away :DD i love how this fic came out and i hope you guys do too <33

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni

God, he wants to die. He deserves to. Choso has no right to live after the way he’s been looking at his brother’spretty little girlfriend. He deserves to be jailed for life, eyes gouged out for even considering sending a glance to your ass; bent over grabbing something from a cabinet in the kitchen. Leggings that are too tight, practically transparent. He swears he can see the tinge of your pink panties through them.

He should die. He places his face in his hands, arms propped up as his legs. One of them bouncing in, fuck, he doesn’t know what. Really doesn't know what. He doesn’t think he wants to, honestly. God how did it end up like this? How did he end up here– Itadori perched up on the counter, while you start to work on breakfast. How is he going to make it out alive? How is he going to survive spring break?

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. When Itadori, his dear, beloved brother called, asking if it was fine to bring his girlfriend home for break, Choso thought nothing of it. Even if he hadn’t met you, Itadori told him plenty. Every conversation he had with his sibling always found itself filled with fond stories of you. The nice date you went on, the delicious food you cooked for him. How horribly you destroyed the poor guy in mario kart. He thought he already knew you— it felt like he did at least.

He could tell the moment you walked into their family home that he didn’t. He had no clue the woman you were. A problem he would never be able to rectify. How terrifying that was for poor Choso. Can you imagine? Your little sweater crop top, unzipped low to put your perfect, pretty breasts on display. Your jeans, fitting just so right around your hips, practically putting your ass centre stage for the world to witness.

He hits his forehead with his hands a few times, trying to get rid of the image of your lips. They were in a pout, gloss on them as your jut out your bottom lip. You kissed his cheeks. Held both of your tiny hands around one of his large ones. 

“Thank you for letting me stay Choso, you’re the best big brother to Itadori ever!” Your voice rang so pretty, shiny, new in his ear drums. A sound he had never heard before invading his senses for the first time. He simply nodded his head, hugging his brother after you took a step back. Introductions were fast, Itadori dragging you off to give you a tour of their family home. It was probably to his benefit, to get you away like that. He didn’t know how long he could hold back the colour rising to his cheeks.

You were beautiful, gorgeous, even. Any adjective in the world to describe your beauty, he would use it. But that would never be enough to make a man like him crack. One with morals, one with some shred of pride. While the interaction left him slightly flustered, he quickly brushed it off of his shoulder. It shouldn’t matter anyway. 

Only it does when you’ve positioned yourself between his legs, tongue between your lip as you put your all into the game of mario kart against the two men. 

“I can’t see the tv from up here!” Your peach voice whined after your second loss in a row. “I’m more comfortable on the floor anyway.” You tell them, a slight pout on your lips. 

“You’re such a sore loser!” Itadori laughs, teasing as you slide yourself onto the floor. Right in front of Choso’s place on the couch. He looks down, eyes increasing in size only a fraction as your frame is incased by either side of his legs. His eyebrows raise, legs shifting farther apart as to not touch you. He wants to be respectful, afterall. 

“Uhg! As if!” You shoot back, a small glare landing on Itadori. Though Choso can tell none of it is serious. Suddenly, before he can think about the action any further, you turn to him. Delicate hand placed on his knee, nails digging into the flesh ever so slightly. Anyone else wouldn’t notice it. But of course Choso does. Of course he had to. Because he's a disgusting pervert who blushes from the touch of a woman. Well, not any woman. Just you.

“You don’t mind, right Choso?” Your voice is practically a purr, eyes filled with nothing but the glow of innocence, “Here’s the only spot that’s comfortable.” God, he swears he sees your tongue flick over your bottom lip, wetting the surface. But he forces himself to shred that to pieces. A trick of the eye. 

He nods his head, “Guests comfort.” He swears, your smile might blind a man. You threw your arm up, a small victory, your body turning back around. 

“‘Sides, Yuuji’s gonna start kicking me when I win anyway. He’s such a baby!” You stick out your tongue in mock disgust, Choso’s face moving into a light smile. 

“Am not!” Itadori argues back, throwing a pilling in your direction. Choso’s smile only grows, catching the pillow right before it lands on your face. Your voice squeals in delight, making a quick, mocking joke back in the direction of Yuuji. 

“He is. A baby in every way. You know when we were younger he used to sing this song–” This time, instead of a pillow, Yuuji throws his body, pinning Choso to the couch. A hand clamped over Choso’s mouth. You break out into something that sounds like music– oh. It’s just your laugh. Choso can’t help himself laughing either. 

Itadori starts laughing as you begin to beg, to do the same song that he had done when he was younger. Eventually he gives in, turning the night into somewhat of a good memory. Even if you remained planted, not daring to move from him even after a movie was put on. Falling asleep, head propped against his leg.

Yuuji carried you to bed that night, Choso retiring not long after.

If Choso was any slower, he would have completely missed the way you looked at his arm. The way your eyes trained to the muscle of it. The way your eyes would sharpen ever so slightly, your teeth almost biting your lip whenever you even gleaned at his calves or thighs. 

If it was just that, he could handle it. Even if he is a man, he’s not primal. He has self control. Even if he found you attractive, that means nothing. Probably. You’re his brothers’. It would be pathetic for him to fall over something so simple. 

Only it wasn’t so simple. It never could be. 

He quickly learned how dangerous you could be when it was just him home. How little you cared for the intricacies of being coy when no one was watching. 

“God your tits are so big~” Your voice feels like a moan in his ear. Your hands wrapped around him from behind, squeezing his pecks. Nails digging into him, so much so that it almost hurt. “It’s no fair…” 

His face is flush, his posture stiff. Stunned into an unmoving demeanour from just how… direct you’re being. That is the best word he can think of for it. At least it is right now when his head is all scrambled at the feeling of your perfect chest pressing into the firm muscles of his back. Your breath right in his ear with every short exhale. 

When he came home from work, tired and useless, the proposition was innocent enough: ‘Ah Choso~ You look so tense from work! That’s no good, you know? Oh! Lemme just give you a little massage yeah? Help you relax right up!’ That look on your face, so docile and cute, didn’t help any retorts he had under his belt. Not to mention, any persistence he thought Yuuji had was far surpassed by you. Begging to give poor, old Choso a massage. Fix his creaky joins and stiff bones.

Maybe it was the wear he had received from an all-too-hard day at the office, or maybe it had been a lapse in judgement from the cloud that seemed to cover him. However the decision came to be, he thought it might be good. A nice chance to finally relax a little.

He had been needing a massage lately, anyway, the certificate Yuuji had bought him rotting away in his closet from his last birthday. Yet, he just didn’t have it in him to actually book the appointment, no matter how desperately he wanted to feel the muscles in his body unwind. Honestly a little nervous to have a stranger's hands on him.

But you aren’t a stranger. You’ve become friends. 

So, when you urge his shirt off, saying that you don’t want it to get all sticky with lotion, he doesn’t fight back. Letting you slight the slightly scratchy material of his dress shirt over his head. He lets your pretty hands work out the hair ties in his locks, allowing the neglected black hair fall over his shoulders. He needs a haircut, he knows it in the way his hair falls a little lower than it ever had before. Plans, yeah. He has lots of things he needs to do. Dinner, cleaning, making sure the report comes in on time. God he doesn't need another lecture from–

“Fuck-” His is sudden, low as you press into one of the knots permeating his back. He hadn’t even expected it to come out. He doesn’t think you did either, based on the little squeal that leaves your throat.

“Did that feel good?” You ask simply, continuing to rub circles deep into his shoulder blades. Your tone light, happy. Probably from helping someone relax, yeah, that's probably it. “I’ve taken a few classes, I was thinking about becoming a masseuse awhile ago.” He knows your glossy lips are smiling.

A breathy exhale leaves his lips, your thumbs digging into another sensitive tangle. “Oh really?” He’s not focusing much anymore. There must be some kind of drug laced in your touch. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You giggle, hands cresting over the tops of his shoulder, gently rubbing his neck. “Mhmm, I’m real good I think.” 

If he responds, he has no clue what he says. Good is an understatement. Your hands must be god's gift to man. That can be the only explanation. No other human could be capable of this, he doesn’t think. Allowing one’s mind to turn into mush with just simple touches of fingers along their back. It shouldn’t be allowed, legal.

He doesn’t know how much time passes as he sits there, letting you work through his back until it's tender. Needing love and affection when it was just broken and reformed by your hands alone. Your nails gently scratch the skin. He’s forgotten who you are, what you are. You are euphoria across his skin. A feeling swelling in his abdomen as he sinks into total relaxation. 

Well, that is at least until suddenly your hands are on his pecks, your voice cooing in his ear as you fondle him like a porno. The innocent delight in granting someone relief has vanished from you, someone else taking your place. His eyes wide open, heart rate as high as the ceiling in a matter of seconds. 

“See and if you just sit like this–” Your left hand moves to his lower back, forcing it to curve just so, “They look even bigger. Have you ever thought about getting them pierced? Then we could be matching~” His brain can’t wrap around your words, nevertheless what they imply. His head has gone a bit fuzzy, finding trouble keeping up in the shift from cloud nine to being in one of the circles of hell. 

Your voice sounds so sweet, yet your body behaves as a different animal.

Your fingertips flick over the nipple, “It doesn’t hurt too bad I swear… and you’d look real pretty with them too.” Your other hand leaves his back, slowly sliding around his hip. Your fingers dance along the contours of his body, finally resting just along his v-line. Thumb gently running itself across the ridge. Not daring to go any lower. Not yet, anyway. 

If he had anything to say, the words are lost in his throat. How could a delicate touch be so sinful? He has no idea. He can’t find himself moving his head, moving away at all really. Stuck in a state of indecision. Hoping the little balls he feels pressing into his back may or may not be the piercings you speak of so fondly covered by one of your too thin tank tops. He isn’t sure which. His brain is blurry, but his body is responding. His pants are beginning to feel stiff. 

“I can show you if you want~” You purr, your voice somehow closer, etching even deeper into his ear. Lodging itself in his brain in a way that he can't ignore. His body grows tense pulling away ever so slightly when your hands suddenly retract entirely. Finding purchase back on his back as if they were never there to begin with.

“Kidding!!” You giggle, patting his back as your too-sweet nature returns like nothing. Once again leaving him a little more confused than he would like to be. “Don’t be silly Choso, I was only playing. Don’t get your panties all up in a twist!” 

And that was the end of it, at least until Yuuji got home. Until he could retire to the privacy of a shower to manage a little issue. One that didn’t seem to want to resolve itself. One that meant his panties stayed in a twist.

Dinner was had like nothing happened. And it didn’t. Because it was all a joke right? So he shouldn’t dwell. Not when Yuuji smiles at you like that. Not when you two seem perfect for each other. 

His feelings on the issue shouldnt matter. And therefore, they don’t. As long as Itadori is happy, as long as he can keep that smile on his little brother's face, nothing else in the world is of importance to him. 

No matter how much he has to endure. However many times he has to apply sunscreen on your bare back, bikini top untied so as to not miss a spot. However many times he feels your ass pressed against him as you slide in front of him in the kitchen. However many times you fall asleep, clinging to his arm on the couch. Breasts pressed against him just so. However many times he has to ignore your subtle, almost streamlined touches. However many times he has to ‘take care of business’ in the privacy of his own room, triggered from nothing more than watching the way you speak. Watching the way your lips move in their pristine little pout. However many times he has to ignore that feeling bubble up in the pits of his gut. 

Choso is a man with patience. The ability to hold himself back.. He is able to be a pillar of fortitude where most would crumble under the pressure. Women aren’t an issue when it comes to him. He can be sweet, the type of man to look at the ceiling when walking up stairs, the type to walk closest to the road. The one that stays sober at company parties to make sure he can keep his co-workers drinks safe. But this is too much– you are too much. Last night was too much. The very cause for his mental breakdown today. 

He’s a disgusting man. One that has crumbled into a pile of rubble for the woman brought onto his doorstep. One that has dragged him deep down to a place he may never find himself recovering from. He’s a freak, awful, pervert. The worst man alive, if he had to guess.

But your moans are a siren’s call. One he was unable to lure himself away from. One he could no longer battle against. 

When he heard the first pitch from his desk, he ignored it. His imagination had to be the culprit. The second, third, however, no. Those had to be real. Right? His doubts were still clear. Yet, as if his body was acting on its own, he found himself befalling in a way that had long been forgotten in his past. A pervy college freshman, planting his knees on his bed, ear pressed deep into the wall. 

He knew that the moment he did it. He couldn't pull himself away. Even though a voice was screaming at him to stop. To go back to his desk and place his headphones firmly in his ears. To stop listening to your beautiful sounds, those that were filled with pleasure. To move away from the wall as the bed on the other side rocked against it. To stop imagining the skin slapping against your own was his. 

He was too far gone. Too far deluded as his hand found his cock, not bothering to pull down his sweatpants. He still had some class, some grace, he liked to think. He wasn’t completely abhorrent. Even as he ran his thumb over the head, feeling the pre-cum. Sliding it around messily as he tried to find some purchase on sanity. 

His hands were too shaky, from nerves or excitement he could not tell. Maybe he didn’t want to. That would be for the best wouldn’t it? His thumb, shakily, almost impatiently teasing him under the guise of starlight. What would you think if you saw him now? Palming his cock while his thumb ran over the almost red head. Trying desperately to conceal any shred of dignity the poor man had left. To try and go back to before his shaky fingers reached below the hem of his sweats. 

As the thrusts from the other room quickened, your pants and moans quickly quelled any lucid thoughts he may have had left. His hand reacting to the sounds, palm finding the base easily. The groan he let out was a mistake, but fear no longer exists. Not in this world. Not with the direction of his hand, the speed of it as it moves from base to tip. Quickly. Tightly. Almost painfully. He was too worked up, too frustrated from everything you had given him before. Almost, yet never enough. This was the last straw. The last piece of clarity he had before he completely fell to ruin. Imagining himself in his brother's place. Imagining how you must feel. 

He’s a complete sicko. But in the moment, he doesn't care. His arm comes up, resting against the wall. His forehead does the same. His nose scrunches, eyes shut tightly as he tries to picture it. Picture you in his bed, your legs wrapped around his hips. Right above his ass. Ankles trying to cross behind him. Yeah, you would be really pretty there, wouldn’t you? 

If your hands were god’s gift, your pussy had to be heaven. He knows it, right? Cause you're his in this little world. His fingers would slide up your lips, spreading you just enough so he could admire you. See how pretty you would look all puffy from his tongue alone. Fuck– his hips jerk in his hand. He won’t last. 

How could he when you’re under him? Right, cause you’re under him. Letting him fuck you. Every gorgeous moan of his brother's name is his own. Just like you said in his ear that night. 

‘Choso, Choso, Choso~’

Does Yuuji eat you out? Fuck your cunt with his fingers first to make sure you’re ready to take him? No, No! Don’t think about him. Bad Choso, don’t be mean to your brother. Don’t think. This isn’t about him. This is about the new reality, the pretty one where you’re a mess, all sweaty and tangled in his sheets. 

Holy fuck. Your voice is suddenly wild, an orchestra he wishes to listen to every night, and his illusions return to him. His hand moving faster, somehow gripping his cock even tighter. This time, however, you’re in control. Pinning him to the bed, his cock buried deep in your pretty, wet hole. You’re not moving, you refuse to. Grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles to bring him to the precipice, yet not allowing him to fall over the edge. To see the light of day yet never experience it, locked in a battle of wills. Who will fall first, who will beg. Who will be so desperate for release that they can’t do anything else but turn into a messy puddle.

It will be him, you both know it. At least in his head, you do.  

Your voice cracks, and so does his. A groan he barely muffles with his hand is all he allows himself to manage as he hears you fall over the edge into climax. He does the same, imagining he’s buried deep inside, filling you with his cum. You didn’t let him wear a condom, you never would. 

Thick ropes of white cover his hand as he calms down, rejoining the rest of the world. Panting, teeth marks imprinted into his hand from the force of his jaw. 

He’s been spiralling since then. Afraid he’s gone insane, truly. Maybe he should check himself into a psych ward, yes. That would be for the best. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed on the streets. A pervert like him that gets off on the idea of fucking his little brothers girlfriend shouldn’t be allowed at all. He’s a sick fucking freak. 

You have to know it, don't know? That’s why you’ve been looking at him differently today? Like there’s a little spark that just has to mean that you know, right? Or is he really going crazy? Imagining that too? He doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t know much at all. The only reality he knows is the chair he’s sitting in, planting his seat in it since the morning. He hasn’t moved since then– his chin resting in his hands, his knees against his elbows as he stares at nothing in a random corner. Thinking about everything, nothing. 

How could he possibly face you? 

The answer to that question has drawn nothing but blanks in his head. Yet it is answered for him that very afternoon. How lucky he is, huh? His brother waving ‘bye’ to hang out with some of his highschool friends. You felt “sick”, claiming an upset tummy so you didn't want to go. Despite his subtle protests that you should tag along with them anyway, he finds himself alone in a house with the object of both his desires and his downfall into depravity.

Luckiest man alive. Yeah. They should say that at his funeral. But he isn’t going to die, not anytime soon at least. 

He knows that well, not moving from his eyes from their spot in the corner. He can’t now, even if he wanted to. Not with you right in front of him– two, maybe three feet at most from his legs. Pearly yoga mat neatly laid across the floor; water bottle, phone, and towel placed neatly beside on standby. Leggings, too tight leggings stretched across your perfect skin. Tits held in place with a matching sports bra. Following along to the workout video. Pretty, alone in your head. 

In downward dog, ass facing him. Mocking him, scandalising the mere thought of looking away from the corner. If he could see all of that from his peripherals alone, there's no telling what he could see– what he wants to see, from straight on. So there he sits, in his corner. Wishing he could be alone in his own. Wishing you didn’t occupy every crevice of his brain matter. Wishing he was a better man. 

His focus has to be made of stone, face scrunched in that annoyed little manner. Lip up in a little tick. If he was staring any harder, a hole would have bored itself into the drywall. If his attention was any less he would’ve noticed you moving closer, sliding backwards on your hands and knees. Pressing your ass against the erection he had been dead set on ignoring. 

A groan resonates through his throat at the contact. Sudden, unavoidable. Here, now. The supple flesh of your ass against him, teasing him. Taunting him in some way he can’t ignore. His eyes shifting quickly to his lap, looking at you in all of your glory. His hands gripping the arms of the chairs, nails embedding themselves in the cushioned material. The place they will find refuge, home for the next few hours. 

His face finally meets yours, eyes connecting as you look at him from over your shoulder. His brows crease, an ounce of confusion overtaking him. You look annoyed… frustrated. Your eyebrows pinched together, venom in your gaze. Fuck. He must’ve messed up. Did he move closer? Did he accidentally pull you towards him when he wasn’t paying attention? Oh fuck, fucking shit. 

Just as the apology starts to leave his lips you huff. Spinning on your knees, moving right between his legs. Looking up at him from his lap. 

“I don’t fucking get you, Choso.” You say, the hiss of a snake practically wrapped around your vocal cords. What are you talking about? What could you possibly mean? He’s the pervert. He’s the one that needs to be jailed for his crimes– not you. You’re the angel. The one who’s brought so much joy to his little brother. 

Before he can respond, before the words even think about leaving the tip of his tongue your hands are on his thighs. Moving upwards, finding purchase on the hem of his sweatpants. Directing him upwards. Pulling his sweats– the same pair as last night, down over his knees. 

“Like, seriously!” Your voice trills in a whine, annoyed. Once again, he can’t move. Can’t find himself wanting to. He wants to experience this, to experience you firsthand. A better man would move, a better man wouldn’t let their most base desires control him. But he is no better than an ant now, following in your lead. 

“Uhg, I do so much work–” Your hand has found its way inside of his boxers now. He wishes he changed them after last night, but it’s too late for wishing now, isn’t it? “And you don’t even make a move?! Like you’re kidding me, right?” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a word that’s leaving your lips. If he thought he did, its vanished by the feeling of your smooth, gentle hands wrapped around his cock. Flicking over it almost painfully, like you want to hurt him. Just a little. Just to get back at him for all the turmoil he’s apparently put you through. 

He’s panting now, breath coming out in short bursts through his nose as he watches your hand. Feels it actually touch his skin. Anything he could have imagined was negligible compared to this. Something that couldn’t be reached by anyone else. No one other than you. 

“I play with you so nice too! I treat you like a good toy!” You whine, seeming to get more and more irritated by the second. More and more irritated that he isn’t responding to your words. His cock jumps, more and more precum collecting at the tip. That seems to make you happy, a cute little hum leaving your lips.

 “You want me. Don’t you Choso?” Your eyes are round, looking up at him almost like a puppy dog. No one could turn you away. No one would ever want to when you look at them like that. A curt nod is all he can manage. All he can force out of his body to do with your hand rubbing his cock in a way that should be illegal. Anything more and he would look like a babbling idiot, he’s sure of it. 

You must have some sympathy, some compassion for the man as you let him go. Pull your hands from his boxers. So down on his luck, the most beautiful girl in the world between his legs. A small smile aids itself to your lips as you speak. 

“Let's get these off of you, yeah?” You hum, fingers gently playing with the ridge of his boxers. He doesn’t fight you, doesn’t retreat as you pull them down. “Aww poor thing, you liked the show a little too much last night, huh? Just a mess, huh? You giggle, mocking the state of his undergarments. The places he just couldn’t get clean enough with a towel. God, he really is gross. 

He’s once again wrapped up in himself. In his own thoughts, thinking of trying to get out of your mocking tone. How to save face in front of what he deems perfection. So much so that he entirely misses the way your eyes widen at his size. Whatever you dreamed of, it could not have been this. It’s too big, too big for most anyone to handle. Longer than your hand, thicker than your fingers could wrap around. Pretty veins running along the left side. 

It could destroy you. But it won’t.

“It’s not like that–” His voice is cut off once again with your tongue. A thick strip painting from base to tip. Tasting his salty skin.

Fuck, he falls back into the chair. Trying to find some facet to cling to so he doesn’t black out into utter hysteria. His fantasies never even touched your mouth. Thought of how it might move across his skin. No, he wouldn’t dare. Yet now that he is living it, experiencing it he knows that it wasn’t meant for him to. The mere knowledge that your lips might wrap around the head of his cock sends him teetering over an edge that shouldn’t exist. 

His hips buck upwards, trying to get a small piece of anything you’re willing to spare. “Ah ah, we can’t get ahead of ourselves, yeah? I deserve this, you know? All for me~” He doesn’t know how a voice as pure as yours can touch him like this. Gripping his cock at its base, squeezing it just enough that it hurts, yet not too much so that it’s uncomfortable. One stroke, two is all you give him. Your wrist flicking over the pretty head, spreading his precum all along his length as lubricant. 

He does all he can to stifle his groans; pretend he isn’t completely falling apart. But your lips lick the head, smiling at the taste. Moving to just take the head inside of your mouth. Slowly moving your head up and down. Watching him, perceiving him. Observing the twitches of his mouth, the brace of his hands, the plant of his feet on the floor. The way his hips beg to move, to piston upwards to fuck your throat dry. Awww~ but it doesn’t look like he can even do that.

His eyes are glossy. Face red up to his ears.You gag, taking in just a little bit more than you were meant too. A smile twitching to your mouth as you finally hear it, the thing you thought you heard last night. Ah, his voice! Who would have thought, truly, that a man could turn into this? 

You did, of course. And ever since first laying eyes on his pale face, his tired eyes, you knew you wanted to do it to him over, and over, and over again. Good thing Yuuji said you could, huh? Even if it took a little begging. 

A choked cry leaves his throat as you pull away. His hips arching, bucking up to try and find relief once again inside of your mouth. He’s desperate, brought back down to his base instincts as a man. A short whisper of a word leaves his throat as you stand, thinking you’re leaving him. Leaving him with nothing but a sore cock once again.

“You’re gonna fill me up good, right puppy?” But you’re not leaving him. You’re pulling off your leggings, panties following suit. You’re crawling onto his lap. Knees balanced against the arm rests as you position your tight, practically dripping hole above his cock. God, you look so needy. Probably are so needy, just wanting him. Only wanting the satisfaction he can provide. 

God, your fingers. They’re spreading your lips so he can see. See just what he’s done from sitting there and taking it like a good boy. He was right. Your body was constructed by the heavens above. Perfect in all its glory. A finger running between your folds, collecting yourself on your fingers. 

“Will it fit?” He asks, though it almost comes out as a plea. Desperate to feel you, to have you wrapped around him. “Let me~” You shush him, fingers sliding into his mouth. Letting him taste you. Taste what he is missing out on.

“Mmm mmm.” You mutter simply, though he’s too distracted. Too distracted until you lower yourself onto him; just enough so the head inside. Just enough so that you can at least try to adjust to the intrusion that he brings. His head is a messy fog. Hips gently rocking, trying to gain some relief while not pushing your poor, under prepared hole.

Your hands on his abdomen as you slowly begin to slide up and down, taking in a little more and more with each motion. Filling you up completely, painfully. Heavenly. His hands find your hips. Soothing the burn, rubbing gentle circles into whatever flesh he can find. Thanking you for not pushing him away. 

“Shit–” The cuss strings past your lips as your hips meet his, a loud groan leaving his own. The light of the living room proving evidence of your sin. 

His eyes look down, finding where your bodies meet, “Fuck me…” He groans, his always tired eyes looking more alert, more at attention than they ever have before. Watching as you rock your hips slowly, deliberately. You only watch him. A sheen of sweat already covering both of your bodies. 

His thumb slides down, finding purchase on your clit. He groans at the sight, rubbing circles into the soft bundle of nerves. He’s not going to last. He knows it. He’s going to completely blow his load before your first bounce on his cock. Fuck, he can’t take it. He knows he won’t be able to with the way you squeeze around him. The way your walls flutter so tight over his length.

God he should have taken his time, urged you to let him eat you out or something so he could have had the chance to calm down. To relax for a moment before his cock was nestled deep inside. Fuck. 

And now you’re moving. The pain subsided, turning into nothing but pleasure. And god he must be leaving holes in the fucking chair, his hands returning to their places on the arm rest. He makes the mistake of looking, watching his cock glide inside your pussy effortlessly. Watching as you make a mess all over his lap. Watching as he makes a mess all over you. 

God and it’s over for him, his head thrown back against the chair. His hips jerking wildly into your wet heat as he fucks his cum deep into your walls. Watch as the room goes white, euphoria filling his senses. 

Shame is all he feels as he drops back against the chair. He’s disappointed you, he knows he has. There is no other explanation. You didn’t get off at all and he's received, well, everything. Apologies tumble from his mouth, over and over again they are spoken. Yet, when he finds your eyes already staring back down at him, there's something off. A fire inside of them, one that refuses to be quelled. 

Your hips don’t stop moving, don't stop the ease of grinding against him. Sliding almost all the way out, just until he can see the start of the head before landing all the way back down. You’re not stopping, and his cock isn’t getting soft.

“Awwww!” You giggle, hands pressing against his pecks, leaning close to his face so he can hear you nice and clear. Hear the smile, the mockery in your tone. “You just couldn’t hold it in huh? What a cute, pathetic little thing!” 

His cock is growing sore, it’s hurting. It’s too sensitive. He can’t take it. He doesn’t want to.

“Don’t worry, yeah? I’m still gonna cum so don’t feel bad, hmm? Just be a good little cock toy.” 

Or does it hurt? Does it feel good? His head arches back, conflicting feelings of both pain and pleasure overtaking his senses. He tries to focus on one or the other, anything really, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but sit there and be good just for you. He knows he wants to do that. It’s the least he can do, right? For being just a wretched, pathetic man. 

Too bad it's so hard to pull away. But you’re addicting, and he can’t help but try to find his fix. No matter how much it hurts, he can’t help but find sparks in the way you move. Your hips moving rapidly, fucking yourself onto his cock without a care for how he might be feeling. How good he must be feeling dancing along the fine line between pain and pleasure, not daring to stick a toe into either side of the tides for fear of not returning. 

Not a care for how you grab his hand, press his thumb against your clit and rub circles until he gets the hint, gaining enough clarity to do it on his own. Your voice is all he can hear through his rough pants, air catching in his throat forming a groan every time you move. Every time you test him, urge him to stop if he can’t take it.

But he will take it. He’ll feed himself to you on a silver platter, apple tied in his mouth if you wanted him to. He takes all of it. Basks in the glow of your pussy finding pleasure in his cock. And once again he can feel the bubble in the pit of his stomach growing, telling him once again that he’s close. So terribly close he doesn’t know how much more he can take. 

So he focuses on your voice– tries to at least. As much as he can while his head is spinning. Filled with clouds and spinning like a cyclone. The beautiful melodic voice he heard when you first arrived. The pristine laugh you let out on the first night. The whines you’d release when he’d rub sunblock into his back, and now the same voice he heard the night before. Chanting his name, whispering it close in his ear. Only this time it’s real. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your moans filling his ear drums. 

His name falling from your lips as you moan about how close you are. About how good he feels. 

Your hips moving faster, harsher against his own than ever before. His thumb pressing against your clit, urging you to your release as he hangs on the precipice of his own. Cock twitching with every menstruation, walls fluttering against him until finally, your hips fall against his own. Your voice letting out a moan, his own doing the same as he releases thick streams of white into your walls for the second time that night. 

You tighten around him, almost unbearably so with how sensitive, how much of a mess the poor man’s cock is. Your hips grinding gently, coaxing the both of you through your orgasms until bodies fall against one another. The waves of pleasure soothing into a gentle tide, neither of you moving to remove yourselves from the other. 

Your head rests against his shoulder, his hand coming up to hold the back of your neck gently. To keep you there, to bask in the moment before the timer comes to an end and he realises what he has done. What the both of you have done. He should panic. He should. But all of the energy is sucked dry from his body. He can’t move, he doesn’t want to. Not when his cock is still tucked deep inside of you. When he can still feel you. 

After the glow has faded and only sweaty bodies are left in the room you get up, though he isn’t entirely sure when. His eyelids heavy, falling down no matter how hard he tries to keep them awake. 

When he wakes up, nothing is amiss. His pants are up, his hair is combed. You and Yuuji are sitting happily on the couch watching a movie. Was it all a dream? No, no it couldn’t have been. That doesn’t make sense. He knows it was real. He knows it. 

“Morning.” Itadori smiles, noticing his big brother awake. Looking around the room in utter shock and confusion. His eyes slowly drift to the both of you, Yuuji’s arm tucked around your shoulders like nothing. 

The knowing smile you give him is all the evidence he needs that it was real. 

“We didn’t wake you up, right?” You ask innocently, head tilting to the side. He shakes his head, still in a bit of shock.  “Good, good…” you sing song, turning your attention back to the tv with ease. 

“Did you wanna tell him the good news or should I?” Yuuji asks, looking over to you with that confident smile he always has on his face. The smile Choso loves. The one he wants to protect and keep safe as his big brother. 

“Me! Me!” You say excitedly, almost bouncing in your seat. “Yuuji invited me to stay over the summer too! Isn’t that amazing?!”

Choso is going to die. For real this time.

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

My BFF is a Vampire

18+

BLOOD SUCKERS

Characters: ot7 x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, described sex scenes, death, consumption of alcohol and blood, threesome, male and male intercourse, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, wax play, blood play, and more.

Genre: supernatural, fantasy, vampire, angst, reversed harem, best friends to lovers.

🩸My Master List🩸

Intro;

I knew something was wrong in the small city I’ve been living ever since I was born here and after I graduated from high school I was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that the whole year this small hell of a city called Spring Villa always rained every day.

Every god damn day.

Not that i was complaining, one summer during a high school trip to California was enough for me to realize hot weather was not for me. One day to be more specific, it was my first time and everything seemed so more alive and colorful. But all come to an end since i had to spend the rest of the trip at the hospital with an IV inside my arm due to being exposed to the sun for too long, just one afternoon which was the same as everyone else did but i was the only one who almost died that day for burning on the sun and end up looking like a hot Cheeto. After that i even started to enjoy the cold humid air hitting my face every day when i left to work, the only thing it didn’t change was my hatred for the rain every morning. Getting wet before work was not very enjoyable, everyone could agree on that note.

But the beautiful weather of the city was not the most uncanny thing about it, it has been almost ten years since a serial killer was circling around the Spring Villa. I was only a teen when everything became known to everyone in the city that something wasn’t right, so many bodies were found around Spring Villa along the years people began to stay at home locked away from everything. Some left the city for once and never came back, those who stayed were people who had nowhere else to go, like me.

My father was terrified of the accidents involving the serial killer in town and he too left before anyone else, leaving me and my mother behind. I couldn’t blame him especially after my brother ended up becoming one of the victims, when the police officer called for my parents to identify the body it didn’t felt real to me. I was not allowed to go since at the time i was underage but, I didn’t even got a chance to say goodbye either. My parents didn’t do a funeral for him, it was all too much to bear so instead he was cremated and thrown on a river on the west side of Spring Villa his favorite place to hide with his friends. Ever since that happened my parents have not been the same, I knew that sooner or later this was bound to happen. When father left it was the last straw of sanity of my mother, she became an alcoholic and well… not good.

I’ve been working at the Spring Grill ever since I graduated high school, apart from so many people leaving the city many others came from cities around the town to get a bit of incloser about the serial killer of Spring Villa, he was never caught and that mystery seemed to amaze many tourists around town.

People from all over came to my stupid silly little city to make videos about the killer of my brother, at first I was so angry at them I wished they just didn’t came at all but, over the years it became dull and empty inside my heart. I had more to worry about then that and since I needed money to pay the rent I was more then happy so many tourist came to Spring Villa.

After all I meet my best friend like that.

Notes: Hello readers! Here’s a new story for all of you I truly hope you guys enjoy this work as much as you all been enjoying my old works. This story has been going around my mind a lot and I thought what better time to write then now? So here it is! Taglist is open so leave your request in the comments and I’ll add you! Love all of you, Author. 🩵

[monimccoythings]

Primal Instincts

I saw that in an alternate universe he, sabertooth and wildchild are feral men called the pack. And I just knew my glorious purpose. For a second I was tempted to name this like one of those supernatural romantic novels from Wattpad like "Hunted by the Alpha" or something like that lol.

tags: as gn!reader as possible (except maybe one little thing that can be ignored), feral!logan, feral!victor creed (brief appearance), feral!Kyle gibney (brief appearence), animal behavior, scent marking, non-con elements, dark!logan, small violence (reader gets grabbed by the neck).

You came for a well deserved holidays to a cottage in the middle of the Canadian woods to relax and draw the wilderness. No signal, no wifi, and the closest town is half an hour by car. Just you and nature for an entire month.

Logan smelled your sweet scent from across the wilderness. And he was immediately entraced by it. He follows the scent towards a small clearing with a wooden cottage in the middle of it. And that's when he sees you.

Oh the primal and animalistic things you make him feel, too complex and strong for his primitive brain to understand and process. You make his mouth water and his cock twitch with raw desire, that's the only thing he needs to know.

Logan starts to scent mark around your house to ward off other predators, and to warn his packmates that you were already claimed; rubbing himself against trees, rocks, and the walls of your house. He got in an ugly fight with Victor because he came too close to his liking.

Kyle tried to approach you too, mostly driven by his own curiosity instead of defiance like Victor, but a single growl was enough to make him backpedal into the wilderness.

Logan also starts to leave at you doorsteps small gifts that range from cute (some flowers he had seen you sniff earlier) to creepy (a bird you had been drawing the day before, obviously dead).

When you leave for groceries he freaks out. Are you gone?? Where?? Why?? He grows frustrated because he cannot match your car's speed. You swore you heard an inhuman howl in the distance when you were driving towards the closest town.

Logan's rage and despair know no limits while you're gone. Not even Victor dares to provoke him in the middle of his frenzy, his destructive behavior could turn the smallest hint of a challenge into a very painful death.

He feels alive again when he sees your car return. Oh? You were just in need of food? He should have noticed, you don't need to worry about it anymore, he will take care of your hunger from now on. And to make sure you never leave him again, he flattens your tires with his claws.

So he starts providing you with carcasses of his hunts, his biggest prizes, only the best for his mate. He won't eat until he makes sure you have taken a bite, which concerns him when you refuse to do so. Isn't that enough? Should he hunt for bigger prey?

Let's just say it freaks you out to open the door and find a dead deer in your porch. It's not the first time it has happened. At first you thought those "presents" as accurate as they had been to your interests, had been left behind by some stray cat, yeah yeah, totally crazy but it was the safest way of thinking. But no cat was strong enough to carry a deer like that towards your house.

Fuck holidays, it was time to leave.

The blood in your veins ran cold when you saw the flattened tires. You couldn't escape by car. Your only options was either run for an hour towards the closest town, or stay there and hope whatever was lurking in the woods, never got bored of hunting just deer.

Either option terrified you, but you couldn't stop to dwell in the pros and cons.

So you ran.

It was getting dark, and cold, and your lungs felt like they were about to explode. Yet, the thought of dying if you stopped to take a breath kept you moving forwards. You didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Until you literally couldn't take a step further.

There, in the middle of the way, something, or better said, someone, was blocking your path.

It was a man, and what a man.

Hairy like a wild beast and built like the strongest bodybuilder. He was flanked by two other equally naked men, hidden in the shadows to not overshadow the one in front of you. They were larger than him, but lower in their hierarchy, you supposed by the way they trailed behind, with their heads lowered. Their behavior reminded you of a pack of wolves.

You took a step back. Their leader, or at least who you supposed was the leader, slightly bared his teeth at you, showing the tiniest hint of two very sharp fangs.

Your mind went blank. Your entire brain short-circuited. Despite the thinly veiled threath in his actions, you unconciously took a step back.

"No." The man rumbled in a very deep voice. It sounded rough, weird even, like that was the first words he pronounced ever. Still, that wasn't enough to make him less intimidating in your eyes.

So that's why when he took a step fowards, you turned around and run.

It didn't take long for him to catch up to you. Of course he would. He moved like a fish in water, this was his territory after all.

The worst part of wanting peace and tranquility in the middle of nowhere was that nobody could hear your screams. Nobody could hear you trashing and kicking against that wall of solid muscle's strong grip.

You fought, you fought with everything you had inside. Not even when his patience ran thin and snarled at you with a sound that was more animal than man did you stop fighting.

He pushed the door of your cottage and walked in with you struggling in his arms like he owned the place. He made a beeline towards the bedroom and dropped your body unceremoniously onto the bed, wasting no time in getting on top of you when he sensed you were about to bolt.

At least the other two hadn't followed him in. Still, you knew they were out there, lurking, watching. You didn't know what was worse.

Even when he had you pinned in the bed you refused to submit. With an inhuman roar, he grabbed your neck with his right hand and pressed you against the pillow, while from the knuckles of his left hand sprouted three metal blades that sank in the pillow mere inches to your right.

He was so close to your face you could see his sharp teeth glistening. His large erection poked insistently at your thigh. In the middle of that raging cloud of emotions that went from fear to dread, arousal was certainly one you were not expecting. It was faint, yet it was there. As if your body subconciously enjoyed being roughed up by that brute. Shame filled your body.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, where he held you firmly in place. His face lowered to your pulse point, where your scent was stronger, it was driving him crazy, he could feel himself getting dizzy with it. His mouth latched at your neck, sucking, biting, licking and nipping; he couldn't get enough. Everything in him was screaming to mark you, claim you, breed you full of his pups.

But he could smell you. You weren't ready. Not yet. He had to be patient. With a last nip at your neck, he left your trembling form on the bed, muttering a single warning before he exited the cottage.

"Stay."

Stay, because he'd be watching. Stay because he'd know if you tried to escape again. Stay because it wouldn't take him much to drag you back there with him, and next time he may not be so gentle.

Before walking back into the wilderness he made sure to leave his scent all over the cottage and its surroundings once again.

Logan hadn't expected you to resist. He would have liked you had welcomed his courtship with open arms. His instincts were screaming at him to just take you and tie you to him forever. Yet, there was a tiny voice inside his mind, thatwarned him that mating with an unwilling partner would risk their hate. And if Logan craved something, was your love and devotion.

He is a predator, he is the alpha of the pack. He is a very patient creature. He had caught the smallest flick of arousal when he had manhandled you earlier. His chest puffed out proudly. That was a good reaction. In due time, he would make you his mate and you would accept, willingly.

In the meantime, he will keep courting you, catering to your needs, proving himself worthy of your affections. He doesn't need to worry about anything else.

Because in the end, you would be his.

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORTER WHAT HAPPENED

[sylusonychinus]

Episode 10 – I'm Not that Girl

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The problem wasn’t the booth.

At least, that’s what Reader told herself as she stood in front of the half-finished setup, staring blankly at the large banner that should’ve had a bold, compelling heading by now. Instead, it remained empty—a glaring reminder of how stuck she felt.

She had been at this for hours, running in circles, her mind clouded with everything but what she needed to focus on.

It wasn’t just about the right words. It was about meaning.

The hospital was holding a health awareness event, and every department was tasked with setting up a booth that represented their work. Reader had been put in charge of hers, and while everything else was in place—the visuals, the pamphlets, the overall design—she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out the perfect phrase to encapsulate what their hospital meant to the people who walked through its doors.

Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair.

"You look like you need a break," a voice said.

She turned to see Jeremiah standing there, holding out a cup of coffee.

Reader blinked at him.

"Take it," he urged. "Before your brain short-circuits."

She sighed but took the cup, the warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thanks."

Jeremiah leaned against the table, studying the unfinished banner. "So, what’s the holdup?"

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I just… can’t find the right words."

Jeremiah hummed. "Okay, let’s think about it differently. What do you think the hospital is for our patients?"

Reader frowned, sipping her coffee.

What was the hospital to its patients?

It was a place of healing. A place of hope. A place where people fought for their lives, where they put their trust in the hands of doctors who carried the weight of those lives on their shoulders.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to him.

To Zayne.

To the way he carried himself in the OR—focused, precise, unwavering. The way his hands moved, steady and sure, no hesitation, no room for doubt.

She thought of the way he stayed with his patients, how he made sure they were okay even after surgery, how he spoke to them with a calm reassurance that made them believe they would get through it.

She thought of the way he had looked at her that night in his apartment, the way he had touched her with such tenderness it had stolen her breath.

Zayne was the embodiment of perseverance. He was the reason patients walked out of this hospital alive.

She set her coffee down and reached for the marker.

And for the first time in hours, she knew exactly what to write.

—

She didn’t leave the office until late.

After finalizing the preparations for the booth, making sure every detail was in place, she packed up her things, her body heavy with exhaustion. But even as she stepped out into the quiet hospital lobby, there was something lighter in her chest.

She had spent so long admiring Zayne—his skill, his brilliance, his strength. But tonight, she had finally named what she felt.

It wasn’t just admiration.

It wasn’t just attraction.

She loved him.

The realization settled in her chest like an anchor, terrifying and undeniable.

She loved him.

It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Because loving him changed nothing.

She still couldn’t have him.

Her steps slowed as she neared the exit.

And then—

She saw him.

Zayne.

Standing near the glass doors, his tall frame relaxed, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

But he wasn’t alone.

Reader’s breath caught as her gaze landed on the woman standing next to him.

She didn’t have to guess who she was.

MC.

The woman he was engaged to.

The woman who wasn’t her.

Reader’s stomach twisted violently.

MC was smiling, her hand reaching out to brush something off Zayne’s sleeve. Zayne didn’t pull away. He didn’t tense. If anything, he looked… comfortable.

Like this was normal. Like this was right.

And suddenly, the realization that had filled her heart only moments ago felt like a cruel joke.

She loved him.

And she could never have him.

The ache in her chest was suffocating, pressing against her ribs, curling around her heart like barbed wire.

She should look away. She should walk away.

But she couldn’t.

Because even though it hurt, she wanted to memorize this moment.

Wanted to remember what it felt like to love someone who would never be hers.

And so, she stood there—watching, aching, breaking.

Until finally, she turned and walked out the doors, leaving behind the man she could never call her own.

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