#save me girl fortress... save me...

[kinos-fortress-2]

girls beating the shit of eachother sketches i had fun with

[fexjam]

Фем медик!1!!1!1

[seaquestions]

straight up grueling. but i got there!

[harryspet]

bambi eyes (1) r. cameron

[Warnings] soft!dark!rafe cameron x reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader older!rafe, crimeboss!rafe, rafe takes advantage of traumatized reader, DUBCON, dd/lg, sex trafficking, sexual slavery, sugar daddy rafe, stockholm syndrome, spoiling kink, unprotected sex, forced? age regression, little editing, 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: My first Rafe fic :)

word count: 4.4k

In which Rafe finds a "healthy" outlet for dealing with his daddy issues.

main masterlist

bambi eyes masterlist

Rafe finally felt he deserved to be back at Tannyhill. The house had remained empty over the last five years, Sarah wanted little to do with her real family anymore, Rafe made the tough decision to send Wheezie to a boarding school in Georgia and now she was starting college there. Rafe had cleaned up his act and gotten clean, mostly clean, and managed to save Cameron Development from complete ruin. 

As soon as the police were off his tail, and he’d brought back some legitimacy to the Cameron name, he could develop the true relationships he needed to become unstoppable. It started with Barry, then gangsters from the mainland, and then Rafe's gained connections with the cartels. He then rebuilt the empire the Camerons once had in the Bahamas and now he owned ten times the amount of properties they used to own there. 

He could achieve everything Ward never could have. He could be better a man than his father ever could. 

After half a year in Nassau, Rafe was finally back in Kildare, and he had plans to make Tannyhill the ultimate fortress. He had finally acquired the last missing piece of his American dream – you. He eyed you in his rearview mirror, passed out in the backseat of his truck, before parking in front of the huge, white house. 

There were already white moving trucks parked nearby, men in black clothing unloading new furniture he’d purchased and “merchandise” he’d acquired from the Caribbean Don he’d been working with. That Don is who he purchased you from, picking you out in a lineup of twenty girls. 

The Don clapped his hands together before he said, “Just tell me which ones you would like to have a closer look at. I’ll have them stand and turn for you. If you have something in mind — perhaps a certain skin tone, curviness, hair color, I can make a suggestion.”

Rafe responded that he didn’t have a preference and that he would know you were the one when he saw you. 

Looking through one-way glass, Rafe noticed aspects of each girl, including the tiredness behind their eyes and the elegance at which each of them moved their bodies. The Don had each girl stand and spin for him. There was not a single falter or misplaced step until Rafe saw you. When it was time for you to spin, you almost tripped over your own foot. You fixed yourself quickly and fixed your gaze forward however, Rafe noticed your eyes began to wander. It felt like you were looking right at him. Like you could see him. 

“One of my favorites,” He said in thick Creole, “She’s quite an angel if you’re looking for someone who’s a little tamer. Good hips, natural hair, the breasts and ass are real too. I’m sure you’ll notice. For you, since you’re a friend, fifteen thousand for the whole night.” 

The Don wanted Rafe to become a new investor in his trade and possibly bring girls to Kildare in order to expand his clientele. He wanted to impress Rafe, and let him have a night with one of his well-trained girls, although Rafe was looking to make a final purchase. 

He hadn’t had a real conversation with you yet, he was in such a hurry to get back to the States that he had to keep you drugged for the time being. It would be better this way, he convinced himself, since he would be able to have the house ready before you came to. He got out the truck before opening the back door. Although you stirred slightly in your sleep, Rafe knew he wouldn’t wake you as he pulled you across the seat and wrapped you in his arms. Bridal style, he carried you up the patio and through the front doors. 

An elaborate security system now kept track of everyone coming and going from the house. He had so much more than his father ever would have, but that also meant he had so much more to lose. He was a different man than the last time he was here. Much more mature. He used to throw meaningless parties so he could appear well-known, favorited by all, and hook up with girls who only cared about getting free drugs from him. This time things would be different. 

“Hey, hey, careful with that!” Rafe barked at one of the men carrying a white tea table that he’d spent thousands on.  He was attempting and failing to carry it and the two matching chairs that it came with. Rafe should’ve known what quality movers he was getting when he let Barry put his men on the job, “You think I’m paying you to break my shit?”

Rafe carried you up the winding stairs of his childhood home, imagining you feeling like this place was yours, just as much as he did. He thought he’d feel slightly more melancholy, looking at the familiar yellow walls, the elegant chandeliers, and period furnishings. Instead, he felt a weight lifted off of him. Your bedroom was one of the old guest rooms, only a few doors down from the master, and unlocked with his fingerprint. 

The large room was freshly painted white, a twin-sized canopy bed was placed on the farthest wall, and Rafe placed you on top of the cloud-like comforter. You were still wearing one of his button-ups and a pair of his briefs that fit you more like shorts, Rafe not having had the time to dress you in the way he actually wanted to.

“Put it over in that corner, carefully,” He spoke to the mover carrying the table, although his eyes were focused on you. 

“Mr. Cameron-”

“You’re dismissed. Tell Barry I’m expecting him tonight at nine.” 

As the man turned to leave, Rafe quickly followed to shut the door behind him. He took another glance around the room, deciding that the table set was the perfect edition. He could bring you your breakfast there in the morning and, who knows, maybe you’d come to like the expensive tea set he also bought you. 

Rafe spent a good amount of time just watching you sleep and obsessively thinking about what might he say to you when you awoke. His anxious thoughts didn’t go away when he stopped doing drugs, they worsened in fact, but you were his new medium to focus on. You were healthy for him. 

He spent all the time he had between his meeting with Barry, caring for you, “Daddy’s going to take care of you,” He brought you to the bathtub and gently scrubbed you clean, shaving all the areas he preferred to be hairless, even taking the time to braid your hair so that it was out of your face. He quite liked you like this, like his very own doll, someone he could mold into a perfect Kook princess. Women in the real world often perplexed him, especially women like Sarah, who took the luxuries they were provided for granted. 

You’d appreciate everything that Rafe could offer you, he knew that, and you’d be obedient as well. He brought you back to the main room once you were dried, and clean and your skin was moisturized and scented with vanilla. He laid you on the soft carpet in front of your bed and dressed you in a white nightgown and then took his time rolling white knee socks up your leg. 

He could take his time, pacing himself, as he ran his fingers over every inch of you. He’d been rock hard ever since he undressed you originally, and he debated whether to take a quick sample of you. 

You have plenty of time, Rafe, he reminded himself. 

His phone vibrated a short while later after he tucked you back into bed, and he clicked the notification. Video of the driveway appeared on the screen, and Rafe saw Barry climbing from his car, “Daddy will be back very soon,” He spoke although you couldn’t hear, placed a kiss on your forehead although you couldn’t feel it, and shut the door quietly although you wouldn’t wake. 

As soon as Rafe opened the front door, Barry was already shouting, “Country Club! How you been, man?” Rafe’s hand was already out to shake his. Truthfully, and sadly, Rafe would consider Barry his oldest friend. “You happy about all the money I’ve been making you?”

“Thrilled,” Rafe spoke sarcastically, leading Barry to his father’s old office. He thought back to the days when he had to creep through this room and steal because Ward didn’t trust him. Now, it was all his, “Speaking of …”

Swiftly, Barry pulled a roll of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and dropped it in Rafe’s hand. Leaning against the oak desk, Rafe began to count, “That’s what I got for the boats. Those cars are going to take a little bit longer to sell.”

“And why’s that?”  

“Those cars are classics, man, so I have a little bit of a bidding war going on,” Barry explained.

“I said I wanted them moved quickly,” Rafe sighed. He needed to get rid of as many of his father’s old things as possible if he wanted this place to be really his. 

“I’ll get you everything by the end of the week,” Rafe nodded, continuing to flip through the bills,  although normally this would be about the time he’d throw a tantrum, “So … heard you got yourself a beautiful girl-”

“Your guys run their mouths.”

“But it’s true?” Barry flashed his gold tooth, “You whipped, Country Club?”

Rafe opened the safe behind the tall bookcases, punched in the code, and safely tucked away the twenty-thousand dollars. 

“Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near her anyways.”

Barry scoffs, “That breaks my heart, Rafe. I’m tired of these Pogue girls and the mainland chicks are even worse. In the old days, we used to share. You won’t help a brother out?”

Rafe smirked, “Like you said, that was the old days.” 

You felt weighed down by whatever you were lying underneath, your eyelids were so heavy it took you a full minute to blink them open. You moved each limb slowly, trying to get blood flowing through them again. You saw sunlight reflecting off porcelain walls and felt creamy soft blankets enveloping you. You should feel comforted. 

Pushing away the blankets holding you down, you pulled yourself up, strong enough to get onto your hands and knees. You stepped off the platform, off the bed, touching your toes against soft carpet but quickly your legs gave out. You whined as your knees hit the ground, surely bruising your skin, and let yourself fall back on your bottom. 

Something fell down with you and turning your head slightly you found a teddy bear. You grabbed it by its arm, examining its chestnut fur and the pink bow tied around its neck. What? That was the question forming in your mind. You looked back at the bed you’d fallen out of and your eyes darted around the room. Three doors, a wall with big windows and long curtains, a table with chairs, a toy chest, a tall armoire, and a bookcase. This room did not belong to you, even in your wildest dreams, you’d never been somewhere so nice. 

You noticed details in the wallpaper; small pink flowers decorated each wall, and white trim lined all the edges. All the furniture was white as well with elegant designs, and your original thought was that you must be in a castle. 

You attempted to stand again and managed to get straight up on your wobbling legs until there was a small click, and the door began to open. You quickly stumbled back before you were sitting back on top of the mattress. 

“You’ll go with Mr. Cameron now. To America,” Master said, “And you’ll remember your manners, won’t ya? Don’t want to end up like your friend.”

Mr. Cameron stood in front of you now. You remembered him being tall, but you didn’t remember feeling so small in front of him. With hands holding a tray in front of him, his mouth parted as his blue eyes raked over your figure. 

You gripped the comforter tightly as he stepped closer, “You’ll have to take it easy,” He said first, walking over to that small table and placing the tray down, “Let me help you.”

When he came towards you, he held out both of his hands. You felt like you usually did, terrified, but there was always a voice in the back of your head telling you to obey. There would be worse pain than a bruised knee if you didn’t do as Mr. Cameron said. You grabbed ahold of his hands, allowing him to help you up before his hands moved to your hips as he steadied you. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, a genuineness in his tone that you weren’t expecting. 

Your lips parted and you realized you hadn’t spoken in so long. You also hadn’t had anyone ask you that question in a long, long time, “I’m … okay,” You spoke quietly as he searched your face. He was staring so intently that you grew insecure, turning your eyes away. 

“I brought breakfast,” He began to guide you over to the table. You took slow steps, one in front of the other, holding onto him tightly when you felt you might fall. He set you gently down in the chair before taking the seat opposite you. You could see out the windows from this seat, your eyes finding a long dock and the ocean. When he cleared his throat, your eyes snapped back to his, “I’m not much of a cook but there’s a lady who works for me …she makes great pancakes, french toast, anything you could want really.”

You stared down at scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, and a pancake with a chocolate chip smiley face and a whipped cream nose. He started to pour you a glass of water, pushing it towards you, “Drink something,” He said, “You’ve been sleeping for a long time.”

You were really thirsty, you realized, and you took the glass he poured for you. When he didn’t pour himself one, a question rose in your mind, “Will this … make me sleep again?”

He immediately shook his head, “No, no. Drink, please.”

You were thankful, welcoming the nourishment. As you devoured the glass of water, he began to cut up the pancake into small pieces. You watched his concentrated face as he meticulously poured the syrup. Your mind didn’t stay on his interesting behavior because you were focused on eating next. 

“My name is Rafe,” He said, “But you’ll call me Daddy.”

You paused, your mouth full of pancakes, “Okay? Nod yes if you understand,” He added. 

You nodded your head, starting to chew again, and a smile seemed to pull at his lips. That’s what he must like all his girls to call him. “Good, that’s rule number one …This is your room, from now on. I’ll show you around the house after you settle in more. For now, you need permission to leave this room. Yeah?”

Again, you nodded, before swallowing your food. Rafe reached across the table with a napkin, wiping syrup from your chin, “I’m sorry,” You said, feeling embarrassed. 

“No need to apologize,” He assured you, “From now on, I’m going to take care of you.”

Take care of you. You weren’t positive about what he meant. 

Your hands moved to your lap, “Can I ask … how many girls you take care of?” 

His head tilted, and he seemed amused, “Just you, sweet girl.”

“This whole room is just for me?”

“Yes, and this whole house will be just for us,” He answers, “Here, that reminds me. I was going to wait until dinner but . . . I can’t wait.”

You watched as he reached into the pocket of his khaki pants, pulling out a silver necklace with a beautiful, pearl pendant. Still, you found yourself struggling to wrap your head around what was going on. Rafe stood, coming closer in order to put the necklace around your neck. You heard a small click before Rafe pulled his fingers away. Your fingers reach up to feel the pearl, “You’ll always keep this on. Okay?”

You nodded. 

“Tell me.”

“I’ll always keep it on … Daddy,” You remembered to add. Something lit up in his eyes, and he took your chin in his hand and tilted it up further. 

“Smart girl, Bambi,” He stated, “That’s what I’ll call you.”

You nodded, although you weren’t sure why he picked it for you. It was better than “whore” or “slut” which seemed to be Master’s favorites. Bambi sounded … cute, which certainly wasn’t a way you would describe yourself, “Daddy … why …all of this, uhm, for me?”

“You’ll have everything I want you to have. And Daddy wants the best for you, understand?”

“Y-Yes, uhm … thank you.”

“C’mere, let me give you a tour of the room” He gripped underneath your arms, helping you stand. The human closeness, his warmness, wasn’t something you were expecting. You couldn’t fully let your guard down though, you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“It’s good to have, uh, a routine,” Rafe explained, before showing you every item in the room. He clearly had been involved in picking everything out which you didn’t expect,  “You’ll wake up by eight, make your bed every morning. . . your dirty laundry will go here and all your clothes are in here, if I have something specific picked out for you to wear, I’ll hang it here, you won’t wear any panties when you’re dressing for bed …and here’s the bathroom,” When you saw yourself in the mirror for the first time, your eyes widened in disbelief. Your hair was neatly braided, white bows wrapped at the end of each braid, and the nightgown made you look like . . . a doll. In the mirror, you could see Rafe lean his mouth down to your ear, “Do you like what you see?”

“I look …I think I look pretty, Daddy.”

“You do, sweet girl; that’s why I chose you.”

This was right. Rafe couldn’t have made a better decision choosing you. He had more rules to introduce you to but didn’t want to overwhelm you. He left you to brush your teeth while he took your tray of food back to the kitchen. When he returned, he found you peeking inside the toy chest, letting the top shut a little too loudly after he seemed to frighten you, ‘It’s okay, all these things are for you. I wasn’t exactly sure what you might like.”

He kneeled down with you as you took a look inside. There were quite a lot of stuffed animals, some puzzles, coloring sets, and some dolls. “My, uh, my sister Sarah, she used to love American Girl dolls. Have you ever heard of those?” You shook your head, picking up one that was dressed like an 80’s aerobic instructor, “They have all types of dolls. I should order you one that looks more like you.”

Rafe noticed you perk up at that. “One that looks like me?” 

Your reaction made him chuckle, “Yeah, why not? If you want anything at all, you can just ask me,” Rafe could tell you didn’t believe him, although you still nodded in agreement, “I know you can’t be entertained forever by these things, but it’s better for your brain than watching TV all day. And we can watch movies together.”

“That would be nice-” Rafe leaned in to kiss you, his intrusive thought winning after staring at your lips. Rafe was surprised by how gentle it was and how gentle he still wanted to be with you. You were reacting so well to everything, he didn’t want to take the chance of ruining this. When he pulled away, you immediately started to lift your nightgown, attempting to expose yourself to him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Rafe gently grabbed your hand, pulling it away from your dress. 

“I thought you wanted me …”

“ I do, I definitely do,” Rafe laughed awkwardly, “Let’s wait a little while longer. I want to undress you myself.”

You nodded eagerly, “But I … I could use my mouth?”

Rafe couldn’t believe someone could sound so innocent even while they were offering to give a blowjob, “Not before I taste you first, sweet girl.” Sexually, Rafe liked to be in complete control. He’d decide when they were ready, what positions, and who tasted who. His mind was starting to wander a little too far. He needed to remain composed for the time being, “For now, I want you to play. I need to work for a few hours, but I will bring you lunch, and we’ll eat together, okay?”

“Okay…thank you, Daddy,” You agreed, and Rafe happily placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“You’re welcome, Bambi.”

Rafe tried to concentrate on work, he had a million things to arrange now that he was back in Figure 8, but his eyes would wander to the live footage on his computer screen from Bambi’s bedroom. She spent a while going through the toys he bought for her, and then she neatly made up the bed, before deciding on the American Girl dolls. Next thing Rafe knew, he was in virtual meeting with his Cameron Development team but was actively scrolling through the American Girl doll website in another tab. 

Like he promised, Rafe took a break in the middle of the day to each lunch with you. Lana, Tannyhill’s newest household manager, prepared grilled sandwiches. Rafe joined you by the window seat where you had made yourself comfortable with two of the dolls and your teddy bear. You asked about Figure 8, of course, and Rafe gladly gave you the basics. 

That night, after dinner was enjoyed, Rafe laid beside you in bed. You chose a book to read together, a chapter book called Bridge to Terebithia, “I have to admit, I’m not much of a reader. But this should be easy enough, right?”

“When you were little, did you always have …this?” You asked, a few pages of reading later, “Books and clothes and seats by the window.”

“I guess I did, yeah,” Rafe answered, “It was not all rainbows and sunshine, though.”

“Your father, was he like Master?”

“Yeah, basically. He was not a good man,” Rafe closed the book, turning his eyes to you “And he’s not your Master anymore, okay? It’s me and you now. Just me and you.”

You tilted your head, nuzzling more into the pillow, “If I’m bad, you won’t send me back?”

“No, not ever,” Rafe said steadfastly. 

“You’ll punish me?”

Your words made him pause, and he could sense your worry, “I’m not going to hurt you, not in any real way,” Rafe’s hands found your waist, he gripped the bare skin beneath your nightgown, before his fingers roamed over your bottom, “You know how to be a good girl, right?”

You nodded, staring back, “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Rafe kissed you again, this time deeply and with the purpose of fully tasting you. He squeezed your bottom tight, pulling your front further against him so he could buck his hips against you. The book fell unread and to the wayside as Rafe roamed his hands over you. 

He should wait, he told himself. It was only your first day here, but you were all that he had been waiting for. The idea that he could have you anytime, anywhere, and anyway he wanted you excited him more. A moan escaped you, and Rafe knew you were overwhelmed with the sensations, but he liked the idea of you feeling too much. He wanted fear in your eyes, fear that you wouldn’t be able to take him, and then he wanted you to fully surrender to him. 

Rafe buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking until you cried out. Rafe knew you were a good girl because you had obediently gotten into bed for the night without your panties. He wrapped a strong arm around your back, easily flipping you onto your back. Rafe pulled away, breathing heavily, as he looked down at you. 

“You okay, sweet girl?” Rafe asked, noticing your eyes were still closed. As you nodded, Rafe said, “Open your eyes for me.”

Rafe parted your legs further, reaching down to feel between your lips. Gently, he stroked up and down, feeling wetness at your entrance, “Tell Daddy how you like it.”

“I . . .” As he dipped a finger inside, your eyes shut again, squeezing tightly. This was a look of pleasure, Rafe noted, “Daddy-ah!”

“I think you want it gentle, hmm,” His index finger moved in and out slowly as his thumb caressed your clit, “I can be gentle, don’t worry.”

Rafe moved painfully slow, watching how every movement of his would change your facial expression. Once you were squeezing around his fingers and soaking the sheets, Rafe pulled down his sweatpants. He pressed his length against your entrance, watching your face as he pushed inside. You took a breath of air, your mouth forming an “o” shape as he slowly eased his way in and out. 

He pressed his body closer to you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his back, and he tucked his head beside yours, his breath caressing your ear. He was gentle like he said, but he had to test your limits and see how deep he could go. Your whimpers told him what he needed to know and he felt your nails begin to dig into his back.

“Daddy, d-daddy, daddy,” You moaned his name, sounding a bit delirious as you repeated it over and over. 

Rafe rocked harder against you, “Tell me. Say thank you for saving me Daddy.” 

“Thank you–” Your voice came out barely above a whisper but Rafe could hear your small voice in his ear, “Thank you for saving me, Daddy.” Your hips writhing beneath him, needing more of him, was the final thing that sent Rafe flying towards the edge of the cliff. 

He wanted to focus, to make himself last longer, but he needed you in that moment. His thrusts became shorter, and he sank deeper inside of you as he reached his peak, “Jesus,” Rafe gasped as you squeezed him tightly, your warmness pulsed around him, “Fuck.” 

He resisted his desire to stay inside of you forever, pulling out and slumping beside you. Rafe’s eyes were wide, and he found himself staring at the ceiling for a moment to process what happened. 

“Was that . . . good?” Your voice brought him back down to reality.

“Perfect, sweet girl,” Rafe took you in his arms, and you cuddled into his chest. Again, he whispered, “Jesus.”

Please let me know what your thoughts and predictions are! Reblog with a comment to be added to my taglist!

Part 2

[kira-dofc]

Gojo and Geto x Nerd! Male reader

Notes: Currently experiencing writers' block, so this is js a random hc I made for these two 😔 I live for possessive Gojo and Geto, so I gave you all what I wanted 💖 also ik I said no threesome, but this is an exemption I had nothing to post I'm desperate (Also I live for these two men) 😔

Word Count: I don't know

Warnings: Smut! Threesome, High-school au, double pen, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, double stimulation, overstimulation, smutty smut smut

-

It was mid-afternoon, with the golden hues of the setting sun beginning to paint the sky outside. Inside the classroom, the atmosphere was thick with the quiet concentration of students engrossed in their quizzes. You tapped your pencil rhythmically against the desk, your eyes flitting over the questions. Though your mind wandered, you effortlessly penned down the answers, the quiz more a formality than a challenge for someone of your intellect. The questions, simple as a child's puzzle, felt like an exercise in tedium rather than a true test of knowledge.

The soft orange rays filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm glow that danced across the rows of desks and illuminated the faces of your classmates. The air-conditioning, a gentle whisper against your skin, provided a cool contrast to the warmth of the sunlight. The chill of the conditioned air brushed over your skin, a subtle reminder of the modern comforts that cocooned you in this academic fortress.

You were well-known in the school, not just for your academic prowess, but also for the silent feud with your two sworn enemies, Gojo and Geto. These two were the epitome of what it meant to be popular and untouchable. Their presence was a constant irritant, a source of countless headaches. With their charm and seemingly effortless charisma, they could sway teachers and students alike, getting away with behavior that would land anyone else in detention. It was an infuriating dynamic, made worse by your desire to stand out in a different way, to impress the girl in your class who occupied your thoughts more often than you'd like to admit.

The room was silent, save for the faint scratching of pencils on paper, when suddenly the door swung open with a force that sent a shiver through the classroom. The abrupt interruption shattered the calm, drawing all eyes to the doorway. There stood Gojo, his white hair almost glowing in the afternoon light, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Excuse me, where is Y/n?" he called out, his voice carrying a casual authority that silenced the room.

Every head turned toward you, the air thick with curiosity and a touch of apprehension. You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, the attention unwelcome and uncomfortable. Trying to maintain your composure, you stood and made your way to the front of the room. The teacher gave a curt nod, granting permission for the interruption. You met Gojo's gaze, your eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"Come with me," Gojo said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and began to pull you toward the hallway. "H-hey, what are you doing?!" you exclaimed, stumbling slightly as you tried to keep pace with him. His grip was firm, and despite your protests, he continued to lead you through the corridors, his expression a mix of seriousness and something unreadable.

The hallway was cooler, the air-conditioning more pronounced here, as Gojo steered you toward the bathrooms. As you rounded the corner, you saw Geto leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, a lazy smile on his face. The scene felt almost surreal, like stepping into a different world, far removed from the quiet confines of the classroom. The afternoon light, filtered through narrow windows, cast long shadows that added an edge of drama to the encounter.

"What do you want now?" you scoffed, planting your hands firmly on your hips in a defiant gesture. The air was thick with tension, the echoes of your classmates' hushed whispers still lingering in your mind. Gojo, ever the instigator, exchanged a knowing glance with Geto, who stood up straight, a smirk playing on his lips. "Gojo, do it," Geto commanded, his voice calm and almost bored.

Before you could react, Gojo's grip tightened around your wrist, and his other hand quickly muffled any protest you might have voiced. "Don't make this any harder for us and be a good boy for us two, yeah?" he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine. The vibration of his words seemed to resonate within you, leaving you no choice but to comply. You followed them into the bathroom, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh, cold glow over the tiled walls and floor.

Geto positioned himself in front of you, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he reached out, his fingers tracing the lines of your face before moving to your hair. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a softness that contrasted starkly with the firm grip Gojo still maintained on you. "Be a good boy, and we won't punish you as much," Geto murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his lips curving into a smirk that sent a jolt of anxiety through you. He then kissed your neck, the sensation both tender and electrifying, before biting down gently, marking you with a small bruise that felt like a brand.

The bathroom stall became a confined world of its own, filled with the sounds of labored breathing and the rustling of clothing. You found yourself straddling Geto, his body beneath you a solid, unyielding presence. Gojo stood before you, his hands deft and experienced as they explored your body, heightening your senses with each touch. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat and arousal, creating a heady, intoxicating atmosphere. They were both thrusting in and out of you, leaving out grunts and whimpers with every thrust. Gojo panted as he played with your dick, twitching every time he touched the tip, slick in precum. He then stroked lazily, seemingly trying to focus on how your hole sucked both Geto's and his dick so good. You moaned, "Gojo...." your hands covering your mouth as you bent your back, resting your head in Geto's shoulders. Your skin rubbing against Geto's make you feel good, too. The way he moans and groans through your skin as it vibrates. The two cocks inside you kept pulsing, making you let out louder moans.

The rhythm of their movements became more intense, your senses flooded with the heat and pressure building within you. Time seemed to stretch, the moments blending together as you lost yourself in the raw physicality of the encounter. Your body trembled with each thrust, your voice rising in pitch as the pleasure mounted, the walls of the bathroom stall echoing your cries.

You three were there for almost 1 hour and 30 minutes, your hole now stretched and burning. Their precum now used as lub as it slid through your wet walls. Your muffled moans turned to echoed ones every time they hit your sweet spot. They soon came inside of you, wetting and knotting your walls as you screathed the back of Gojo. Endless streams of semen flowed through your tired hole as you hugged Gojo tightly. Gojo then let out his cock as it rested to your stomack, painting it white. Geto, on the other hand, stayed inside you after his organs, making your stomach flutter in pleasure. You then heard the two panting as you yourself came. Gojo placing his hand behind your back, and Geto kissing your neck and giving soft bites. Your body aches, everything aches, "You took us so well, baby." Gojo flirted as he huffed in front of you. The bell soon rang, and suddenly, you blacked out after your orgasm.

[misswynters]

* . misswynters Arcane masterlist

here is the list of all my works!

note l it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

last updated: December 1, 2024

smut (18+) / suggestive (s) / fluff (f) / angst (a)

Viktor

Broken & whole | The Noble Daughter (18+) | A Noxian Christmas (f)

His most prized possession (18+) | Scientific purposes (s) | Christmas Present (18+)

drabbles.

Jinx

XOXO (18+) | having a gf who’s touchy and affectionate (f) |

Lil Daredevils with big hearts (makes an appearance) |

The Idol Star |

drabbles.

spending time with ekko, her and your twin girls (f) |

Violet (Vi)

Distrust | Fighting fire (s)

Caitlyn

Cold Heart (s) | Impenetrable Fortress (f) | Princess Treatment (f, s) |

Ekko

Gilded Cage : part two, part three (s, f) | Ma Meilleure Amour (f) | Royal Harbinger | Boy Savior | Lil Daredevils with big hearts (f) | Zaun’s pride | Ekko eating you out (18+) | Pillow princess (s) | Academic Rivals (18+,s) | A love is born (f)

drabbles.

Ekko and heimerdinger being nerdy while you sleep (f)

Ekko being protective while you are expecting (f)

A lazy and calm day with ekko (f) | Tag, you’re it! (f) |

Ekko rewinding time to save you | Childhood Besties (f)

Getting into a slight argument while heavily pregnant (f) |

Spending time with him, jinx and your twin girls (f)

Alone in the rumble as you died in his arms (a) |

Getting Married | Drunken |

Headcanons with ekko: as your bf | your husband

Sevika

Brothel (18+) | Strapped up (18+) | Steel and sunshine (f)

Headcanon: sevika as you’re partner | Warrior’s bond (s): part two , part three (18+) |

Found Family (f) | More than a transaction | hands off

drabbles.

Ambessa/sevika ignoring you in public, affectionate in private (s)

Ambessa

Warrior’s bond (s): part two , part three (18+) |

drabbles.

Ambessa spoiling her girly s/o | Ambessa/sevika being cold in public, affectionate in private (s)

Mel

Elegance is key |

drabbles.

Spoiled Rotten | Her Golden Shield |

Seb

drabbles.

Him complaining to you after a days worth of work |

Silco

Desperately trying to find something more (s) | Possesive

Lest

Smoke and kisses |

Claggor (au)

Big Bear (f) | Underneath (s)

Arcane characters

Reacting to you: being a vs model (s) | Patching them up (f)

Other…

Misswynters Christmas series 2024

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[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SAY ‘AHH’ featuring wriothesley.

tags : orgasm delay/denial, public sex, cockwarming, dirty talk, edging, slight exhibitionism, possessive behaviour, public groping, slight praise kink // wc. 0.7k

author’s note : i really like this one, esp since im actually saving for wrio (HOYO LET HIM OUT OF THE DUNGEON PLEAAAAASE) i need him bad and my ovaries scream in joy whenever he appears on screen :3 also there's this one voiceline he says in the archon quest that actually has me arching? joe zieja the man you are :(( anyways notes n reblogs are always welcome here, please don't spam (esp w/o a follow), and that's all the admin stuff done, enjoy your read!

this work is NSFW minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

everyone wants to get close to WRIOTHESLEY. he’s the most feared fighter in the fortress of meropide, having won countless pankration matches and being voted most likely to head the fortress more times than even he himself could count. 

everyone’s fear and admiration of this man is partially why you think you can feel a million and one pairs of eyes on you as you sit on his lap in the coupon cafeteria, his throbbing cock nestled deep in the confines of your dripping cunt. “baby…”

“keep it down, angel,” he grumbles, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth before offering you a bite of your own meal. “people are gonna get suspicious.”

as if the scene wasn’t suspicious enough anyways! everyone knows of your relationship with wriothesley (it’s a hot topic in the women’s dorms, the fact that you share a room with him), so it isn’t completely irregular to see you sitting in his lap in the cafeteria. 

what is completely irregular and may raise suspicion is the fact that as you sit on his lap, wriothesley’s length is slowly but discreetly pumping into your stretched out cunt, it’s engorged tip nudging against your g-spot with every movement. it’s intoxicating, but he told you that you can’t make a single noise, and just sit pretty until he’s finished eating. 

he also told you that you can’t cum either, and that if you do, he’ll have no problem fucking you out in the open for everyone else to see how much of a slut his girl is. 

“hnnn, wrio…” muffled moans are directed into the crook of his neck and you bite down gently on his skin. it’s not helping that every time you make a noise a little too loud for his liking, he moves his hips upwards that little bit more, pressing his tip harder onto your g-spot. as a result, you can’t hold yourself back, leading to a cruel cycle of wriothesley’s brutal edging and your pitiful compliance. 

“almost done, baby, see?” he points to the nearly empty metal container before lifting a forkful of food to your mouth. “open up now, doll. say ahhh.”

“ahh–ah!” his hips thrust upwards and your eyes roll lewdly into the back of your head as your tongue lolls out onto your bottom lip. a couple of heads turn but you manage to cover it up by burying your head into his chest. 

wriothesley has to restrain himself from bursting out with laughter. you’re trying so hard to be good for him that it’s becoming a struggle, and watching you try to stop yourself from giving in and fucking yourself on him like he knows you want to is providing him with ample entertainment. you’re such a good girl, sitting pretty and letting him spoonfeed you your pleasure by edging you in broad daylight. 

“what’d i say about being quiet, doll?” his voice is a low whisper in your ear, one hand slipping under your skirt and squeezing your ass harshly. “ ‘s almost like you want to get caught.” he starts to speed up his slow grinding, hands sliding up to your waist as he starts to move you back and forth. 

“god, you want it bad, huh?” he feels your teeth brush his neck. “my girl can’t even wait ‘til we got back to the dorms, shit.” you try to gyrate your hips discreetly, your pussy aching to feel him against your sweet spot again. “let up a lil’ bit, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ too tight.”

“can’t,” you whimper, nails digging into his biceps. “ ‘s too big.”

“remember what i told you? no cummin’ until i’m done.” he shoves another forkful of his food into his mouth. “and if you don’t mind yourself, i won’t let you cum at all.”

“no, nooo..” your voice fades into a pitiful whine as you stop moving, desperate to please your boyfriend. “wanna be good for you, wrio, wanna be your good girl…”

“i know, baby, i know, but you’re gonna have to wait.” he gestures to the rest of the cafeteria, and the open space surrounding it. “can’t let them see how pretty you look when you cum. that’s f’me only.”

he tugs your hair gently, pulling your heated face out of his neck before tapping your bottom lip with a forkful of food. “open up, honey. we’re almost done.”

PREVIOUS : BLACKOUT ft. tartaglia NEXT : BITE ME ft. miguel o’hara

liked that? check out the WE’RE SO BACK main masterlist.

© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[karuuhnia]

TF2 Chapter 7 - Karuuhnia's analysis

Christmas came early for the TF2 fandom this year, didn't it? (Well, it really came 7 years LATE if we're completely honest lol)

It was an emotional rollercoaster and had a happy, wholesome ending and conclusion for both the mercs and for us. Several mysteries from the past comics were resolved.

And you know me: I love to overthink and overanalyze every bit of lore and story that I can get my fingers on lmao

So here's my essay:

A) Solved mysteries

1. What the Administrator was planning

It turns out: There WAS no evil plan of world domination or whatever. Just pure hatred for a man who ruined her life - apparently. It's been so long she doesn't even remember the reason. But the thought of revenge was enough to fuel her every life choice.

And to think, it all could have ended in the 1850s already - if it weren't for smart-ass Gray Mann and his narcissistic tendencies to brag about his knowledge and plans. (How he himself figured this out is never explained.)

He was the one who introduced the Administrator to Australium in the first place, around 1850ish. If he hadn't told her that it could bring people back from the dead and prolong life, the senseless Gravel War would have ended with Blutarch's and Redmond's natural deaths.

Well, on the other hand we must be glad that the conflict didn't go on even longer.

Since Dell stated that none of his family members ever went into the room where Zepheniah was kept, the Administrator must have build all of that herself, right? That would certainly explain why it looks so crude and consumes so much Australium. I mean, look at this construction and then compare it to the one Dell built:

The Mark 5 machine gave her ~6 months of life for just a tiny flask of Australium. Imagine what would have happened if one of the Conaghers had improved Zeph's machine as well! She could have kept the zombiefied corpse in a living nightmare for many centuries more instead of burning through tons and tons of Australium so quickly. Good thing it didn't come to that.

2. Who helped the Administrator

Well, we didn't get a clear answer, but I think it's safe to conclude now that it was the Administrator's elite merc teams A-E that obtained all the Australium during the 6 months Miss Pauling and the TF2 team went off the grid. Which only further proves that the Administrator did not really care for Pauling at all and only came to her and her "team of rejects" as a last resort, after everything else had failed.

It's really heartbreaking how much Pauling admired her and wanted to be her trusted second-in-command while the Admin apparently never even invited her to the secret HQ. Nobody there even KNEW of Team Fortress after all. It was such a relief to see Pauling let go in the end and choose a free life instead.

3. Scout's second chance

Well, not really a mystery here, but I really like how Scout had an epiphany that there were other girls out there that would like him as he was and moved on from Miss Pauling. There was no heartbreak, no animosity, no rejection. They are still friends and support each other! I love it!

And then Scout even saved all of humanity by having sex with several women so that God wouldn't have to destroy the world! What a great, selfless guy he is!

I really love Spy and Scout after the time skip. No more bickering, no more annoyance, no more mean comments, just kindness. Spy is also so sweet to his grandchildren! ADSGFSDAF

I hope they all remain in contact and on good terms. Because let's not forget: Scout's health isn't good and he even has a confirmed death date. Which is only 8 years into the future of 1979.

All of his orphaned children would still be minors at that point. When it comes to that I hope Spy and Scout's Ma can take care of their grandchildren.

4. What Charles Darling and Maggie were planning

Darling stated he wanted to obtain Australium in order to make his rare animals immortal and in return he would get Saxton's company back.

The way Maggie always reacted to Saxton led me to believe she knew Darling was planning something ELSE and she felt bad for not telling Saxton and having to betray him in the end:

But turns out, I probably just misinterpreted Maggie's facial expressions. She looked so sad because she loved going on adventures with Saxton again and just hated the thought that he'd go back to Mann Co. afterwards.

I'm very happy that in the end Saxton let go of the company and spent the rest of his days punching wild animals with his true love! (Although he might have started a war again, now between Reddy and Bidwell lol)

B) Unsolved and new mysteries

However, as much as I loved the last chapter, I feel there are still a lot of things that were never cleared up or adequately explained.

So after re-reading every single comic and update page these are some other things I still find inconclusive:

1. Olivia Mann's mother

Not really that important to be fair, but still: Is she really the biological daughter of the 150 old mummy Gray Mann? If so, who is the poor woman who… mated with him and where is she now?

Or was Olivia adopted, abducted or grown in a lab? Well, at least she gets to live a happy and free life now and is provided for by the dad who stepped up. Good on you, Saxton!

2. Darling's knowledge

Back to Darling real quick: Why DID Maggie start working for her nemesis?

HOW did Charles Darling learn about Australium's properties and the Administrator's history?

There is also the fact that the Mann triplets' mother was a Darling!

These things were never brought up again! Whyyyyyyyy?????

3. What was all the set-up with the TFC mercs about?

The TFC mercs made several ominous remarks that made us believe there was more to them:

Both Virgil and Greg were trying to say something interesting, but then got cut off before the revelation. And especially TFC Heavy talked about dying as if it was an immediate danger to all of them. Sure, they were old, but they were still going strong, being able to kill all of the Admin's elite teams after all.

4. Fred's destiny (and identity?)

In Chapter 6 Spy disguised as Fred, trying to trick Virgil. After being found out, the two had this conversation:

Spy managed to impersonate Fred really well apparently. That means he must have studied Fred's personality, mannerisms and way of speaking before he went to Virgil. That also means he must have spent quite a while talking to and studying Fred. Did he and Sniper capture and interrogate him? But more importantly: What happened afterwards? Tbh, they probably just killed him off-screen after learning what they needed.

Because I no longer believe that Fred was Dell's father, as much as that sucks. It would have made for a great plot point and possible conflict within the team.

But Fred obviously had no idea about anything related to Australium or the immortality machines.

Since later on in Chapter 7 Dell says that neither his grandfather, his father nor he himself ever set foot in that basement, we can conclude that they all knew that the Administrator was hiding something nefarious down there. Which also means they WORKED for her and thus must have also worked on her immortality machine. So it makes no sense that Fred would not know anything about that if he really were Dell's father.

That still leaves us with the question: Why was young Fred in the photo with child Dell? Or WAS this guy even Fred?

I mean, a lot can happen in 40ish years between those two pictures:

But my new headcanon now is: These two are not the same person. TFC Medic had to replaced by our beloved Dr. Herbert Ludwig (still not over that name btw lmao), so who says the original TFC Engie wasn't replaced too at one point? TFC Heavy was very obviously worried about his friends dying one after the other.

Virgil said he knew Fred since before the war. So maybe after Dell's father died/left the team, Virgil told TFC Heavy about his old comrade Fred who also happened to be an Engineer. And only then Fred became part of TFC.

But as I said, that's just my headcanon. In reality it's probably just an inconsistency over the many years of convoluted lore. lol

5. Soldier's cave, covered in Australium

In A Cold Day in Hell Soldier and Zhanna have the following conversation:

First it's a stink-barn, then he claims to be homeless. But in Chapter 7 Heavy suddenly says that Soldier lives in a cave.

And it turns out there is tons of Australium in that cave! Now of course I wonder: When did Soldier move into that cave and where is it located? We were always told that Australium only exists in Australia. But I highly doubt this American patriot owns a cave in Australia. Also, how is it possible that the Admin and the elite mercs never managed to find this cave? Did they just not bother to look in America because all known Australium is in Australia?

So in return, does that mean that Australium is NOT exclusive to Australia after all? If so, there could still be hidden caches of the stuff anywhere on Earth. At least the Admin and Gray Mann are no longer around to collect it and Miss Pauling does not look for it anymore either. The only one who still has an interest in it is Charles Darling. Him again...

6. Soldier with the photo of the Mann family

Quick reminder: This is the only version of the family photo we'd seen up until this point:

But when Soldier and Merasmus are held by the mafia and the wizard asks him why he needed so much money, Soldier pulls out an intact, unteared photograph of the Mann family!!!

His thumb conveniently covers up the still unknown person standing in the middle. How did Soldier obtain this photo? How does he even know who everyone is, considering he's, well, Soldier?

Could he have any relations to the unknown person in the middle? And why DOES he need so much money (granted, it was only like 20 $ in the end, but still lol)?

Am I just overthinking this? Has anyone an explanation??? Is he and if yes, HOW is Soldier connected to the frigging Mann family??????

*cough* Anyway. This concludes my analysis of the TF2 lore. For now. If I come up with more things or if Valve ever decides to continue the story (That was a joke, haha, fat chance), I will come back to this. In the meantime, thank you for reading this and please feel free to share your own ideas and opinions! I'd love to read all of it! ❤️

[novaursa]

Legacy

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: dinner with a lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heat of Harrenhal’s stone walls suffocates you as you sit, bound and chained, in a shadowed cell, distanced from the other prisoners. The silence presses down heavily, disturbed only by the occasional scurry of rats in the corners and the distant, echoing clamor of soldiers outside. They’ve kept you here as a prisoner of value, locked away from the common rabble. No one dared speak your name aloud, but you know what you are to them—a Targaryen, a relic of a world shattered and hunted by Robert’s Rebellion.

Your eyes trace the rough-hewn stones, your thoughts lost in Winterfell's cold embrace, where you’d been a ward, a stranger among wolves yet somehow belonging. Ned Stark's honor had felt like a shield back then, the North your sanctuary. That safety, of course, had long been stripped away. The warmth of winter fires, the laughter of his children, Arya’s giggling fits as she followed you through halls… You press those memories deep, lest they break you here in this hollowed-out fortress of despair.

The iron door creaks open. You don’t lift your head, knowing that if it’s a guard, his words will be as cold as his chainmail. Instead, you hear the soft scuff of small, light footsteps—a child’s, perhaps, or someone pretending to be one.

“Y/N?” The whisper is barely audible, like a breeze skimming across snow. You jerk your head up, blinking to adjust to the light spilling into the cell. A thin figure stands just outside the barred door, cloaked in rags, dark hair wild and tangled around a dirt-smeared face. The eyes, however, are unmistakable—storm-grey, fierce with a fire that the years hadn’t dimmed.

“Arya…” you breathe, hardly believing what you’re seeing.

She glances around quickly, as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows, then steps closer to the bars, wrapping her hands around them. She is small, thin, but you can feel her strength through the steel.

“They’ve separated you from the others,” she says, her voice low but urgent. “Why?”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “They know what I am. Who I am.” You can’t help but reach through the bars, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “But they don’t know you, it seems.” You pause, studying her. “Why are you dressed like…?”

Her face hardens, though her eyes still shimmer with the relief of seeing you. “I’m Ary. A boy.” She grins a little. “Keeps me safer that way. They don’t look too closely at boys.”

You nod, understanding. Clever girl. Brave girl. Your heart aches at the thought of her wandering through these deadly halls, relying only on wit and stealth. “You shouldn't be here, Arya.”

“Neither should you,” she retorts, voice fierce. “You think I’d just stay hidden, knowing they have you locked up like some...prize?” She gestures toward your chains. “You’re all they talk about.”

The words sting, though you knew what you were to them—what you’d always been in the eyes of those who held power. “Yes, well, they love parading relics of conquest.”

Arya scoffs, glancing down the hall as the clang of footsteps grows closer. She pulls back slightly, but her gaze holds yours. “I’m going to find a way to help you.”

Before you can respond, the guard rounds the corner, a hulking brute who grunts upon seeing Arya standing too close to the bars.

“Oi, boy!” he barks, jabbing a gloved finger toward her. “What’re you loitering around here for? Get along!”

Arya nods quickly, ducking her head. “Sorry, m’lord. Was just looking for scraps.”

The guard snorts, shoving her away with a meaty hand. “Scavenge elsewhere, rat.” His eyes slide back to you, cold and suspicious, before he turns and lumbers away down the hall.

You exhale slowly, your fingers trembling against the rough metal of your chains. In another life, Arya would have been free to roam Winterfell’s hills, a wild little shadow among wolves. And yet, she’s here, risking herself to reach you. As she slips away, she looks back just once, her expression determined, her eyes flashing with a promise.

The hours blur together after that. Servants and guards move past occasionally, sneaking glances but offering no words. No one knows what to do with you; even here, your Targaryen blood marks you as something foreign, an unpredictable fire they’d rather keep contained.

But then, as night falls and the cold sets in, Arya returns, slipping through the shadows. She brings a small hunk of bread and a waterskin, passing them through the bars.

“Eat,” she whispers, watching you with a fierce, protective glint. “You need to keep your strength.”

You take the food gratefully, feeling a spark of warmth. “Thank you,” you murmur, voice low. “How did you…?”

“I’m faster than most of these lumbering fools,” she says, a spark of pride in her tone. “I’ve learned things. I know how to make myself invisible.”

You chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the quiet cell. “You always did have a knack for hiding. Even in Winterfell, you could vanish like a shadow.”

Her face softens, a brief flicker of nostalgia crossing her expression. “Winterfell feels like a lifetime ago.”

“For both of us,” you reply, meeting her gaze, the weight of shared memories hanging heavy between you. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Arya. These people…they won’t think twice about harming you if they suspect anything.”

She nods, her expression fierce. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll come back. I’ll find a way to get you out.”

There’s a fire in her eyes, a determination that reminds you so painfully of her father. And as she slips away into the darkness, leaving you alone once more, you feel a renewed sense of hope—a fragile, flickering ember amidst the cold stone walls of Harrenhal.

The hours drag on, each one marked by the slow drip of water echoing in your cell, but eventually, the familiar rhythm of Harrenhal’s dungeons changes. You feel it before you see it—a shift in the air, the sound of hurried footsteps, the murmur of anxious voices reverberating through the stone walls. The guards move with unusual purpose, stiffening as they march past, casting wary glances at each other.

And then it clicks. A name floats through the muted conversations, spoken in low, reverent tones. Tywin Lannister.

Of course, he would come. Tywin would never leave something—or someone—of value to fate or neglect, and as a Targaryen in Lannister captivity, you are valuable. The realization sends a chill through you; you know what Tywin’s arrival means. After all, this was the man who orchestrated Robert’s Rebellion from the shadows, who ensured your family’s ruin.

Hours pass, leaving you with your thoughts, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It is nearly dusk when you hear his unmistakable footfalls—a measured, deliberate pace, the stride of a man who owns every room he steps into. The door to your cell opens, and there he stands, backlit by the torches in the hallway, his sharp gaze fixed upon you with that calculating intensity that has always defined him.

You rise slowly, the chains at your wrists clinking softly as you meet his gaze, refusing to bow or avert your eyes. He steps forward, and the guard closes the door behind him, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the cell.

"Y/N," he greets, his voice low and steady, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than a prisoner.

"Lord Tywin," you reply, keeping your tone neutral, though a simmering resentment lies beneath it. "I wondered how long it would take you to come see me."

He inclines his head, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. "I was surprised to learn you were here. I'd thought my orders were… clear."

"Well," you reply, voice laced with defiance, "your orders seem to have missed me by a few years and several hundred leagues."

A flicker of something passes over his expression—irritation, perhaps, or simply the mild inconvenience of something not going precisely to his plans. He regards you with that unyielding gaze, assessing, calculating. "You always did possess a certain… rebellious streak."

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "It was a trait I shared with my family. At least, those who survived."

"Indeed," he says, with a faint curl of distaste. "And yet here you are, once again, a ward of sorts—though not of Winterfell this time." He studies you a moment longer before taking a step back, hands folded behind his back. "I did not expect you to involve yourself in… certain matters."

"I didn’t choose this," you reply, the bitterness plain in your voice. "Do you think I wanted to end up here, in the middle of this war, far from my family?"

Tywin raises an eyebrow. "Family? The very family that plunged the realm into chaos and left nothing but ashes and memories?"

You grit your teeth, the anger simmering within you. "My family fought for what was theirs. They believed in protecting their own."

"Their own." He almost laughs, the sound devoid of warmth. "A convenient justification." He takes a measured step toward you, his voice lowering. "But there are two choices now—obey, or find yourself utterly without power or purpose in this realm. It’s time to accept which path will ensure your survival."

The implication hangs heavy in the air, but you hold your ground. “And what path is that, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestures toward the door with an almost casual wave of his hand. “You will be brought to me, Y/N. The other prisoners here… they are of no value, save for labor. They’ll be put to work.”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze, a knot of resentment building in your chest. You know what this means—that he intends to keep you close, in his grasp, as leverage, as something he can wield. Just another prize in his relentless pursuit of control.

“Then I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” you say quietly, resigned.

“Choice?” Tywin’s lips twist into a thin smile. “Perhaps not. But survival? That, you do.”

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you, assessing you once more before turning toward the door. Just before he leaves, he speaks again, softer this time, though there’s no warmth in his tone. “There was a time I believed you would find your place at Winterfell. Let’s hope you find it here in Harrenhal, though I doubt it will be as kind.”

With that, he turns, his cloak sweeping behind him, and the door closes. You are left in silence, the chains at your wrists heavier than ever as you stare at the empty doorway, Tywin's words echoing in your mind.

They bring you through the winding stone corridors of Harrenhal, flanked by guards who grip their weapons as though you might suddenly decide to fight. You don’t look at them, choosing instead to lift your chin, steeling yourself for what awaits. Soon, you reach a heavy iron door and are led into the dimly lit council chamber, where Tywin Lannister sits at a rough-hewn table surrounded by maps and documents. His eyes flick up as you enter, cold and unblinking, assessing you as if you were a pawn on one of his battle maps.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You hesitate, a beat of defiance thrumming in your chest, but there’s little point in resisting now. With a quiet dignity, you take the seat, keeping your posture poised, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you appear weak.

For a moment, he says nothing, his piercing gaze steady as he studies you, hands clasped before him. The silence between you is thick, heavy with the weight of a past neither of you acknowledges directly.

"Have you thought of what your place here will be, Y/N?" His voice is measured, devoid of warmth. “It’s time you learn that your loyalty—whatever remains of it—has a purpose.”

“Is that what you’re hoping to extract from me?” you reply, tone cool, unwilling to betray any weakness. “Loyalty?”

Tywin’s mouth forms a thin line. “I had thought that was something you would recognize. I recall a time when I gave you something very few in Westeros would have considered—a chance. Yet, here you are.”

You raise an eyebrow, the bitterness you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface. “If you’re expecting a thank you, Lord Tywin, for ‘saving my life’ and sending me North, you’ll be disappointed.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, though his face remains otherwise impassive. “I expect no gratitude. Only an understanding of what is required.” His gaze sharpens, icy and relentless. “The time for grudges and sentiment is over. We are at war, Y/N, and there are no innocents in war.”

You bite back a retort, letting the words settle. Tywin had always been a strategist, a man who saw lives as currency in his endless schemes for power. To him, you were a valuable piece in this game, nothing more.

Before you can respond, there’s a shuffle at the door. A small figure enters, head down, dressed in rags that disguise her almost entirely. You freeze, a flicker of recognition sparking within you. Arya. She’s keeping her head low, her gaze on the floor, playing the part of a servant boy with remarkable precision.

Tywin barely acknowledges her, but you sense the tension rolling off him as he glances briefly at the child. “Good,” he mutters, gesturing for her to approach. “Pour us some wine.”

You catch her eye just for a split second, then force yourself to look away, masking any flicker of recognition that might betray her. Fear coils in your stomach, a sick dread gnawing at you. Arya is so close to him, close enough to be touched by the man whose armies are locked in a brutal struggle against her brother Robb.

She moves with surprising grace, her hands steady as she picks up a pitcher of wine and fills Tywin’s cup first, then yours. You can sense her nervousness—the slight tremor in her hands, the careful restraint in her movements. Every instinct screams for you to shield her, to pull her away from Tywin’s cold gaze, but you force yourself to remain still, trusting in her disguise.l

Tywin raises his goblet, studying you over the rim, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’ve come a long way from the girl I once sent North,” he says, taking a slow sip. “And yet, I wonder if you truly understand the stakes of the game you’re caught in.”

You meet his gaze head-on, a defiant spark igniting in your chest. “Perhaps it’s not the game I care about, Tywin. Perhaps I’ve come to understand that there’s more at stake than power.”

He sets down his goblet, fingers steepling before him, his expression hardening. “That’s where you are mistaken, Y/N. Power is the only thing that matters. It is the only reason you are here, alive, in this moment.” He gestures to the chamber around him, as though the walls themselves bear witness to his authority.

Beside you, Arya keeps her head down, silent as she completes her task, retreating a step as if hoping to melt into the shadows. Yet, despite her best efforts, your gaze drifts to her, a rush of protectiveness coursing through you, though you know it’s a risk. You want to shield her, to keep her far from Tywin’s attention, from his scrutiny. Her fate hangs by a thread, poised perilously close to discovery, and you cannot allow yourself to falter.

Tywin’s gaze sharpens as he notes your momentary glance toward Arya. He doesn’t ask, but there’s an unspoken question in the air as his eyes linger on you, piercing and calculating.

With Arya now lingering in the background, Tywin returns his attention fully to you, his tone softening just enough to sound almost conversational. “Tell me, Y/N, do you believe that loyalty alone will ensure victory? Or will it take more?”

He waits, and you know that beneath his words lies a deeper question—a challenge, a demand for allegiance that you cannot easily give. 

You swallow, feeling the weight of Tywin’s question linger in the room like a shadow. He watches you closely, his gaze dissecting every breath, every shift of your expression.

“Loyalty alone doesn’t ensure anything,” you answer finally, your voice carefully neutral. “It’s a weapon, a means to an end, but hardly the end itself.”

He inclines his head slightly, as if acknowledging your answer. “Precisely. Loyalty is useful—necessary, even—but it is not enough to build a legacy.” His tone is cool, distant, almost as if lecturing a pupil. “Power is what matters, Y/N. Power builds kingdoms, reshapes worlds, burns down houses that have stood for centuries.”

The words are exactly what you expected from him: cold, ruthless, and unyielding. Yet, as he continues, there’s an intensity beneath them, a deeper thread of something that you can’t quite name.

“Legacy,” he says, his voice lowering to a murmur. “What we leave behind is all that remains when we are gone. Our names, our accomplishments… these are what endure. Without them, we are dust, forgotten.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a defiance you can’t quite suppress. “I thought you cared little for anything but victory, Tywin. For all this talk of legacy, I hadn’t pegged you for someone who worried about what others would remember.”

A shadow of a smirk flits across his face. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. I care little for how others perceive me—but I care greatly for what they cannot ignore. For the things that endure, long after I’m gone. It is not enough for House Lannister to survive. It must be unassailable.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words, though a part of you bristles against his philosophy. He sees people as tools, pawns in his endless game. That’s all you are to him, a valuable piece he can wield to achieve his vision.

But then, he leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on you with a sudden, burning intensity. “And that is why I’ve decided to take you as my wife.”

The words strike you like a blow, leaving you momentarily stunned, the breath stolen from your lungs. You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, wondering if you’ve misunderstood. But the certainty in his eyes tells you that he means every word.

“Your… wife?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Yes.” His tone is final, unyielding. “This union would serve both of us well. You would be restored to a place of power—protected, in the only way that matters.”

For a moment, you struggle for words, reeling from the unexpected declaration. You’d braced yourself for talk of alliances, of politics, even of Tywin’s usual calculated strategies—but this? This was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what you think I want?” you manage, forcing your voice to remain steady. “A position, a title, the protection of your name?”

He studies you, expression unchanging. “You may not realize it yet, Y/N, but your value is not solely in your bloodline. You are a weapon that could be sharpened, a tool with the potential to fortify both our legacies.”

Just then, a clatter erupts from the corner of the room as Arya accidentally knocks over a pitcher. The clay shatters, water spilling across the stone floor, jolting you back to reality. Arya’s face blanches, and she drops quickly to her knees, mumbling apologies as she gathers the broken pieces.

Tywin’s gaze flicks to her, his expression hardening. “Be more careful in the future, Ary,” he says, his tone sharp but controlled. “I don’t tolerate carelessness.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Arya replies, her voice low, strained, as she hurriedly cleans up the mess, hands moving with a practiced grace.

Your eyes dart to her for a heartbeat, concern flooding through you despite your best efforts to mask it. You don’t want to give her away, to betray her presence as anything other than a humble servant, but the fear lingers, sharp and gnawing. She’s too close to him, too vulnerable here under his scrutiny. Each moment she spends in this room feels like a risk, a danger you can’t control.

Tywin’s attention returns to you, his piercing gaze heavy with expectation. “As I was saying,” he continues smoothly, as if the interruption had barely registered, “this union would be… advantageous. For you, for me, for both of our houses.”

You take a steadying breath, suppressing the whirlwind of emotions roiling within you. “And what if I refuse?” you ask quietly, testing him, though you already suspect the answer.

Tywin’s expression hardens, his tone cold as steel. “I am not offering you a choice, Y/N. I am informing you of your future. It would be wise to accept it.”

A shiver runs through you, the weight of his words pressing down upon you. Arya continues cleaning in silence, her movements careful, but you feel the tension radiating from her. You force yourself to look away from her, to keep your focus on Tywin, unwilling to risk drawing his attention back to her.

Tywin’s eyes linger on you, cold and calculating, as he gestures to the guards stationed by the door. With a curt nod, he speaks in that same low, commanding tone, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Escort Lady Y/N to her chambers,” he orders. “See to it that the servants prepare her properly.” He pauses, considering you for a moment, as if appraising your reaction. “She is to be made presentable.”

You feel the urge to rebel against his words, to refuse, to assert the independence he seems so intent on stripping from you. Yet, you know that any defiance here would only play into his hands. Tywin Lannister has you cornered, and he knows it. His intentions are clear—control, alliance, and power, as always. And now, he intends for you to become part of that legacy.

The guards approach, and as they move to escort you, you stand, casting a final glance at Arya. You want to say something, anything to reassure her, to let her know you will look out for her. But you cannot. Not here, not now. Her head remains down, eyes trained on the floor as she finishes cleaning the broken shards of the pitcher, and you feel a pang of fear for her, lodged deep in your chest. You force yourself to look away, to keep your expression neutral as the guards lead you from the room.

As you reach the doorway, Tywin’s voice calls out, halting you momentarily.

“Ary,” he says, turning his sharp gaze upon her, “go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a dinner for two.”

Arya nods quickly, bowing her head as she mumbles a quick acknowledgment, then scurries out of the room, slipping past you without so much as a glance. You feel a twinge of relief at her quick escape, but the fear doesn’t ease fully as the guards guide you down the halls.

The walk to your chambers feels long and heavy, the walls of Harrenhal closing in around you, a sharp reminder of your captivity. As you near the chambers Tywin has commanded be made “presentable” for you, your mind races, grappling with the implications of his intentions. A marriage—his twisted idea of protection, of binding you to him, as if that could erase the past or reshape your allegiance.

The door to your chambers opens, and the servants immediately set to work, preparing clothes, linens, a bath—all of it designed to fulfill Tywin’s idea of what a “presentable” lady should be. You endure it silently, your mind still reeling from his words, the promise of a future that feels more like a cage.

And somewhere, perhaps in the very kitchens beneath you, Arya is carrying out his orders, a young wolf in disguise, dancing on the edge of discovery.

[decagondice]

༓ EXPERIENCE SHAPES PERCEPTION ༓

༓ 'If lies can save a man once, truth can save him twice.' [The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1001 Nights]

༓ Pairing. Trueform!Sukuna x Bride!Reader

༓ Synopsis. Every night, a fresh girl is forcefully taken away from her loved ones per the King's orders, betrothed for a few hours as his wife, and at dawn, an extravagant silk bind is tied around her throat. Unable to tolerate the unjust wrath of the sovereign and promise to do any means necessary to survive in order to put an end to the King's torment, you offer yourself to the King of Curses as his unfortunate bride.

༓ Content. 1001 Nights inspired, sfw, F!Reader, Slightly reluctant reader, KingofCurses/Trueform!Sukuna, Slightly ooc Sukuna, angst (?), fluff (?), Sacrificial reader who eventually finds the good in Sukuna, Slightly depressed Sukuna, Emotional distress, Lonliness, Resentment, Mentions of death, Talks of violence (brief), Hurt, Conflict of feelings, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 8.8k

༓ A.N. I randomly had a vision of a 1001 nights au of Sukuna and reader last night and its been my mission since to bring that to life since then :P But, I was torn between making this fic 18+, however I think I just wanted to portray Sukuna's lack of love and life filled with rejection in a different format first. (When reading the fic, you will soon realise how much the last few chapters of the manga had an effect on me...) Hmm~ I might consider making and exploring a short snippet of a smut scene in this au, though not yet. This is my first ever piece of writing that I mustered up the confidence to present the world with, thank you for tuning in and please enjoy! :D

[Drawn to resemble the classic Arabian tales, 1001 Nights, narrating the story of Scheherazade's sacrifice to the resentful Caliph, captivating him with a story every night to preserve her life and end the wrathful reign once and for all. Artwork by Léon Carré, part of his collection of illustrations for 'The Book of One Thousand and One Nights', 1929]

The King’s palace was a labyrinth of shadows and whispered fears, a fortress carved from malice and crowned with disquietude. In the heart of it, past echoing halls filled with ancient curses and dread, lay his private bedchambers- a sanctuary draped in silks and shadows. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh as the flickering glow of oil lamps casting a dim, golden light that danced lazily on the walls. Heavy curtains draped from the high ceiling, their rich fabric falling like cascading shadows around the room, veiling the room in an otherworldly haze, as though even the air itself hesitated to settle too close to the King of Curses. Sheer veils billowed softly in the breeze that slipped through the open windows, creating a veil of secrecy, a cocoon of intimacy where the outside world seemed to disappear.

You stood before Sukuna, your hands trembling despite your efforts to still them, your gaze fixed on the dark patterns of the floor rather than meeting those eyes that burned with cruel amusement. You had come here not out of ambition or desire but out of duty—an act of desperation to save the other innocent girls from this fate, to shield them from being torn away from their families and cast into a life of terror at the hands of a monster.

You had heard the tales of Sukuna long before you ever set foot in his palace. His name was a curse whispered in the darkest corners of the village, a warning to children who strayed too far into the shadows. He was the King of Curses, a monster draped in human skin, infamous for his cruelty and insatiable thirst for power. But beneath the layers of horror and bloodshed, there were also whispers of another kind—a story buried in the dust of forgotten tongues, one that spoke of a man who had once been cast out, unloved, and rejected by the world that shaped him into the monster he is today. You knew of the loneliness that had festered within him, the pain of being feared and loathed for reasons beyond his control. And though a part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of sympathy for that tragedy, you couldn’t afford to indulge it. How could you feel pity for the very beast who was tearing innocent girls from their homes, who was crushing lives beneath his wrath without a trace of remorse? The same hands that once reached out in vain for love were now stained with the blood of those who had never done him harm. He was a monster by his own making, and even the darkest past could not excuse the cruelty that now defined him.

Sukuna sat reclined on the edge of a low, opulent bed, his form barely illuminated by the oil lamps that sputtered and hissed in their brass holders. He doesn't rise to acknowledge you; instead, he tilts his head slightly, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though your presence is nothing more than an amusing diversion in his endless reign of bloodshed. The silken sheets beneath him were the colour of deep wine, their surface catching the light in a way that seemed to make the room pulse with a dark, muted glow. His eyes, twin embers of malice and something unreadable, tracked your every movement as you entered the chamber, the heavy drapes closing behind you with a shiver of finality.

“Tell me,” Sukuna drawled, his voice as sharp and unyielding as the blade he might have pressed to your throat, “What makes you think you’re any different from the others who came before you? What hope do you have of surviving me?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the terror that gripped your chest. Those crimson eyes stared back at you, full of cruel delight, as if he found your defiance entertaining in its futility. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, reminding yourself of the faces of the girls you were trying to save, the way their fear had mirrored your own.

“I have volunteered to become your bride,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you met his eyes. “Not because I believe I am stronger or braver than the others—but because I couldn’t stand to see another innocent torn from their family. I thought that if I could offer myself, it might be enough to end this cycle of suffering.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of amusement and disdain. “You think of yourself as a saviour of some sort?” he asked, the mockery in his voice cutting deep. “Do you believe your pathetic sacrifice will sate my thirst for destruction? The world is built on suffering, and I am its rightful king. Do you think yourself capable of changing the fate that awaits you? That your life is worth so much that I would spare the rest for the sake of your trembling courage?”

He leaned forward from where he sat on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed yet predatory, the movement causing the heavy silk drapes to sway, turning the chamber into a shifting sea of light and darkness.

“You are nothing but another lamb brought to the slaughter by trembling hands.” He leans forward, chin propped on one hand, his fingers tapping the side of his jaw as he eyes you like a predator watching a mouse dance on its hind legs. “Do you truly not know that you stand in the den of a beast who devours without mercy?”

His words cut deep, but you refused to let them break you. You had to survive this, for their sake, and for your own. As his gaze bore into you, suffocating in its intensity, you did the only thing you could think of—something born of sheer desperation.

“I stand before you, knowing well the beast I face. And yet, I do not come to plead for mercy.” Your voice is steady but soft, like a whispered plea against the storm. “I come to offer you something else��� a story each night. I will give you a story unlike any you have ever heard, if you’ll listen. In exchange, you spare me for as long as I can hold your interest."

The words spill from your lips in a rush as you try to barter with him suddenly.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a smirk that spoke of both curiosity and disdain. “A story?” he repeated, as if the idea were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “You offer me tales to stave off your death? How utterly quaint. You think words will stay my hand when I tire of you?”

“If they do not, then I will be no worse off than I am now,” you said, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in your eyes. “But if they do… perhaps I can buy a little more time. Perhaps, in my words, you will find a reason to let me live another day.”

He pauses before speaking again.

“You are a fool to think you could charm a monster with your petty tales, Human.”

His voice drips with scepticism, but you notice the faintest twitch of intrigue in his gaze. It’s a small opening, an aperture in his indomitable armour.

“I don’t believe I can charm a monster,” Your voice unwavering, the words carefully pour out from your mouth. “But, I believe that even a monster seeks a distraction from the loneliness of his throne.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes narrow, something cold and bitter flickering in their depths—a buried wound reopened, a memory of rejection. He hides it quickly, but not before you catch the flicker of vulnerability that you know is your only chance.

His eyes stared at your form, and you could feel his gaze like a physical force, pressing down on you, testing your resolve. Then, slowly, he leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face, though it never touched the cold, glittering malice in his eyes.

You took a breath, your heartbeat thundering in your chest, and said, “I don’t know if I can change anything. But if it means buying a little more time—if it means sparing just one more life—I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He laughed, a sound low and dark that echoed through the chamber like a promise of doom. But there was something in his eyes—something almost curious, as though he were intrigued by your defiance, by the way you held your ground when so many before you had already fallen. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Then let us see how long your courage lasts,” he said. “Tell me a story, if you dare. Spin your tales and try to keep my interest, little lamb, and know that the moment I tire of you, your life will be forfeit.”

And so, night after night, you returned to that chamber, your voice threading through the darkness like a lifeline, weaving tales of sorrow and hope, of longing and loss. At first, Sukuna listened as if you were merely a distraction, something to toy with until his boredom gave way to cruelty. But as the nights stretched on, something between you began to shift, something so subtle and unspoken that it almost seemed like a trick of the light.

You noticed the way his eyes softened ever so slightly when he watched you, how they no longer held the same cold indifference. There were moments, fleeting but undeniable, when his gaze would linger on your face, following the movements of your lips as you spoke, as if he were more captivated by you than by the story itself. And when he thought you weren’t looking, his expression would change, growing almost thoughtful, almost gentle, as though your words were stirring something in him that he had long since buried.

One night, as you spoke of a warrior who fought not for glory but for the love he could never fully grasp, you saw Sukuna’s jaw tighten, the barest flicker of something raw passing across his face. It was a crack in his mask, a moment of vulnerability that seemed to take even him by surprise. He shifted, turning slightly away as if to hide the turmoil in his eyes, but you could still see the shadow of pain that lingered there, the ghost of something he would never voice.

“The warrior,” you continued, your own voice softening as you ventured into the story’s heart, “he fought because he knew that love, even unreturned, was the only thing that could ever make him feel human. It was the only thing that could make the darkness inside him seem like something less than a curse.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his knee, his gaze dropping to the floor as though your words had struck deeper than he wished to admit. He let out a slow breath, the sound almost like a growl, as if he were fighting a battle within himself, as if your story had hit too close to the truth of his own guarded soul.

“I told you to amuse me,” he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something almost vulnerable beneath the bravado. “Not to speak to me of things you don’t understand. Love is nothing but a weapon, a lie dressed in silk. Do you think you can wound me with your pretty tales?”

You hesitated, your heart aching at the hardness in his voice, the bitterness that seemed to bleed through his words. “I don’t wish to wound you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with a steadiness that surprised even you. “I only wish to show you that not everything has to end in darkness. That there is more to this life than the hate and loneliness you’ve known.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked on yours, and in that silence, something unspoken passed between you—a fragile thread of understanding, a bond that was as much resistance as it was connection. His hand reached out, almost unconsciously, his fingers brushing against yours with a touch that was hesitant, almost reluctant. It was as if he didn’t quite know how to bridge the gap between cruelty and tenderness, how to reconcile the monster he had become with the man who still longed to believe in something beyond his own darkness.

When he pulled his hand back, his eyes lingered on yours, softer now, searching your face as if he were seeing you for the first time. And in that look, you saw the flicker of a man who was more than just a monster, a man who was trying, against all his instincts, to understand the strange, delicate thing growing between you.

And though neither of you spoke of it, though the words remained locked behind walls of pride and fear, you knew that something had shifted irrevocably in those moments. The King of Curses, who had once seemed untouchable, unmovable, was beginning to unravel beneath your touch. His gaze, so often filled with fire and malice, now held something softer when it turned your way—something almost like admiration, like a reluctant longing that he could neither deny nor accept.

Blossoming feelings, subtle and unspoken, budding like a flower in the cracks of a stone wall. Fragile, tentative, both of you too proud, too fearful to admit its existence. But it was there, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, in the way his defences fell just a little more with each night that you shared. A flicker of light in the darkness, a promise that even monsters could yearn for more than the abyss.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The nights continued in that hidden, veiled sanctuary, where the scent of incense lingered and the golden glow of the oil lamps painted soft halos around your figures. You could feel the shifting of something unnamed, a tenuous thread that connected you to Sukuna, something deeper than the stories you spun to save your life. There was a pull, a force between you that neither could fully grasp or resist—a slow, inexorable gravity drawing you closer, even as you both tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

Your tales had become a nightly ritual, the words flowing from your lips like a spell, weaving through the stillness of the room. And Sukuna—this terrible creature of wrath and solitude—listened to them, not as a predator listening to the last words of his prey, but as a man who seemed to find solace in your voice. His gaze, once filled with nothing but cruel amusement and hunger, now seemed to soften in the dim light, tracing the lines of your face as if memorising the shape of every emotion that flickered across it.

There were times when he would reach out, almost unconsciously, his fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve or lingering near your own hand. The touch was light, so brief that it could have been mistaken for nothing more than the movement of air, but you felt it all the same—each contact sparking something within you, a rush of warmth that you couldn’t quite name or deny. He’d pull back just as quickly, as if startled by his own actions, a frown creasing his brow like he was punishing himself for that momentary slip of vulnerability.

Despite his silent reprimands, you began to notice the changes in him. The way his sharp words seemed to lose their edge when he spoke to you, the way his anger—so fierce, so all-consuming—seemed to hesitate when it came to you. There were moments when you’d catch him watching you with a look that bordered on wonder, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, or perhaps a memory he longed to reclaim. His eyes, once like cold embers burning in their sockets, now held a trace of warmth when they met yours, a softness that seemed to take even him by surprise.

Yet, even with these changes, there was still a wall between you—thick, immovable, built from years of pain and rage that neither of you could dismantle in a single breath. Sukuna would often turn his gaze away just when you thought he might open up, a shuttered look crossing his face, as if terrified by his own emotions. He was a man at war with himself, torn between the beast he had become and the fragile humanity you were slowly unearthing within him.

One evening, after a particularly harrowing tale of two lovers separated by fate, you noticed a shadow flicker across his face—a hint of sorrow that made your chest ache. You paused, your voice faltering slightly, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was alive with all the things left unsaid.

“What is it about these stories that you think will change me?” he asked, his voice rough, almost bitter, as he met your gaze head-on. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to mask with his usual disdain, but it was there—a crack in the armour he wore so tightly around his heart. “Do you think words can heal what the world has done to me? Do you think your voice can mend what was broken long before you were born?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your own voice barely a whisper, the honesty raw between you. “I don’t know if I can heal you, Sukuna. I don’t know if I can change the darkness that you carry. But I do know that I see something in you—a part of you that still remembers what it means to feel, to long for something beyond this anger and vengeance.”

He stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between a sneer and something softer, something almost like pain. “You see what you want to see,” he said, but the words lacked their usual venom, trailing off into the quiet of the room. For a moment, he looked at you not as a king of curses, not as a monster, but as a man—just a man, vulnerable and lost, standing on the precipice of something he could neither name nor understand.

And then, slowly, hesitantly, as if fighting every instinct that told him to turn away, Sukuna reached out. His fingers grazed the side of your face, a touch so light it was almost a question—a silent plea for something he didn’t know how to ask for. You held still, your breath caught in your throat, afraid that even the slightest movement would shatter this fragile moment between you.

“Your stories,” he said at last, his voice so quiet it was barely a murmur, “they make me remember… things I thought I had buried.” His thumb traced a line down your cheek, his touch both tender and hesitant, as though he were afraid of the warmth he might find there. “You’re like a flame in this darkness, something I want to reach for, even though I know I have no right to. Even though I could snuff it out with my own hands.”

You turned your face slightly into his touch, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope, the vulnerability between you stretching taut like a thread that could either bind you together or snap in two. “And yet, you don’t,” you whispered. “You could end this now, and you don’t. Why?”

He said nothing, but his eyes told you everything. They spoke of the battle raging within him—the struggle between the curse he had become and the man who was trying, against all odds, to remember what it was like to be something else. To be someone else. Someone who could care. Someone who could love.

Sukuna’s hand dropped back to his side, his expression hardening once more, though the softness in his eyes didn’t entirely fade. “This changes nothing,” he said, though the conviction in his voice wavered. “I am still what I am. Don’t mistake my interest for kindness.”

But you saw it there—the tiny crack in his defences, the fragile tendril of something more that had begun to grow between the two of you. It was subtle, almost invisible, like a seed taking root in the dark soil of a barren landscape, and yet it was there. And in the quiet of his bedchamber, with the flickering light casting long shadows across his face, you knew that you were not the only one who felt its pull.

For in his touch, in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the way his words softened when they were meant to wound—you saw the beginnings of something tender and reluctant. The monster within him was still very much alive, still sharp-edged and dangerous, but for the first time, there was something else as well. A flicker of a man who was learning, despite himself, to care for the flame he had found in the darkness.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The days bled into nights, and each night that you survived seemed to blur the line between captor and captive, between monster and storyteller. Sukuna’s bedchamber had become your stage, a place where you wove tales to pacify the beast that loomed over you, but also where something unspoken began to pulse between you—a slow-burning warmth that defied the cold cruelty of his presence. The more you spoke, the more your stories reached into the corners of his soul, unearthing the fragments of the man he tried so hard to bury. And in those moments of listening, the mask he wore seemed to slip, just enough to reveal the man beneath the monster.

You found yourself watching him when you thought he wasn’t looking, your gaze lingering on the curve of his lips, the intensity of his eyes, and the way his sharp features softened in the glow of the oil lamps. There was a beauty to him, hidden beneath the menace—a kind of tragic elegance that you could almost reach out and touch. He was like a starless night sky, dark and endless, but with a hint of light just waiting to break through if given the chance. The way he listened to your tales, how his eyes would narrow with thought or flare with emotion, told you that your words were not only buying you time—they were reaching him, drawing him closer to something he could neither name nor understand.

But there was also reluctance in you, a fear that tangled with your hope. You could not forget the darkness that lived in him, the cruelty that could ignite in his eyes with the flick of a thought. Sukuna was still dangerous, still unpredictable, and every night you wondered if this would be the last, if the flicker of humanity you saw in him would be snuffed out by the monster he claimed to be. You felt the tremor of your own hesitation, the way your heart wavered between pity and fear, between hope and doubt. How could you let yourself care for a man whose hands were stained with the blood of so many, who could end your life in a heartbeat if the whim took him?

Yet, despite that, despite everything you knew and everything you feared, you couldn’t help the way your breath would hitch when his gaze softened ever so slightly. Or the way your skin tingles when, during those rare moments, he let his guard down enough to touch you—not in violence or possession, but in something that felt almost tender. Like that night when your tale came to an end, and instead of letting you leave as he usually did, he reached out and caught your wrist, his fingers circling it with a gentleness that stole your breath.

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough with something that could have been longing or anger—maybe both. His grip was firm but not unkind, as if he feared that with one wrong move, you might slip through his fingers and disappear. His eyes searched yours, darker than the night, a swirl of emotions hidden in their depths that he didn’t know how to voice. “Stay a little longer.”

You looked at him, at the touch of vulnerability in his gaze that was as startling as it was heartbreaking, and you nodded. Slowly, carefully, you sat back down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, close enough that your breaths seemed to mingle in the space between you. Sukuna’s hand remained on your wrist, the touch turning almost idle, as if he were memorising the shape of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, roughened with a vulnerability he couldn’t quite conceal. There was a hint of frustration in his tone, like a man desperate to understand something that defied his grasp. “Tell me the truth.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening with the weight of his question. What could you say? That you saw not just the monster he tried so hard to be, but the man he once was and perhaps still could be? That somewhere in his darkness, there was a light fighting to break free, a yearning that had been denied so long it had turned to rage?

“I see…” you began, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper, “I see someone who’s afraid to believe in anything that isn’t pain or vengeance. Someone who’s convinced himself he doesn’t need love because he thinks it’s beyond his reach. But I also see a man who listens to my stories not because he has to, but because they make him feel something he thought he’d forgotten how to feel.”

His fingers tightened just slightly around your wrist, and you could feel the tremor in his touch, the way his breath hitched in response to your words. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his jaw clenching as if struggling against some invisible force. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher, more vulnerable than you had ever heard it. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, but the words lacked their usual bite, falling almost hollow in the space between you. “I don’t want your sympathy.”

“It’s not pity,” you replied, holding his gaze, refusing to look away. “It’s just the truth. You’re not as alone as you think you are, Sukuna.”

For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, as though the monster in him wanted to rise up and crush this fragile hope between you. But instead, he just stared at you, his eyes softening, the fight bleeding out of him as something warmer took its place—a flicker of longing, so fierce and raw that it made your heart ache. He reached up then, his fingers brushing the side of your face, a touch so gentle it felt like a question, like he was asking if he was even capable of something as simple as kindness.

“You speak as if you know me,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. “As if you see past the monster I am. Why?”

“Because,” you said softly, feeling the truth of your own words catch in your chest, “sometimes the hardest stories to believe are the ones we tell ourselves.”

His gaze faltered then, his hand dropping to his side as if suddenly aware of what he’d done, of how close he’d let you come. The mask of indifference snapped back into place, but it was thinner now, more fragile, unable to fully hide the man beneath it. He turned away, his jaw clenched, the set of his shoulders rigid with a frustration that wasn’t aimed at you, but at himself.

“Go,” he said, the word a rough whisper, almost torn from him. “Leave before I change my mind.”

And you did, though your steps were slow, your heart heavy with the knowledge of how close you had come to breaking through his defences. As you slipped through the curtains and out of his chamber, you couldn’t help but glance back, catching one last glimpse of Sukuna standing in the dim light, his face half-hidden in shadow, his eyes fixed on you with an expression that was equal parts longing and fear.

It wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something fragile and new, something that both frightened and fascinated him. And though neither of you were ready to name it, you knew that it was growing between you like a fire waiting to be kindled, a warmth that could one day banish the darkness if only he’d let it. And perhaps, one day, the King of Curses might come to realise that even he was not beyond the reach of redemption.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

Shifting like the currents of a hidden river beneath the surface of your nightly tales, that fragile something between you and Sukuna continued to grow. As per your routine, you still came to his bedchamber each evening, weaving your stories into the warm, fragrant air, but now there was a difference in how you both lingered in that space. It was no longer just a battleground where words danced to save your life; it had become a place where silences spoke louder than the tales themselves, where the stolen glances and unspoken words built a tension so palpable it filled the room.

Sukuna watched you differently now. His gaze, once sharp and cold, had softened in a way that seemed to unsettle him more than any of his past violence ever had. There was a war in his eyes every time he looked at you, a struggle between the darkness that defined him and the light he couldn’t quite extinguish when he was near you. He tried to mask it, his expression often hardening the moment he felt his guard slipping, but there were cracks in his armour now—cracks that grew wider with every story, every quiet laugh you coaxed from him, every moment that made him feel something other than the hate he’d clung to for so long.

One night, as you finished the tale of a long-lost prince returning to his love, you noticed the way Sukuna’s hand had drifted toward you, fingers almost brushing the fabric of your sleeve. He pulled back before making contact, a scowl flickering across his face, as though furious with himself for that momentary lapse. But you saw through that façade, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when he thought you might look away.

“You seem moved by that tale,” you said, the words light yet probing, testing the waters of his resistance. “Is there something in it that you recognize?”

He laughed then, a rough, humourless sound, though it lacked the sharp edges it once had. “Moved?” he echoed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Do not mistake my interest for softness. I am no lovesick fool to be swayed by such nonsense.”

And yet, as he spoke, his eyes never left yours, and there was something in them—a flicker of pain, of memory, that betrayed his words. You could see it clearly now, the way his barriers were beginning to crumble, even as he fought to hold onto the fragments of who he used to be. He was no longer the untouchable King of Curses in those moments; he was just a man, trapped between the monster he’d become and the human he never thought he’d be again.

“Perhaps not,” you replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “But even the hardest hearts can soften, even if they don’t want to admit it.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, as if trying to unravel the mystery of you, this mortal woman who dared to speak to him as though he were something more than a beast. For the first time, he seemed almost uncertain, like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to step forward or retreat back into the darkness that had always been his comfort.

“Why do you persist?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his brow furrowing as if the question was dragged from some deep, wounded place inside him. “Why do you look at me as though I’m not a monster? Why tell me these tales as if they could change anything?”

You hesitated, feeling the gravity of his question, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. It wasn’t just a question about the stories; it was about you, about why you stayed when any sane person would have fled. Why you dared to look at him not as a villain, but as a man capable of more than just destruction.

“Because,” you began slowly, your voice barely a whisper, “I see more in you than you allow yourself to see. I see a man who was once capable of kindness, who wasn’t always this… cruel. I see someone who’s afraid to hope because he’s been denied love for so long that he’s forgotten what it feels like.”

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw and aching crossing his face before he masked it with a sneer. “You’re a fool,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual venom. “You think you can save me with words, with your pity? There’s nothing left of the man you think you see.”

“Maybe,” you said, your eyes never leaving his, “but you keep listening anyway. You keep letting me stay when you could have ended my life the moment I entered your chambers. You reach out for me even when you don’t mean to. If that’s not proof that there’s still something human in you, then I don’t know what is.”

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. The air between you was thick with the weight of unsaid words, with the electricity of something both terrifying and beautiful. Sukuna’s expression was a battlefield of conflicting emotions—anger, vulnerability, denial, and something else, something softer that glimmered beneath the surface like a light struggling to break free from the darkness.

And then, almost without realising it, his hand came up to touch your face. The movement was slow, hesitant, as if he was testing the reality of your presence, of his own desire to reach for something he had long believed lost to him. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. He held his hand there, cupping your face like you were something precious, something breakable that he was afraid to hurt.

“You,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of his own disbelief, “you’re the most infuriating creature I’ve ever met.”

A smile ghosted across your lips, so faint it was almost imperceptible, and you leaned ever so slightly into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “And yet, you let me live,” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You listen to my stories, you reach for me even when you don’t mean to… Why is that, Sukuna?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. The monster in him was silent, subdued, replaced by a man who was lost and yearning, who didn’t know how to handle the tenderness he felt creeping into his heart. He was afraid—afraid of vulnerability, afraid of what it meant to care for someone, even in the smallest, most reluctant way.

But in that moment, with his hand on your cheek and your eyes locked on his, you knew the truth. The King of Curses was beginning to fall, not in defeat, but in a way that neither of you had expected. Slowly, painfully, he was learning to care. For you. And it terrified him more than any curse ever could.

The silence between you was no longer empty; it was filled with a thousand unsaid things, with the unspoken promise of something that might one day grow if either of you were brave enough to let it. And as you stood there, caught in the gravity of each other’s gaze, you knew that this was only the beginning. A delicate, fragile beginning to something that could be more than either of you ever dared to hope for.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

Dusk had finally arrived, and the dense fragranced smoke made the air feel warm and almost oppressive. You sat across from Sukuna, your voice carrying softly over the quiet hum of the night as you began to tell him yet another tale—this one different, more poignant, more deliberate.

“There was once,” you started, your voice laced with the slow rhythm of an ancient storyteller, “a creature who was not born into darkness, but who fell into it, piece by piece, as the world around him turned its back. He was not always a demon, you see. Once, long ago, he was something else—someone else. He was born of light, meant for greatness, a guardian meant to protect and to love.”

You paused, casting a glance at Sukuna, whose gaze was already fixed on you with an intensity that made the air between you feel electric. He didn’t interrupt, but you could see the shift in his expression, the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers clenched just slightly, almost inconspicuously. He was listening, not just with his ears but with every part of him, as though he was bracing himself against something he didn’t want to admit was reaching him.

“But the world,” you continued, choosing your words carefully, “can be cruel to those who don’t fit into its perfect mould. And this guardian, despite his strength and his loyalty, was different. He was feared for his power, for the potential of what he could become. And so, the ones he had sworn to protect turned on him, shunning him, casting him out into the wilderness as if he were nothing but a beast. They called him a monster, a fiend. They said he didn’t belong among them.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unspoken, like a truth that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You could see it in Sukuna’s eyes—a flicker of recognition, the raw wound of a memory he had tried to bury under layers of hatred and pride. For a moment, he was no longer the invincible King of Curses, but something far more vulnerable—a man haunted by the echo of his own past.

“They cursed him to the darkness,” you went on, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “And in that darkness, alone and forsaken, the creature’s heart hardened. His pain turned to rage, his sorrow to vengeance. He became the monster they had always feared he would be, not because he was born that way, but because they had made him that way. He believed he was unworthy of love, unworthy of redemption, because that’s all the world had ever shown him.”

Sukuna’s face was a mask of stillness, but his eyes were aflame with something that bordered on anguish—a deep-seated hurt that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. His hands, which had once been so quick to strike, now lay motionless at his sides, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. You could tell that the story had struck a chord, that it had reached into the deepest part of him, the part he kept locked away even from himself.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice rough and strained, barely more than a whisper. The question seemed to cost him something, as though he were admitting to a wound he had long denied. His gaze was hard, almost angry, but beneath that anger was a glimmer of something else—pain, vulnerability, the same longing that he had buried beneath centuries of rage.

“Because,” you said gently, meeting his gaze, refusing to look away, “I believe that even in the darkest of creatures, there is a spark of light that refuses to be extinguished. I believe that the demon in my tale, like you, was not born a monster but was made into one by a world that didn’t know how to love him. And perhaps, somewhere deep down, he’s still searching for a reason to believe that he’s more than the monster they say he is.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating in its intensity. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, raw and unguarded, as if you had laid his soul bare and he didn’t know whether to thank you or curse you for it. He looked away then, turning his head slightly as if to shield his face from your gaze, but not before you caught the faintest glimmer of moisture in his eyes—a shimmer that could have been from the firelight or could have been something far more human.

“You think you know me,” he said at last, his voice hollow, laced with bitterness and something else—something broken. “You think your pretty words can change what I am. But you have no idea what it’s like to be cast out, to be made into this… thing. To be so hated that you start to hate yourself even more.”

He stood up abruptly, turning his back to you, his broad shoulders tense and rigid as though he were trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he might snap back into the beast that he was so comfortable being. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, silent and still, his fists clenched at his sides, his whole form trembling with the effort to keep the chaos within him contained.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice cracking with the force of his own denial. “There’s no light left in me. There never was. I am the monster they made me, and nothing will ever change that.”

Slowly, you rose to your feet, your heart aching at the sight of him—this man who was so much more than the monster he believed himself to be. You approached him cautiously, your hand reaching out, hesitant, trembling slightly as you placed it gently on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away, didn’t break the fragile connection that bound you both in that moment.

“Then let me be wrong,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, full of a conviction you hadn’t even known you possessed. “Let me be wrong, Sukuna, but let me try. Let me see the man beneath the curse, the man who still listens to stories even when he says he doesn’t believe in them. Because I think… I think you’re more afraid of being loved than of being hated.”

He turned then, slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierceness that took your breath away. There was a storm in his gaze, a turbulence of emotions that he could no longer hide. Anger, pain, confusion, and beneath it all—a flicker of yearning so raw and desperate that it broke your heart to see it.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice rough, almost pleading now, his hand coming up to catch yours where it rested on his arm. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as if he were afraid that letting go would mean losing the only lifeline he had. “Why do you keep trying to find something good in me when I’ve done nothing but prove I’m a monster?”

You smiled then, a sad, gentle smile that reached the deepest parts of you. “Because even monsters deserve a chance to be saved,” you said softly. “Even monsters deserve to believe they’re worthy of love.”

For a long moment, Sukuna said nothing. He simply stood there, staring at you as if you were something he couldn’t quite understand, something he couldn’t believe was real. And then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he let his forehead fall against yours, his eyes closing as he exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His touch was still hesitant, still tinged with that reluctance to fully give in to what he was feeling, but it was there—a silent surrender to the possibility of something more.

And in that moment, with your hand still on his arm and his breath mingling with yours, you knew that the demon in your story had not been defeated but had begun to believe in the light again. Not because of some grand act of heroism, but because he had found someone who dared to see the humanity within him, even when he had given up on seeing it himself.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The sky outside his chamber was a raging symphony of thunder and rain, the storm’s fury echoing the tempest that had been brewing between you and Sukuna all this time. The wind howled through the narrow openings in the stone walls, the curtains rippling like waves of silk in its wake, casting wild shadows across the room. It was as if the heavens themselves were tearing apart, unleashing their wrath on the earth, and within the shelter of Sukuna’s bedchamber, the storm had found a mirror in the turmoil that raged between your hearts.

You stood before him, drenched in the soft, flickering glow of the oil lamps, your voice trembling as you tried to pierce through the walls he still kept so fiercely around his heart. Sukuna’s eyes were wild, his face a mask of conflicting emotions, a mix of anger, fear, and that same raw vulnerability that you’d seen creeping into his gaze over the past few weeks.

“Why do you fight this so hard?” you asked, your voice cracking under the weight of your own desperation. The words were almost lost to the roar of the storm outside, yet you knew he heard every syllable. “Why do you still pretend you don’t feel anything? That you’re not capable of more than this darkness?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritting as he turned away from you, his hands fisting at his sides. The storm’s rage seemed to course through his veins, the lightning outside illuminating his sharp features, casting shadows that made him look every bit the demon he believed himself to be. And yet, there was something in the way he stood there, shoulders trembling, eyes averted—a man on the edge, teetering between surrender and defiance.

“Do you think we are the same? I am not like you.” he growled, his voice like gravel, torn between anguish and frustration. “I don’t know how to be good, how to be anything but this—this thing they made me. I’m not meant for love, for kindness. I’m meant for death and ruin! That’s all I am.”

“No,” you said, your voice firm but soft, unyielding as you closed the distance between you. The storm seemed to quiet in your wake, as though the very air held its breath. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, feeling the tension in his fingers, the way he hesitated before finally allowing your touch to anchor him. “You’re more than what they made you, Sukuna. You’re more than the monster you think you are.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his expression twisting into something pained, something that looked like loss and longing all at once. His fingers were trembling now, almost imperceptibly, as if he was afraid to believe in what he was feeling. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet yours, and for the first time, they weren’t filled with anger or resentment but with something far more fragile. Hope. And fear.

“You do not realise what you’re asking of me,” he whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “To hope, to believe that I could be anything other than this… Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How cruel?”

“Hope isn’t cruel,” you replied, lifting your other hand to his cheek, gently cupping his face. He flinched at first, the motion instinctive, but then he let you hold him there, the warmth of your touch a balm to his storm-ravaged soul. “Hope is the kindest thing there is. And I think, deep down, you want it. You’re just afraid to let yourself have it.”

He swallowed hard, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the safety of his darkness. But then, in a movement so slow it seemed to defy time itself, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if savouring the warmth of your palm against his skin. The tension in his shoulders eased, the storm inside him quieting as he let himself lean just a little closer, as if he were finally too tired to keep fighting.

“Why?” he asked, his voice almost broken, rough with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “Why would you care for something like me? After all I’ve done, after all I am?”

You gave him a sad, gentle smile, the kind that was both a promise and a farewell, the kind that said everything words couldn’t. “Because even the fiercest storms pass, Sukuna,” you whispered. “Even the darkest nights have to end. And even you—especially you—deserve to see the dawn again. You deserve to believe in something more, even if it scares you.”

He opened his eyes then, and in them, you saw the storm break, saw the crumbling of a fortress he’d spent centuries building. The fear was still there, the uncertainty, but there was also something new, something that looked almost like surrender. The kind of surrender that wasn’t about defeat, but about letting go of the chains he had wrapped around his own heart.

And then, without another word, he pulled you to him, his arms wrapping around you in a way that was both fierce and gentle, like a man holding onto the only thing that could save him from himself. His forehead pressed against yours, and his breath was warm and uneven against your lips, his eyes searching yours, still disbelieving but filled with that spark you’d never seen before—hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, the words rough but honest, a confession laid bare. “I don’t know how to be anything but a monster. But for you... for you, I want to try.”

Your heart swelled, a warmth spreading through you like the first light of dawn after the longest night. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips ghosting against his in the barest of touches, a promise of something more—a beginning, not an end. “Then try, Sukuna,” you said softly, your voice trembling with both fear and joy. “Try with me.”

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he let the last of his resistance fall away, and for the first time, you felt the true man beneath the curse—the one who had been buried so deep he’d almost forgotten he existed. He held you as if you were his anchor, his lifeline, the only proof that he could still feel something other than rage and pain.

And as the storm outside raged on, battering against the walls of the chamber, the two of you stood together, wrapped in each other’s arms. In that fragile, trembling embrace, Sukuna finally let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t beyond saving after all. That maybe, in the warmth of your touch and the softness of your whispered words, he had found something he thought was lost to him forever—a chance at redemption, a chance at love.

The dawn was still far off, the road uncertain and fraught with the shadows of the past, but for the first time, there was a light on the horizon. And as Sukuna held you close, his lips brushing your temple in a touch so tender it almost broke your heart, he knew that whatever lay ahead, he wouldn’t face it alone. 

Not anymore.

The storm raged on, but within that chamber, there was a stillness, a quiet hope that spoke of new beginnings and the promise of something neither of you dared to name. It was not an ending, not yet. Just the beginning of a story that had no easy answers, no simple resolutions—a story that was still being written, night by night, heart by hesitant heart.

A.N. Thank you for reading! :D Please let me know what you think!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Sweet Sweet Girl

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Incubus Max Lord x Female Reader Words Count: 1,400 Summary: Huh, what a weird dream. Warnings: NON-CONSENSUAL SEX (it's an incubus here folks), asphyxiation, unprotected piv sex, jedi mind tricks but make it for smut, i'm sorry he has the wig (justice for pedro's real hair), nocturnal orgasm, so many WW84 quotes

A/N: This is the darkest thing I've written along with writing a character from a movie I cannot stand. Guess what though... once I realized where I wanted to take this, I actually enjoyed it. So thank you to @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes for the Monster Smash, I really loved stepping outside of my comfort zone. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon for letting me throw ideas at her and her enthusiasm. Also thank you to @jolapeno for holding my hand through some of my doubts.

Masterlist

🛌 🛌 🛌

Sweet sweet girl, I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, sweet sweet girl.  Sweet sweet girl, you won’t look at me, you won’t pay me mind, sweet sweet girl. Sweet sweet girl, your body belongs to me, you can't stop me. No one can.

You pretty thing you, slumbering away in your idyllic iron bed. Under a cover of delicate flowers, you lay. So peaceful, so relaxed. He has access to everything he’d ever want, power beyond belief, richer than Mammon. He can have it all, and he wants it, so he takes you. Lucifer, save you. 

—-

Crimson petals line the walkway leading to your throne. It’s hazy here, light swirls and reflects in a different way. Your vision is wavy, as if everything you see is under a veil of amber liquid.

The heavy wooden doors of your fortress creak open, and he appears. 

Dark brown eyes framed by angled eyebrows lock onto you as he strides with purpose towards you. He’s adorned in golden silk that matches his complexion. He glows bright like a star. His honey blonde hair is always meticulously manicured, his face always perfectly smooth. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“My Lord,” you bow your head to the bishop. 

He kneels in front of your throne.

“Tell me what you wish for, Your Highness, and I will show you how it works.”

“You. My Lord. I wish for you,” you beg. “I wish for you to love me.”

“I like the way you think. You don't ever have to make a wish for me to love you. I'm here because I love you. Take my hand.” 

You take his outstretched hand, and your surroundings transform.

No longer in your castle, you’re somewhere else, the world swirls stronger. The walls are draped in rich, golden tapestries that shimmer as they catch the glow of the golden candles flickering all around you. 

A chill runs down your spine as a tinge of uncertainty grips you; your mind begins to believe that this is all wrong, yet your heart races with only desire for your Lord.

“My Lord,” you whisper with a hint of concern. “Wha-where are we?”

“We’re where we belong. Never accept the limitations of nature,” his deep voice rumbles through you. He places his lips against your ear. “You want to be here.”

“I want to be here,” you repeat, as a wave of passion and peace washes over you.

“Good, my Queen,” he leans forward, pulling the sleeve of your dress down to expose your shoulder. “Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” you moan softly.

“Yes my–”

“Yes my Lord,” you submissively correct yourself. “I-I desire you, and only you.” 

He leans forward, placing a heated kiss on your bare shoulder. It smolders against your sensitive skin, igniting your body. Your dress is far too warm against your overheating skin, sweat begins to bead as you claw and clutch at the heavy velvet that sits upon you. 

He kisses a path from your shoulder to your neck before nipping his way up the sensitive skin to your mouth. 

Your dress disintegrates when his lips meet yours in a searing kiss. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, luring you closer, his breath is hot against your skin. He slit hers his arms around you, capturing you against him. With each line his fingers run up and down your spine, the more the walls close in on you, the world fading, leaving only your Lord. 

He consumes you. Each lick into your mouth makes your heart less capable of beating for anything else but him. He pulls away, leaving you breathless.

He snaps his fingers.

The world spins underneath you, a tornado of golden swirls lifts you up and away from your Lord. Your body hovers above the ground cradled by an invisible force as you’re gently turned on your back, floating above the golden altar. 

Your Lord follows, his golden robes are gone, leaving him standing radiantly nude. Light reflects off of his skin, making him glow brighter. Your Lord is made of ethereal light, a halo glimmers around his flawless body. Wide shoulders, broad chest, a path of hair leads to his cock standing hard and golden nestled in between strong thighs. You want to pray and give sacrament to your Lord.

“Your highness,” he circles your body like he’s stalking his prey. He halts in front of you, his eyes lock onto yours. “Tell me, what is it that you wish for?” 

“You–only you–my Lord.”

He nods his head. Your body descends, softly landing on the altar. 

He crawls over you and puts his lips against your ear. His body and smell surrounds you–lavender and smoke–it’s heady and intoxicating. It’s the only aroma you ever want to breathe in.

“I’m your wish and you’ll never renounce me,” he whispers, his cock lays heavily against the slick of you that’s been weeping for him since he walked into your castle. 

“You’re my wish and I’ll never renounce you,” you repeat, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Your wish is granted,” he grits as he sheathes the full length of him inside you. Opulence fills you as your cunt stretches around your Lord’s wealth. 

He slowly rocks back and forth, grinding his hips against yours, earning a gasp from your lips. 

He finds the crook of your neck, lightly sucking your skin with each push in, marking you with each thrust. There’s nobody else in this world, just your Lord.

His tongue dances across your chest and pirouettes around your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. He lets it go with a pop before kissing up to your mouth. 

He lays heavily upon you, burdening your body, heart, and mind. Your Lord and his cock spears and suffocates your soaked pussy, overwhelming you. 

“Sweet sweet girl,” his voice drifts through your mind, though his lips don’t move. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, sweet sweet girl.”

“Sweet sweet girl,” he leans back, his deep brown eyes bore into yours, his telepathic words tangling through your mind. “You won’t look at me, you won’t pay me mind, sweet sweet girl.”

“Sweet sweet girl,” now he speaks aloud, his plush lips graze against yours. “Your body belongs to me, you can't stop me. No one can.”

“No one can,” you moan, feeling your body thrumming underneath his power. 

He’s possessive with your cunt, taking you, owning you, enchanting you. It feels so familiar and yet you feel like you’ve never been fucked like this before. You’re breathless and trapped, crushed under his large presence, it’s holy. 

His cock pounds into you, intoxicating you under its spell. You’re golden, his luster shines into you with each thrust. You feel like the wealthiest woman in the whole kingdom as your core tightens around him.

Each shuddering breath your lungs heave overwhelms you, the burn of smoke suffocates you. You’re choking on his aroma, it feels so fucking good. You’re trembling underneath his mass, eyes rolling to the back of your head. The world turns hazier, your eyes cloud with golden hues, as your Lord smothers you. 

“Hand yourself to me sweet sweet girl,” he groans against your lips.

You obey, fallen under his spell and give yourself to him, pulsing ecstasy against his cock as your orgasm rips through you. 

Your body lights from within, glowing, bright and blazing. Rays of light emit out of you, shooting from your skin. Golden petals fall from the sky, raining onto you and your Lord as his thrusts drive into you harder.

“You can have it all. You just have to want it!” he grunts as his grandeur is bestowed within you, coating your walls with his cum. His face flashes for a split second, a sneering red demon shows itself underneath a veil of Max's face. “Sweet sweet girl.”

—

An invisible weight is lifted off your body, rattling you awake.

“The world belongs to me! You can't stop me. No one can!” A familiar voice you can’t place echoes through your room.

“Hello?” you call out, throwing the floral comforter off your overheated body. 

A phantom clench tightens your core, you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts again. 

“Fucking hell,” you collapse against your crimson sheets soaked in your sweat and involuntary orgasm, “must’ve been a good dream.”

A gold petal falls from your headboard onto your head… that’s the third time it’s happened this month.

[jerzwriter]

OK to the heartless demons who have asked why the “baby girl” scene in The Last of Us has destroyed me. (I’m being cheeky about heartless demons, but seriously, I’m flummoxed over this.)

This is the first time in Ellie’s life that she has someone who truly loves her. Someone who cares enough to risk their own life, they will gladly kill to protect her. And not because she is the potential golden child who holds the cure to the cordyceps infection, but because they LOVE HER. She means that much to them. They know that being forced to endure life without her would be a torture they’re not willing to accept.

The look in her eyes when David told her she has no father… the pain was palpable (God bless Bella Ramsey). We know she’s terrified of ending up alone. We know that everyone she has ever cared for has left her one way or another. She’s been alone her whole life and it’s the one thing she does not want to be.

She loves Joel, and he is one-hundred percent her father figure, but they’re both so guarded in protection of themselves. The pain and loss each has endured too profound to allow them to be vulnerable. But where Ellie has built an outer-layer to protect herself, Joel has built a fortress and fortified that fucker so no one can get in. We’ve been watching their defenses fall each week, but the last two episodes has shown us just how much they’re willing to do to save the other.

David’s sadistic words and demonic actions have put poor Ellie through living hell. Then she emerges into a cold, unfamiliar wilderness… alone. She’s lost and traumatized. This BADASS girl is as close to broken as we have ever seen her. Then, Joel appears, and until she realizes it is him, she is horrified.

Now, the look in Joel’s eyes (God bless Pedro Pascal). The horror, the pain, the guilt that he couldn’t protect her. Seeing her broken breaks him, but the relief at finding her. The man is overwhelmed, but instead of retreating, he gives in. He holds her, comforts her, he lets the feelings wash over him and she feels SAFE.

“It’s OK, baby girl. I got you.”

She’s loved and protected for the first time in her life. Joel has not uttered the words baby girl, nor experienced that level of affection since he lost Sarah twenty years before. He has surrendered. He loves her. She has surrendered, she’s accepting his love. Then, both wounded in every way, they stumble off to face the unknown together.

HOW ISN’T EVERYONE IN THE FETAL POSITION BAWLING? I should have had my therapist on speed dial.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 10: Pillow Fight

Movie night turns into a pillow fight. Turns out feelings hit a lot harder than any cushions thrown Logan's way.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W.

A/N: hello! second chapter of the week, a short one indeed but no less important than any others.....the movie reference in this is a 1986 terrible movie called Howard The Duck (obviously marvel related) that I talked about with my friends, and the images I saw of it gave me nightmares so yeah. I think wade would enjoy it. alright, enjoy!!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part / Next Party

There was something uniquely comforting about Wednesday nights in the apartment. It wasn’t about the tradition— they weren’t that organized. It wasn’t about the snacks either, though Wade insisted his popcorn was “life-changing.” No, it was the way they all sank into the couch like they belonged there, as though the world outside didn’t matter for a few hours.

This night had been no exception. Logan was stretched out at one end, his feet resting on the coffee table, his arms crossed over his chest like he was guarding something. Wade, of course, occupied the middle, surrounded by a fortress of snacks, commenting on how he was “the glue holding this dysfunctional family together.” Y/N had claimed the other end of the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, a blanket half-draped over her lap, more to shield herself from Wade’s crumbs than for warmth.

The credits of a movie from the eighties rolled across the screen, but no one made a move to turn it off just yet.

“All right, that movie was ridiculous,” Wade said, stretching his arms behind his head. “But in the best way possible.”

Y/N laughed. “I can’t believe you made us sit through that.”

Wade grinned. “Come on, Howard The Duck is so charismatic.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “I think you’re looking for the word horrific.”

Logan snorted quietly from his corner of the couch. “Horrific’s putting it kindly.”

Wade placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “You wound me, Logan. I bet Howard would have saved Y/N at that bar just as brilliantly as you did.”

Logan shot him a warning glance, but Y/N tilted her head in curiosity. “Oh, are we still on this?”

“Of course we are,” Wade replied, his grin widening. “It’s not every day you see ol’ broody over there pull out his knight-in-shining-armor act. So, tell us, Y/N, what’s your type? Is it the strong, silent, gloomy hero, or are you more into, you know, devilishly handsome comedians?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, caught off guard but amused. “I don’t know, Wade. But I’m curious, why do you care so much about my type?”

Wade leaned back smugly, turning towards Logan. “Oh, I’m just conducting important research, obviously.”

Logan sighed, cutting in with a warning tone. “Don’t bother her with your stupid questions.”

Wade smirked, unbothered by Logan’s irritation. “Those are not stupid questions, Peanut. Stop deflecting.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but suddenly, his lips quirked in a triumphant smirk, “Speaking of deflection, Bub… How’s Vanessa these days?”

Wade’s face immediately fell. “Low blow, man.”

Y/N blinked, intrigued. “Who’s Vanessa?”

Wade shot Logan a glare before turning back to her. “She’s, uh, someone from my past. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Didn’t you say you saw her a few months ago?” Logan interjected, the smirk still on his face.

Y/N’s curiosity deepened. “Did you? What did she want?”

Wade shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. “Yeah, she wanted to catch up. Said something about grabbing coffee or whatever. I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Well,” Y/N said gently, “do you want to?”

Wade hesitated, glancing at Logan, who still looked annoyingly smug. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded, sensing his discomfort but wanting to encourage him. “I think it’s worth figuring out, for your own sake.”

Wade’s jaw tightened briefly before he sighed, looking back at Logan. “You’re the worst.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

The tension between them was thick, but Y/N didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she turned the tables unexpectedly. “What about you, Logan? Anyone stealing your heart at the moment?”

Logan froze, caught entirely off guard. His heart skipped a beat as he looked at her, but before he could answer, Wade’s face lit up with renewed mischief.

“Right, Logan?” Wade said, leaning forward with a mock-innocent grin. “What’s going on in your love life these days?”

Logan scowled. “I’m single.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me nobody’s caught your eye. Not even a little crush?”

Logan groaned internally, feeling like the conversation would never end. “Crushes don’t matter,” he muttered.

“Bullshit,” Wade said immediately, and before he could say another word, Logan hurled a pillow at him with enough force to knock him halfway off the couch.

“What the hell!” Wade shouted, grabbing another pillow and reciprocating the hit.

“You started it,” Logan replied, ducking under Wade’s first throw but catching the second pillow square in the chest.

Y/N, watching the chaos unfold, tried to stifle her laughter. “You two are unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. But the amusement in her voice only spurred them on.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re above this,” Wade said, turning to grab another pillow. He paused, his mischievous grin widening. “You’re part of this household, Y/N. Which means…”

Before she could react, Wade lobbed a pillow in her direction. It wasn’t hard, more playful than anything, but it still caught her by surprise.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” she said, her competitive streak kicking in. Y/N grabbed the nearest pillow and swung it at Wade, who yelped dramatically as if she’d hit him with a boulder.

Logan couldn’t help but laugh at Wade’s over-the-top reaction, which made Wade glare at him. “Don’t think you’re safe just because she’s on your side,” Wade said, spinning around and throwing another pillow straight at Logan’s head.

Logan blocked it with ease and retaliated with force, sending Wade stumbling back into the couch. Y/N, caught in the crossfire, managed to dodge one of Logan’s throws, but it made her giggle uncontrollably.

“You’re laughing now, but you’re not innocent in this,” Logan said, a smirk spreading across his face. He grabbed a pillow and aimed it at her.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Y/N said, trying to back away. “I’m Switzerland!”

“Not anymore,” Logan replied, tossing the pillow gently but deliberately at her shoulder.

Y/N gasped dramatically, scooping up two pillows as if arming herself for battle. “All right, you asked for it!” she declared, charging at Logan.

The living room descended into pure chaos. Wade took the opportunity to ambush Logan while he was distracted by Y/N’s attack, and soon the trio was locked in a ridiculous, full-blown pillow war. Wade and Logan went all out on each other, their hits landing with audible thuds that echoed through the apartment. But when their attention turned to Y/N, their swings became softer, almost careful, which only made her more determined to fight back.

“You’re holding back!” Y/N accused, swinging wildly at both of them. “Take this seriously!”

“Oh, you want serious?” Wade said. “Fine, Switzerland. Prepare for battle!”

Wade launched himself over the couch with a battle cry, landing in front of Y/N and sending a flurry of pillows her way. How did they even have all these pillows in the first place?

She shrieked, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and swung back with all the force she could muster. Logan watched for a moment, his lips twitching in amusement, before he decided to even the odds.

The fight raged on for several chaotic minutes, the trio swinging pillows and dodging hits like their lives depended on it. Wade was relentless, shouting over-the-top battle cries, but Y/N and Logan’s focus turned toward each other in a subtle shift of dynamics.

“Is that all you’ve got, Teach?” Logan taunted, blocking one of Y/N’s swings effortlessly with his forearm.

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Y/N shot back, her grin widening as she grabbed another pillow and feigned an attack from the left before switching to the right.

Logan chuckled let her land a soft hit to his chest. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

“I know I’m clever,” she replied, her voice dripping with playful defiance. She swung again, but Logan sidestepped and used the opportunity to trap her arm with one hand while snatching the pillow from her with the other.

“That’s cheating!” Y/N gasped, trying to tug free.

“Don’t start a fight you can’t win,” Logan said, a smirk tugging at his lips again.

“Let her go, you brute!” Wade yelled dramatically from the other side of the couch, lobbing a pillow at Logan’s back. The hit landed, and Logan groaned in annoyance before releasing Y/N and spinning around to retaliate against Wade for the millionth time in this war.

Taking her chance, Y/N grabbed another pillow and smacked Logan square on the shoulder. “That’s what you get!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

Logan turned to her, feigning a glare. “You’re lucky I’m being nice.”

“Nice?” she scoffed. “You’re losing, and you know it.”

“Oh, is that right?” Logan lunged toward her with a pillow, and Y/N yelped, diving behind the couch. She grabbed the first thing she could— a fluffy cushion —and chucked it over the couch at him.

“Is that supposed to hurt?” he teased, catching it midair.

“You’re impossible!”

“I’ve been told worse,” Logan replied, throwing the cushion back at her.

Wade, meanwhile, had taken full advantage of their back-and-forth to gather an arsenal of pillows. “This is it! The final battle!” he yelled, throwing pillows at both of them in rapid succession.

It didn’t take long before the three of them collapsed in a breathless heap, laughter echoing through the living room. Y/N leaned back against the couch, trying to catch her breath as she brushed her hair out of her face.

“That was exhausting,” she said between laughs.

“Exhaustingly fun,” Wade corrected, sprawled on the floor and grinning up at the ceiling.

Logan leaned against the armrest, arms crossed, watching the scene in front of him. Then his gaze fell on her. The usual sharpness in his expression had softened, replaced by something gentler— more vulnerable. His lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, but it wasn’t just that.

He was looking at her.

Not in the casual way he usually did when they were talking, but in a way that felt like he was studying her, taking her in. The glow in her cheeks, the way her laugh lingered like a melody. She wasn’t even aware of it, her focus already shifting to Wade’s nonsensical commentary.

Wade, somehow oblivious to the shift, waved a hand dramatically. “So, Y/N, admit it: Howard the Duck wasn’t that bad. He’s a cultural icon.”

“You’re delusional,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head.

Logan’s smile faded slightly as his gaze dropped to the floor. I’m so screwed.

That thought hit him harder than any pillow Wade could throw.

XXX

[ohnoitstbskyen]

"Luffy... help me..."

It's often been said about One Piece that you should "read it until Arlong Park," but it's one very specific MOMENT in Arlong Park that's important here. If this resonates with you, you're a One Piece fan, and if it doesn't, well, maybe it's not for you.

Let me tell you about it.

TRANSCRIPT:

Which are the best panels in One Piece?

It's often said in the One Piece community that you should stick with it until Arlong Park, and if you're not into One Piece by that point, THAT's when you know it's not a series for you.

I think this is true, and the reason why is this scene. This scene is how you know.

Nami has spent eight years working on her own, since she was a child of only ten, lying, deceiving, stealing, fighting and scamming, all to gather the money that Arlong wants so she can save her village. And now with the goal in sight, Arlong uses the Navy (all Marines are bastards) to steal her money so he can keep exploiting her.

The villagers she has been protecting have had enough, and are going to throw themselves at the fishmen and die, and the beloved friends she made on the Straw Hat Crew keep refusing to leave even though she KNOWS that Arlong will kill them. Her every ray of hope and all of her attempts at keeping control have failed and now, reduced to incoherent rage and sorrow, she sits in the dirt stabbing a dagger into the tattoo on her shoulder, because hurting herself is the only thing she can do to spite Arlong.

And then Luffy comes along and stops her.

She yells at him, throws dirt at him, rejects him, tells him to f*** off basically, and when he doesn't… because she has nothing else left, because there's no plan, because everything is falling down around her, she finally lets down her walls, and says what's in her heart. "Luffy… help me." (p 200, first panel)

And Luffy takes off his hat, his treasure, and gives it to her, and walks forward, and with his characteristic cartoony ridiculousness screams as loud he possibly can "OF COURSE I WILL."

Luffy doesn't know why she needs him. He doesn't know why she lied, why she stole the ship, he doesn't know about Belle-Mère or Nojiko or Nami's deal with Arlong. And he doesn't need to know, because she's his friend and she's his crew, and he loves her, she doesn't need a tragic backstory to deserve his help, she deserves it because she needs it, she deserves it because she asked.

Luffy knows that every time Nami tried to push him away, every time she told him to fuck off and leave her, her heart wasn't in it. Just like he'll know it with Robin, just like he'll know it with Sanji. And he knows that when she asks him for help, she has never meant anything more deeply in her life.

For that, he will move mountains. For that, he will level fortresses, he will smite gods and he will slay dragons. For love does Luffy do these things.

People hype up the moment when the crew get together and go to Arlong Park as the best moment of this chapter, and I'm not gonna say that it isn't awesome. Badass as hell, absolutely certified.

But… this chapter belongs to Nami, and her moment right here, because this is the moment that a girl who has fought so hard and so alone for so long finally finds the strength and the courage that it takes to trust someone else to lift your burdens.

[luna-loveboop]

I started playing Wind Waker! Y'all want some thoughts?

-Why is the first thing I learned how to do with Link crawling on the ground like a sneaky sneak?

-Why is the SECOND thing I figured out how to do Link sidling along a wall like a sneaky sneak?

This kid is a sneaky sneak sneak!!!!

-Why is Link instantly jumping on people's tables? Get down please sir

-Wind and his family are so sweet I love them so much- and Aryll got kidnapped noooo TT

-Tetra has shot Link from a catapult

**I'm just gonna keep editing this post and adding random thoughts as I go does that sound cool? I wanna do that @hero-of-the-wolf

-Tetra's winking at Link has my heart forever she's so cute I swear

-love the glowy blue talking rock btw yesss stalker pirate girl

-Link why do you yell so loud every time you jump this is a sneak mission I thought you'd be good at this

-the game grumps on YouTube saved my life tho bc im a coward and get way too nervous in places like the forsaken fortress and watching someone else swear through the area before I do it helps ok

-Wind is such a gremlin but he's actually so polite? Like he instantly bowed to the sword trainer and then to the guy on windfall island after paying for breaking his pots- before running out of the house at breakneck speed. He's such a sweet and polite boy you can tell he's grandmas kid- yet he's such a menace what a wild yet polite lad ridndkkfkdg

-the people of windfall island are way too judgy stop being condescending to Link he's my baby. 'The Tipsters' girls have my heart tho because they.. they... well they give you tips. Tip you off you could say

-I think the King of Red Lions just legally adopted Link

Ok so small rant section but this game is so tragic. Like the art style is so goofy and fun but it hits you so hard that these are KIDS. Link is freaking twelve and his sister was kidnapped on his birthday, leaving him to follow in hot clothes because of higher defence I'm guessing (new hero clothes are more suitable for an adventure than casual loose ones but still!). But he's literally like half the height of DOORKNOBS- he has to stand on his tiptoes anytime to open doors. He is so very small.

My mom was like 'I love this animation style - does it help with your nerves that it's lighter?' And I was like 'honestly it makes me feel more deeply the tragedy of what should be a happy childhood being torn apart' but she's used to me saying weird shit like that so it's fine

-I think we as a fandom are severely underestimating how much of a gremlin Wind waker link can be and that's saying a LOT

-I got the Wind Waker!

-WHY IS IT SO HARD TO CONTROL DONT YOU LECTURE ME ON RHYTHM IM LITERALLY A MUSICIAN WHAT THE HECK

-K learned the Wind Waker

-Ok I like got to dragon roost island on the first day and FINALLY got an empty bottle my beautiful baby where were you??

-I cleaned- like actually fully dusted and cleaned- my wii u for the first time after it was inactive for years and holy mother of improved game pad controls

-is it wierd that I'm more excited about the empty bottle than the wind waker?

. . . .

-ya know in hindsight gabon looked pretty shady. I mean he was standing in the shade but what kind of asshole stands there and tells a giant bird to throw a child in the ocean

-I think ganodonk is dumb I can't wait to get the sword and bitch slap him

-'we cANt set SaiL aGain Until you geT a GLowY thiNgy' well mr boat man sir have you considered that I realised there was most definitely a heart piece or two I forgot on windfall island and I'm doing another dungeon with three hearts? At least I got a bottle ig

-why am I trading with rats for potions this doesn't seem hygienic. I know rats are in fact very clean animals but this dungeons isn't and why do the rats want rupees anyways?

-WAIT WHY CAN LINK TALK TO RATS

-so there's this like steamy glowy pot that teleports me to the start/end of the dungeon? I'm questioning all existence in this world why is that a thing. Honestly think Twilight princess's bald teleportation chicken made more sense but whatever

. . . .

-I saved the dragon! By riding on his tail? What a boss fight that was fun. Got a shiny thingy Yayy

-So the wind waker! I learned to change the direction of the wind which is so cool and also to change whether it's night or day. Which is wayyy too much power for this kid how come no one told me he could change night and day?

-That said I love how musical Link is. Like when he looks so happy waving the baton playing to the wind it's just really cool

- Why is the God of Wind a like. Toad surfer dude. Whatever, I like him.

-So apperently there's these little dudes called fish-men who are talking fish who fill out your sea chart- I am still questioning why link can talk to animals but that's fine

-I missed out on pawprint isle before apparently, so I'm gonna do that before whatever the red lion king tells me next

-Also I love Beedle in this game so far he hasn't threatened me like the other beedles in games I've played

. . . .

-I GOT MY SECOND EMPTY BOTTLE

-Sailing through the ocean is really fun

-I went back to windfall and got a 'swift sail' that lets me go faster but I still like the blue one better

-I reached the great deku tree! He had monsters for pimples and I couldn't figure out how to get them off 'what are you doing?!?! go help him!!' IM TRYING ADOPTIVE BOAT FATHER. Turns out I needed to roll into him and not use the grappling hook which makes sense but still

-He. Grew me a leaf. A magic blowy leaf. Which is great it's an awesome gift and means a lot but the Deku tree grunted and grew a leaf for me and that's kinda wierd right?

-Reaching said leaf was a PAIN and I am very impressed with Wind Waker Link.

Hang on rant session. Bro's tiny little grandmas boy but flipping through the air to reach an unspeakably high up leaf is chill. He flipped through leafy child cannons a billion times to reach the Deku leaf and didn't get dizzy or give up even after falling. And that's saying nothing of how he picked up a sword for the first time and swings his way through EVERYTHING thrown at him. Gosh he's so cool I love this Link

-I HAVE MAGIC NOW!!!!! With like a little meter and stuff tidkkfdjfnkdjfkd I'm very excited that I have magic

-Reaching this high shelf with my path forward was a pain but I have to save and quit rn so if it puts me back at the start of this room I will be. Upset.

-It put me back at the start of the room.

-I ordered a game guide! I'm gonna try and play through with it- this'll be my first time using one. But I haven't updated for a few days bc I'm waiting on it :)

This whole post is a bunch of random thoughts jumping around which my adhd self appreciates- that said I really love that we can grab an enemies weapon and use it against them. Increases my respect for ww Link even more- when he had no weapon in the forsaken fortress he grabs a literal wooden stick from an enemy and kills it with. A big twig. Kid's brutal and does what it takes which is so crazy. Also using an enemies sword is great hehe shiny

. . . .

-Got game guide. Yayyyy

-The forbidden woods are scary but they remind me a lot of the forest temple in twilight princess. A lot. The mechanics are also very similar. I love Zelda games

-Maybe it's because the only time I've had free to play rn has been at night, but I find myself constantly thinking this game is creepy. It's so unsettling for a cartoon style- the boko babas freaking eat link! And chew on him like no!! Fisnfjskfkfk *shudder* aaaanyways I am NOT looking forward to redeads in this game but that's a later problem right?

-I figured out how to get the treasure chests from the sea!! And got a piece of heart :DDD

-Ok game guides are really helpful

-Apparently the 'warp pots' are a consistent thing- I guess that's just how Link teleports in dungeons in this game. The second pot is generally hidden a bit but then you can teleport to the beginning of the dungeon and back- then the third pot is near the end... I think. This is only my second dungeon in this game with the pots but it's going great! I'm learning a lot hehe

-I love the grappling hook so much. I can farm spoils/materials from monsters with it before I kill them and I love that. Also it makes me feel cool swinging it.

-WDYM I CAN GET FREE BLUE POTIONS FROM A KOROK USING EASILY ATTAINABLE (with the grappling hook) MATERIALS FROM BOKO BABAS THIS IS JOY THIS IS LOVE IT GIVES ME HEALTH A N D MAGIC FJDKFJFK

-Also the title screen theme and animation play around outset is very satisfying. Watched it replay three times tonight before starting the game. Time well spent.

-I appreciate the items so much. The Deku Leaf is great like I can F L Y with magic and also blow wind at enemies and make them look silly <3

-The look of Link's spoils bag has grown on me and I love it. Purple.

. . . .

-I got the boomerang!!! Oh my gosh it's so cool I love it.

-I've been trying out the switch mechanic for targeting rather than hold. It's going interestingly bc I've only ever held for targeting before. But I think I like it

-The evil flower ate Makar- the Korok I'm TRYING to save GIVE HIM BACK

-That was the prettiest boss fight ever. I couldn't even be intimidated, I don't think I've ever been more relaxed during a boss fight lol. They should make all of them purple and blue sparkly- it was legitimately beautiful.

-I finished the forbidden forest dungeon!! :DD yayyy

-Link's hopping up and down in celebration after the boss fight was so cute he's so happy!!

-Have I mentioned I'm excited about the boomerang

-Makar is so cute?!?! I love him with his little violin and- the Koroks oh my heart that was the cutest ceremony ever

. . . .

-Ok so I went around the great sea, for now avoiding the big octos I am uhh terrified interested to meet, went to a place that got 'corrupted by gannorks power' so now I'm following the pirates back to windfall island

-The pirates are stealing bombs and I think this is illegal.

-My girl Tetra's here!! :D also doing illegal stuff! And Link is just watching them rob the bomb shop lol these cutscenes are the best sometimes also I love the pirate banter

-Tetras little smile and wink when she saw Link was so cute I love her. Also the little hints that she was concerned about his island and not just treasure?? Sweet

-I stole the bombs that the pirates stole from the pirates. And getting there was a PAIN with swinging on the ropes the tiny pirate (Niko) made Link do

-TETRA is a STALKER she was watching Link through the glowy rock thingy- probably cause he was just sneaking around watching her rob a shop but still that thing scares me sometimes when her voice just comes screaming out of it

-Btw why do the pirates want the god pearl thingy anyways? Just cause it's really shiny orrr

-ok we're headed to outset! I'm so excited to get back to Link's home hehe. Also I think Tetra just dared Link to a race bc she was like 'we'll get there first we still have bombs' so yeah anyways she's spending the night here tho so I'm sure it'll be fine.

-I don't like the great sea as much when it's raining and thunderstorming all over :/ I hope it doesn't stay like this? Because that would suck

-I got sucked into a cyclone and was panicking cause it threw me across the great sea BUT then it threw me onto outset!! :D so that was uhh. Handy I guess.

-Ohhh ok so like. time is frozen from ganad's current curse, which means it's gonna stay night for right now, so tetra won't be coming in time to get the treasure from the god dude first. Nice.

-The Lion King just kindly told Link to visit his family and chill for a second and check on his island?? Sobbing yes thank you sir

-Grandma's sick oh no this is the saddest thing I've ever seen ima cry. I healed her with a fairy but she was so sad link and aryll were gone im- and then grandma blamed herself for not being there for them like no it's literally cold and rainy all the time it's frozen right now you have every right to get sick- and then she made Link soup and she'll remake it for him which is great and I LOVE LINKS GRANDMA SO MUCH it was so sad she was sick I'm glad I could heal her :))

-Link smiled and nodded so enthusiastically when Grandma told him to stay out of trouble/stay safe like Link you are a liar I just watched you steal from pirates

-I sparred with Orca and I like him. It's cool how he trains Link on his home Island with like formal training because Link definitely needs it with what he's facing

-Controlled a seagull for the first time. That was fun they can fly for such a long time like. Forever?? Idk I eventually stopped

. . . .

-Ok so I talked wait no. The king of red lions talked with this guy who's a god named Jabun (I think that's how it's spelled I'll check) and he gave us a THIRD glowy thingy. I'll give more thoughts on that conversation later I gotta look up the translation. The sea is back to being sunny :))

-I spent a bit just sailing around. I need to place the shiny pearl thingies from the gods in special places marked on the map to 'reveal the place where my courage will be tested' or whatever

-I have found several great fairies and gotten my rupees and wallets upgraded twice. I like the fairies in this game.

-I FOUGHT A BIG OCTO I'M SO PROUD

-it was scary.

-But my magic meter has been doubled!!! :D *slaps wind waker link* this bad boy can fit so much magic and blessings inside of him

-I've placed two of the fancy shiny orbs. Its wierd... I put them in old looking statues and they glow. That's fine I guess.

-the fishmen are my best friends. Kind of. Every square on the map I go to one is there and they'll give me lil hints and tips while they fill out my map. Nice guys.

-beedle sent me a beedle chart! :D which. Is a map of where his shop appears so handy!

-there's these maps called 'treasure charts' everywhere that mark places in the sea with rings of glowing light that I can bring up treasure from. Generally a purple rupee but a lot of times other things :)

-there's this one square with beedles shop ship that has an empty bottle and heart piece and treasure chart for sale 00 I got the empty bottle immediately ofc (now I have three!!) and saved up the money and got the rest :) it was all like. Five to nine hundred rupees each yeesh

-Link sure does rely on maps and charts a lot in this game

. . . .

-THE GODS JUST FURKIN YEETED LINK ACROSS THE BIG BLUE OCEAN WHAT THE SHELL WAS THAT

?!?!?!?!

Ok (storytime) so I was placing the last pearl of the gods that I've been collecting in the ancient statue and a cutscene starts right?

So Link places Farore's pearl and the ancient statue starts glowing. and Link kinda startles and runs away, but then he comes back and the statue EXPLODES with light and Link goes FLYING like Farore just bitch slapped Link with power across the ocean WHY?!?!

And so you have this big dramatic cutscene where the ancient statues become really pretty and form a map of the triforce on the ocean and a big freaking TOWER comes rising out of the water and it's really cool- and then at the end Link SPLATS INTO THE FREAKING TOWER AFTER BEING SENT FLYING INTO IT LIKE GIVE THE KID A BREAK ALREADY

Of all the things I was expecting in wind waker, a cutscene of Link being sent hurtling across the world to slam face first into the literal 'tower of the gods' was not it. like forget a concussion how is Link ALIVE?!?!

-k so anyways. I'm good. Wasn't expecting that. This 'tower of the gods' is the place the King of red lions keeps telling Link he'll be tested/have to prove himself to the gods as a hero or something

-Oooo this dungeon seems cool so far! Riding in, it's just risen out of the ocean, so I'm entering the dungeon on my boat dad

-so it's like we can do it together! Not really, but King Red is how I get around the first bit at least. It's crazy how Link doesn't have a companion for in dungeons. Boat dude has just been dropping Link off at dungeons like a kid at school.

-So the tides come in and out of this dungeon. The floor will be filled with water when it's up and I'm only able to walk when tide is low and the waters gone. This is dangerous because Link, although he can survive being yeeted across the sea, can in fact drown.

-also I've just realised I haven't died so far in this game yet!! Go me :D

[ninii-winchester]

Crossed Allegiances (Final)

Pairing: Dean Winchester X reader

Word count : 4k

Warnings : angst, canon violence, language, mentions of blood, torture, character death, fluff. Not proofread.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Y/n groaned as she came back to consciousness. She blinked a few times and recognised the place she was in, the briefing room, the same room where Ketch had shot Mick. She felt herself being pushing forward slightly and she winced when the movement put a strain on her leg, the bullet was still stuck above her knee cap and a piece of cloth was tied over it, to stop too much blood loss.

She would’ve felt relieved or even a bit grateful that they weren’t going to let her bleed to death but she wasn’t. She knew the Brits were sadistic like that. They’d kept her alive, to torture her. Tilting her head upwards she came face to face with the woman she loathes more than Ketch. Dr. Hess’ wrinkly face and her smug smile made Y/n want to rip the older woman’s hair out.

“Y/n L/n.” The woman tsked walked closer to her as Ketch held the Y/e/c eyed woman. “You’ve failed to accomplish the task regarding the Winchesters.”

“Fuck you.” Y/n spat earning a slap across the cheek. Blood splattered on the ground as her head jerked to the side.

“Do you know how much trouble you’re in? You ran away from us, you failed the task and you cost us Mick.” The woman listed off the reasons Y/n was in trouble for.

“You didn’t have to kill him, you bitch.” Y/n snarled, glaring at the woman who just smirked turning away.

“Incompetence is not something we tolerate in this organisation.” She replied. “I believe you’re still useful for us, though.” Y/n’s face turned into one of confusion at her words. “You do know more about the Winchesters than you let on. And I know you wouldn’t tell us willingly. So we’ve called Lady Bevell to acquaint you.” Y/n’s eyes widened when she heard the name and she internally shuddered. She knew that woman was merciless when she wanted to be. And she was too loyal to the organisation to spare her. With a flick of Dr.Hess’ wrist Ketch dragged her away.

Back at the Bunker, Dean was pacing the war room while Sam tried to track Y/n’s location. He had hoped she’d have her phone on her and he could track her down easily but it was harder than he expected since her device had been turned off. And now he was trying to at-least find her last location.

“Dean stop pacing.” Sam chastised his brother who was walking relentlessly, his mind going a few hundred miles an hour.

“Sam she told me they’d kill her. She pleaded to me and I told her to fucking leave. And they’ve got her now.” Dean growled and closed his brothers laptop. “Stop this, we’re going to their bunker, guns blazing and we’re getting her back.” Dean ordered.

“Dean that place is a fortress. We need a plan. We can’t just barge in.” Sam argued, clearly knowing the place will be swarmed by guards. “We need backup.” Dean nodded and made some calls. Within an hour Jody, Donna and a few other hunters showed up.

“Wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.” Dean said to Jody as she pulled him in a hug.

“What’s the deal boys?” Donna asked doing the same.

Sam explained the hunters that they’re going to raid the British Men of letters bunker and they need all backup they could. The hunters nodded in understanding. They were also fed up by the Brits trying to make them work for them.

“You shoot anyone who tries to stop you and don’t die.” Sam commanded.

“There’s hostage in there too, don’t shoot her.” Dean’s voice was hard as he spoke.

“Ah now I see.” Jacob, a fellow hunter spoke. “You’re using us to rescue some fucking girl.” He gritted feeling he was being used. He looked at the other hunters, “they want us to die for a girl.”

“It’s not some fucking girl.” Dean snapped. “You’re free to leave if you’re afraid of a fight. This is as much about taking back control as it is about saving her. Those brits have meddled in our business long enough.” He added and Jacob gulped taking a step back. He didn’t speak any further but he didn’t leave either.

Y/n screamed out loud while she was tied to a chair and Lady Bevell was cutting up her skin to make her speak. To make her tell everything she knew about Sam and Dean. But Y/n wasn’t letting up. She was trained to bear all this. She was told the monsters could capture her and torture her for all sorts of secrets. She was prepared for worse than this considering monster were merciless and but she’d came to the realisation that these people were worse than monsters, downright cruel.

“You can rest peacefully once you’ve told me everything you know. We don’t have to do this.” The blonde woman said softly but there was nothing kind about her.

“Fuck you.” Y/n managed to choke out that made Toni grab her face in her hand. Y/n spat at the woman infront of her staining her white shirt with her blood. “That’s even one percent of blood you have on your hands.” Y/n sneered.

The blonde woman was pissed off, she picked up a syringe and stabbed Y/n in the neck with it and left the room. Whatever it was in the syringe made her hallucinate. She saw Dean, but he wasn’t looking at her with kind eyes or giving her soft smile. He was approaching her menacingly, dragging a blade all over her body. She screamed and trashed in her chair. None of it was real but she didn’t know it. It felt real to her.

Dean’s heart was thudding against his ribcage as he drove the Impala towards the BMOL bunker. He thought of the worst. What if they had already killed her. He never would get an explanation. He would never get to tell her he loved her despite everything. That once again be was too late. He waited ten years to find her, hell he didn’t even find her himself and now he was too late to go to her apartment. If something happens to her he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He should’ve asked her to stay and tell him the whole truth.

Sam’s voice calling his name brought him out of the black hole he’d managed to get himself into. Sam told him they’re here and Dean should get out of his head and focus or he’d get someone killed. Or worse, himself.

Jacob’s truck broke through the security gate and Jody’s car followed behind. Dean stepped on the brakes and the Impala came to a screeching halt. The brothers jump out of the car and straight into action.

“I’m gonna go find Y/n.” Dean yelled over the sound of gunshots. Sam nodded before shooting at the guards.

“I’ll back you up.” Jody said following Dean without waiting for his approval.

Dean ventured inside the bunker shooting anyone who came in his way, kicking down doors and praying, to whoever was out there, for Y/n to be alive. Dean’s eyes darkened as he ran into Ketch. Just his luck and—the latter’s bad luck.

“Ah Dean. Here for the rescue I see.” Ketch taunted smugly. “I’d say you’re a bit too late.”

Dean’s jaw clenched at his words and he didn’t bother saying anything before attacking. “You see when I shot her in the leg, she lost a bit too much of blood.” Dean threw a punch at his face shutting him up. He grabbed his collar and smashed his head against the wall and continued to do so until Ketch managed to elbow him. He grunted before kicking him in the stomach. Ketch pulled out his gun and aimed at Dean. He heard a few gunshots from behind him. He turned to see four more guards shooting at him, he grabbed Ketch’s arm and made him shoot a guard and shot another with his own gun. The distraction had caused Ketch to slip away. The other two guards dropped and Dean turned to see Jody.

“I got this.” Jody yelled nodding at him to keep going. He gave her an appreciative nod and ran to find Ketch. He wasn’t gone too far and Dean didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head. As much as he wanted to rip his body limb to limb he didn’t have time to waste. He had to find Y/n. After making sure the asshole was dead Dean kicked down another door. His gazw landed on a figure tied to a chair. It was Y/n. He didn’t know how to feel. He was relieved over the she was alive but her seeing her in this condition was heartbreaking. Bruised, bloodied and broken. She was squirming in her chair begging and yelling,

“Don’t hurt me please.” She cried. “No…” she was breathing heavily and the what she said next broke him. “Dean please.”

It was as if Y/n was stuck in a loop. In her mind, Dean was torturing her, he was speaking vile words to her, telling her that she was just another girl in his bed. But standing in the doorway, Dean didn’t know what she was seeing or hearing. He needed to get her out of her. He quickly moved towards her and untied her wrists and ankles from the chair. She was still mumbling his name, begging him not to hurt her and Dean tried his hardest not to break down right there. He picked her up in his arms and ran out of the room.

The shooting seemed to have stopped. He found Donna on his way and she helped him get Y/n to the Impala, he laid her on the backseat as she seemed to have completely succumbed to unconsciousness. Before Dean could ask Donna about everyone’s whereabouts Sam and Jody came out helping Jacob walk, who seemed to be shot in the leg.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked as soon as he reached his brother. He shook his head and Sam urged him to quickly drive back to the bunker. The brothers got inside the car not before quickly thanking the fellow hunters for their help.

“Lay her there.” Sam instructed as he rushed to get the medical kit while Dean laid her on the map table. Dean watched as Sam dug the bullet out of her leg, disinfected the wound and stitched her up. He placed the bandage on it, wrapping it tightly to avoid it infecting the stitches. Dean held her hand tightly.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart.” He kissed her hand tightly. After Sam was done cleaning up her other wounds, which were mostly on her face and one on her collarbone. Dean picked her up took her to his room and laid her on the bed. He ran a hand over his face remembering how just a day before she was here in his bed, and he woke her up by kissing her all over her face and she smiled that beautiful smile he fell in love with.

Hours passed and Y/n didn’t wake up. Dean was quickly loosing faith but the only thing that gave him hope was the her slow heartbeat. It was weak but it was better than nothing.

“Y/n.” Dean voice cracked as tears were dripping down his cheeks. “Sweetheart please wake up. I need you. I have to…no I need to tell you I love you. I want to see those gorgeous eyes, baby please open them for me.” Still nothing.

“Dean.” Sam said entering the room. “You should clean up man, I’ll stay here until then.” He said standing next to his brother. Dean shook his head telling him no. He didn’t want her to wake up without him by her side. But Sam forced him to leave. He told he reeked of blood and it would overwhelm her once she woke up.

Another hour passed and Dean was back beside Y/n. He was sitting on the chair by his bed, staring into space. He heard a loud intake of breath beside him and he thought he had imagined it. He looked at Y/n and she her eyes were wide open. She looked at Dean and tried to sit up, backing up against the headboard, despite the pain she felt at the movement.

“Woah easy, sweetheart.” Dean raised his hands up but she looked terrified. Though it hurt him immensely he didn’t think too much about it. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” His voice soft and gentle. Not menacing like she last remembered. Her breathing regulated and she relaxed just a bit. He carefully reached his and glanced at the space beside her and she nodded. He took a seat at the bed and cupped her cheek, very slowly, not to scare her at his immediate touch. “You’re okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was convincing her or himself. For a whole minute neither of them spoke, he wanted to make sure it was all real and not some dream of his and she was too scared to say anything at all.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water okay?” Dean said softly and she nodded. He left the room and quickly found Sam to tell him she’s awake. He told Sam to bring something for her to eat and some painkillers. He handed her the glass of water that she gulped down in one go.

It seemed that after having a minute to herself everything came back to her. She looked at Dean with a guilt ridden face. Seeing him take care of her after all she’s done, she broke down.

“Dean, I’m so sorry.” Dean quickly wrapped his arms around her and she sobbed him his chest. “Please don’t hate me.” She cried while he held her close to him.

“Shh, we’ll talk about this later. Just calm down.” He sushed her to the best of his abilities. She shook her head, crying hysterically.

“I want to tell you everything, Dean. Everything.” She sniffled. “And I’ll accept whatever you decide but please just hear me out.” She begged him. She didn’t want him to leave her. And as much as she hated talking about it, she needed to tell him.

“Okay okay.” Dean said calmly, pulling away from her to look at her face. “We’ll talk, I promise. But first you gotta eat.” Dean said sternly. As if on cue, Sam entered the room with a tray in his hand. After she finished eating much to Dean’s satisfaction. She nervously wrung her hands on her lap not sure from where to start. Sam went to excuse himself to give them space but she stopped him.

“I owe you an explanation as much as I owe one to Dean.” Sam nodded, and stayed.

“First let me start off by saying I am sorry, I know sorry doesn’t cut it, I betrayed you when you’ve been nothing but nice to me.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “The truth is, hunting was not my family business.” She looked at Sam who nodded at her to continue. “Hell I didn’t even know my parents.” Dean gave her a empathetic look. “Me and my sister were raised by the Men of Letters. We were trained to be ruthless hunters.” She closed her eyes for a second before she opened them back. “I didn’t like their ways, i hated killing people, i hated shooting guns or using blades. I was fifteen….” Both brothers frowned at the information. “They had this initiation procedure, Doctor Hess locked me in a room with another girl. Only one of us was supposed to get out of there alive. The one who was worthy of being a part Men of Letters.” Sam and Dean looked horrified at the new information.

“How could they even-�� Sam trailed off and tears sprung to her eyes. Dean held her hand tightly.

“You don’t have to continue, sweetheart.” Y/n shook her head. She needed to let out now. She’d been holding onto it for years. It’s time she let go.

“Doctor Hess told me that the other girl wasn’t worthy and it was a test just for me. If I let her kill me deliberately she’d kill my little sister and it wouldn’t be an easy death.” She sobbed, her chest tightening with each word. “I had to kill her. I couldn’t let my sister be tortured by monsters. I killed her, I became worthy. I ran to Mick and cried in his arms. He was older and had been through the same thing, he had to kill his friend. But he wasn’t like them, heartless or cruel. He he consoled me. Then I became Men of letters. And then my sister died. Ketch shot her because I didn’t follow rules to save her during a mission. I started hated those rules, their methods more than I already did and four years later Mick helped me escape.” She turned to face Dean completely.

“When I first met you Dean, I had left all that behind. Hunting, monsters, Men of letters. But then years later Ketch found me. He wanted to kill me and I honestly should’ve let that happen. But then he decided to give me this job. He didn’t know I knew you. It was just cruel fate that I had been assigned this job.” She cupped his cheek in hand, her eyes sorrowful and guilty. “I didn’t want to do it the minute I found it was you but I had no option.” She cried and Dean placed his hand over hers, gently squeezing it. “I swear Dean, if it was just me I would’ve told you everything right away. I would’ve asked you to protect me and i knew you would’ve done it but I couldn’t leave Mick behind, again.”

“I understand, sweetheart.” Dean said wiping her tears away. Sam quickly slipped out of room since it was something only Y/n and Dean should talk about.

“But then he killed him too and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So many people have died because of me.” She was breathing hard, trying not to choke on her tears.

“Hey, look at me.” Dean gripped her chin with his fingers making her look at him. “None of it is your fault.” he cooed, urging her to calm down.

“Dean I’m so sorry, I know you must hate me but please don’t make me leave. Everything we had was real. It was all true.”

“I don’t hate you, baby.” He cupped her cheeks in his large hands. “Yes I was angry and I felt betrayed but now I know you’re not the culprit just a victim.”

“You believe that?” She asked through her tears.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head. “I need you to rest now. Can you do that for me?” She nodded her head, she knew she was exhausted but she wanted to talk to Dean first and that it’s over with, all she wants to do is rest. He helped her lay back on the bed.

“Dean, can you stay?” She was scared, that Ketch might get to her. That he will find her and kill her. Dean didn’t reply instead he joined her on the bed wrapping her in his arms. She immediately snuggled closer to him. “You know Dean, I feel safe with you.” She spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“You’re safe here with me, no one’s gonna hurt you here.” Dean replied tightening his hold on her.

“Not just physically.” She replied and he looked at her confused. “I don’t get night terrors when I’m in your arms. Do you remember I woke up panting the first night we slept together?” He nodded, remembering feeling the need protect her even then. “I saw her, that girl. She haunts me in my sleep but not when I sleep next to you.”

“Well I’m gonna keep you safe from every bad thing that’s out there. And you’re stuck here with me.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Dean. For giving me another chance. There’s no where I’d rather be.” Dean placed a kiss to her head.

They held each other close, their bodies perfectly fitting together. Wrapped in the warmth of each other’s arms, a quiet peace settled over them. No words were needed—just the steady rhythm of their breathing in sync, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of their chests. Fingers lazily traced small circles on backs, while heads rested against one another, eyes closing in contentment. In that moment, the world outside faded, and all that mattered was the safety and calm found in each other’s embrace.

“Ketch’s dead.” Dean spoke and gasped looking up at him.

“What?”

“Yeah. I killed him. It was foolish for him to think he’d be spared after he what he did to my girl.” Dean growled and Y/n felt at her heart flutter at being called his girl.

“I love you Dean.” She blurted without thinking. Dean looked at her a bit shocked and she wondered if she’d ruin it all. Maybe she got too much inside her head. He had said he didn’t hate her, he said he understood her situation and maybe even forgave her but they never talked about beginning again, she had gotten ahead of herself.

Dean placed his lips on her softly and all of the bad thoughts were thrown out of her head. She kissed him back, desperately. As if her life depended on it. And maybe it did. Because was sure she wouldn’t be able to live a without Dean Winchester. He had her heart and her soul.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He whispered, brushing his lips against her ear and it sent a shiver down her spine. She hasn’t expected him to say it back, she didn’t expect him to be so sure.

“Dean..”

“Yes baby?”

“I just wanted you to know that I am ashamed for what I did and I need you to forgive me please.” She apologised, although she knew Dean didn’t have hard feelings for her but she needed him to know that she knows what she did was wrong.

“Don’t fret over it, honey.” Dean grinned at her, remembering that what she told him months back but when she didn’t smile his grin faltered.

“I just need you to say it.” She whispered lowly avoiding eye contact. He made her look at him.

“I forgive you Y/n.” He said firmly. “And I love you.”

Leaning in, their lips met in a kiss that was both a promise and a beginning, the final piece clicking into place. They’d been through so much, but they chose each other anyway. In that choice, they found something stronger than all the pain—each other. And that was enough.

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