#the memory just hit a raw nerve

[stellewriites]

been away because of a kerfuffle but im smooching your forehead 💜 hope you have a great day lovely - 🦚

oh peacock anon we’re going through it 🫂🫂 accepting all your forehead smooches and doubling them right back at ya

whether it’s personal or if it’s because ur a USian dealing with yesterdays news or both, i hope ur doing ok!!

[runariya]

hhiii!! im thinking a lot about a jungkook ex & loml he would be so cute arrrghl

🎤 n maybee 🥰+🤫 ?

(idolverse+fluff+smut) part of the prompt game pairing: idol!Jungkook x ex-gf! female reader genre: idolverse, Exes2L, fluff, smut warnings: references to a few good and bad milestones of BTS, allusion to oral (m. receiving), breakup, mentions of one (1) dating attempt of OC, mentions of 190811 JK because duh, Jungkook is a petty ex, various hair colours, Times Square JK, fluff, smut, they’re both needy and desperate, big dick JK, possessiveness, dirty talk, bad language, face grabbing, mouth spitting, kind of dry humping but without clothes (?), slight dom!JK, babygirl, unprotected sex (you should all be old enough to know the consequences), slight breeding kink, hair pulling, love confessions, rough and desperate sex, a little bit of angst, Jungkook is a romantic, naked proposal, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.512

a/n: guess who got a bit carried away with this ask? THAT'D BE ME! 🥸

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You lived through it all. Through every storm and golden dawn alike, you’ve walked beside him—Jungkook, through the raw and uncertain trainee years, standing shoulder to shoulder when he made that long-awaited debut with your other friends, with the cheers of a scattered handful of ARMYs filling the gaps of an empty room. And you—always there, even when unjustified criticism hit them like fists in the dark, when the suffocating shadows of hate and pushbacks tried to choke out their light. You were there when sleepless nights were a currency, and saesangs turned life into a nightmare not fit for the faint-hearted. You were there during all those late-night talks, when exhaustion and doubt dragged them to the brink of disbandment, and you—you, held onto them with all the strength you had left.

You lived through it all. You walked this path with him, through the milestones of glory—their first triumphant entrance on the Billboard 200, the moment they lent their voices to a UNICEF campaign, the awe that filled you as you stood in the last rows of that historic U.N. speech, watching them rise and rise as if they could never stop. You were there when the sold-out stadiums roared, when Jungkook’s nerves shook just before he walked onto that colossal stages, and in the quiet moments behind the curtains, you became his grounding, his release—your lips open, throat pulsing around his dick as the world waited for him to sing.

Once, you believed, truly, that what you had was unbreakable, a love of once-in-a-lifetime, and you knew—*knew*—that Jungkook felt it too. It was there, lingering in every glance, every touch, every whispered word. And because, when the breaking point finally came, when one triumph followed another, when at long last, *finally*, the whole world, not just ARMY, recognised their worth, when the frantic pace of success nearly swallowed them whole, you made your decision. You walked away—not out of lost love, no, never that. Love was still there, burning too fiercely for words. But you thought you were sparing him, thought you were freeing him from another tether, another weight pulling him down, when his focus should be solely on his dream, his passion. You thought, perhaps, you were doing the right thing, even despite the way his pleas and tears seared themselves into your memory, begged you to stay, haunting you even now, even when your eyes aren’t closed. 

Those days after the breakup—they were bitter and cold—not easy, not for either of you. You saw him on screen, thriving, yes, but hurting in a way you knew all too well. The incident in November 2019—your first and only date after the split, after Jungkook, when a stitch couldn’t leave his mouth shut, reaching Jungkook’s ears, and suddenly his performance at the Lotte Family Concert became something else altogether—savage, fierce, almost a message to you, reverberating through the very core of your being. Something shifted the air back then, in him, in you, in the whole world.

You realised then, that Jungkook wasn’t just an ex, but a petty one at that. You should have known better. One offhand comment in passing to his mother about his hair—how you missed the look of it untouched by dye, lamenting that his soft, natural locks were lost beneath the constant colouring—and suddenly, every week he was colouring it anew, as though each hue was a small act of rebellion against you. The games continued—the thirst traps, the little taunts, even in every piece of merch he touched, designs you once dreamt up together in those hazy trainee years. You, lying beside him in the cramped dorm, building fragile sandcastles of what could be, of dreams yet unspoken. And now, those same castles crumbled as he used them to fuel his quiet, calculated rebellion.

And yet, somehow, it was still a surprise when the text arrived. Jungkook himself, inviting you to his surprise gig at Times Square. You hesitated, wrestling with your pride, your pain. But in the end, for old times’ sake, you relented—just one last favour, you told yourself.

And now, here you stand. He had slipped out of the room just after you arrived, and you watch from the window as the world goes wild, Jungkook commanding the stage as effortlessly as he breathes. The ache within you deepens, the love, the longing—they haven’t dimmed in all those years, not even for a moment.

When he finally returns, still glistening with sweat, fresh from the exhilaration of the performance, his presence floods the room, the light he is piercing every fibre of your being. 

"Hey," he breathes through his panting, that soft voice slipping through the air like a secret only you are meant to hear. He smiles, and the familiarity of it twists your gut in the worst way possible. He grabs and drowns a bottle of water in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that sends your heart skipping, unbidden.

And you, standing there, trying to hold your composure as the man who once was yours invades your very senses. Every drop of sweat that trickles down his neck, every movement of his tattooed arms, every unspoken memory lingering in the air. You can’t stop the surge of arousal, the way your body betrays you as your thighs press together, seeking some small relief from the tension he brings.

And when Jungkook motions for you to sit beside him on that small loveseat, your legs, weak and trembling, carry you there almost on instinct. His thigh brushes against yours as he sits down, the touch so achingly familiar it almost hurts too much to bear. You feel that old connection, sparking back to life with everything said, with everything kept in silence between you.

“I invited you here for a reason,” he murmurs, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the sincerity in his gaze captivating your every thought. "I can’t keep on going like this," he continues after a short pause, voice weighted with something deeper than exhaustion, something that seems to eat him alive.

You respond with a gentle push, instinctively deflecting, faking an easygoing happiness. "But you're doing so well, Jungkook. Your dream’s finally yours. You can’t walk away now."

“It’s not about that,” he replies, quieter now, as though his resolve softens in the space between your words.

Jungkook straightens, taking your hand, his inked fingers finding yours with that familiar tenderness, like all the lost days between you never happened. He strokes your soft skin, the gesture so achingly reminiscent of the way he used to hold you, back when the world somehow seemed simpler, back when the two of you were all you needed.

His voice deepens, the softness in his tone soothing like your very personal lullaby. "I can’t live another day without you by my side." 

His words shake your heart, each syllable removing the distance that time and hurt had created. Your eyes tremble, silver lining your lash line, as silence is everything that escapes your mouth. 

Jungkook leans in, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I love you,” the confession rolling from his lips like something inevitable, as though it was always meant to be spoken, in the past, in this moment, and in every possible future. “I still love you, with everything I am. And I know you feel it too. Let’s not try again—we’re beyond that. I know we’re meant to be. Let’s just be together.”

Your lips quiver as the dam finally breaks, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. There’s no noise, no grand release, just a quiet cascade of everything you’ve held in and pushed back for so long. And in that stillness, you finally find your voice, speaking every word out of the depth of your soul. “Yes, Kook, please.”

Your lips crash into his with a force that makes your whole body tremble. You push him back with such ferocity that he’s not able to keep sitting upright, and before you know it, you’re climbing on top of him, his hands digging into your sides, pulling you closer, as though he could never have you close enough. His tongue teases along your lips, the cool metal of his lip piercings brushing your skin, sending another wave of hot arousal out of you. You open your mouth, letting him in. His taste is the same—mint drops, just like all those years ago—and it awakens a hunger in you, a longing that has only grown more ravenous with time.

Your fingers tangle in his soft hair, pulling at it, at the black fabric of his dress shirt, ripping the buttons open as though the world outside doesn’t exist. Jungkook is just as frenzied, stripping you of your clothes, his own following without a beat, the desperation between you highlighting, almost painful, as if trying to make up for all the lost time. You’ve seen him on screen, admired the way his body has changed, matured, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him. Jungkook looks like a greek god carved from marble, every muscle sculpted to perfection, and his cock stands proud, thick and throbbing like a prize waiting to be claimed.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he rasps, pulling you up with him, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, your slick cunt brushing against him with each step he takes.

Jungkook carries you to the table nearby, lips never leaving yours, kissing you as though he might devour you, and as his mouth travels down your neck, over your collarbone, and to your breasts, as he sweeps everything off the table with a careless shove, lowering you onto it, you think you found euphoria just then.

“Jungkook,” you moan, arching into him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his hand pinching and twisting your other, his hips grinding against your dripping core with a raw need that nearly sends you spiralling right then and there.

“I’m going to chain you to me,” he growls against your skin. “Going to fuck you until you’re too dumb to walk away again.”

“Yes,” you whimper, as your body clenches and trembles, your release washing over you like a wave, too intense to hold back, the stimulation from his hands, his mouth, his cock rubbing against your slick folds just too overwhelming.

“Fucking scream my name,” he demands, grabbing your face roughly, forcing your mouth open with his thumb and forefinger.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, his cock sliding through your wetness as you come down from your high. You try to close your mouth, but he spits into it, his eyes dark with lust, watching you swallow with a mix of satisfaction and need.

“That’s right, babygirl,” he smirks lazily. “I’m going to fuck you stupid now. You’re still on birth control?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe, trembling as he grabs his cock, pumping it a few times before lining up with your entrance, clenching in anticipation.

“Shame,” he growls, his words dripping with dark desire. “Would love to fuck a baby into you, show everyone who you belong to.”

His words make you moan, your body responding to the filthy promise in his voice. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, baby girl?” he grins.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, dragging your mouth to his as he thrusts into you, his cock filling you completely, stretching you in a way that brings a sharp, sweet pain, the kind of pain you’ve been craving for years. You cry his name into his mouth, every inch of you vibrating with the sensation of him.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he groans. “You’re the fucking love of my life.” His pace picks up, becoming relentless, his hips slamming into you, desperate to make up for all the years you were apart.

You drink him in, the sight of him so raw and beautiful—his eyebrows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands grip the back of your knees, pulling you towards him, keeping you close as he drives into you over and over, the rough surface of the table scraping your lower back. His balls and thighs slap against your ass with such force that you know you’ll be bruised, but you welcome it. You embrace every desperate thrust, every rough touch, pouring all of yourself into this moment.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m coming,” you cry out, gripping his arms for support, feeling yourself unravel under the intensity of it all.

“Fucking come for me! Cream my cock like you’re made for it.”

His words send you over the edge, your body shattering into a million stars, as brilliant and infinite as the ones that glimmer in Jungkook’s eyes when he looks down at you. And you know, in that moment, that you’re home. Truly home, where everything makes sense.

Your cunt clenches around him, and that’s all it takes to push him into his own release. He lets out a deep, guttural groan, his body buckling over you as he empties himself inside you, his breath mingling with yours, his heart pounding against your chest, both of you lost in the blissful haze of it all.

You stroke the back of his head tenderly, feeling his racing heartbeat gradually slow, matching the rhythm of your own.

When you both finally come down from the high, you lock eyes. His boyish smile spreads across his face, just like it did all those years ago, and you can’t help but mirror it.

“Chain me to you, hm?” you tease, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “That’s not the romantic Jungkook I know.”

A blush creeps up his cheeks and ears as he pulls out of you, grabbing the discarded tissue box from the floor to clean you both up without saying a word. But you notice the growing tension in his body, the slight shift in his demeanour, and a flicker of unease stirs in you.

“Kook?” you ask carefully, but he only glances at you briefly before turning to his duffel bag in the corner of the room, rummaging through it.

When he turns back around, your heart plummets to the floor. It’s not fear or worry that seizes you, but the overwhelming brightness of joy, happiness so intense it almost paralyses you.

“I’ve carried this with me since our first stadium tour,” he says softly, stepping closer. “But I was always too scared I wasn’t enough.”

He kneels before you, still naked, and you don’t allow yourself to breathe, to blink. “___, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Tears stream from your eyes once more, and you nod, unable to speak for a moment, your heart bursting like a confetti gun with every emotion under the sun. Finally, you whisper, “Yes,” and kiss him, knowing without a doubt that he’s the one. Always was, always will.

[natsarrownecklacx]

Ms Ceo And Her Assistant

Wanda Maximoff x Reader Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count- 1,475

Summary- Your Wanda’s girlfriend, her toy, but she’s too busy to play with you, so she asks her assistant for help.

Warnings- Smut, minors this fic is not for you, edging, dom / sub dynamics, mommy Wanda, mean Wanda, overstimulation, mentions of punishment, sharing, switch Nat

2K Follower Celebration

ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3

There isn’t much in this life that Wanda Maximoff loves more than her job.

She gets to boss people around, call them on their half assed or lazy shit without fear of repercussions, make thousands of dollars each week and that’s not even a sliver of why she loves it so much.

In essence though, if she had to boil it all down to one particular thing, Wanda would say it’s the power that she loves most.

Owning and running one of the leading technology companies in the world comes with quite a bit of power, along with a reputation to enhance it.

She loves the confidence it brings her. The control she has over others, it’s exhilarating, it’s addictive. She’s not sure she’ll ever get enough of it.

That’s why, when she met you, she knew she would never leave you. Just a poor little baby in need of a mommy, a strong dominating hand to guide you through life in every way possible.

You offered her an outlet for all her pent up energy, a place for all her needs and desires to not only be fulfilled but deepened.

You loved the way she treated you. Loved when she would edge you for hours, under the guise of teaching you patience. Or bend you over her knee and spank your ass raw, her way of “teaching her baby how to behave properly.”

Or when she’d make you cum over and over again for hours, purely for her amusement.

You adored soft moments with her, when you’d curl up on the couch, her hand running through your hair mindlessly as you watched your favorite show.

Or then after care she gave you after each and every session, when she’d treat you so gently.

You took it all from her willingly, the good and the bad, knowing that you wouldn’t know what to do without her. That you love her. Need her. More than you could ever want or need for anything else.

Right now Wanda has you sitting next her in her office. Your legs are forced apart, tied to either side of the chair she lured you into with the false hope of a reward.

She’s had you spread open for her for hours, tears streaming down your face and your legs quivering pathetically as she edges you, rubbing her fingers tortuously over your bundle of nerves, pulling you right up to the edge each time before pulling away entirely and delighting in the desperate moans and whimpers that leave your mouth at being denied.

“Please.” You beg, after your eleventh time of being edged by the older woman.

Your slick has long overrun your folds, now spread over the inside of your thighs, down the chair and pooling below you, making wet noises as you try to squirm and grind into the plastic surface, desperate beyond belief for any sort of relief.

“Mommy it hurts.” You whine, feeling frustration build inside of you when she doesn’t so much as shift her gaze from her laptop screen to you. The entire time she’s been torturing you she’s been on a business call.

She has you sitting just out of sight of the camera, but close enough that her wandering arm doesn’t cause suspicion when she moves to touch you.

Her mic is muted, her role in this meeting being to mostly listen and observe, only having to drop an option here and there. You know better than to make any noise when she speaks, the spanking she gave you last time flashing in your memory every time she hits that unmute button.

“Quite, brat.” She snaps, turning her attention away from the screen for half a second. “Mommy is busy. I’ll deal with you later.”

And usually that would be enough. The promise of her undivided attention, good or bad, would be enough to placate you. But not this time. This time the need burning inside you is pushing you to beg for more, to demand more to sate the hunger inside you.

“Mommy, I need it.” You push, seeing the anger and slight surprise in her eyes at the fact that you didn’t quieten down when she’d told you to.

“Are you that desperate for it?” She scoffs, moving her eyes to the pool of arousal between your legs.

You nod feverishly, more pleas and promises to be good falling from your lips.

“Fine.” She answers and you swear you can feel yourself deflating in relief only for it to be replaced by confusion when Wanda calls for her assistant instead of signing off her call.

“You called for me miss?” The red headed woman asks, standing in the now open door of Wanda’s office.

You can see she’s trying not to look at you, so can Wanda, a smirk lining her face as she tells her assistant to enter the room and close the door behind her.

The redhead does so, keeping her eyes locked on Wanda as she crosses the room, intent on not getting herself into trouble by allowing her eyes to drift to you.

“Is there anything I can help you with Ms Maximoff?” She asks, and the sultry tone of her voice has you whimpering, so desperate that the slightest thing sets you off.

The sound takes the other woman by surprise, her eyes darkening as she instinctively snaps her gaze toward you. Only for her to realize her mistake when her green eyes meet your pleading ones and she looks away.

“There is actually, thank you, Natasha.” Wanda says, leaning back in her chair and nodding towards you. “As you can see my little pet here is quite needy. I am, however, very busy at the moment.”

Natasha nods along, thinking maybe she would ask her to untie you from the chair, allowing you to take care of yourself.

Or maybe to wheel you into the room conjoined with Wanda’s office, where she couldn’t hear you.

“I need you to take care of her.” Wanda says, so nonchalantly, Natasha thinks she must have misheard her.

“I’m sorry?” Natasha asks, doing her level best to seem professional, even in these circumstances.

Wanda narrows her eyes at the woman, only for them to round again when she hears you moan, having accidentally jerked your hips forward and rubbing your clit against the chair.

“My pet.” Wanda says, flicking her eyes toward you in recognition. “Is a desperate little slut.”

Natasha darts her eyes toward you, unable to stop herself from licking her lips as her eyes drop to the mess between your legs.

“I need you to fuck her.”

Natasha swallows and flicks her eyes toward you again. She can smell your arousal from where she’s standing.

You whimper when her eyes meet yours and you try fruitlessly to grind down on the soaked surface of the chair, unable to find the right spot to make it feel good.

Fuck. She wants nothing more than to touch you. Your thighs look so soft, so plush. She wants to feel them squeeze around her head while she eats you out like a woman starved.

She wants to make you moan so loudly, hear you cry out for her. Feel your body tremble as she makes you cum again and again until you’re pushing her away, begging her for a reprieve.

“Well?” Wanda say’s impatiently, her eyes back on her laptop and the meeting taking place on the screen.

“Ms Maximoff, I don’t think this is appropriate.” She says, in a last stitch effort to keep her professionalism intact.

“Do you like having a job here, Ms Romanoff?” Not bothering to look up from her screen, as though Natasha’s defense borde her.

“Yes I-“

“Do you want to keep your job here?” She taunts, keeps her voice scarily level.

“Yes, Ms Maximoff.” Natasha answers, looking away in embarrassment, feeling like a scolded child.

“Then get to work.” Wanda commands, flicking her wrist in your direction.

Natasha nods and makes her way over to you. Her eyes zeroed in on the mess between your legs. Fuck you look good.

“Don’t ask her what she wants.” Wanda orders, noticing how Natasha stands hesitantly in front of you for a few seconds too long. “Fuck her however you want, she’ll take it like the good little whore she is, won’t you baby.”

You swallow nervously and look toward Wanda. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good.” Wanda says, returning her eyes to her laptop. “Now be a good slut for Natasha, baby and do as she says.”

Natasha takes a moment to look you over, her eyes visibly darkening at all the possibilities running through her mind.

“Anything I want?” She asks over her shoulder, refusing to take her eyes off of you.

Wanda smirks as she replies, intrigue building inside her.

“Anything at all, Ms Romanoff.”

ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3 ᗢ <3 ⴵ <3

A/n- My first WandaNat fic ( I think )

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (06)

And we are back for another chapter !

Warning: cursing (maybe)

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut ; bisexual!Reader

05 <- 06 -> 07

Masterlist

Taglist

Todoroki’s heat had finally passed after three long days. He’d spent them either with Kirishima buried deep inside him or wrapped in his muscular arms, their bodies entwined in moments of quiet warmth. It had been all too easy to lose himself in the haze of desire, letting the weight of everything else fade away in a blur of passion and closeness. But now, as the intense flush of heat left his system, his mind was painfully clear.

Embarrassment hit him hard. What was I thinking? He asked himself repeatedly, and almost felt lightheaded as he recalled the desperation—the way he’d thrown himself at you like some lovesick teenager in his first heat. It was reckless and stupid. Worse yet, he’d let himself imagine all sorts of salacious fantasies involving you, Kirishima, and himself throughout his heat. It was utterly inappropriate. The clarity felt almost unbearable as shame surged through him, dense and stifling. If it were just about embarrassing himself, he could eventually deal with it. But the memories of that day went beyond the dizzy haze of horniness, beyond the scent of peaches and yours warm touch against his skin. He also remembered Kirishima’s raw rage and the deep red of your blood covering your face and the hospital floor. Shame gnawed at him from within, leaving in its wake buds of guilt, which blossomed as images of you walking around with a crooked nose and split lips flooded his mind.

Thankfully, it had been Kirishima who picked him up from the hospital that day. The red-haired hero had been too considerate to press him on what had happened; his only priority was taking care of him. Yet, as Todoroki had laid beside Kirishima on the third and final night of his heat, he knew that by morning, he’d have to face the rest of the pack. And neither Katsuki nor Izuku would spare him the questions he dreaded.

Morning came too soon. By the time Todoroki left his room, Kirishima was already gone and it was still early, he knew no one had left for work yet. He rushed to the bathroom to shower, hoping the hot water might somehow calm his nerves or at least give him a moment to gather his thoughts. For the first time in his life, he almost wished his heat had lasted longer—anything to delay the inevitable, awkward conversation but no amount of scalding water could cleanse the mess of emotions swirling inside him. After a dozen of minutes, he resigned himself, finished his shower and got ready for the day.

The moment he emerged from the steamy bathroom, Izuku was waiting, worry pooling in his green eyes and his rough, scarred hand instinctively lifted to cup Todoroki’s face. His touch was warm and steady, grounding him and quieting the chaos within him. Despite the awkwardness of this whole situation, seeing Izuku made his heart flutter, and he smiled softly in his mate’s arms.

“Shoto,” Izuku murmured, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I wanted to be there, but I was tied up at the agency and..." He hesitated for a moment before continuing in a fast ramble, "Just... if you need anything, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. I already called your agency and told them you’ll need a few more days off. Kirishima told us a little about what happened, and I swear, we’ll track down that doctor. We’ll make sure—”

“He doesn’t need you babbling in his damn ears, Deku.” Katsuki’s voice cut through Izuku’s rambling. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze locked on Todoroki—not unkind, but piercing.. “He gets it. He’s not helpless, you know.”

Izuku shot Katsuki a small frown but remained unfazed by his blunt interruption. Beneath the sharp words, Todoroki could sense Katsuki’s genuine concern. The familiar edge in Katsuki’s tone was oddly comforting, and he knew that Katsuki’s refusal to coddle him was just his way of showing respect and consideration.

As they moved to the dining table, where Kirishima was already eating breakfast, Todoroki took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and took his seat around the table. Izuku quickly joined him, sitting beside him and reaching over to place a comforting hand on his knee. Todoroki felt a rush of gratitude for the quiet support, and even Katsuki, despite his sharp gaze, gave him space to speak without pushing him.

.

.

.

“So... you were the one who threw yourself at her?” Izuku’s voice was hesitant, his doe eyes blinked and his brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to process Todoroki’s recounting of the events.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Katsuki scoffed in disbelief.

Todoroki’s face flushed deeply with embarrassment, his cheeks burning so much that he thought he might actually burst into flames. This was a lot more mortifying than he’d imagined. Izuku had started off so supportive, leaning in to comfort him, but as Todoroki went on and explained the situation, he watched Izuku’s expression shift from understanding to confusion, and finally to what felt like... judgment. Slowly, Izuku had began to scoot away from him, casting side glances full of disapproval and making it impossible for Todoroki to meet his eyes. Katsuki was more disappointment than anything else. Unbelievable, he muttered to himself. To him, this was beyond stupid—something a too-hormonal high schooler might do and definitely something Todoroki should’ve known better. But it was Kirishima’s silence that unnerved Todoroki the most. The red haired kept his gaze down, uncharacteristically quiet, before abruptly standing up and storming toward the door.

“I need to go apologize!” Kirishima’s voice was laced with urgency, tinged with panic, but Bakugo grabbed his arm and halted him.

“You can’t go back to that hospital, Eijirou,” Katsuki said firmly, tightening his grip. “What are you gonna do, knock on the door and ask for the doctor you beat up? You’ll only make things worse.”

“Kacchan’s right. She’s probably scared right now, and she’ll run the other way if she sees you again,” Izuku added, stepping in front of Kirishima and blocking his ways like a barricade, while exchanging a look of silent agreement with Bakugo.

“But I can’t just stay here! I hurt her—badly. She even tried to explain, but I wouldn’t listen,” Kirishima’s voice grew agitated. The vivid recollection of your tear-filled eyes and bloodied lips coiled within him, guilt tightening its grip on his chest. What kind of man hits an innocent woman? he thought, fists clenched as he struggled to free himself from his mates' hold.

“I’ll go,” Todoroki interjected suddenly. His words startled the others and they turned to him, puzzled. “It was my fault. I should apologize to her.” His voice was calm but resolute, slicing through the tension in the room and carrying a steadiness, calmness, that sought to soothe Kirishima’s agitation and remorse. “Izuku’s right; you can’t go there directly, Eijirou. I’ll go and apologize on behalf of both of us.”

"But I have to do it myself! I was the one who hit her. I should at least cover her medical bill!" Kirishima protested, spurred by a faint voice in the back of his mind reminding him how unmanly—and even less heroic—his actions had been.

“I’ll tell her you want to apologize in person too. If she’s okay with it, I’ll give her your number so she can reach out to you,” Todoroki assured him gently. It pained him to see Kirishima like this, especially knowing it was his fault. All he ever wanted was to see him smiling, radiant and untroubled, and judging by the looks on his other mates’ faces, it was clear they all shared the same feeling.

Kirishima’s expression wavered, torn between making a run to the hospital or listening to his mates, but Katsuki ended his internal debate with a firm arm slung around Kirishima’s shoulders, steering him toward the door.

“Come on, shitty head, we’re gonna be late. It’s Shoto’s mess, he’ll handle it,” Bakugo said, his voice losing its usual edge, and softened just enough to offer some reassurance to Kirishima.

Izuku lingered behind, casting Todoroki a final glance filled with quiet suspicion. Todoroki could almost see the gears of his mind turning, overthinking as always, but then Katsuki barked Izuku’s name from the doorway, urging him to hurry up. With a sigh, Izuku followed the red eyes pair and they all left for work, leaving Todoroki behind in their appartement.

Todoroki paced in circles around his apartment, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He kept telling himself that he needed to apologize, but every time he neared the door, a wave of nerves yanked him back, making him turn and start another lap around his living room. He wasn’t used to feeling this way—unsteady, so... nervous as the weight inside him grew heavier, sinking like an anchor. He’d never been one to feel so unsettled—he was usually straightforward, never having trouble apologizing when it was needed. If he made a mistake, he fixed it; he owned up. But this felt different. Today, shame, guilt, and apprehension mingled within him in a discomfort he didn’t fully understand.

“Okay, it’s just... an apology. You’ve done this before,” he muttered under his breath, trying to summon his usual calm. He had told his mates so confidently that he would do it, but look at him now. “Just go in there, say you’re sorry. It’s not complicated.” Yet the words didn’t settle him. Instead, they only seemed to make him more anxious. Why was facing you so daunting suddenly? He couldn’t explain it—he didn’t understand it.

After what felt like ages, he forced himself to grab his keys and head out the door, before he could talk himself out of it again. But the nerves only grew worse when he settled into his car and sat behind the wheel. The flashes of three days ago replayed in his mind, flashes of him almost humping the backseat. They made him wince as he gripped the steering wheel tighter and started the car.

The hospital wasn’t so far away from his apartment, a short 30-minutes drive, but he had to will himself to stay focused on the road. When he paused at a red light, he found himself wondering if your scent would be as intoxicating and bewitching as he remembered it to be and the thought made him groan as he banged his head on the steering wheel, mumbling to himself, Focus, Shoto.

As he drove past a flower shop, a quiet voice in his mind suggested he bring you something. He considered it for a moment, pondering on how appropriate it would be to bring flowers to someone he didn’t know, especially someone who had been beat up because of him. Yeah, no, even he could tell it would be weird. But somehow, he found himself making a U-turn, parking his car in front of the flower shop, and stepping inside.

The floral scent enveloped him immediately—a soft, sweet fragrance that seemed to soothe the edges of his nerves. Before him laid a sea of vibrant and cool blooms stretched out in rows: roses blushed in shades of crimson and coral, delicate peonies, soft violets, cheerful tulips, and vivid anemones. The shop was beautiful, but he knew he had to leave fast when he realized he was searching for flowers that would complement the color of your eyes. He almost laughed at himself. Ridiculous, he mused, but there he was, his feet planted firmly on the ground, and a minute later, he was holding a bouquet of dahlias. With the flowers in hand, he made his way to the counter, quickly paid, and rushed back to his car, feeling the steady thrum of nervousness in his chest.

Finally, we got to see Izuku and Katsuki in this fic. It took us 6 chapters but we made it through!!

I hated writing this chapter, omg, it took me almost a whole week. You guys have no idea how many versions of this chapter exist 😭. The length wasn’t the issue—I tried to make it a bit longer than usual (not by much, though; I’m usually around 1.5k words, but today I hit 1.9k). BUT omg, nothing really happened here. I think it was just a boring chapter (at least to write) 💀.

I’ve always referred to the characters as Todoroki, Kirishima, Izuku, and Katsuki in my head. But it’s kind of weird how half of them go by their first name and the other half by their surname in the narration, right? It’s also a bit confusing when I use both in the same chapter, so I’ve decided to stick with Izuku, Katsuki, Kirishima, and Todoroki for the narrator. The reader will use their first names once she meets them properly.

As always, criticisms are welcome.

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

05 <- 06 -> 07

My apologies if I forgot anyone in the taglist

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @bluepatrolbear ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ;

[bobluvbot]

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much. 

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief. 

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop. 

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.  

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you. 

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year. 

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it. 

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly. 

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise? 

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too? 

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it. 

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating. 

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing. 

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice. 

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were. 

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait. 

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence. 

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in. 

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.” 

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room. 

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend. 

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun. 

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged. 

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again. 

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together. 

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal. 

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory. 

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in. 

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but  ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool. 

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back. 

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well. 

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius. 

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet. 

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private. 

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain. 

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

[tayraedoll]

Chivalry Is Alive and Well in Hell

Welcome to part 3 of Old Man!

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Swearing, fluff, mature themes

Word Count: 1,675

You feel your mind start to reach consciousness before your physical body. You feel like you are floating, time and space mean nothing in this zone. Slowly, the outside world begins to register to you, and it is less than fucking pleasant.

Your entire body hurt like hell- your skin feels like it is on fire, your joints feel like they were stretched in a medieval torture device, your throat was raw and dry, and it felt like you have not had any food for weeks. With an undignified groan you stretch out, wincing as your nerves shoot lighting bolts through your sore muscles. What the fuck happened to you? Were you hit by a train?

Suddenly, your memories wash over you and your eyes shoot open. Oh yea, Conductor Alastor was at the controls, and you rode that crazy train for 72.FUCKING.HOURS.

You look around, you were alone in bed; Alastor's side was cold letting you know he has been up for awhile. The bed itself was a disaster. The sheets were ripped and torn, the pieces chaotically strewn around the mattress. Both yourself and the bed were covered in sweat, blood, slick, and cum- the mixture dry and clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You bring an arm up to your face and take a whiff, recoiling immediately at the atrocious way you smelled and wrinkling your nose. Disgusting, a shower was definitely first on the agenda. But before that, where was the man responsible for this mess?

As if answering your unspoken question, Alastor suddenly appeared next to the bed. "Ah Darling, there you are! I was wondering how long you would sleep for", he gives you a wide grin. "How are you feeling Ma Biche?"

You take a moment to look him over, he was as pristine and put-together as ever. He was freshly showered, no bodily fluids covering him at all, his hair neatly styled, and his perfect, red suit pressed neatly over his form. Not a single trace of evidence of the last 3 days was anywhere to be found on him. Worse yet, his movements were as lithe and graceful as a panther's, no hint of any bodily soreness in his gait. It all left you feeling extremely self-conscious and rather inferior. You grab a scrap of a blanket and bring it up to your chest in an attempt to hide yourself and throw a glare at his perfect form. "Everything hurts, and I'm pretty sure I am dying." He wouldn't get the reference but you did not care, it fit your mood too well. "How long was I out for? You look...well.", you narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, his microphone playing an upbeat jazz tune, his whole demeanor was light-hearted. "You have been asleep for about 24 hours." Your jaw drops, "24 hours?! Why the fuck didn't you wake me up Al?!"

He reaches down and wraps his hand around your wrist, bringing it up to his lips to plant a tender kiss on the back of your hand. "You needed your rest Sha. Your first mating session took a lot out of you."

You look down, there was a tenderness in his eyes that tugged at your heart and you were not ready to not be annoyed with him. "And what about you?", you ask, subtly accusing him of leaving and making you wake up alone after all you two did together.

"I do not require the same amount of rest as you do. Additionally, I had to reassure our companions that we did not run off after our inexplicable absences the past few days. I do believe our resident fallen angel still thinks I have consumed you", he laughs at the last sentence. "Well, I suppose I have, just not in the way she is thinking", his eyes trail over your arms and throat, cataloging every scratch, hickey, and bite. Without warning, he swoops down and scoops you up into his arms.

"What are you doing?! Put me down!", you screech. Not only were you still a little annoyed with him, but you did not want him to smell you at the moment!

He just laughs, still in a good mood, and begins whistling as he enters his bathroom. He sets you down on the counter and gives you a curt "stay" command that you roll your eyes at- you are not a dog!- but you stay there anyways, fearing that your legs would buckle under you again if you tried to stand.

You watch as he collects things from various cupboards and drawers before turning to his huge bathtub. He turns the water on and dips various liquids into the tub as it filled. The warm steam felt amazing, the scents of lavender and eucalyptus reached your nose and you sighed. He finishes the bath off with a bright pink bath bomb, the fizzing sound it made so satisfying to your ears. Alastor then turns back to you, scooping you into his arms again before gently lowering you into the hot water. You wince and let out a hiss as the water makes every mark on your body sing momentarily. But you are soon able to relax and lean back, enjoying the sense of calm that envelops you. You close your eyes and let out a contented sigh.

You hear the rustle of fabric beside the tub and peep one eye open, seeing Alastor place his jacket neatly on the countertop you were just perched on. He rolls up the sleeves of his crimson dress shirt to his elbows and grabs a small pitcher before settling on the floor next to the tub. He places a hand on your shoulder and directs you to sit up slightly before placing a finger under your chin and tipping your head back. He dipped the pitcher into the water and poured it over your hair, using his free hand to run his fingers through it to make sure he wet every strand.

"What are you doing?", you asked as he lathered shampoo between his hands.

"Upholding my end of our deal My Doe," he explained as he scrubbed the shampoo over your head, carefully using his claws to scratch the base of your skull. Gentle jazz filled the room at a low volume, just barely loud enough to hear, furthering the relaxing ambiance.

When he began combing the conditioner through your hair you side-eyed him. "I do not remember bathing me being a part of our deal. I assure you I am perfectly capable of doing this myself Al."

"If I remember correctly, I said I would protect and love you with all I am. I am simply looking after your well-being, it is not an attack on your independence. I feel better when I can take care of you the way a man should take care of his lady. I believe we have had this conversation about men no longer being chivalrous before." He picked up a fresh sponge and began rubbing it in small circles down each arm, careful not to hurt your healing flesh. Then he gently turned you by your shoulders to face away from him as he ran the sponge down your back.

"I really think you are a rare breed. I doubt all the men from your time did this. They may have been chivalrous in public- but how many of them turned into completely different people behind closed doors alone with their wives? You are probably one of only a handful of men in history to act as servant to their partner." He turned you back around to face him, moving the sponge down you chest and abdomen, working his way down to your legs.

"Isn't that the foundation of love Darling? To provide for another's needs? To serve them?" When he was satisfied that you were clean he reached for a towel, beckoned you to step out of the tub as he pulled the drain, and wrapped you up burrito-style. It felt as if he had just taken the towel out of the dryer it was so warm. "I promise to treat you the way my mother would want me to treat you." Alastor said that last part so softly, you were sure you were not meant to hear it, the only reason you heard it was because of your ultra sensitive doe ears. He hardly ever spoke of his life, he would really only talk about his mother when he would cook you a dish she had taught him how to make. You hoped that this small admission would open the door to more intimate discussions about his past. For now, you would not press him.

You leaned up onto your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Well, I am glad my old geezer has held onto his old-fashioned chivalry", you smirked up at him devilishly.

"Oh, we are reverting back to our ageist feud now are we Fawn?"

You gave him a shrug. "So, that was mating season huh? So what do we do the rest of the year until your refractory period ends?" you wink and laugh at your own joke.

Alastor's eyes flash menacingly, his smile turning more Cheshire before responding "Oh it's not over yet Little Doe."

Your own smile fell, "Er..what? But we did it, for the entire 72 hours!"

The demon buck stalked towards you, backing you up into the bathroom vanity, placing his hands on the counter on either side of you to cage you in against him. "You are but sated for now Darling. But does are polyestrous creatures. I suspect you will have at least one, if not two more heat cycles before the mating season is up."

Your eyes grew wide and you let out an incredulous laugh, whispering under your breath "Oh fuck me!"

Alastor let out a sinister laugh of his own, eyes turning to radio dials and antlers sprouting out from his head,"Trust me my doe, you will be. THOROUGHLY."

The end! Hope you enjoyed it!

@stattikdemon

@vxllys

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@lady-intellectual

@shealizxx

@cryssyd

[yuutasdream]

how would yuuta be when he realizes hes fallen in love with u ⁉️⁉️

: ̗̀➛𝕬𝖒 𝕴 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 ꨄ︎

Yuta and you started off as friends, your bond growing stronger with each passing day. You shared laughs, inside jokes, and countless memories, forming a connection that felt unbreakable. Yet, you couldn't shake off the growing feelings you had for Yuta.

One day, unable to contain your emotions any longer, you mustered up the courage to confess your feelings to Yuta. Heart pounding, palms sweating, you poured your heart out, laying bare the depth of your affection. "Yuta, I... I have something to tell you," you stammered, trying to find the right words. "I've developed feelings for you. I really care about you, more than just as a friend." you held out a chocolate as a gesture to show appreciation.

Yuta's expression softened as he listened, his eyes reflecting surprise and perhaps a hint of uncertainty. "I... I appreciate your honesty," he replied, his voice gentle yet conflicted. "But I need some time to think about this. I value our friendship so much, and I don't want to do anything to ruin it."

With those words, Yuta's response hung in the air, leaving you with a mix of hope and trepidation. Though his rejection stung, you respected his need for time to process his feelings. “also... I'm leaving the next week..” yuta noted adding salt on the scar. “oh it's okay... Have fun at your trip” you both parted away each one on his own.

Yet even after all or that yuta kept in touch with you even after what happened not wanting to make things awkward nor break the friendship he loved the most. The friendship between you and him.

As Yuta continued his journey, he couldn't shake off the growing feeling of emptiness without you by his side. He missed the jokes and your vibes. The picturesque landscapes and exciting adventures seemed to lose their luster in your absence. Each passing day felt like a struggle, a constant reminder of how much he longed to share these moments with you.

Then came the fateful day when he received the message from his best friend toge telling him about your broken phone. It hit him like a wave, leaving him feeling stranded and disconnected. Suddenly, the simple act of hearing your voice or seeing your messages became a distant dream, leaving a void in his heart that nothing else could fill.

Days turned into nights filled with restless thoughts of you, of the conversations he could have had, the jokes you could have shared. It was in those moments of solitude that Yuta realized just how much you meant to him, how your presence had become an important part of his life.

Unable to bear the separation any longer, Yuta made a spontaneous decision to cut his trip short and return back to jujutsu high. The place he knew that he'll find you there. The journey back felt like an eternity, each passing mile fueling his determination to see you again.

Arriving at your dorm's door unexpectedly, his heart pounded with a mix of nerves and excitement. When you opened the door, surprise etched across your face, Yuta's breath caught in his throat. But as he looked into your eyes, all his fears melted away, replaced by a sense of purpose.

"I missed you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with raw emotion. “miss me..? It's been only a couple of days” you said flattered not knowing how to express your feelings looking at all of the souvenirs he got you to express his love.

You welcomed him inside, and as you sat together, Yuta poured his heart out. "Being away from you made me realize how much you mean to me," he admitted, his gaze never wavering from yours. "I can't imagine my life without you, and I just had to come back and tell you... I love you." the way the words poured out of his mouth you were still in shock.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his heartfelt words, feeling the weight of his love enveloping you. "I love you too, Yuta," you whispered, a smile breaking through the tears wrapping your arms around him. You were really happy that he finally realized his feelings and got certain about it. “next time I promise to book you a flight with me..” he said giggling, “I want nothing to break us apart”

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your embrace, Yuta knew that no distance or obstacle could ever diminish the love he felt for you. And as he held you close, he knew that home wasn't a place—it was wherever you were, in your arms.

[its-avalon-08]

can u do a carlos sainz x reader, where reader forgets him birthday oop- he's is really hurt by it! thanks

let me dry your eyes (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - major angst, alot of tears, happy ending

The smell of tears hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the tension crackling between Carlos and Y/N. Empty plates sat abandoned on the table, the remnants of a dinner that neither had the heart to finish.

"You didn't even remember," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with emotion. Y/N flinched, the color draining from her face.

"What? No, of course I did!" she sputtered, scrambling to mend the situation. Work had been a relentless beast lately, consuming every waking thought, but forgetting his birthday? That was unthinkable.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice barely a whisper. "There wasn't even a card, a stupid text... nothing."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Carlos, I..." Her voice cracked. A horrible dread settled in her stomach. Had she truly forgotten? Memories flickered - a discarded calendar reminder, a half-written email draft... the mounting pressure of a looming deadline. Shame washed over her.

"You what?" Carlos snapped, his eyes blazing. "This isn't some random Tuesday, Y/N! It's my birthday!"

"I know, I know!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. "But work, it's been..."

"Work, work, work! That's all it ever is!" Carlos roared, his voice echoing off the bare walls of the apartment. "Is that all I am to you? Just some inconvenience in your never-ending schedule?"

Tears streamed down Y/N's face. "No, that's not it! You're everything to me, Carlos. I just..." Her voice trailed off, the enormity of her mistake hitting her like a physical blow.

"You just forgot," Carlos finished for her, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Because apparently, my birthday just wasn't important enough for the woman I love"

"No! That's not true!" Y/N reached out for him, but he flinched away. The hurt in his eyes was a reflection of her own carelessness.

"It's okay, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice hollow. "Don't worry about it. I obviously don't matter that much."

The finality in his voice struck a raw nerve. "Don't say that, Carlos. Please," she begged, desperation creeping into her tone.

He looked at her, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But then, his face hardened.

"I need some air," he said curtly, brushing past her on his way to the door. Y/N lunged after him, but he was already throwing it open.

"Carlos, wait!" she cried, tears blurring her vision. But he was gone, leaving her alone in the wreckage of their burnt dinner and a birthday celebration that never was. The silence echoed louder than any scream, a chilling reminder of the carelessness that threatened to tear them apart.

The sterile white walls of Lando's house offered a stark contrast to the warmth of Carlos's apartment. Lando, ever the friend, had found Carlos pacing outside his building, tears threatening to spill over again. Now, Carlos sat slumped on the plush couch, a beer untouched in his hand.

"And then she just... said work was busy," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with a mix of anger and hurt. "Like my birthday is just another meeting she can reschedule."

Lando, ever the calm presence, sat beside him, a sympathetic hand resting on Carlos's shoulder. "Mate, that's rough. Birthdays are supposed to be special, you know?"

Carlos let out a humorless scoff. "Special? Apparently, to Y/N, it's just another Tuesday." He took a shaky breath, wiping at a stray tear that escaped. "The worst part? I know she didn't mean it. She's been swamped at work lately, but..."

"But it still hurts," Lando finished gently. "It's the forgetting, the feeling like you don't matter. Trust me, I get it."

Carlos nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The anger that had fueled him earlier was starting to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. "I just... I don't know what to do, Lando. We haven't been fighting much lately, but this feels different."

Lando squeezed his shoulder. "Look, give her a chance to explain herself. Maybe there's more to it than just work."

Carlos scoffed again, a flicker of the earlier anger returning. "What more could there be? It's my birthday, Lando! Not exactly rocket science to remember that."

"Easy there, firebrand," Lando chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual cheer. "I know you're mad, but blowing things up won't fix this. Talk to her, Carlos. But talk when you've both calmed down."

Carlos slumped further into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he muttered, the fight finally draining out of him. "I'm just... so fucking tired."

Lando gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, well, birthdays can be draining, especially when they go sideways. How about we forget about the whole girlfriend drama for a bit and play some Call of Duty? My revenge skills are legendary, you know."

Carlos managed a weak chuckle. "Sounds good, mate. Just promise me you won't go too easy on me. I need to vent my frustrations somehow."

Lando grinned. "Don't worry, Sainz. On the virtual battlefield, there's no such thing as mercy for you."

As the familiar sounds of gunfire filled the motorhome, Carlos closed his eyes, the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face flashing behind his eyelids. He knew Lando was right; they needed to talk. But a part of him, the part that had been so excited to celebrate another year with her, couldn't help but feel a cold ember of anger rekindle. He was tired, yes, but he was also starting to feel overwhelming pain.

Exhaustion finally claimed Carlos. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening, coupled with Lando's relentless (but admittedly therapeutic) Call of Duty onslaught, had drained him completely. He slumped against the back of the couch, his breaths deepening into a steady rhythm.

Lando, controller still clutched in his hand, watched his friend with a mix of concern and amusement. He muted the game and pulled out his phone, a determined glint in his eyes. With a sigh, he dialed Y/N's number.

"Hey, Y/N," he started, his voice gentle. "It's Lando."

There was a choked sob on the other end, followed by a shaky, "Lando?"

"Yeah, listen," he continued, his voice low. "Carlos is here. He's pretty wiped, but…" He hesitated, gauging her reaction.

"But what?" Y/N's voice trembled. "Is he okay?"

"He's… hurt," Lando admitted carefully. "He's more upset than he lets on Y/N."

Y/N flinched at the nickname, a painful reminder of the way she'd let Carlos down. "Oh God, Lando, what can I do?"

Lando could practically hear the despair in her voice. "Look," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You messed up, big time. But Carlos cares about you deeply. He's just… well, he feels forgotten."

Y/N sniffled. "I know. I feel like the worst girlfriend ever."

"Don't beat yourself up," Lando soothed. "Here's the thing – you can fix this. But it'll take effort."

He outlined a plan. It involved a grand gesture, a little creativity, and a whole lot of groveling on Y/N's part. As he spoke, a slow smile spread across Y/N's face, a spark of hope rekindled in her voice.

"Lando," she whispered, "that might actually work. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"No problem," Lando replied, a genuine grin breaking out on his face. "Just promise me one thing – make it epic."

"Epic it is," Y/N vowed, a newfound determination hardening her voice. "He won't forget this birthday, not in a million years."

Lando hung up, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He glanced at the slumbering Carlos, a small smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride, mate," he murmured. He grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over his friend, a silent promise that things would be alright. (my carlando heart is sobbing brb)

The rhythmic rumble of the engine lulled Carlos further into sleep. Lando, ever the watchful friend, kept a careful eye on the road, a smile tugging at his lips. Y/N's plan, as he'd suspected, was a winner.

As they neared Carlos's apartment, Lando broke the silence. "Hey, mate," he nudged Carlos gently. "We're close."

Carlos stirred, blinking blearily at his surroundings. Memories of the argument and his subsequent meltdown flooded back. Shame washed over him, quickly followed by a pang of longing. All he wanted right now was to hold Y/N, to feel her warmth, to hear her apologize.

Sensing his friend's turmoil, Lando offered a playful nudge. "Come on, sleepyhead. Looks like your princess is in another castle... or rather, apartment." He winked, throwing a knowing look towards Carlos's building.

A jolt of energy coursed through Carlos. He sat up straight, a sudden desperation filling his eyes. "Lando, I just… I want to hug her and give her the biggest kiss. Right now."

Lando chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Well, looks like your nap is officially over then, Mr. Sleepyhead."

Finally, Lando pulled up in front of the building. He gave Carlos a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Go get her, tiger."

Carlos didn't need telling twice. He practically sprinted towards his apartment, his heart hammering in his chest. He fumbled with the keys, the door swinging open with a creak.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath away. Fairy lights twinkled in the darkened room, casting a warm glow on everything they touched. Carlos's favorite flowers, lilies and sunflowers, bloomed in vases strategically placed around the room. Simple silver streamers fluttered gently, catching the soft light.

A low hum filled the air – the familiar score from his all-time favorite movie. The scent of sizzling garlic and herbs wafted from the kitchen, a tantalizing promise of his favorite pasta dish. And then, there she was.

Y/N stood in the center of it all, a vision in a dress that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her eyes, though puffy and red-rimmed from crying, shone with an intensity that sent a jolt straight to his heart.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Then, Y/N's eyes welled up again, and she ran towards him, a sob escaping her lips.

Carlos met her halfway, engulfing her in his arms. The scent of her shampoo, a familiar comfort, filled his senses. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I…" Words failed him, so he simply held her closer, letting the embrace speak volumes.

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling slightly. "Carlos, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. Please forgive me."

He steps further into the room, his eyes searching mine. "Y/N," he starts, concern lacing his voice. "You didn't have to do all this."

"But I had to," Y/N interrupts, her voice gaining strength. "I messed up, Carlos. Big time. Work was a monster lately, but that's no excuse. You… you deserve to be celebrated. Every single day. But especially today."

Y/N stepped closer to him, the space between the two shrinking. "You see, Carlos, forgetting your birthday wasn't just about a missed date on a calendar. It… it showed me something about myself, something scary. That I, in my whirlwind of stress, could almost lose sight of what truly matters. And you, Carlos, you matter more than anything in this world."

Her voice cracks a little, but she presses on. "You're my best friend, my confidante, my biggest supporter, and the person who makes me laugh until my sides ache. You're the calm in my storm, the sunshine on a rainy day. You're… you're my Carlos."

She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead "And I promise," she vows, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, "I will never, ever forget that again." A single tear escapes, tracing a glistening path down Y/N's cheek. "Can you forgive me?"

The silence stretches for another beat, then his lips curve into a slow, understanding smile. He pulls Y/N into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering chill of doubt.

"There's nothing to forgive," he murmurs against her hair. "Just… maybe a few extra birthday kisses?"

She laughs, the sound echoing through the room like a promise of a new beginning. "As many as you want, birthday boy." Tonight, with the flickering lights and the promise of a shared future, they celebrated not just his birthday, but the strength of their love, a love that can weather even the most forgetful storms.

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Just… no more forgetting birthdays, okay?" he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Y/N's lips curved into a watery smile. "Never," she promised, her voice barely a whisper. Then, she added, "The movie's just starting, and your food will be ready soon. Can we just… stay like this for a while?"

Carlos leaned his forehead against hers, a wave of relief washing over him. "For as long as you want," he murmured. And in the quiet embrace, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights and the promise of a new beginning, they knew this birthday, though starting on a rough note, would be one they'd never forget.

As they pulled away from their embrace, Y/N's eyes darted around the room, landing on a small table decorated with a single wrapped box. "There's, uh, one more thing," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

Carlos raised an eyebrow in surprise. "More surprises?"

Y/N nodded shyly, biting her lip. He watched with a growing smile as she carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a framed photo of the two of them, beaming at the camera during a recent vacation. The edges were decorated with tiny seashells they'd collected on the beach.

"It's for you to remember all our birthdays," Y/N said softly, handing it to him.

Carlos's heart melted. He held the photo close, the warmth of the memory radiating from it. "Y/N, this is perfect. Thank you." He looked at her, his eyes shining with affection. "You really went all out."

Feeling a surge of confidence, Y/N reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. "There's actually one more tiny thing," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos's eyes widened as she opened the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny race car charm dangling from it. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "It's beautiful."

Y/N helped him clasp it around his wrist, a shy smile gracing her lips. "It has your number on it," she explained, tracing the car charm with her finger.

Carlos's smile widened into a full-blown grin. He was about to say something when his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Oh my god," Y/N gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Dinner! I completely forgot with all the excitement."

Carlos chuckled, pulling her close. "Hey, it's okay. Birthdays are for celebrating, not worrying about schedules."

They decided to ditch the fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes, opting for their usual cozy sweatpants and t-shirts. As the delicious smell of garlic and herbs filled the room, Y/N set about preparing their plates, a newfound lightness in her step.

Curled up on the couch with the movie playing in the background, Carlos took a bite of his pasta, his face contorting in blissful satisfaction. "Mmm, Y/N, this is amazing," he mumbled, his mouth full.

Y/N, nestled comfortably on his lap, beamed. "I'm glad you like it. I put extra love in it after… well, you know."

A momentary shadow crossed Carlos's face. "Hey," he said gently, "about that… I'm glad you apologized. But honestly, I was more hurt that you were so stressed with work you forgot. It made me feel like…"

He trailed off, not wanting to upset her again. Y/N, however, anticipated his words. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Like you didn't matter?" she choked out, her voice thick with regret.

"No, no," Carlos quickly assured her, placing a hand on her cheek. "I never said that. It's just… you're the most important person in my life. And seeing you so focused on work… it scared me, a little."

Y/N leaned into his touch, tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry, Carlos. I promise, I'll find a better balance. Work will never be more important than you."

She snuggled closer, burying her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered over and over again, seeking forgiveness and comfort.

Carlos wrapped his arms around her, his heart overflowing with love. "I love you too, Y/N. More than words can say." He kissed the top of her head, a silent promise that he would always forgive her, as long as they communicated and worked together.

The rest of the evening melted away in a warm haze of movie magic, shared laughter, and whispered apologies. As the movie's credits rolled, Carlos leaned back, Y/N's head resting contentedly on his chest. He knew, despite the rocky start, this birthday would forever be etched in their memory – a reminder of the importance of communication, forgiveness, and most importantly, the power of love.

[yet-another-heathen]

Wick's Whump Drive - I

This is a commissioned piece for @light-me-on-pyre, who was kind enough to participate in my ongoing whump drive for Palestinian aid.

Want in? Donate $5/€5 or more to ANY Palestinian fundraiser, send me the receipt, and I'll write a custom whump drabble for you, too.

Prompt: "How would you write deconditioning?"

[ My lessons on how to write realistic conditioning can be found here. ]

---

TW | realistic whump recovery, emotional whump, brief argument, PTSD, flashbacks, intentional deconditioning attempt, implied past character death (whumper)

It wasn't the word itself this time. It was the way Caretaker said it.

"Kneel."

Whumpee went down hard. The mental cursing began when his knees were about two inches from hitting the ground. Too late to stop the movement. Plenty of time to hate himself for following through.

Where his knees hit, the jarring spike of stacking bruises felt like a punch. Failure.

Another. Fucking. Failure.

Whumpee groaned in frustration, hands balling in his hair. Then he was on his feet again, pacing. "Again."

"Whumpee, I think we've had enough for toni—"

"No! No, I need to try again! I have to get this right just once before I stop." He turned again on his heel, leaving another path in the carpet. "We keep going. I just— I just need to keep going."

Caretaker raised an eyebrow, not moving from where he knelt. With that endless patience that was beginning to grate on Whumpee's nerves, "...we have been at this for an hour. Your nerves are getting more and more frayed by the minute. You said yourself that this works best when you're calm."

"And what if I'm wrong?" Whumpee whirled around on him, tears in his eyes. "I keep failing. I've barely managed to stop myself three times this whole week. Out of what? Four dozen attempts? Five? Every time I quit I end up backsliding more and more. I can't keep giving up. This has to work."

"It will be easier—"

"Are you going to say it or not? You said you would help me!"

Caretaker looked taken aback. And just as quickly, his expression shuttered.

"What do you think I've been doing for the last hour?" he asked. "Don't forget— I still get to say 'no', too."

The reminder hit like a slap. Not because Caretaker was wrong. Because he was right.

It had taken everything Whumpee had just to keep making it through the practice sessions. With how bad things had gotten, he barely had the capacity to take care of himself right now. Let alone worry any of the people around him.

Was that how he'd been acting? Was that what Whumpee was denying him? Even the choice to be a part of this?

After standing there for another far too long moment, Whumpee let out a sigh and came back over to Caretaker. He slipped to the floor beside him, folding his knees up to his chest, back pressed to the couch.

Quieter, rougher, "...Yeah. Yeah, you do." He couldn't bring himself to look at him. "I'm sorry."

Although Caretaker didn't say anything, Whumpee could see the moment the tension in his shoulders let go. The fight passed over them like a distant shadow.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," Whumpee murmured. He wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his chin on his forearms. "Between the nightmares and the memories... I'm just... I'm so tired." Quieter still, "I can't seem to get that monster out of my head."

"You've not been sleeping." It wasn't a question.

"...I've been trying to. I really have. But I end up just laying there, thinking the same five thoughts on repeat, over and over and over. Things haven't been this bad since—"

A flash of bright light. Wrists rubbed raw. Whumpee was doubled over, arms wrapped around himself. Screaming himself raw with a flood of relief and despair and a hundred other emotions that he could never admit aloud. Blood spreading on the cement floor. Blood that finally, finally wasn't his own.

Whumpee flinched, twisting his face away from the sight. As if this was something he could just look away from. As if the memories weren't printed into his retinas like the afterimage of lightning.

He took a few slow, steadying breaths, shaking on every exhale. Clenched his trembling hands, open and closed. Open and closed. Eventually he managed a raspy, "...since before."

Caretaker watched, worried. But he knew better than to reach for Whumpee without asking first.

"Whumpee... you've been butting up against this same block for weeks now. I've watched you try everything except the most obvious thing there is. You need to rest." Whumpee opened his mouth to say something, but Caretaker cut him off before he could argue. "—I'm not telling you to quit. I know why you can't, and I would never ask it of you. But there's a difference between giving up, and taking enough time to catch your breath before the next sprint."

Whumpee averted his eyes again, throat working against the burn of building tears. But he was listening.

Softer, "You said this was something you'd be working on for the rest of your life. If that's true, then there's time. For just a few days... give yourself some of the softness you went so long without. Take enough time to be gentle with the man you're trying so hard to save."

The words had hit their mark. He watched as Whumpee's face crumpled. His breath hitched once, and he broke into a sob. Then Whumpee finally reached out for him, and Caretaker didn't hesitate to pull him into hug.

He buried his face against Caretaker's chest, everything he'd been holding back falling apart at once. Pain. Despair. Hope. Grief. All of it came pouring out with his voice.

"There. I've got you," Caretaker murmured, closing his eyes. Exhausted, but relieved that something had finally gotten through. "...I've got you."

[dentiststoothfairy]

hello! can i ask a norton,Aesop,and naib

with an s/o that got really hurt during a match like it injured the whole right side of there s/o face and also made their s/o loss there right eye? so like at first another survivor told them you got hurt so they went to you thinking you just got a scratch or something but they didn't expect to find there s/o in a puddle of their own blood holding the right side of there face because it got hit with a flare gun which exploded right when it hit the right side of there face,

(it's fine if you don't want to do this or your not comfortable writing it, that's fine but thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my request(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

🟢 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐁 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐑 🟢

Accidents occasionally happen in the manor, which always gets on his nerves. It's just the soldier in him.

No room for mistakes with this one.

So when he found out you were in an accident with a flare gun, he was pretty pissed off.

THIS is why people can't afford to fuck up, anytime, any day. Because people like you get fucking hurt.

Cracking his knuckles for a totally unrelated reason guys don't worry.

Emily was pretty stern with him before letting him into her little nursing room that she made for injuries after matches.

Don't apply extra stress on the wound.

Allow for proper rest.

Don't let them apply for matches until their face is at LEAST 77% healed and that's if we're being generous.

As Emily listed off the rules, Naib just got more agitated.

Had something like. Actually gone wrong?

And once he saw you. Holy fucking shit.

Memories came flooding back.

It was like. Actively sort of triggering him. Looking at you like that.

As Emily applied the final bandages to your face to make sure you wouldn't get infected, he couldn't look at you.

Not that he thought you were ugly, no no. It was. Physically painful to see the one he utterly adored to be in that position.

A position his friends were in so long ago.

He tries to get you to rat out who did it. He just wants to talk.

Once the healing is done and it turns out you've lost an eye. He honestly feel sick, for you. Again, he isn't any less attracted to you. But it's. It's so raw for him. It takes him a while to feel okay.

He has war trauma guys.

🍩𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 🍩

He's a little more careless than Naib, so when he heard about an accident in a duos match.. He didn't really bat an eye.

You were tough, he trusted you. Although, he'd still pretty fucking upset. Like. Come on. How the hell did that even happen in the first place? In fact, the news that an "accident" occurred kind of unnerved him.

And like Naib, Emily gave him a run down on how to treat the wound. Which he could only scoff at.

He knew how to treat a wound like that. Especially a facial wound.

*vaguely gestures to his face*

And. GOD. his reaction to your face.

FUCK DUDE.

It hurts him knowing that you've gone through the EXACT same thing that he has.

Unlike Naib, he doesn't struggle to look at you from guilt. No. He doubles down.

He's extra attentive to you, although he basically discards Emily's advice, he handles it in his own... Mr Mole sort of way.

⚰️ 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐏 𝐂𝐀��𝐋 ⚰️

He's pretty expressionless on the daily. It's hard to read his eyes especially with the mask, so when someone br𝐪oke the news that something happened to you during a match.. It was hard to gauge his reaction.

Internally, he was pretty conflicted actually.

One half - was he finally allowed to preserve you for your beauty? No scar or scratch or anything could ever doubt your luminescence to him.

On the other half -

If you weren't already dead...

ARE YOU OKAY?

He was stressed, very stressed.

Anyways. He's actually not a germaphobe as one would expect from the gloves and the mask. So when Emily advised him to watch after you carefully, he listened cautiously.

Once he saw your face

He didn't flinch.

"Oh dear,... Poor [Y/N]...are you feeling alright?"

Probably the only time Emily saw him actually interact with someone like.. A normal human ngl.

Aesop doesn't blink twice.

When I say nothing could tear his eyes from you, I mean nothing.

Lost eye, half scarred face, burnt skin smelling like a chicken dinner.

He truly believes you are the most beautiful th. FINE. FINE. HE'LL PUT DOWN THE SYRINGE :((

U don't love him anymore.... And u hate him 😔 u want him dead /j

[onelittlespiral]

You should make a top to bottom story!

FML: Worship

He had always been a great gym crush. When I was getting my pump, he would consistently be just a few machines over. His fiery hair and muscles glistened as he moved through his reps. I always worked a little harder when he was there, even though I knew it wouldn’t work. We had hardly ever exchanged words, but the few we had let me know he was straight as an arrow. I was a stacked guy myself, and I knew that there were countless twinks who would fawn over the chance to get with all this:

But I wanted him. I started slowly working up the nerve to talk to him, and was shocked to learn he knew my name

“Yeah man, I’ve seen you round here. You’ve got some sick gains, you’ve got to let me know your routine!”

From there, I decided to make a plan to ensure he would become mine.

I found a video that promised to create a “Gym Bro to Perfect Sub” out of any guy who watched it. It’s description promised that a single whiff of their dom would leave them madly in love and obedient. I told him that we should meet up at my place for some prep before hitting the gym together tomorrow. He was happy to oblige.

When he came over I quickly welcomed him in and ushered him to the couch. He sat patiently as I told him I had a tutorial for the routine set up to show the proper form. I cued up the video and left the room, turning back just to make sure it was all going according to plan. In just a few seconds, he was grinning stupidly as he fell under the spiral’s control.

As he fell deeply into a trance, the programming began:

You put in so much work bro. You should lean back and relax.

Intuitively, he leaned back on the couch, putting his feet up and hands behind his head. He had been really overworked the last few weeks.

Sit back and feel your body. Notice the feeling of muscle squeezing. Smell your body radiate heat and sex through stale deodorant. Feel the power you have. The power to change the world around you.”

He grinned as the feeling of masculinity flowed through him. He felt his muscles ache from yesterday’s workout. He had banged hard the night before and his musk was definitely not being held back by yesterday’s Axe. But the ladies loved it. He could pull just about any chick he wanted, do anything he wanted. He was a king.

You think about the person you see yourself as. But that’s not quite true, is it?

What? Nah man, he knew he was the shit. He was… he was… wasn’t he?

That’s not who you are. That’s who you could be.

As his self-perception popped, his body began to follow suit. His mature scowl began to take on a more boyish smirk. His once imposing stature shrunk down as he felt a bit more awkward and out of place. He still had potential though. Plenty of time to grow. He still worked religiously on his body to keep it plenty strong.

That’s the kind of men you look up to. Big powerful biceps. Pecs firm. Asses bubbly and tight. Cool, assertive personalities. Thick dicks to back it all up.

Y…no… yesss. That’s right. How silly of him. His arms deflated from buff to, generously, toned. His pecs shrunk down into his chest. His glutes lost tone as they became firm but small. His body sweat at the effort of losing years of hard work as muscle evaporated off of him.

This isn’t even the man you want to be. This is the man you want to be with.

At this moment, his mind flicked to his new mentor. He was promising to show him how to get shredded like him. The way his muscles glistened as he worked out… The way he towered over small guys like himself… The way his hair curled around his pecs and into those pits and captured his raw smell…

A hard on quickly developed, throbbing at the new feelings of lust. He began gently rubbing, imagining how good it would feel to pound his crush’s ass as any memories of straight life began leaking out his tip.

Men like that don’t need competition. They need relief from all the gym bros. They want a little bro. A boy toy.

All at once the need moved from his pole to deep inside. A deep itch he could never reach. A high pitched moan escaped as his ass felt so empty and needy. His thoughts of topping were drained away as he felt his ass reshaped to take cock. Any fight left in him melted away as the need to be fucked consumed his mind.

They deserve worship. They demand obedience and submission.

His mind, effectively broken at this point, slowly began to rebuild itself with one goal in mind. To bring pleasure. To serve. To feel a man use him as a tool for pleasure. He needed to submit. The spiral pushed on.

Good boy. You are ready for your new purpose. Your big, smelly gym bro will walk in soon and come to claim you. As his presence envelopes you, you will see him as yours. You will serve him so well and he will take care of you in turn.

He was ready. His mind emptied of any remaining thoughts but service and pleasure.

Good Boy.

His brain felt a warm wave of joy flow over it. He wanted to behave.

So submissive.

God he needed his dom, he needed to submit.

Perfectly happy, dumb, ready to serve.

Yeah, sooooo… happppppy… so… empty…

Now wait.

I walked into the room to his mouth still stuck agape, mind empty and happy. As my feet hit the floor, he came to, and looked over at me. I could feel his gaze trace my body as just my presence began to change his brain chemistry. “Get over here boy. ”

“Hiiii… oh god… fuuuuuck”

I walked over, picked him up off the couch, and pressed him against the wall.

“Yeah babe, take it all in. You’re much cuter. Daddy has been waiting far too long for this. I want you on this dick now,” I growled.

I watched as his mind was overtaken again, the programming taking over as my scent consumed him and my fur pressed against his body. His gaze was pure longing as he savored the scent that would become his world.

“Yes sir.” His breath was quick and heavy as his small hard on pressed against my stomach. He was drooling over my body as his tongue rolled out his mouth. He practically melted in my embrace, perfectly submissive.

“Good.” I carried him to the bed room, ready to give my new boyfriend the workout I had promised.

[estellan0vella]

Postictal Care ❀ Sukuna

(Can be read as a follow up to this SMAU)

Masterlist

You wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like ink into water. The room is dim, the curtains drawn tight against the sun. A heavy warmth presses against your side, and as your eyes flutter open, you realize it’s Sukuna. His powerful frame is a familiar weight, his arm draped possessively over your waist. His presence is both comforting and intimidating, an embodiment of raw strength and ancient power.

For a moment, everything feels normal. Then, the memory of what happened hits you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping. You had a seizure. Panic swells in you as you try to move away from Sukuna.

Before you can spiral further, Sukuna shifts beside you. His eyes, those intense crimson orbs, open and lock onto yours. There’s a flicker of something in them—concern, maybe? It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that you feel more than hear.

You nod, unsure of what to say. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

“What happened?” His tone is neutral, but you can sense the undercurrent of worry. "I want to hear it from you, Uraume already told me everything so don't lie to me"

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. “I had a seizure,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “You didn’t tell me you have epilepsy.”

Guilt twists in your stomach. “I didn’t want you to worry,” you murmur.

He exhales slowly, a sound that’s almost a growl. “You think I wouldn’t worry seeing you like that? Looking dead in Uraume's arms?”

The image must have been shocking, and you can see the lingering tension in Sukuna's posture. His grip on you tightens for a moment, then relaxes as he takes a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to hide it. I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

Sukuna’s expression softens ever so slightly, a rare sight. He cups your face in his large hand, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. “You’re not a burden,” he says firmly. “You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

His words are fierce, possessive, but there’s an underlying tenderness that makes your heart ache. You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’m okay now,” you assure him, though you can still feel the aftereffects of the seizure—tiredness, a slight headache.

Sukuna studies you for a moment longer before nodding. “Rest,” he commands. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

He shifts, preparing to rise from the bed, but you grab his hand. “Stay,” you plead softly.

He looks at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he settles back down, his arm wrapping around you protectively. “Alright,” he agrees, his voice a soothing rumble.

You snuggle closer to him, drawing comfort from his warmth and strength. His presence, usually so overwhelming, is a balm to your frayed nerves. As you lay there, you start to explain your condition, sharing the details you had kept hidden.

“I’ve had epilepsy since I was a child,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s usually under control with medication, but sometimes stress or lack of sleep can trigger a seizure.”

Sukuna listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face. He’s silent, but you can feel the intensity of his focus, the weight of his attention.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” you admit, tears threatening again. “I thought you’d see me as weak.”

His grip tightens around you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “You’re not weak,” he says fiercely. “You’re stronger than most humans I’ve known. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The conviction in his voice makes your heart swell. You take a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

He doesn’t respond with words, but the way he holds you, the protective tightness of his embrace, speaks volumes. You close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to pull you back under, comforted by the knowledge that Sukuna is there, watching over you.

When you wake again, the room is filled with the soft glow of early morning light. Sukuna is still beside you, his presence a comforting constant. You feel a bit better, the headache mostly gone, your energy slowly returning.

You shift slightly, and Sukuna’s eyes open immediately, sharp and alert. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low.

“Better,” you reply, offering him a small smile.

He studies you for a moment before nodding. “Good.”

You hesitate, then reach out and take his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

His grip tightens on your hand. “You’re not a burden,” he says firmly. “Never think that.”

You feel a lump form in your throat at his words. Sukuna, who commands respect and fear from everyone, is telling you that you matter. It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He kisses you then, a fierce and possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. When he pulls back, his eyes are burning with intensity. “You’re mine,” he repeats. “And I protect what’s mine.”

You nod, feeling a surge of love and gratitude for this complex, powerful man who has claimed your heart. “And I’m yours,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Sukuna’s expression softens just a fraction, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. You know there will be challenges ahead, but with Sukuna by your side, you feel ready to face them. He may be the King of Curses, but to you, he’s also the man who cares for you, who protects you, and who loves you in his own fierce way.

In his embrace, you find strength and comfort, knowing that together, you can handle anything. And as you drift off to sleep, safe in Sukuna’s arms, you feel a sense of peace, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

Went through so many emotions rewriting this after tumblr told me the original post went to heaven. My laptop nearly went out of the window until I realised I did not have the funds to buy a new one

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Maybe Later

Maybe Later: After fighting on Marineford with your captain, you wake up on the Polar Tang injured. When you try to wash the blood from marines and pirates alike, you can’t quite reach the areas you need to given your injuries. The doctor that patched you up decides to help.

Warnings: Gore, Talk of Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: Trafalgar Law x Female!Reader, I named you Tulip.

Word Count: ~4.4k

You come to with a start, your eyes struggling to open. The room swims into focus—a metal ceiling, dim lights casting a sterile glow. You try to shift, but pain lances through your back, immobilizing you. You’re on your stomach, naked, and the sting of antiseptic fills your nostrils.

“Where... where am I?” Your voice croaks out, dry and weak. The last thing you remember is Luffy's screams, Ace's lifeless body, and charging for them. Then nothing. A memory of blistering pain erupting on your back flickers into your mind but doesn't linger.

A figure moves into view—dark curly hair under a yellow and orange hat. It’s Ikkaku. A concentrated look upon her face keeps her attention, hands gentle as they tend to the wound on your back.

“You’re on the Polar Tang,” she replies without glancing over to you. Her voice is calm but tinged with an underlying urgency. “You took a nasty hit from Akainu. Severe burn injury on your back and over your spine.”

The memory floods back—Akainu’s magma fist, the searing agony as it punched through your flesh. Bone. You grit your teeth against the residual pain and screaming nerves.

“You passed out from the pain,” Ikkaku continues. “You’re lucky your spine wasn’t completely ruined, otherwise you’d’ve lost your ability to operate your lower body.”

“Luffy... what about Luffy?” you rasp, knowing all too well the fate of Ace. All that work only for Ace to die.

Ikkaku’s hands pause for a moment before she resumes her work. “He’s still unconscious. We’re keeping an eye on him.”

The thought of Luffy lying somewhere in a similar state fills you with a mix of dread and relief. At least he’s alive.

“I need to get up,” you mutter, attempting to push yourself off the gurney.

Ikkaku’s hand presses firmly on your shoulder, stopping you cold. “Don’t even think about it,” she says sharply. “You are just out of surgery! You need at least three more hours for your spine to finish bonding before you can move safely. Otherwise, you might paralyze yourself! You are lucky that you still have vertebrae and nerves left!”

You whimper, a sharp sound of frustration mixed with agony. The pain surges, radiating from the burn wound and spreading through every corner of your back. Reluctantly, you stop moving, surrendering to her orders. With great reluctance.

Ikkaku's grip on your shoulder softens as she resumes her work. “I’ve debrided the wound post surgery,” she explains, voice clinical. “Removed all the dead tissue. Now I’m applying a synthetic material over it to protect the flesh that isn't too far gone. Most of the flesh that made direct contact with Akainu’s fist was incinerated. It’s going to feel strange for a while, but it'll speed up the healing process and you'll have 'skin' covering your spine again.”

Her fingers glide over your stinging back, placing a cool, gel-like substance over the raw skin. The contrast between the burn’s heat and the synthetic coolness is startling and you dig your fingers into the gurney beneath you to force yourself to stay still. You let out a shuddering breath, focusing on Ikkaku’s touch rather than the lingering pain.

“How bad is it Ikkaku?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Bad,” she admits. “But not irreversible. Law has some new advanced medical techniques. We’re doing everything we can, it won't be the same, but you'll at least still have function.”

You nod slightly, though even that small movement sends ripples of discomfort through you. Silence stretches between you and Ikkaku, filled only by her quiet murmurs as she continues her treatment.

Minutes tick by like hours until Ikkaku finally steps back, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright,” she says softly. “The worst part is done for now.”

“How long?” you ask, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Three hours,” she replies. “Three hours for the material to integrate and start the healing process. Then you can take a shower to wash off all this blood. Just avoid applying excessive pressure to the area. Until then, do not move.”

Your eyes snap open at that, taking in your surroundings once more—the metallic walls of the Polar Tang's infirmary now smeared with streaks of red where you had thrashed earlier. The scent of blood mixes with antiseptic, a reminder of how close things had been.

“Blood’s everywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Ikkaku nods grimly. “Yeah, it got pretty messy when we brought you in. You were thrashing and kept breaking open cauterized parts of your back… but don’t worry about that now. Focus on resting.”

You close your eyes again, this time willingly surrendering to the stillness that beckons you. Time stretches and blurs; seconds bleed into minutes into what feels like an eternity. Luffy's screams, the explosive sounds of gunfire, screeching metal. You find yourself slipping into memories. The chaos of Marineford floods back into your mind in a rush.

Gunfire, screams, and the acrid stench of blood mingled with smoke. You remember the searing heat of Akainu's magma fist before it had even touched your shirt, the blinding pain that followed, and the desperate struggle to stay conscious. Luffy's frantic cries for Ace echoed in your ears, a haunting reminder of your failure.

“Tulip!” Luffy had shouted amidst the chaos, his voice a lifeline as you stumbled through the battlefield. But you had been too slow. The sight of Ace's lifeless body is burned into your mind, a permanent scar.

You vaguely recall Law's voice cutting through the haze of pain and battle. “I’ve got her,” he had said, his tone clipped with urgency. He hoisted you over his shoulder with a gentleness that seemed out of place in the middle of such violence and chaos.

Jinbe’s presence loomed nearby. He had just landed on the deck of the Polar Tang, cradling Luffy in one arm while passing you off to Law with the other. “She’s too stubborn to die,” Jinbe had grumbled, a rare hint of emotion cracking his usually stoic demeanor.

Law laid you on your stomach on the operating table, his hands surprisingly steady as he assessed your injuries. “Hold on, Tulip,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “I'll fix this,”

The sound of surgical instruments clinking together was oddly comforting amidst the backdrop of battle noise still ringing in your ears. Familiar. Law worked swiftly, his focus unwavering despite the urgency surrounding him. You always admire him for that.

“Ikkaku,” he had called out, never taking his eyes off your wound. “Prep for debridement, I'm going to have begin working on Luffy immediately.”

You barely remember her quick nod and rapid movements as she prepared the necessary tools. The pain was almost unbearable as they worked to clean and treat your burns, but their voices—calm and controlled—some how managed to keep your mind from breaking.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Ikkaku had reassured you as she began scraping at the edges of your wound. Sharp, burning. A chilly burn had entered your bloodstream and memories faded.

Now, back in the present, their words echo in your mind as you lay there on the gurney. The room around you fades into a blur once more as exhaustion pulls you under again.

The battle at Marineford may be over, but its echoes remain—etched into your skin and seared into your memory. Marring Luffy. You drift between wakefulness and sleep, caught in a limbo where past horrors intermingle with present pain. Is Luffy going to ever recover?

You push yourself up, muscles trembling, feeling every but of the synthetic material adhered to your back shift and move. Just like skin. Ikkaku hovers beside you, her eyes scanning you with a meticulous intensity. She’s making sure the material has bonded correctly, fingers grazing the edges of your wound with light touches.

"How does it feel?" she asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You wince as you shift. "Like a thousand tiny needles are prickling my back," you admit, voice hoarse but steadier than it had been.

She nods, not unsympathetic, just clinical. "That's normal. It means the material is integrating well. You'll feel phantom pains occasionally. Your nerves are still adjusting and your body hasn't realized that you lost that skin yet. Well… it shouldn’t, it should just integrate the synth material like it is your own natural flesh healing.”

Her hand leaves your back, and she reaches for a lab coat draped over a nearby chair. She hands it to you without a word, her expression softening as she watches you struggle into it. The fabric feels rough against your still-bloodied skin but offers some semblance of modesty.

You take a deep breath and push yourself off the gurney and too your feet, legs shaky but functional. The room tilts slightly before steadying itself around you. Ikkaku moves to support you, but you wave her off with a weak smile.

"I got it," you murmur, taking tentative steps forward. Each movement sends twinges through your back, reminders of the damage inflicted by Akainu’s magma fist. Like you’ll every forget.

Ikkaku follows close behind, ready to catch you if you falter. "Take it slow," she advises. "No sudden movements."

Your feet shuffle against the cold metal floor of the infirmary, each step a fight you struggle to complete without a threatening wobble. The scent of antiseptic and detergent mingles with the lingering tang of blood—nauseating.

"How’s Luffy?" You ask again, needing to hear more than just reassurances.

Ikkaku hesitates before answering. "He's stable for now," she says quietly. "But he’s not out of the woods yet."

A wave of determination washes over you, lending strength to your wobbly legs. "I need to see him."

Ikkaku steps in front of you, blocking your path with a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder. “No, not yet, Tulip," she insists. "You need to rest and recover more before going anywhere. I'd suggest taking a shower first, it'll make you feel better and the gentle heat will help the synthetic material bond better to your bone and tissue."

“I’ll take a shower,” you murmur, your voice tinged with reluctant resignation. “But I’m seeing Luffy afterward.”

Ikkaku’s eyes narrow, a stern glint in her gaze. “If you refuse to rest, I’ll tell Law,” she warns, her tone a blend of concern and frustration. “You know how he gets when someone ignores medical advice, certainly you.”

A small smirk tugs at your lips. “Go ahead,” you retort, your voice steady despite the pain radiating through your back. “Law isn’t my captain.”

Ikkaku sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re impossible, you know that?” You hold the lab coat tighter around your body.

“Law knew what he was getting into when he decided to take me on as a patient,” you say, glancing at Ikkaku. Your voice carries a hint of defiance mixed with resignation. “It's not the first time we've been through this.”

Ikkaku’s expression softens slightly, though she still looks concerned. “You’re right,” she concedes, stepping aside to let you pass. “But don’t push yourself too hard, Tulip. Law—you know how Law is.”

You nod, appreciating her concern but knowing that nothing will keep you from seeing Luffy. You promised to take care of him. The narrow corridor stretches ahead, its metal walls reflecting the dim lighting. Creaking from water pressure and humming from technology.

You shuffle into the bathing room, a sterile, tiled space with several communal shower heads lining the walls. The lab coat slips from your shoulders, revealing the smattering of bruises and cuts that paint your body. You had been high on adrenaline at Marineford, only now do you feel the full extent of what you've endured. Every movement pulls at your skin, every shift of bone alters you to bruises you didn’t know you had.

You glance at a mirror set into the wall. The sight stops you cold. Your back, once mostly unblemished, is now marred by a large, fist-sized black patch crusted with blood and other fluids. Akainu would forever be imprinted on your body. The edges of the wound are inflamed, the skin around it angry and raw, a stark contrast to the rest of your flesh.

Swallowing thickly, you step closer to the mirror, eyes tracing every jagged line and swollen contour of the wound. "Dammit," you mutter under your breath, your fingers trembling as they hover over the injured area. The strange synthetic material replacing your skin. You don’t touch it—can't even reach it—but just seeing it up close is enough to bring the memory crashing back.

You force yourself to look away from the mirror and hobble over to one of the shower heads. Each step is a battle against gravity and the needle like pain prickling at your spine, but you make it. Reaching out, you turn the knob with a shaky hand. Water bursts forth in a cascade, steam filling the room almost instantly.

The water hits your skin like needles at first—sharp and unrelenting—but soon morphs into something more tolerable. You brace yourself against the wall, letting the stream wash away layers of grime and dried blood. Red-tinted water swirls around your feet, vanishing down the drain in ribbons.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as you let the warmth further seep into you. It’s not comfort—nothing can be that right now—but it’s something. The heat softens some of the tension knotted in your muscles and eases some of the ache radiating from your wounds. Ikkaku might have spoken about the heat helping the synthetic material bond to your spine, but it also lessens the sharp prickles.

Your hands move slowly, carefully scrubbing away the dried blood crusted on your chest and arms. The water turns a murky mix of black and red at your feet, swirling down the drain. Each stroke is mechanical, as you try to cleanse yourself of the battlefield's remnants. In an almost detached way, you are sure not all of the blood is yours alone. The metallic scent of blood mixes with the sterile smell of the soap. It only makes your stomach roll in your belly.

The heat from the water softens the grime but not the memory of Akainu’s searing attack. You grit your teeth as you attempt to turn your back against the shower spray, but the sensitivity is too intense. The water pressure feels like swords stabbing into your raw flesh.

You sigh in frustration and resort to using your hands, gently swiping around the edges of your back. Despite your best efforts, you can't reach all of your back—let alone the wound itself—without twisting painfully. Cleaning your back isn't going to happen.

The shower room door creaks open, and you hear footsteps approaching. You glance over your shoulder to see Law entering, a towel wrapped around his hips. His expression is a mix of concern and irritation. And exasperation because he is not the least bit surprised.

“You're supposed to be resting,” he says, voice firm but not unkind.

You bite your lip, glancing down at the murky water swirling around your feet. "I'm covered in blood, Law," you murmur, frustration edging your voice. "Not just mine—dead Marines, dead pirates. I need it off."

He doesn’t respond immediately, just steps closer, the towel slipping from his hips to pool around his feet. You quickly turn away, focusing on the cuts riddling your chest and arms instead of the sight of his naked body. Painfully as beautiful as you remember. Your fingers itch to trace the tattoos on his chest.

Law’s own fingers brush against your shoulder, wiping away some blood that clings stubbornly to your skin. You suck in a breath, feeling the warmth of his body so close behind you. The sensation sends prickles throughout your body, mingling with the residual pain.

"You’re never going to get all the blood off at this rate," he remarks, his fingers still ghosting across your shoulders.

You fire back almost instantly. "I was in the middle of washing it off when you came in."

A heavy silence falls between you two, filled only by the steady stream of water hitting the tiles and swirling down the drain. Your muscles tense as you feel Law’s forehead gently rest against your shoulder.

"I had to rebuild part of your spine, Tulip," he confesses quietly.

"I was trying to save my captain's family, Law," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. The weight of your words hangs in the air, the enormity of Marineford pressing down on you both. But you don’t argue further. You know there’s no point. The damage is done.

Law remains silent, his forehead still resting against your shoulder. You feel his breath, warm and steady, as he takes a moment to compose himself.

"I know," he finally says, his voice a low murmur that reverberates through your body. "But now you need to let me take care of you."

You nod slightly, not trusting yourself to speak. Law’s fingers move again, this time more deliberately, as he begins to carefully wash the blood from your back. His touch is gentle but firm, each movement measured and precise. A reflection of his medical side.

His fingers graze the edges of your wound with an almost reverent care. You feel every stroke, every slight pressure as he works meticulously to clean the area without causing further pain. The sensation is both soothing and agonizing—a reminder of how carefully he can yet so close to what you silently wish for the darkest of nights.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” Law mutters under his breath, though there’s no real anger in his tone.

You let out a soft laugh that quickly turns into a wince as his fingers brush against a particularly sensitive spot. “Look who’s talking,” you retort weakly.

Law’s lips curve into a small smile that you can’t see but feel against your shoulder. “Fair point,” he concedes.

As the last of the blood is washed away, Law’s touch changes subtly. His fingers linger longer on your skin, tracing patterns that have nothing to do with medical necessity.

Law’s hands slide around your hips, one settling against your stomach while the other trails fingers down to your pelvis and against your inner thigh. His fingers are slow, as if savoring every moment. The warmth of his palm against your thigh sends a rush of heat through your body, and you lean back into his embrace, your breathing growing heavier.

“Don’t start anything you’re not willing to finish,” you whisper, your voice almost muted by the spray of the shower.

Law’s lips press against your neck, his breath warm and steady. He begins to kiss and nibble at your skin, each touch igniting sparks that radiate outward. You squirm against his chest, a soft groan escaping your lips as his fingers slide between your legs to glide through your folds. The sensation is electric, each stroke drawing out more and more gentle bursts of pleasure that fight to overtake lingering aches.

Your hand moves to cover Law's, pressing against your stomach. Your fingers clench around his, feeling the strength and warmth that are so intimately familiar. Each touch from him sends waves of sensation through you, both comforting and electrifying.

"Law," you breathe, your voice thick with emotion and something deeper, something only he could bring out.

Law's grip tightens slightly in response, a silent acknowledgment of your words. "You better tell me if it becomes too much," he warns, his voice low and husky, tinged with concern and desire.

A moan escapes your lips as his fingers continue their gentle exploration, drawing out sensations that make your body hum with pleasure. You twist your head to look up at him, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that speaks volumes. "Law," you breathe out again, this time more insistently.

For a brief moment, your shared and murky past is swept away to be forgotten. His dark eyes lock onto yours, filled with an unspoken promise. The connection between you feels almost tangible, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. Always unsaid, but never forgotten.

Then he bends down, closing the distance between your lips and his. The kiss is fierce yet tender, filled with a hunger that matches your own. His lips move against yours with a rhythm that leaves you breathless, his tongue exploring your lips and mouth as if he intends to discover you all over again.

Your free hand reaches up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, each movement of his lips sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His fingers continue their journey between your legs, the slow, deliberate strokes driving you to the edge.

"Tulip," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. "I need to know if—"

"Don't stop," you cut him off, your voice raw with need. "Please, you won't hurt me."

His response is immediate; he kisses you harder, his fingers quickening their pace. Swirling around your clit with precise strokes. You shudder in his embrace and whimper deliciously. The shower's spray mingles with the heat between you two, creating an atmosphere that's both steamy and electrifying.

Your body arches into his palm as waves of pleasure build within you, each touch from Law pushing you closer to release. You can feel the tension coiling tight in your lower belly, ready to snap at any moment. Gods, he knows how to play your body just right.

Your fingers tighten in Law's hair, your nails grazing his scalp. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His tongue laves against yours, each stroke igniting drunken sparks that race through your veins. The intensity of the kiss consumes you, leaving no room for anything else but the sensation of his lips on yours and the relentless rhythm of his fingers between your legs.

Your gasps and whimpers become more frequent, each one escaping into the space between your lips. Law devours every sound you make, his mouth never leaving yours. His fingers slide deeper into you, their movements confident and unerring. You can feel the slick heat building inside you, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

“Law,” you moan against his lips, your voice trembling with desire. “Please…”

His fingers quicken their pace, each stroke sending you closer to the brink. His other hand slides up your stomach, caressing the sensitive skin until it cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. The dual sensations make your breath hitch, a soft cry escaping your lips.

Your body responds to his touch instinctively, hips moving in time with his fingers. You’re lost in the sensation, the steamy room narrowing down to just you and Law, the heat of the shower, and the intense pleasure coursing through you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve got you.” His words are a promise and a command all at once.

Your fingers dig into his hair, holding on as waves of pleasure build inside you. The tension coiling tighter with each stroke until it’s almost unbearable. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation.

“Law,” you gasp again, your voice breaking. “I’m so close…”

His response is a low growl of encouragement. “Let go,” he murmurs against your skin. “I want to feel you come around my fingers, flower.”

With that final push, the tension snaps, and your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shakes against his chest as pleasure radiates out from your rippling cunt. Your muscles contract around his fingers, drawing them deeper as wave after wave of sensation floods through you.

You sob his name, the sound echoing off the tiled walls as he continues to work you through your release. Each tremor of pleasure is heightened by his relentless touch until you're left gasping for breath, completely spent.

Your legs feel weak beneath you, but Law’s strong arms hold you up, supporting your weight as you come down from your high. He’s there with you every step of the way, holding you firmly against his body to keep you steady.

As the last shudder runs through you, he slowly withdraws his fingers from your clenched thighs and wraps that arm around your waist. You lean back into him, breathing heavily as you regain your bearings.

When you finally feel steady enough to stand on your own again, you reach out to turn off the water. The sudden silence feels almost deafening after the rush of the shower and the sounds of your shared passion.

You slowly turn around to face Law, water dripping from both of you onto the tiled floor. His eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. One of his hands comes up to cradle your bruised face gently.

“You look like you had the ever-loving shit beaten out of you,” he mutters, his voice a dry mixture of concern and amusement.

A strained laugh escapes your lips, raw and unrefined. “You should see the other guy,” you manage to joke, despite the pinpricks still stabbing away at your spine.

Law’s thumb traces the scabbed-over cuts on your face with a tenderness that contradicts his harsh words. Each touch is careful, as if he’s trying to memorize every line and curve marred by battle. The pads of his fingers glide over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Not as much as it did,” you reply, your voice softer now. You lean into his touch, savoring the brief moment of intimacy amid the chaos.

His fingers continue their exploration, tracing the contours of your face with an almost reverent care. How aggravating that you missed it this much because now all you wish for is more.

"Are you going to leave me hanging?" you ask, your voice carrying a playful edge despite the exhaustion weighing down on you. Law lets out an exasperated sigh, his breath warm against your cheek. You never change.

"Maybe later, flower, you've got a lot of healing up to do."

Date Published: 9/5/24

Last Edit: 9/5/24

Trafalgar D. Water Law Masterlist

[turtlecleric]

You sigh deeply as you feel Donnie trace his hands up your spine, stopping to press gently on you shoulders. rubbing at the tense muscle there and then trailing back down to rest on your hips. pressing in on the plush flesh there with his thumbs and then the process repeats. Hes been going at this for what feels like hours. Not that you are complaining. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness at the touch. your skin feeling slightly raw but oh so good. every now and then just barely you will hear Donnie murmur something under his breath. you used to be able to make it out but you are to far gone now to care. once again you hear the murmur of his voice in the back of your head. the words clear as crystal to your ears but when you try to piece it together in your brain, fog is all that greets you. But as if on impulse you feel yourself spread your legs. the soothing touches now going lower, to skin yet to be explored. You sigh again as Donnie presses his hands firmly on your ass. kneading at the plump flesh before sliding his hands up and pressing on your lower back. his thumbs finding and soothing any tension there before sliding further down to your thighs. you feel your cunt involuntarily clench at the sensation. A faint memory of embarrassment hits you for only a moment before Donnie's voice is once again at the back of your skull. shushing you. quieting your worries. you follow the vibrato of his voice back down into passiveness. It doesn't matter that hes trained your cunt to clench by merely him touching your thighs. It dosent matter that hes currently training you to go pliant under his hands. soft and simple. Your mind and body clay for him to mold and play with . Why would you fight it? It feels good, to not have to think. just float under his touch. So the next time his hands go to rest on your thighs and you feel yourself clench around nothing, you barley notice. As if pleased Donnie hums and then you feel a finger press into yourself, you knit your brow for merely a moment before once again relaxing against the weight of Donnie's voice. Cooing you back into becoming malleable . when you obey he hums again, pleased, and you feel yourself grow wet from pride alone. You made him proud of you. He is pleased that you don't react to his touch. merely melt into it. "what a good girl you are."

Again you clench. and you are again rewarded with praise. Its the closest you have gotten to torture you think. Donnie isn't even moving the finger that's inside you. His praise and approval is more then enough to get you desperate. you want pressure on your clit. you want movement. and when you start to get excited and almost flutter your eyelids open you feel him remove the finger. You crash back down on to the couch almost like you were hit with a brick. A think wave of desperation hitting you. You wanna beg, you wanna protest but once again you are soothed through him touching your back and shoulders. The reaction almost immediate. "you almost woke up there sweetness. We cant have that can we?" you feel Donnie's breath hit the back of your neck as he leans in. again the meaning of the words are muffled by the fog clouding you, but regardless you feel yourself melt into them. "you are such a good, obedient, thing that I don't even need to touch you to have you aching for me. isn't that right?' You feel yourself nod your head. as if a puppet on a string. A doll being moved to please its master. Simple and happy to be played with. The next moment you hear a snap of fingers and a command that rocks through you. "Pleasure" And you feel yourself gasp as if his fingers are back in you. You lift you hips up to chase the phantom version of his hand entering you. and he laughs. And again gives the same command. "Pleasure." You sigh against the command as bright spearing pleasure rocks through you. You feel like a star erupting. Lightning striking every nerve in your body. You feel your heart beat quicken and his hand on your thighs then on your ass and then in you. and you immediately clench around his fingers. like that's the only think you were made to do. like that's the only thing you ever have to worry about doing.

and when he begins to fuck you open you feel yourself cry out. shaky moans plucked and pulled out of you. However that taste of delicious pleasure. the promise of the command being used again. you know better then to disobey. Your a toy. You are his toy. and god you love every minute of it.

(-stranger)

[impel-clown]

18. Along jaw, crocodile/buggy

(CW: Torture)

Crocodile can feel the oppressive heat before the guards even open the door, yet still he walks forward with his head held high as the seastone cuffs try to drag him low. They had already stripped him, so as the steam hits, heavy and hot, there’s not a single scrap of clothing to shield him.

“Tell me Sir Crocodile,” one of the guard’s begins as he walks him towards a massive cauldron. The thing is set into the floor, the lip slightly lower than the cobblestone and the water close to bubbling out. “Are you a religious man?”

Despite knowing exactly what’s about to happen, Crocodile keeps his voice steady. 

“No.”

He expects some sort of stupid quip back. Something to try and crack his resolve. A taunt about this so-called baptism. Instead, there is nothing but silence as the water rushes up to meet him.

Agony.

The second Crocodile hits the water it’s nothing but agony. His skin scalds. Nerves screaming. Blood boiling out of his veins. At first he had thought it had been an idiotic oversight that they had allowed him to keep his hook. But now as the metal grows hot in the water, the heat flows through it and presses against his stump in a burn he cannot escape.

Surfacing, Crocodile keeps his face impassive even as every inch of his skin is alight in unending pain. He’s not going to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He will not scream.

He will not scream.

He will not-

Crocodile blinks awake. There’s nothing dramatic about it. No shooting up in bed. No stuttered breaths. Not even the remnants of a scream. Just him lying in bed and staring at the ceiling as the memories of the nightmare echo away in his head. If not for the heat radiating off him and the sweat pooling on the sheets, no one would ever even know that anything plagued the former warlord’s sleep.

“You okay?”

He drags his gaze away from the ceiling towards Buggy. Sat up in bed, hair hanging loosely around him, the other man looks at Crocodile not with pity or judgment, but with just the remnants of sleep in his eyes. It’s appreciated in ways Crocodile could not and would not say.

Nodding, Crocodile doesn’t move. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t think so.” Buggy yawns. “Just too damn hot in here to sleep. Mind if I open the window?”

Again, Crocodile nods and Buggy is quick to chop off his hands and send them flying. 

Honestly, how could something as simple as a summer night be capable of leaving him like this? It’s pathetic Having nightmares as if he was some child. Impel Down was years ago. Yet here it is, haunting him.

A slight breeze blows the curtains as the window gets propped open, and only a moment or two passes before Buggy’s hands rush back to him. However, where usually he is quick to stick himself to Crocodile’s side like a persistent leech, now he keeps a foot of distance between them on the bed. The idea that Buggy may have lied about Crocodile waking him up flits through his head, but he’ll wait till morning to examine that.

“I’m not going to fucking break,” Crocodile says, extending his left arm to give Buggy space to slot himself in. “Get over here.”

Without another word Buggy shuffles over, wrapping one arm over Crocodile’s chest with the other tucked up between the two of them. And perhaps it's a testament to how hot Crocodile is, or maybe it's something he’s too tired to even put a name to, but Buggy’s touch is nice and cool against his skin. Every point of contact is like a salve, and he finds himself unable to stop the deep sigh that shudders out of his mouth.

Again, Buggy goes to pull back.

“Don’t.” Crocodile means the word to come out more demanding, but there’s a rawness to it that he hates, that makes it sound more like pleading. Either way, the clown slowly brings himself back in, breath ghosting against Crocodile’s skin. The first kiss is barely a brush of lips underneath his ear. The next lands lower, and the next lower even still as Buggy trails down his jaw. Each press is a relief against his fevered skin and Crocodile finds himself letting his eyes close as he gets lost in it. They’re not placating, but they’re not heated and needy like Buggy is expecting this to go anywhere. It is touch for the sake of touch. Nothing more.

He’s not sure how many kisses are placed along his jawline before he speaks again, the words barely thought before they pass his lips. “They baptize you at Impel Down?”

Buggy places a kiss just so that his nose brushes against Crocodile’s ear. As he speaks, he doesn’t remove his mouth, instead whispering the word into Crocodile’s skin. “Yeah . . ..”

For a man usually so chatty, Buggy doesn’t ask the question back and Crocodile silently thanks him for it. In fact, they don’t say another word for the rest of the night. Instead they just lie there, Buggy lazily trailing kisses up and down his jaw while Crocodile holds him close against his chest, cool in each other’s embrace.

[geotjwrs]

Hey man, I hope I ain’t bothering you but is it possible when you have the time to create a part 2 for Scott Street? I’d really like to see Olivia and the reader have a happy ending, maybe where they reunite at her show in L.A.?

maybe this time

Pairings ; Olivia Rodrigo x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

Note ; part two of scott street

Months had passed since Y/N had last seen Olivia, their reunion at the coffee shop both heartwarming and bittersweet. Though their conversation had flowed easily, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung between them, unaddressed. Y/N had spent sleepless nights since then, replaying every moment, every laugh, every lingering look. He told himself he was over it, that seeing her again was simply closure. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

The truth was, he hadn’t moved on. Not really.

One evening, as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone, trying to drown out the growing ache in his chest, a notification popped up.

“Olivia Rodrigo GUTS Tour - Live in L.A. | SOLD OUT”

His heart skipped a beat. She was performing at The Greek Theatre in just a few days. The venue was iconic, and he’d been there before, but now it felt different. The thought of seeing Olivia on that stage, performing to thousands, stirred something deep inside him.

Without thinking, Y/N clicked the link to see if any tickets were still available. Unsurprisingly, the show was sold out. He sighed, about to close the page, when something caught his eye—a single VIP ticket had just popped up. The price was steep, but Y/N hesitated for only a moment before he hit purchase. It felt like a sign, a chance to see her one more time—not just the Olivia he’d known, but the one she’d become, this global sensation who poured her heart into every song.

As the confirmation email arrived in his inbox, Y/N stared at it, the reality of what he’d just done sinking in. This wasn’t just about going to a concert. It was about confronting his feelings head-on. Seeing her perform would mean more than reliving memories—it would mean facing the possibility that their story might not be over.

The night of the concert, the energy in L.A. was palpable. The streets around The Greek were packed with excited fans, many wearing Olivia’s merch and clutching signs with her song lyrics. Y/N walked through the crowd, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety. Part of him wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the night, but he knew one thing—he needed to be there.

The VIP pass around his neck allowed him early access, and he soon found himself standing near the stage, watching the final soundchecks. The lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the empty seats. Y/N’s heart raced as he tried to calm his nerves, reminding himself that tonight wasn’t about trying to rekindle something that might be long gone. It was about supporting Olivia, about seeing her in her element. But still, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered—what if?

The lights dimmed, and the roar of the crowd filled the air as the opening chords of Olivia’s first song echoed through the amphitheater. She appeared on stage, bathed in soft golden light, her voice cutting through the noise like magic. Y/N watched, transfixed, as she commanded the stage, every note dripping with emotion, every lyric a reminder of why he had fallen for her in the first place.

Her setlist was a mix of familiar hits and new songs from her latest album. As each song unfolded, Y/N felt himself being pulled deeper into the world she had created. Her words were raw, vulnerable, and painfully relatable. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had been thinking of him when she wrote some of them.

Midway through the show, the energy shifted. The lights dimmed even further, and Olivia stepped away from the microphone, the crowd hushed in anticipation.

“This next song…” she began, her voice soft but steady, “is a bit different from the rest. It’s about someone who meant a lot to me, someone I thought I’d lost. But sometimes, the past has a way of finding you again, even when you’re not ready for it.”

Y/N felt his breath catch in his throat as Olivia strummed the first chord of a new song he’d never heard before. The melody was slow, haunting, and the lyrics cut deep:

“I have nightmares each week about that Friday in May

One phone call from you and my entire world was changed

Trust that you betrayed, confusion that still lingers

Took everything I loved and crushed it in between your fingers...”

His mind raced as he listened, the words wrapping around his heart. This wasn’t just another song for the crowd—this was personal. Each line felt like a piece of their shared history, like she was singing directly to him, pouring out the feelings she hadn’t been able to express that night at the coffee shop.

“And I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did

But I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it

My undying love, now I hold it like a grudge

And I hear your voice every time that I think I'm not enough...”

Y/N’s chest tightened as the reality of what she was singing hit him. This song was about them—about what they had, and what they lost. But more than that, it was about the possibility of something more, something they had both been too scared to admit.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, but Y/N barely heard them. His mind was spinning. Had Olivia written this for him? Or was he just reading too much into it?

After the show, Y/N made his way backstage, his VIP pass granting him access to a small, exclusive meet-and-greet. As he stood in line with a handful of other fans, his mind replayed the song over and over. He didn’t know what he would say to Olivia, or even if he should bring it up. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had been about more than just the music.

The door opened, and Olivia walked in, looking radiant but visibly tired. She greeted each fan warmly, posing for pictures and signing autographs. But when her eyes landed on Y/N, she froze for a moment, a flicker of surprise—and something else—crossing her face.

“Y/N?” she whispered, stepping toward him, her voice barely audible over the chatter around them. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his heart pounding in his chest. “Your show was incredible.”

Olivia smiled, but there was a nervousness behind it, as if she knew there was more to say. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.” She paused, glancing down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. “There’s something I didn’t tell you back at the coffee shop.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped. He hadn’t expected this. “What is it?”

Olivia took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. “That song tonight… the new one. It’s about you. I wrote it after we broke up, but I could never bring myself to release it. It felt too… personal. Too raw. But seeing you again, it made me realize I couldn’t keep running from how I feel.”

Y/N stared at her, his mind racing. “You wrote that for me?”

She nodded, her eyes filled with emotion. “I didn’t know if you’d be here to hear it, but I had to sing it. I had to let you know how much I still… care.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N felt a surge of emotions—relief, hope, and something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time: love.

“But what about Louis?” he asked, confusion clouding his thoughts. “I saw that photo of you two. I thought you were happy with him.”

Olivia shook her head softly. “Louis is just a friend. That photo got taken out of context. We were hanging out, but it wasn’t what people thought.”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over him. “So, what does this mean? For us?”

Olivia stepped closer, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “I think it means I’m ready to try again. If you are.”

For a long moment, Y/N couldn’t speak. The noise of the crowd faded, the world around them blurring into the background. All he could see was Olivia—the girl who had once meant everything to him, and who, it seemed, still did.

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve thought about what could have been… about us. And hearing you sing tonight, I realized I don’t want to let go. Not again.”

Tears filled Olivia’s eyes, but she smiled through them. “Then let’s not. Let’s start over.”

Y/N reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace. They stood there, holding each other, the weight of their past melting away as the promise of something new settled between them.

As they finally pulled apart, Olivia looked up at him, her eyes bright with hope. “So… what now?”

Y/N grinned, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Now, we write our own story.”

They left the venue together, hand in hand, the cool night air wrapping around them as they walked through the streets of L.A. The city that had once been a backdrop to their memories now felt like the beginning of something new. No more uncertainty, no more missed chances. This time, they were ready.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like the future wasn’t just a distant dream—it was something real, something they could build together.

And this time, they wouldn’t let it slip away.