#so he can't even reassure everyone that he's still alive

[denah-r]

I'm gonna make things worse-

When they find Danny, they find a traumatized Phantom and they all think 'we were too late' or something along those lines. The possible angst here is *chef's kiss.*

-----------

They've been looking for the youngest Fenton for almost a month now, and they've finally discovered where the GIW was keeping Danny. The Fenton parents were leading the charge, furious about the treatment their son might be enduring!

A surprising number of the A-listers were a part of the siege, and Lancer went along to supervise.

There were others attacking the GIW base, but these are the players that will matter. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were left in Amity in case Danny had escaped on his own, as unlikely as that was.

Lancer hears a bone-chilling scream before he even enters the white brick building (he thinks he- no, everyone- hates the color white now.) He barely even says a word before his students move, taking down as many agents as necessary to make a path to the screams that are STILL GOING he's still screaming, oh god

Lancer feels like the building went on forever, the screams getting louder the further he and the Fenton parents (they followed him, they need to get to their son, make sure he's safe) get into the awful lab.

More voices, more screams. They come to a hallway and open every door, Danny is nearby, the screams are deafening.

Some rooms hold ghosts, they flee.

Some rooms hold people, some corpses.

Lancer is glad his students didn't follow the adults this far in, they're traumatized enough as it is. He already knows he'll have nightmares of today.

Finally, they find the room Danny is in. His screams have finally petered out. How long Danny screamed worried Lancer, Jack and Maddie. A human, even a liminal as strong as Danny likely was, shouldn't have been able to scream that long. Their lungs just couldn't hold that much air.

Lancer opens the door and nearly falls to the ground in horror, shock, terror, grief. His student sits on the ground, dazed, surrounded by the bodies of a few agents, with white hair and glowing green eyes.

The Fentons, it seems, do fall, as Lancer hears twin thuds behind him. He doesn't look, instead slowly, cautiously, walking towards his student he was a child, oh gods, a child died here.

He calls out to his once-student. Danny or is it phantom now? doesn't respond. Lancer sees Jack appear in his periphery, tear tracks down his face. Lancer is honestly surprised he hasn't started crying yet. He knows he'll cry the moment this is over, he needs to be strong right now.

Jack gets a response from Danny, who looks at the father who outlived his son.

"dad..." his voice is broken from his earlier screams. "'m s'rry... di'n't mean t'... -t' -t'" he stutters as tears begin to fall "it hurt dad, I didn't mean to kill them, but it hurt so much" Lancer barely heard Danny's voice, nearly a whisper.

Jack collected his crying son into his arms, a stony expression on his face.

The GIW would pay, but Danny's recovery came first.

Short prompt!

Danny gets bored of winning fights so quickly, like his last fight lasted FIVE MINUTES he barely got in one good one liner before it was over!!!

He needs a challenge… so next time a ghost shows up he stays in /human form/ And it’s so FUN who cares if the fights in the mall? Or his classroom?

[suiana]

yandere! cheater and gn! reader who's in their villain arc...

you've suspected that something was up when your boyfriend started to get busy with his work, coming home late, hiding his phone from you...

of course you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he really was just stressed from his work. he was yourboyfriend after all. you had to trust him, didn't you?

well everything was shattered when you found one of his side chicks under your shared bed. she was naked, only wearing a pair of undies while holding in her pee.

"wtf why are you hiding under here?"

"your bf doesn't want u to know that he's cheating. told me that he'd kill me if i came out."

yeah, so the girl was an asshole to get with your man when she knew that he was in a relationship but at least she told it to your face straight up. also she pissed herself while getting out from the bed so there's that.

meanwhile, your boyfriend was sobbing and crying when he came home. you had found out of his side affairs, a side he never wanted you to find out about. to be honest, your boyfriend didn't know why he he got with others in the first place. he had everything he could ever want in you. you made him feel alive, all the good things you know. being with you was like a dream come true and he constantly felt like tearing out his skin from how happy you made him.

you were his god.

oh, yeah, thinking about it now that's probably it. he felt that you were too good for him and didn't want to taint you. which... was why he resorted to sleeping with others.

shitty move, yeah he knows. don't need to repeat it.

but you... why were you so forgiving? you welcomed him back with open arms, sobbed a little and told him how hurt you were! he thought you'd have up and left by now!

but you didn't.

he knew you were too good for him, he had to treat you better now. he just had to, this was obviously you giving him a second chance, right? oh he just loves you so much!

unfortunately for him, it wasn't a second chance. no, you were about to absolutely ruin this man.

it started with the small things. small rumours about him ranging from how he had a small dick to how he's a pushover... you needed to start your plan slow, you know. tear his reputation of a good and sensible man bit by bit. gotta build up that tension teehee >w<

then from the rumours, you started manipulating the people close to him. crocodile tears, white lies, and a whole pity party for yourself... telling his friends and family members how your boyfriend was an absolute shit of a boyfriend, how he didn't treat you right and how he was the worst an alive... well, it wasn't much of a lie. he did spoil you and treat you like a deity but if he really treasured you why would he cheat in the first place? there's no space left in your life to pity him.

the most important part was to constantly reassure him that you loved him and to make sure that he never finds out that you were the one ruining his life from behind the scenes. can't let him find out that his angel lover is the one that's bringing him to social death now!

by this stage, your boyfriend was completely dependent on you. everyone around him was looking at him like he was the absolute scum of the earth. where did the rumours come from? why was everyone avoiding him? he couldn't even go to work without his coworkers side-eyeing him like he grew an extra head! he's just lucky he didn't get fired-

oh and what do you know. he got fired.

he comes home crying, an absolute mess and a shell of the man that he used to be. what was once a confident and charming man is now a desperate and pathetic boyfailure.

"baby i got fired, i'm so sorry. i don't deserve to be with you."

his arms wrap aorund your legs, tears staining your pants as he seeks comfort from the only person still left by his side. yes, you're the only person left dying for. even his own parents desserted him, yet you stayed. he's so thankful-

"yeah, you're right. you don't deserve me."

it's like time stops the second the words fall from your lips. he slowly looks up at you, eyes widening in horror as his tears dry up. what? was he growing delusional? he must've heard you wrong. no way his beloved god just said that!

"haha... you're so sweet baby. joking around in a time like this-"

"i'm not joking. you don't deserve someone like me."

you slap his hands away, looking down at him as he remains on his knees on the floor. you had a smug smile, expression all cocky as you even started to laugh.

"haha! did you really think i wanted to stay with you? fuck no! i have standards okay? i really didn't want to stay with a cheater!"

your boyfriend didn't know what to think. what were you saying? he doesn't understand. is this a late april fools prank? the way his heart was clenching and the way he felt his face paled shows just how much he doesn't like your words.

"babe stop-"

"i hate you god damnit. i really thought you'd be the one for me but no! you just had to go ahead and cheat!"

but you didn't listen to him.

"let's break up."

oh yeah, you hear that? that's the sound of his heart shattering.

he quickly crawls over to you, face pale as he grips onto your pants tightly. his hands shook with each word he uttered, tone desperate as tears streamed down his cheeks once more.

he never thought he'd start begging for someone to stay when it was usually the opposite but... you were his god. the one he's devoted his entire life too.

so he'll gladly get on his hands and knees for you if he has too. you can't leave him. he doesn't want to be alone.

"please! forgive me! i know i did something wrong but i'm trying! you can't leave me too!"

he looks up at you, face completely flushed as he continues to turn himself into an even bigger pathetic mess. he doesn't care what he looks like now. he's practically lost everything. he has nothing left to lose.

"i promise i'll be better! i haven't cheated since you found out last time! d-doesn't that count for something?"

he gives you a shaky smile, as though that would convince you.

it wasn't.

in response to his words, you could only give a disgusted expression, kicking him away before walking past him to the front door. what a pathetic man he was.

"you know, you look best when you're like this."

you state, glancing at him with a smile before turning to leave his house. well, there's that. your plan was complete and your now-ex boyfriend was absolutely destroyed.

so why did it feel like... something bad was about to happen?

you quickly look back at him, keeping your cool and remaining nonchalant before you feel the blood drain from your face. your best friend?! where did they come from?! and the fact that your crazy ex was holding a knife to their neck-

"no... don't leave me... you can't leave... i have no one else but you..."

what were you supposed to do now that he was holding your best friend hostage?

[lex-the-flex]

Better in Yellow

WorstLogan! Howlett x reader

Summary: Returning from a taxing mission, Logan is ready to relax with you, but first, you’ve got to see your man in the iconic yellow suit.

Word Count: 703

Warning(s): None! Just pure fluff and flirting!

A/N: Hello all, I'm back after a short break! I've been thinking about this idea for the past couple of days and I need more Logan fluff in my life. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

The fresh scent of lemons and sugar overtake the large gardens attached to the vine-covered brick mansion. Rays of sunlight stretch through the tall trees, allowing every square inch of the green nature to feel alive.

Lightly scrubbing a large batch of lemons in a stone sink built into the wall, the cold water feels refreshing on your hands. Gently wiping the thin layer of sweat off your face, you quietly hum to yourself.

“I found some wild lavender growing in the far corner.” Rogue announces to you.

Turning around from the stone sink, a bright smile overtakes your lips.

“I didn’t even know we had that here. I wonder how many other herbs Storm and Scott have locked away in a cabinet somewhere.” You reply.

Quickly drying off the fruit, you return to the picnic table where Rogue has occupied herself with cleaning and cutting the lavender. Carefully peeling and chopping the fresh lemons, the faint sound of the Blackbird fills the air, signaling that the crew were home. Bouncing on her toes, you can tell how eager Rogue is to see Bobby, so you give her a reassuring nod.

Bolting from her spot at the table, runs through the courtyard and in between the perfectly trimmed hedges. Smiling after her, you happily return to your task.

"I see you found my secret stash." Scott teases.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you can't help but laugh.

"Oh come on! It's not like you were using it anyway. But you can thank Rouge for finding it. She's got quite the eye." You reply.

Adding some ingredients to the glass pitcher, Rogue returns with Bobby and the rest of the gang.

"Speaking of having an eye, maybe don't mention the new uniforms to your beloved Wolverine. It was like pulling teeth with him just to wear these damn things. He's still a little sensitive." Scott explains, grabbing a glass.

"Who's still a little sensitive?" Storm asks, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh you know, the moody and broody Logan over there. Besides, the mission was a little rough." Jean teases, blindly aiming her thumb behind her.

"Or rather: Logan was a little rough." Scott interjects.

"Guys, you all look absolutely amazing. Regardless of how eye-catching the suits are, they still prove who we are." You state.

Pouring everyone a glass of the lemonade, the crew slowly depart from the picnic table, and you sit on the wooden surface. In the meantime, Logan slowly and surely makes his way over to you.

"Heya darlin'." Logan says.

Joining you at the table, he leans against the edge, and finally focuses on you. Taking in his tired features, the sight of Logan's light hazel eyes bring a sense of peace to your chest.

"Hi, Lo." You reply.

Silently smiling at you, Logan leans toward you, pressing a loving kiss to your lips.

"I've missed you, bub. I wish you were on the mission with you. We really could've used you. Besides, these suits didn't help either. They already need to be repaired." Logan admits.

Briefly turning around, Logan lets you examine a few slashes and dents caused by bullet holes. Running your fingers over the ridges in the damaged fabric, Logan turns back around to face you.

Carefully placing his hands on either side of your hips, you calmly stroke his cheeks. Feeling a little pit of disappointment rise in the pit of his stomach, Logan tries to open his mouth to speak his mind, but you place a finger on his lips.

"I know what you're going to say and you don't need too. While the mission didn't go the way you wanted, at least you all tried. You tried, Logan. And that's what matters. Even if yellow might secretly be your color and you look pretty damn sexy in it." You clarify, not letting go of Logan.

Earning a rare full smile from Logan, he kindly laughs at your joke. Suddenly, the heavy weight of the mission gradually leaves Logan's chest just as he leans his forehead against your own. Embracing the moment, a great wave of tranquility consumes Logan in the best way possible, as long as you are by his side.

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasmos-blog

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

[a-hazbin-reader]

I had an alastor ask you can ignore this but what about an alastor x wife!reader where one day one of the readers old friends from their living days manifest in hell it can be angsty or fluffy but I just really wanna see how you think alastor would react to suddenly remembering that the reader had a whole different life before hell and before him

You're an amazing write and I wanna see your take on this, if not thats ok too !! Have a lovely day 🩷

Ooh this is just juicy-

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being sad, Alastor being jealous

Description: 👆⬆️

Look, Alastor is a smart man who knows you had a life before you met him, before you died

He knows this, he also had a life before you

A rather violent one towards the end there, but still...

But when one of your friends from when you were alive suddenly runs into you???? It suddenly feels like that previous life is coming to slap him in the face

"Y/N? Is that you?"

The way your face lights up with familiarity and you two rush to hug each other, obviously close

It makes him...feel something bad...

The conversation with your friend starts out simple and innocent enough, the two of you catching up with each other

You introduce your husband and Alastor can tell that your friend is surprised, probably not expecting you to be shacked up with the radio demon himself

He preens with your introduction, ready to hear your friend either gush about your amazing husband or shrink away in fear of him

Or at least that's what Alastor assumes the shocked look means

But then your friend mentions something about an old flame of yours and Alastor just kinda??? Gets a white hot flash of anxiety??

You get visibly upset at the mention of them, mumbling something to your friend that Alastor can't hear because he's not listening

You're scolding your friend for bringing up someone you hardly even thought about anymore, someone so unimportant in comparison to your husband

You had someone before him?? Someone you loved and cared about before you died and became stuck in hell?

Would you still go to them now if you had the choice? No, you wouldn't, he's one of the strongest demons in hell. Why would you leave him?

Because you loved people for more than that...

Then your friend is talking to him about your life when you were alive, telling him every stupid, funny, kind thing you did

Everything you enjoyed without him in your life

He's stuck in his own head and hurting his own feelings, the smile on his face painfully tight

"Alastor? Darling?"

Your concerned voice and gentle squeeze on his arm brings him back to reality, your friend having already left without his realizing

"Are you alright? You got quiet on me and that's not like you..."

And he's back to being his charming self, squashing down his ugly emotions

"My apologies my dear~! I just suddenly remembered I must meet Rosie today!"

He's gone before you can even question it, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your gut

The next few days after that Alastor is distant from you even though he's trying to play it off as being busy

Everyone at the hotel can see it and think that you two must be having a fight

You have to reassure them that no, mommy and daddy aren't fighting

He's been off ever since you ran into your friend and they brought up-

...your past...

Oh that stupid man of yours

It takes a lot of work to corner Alastor, he's stupidly clever and always has an excuse to avoid you

You however, did NOT become his wife by giving up easily

One time, he even straight up turned around and ran from you

And you almost fucking caught him if he hadn't cheated and melted away into the shadows

But you manage to catch him in his radio tower, using all your demonic power to sneak up on him

He jumps at the feeling of your arms draping around his neck from behind, feeling your lips on his temple

He's missed being so close to you, he really has

"We need to talk, darling one..."

This is exactly what he's been avoiding though, trying to get his uncomfortable feelings to go away so things can go back to normal between you two

"What is there to talk about, my dear~?"

He's pulling you into his lap, uncharacteristically enthusiastic about giving you affection all of a sudden, kissing up your neck and rubbing your thighs

You know he's trying to seduce you to get out of having to talk about his feelings so you stop him, placing a firm hand on his chest

"You've been avoiding me ever since we ran into my friend."

He visibly cringes at being so obviously caught, his smile strained, sharp teeth clenched tight

"I've simply been busy, I'm sorry if I've been neglecting my little wife..."

He's going in for another kiss, but you pull away with reluctance, you're attracted to your husband after all

You pull on his cheek and sigh, hugging his neck as you lean back to look at him

"Alastor, you know I hate it when you lie to me..."

Now he feels bad, he hates disappointing his wife like this...

"I suppose I have been a bit out of sorts..."

So he does his best to explain to you his uncertainty in your life, wondering if you've simply settled for him because you died

If you would choose your old life over him if ever given the chance, or leave him for a chance at heaven with people from your old life

He won't look at you the entire time he says this, leaning into you and hiding his face in your neck

Just run your fingers through his hair, maybe rub his ears a little, and listen to him vent

He doesn't like being open and vulnerable

"Oh darling, I didn't even know what love really was until I met you. Being here in hell with you has been more fulfilling than any life I had before..."

Not him making a little deer bleat before growling out of embarrassment, clutching you a little tighter

"You wouldn't-"

"Alastor, if anybody even tries to make me leave you, I'll kill them myself."

That makes him chuckle, leaning back to finally look at you

"Oh, you twisted wonderful wife~"

He's literally immediately back to himself after that, almost as though none of it ever happened

You're always surprised by how quickly your husband recovers

Maybe it's just because he trusts you so much, your words alone were enough to reassure him of his place in your world

You meant every word

When your friend comes back to visit you, Alastor actually engages with them this time

He wants to know more about who you used to be now that his confidence in his marriage has been restored

The dude is literally walking around like he got laid for the first time

Angel...shut up...

Holds you close to him the entire time, relaxed as he listens to you and your friend go on about old times

"Wait...you jumped out of a third story window? While being chased by a man with one leg?"

"And LIVED!"

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

[ashen-char]

i say that i hate you with a smile on my face 🔞

ship: amber freeman (scream) x gender neutral reader

warnings: explicit smut so minors get out. hate sex, sex while driving

summary: amber is furious after seeing you with another girl at a party. the only way to deal with her jealousy is to fuck it out of her.

word count: 2700+

By the time the party ends, it's almost 3am. Early hours have always felt so strange to you, so mysterious that liminal time past midnight and before the sun rises. Everything feels slower. Less alive, almost. There aren't any other cars on the street, aren't any lights on in the houses you pass as you make your way back to Amber's.

The radio is off and the streets are quiet. You almost wish that Amber would go right back to yelling at you because at least it wouldn't be this mind-numbing silence. You're so tense, shoulders stiff and defensive, your grip a vice on the wheel.

You had danced with another girl, sure.

Chad had introduced you to some new girl that Liv had befriended and told to come. You can't even remember what her name was. When Liv got roped into a night shift and couldn't go, she'd told her friend to stick to a familiar face.

Really, you think that Chad just wanted to ditch her on you so that Liv wouldn't tear him a new one for leaving her friend while he got wasted. You owed Chad a solid for helping you score a reservation at some fancy restaurant for you and Amber's anniversary after you forgot it, and you didn't see the harm. That was your first mistake.

Amber's expression is unreadable, her grip white-knuckled on her knee as she stares out the window of your car. Speaking first would feel like you lost—you still don't think you did anything wrong, feel that Amber's reaction went way too far. And you're stubborn. But Amber is even more so. And your relationship is more valuable than winning... whatever this is, so

"I didn't do anything," you say for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

"You hear how you sound right now?" Amber snarls, her own shoulders tensing up. "That's what everyone says when they're caught. I didn't do anything," she imitates your voice in a whine.

Mocking you? How mature.

Letting go of her knee, Amber folds her arms over her chest, looking away from you again. You can see her roll her eyes and scoff a “whatever” under her breath.

You grit your teeth. Possible responses whir through your brain—a joke, an apology, something to diffuse the situation. You know what you should do, know that Amber’s only jealous because she’s desperate for reassurance from you. But God is it exhausting navigating Amber's complex emotions when she doesn't even care if she hurts yours.

Tonight was supposed to be fun for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to go to a party and have a blast, not get into another stupid argument.

Amber hasn't apologised a single time since you two started dating. She hasn't once promised she'd be better like you always do for her. She had yelled at you the second you two left the party, fighting from the porch all the way to the car. She wouldn’t hear you out even once as you were vehemently denying her accusations. You truly believe that you shouldn’t be the one to apologise. Not this time.

So this time, you don't do that. Your hand reaches out, sliding over to the passenger seat until you're grazing Amber's thigh. "What did you think you saw me do, huh?" you say.

“What are you—"

"You think I touched her?" Your fingers trail their way up. The fabric of her leggings is thin, so you can feel the heat of Amber’s skin as you caress her inner thigh. It’s a tease, a war of nerves, wondering when the other will give in. "Like this?"

Amber's still worked up, blood still pumping; the adrenaline from the argument is rushing through her veins. But you know that no matter how pissed off she is at you, there’s no way she’d push you away. You swear she actually moves closer.

“You would,” Amber challenges. “You know, if I knew you were gonna be another unfaithful piece of shit, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with you.”

You can tell from her tone that she’s trying to rile you up on purpose. Like she’s enjoying getting under your skin. She wants you as heated as she is so it becomes a level playing field. Amber does this whenever you two have a fight, like she's just waiting for you to blow up at her so you feel as insane as she does about you. You know it's all coming from the same place as the jealousy does. She feels so fucking much about you that she's begging for more. Needs retribution so bad. Needs to feel something.

"Sometimes I swear you start fights out of nowhere on purpose," you say. On her upper inner thigh now, your hand squeezes, almost hard enough to bruise. Your thumb runs up down, up down, never quite getting close enough to where she wants it. "Because you like when I touch you while you pretend to hate my guts."

"You're an idiot. Why would I want you to touch me?" Amber clenches her thighs, holding your hand in place, preventing it from slipping back down. You can hear how her breathing gets laboured. She's too stubborn to admit that she wants you to keep going, but you both know it. She can't help the mix of hatred and lust that fuels her veins right now. "I do hate you. I hate you so goddamn much."

A red light. You breathe out in relief.

Finally, your attention doesn't need to be split between the road and this argument. You can see the smile on her face as she swears that she hates you. Good. That wild look in her eyes tells you that you can be more aggressive with her. Amber loves that. 

Your hand slips up right where she wants it, until you're cupping at her center. Only a thin scrap of fabric separate your fingers from the cunt you love so much. You could do it. You could tear through her leggings and fuck the shit out of her. Amber's legs part for you and you swear you hear her whimper.

"What would you do if I did flirt with her, huh?" you say. "Would you break up with me?"

"Fuck you," she spits, though with her shortness of breath it sounds more like a plead. "I bet you wanted to get her to some spare room. You're desperate enough. Were you hoping to get your fingers wet with some other bitch even when you went there with your girlfriend?"

Her mouth is so filthy. You should do something about that. Amber shouldn't be allowed to talk right now. "What's your fucking problem? I was with you all night!"

God, this is fun. Amber's grinning and her eyes shine, the golden light coming in from the streetlights and making everything glow. You squeeze. The meat of your palm is grinding up against her clit but it isn't enough. Not with all that clothing between you. She moans, clenching her legs once more, needing more pressure there.

"You're my problem!" Amber shrieks.

Fuck.

The second you're about to leap in and devour Amber in a kiss, the light you're stopped at turns green. The car behind you honks and you're forced to turn your attention back to the road. Amber lets out a frustrated groan at that, that stupid honking throwing the moment entirely.

"You know what, screw this," she says. You hear Amber unclick her seatbelt, and before you can tell her to strap back in she grabs your hand.

"What are you—" You barely get the words out before your hand is shoved down into her leggings.

Amber's soaked. She's as sticky and warm as the last time you touched her, and you know just how good she'd taste right now too. It isn't your dominant hand—that one is busy on the wheel—so you actually haven't touched her with this one before. It's unfamiliar territory and the same all at once. She pushes her panties to the side with her own hand but it'll be yours that she makes do all the work.

"Shut up. I need this." A low guttural sound escapes her lips as she finally, finally feels your hand where she wants it. Her head tilts back and you feel her thighs squeeze at that first sharp sensation of pleasure. "Shut your mouth and drive," she practically hisses.

You have to focus on the road. The guy behind you is already pissed from how slow you were to keep driving after the green light, and how Amber had given him the middle finger. He's driving so close behind you know that a single slip up could mean a crash. You're so fucked. Especially your fingers, which Amber is sliding her slit up and down on, collecting her wetness with a satisfying shlick.

"Amber," you try to warn. As hot as this is, you do not want to get into an accident because your girlfriend was just so horny during a fight.

Her mouth hangs open in pleasure as she rubs her clit against your palm. It's so much better when you can feel her. You wish you could turn to look. But you can feel Amber's eyes on you, probably still glaring at you with the same hateful glare she had earlier.

"She wouldn't be this wet for you," she tells you.

The girl at the party could not be further from your mind right now. "I don't give a shit about her," you admit. "God, you're so wet, baby." You can feel your own excitement between your legs, can see how your windows are starting to fog up as both of your breaths heat the air.

She lets out a moan, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "That's right. Because you're mine." Her nails dig into the flesh of your forearm, a threat to scratch you up if you so much as attempt to move away. 

Your fingers slip inside. Two at once. Amber normally likes to play the long game and build up to more, letting you tease her with one sliding in and out until she screams at you for more. But the thrill of the danger and anger and jealousy is getting to both of you. Her hips grind and wind as she rides your fingers, while your other hand desperately grips onto the wheel as you will yourself to concentrate on the road.

"Say it," Amber breathes out. "You're only mine."

A part of you thinks that'd be no fun. "You should've trusted me," you say instead. It's so much more fun when she's seething. It's like her anger is heating up her insides. She feels different. You curve your fingers inside her and she cries out.

"Fuck!"

"Yeah? You loving my fingers in your pussy?" You wriggle the two until you're pressing at the spot that always drives Amber crazy. But it's clumsy. You never use this hand and eventually it'll cramp up and get tired. You know you're doing your job well when she digs her nails in even harder and her hips thrust. Neither of you give a shit when the car behind you honks and overtakes you.

She's too wound up right now, too far gone. Her mouth twists into a vicious smile that you can't see, but you can hear it in her voice. "Y-you wish," Amber struggles out. "You think you're so good. I'm using you here, not the other way around."

She rides your fingers like that for a few minutes. As you had suspected, the lack of practice means that your forearm is already getting tired. As hot as this is, you can't pump as easily as you could if you were on a bed, not worrying about driving. You can tell that Amber is getting frustrated. Maybe that's making it better.

Everything is a blur of rage and lust until you realise you've driven right past her house. Whatever. You're dying to stop the goddamn car and set Amber right. You slam the brakes now that there's no car behind you to hit, sending the car lurching to a stop. Your fingers slide deeper into her cunt with the movement and it makes her scream.

You pull into a residential side street, one even quieter than the rest. Finding a spot to turn off the engine and throw the car into park is easy enough when your brain is putting I need to fuck her right now over safety.

The second that ignition goes off, Amber is already on you. You slip your tired hand away, the other going to her leggings and slipping them off. Her expression is still twisted in that rage that never quite goes away—she hates you, she hates you, she hates you—but she loves you so much when you shove three fingers into her.

You feel her tongue invading your mouth, probing and searching, while her hands continue to grip and claw at your clothes. It's like she's trying to claim you; she wants to take away all evidence of you being your own person, to take away your control.

"Is this what you wanted?" Amber whispers against your mouth. "Why do you make me feel like? You want to see me like this? Huh?"

It's reckless and out of control and perfect. You don't even care that any second you could get caught. You could lose yourself in this moment, in this golden haze that illuminates your fogged up windshield. The car's starting to sway with your movements.

"How do I make you feel, baby?" Her pussy feels so good as you surge your fingers in deeper. "Tell me."

"Like I'm going crazy," she whispers, her voice breaking a little with emotion. It's too much. It was too much then at the party, when she saw you dancing with some other girl, too much when you started touching her. 

Everything about what you're doing to her is bringing Amber closer and closer to that point of no return. "Like you're making me crave you." Her hips rock against you again, her breasts soft as they rub against you too.

This is Amber making you feel the way you make her feel. When you dance with other girls, when you don't text back for hours, when you forget your anniversary. Every time you brushed off an insult and didn't let a fight escalate, this is what she wanted. How pent up she must have been, swallowing down the rage and accepting your apologies.

Amber whines when your thumb grazes against her clit. Every bit of her feels like it's tingling and she's practically soaking your lap at this point. "I hate you but I can't live without you." Amber sounds like she's on the verge of tears. "It scares and excites me at the same time. I—I've never cared this much."

You keep pumping right back into her, never stopping, only growing more and more intense. Her body trembles but you're holding her. Amber's hands grasp at your forearm again, like she can't decide whether to push you away or pull you in. You don't know what to say. She was enjoying the fight earlier, instigated it even, but she's so vulnerable now.

"You're the only one I want," is what you end up settling on. Your thumb stops those teasing grazes now, rubbing against her clit proper. Her wetness makes it so easy. "And I am yours."

This is what makes Amber shudder and dissolve in your arms. The tension finally breaks and she starts squirming against you, fingers lodged so deep into her body it's like you're grazing at something deeper, body shaking violently. She's so close, so impossibly close, a moment of pure ecstasy that lasts seconds before falling apart in a burst of heat and pleasure.

"You're mine!" This she shouts so loud you'd be surprised if the entire neighbourhood didn't wake up.

You two fall silent for a moment, both taking slow, shuddering breaths. Amber can feel her brain is still short circuiting, trying to calm down; it's like her stomach has been replaced with a ball of fire.

"Still hate me?" you whisper, leaning in to kiss Amber.

"Just shut up, okay," she murmurs, kissing back happily now, her voice still raw from the edge of tears and the intense orgasm that had wracked her body. "Don't ever do that again."

[emxisms]

𝕾𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪.

(fem reader)

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Stu Macher, Thomas Hewitt, Tex Sawyer, Michael Myers.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence.

𝕭𝖔 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

Finds it incredibly attractive at the fact that you would risk your life just for him. He would 100% brag about it to everyone he knows. "My girl would actually kill for me."

Will help you take care of any wounds you may have gotten from the battle. He's got a lot of practice, and knows exactly what to do.

He would want to teach you all about how to defend yourself and him.

𝕾𝖙𝖚 𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗

He falls even more in love with you, knowing you'll do anything for him. He feels secure knowing that you support him and what he does.

So. Many. Kisses. The man cannot get enough of you. He thinks you look so beautiful, even when you're bloody. He thinks you look super hot covered in blood.

Begs you to help him and Billy with Ghostface. He totally understands if you don't want to, and how you only did what you did to keep him alive.

He will want every detail on how you felt when you did it. "Did you like it? How did you feel? Would you ever do it again?"

Wants to marry you. He thinks you're the perfect woman. Heaven sent.

𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖙

Why? You didn't have to do that. You could've been hurt. He doesn't want his favorite person in any risk. Don't do it again.

He would freak out. He would think it's awesome how devoted you are to him. It's so reassuring to him, he never understood why you stayed with him. He thinks he's a beast, an awful human. He never thought he deserved you or your love, but you doing this silenced all of his thoughts.

Would never take you out of his sight again. He wont allow himself to let you get hurt, accidentally or purposefully. He hates seeing you in pain.

If Hoyt makes any remarks about how "You're stupid for putting your life at risk for such a waste of life" he would be on his feet in seconds. He can't stand him, and he draws the line at you. He refuses to let Hoyt touch you. Ever.

𝕿𝖊𝖝 𝕾𝖆𝖜𝖞𝖊𝖗

In awe. He swears he can never fall in love more than he already is, but it just keeps happening. He finally found a woman that isn't afraid of his lifestyle.

"Well, darlin' you've got me swept off my feet. You're jus' perfect."

Pulls you in for a million hugs and kisses. XOXO to the max. He tries to convince you to help with the family's routines / hunts, and completely melts if you agree.

Would jokingly ask you to do the same to Alfredo.

𝕸𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝕸𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘

Not happy. He had it covered. Don't get yourself hurt because of him.

Throws you down and forces you to let him clean you up. Even though he's not happy that you risked your life, he still cares. He loves you, and will care for you.

He refuses to let you go out alone. He's scared you might get hurt again.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:☆

Requests are open! ☑️

(check pinned post).

[sassypantsjaxon]

Zoro offers to kill Judge

When Sanji returns from Whole Cake and his wedding and Luffy and Nami will only tell him the barest details because it's Sanji's business to tell and he isn't saying anything. Zoro says he can go and kill Judge right now and still be back in time to fight Kaido. His captain tells him No. Sanji wanted them alive. Zoro respects that, but he still offers again when Sanji finally tells him why he had to ask Zoro to kill him. Sanji manages to fake a laugh through his tears as he tells Zoro No, that's not necessary.

It's not the last time Zoro offers. When Sanji starts staring out into the distance, towards where he knows the North Blue must be, with this desolate look on his face. When he buys Zoro a good bottle of sake. When his hands start to tremble with contained strength. When he gets up before dawn to prepare breakfast for everyone. There's no rhyme or reason to when or why Zoro offers. As a reassurance, as a thanks, as a promise. Sanji knows he means it, every time, and he denies him every time. He'll never admit how much he appreciates the offer. How much he wants to accept, but he just can't. It becomes a part of their courtship, just as much as their daily sparing. They'll fight over anything and everything, they'll make up again over shared food and clean dishes and naps on the deck, and Zoro will kill Judge for Sanji. Keep his beloved hands clean of his creator's blood. He offers once, in between the proposal and Luffy declaring them husbands, says It can be a wedding present, and is only joking about it being a gift for their wedding. Sanji still laughs when he says No. Sometimes they'll go so long that Sanji starts to wonder if Zoro's changed his mind, that maybe he won't kill Judge for him after all. And then one morning, out of nowhere, Zoro will catch his hand as he he's in the middle of something else, and tell him I'll do it for you, just say the word. And Sanji will tell him Not today. Sometimes he wonders if the only reason he keeps denying Zoro this one thing, it's really because hearing the offer sounds like a reassurance of the other man's love for him. And then Sanji tells Zoro about their child. And Zoro has plenty of his own concerns. Children are so fragile, both their bodies and their spirits so easily broken. But it's different for Sanji. This constant battle between joy to have this little thing growing in him, and the terror that maybe the things he's managed to fight away will be passed on to this innocent party. Zoro offers again. He'd be back home long before the child arrives. Sanji cries and tells him It wouldn't change anything now. It's the first time his answer hasn't been a no. But it's not a yes either, so Zoro waits. Maybe the day Sanji agrees will never come, but Zoro will wait for the rest of his life if the reassurance is the one thing Sanji needs. And their baby comes and Sanji laughs at how terrified Zoro is to hold them for the first time, and they look just like Zoro, and Ussop jokes that Sanji's genes didn't even put up a fight and Sanji just looks so so relieved. Their child is no stronger or more durable than any other child in the world, they cry when they're upset and laugh when they're happy and Sanji couldn't be more relieved. And Zoro knows. He knows what the answer will be the next time he asks. He knows that no child will ever go through the torment that Sanji did. He knows that Judge will never hurt another person. But he doesn't ask. Because he needs Sanji to be absolutely sure of his decision, so he doesn't ask. And still one morning, as Sanji's waking up and Zoro's going to bed, and Sanji is holding their child his his arms, with all the wonder that something so precious could be theirs, and he looks up at Zoro with a lifetime's worth of love, and tells him Yes. And Zoro says Consider it done.

He goes alone. He knows the rest of the crew would join him, destroy all of Germa 66, send it to the depths of the ocean for the sake of their kindhearted cook. But this is only Zoro's promise to keep, so he goes alone. He finds Germa without any trouble. He's always trusted to seas to bring him exactly where he needs to go, and this time is no different. It's big and cold and ugly and contradictory to everything Sanji is. Just having heard about it, Zoro had wondered how his Cook could have come from a place like this. Seeing it for himself makes him wonder even more. It's easy enough to find the palace, even easier to find the throne room. Judge recognizes him immediately. Pirate Hunter. Greatest Swordsman. First Mate to the King of the Pirates. Husband to the failed prince of Germa. It's pathetic, the way Judge begs for his life, promises Zoro anything he could want. There's only one thing he's capable of granting, and Zoro doesn't hesitate to demand it. Reiju named as his successor. He knows it's what Sanji would want. The only way to guarantee Germa's sins won't be repeated, aside from destroying it outright. There are plenty of other things Zoro wants from Judge. But none he's truly able to give. He wants Sanji's peace of mind, for himself and for their child. He wants Sanji to never wake up and fear he's back in that cell again. He wants to take all of Sanji's pain and bear it himself, but this is the best he can do. It's almost not even worth the effort it takes to kill Judge, and he almost feels bad for putting this coward's blood on his swords, except they're begging for it almost as much as Zoro is. He passes Reiju herself as he's leaving the throne room. She takes in the scene with no emotion showing on her face. Zoro isn't sure if her lack of reaction is from the modification Sanji had told him about or if this would be her response anyway. Zoro stops just past her, but doesn't turn back to look at her. Tells her Sanji has a child. Named Sora. They're safe and loved and cared for by the family he's created for himself. He thinks he hears some emotion in her voice as she tells him Good. I'm glad. Zoro doesn't stay to hear anything more. He wants to find the room Sanji was held prisoner in, destroy it, bring this whole place to the ground. But he'd only promised Sanji this one thing. He returns to the Sunny as easily as he had left. He hadn't been gone long. Everything's exactly as he left it. Sanji and Sora are still waiting for him. Sanji falls into his arms, finally free of this weight he's been carrying his entire life, looks up at Zoro with a tear filled smile and tells him Thank you.

[luveline]

Hi don’t know if you’re taking requests (if not please ignore!) just wondering how Halloween would look like in the KBD universe or even a masquerade ball for prince Steve and reader?

thank you for requesting angel ♡ kbd mom!reader, 2k

"I think we should paint her orange," Avery says. 

Steve pushes the wand of his bubbles back into the container, coating it in solution. "What for, honey?" 

"For Halloween! We'll paint her orange and she can be a pumpkin." 

"Oh." 

Steve purses his lips, blowing bubbles over the green grass of the garden. It's alive despite it being late October, mildly crisp underfoot. He can hear leaves crunching under Bethie's boots where she runs around toward the back gate. 

Wren sees the bubbles and giggles wildly. Steve grins. "You like those, sweetheart?" 

"What if we make her green like a witch?" 

"Who, Ave?" 

"Wren." 

"Oh. Well, Wren can't use face paint yet, babe, she's too little," Steve explains, dipping the wand in solution again. "But they're very good ideas. Do you know what you want to be?" 

Avery throws her hands out. She's getting older than he ever imagined her, but she's still so small at the end of the day with delicate little hands and facial expressions cute enough to make a grown man cry. Steve would know, he's cried a ton of times just looking at her. 

"I already told you." 

Steve pretends to remember to spare her feelings as he blows more bubbles. He knows you'll know, and so it's a white lie. Better for everyone. "I remember! You're gonna be awesome." 

She smiles for the first time in ten whole minutes and sits down next to Steve. He offers her the bubbles and the wand, freeing his hands to give her a loving squeeze from either side. "Very good ideas," he repeats, patting her arm.

Bethie comes running with two cupped hands. Steve can picture her find before she shows him, and still he's horrified to see a slug in her palm. It's not big but neither is she, lavishing across the breadth of her hand. 

Ew, Steve thinks. "Wow, Beth! What did you find?" 

"There's snails, too!" she says excitedly, her eyes bright as her attention flickers between the slug and her dad. "They're sleeping, I think. They're stuck to the slide." 

"Beth, listen to me really quickly?" 

"Yeah, dad," she says, nodding. 

"I like that you're being gentle with the slugs, you're being nice, but as soon as you put him down, don't touch your face, okay? In fact, when you put him down, we're gonna go inside and wash our hands." 

Beth looks down at her slug in alarm. "What?" 

"He's not dangerous!" Steve reassures her. "But he might have germs. Germs don't hurt our skin, but they can't go in your mouth, okay? Good girl." 

"He can't hurt my skin?" 

"No, bub. Some bugs can, but not the plain black slugs. How about next time you want to pick one up, you come and get me and we'll pick it up together?" 

Steve doesn't want to kill her fearlessness in this sole area, not when she's usually timid around everything else, but he also doesn't want to kill her full stop. All these random bugs, Steve doesn't know what's what. 

"Okay. I picked this one up because he's got a yellow stripe," she says. Beth speaks in full words and makes sense the majority of the time, but her delivery is clumsy, heavy in places. Steve can still remember her first word. He's a firm believer in taking your time (please. please, let her take her time). 

"You're super brave," he praises.

"Mom says bugs are more 'fraid of us than we are of them." 

"She's right. Think if something this much bigger than you picked you up one day, you'd want them to put you down gently, right?" 

Determination fills her eyes. "Yes." 

She starts to run off but then slows, holding her hand aloft in front of her. 

Closer by, Avery blows bubbles near Wren's soft chair, the youngest baby giggling like a tinkling bell. You and Steve have emphasised to Avery that Wren isn't her responsibility. Look after her as you would your other sisters, but don't feel like being the biggest sister makes you in charge. Avery sort of listened, but now she's planning Halloween costumes in her head, Steve's worried she's putting too much on her little shoulders, as she tends to do. 

"Come here, my big girl," he demands, opening his arms. 

Avery grins and jumps into his lap. Steve groans playfully, happy to be trampled, and just glad she had the foresight to screw the cap on her bubbles before she pounced. 

"Hello. So, do I need to go to the store for this costume?" he asks. 

"Probably."

"Okay. Are you coming with me to choose?" 

"Mom said we're all going after lunch." 

Steve waves her arms back and forth. "I guess we better get ready, then." 

Easier said than done. Steve marches the girls back inside to find you've already dressed Dove and sat her in her chair with her lunch in front of her. Feeding young kids is tough because you're always trying to rotate things to keep their tastes big, but you've given in today to an easy solution; everybody's having pizza subs and halved grapes. So long as they're fed, who minds? 

"Give me the babies!" you say, jumping up from your seat to grab Wren, chair and all, "Hi. Something tells me it's time for a bottle." 

"I'll get them dressed–" 

"Go get yourself dressed. They can eat first." You kiss his cheek. "I put some stuff out for you already." 

"I can do it," he insists. 

"Take a break," you insist back, your tone gentle as velveteen.

His turn to kiss your cheek. "Do you know what Avery wants to be for her costume?" he asks in your ear. 

"She wants to be Belle, she told us weeks ago." He remembers as soon as you say it. "But I don't think finding a costume for her is going to be very easy this close to Halloween." 

Steve doesn't blame either of you for your busy October, but he hates himself watching Avery grow more and more disappointed with every store you drive to. There are no yellow princess dresses to be found, only store brand pinks. Bethie is ecstatic to choose one of those ones and Dove insists on a white fairy costume with sugar paper wings, but Avery's frown grows heartbreaking when it's clear there aren't any Belle dresses to buy. 

"I'm sorry," you're saying, Wren strapped to your chest, Beth and Dove knee to knee in the shopping cart in front of you. "It's my fault, baby, I left it last minute." 

"No, it's my fault," Steve says. 

Avery glares for a while, standing in front of all the dresses. Steve bends down to speak with her. "I'm sorry, Ave. Don't be mad at mom, okay? It's not her fault even when she says it is, she was busy working and I forgot about costumes because I had all that stuff with Wren and the doctors and my glasses and–" He winces. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. So be mad at me if you want, I was supposed to remember, but I'll make it up to you, promise."

"I told you ages ago," she says morosely. 

"I know. You did. I didn't think about them running out of costumes, Avery. Sometimes when you're a grown up you have so much stuff to think of you don't have room for all of it, but that's not fair, huh? Now you don't get the costume you wanted." 

She sighs, but the thing about Avery is that if you understand her point, she runs out of anger, just like her mom. She wants to make up, burying her face in Steve's thigh for a hug. 

"What am I going to be now?" she asks. 

"How about Belle's blue dress, babe?" you suggest. 

"They don't have any Belle costumes!" 

"I know, but we can make one. That's what me and dad did growing up, right?" you ask. 

"All my costumes were homemade," he seconds, "that was the fun part." 

So Avery marches you guys to the normal dresses and together you look for something nice and long enough for her tall stature. It's in the middle of this searching when she gasps, jumping up to grab Steve by the elbows. 

Delighted at being forgiven, he bends down at her whim. "What?" he asks excitedly. 

"Wren can be a bumblebee, like me!" 

"You remember that?" he asks. 

"No, but you have the photo in the car. Do you still have the costume?" 

It's Steve. Of course he kept the costume, he keeps everything, an attic stuffed to bursting with the offcuts of your lives. You giggle from the landing underneath him, the baby in one arm and a spooky drink made special by Dove in the other hand. "I wish you could drink more than milk." 

"Don't poison her!" Steve says, covered in cobwebs and knees white with dust as he climbs down the rickety ladder back onto solid ground. You wolf whistle as he reaches up to close everything safely, and cheer when you see the bee costume in his hand.

"You're the best. Think we should let Avery put it on her?" you ask. 

"Maybe. Think she can be gentle enough?"

Your little girl, so preoccupied with her sister's costume that she forgot about her own? Yes, Avery can be gentle enough. She sews Wren's small arms into the costume's sleeves like she's handling a girl made of glass, and she doesn't attempt to lift her, quick to say, "Dad, can you pick her up for me?" 

Steve lifts her and Wren does her scrunch, legs pulled up high and face a little startled. She's just old enough to giggle, prompting Bethie to join in as she races across the living room rug, the skirts of her dress fluttering against the floor. 

"She looks like a bee!" Dove says, following after, her fairy wings jittering with her movements. 

"She is!" Avery says, buttoning Wren's last button. 

Finally, after an exhausting afternoon (both of energy and your wallets), the four girls are dressed in their Halloween costumes. Avery as Belle in her original blue dress and white apron, not the costume she wanted but clearly her favourite character nonetheless. Bethie wears her pink princess dress and one of Avery's big plastic tiaras, her hair done as you would style your own for date night. Dove twirls in her white fairy dress, silver corset ribbons shiny in the light. Wren gurgles in his arms, her soft wings folded between her and Steve's chest. And you, uncostumed, stand beautiful and tired in the doorway, sparkly eyeshadow in a stripe up your cheek. 

The girls smile at him and their eyes glimmer. 

"Wow," he says, leaning back against the couch. "You guys look amazing." 

"It's about an hour until we're gonna leave," you say, "so please do mommy a favour and watch some TV, okay?" 

You set them up in a line with a bowl of chips each —you can vacuum them clean. Steve cleans as quickly as he can while you wipe your face and put aside some stuff for tonight in case the girls come home hungry, and eventually, eventually, you and Steve make your way to the kitchen table for a quiet minute together. 

"Wren's–" 

"In her bassinet," Steve says. "You're–" 

"Fine." You reach for his hand. "And you're–" 

"Perfect." He rubs the back of your fingers with his thumb. "I've missed you today. I know we were together, but���" 

You slouch into the table, resting your cheek on a placemat and closing your eyes. "Me too, sweetheart." 

He shuffles closer and leans in. "Tired, huh?" he asks gently, pressing similarly soft kisses to your cheek. "Love you," he says. "Don't fall asleep." 

"I'm not. Just resting my eyes." 

He doesn't rub your back, worried it'll send you to sleep. Instead, he kisses all over your face, sloe at first and faster when he realises it'll take a while to cover every inch. You smile and let him do as he pleases, laughing under your breath as he kisses your eyelid, squirming when he pecks under your nose. "Freak," you mumble. 

"That's what I'm being for Halloween."

"What am I gonna be?" you ask.

"Same as every year, I thought. Most beautiful girl this side of the Mississippi river." 

You like the sound of it, pulling your joined hands to your face to nuzzle his knuckles. 

"Or you can be Frankentstein," he suggests. "I'll be the monster." 

"We can just be the two tiredest parents ever." 

"That's not super creative, babe, we kinda do that every day." 

"So I'm not beautiful every day," you say quickly, having set him up. "Knew it." 

"You tricked me." 

"Did not. Make it up to me?" 

"What do you want?" he asks. 

"Just a hug, Stevie." You raise your head to smile at him sleepily. "A really nice hug, please." 

He saves the line about every hug being nice when it's with you and cuddles you, stroking your back for countless minutes, murmuring nothings to you until baby Wren shriek-cries from the living room. Steve soothes her upset, and you start the impossible task of getting everyone in their shoes for a night of trick-or-treating.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Deku refusing to pass out because Tomura needs to be healed and he's afraid no one will heal him but kill him while he's knocked out.

Deku still using blackwhip to keep his body in one piece as he guards Tomura's body, shaking from the strain, still refusing to leave his side.

Deku who cannot explain all he saw in their shared memories yet because he's still processing all the grief and hatred and trauma, he's still struggling to understand the man before him. He is the same man who ruined his life and got people he loved killed, the same that had made him suffer again and again. He is the kid he needed to save, the kid no one else cared about. He's all of those things and more and Deku is way too tired right now to do anything except promise they'll have another chance. A tomorrow.

Ochako who hugs Toga to her own body, covered in both their blood. Ochako screaming to get her a transfusion because Toga used almost all her own blood to keep Ochako alive. Ochako who won't let Toga out of her sight after all they went through, because she doesn't want Toga to wake up alone and confused.

Ochako who can't tell anyone how it felt to float in the sky with Toga while they exchanged a part of themselves, how it feels to have Toga's blood on her veins keeping her alive, how it feels to wake up to her own face lying next to her knowing now how much Toga admires her.

Ochako who cleans Toga's face as much as she can and thinks of braiding Toga's hair after taking a nap (she says). Toga is really pretty, even more when she smiles genuinely and she's not trying to murder everyone around her.

Shouto who panics as soon as he wakes up, afraid of it all being a dream. He's dazed from sleep and he doesn't call Dabi either of his names when he asks for him. No, he says " where is my brother? " and Natsuo next to him knows who he's asking form immediately. Their brother is back home.

Shouto who becomes insufferable until they take him to see Dabi, who sits next to him and looks at him, really looks at him for the first time maybe in his whole life. Finally, all his family in one room. No one being isolated, no one being rejected, no one crying tears of anger or fear or frustration. Even when they are all tired and hurt, Shouto has never felt happier. He really really wanted to bring Touya home. He wanted to give him a chance to heal.

Shouto who can't wait to ask Touya if he likes cold soba. Shouto who sits there and catalogues the damage and wonders how he survived so many years alone in the streets. Shouto who memorizes the scars and burns, who counts the staples, who looks at his own hair and then Dabi's. How can he explain the mental image he got of hugging the child version of his big brother while they were fighting? How can he even begin to explain why he believes so much in the criminal who hurt his friends and killed thousands and wanted to end their family? Who to explain his family, at all?

Class 1A taking turns watching over the villains to offer some reassurance to their friends. Most of them are unable to understand what's going on in their heads, some are wisely unwilling to ignore all the damage those villains caused them. In the end though, they trust Deku, Ochako and Shouto and if they want the villain trio alive and well, they will guard them up with their lives so that the heroes can rest.

Bakugo who should be dead by all means, but who wakes up and forces his way up to Deku and Tomura and sits there, telling Deku to accept the medical treatment. He killed AFO, he's not going to allow Tomura to escape or get hurt. Deku can rest, he can trust him. They'll be there when he wakes up. Even after all Tomura did to Bakugo, he owns Deku and he trusts Deku and he'd do that for him a million times if necessary.

Iida who sits next to Dabi to monitor him, because Shouto must stay in bed and stop making the trip up to his brother's hospital room. Iida who lived it with Tensei once, so he goes and tells all the news (or the lack of them) to Shouto. Iida who tells his friends that everything will be alright, that they'll figure it out, Iida who reassures Shouto and tries to distract him by talking where and when and how he'll take Touya to eat cold soba.

Tsuyu who might not be a big fan of Toga, but her friend is barely conscious and for whatever reason she refuses to let Toga's side. Tsuyu who promises to take good care of Toga, who carries her on her back for a while, who remembers all the terrible things and can't understand the fondness in her friend's face when she looks at the villain, but she respects it anyway. No matter what, Ochako can be sure they'll take care of it. She doesn't have to fear anymore. She can go to sleep.

The villains who wake up warm and safe for the first time in many many years. When was the last time they woke up with someone watching over them? They were convinced they'd be murdered in their sleep and yet... They're getting treatment. Clean clothing. They're bathed. When was the last time someone cared to give them medicine to lessen their pain? Although their first instinct is to run, when the person watching over them realizes they're awake, it's immediately pandemonium. They are screaming for Deku, Ochako and Shouto and there are people running and so many voices.

Deku, Ochako and the Todorokis who rush to their side. Never again will they have to face the world all alone. Deku reminds Tomura that he has been saved, he waited for 15 years, but it's finally over. Ochako tells Toga how pretty she is and yes, they are friends and there are still consequences, but she will be there, they'll be there for them. Touya wakes up to his family and isn't that funny? The last time he woke up in a hospital, he thought he was dead. He had to run away soon after burning it to the ground, but now there they are, gathered around him, crying, relieved, a bit scared and a lot concerned. They are looking at him, really looking at him. It breaks him. He had given up on that particular dream the day he burned.

[ollieink]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

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## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

( 10.21.23 ) ( © ollieink | my box is always open ! )

[kiirvby]

𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

“being with you makes me see sparks.”

dabi x reader

note : been a whole month since i wrote anything other than poems. i hope u guys like this

Dabi had never actually been in a relationship before, let alone had a good relationship with anyone. He never considered himself worthy of love for many reasons, one being his self-hatred and the other being everyone hated him and thought he was a monster. Even you, however, found something in him that you adored, loving him for who he was and not what he looked like.

He's very shocked that you would want to date him and actually care about him, but he falls in love with you so much more and he opens up as much as he can.

Dabi was surprisingly softer around you, smiling and actually being somewhat affectionate, he still used his usual sarcastic tone, but it held a hint of affection if anything.

He'd sometimes sit down next to you, holding your hand, and would just.. look at you. He loved you so much, but he'd never really say it. He wasn't very expressive, and just enjoyed being in your presence. You could practically feel the love in the air, even though he wasn't saying anything.

Dabi would also let you heal his burns with your quirk as much as he could. He didn't usually let anyone touch him, so it was a big deal. He'd let you sit close to him as you worked your healing magic, quietly studying you.

He didn't know why you even loved him and found him attractive, but you were with him no matter what, even after seeing all of his burn scars. He was so grateful for you, but he was not good with words, so he'd just hug you tight instead.

During some boring moments at headquarters, he'd find excuses to touch you. Whether it be a pat on the head, a nudge to your shoulder, or even just sitting so close your legs touched. He wasn't used to being this close to someone, not to mention he had a little problem with being slightly touch starved, so he took every chance he could to touch or be close to you. It wasn't weird, it was more like he just craved more affection.

Dabi, who never opened up to anyone like this before, but with you, it felt different. He actually felt safe telling you about his past. He told you about his horrible childhood, his abusive father, how he became Dabi, and everything else he had been through. It was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders when he told you; he felt comfortable with you knowing everything about him, including his darkest secrets and pain.

Dabi, who is usually very independent and private about his appearance, actually lets you help dye his hair, give him piercings, and help staple his skin. At first, he was a little hesitant, unsure if he should let you see his scars and help him with something so personal, but he trusts you wholeheartedly, which allows him to let you do these things for him. He even finds a strange comfort in the way you carefully thread the jewelry through his skin, and he secretly enjoys the way you tenderly apply the hair dye and staple his skin. It's a form of intimacy that he never really thought he would allow anyone

~~~

Dabi, right before the Final War, desperately pleaded with you, begging you to live, survive and make it out. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and all of his fears and worries for your safety came rushing out. He grabbed your hands, looking at you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and worry.

"Please— I'm begging you— please survive. You have to survive, I can't lose you. I need you to stay alive. Promise me, please..”

You, who always had a positive outlook, smiled softly at Dabi and squeezed his hands. You reassured him, your voice warm and confident.

"I promise, Dabi. I will survive. I will fight, and I will make it out alive. I won't let anything happen to me."

You looked into his eyes, and despite his usual cold demeanor, you could see the fear and worry etched on his face.

──── ୨୧ ────

As the battlefield turned chaotic, Dabi and you were forced to part ways, having to face their own battles.

Dabi found himself facing off against Endeavor, his father, a man he loathed with every fiber of his being. Memories of his abusive childhood and the pain and trauma he had endured came rushing back, fueling his anger and determination.

Meanwhile, you were matched against other Pro Heroes, fighting to protect yourself and help the cause.

As Dabi fought against Endeavor, the emotions he had held back for years finally erupted. He unleashed the full force of his quirk, the blue flames burning hotter than ever, channeling all of his anger and resentment towards his father.

Each blow he landed on Endeavor was filled with the weight of his suppressed bitterness and pain. The memories of his troubled upbringing fueled his strength, pushing him to hold nothing back in this battle.

You, who found yourself faced with a life-or-death situation, completely outnumbered and outmatched by the Pro Heroes as you quickly start to weaken if you kept on going like this. You were about to unleash your full power and potentially take the lives of the heroes surrounding you, when you noticed something that made you pause.

The fires of Dabi, just a few yards away, were burning brighter and hotter, indicating that he was using more of his power than ever before. You knew that he could seriously harm himself if he continued at this rate.

Despite the odds stacked against you, you made a split-second decision. Instead of continuing to fight and potentially murder the heroes who outnumbered you, you chose to use your quirk from a distance.

Ignoring the danger facing you, you focused your energy on using your healing quirk to help Dabi from afar. You knew that if he continued using his flames in such a reckless manner, he could seriously injure himself.

You were completely focused on using your healing quirk on Dabi from afar, your body tense as you pushed your power to its limits.

You could feel the strain on your body as you desperately tried to help him from a distance, knowing that you would get seriously hurt in the process, but not caring about your own health.

During the intense battle between Dabi and Endeavor, Dabi seemed almost invincible. His flames were stronger and hotter than ever before, and he moved with a deadly grace, effortlessly dodging and retaliating against his father's attacks.

Endeavor's face twisted in frustration and anger, realizing that his son, the son he had failed in every way, was now far beyond the level he could handle.

Dabi's face was a mask of intense concentration, his turquoise eyes fixed on Endeavor with a cold, deadly determination.

He knew that this was his chance for revenge, his chance to show his father that he was not just a broken and discarded child. He was a force to be reckoned with, a fire that could not be extinguished.

As the fight continued, Dabi's flames grew hotter and more intense, the fire surrounding him like a protective shield. Each blow he landed on Endeavor was charged with the pain and anger of his past, and he held nothing back, unleashing every ounce of his power.

Endeavor struggled to keep up with Dabi's speed and strength, the realization slowly dawning on him that his son had surpassed him in every way, including the use of his quirk.

Dabi, despite being extremely strong and formidable in battle, was ultimately extinguished by his entire family, who attacked him with their powerful ice quirks. Despite his resistance and attempts to fight back, the combined force of their ice attacks was simply too much for him to handle.

Dabi found himself overwhelmed, unable to withstand the onslaught of coldness from his own family members. The fight was taken right out of him, leaving him lying on the ground, defeated and exhausted.

──── ୨୧ ────

After the war, Touya was left in a fragile and weakened state, kept under surveillance in a secure facility. His family visited him, but he remained silent, unresponsive to their presence or words.

However, as they continued to talk among themselves, Touya suddenly spoke up, breaking his silence. His voice was weak but determined as he looked up at his family, asking one thing.

"Where is she? Where is (Y/N)?"

His family looked taken aback by his sudden question, surprised that he would ask about you after being quiet the entire time.

His siblings looked uneasy, unsure of how to respond, while his father, Endeavor, looked at him with a mixture of guilt and sadness. They didn't know how to tell him what had happened to you during the war, knowing it would likely break him even further.

Touya’s eyes scanned the room, his expression hardening when he saw the uncertainty on his family's faces. He could sense something was wrong, and he knew that they weren't telling him everything. He repeated his question, his voice holding a hint of desperation and worry.

"Where is she? Tell me the truth. Is she hurt? Is she... alive?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

His family finally told him the truth—the harsh, painful truth that he feared the most.

They informed him that you had died, that you had used the last of your energy to heal him from afar. They explained that you had sacrificed yourself to save him, that you had chosen to die knowing he would live.

Touya’s world shattered again. The realization that you were gone forever hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his chest.

Touya, who had never regretted anything before, found himself drowning in a flood of regret.

He was filled with remorse and guilt that he had never told you that he loved you every waking moment you breathed. He hated himself for not expressing his feelings, for not telling you how much you meant to him. He had taken you for granted, assuming he had more time to tell you how he truly felt.

But now, it was too late. You were gone, and he was left with the unbearable weight of his regrets and the knowledge that he had lost the person he loved the most.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter sixteen | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | canon typical violence, coriolanus snow, dean highbottom | lmk if i forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x female! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus wins and he loses

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 okay guys so we're ready for Eminem! Coryo right? Remember to give your love and feedback, thank you <33

Beta read by the infamous @nowitsmissing

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Snow reaches the auditorium in time to see several tribute deaths. He knew immediately that it was because of the rat poison and not because of some sickness these tributes already had. Lucy Gray was on the run from Coral. He holds his breath.

Coriolanus hadn't even sat down on his mentor chair. He leaned against the door of the auditorium instead. He didn't want to miss a moment of this.

“Coryo,” you take away his attention.

“Dove,” he said, startled, his head turning to you. You were in a black dress (surely breaking the rules); while Tigris was wearing a pink outfit.

“Tigris,” he greeted his cousin.

Tigris smiled sweetly at Coryo. “We came to support you.”

Coriolanus nods in return, his attention returning to you. He should look at the screen but he couldn't keep his eyes off you. He thinks that you would always steal his attention like this. Take his mind off of important things. You're dangerous. You're a drug.

“Coryo,” you said his name again. It sounded like fate. He gives you a soft smile. He said your name. It sounded like a boy praying to his goddess.

Your eyes turn to the screen. He doesn't.

“She will be okay,” you reassure him.

He hums in response.

“You should go sit down with Tigris,” he said. He wants to kiss you. But he's not sure he's allowed to. Thankfully you lean in and press your lips against his. He sighs, his mind calming down.

You press another kiss to his lips before going to sit with Tigris. Lucy Gray was still alive. Coriolanus turns his attention to the screen again. He could see Lucy Gray running around, trying her best to escape Coral's wrath. Then the snakes come in. The cage shattered. A girl dies. Coriolanus remembers that Lucy Gray had called her nice.

The boy who had used the flag to cover the dead bodies of the tributes dies. His name was Reaper. Clemensia’s tribute. Coriolanus wants to look away. He doesn't. Coral dies. Everyone watching The Hunger Games hears her last words.

“It’s not fair… I couldn't have killed them all for nothing.”

Coriolanus looks away. Coral is dead. He bites the inside of his cheek. They all killed each other for nothing. The games were nothing but a show of power. A way to undermine the district. There were thousands of other alternatives but his home chose the cruelest way of all.

Survival of the fittest. Simple as that.

As he tells himself that, he looks back to the screen. Lucy Gray was being engulfed by the snakes. The snakes weren't biting her. Familiar scent. He walks inside the auditorium. He sits on his seat.

Lucy Gray began to sign,

“You're headed for heaven

The sweet old hereafter

And I've got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I've loose ends to tie up

Right here in the old therebefore

I'll be along

When I've finished my song”

More snakes come around her. She would suffocate to death even if they didn't poison her. Coriolanus panics, he yells out, “Dr. Gaul, she won!”

“It’s over! Let her out!” He adds louder, letting his peers hear. Everyone died except one. A single winner. The winner is the Capitol even if Lucy Gray will be crowned as the victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games

“Why aren't they attacking her?” A fellow mentor's questions.

“It must be her singing,” he said immediately, he had thought of the excuse beforehand. Lucy Gray once mentioned in the zoo how she charmed a snake by singing. Therefore it didn't sound ridiculous. “It's calming them.”

“Well, she can't sing forever.”

He's proud he didn't punch the guy.

Lucy Gray continues singing. She wins the heart of the Capitol all over again with her voice and her lyrics. Every student in the auditorium begins to chant,

“Let her out!”

He suspected that the citizens of the Capitol were doing the same as well. There would be great consequences if the game doesn't have a victor. Dr. Gaul knows it too. An announcement is heard throughout,

“Lucy Gray is the victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games."

Coriolanus Snow won.

He's numb. He's overjoyed. Everyone screams out his name. Many congratulations are received. Dr. Gaul wasn't in sight. He felt Tigris hugging him. All he could think was of you. He had the plinth prize. He has the damn prize!

Snow lands on top.

He finds you standing in the corner. Coriolanus breaks into a disbelieving laugh. He picks you up and twirls you around. Coryo doesn't know how he has the strength but it didn't matter. He was very happy. Nothing can stop him now. His life was set.

He puts you down and kisses you. It wasn't appropriate for the public. He didn't care. He kisses you until his breath is knocked out. He gasps as he breaks the kiss. Coryo could still hear the cheers.

“I love you, Coriolanus Snow.”

“You're my soulmate,” he whispered.

He doesn't see your reaction to his confession. He feels horrified about how he blurted it out. He wasn't thinking. Not even a bit. And now, a few minutes after he won, he was being escorted by the Peacekeepers somewhere.

Probably to receive the prize.

He runs his finger over his scar over and over again. Not even realizing that the scar was oddly shaped like numbers. His feet tapped the floor. It was the only sound in the car. He gains a disapproving look from a peacekeeper. He doesn't care.

He can feel his heart in his throat. He doesn't know how to explain this to you. He prepared himself to lie that he noticed the date on your wrist recently and realized that you were always meant to be his.

Despite knowing who your soulmates are, it was rare in the Capitol for people to end up together. That's because the rich marry for power, not love. Even the poor marry for similar reasons, love doesn't feed anyone. It doesn't provide a roof.

This was an exception.

He's gonna have enough money to have a roof.

He has enough love to be with you.

Everything is going to be fine.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Not.

Everything wasn't going to be fine. That's because after waiting for hours and hours in an empty hallway. Two peacekeepers guarding him. He knew that something went wrong. Perhaps Dean Highbottom was trying his best to convince everyone not to give him the prize. He's not going to win though, Coriolanus fought tooth and nail for it.

He deserved it.

It's not long before he is called into the room. There's no one in sight except Dean Highbottom waiting for him near a round table that is placed in the center of the room. He walks towards the center, stopping a few steps before the table. His heart stopped. His palms were getting clammy and he could feel himself getting a bit dizzy.

Fuck.

The table has his mom's compact and his father's handkerchief, the same handkerchief he had wiped Lucy Gray's tears with. His father's initials were stitched onto the fabric. He could smell the rose scent in the room even though the compact no longer carried the rose-perfumed powder.

“Mr. Coriolanus Snow,” Dean Highbottom began by placing a document on the table, in front of him to view. The handwriting is familiar.

It's yours.

“We have proof that you have cheated.”

“Your father's handkerchief and your mother's compact. How many times I have seen her use it, reminds me of roses.”

He doesn't hear what the Dean is saying. He skims over the words on the paper. It was a confession. A confession by you. You had confessed that you and Coriolanus were in this together. You were willing to take the blame.

“She won't be punished,” Highbottom said, “The girl was foolish for soughting your company. Her father has taken care of everything.”

“But you, Coriolanus Snow, will be a peacekeeper for the next twenty years of your life.”

Coriolanus wanted to protest but in his mind, he felt slightly glad that you were safe. And what would he say in his defense? The evidence was clear. There was nothing to do but accept his fate.

However, he wanted to know why you had confessed. He begins to play in his mind that he could pass all this off as circumstantial evidence. But your blatant confession had ruined everything. He knew you wouldn't break under pressure so what was the reason?

Coriolanus begins to feel bitter, the relief of your safety fading away. You should have been punished too. He wasn't the only one into this. If he goes to hell, you should too. You're his after all. This wasn't fair.

This wasn't fucking fair.

What Dean Highbottom says next sends chills down his spine,

“You hear that, boy? That's the sound of snow falling.”

NEXT PART

[adventuringblind]

Deserving

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: while she falls into the pit of her mind, Charles is there to pull her out.

Warnings: mentioned self-harm, anxiety, toxic media, mentions of addiction

Notes: A Nonny request, I hope you like it!! This one is definitely an insight into how my brain works.

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Everyone says rookie years are the hardest. Which, she won't say everyone is wrong, just that she also had consistently bad years. They blend into each other now. A never-ending cycle of the same lame excuses as to why she's so downcast.

She's a rookie driver and having a pretty decent season. Logan and Oscar are two of her closest friends. She's dating Charles Leclerc of all people.

So why is that piece of her brain still nagging at her? Years of therapy and help hasn't done the trick. The stinging still pushes through to the front of her mind.

The habit started so young. It was a distraction from the pain of whatever she'd been going through at the time. A means to satisfy her the voices in her head. Now it's to remind her she's still alive. That the media hasn't shattered her already frail will to live quite yet.

Everything in her wants to just... stop. Everyday she's reminded that her place is somewhere else. Not in the car, not with Charles, not even on the planet.

It doesn't matter that she's having a good year, that the car is good, or that she has people who love her. The voices always come back in those dark hours when she's alone.

She staggered herself in the beginning. Enough that her physio wasn't catching on. She lived in Charles' hoodies, and he thought nothing of it. Just another source of comfort.

He'd seen the faded scars, asked her about it every occasionally. He never pushes her to talk about it.

She doesn't deserve Charles, or anyone for that matter. Mentors, family, friends, they are all to wonderful for her to drag them down into her misery. The constant pity party she throws herself has no guests, only her and her demons.

Redbull isn't the best environment for someone as fragile as her. Despite the boosts of confidence Christian gives her daily and the constant reassurance from Max, she doesn't feel like she deserves it. The media is eating her alive. The next teammate to be crucified to Redbull and Mad Max.

It's starting to become noticeable again. The lack of sleep and covering clothes. Charles is skeptical and keeps reassuring her she can talk to him.

If she does that, he'll leave. Her mind can't take being alone yet.

Max is the first to catch sight of the new lines adorning her wrist. He asks if she's alright, but again, nobody pushes for more. Maybe if they did, she would break. Her fragile walls would come tumbling down.

Oscar is the next to push. A good friend of hers and they've both had good seasons. He and Logan show up one night with comfort food and cards. It manages to make her smile like when they were younger.

But they have to leave eventually. The voices swallow her whole the second she's alone again.

Charles finally pushes for answers. He finds her alone, body slumped along the hotel bathroom wall. She's exhausted, but manages to give a crooked, tired smile.

He crouches down in front of her and looks at the fresh line on her thighs. Bandages are something she has readily available, and Charles knows exactly where to find them.

He works quietly, just humming softly as he patches her up. It's a classical song that he listens enough that she knows the tune but not the name.

Charles dresses her into comfy clothes and tucks her into bed. A hand plays with her hair and strokes her cheek.

She doesn't deserve him.

"Tell me what's eating away at you, chéri. Please, I hate that you won't talk to me."

She scoots her body closer to Charles so she doesn't have to see his face. "Just hard - I guess."

"It's okay to have hard days. It's okay that you feel the way you do. But this thing, hurting yourself, is not the way to make it better."

"I know that, Charlie!" Her voice cracks at saying his name. "I just can't help it."

Those fragile walls she has come tumbling down. The pit of despair finally swallows her, and she can't stop the tears.

It hurts. Her head, her heart, her bones, it all hurts. She falls and shatters, but Charles is here to put the pieces back together.

"I don't deserve you. You're everything people love, and I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Who put that idea in your head?"

"The voices," She sniffles. Her words muffled when Charles pulls her into his chest.

"Well, the voices are incorrect. I, of all people, know what it's like for the media to pick you a part. Whether it's appearances, my driving, my relationships, they will always find something." Charles pulls her back just a bit, enough for him to make eye contact. She hates how his eyes are as glassy as hers. "You don't have to suffer all alone, in silence. You have people around you that understand and want to help. None of us are asking for perfection. We - I - don't want to see you hurting so much."

"What if it's too much?"

"Then we figure it out together."

She falls asleep in Charles' arms. Tears soak into everything, but he doesn't tell her to move. He comforts, because Charles loves her.

She has people who want to be there for her. Yes, slips happen, healing is never straightforward, but she can try. She can lean on Charles, let him love her; let him be the steady rock she needs in her life.

"Progress chéri, not perfection."

"You sound like all team principles."

"And? It's a good saying!"

Charles pulls a laugh out of her. A genuine laugh at something that isn't even funny. She blames her love for him.

"Maybe I do deserve you."

"If this is an insult, I'm taking all the covers tonight."

[tenderleavesbob]

Set after this fic.

Warriors lived. Despite the violence, despite the blood, despite Warriors's terrifying stillness, Warriors lived.

Legend sat by the campfire, pretending not to watch as Wind fluffed Warriors's pillow for the hundredth time. Warriors was shirtless, which was an odder sight than Legend had expected. He only realized this evening how rarely Warriors wasn't covered from head to foot. Warriors wasn't even wearing his scarf: it was wrapped around Wind's neck, and anyone who tried to touch it earned a snarl worthy of Wolfie.

Wolfie himself was curled up beside Warriors, helping support his bandaged arm. The broken bones required both Hyrule's magic and a potion to fix them, and the arm still looked fragile to Legend. Time was on Warriors's other side, staring at the white bandages covering Warriors's torso as if he expected blood to stain them again at any moment. Legend couldn't blame him. He kept waiting for the same. For blood to bloom like a sickly flower and for the light to fade from Warriors's eyes.

Hyrule had reassured him for almost twenty minutes straight that Warriors would be fine. He just needed rest and to take it easy for several days. Hyrule wasn't awake now to assure him. All of the green potions in the world couldn't keep Hyrule awake after both the battle and the effort he put into keeping Warriors alive.

Sky sat on the log beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush. "He'll be fine," he said softly. Taking over for Hyrule, Legend guessed. "No one would be so quiet if he wasn't."

Legend grunted and didn't answer. It was embarrassing that not only Hyrule but Sky felt he needed the comfort in the first place. He looked away to where Wild was making dinner. A light soup, so as not to distress Warriors's battered stomach. Beyond Wild, Four sat with the remnants of Warriors's bloody shield in front of him, a look of rare, quiet devastation on his face. For once, something besides Wild's weaponry was too broken for him to fix. Legend had to look away.

"Thank you for holding Wind back," Sky continued, voice still soft. Too soft in Legend's opinion. "It must have been rough. I'm sorry we couldn't help more."

"You helped enough," Legend said shortly. Unwillingly, his gaze returned to Warriors. Warriors was still pale but grinning at Wind. He said something, too low for Legend to hear, but it made Wind laugh and Wolfie's tail wag. It didn't change Time's expression at all. "Someone had to protect our backs."

Like Warriors protected Hyrule's because Legend was too slow. He was always too slow. Too slow to fight, too slow to protect, too slow to realize the effects of his actions and choices. How many people died because Legend was too slow?

"Legend!" Warriors croaked. Time and Wind both tried to shush him. Warriors waved them off with his unbroken arm. "Come here! Everyone is being too nice to me. I can't stand it. Help a guy out!"

Legend scoffed and stood up. He heard Wild grumble something to himself about the need for protein. "I thought you would love it! Only you would complain about being spoiled!"

Warriors grinned at him and extended his hand toward Legend. There was still mud under his fingernails. "I need a little spice to go with my sugar. Do you still have some of those cinnamon candies Ravio sent you?"

Several voices yelped in protest. Legend rolled his eyes and walked over to Warriors. "Like I would share them with a lazy guy like you."

Warriors beamed at him. He was pale but his eyes were bright and his bandages remained a clean white. He was fine. He was going to be fine.

Legend settled beside Time and Warriors and braced himself for Warriors's pathetic pleading for his cinnamon candies. He had been too slow before, but he could be here for Warriors now. He could keep him safe.

Like hell was he going to play nursemaid, though. Or share his damned cinnamon candies.

...well. Maybe one. Later.

[loopyren]

inukag's conversation in ch 176... yea that one

This scene at the well in Ch 176, when Kagome asks to stay by Inuyasha, meant a lot to me… so I decided to do a whole ass formal translation for myself (which you can read at the way bottom, but it's probably not too different from what's already out there.)

While translating, I came across 3 details from the original text that I felt were super important 🤧

①　Everyone knows Inuyasha said that he must "give Kikyo his life" in the official Viz translation. Yes, in the original text, Inuyasha says:

命懸けで応えなくちゃならねえ。 In return, I must stake my life for Kikyo.

But that bolded part implies that staking his life for Kikyo is not something he necessarily wants to do out of his own free will, but something that he must do beyond his own will, if that makes sense. Right here, Inuyasha conveys clearly how he feels about the matter.

If he meant to say that he chose this out of his own volition, he would've said something like "...なくちゃいけない" which implies a will out of choice... But no, he said ならない, which implies it's "out of his control", so that gives clear insight to his feelings. He's not doing this because he wants to. He wants to stay with Kagome if he could, but he thinks his duty binds his fate to Kikyo, so therefore, this must be so.

+

②　Usually, Kagome is translated saying (to Inuyasha) "I want you to live." But I noticed something. She says:

"生きててほしい" ....not just "生きてほしい".

You might think, "Wha? That extra little word changes things?" HAHA well, if you care to know why... yes... bc she's using the present progressive form of that verb. So, I feel there's something missing in that translation.

Kagome doesn't just want Inuyasha to live (as in "be alive"), she wants him to keep on living. She wants to see him live past his trauma, to not give up his life. So, this is a bit of an interpretation, but I personally would translate what she's saying as "I want you to live on." Like when we wish for a friend going through hard times to not succumb to darkness :(

③　Finally, Sunrise had Kagome say something different in her final monologue (wow, what a surprise). (Note, Viz actually did translate this appropriately in the manga.)

In the anime, she just says...

楽しんでほしい。 I want you to be happy.

It's cute, but in the manga, she says...

楽しいことがあってもいい。 -> literally: It's okay to have happiness. -> It's okay (for you) to feel happy.

She's reassuring Inuyasha that it's alright to feel happiness, presumably despite his survivor's guilt. He told her at the start of their conversation, "But… to feel happy, to laugh, I shouldn't be doing these things." This is a response to that. It's so sweet.

+++

THAT'S IT!! There was A LOT of weight to this scene. It made me ugly cry until my eyes got swollen lol...

(if you'd like to read my full translation of their conversation, it is right here below~)

Note: I tried to translate as close to the original nuance of the Japanese text, so the sentence structure may sound unnatural at times.

(SFX: refreshing breeze)

Inuyasha: Kagome...

(Kagome sees him and begins to speak.)

Kagome: I thought about this the whole time I was back home. About you, Kikyo, and me…

Inuyasha: Kagome… I…

Kagome: I know. I know what your feelings are; that's why… I thought I can't be here anymore.

Inuyasha: Kagome… until I met you, I couldn't trust anyone. But you cried for my sake, you were always by my side. When I'm with you, Kagome, I feel happy. My heart is at ease. But… to feel happy, to laugh, I shouldn't be doing these things.

Inuyasha: Kikyo… she followed after me in death. In return, I must stake my life for Kikyo.

Kagome: I understand. I can't compete against her... because I still live.

Kagome: I thought about her a whole lot too. Kikyo and I, we're so completely different. Even with all this stuff about how I'm her reincarnation… well, anyway, I'm not Kikyo. My heart is my own.

Kagome: But you see, there is one thing. How Kikyo is feeling... I get it. I feel the same. We both want to see you, Inuyasha, one more time.

Kagome: You know, somehow, when I thought, "Don't Kikyo and I share the same feelings?", I became a little more at ease. Like, our feelings of wanting to see you are the same, aren't they... So, I gathered up the courage, and came to see you.

Inuyasha: Kagome… As for me, I wanted to see you too. But…

Kagome: I want to be with you*, Inuyasha. To forget about you, I can't do it.

(*T/N: She does not mean "be with you" in a romantic sense. She means to literally be near him, to exist by him, etc.)

Inuyasha: Kagome… what's the best way for me to respond to you?

Kagome: Inuyasha, let me ask you just one thing?

Inuyasha: Yeah…

Kagome: Is it okay if I stay with you?

(SFX: surprise...)

Inuyasha: You'll… stay for me?

Kagome: Yeah… (she smiles.)

Inuyasha and Kikyo's bond absolutely cannot be severed. That... I understand. But you know, Inuyasha? I thought about it… Our meeting was not just a coincidence either.

I want you to live on, Inuyasha.

Kagome: Let's go, Inuyasha.

Inuyasha: O-Oh, yeah, okay...

It's okay to feel happiness. I want you to laugh a lot. I don't know what I can do for you, but…

I will always be by your side.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter seven

you know you never stood a chance series

seven: lest we bleed ourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 3.6k

Summary: Things don't go well on your journey, but you make your way to Jackson.

Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, cum eating, oral (m & f receiving), anal fingering, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, but minor canon character deaths are mentioned, no use of y/n, canon-typical violence and danger, graphic description of injury, graphic description of corpses (in a dream), dreams of major character death

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

a/n: hello my lovely friends. here we are at the penultimate chapter. next week is the final, with the epilogue a week later. there will be some "deleted scenes" one-shots, but I can't promise you a date on those. thank you so much to everyone who has stuck out this journey, i love you.

He doesn’t teach you to shoot. There isn’t the time. Not after what waits for him at Bill’s house.

It’s not safe to stay, not with the property unsecured as it’s been.

Instead, while Ellie showers, he fucks you. There’s no guarantee of shelter in the upcoming days, so he has you kneel on a plush armchair while he takes what he needs.

You arch your back and dig your fingers into the back of the chair while he opens you up, sucking and licking at your clit while he pries you apart with three fingers at once.

There isn’t the time for more. As soon as you’ve cum, he thrusts in smoothly, pushing relentlessly until he’s seated as deep within you as he can reach.

Now you’re really digging into the chair, face smooshed against it, while he fucks into you from behind. He spits on your asshole, pushing his thumb in behind it and fucking it into you, opposing the beats of his cock in your cunt.

You cum two more times as he works you over. It’s silent, both of you choking back gasps and whimpers and desperate words.

He pulls out abruptly and yanks on your arm until you twist around and get the message, falling to your knees before he fills your waiting mouth. You swallow him down eagerly.

He cups your cheek. “Good girl. Now go get ready; it’s your turn next,” he jerks his thumb toward the bathroom, where the shower is just being turned off.

And after that, there isn’t the time for anything. You can’t catch a moment safe enough to breathe, let alone learn to use a gun or fuck.

No, there wasn’t the time, but there were a thousand times you could have helped if there had been. Infected, hunters, the whole nightmare in Pittsburgh. You’re still not really sure how the three of you made it out.

You buried Sam and Henry, but their loss hangs on Ellie like she’s carrying their headstones in her backpack. There’s nothing you could do to protect her, not from the violence, not from the grief.

You can tell it’s all wearing Joel down, too. He’s less and less brusque, watching her from the peripherals. More and more, his anxious hands twitch, like he has to shake the blood off before he lays a finger on either of you.

Now that Ellie knows, though, it’s like he can't help himself. There’s a quiet desperation to the new, tiny ways he reassures himself that you’re both alive. The way his arm shoots out to steady her even if the path is safe, or the pat pat to her shoulder when it’s time to move forward.

His hands brush your shoulders when he passes by, fit to the small of your back to steer you, and his lips find your head so lightly that you often think you imagined it. The only thing that doesn’t change, the one thing you still wish would, is that you still sleep several feet apart.

It all rubs off on Ellie, too, and she sticks to your side more often than not and lets you wrap an arm around her shoulder sometimes—if it’s playful. Anything too close to affectionate, and she spooks. She’s still a little skittish with Joel, but they help each other easily, and the way she looks at him—like he has all the answers in the world—tells you more than anything else.

To be fair, you feel that way sometimes, too. He’s steadfast and sure, and the way he keeps his head in an emergency and protects both of you with every fiber of his core buys him both of your fierce loyalties.

After everything, it’s hard to believe you made it to Jackson even when you’re within its walls. Half dead, half defeated. And it’s so weird.

They clean you, clothe you, feed you, and all the while, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can see it on Ellie’s face, too.

Neither of you expected it to come from Joel.

“I told you a thousand times, I can’t protect you out here,” he says, trying to keep his voice low even though he’s the one who chose to have this conversation just outside the mess hall.

“You have so far!” Your face is aflame, but you’re too consumed by it to be embarrassed, too busy burning with rage. Your vision is dark around the edges; the tunnel focused right on the way he raised his hands to placate you.

“Ain’t anywhere safer than here.”

“You said I’m always safer with you.”

You see him drop the act—or maybe put one on—before he speaks again; his eyes go hard, and he bares his teeth.

“Will you shut up?” he snarls. “Y’ain’t comin’ with me. That’s final.”

You snort, lip twitching into a sneer. Too many things to say snap across your brain, each crueler than the last, but you can’t get your hook in one. The tell-tale dryness in your throat makes you angrier.

Shaking your head, you look anywhere but him. Anywhere but his stupid, beautiful face. “Fuck you, Miller.”

You turn on your heel and leave, heavy steps maybe a little too much like stomping away for your pride. You get just down the street when his fingers wrap around your arm and yank.

His momentum pulls you hard against his chest, and he turns you with two tight hands on your shoulders. The heat of his mouth against yours is overwhelming, brain still scrambling to catch up, and he tangles a hand in your hair, biting at your lip.

When your senses come careening back, you shove him away. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me. I don’t owe you anything for leaving me behind. I’ll never owe you anything again.”

He doesn’t come after you this time.

In the morning, after Joel shows his sheepish face, Ellie asks where you are.

“She ain’t comin’,” Joel says, but he won’t look her in the eye.

“You try to ditch her too?”

“She only ever wanted to be someplace safe. Now she is. Let’s go.”

Before they take off, he looks back at Tommy. His brother is shaking his head but throws his hands up as if to say, “sure, I’ll clean up your mess.”

“No, thank you,” you tell Tommy Miller for the third Friday in a row when he invites you to come to the Tipsy Bison and meet people. It’s not that he doesn’t bother you on other days; it’s that he’s full of a weekly rotating calendar of suggestions.

You decline all of them. He doesn’t seem to realize you have met people, and you’re just not interested in making friends. Not yet. He’s been here too long, you think, to remember life in the QZ. He thinks you’ll latch on to the sense of community.

“Just because we lived in the same building before doesn’t mean we need to be best friends,” you tell him, narrowed eyes burning the warning into him.

But he doesn’t get it. “Oh, nah, I forgot about that, actually. I just, since you—well, Joel—”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you tell him, not unkindly, with a pat on his shoulder.

“He’s just worried,” Maria says when you complain a little after weeks turn into months. “It’s the only mode he has right now. He about cried when I told him I was switchin’ partners today. But if he doesn’t want me going up to the lodge, then he’s gotta go with someone else.”

It’s a patrol for her and a lesson for you. Nothing too far from town, but she’s brought you out here to hunt since Joel never did get around to teaching you. You’re getting better. You haven’t caught anything, but you came close earlier. When you had startled the deer with the near-miss, she had taken it out while it ran off.

Ok, so maybe you aren’t getting a lot better. You can’t hit a still target, let alone a moving one. But you’ve stopped shaking when you raise the gun, so.

The carcass is draped over a saddle. You’re both walking since Maria can’t ride, but you’ve got two mares along in case there’s an emergency. Luckily, you make it back before she gasps in pain.

You grab her arm immediately, worried she’ll fall. “What’s wrong?”

One of the teens working the stables takes the horses' reins from you, already having passed the deer off to someone else.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says and grits her teeth.

“I’m going to send someone for Tommy,” you say.

“No! No, don’t freak him out. Will you help me to Alice?”

“Of course,” you say.

Alice’s house is close, given that it also functions as a clinic. She was a nurse once, retired before the world ended, but still hanging on.

“Could be Braxton-Hicks. False labor,” she tells Maria. “Hard to know for sure. You need to slow down. I don’t want to put you on bed rest, but I will.”

“You can try,” Maria mutters.

You’re hovering awkwardly in the next room, but with only an archway between them, it’s not like you can’t hear every word.

Maria comes out, Alice on her heels, reminding her about kick counting and proper hydration. You rock back and forth on your heels, dirty boots adding to the scuffs on the foyer floor.

“You make sure she goes straight home,” Alice tells you.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, even though you know Maria will only go where she wants to.

To your surprise, though, she starts heading that way anyway. The contractions are still happening, but there’s no discernable pattern, and they don’t seem to be worsening. But it was enough to worry her, though she swore you to secrecy.

You don’t betray her, even when Tommy ends up stuck with you the next day. He’s taken over the foolhardy mission to teach you how to shoot.

No, the only person you betray that day is yourself.

Tommy is infuriatingly kind. There’s none of Joel’s coldness in him, even if they do share the same crooked grin. And Tommy’s eyes, the same shade and shape as Joel’s, are always warm.

He helps you readjust your grip on the pistol and, through a system of trial and error, figures out the whole reason you can’t hit the target.

“Shit, you’re left handed!” he says, like he’s solved world hunger. “Everyone’s been trying to get you to shoot with your right, huh?”

You hadn’t even thought about it, since you used two hands to shoot. You had just taken the positions they told you to, leading with your right foot but then targeting with your left eye on instinct. It takes a few tries to get comfortable with the change, but you manage to hit a rabbit before it’s time to head in.

“Holy shit,” you say, making sure the safety is on before you jump up and down. “Did you see that? Oh my god.”

Tommy’s beaming and he pulls you in for a hug. When he pulls back, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe Joel didn’t figure that out. He usually notices that kind of shit.”

Your stomach sours and the grin drops off, lost in the chilly breeze. “Joel didn’t teach me anything, Tommy. And I guarantee he has no clue I’m left handed.”

But that’s not true, you realize. He’d known that was half the reason you were slow at work, back when your wrist was broken. And now that you think about it, when he reached across the space between you to hand you things, it was always to your left.

The wind’s picked up, and the sun is starting to set. You’re thankful for both, because it means if Tommy does see how tears prick in the corners of your eyes, he might believe it’s the sharp bite of winter.

He doesn’t. You’re almost back to town when he stops you for a moment. “Look, I hate to ask—”

“So don’t.” It’s sharper than the breeze, and you feel bad immediately when the hurt flashes in his eyes. He'd kept himself from asking since the morning he told you Joel had gone with Ellie and that they'd both be back. You hadn't given him anything then, either.

“It’s just, I know you say there was nothin’ between—”

“It’s none of your business, Tommy, but like I’ve told you again and again, there’s nothin’ to even tell. I went out on jobs sometimes with him and Tess, and I got stuck on this one. S’all there is to it.”

“Alright, m’sorry. I’ll drop it,�� he says, but you know he doesn’t buy it. After all, he’s the one that just taught you to use a gun. What use would you have been out there with them? But he lets it go and clicks his tongue so the horses pick back up toward home.

To his credit, he does drop it. But as Maria got further along, you found yourself on the wall with Tommy more and more as the winter turned harsh. You weren’t ready to be out in the more dangerous conditions, and Tommy was sticking close, just in case the baby came early.

Neither of you spoke of Joel, but you had the same dark circles and stress lines creeping in as the weather turned nasty. The looks you shared when the blizzards turned the snow from a problem to an emergency said enough.

You decide not to worry. Not to think about Ellie out there in the storm, not to think about how the cold will make it harder on Joel’s knees and the hand that never healed quite right. Instead, you focus your worry on Maria.

Which is to say, you and Tommy become irreparably bonded.

Winter is trailing off, but it gives one final performance when the baby is born. When the Davies’ boy comes to get you, you’re asleep on your sofa, the weak afternoon sun all but obscured by snow.

In your dream, you’re out on patrol with a faceless partner. Sometimes it’s Tommy, sometimes it’s Chris. Sometimes, like today, it’s just a blur. It doesn’t matter. They can never help.

It’s always too late. Whether buried in snow or leaves, you always find them half-decayed. Ellie’s skull cracked open, or head missing entirely. Joel's ribs cracked open, and his entrails long eaten away. Sometimes, his eyes are open, unmoving. Sometimes, Ellie’s hands, mostly bone and rotting flesh, are wrapped around a gun. Sometimes, it’s lined up with the hole in Joel’s head.

It doesn’t matter. You’re always too late.

This time, the knocking wakes you up as you find them less decayed than usual, almost whole, with crows pecking at Ellie’s eye and Joel’s ribcage. You almost throw up when you wake up—it’s never been quite so graphic.

“Miss?” the kid calls again.

You can’t tell him apart from his brothers, John or Mike or James or something, but you know why he’s there as soon as you open the door. You grab a jacket and shove your feet into boots to stumble out into the raging snow behind him.

The kid doesn’t seem to be in a rush, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding until your pulse is throbbing in your fingertips. You’re not sure when you started to love these people, but you know it’s too late now to turn back.

You’re not happy about how you ended up here, but you just might be able to be happy here.

Your panic is for nothing. The baby was born in the wee hours of the morning without incident. Alice tells you it’s a beautiful thing, how mothers' bodies never forget what to do, and through the uninhibited happiness of the occasion, you think you can see Kevin’s ghost on his mama’s lap.

She certainly does.

You hover awkwardly until Tommy reminds you that they want you there. It doesn’t go down easily, a raw feeling full of gravel as you swallow. You’re not sure you know the last time someone wanted you around. Not for what you could offer, but just for you. Maybe before.

You let him corral you into the bedroom and place Aléjandra in your arms while you sit on the side of the mattress near Maria. She looks a lot like her mama, in that approximate way that newborns do, like a photocopy picked up before the ink is dry, but she’s got her daddy’s nose.

The immediate love you feel for her is overwhelming. Like you’re the one rotting in the forest, chest cracked open for the crows to eat away at your heart. You think of the last baby you held—your sister, too long ago. After you’ve doted on her an appropriate amount, you make excuses about Maria needing sleep and slip out of the room.

Alice is more than happy to put you to work. She’s taken it upon herself to clean the Miller’s home and you lose yourself in it quickly. News spreads fast in town and, per Maria’s wishes, you field the well-wishers at the door, gathering and storing the casseroles and pies they bring, collecting little tokens or clothes for the baby into a basket to take upstairs later on.

A different one of the Davies’ boys comes to walk Alice home. Before she leaves, she stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Stay here tonight, would you please? I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but sometimes we don’t know if there were issues with the afterbirth until later on.”

You nod and promise to get her right away if anything happens. Her description of what to watch out for makes you queasy again. Less because of the details like “golf ball sized blood clots” and more because you didn’t realize all the potential for danger. It spikes your anxiety back higher than the mountaintops.

You scrub your brain for something to tell Tommy and Maria. In the end, you don’t need to.

Tommy comes down the stairs a while later. “Hey, you can say no, but can I tempt you with our guest room rather than goin’ back out in the storm?”

When you accept, he puts on a stern face. “It’s just, I don’t want you havin’ to—hang on, did you say yes?”

“You had a speech all ready to go, huh?”

“Thought you’d fight me on it, yeah.”

“It’s nasty out there, Tommy. Thank you. Now go get some sleep while you can.” You’re familiar enough with their house to find your way, so you shoo him when he tries to help you get settled.

It’s not Maria or the baby that causes a ruckus in the middle of the night, though. It’s you.

The dreams are worse. It’s not just Joel and Ellie, it’s Tommy, Maria, and the baby, too. And they’re all alive when it starts.

There are no crows or critters. There are only men, nasty and bloodthirsty, and you’re hidden away while they’re cornered. Completely helpless, as usual. Unarmed. And you watch them tear into your family, watch them shoot Joel and Tommy first. It’s not until they lunge for Ellie that you can finally get your feet to move, to scream, to try to distract them.

It doesn’t matter. You’re always too late.

Tommy wakes you up, shaking you with hands on both shoulders. “Hey,” he says as you scramble to get away from him. “You’re okay, hon, you’re safe.”

You try to shove him off you, but he doesn’t let go.

“You’re safe. You’re at my house. Everything is okay,” he repeats in that calm, unnerved manner you’ve come to lean on.

You stop fighting him and focus on slowing your heaving chest, on bringing air to your lungs. That’s when you hear the baby crying.

“Oh, shit, Tommy. I’m so sorry. I woke her up, didn’t I?”

“She was already up eatin’,” he lies. “Just scared us all a little.”

“Sorry, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll go home so y’all can rest.”

“Now, I’m not gonna let ya do that. You think any of us haven’t been there? Hell, if it wasn’t you, it probably woulda been me. It’s not the first or last time someone’ll wake everyone in this house yellin’ for Joel.”

Your heart sinks, and you stare at the blanket, folding and unfolding a pinched corner of it.

“I know you don’t wanna tell me,” he starts, and you look further away from him, staring at the windowsill. “But I gotta ask you a question. And I’d really like it if ya answered.”

You don’t respond, which he takes as permission to continue.

“Were you afraid of him or for him?”

You look at him, startled, and blink stupidly for a minute.

“He never hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You wanna talk about the dream?” Maria says from the doorway, Alé over her shoulder.

“Not really. Nothin’ special. Rotating cast of people I know dead or dying. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Stop apologizin’. But if you wanna make up for it…” the glimmer is back in Tommy’s eyes, and he’s grinning like he’s got a poorly kept secret.

You don’t need to read minds to guess. The baby’s eyes are wide and shiny. “Want me to hang out with her for a while until she’s ready to go back to sleep?”

“Please.”

It’s not until Alé is asleep in your arms at their kitchen table, just the two of you in the strip of moonlight, that you think about it, about how that feeling of family from your dream had seeped out into real life, and you let yourself cry.

next chapter

*title from "Jars" by Chevelle