iloveslasher

[iloveslasher]

Yessssss I love your thinkingggg!

Little blurb under the cut

You say his name again—“Creeper.”

The effect is instant. His low, rumbling growl deepens, vibrating through your chest where he’s pressed up against you. That big, mossy head of his nuzzles at your neck like he can’t get close enough, like the name on your lips fuels something feral in him.

“Say it again,” he rasps, voice gravelly and rare—like a word carved into stone, barely used but meant.

Your smirk is sly. You drag your fingers down the side of his cracked obsidian plating, right where you know he shivers.

“My Creeper.”

He lets out a needy, stuttered growl—almost a whine—and buries his face in your shoulder, arms curling tightly around your waist. He’s trembling with restraint, breath warm and erratic. You swear you hear him murmur again, almost breathlessly—

“Yesss…”

This is what he lives for. Not destruction. Not detonation. Just this: your voice, your touch, your claim.

And you know it.

Hmm, what if @iloveslasher what if...Big boy Creeper has a name, kink??? LIKE HE LOVES IT WHEN WE (THE READER) CALL HIM HUS NAME "Creeper" he goes ballistic. Maybe needy and whiny - he growls and nuzzles against us (reader) or "My Creeper" he just loses it.👀🤭 he rarely speaks, but when he does, it's "yesss" or "say it again"

[iloveslasher]

Rip Heaven Open If I Have To

Jeepers Creepers x GN!Reader 🩸 Hunter Abduction | Monster Rage | Possessive Horror Love | Creeper Unleashed Continuation of Mine to bleed for

@thecreepersshadow inspired me! here you go love!

You never heard them coming.

The hunters—two men and a woman, geared up like they were facing God himself—broke down your door in the middle of the night. A dart in your neck. A shock collar around his.

You screamed his name as they dragged you both away.

You woke chained to concrete.

He didn’t wake at all.

“You think it loves you?” one of them sneered, circling your bruised body. “It’s a monster. You’re just a snack it hasn’t finished yet.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the door.

Because you felt him.

You felt the shift in the air, like the sky held its breath.

And then—

BOOM.

The wall exploded inward.

The Creeper burst through like a storm, crouched on all fours, wings erupting behind him in a blur of rage. His mouth split open, shrieking a sound that wasn’t meant for human ears. Concrete cracked beneath his claws. Blood soaked the floor before anyone could draw a weapon.

He didn’t see the hunters.

He only saw you.

And when you whispered, "You found me," he moved—

—fast.

One hunter lost his throat before he could scream. Another ran and didn’t make it five steps. The third tried to shoot.

His wings ripped them in half.

And then he was on top of you.

You didn’t flinch.

You reached up and grabbed his face. “I’m okay,” you said, even as your hands trembled. “I’m yours.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, arms caging you in, claws trembling against your ribs.

You kissed the side of his face. “Let’s go home.”

Back at the barn, everything felt like it might fall apart.

But he wouldn’t let you go.

Not for a second.

You cleaned his wounds again, even though most had already begun to knit back together. He stayed crouched low, muscles tense, wings draped protectively around you both.

You tried to move.

His claws hit the floor beside you. Not hard. Not a threat.

A warning. A fear.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, cradling his face again. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He made a low, pained sound, and pulled you against him. His arms wrapped around you like a shield. His mouth brushed your throat—not biting. Just... being.

You felt his breath, shaky. Heard his chest rumble.

He was scared.

He almost lost you.

You stayed there the rest of the night, wrapped in wings and blood-stained blankets.

His hand never left your chest.

Your heartbeat became his anchor.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

His mouth brushed your ear.

And for the first time since you found him bleeding behind the barn—

He nodded.

[iloveslasher]

OH- I got another goody idea~👀injured creeper (perhaps the hunters goot to him) with possessive protective reader.

Mine to Bleed For

Jeepers Creepers x Possessive!Protective!GN Reader 🩸 Hurt/Comfort | Mild Gore | Reader Defends Creeper | Soft Monster Affection

Love this! i hope you like this one! much love.

You found him bleeding out behind an old barn — your barn, technically — sprawled in the dirt like a broken shadow, wings mangled, dark blood soaking into the cracked earth.

The Creeper.

Anyone else would’ve run. Would’ve screamed. But not you.

Because he was yours. And someone had touched what was yours.

“Hey,” you whispered as you knelt beside him, brushing damp strands of hair away from his bruised face. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

His eyes flickered open, wild and red-rimmed, full of pain and confusion. He snarled low in his throat, instinct sharp even now — but it softened the moment he saw you.

He always softened for you.

“Easy,” you said, already pulling your shirt off to press against the gaping wound in his side. “They got you good, huh?”

He didn’t speak — he rarely did — but the growl he let out when you touched the broken edge of his wing was pure agony.

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t cry. Not for him. You got angry.

“Hunters?” you asked. “Or someone stupid enough to think they’d get famous?”

The Creeper gave the barest nod — blood slick and steaming under your hands.

“Okay,” you whispered, stroking his cheek with your knuckles. “They’re dead. I don’t care if they’re breathing right now. They’re already dead.”

He stared at you like you were the monster now — and maybe, when it came to him, you were.

You got him inside. You carried him, even when your muscles screamed and his talons gouged your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. He was too important. Too yours.

You cleaned the wounds with shaking hands. Ripped your own blankets to bandage him. When he growled and flinched from the pain, you leaned close and kissed his temple.

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you again,” you swore, voice low, full of heat and something darker. “You think I won’t? Try me.”

The Creeper reached for you with one bloodied claw — not to push you away.

To hold on.

He didn’t sleep. Not really. But he lay still under your watch, letting your hands soothe over ruined wings and split skin. Letting your scent settle around him. Letting himself be cared for.

He’d never had that before.

Possession was his game — but you flipped it. Made it mutual.

By the time dawn crept in, you were curled up beside him, one arm slung over his chest, heartbeat slow and steady. You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, lips brushing over scars and blood.

“You belong to me,” you whispered. “So you don’t get to die. Got it?”

He didn’t answer.

But his hand found yours, claws barely brushing your knuckles, and squeezed.

And you swore the next person who came for him would be your victim.

To be Continued

[iloveslasher]

All Yours, Always

Poly!141 x F!Reader | Smut Aftercare + Sweet Birthday Dinner

Part1 | Part 2

It takes all four of them to get you out of bed.

You're a warm, trembling pile of overstimulated nerves and sleepy limbs, wrapped up in Price’s shirt and draped across Soap’s chest like a lazy cat.

They’d made you come more times than you could count. Your thighs ache, your voice is raspy from moaning, and you’re glowing.

But you’re also floaty. Somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

And they see it.

"Easy now, sweetheart." Price lifts you from Soap’s chest with strong, gentle arms. His voice is low. Soothing. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

"I can walk," you mumble, even as your legs wobble the moment they touch the floor.

Ghost catches you before you fall. One arm under your knees, the other around your back. He doesn’t say anything — just carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing.

Soap runs the water. Gaz sets down fluffy towels and a robe.

None of them leave.

You’re lowered into a warm, vanilla-scented bath with soft hands and sweet whispers. Fingers massage shampoo into your hair. Thumbs brush along your cheekbones. Gaz kisses your forehead.

"You okay, love?" he murmurs.

You nod, melting into the water. "That was… a lot."

"A good lot, though?" Soap teases.

You give him a dazed smile. "The best."

After the bath, they dry you off with the softest towels, dress you in a new set of clothes—your favorite shirt, their boxers—and settle you back on the bed, this time just to cuddle.

They take turns brushing your hair. Kissing your shoulders. Tracing idle circles on your skin.

Price brings a heated blanket. Soap feeds you chocolate-covered strawberries. Ghost gently massages your thighs, murmuring apologies for going so hard. Gaz just holds your hand the whole time.

"You still with us?" Price asks eventually, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

You nod, finally grounded again.

"I feel like a princess."

“You are,” Gaz says without hesitation.

Soap grins. “Queen, more like. Look at us — completely at your mercy.”

“Reckon we’d kill for you,” Ghost mutters, soft enough to almost be sweet.

You laugh — a real, whole laugh — and suddenly, you feel completely full. Not just of pleasure. But of love.

Later…

They take you out.

Not just anywhere—your favorite little place. Hole-in-the-wall diner. Greasy fries. Milkshakes. Comfort food that tastes like warmth.

They make you sit in the booth while they handle everything.

You’re nestled between Soap and Ghost, across from Gaz and Price. Soap feeds you bites of burger when you pretend your arms are “too tired,” and Ghost lets you sip from his milkshake without saying a word.

"Y’look thoroughly ruined," the waitress says cheerfully as she drops off dessert.

You blush so hard that Soap nearly chokes on his fries.

"She is," Price says calmly, stirring his coffee. "And she deserves every bit of it."

You kick him under the table. He just smirks.

They all dote on you. Cutting your food. Giving you the best bites. Paying without blinking. Kissing your temple between bites.

And through it all, you feel it.

The healing, the safety, the wholeness.

They didn’t just wreck you in bed.

They rebuilt you, piece by piece. With love.

Later, as you fall asleep in the car on the ride home, curled up in Ghost’s hoodie and Price’s lap, you hear Soap murmur:

“She looks so happy.”

And Gaz replies, soft and certain:

“She is.”

[iloveslasher]

Spoiled Rotten

in honor of my birthday!

Poly!141 x F!Reader | NSFW | Overstimulation | Mutual Pleasure | Birthday Smut | Gentle Dom vibes Part 1 | Part 2

You wake to the smell of coffee.

Then hands.

Calloused palms trailing under the blanket. A thumb brushing along your inner thigh. A warm mouth against your neck. Someone’s already hard against your back.

“Morning, birthday girl.”

Gaz. Grinning into your shoulder. You let out a sleepy, startled whimper—then melt as his hand slides down and presses between your thighs.

“Time to celebrate properly, don’t you think?” comes Price’s voice from the side of the bed. He’s shirtless. Leaning against the doorframe with a mug in hand, watching the way your legs start to twitch under the sheets.

You glance over—and Ghost is already at the foot of the bed. Kneeling. Silent. His mask still on, but his eyes dark and hungry.

“Fuck, she’s already wet,” Soap mutters. He’s beside you now too, shirtless and half-covered in tattoos and sleep. “You needy today, lass?”

You try to answer—but Gaz’s fingers start circling your clit, and the words melt off your tongue in a moan.

“She’s always needy,” Ghost murmurs. “Today just gives us an excuse to indulge her properly.”

They take their time.

The four of them worship you like it’s religion.

Soap teases you with his tongue first, holding your thighs open as you squirm and gasp. He eats you out like he’s starving—moaning into you, dragging his tongue in slow, sloppy circles until you’re pulling his hair and begging.

Gaz replaces him with two fingers and a grin, leaning over to kiss you as he fucks them into you deep and slow.

“Gonna make a mess all over my hand, yeah?” he pants. “Let go, baby. C’mon, birthday girl.”

You come—hard. Trembling. Crying out into his mouth.

But they don’t stop.

Ghost slips in next. Silent, intense. He pulls your legs over his shoulders and thrusts into you slow and deep while Price whispers filth in your ear.

“Look at you,” the Captain murmurs. “So fucking pretty when you take him. You love being used, don’t you? Love giving it up for your boys.”

You nod, dazed, gripping the sheets as Ghost rocks into you harder. His hands on your hips are bruising.

You come again.

Too fast. Too much.

You sob his name—“Simon, fuck, I can’t—”—but he doesn’t stop until you’re clenching down around him, shaking and overstimulated.

They let you recover—for all of thirty seconds.

Then Price pulls you into his lap, spreading your thighs and guiding your hips down onto his cock.

You’re soaked, twitching, wrecked—but you want him.

You grind into him with a desperate little cry, arms shaking, mouth open as he strokes your back.

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s our good girl. Take it. Fuck yourself on it.”

“Can’t—too much—” you whimper.

“You can.” His voice is firm. Commanding. “One more. For me.”

You fall apart again in his arms, clenching tight as he spills inside you, holding you down as you squirm.

You lose track of how many times they make you come. How many mouths, fingers, cocks press into you and fill you and fuck you senseless.

But eventually, they let you give, too.

Soap on his back, groaning as you ride him—his head tipped back in pleasure as you grind down hard enough to make his legs shake. Ghost letting you suck him off through the mask slit, his hand cradling the back of your head, voice ragged: “That’s it, sweetheart. God, your fucking mouth—” Gaz moaning your name when you wrap your hand around him and stroke him slow, soft, until he gasps your name into your neck.

And Price?

He watches it all. Stroking himself lazily. Until finally, he pulls you to him, kisses you slow, and whispers:

“Let them show you how loved you are.”

By the end of it, you’re trembling. Sweat-slick. Giggling weakly. Legs barely working.

They wrap you in warm towels and tuck you into bed. You’re nestled between them all, kissed and praised and fed bits of cake and sips of water.

“You alright, birthday girl?” Soap asks, brushing your hair from your eyes.

You nod, dazed and smiling.

“Never better.”

And you swear, you could die right there—content, exhausted, cherished.

[iloveslasher]

This is so cute!

giggles with gaz

kyle puts you up on the counter, you’re both buzzed and buzzing, you’ve been teasing each other all night long, to the dismay of his teammates.

“fuckin’ gorgeous in this dress, babe. you’re a fuckin’ stunner.”

you giggle, your skin flushed and pussy is throbbing for him.

“you look so good in these pants,” you gush, undoing his belt.

“yeah?”

“yeah, fuck, now get ‘em off,” you growl playfully. 

he laughs and you share a sloppy kiss.

“you want me to take this gorgeous dress off or should i just push it up?” 

“push it up!” 

his hands slip under your dress and shove it up your waist, pulling off your thong as they come back down. 

“naughty girl.”

“i was hoping to bend over and give you a peek,” you tease, a big grin on your face.

he grins back, holding your face and kissing you.

“fuck me, now,” you urge, kissing his cheek quickly.

“yes, ma’am,” he says, gripping his cock at the base and lining it up with your glistening pussy. 

he slides the tip up, bumping against your clit, which makes you gasp and giggle again. he snickers and pushes the head in, making you gasp. 

“oh, ky…” 

“oh, ky,” he mocks you in a high voice.

you slap his chest cheekily. 

“i don’t sound like that!”

“i don’t sound like that!” he mocks you again. 

you let a laugh slip past and he chuckles.

“i’m kyle’s girlfriend, and i love begging for that big dick!” 

he slides in fully and tickles your side. 

“stop- ha! stop it, kyle!” you whine. 

“stop, kyle, your dick is so massive, i can’t even breathe!”

you both guffaw at his impression, sharing more messy kisses and holding each other close.

you sigh, catching your breath some.

“seriously, fuck me hard.”

“that’s the plan, darling.” 

you smile at him, biting your lip. 

“i love you.”

“i love you most.” 

[iloveslasher]

What’s Left After Trust Breaks

Post-Torture | Poly!141 x Reader | Finale of Shatterpoint

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

It’s been twelve days.

You’ve counted.

Twelve days since they found out the truth. Twelve days since the shackles came off. Twelve days of silence from you.

The medbay walls feel like a cage. Cleaner than that dungeon, sure. Warmer. But no less confining.

They visit in shifts. Whisper apologies. Offer soft looks. Bring flowers and books and quiet regret.

But you haven’t said a word.

Until today.

You requested it. One meeting. All four of them. Together. Because if this is going to end, it needs to end with honesty.

They file in one by one.

Price stands at the back, his hands behind his back like he’s facing a court-martial. Ghost lingers near the door, hood up, unmoving. Gaz stares at the floor, fists clenched. Soap is the only one who looks directly at you.

You sit upright in the hospital bed, pale and quiet. IV still taped to your arm.

Your voice, when it finally comes, is hoarse but firm.

"Why are you here?"

They freeze.

None of them speak.

You continue. "You already did what you wanted. You interrogated me. Hurt me. Watched me fall apart. You didn’t even let me speak."

Ghost stiffens. Price opens his mouth. You raise your hand.

"Don't." One word. Sharp. Final.

You turn to Gaz. "You didn’t even look at me. You used to stay up at night rubbing circles into my back when I had nightmares. And then I was begging for you to see me—and you wouldn’t even look."

He flinches. A tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You look to Soap. "You cried when I broke my wrist on a mission once. You told me I was your heart. And yet you held the hose when they made me crawl for water. I saw you. I saw you."

Soap's breath shakes. His knuckles are white.

You finally face Price.

"You promised I’d always be safe with you. That no one would ever hurt me." Your voice cracks. "But you were the one who gave the order."

Silence.

Dead. Chilling. Endless.

"I would’ve died for you," you whisper. "All of you."

"You almost did." Ghost's voice cuts through the quiet. Ragged. Low. "And we let it happen."

You finally look at him.

"Why?" you ask. "Why didn’t any of you ask me? Look me in the eyes? Believe me?"

Soap moves forward, his voice thick. “We were scared. The intel… it looked airtight. It made sense. We thought if it was you—if you’d really turned—then—"

"Then what?" you snap. "You could forget you ever loved me?"

"No!" Gaz chokes out. "Never. I never stopped—I just didn’t know how to—"

"How to what?" You stare at him. "Choose me? Believe me when it mattered?" Silence. None of them respond.

You close your eyes. The weight of everything sinks in.

"I'm not the same anymore," you say quietly. "You didn’t just interrogate a traitor. You broke the person you claimed to love."

“We know,” Price murmurs, voice shaking. “And we’ll carry that every day. You have every right to hate us.”

Ghost nods slowly. “But we’ll stay. For as long as you want. To make it right.”

You look at them—truly look—and for the first time… you see guilt not as performance, but as a wound that mirrors yours.

Still.

You shake your head. “You can’t make it right. Nothing will undo what you did.”

Soap steps forward, eyes glassy. “Then what can we do?”

Your voice is quiet. Hollow.

“You can let me choose whether I want you in my life at all.”

And they nod.

Because they know they don’t deserve even that.

Weeks Later – The Start of Healing

Time doesn’t fix it.

But it gives you space.

They respect your boundaries. They don’t pressure. Don’t ask for affection. They offer support, and distance, and apologies—over and over.

It starts small.

Gaz drops off tea one morning and you thank him. A whisper.

Soap reads aloud in your room when you can’t sleep. His voice cracks when you don’t push him away.

Ghost sits outside your door at night. Silent. A sentinel.

Price writes a letter. Handwritten. Four pages long. You don’t open it for a week. But when you do, you cry so hard you vomit.

Then one day… you speak first.

“I had a nightmare,” you whisper to Soap in the dark. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds your hand.

Another day: You let Gaz braid your hair again.

Later, you let Price help you out of the hospital bed for a walk. Just once.

Eventually, you ask Ghost to sit beside you, not across the room.

They never assume it means they’re forgiven.

But they’re patient. And present.

You’re not sure if the love you had will ever come back in the same way. It’s not romantic anymore. Not yet. Maybe never.

But it’s something.

And for now… that’s enough.

The End.

[iloveslasher]

I Should've Known

POV: Ghost | Poly!141 x Reader | Angst, part 4 of Shatterpoint.

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

Ghost knew pain. Knew what it did to people. How it stripped you raw and made you forget your own name.

He’d lived it. Survived it. Swore he’d never let it happen to someone he loved.

But he did.

He let it happen to you.

Worse — he caused it.

Day 0.

When the evidence landed, Simon didn’t argue.

Encrypted files. Redacted reports. Your voice. Your face.

You—laughing with them one day, betraying them the next.

At least, that’s how it looked.

He didn’t question it.

Because questioning it would mean confronting something unbearable: That they were wrong. That he was wrong.

So he locked you in a chair. Tied your wrists. Asked you questions with no right answers.

“You lied to us.”

“I didn’t.”

“You broke our trust.”

“I would never.”

“Then why are you in this chair?”

You went silent.

And that silence felt like a confession.

So he made you scream.

Day 3.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not because of guilt — he told himself.

Because of confusion.

You weren’t cracking.

No smugness. No anger. No bargaining.

Only pain.

Only pleas.

“Simon,” you had whispered once, through a bruised mouth. “If there’s any part of you that still loves me… please… stop.”

And for a moment — a heartbeat — something in him cracked.

But he buried it.

Dug the grave himself. Shoveled the dirt in with both hands.

If he stopped now, if he admitted doubt — he would have to face what he was doing to you.

And Simon Riley did not survive this long by facing his past.

He survived by killing it.

Day 6.

Truth hit like a detonation.

It was all fake. All planted.

You were clean.

You were innocent.

And he—

He was a goddamn executioner with no cause.

Soap vomited.

Price collapsed in the hallway.

Gaz broke down in the medbay.

But Ghost?

Ghost didn’t make a sound.

He walked to his quarters, peeled the mask off, stared at his own reflection for a long time.

And saw nothing.

Just a skull where his face used to be.

Later that night.

He stood in the doorway of your medbay room.

Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You didn’t notice him at first.

But when you did — when your eyes slid over and locked on him —

Your face went blank.

No rage. No heartbreak. No pain.

Just emptiness.

He stepped closer.

You turned your head away.

He stopped cold.

“…I would’ve died for you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Still would.”

Silence.

“I thought I was protecting them. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Still silence.

“I let the worst parts of me win. I let them out. And I aimed them at you.”

Your voice was a whisper. Dry. Detached.

“Then don’t you dare say you loved me.”

And that?

That broke him.

After.

Simon stopped wearing his mask.

Not out of comfort.

Out of penance.

He wanted everyone to see the monster he was.

He didn’t sleep. Barely ate. Spent most nights standing outside your room, hoping you’d say his name.

You never did.

One day, he left something at your bedside. A thumb drive.

Inside: a voice message.

Just one.

“I don’t want forgiveness. I want you to hate me. Because if you hate me… at least it means you survived what I did to you.”

END (Ghost POV)

[iloveslasher]

The Ones Who Watch and Do Nothing

POV: Gaz | Poly!141 x Reader | angst, Part 4 of Shatterpoint.

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

Day 0.

Kyle stood behind Ghost and Soap as they pulled you from your bunk. Didn’t say a word.

You were barefoot. Confused. Asking questions no one answered.

“Guys? What’s going on?”

Your voice was sharp with panic. And Kyle’s fists clenched. Because you didn’t sound guilty.

You sounded scared.

But he didn’t speak. Not when they slammed you against the wall. Not when they zip-tied your hands. Not even when you caught his eyes and whispered:

“Kyle?”

Like he could make it stop.

He looked away.

Because if he said something, he’d be questioning Price.

And that wasn’t allowed.

Day 1.

You screamed. Cried. Pleaded.

Kyle stood in the observation room, watching through the one-way mirror.

Price questioned you. Ghost hit you. Soap shouted.

Kyle said nothing.

The others thought he was being strong. Controlled.

But really?

He was afraid.

Afraid that you were innocent. Afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d be the next one in the chair.

So he watched.

That was his sin.

He didn’t swing a fist or deliver an order.

He just watched.

Day 3.

Your voice was gone.

Your body limp.

But your eyes still searched the room every time the door opened.

Kyle hated himself most when he realized—

You were still hoping one of them would save you.

That he would save you.

But every time he saw your bloodied lip, your shaking fingers, the bruises darkening your ribs—

He swallowed it.

Pushed it down.

Protect the team. Trust the chain of command.

Even when it killed something inside him.

Day 6.

When the real intel came in, Price cursed so hard he knocked over his chair.

Ghost left the room.

Soap went pale.

Kyle sat there, frozen.

You’d been innocent the whole time.

The whole time.

He ran to the medbay. Got there first. Stood in the doorway like a coward while you lay hooked up to machines.

Your face was bruised. Lips cracked. Eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

He stepped inside. Slowly.

“Hey,” he said. Gently.

You didn’t look at him.

“…I should’ve said something,” he whispered. “From the beginning.”

Still nothing.

“I—I didn’t know what to believe, but I knew something wasn’t right. I felt it. You didn’t look guilty. You looked terrified.”

Your eyes flicked toward him then.

So empty it knocked the breath out of him.

“I watched,” he said. “I watched them hurt you. And I didn’t stop it.”

Your voice was barely audible. Flat. Monotone.

“Why not?”

He had no answer.

So he dropped to his knees at your bedside and whispered the truth:

“Because I was scared.”

You closed your eyes.

And turned your head away.

Later that night…

Kyle sat alone on the training field. Rain soaked his clothes. He didn’t move.

Didn’t go back to the barracks. Couldn’t face the others.

He kept seeing your eyes.

Not the way they used to shine when you joked with him. Not the way they softened when you curled into his chest at night.

No. Now he only saw the eyes that begged him for help.

And he saw the man who did nothing.

END (Gaz POV)

[iloveslasher]

The Weight of a Trigger

POV: Captain John Price | Poly!141 x Reader | Post-Interrogation | Angst. Part 3 of "Shatterpoint"

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

They trusted me to lead.

And I trusted the intel.

That was my first mistake.

Day 0.

The file hit his desk just past midnight. Classified intercept logs. Flash drives discovered under your bunk. A blurred photo from a blacksite op with your name printed in bold red ink underneath it.

Asset compromised. Codename: Echo-Five. Authorization: Detain. Interrogate. Neutralize if necessary.

Price didn’t blink.

He’d sent men to their deaths on thinner evidence. This was a matter of national security. Protect the team at all costs.

Still, something twisted in his gut when Ghost asked, “You sure you want to do this, Captain?”

Price didn’t answer.

Because if he hesitated, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

And if he didn’t go through with it… What if you really were a traitor?

He couldn’t afford doubt. Couldn’t afford sentiment.

So he gave the order.

"Bag her."

And the last shred of humanity in his voice died with it.

Day 2.

He sat across from you in the cold room, cigarette smoke curling between you.

You were shaking. Bleeding. Voice cracked from screaming.

“Who are you working for?” he asked, voice flat.

“Please—John—you have to believe me. I didn’t do this.”

Your voice nearly broke him.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak to you like a lover. He spoke like a soldier.

"You made us trust you. You made us love you. And then you stabbed us in the back."

You sobbed. Not loud — not hysterical — just this quiet, broken sound that made his stomach twist.

Still, he said nothing.

Because the moment he showed you mercy, the mission would be compromised.

He told himself this was necessary.

But the truth?

He didn’t want to look weak in front of his men.

And he didn’t want to admit that he’d rather lose the war than believe you were capable of this.

Day 5.

He hadn’t eaten.

Couldn’t sleep.

Kept seeing your eyes — wide with betrayal — every time he closed his own.

Soap tried to talk to him.

“Cap… you think maybe we got it wrong?”

Price didn’t answer.

Because if he spoke, he might scream.

Day 6.

Intel dropped like a sledgehammer.

New decrypts. Voice analysis. Satellite manipulation.

A frame job. A full-scale operation to make (Y/N) look like the leak.

They’d fallen for it.

He had fallen for it.

Price stormed into the medbay before anyone else.

You were curled on the bed, thinner, weaker, silent.

Your eyes found him — hollow, sunken, too tired to be angry.

He knelt at your side. Reached for your hand.

You flinched.

And that single, involuntary movement tore his heart out.

“I was wrong,” he said. “I see that now.”

You didn’t speak.

“I should’ve questioned the data. Should’ve talked to you first. Should’ve—” His voice broke. “Should’ve protected you.”

You blinked slowly. “You were supposed to love me.”

“I did,” he whispered.

“Then why did you let me rot?”

He had no answer.

Because there was none.

Later…

The team left you alone to rest. But Price didn’t go.

He stood in front of the mirror in your hospital room.

He stared at his reflection, searching for the man he used to be.

A leader. A protector.

Instead, he saw a coward. A bastard. A man who traded love for blind obedience.

He’d always believed torture was a last resort. Something they did to monsters.

But now… he was the monster.

And the woman he loved might never look at him the same way again.

He sank into the chair beside your bed. Folded his hands. Bowed his head.

And for the first time in years, John Price prayed.

Not for forgiveness.

Just for a second chance.

One he wasn’t sure he deserved.

END (Price POV)

[iloveslasher]

Too Late for Mercy

POV: Soap | Continuation of “Shatterpoint”

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

Day 0

Soap’s gut twisted when he first saw the file.

Encrypted flash drives under your bed. A secure comms intercept with coordinates that matched a failed op. A Russian voice spliced in with yours.

"The leak is internal. Codename: Echo-Five. Confirmed visual on (Y/N). Terminate if necessary."

Ghost had looked at him. Silent. Cold.

Gaz had paled.

Price said nothing for a long time. Then: "Bring her in."

No trial. No conversation. No confrontation. Just a mission.

You were dragged into the holding room like a traitor. Like a stranger.

And Soap didn’t say a word.

Because if it was true… if you really betrayed them…

He didn’t want to hear your voice beg for mercy.

He didn’t want to know how much it would hurt to destroy you.

Day 2

Soap watched you scream when Ghost hit you.

Watched you claw against your restraints when Price pressed for answers.

You kept saying the same thing:

"Please, I didn’t do it." "You know me." "Why won’t you believe me?"

But Soap couldn’t afford to believe you.

That’s what he told himself. That’s how he justified watching your lips crack from dehydration. How he explained the blood on your shirt, the tremble in your hands, the way your eyes searched for someone—anyone—who might still see you as human.

And he looked away.

Because believing you would mean admitting they were monsters.

Day 4

He brought water.

It wasn’t part of the schedule, but he couldn’t stand seeing your lips split again. He told Ghost it was tactical — keeping you alive for intel.

But it wasn’t tactical.

It was guilt.

He sat in front of you. Pressed the bottle to your lips. Watched your eyes flutter shut as you drank like someone half-dead.

You didn’t thank him.

You didn’t even look at him.

And for some reason, that hurt more than your betrayal ever could have.

Day 6

When Price burst into the briefing room, shouting for everyone to stop everything, Soap didn’t understand.

When Ghost opened the new file — the one that traced the false intel back to a ghost operative out of Berlin — Soap’s blood ran cold.

When Gaz whispered, "She’s innocent," Soap fell to his knees.

He threw up in the hallway outside the cell.

He didn’t go in first. Couldn’t.

He couldn’t bear to see what they’d done to you.

Not yet.

Later…

You were in medbay. Hooked up to fluids. Your wrists bandaged. Cheeks sunken, eyes dull. A shell of yourself.

Soap walked in, and you didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

He pulled up a chair. Sat beside you. Folded his hands in his lap, like a kid waiting to be scolded.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured. “Protecting the team.”

You blinked slowly, unmoved.

“I see now… it wasn’t protection. It was punishment. And you didn’t deserve it.”

Silence.

He felt his throat tighten.

“You used to talk all the time. ‘Johnny, can I braid your hair?’ ‘Johnny, look at this dumb cat meme.’ You’d laugh at your own jokes and fall asleep on my shoulder mid-movie…”

He looked at you, voice cracking.

“…And I let them break you.”

Still nothing.

Soap reached out, fingers trembling, and placed his hand over yours.

"I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me. Hell, I don’t think you should. But I need you to know something."

Your eyes finally met his. Hollow. Waiting.

And he whispered:

“I loved you. I still love you. And I would trade everything—my badge, my rank, my goddamn life—just to take it all back.”

Your fingers didn’t move.

But a tear slipped down your cheek.

And it felt like being gutted.

That night, Soap stayed by your bed. He didn’t sleep. Didn’t speak.

He just watched the machines beep. Watched your chest rise and fall. Watched the damage they’d done to something beautiful.

And he swore — to the ceiling, to the gods, to himself —

“If you ever come back to us… I’ll be worthy next time.”

End (Johnny's POV)

[iloveslasher]

Cod

⚠️ : SH/Suicide - 💔 : Angst - ❤️ : Fluff - 💞 : Smut. - 🖤 : Bad ending ◇: headcannons - 💣: Yandere

John (Captain) Price

Simon (Ghost) Riley

Johnny (Soap) MacTavish

Kyle (Gaz) Garrick

Poly!141 Shatterpoint, Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale } betrayed!reader 💔

Spoiled rotten: Part 1 | Part 2 } Fem!Reader 💞❤️

[iloveslasher]

Shatterpoint

Poly!141 (Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz) x Reader, where the team gets false intel that you’re a traitor. They interrogate you, torture you, break you. Then… they find out you were innocent all along. And the guilt hits like a freight train.

⚠️ TW: torture, betrayal, emotional and physical abuse, trauma, suicidal ideation, mental breakdown, dark themes. This is meant to explore emotional impact and consequences — not glorify it.

Johnny's POV, John's POV, Kyle's POV, Simon's POV, Finale.

“You didn’t even hesitate. That’s what hurts the most.”

They didn’t tell you why.

You were yanked from your bunk at 3 a.m., still in your t-shirt and boxers, bare feet scraping against cold concrete as Ghost slammed you into a wall.

You remember the panic — confusion turning into terror as a bag was shoved over your head. The sound of Zip-ties cutting into your wrists. A voice — Soap's — muttering under his breath, “Didn’t think it’d be you.”

Then came the cold room. No windows. One chair. Concrete walls that echoed your screams back to you like mockery.

You didn’t know what was happening. All you knew was that the men you loved were staring at you like a stranger.

Day 1.

You’re slapped awake. Ghost. His mask is impassive. His grip isn’t.

"Tell me who you're working for."

"What—Simon, please—I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

A punch to the ribs. Another. Your breath comes out in wheezing gasps. You see black for a moment.

Gaz stands in the corner. Silent. Not meeting your eyes.

Price lights a cigarette. Doesn’t even look at you. "Satellite intercept caught your comms. Secure line. Russian channel. That’s not protocol, soldier."

“I didn’t do that,” you gasp. “I swear to God, I didn’t.”

"You expecting us to believe that?" Soap spits. "We found encrypted flash drives under your bunk."

You feel the world tilt sideways. “I didn’t—those aren’t mine!”

Ghost grips your jaw, hard enough to bruise. “Lies won’t help you now.”

And the door closes.

Leaving you in darkness.

Day 3.

The bruises don’t hurt as much anymore. Or maybe you’ve just stopped feeling them.

They haven’t given you food. Water comes from a hose on the floor. You're curled into yourself like a wounded animal.

They come in again. This time, it's Price. Alone.

He kneels beside you, and for a second your heart jumps — you think, Maybe he believes me. Maybe he’ll stop this.

But he just holds up a photo.

A man you’ve never seen.

“This operative died 12 hours after your supposed recon mission. Want to explain why your voice was on the comms log?”

“I don’t know him.” Your voice is a rasp now. “Please. Please, John, you have to believe me.”

And he looks at you then — eyes colder than the steel walls. "You broke us."

And that hurts more than anything they’ve done to your body.

Day 5.

You stop fighting.

You’ve told them everything. Everything you could possibly say. There’s nothing left.

They want a confession. They want you to bleed guilt.

But you don’t have any to give.

So you shut down.

You stop crying. Stop pleading.

You stare past them when they talk. You flinch when they come near.

You wonder if death might be a mercy.

Soap notices first.

He comes in alone. Sits down across from you. You barely move.

“You stopped talking,” he murmurs.

You blink.

"You always talked too much." He forces a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. “Remember when you snuck into my bunk and put salt in my coffee?”

You stare at the floor.

“Why didn’t you just tell us the truth?”

You finally look at him. Eyes bloodshot, face swollen and gaunt.

And you whisper: “I did.”

And something in his face cracks.

Day 6.

The door slams open. Something’s wrong.

Shouting in the hallway.

Footsteps. Rushed. Heavy.

Price enters, holding a laptop. His face is pale.

Ghost and Gaz follow. They look like they’ve seen a ghost.

"New intel came in," Price says slowly. He sets the laptop on the table.

You can’t lift your head.

“It was all falsified,” Ghost mutters. “The whole comms trace. The flash drives. Even the op photo.”

"Someone framed you," Gaz whispers. "You're innocent."

You laugh.

A wet, broken, bitter laugh that turns into a sob. Your body trembles with it. Not relief. No.

Just… nothing.

You’re empty.

They unshackle you. Bring you to medbay.

They try to talk. Apologize. Price kneels beside the bed, his voice hoarse. “We should’ve known. You’d never betray us.”

Ghost can’t even look at you. His gloved hands shake.

Soap sobs into your blanket. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I—I thought—”

You turn your head away.

You speak for the first time in hours.

“None of you even hesitated.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

“You didn’t ask me. You didn’t trust me. You just… believed I could do that to you.”

Price places a hand on yours. “We were fed lies. We were wrong—”

You yank your hand away. “I would’ve died for you.” Your voice is a scream now. “And you left me in the dark and watched me fall apart. You let me think I was nothing.”

They don’t respond.

Because there’s nothing to say.

You don’t sleep for three days.

They keep trying to reach you. Gentle touches. Apologies.

But you keep the wall up.

Because how do you love someone again when they watched you break and didn’t stop it?

How do you come back from that?

Soap tries first. He sits by your bed every night. Tells you about stupid jokes, old memories.

Gaz brings you books. Movies. Sits in silence when you don’t want to speak.

Ghost watches from a distance, guilt carved deep into every glance.

Price… he cries once.

You wake up to him holding your hand. Silent tears running down his face.

But still. You don’t move.

Because some wounds run too deep.

And you don’t know if they’ll ever heal.

“I loved you.” “We still love you.” “…Then why did you destroy me?”

Hope you liked this fic! ❤️

[iloveslasher]

💄 Say It Again

Part 2 – Jennifer Check x Female!Reader (Dom!Reader Smut)

No one asked but here it is! continuation of this fic.

⚠️ Tags/Warnings:

Female!Reader x Jennifer Check

Dom!Reader / Sub!Jennifer

Light bondage & power play

Begging, teasing, overstimulation

Explicit implications but fade-to-black for the act

Jennifer being a bratty mess

Reader taking their time. 😈

Jennifer's wrists were tied.

Soft red silk — her own, from her vanity drawer — looped around the bedposts, keeping her arms above her head. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, lips parted, skin flushed.

She’d never let anyone do this to her.

But you weren’t just anyone.

You sat between her thighs, fully clothed, trailing your fingertips across the soft inside of her legs while she writhed beneath you, begging, panting, whimpering.

“You’re not being very patient, baby,” you murmured, lips brushing her inner thigh.

Jennifer gasped. “I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been good!”

You tilted your head. “You sure about that?”

She groaned, trying to buck her hips, but you held her down easily with a palm against her pelvis. “You’ve been bratting all night, sweetheart. Thought you ran this show.”

Jennifer glared at you, chest heaving. “I’m gonna kill you.”

You laughed, dark and low. “That mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”

Then your hand slipped between her legs — and all threats died on her tongue.

Her back arched. A broken moan spilled from her lips. “Oh my God…”

You leaned close, lips ghosting over hers but never touching. “God’s not here, baby. Just me. And I don’t think you’ve earned your release yet.”

“No, please—please—don’t stop—” she was babbling now, teary-eyed, straining against the silk restraints. Her voice cracked on a whimper. “Y/N, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so fucking good—”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your fingers slow and deliberate. “Say it again.”

“I’ll be good.”

“Louder.”

“I’ll be good for you!”

“That’s better.”

You finally kissed her then — really kissed her — deep, claiming, messy. She sobbed into your mouth, overstimulated and wrecked.

And you weren’t done yet.

You pulled back, fingers gliding lower again, and watched the panic and pleasure war in her eyes.

“Color?” you asked softly.

“Green,” she gasped without hesitation.

You kissed her neck and smiled against her skin.

“Good girl.”

💋 End

[iloveslasher]

Could we get one of creeper being protective of the injured reader?👀

Yes of course!

Mine to Keep - Jeepers Creepers x injured!Reader.

You didn’t know how long you’d been drifting in and out of consciousness.

Pain pulsed in your side, sharp and hot, each breath rattling like broken glass inside your ribs. The crash — you remembered that much. Something had run you off the road. Your car flipped. You must’ve crawled out… or maybe you were pulled.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t even open your eyes fully. Just flashes — trees swaying above, the scent of something old and earthen in the air.

And a shadow.

You weren’t alone.

Something was out there. Circling.

Breathing.

Watching.

You tensed as heavy footsteps moved closer, but you couldn’t do anything — couldn’t fight, couldn’t run. Your heart thudded weakly, terror clawing its way up your throat.

Then — a strange sound. Low. Almost like… a growl? No — a purr.

And then a voice — guttural and rasping, more felt than heard. Like the sound of metal dragging across bone.

“Mine.”

You forced your eyes open.

There he was.

The Creeper.

Leathered skin, wings half-folded behind him like some terrible angel. Yellow eyes glowing like wildfire, locking onto yours with a look you couldn’t name. Hunger? Possession? Obsession?

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your throat. You tried to crawl back — tried to do something — but pain seared up your side, and you collapsed with a cry.

The Creeper let out a harsh sound — something between a snarl and a hiss — and in an instant, he was beside you. His claws didn’t grab — they hovered, trembling in restraint, like he wasn’t sure where to touch without breaking you further.

Then… gently — shockingly gently — he slid his arm beneath your shoulders and lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, flinching.

He growled again. But this time, not at you.

He was angry — furious. But not with you.

With whoever had hurt you.

His wings flared, casting a shadow over both of you as he lifted his head, sniffing the air. His nostrils flared, his lip curled. He was tracking something. Someone.

“Hurt… you.” His voice rasped, venomous.

Then his gaze snapped back to yours. Something almost human flickered in those monstrous eyes — something primal and possessive.

“No one hurts what’s mine.”

Your breathing hitched again, but not entirely from fear now.

The Creeper cradled you in his arms, talons careful not to graze your broken skin. He carried you deeper into the woods, every movement deliberate. His wings shielded you from the cold air, wrapping around like a twisted cocoon.

Somewhere in your dazed, pain-addled mind, you realized: he wasn’t going to hurt you.

Not you.

He had chosen you.

And whatever had done this to you — whoever had left you bleeding in the dirt — would regret it.

You didn’t know what that meant. What it would mean.

But as your head rested against his chest and you heard that deep, steady thrum beneath his ribs, one thing became terrifyingly, comfortingly clear:

You were his.

And he would kill for you.

[iloveslasher]

hola, today's my bday >:)

anyways not the point, I know you dont write for laddie but can this be a daddy dwayne and mama s/o thing? S/o has an adopted daughter who loves being with laddie and Dwayne and S/o take thier kids out to play and they go on little adventures. especially with the fact that Laddie tends to wander off, they wander off together honestly and they just be vibin 😍😊

Idk, thought it was cute ♡ thank you for your time

Hi darling, happy belated birthday. I don't really write for laddie, because he's a child. I will write fictions like this darling. Hope you like it!

Warning(s): cussing,some assholes, fluff!

Little Footsteps, Big Adventures

Pairing: Dad!Dwayne+ Little Big Brother Laddie x Mom!reader.

Summary: when u hang out with a certain group on the boardwalk things usually don't go as planned.

When you first met Dwayne, you found him very intimidating and you thought that he was way too dangerous to introduce your daughter to. But as you saw him more and more with the little boy, Laddie — the way he looked after him like a fierce, silent guardian — you started to warm up to the idea. There was something gentle behind those intense eyes, something careful and fiercely loyal.

Then came the confession: Dwayne was a vampire. Not just any vampire — but one who swore you were his mate. You were understandably... hesitant. Okay, borderline panicked. But he was patient, steady, and he never pushed. He let you take your time. Laddie was always around, and your daughter adored him from the jump — the two of them stuck together like glue. Wherever Laddie wandered off to (which was constantly), your daughter would be right behind him, giggling and whispering about secret fairy trails and monster footprints.

Dwayne asked you on a date after weeks of just hanging out, being around, and proving you and your daughter could trust him. You said yes.

That’s why you’re here now.

Wrapped in his leather jacket, arms slung around his waist as he holds you close before your date night.

“Dwayne, I don’t feel good letting Paul and Marko alone with my baby.”

You looked him straight in the eyes, frowning. He hugged you a little tighter, rubbing a hand over your back.

“Don’t worry, she’s in good hands with David there,” he said calmly.

You pulled back just slightly, narrowing your eyes.

“Dwayne… last time he literally floated away with her.”

He winced, and it was a little funny seeing this ancient, brooding vampire wince like a kid who got caught stealing cookies.

“I know, princess. I told him to never do that again.”

You sighed. You knew exactly what told him meant. Dwayne may not yell, but he didn’t need to — especially not when his eyes glowed red and his fangs came out a little. David might’ve been a smug, cocky bastard, but even he knew better than to test Dwayne when it came to you or her.

Still, your stomach fluttered with nerves.

“Relax,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “They’ve got blood bags, cartoons, and Laddie’s there. Plus, your daughter’s probably already dragging Laddie on some imaginary quest to rescue magical frogs or something.”

You sighed again, but smiled.

Meanwhile...

Somewhere deep in the woods just past the boardwalk, your daughter and Laddie were indeed vibing. She had a stick she was calling a “fairy wand,” and Laddie was holding a flat rock like it was a sacred treasure.

“If we follow this trail,” she whispered, “we’ll find the portal to the mushroom kingdom.”

“But if we go that way,” Laddie whispered back, pointing to an overgrown path, “there’s a haunted tree that talks.”

They both stared down the second path.

Naturally, they took it.

They weren’t scared. They had each other. They had snacks. And honestly, they were both half-convinced that if they got really lost, one of the guys would just fly in and scoop them up again.

But for now, they were on their own adventure. Just a pair of little wanderers, laughing, poking mushrooms, and naming every squirrel they saw.

Back at the boardwalk, you let Dwayne lead you down the beach, hand in hand.

“I still can’t believe I’m dating a vampire,” you muttered, half-laughing.

“I still can’t believe I’m in love with a woman who yells at undead men like they’re daycare workers,” he teased softly, kissing your knuckles.

You blushed and bumped your shoulder into his.

“Well... they are.”

And somewhere in the distance, your daughter and Laddie had declared themselves royalty of the Haunted Mushroom Kingdom — vibing, as usual — while the Lost Boys babysat with varying levels of success and chaos.

It was weird. It was messy. But it was yours.

And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing.

[iloveslasher]

Can you also do a request for Santiago X Male Reader who is a human. Here’s the scenario:

The male reader have ran away from his home within Forks because his dad is very homophobic and went to Volterra, Itally to get away from nasty home life as he start his new life. While there, he met Santiago as the reader is working as a musician who is a heavy metal one at a concert and then the pull came. Santiago then take the reader within Volterra and then Marcus noticed that they are mates and Santiago comfort him. They then make love and then changed him to which the reader is going to devour his dad

"No Longer in the Shadows"

Pairing: Santiago x Male Reader Twilight Universe – Volterra setting Themes: Found family, healing from trauma, supernatural love, empowerment

Forks, Washington

Rain pelted your jacket as you stood at the edge of the forest, duffel slung over your shoulder, guitar case gripped tightly in one hand. You didn’t look back.

Your father’s last words echoed like thunder in your ears.

“You’re sick.” “You’ll burn in hell before I call you my son again.”

You had to go. Not for a better life—just a life at all.

Volterra, Italy – Two Months Later

You found a city that thrived in shadows. There were no stares in Volterra. No whispers. You were just another stranger. And in the underground metal scene, screaming on stage, you found catharsis.

Your music was rage and grief given voice. Your lyrics bled every scar your father had left behind.

It was during your third set in a gritty basement club that he arrived.

Tall, quiet, dressed in dark, understated elegance. Santiago didn’t fit the punk crowd—but he wasn’t trying to. He stood at the back, arms folded, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing worth seeing.

And when your eyes met his—

The pull.

You stumbled mid-riff. Something snapped inside your chest, like a string pulled taut for years had finally broken.

After the show, he was waiting near the bar, his presence almost glowing with restrained power.

“You play like you're trying to tear something out of yourself,” he said, voice smooth, accented.

You gave him a wary look. “You’re not wrong.”

“(Y/N), right?” he asked, eyes narrowing—curious, not threatening.

You nodded. “You’re not a fan of metal, are you?”

He smirked faintly. “I am now.”

He offered to walk you home. You didn’t say no.

There was something about him—something ancient, magnetic. But there was no lust in his eyes. No manipulation. Just... recognition.

You paused under a streetlight, nerves on edge.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Santiago.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you forever?”

He inhaled slowly, then said softly, “Because we’re mates.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer, but didn’t touch. “You don’t know what that means yet. But you will. You’ve felt it already, haven’t you? That snap inside you when you looked at me?”

Your throat tightened. “...Yeah.”

“I’ll explain everything. If you’ll let me.”

Volturi Citadel

The castle loomed like something out of a myth. Santiago led you through winding corridors, always close but never imposing.

You were still stunned when he introduced you to Marcus, who sat slouched on his throne, watching the two of you with faint interest.

After a moment of silence, Marcus spoke:

“Mates. An old bond. Rare... unbreakable. Stronger than law or blood.”

You stiffened, overwhelmed. Santiago placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You’re safe here. With me.”

Your voice cracked. “He—my dad—he said I was disgusting. That I didn’t deserve to live.”

Santiago’s eyes burned with sudden fury. “He doesn’t get to define what you are. You’re mine. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

You fell into his arms then, sobbing for the first time in years.

He held you tightly. Silent. Unmoving. Like a fortress made of flesh and love.

Later That Night – Santiago’s Chamber

You stood by the window, looking out over the moonlit city, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know what matters,” he said from behind you. “I know how your hands trembled when I touched you. I know the sound of your heartbeat when you’re scared. I know you’re stronger than you think, and I know you’ve been alone too long.”

You turned to face him. “I don’t know how to be with someone like you. I’m... broken.”

He stepped close, cradled your face in his cool hands.

“You’re not broken. You’ve been surviving. Now let me show you what it’s like to live.”

That night, you made love.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about lust. It was connection—two souls clinging to each other in a world that had tried to crush them. His touch was reverent, like you were something precious. For once, you felt worshipped, not shamed.

“I want to be like you,” you whispered into his chest after.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want it. I want to be free. Powerful. I never want to be afraid again.”

His lips brushed your forehead. “Then I’ll give you everything.”

The Transformation

You chose it.

You laid in his arms as his fangs pierced your neck, and you screamed—fire dancing in your veins. He held you through the agony, whispering, “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

When the fire died, and you opened your eyes again—

You were new. Strong. Eternal. His.

Return to Forks

You didn’t go back for closure. You went back for justice.

You found your father alone, nursing whiskey and bitterness in that same tired armchair.

He looked up. Frowned. “(Y/N)...?”

You smiled, slowly.

He blinked. “What the hell—”

You stepped forward, unblinking. “You always said I’d go to hell.”

“What are you—”

You bared your teeth. “Turns out, hell came to you instead.”

Volterra would never let you go. Santiago would never let you fall. And the boy your father tried to bury?

He rose a god.