𝑰𝒍𝒍𝒊 𝑹𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔🪻

Hello!! I'm illi! (Used to go by peach/ren prefer illi now but don't mind still being called peach! Or ren by those used to those names) you can also call me ills or any nickname you can come up with!

I'm multi fandom! So if you are as well then this is the right place for you! I've been an active writer since 2019! (Same with fandom roleplaying as well! So if you are a fellow roleplayer let me know and we can rp!)

I'm definitely a major swiftie and MCR fan! , as well as a nerd with things that I really love. Especially writing, anime, music etc. I do have autism and adhd so bare with me!

I'm very sweet, so my DMS are always open! If anyone wants to chat! Or you can add me on discord which is illibearr!

I'm taken by my wonderful fiance @leon-must-die !!!

Hope you enjoy my blog lovelies!

This blog is also LGBTQIA+ friendly, but not ICE or MAGA friendly! As this blog is a safe space for everyone and I want to keep it that way!

I use hashtags with a lot of things!

#illiwrites- is my writing

#illianswers- when I answer a request

#illirants or #illiposts- when I'm not posting any writing

#illireposts- when I repost other peoples writing and art as well!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

my requests are currently open! But they will sometimes close especially if I'm swamped with too many requests, I will close them till I'm caught up! Either that or I'll close them to just take a little break as to not get burnt out on something I enjoy!

Your requests will take a while to get to, as I'm only one person. And have a life outside of social media! So they will take a while, but I'm usually quick with getting requests done!

Oc x canon is also welcome as well! As long as you give me something to work with as well, I need details with requests normally so I know what to write!

Rules are simple! And i ask you to please respect these rules! And if I don't feel comfortable writing a certain requests I will have to deny it!

I do write in third person usually! So if you don't like it then don't read my stuff! As I'm used to writing in third person, as I also rp in third person as well. But I do write for male reader (trans male as well!), fem reader, genderfluid, and non binary reader as well! LGBTQIA+ is also welcome as well!

I write for Smut, Fluff and Angst! And there are rules for requesting these especially smut and angst! You can request in anon (you can even leave an emoji! Like for example you leave a bat emoji for everytime you request I'll call you bat anon!, just make sure to not use the same emoji as other anons!) Please be at least 18+ to request ANY smut especially anon!

NO WITH SMUT/ANGST:

. Scat and Throw Up any of those nasty kinks

. Age Play of any kind! (Minor x Adult, or someone doing age play of an adult pretending to be a minor is a hard no! Only time I will write for a minor and adult is if its platonic!) Pedophilia of any kind is a big no as well

. R@pe, Non Con/ Consensual Non Consent just don't feel comfortable with CNC! Non con is pretty self explanatory! Same with r@pe as well

. No Incest of any kind allowed! I do not feel comfortable writing any stepcest or incest!

. Dark Content is fine, but there are certain things I will cross the line with! And that's going into pure detail with triggering things!

More to be added later! Or I will just let you know if I don't feel comfortable writing your request!

Another big rule of mine is, if you don't like then don't read!! Just scroll past my writing if you don't like the way I write. I write in third person mostly, as it's a way I've always written. So if you don't LIKE that then DON'T READ.

Fandoms I write for as well as characters are below! Lemme know if you wanna be apart of any of my taglists and lemme know which ones as well! More characters and fandoms to maybe be added!

Richard Harmon Fandom:

Richard Harmon himself

Erik Campbell- final destination bloodlines

John Murphy- the 100

Max Borman- Van Helsing the series

Alex Wright- grave encounters 2

Alex Taylor (sfw only)- If I Had Wings

Seth Durand - A Mother's Instinct

Jake- Woodland

Kirk Lane- I Still See You

Tryst- Fakes

Clay- Margaux

Vern- Lowlives

Adam- Darkness Fall

Joe- Memory of a Killer

Julian- Continuum

Lars- Pitfall

Pokemon Fandom:

Guzma

Steven Stone

Leon

Grusha

One Piece Fandom:

Trafalgar Law

Monkey D Luffy (LA as well)

Robin (LA as well)

Nami (LA as well)

Roronora Zoro (LA as well)

Sanji Vinsmoke (LA as well)

Chopper (platonic/sfw/LA as well)

Sir Crocodile (LA as well)

Boa Hancock

Buggy The Clown (LA as well)

Portgas D Ace

Katakuri

Shanks

Eustass Kidd

Killer

Dracule Mihawk (LA as well)

Smoker (LA as well)

Penguin

Sachi

Bepo (platonic/sfw)

Resident Evil Fandom:

Leon Kennedy- all games/movies he's in is fine!

Chris Redfield- all games/movies she's in is fine!

Claire Redfield- all games/movies he's in is fine!

Ada Wong- all games/movies she's in is fine!

Lady Dimitrescu

Karl Heisenberg

Ethan Winters- RE 7 and Village is fine!

Donna Beneviento

Demon Slayer:

Tanjiro Kamado (SFW)

Zenitsu Agutsuma (Sfw)

Nezuko Kamado (sfw/platonic mostly)

Inosuke (Sfw)

Genya Shinazugawa (SFW)

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Mitsuri Kanroji

Kyojuro Rengoku

Giyu Tomioka

Obanai Iguro

Gyomei Himejima

Muichiro Tokito (Sfw)

Shinobu Kocho

Tengen Uzui

Muzan Kibutsuji

Akaza

Kokushibo

Hantengu clones

MORE TO BE ADDED LATER

JUJUTSU KAISEN:

Satoru Gojo

Geto Suguru

Megumi Fushiguro (sfw)

Yuji Itadori (sfw)

Ryomen Sukuna

Kanto Nanami

Markiplier:

markiplier himself

Darkiplier

Wilford Warfstache

Damien

Simon (Iron Lung)

Jacksepticeye:

Jacksepticeye himself

Antisepticye

Undertale (including AUs):

Sans (including Gaster Sans)

Papryus

Undyne

Mettaton

Older Asriel

AUs I will do: underfell, underswap, echotale (which is gaster sans), mafiatale for now!

Obey Me:

Lucifer

Leviathan

Beelzebub

Belphegor

Diavolo

Other:

Levi Ackerman- Attack On Titan

Sebastian- Stardew Valley

Shane- Stardew Valley

Haley- Stardew Valley

Taylor Swift- any era of her's is fine!

Gerard Way- MCR

Frank Iero- MCR

Ray Toro- MCR

Mikey Way- MCR

Illi McMillan- MCR (will do Frank x Illi)

Richard Harmon Masterlist

Richard Harmon Second Masterlist

Erik Campbell Masterlist

John Murphy Masterlist

KikiNova Masterlist (Nova is my oc)

Taylor Swift Masterlist

MCR Masterlist

Frilli (Frank x Illi) Masterlist

Pokemon Masterlist

One Piece Masterlist

Trafalgar Law Masterlist

Resident Evil Masterlist-

Leon Kennedy Masterlist-

Stardew Valley Masterlist

LawRosey Masterlist (Rosey is my oc)

Demon Slayer Masterlist

JJK Masterlist

Levi Ackerman Masterlist

Markiplier Masterlist (including alter egos)

Jacksepticeye Masterlist( including antisepticeye)

Undertale Masterlist (including AUs)

Obey Me Masterlist

Events:

June Event

A/n: day eighteen with darkiplier!!

Contains: fluff, dark being soft, gift exchanging, dark being vulnerable

June Event

The room was steeped in a familiar, comfortable gloom, the only light emanating from the flickering screen of a laptop on the desk. It was late, the kind of late that felt like it belonged to another world, a world where time moved differently and shadows held secrets. They sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Dark,typed away, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He had been distant lately, a quiet, brooding energy clinging to him like a second skin. It wasn't his usual playful, mischievous darkness, but something heavier, more introspective. They had learned not to push, to give him the space he needed to untangle whatever thoughts were knotting themselves up in his mind. Still, they couldn't help the worry that niggled at the back of their mind, a persistent, unwelcome guest.

Finally, he stopped typing, letting out a long, weary sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was so familiar it was almost comforting. He turned to look at them, his expression unreadable in the dim light, but his eyes, those deep, fathomless eyes, held a flicker of something... nervous?

"I have something for you," he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that sent a shiver down their spine.

He stood up, crossing the room to the small, antique dresser in the corner. He opened the top drawer, his movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out a small, flat, black box. He held it for a moment, his thumb tracing the velvet surface, before walking back to the bed and holding it out to them.

"What is it?" they asked, their voice a soft, curious whisper.

"Open it and find out," he replied, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.

They took the box, their fingers brushing against his. The touch was electric, a familiar spark that still managed to catch them off guard. They opened the lid, their breath catching in their throat. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a single, exquisitely crafted silver locket. It was shaped like a heart, but it was an unusual, almost anatomical heart, complete with intricate, swirling engravings that looked like veins.

"It's... beautiful," they breathed, lifting it from the box. It was cool and heavy in their palm, a solid, tangible piece of his darkness.

"Open it," he urged, his voice a low, encouraging murmur.

With trembling fingers, they found the small, almost invisible clasp. The locket sprang open, revealing not pictures, but two tiny, perfectly preserved flowers. On one side was a single, midnight-black rose petal, so dark it was almost black. On the other was a delicate, white lily of the valley.

"The rose is for me," he explained, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. "The lily is for you. A reminder that even in the darkest of places, there is light. There is... us."

Tears welled in their eyes, a hot, overwhelming rush of emotion. It was the most thoughtful, most perfect gift anyone had ever given them. It was a piece of him, a piece of them, a tangible symbol of their strange, beautiful, unlikely love.

"I... I don't know what to say," they stammered, their voice thick with emotion.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped and traced a path down their cheek. "Just... let me put it on you."

They turned around, lifting their hair. He fastened the clasp, his fingers cool and gentle against their neck. The locket settled against their chest, a comforting, heavy weight. They reached up, their fingers closing around it, a silent promise.

"I have something for you too," they said, turning back to face him.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"I wanted to," they insisted, reaching into their pocket and pulling out a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper. It wasn't wrapped in a fancy box or tied with a ribbon. It was just a piece of paper, but what was on it was more precious than anything money could buy.

They handed it to him. It was a sketch, a drawing they had done in a quiet moment when he was asleep. It was a portrait of him.

He stared at the drawing for a long time, his expression unreadable. He traced the lines of his own face with his thumb, his touch almost reverent. When he finally looked up, his eyes were shining with an unshed tears, a raw, agonizing vulnerability that he so rarely let anyone see.

"You see me," he breathed, his voice a hoarse, broken whisper. "You really see me."

"Always," they replied, their hand coming up to cup his cheek, their thumb gently stroking his skin.

He closed his eyes, leaning into their touch, a deep, shuddering sigh escaping his lips. He set the drawing aside, his hands coming up to frame their face, his thumbs gently stroking their cheekbones. He leaned in and captured their lips in a slow, tender kiss.

It was a kiss that was a thousand conversations, a thousand unspoken feelings. It was a kiss of gratitude, of acceptance, of a love that was so deep and so profound it defied logic. It was a kiss that said, "Thank you for seeing the light in my darkness."

When they finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against theirs, his eyes still closed. "I love you," he murmured, his voice a low, sincere confession. "More than you could ever know."

"I love you too," they replied, their hand coming up to rest on his chest, over his heart. "More than you could ever know."

He opened his eyes, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his lips. He reached down, his fingers gently closing around the locket that rested against their chest.

And in that moment, in the quiet, gloomy room, with the flickering light of the laptop casting long, dancing shadows on the walls, they knew that this was what true love felt like. It wasn't about grand gestures or expensive gifts. It was about seeing the person behind the persona, about finding the light in the darkness, and about creating a beautiful, perfect world that belonged only to them.

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A/N: I changed some people on days cause I changed my mind haha so here is day seventeen with Markiplier (getting caught up on this againnn)

June Event

Contains: fluff, mark and reader having a cute moment, yes I know mark is scared of the ocean haha, mark being silly

The California sun was high and brilliant, turning the vast expanse of the Pacific into a shimmering canvas of diamonds. The rhythmic crash of waves was a soothing, constant soundtrack to the perfect beach day. Mark had found a relatively secluded spot, far enough from the main crowds to afford them some privacy, and had just finished wrestling a large, striped umbrella into the sand.

He stood back, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a triumphant grin on his face. "Behold!" he announced with a flourish, gesturing to the patch of shade. "The Fortress of Solitude. Now we can begin the arduous task of doing absolutely nothing."

She laughed from her spot on the large beach towel, already slathered in sunscreen. "You make it sound so dramatic. It's just sitting, Mark."

"Ah, but it's an art form," he countered, plopping down onto the towel beside her with a comical grunt. He immediately grabbed the sunscreen bottle. "Now, for the most important part of the day. Operation: Save the Pastiest Man in California." He squeezed a generous dollop into his palm and began to meticulously apply it to his arms, his expression one of intense concentration.

She watched him with a fond smile. It was one of the things she loved most about him—his ability to turn the simplest moments into a performance, his infectious enthusiasm that made even the most mundane activities feel like an adventure.

"Need help with your back?" she offered.

"Always," he said, handing her the bottle and turning around. She carefully rubbed the white lotion into his shoulders and back, her fingers tracing the familiar lines of his muscles. He hummed in contentment, a low, happy sound that vibrated through his chest. "You're good at that. You should consider a career in professional sunscreen application."

"I'll add it to my resume," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Once they were both sufficiently protected from the sun's rays, they settled into their designated spot of relaxation. For a while, they just sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves, the warm breeze a welcome relief from the heat. Mark pulled out his phone, scrolling through it for a moment before setting it aside with a sigh.

"Nope," he said decisively. "No work today. No emails. No social media. Just... this." He gestured to the ocean, the sky, and then to her. "Us."

Her heart did a little flutter. "I like that plan."

They spent the next hour in a state of blissful laziness, dozing off and on, sharing a bag of chips, and pointing out shapes in the clouds. He told her a ridiculous story about a seagull he was convinced was plotting to steal their snacks, complete with dramatic voices and sound effects. She laughed until her sides hurt, the sound of her laughter mingling with the cry of the gulls and the roar of the ocean.

Eventually, the call of the water became too strong to resist. "I'm going in," she announced, standing up and stretching.

"Race you!" he yelled, already scrambling to his feet.

He had a head start, but she was faster. She squealed as she ran towards the surf, the hot sand giving way to the cool, wet-packed shore. He caught up to her just as the first wave crashed around their ankles, the shock of the cold water making them both gasp and laugh.

"You cheated!" he accused, splashing a handful of water at her.

"You're just a sore loser!" she retorted, splashing him back.

What followed was an all-out water war, a chaotic, giggling mess of splashing, dodging, and trying to knock each other over. He was surprisingly strong, but she was quick and agile. He finally managed to catch her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off her feet, spinning her around in the waist-deep water.

"Yield!" he commanded, his voice a triumphant boom.

"Never!" she laughed, struggling playfully in his grasp.

He set her down, but he didn't let her go. He just held her, his arms wrapped around her waist, their bodies swaying gently in the gentle swell of the waves. The laughter subsided, replaced by a comfortable, intimate silence. He looked down at her, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, his brown eyes soft and full of a love so deep it took her breath away.

"I love you," he said, his voice a low, sincere murmur, the words almost lost in the sound of the surf.

"I love you too," she replied, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palm.

He leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, salty kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of sunscreen and the ocean and a profound, unshakeable happiness. It was a kiss that said, "This is it. This is what life is all about."

When they finally emerged from the water, shivering and exhilarated, the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach. They wrapped themselves in towels and sat huddled together under their umbrella, watching as the sky turned from brilliant blue to soft pink and fiery orange.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the clouds in breathtaking shades of purple and gold, Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips. It had been a perfect day, a simple, beautiful day filled with laughter, love, and the timeless rhythm of the ocean.

"Thank you for today," she whispered, her voice soft with emotion.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his chin resting on her hair. "Any day with you is a good day," he replied, his voice a low, rumbling purr. "But this one... this one was pretty great."

And as they sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, watching the last vestiges of light fade from the sky, they knew that this was what they would remember. Not the grand gestures or the extraordinary moments, but the simple, perfect days. The days that felt like sunshine on their skin and salt in their hair, a beautiful, tangible reminder of a love that was as vast and as deep as the ocean itself.

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A\n: here is day sixteen with guzma!

June Event

Contains: fluff, guzma being his grumpy self, dancing in the rain, guzma also being a big softy for reader

The sky over Po Town had been threatening to break all day, a thick, oppressive blanket of grey clouds that hung low and heavy, mirroring the town's perpetual state of disrepair. The air was thick and humid, smelling of wet pavement and the salty tang of the nearby sea. She had been helping Guzma with a "project," which mostly consisted of him grumbling about a rusted-out engine part while she handed him tools and tried not to get in the way.

Then, it happened. The first drop of rain was a fat, heavy thing that landed squarely on her nose. Then another, and another, until the sky opened up in a sudden, torrential downpour. The water came down in sheets, turning the dusty streets of Po Town into a muddy, rushing river.

"Shit," Guzma grumbled, wiping a hand over his face, his white hair already plastered to his forehead. "Figures. C'mon, let's get inside before we get soaked."

He made a move towards the Shady House, but she didn't follow. Instead, she stood there, head tilted back, a wide, genuine smile spreading across her face as the cool rain washed over her. It was a refreshing, cleansing feeling, a wild, untamed moment of joy in a place that so often felt suffocating.

Guzma stopped at the door, turning back to look at her. He watched her for a moment, his expression a mixture of annoyance and something else, something softer. "What are you doin'? You gonna catch a cold out here."

"Come dance with me," she said, her voice a cheerful, impulsive invitation over the roar of the rain.

He stared at her as if she'd just grown a second head. "Dance? In the rain? Are you nuts?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, a gesture that was meant to be intimidating but was slightly undermined by the water dripping from the tip of his nose. "Guzma don't dance. 'Specially not in no stupid rain."

"Please?" she pleaded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She held out a hand to him, a silent challenge. "Just one dance."

He hesitated, his gaze flicking from her outstretched hand to her smiling face. He grumbled something under his breath, a string of curses and protests, but then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he pushed himself away from the door and stomped back towards her.

"This is stupid," he muttered, but he took her hand anyway, his grip surprisingly gentle. "And if I get sick, you're gonna be the one takin' care of me."

"Deal," she laughed, pulling him into the middle of the muddy street.

He was stiff and awkward at first, his movements clumsy and uncertain. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, his lanky limbs flailing about in a way that was more comical than graceful. But she didn't mind. She just laughed, a bright, happy sound that seemed to cut through the gloom of the town, and guided him, her hands on his shoulders, swaying to a rhythm only they could hear.

Slowly, he began to relax. The hard, angry lines around his eyes softened, and a genuine, albeit slightly reluctant, smile touched his lips. He started to move with her, his clumsy movements becoming more confident, more fluid. He wasn't a great dancer, but he was trying, and that was all that mattered.

The rain continued to pour down, soaking them to the bone, but they didn't care. They were lost in their own little world, a bubble of joy and laughter in the middle of the rundown town. He spun her around, a surprisingly graceful move that made her squeal with delight, and then pulled her back against his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"You're insane, you know that?" he said, his voice a low, affectionate rumble against her ear.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "But you're here with me."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just held her, his chin resting on top of her head, his gaze fixed on the grey, weeping sky. He was the Big Bad Boss of Team Skull, a man who built his reputation on fear and intimidation. But here, in the middle of a rain-soaked street, with this girl in his arms, he was just Guzma. A lost, lonely boy who had found a reason to smile.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. "I am."

He leaned down and captured her lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of rain and a newfound sense of hope, a kiss that was a silent promise of a future that wasn't quite as bleak as it seemed. It was a kiss that said, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

When they finally pulled away, the rain had started to let up, the downpour softening into a gentle, misty drizzle. The sun was beginning to break through the clouds, casting a weak, golden light over the town. It was the closest thing to a rainbow Po Town was likely to get.

"We should probably get inside," she said, her voice a soft, contented murmur.

"Yeah," he agreed, but he didn't let her go. He just held her for a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her in his arms. Then, with a sigh, he took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers, and led her towards the Shady House.

They were soaked and muddy, their clothes dripping onto the floor, but they didn't care. They had danced in the rain, and in doing so, they had washed away some of the grime and the sadness, leaving behind the faint, shimmering promise of a new beginning.

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A/N: here is day fifteen! With Taylor swift! You know the rules this is real person fiction, don't like don't read. All hate will be removed,or you will just be blocked :) and any hate towards Taylor herself will be removed! (I'm a swiftie soo)

June Event

Contains: fluff, Taylor and reader being cute, Taylor singing I reader, gender neutral reader, just tooth rotting fluff

The late afternoon sun was a warm, golden blanket, draping itself over the sprawling green expanse of Central Park. It was one of those perfect New York days, where the air was crisp, the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the city's usual cacophony seemed to soften into a gentle, distant hum. Tucked away in a secluded spot, shielded by a cluster of ancient oak trees, was a picture-perfect picnic, a scene straight out of a dream.

A vintage-style wicker basket sat open on a soft, checkered blanket, revealing an assortment of artisanal cheeses, fresh fruit, and a bottle of sparkling cider chilling in an ice bucket. Taylor sat cross-legged on the blanket, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, her blonde hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. She was laughing, a genuine, unguarded sound that was more beautiful than any melody she'd ever composed.

They watched her, their heart swelling with a fondness so profound it was almost overwhelming. It was in moments like these, when the world was shut out and it was just the two of them, that they felt the true depth of their connection. She wasn't a global superstar, a cultural icon, or a lyrical genius. She was just Taylor, their Taylor, with a smear of raspberry jam on her cheek and a twinkle in her eye that was reserved only for them.

"You're staring," she said, her voice a playful, melodic lilt. She took a bite of a strawberry, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Can you blame me?" they replied, reaching out to gently wipe the jam from her cheek with their thumb. "You're kind of breathtaking."

She blushed, a delicate pink rising to her cheeks, a sight that never failed to make their stomach do a little flip. She leaned into their touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment. "You're just saying that because I brought your favorite cookies."

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt," they conceded with a grin, picking up a chocolate chip cookie from the basket. "But I'd still think you were breathtaking even if you'd brought stale crackers and tap water."

She laughed, that same beautiful, unguarded sound. "Good to know. I'll keep that in mind for our next date."

They spent the next hour in a state of blissful contentment, sharing food and stories, their conversation flowing as easily as the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves overhead. They talked about everything and nothing, about the new song she was working on, about the book they were reading, about their shared dreams for the future. It was easy, comfortable, a familiar dance of words and silences that they had perfected over time.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long, dancing shadows across the grass, Taylor grew quiet. She put down her half-eaten apple, her expression turning thoughtful. She reached into the basket and pulled out her trusty guitar, its worn wooden body a testament to the countless stories it had helped her tell.

"I wrote something for you," she said softly, her eyes meeting theirs. "It's not finished yet, but... I wanted you to hear it."

Their breath caught in their throat. She had written songs for them before, snippets of melodies and lyrics that would find their way into her next album, but this felt different. This felt private, sacred.

She didn't wait for a response. She settled the guitar in her lap, her fingers finding the familiar frets. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then she began to play. The melody was simple, sweet, and achingly beautiful. It was a love song, but it wasn't the kind of grand, sweeping epic she was known for. It was small, intimate, a quiet confession set to music.

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she sang about stolen moments in crowded rooms, about the comfort of a shared silence, about the simple, profound joy of finding a home in another person's heart. She sang about them, about the way they laughed, about the way they saw her, the real her, beneath all the glitter and the glamour.

As she sang, a single tear escaped and traced a path down their cheek. They weren't sad tears. They were tears of overwhelming gratitude, of a love so pure and so deep it felt like a physical force. They watched her, her face illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun, her expression one of pure, unadulterated joy. She was giving them a piece of her soul, a melody that was theirs and theirs alone.

When she finished, the last note hung in the air, a fragile, perfect sound. She opened her eyes, a shy, hopeful smile on her lips. "So... what do you think?"

They couldn't speak. They simply closed the distance between them, cupping her face in their hands and kissing her with all the love and adoration they felt in their heart. It was a slow, tender kiss, a silent thank you for the beautiful gift she had just given them.

When they finally pulled away, her eyes were shining. "I'll take that as a good review," she teased, her voice thick with emotion.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," they said, their voice a hoarse, emotional whisper. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

She blushed again, that same delicate pink, and set her guitar aside. She snuggled into their arms, her head resting on their shoulder, her body fitting against theirs as if it had been made just for them. They sat there in comfortable silence, watching the sky turn from gold to pink to a deep, velvety purple, the city lights beginning to twinkle in the distance.

"Thank you for this," they murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Thank you for being you," she replied, her voice a sleepy, contented murmur. "You make all the noise go away."

And as they sat there, wrapped in each other's arms under the vast, star-dusted sky, they knew that this was what happiness felt like. It wasn't a grand gesture or a fairytale ending. It was a quiet picnic in the park, a simple melody, and the profound, unshakeable certainty that they had found their forever in each other's arms.

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A/N: here is day fourteen!! This is real person fiction, if you don't like it just scroll. Any hate if any kind will be deleted or you will just be blocked depending on my mood. So, just scroll! Thankssss, the other days will come soon!

June Event

Contains: smut, makeup sex after an argument, gender neutral reader, Jack when he had his green hair in mind! Soft sex

The silence in the apartment was a physical presence, a heavy, suffocating blanket that had settled over everything hours ago. It was the kind of silence that came after a fight, sharp and acrid, filled with all the things that were said and all the things that were left unsaid. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, a chasm of plush grey fabric between them, the glow of the television providing the only light, painting their faces in shifting, somber colors.

Sean, or Jacksepticeye as the world knew him, was slumped against the armrest, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He hadn't looked at them in over an hour. His bright green hair, usually so vibrant and full of life, seemed dull under the dim light, a reflection of the mood that had settled over him. The argument had been stupid, a pointless clash of stress and miscommunication that had spiraled out of control, leaving behind a wreckage of hurt feelings and harsh words.

They watched him from their end of the couch, their heart aching with a familiar mixture of guilt and longing. They hated fighting with him, hated the way his laughter would vanish, replaced by this heavy, brooding quiet. He was a man who felt things so deeply, his emotions a vibrant, chaotic storm, and when that storm turned inward, it was a painful thing to witness.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, they moved. They slid across the couch, the small distance feeling like a mile. They stopped just short of touching him, giving him space, letting him feel their presence without feeling cornered.

"Sean," they said softly, their voice barely a whisper.

He flinched, a subtle tightening of his shoulders, but he didn't look up. "What?" His voice was rough, raw.

"I'm sorry," they said, the words a fragile offering in the heavy quiet. "What I said... it was unfair. I was stressed and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

He was silent for a long moment, his head still buried in his hands. They could see the tension in his back, the rigid line of his spine. They waited, their heart pounding, giving him the time he needed to process, to decide whether to let them in or to push them away.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and weary. He looked at them, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze made their chest ache. "I'm sorry too," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I overreacted. I know you're stressed. I just... I hate it when we fight."

"I know," they said, reaching out a hesitant hand, their fingers gently brushing against his arm. "Me too."

He didn't pull away. Instead, he seemed to lean into their touch, a silent invitation. Encouraged, they moved closer, closing the remaining distance between them. They wrapped their arms around him, pulling him into a tight, comforting embrace. For a moment, he was stiff, unyielding, but then, with a shuddering sigh, he melted into their arms, his face burying in the crook of their neck.

They held him like that for a long time, their hands stroking his back in a soothing, rhythmic motion. They could feel the frantic, uneven beat of his heart against their chest, a frantic drum that slowly began to soften under their touch.

"I love you," they whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. "So much."

"I love you too," he mumbled against their skin, his voice muffled, thick with unshed tears. "More than anything."

He lifted his head, his eyes searching theirs. The storm in his gaze had passed, replaced by a deep, aching tenderness. He raised a hand, his fingers gently tracing the line of their jaw, his touch a reverent, healing balm. He leaned in and captured their lips in a slow, tender kiss.

It was a kiss of apology, of forgiveness, of a love that was strong enough to withstand the occasional storm. It was gentle and sweet, a stark contrast to the harsh words they had exchanged earlier. But as the kiss deepened, a new kind of urgency began to build, a desperate need to bridge the emotional distance that had opened up between them, to reaffirm their connection in the most primal way possible.

He shifted, turning to face them fully, his hands coming up to cup their face, his thumbs gently stroking their cheeks. The kiss grew in intensity, his tongue tracing the seam of their lips, seeking entrance. They opened for him, their arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The television was forgotten, the world outside their apartment ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, the soft glow of the screen, and the overwhelming, all-consuming love that pulsed between them.

He pulled them into his lap, their legs straddling his thighs, his arms wrapping tightly around their waist. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against theirs, his breathing ragged. "I need you," he breathed, his voice a low, desperate whisper. "Right now."

"I'm yours," they replied, their hands sliding down his chest, their fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt.

He stood up, lifting them effortlessly, his arms wrapped securely around their waist. He carried them to the bedroom, his steps sure and determined. He laid them down on the bed, his body covering theirs, his weight a welcome, grounding presence. He looked down at them, his eyes dark with desire, but also with a deep, abiding love that took their breath away.

He took his time, his movements slow and deliberate. He peeled away their clothes, his lips following the path of his hands, worshiping every inch of newly exposed skin with kisses and soft nips. He was trying to erase the memory of the fight, to replace the sting of harsh words with the healing touch of love. He paid attention to every gasp, every shiver, learning what made them arch into his touch, what made their breath hitch.

When they were both bare, he paused, his gaze sweeping over them. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, the words a reverent whisper.

He settled between their thighs, his hardness pressing against them, a promise of what was to come. He reached down, his fingers finding them, testing their readiness. They were more than ready, slick with desire, and they bucked their hips, a silent plea for more.

He lined himself up, his eyes locking with theirs. "Look at me," he commanded softly. "I want to see you."

He entered them in one slow, smooth thrust, filling them completely. They both gasped at the sensation, a perfect, overwhelming fullness that was both exhilarating and deeply intimate. He paused, giving them a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed against theirs again.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

They could only nod, their hands gripping his shoulders, their nails digging into his skin. "Move," they breathed. "Please, Sean, move."

He began to move, his hips setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was deep and measured, designed to hit every sensitive spot, to draw out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. It wasn't frantic or desperate; it was a deep, soulful connection, a physical manifestation of the emotional bond they had just reaffirmed.

The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—the soft slap of skin against skin, their ragged breaths, and the quiet moans and words of encouragement they whispered to each other. He watched them the entire time, his eyes never leaving theirs, his expression a mixture of awe and raw, unadulterated pleasure.

He shifted his angle slightly, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through them. "There," they gasped. "Right there."

He obliged, hitting that spot again and again, his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little harder. The tension coiled deep within them, a tight knot of pleasure that was winding tighter and tighter with every movement. They could feel their release building, a wave that was poised to crash over them.

"Let go," he urged, his voice a low growl. "I've got you."

His words were their undoing. With a cry, they shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over them in a powerful, all-consuming rush. Their body clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with them. He groaned their name, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into them with a final, deep thrust.

He collapsed against them, his weight a welcome, grounding presence. They lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in a frantic, synchronized rhythm. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling them into his arms and tucking them against his chest.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to their forehead, his lips lingering against their skin. "I'm never fighting with you again," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

They laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest. "We both know that's not true," they replied, a smile on their lips. "But I'll always be here to make up with you."

He tightened his arms around them, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Good," he agreed. "Because I don't know what I'd do without you."

And as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, the heavy silence of the apartment had been replaced by a comfortable, peaceful quiet, a testament to the fact that even the strongest storms could end in a beautiful, healing calm.

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A/N: here is day thirteen!!

June Event

Contains: smut, piv, Sanemi is desperate, Sanemi also being emotional towards the end, rough sex

The air in the small, sparsely furnished room was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic. Sanemi Shinazugawa stood with his back to her, his shoulders rigid, his white haori stained crimson and torn. He had just returned from a particularly brutal mission, one that had pushed him to his limits and beyond. He hadn't said a word since he'd stumbled through the door, his usual gruff silence replaced by a heavy, oppressive quiet that was far more unnerving.

She watched him from the doorway, her heart aching with a mixture of relief and profound sorrow. He was alive. That was the only thing that mattered. But the cost of his survival was written all over him—in the deep exhaustion that etched lines around his eyes, in the slight tremor in his hands, and in the dark, volatile energy that radiated from him in waves.

He had cleaned his wounds with a methodical, detached precision, his movements economical and efficient. Now, he was just standing there, staring at the wall as if it held the answers to questions he couldn't bring himself to ask. He was a man haunted by the ghosts of his past and the weight of his present, a man who carried the burden of his duty like a physical wound.

"Sanemi," she said softly, her voice a gentle whisper in the quiet room.

He didn't turn around. "Go to bed," he growled, his voice rough, strained. "I'm fine."

"You're not," she countered, taking a cautious step into the room. "Let me help."

"I don't need your help," he snarled, his voice laced with a familiar, defensive anger. "I'm not a child."

"I know you're not," she said, her voice still soft, still gentle. She moved closer, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched away from her touch as if he'd been burned, his head whipping around to glare at her. His eyes were wild, a turbulent storm of anger, pain, and a desperate, gnawing hunger. "Don't touch me," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I'm not in the mood."

She didn't back down. She knew him too well. She knew his anger was a shield, a wall he built around himself to keep the world at bay, to keep the pain at bay. But she also knew what lay beneath that wall—a deep, abiding loneliness and a desperate need for connection, for comfort, for something to hold onto.

"You don't have to be strong with me," she said, her eyes meeting his, her gaze unwavering. "You don't have to be the Wind Hashira right now. You can just be Sanemi."

Her words seemed to break something in him. The anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by a raw, agonizing vulnerability that was so much more terrifying. He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, with a guttural, broken sound, he closed the distance between them in two long strides. He didn't kiss her. He didn't speak. He simply grabbed her, his hands roughly gripping her arms, and slammed her back against the wall. His mouth crashed down on hers, a brutal, desperate kiss that was more of a collision than a caress.

It was a kiss born of desperation, a raw, primal act of seeking solace. It tasted of blood and unshed tears, of rage and a profound, soul-deep weariness. His hands were everywhere, tearing at her clothes, his grip bruisingly tight, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

"Sanemi," she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Don't talk," he snarled against her lips, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Just... don't talk."

He yanked her yukata open, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks that would be a painful, beautiful reminder of this moment. He was rough, almost violent, his touch a desperate, hungry plea for something he couldn't name.

He fumbled with his own pants, yanking them down just enough to free himself. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and pinning her against the wall. He didn't give her a moment to prepare before he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, unrelenting thrust.

She cried out, a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure, her nails digging into his broad shoulders. He didn't apologize. He didn't slow down. He set a punishing pace, his hips pistoning into her with a force that stole her breath. Each thrust was deep and hard, a desperate, frantic rhythm that spoke of a man on the edge, a man clinging to the one good thing in his life.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his harsh, ragged breaths hot against her skin. She could feel the tremor that ran through his body, the barely suppressed tremors of a man pushed to his breaking point. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tight, her body a willing vessel for his pain, his anger, his desperation.

"Look at me," she commanded, her voice a soft, firm whisper.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. They were filled with a raw, agonizing pain, a desperate plea for something he couldn't articulate. She saw the broken little boy who had lost everything, the man who had sacrificed his own humanity for the sake of others, the warrior who was so, so tired.

"It's okay," she whispered, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I've got you. Let me have you."

Her words were his undoing. With a choked sob, he shattered, his rhythm faltering as the dam of his emotions finally broke. He wasn't the Wind Hashira anymore. He wasn't a demon slayer. He was just Sanemi. A man who was hurting, a man who was lost, a man who was desperate for a moment of peace.

He found his release a moment later, his hips stuttering as he spilled into her with a final, deep groan. He collapsed against her, his full weight pinning her to the wall, his face buried in her hair. His body shook with the force of his silent sobs, his shoulders heaving with the weight of his unshed tears.

She held him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her hands stroking his back in a soothing, rhythmic motion. She didn't speak. She didn't offer empty platitudes. She just held him, offering him the one thing he needed most in that moment: her unwavering, unconditional presence.

After a long time, his sobs subsided, replaced by a quiet, exhausted stillness. He lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and raw. He looked at her, a flicker of shame in his gaze, but she just smiled, a soft, gentle smile that was full of love and understanding.

He leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, tender kiss, a stark contrast to the brutal desperation of their earlier encounter. It was a kiss of gratitude, of apology, of a love that was too deep for words.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a hoarse, broken whisper.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she replied, her hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing, a deep, weary sigh escaping his lips. In the quiet of the room, with the scent of blood and antiseptic still lingering in the air, he had finally found his peace. He had found his anchor. He had found his home.

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A/N: day twelve!! This was requested by my good bestie @peachymilkandcream she wanted this day for Levi!!

Contains: public sex, piv unprotected sex, rough sex in a supply closet, Levi being rough at first, soft in the end

June Event

The corridor of the Survey Corps headquarters was unnervingly quiet, the kind of hushed stillness that only fell over the building in the dead of night. Most of the soldiers were asleep, exhausted from a day of grueling training. She, however, was wide awake, her mind buzzing with restless energy. She had gone looking for Levi, knowing he was likely still awake, buried in paperwork in his office.

She found him not in his office, but in the supply closet near the west wing. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. She pushed it open to find him meticulously organizing medical supplies, his movements precise and economical even in this mundane task.

"Levi," she said, her voice a soft whisper.

He didn't startle. He never did. He simply finished bandaging a roll of gauze before turning his head, his sharp grey eyes pinning her in place. "What are you doing wandering around at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, stepping into the small, cramped space. The air smelled of antiseptic and old paper, and the single lantern on the shelf cast long, dancing shadows. "I was looking for you."

He grunted in response, turning back to his task. "I'm busy."

"I can see that," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. She moved closer, her fingers lightly tracing the spine of a leather-bound medical journal on the shelf. "You work too hard, Captain."

He stiffened at her proximity, his shoulders tensing. "Don't call me that. Not here." He finally turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable. "You should be in bed."

"I'd rather be here," she replied, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. She closed the remaining distance between them, her hand coming to rest on his chest, over his heart. "With you."

He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "This is a supply closet," he stated, his voice a low, warning growl. "Anyone could walk in."

"Then we'll have to be quiet," she challenged, her eyes locking with his. She saw the flicker of desire in his gaze, the raw, hungry need he tried so hard to suppress. It was a look she was intimately familiar with, one that never failed to make her stomach clench with anticipation.

He cursed under his breath, a low, guttural sound. For a moment, she thought he would push her away, that his legendary self-control would win out. But then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he slammed her back against the closed door, his body pressing hers into the hard wood. He crashed his lips against hers, a brutal, demanding kiss that was all teeth and tongue.

It wasn't gentle or sweet; it was a desperate, hungry act of possession. His hands were everywhere, tearing at the buttons of her shirt, his grip bruisingly tight on her hips. He yanked her shirt open, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks that would be difficult to hide tomorrow.

"Levi," she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. "Someone could hear."

"Then you'd better be quiet," he snarled against her skin, his hands roughly kneading her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra. He deftly unclasped it, tossing it aside before his mouth closed over a peaked nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

She cried out, quickly biting her lip to stifle the sound. He was relentless, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive her to the brink of insanity. He fumbled with the laces on her trousers, yanking them and her panties down in one rough motion. He kicked her feet apart, his hand moving between her thighs, his fingers finding her slick and ready for him.

"You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice a low, triumphant purr. "Such a naughty girl, wanting me to fuck you in a closet."

She could only moan in response, her hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, a low, wicked sound, before withdrawing his fingers. He quickly undid his own pants, his hard, thick cock springing free. He hooked one of her legs around his waist, lining himself up at her entrance.

He didn't give her a moment to prepare before he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. She cried out, a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure, her nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He didn't give her time to adjust. He set a punishing pace, his hips pistoning into her with a force that rattled the very door she was pinned against. Each thrust was deep and hard, hitting a place deep inside her that made her see stars. The sounds of their rough coupling filled the small closet—the slap of skin against skin, her ragged breaths, and his guttural groans.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your face when you come."

She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his. His eyes were dark, almost feral, his face a mask of raw, unadulterated lust. The sight of him, so lost in his desire for her, was her undoing. The tension coiled deep within her, a tight knot of pleasure that was winding tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust.

"Levi," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm... I'm close."

"Come for me," he commanded, his thrusts becoming even harder, more erratic. "Come all over my cock. Now."

His words were the final push she needed. With a muffled scream against his shoulder, she shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over her in a powerful, all-consuming rush. Her body clenched around him, her vision going white as the orgasm ripped through her.

He followed her over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into her with a final, deep groan. He collapsed against her, his weight pinning her to the door, his forehead resting against hers. They were both panting, their bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and antiseptic.

After a moment, he pushed himself up, setting her gently on her feet. He tucked himself back into his pants, then reached down to pick up her discarded clothes, handing them to her without a word.

She dressed quickly, her legs feeling like jelly. She leaned against the door for support, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their rough encounter. He watched her, his expression unreadable, his usual stoic mask back in place.

"Now," he said, his voice a low, lazy drawl. "Get back to your room before someone finds you."

She couldn't help but smile, a wide, satisfied smile on her face. "Yes, sir," she replied, her voice laced with a playful sarcasm.

He rolled his eyes, but she saw the faint hint of a smile on his lips. She opened the door, peeking out into the empty hallway before giving him a final, lingering glance. He was already turning back to his supplies, his movements once again precise and economical, as if nothing had happened. But she knew better. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, the taste of his kiss on her lips, and the memory of a night spent in a supply closet with humanity's strongest soldier.

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A/N: this one is for the fiancé as the eleventh of June was his one year on T!! I decided to have it to where the reader has top and bottom surgery as well!

Contains: smut, trans masc reader, shower sex, handjob (giving and receiving), soft leon

June Event

The steam of the shower had already turned the small bathroom into a warm, hazy fog, clinging to the tile walls and clouding the mirror. It was in this private, humid world that he stood, letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders and down his back. The steady spray was a comforting pressure, a physical sensation that helped anchor him in his body, a body that was finally, truly, starting to feel like his own.

The sound of the shower door sliding open was barely audible over the rush of water, but he didn't need to hear it to know Leon was there. He felt the shift in the air, the familiar, comforting presence that filled every space he occupied. A moment later, strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a firm, solid chest.

"Mind if I join you?" Leon's voice was a low, warm murmur against his ear, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He leaned his head back against Leon's shoulder, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Not at all," he replied, his own voice relaxed and happy. "I was hoping you would."

Leon's hands, warm and calloused from years of training, began to roam, tracing the contours of his stomach, his hips, his chest. There was no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty. It was a touch born of deep, unwavering love and acceptance. It was the touch of a man who saw him, all of him, and cherished every inch.

"Happy anniversary," Leon whispered, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

He smiled, his heart swelling with a profound, overwhelming affection. "Happy one year on T," he corrected softly, turning his head to capture Leon's lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, a tender affirmation of their love and this incredible milestone. But as the water continued to pour over them, it began to deepen, growing in intensity. Leon's hands became more purposeful, one sliding up to cup his jaw, tilting his head for better access, while the other drifted lower, tracing the happy trail that led down from his navel.

He could feel Leon's arousal pressing against his lower back, a hard, insistent presence that made his own body respond in kind. He arched his back slightly, a silent invitation that Leon was quick to accept.

Leon's mouth left his, trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his shoulders. His hands were more deliberate now, one stroking his chest, his fingers gently teasing his nipples, while the other wrapped around his hardening cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke.

"Leon," he breathed, his head falling back against Leon's shoulder, his hands coming up to grip the back of Leon's neck.

"I've got you," Leon murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "Just let me take care of you."

And he did. Leon's touch was a masterful blend of tenderness and raw, unadulterated desire. He knew his body better than anyone, knew exactly how to touch him, how to stroke him, how to drive him to the brink of madness. He pumped his cock with a steady, rhythmic pace, his thumb swiping over the head to spread the leaking pre-cum.

"Please," he gasped, his hips bucking into Leon's hand. "I need you."

"I know," Leon replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I need you too."

He turned in Leon's arms, his hands coming up to cup his face, pulling him into another deep, desperate kiss. He could feel the raw love and pride pouring off of him, a powerful, intoxicating force. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Leon's thick, heavy cock, stroking him in time with the rhythm Leon had set on him.

They stood there for a long moment, lost in the pleasure of each other's touch, their bodies slick with soap and water, their mouths locked in a passionate embrace. The world outside the shower ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, the steam, and the overwhelming love they shared.

Finally, Leon broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "Turn around," he commanded softly.

He obeyed, placing his hands flat against the cool tile wall for support. He felt Leon's hands on his hips, positioning him, and then the blunt head of his cock nudging against his entrance. He took a deep breath, bracing himself as Leon slowly pushed into him, filling him inch by inch.

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect, burning stretch that was both intensely pleasurable and deeply intimate. He moaned, his forehead resting against the cool tile as Leon gave him a moment to adjust.

"Okay?" Leon asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

"More than okay," he breathed. "Move."

Leon began to move, his hips setting a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust was deep and measured, designed to hit every sensitive spot, to draw out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. The sound of their lovemaking filled the small bathroom—the slap of wet skin against skin, their ragged breaths, and the quiet moans and words of encouragement they whispered to each other.

One of Leon's hands wrapped around his waist, finding his cock again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was incredible, a sensory overload that sent him spiraling towards the edge.

"Come for me," Leon urged, his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you."

His words were his undoing. With a cry, he shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over him in a powerful, all-consuming rush. His body clenched around Leon, his vision going white as the orgasm ripped through him.

Leon followed him over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into him with a final, deep groan. He collapsed against his back, his weight a welcome, grounding presence. They lay tangled together for a long moment, the water from the shower washing over them, their hearts pounding in a frantic, synchronized rhythm.

After a moment, Leon pushed himself up, turning him around and pulling him into a tight, tender embrace. He rested his head against Leon's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a feeling of profound peace settling over him.

"I love you so much," Leon murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for being here with me."

"Always," Leon promised, his arms tightening around him. "Through everything."

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms under the warm spray of the shower, he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his soul, that there was no one else he would rather have by his side on this incredible journey.

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A/N: here is day ten with Sukuna! Yes I realise the man probably has two dicks but I couldn't be bothered writing it next time I write smut for him I will😭😭 and yes I realise I'm VERY late with the days. Blame my ADHD guys haha. So expect a butt load of posts

Contains: smut, rough morning sex, biting, marking, rough fingering, choking, piv unprotected sex

June Event

The first light of dawn was just beginning to creep into the grand chamber, casting long, eerie shadows across the opulent furnishings. She was already awake, but she hadn't moved. Lying beside the sleeping King of Curses was an exercise in stillness, a test of nerve she passed every morning. His presence was a suffocating, terrifying power even in sleep, his four muscular arms sprawled possessively, one resting dangerously close to her throat.

She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the faint twitch of his upper eyes beneath their closed lids. He was a monster, a calamity in human form, and she was his most treasured possession. It was a twisted, horrifying reality, but one she had learned to navigate. Survival depended on understanding his moods, his desires, and the terrifying volatility that lurked just beneath his surface.

A low, rumbling groan broke the pre-dawn silence. His main eyes, the ones that held the terrifying crimson glow, slowly blinked open. They were hazy with sleep for only a moment before sharpening, locking onto her with an immediate, predatory focus. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips, revealing sharp canines.

"Awake already, little one?" he rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. "Eager for something?"

Before she could answer, one of his lower arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard, muscular body. He was already aroused, his thick, imposing length pressing against her thigh, a testament to his insatiable appetites. His other hands began to roam, one tangling in her hair while the other roughly gripped her hip, his touch a possessive brand.

"I seem to have woken up with an... appetite," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his breath hot and unnervingly sweet. "And you look positively delicious."

He didn't wait for a response. He rolled over, pinning her beneath his considerable weight, his thighs forcing hers apart. He was a mountain of muscle and malevolent power, and she was completely at his mercy. He claimed her mouth in a brutal, dominating kiss, his tongue forcing its way past her lips, tasting and possessing. It wasn't a kiss of affection, but a declaration of ownership.

His hands were everywhere, tearing at the thin silk of her nightgown, the fabric ripping like paper under his strength. He growled in satisfaction as her body was exposed to his hungry gaze. His mouth left hers, trailing a path of rough, biting kisses down her neck, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin, leaving a trail of possessive marks in their wake.

"Such a pretty little thing," he growled, one of his hands roughly kneading her breast while the other slid down her stomach, his fingers finding her slick folds. "And all mine."

He didn't bother with foreplay, with gentleness. That wasn't his way. He plunged two fingers into her, his thumb roughly circling her clit. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful, a heady mix of fear and undeniable arousal. She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

"Already so wet for me," he purred, his fingers pumping into her with a ruthless efficiency. "You're a greedy little thing, aren't you? Desperate for your master's touch."

She could only moan in response, her body betraying her mind, her hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, a low, wicked sound, before withdrawing his fingers. He positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against her.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."

She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his terrifying, captivating one. He held her gaze as he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, unrelenting thrust. She cried out, a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure, her nails digging into his back.

He set a punishing pace, his hips pistoning into her with a force that stole her breath. Each thrust was deep and hard, hitting a place deep inside her that made her see stars. The room was filled with the sounds of their rough coupling—the slap of skin against skin, her desperate cries, and his guttural groans. One of his hands gripped her hip, holding her in place, while another wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to be thrillingly terrifying.

"You take me so well," he growled, his voice a low, triumphant purr. "Such a good little pet."

The humiliation of his words mixed with the overwhelming pleasure of his actions, creating a potent cocktail that pushed her closer and closer to the edge. The tension coiled deep within her, a tight knot of ecstasy that was winding tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust.

"Please, Sukuna," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "Please..."

"Please what?" he demanded, his thrusts becoming even harder, more erratic. "Beg for it."

"Please let me come," she begged, her body trembling with need.

"Since you asked so nicely," he purred, his thumb moving to roughly strum her clit.

That was all it took. With a scream, she shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over her in a powerful, all-consuming rush. Her body clenched around him, her vision going white as the orgasm ripped through her.

He followed her over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into her with a final, deep groan. He collapsed against her, his weight a crushing, grounding presence. They were both panting, their bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and raw power.

After a moment, he pushed himself up, his gaze sweeping over her. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips. "A much better way to start the day," he declared, before rolling off of her and getting out of bed.

She lay there, her body aching and bruised, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She watched him as he dressed, his powerful form a terrifying, beautiful sight in the morning light. He was her captor, her tormentor, and the source of her most intense pleasure. He was Ryomen Sukuna. And she was his.

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A/N: here Is day nine!! With eutass kidd! My first time writing him, so hopefully I did him some justice!!

Contains: smut, piv, unprotected sex, rough sex against the wall, kidd being his usual grumpy and rough self

June Event

The hallway of the Victoria Punk was narrow and cramped, the walls reverberating with the distant shouts of the crew and the constant hum of everything. She had been looking for Kidd, wanting to ask him about their next heading, but she found him far sooner than she expected. He was leaning against the wall near the kitchen, his massive arms crossed over his chest, a scowl etched onto his face.

He looked up as she approached, his orange eyes glinting with a mixture of annoyance and something else, something darker and more predatory. "What do you want?" he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floor.

"I was just looking for you," she said, stopping a few feet away. "I wanted to talk about—"

"I don't want to talk," he interrupted, pushing himself off the wall and closing the distance between them in two long strides. He crowded her against the opposite wall, his large frame blocking out the light from the single, bare bulb overhead. "I've been thinking about you all day."

His voice was a low, dangerous growl, and the raw hunger in his eyes sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire straight to her core. This was the Kidd she craved, the one who took what he wanted without apology, the one whose passion was as wild and untamed as the sea itself.

"Kidd, we're in the middle of the hallway," she protested, though her voice was breathless, her body already responding to his proximity.

"I don't care," he snarled, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. "I need you. Now."

He didn't wait for a response. He crashed his lips against hers, a brutal, demanding kiss that was all teeth and tongue. It wasn't gentle or sweet; it was a claiming, a raw, primal act of possession. His hands were everywhere, tearing at her clothes, his grip bruisingly tight on her hips. He yanked her shirt over her head, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks.

"Kidd," she gasped, her hands fisting in his wild, red hair. "Someone could see."

"Let them," he growled against her skin, his hands roughly kneading her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra. "Let them see who you belong to."

He deftly unclasped her bra, tossing it aside before his mouth closed over a peaked nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud. She cried out, her back arching off the wall, her head falling back against the cool metal. He was relentless, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive her to the brink of insanity.

He fumbled with the button on her shorts, yanking them and her panties down in one rough motion. He kicked her feet apart, his hand moving between her thighs, his fingers finding her slick and ready for him. He wasted no time, plunging two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit with a pressure that was almost too much, but not quite.

"You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice a low, triumphant purr. "You like this, don't you? You like me taking you right here, where anyone could see us."

She could only moan in response, her hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, a low, wicked sound, before withdrawing his fingers. He quickly undid his own pants, his hard, thick cock springing free. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and pinning her against the wall.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded.

She obeyed, her legs locking around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. He didn't give her a moment to prepare before he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. She cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, her nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He didn't give her time to adjust. He set a punishing pace, his hips pistoning into her with a force that rattled the very walls of the ship. Each thrust was deep and hard, hitting a place deep inside her that made her see stars. The sounds of their rough coupling filled the narrow hallway—the slap of skin against skin, her desperate cries, and his guttural groans.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your face when you come."

She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his. His eyes were dark, almost feral, his face a mask of raw, unadulterated lust. The sight of him, so lost in his desire for her, was her undoing. The tension coiled deep within her, a tight knot of pleasure that was winding tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust.

"Kidd," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm... I'm close."

"Come for me," he commanded, his thrusts becoming even harder, more erratic. "Come all over my cock."

His words were the final push she needed. With a scream, she shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over her in a powerful, all-consuming rush. Her body clenched around him, her vision going white as the orgasm ripped through her.

He followed her over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into her with a final, deep groan. He collapsed against her, his weight pinning her to the wall, his forehead resting against hers. They were both panting, their bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.

After a moment, he pushed himself up, setting her gently on her feet. He tucked himself back into his pants, then reached down to pick up her discarded clothes, handing them to her without a word.

She dressed quickly, her legs feeling like jelly. She leaned against the wall for support, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their rough encounter. He watched her, his expression unreadable, his usual smirk back in place.

"Now," he said, his voice a low, lazy drawl. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

She couldn't help but laugh, the sound breathless and a little shaky. "I forgot," she admitted, a wide, satisfied smile on her face.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet." He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards his cabin. "Let's go. We have unfinished business."

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A/N: the fiancé might kille for this😭😭

Contains: angst, leon pushing reader away, slight talk of suicide mentioned, leon has ptsd from raccoon city, he wants to protect reader, Leon also struggles with depression

PROCEED WITH CAUTION UNDER CUT

A/n: here is day eight!!

Contains: smut, tryst being a gentle sweetheart, first time, unprotected sex

June Event

The air in the room was thick with anticipation, a tangible charge that made the fine hairs on their arms stand up. They had been dancing around this moment for weeks, a slow, deliberate waltz of lingering glances, fleeting touches, and conversations that always seemed to teeter on the edge of something more. Now, here in the quiet intimacy of his bedroom, there were no more distractions, no more excuses.

Tryst stood before them, a silhouette against the soft lamplight, his expression uncharacteristically serious. The playful smirk he usually wore was gone, replaced by a raw, open vulnerability that was both surprising and deeply touching. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against theirs, a silent question in his touch.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice a low, rough murmur that sent a shiver down their spine.

They answered by closing the small distance between them, their hands coming up to rest on his chest. They could feel the steady, rapid thrum of his heart beneath their palm. Instead of speaking, they leaned in and captured his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was a kiss that said everything words couldn't: trust, desire, and a profound sense of rightness.

He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around them and pulling them flush against his body. The kiss deepened, growing in intensity as weeks of pent-up longing finally found their release. His hands roamed their back, mapping the curve of their spine with a reverence that made their knees feel weak. He wasn't just touching them; he was memorizing them, learning the language of their body.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against theirs, his breathing ragged. "I've wanted this for so long," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "I've wanted you."

"Then have me," they whispered, their hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

With a soft groan, he scooped them into his arms, carrying them the few steps to the bed and laying them down against the pillows as if they were something precious. He followed them down, settling his weight over them, his elbows bracketing their head. He looked down at them, his eyes dark with desire, but also with a tenderness that took their breath away.

He took his time, his movements slow and deliberate. He peeled away their clothes, his lips following the path of his hands, worshiping every inch of newly exposed skin with kisses and soft nips. He paid attention to every gasp, every shiver, learning what made them arch into his touch, what made their breath hitch. It was a slow, deliberate unraveling, a patient exploration that left them trembling and aching for more.

When they were both bare, he paused, his gaze sweeping over them. "You're perfect," he breathed, the words a reverent whisper.

He shifted, settling between their thighs, his hardness pressing against them, a promise of what was to come. He reached down, his fingers finding them, testing their readiness. They were more than ready, slick with desire, and they bucked their hips, a silent plea for more.

He lined himself up, his eyes locking with theirs. "Look at me," he commanded softly. "I want to see you."

He entered them in one slow, smooth thrust, filling them completely. They both gasped at the sensation, a perfect, overwhelming fullness that was both exhilarating and deeply intimate. He paused, giving them a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed against theirs again.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

They could only nod, their hands gripping his shoulders, their nails digging into his skin. "Move," they breathed. "Please, Tryst, move."

He began to move, his hips setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was deep and measured, designed to hit every sensitive spot, to draw out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. It wasn't frantic or desperate; it was a deep, soulful connection, a physical manifestation of the emotional bond they had been building for weeks.

The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—the soft slap of skin against skin, their ragged breaths, and the quiet moans and words of encouragement they whispered to each other. He watched them the entire time, his eyes never leaving theirs, his expression a mixture of awe and raw, unadulterated pleasure.

He shifted his angle slightly, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through them. "There," they gasped. "Right there."

He obliged, hitting that spot again and again, his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little harder. The tension coiled deep within them, a tight knot of pleasure that was winding tighter and tighter with every movement. They could feel their release building, a wave that was poised to crash over them.

"Let go," he urged, his voice a low growl. "I've got you."

His words were their undoing. With a cry, they shattered, the wave of pleasure breaking over them in a powerful, all-consuming rush. Their body clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with them. He groaned their name, his hips stuttering as he found his own release, spilling into them with a final, deep thrust.

He collapsed against them, his weight a welcome, grounding presence. They lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in a frantic, synchronized rhythm. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling them into his arms and tucking them against his chest.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to their forehead, his lips lingering against their skin. "Wow," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

They hummed in agreement, too spent to form words, their head pillowed on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. They lay in comfortable silence for a long time, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.

"Next time," he said after a while, his fingers tracing idle patterns on their back, "I want to try everything."

They laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest. "Next time," they agreed, a smile on their lips. "We have all the time in the world."

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