#writing this almost killed me. IT'S SO LONG

[startaegi]

FAVOURITE CRIME, namgyu. 【 CHAPTER 01 】

⤑ pairing, namgyu x fem!reader

⤑ synopsis, in which namgyu breaks the heart of his childhood sweetheart and tries to piece it back together again while fighting death.

⤑ series masterlist, favourite crime.

⤑ chapter two, coming soon!

⤑ notes, i had to give the reader an age to make the story make sense!! i listened to rosé’s album on repeat writing this chapter and it fits the plot perfectly

⤑ taglist, @chrisstyle @seonghwasslytherin @princessofthepuppets @ziallgf (let me know if you wanna be added)

You often wondered about the first moment you fell in love. It happened so gradually that you couldn't quite recall the moment it finally clicked. The same thought followed you in the small hours of the night, on the long work days when your feet and back ached, and especially on the days when you missed his presence most.

It had been the summer of 2008 when you first met him. You were a bright eyed eleven year old, too innocent for the world. The sun had finally started shining after a long week of summer showers and so your sketch pads laid against the hot pavement, pencils scattered around you. Your bottom lip was jutted in concentration, hands flying across the paper, a brown pencil tucked between your fingers.

You paused as a shadow blocked the sunlight casting darkness across your drawing. You slowly glanced upward expecting your mother but instead a boy towered over you, eyes focused on the paper at your folded legs. You looked down and back at him again.

"That's pretty good" He said, finger pointed to the cat drawing you were currently sketching.

"Thanks" You replied, tone clipped. "Can you move? You're blocking the sunlight"

He shuffled to the side, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the pavement. He continued to hover over you for the next minute or two, eyes focused and head moving when your pencil flicked in a certain direction. You tried your best to remain cool, uncomfortable under the unknown boys stare.

You dropped the pencil, staring up at him. "What are you doing?" You questioned.

"Watching you" He replied matter of factly.

"It's creepy"

He shrugged. "As i've heard before"

His words softened your gaze a little. You knew what kids were like. Their mean words, their horrid actions. You had known it a little too well, it was the reason you chose to stay so close guarded. Even at eleven you knew how cruel the world could be.

You straightened your back, apologetically looking back at him. "I didn't mean that" You said sincerely.

"It's okay, i'm used to it" He laughed it off. "Do you live here?" The boy pointed to the house behind you, the one with the windows pulled open and the trot music lowly drifting out.

"Yeah" You admitted, a little embarrassed.

He scratched the back of his arm, a red mark, almost like a burn, stood out against his pale skin. "Cool, we're neighbours" He beamed.

Hyehwa Station was fairly empty for a Saturday night. The only sounds came from the racketing trains passing through and the footsteps of the commuters heading home after their 9 to 5's. You wrapped the coat tighter around yourself, attempting to savour the warmth and took a seat at the empty bench. The small screen read ten minutes until the next train to Itaewon. You let out a sigh stretching your legs. The long work hours were slowly killing you.

Too busy trying not to fall asleep you took no notice of the person now sat beside you, too tired to care, until he loudly cleared his throat. You looked to your right, a well dressed man smiled, a little menacing if you were honest, at you, briefcase at his side. You smiled awkwardly back, bowing your head slightly out of politeness.

"Would you like to play a game?" The man questioned, the same uncanny smile on his face.

The unsettling feeling of dread settled in your stomach. You moved closer to the edge of the bench, as far from him as you could. "Excuse me?" You replied.

His head titled to the side, facial expression frozen. "Would you like to play a game?" He repeated.

"No thank you" You muttered under your breath.

The stranger didn't reply instead he stood up, opening the briefcase on the now empty spot he had once been sitting. You watched him in confusion, you didn't have the time or energy to be dealing with the strange people that frequented the subway stations. You pinched the bridge between your eyebrows, sighing loudly.

"Would you like to play a game?" He asked again as if stuck on a record.

"Look-" You started, turning to face him but froze momentarily. "What?" You asked dumbfounded.

Enough money to pay the month's rent gleamed up at you. Stacks upon stacks of Korean won sat neatly in the briefcase. You glanced up at him and back at the bills again. You didn't hesitate before asking, "What's the game?"

The man's eyes sparkled, his smile somehow becoming wider. He reminded you of something from the horror comics you used to read as a child.

He reached into the case pulling out two envelopes, red and blue. "Ddakji" He said, gaze fixated on you. "I'm sure you know how to play"

You hadn't in years, you'd probably only played it once or twice but you nodded nonetheless.

His twinkling eyes crinkled with a smile, "Win and i'll give you 100,000 won. Lose and you'll receive a punishment." He paused. "Ready?"

Your brows furrowed. "Punishment?"

"Just a light slap"

At this point you didn't care, you would've taken any punishment if it meant winning the money in that briefcase and you were winning it.

"Okay" You agreed, standing up and shrugging the backpack from your shoulders, then placing it onto the bench.

Five rounds later and you were 100,000 won richer. Your left cheek throbbed, your eyes filled with tears. Your mouth tasted metallic from the cuts you'd bit into your cheeks in frustration. He was too good at this, his calmness told you he'd done it one too many times.

"Congratulations, Y/N-ssi" The man applauded, slowly clapping.

You stared back at him through hooded eyes, attempting to catch your breath. He stretched out a hand, fingers delicately picking up the stack of cash and passing it to you. You quickly snatched it, scared he would take it away from you and tucked it safely into the pocket of your coat.

He closed the case, turning to face you cheerfully. It seemed this man didn't know how to be upset. He reached into his pocket, taking out a small brown card and holding it out for you. You hesitated but took it from his grasp. Three symbols stared up you, a square, a triangle and a circle.

"Call the number on the back if you're interested in winning a lot more" He said, bowing in your direction and then taking off towards the exit.

You flipped it over and truth be told a number was there. Your mouth twisted, mind in battle with itself. If it was another game of ddakji or even worse, some other childhood game, you'd be screwed, you would be loosing whatever money was up for grabs in the first round. Your childhood was spent in comic books and colouring pencils, or in textbooks and homework, not on the playground with other kids playing games, you'd have no idea how too.

Your mind contemplated it over on the train ride home, occupying your running thoughts with something else for once. You entered the cold apartment at almost midnight, instantly throwing yourself face down onto the bed. Your backpack and coat still on. You let your body sink into the mattress, exhaling loudly. The apartment was silent, so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming and the wind rattling against the windows.

These were the nights when your mind went to him. When it was quiet. When it was your heartbeat you could hear and not his underneath you. You flipped onto your back, backpack digging into you, moving uncomfortably you pulled it from your shoulders tossing it onto the floor. Your fingers found your pockets taking out the brown card, staring intently at the phone number. When had your life become such a shit show, when had accepting a beating from a stranger in the subway station for 100,000 become the normal. This wasn't how you planned it for yourself. You often wondered where it all went wrong.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

જ⁀ SAY IT TO MY FACE

“It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something tight bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world.”

Now playing :: Rises The Moon — Liana Flores

Yuji Itadori x F!Reader

Words — 5.7k

Contents — 4+1 fic, violence, kidnapping, distress, mentions of death/loss, I can’t write fights for shit, no actual angst this time because I feel bad for hurting people again and again oops, but maybe angst if you squint?, I don’t proofread, lmk if I missed any <3

In a mess of crushing expectations and unfamiliar fluttering in your chest, you somehow cross paths with Tokyo’s one and only Spiderman. Maybe the eerie similarity he has to your best friend isn’t a coincidence at all, nor is the odd care he has for you. OR Four times Spiderman loved you, one time Yuji did it himself.

a/n — hi sofia yes this is for you teehee @rreveurdoll . I actually love spiderman yuji so much he’s been sitting in my notes app since august he just suits it saurrrrrrrr well I can’t do this it’s so uhghhughf. Also iera agreed with me so it was my final push hai ily

There was always a certain sort of familiarity about spiderman, a tranquil warmth that reminded you of something you could never quite put your finger on. It radiated from him like aura, constantly flowing but never really explaining itself. It was apparent in the way he held you—arm under your knees and another around your shoulders, almost as if he knew you were ticklish in the sides, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The way he talked to you like he’d done it a million times before, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips for just a beat too long, it was just so… knowing. Every time he interacted with you, it felt like he knew something you didn’t. That was because, well, he did.

It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something wretched bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world. The hundreds, maybe thousands of people that might kill him if given the chance. And if you knew, maybe they’d get to you too. He couldn’t have that. It already haunted his every waking moment and it hadn’t even happened yet. Yet. That was the thing, it could happen at any moment. If he was the cause of your demise, he couldn’t forgive himself. So he tried his best, tried to keep his lips sealed the best he could, even if he struggled sometimes.

The first time you met spiderman, he almost screwed up. Already.

You’d somehow gotten caught up in the midst of a battle, the bakery you worked at getting completely annihilated by the commotion, so being the ever brave and courageous citizen you were, you ran for your fucking life. You somehow found it in you to remain at least relatively calm… until barely dodging a chunk of concrete thrown your way. The composure seemed to fade from there. You could feel your heart jumping out of your chest, but all you could think about was that you were lucky it was still beating.

That’s when he came swinging in. Literally. It was a flash of red out of the corner of your eye at first, you barely even paid any mind to it. But then his voice rang out with a call to you, and you couldn’t look the other way anymore.

“Hey! Y- miss!”

You took a moment to glance back, your loss of breath catching up to you as you panted and heaved. His feet hitting the ground was nothing but a small thump, swallowed up by the chaos bleeding in around you. “You can’t be out in the open like this. It’s dangerous.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could basically hear the furrow of his brows. Through your pants, you managed gasp out a reply that you fear was just a bit too sassy. “I know. That’s why I’m running.”

His face fell just the slightest bit under the mask, but beneath that layer of latex was almost a smile. He found it hard to be amused right now, because honestly, when he saw you he felt like throwing up. Even before that, when he’d looked at the destroyed shell of what was your workplace, something sick twisted in his gut. It wasn’t fear, no, more than that. After every punch at the enemy came a glance among the crowd, desperately hoping to see you in one piece. When he landed in front of you and the first thing you’d said was dry and sassy and completely you, he couldn’t help the way his nerves felt just a little less racked. He wanted to hug you, to pull you into his arms and tell you how happy he was to see you, maybe get a kiss if he was lucky– huh?

But he wasn’t Yuji, and only Yuji had that sort of privilege. He was spiderman. He was a masked vigilante that you’d never been face to face with, so he tried to keep up the act. Therefore all he did was reply with a soft “yeah” before scooping you up and carrying you to safety, because that’s what spiderman does. He would’ve done it for anyone, really! But he handled you with just a bit more care, just a bit more warmth in those blank white eyes of his suit, because you weren’t just anyone. You were you.

He left you on the side of an untouched street feeling breathless and confused. Maybe you were naive, because his voice alone should’ve told you exactly who it was from the beginning. But there was a ringing in your ears from the noise, and your knees felt wobbly as well as your lips. You could barely think straight, so who could blame you? Mentally unmasking Tokyos famous spiderman wasn’t a common task in any situation, especially yours. Assuming it was your best friend felt crazy. Instead you remained oblivious and shaken on the side of the street, and he remained determined in the fight thinking of nothing but you.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The second time you met spiderman, the circumstances still weren’t great, but this time your life wasn’t on the line. Well, at least not literally.

The nights air was cold, nipping at your tear stained cheeks and clinging to the dampness left in its wake. Your eyes stung, both from the chill and the bitterness that welled up in your waterline and spilled over, only to drip down and fade away into the fabric of your jeans. Completely insignificant, but to you, they fell heavy. They beat down on you in a mocking rhythm, every droplet a reminder of the crushing weight of your failure. It was suffocating, but truly, would the lightness be any better? Would the complete lack of fulfillment, whether that be bliss or anguish, be less unbearable than the ache in your shoulders and the squeezing in your chest? You think that if it were, you wouldn’t still be sticking around. You wouldn’t be doing this. You just would’ve liked to feel less alone in the midst of it.

Your legs dangled freely over the stairs, the rusted metal of the fire escape not doing much to cage you in. As you swung them, felt nothing but air and the awareness of the ground so distant below, you got a taste of the lightness. A taste of your freedom, of your insignificance. Maybe that was all you needed to handle the rest of the weight.

As if your longing had been personally alerted to the universe, you heard a shuffling behind you. Your head whipped around just a little too fast—making something in your neck pop and reminding you that you really need to stop hunching over your laptop—enough to make your panic rather obvious. You were about to wonder how someone even made it up here, but then you saw him. The culprit stopped in his tracks, raising his two covered hands in an (unnecessary) surrender. It wasn’t like you could defend yourself if you tried, anyway. You were sat awkwardly on a set of rusted metal stairs with about two feet of space to run. You were no match for him. Fortunately for you, Yuj- spiderman wouldn’t dare hurt you. When you continued to stare at him through your teary eyes with a question he couldn’t answer, he realized he hadn’t come up with something to say. Luckily, you beat him to it.

“…spiderman?” Your voice was confused, small and almost weak as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. He stared at you for a moment, only then remembering who he was. Right now he was spiderman, a stranger, and he had to act accordingly. The thing was—Yuji didn’t know how to act like a stranger to you. You’d become such a constant in each others lives that treating you as if you were unfamiliar simply defied the blood in his veins, the beating of his heart. He felt it thump angrily in his chest at the mere thought, because how could he feign distance when you were the one it beat for?

He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

A million questions ran through your head, countless quips or remarks, but your throat constricted around them and forbid them from jumping out. “Why are you… here?” you asked. Your voice was uncharacteristically bland, tired. He didn’t like it.

He shrugged, head tilting to the side. He leaned against the building, an attempt to be casual, but the brick was digging into his back and every sense he had was screaming at him to leap forward and hold you, to take the mask off and be who you needed. But when he considered the thought, the images of what might follow flashed through his mind like memories yet to come. He kept the mask on.

“Well, I was out… you know… doing spiderman things. And then I saw you. Looked like you could use a friend.”

Honestly? Yuji being out here was no sort of coincidence. The moment he’d felt a familiar tingling in the back of his mind, he was landing here before he could question why. In his soul, he knew why, knew it better than anyone. If Yuji couldn’t be there for you because he was spiderman, spiderman would have to fill in.

He paused, eyes trailing over the sag in your shoulders and the darkness under your eyes. You looked different than the last time he’d seen you—had it been weeks? A pang of something glum shot through him at the realization.

“What about you?” he asked, that teasing, spiderman-esque tone fading into something softer.

“Huh?”

“What’re you doing out here?”

You swallowed thickly. You felt as if you were stuck on a tightrope, looking between a reaching hand and the ground below. Let him slip his hand into yours, hoping it pulls you up, or fall? You were willing to take that risk. “Just… been fucking up a lot lately, I guess. This is my escape.”

He paused for a second. “Was that a pun?”

He felt victorious as he took in the subtle curl of your lips. “But forreal, what do you mean screwing up?”

A soft sigh left your lips, the air pooling in what looked like smoke around your face. You liked that—you could tell yourself that was the reason for your blurry vision, not that you were crying. Your fingers were twitching, and he wished he could take them.

“Just… nothing has been going right. Got my ass kicked by finals, I feel like shit, and- and usually I’d have my best friend, but…” you felt a painful throbbing in your chest, what you were about to admit feeling sour and wrong on your tongue. “He hasn’t been answering lately, he’s been… distant. Maybe he’s getting sick of me or something, I wish I knew.”

Yuji felt a tightening in his chest that was almost painful. Him. It was him. His spider sense had called him to fix a problem that he was the cause of. Sick of you? No, he could never be sick of you, but right now he felt ill. “He’d never,” he blurted without thinking, only realizing how odd that sounded once it had already reached your ears. “I mean– I’m sure he loves you.” His eyes widened comically. He kept blabbering, and it was only making things worse. “You seem lovely. Uh-“

To his surprise, you laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the point. Thanks… I think?”

He felt the heat that was crawling up his neck lower, simmer into a comfortable nothingness. “You’re welcome.”

By some strange coincidence, Yuji showed up at your door what must’ve been a mere three hours after your masked friend swung away into the night.

He seemed out of breath—almost panting, as if he’d just run a marathon (or fought the green goblin). He stood in your doorway, pink locks of hair rubbed in all different directions, chest rising and falling erratically.

Before you could open your mouth—ask what he was doing here and what sort of physical activity he was doing in the middle of the night, maybe—he was hugging you. His firm arms slithered around your waist, tugging you towards his chest without a word. He held you just a little tighter than usual, like he’d been waiting to do it for far too long. He had been.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.

“I know.” Your words held a sense of bitterness, but you were hugging him back with a tenderness that contrasted what you wanted to feel.

“I missed you.”

How could he say something like that? How could he disappear for weeks and then come back and make your heart clench, because you know he means it? This was Yuji. Your Yuji. He talked to stray cats on the side of the road and was always there to lend a helping hand, whether that be to a sweet old lady or a convicted felon. He wouldn’t say he missed you if he didn’t, and either way, you knew he did. Whether it felt like it or not, you knew Yuji. You knew he missed you, felt it in the way his fingers gripped at the fabric of your shirt. It was almost desperate, like he was a shell of a man in need of fulfillment. As much as you wished you hated it, you wanted to be that for him.

That’s how you ended curled in bed, Yuji’s eyes trailing over your face for just a little too long, so much so that you weren’t sure he’d paid any attention to the movie in the first place. You didn’t say anything, but Yuji kept you just a little bit closer that night.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The third time you crossed paths with spiderman, it was you who sought him out. Well, sought is a strong word, you’d prefer to say that you gravitated towards him naturally. That wasn’t completely a lie, there truly was some sort of magnetic pull to him drawing you near, but your approach was completely by choice. But that wasn’t a conversation you were ready for, many layers of psychological complexities that you weren’t prepared to peel back, so you instead focused on the blurry red feet dangling from the rooftop and how you’d get up there to join them.

After a number of laps around the building that you’d need two hands to count, you hit the jackpot. Sitting humbly within the shadows of the dark, grey alley was a ladder. It was rickety and rusted and you feared it would be the last thing you ever saw—but it was a chance. Everyone took chances, didn’t they? Everything was a chance, in its own way. Love, hate, that answer scribbled into the last page of your exam that you’re not quite sure about. Spiderman took a chance every time he rounded a new building with those webs of his, took an even greater one with every fight and interaction with the public. He took a chance when he came to see you on that sullen night, and you still didn’t know why, but you knew you’d make it your mission to at least somewhat return the favour.

The metal was piercingly cold as your fingers wrapped around it, eliciting a wince from you, but only prompting you to hold on tighter. The sound of your boots clanking against the steps, the small grunt that left your lips as you threw yourself onto the roof—so many sounds barely heard beneath the never ending roar of the city. You heard sirens in the distance, and you wondered why spiderman was sitting in front of you instead of trailing near them.

His eyes met yours (sort of), and Yuji felt something warm flow through his veins. He felt his heart beat just a little quicker, thumping in time with your approaching footsteps. Suddenly the sirens didn’t seem so loud, the curse of his heightened senses not feeling so overwhelming as your face came into the light cast from below.

“Hey, y/n.” He spoke gently, like the words were something delicate, and they’d shatter if said too harshly.

He watched the way your eyes widened just slightly, brows twitching upwards in mild surprise. “You know my name?”

With a slightly wonky smile that you couldn’t see, he nodded. “Small world.”

“Isn’t it?”

Your words were meant to be a light response, but they only made the weight in his chest feel all the more dense. He turned back ahead, the cartoonish white eyes of his mask reflecting an infinite, erratic pattern of streetlights. His shoulders hung a little lower than usual, something you didn’t fail to catch. You sat beside him, legs hanging over the side of the building. The structure was sturdy and solid beneath your thighs, far more than both the barely-there balance of the ladder and his trembling breaths.

“It’s not, though,” he said softly, so quiet that it was almost whisked away by the winds of the evening. “The world is big. Too big.”

You tilted your head, hands pressing into the concrete to support your weight, but itching to reach out to him. You couldn’t give a reason why if asked, nothing other than the unspoken tranquility between you, like you knew much more than you spoke aloud. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“It’s too big. There’s too many people, so many that I can’t… I can’t save everyone. There’s always casualty in the wake of disaster, because the amount of people barely goes down each time. But- but they’re all people, they all deserve to be saved, but… they can’t.”

His words hung in the air, and invisible force between you that pushed down on his shoulders and deepened the furrow in his brows.

“You’re right,” you said. His head turned more quickly than it should’ve—he wasn’t expecting that response from you. Maybe you’d have given Yuji a different answer than you would spiderman. “Not everybody can be saved, but you still save people. A lot of them. Imagine if you never showed up, how many more people would die? A lot. Maybe you can’t save everyone, but you still save people, and that is what makes you good.”

It was as if your words were a sirens song, soothing him to silence and easing his thumping heart. For the first time ever, Yuji wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Yeah,” he breathed after a moment, voice choked. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He looked up at you for a beat longer, taking in the way the ridges of your face were cast over by shadows, the way your hair fluttered and danced with every gust of wind. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “That friend you mentioned before… he’s lucky to have you.”

You shook your head gently. “If you met him, you’d think otherwise,” you said, oblivious to the fact that though spiderman hadn’t technically met Yuji Itadori, he knew him very well. “He’s great. Much better than me.” The corners of your lips quirked up fondly, something he could only describe as love being the force that pushed your smile wider. “He’s great,” you said, more breathily this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The next hour or so was spent sharing mindless conversation, reminiscing over teenagehood in a way that made spiderman feel so close, but so far. He couldn’t rid himself of that odd feeling beneath his ribcage, the one that felt like his heart was trying to escape, wailing your name and clawing at him from the inside out. Luckily, the spider-suit did enough to keep it contained.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The atmosphere was tumultuous, the sound of the concrete around them crumbling accompanied by an occasional hiss of web shooting from Yuji’s suit. He moved with a choppy sort of grace, bouncing across alleys and buildings alike.

“I’m sure you could do better than that,” he teased, faux cockiness thick in his tone. A tense, tightly strung determination bled through his tone, too intense to be concealed by thickly coated boyish charm. He lingered on the wall of one building just for the sake of mocking his foe, head tilted to the side almost as if he was genuinely interested.

He quickly flung himself away, just barely missing the swinging, mechanical arm aimed at him.

“Ah ah, keep up!” he quipped, though his voice rose with a small yelp as he finished his sentence. It was clear his opponent only got further angered with every tease, wails of rage growing louder with every swing. Spiderman smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hah… guess I shouldn’t get too cocky…”

His opponent was some big guy, clad in countless layers of precocious technology that reflected the suns light like a mirror. What he assumed was his chest beneath all that metal was heaving, pants leaving his mouth. Suppose tech can’t compete with physical stamina, at least not in this scenario.

“You’ll regret this, spiderman!” he roared, voice scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in ages. “Surrender now, or I’ll have to do something I don’t want to. Don’t– don’t make it difficult.” His words got darker with every proceeding syllable, almost enough to make Yuji nervous. He was used to these threats, and they were empty more often than not.

“Yeahhh…” he drawled, unconvinced. But there was something in him that twisted his gut—not his spider-sense, but something… different. Something in his heart told him to worry.

Shaking his head, he made another advance in the direction of the enemy. He hadn’t bothered to remember his name, he’d never been a problem until now.

Swerving his hit, the big man continued. “I’ve been studying you, spiderman-“ he cut himself off with a groan, his incessant speech resulting in an impact meeting his side.

He grinned, malicious and knowing. As if he knew this was a game of cat and mouse, and he had him trapped like a rat. Something about it made Yuji hesitate, made that unfamiliar feeling in his heart throb. Yuji opened his mouth to retort, to at least attempt some sort of return that suited his sarcastic, spiderman fashion, but he was cut off.

“Or rather, I’ve been studying Yuji Itadori.”

He felt himself go immobile, felt his body freeze like an icicle in the midst of winter. His blood felt equally as cold, as if one move would make him shatter. People studied spiderman all of the time. There were news articles and personal reports and attempts at interviews—everyone knew everything about spiderman, except for his identity. At least, they did.

In that split second, Yuji had a terrible epiphany. With Yuji Itadori came Y/n L/n, always. A plethora of your shared moments flashed through his mind. Walking you to class, late night trips to the convenience store, all of the places around you that there’d been someone lurking. Someone just waiting for the right moment, gauging his behaviour and every aspect of his life, no doubt including the way he looked at you. Yuji might’ve seemed dense, but he was perfectly aware of how clear his love for you was. He loved everything, he loved the way the sun casted over the city and the way people lit up when he smiled at them on the street. He loved you most.

The figure looming over him smiled sickly, Yuji’s reaction telling him all he needed to know. As he began circling Yuji like a predator ready to pounce, he couldn’t stop him. All he could do was feel the pounding of his heart in his chest and wondering if yours was still able to do the same.

“So I was thinking…” the man began, trailing off for the sake of suspense no doubt. “What’s a better power to have over someone than love?”

The sinister words swirled in his ears like an echo. His mouth felt dry, the rest of the world fading to TV static as he tried to glance around for any sign of you, but his gaze was far too frantic to make out the shape of the person in front of him let alone you.

With a devilish snigger, you were revealed. Simply based off of the widened state of your eyes and the way you writhed in the rope you were restricted by, it was fairly clear this was news to you. Had your mouth not been taped, he was sure you’d have plenty to say. As his eyes locked with yours, the world slowed to a halt around you. Your gazes spoke louder than any words, louder than any scream into the dead of night. It spoke of love and fear all the same.

“Stop,” was all he could croak out. “Stop!” he shouted, louder this time as his gaze turned.

“Mm.. so I was correct, then?” said the near cyborg beast beside you.

Yuji’s gaze flickered to you, just for a split second. He contemplated lying, but he just… couldn’t. The words felt bitter and out of place on his tongue, even before they were spoken. So he chose bravery, in every sense of the word, and kept with his offence.

“Maybe, that’s none of your business,” he grunted, words emphasized with a hit to the man’s gnarly face. Yuji had a new sense of determination, the animalistic instinct to protect you. He’d already lost so many, lost his parents and his brother and the sense of humanity he grasped on to like the thread he hung by. He wouldn’t lose you.

All you could do was watch. You could only sit there like the helpless bystander you loathed to be, staring in horror as who might’ve been the love of your life was pummelled into the ground. It was like a twisted pattern of pain and the red of his blood darkening his suit. With every hit he landed he received tenfold, but somehow he always got back up. That was Yuji for you.

As the fight continued, you couldn’t help but begin to notice the obvious similarities between the vigilante and your own best friend. You felt utterly idiotic. Why else would he care so much, who else would you have shared those conversations with? Why else would Yuji look at you just a little different every time you met with spiderman? It all made sense. All of the “I’m sure your best friend is lucky to have you”’s and the explanations to Yuji’s actions that seemed just a bit too personal. Now you knew why, and you couldn’t even respond to the information, imprisoned by the tape over your mouth and the weight of your obliviousness as the sound of fist against face rang through the streets.

A weak, muffled cry fell from your lips as he was knocked to the ground.

Everything was going in slow motion. The robotic arm raised, hovering over Yuji like a sledgehammer just waiting to pound down. But then there was a metallic whine, and a halt. Panic washed over the man’s face as he froze—well, the metal parts of him froze, and those were the only parts that amounted to much.

He sputter and panicked, watching as the countless officers surrounding the area became aware of his suspended movement. It was over, just like that? He seemed just as surprised as you were, and as your eyes met, you were shocked to feel anything in common with him.

When you were freed of the twine that had been keeping you in place, you wasted no time in rushing to Yuji. The red and blue of the lights surrounding you blanketed him, making him appear as nothing but a puddle in the street. He looked completely melted—limp, and for a moment you thought he might not live to hear what you had to say.

You pulled his mask up over his face, disregarding the people around you and their wandering eyes. His face was battered and bruised, but undeniably still his, still alive. You felt your shoulders deflate as his throat bobbed, the small, otherwise unimportant motion doing numbers to ease your nerves. He was still here. You could still learn to love spiderman as you did Yuji, you’d still get the chance to feel their hearts beat as one.

His eyes fluttered open, vision bleary from the flashing lights and his lack of consciousness. “Y/n?” he muttered, voice nearly inaudible. It was the first thought in his mind when he woke, even before the fuzzy outline of your face came into view. His eyes flickered brighter when they saw you. He knew that face anywhere. “Y/n,” he breathed, softer this time.

“Yuji-“

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he mumbled quickly. His hands reached for yours, the shaky, bruised skin wrapping itself in yours. It stung, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his was enough to soothe the ache. He was convinced that if you were to kiss every injured part of him, his bones would straighten themselves out for the sole purpose of holding you, because broken arms can not cradle. Snapped fingers cannot run through your hair, so if he were broken, he would repair himself as long as it meant loving you. No amount of bloodshed would keep him away, he would return to you in the winds if he had to.

You chuckled lightly despite the distress of the moment. “For not telling me what? That you’re spiderman or that you’re in love with me?”

He grinned tiredly, canines peeking out brightly, white against the pink of his lips. “Both.”

— ⋮ ᰔ

The sound of knuckles against your window was dull and hollow, but not unexpected. It did little to startle you, barely bothering to look up from your textbook as you hunched over your desk.

“It’s open!” you called over your shoulder, followed by the creak of the glass sliding open. The sound of Yuji’s feet meeting the ground pulled you from your school immersed daze, office chair swivelling around to face him.

“You know, leaving your window open at night is dangerous,” he said, half joking. His mask was already pulled from his face, messy pink hair matted and messy on his head. He was making quick work to pull off the rest of his suit as he spoke, hopping around on one foot as he tried to pry it from his skin.

You responded with an underlaugh, “I’m on the fourth floor. Nobody except spiderman is sliding open my window at eleven at night on a Tuesday.”

“Well-“ he cut himself off by knocking into your bedframe. He glanced back to you, cheeks warming in the slightest as he tried to balance himself and remain authoritative. “Well, they might!” he exclaimed. His eyes narrowed, but you didn’t find any sense of irritation in them. Within his shining brown irises was concern, the lingering anxiety that came with the events not long before. Yuji had been on edge ever since, constantly glancing around corners and panicking when you were out of sight for even a moment. In the corners of his vision lingered the sight of you helpless, burned into his mind like a tattoo he never wanted.

He tossed the red article somewhere on your floor, disregarding it entirely. He stood above you, arms crossed and trying to look annoyed, but resulting in a different, much cuter pout. He was many things that he wouldn’t admit. Tired—very much so—from spending his day trying restlessly to save lives, scared, and craving the tenderness in your touch that he never received with the mask over his face. When you locked gazes, holding it felt particularly hard for him tonight, because he knew you could see right through him. He felt bare, and not just because you were looking at his real face.

You sighed softly, standing up from the chair. You guess your studying could wait another night, because you knew Yuji couldn’t. Your chest throbbed with the thought of the danger he came face to face with constantly, the responsibility he carried on his back through every waking moment. The weight was heavy, and it was exhausting.

Placing a chaste, fleeting kiss on his cheek, you tugged him over to the bed. His hand was soft in yours, a contrast to the callouses and scrapes adorning the skin there.

“Come lie down,” you mumbled.

He glanced between you and the desk you previously occupied, brows knitting together. “Weren’t you busy?”

“I’m not anymore. Just come rest with me, please.” You shook your head, earnestly reflecting in your eyes.

He hesitated, opening his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to…” he began, but he stopped himself. He really, really did want to rest. He wanted to listen to your heart beat against your chest and have your breath fan over his skin, he wanted to curl into your embrace and be reminded that in this cruel world was a place of love. He knew that deep down, his heart resided with you, and he never felt it truly thump until he was in your arms. “…okay.”

So he crawled into bed with you, tired and almost clingy in his actions. His body slotted against yours like the missing piece of a puzzle, his arms slithering around your waist and face nuzzling into the crook of your neck like it was always meant to be there. He let his ear press against your shirt and hear the life beneath your skin, letting out a breath and physically melting into your arms. He looked so much more gentle like this. He wasn’t the sarcastic or silly figure the world knew spiderman to be, he was just a boy that wanted to help. He was just a kid like you who needed to know that there were things left to cherish.

Some would say you had two lovers. One a courageous figure in the night, the other a warm hearted, pink haired student barely making it into college. But you knew that spiderman was nothing but the parts of Yuji that had always lived within, and the bits that defined him most.

That night you traced every line and freckle on his face, committing it to memory because now there was no suit between you. You admired him as he slept, relishing in the tranquility of it all. It was just you and Yuji, flesh and love and transparency all in one.

From then onwards, Yuji fought his battles with just a bit more hope, because he knew you’d be waiting for him by the window when he won.

I MISSED writing for Yuji ugghhhhhhhhhh. If I wrote a part 2 of a strangers heart would yall fw that or nah (wouldn’t be for a while tho). I cannot write action at all im so sorry 😭 also cba to give big scary villain a name so it got repetitive

Jjk/gen taglist — @sh0ot1ngst4r @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix @bubybubsters @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee

— I did not tag those who could not be tagged. If you were on the general taglist and don’t see yourself, it’s because your tag settings stopped me from doing so.

[eris-norwega]

Human Alastor x reader, where they are in an established romantic relationship, and they are on a date taking a stroll through the woods. Alastor notices that they are being watched by someone who wants reader for themselves, and confronts them later on killing them.

Blood Will Make It Better

Notes: YIPPEE human al is my favorite. y’all idk why my one shots keep getting shorter but i thought i wrote a lot more than i did. apparently it’s hard to write extended gore scenes without it getting repetitive.

Synopsis: Reader has been dealing with a pest at work, and despite her partner, Alastor, telling him off, he just doesn’t get the message—so Alastor will just have to send a clearer, more permanent one.

CW: human alastor, reader has she/her pronouns, pov change, stalking, harassment, gore, murder, it’s the 1920s so reader works at a library

Word Count: 1268

It was always moments like these that I enjoyed the most. A joyful night in the warm woods with Alastor, laughing all our problems away as we watched the fireflies float through the trees. It was hot, and dreadfully humid, but I could easily ignore it when I saw his smile.

He was a strange man. Snarky, distant, and incredibly outspoken—all things that drew me to him. Where others saw him as arrogant and guarded, I saw a man willing to do anything it takes to accomplish his goals, all while protecting himself fiercely.

Despite it all, I wanted to get to know him better. I saw past his flaws and went right for the center. Apparently, he admired that.

Alastor happily led me through the forest on his expansive property, his glasses shining in the moonlight. He hummed a soft tune as we settled on the small dock in the bayou where we loved to sit and talk.

We sat, feet dangling dangerously off the side of the ledge and the hands bracing ourselves backwards just barely brushing. He leaned his head at almost a right angle to set his head on my shoulder. I chuckled, using my arm to pull him closer. He laughed softly, wrapping his arm around my waist and placing a light kiss to my cheek.

We sat in silence, looking at the fireflies dance, listening to the chirping of crickets and the croaking of bullfrogs. Alastor snuggled into my shoulder, a gesture never seen by the outside world. But here, we were safe.

Or so we thought.

A snap of a twig is heard, making us jolt and my heart begin to race. I clutched onto Alastor, my eyes darting around in the moonlit forest.

There was a rustle of a bush, and then the night resumed its symphony. Alastor stared daggers at the bush as I clung to his arm.

“Let’s go,” he growled, getting up from the dock, his eyes never leaving the bush.

“What is it?” my voice wavered.

“I’m not sure,” he hissed. “Let’s just be safe.”

~Alastor~

He did, in fact, know what it was. And it made his blood boil.

Lance. A sleazy frequenter at his beloved’s library job. She had mentioned on multiple occasions just how crass and disrespectful he was to her and her personal space—always trying to flirt. She had indicated multiple times to him that she was seeing someone, but that only seemed to spur him on further.

Getting angrier at his behavior, Alastor decided to pay a visit to her day job, as Lance was beginning to appear every day now.

Alastor made it known to the man that she was, in fact, taken. He almost got himself kicked out of the establishment when he warned Lance—in a particularly loud voice—that he would not hesitate to press charges and get a restraining order on him on behalf of his partner if he showed his face again. Lance had sulked away with a frown on his face, and Alastor hoped that might be the end of it.

Seems he was wrong.

That very night, Alastor spotted Lance’s ratty eyes peaking through the bush. He bristled with rage. How did that pig even find them? On his property?

Alastor now only had one goal in mind. Keep her safe, and kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor kept track of him for long, agonizing weeks. His fingers itched to slice his throat, to gut him like the pig he was. He memorized his every move, where he was at every hour, particularly at night when it would be easiest to catch him.

Alastor knew now that Lance would leave the bar he was at soon enough. He twiddled his knife, the cool metal glinting in the dim light of the alley he leaned against. His heart raced, pumping with traces of adrenaline that would soon flood his brain.

His ears pricked when he heard the door open and close, poorly placed footsteps nearing his hiding spot. Alastor dared to peak around the corner, and his smile grew. Finally.

Alastor waited patiently behind the alley, listening closely to Lance’s footfalls. The man was clearly drunk, his steps wobbly and unsteady as he stumbled closer and closer to his death.

Alastor watched with glee as Lance stepped over the threshold into his line of sight. The man didn’t even see Alastor until he was being dragged backwards into the dark alley, his eyes wide and scream muffled by a large hand.

To Alastor’s luck—and great delight—no one else had stepped out with the man, and it was so late that nobody wandered the streets. He dragged Lance completely into the shadows, bashing his head against the brick wall to leave him disoriented. Lance groaned, slumping against the wall as Alastor let him go.

He quickly locked a hand around his neck, a choked sound gurgling from the man’s throat as he stared at his killer with wide, scared eyes.

“Do you know,” Alastor drawled, tracing the sharp end of the knife over Lance’s cheek, “just how long I’ve been waiting to do this?”

Another strangled scream escaped Lance as Alastor once again slammed his head into the wall, leaving a bit of blood on the brick.

“You think,” Alastor hissed, “that you can just harass her—stalk her—without any repercussions?”

A startled noise made its way past Lance’s lips, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please,” he choked.

Alastor laughed lowly. “Sorry, old pal. Didn’t hear you there.”

With a wild look in his eyes, Alastor slashed his knife across Lance’s mouth, his jaw falling open in a grotesque maw as Alastor cut his mouth wider.

Another gurgled scream tried to tear itself from Lance’s throat, but Alastor ensured no one could hear him as blood flooded his mouth.

Alastor cackled. “Repeat that for me, good sir. If you can.”

Another slash was made over Lance’s eye, blood gushing from the wound and pooling into his gaping mouth. The man whimpered in pain, surrendering to his fate.

“You don’t deserve to look at her,” Alastor growled, plunging the blade into his other eye socket, the eye popping out with an unnatural squelch. The drunken man tried to claw and kick at his assailant, but his intoxicated body and rapid blood loss made his efforts futile.

In a fit of impulsivity, Alastor took the eyeball and shoved it down the man’s throat with a gleeful laugh. His adrenaline completely taking over, Alastor shoved the knife into Lance’s ear repeatedly, smiling all the wider as blood sprayed on Alastor’s face.

“You’ll never hear her again,” he cackled, slicing his nose off next. “Never smell her intoxicating scent.” He yanked out his tongue, cutting it clean off. “Never taste her lips.”

Alastor continued to stab him in various places, blood pooling in ridiculous amounts on the floor, all while he laughed.

He felt insane and so, so good.

Alastor yanked Lance’s hair, and, although barely conscious, made one last promise to the man.

“You will never get to feel her like I do.”

And then he sunk the blade into his throat.

~Reader~

“Alastor!” I called happily as he picked me up from the library. “You’ll never guess who wasn’t here today!”

He chuckled softly as I buckled my seatbelt. “I have some ideas.”

I giggled. “Lance! For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t here!” I wiggled in my seat happily. “I think your little talk yesterday scared him off!”

Alastor laughed softly, taking my hand and placing a delicate kiss on my knuckles. “How wonderful.”

[toyourheartandback]

THOUGHT OF YOU (18+)

luke castellan x reader

even after everything he has done and everything he will be doing you can’t say no to luke

word count: 2.13k

MDNI! warnings: smut, foreplay, p in a v, sweet loving sex (because i’m a romantic sorry), reader has a female anatomy and bad english as always

a/n: don’t judge pls, it took me months to write this between exams and life being shitty. i just hope you like it and i apologize for not being able to be active :(

exam season was finally over. you were just returning home after going out with your classmates, celebrating before everyone separated for the summer. exhausted and slightly tipsy, you fumbled in the dim hallway, desperately searching your apartment keys. as you reached to unlock the door, your halfblood’s instincts flared to warn you that something was wrong. someone had picked the lock of your house.

your heart raced as you slipped the knife hidden from your boot and pushed the door open, stepping inside. the living room was dimly lit, but you knew what to expect. luke castellan was there, leaning casually against the back of your sofa, as though he belonged. without hesitation, you pressed the blade to his neck. he still smelled like woodsmoke and peanut butter, a scent that once smelled like home. "i should kill you right now," he didn’t flinch, instead he chuckled at your words, the low vibration making his skin graze the edge of your weapon.

"i'm going to lay this on the couch" he smirked as you let him slowly unclasp viper from his belt and set it down as promised, his dark brown eyes never leaving yours. they had always been so beautiful, but they didn't even look like luke's anymore. your bodies were as close as they could get without touching and you could feel the cold radiating from his, so unusual for the boy you once used to snuggle with on chilly nights at camp. "It's just me, toots" his words weren't making sense to you.

he resembled the son of hermes you loved with those dark messy curls and tanned skin, but at the same time he looked nothing like him. luke castellan wasn't the sweet boy who helped you bake cookies for young campers anymore, but a traitor to the gods and to camp halfblood. he should have been that to you too, after everything you knew he had done to annabeth, chris, and everyone you loved. "how do I know he isn't also here?", because there was no way those things were actually done by your tender and perfect luke. it must have been the lord of the titans. your luke would never leave you.

his hands moved slowly, wrapping around yours to gently pry the knife from your grasp and setting it down beside viper on the sofa. "not tonight" luke murmured, his voice softer now. he pulled you closer, trailing every inch of your figure with his cold touch until he reached your waist, sending a shiver through you. your arms instinctively went to his shoulders, an old habit you couldn't seem to break. his nose brushed yours, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes locked on you like he was starving.

you knew you should end this. you should take advantage of his vulnerability, strike him down and put an end to the war. but you also longed for the way luke tasted of butter chapstick. you fingers curled into his t-shirt and before you could stop yourself your lips met his. he tangled his hand in your hair, making you moan as he deepened the kiss exactly the same way he knew you liked. "oh, i missed this so much," he murmured softly against your mouth, his mouth breaking slightly, before connecting with you again. he tapped gently on your thigh, a silent request, and you gave in, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried to your bedroom. the way he moved and the way your body fit against his was muscle memory. almost a year had passed since the last time he had been here, but it felt like no time at all.

the moment your back hit the mattress, luke's hands slid under your dress as he hovered over you. "are you sure?" he asked, toying with the strings of your panties, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk as his eyes were searching for any hesitation. your mind was foggy and the guilt buried too deep to surface, so you answered yes. you mostly plead him to touch you. that was all he needed. he tugged your underwear down and kissed his way along your neck, his lips exploring every inch of your skin. his mouth was frantic and desperate like he was trying to memorize you.

luke knelt over the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders as his lips trailed up your inner thighs. his hands pinned you down while his mouth inched closer to your core, your breathing growing heavier with anticipation. "castellan, you better fucking stop being a tease" you squirmed beneath him, your voice thick with need, as he smirked at your words and dragged his tongue along your folds. the boy was taking his sweet time with you, savoring every part of you, knowing full well you would have kicked him out long ago if you didn't want this as much as he did. you groaned and pulled him closer by his soft hair.

he pressed his mouth against your clit, his tongue twisting circles over it that sent waves of pleasure trough you. a loud sigh left your lips and your head fell back against the mattress. your fingers tangled in his messy curls as you gripped tightly as you were pleading him for more. his playful dark eyes met yours as his chin glistened already with your arousal. “what do you want from me, toots?” his voice low and mischievous, while his thumb was playing with you bundle of nerves. he was never going to stop being a fucking tease. “i want you” you whimpered, trying to desperately pull him closer for a kiss as you cupped his flushed cheeks. he obliged with a brief provoking peck before pulling back with a grin on his face. “how?” he asked amused. “inside of me” you breathed, almost a whisper. “please”

you gasped sharply, your breath hitching as you suddenly felt two of his finger slide inside you. “fuck,” you exclaimed when luke started to pump them, hitting the spot that makes you feel your stomach twist. “you know that’s not what i wanted” you managed to protest between breathy moans, your words faltering under the sweet assault of his lips on your neck. he only chuckled softly between kisses, his warm breath fanning against your skin. his free hand roamed over your chest, fingers teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. “patience” he murmured as he tugged down the straps with ease to expose your breasts to the cool air. “i told you,” his lips found one of your nipples and without hesitation he sucked gently, drawing a gasp from you. “we have the whole night for ourselves.”

this time you let his head dip between your legs without protesting. his tongue and fingers were working perfectly together, drawing you closer and closer to your edge. his strong grip was pinning you down on the bed by your stomach as your mind started to feel hazy and your core seemed to be twisting and unraveling at once. by the time you voice was reduced to broken gasps and choked breaths and your hands were grabbing the fresh sheets beneath you to anchor yourself, you let your orgasm hit tearing through you like a storm. luke didn’t seem to be fully satisfied as he continued at his relentless pace, making you come a second time with a choked cry and a guttural, uncontrollable scream.

luke finally let you go, sweeping with his tongue your pleasure off his fingers and face to savor every trace of you. you were still trembling, struggling to steady yourself, when his low laugh broke the silence. “i missed your taste so fucking much” he murmured, his words full with adoration as his gaze locked onto yours. his eyes were so deep and tender, that for a fleeting moment it reminded you of the boy you fell in love back at camp. without thinking, you let yourself collapse into his lap, your knees pressing into cold and hard floor beneath the both of you, holding the sweet head counselor of the hermes’ cabin into your arms. your palm found his cheek as your finger traced his beautiful scar. “i miss you” you breathed, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop it. the truth that you were trying to hide from everyone, even yourself, for so long made you feel both terrified and liberated.

luke’s brows furrowed in a mix of awe and longing, and his stare deepened, darkened, as though he was memorizing every inch of you. then, without hesitation, he closed the space between you in a raw, desperate and messy kiss. his mouth moved against yours with an open and unrestrained hunger as if he was trying to pour all of his emotions into this very moment. he separated from you not to hesitate, but only to get rid of your annoying dress and you mirrored his urgency to strip him of his equally irritating clothes. you were already out of breath again as his strong hands gripped your hips and pulled you against him, making you gasp at the feeling of his erection humping your core. “luke,” you whispered, your mouth trembling between kisses. “i need you” he didn’t waste a second to reach the condom in your second drawer from the top near your bed that he knew all too well of and roll it on himself without his gaze ever leaving yours.

you steadied yourself with an hand on his shoulders as he gently guided you down and you slowly took every inch of him. a gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of luke filling you completely, as perfect as he always fit like you two were made to be united by the gods themselves. he cupped your face, tangling his fingers into your hair, and pulled your foreheads together. “you mean everything to me” he murmured before kissing you. your chest tightened, for this night you let yourself believe his words, and started to roll your hips against his in search of the perfect rhythm.

each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing trough you, leaving you panting. your knees were bruising and scraping against the floor of your room. luke carefully moved your legs around him and lifted both of you on the bed behind you, pounding into you before your back could even meet the mattress. his soft moans and kind touch were the only thing keeping you grounded to the moment even as your mind was threatening to drift away under the overwhelming gratification of your bodies entwined. a whimper of his name escaped you like a prayer as your nails dug into the firm muscles of his back. his thrust grew faster, more urgent, as he approached his peak and with a groan he buried his head into the curve of your shoulder, his strong arms gripping your waist as if to anchor himself to you.

his hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he held on tightly, grounding himself as he reached his climax. his pushes were becoming sloppier, but were enough to get you through your edge following him as luke tenderly kissed every inch of your skin he could reach. “i love you” he whispered breathless into your lips. “i love you too” your voice was thick with emotions, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. if only he loved you more than his vengeance against the gods.

you gasped softly when he pulled away, leaving behind an hallow ache that mirrored the emptiness you had felt every day since he abandoned you. he discharged the condom carelessly on the floor before collapsing on the bed beside you, pulling you closer against his chest. luke’s warmth was both comforting and cruel. “can you stay until i fall asleep?” you asked, barely above a whisper as though your voice might shatter the fragile moment. your fingers traced aimless patterns on his skin in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. you were trying to keep yourself together, knowing that if you let yourself dwell on why he was here the tears would spill over. “like i always do” he promised, tugging the covers over your bodies, and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, pulling you closer as though he could keep the two of you together only with his bare hands.

but luke already had his mother’s blessing and the only thing left was your goodbye.

[luvst4rc0r3]

HIII

I READ YOUR TIMEBOMB×GN!READER FFIC

AND I JUST WANNA SAY THAT I FOUND THAT AMAZING

ALSO

CAN YOU MAYBE WRITE MORE TIMEBOMB×GN!READER FFICS

LIKE MAYBE SOME SMUT OR SUGGESTIVE

I'D LOVE TO READ THAT

ANYWHO TYSM! I LOVE YOUR FFICS SM!

GUYS I AM NOT GOOD AT WRITING SMUT FICS BUT I CAN END FICS OFF WITH A SUGGESTIVE TONE😭😭

ALSO TYYY❤️❤️‼️‼️‼️

“Time and Chaos”

Timebomb x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: suggestive at the end

WC:628

NOTE: Reader is alr in an established relationship w/ Ekko

The air in Zaun’s undercity was electric tonight, a buzzing charge that seemed to mirror the tension hanging between the three of you. You sat cross-legged on the floor of Ekko’s hideout, the dim light of his many gadgets casting long shadows across the room. Jinx perched on a nearby table, swinging her legs like a child, while Ekko leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched her with his usual wary intensity.

The night had started with an explosion—literally. Jinx had crashed another Firelight mission, her maniacal laughter ringing out as her bombs scattered Ekko’s carefully planned operation into chaos. It wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that after the dust settled, she didn’t disappear. She followed you and Ekko back to the hideout like a stray cat, her mischievous grin unshakable.

Now, the three of you sat in uneasy camaraderie, caught somewhere between rivalry and…sexual tension.

“You’re no fun, Ekko,” Jinx teased, twirling one of her braids around her finger. “Always so serious. Lighten up!”

Ekko’s eyes narrowed, but there was no real heat in his voice when he replied. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to be serious if you didn’t blow up half the city every other day, Powder.”

The name made her flinch, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she masked it with a wild grin. “Careful, Clockstopper,” she said sweetly, hopping off the table. “I might think you’re trying to hurt my feelings.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Do you two ever stop bickering?”

Both of them turned to look at you, and for a moment, you felt the full weight of their gazes—Ekko’s sharp and thoughtful, Jinx’s chaotic and unrelenting.

“Only when you make us,” Jinx said with a smirk, sauntering over to you. She crouched in front of you, her blue eyes scanning your face with unnerving intensity. Her hands were near your inner thighs, “You’re fun. Why don’t you ditch Mr. Buzzkill and come play with me instead?”

“Jinx,” Ekko warned, stepping closer.

“What?” she said innocently, tilting her head. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. They’re the only reason we’re not killing each other right now.” She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of your jaw, and you felt your breath hitch. “They’re so… calming. Don’t you think, Ekko?”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding. You boyfriend’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his usual guarded demeanor slipping just enough for you to see the warmth underneath. “Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “They are.”

The air in the room shifted, heavy with something unspoken. Tension that could be broken with a kiss. Jinx leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “See? Even Time Boy agrees. Maybe we should keep you all to ourselves.”

You laughed nervously, trying to hide your insane blushing. “You two are impossible.”

“Maybe,” Ekko said, kneeling beside you now. His voice was low, his eyes locking onto yours. “But you’re the only one who makes it worth it.”

Jinx’s grin widened, and she draped herself over your shoulder, her breath warm against your ear. “Guess you’re stuck with us, huh?”

You swallowed hard, the proximity of both of them making your pulse race. There was no escape from the intensity of their presence—Ekko’s steady strength and Jinx’s wild energy, both pulling you in opposite directions yet somehow keeping you perfectly balanced in the middle.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I am.”

Jinx giggled, her fingers brushing against your arm. “Good answer.”

Ekko smirked, his hand coming to rest lightly on your chest. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Both of us.”

HIII ERM I USUALLY DONT WRITE FICS LIKE THIS BC IM BAD AT WRITING STUFF LIKE THIS😭😭

I want sleep

[milktrician]

Ohoh Can you tell me something about the WIP "Supernova"??

A few months back I read “Mysterious Encounters In My Neighborhood” and I took one look at the male leads and said “god i want to write a jiuyuan dynamic kinda like that” and ended up with a Shen Yuan dream demon au of sorts and also he’s an old man :)

I don’t know if I want it to still be called Supernova or to use that title for another jiuyuan thing I’m working on but it’s based off the song Supernova by Yunosuke and Haruno. By the music video you can assume why I assign it to jiuyuan lol

anyway here’s part of the wip

Snap

“Ugh, does this world even have bolt cutters?” A muffled voice carries through the door.

The chains hit the ground, the sound he’s always wanted to hear. Waited to hear. His legs are bunched against his beating chest, awaiting what this unknown man is going to do to him. Lots of men visited the Qius to do business, but they would never be allowed to touch him in the shed. Who would be allowed to open the shed other than the guards and Qiu Jianluo?

The door creaks as it opens outward, the moonlight outlining the old man in front of him. His form is shaped by several layers of simple robes, rounded glasses placed upon his face. Strands of his white hair frame his head, floating around him as if not affected by gravity. For a second he believes the rest of the old man’s hair is tied behind him, but no, it’s almost a shear cut at the base of his neck.

The metal tool that cut through the chains is thrown to the side, the man dusting his calloused hands.

“Strange, and here I would have thought you would have realized you’re dreaming right now.”

“Excuse me?”

His voice is deeper now, as it should be.

…This man was right. He had been foolish, falling into the same nightmare again. He is no longer some sniveling child submitting to his fate in a dingy shack. He is now a Peak Lord, and he should act like one.

“Not even a hello? Truly you are as they say, I suppose.”

Shen Qingqiu stands, “Who are you? How did you manage to break through the wards?”

“And the thanks I get! C’mon, would you have liked to be stuck in these dreams again?”

His wrinkles exaggerate as his face sours, and all of a sudden he’s sitting within a room with bright walls, windows to a night sky without any stars. There is a large seat not made from wood but plushed with fabric that the old man sits upon, relaxing into it.

The old man looks at him expectantly, “Well? Sit. I made this for your comfort.”

“Answer my questions.”

“Haven’t you already figured that out?”

There’s a smirk on his face that he should wipe off this instant.

“The demonic ways of dream manipulation were wiped out.”

“Ah, but you can’t kill an idea can you? And who says I wasn’t already wiped out long before your time?”

“So you’re a stray spirit.”

“Call it how you’d like it.”

Looking around the room it’s larger than he realizes, housing what looks to be a kitchen, a dining table, and this seating space all in one area. The lights are brighter than any candle and look more similar to the balls of light conjured through using qi. There are holes in the ceiling to house these lights, casting a brightness that is uncomfortable in this artificial night.

The city outside almost fights back the night sky with lights of all colors. What look like carriages carry lights to light up the roads ahead, all clustered against each other to create a strip across the land. Buildings, taller than he’s ever seen, have lights peppered across their floors. Housing from what it looks like.

[s4nguiine]

petals and bullets

boothill x fem!reader - pt. 2

» rating: still eventual nsfw.

» notes: two fics in a row! woooo!! i wanted to discuss the future of this fic a bit. i want to try something new, something non-linear. the first 3 chapters will be linear of course, because i need to establish a backstory and yada yada, but i figured it would be cool if i made the following chapters separate stories. that way i wouldn't be tied down to one story and trying to make fun concepts fit - i can just write separate chapters with different adventures the reader and boothill would go on. let me know your thoughts on this in the comments if you have any :p

» tag list: @favsruii @inyourfaceace @crystalkat6747 (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed!)

you’re frozen where you stand and drops of sweat run down your throat as you swallow. you don’t need to see the weapon to know there is a gun pointed at you. do IPC workers carry around guns now..?

“looks like this crate had a rat in it, too,” the man behind you says.

you make an attempt to grab the knife in your pocket - unsuccessfully, as he immediately spots the small movement.

“don’t even think about it, darlin’. why don’t you turn around slowly so i can get a proper look at ya?”

you take a deep breath first, then you do as he says. and when he comes into view, an extravagantly clothed cyborg cowboy, you’re.. not sure what to think. he seems to have a similarly surprised expression on his face.

“a lady? muddlefudger. i don’t like pointin’ my gun at ladies.”

his accent… his long black and white hair… his eyes. you hate it, but you’re just as scared of as you are attracted to this man.

“what’s your name?” he asks.

“y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he says your name, as if tasting it. “listen up, sweetheart-” sweetheart? “-i don’t tolerate stowaways. you’re a mighty fine lady, though a bit wild-lookin’, but traveling with me is dangerous. we ain’t too far yet, so i’m taking you back home.”

your eyes grow wide. no. no, you can’t go back. the cowboy keeps his gun pointed at you as he backs away to the pilot’s seat to put in the coordinates of your home planet.

while his eyes are off you, your hand swiftly enters your pocket and grabs the handle of the knife. you lunge, and you make the mistake of yelling as you do so. you only stop at the crisp sound of a gunshot, which makes you freeze and gasp for air. the bullet does not hit you, however - instead there is a metallic clang as the knife is forced out of your hands. it falls to the ground and slides far out of your reach.

your arms remain raised in the air as you are frozen in fear once more, and your eyes are shut tight, until you hear the man’s footsteps. he approaches and you cower, looking up at him through your lashes. you realize that he’s been very relaxed until this very moment - because now he’s wearing a deep frown on his face.

“seriously, lady… a knife? my body-” he stops as his eyes wander lower on your body. “wait a second.” his hand grips the hem of your coat. ah. it’s over. everything’s gone to shit, and now you’ll be at the mercy of this weirdo.

the cyborg opens your coat with such a force that he almost tears it off of you. you close your eyes and press your lips into a thin line. of course, your clothes underneath it are soaked with your mother’s blood.

“whose blood is this?” he almost growls. when you answer only with quickened breathing, he presses the cold barrel of his revolver against your forehead. you hear the cylinder turn. “answer me.”

this is the shittiest day of your life. fuck freedom, you should have just stayed in that apartment. you can’t take this anymore.

“it’s… it’s not mine.”

the cowboy isn’t very pleased with that response. “a stowaway is one thing. i can understand a runaway daughter. but i sure as hell don’t tolerate murderers.”

“pl- please! please don’t kill me. i had no other choice!” you are almost ashamed of how quickly you resort to begging. power? what power? you never had any after all. you can’t even defend yourself right now.

the man is silent for a while. then, the gun is lifted off your forehead. he uses it to motion towards a couch standing underneath a window, which you take as your cue to sit down, albeit confusedly.

“you have thirty minutes ‘til we arrive back home. explain,” he orders.

first you fiddle with your thumbs in your lap, looking around nervously, then you sigh and hang your head. “i had to get out,” you mumble.

the cowboy pulls up a chair and sits on it with his arms crossed. “can’t hear ya, darlin’.”

you pick at the skin around your nails and finally muster up the courage to speak loud and clear. “my mother. the blood is my mother’s.” suddenly your sight gets blurry, and you think you’re about to pass out until a drop of water lands on your hand. you wipe at your face. tears. they’re tears - you’re crying. why are you crying? you don’t feel sorry. you feel nothing at all.

“i just,” you take a shaky breath, “i just had to get out. i couldn’t keep on living like that!”

you see the cowboy shift in the corner of your eye. he uncrosses his arms, assuming a less interrogatory pose. his robotic hand hovers over your knee for a moment, unsure, before he changes his mind and withdraws.

he lets out an agitated groan as he takes off his hat and runs his hand through his long bangs. just as he’s about to speak, a notification sound comes from the control panel. the man looks a bit confused. he stands up and walks over to the panel, opening the new message. you watch a toothy grin form on his face.

“well would you look a’that. you’ve made the IPC your enemy, little lady,” he says.

you are shocked out of crying as you glance at the touchscreen in front of him. your name, your photo - and a sign that says wanted dead or alive. a hefty sum of credits glares at you underneath.

of course. you’re not just wanted by the authorities on your planet. you still owe the rest your mother’s debt to the IPC, the corporation that does not just let things pass.

the cowboy turns to you. “this makes things very different.”

“h-how so?” you ask.

“see, i’m a galaxy ranger.” a bounty hunter. the words aren’t spoken, but you assume that’s what he’s getting at.

you’re silent for a while as the two of you stare at each other. “so, you’re gonna turn me in?”

“i won’t.”

you’ve already made peace with your execution, but his response throws you off. “wait - what? that’s a lot of money, you know.”

the cowboy chuckles and approaches you once more. you shy away from him, and as he towers over you - boy is he tall - you finally notice that his teeth are sharp like a shark’s.

“the name’s boothill.” he offers you his hand to shake, and you do so, albeit reluctantly. it’s surprisingly not as cold as you expected it to be. “the IPC is my number one enemy - it’s mutual, really. this ship? stole it from ‘em. your bounty is chump change compared to the money they’re offerin’ for my head.”

“s-so…”

“the enemy of my enemy is my friend. i’ll do you one favor, lady. you’re not going back to your home planet. instead,” he drawls as he lets go of you, walking back to change the coordinates of the ship. “i’m droppin’ you off at my next stop.”

you stand up abruptly, and before you can blink, boothill is pointing a gun at you. “but don’t think i’m lettin’ you off my sights, pretty lady. you’re still a murderer.”

you open your mouth and close it a couple times. “th..thank you…” a sudden wave of dizziness comes over you, forcing you to your knees. boothill is by your side almost immediately to hold you by the shoulders.

“whoa there!” he chuckles, “you good?”

you sigh, hanging your head. you’re tired. you’re so tired you can feel it in your bones. “it’s been a long day.”

“oh i bet it was. y’know, i think there is a shower in here somewhere - why don’t you get yourself cleaned up?”

you nod. the thought of having your mother’s blood on you any longer doesn’t make you feel very great. “oh, but.. i don’t have a change of clothes.”

boothill hums. “i think i saw some uniforms around here somewhere. come with me.”

the ranger helps you to your feet and then he’s leading you out of the cockpit into a small resting area. you figure that this ship probably isn’t very big. boothill starts opening various cupboards and closets until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“aha!” he exclaims. “there it is. here. pick up whatever’s your size.”

“thanks,” you mumble. “where’s the bathroom then..?”

boothill clears his throat. “no idea.”

“what?” you raise an eyebrow. “how long have you had this ship?”

“whatever. i’m a cyborg, y'know, i don’t exactly take showers.”

“well don’t you brush your teeth..?”

the cyborg flashes you a toothy grin. “you think these bad boys are mine? they don’t need cleanin’.”

you stare at him for a while without saying anything. your expression however speaks volumes. you’re disgusted. then you turn, uttering a simple “ugh, men” while you embark on your journey of finding fitting clothes and a shower - or any other place to wash yourself.

and you’re successful. the third door you open happens to lead to a small bathroom. and as you shut the door behind you and slump against it, you let out a long sigh. finally some proper quiet, an oasis just for you. maybe things turned out better than you’d planned after all.

when you found out that it was boothill’s ship you ended up on instead of the IPC, you were crushed. but now that you know that there is a bounty on your head, the thought of having to hide in enemy territory sends shivers down your spine.

things are still uncertain. you have a long road ahead of you - one of hiding and fleeing, probably. but this matter is in your hands now. you can decide for yourself. and if you get caught and killed, well - that will be your repercussions for the decisions you’ve made.

you undress and step inside the shower while actively avoiding looking in the mirror. the water that leaves your body is stained red as it washes off the blood stuck to your skin, which you scrub so meticulously it starts to burn.

you leave the shower refreshed and feeling somewhat like a person again. the mirror is foggy, and when you wipe it to finally look at yourself, you find dead, exhausted eyes staring back at you. all the adrenaline of today really did a number on you.

is that all you’re concerned with..? shallow cuts litter your arms where you nicked yourself. they serve as a reminder of what went on earlier. your mother is dead. the woman who birthed you and raised you. you repeat this to yourself over and over, hoping to elicit some kind of emotional reaction from yourself.

nothing comes of course. you’re still a husk devoid of emotion.

maybe you are a monster after all. maybe it’s time to accept that.

you find your way back to the cockpit, boothill nowhere to be found. unsure of what to do, you sit back down on the sofa and look out the window into the darkness of outer space. small white dots decorate the blackness and you think about how many worlds are out there, orbiting those dots.

you’re in space. actual space. it finally dawns on you. you’ve escaped that hellhole. talk about moving! you’ve always dreamt of moving far away, but truthfully you never dared think outside the box - or outside the planet for that matter.

your eyelids grow heavy as you lean against the backrest. you should thank boothill… make it up to him… maybe tomorrow.

sleep claims you before you know it.

when boothill enters the cockpit with a blanket in hand, he finds you crashed out in an uncomfortable position. he blinks. would it be rude to move you? but then he thinks about the back pain you could get from this… and he approaches you, carefully laying you down along the length of the sofa. he covers you with the blanket and dusts off his hands, quite proud of his work if he says so.

when he stole this ship, boothill thought this would be just another heist. but then you crawled out and, admittedly, you looked scary as all hell. but if there’s anything he’s learnt in his life as a ranger, it’s never to judge a book by its cover - and you just might be a book that’s right up his alley.

[yanderes-galore]

Platonic/Romantic Aphlys (Undertale)

Honestly... There's some soft yandere potential here I think. Sorry if it's too simple, I kept getting writer's block midway through.

Yandere! Alphys Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Breach of privacy, Hidden cameras, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Kidnapping, Isolation, Denial/Guilt, Lucid/Slightly delusional yandere, Drugging, Dubious companionship/relationship.

This idea seems a bit... ironic to me?

Alphys has always been obsessed with human anime and culture.

It would be interesting if she picked up her behavior due to one of the animes she watched.

That or subconsciously mimicked what she saw in an anime.

I highly doubt Alphys could actually kill anyone though.

I feel she's more of a... soft yandere.

She's a shy introvert, an intelligent scientist with low self-esteem.

She's probably unable to bring herself to harm anyone.

Although, it is canon that Alphys is heavily into fandom culture.

She likes shipping and sharing her opinions.

Another thing to note is the fact that she uses cameras to spy on the player in Undertale.

For the most part, Alphys is a soft yandere.

She's mostly harmless towards her obsession and others.

Which is, honestly, a nice change.

Most of the time yandere can be intentionally destructive towards those around them.

Alphys? No, most of the time she works on keeping her obsession secret.

I feel she'd act almost the same between a platonic or romantic obsession.

It's just with a romantic obsession, she ends up writing more intimate things down in her diary.

Alphys, no matter the kind of her obsession, may also feel bad about having it.

She thinks her obsession deserves better... but you're just so cool.

She knows this is wrong, but can't help it?

Alphys is very quiet about her obsession, keeping it as yet another secret in her life.

She's shy around her obsession, often stuttering at first depending on her feelings.

In terms of her yandere behavior, she's a quiet stalker.

She watches what you do through cameras, she writes down notes about you in her diary, and often thinks of little fantasies between you and her.

She's a perfectionist at times and always looks for validation in her obsession.

She wants your approval and does anything to get it.

Including lying to you just to have your attention.

She's also a bit clingy when it comes to texting and calling.

It takes her a long time to properly talk to you and call you... but she does it so often from her lab.

Sometimes she even asks you what you're doing despite watching what you're doing from a monitor.

She watches you so often, taking notes and everything.

She's not possessive or jealous, really.

Most of the time she just quietly deals with her jealousy.

She feels... left out when you're with others.

For the most part she can get over it.

Although... What if she couldn't?

While I mostly see Alphys as a soft yandere, what if she did snap?

Alphys kidnapping may be rare, but I feel as a yandere it would be possible.

Would she feel guilty? Very.

Alphys doesn't like to think of the idea, really.

She's a lucid yandere who is aware of her actions.

Unfortunately... She seems to be more driven by her desires than her guilty feelings.

While it would be rare for her to do, what if Alphys kidnapped you and kept you in the True Lab?

She knows she shouldn't have listened to her jealous feelings... She would've been perfectly fine watching you through her cameras...

Yet then she saw you get close to others... and she wonders if you'll forget her.

The fear of you abandoning her would be what drives her to do what she does.

Mettaton did that once she made him famous.

What if you do the same?

You could say she's also a bit delusional, hoping to convince herself she had to do this.

But deep down, she knows she didn't... She shouldn't have.

It was wrong to drug you to have you all to herself.

While she knows she never meant to hurt you... It doesn't make it right.

She has you all to herself, but you're unhappy.

She could've accepted her jealousy... even talked about it with you...

But she was worried that alone would make you leave her.

Well, now you can't leave... yet won't talk to her.

You won't let her touch you... You won't listen to her...

You're scared, locked away like her experiments.

She knows she's gone too far... She can't let you go...

She knows the right thing to do would be to free you...

Unfortunately, she can't bring herself to do it, this must be better than being alone....

At some point she hopes to ignore the guilt she feels when doing this... This is wrong, after all...

But when it comes to your attention, she'll do anything to have it.

[moonmaiden1996]

Hi 😊👋 Corazon and Sanji both are my favourites (not that they're both blondes but they share the same endless kindness 🥰). So yeah I'd love to read sth about Corazon ♥️. I'm not sure if he ever had sex or even an relationship but he has so much love to give. Maybe you could write sth about spending a night with Cora? Might be the first time for both as a couple. 👀

18+ with some spoilers

So, I’m in two minds about this. Corazon is 100% a virgin. His trauma runs far too deep. After watching his mother die and his brother kill their father, his entire existence became a mission: a duty to keep his brother’s monstrous tendencies in check and save as many people as he could. It’s hard to imagine he’d ever think of anything beyond that.

But then again, maybe he would. After all, they’re gods—why wouldn’t his brother use others for his own pleasure, as cruel as that is I am not sure how his brother could escape his brother inclinations. Personally, though, I think Corazon is desperate for connection and would avoid his brothers desires at all costs. There are moments when he catches himself watching a couple at the port, jealousy bubbling up inside him as he observes how in love they are, the way they look at each other, and how they laugh. Sometimes, he sees young families—a mother laughing, a father pushing a stroller while their baby coos up at them—and he aches for that life so intensely his mind begins to wander.

In those stolen moments, he imagines a faceless woman by his side, pushing a stroller, while Law runs ahead with a smile he’s almost too proud to permit. He thinks about it so hard, he once walked straight into a lamppost, much to the hilarity of the other executives.

But then comes a miracle. Left for dead, he’s saved by a passing merchant, and for the first time, he’s allowed to live a little, to fall in love. (I’ve seen Dressrosa—let me dream, okay?)

Falling in love isn’t easy for Corazon—or, let’s call him Rosinante. It takes time. Time to heal. Time to process. Time to trust. The fire that once made him a spy had dimmed, flickering weakly in the wind of his pain and loss. And yet, you—you, the sweet little woman who came into his life—were the spark that reignited that flame, making him blaze brighter than ever before.

At first, he’s hesitant. Very hesitant. He feels monstrous compared to you, towering over you with his broad, lanky frame and muscle-packed build. He’s terrified of hurting you. To him, you’re a beacon of light in his darkest days, and the thought of his brother finding you, hurting you, or—god forbid—coveting you, is his deepest fear.

It would take your gentle patience to help him through this. You’d speak to him of your burning desire but never force or badger him. You’d make it clear that you’re waiting for him, whenever he’s ready. And when he is ready, he’d want to be careful.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he’d mumble against your skin during one of your passionate embraces—those moments where his kisses seared your skin and his hands wandered, peeling away clothes to reveal heated, blushing flesh.

“You won’t, my love,” you’d reassure him, kissing that sensitive spot on his neck that made him shiver.

“But…” His protests would falter as his eyes took in your soft, eager figure, flushed and inviting.

“Hush, my love. Let me,” you’d whisper.

And he would. He’d let you lead, following your every direction like a devoted worshipper. He’d marvel at you as you straddled him, your skin glowing in the soft light.

Now, let me tell you—this man is proportionate. He’s thick and long—not ridiculously long, but enough that you’d feel every inch of his size. You’d have to take your time, working your way down on him as he watches with a mix of awe and concern.

“Love… don’t push yourself,” he’d frown up at you, worry etched on his face.

“Hush…” you’d moan softly, taking your time, moving up and down his tip, your movements drawing gasps and shudders from him. He’d tremble beneath you, marveling at the sight of you taking him in.

This man would be sweating and rigid, utterly captivated as you slowly worked your way lower, stretching yourself to accommodate him. His long, elegant fingers, guided by your hand, would find that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your moans would fill the room, spurring him on, until you finally took him fully. His hands would pull you closer as you reached your peak, a shattering orgasm ripping through you.

Corazon would be a mess, overwhelmed by the sensation of you fluttering around him. If he didn’t lose control then and there, it wouldn’t take much more to send him over the edge. But true to his gentlemanly nature, he’d restrain himself, making sure you’re satisfied before letting go. And oh, how he’d adore watching you ride him.

Afterward, as you cuddled up, he’d take meticulous care of you, ensuring you were cleaned up and comfortable. You’d marvel at how gracefully this man moved—well, until he faceplanted onto the floor, completely naked.

I adore this man. Corazon, Sanji and Shanks are my favs! I think I have a type for goodhearted men who could defiantly rock my world. Oh the day dreams I have about these three.

Buttt Corazon is undervalued in my opinion! I just want to shake Oda till he finds a way to bring him back. But this is all I have for now.

I hope you like this, I had great fun imagine this tall, blonde, gentle giant. Keep you asks coming! Anything and everything! Any character....go on I dare you...I double dare you!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Next up are the stories where eddie does (or presumably will soon) yell at his parents! We love to see it (and are eagerly waiting and hoping for it to happen on screen soon)!

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲 (diaz siblings reunited! All the buck, eddie, and adriana in the woods stuff had me on the edge of my seat and I can’t wait to read it all through when it’s published! Also eddie freaking out about his back nightmares coming true is really getting to me - poor guy!)

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️ (oh boy an ominous warning from nemesis! I’m concerned! And seeing the accident that presumably killed eddie in the other timeline! I just want all three of my boys to get back home to LA so i can wrap them up in blankets together on their couch and feed them soup)

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 (how do i always forget about covid? It keeps sneaking up on me! But I’m loving the progression of buddieshannon - it seems like they’re getting close! And i really love the way you’ve created maddie and shannon’s friendship! It’s beautiful and it makes me laugh when i think about eddie and maddies completely no existent relationship in the show :p)

Also I’m curious (but obviously feel free to ignore if you want to keep the details to yourself), how far are these stories along in what you have planned for them? Cuz they’ve all come such a long way that I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re getting towards their ends, but you’re so talented at plot development that I know they could have so much more to come!

- PCA <3

Hey! Thank you - love this theme, too!

As to your last question - great question!

For Gentle on My Mind I am not sure. I planned it sort of like TWATYTK where I just sort of have things I want to reach and will write until I get there. But it won't be nearly as long.

For Firelight, I am well into chapter 7 out of 10.

For An An Angry Blade, I am almost done chapter 4 out of 6.

96 for 🌲 (Ahh thank you! Yes! Lots of angst!)

---

“Me believing it?” Eddie says. 

Buck nods. 

Eddie inhales. “Then why isn’t the rest of it gone, too?”

“Good question,” Buck says. “I guess it’s only one theory.”

“Worth… Worth keeping in mind,” Eddie mumbles, blushing. He feels embarrassed, all of a sudden. Like a princess in a tower.

Buck smiles a little lopsidedly. “Well, I love you.”

Eddie exhales and smiles back. 

“I know you do.”  

ii. 

They return Adriana’s rental car in the morning, and with Buck at the wheel of Eddie’s truck, they head towards El Paso. It’s going to be a long drive. With Eddie, anxious as hell about confronting his mother and seeing Chris. With Adriana and Sophia, who don’t seem to like him. All good stuff. 

Adriana is quiet. Buck has found her rather frustrating this entire time, but then he remembers what she’s been through, and it’s hard to hold it against her. Sophia, though? Buck’s not sure what her problem is. He hasn’t done anything to her. In fact, he’s kind of been important in helping both her siblings. No big deal. But she’s still pretty frosty to him today. 

It doesn’t really matter, he supposes. It doesn’t matter if Sophia likes him. It’s not like it’s going to impact Eddie’s opinion. He makes his own strong opinions, and he loves Buck. Besides, they aren’t super close. Physically or emotionally. Eddie once told him they were, before Chris. She was still a teenager, and while he was too, he didn’t really get to stay that way.  Makes sense.

“So, Sophia,” Buck says, a few hours into the drive. Because while it may not matter that she doesn’t like him, he still really wants her to anyway. 

“So, Buck,” she repeats.

“You’re a vet, right?” Buck asks. “Like, not the kind Eddie is?”

“No, I served in ‘Nam,” she says flatly.

“Oh my god, you’re such a dick sometimes,” Eddie huffs. “Can you please be nice?”

Sophia makes a frustrated noise. “Yes. I’m a veterinarian.”

“That’s uh… That’s super cool,” Buck says. 

“Yep,” she replies.

“Hey, uh, did I do something?” Buck asks. “Because I know why your sister and I maybe got off on the wrong foot, but you and I-”

“It’s not you. You’re fine,” she cuts him off. “I don’t care… I mean, happy for you and Eddie, or whatever.”

“This is really cool and chill,” Adriana mumbles. 

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks.

“It’s nothing, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Eddie shifts his body to turn and look at her. “It obviously means something, Soph. So just say it.”

She rolls her eyes. Buck thinks her expression sort of reminds him of Christopher’s, when he’s fed up or annoyed. She’s so familiar, for someone who is more or less a stranger. 

“Fine, Eddie,” she snaps. “Fine. You want to know why I’m being pissy with your boyfriend?”

“We haven’t actually labeled it,” Buck whispers. “But I’m cool with that if you are.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to hear this.

“Obviously or I wouldn’t ask!” He fires back.

“How long did you know what was going on with our baby sister before you told me?” Sophia snaps. “After all I went through looking for her!”

“I didn’t even know,” Eddie defends himself. “It was a hunch.”

“Well, you told someone else before you told me! And I’m sure you’re great, Buck. You seem fine. But you shouldn’t have seen my sister before me. You shouldn’t have known what happened to her before me.”

“My god, Soph,” Adriana sighs. 

“No, my god!” She snaps. “You have no idea what it was like, not knowing! It drove me crazy!”

“I’m sorry,” Adriana says. “But that’s not Eddie’s fault. Or Buck’s.”

---

96 for ⚖️ (Buck especially needs blankets and soup!)

---

“The stories differ,” the officer says. 

“SHE STABBED ME WITH HER CAR KEYS,” the woman shrieks. 

“Ma’am, we’d like to take a look at your wounds,” Eddie says patiently. “Would you come to the ambulance with us so we can treat those?”

“Finally, someone who knows what the hell they’re doing,” the woman snaps. 

The officer refrains from rolling his eyes, but Buck can see it’s a struggle. He guides her over to the ambulance behind Buck and Eddie. She sits down on the open back and Eddie inspects her injuries while Buck hands him supplies from the med kit. 

“These don’t look too deep,” Eddie tells her, checking over the wounds on her arms and torso. “I’m just going to clean and bandage them before you head out, okay?” 

“Head out?” The woman asks. “Head out to where?”

“I’ll need to bring you back to the station to answer some questions,” the officer says. “File a proper report about what happened here today.”

At that moment, Bobby walks over from Chim and Hen, who seem to have their situation under control, to here, just as the woman is growing increasingly exasperated.

“No!” She screeches. “No, you can’t take me to the station, I don’t want to go!”

“Ma’am, it’s protocol,” the officer says. 

“I won’t go!” She throws up her arms, jolting Eddie’s hands as he tries to clean her wounds. 

“Hey, uh, it-it really helps my co-worker if you keep still while he works,” Buck tries. 

She completely ignores him.

“I will not go! You cannot make me!” She continues to protest, gesticulating wildly. Eddie has to move back to avoid getting accidentally smacked. 

“Everything okay here?” Bobby asks, frowning. Like he can see a situation unfolding.  

“I’m not going back to jail!” The woman cries. 

“Back?” Eddie echoes.

“No one said anything about jail, Ma’am,” the officer says. “We just need to take your statement and get some information-”

“No!” She yelps. She stands suddenly, darting out and away from Eddie.

“Wait!” The officer calls. “You can’t just-”

But the woman is trying to make a break for it. Buck and the officer start in her direction, but Bobby is closer. He manages to intercept her, stepping in her way and grabbing her arm. 

“LET GO OF ME!” She shrieks. 

Bobby keeps a firm hold on her. “Now you need to calm-”

He’s cut off by the woman reaching into the pocket of her jacket, pulling something out that Buck can’t quite see, and thrusting it into Bobby’s abdomen. Bobby’s breath catches. His eyes widen with a pained expression. 

“BOBBY!” Buck shouts, sprinting for him. 

He stops short, Eddie grabbing the back of his shirt, when the officer draws his gun and points it at the woman. 

⚖️

An hour later, the woman - Carol, it turns out, her name is - has been arrested, and Buck is waiting in the ER. 

She stabbed Bobby with a pen. Hard enough to cause damage, but not sharp enough to kill him. Still, there was a lot of blood. And Bobby paled so much he passed out briefly in the ambulance. It’s not a blade wound. It’s not like the time Buck found Chim bleeding on the cobblestones out front Maddie’s apartment. But it’s not good. Not at all. 

“He’s not going to die,” Hen says firmly in the waiting room. She still needs to wash Bobby’s blood from under her fingernails. “We’ve all survived way worse than this, right? He’s going to be just fine.”

And Buck knows she’s probably right. She usually is, for one thing. For another, Buck knows it’s not the worst injury anyone has ever sustained. Bobby will get it cleaned and patched up and he’ll be just fine. 

But Buck is still furious. He has anger curling in him, tight and hot. Ready to burst at a moment’s notice. 

When Athena shows up, worried and just as angry as Buck that this has happened, she fills them in on what happened. The pieces they missed.

“The two women who were initially attacked, Carol Brandt and her sister, Vanessa, were visiting on a trip from Utah. Apparently, they’re local leaders in some sort of multi-level marketing scheme. Have been arrested before for an altercation with a former member of their downline. A downline which includes today’s perp, who followed them and confronted them about shady practices.” 

“So Bobby got stabbed over some essential oils?” Buck asks, tone snappish. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“I believe this is protein drinks, but yeah,” Athena confirms, pursing her lips. 

And Buck… He just can’t handle it. 

He stands abruptly, eyes brimming with tears. He feels so tired and frustrated and… And unable to cope. 

“Sorry, Athena,” he mumbles, then he makes a bee-line for the exit. He doesn’t give a reason or excuse. He just needs some air. 

---

63 for 🔼 (Haha yeah Eddie and Maddie need to interact, but for now, at least I've got imaginary Shannon & Maddie):

---

“You have to talk to her, Dad. Please, you do,” Chris begs. 

“Uh…” Eddie thinks. “What’s the name of the game, Chris?”

There’s a long pause. 

“Why?” 

Ah. He doesn’t want Eddie to know. Well, that’s not lending credibility to his story.

“Because your mom likes to make you happy,” Eddie says. “So if she said no, there’s probably a reason. And I’m wondering if that reason maybe has something to do with the game’s rating.”

Another long pause. His eyes are downturned. 

“Christopher,” Eddie presses. “What is the game rated?”

“M,” Chris admits finally. “But only because-”

“Yeah, see. No,” Eddie says. “Your mom is absolutely right, Chris. You are too young to be playing a game with that rating.”

“But, Dad-”

“No buts, Chris. It’s inappropriate. End of story.”

Christopher’s expression twists with fury. He’s mad mad. Well, tough. Shannon was right. Eddie isn’t going to undermine her or let his kid play some traumatizing, violent game at his age. 

“I’m sorry it’s disappointing,” Eddie says. “I know you miss your friends.”

“It’s not fair!” Chris protests. “I don’t get to do anything with anyone. Not even you!”

Eddie’s heart hurts for his son. Here he is frustrated by too much time with his friends, while Chris is over there lonely. Sure, he’s got his mom. And he’s got his sister. But what good company is a baby, really? He’s needing something he can’t get right now, and it’s no one’s fault. It’s just the world right now.

“Chris, I know this is really hard-”

“No! You don’t!” Chris interrupts. “You get to be with Buck and do things every day!” 

Eddie sighs. “I know. I know it isn’t fair.”

“No, you don’t,” Chris grumbles. And then, without even saying goodbye, Chris hangs up the phone. 

Shit. 

◀️

Shannon can hear Chris call Eddie. Despite saying she would talk to him. Whatever. He’s allowed to call his father. Just… It feels underhanded, right? Trying to convince Eddie to make the opposite decision to hers without talking to her. She’s mad. 

[augustwinesworld]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩…

what's a whore with no money to her name?

description: getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst?

warning: suggestive, extremely suggestive. also, the reader is described to have hair long enough to "fall onto her face" (wtv that means)

notes: really wanted to post this yesterday, but I had so much fun developing this idea that I didn't want to half-ass it. I'll def write levi's pov sometime :)

word count: 3.5 k

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭

Go to a dingy bar, infiltrate a small but influential group of merchants and shady brokers, extract information on a potential lead, and return to base with what was needed.

Easy enough, right? Right.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

As you stood in front of the cracked mirror, you adjusted your outfit one last time: a fitted cloak that barely reached the top of her boots and an off-the-shoulder dress fitted with a corset paired up with some tights.

Clearly, it wasn't something you were completely comfortable in, but blending into the bar crowd with battle-ready attire was impossible.

The mission required you to be a beacon, approachable—something hot, sweet, and appealing at the same time.

An easy target for conversation, not suspicion.

Someone that could be something more, for the night at least.

What's a whore with no money to her name?

"You ready?" Furlan’s voice came from behind, his face smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Just about,” you replied, hands finding a small box filled with a deep red-coloured paste. "I just have to put this on."

Using your fingers, you applied it across your face—over your cheekbones and on your lips—the rich colour bringing true liveliness to your features.

As a finishing touch, you decided to take a small brush and add a mole underneath your left eye, have something they can remember you by.

Furlan kept his gaze on you as you worked, though he didn't say anything until you were finally done.

He looked as though he wanted to ask something, probably if you were sure you could handle it, but decided against it.

You weren't sure how to feel about it.

“Don’t screw it up for me, alright?”

Furlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one doing the talking. We'll just keep an eye out.”

You gave him a half smile, walking toward your bedroom door. Before you made it to the exit however, you caught Levi's glare from across the room.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as always, but the way his eyes lingered on you made you pause.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help like he usually did when you prepared for these kinds of things. Instead, his focus was sharp and cold on your figure. Or well, your clothes more like it.

“Something wrong Levi?” you asked—voice a little too sweet, a little too sarcastic.

His lips twisted slightly, a sign of agitation. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?” you shot back, enjoying the rare opportunity to needle him. But Levi’s only response was a grunt.

The streets were almost bare, except for the few drunkards and thugs hanging around.

The only source of steady light came from the bar around the corner., the men at the entrance followed with their gaze as you passed through the door.

The building in itself was dimly lit, and the faint smell of wine and tobacco hung in the air. She could see a few familiar faces—some shady brokers, some off-duty members of the garrison, all gathered in a small, private room at the back.

There we go.

You took a moment to assess the situation. You needed a way in as soon as possible.

Turning left, your gaze landed on a man sitting near the bar, his laughter a little too loud for casual conversation.

Making your way toward them with light steps, you tried your best to keep yourself open and inviting. A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as she leaned on the bar, positioning yourself just right. Body arching as you asked the bartender for a drink.

“Ah, a beautiful lady graces our humble establishment,” the man said, giving her a sly grin. “What’s your name, lovely?”

He was older than you by a couple of years, stress lines littered across his face, and his smirk suggested he was used to getting what he wanted.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you replied with a sultry smile, leaning in slightly.

The man chuckled, the sound deep and low, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Dangerous offer, sweetheart. You sure you can handle that?”

“Only one way to find out,” you shot back, letting the corner of your lips curve into a teasing smile. You took the drink the bartender slid toward you and swirled it lazily, giving the impression that you had all the time in the world. you replied smoothly, tilting your head just enough to let a lock of hair fall over your shoulder.

The burn of the drink wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the man’s reaction.

His grin widened, clearly entertained by your confidence. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar, and you could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his jacket.

“You here alone?” he asked, leaning closer, his elbow resting on the bar as his eyes glinted with interest. “Or is someone gonna come storming in if I keep you company?”

The corners of your lips curved upward, a practiced expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Does it matter?”

He grinned at that, pleased with your answer, but you caught the flicker of caution in his gaze. Men like this always tested boundaries—seeing how far they could push before deciding whether you were worth their time or trouble.

“So, what brings someone like you to a place like this?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of curiosity.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you took another sip from your glass. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing. You don’t exactly look like you blend in here either.”

That earned you a low laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Fair enough. But I’ve got my reasons—business, mostly.”

“Business?” you echoed, your tone light but deliberately interested. “The kind that makes you someone worth knowing?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of caution crossing his face before he smoothed it away with a practiced grin. “Depends on who’s asking.”

You leaned forward, brushing your hand lightly against his arm, a touch so fleeting it could be dismissed but disarming enough to hold his attention. “Someone who knows how to appreciate a man with connections,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to pull him in.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were worth the trouble. Then, he leaned back, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for answers, aren’t you? Something only a man like me can provide.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression steady. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Klaus chuckled, the sound laced with amusement and just a hint of condescension. “Smart girl. But let me save you the trouble—you don’t have to butter me up. I’m Klaus. And if you’re looking for answers, you’ve already found them.”

Bingo.

You feigned surprise, raising your eyebrows. “Klaus, huh? They didn’t tell me you’d be this easy to find.”

“Easy?” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, if you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you replied, keeping your tone playful even as your mind raced. You needed more—something useful, something actionable.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice to just above a whisper. “Word is, you’ve got connections to the Garrison. The kind that deal with things they shouldn’t.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “That’s dangerous talk,” he said, his voice dropping.

“Only if it’s true,” you countered, holding his gaze. “And if it is, I’d bet a man like you knows exactly where the good stuff is being kept.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to his breath. His fingers brushed against your forearm, a deliberate move meant to unsettle. “That so? And here I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a good time.”

You held your ground, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for information, not entertainment.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” he replied smoothly, his hand trailing down to rest lightly on your upper thigh. “But information… that comes at a price, sweetheart. What do you think you’ve got that’s worth my time?”

Your smile didn’t waver, though the weight of his touch made your skin crawl. “Maybe it’s not about what I have,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Maybe it’s about what you stand to gain.”

He chuckled, low and slow, his fingers giving you a brief squeeze before pulling away, leaning back slightly. “I like the way you think. But flattery only gets you so far.”

“I’m not here to flatter,” you shot back, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re the one who knows things—the kind of things that could make or break someone’s luck down here.”

His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t mean much if you don’t know how to use them.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting the space between you narrow just enough to keep his attention locked on you. “Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

His grin widened at that, his hand brushing against your arm. “Bold. I like that.” He paused, his fingers tapping against the bar as he let the tension simmer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly are you after?”

“A Garrison warehouse,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in further. “The one in section D-4. I’ve heard it’s got some impressive stock—gear, parts, maybe even a few surprises. And I know someone like you would have the inside track.”

Klaus tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze turned calculating. “Dangerous territory you’re poking around in, darling. That kind of information doesn’t come cheap.”

You allowed your lips to curve into a slow smile. “Lucky for me, I’m not asking for free. I’ll owe you one, Klaus. And we both know that’s worth more than a quick payout.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the bar as his eyes locked with yours. You could see the internal debate—the part of him that wanted to show off battling with his instinct to stay cautious.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something darker. “But I like risk.”

Leaning closer, his fingers brushed your cheek, his grin sharp. “There’s a Garrison warehouse at the edge of the Underground. Section D-4, like you said, right next to Ksaver's tavern. They’ve got top-tier ODM gear there, along with spare parts and some other goodies. Security’s tight, though. You’re gonna have to be real clever to get in without getting caught.”

Your pulse quickened, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Good thing I’m clever,” you said, brushing his hand away with a light touch that was more steel than silk.

Klaus laughed, the sound rough but genuine, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll give you this—you’re fun to talk to. Just don’t screw this up, sweetheart. If anyone asks where you got the info, I don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t make a habit of kissing and telling.”

His grin turned downright wicked. “Kissing, huh? Maybe next time, darling.”

You gave him a cool smile before turning and walking away, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it lingered on your back. The confidence was starting to chip at the edges, but you couldn’t let that show—not now. You had what you needed.

Now, it was finally time to leave.

Turning towards the door, you managed to catch a small glimpse of a raven-haired man with an undercut stomping his way through the exit, a tall blonde following quick behind.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Fastening the coat around your waist, you quickly followed the pair outside. 

The cold air hit you like a slap as you stepped out of the bar, the muffled din left behind fading into the background.

You spotted Levi a few paces ahead, his silhouette cutting through the dim glow of the flickering streetlights. Furlan trailed behind him, his longer strides barely keeping pace with Levi’s clear irritation.

“Levi,” you called, quickening your step.

He didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but his stiff shoulders and clenched fists told you everything you needed to know.

Furlan glanced back at you with an expression that screamed good luck before muttering something under his breath and veering off down an adjacent alley.

Great—so much for backup.

“Levi,” you tried again, louder this time. “What's wrong? I got the information, didn’t I?”

That did it. He abruptly stopped, spinning on his heel so fast you almost collided with him.

His gray eyes, sharp as knives, pinned you in place. “You call that getting information?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You were practically begging him to—” He broke off, jaw tightening as he looked away, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Begging him to what?” you challenged, folding your arms. “To spill? Because that’s exactly what I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Levi’s gaze snapped back to you, a storm brewing in his expression. “He had his hands on you.” His voice was quieter now but no less dangerous. “He wasn’t just talking.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I didn’t notice? I had it under control.”

“Control?” Levi scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what you call it? Letting him paw at you while you—”

“While I got us a lead,” you interrupted, voice rising. “While I got us one step closer to what we need. Or would you have preferred I started a brawl right there in the middle of the bar?”

Levi’s eyes darkened, his silence heavy. The tension between you hung thick in the cold air, unspoken words swirling like smoke. Finally, he took a deliberate step back, his hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that,” he said, the sharp edge in his voice replaced by something quieter, something raw. “Not like that.”

The unexpected softness in his tone caught you off guard, your retort faltering on your lips. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t liked it—any of it—but you’d done what needed to be done.

“Levi,” you said finally, your voice softer now, “We don’t get to pick the clean way out. We do what we have to.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—less rigid, more resigned. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch next time,” he muttered. “If he’d pushed any further—”

“But he didn’t,” you cut in, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I handled it. And now we know about the Garrison warehouse.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back to you. “You better hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” you said, the confidence in your voice hiding the lingering unease in your chest. “I made sure of it.”

Levi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and heading down the street. You followed, the tension between you easing slightly but not entirely gone.

You didn’t need his approval—not really—but something about the look he’d given you before walking away stuck with you.

Suddenly, Furlan appeared at your side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he matched your pace. Your eyes kept following Levi as he walked a few steps ahead, his back stiff and unyielding.

“And here I thought you were getting along,” Furlan murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You shot him a sharp look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his neck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Furlan chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to Levi’s silhouette cutting through the dim light ahead.

As the hideout came into view, you couldn’t help but glance at Levi’s back, his quiet, steady presence a constant reminder of why you’d fought so hard to prove yourself.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, you’d take the win.

extra scene:

It wasn’t supposed to bother him. Not like this.

Levi leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on you as you fussed with your appearance in front of the cracked mirror. You looked uncomfortable, the tight lines of your mouth betraying the confident facade you were trying to project. But that didn’t stop you. Of course, it didn’t.

You’d been through worse, after all. They all had. This was just another job, another mask to wear to survive. Levi knew that.

So why the hell did it feel like his chest was wrapped in barbed wire?

He watched as you adjusted the neckline of your dress, pulling it lower over your shoulders. The faint scrape of his teeth against the inside of his cheek was the only outward sign of his tension. The outfit was impractical, borderline ridiculous given where you were going, but necessary for the mission. That didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“Blend in,” Furlan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And you’d agreed without hesitation, as if dressing like bait and walking into a den of wolves was just another day’s work.

“Idiot,” Levi thought, his grip on his biceps tightening. You were too reckless, too willing to throw yourself into situations that could spiral out of control in an instant. He hated it.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he hated was how much he hated it.

It wasn’t his place to care. You weren’t his to protect—not really. You were a member of the team, an equal. You didn’t need him hovering over your shoulder, acting like some kind of self-appointed shield. And yet, the thought of you walking into that bar alone, surrounded by men like the ones they dealt with every day, made something cold and sharp twist in his gut.

The sharp click of the little brush you used to dot a mole under your eye snapped him out of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the movement subtle but enough to catch your attention. You turned toward him, your expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Something wrong, Levi?”

The way you said his name, laced with sarcasm and a touch of defiance, made his jaw tighten. You were trying to bait him, testing the boundaries of his patience like you always did.

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve said nothing, just like he always did when your sharp wit cut too close to the bone. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

It sounded harsher than he intended, clipped and cold. He saw the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you covered it with that damn smirk, the one you used when you were trying to hide how much his words got to you.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?”

Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made Levi’s chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that rose in his throat. He couldn’t win this argument, not now, not when you were already halfway out the door.

So he grunted, the sound low and dismissive, and looked away.

He told himself he wasn’t angry—because anger wasn’t useful here. What he felt was frustration. Frustration at the situation, at the risks, at your inability to see how dangerous this was.

And maybe, just maybe, at himself.

Because the truth was, Levi wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought of you walking into that bar dressed like a lamb to the slaughter, or the thought that you wouldn’t come back out.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Levi exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. He hated waiting. Hated the helplessness that came with standing still while someone else walked into danger.

“Furlan,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah,” Furlan replied, leaning against the frame of the door you’d just exited. His smirk was infuriatingly casual. “She’s got this, you know.”

Levi didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure he believed that.

next chapter↠

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[pomefioredove]

so yesterday I theorized that the fae in twst could be french, possibly breton inspiration, and was mercifully corrected by @tresgansosenunabrigo who actually knows things about french folklore unlike meee

we had a really good talk, which breathed life into a thought of mine about Briar Valley being parallel to ancient Irish mythology, that I had brushed off as insane months ago

some of the following is an old essay that I wrote, that I now find very very... um, incomplete at best, incorrect at worst. I've done my best to put out something more accurate, relevant, and interesting

but, for the sake of this essay: this is only for speculative purposes in the context of fiction. I am only drawing small parallels, and this is not a theory. I am not a teacher. I am not claiming to know everything. I'm just some guy who reads

a brief forward:

my credentials are "religious studies major" and not much else. I am not Irish, nor am I pagan, and my knowledge/study in Irish mythology is very secondary to Catholicism. I have been close to and spoken to a handful of experts within the field but am not one myself.

furthermore, I look to old/historical sources for knowledge, and reject eclectic and appropriative wiccan ideas. this has been a seven year long labor of love, but I'm still not perfect, and continue to sift through my sources every day. The misinformation that eclectics have created about Irish mythology have made way into books, into articles, into common belief, so it is, in fact very difficult not to internalize misinformation. I'm trying </3

and I am begging anyone in this field to correct any mistakes I make.

additionally I've only read a little bit of book 7 so I may be totally crazy. this is just a speculative piece, after all.

a glossary of knowledge:

for the purpose of this essay, I may use "fae" as an umbrella term, which includes pixies, medieval French fae, the aos sí, and the Tuatha de Danann*

*please note that the Tuatha de were gods in their original sources, but were changed to fairies, other supernatural beings, and occasionally kings in later Catholicized retellings.

I will be focusing most on ancient beliefs, with vague mentions of medieval/post-Catholicism ones. Catholicism is extremely important in the context of these stories, as it was the Catholic monks who preserved them in written form, and it's quite literally impossible not to mention. it's had a huge influence.

etc.

when talking about folklore, mythology, or religion, it's literally impossible to draw definite lines. it's why I hate when people say "well this religion stole this thing!" because religions intermingle, they share, they swap, they sometimes even meld with each other into something unique. ever-changing and different and the same. the Romans adopted their beliefs from the Greeks, and they shared gods with the Gauls, and then Christianity used the image of Jupiter as God. a big part of being a history major is understanding how to draw connections between cultures and peoples.

Admittedly, I am not familiar with the French idea of fae. I know that it is medieval. post-Christianity. it's a fairly loose term that denotes a "magical woman, skilled with words, herbs and stones" (via Wikipedia) and not much else. this is relevant to the Sleeping Beauty story, in which all the fairies are women. Maleficent's guards are not fairies, but ghouls (is that the right word?). I couldn't tell you the exact origin of French fairies, but it's not far-fetched to say they could have had "Celtic"* influence

*in reference to more than one culture in this context. scottish, manx, welsh, irish, etc

It is, perhaps, more important to add that French fairies are romantic figures in nature. very... fairy-tale esque. characters such as the fairy godmother and the good fairies in Perrault's version of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty are good examples of this.

TWST fae... are... a little different. obviously. while it may be easy to simply argue that "it's twisted, so they're darker" or "Briar Valley is based off Maleficent's domain so of course it's dark", it's implied (and shown!) that good entities come from Briar Valley, too. pixies exist in TWST, for example. then there are the good fairies from Sleeping Beauty, which have to exist alongside Maleficent in the canon of TWST. The fae here are layered, much more so than in their sources.

This is where I start seeing shit.

war, weapons, and invasion

When speculating on the influence of French folklore in Briar Valley, I was told that "war" is a rather uncommon thing in their stories. Invasion is, of course, an imperative theme in Briar Valley history, in Lilia's background, and in book 7 as a whole. So. I get thinking.

The war between the fae and the humans carries significant parallels to the war between the Tuatha de Danann and the humans in the Lebor Gabála Érenn, the Book of Invasions, wherein the "fae" and the humans warred over land and resources until the former were driven out of Ireland and the humans became the ancestors of the modern Irish. And by "parallels" I mean this exact thing happens. THE EXACT THING. The Book of Invasions was literally the first thing I thought about when in Lilia's dream.

War is, of course, a recurring theme in Irish mythology. Ná Morríghan is associated with war, there's that entire book of invasions, like, anything about Cú Chulainn, etc.

I also, very quickly, want to draw a comparison between Lilia's magearm and the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danann, which are described in literature such as the Lebor Gabála and Cath Maige Tuired (iirc). magical weaponry is a fairly common motif in various Celtic mythologies. in Irish mythology, it's the Spear of Lugh, and various swords, clubs, etc. The magearm just struck the same chord for me.

nature

I fear this is about to get very ~ohooo magical pagan connection to nature!~ please bear with me.

The mythology of Ireland is very, very, very tied to the land. You can still see this today, actually. Various natural formations- hills, islands, etc- have mythological names. Much like Olympus in Greek mythology, places mentioned in Irish mythological sources have real-world counterparts, such as Tech Duinn, the House of the Dead, being Bull Rock- a tiny island off the coast of Cork (cool post about that and the ancient Irish belief in death here). Trees had important religious, cultural, and linguistic (see: Ogham) connotations. Many of the Tuatha de had animalistic attributes and associations, such as Morríghan and crows. Even more were associated with fertility and agriculture, which was kind of a big deal. Symbols that which represent fertility, are rather common motifs (such as the Lia Fáil on the Hill of Tara, which I've read is theorized to be phallic).

That's not even mentioning the oceans, the cliffs, the forests, or the sidhe (a "fairy mounds", manmade or natural features that connect our world to the otherworld of Irish mythology).

At multiple points in Lilia's dream do we hear the fae talk about how important nature is to fae. I am unsure if this strong love for land is a theme in French folklore.

I also want to briefly point out that, in reputable sources, the "Celtic" day began at sunset. Darkness- night, winter, cold- were important to the ancient Irish, both in culture and in mythology. It's probable that their "New Year" began at Samhain (soh-wen), the holiday that celebrated the beginning of winter, to put it briefly. Here's a discussion post about this (and I sent this ask!!!!)

I just find the significance of darkness and night to hold some ground with the concept of "nocturnal fae" in TWST. "Night's blessing's", they say.

form

I also want to add, very quickly, that there are multiple different iterations of "fairies" in Irish mythology and folklore. The Tuatha de resemble humans. The modern aos sí are more mystical. The Fomorians (whom are or are not fairies, depending on who you ask?) are described as more animalistic and monstrous. The nature of fae in TWST is unclear, but they read, to me, as human-like with different abilities, different physical attributes, and a different connection to land and nature. Which is, in form, similar enough to the "fae" of Irish (and other Celtic) folklore.

Lilia

Head in hands. Shall we talk about the importance of the paternal figure in Irish mythology. I feel I have to.

I really really hate saying the word "fertility" so much because I start sounding like a Wiccan, I promise I'm going somewhere with this.

In the Nature segment, I briefly touched on the importance of fertility and the phallic symbol. I know that usually, when talking about ~fertility~ in reference to paganism, people are talking women/goddesses, but throughout my readings of Irish mythology, I've found that male fertility is just as important. More specifically, fatherhood. I, unfortunately, couldn't find much input on this, but I think it's safe to say that The Dagda, for example, is considered an important father figure and is associated with fatherhood.

It's just important.

Head in hands again. Now let's talk about fostering. Fosterage was, by most sources, a really big thing in ancient Ireland. Raising someone else's child, including that of your enemy, was not only acceptable, not only common, but traditional. And the themes of fosterage exist in the mythos, too- in Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne, the demi-god Diarmuid was fostered by Aengus Og. Aengus Og was also fostered. Fosterage is a theme in Cú Chulainn's story, so on and so forth. The gods/fae/etc foster humans, they foster demi-gods, they foster other gods.

I wanted to mention both of these as important themes in both Irish mythology and Lilia's story because like. come onnn lol.

And One More Thing!!!

This isn't super relevant to this essay, I just like to bring it up: Lilia is vampiric? Well, there's vampires in Irish folklore (or close enough, anyway. the link gives a few different versions of the story and their origins). Some think that Abhartach was actually the true inspiration behind Bram Stoker's Dracula. I don't know how much credibility this theory has, I've read a few essays on it. I just think this is fun.

Silver

Much of what I said in Lilia could be said here, too. All I really want to bring up is the symbolism of acorns. I've mentioned that certain trees had mythological connections, and the oak tree was. Um. A big one. It's a recurring theme, past, and present. Even the "Celtic Tree of Life" is an oak. I don't know, it's just important.

I could also draw some pretty stark comparisons between the story of Fionn mac Cumhaill, a heroic figure in Irish Mythology, and Silver, but that would be a bit much.

Sebek

Half-god and half-human heroes, fae, whatever etc are very much present and important in Irish mythology. That's all I can think of for now.

Malleus

I suppose I could, if I tried very hard, find something to say about Malleus, but this is where the ~medieval Europe~ starts to seep in. I am unaware of any dragons or dragonlike creatures in Irish, or other Celtic, myth.

Nobility is, however, a major theme in Irish mythology. There are many rules, there are laws, there are gods and goddesses of sovereignty, it's huge, and sort of parallels Diasomnia's structure, in a strange way. I'd need to know how their housewarden is chosen, lmao.

conclusion

Do I think the TWST writers have an intimate knowledge of ancient Irish mythology and are purposefully making allusions to drive me insane specifically? no. obviously not. is it possible that these myths have influenced the general idea of fae, and thus were included in the writing process unconsciously? yes. absolutely!

Ultimately, this is more of a thought exercise and an analysis than a theory. Take it as you will.

so on and so forth.

[lovesickeros]

popping in randomly after almost an entire month just to talk non stop about the tsaritsa again everyone sit down.

specifically just thinking about the implications of tsaritsa's ideals originally being about love + the abandonment of those ideals to complete her goal of, presumably, destroying Celestia or whatever she's cooking up. to the point even her people don't love her and I probably don't even remember a time her ideals were of love. now it's all just ice and snow and cold.

which makes romantic fics w her even funnier because she's purposely removed this part of herself and suddenly reader walks into teyvat like they own the place (they do) and I can only imagine her reaction. angry, probably. because why you? what are you doing to her that's caused her hundreds of years of strict adherence to rejecting "love" both from others and to others to just. collapse. absolute shattering of her world and you probably don't even know it bc if nothing else she's good at hiding it. a lot of denial. tries to pick you apart and see what's makes you so different.

and oh she just hates it. she loathes it.

basically one sided enemies to lover trope because she can't stand you for a while but if you stick around she starts warming up to you and it makes it WORSE. so much worse. tries to distance herself but your just everywhere and it gets on her nerves because why does she love you? she isn't capable of love, not anymore. she thought she was.

g-d forbid one of the harbingers or PIERRO notices she'd never live it down. might even consider the implications of just killing you (she doesnt). worse if you know about it and act like a brat she will lose her damn mind

just the tsaritsa being an absolutely horrible mess internally.

[ficcerspam]

Phantom Pains - Chapter 11 Snippet

Suddenly, Sam’s 14 again and turning dials on the Fenton Portal. She’s determined, and scared, and unsure.

Are you sure about this? She watches, outside of her body but drowning inside memories, as a 14 year old Danny steps into that damned hazmat suit for the second time.

No, but you saw those things, those—monsters—ghosts! His voice was chipper, but she could see his hands trembling as he zipped up the suit. She remembers meeting his baby blues eyes and feeling the weight of it, the weight of her friends life on her shoulders, in his smile full of bravado.

Besides, I always wanted to go in here. Who knows what kind of awesome, super-cool things exist on the other side of that portal? He turns and she watches him walk into the dark, watches until the light flashes and she has to look away—

She blinks back to Danny, to Dani and Tucker, to Jazz, still rubbing circles in her back.

Monsters, he had called those ghosts, before he really understood. 

Monsters, Sam thinks, recalling men and women in shiny white suits, of the Fenton Parents, Orange and Blue. 

She doesn’t sleep, she can’t, but she drifts, lost in green.

Read the whole chapter here

[aquila1nz]

My Favourites (QueerSFF)

Song of the Huntress hit my historical Britain "give me Rosemary Sutcliff but sapphic" sweet spot.

A Sweet Sting of Salt is gentle sapphic selkie historical fiction.

Navigational Entanglements is now my second favourite de Bodard book, for it's spectrumy protagonists making connections against clan rules and behavioural expectations.

Metal From Heaven is full on dykey industrial socialist punk fantasy, I don't love Marney as much as Sideways in Scapegracers, but I was delighted to read this book!

My Favourites (Other Scifi Fantasy)

Liberty's Daughter is a Heinleinesque juvenile, a girl coming of age on a libertarian platform off the coast of the US, note perfect because it's by Naomi Kritzer.

Translation State gave me all the feels with its fish out of water protagonists, and of course there's interesting situationality because Ann Leckie.

Leech is cold industrial fantasy horror from a couple of years ago, that's mining a similar vein to Metal From Heaven in a very different way. There's a lot going on, and an interesting viewpoint character, part of a group mind temporarily cutoff from the rest.

Haunt Sweet Home is a gentle novella about a young woman who falls into a job as an assistant on a Haunted House Investigation reality show, her relationships with her family, her coworkers, her art and one particular young woman are beautifully realised.

Favourite Sequels

Three neat sequels and the end of two trilogies.

All the Hidden Paths is the continued marriage of convenience between Velasin and Caethari, as they find themselves in the middle of more political machinations. Wonderfully deft storytelling. m/m romance, fantasy and mystery, read the warnings.

The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles is the second mystery set above Jupiter, as an investigator joins forces with an academic to solve disappearances that may be related to the possible future re-terraforming of Earth. Understatedly sweet.

What Feasts At Night - Alex Easton returns, this time facing down a more personal attack on ka's own lands. Very Kingfisher. Less mushrooms, more dreams.

The Feastmakers is the final book of a marvellous YA trilogy, full of spiky prose and dangerous choices that I cannot over recommend.

How to Get The Girl (And Not Destroy the World) finishes Sian and Trillin's adventures, making the world a place where they can coexist.

Favourite Classics

Some classic reads - ranging between 1881 and 1998.

I'm glad I finally met the telepathic multibodied 'dogs' of Fire on the Deep (kitchen sink science fiction - there's a whole lot of other things going on), reading Eleanor Arnason's Knapsack Poems story in Women Destroy Science Fiction in the same year was a nice coincidence.

I'd read the Dreamsnake short story before several times, but not the whole book, and I'm very glad I did!

To Say Nothing of the Dog is a delightful as time travellers chase a completely pointless MacGuffin through Victorian England and the blitz, I followed it up with The Doomsday Book, which is similarly delightful apart from a future and past epidemic and pandemic killing characters left and right.

Middlemarch left me with many thoughts.

Howard's End was a watch after seeing the movie read, about time!

Most Read Authors

I read more than one book by at least 14 authors in 2024, but these were the three I read the most by. Haley hasn't been publishing long so I'm almost out of backlog there, but the way that Seanan and Ursula write I should be good forever.

Looking Forward To

@barbarawar

And some that don't have covers yet, so are probably further away:

Sovereign by CL Clark

Alecto the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Lady Chaos by Kate Elliott (probably 2026)

Every Speculative Fiction Book I Read Last Year Featuring Queer Women, the 2024 Edition

[eigong]

… I WOULD LIKE TO FORMALLY APOLOGIZE FOR STARTING THE CHAIN OF EVENTS THAT ARE CURRENTLY FUCKING UP YOUR QUALITY OF LIFE.

UH.

YEAH.

I DO NOT FEEL REMORSE BUT I CANNOT HELP BUT REGRET WHAT I HAVE DONE AFTER THIS RATHER PITIFUL DISPLAY OF.. ALMOST BEING DEAD FOR SEVERAL DAYS ON END.

👋👋

🏃‍♂️

I have felt it before, that certainty, that death knell of the self. Knowing, because you are being warned by your own body as it barely fights to stay alive, that you could close your eyes and never open them again. Drift off as easily as falling into sleep, or perhaps easier.

That young woman I used to be, I recall her—disoriented and bloody, head wrapped in bandages, laid upon a clinic bed. Resting there in the nothingness that resides between two life-changing points, the stretch of time after the infliction of a terrible hurt but before the healing. Survival. Being struck with that profound numbness.

How dare I be put through this again?

Anyway apology acceptead i appreciate it