#WITH YOUR FEET ON THE AIR AND YOUR HEAD ON THE GROUND

[wileys-russo]

leah, training, “can i sleep on you please?” or something like that

just one more II l.williamson

"oh no leah come on do we have to!" you groaned as your fiancé clicked into netflix and loaded up yet another season of the crown.

"yes! babe, this is educational and entertaining." the blonde patted your knee with a grin as you groaned even louder and slumped down deeper into the sofa.

"leah i hate to break it to you but as an australian i have zero interest in the royal family, or their arguments over tea trades and affairs!" you scoffed, you respected that the blonde had an illustrious interest in it however that respect lessened when she tried forcing it onto you.

the pair of you had been together for years now and somehow you'd managed to scrape by mostly unscathed, growing very able to block out her ramblings with hums and nods which seemed to appease her.

but then beth just had to go and get her into the crown, interrupting the calm and steady flow of your home routine and especially your once sacred movie nights.

no more would you be curled up together, sharing commentary and laughter and an occasional kiss, arguing over who got the last handful of popcorn, half of the bowl littering the ground where you'd been tossing it at each other trying to catch it in your mouths.

no now you had to try and stay awake through the gruelingly boring slow burned torture that was this show and leahs obsession with it, fighting to keep your eyes open and having to put up with leahs 'tests' that you were paying attention.

you'd tried to leave her to it, going to watch a movie or a show of your own in the bedroom but the moodiness and sulking and the pouts and the dramatic sighs that would echo out for hours from the living room just weren't worth it.

"okay baby, its eleven and we have to be up for the morning session at six, we can't be late again!" you decided for the pair of you, reaching for the remote and quirking an eyebrow when leah quickly snatched it back.

"leah-" "just one more! you can go to bed, but i have to finish this season." "lee there's three more episodes in the season! you may as well come to bed with me now, and watch them tomorrow afternoon when we get back." you tried to bargain but it was no use with the stubborn blonde who firmly shook her head, remote still held tightly to her chest.

"fine! you're a grown woman, you can make your own choices. one more leah, don't be stupid." you warned sternly as your fiance hummed with a firm nod. "just one more pretty girl, i promise."

"goodnight, your highness!" you mocked, pressing your lips to hers a few times as she squeezed your hips, nipping at your bottom lip for the teasing comment.

only as you woke suddenly around four in the morning needing to use the bathroom, you realised maybe you should have fought a little harder to get leah to come to bed with you, the defenders side still empty.

"for fuck sakes." you grumbled tiredly, wiping the sleep from the corner of your eye and swinging out of bed, stomping off to the living room where sure enough the blonde was hanging half off the sofa with her mouth wide open.

she choked on air and hit the floor with a thump as you smacked her in the face with a cushion, gasping as she sat up and found you to be glaring down at her.

"why the hell would you do that jesus christ woman are you trying to put me into cardiac arrest!?" leah clutched her chest and exhaled shakily. "leah it is four in the fucking morning, get your ass into bed right now!" you growled pointing behind you as the taller girl got to her feet, trudging off still grumbling under her breath.

"i swear to god leah you better get up when that alarm goes off tomorrow, if you refuse i'll leave you here and go by myself." you warned seriously getting into bed beside her and smacking away her hands which tried to draw your body into hers.

"seriously?" "seriously, goodnight williamson." "you know a few more months and you'll be a williamson." "well i haven't said i do yet." "hey!"

~

"nope!" your hand banged down on the table with a loud smack causing the blonde across from you to shoot upwards where her head had once been resting on the cafeteria table.

"i warned you leah." you took a bite of toast as the girl whined and buried her face in her hands. "long night then eh?" beth teased as she joined the pair of you, steph, lia and laura not far behind.

"this is your fault!" you poked at the girls chest accusingly who scoffed. "me? what did i do!" she frowned as once again your hand smacked down against the table causing leah to jolt and sit upright again.

"got her into that awful show that she stayed up until four in the morning watching. its taken over our house, our date nights, our dinner conversations, you're a menace!" you huffed, stabbing at your eggs and shoving them into your mouth.

"what show?" "the crown! she's addicted!"

"oo what season are you up to? i really liked-" steph started excitedly, falling short at the dirty glare you sent her in response. "stephanie you're supposed to be on my side!" you scowled making the older girl grin, reaching over to shove your head to the side.

"nah, where's the fun in that?" "traitor to your own country." "aw does it make you mad?" the brunette cooed pinching your cheek as you swatted her hand away, everyone finishing up their food as leah fought to stay awake, munching away on her toast.

"baby please, let me just take a little nap, i'll say i need physio or something." your fiance grumbled as you all filed out of the cafeteria heading for the change rooms, the air ablaze with chatter.

"nope, not a chance. i already warned them!" you shook your head firmly with a slight smile at the way your fiance threw her head back with a groan, moping after you into the change rooms where everyone was already swapping over their trainers to cleats.

"come on, can i sleep on you please? just five minutes." the blonde slumped over into you, grabbing onto your shirt and pressing her face into your neck.

"i love you. you're so pretty. and i'm so tired!" leah whined as you unhooked her fingers from the material of your training top. "well you should have listened to your pretty fiance when she told you to come to bed." you pouted mockingly, kissing her cheek and bending down to lace up your boots.

~

"oi watch it kyra!" leah yelped, ducking the ball which was booted at her head where she'd been leaning against the goal post in between drills. "sorry leah!" the brunette grinned showing she was anything but, alessia grabbing her in a headlock as you snickered.

"what did you do?" steph appeared beside you with a knowing look at the amused smile on your face, having seen it many many times in the years she'd known you and played beside you for country and club.

"me? nothing!" you gasped with mock offence, steph humming and staring you down as your grin widened. "i might have slipped kyra a little money to make sure leah stays...sharp, today." you admitted with a sly smile, steph shaking her head though it wasn't with disbelief.

"oh she's going to kill you, pest." "well she can't do that if she's asleep now, can she stephanie?"

"kyra i swear to god if you kick that ball at me one more time i'm going to shove it down your throat!"

[ghouljams]

Your Failure, His Rebirth

Tags: knight!Ghost x princess!reader, blood and violence, minor character death, medieval medicine, terrible parenting, allusions to Ghost's past, knight!Keegan x f!oc, king!Konig Summary: Sometimes the universe works in your favor, sometimes it forces you into a role you were never meant to play. a/n: look I know he wouldn't say that, that's why he's reading off the teleprompter while I hold him at gunpoint.

Blood hits the ground and is covered by Ghost’s armored knee as he struggles to stay up. Struggles for his next move.

It happens so quickly.

Your hands shake where they press to the fence keeping you from the field 

but your feet are sure

and your body knows how to jump the barricade as surely as it swings onto a horse.

You’re deaf to the shouting behind you. Uncaring of the hands that grab for you as you run. The ground lurches under you. The wind roars in your ears, racing your blood for which can leave you faster.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife on Ghost’s hip, ripping it from the sheath as you turn to face your would-be husband.

Your breath comes in hiccups, gulped down with the same fear that threatens to paralyze you. Your hands shake but your grip is tight as you hold the knife up towards Graves’ throat.

The blade of his sword brushes your dress, the razor’s edge leaving thin slices in the fabric. You hope it cuts you, gives you some bite to gnash your teeth against. You don’t see how it would be any more painful than his win.

The stands are raucous. Screaming and shouting hits your ear like the crash of waves, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Everything is too loud, too bright, too alive when you feel like you’re dying, like your belly’s been slit and it’s everything you can do just to keep standing.

You grip the hand holding the knife with your other, trying to stop the shaking. All it does is double it.

“Come on now darlin’,” Graves coos, his voice dripping with mirth, “What do you think you’ll do with that?”

“I’ll kill you,” You assure him, “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill myself.” After all, if Ghost is going to meet his end, it’s only fitting that you follow him.

Graves tips his head to laugh. Malice fills the air. Ghost says your name, the only softness that could find you in this grave you’ve dug, and Graves twists his hand. Hearing the squelch of Ghost’s skin turns your stomach, frays your nerves. Ghost grunts against the pain, you’re sure it must be torture.

“Hush now. Royalty is talkin’,” Graves reminds him, holding a finger to his helm, uncaring that your knife hovers dangerously in front of him. His hand drops to his side before he turns his attention back to you.

“I like a little fight in my horses too, makes it more fun breaking you in.“ He tilts his head, showing you the soft pink of his neck. “Go on, let’s see if you can do it.”

You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, pushing forwards against your lash line. You will the knife forward. Grit your teeth with determination and beg your body to just move. Your hand feels so unsteady, your nose clogged with the scent of iron, he’s pointing the way, it should be easy to kill him. 

The memory of blood seeping over your hands pulls at you. The warmth of it, almost sticky the way it clung so desperately to your skin. That damn Baron’s last attempt at keeping himself alive, blood released from his body in a way it never should have been still trying to stick to the body, any body really, in a plea to cling to life. Skin had never broken so easily, had never felt so penetrable, so delicate, had never changed itself from barrier to entryway, had never sickened you quite the same as it did when your knife met it.

You remember the bile rising in your throat, the same as it does now. You know the panic still. You’re not meant to hold such instruments.

Ghost had saved you then. He dealt the killing blow. Or, at least said he did. But the blood that pooled under the crumpled body had reached towards you. A damning accusation. It had known, as well as you did now, the sins that had been committed by your hand. Sins you could still feel under your fingernails, pressing at your skin in the hopes that it too would part.

You can’t do it.

Your breath shudders.

Your knife lowers.

You feel the sick unseen smile that Graves wears under his helm, the knowledge that he’s won, like a death shroud.

And you feel Ghost’s hand just as fast,

the wrap of his fingers around yours,

And the thrust of your knife, 

his knife, 

into Graves’ throat.

The blood that comes now is like a fountain.

It sprays over you with a sickly gurgle. You hardly have time to blink and your eyes sting with the shock of blood you couldn’t avoid. Ghost’s hand wrenches yours to the side to slit his opponent’s throat, and your eyes follow it. The jagged edge of Grave’s neck, the wheeze of his windpipe, the instant drop of his sword to grasp at his neck, you feel your body shudder with the convulsion of it. 

You can’t drop the knife, Ghost’s grip makes sure of that. Your knuckles creak under the strain of his hold, your fingers going numb the same way the rest of you is. 

You can’t keep a breath in. Each gasp feels tighter than the last.

Ghost leans his weight on you as he stands, and you feel blood soak your back, your dress cut to the skin as he rips Graves’ sword from his side. You barely feel the warmth of your own blood under the rapid cooling of theirs.

Ghost points Graves’ sword at the priest, his weight against your back, his hand still holding yours, your world holding himself up on your shoulders. Your Atlas passing you the Earth.

“Call it,” He growls.

“Sir- Sir Simon Riley, is- is,” The priest stutters, glancing at your father still back in the stands, his face is white with the same shock that grips you, “has bested-” he tries again, “-Sir Phillip Graves is unable to continue-”

“Dead,” You correct, your voice little more than a whisper, “he’s dead.”

The priest nods, gesturing to the crowd with a flourish, “Your victor: Sir Simon Riley!”

The explosion of rabid excitement from the crowd deafens you, each voyeur throwing their own comments into the ring. Some cheer. Others curse. You couldn’t piece any single voice together, all of them seemed to bleed into the ringing that filled your ears, but you got the gist: villain, beast, heel. Blood they begged for, but murder… You didn’t understand the line that they drew, what was the difference? They cheered for Ghost’s injury, but screeched at Graves’ death. Blood was blood. Wasn’t it?

It all felt the same sticking to your skin.

Tunneled your vision until you couldn’t see anything but the blood soaking your empty fingers.

Your lady-in-waiting holds your face in shaking hands. Her handkerchief wiping your brow, over your cheeks, her lips move silently as she takes your hands to wipe them as well. Keegan swipes your --Ghost’s-- knife from where you’d unfeelingly dropped it to the dirt and slips the blade into his belt. 

The ringing is starting to leave your ears, replaced by your lady-in-waiting’s sobbing. “My lady,” repeated over and over through her tears. It’s only then that you realize the weight of your knight has left you.

You turn to look at the dirt, praying you don’t find him lying there, dead.

“Where’s Ghost?” You find your voice long enough to ask. 

“With the physician,” Keegan replies. His hand finds the back of your lady-in-waiting’s neck, turning her sobs to sniffles. She keeps wiping at your hands, the bloodied handkerchief doesn’t clean anymore, it smears. Bloodying and unbloodying your hands with each swipe.

You cast your gaze around. They land on the retreating shoulders of your knight. His armor hanging awkwardly off his body, his side still bloodied and leaking. He leans his weight onto another knight, one arm around the man’s shoulder, the other around the doctor that helps him limp back towards the tents. You pull your hands from your lady-in-waiting to run after him, and she pulls you right back.

“My lady,” Her voice rises in a panic.

“I have to make sure he’s alright,” You tell her thoughtlessly.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” Your father’s voice booms behind you. Again you feel your blood drain from your body. Your shoes squish in the bloody mud, you’re sure most of it must be from your own shock with how quickly it seems to rush from you. You turn to find your father, your mother beside him, her hands clenched so tight in her skirts that the fabric is starting to protest. 

“Have you any idea of the mess you’ve made?” Your father asks, his teeth grit. “Throwing my kingdom to a dog with no master. Who knows what he’ll do to us.”

“And you’re any better? Bringing in foreign brutes to try and- and-” You gesture vaguely to König who hovers behind your parents, then to yourself, “You think a man like that wouldn’t kill me before my wedding night?”

König scratches his cheek under the chain mask he wears, muttering in German, “Ah, I miss my wife.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but the weary-nostalgic look he gives your bloodied dress doesn’t make you think it’s anything good.

“You think Graves would have been any better?” You ask, your gaze steadily kept off the corpse at your feet.

“Graves was loyal to-”

“To himself!” You cut your father off, “You truly think that man had the kingdom’s best wishes in mind while brutalizing his opponents?”

“And you think a Riley does?” Your father asks, his tone flat, accusatory. 

“No,” You relent, anger rising in your throat. You’ve never cared where Ghost came from, the reputation that hung like a sword over his family’s crest. Ghost has more than proved himself, more than shown his capabilities, and more than shown where his allegiance lies. “But he doesn’t have to care about the kingdom,” You harden your voice, Ghost doesn’t care for the crown except when it sits on your head, “he’ll care for the people because he cares for me.”

Your father shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes. König’s knife dimples his neck, exerting the slightest pointed force to press the skin without breaking it. The German looms behind him, bending over his shoulder to cock his head and watch the pallor of your father’s face as the blood drains from it. The chainmail of his mask hangs haphazardly to the side, and you watch the sickly smile that splits his mouth, showing his teeth as he speaks.

“You are a weak fool,” He seethes, “What battles have you fought to earn your kingdom? What foes have you slaughtered?” The knife presses more firmly against your father’s throat and you feel your stomach flip, your heart clench, at the blood that blooms and falls over his skin. As much as you may hate the man, you don’t want to watch anyone else die. “I have often thought that crowns should be won.” 

Your father, proud and steady, has never felt the kiss of a sword. His throne was handed to him, and though he once trained in fighting, he’s never seen battle. You watch the man that you have always looked at as a pillar of steadfast rule, of divine right, crumble in the face of a little blood. A man who would sell his own child in a time of peace, looks like such a small evil next to König.

You’re starting to think perhaps thrones should be won too.

“But the-”

“Do not start caring for your people now Herr König,” König drawls, the words thick on his accented tongue, “it is-” he pauses, looking for the word.

“Embarrassing?” You suggest, your father tries to glare, any malice already snuffed by his fear.

“Yes, embarrassing.” König agrees. He points his knife your way and gestures at you, “Go on little maus, go find your prize.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You grab your skirt in still shivering fists and run towards the knights’ lodgings.

The losing knights are licking their wounds when you get to their tents. They nurse scrapes and bruises, split lips and cut brows, bruises already purpling over their ribs as their pages assist them in discarding their armor. They pay you little mind, but those that do… You can feel their eyes tracking you, imagining what they might have had if they weren’t up against such formidable foes. 

You don’t give them a second thought, pushing the flap for the physician’s tent to the side in order to duck inside.

Your eyes find Ghost immediately. Stripped down to his breeches, the wide plane of his back tensed as the physician pokes and prods at the deep gash that runs through his side. Blood oozes out of the hole in his back, the tensed muscle so beautifully displayed under his skin now fills in a deep red between its torn edges. The physician leans in to sniff at the wound and Ghost’s already tensed muscles seem to tense further, as if even the sound of it might hurt him. No. His chest expands a fraction before the tension is back, squeezing tight at his ribs like a vice. It’s breathing that’s hurting him.

The mess of his blond hair is drenched with sweat, his skin smeared with blood and dirt, he looks the picture of a man beaten into the ground, and yet he positively glows in the dim light of the tent. Your new king. 

You take a hesitant step forward and the physician glances at you. Only to stop his work and dip his head in a bow that forces Ghost to turn and look as well. You watch the painful twist of his muscles as he moves, the squeeze of blood from his wound. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a pale-ness to his cheeks, it must be excruciating. You can’t help hurrying to him, throwing your arms around his slick shoulders and burying your face against his neck. 

Your dress is already bloody, your nerves already frayed, what else can you do but look for his pulse’s quick thump.

Ghost’s hand squeezes your wrist. Clean. 

“My lady,” He murmurs, “Let the physician work.”

He has more hair on him than you’d thought. You feel it vaguely when you shake your head, the light strands of hair on his shoulders tickle your nose, and you can feel where it’s been slicked close to his skin running down his spine the same way you feel your dress stick to you. You feel terribly childish, failed somehow. Why do you still feel like you’ve lost even with your prize in your arms? 

His hand doesn’t leave you, doesn’t push you away, he makes no noise of discontent at your flagrant disregard of his order, and you wonder how much of his comment was more for the physician’s benefit than his own. 

“She’s alright sir,” The physician informs Ghost, “Can move to your lap when I tackle the back.” Ghost grunts and you peek over your arms to watch the physician. His fingers are prodding Ghost’s wound again. The cut looks just as bad from the front, the skin bowed in and sliced long from the wiggle of Graves’ sword, and the muscle streaked with blood. Pulling your own needle and thread through his skin feels like a distant memory now.

How had you managed to hold your stomach then, when you find it so fragile now.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost grits, as the physician packs herbs into the wound and pinches the edges, “There’s blood on your hands because of me.”

“Royalty mustn’t apologize.” You mumble. His fingers squeeze your wrist lightly.

Ghost is quiet, only the wet pull of threads through skin filling the silence between you. There’s no comfort in the rub of his thumb over your wrist, and the longer you stand there the more pointedly you feel the drying mud of blood and fabric congealing against your skin. It’s unignorable and uninterrupted. There is only the chill of tacky discomfort that sticks to you.

“Ghost?” You ask nervously, the air feeling heavy, bearing down on your shoulders like a terrible weight.

He breathes and it feels like a noose being fitted to your neck. You squeeze your arms tighter around his shoulders, begging him to be as selfish as you feel, to give you this one thing, to not let you go now. 

“It will follow you,” He says finally, his words cutting through the anxious tension in your shoulders, “You’ll scrub your hands and still feel blood under your nails, you’ll ask yourself if there wasn’t someone better, a hand that didn’t hold you like a weapon.”

“I made my choice,” You press, “you’re my sword, and if I can’t be-”

“I’m your knight,” He clarifies, “and I have loved you far past what is acceptable for a knight-” he hisses through his teeth at the physician’s work, his voice faltering for only a second, “-but I’m still your knight. Not the other way around.”

Despite yourself you smile, your cheeks hot and your stomach giddy. He’s reprimanding you, his voice anything but sweet and yet you can only focus on one thing. Love. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Love, love, love. Far past what’s acceptable, far past what’s expected, what’s necessary, far past what’s proper. Love, love, love. From your knight who’s always held his hands steady and now seems to shake down to his fingertips as the physician presses herbs between the stitches of his wound.

“I love you,” You whisper, sure he’ll hear you. He always has.

“I know,” He tugs at your wrist, raising it to his lips to scrape his teeth over your pulse, you wonder if he can feel the way it hammers under his lips, “and I’ll be dead in the fucking ground before I let anyone take you from me now.”

[haveihitanerve]

It was a lesson that was, as most lesson were in Gotham, learned the hard way.

"Down!" Bruce bellowed. Dick moved. But not fast enough. He looked. He didn't flinch. He hesitated, he didn't act. He doubted. He should have trusted.

Something slammed into his side, hard and small and painful, ripping apart his muscles and shredding tendons. That was the day he learned what getting shot felt like.

He sacked to the floor, finally, hands pawing uselessly at his side as he wailed in pain.

Bruce was at his side in an instant, and they got home so fast it was most definitely illegal. It never happened again.

"Drop!" Bruce called. Dick hit the floor. He was up a second later, the sharp stinging smell of gunpowder still in the air. But the bullet had disappeared. Missed. Speared into the wall.

"On your left!" Green Lantern cried, swinging his arm around, the massive hand he'd crafted with his ring spearing forward. Nightwing glanced over, used the second to ground himself, and lunged away. To the right.

"You've gotta trust me in the field." Hal complained later. "It's no use for me to call out orders just for you to check yourself." Nightwing dipped his head. Acquiescing , but not an apology. Not agreeing. Not a promise.

"Twelve o'clock!" Batman barked. Nightwing didn't even let his eyes stray, just moved, rolling away from the incoming stampede of aliens.

"What the fuck?" Hal mouthed to Barry, but the speedster had hardly a chance to shrug back before he was off to take the incoming wave.

So he waited instead until after the battle, waited until everyone was safe and back the Watchtower to advance on the young hero.

"Hey man, what the fuck is up with you?" He probably should have kept his voice down a little, but the anger had been building, and honestly, what was up with him? Disobeying Hal's orders, just to drop at the first sound from Batman's lips? Wasn't cool, wasn't fair.

Nightwing glanced up in surprise from where he was sitting on the table, patching his arm, and so did about half the League. Batman, in particular, was watching, white lenses narrowed, but didn't approach.

"I get that Bats is super cool and all that," Hal waved a dismissive arm. "But when I shout orders in the field, you're expected to follow them. Same as everyone else."

He glanced over at Batman. "No offense Batsy." he returned focus to the man in front of him. "But you don't get to pick and choose who's orders you follow kid. Not here."

"Actually I do." Nightwing answered, and, damn, Hal hadn't expected that. An apology maybe, maybe a little bit of arguing, but not a flat out refusal. The young hero didn't even bother to lower his voice or anything. Didn't even attempt to look cowed.

"You're different Hal. You're a Lantern. I'm not." his finger thrust in Batman's direction. "He's not." Hal cocked his head, frowning. "Yeah, I don't obey your orders immediately. I don't automatically trust what you call to me. Because you're. not. human. Maybe you were, once, before you got the ring. But you're not anymore. You're not on the field."

He gestured at Batman, to himself. "We deal with threats on the daily. In the streets. On the field. You're a brilliant man, I know you are. But you're not thinking for me."

He held up his hand before Hal could argue that of course he was. "You try." He agreed easily. "But you don't. Not really." He cocked his head, struggling to come up with an example.

"Lets say this; you're a cat, and I'm a dog." Hal pulled back, face twisting at the strange comparison, but Nightwing gestured to let him finished. Hal relented.

"You, as a cat, order me to drop to the ground. Because you, as a cat, know that if you drop, you'll land on your feet." Superman was nodding, following his train of thought. Hal was still a little lost, but Nightwing wasn't finished yet, so he was okay.

"But let's say that drop is fifty feet. And I'm a dog. Dogs don't land on their feet. That drop can kill me. You didn't account for that, no matter what you might think." He shrugged, glancing over at Batman, who was puffed up a little, with pride.

"He's a dog. Like me. And he thinks like a cat, like you. He accounts for that. So yeah," Nightwing shrugged, hopping from the table, and took a few steps forward. Hal stumbled back.

"I don't follow your orders immediately. I chance a look. I risk a second of disobeying your orders in order to ensure it won't kill me. Won't do more harm than good. But I still follow your orders."

He glanced over at Batman, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And sure, I follow Batman's orders immediately." He shrugged, heading over to the older hero, smile evident in his voice.

"But what do you expect? He's my Dad."

but yeah in the same vein of Bruce’s kids only following his orders in the field…of course they do. in Gotham, if you don’t hit the deck when Bruce says “Down!” you’re getting hurt, at bare minimum. there’s no questioning orders or hesitating. you have to trust that when B tells you to do something, it’s in your best interest, or in the best interest of the civilians, to do it — and do it really fucking well. really fucking fast.

that doesn’t mean the JL give orders in the same way, even though they’re well-intentioned. that doesn’t mean they fully grasp an emergency scene or its civilians’ needs. they might not realize how risky an order they, as a meta, give to a fully human vigilante is. they’re not a tactician the way Bruce is — they’re not thinking in plans, and backup plans, and fallback plans and extractions.

so yeah, Dick doesn’t take direct orders from anyone but B. of course he doesn’t.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ (ᴘᴛ 1)

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅʏɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴɪɴɢ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇ, ᴘᴏ��ꜱɪʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ.

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

JAYCE

Jayce fumbled with the keys to his apartment, his voice carrying through the hallway. “Come on, Caitlyn, it’s not that bad. Just wait until you see what I’ve been working on!” “You’re going to blow yourself up one day,” Caitlyn teased, rolling her eyes as she followed him. You trailed behind, shaking your head with a smile. “She’s not wrong, Jayce. Maybe don’t keep volatile crystals in our living space next time?” Jayce grinned, his confidence unwavering. “Relax. It’s perfectly safe—well, mostly.” But as he reached for the door handle, something felt… off. A faint noise came from inside, too subtle for Caitlyn to notice, but you caught it. “Did you hear that?” you asked, your brow furrowing. Jayce hesitated, then rattled the handle. “It’s probably nothing.” Inside, Powder froze, her small hands trembling as she clutched a satchel stuffed with Hexcrystals. The others—Vi, Mylo, and Claggor—were already urging her to move faster. “Come on, Powder!” Vi whispered harshly. “We don’t have time!” But the sound of the door handle jolting sent Powder into a panic. Her grip slipped, and one of the Hexcrystals tumbled to the floor. The explosion that followed was deafening.

Jayce gasped as he hit the ground. The memory of that day flashed before his eyes, but when he blinked, he wasn’t in his apartment—or even in the Piltover he knew.

The streets were dim, weighed down by an oppressive air. The city that had once been vibrant with progress and hope now felt like a shadow of its former self. Jayce staggered to his feet, gripping his hammer tightly.

“What… what happened?” he whispered.

He wandered aimlessly, the city’s broken state gnawing at his nerves. Then he saw it—a memorial erected near what used to be his apartment building. His breath caught as he read the inscription:

Y/N L/N Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend. Gone too Soon

“No…” Jayce choked out, his knees buckling as the realization slammed into him. His mind swirled with fragments—snippets of his life in this universe, flashes of the explosion, the way Y/N had shielded Caitlyn from the blast. In his world, she had survived, injured, but alive. She had fought for him with the council, introduced Viktor to him, changing the course of his life. She was always by his side, pushing him to what he would become.

But this… this wasn’t his world. He had to remember that. The truth weighed down on him like an anchor, pulling him under.

“Y/N…” Jayce whispered, his hands shaking as they reached out to touch the stone. The name felt foreign, yet so painfully familiar.

“Jayce.”

The voice cut through his confusion like a knife, and he spun around, heart racing. Caitlyn stood a few feet away, her face harder than he remembered, her eyes dimmed by grief. Her posture was tense, her every movement betraying the emotions she struggled to hide.

Jayce’s hands trembled as he reached for the memorial again, his fingertips brushing over your name. He couldn’t reconcile the version of you he knew—the one who had survived—with the one here, the one who had died. “I… I don’t understand. How did she—how did she die, Caitlyn? I—I don’t know what happened?”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, and her expression turned icy. She took a step closer, her voice colder than he’d ever heard it. “You’re asking me how she died?” Her voice cracked with restrained fury. “You—of all people—should know. You were right there, Jayce. You saw it. You saw everything.”

Jayce flinched, confusion bubbling up inside him. “I… I don’t understand. She… she lived,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was torn, the memories from his universe clashing with the harsh reality of this one. “I thought she was safe. I thought I could fix it. I thought—” His words faltered. He couldn’t find the right ones.

Caitlyn’s expression hardened, her jaw tight with anger. “You thought she was safe? Don’t act like you didn’t know, Jayce. You knew those crystals were dangerous, and yet you kept pushing forward with them. You think you're the only one who's been hurting through this?”

Jayce’s chest tightened with guilt. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered, shaking his head. “I just… I thought maybe something else happened here. Maybe—”

“No,” Caitlyn interrupted, her voice sharp. “She died protecting me, Jayce. She died in that explosion. She died because of what you did.” Her eyes were burning with anger, but there was a grief there too, raw and untamed. “You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to be there for her.”

Jayce stumbled back, overwhelmed by her words. His memories—his memories—told him a different story. He had been there for you. You had survived. But here… here, in this world, it was too late. “I never wanted her to die,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t know it would happen. I swear, Caitlyn. I never meant for this. I never wanted her to get hurt. I just—”

Caitlyn’s eyes burned with unshed tears, but her voice remained steady, the pain in it cutting deeper than anything else. “You weren’t there when she needed you. You didn’t stay, Jayce. You didn’t even go to her funeral.” She stepped closer, her voice trembling with every word. “So don’t you dare stand here pretending like you don’t know what happened. You saw it. You were there. And you weren’t there when we needed you the most.”

Jayce felt the weight of her words crashing down on him, his confusion and guilt battling inside him. He had been there, he had watched you—he had watched you live—but in this world, you were gone. And now, all he had left were the fractured memories, the shattered guilt that he couldn’t undo.

==

The next moment, Jayce jolted awake, a soft pressure on his chest. His eyes fluttered open, the familiar sight of his own universe greeting him like a cold splash of water. He was lying on the floor, disoriented and bruised, the sounds of the lab faintly humming in the background.

“Jayce?”

He blinked, his gaze shifting, and there you were. Y/N. Alive. Kneeling over him, her eyes filled with concern as she gently brushed the hair from his face. Her brow was furrowed, her lips parted in quiet worry.

“What happened?” he murmured hoarsely, still reeling, his mind a jumble.

Viktor’s voice came from nearby, a mixture of concern and caution. “I found you on the floor, unconscious. So I got Y/N to help wake you up.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she placed it gently on his shoulder. “Viktor said you’ve been out for almost an hour.” She looked back at him, her gaze softening. “What happened, Jayce? Are you alright?”

Jayce swallowed hard, his head spinning. Everything felt strange—his surroundings, his own thoughts—but all that mattered in this moment was that you were here, with him, alive. His chest tightened in relief.

“I—I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I just… I’m so glad you’re here.” He pulled her into a tight hug, resting his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her natural scent, feeling the weight of his relief.

Y/N stiffened for a moment before rolling her eyes with a small sigh. “Well, I’m glad I’m here too, Jayce,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Otherwise, you’d just be hugging thin air.”

Jayce chuckled softly, the sound muffled against her shoulder, his arms tightening around her. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his face full of gratitude. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice soft, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I just… I’ve missed you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smile despite herself. “Yeah, well, don’t get too mushy on me now, Jayce. You know I’ll start charging for these hugs.” She gave him a playful shove, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce laughed, his heart light. "Deal," he replied, feeling for the first time in a long while, a sense of peace. The memories of the other world—the other Jayce—flickered in the back of his mind, a momentary pang of pity for that version of himself, lost in grief and regret. But in that moment, all he could focus on was Y/N. She was here. Alive. And that was all that mattered now.

He looked at her, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of her, feeling her warmth. Whatever had happened, whatever could have been, was no longer important. Right now, he had her, and that was everything.

VIKTOR

Y/N slowly woke up, the gentle morning light streaming through her window. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, still feeling groggy. Her senses were hazy, like the remnants of a dream she couldn’t quite recall. She stretched and glanced around, confused to find herself in a bed that wasn’t hers. Her apartment—no, this wasn't her apartment, was it? The place had a comfortable, almost familiar vibe, but the details felt... off.

Sitting up, she quickly got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, hoping to shake off the disorienting feeling. Maybe she had just slept in a little longer than usual.

As she rounded the corner, Y/N froze. There, standing by the counter, was none other than Jayce—shirtless, of course—preparing breakfast. His hair was still damp, and his toned form was on full display as he cracked some eggs into a pan.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Jayce said, not looking up from his cooking. His voice was warm, casual, and completely at ease. He turned briefly and offered her a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“Wait—what?” Y/N stammered, feeling her stomach churn. She blinked again, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before her. Was she still dreaming?

Jayce chuckled and set down the spatula before walking over to her, his easy smile never wavering. He passed her a bowl of cereal, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her hand instinctively pushing him back. “What the hell, Jayce?! That’s highly inappropriate!”

Jayce blinked, clearly taken aback by her reaction. “What’s inappropriate? I’m just kissing my girlfriend,” he said, his voice filled with confusion, a frown creasing his brow.

Y/N stared at him in disbelief, her breath catching. Girlfriend? She felt a knot tighten in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to piece everything together.

She glanced around the apartment again, her gaze sweeping over the cozy living room. Photos, books, and trinkets scattered about. A few framed pictures caught her eye—ones she didn’t recognize, but there she was, smiling alongside Jayce, holding hands, faces close. This is... not my life. Her heart skipped. No, no, no—this can’t be right.

Y/N took a deep breath and looked back at Jayce, who was still waiting for her response, his expression now softening with concern. “What’s going on, Y/N? You seem... off. Are you sick? Do you need to go to the doctors?”

"No. I'm fine. Where is he? Viktor, I mean," Y/N asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

Jayce paused, his face scrunching in thought for a moment before he answered. "He’s in the labs. You know that—he’s always there, working on his projects." His voice was quiet, almost too calm, as if he had said it a thousand times before.

Without thinking, Y/N nodded, the decision already made. Without a second glance at Jayce, she turned on her heels and sprinted toward the door. She didn’t care that she was still in her pajamas, hair messy, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. All she knew was that she needed to find Viktor.

She didn’t wait for Jayce to stop her, didn’t look back when she heard him call her name. Her heart pounded in her chest, every step bringing her closer to a version of the world she didn’t recognize, but one where Viktor might still be waiting for her.

Y/N’s breath came in shallow gasps as she ran down the hall, ignoring the confused looks from the few people she passed. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was reaching the labs—Viktor. Her heart pounded, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the corridor, urging her forward.

Finally, she reached the door to the lab. Without hesitation, she slammed it open, the force of her action making it creak violently on its hinges. The sudden noise echoed through the large room, and Viktor—who had been hunched over a workbench, absorbed in his calculations—jumped in surprise, his chair scraping back violently against the floor.

"Y/N?" His voice was breathless, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and confusion.

Y/N stood there in the doorway, her hands trembling as she took him in. Viktor—her Viktor—was here, just as she had hoped, but something felt off. The lab was sterile, cold, filled with machines and equations, and yet the warmth of their past was gone. The world felt... wrong, distant, like she was standing in a dream that she couldn’t wake up from.

"Viktor..." Her voice broke as she whispered his name, almost as if saying it out loud would make everything real again.

He blinked at her, still processing the sudden intrusion, his gaze darting between her wide eyes and the frantic expression on her face. He stood up, instinctively wiping his hands on his pants, his posture rigid. "What—what are you doing here? Are you okay? You look... like you’ve seen a ghost."

Y/N took a step forward, shaking her head in disbelief. "No... no, this can’t be real. It’s not supposed to be like this, Viktor." Her voice wavered, pain lacing every word.

Viktor’s face softened with concern, and he took a cautious step toward her. "Y/N, slow down. You're barefoot, and you’re shaking. You’ll catch a cold if you’re running around like this." He moved toward her, his cane tapping against the floor as his hand reaching out to her gently. "Come, let me take you home to Jayce. He’ll want to know you’re okay."

Y/N flinched at the mention of Jayce. Jayce—her mind spun at the thought of him. She didn't belong here, not with him. "No," she said quickly, her voice firm though her legs trembled. "I need to understand what’s happening. Viktor..." She paused, her eyes searching his for any sign of recognition. "How did we meet? How did we first meet?"

Viktor blinked, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "What do you mean? You know how we met." He trailed off, sensing that something was amiss but still unable to grasp it fully.

Y/N's chest tightened again. She pushed forward with her question, a desperate need for understanding fuelling her. "Yes, yes but tell me. What was it like when we first crossed paths?"

Viktor took a moment to think, then nodded, though his confusion still lingered. "Well... Jayce introduced us. He talked non stop about you, and then he brought you to the lab one day and the rest is history."

Y/N felt a stab of pain "And how did I meet Jayce? How did we meet?"

"Y/N, you know this."

The halls of the academy were always bustling, students rushing between lectures, papers scattered across desks, and the constant hum of ambition hanging in the air. Y/N had been no exception, always in motion, always with a task at hand. It was the first semester of her studies when she found herself in a rush, papers clutched tightly in her arms, trying to make it to a meeting on time. Her mind was already on the presentation she had to prepare for, her thoughts lost in equations and theories, when she suddenly felt the ground beneath her feet give way. She had slipped—clumsy, distracted—and all the papers in her arms fluttered to the floor like a snowstorm in the middle of a lecture hall. Before she could even register the moment, a hand appeared in front of her, steady and firm. "Hey, you okay?" a voice called out. She looked up, startled, and saw a young man—handsome, with a slight grin on his face, his brown hair a little too messy for someone so put together. He was wearing a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up as though he’d been in a rush himself. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, a mix of curiosity and genuine concern. "I—I’m fine," she stammered, embarrassed, reaching for the scattered papers. The stranger knelt down beside her, gathering the papers with ease, his movements quick and practiced. "Looks like you’ve got a lot on your plate," he said with a playful smile, his voice warm. "Yeah, just a little bit," Y/N replied, trying to collect herself, her face flushed with the awkwardness of the situation. "Jayce," he said, extending his hand after picking up the last of her papers. "And you are...?" "Y/N," she said, shaking his hand reluctantly, still feeling a little off balance. "Well, Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you." Jayce grinned, handing her the papers. "Next time, let me help you out before you crash and burn." Y/N couldn’t help but smile back, despite the initial embarrassment. "I’ll try not to make a habit of it." "Don’t worry," Jayce said with a wink. "I’ll keep an eye out for you."

"... and from that moment, well, you two were inseparable." Viktor’s expression was still one of confusion, but he humoured her question, trying to answer as best he could.

Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. The memory Viktor described was so familiar—but it wasn’t Jayce who had helped her. In her world, it had been Viktor. Viktor had been the one to help her pick up the papers when she slipped, even though he had his leg brace. He'd been the one to offer a kind, understanding smile.

Everything about this world was wrong. This wasn’t her reality. It couldn’t be.

Y/N took a step back, her heart racing, her mind spinning. The weight of everything pressing in on her made her feel like she was suffocating. She was so close to falling apart. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. She couldn’t explain it, not when she herself didn’t fully understand.

"No, Viktor," she whispered, her voice shaking. "That’s not how it happened. I—I don’t... I don’t know how to make you understand. I just... I can’t... I don’t—"

Viktor stood frozen, his face filled with a mixture of concern and confusion as he tried to make sense of her distress. Her words were fragmented, laced with panic and something deeper—something he couldn't grasp.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice gentle but laced with worry. He took a cautious step forward, reaching out, his expression softening. "You need to rest. This... all of this... you’re not making sense. You're exhausted. Whatever it is you're feeling, you're not alone. Let me help you."

His voice was comforting, but it felt distant—like a faint echo of the warmth she once knew. Y/N recoiled slightly, stepping further away. His offer to help felt wrong in her gut. It wasn’t the Viktor she remembered; it wasn’t the man she had known, the one who had always understood her, always protected her. This man—this stranger—was reaching for her, but she couldn’t find the connection.

Y/N felt the walls closing in, the weight of the situation pressing harder against her chest with every breath she took. Her vision blurred, her thoughts scattered like broken pieces of glass. Her head swam, the confusion and pain overwhelming. Before she could stop herself, the world tilted, and her knees buckled beneath her.

The last thing she heard before everything went dark was Viktor’s voice, calling her name in a voice that was filled with concern—though it sounded distant, muffled, like it was coming from the other side of a thick glass.

"Y/N!" Viktor’s voice echoed in her ears as the darkness consumed her.

==

Y/N groggily blinked her eyes open, the soft, familiar feel of a couch beneath her pulling her back from the haze. For a moment, she thought she was still in the lab, still trapped in that alternate universe. But as her eyes focused, she realized something was different. The air smelled like home—like Viktor’s cologne, like the faint scent of his work notes and the books they shared. The couch was the same, the throw pillows were just as they had always been. But the confusion hadn’t subsided.

"Ugh..." Y/N groaned, rubbing her head, feeling a dull ache behind her eyes. Her body felt heavy, and as her gaze shifted, she saw Jayce crouched over her, his face filled with concern.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her mind, still foggy from the disorientation, snapped into defensive mode. "Oh no, you better keep your lips away from me, Jayce," she muttered with a sharp edge to her voice, the sarcasm rolling off her tongue.

Jayce blinked, clearly taken aback, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?" he asked, still hovering above her.

Before Y/N could answer, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching—distinct, measured steps. And then Viktor appeared, his cane clicking against the floor as he walked into view, a concerned look on his face and an ice pack in his hand.

Y/N’s heart skipped again. She was certain she had been lost in that alternate world, but as Viktor’s warm, familiar eyes met hers, something shifted. She looked around the room, and the overwhelming sense of déjà vu hit her. The walls, the furniture, the bookshelves lined with their shared books, the little knick-knacks and trinkets they had picked up over the years... It was all here. Her apartment.

Her reality.

Her world.

Y/N’s voice cracked with relief as she took in the details. "Viktor…?" She could hardly believe it. She pushed herself up, still a little dizzy. "How did I get here? I thought… I thought I was still—"

Viktor gently placed the ice pack on her forehead, taking Jayce's place - his presence grounding her in the moment. "You passed out in the kitchen, Y/N," he said softly. "You have a high fever."

Y/N looked up at him, the pieces clicking together in her mind. She was back. She was home. The alternate universe—whatever it had been—was gone. She was here, in the place that had always been hers. And there, beside her, was Viktor—her Viktor—no longer the stranger she had seen in that other world.

She let out a long breath, sinking back into the couch, her eyes never leaving Viktor. "I think I’m finally home," she whispered, feeling the weight of everything lift from her chest, even if the confusion lingered in her mind.

JAYVIK

Y/N's world spun as she was pulled into the alternate reality, the weight of her surroundings settling over her like a heavy blanket. The city she once knew was now nothing more than a shattered ruin, and the hum of machines had fallen silent. It was a world that had gone cold, its heart replaced with metal and decay. Her chest tightened with an aching sense of loss, but it was more than just the destruction around her—it was the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.

She walked through the wreckage, the echoes of footsteps strangely muffled as if the world itself was holding its breath. Each step brought her closer to the truth, and each step made her heart race with fear and confusion.

And then she saw them—the mechanical dolls. People, once alive, now frozen in time, their bodies transformed into cold, lifeless machines. The sight of them sent a chill through her spine, and she shuddered, almost able to hear the faint whispers of their former lives.

Her legs carried her forward, toward the central clock tower. The higher she climbed, the more the weight of memories pressed on her.

She could feel the explosion. Feel the heat, the force of it. She could almost hear Jayce’s voice, shouting her name, shouting for Viktor. She could still feel the crushing weight of debris pinning her down. She could taste the blood in her mouth as the world blurred and faded. "Y/N! Viktor!" Jayce’s voice rang in her ears, desperate and panicked. She remembered that. She remembered his fear, his voice breaking through the smoke. And then, there was silence—darkness. No more shouting, no more world.

But here, now, standing in the ruins of this universe, she couldn’t remember how it had ended. Had she died in that explosion? Or had she somehow survived? Her mind felt fractured, like pieces of two worlds were colliding, neither fully real but both unmistakably vivid.

When she reached the rooftop of the clock tower, her breath caught in her throat. There, kneeling on the floor, was Jayce—his body moss-covered and decayed, a twisted mockery of the man she loved. His once brilliant eyes were dim, his form barely recognizable. His hammer held tight in his grip as it's perched on the ground.

"Jayce?" Her voice breaks as she reached out, but before she could move closer, a voice interrupted her—a cold, calculating voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“You’re not my Y/N.”

Y/N spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. There, in the shadow of the clock tower, stood Viktor—his figure draped in white robes, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling blend of sadness and knowledge. He was the Viktor she remembered, but there was something deeply broken about him, as though the weight of everything he had done had changed him forever.

“What have you done?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t you, Viktor. This isn’t who you are.”

Viktor’s expression softened, a sad smile playing on his lips as he looked at her, almost as if seeing a ghost. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said quietly. “This world… I’ve lost so much. And now, all I have left is what I’ve become.” His gaze flickered toward the decayed body of Jayce, a sharp pain flashing across his face. “Jayce was always too distracted, too focused on fixing things. He never understood that sometimes, things can’t be fixed.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the sight of Jayce, his body a hollow shell of what it once was. This was not the man she loved, but the remnants of a world that had failed them all.

Her mind flickered again, memories of her own death returning. The explosion. The deafening roar of destruction. Being pinned beneath the debris, gasping for air, and Jayce’s voice—desperate, calling out to her and Viktor. And then… darkness. She had been lost in that moment, and now, it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Y/N?” Viktor’s voice snapped her back to the present, his eyes searching hers. “In my world, I… I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save any of you.”

She took a step toward him, her heart heavy with grief and love. “I remember… dying. I remember the pain, the last thing I heard was Jayce calling for us.” She paused, her voice breaking. “But I also remember Jayce pushing us out the way, and we lived.”

Viktor’s eyes shimmered with something akin to regret. He took a slow step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are we... Are we still happy? In your world I mean. Do we still love eachother?"

Y/N blinked, her breath catching in her throat. The question, simple yet heavy, felt like a weight pressing against her chest. But she didn’t hesitate, her voice strong despite the swelling emotion in her chest. “Yes, so much” she said, her gaze steady. “In my world, We are happy . You are still so loved. That would have never changed."

Viktor’s expression softened, the sadness in his eyes transforming into something more tender. For a moment, he seemed to lose himself in thought, as though the weight of her words had pulled him back from the depths of despair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before opening them again. His gaze was gentler now, almost as if he had found some measure of peace.

A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Then perhaps… it’s enough. To know that somewhere, we’re happy.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the look in his eyes. The Viktor standing before her was not the man who had let darkness consume him—he was a version of him who still cared, who still held onto love, even if it meant letting go.

With a final, almost imperceptible nod, Viktor stepped back. “You need to go now,” he said quietly. “Back to your world. Back to us. You have a future there. I... I can’t be part of it, not here. But knowing that you have that happiness, that love, is enough for me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, but she could only nod in understanding. She took one last look at Viktor, her heart aching for the man who is everything to her. And with that, the world around her began to blur, pulling her back to the reality she knew.

"Miluji tě, má drahá" (I love you, my darling)

==

The soft hum of the city outside filtered through the window, the faint glow of the evening light casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Y/N stirred in her bed, the familiar, comforting weight of the blanket wrapped around her. She slowly blinked her eyes open, her senses overwhelmed with the peaceful atmosphere of their shared apartment.

She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the room—the wood, the faint trace of metal from Jayce’s workbench, and the faint, comforting scent of Viktor's cologne. Her body ached, her head foggy as though she had woken from an endless, disorienting dream. But then, her gaze shifted, and she saw them.

Jayce was lying beside her, one hand resting lightly on her arm, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber. His soft breathing was the only sound in the room, a contrast to the chaos she had just experienced. His presence was grounding, like an anchor in a world that had felt so foreign just moments ago.

On her other side, Viktor lay propped up with his head resting on the pillow, one arm loosely draped across her, his brow furrowed slightly in his sleep. His lips parted, the faintest hint of a sigh escaping him. Despite the usual stoic mask he wore, here, beside her, he looked almost vulnerable.

For a moment, she simply laid there, her heart swelling with the pure, overwhelming relief of being home. The memories of the other world were fading, like a mist lifting in the sunlight, leaving only the reality that she was here, with them—alive, safe, and loved.

She raised her hand, brushing it gently over Jayce’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake. She smiled softly, her heart light with the knowledge that, for them, everything was as it should be.

Y/N closed her eyes again, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she lay between them. In every timeline, in every world—no matter how fractured or broken—the love they shared had always endured. It was a constant thread, weaving through the fabric of their lives, binding them together, no matter the circumstances. In this moment, surrounded by them, she knew that love would never fade. It had always been real. It would always be real.

[ninguitar]

꣑ৎ　────　𝓟OP THE HOOD , DA 　　　　　lovin' you long takes the pain away 𓈒𓈒

───﹙⚙️﹚𝓢. ｡｡　a trip to the froyo shop ends up leaving daniela with a broken-down car, but hey—at least she got a pretty girl to fix it!

𝓹airing. daniela avanzini x mechanic!f!r 𝓰enre. fluff wc. 1.9k notes. haiaiaiaiia idk anyt abt cars so take everything that is said abt cars w/ a grain of salt 😛 also thinking ab a part2 but idk !! lmk how yall feel or wtv (MASTERLIST)

now playing ⋆ ballad of a badman by tory lanez

MAYBE IT WAS DUMB LUCK.

daniela just wanted to get froyo on her way home; it shouldn't have to be such a big deal, and it sure didn't need to turn into a shit-show. her mustang was starting fine at first—jamming her keys into the ignition, a grin adorning her face as the engine roared lively. she drove safely, but not even an hour later, she stood at the side of the road, smoke coming out the cabin, and her eyebrows knitted together.

though, maybe her luck wasn't so bad, because barely a block away stood an automechanic shop, flashing the words, "tony's wheels & tires." and when she finally arrived at the shop from pushing her car all the way there, it appeared to be a big open garage with a couple cars parked in the slots—full of grease and strewn equipment, the faint smell of smoke and fuel lingered in the air. the bell above the door chimed every few seconds, the sound of engines running accompanying it.

and the sight of a disheveled you underneath a car, fiddling around with the bottom of it, welcomes daniela. a weary, heavy sigh escapes from your throat, as you mutter curses under your breath, before sliding out from beneath the car. shaking your hand in pain, you grunt, and your other hand jots down words on a yellow notepad frantically with a pen. while you were too immersed in writing down the cost of some repair, the latina slowly walks up to you, and you barely raise your head up—though not enough to spot her clearly.

interrupting your dazed, concentrated expression, daniela clears her throat, and your head shoots up, your expression falling into embarrassment. your eyes wander to the girl above you, and for a second, you stare palpably for a fleeting moment. with heat curling at your cheeks, you begin to fumble your words, "shit—didn't see you come in, sorry. hi, welcome to tony's."

the latina meekly flashes a soft, reassuring smile at you, and god do you look at her like she was the one who put the stars in the sky. "it's fine, i just got here," she murmurs, laughing lightly, as her gaze flickers to the navy blue mechanic's button-up that hugged your frame, her eyes fixating on your bright red name patch. and before you could respond back, a beagle appears at daniela's feet, its ears comically perking up, "hey, move along," you groan, gently shooing it away.

"sorry, 's just the owner's dog—she's usually a recluse, but i guess she just likes you or somethin'," you shake your head, a gentle smile painted on your face, before you raise your eyebrows, "so what can i do for you?" you tilt your head, fixing your gaze at eye-level, as you clutch your hand, sliding your notepad and pen into your pockets.

"my car—it broke down, and it wouldn't start. i tried to pop the hood open, but it started smoking, so i pushed it to the slot over there," she explains meekly, her hands clasped together, before she pointed out to her mustang. your eyebrows furrow, confusion washing over your features.

"you- you pushed it here?" you ask, laughing breathlessly, "christ, you know you could've called us, and we would've towed it, right?" you shake your head, a grin curbing your lips, as a playful glint remains in your eyes.

"i- fuck, you guys do that?" a sigh drifts from daniela's lips at your words, warmth spreading around her cheeks, as she wishes the ground could just swallow her up right now. god, she was embarrassing herself in front of you—an insanely, drop-dead gorgeous girl.

and really, she doesn't think it could get worse until you reassure her, your voice dulcet and coaxing, "yeah, but don't worry 'bout it. i think it's cute that you pushed it all the way here." the unbridled sincerity in your words accompanied by the series of giggles escaping your breath makes her knees buck, her self-restraint crumbling bit by bit. "anyway, i'll take a look at your car. 's the red one, right?"

once she nods, you brush past her, the plethora of keys cluttering your carabiner ringing through the lot. and while you were out there, checking out her car, daniela's gaze wanders around the place—random trinkets of spiderman, portraits, and posters crowd the back of the front desk. a bright red clock sat above the posters, ticking each second, and accompanying it was a sign that read "please ring the bell for service," with the words "don't" scribbled above it. and before she knew it, the door jingles a second time, the bells chiming, as you enter back inside.

your navy blue button-up was completely discarded, now swung over your shoulder, and instead, you had a grease-stained mickey mouse graphic shirt on. a thin line presses onto your lips, and reaching for your notepad in your back pocket, you pop the pen cap off. "your car isn't in such bad shape," you start, trying to alleviate her worries, before writing down on the notepad hurriedly, "your fuel pump's a lil' faulty, and you have a coolant leak." your eyes flicker to the latina, watching her profusely nod, trying to process your words. and continuing, you explain the time it'd take to finish the repair and the cost—the only words, 'not gonna be finished until at least next week,' registering in her head.

daniela huffs in defeat, crossing her arms against her chest, "next week? fuck, that's gonna be awhile," she mutters under her breath, worry lines creasing her forehead. you lean against the counter, shrugging, "i know, i really can't do that much—there's still a lot of cars that need to be fixed before yours," you murmur, a frown jutting at your lips, as you look back at her.

and with your eyes tracing her features, you blink, noticing the latina's tense posture, her fists clenched; you could tell she was visibly nervous. you teeter, as you cock your head, a resigned expression on your face, sighing, "i- i mean, if you wanna stick around for a little, i could, maybe pull some strings. just this once though." at your words, daniela's eyes light up, a fox-bright gleam in her eyes, and the corner of her lips quirking up, as she crosses her arms loosely against her chest, "really? you would do that for me?"

you hum lowly in your throat, nodding your head slowly, and scribbling over words on your notepad, trying to keep your eyes glued to your paper. you nearly go into anaphylactic shock at her smile, as your eyes flicker to her features, "yeah—'course, i'll see what i can do." a toothy smile curbs your lips, and you're so sure you look like an idiot trying to win her over—with a simple repair job at that—but you're just desperate.

you shrug, grabbing your toolbox that had random stickers stuck onto it, from under the counter, as you stroll back out into the lot, the curly-headed girl following you shortly. and noticing your stickers, daniela chuckles, "you must really like spider and mickey mouse, huh?" a teasing smile plays on her lips, as she watches you freeze in your movements, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly.

"you could tell?" you murmur, as you lean over the car hood, pulling the handle up, and popping the hood. you softly hum under your breath, before you look back, the girl standing gingerly while watching you, "you- you can pull up a chair from there if you'd like," you mumble, your hand pointing to the stack of chairs by the window. your eyes darts around the different fuses, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a.

"what's your name anyway? never got it," you ask, as you check the clogged fuel filter again, your hands moving around meticulously. "daniela," she answers flatly, her eyes shamelessly trailing down your body. your face scowls at the blockages, too lost in looking at every fuse of the car to even notice the latina mindlessly watching you intently.

"you're a lifesaver, you know that?" she cracks up, chuckling, as she watches you concentrate with your eyes all narrowed. you roll your eyes, shaking your head, "been called stuff here and there but never a lifesaver." you tilt your head, a shit-eating grin curling on your lips. she scoffs, shaking her head in response, "i'm sure you're just exaggerating to make me feel special." her gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes.

and for the rest of the repair, silence falls, leaving daniela with her thoughts. while you scrutinize her car, replacing a few things here and there, daniela couldn't help but notice the way your muscles flexed while your chest rose and fell, exasperated grunts escaping your lips every few seconds. synonymously, she couldn't help but chastise herself for gushing over you—a girl she barely knew but a sweet one at that. your eyebrows furrow, the tightness blooming in your chest, as you toss the girl a look over your shoulder, checking up on her, before brushing away a feeble string of sweat on your forehead.

after a good hour, you screw the hood closed, as you turn your head over to look at daniela—the girl practically knocked out on the small chair beside you. a chuckle escapes your breath, before you tap her shoulder, waking her up. "it's all good now. sorry for uh, keeping you out for awhile," you profusely apologize, dropping her keys onto her lap, as you wipe your hands on your rag, leaving your hands awkwardly clinging to your belt loops. a look of pity washes over your features. your heart knocks and knocks out of your chest, as you try to discern her expression, hoping she wasn't too bored.

daniela shakes her head, and with her voice smooth and calm, she drawls out, "it's fine, at least it's done earlier than in a week." it felt as though you were gonna drop dead at her reassuring tone, and in response, you hum, trying to dismiss the heat spreading at the tip of your ears. you lean against the car before fumbling over your words, "you- you can try out the car, see if it works y'know."

the latina nods slowly, "yeah, i'll definitely try that," as she enters the car, twisting her keys with a quick flick into the ignition, and finally does the engine actually rumble to life. you couldn't help but let a smile dance along your features, your arms crossed against your chest, as she rolls down the window.

"how much do i owe you?" she asks in a hushed tone, and you think for a fleeting moment before murmuring in between your teeth, "$30's fine," hoping nobody else could hear—especially when you lowered the bill by more than half of its original price. and in response, daniela furrows her eyebrows, clearly confused at how the price was now suddenly lower, but she nonetheless shook it off, handing you the money.

and before daniela takes off, she winks at you, a grin plastering her face, and you swear your heart squeezes ever-so-tightly that you could combust, melt, and ascend to the heavens. with your cheeks flushed, you take a few steps back, watching the curly-headed drive away from the lot. before you could wave, your coworker—kazuha—teases, "you know you have a fuck ton of cars to fix, and you need to pay the rest of her bill," as she nudges your shoulder.

you huff, sauntering over to the cash register inside, "shut up, it was worth it," you murmur, as you open the register, pulling out your wallet. you narrow your eyes, as you notice words written sloppily with a black marker on one of the bills daniela handed you.

call me, pretty (###)-####-#### - daniela

"can't believe a girl as gorgeous as her wants… whatever you are," kazuha snickers, raising her eyebrow, as the japanese girl flicks your forehead, making you push her playfully in return. you huff, a scowl on your face, before you slip the written bill into your pocket, shoving bills from your own wallet to pay off the rest of daniela's tab. and maybe you did have to work extra shifts to repair the rest of the cars, but you got daniela's number, and that was all that mattered to you right now.

so when you look me in my eyes

will you take some time?

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[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Deal With The Devil

Chapter 1: The Deal

Pairing: Fae!Hyrule x Reader

Warning(s): Eventual smut and some yandere themes

Notes: This came to me at 3am in a fever dream after getting both my flu and covid shots, so enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

There was something horribly wrong with the forest at the edge of your village.

Whispers of creatures, lurking among the shadowy boughs or dense shrubbery, circulated the community like the chilled winds from the North, digging icy, fearful tendrils into the hearts and minds of your fellow villagers. Tales of dark magic were becoming as common as talk of upcoming weather, and yet, nothing was done about the supposed horrors prowling the doorstep of every self-respecting individual. You heard rumors of dreadful skittering atop thatched roofs in the market, basket piled so high with vegetables and honey that the weight threatened to send you tipping to the thin ground, and murmurings of Hylian-adjacent silhouettes in fog-frosted windows.

It was a load of bull, as far as you were concerned. Well, maybe not the warnings of not straying too deep into the forest, because it was common sense, but you were more than skeptical on the tales of witches and demons--or, as of late, fae folk. Not the sweeter-than-sugar fairies that strayed behind your home, eagerly accepting the food you placed specifically for them, but actual fae; tricksters, deceivers, murderers.

Besides, with your budding merchant business, it seemed counterproductive to refuse to enter the woods. How else would you gather your herbs? Your mushrooms? Your wild nuts and berries?

Which is probably why, when you sent the mayor's son packing after another painful courting attempt, you had no qualms about slipping into the comforting shadows of the trees, the twittering birds and rustling leaves your only witnesses.

You hummed softly, letting your feet carry you down the well-worn path, gaze softly scanning your surroundings, flicking from the colorful flowers to the downy moss, sticking to brown-gray bark like a blanket of fuzz. It never hurt to be aware, though you couldn't shake the dull feeling of being watched. It started slow, a mere drizzle on your senses, but the familiar tingle of your spine was getting harder and harder to ignore with each step you took.

With a soft shake of your head, you turned off the path, b-lining for a thick tree on the edge of the unknown. A cluster of silent shrooms grew among the tree's gnarled roots, and you eagerly plucked them from the earth, gently stuffing your prize into the satchel slung across your chest with a satisfied hum. Your neighbor, Jayrie, had mused about the lack of 'unusual' ingredients in the market, and you'd been hoping to find something to surprise her, if only in the hopes of tempting a few extra rupees from her pocket in a bribe to find more.

Seconds passed, then minutes, and the day slipped away before you knew it. With a fattened satchel and soft grin, you trotted back home, completely missing the shadowy figure crouched among the tree branches, honey-colored eyes trained unblinkingly on your form.

Hyrule licked his chapped lips as he sat on the thick branch, the bark rough through the fabric of his pants. It wasn't an unwelcome sensation, especially when he had something far more important to focus on. The tendons in his back flexed when a soft hum filled the air, followed by the gentle crunch of boots against trampled, dead grass.

It was you. Because of course it was. It always was.

Hyrule felt his heart clench, ears swiveling to catch every huff of breath and mumbled word that fell from your lips, as he curled a bit in on himself. His mouth opened, several words hissing past pearly teeth, and the glamor surrounding him thickened, ensuing that he would be imperceptible to even the most skilled magic users, which you (thankfully) weren't.

It wasn't his fault–he thought as you walked a bit further, immediately dropping down to pluck the mushrooms he had magicked just for you this morning–or, well, not really. It was his fault, however, for getting attached after witnessing you go out of your way to feed the fairies that dared stray into that blasted village, cooing softly to them in the safety of your backyard, nestled on the very edge of the settlement. He watched you tend to his sisters for far longer than he cared to admit, and, when your reoccurring presence in his glade grew noticed, it only went downhill from there.

It wasn't long after he began observing you did he realize that he had... well, he couldn't quite describe what the feeling was, but it was profound. Consuming in a way that left him with the embarrassing ache to touch you, even though every fibre of his being screamed for him to cease this senseless involvement immediately. He was fae and you were Hylian; it would never work, never mind the context that 'it' insinuated.

You stood up, humming some incomprehensible melody, and Hyrule stiffened atop his perch, pointed ears twitching as another, senseless feeling bubbled in his chest. It would be so easy to return the song, to chime to your lead. He wouldn't even need to retract the glamor! But the risk...

When you patted your satchel, the tone of your song changing to something distinctively pleased, turning on your heel to return to the village, Hyrule let himself slip from the branch, landing soundlessly on the soft grass as he began the ritual anew. You were a merchant, which meant you frequented the forest quite often in search of items, and he was more than happy to provide if it kept you coming back, just so he could follow you to the tree line, where he would linger until you were no longer in sight.

It was pathetic, he knew, but when was the last time a Hylian had treated the fae folk with even a modicum of respect? Of kindness? He certainly couldn't remember, and Hyrule prided himself on his memory.

The fae's steps were light, honed from years of sneaking around, as he trailed after you, careful to duck behind the nearest tree when your vigilant gaze strayed even an inch too close. While he was positive you were a kind, sweet, perfect soul, he knew it wouldn't end well if you discovered you were being followed, which was the last thing he wanted.

As the color of the sky faded to a soft pink, flecked with fiery oranges and blazing reds, and the sun dipped below the cradle of the horizon, Hyrule found himself standing a few trees back from the edge of the forest, eyes trained on your swaying form as you trotted to your house, which bordered the tree line by a few hundred meters. You were still humming, though the song was different. Slower, gentler. Hyrule was embarrassed to wonder if you would sing for a fae.

His wings ached for freedom, just as the magic thrumming in his veins begged him to return to the wilderness. Your village was a strange, terrifying place, and he hated it with every fiber of his being. Hated how quick they were to judge, to spread those horrendous rumors. Granted, many of them were true, but it was a matter of principle.

Hyrule shook his head. His canines, longer than the average fae, sank harmlessly into his bottom lip at the foolish desires rolling through his mind. The fae stole one last look in your direction before disappearing into the forest, the scent of wildflowers and fresh rain filling his senses; a storm was coming, but he wasn't worried. He never was.

That night, Hyrule sang for a Hylian.

This is for the Hyrule thirsters <33

[loganofthenorth]

Did I go into this thinking I'd be a mighty hero? Of course not.

...

Okay, well, maybe a little bit... I wouldn't have gone on this quest had I thought it would end this way. I was foolish. Had hope I might prevail. Instead, water drips from the drip stone high above my head, and echoes against the cracked stone floor. Streams run into these cracks and several luminous dragonflies zip around the area to collect any flies enjoying the damp atmosphere. I'm not sure if my lack of breath is due to fear, or the humid air which suffocated me in this dark place underneath the ocean.

"Well, 'Chosen One?' Are you going to bow down and face judgement, or are you going to stand there like a snivelling coward?" The taller man standing across the cave from me questioned. A dragon with scales that reflected what little light the cave offered in a chromatic sort of way circled us. Her giant feet were slow in their steps as she gracefully moved her large body around the two of us. If I ran, she'd likely swallow me whole... I could sleigh her with my sword, but then what? He was a powerful wizard with magic which could restrain me. If I attack him first, the dragon will fry me. I could likely escape with my life, but... I likely would not escape with the artifact that hid within my bag, a loose raggedy thing strapped to my shoulder.

"Dimitri has terrible taste in heroes..." The wizard sighed in exhausted dismay. He took a moment to comb back his long black hair, which shined like the dragon's scales. A cocky smirk rested under his large nose, and his green eyes- the colour of which also matched the dragon's scales- glimmered with amusement. "What is it with great wizards and sending scrawny children to do their dirty work? Why can't he be a proper gentleman and perform his own suicide missions?" The wizard complained.

"You... Know Master Gracen?" I asked timidly.

"Why, has Dimitri not told you? I thought certainly he'd have at least warned you what you were up against. Please, allow me to introduce myself." The wizard before me mused. He bowed gracefully to me, a wicked grin across his face. "The name is Corren Hofftraitor. You can call me Coy, if you like."

"Coy? Like your attitude?" I couldn't prevent myself from snarking him despite the grave situation.

Coy laughed and clutched his stomach as his deep bellowing echoed through the cavern. "Yes," He heaved for breath as he finally calmed down. I felt my shoulders slump, and my gaze avert away from him. "Yes, like my attitude. I do like the younger heroes, they have such spirit in them. So nice to see someone who has yet to be crushed by the world... A shame I'll have to kill you to get what I want." Coy continued. He reached out his hand towards me, then held his chin up high. "Now kneel, and present the artifact to me. Or I shall make the remainder of your life a living hell." He threatened.

"But... My village. We need this artifact." I stammered. I took a step back, and the dragon growled in warning.

"Inerva, at ease." Coy soothed his reptilian friend. The dragon ruffled her wings and blew out smoke, then shifted her legs and lowered herself to lay down. "There's a good girl." Coy praised as he reached out and patted her scales gently. "As for your village... Might I ask, what does your village need this time? Will this artifact stop a monster? Perhaps cure a drought? Or, mayhaps, is it going to break a curse? I'm curious what con my old friend and rival is pulling this time." Coy went on, his attention back on me.

I could have escaped at this point... Grab my broken broomstick from the jagged ground and cast a quick mending spell before his dragon gets up. Or perhaps a teleportation spell would be more practical... I'd just need to know where I'm teleporting to.

Regardless, I was curious. "Con, Mr. Hofftraiter?" I asked to clarify.

"Yes, a con. The idea that anyone can be special and save the world by adding random things to some Wizard's collection. Kids keep getting killed over this and yet he's the 'good' guy." Coy complained.

"For the record, I'm not a kid, I'm 21." I defended.

"Oh, honey. To me that still makes you a kid." Coy mused. "But regardless... There's nothing magical about that trinket. It's simply a rare collector's item and your 'Master' wants it for himself." Coy explained.

"You're lying! Master Gracen said we needed it to craft a potion to cure my people's disease!" I declared.

"Ah, so that's what he promised you... A cute in exchange for the trinket. How quant. Unfortunately, I am also a collector, and unlike Dimitri I get my own hands dirty for what I want. Now hand it over and accept your fate." Coy threatened deviously.

The feeling of despair fell over my shoulders, and the realization that I had failed, doomed my entire family. All I could do then, was pray. I whispered to any Gods whom might listen, begged them to assist me in this moment of possible failure, and grant me guidance on what to do next.

I knelt down in front of the villain, and slowly reached inside my bag. While Coy pulled out a large knife, I pulled out the artifact. Eagerly, Coy swiped it from my hands. Then chuckled maliciously.

"Oh, excellent. This will go nicely beside my Egyptian Artifact collection." Coy decided.

I closed my eyes and waited, knowing this would be the end..

I felt cold steel against my neck after I obeyed a firm command to bow my head.

Then a sharp pain, and warm blood dripping from my neck and down my back. I was surprised, however, when the sword was sheathed and a hand was offered to me.

"There. In return, I have removed the tracking spell your Master engraved in you." Coy announced.

"The what spell!?!" I exclaimed.

"Gods you're oblivious... er... How about we return to my place, you can become my own apprentice, and I can tell you everything. K?" Coy offered as he climbed onto the back of his dragon.

"I... can't betray my Master. Or abandon my people." I argued.

"Your master is supposed to be protecting that village. He doesn't need a special vase to make the antidote, he'll do it once he realizes you're not coming back. Your master sees you as a tool, nothing more." Coy informed me.

"I guess..." I conceded. I felt a pit form in my stomach, knowing I couldn't return without that artifact or Master Gracen would not heal my people. "I have always wanted to ride a dragon..." I then attempted to persuade myself.

Coy smiled, then patted a space behind him. I eagerly ran over, climbed on, and held Inerva's spikes tightly.

Apparently I'd be the fifth adventurer Coy ended up adopting.

Which is better than being the fifth one to die certainly.

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

[sturnslutz]

introducing... teenagedirtbag!matt and innocent!reader

use of y/n a couple times.

matt had always been one to ignore girls. not that he didn’t like them, but because he truly just didn’t want them. his “bad boy” persona really lures girls in, and he’s learned that over the years.

his bad rep started off when he was only a young boy, not paying attention in class, and snapping back at teachers which caused multiple suspensions, detentions, and even one expulsion.

him getting expelled from full circle high school in somerville really turned his family’s life around. his brothers, chris and nick, were the complete opposite of him, but because he got switched, they had to too.

you weren't a very social person, but you weren't super shy. you could go and ask someone a question if you were lost, but you couldn't tell someone what they did wrong, even if it hurts you.

that's what some people adored about you, that you're so innocent. so pure. that's what people base you off of, and build on it.

"oh yeah, angel? she's so nice!" the amount of times you have heard that about you. people even named you angel, which you weren't mad about, but no one really called you by your actual name anymore.

somerville high was a dreading place for you. toxic jocks, wannabe pick me girls who bully the quiet kids when no doubt, they're 10x smarter. who even cares about grades anymore? high school social pyramids are based on how much you sleep with people and if you take drugs, which automatically puts you at a "higher level."

unfortunately, you were right in the middle. you smoked a couple times, but it wasn't a big thing. and obviously, you haven't hooked up with anyone, not even holding hands.

it was like sexual experiences were resistant to you no matter how much you craved it. you were literally the face of the quote, "perverted bitch with an angelic face."

others have told you that you had a sort of, "angelic presence" about you. like you were this breath of fresh air everyone desperately craved for, and it came naturally to you.

you were in math class, sitting in the back of the class with your tight clothes that hugged your curves perfectly, with an airpod in. you still paid attention to whatever the teacher was talking about, but she was currently at her desk allowing you guys to have a little break, or so she calls it. a certain announcement makes you take your headphone out.

"next class we're having a new student come into our class by the name of matthew sturniolo. i expect you all to treat him with kindness and respect."

matthew sturniolo? that sounded super familiar.

you looked down at your phone, opening up instagram and searching through your followers.

@matthew.sturniolo

he followed you already. and you followed him back.

he had liked a couple of your posts and stories, but you guys have never talked. he was so fine, and he had this dark vibe about him that had you soaked.

you would never admit it, but your thighs clenched a couple times when looking at his pics. you can't be thinking like this. you turn off your phone, putting your airpod in, blasting your music, rubbing your eyes to get those thoughts out of head.

you didn't even know what "thoughts" they actually were. you've never watched porn or anything, or even actually touched yourself properly. you just knew that you had a growing ache in between your legs.

the next day came faster than you had thought. upon remembering that matt would be arriving, you dressed in one of your best outfits, that was simple but showed everything that needed to be shown, perfectly.

you had sat in your seat, feet tapping against the ground repeatedly as you fiddled your thumbs in your lap. you turned around everytime someone walked in, and finally he walked in.

he walked so calmly and you both made eye contact immediately to which you turned around and acted cool. or so you thought.

you hadn't seen, but matt smirked softly as he took a seat a couple rows up next to some guy named jack who you've talked to a couple times. they immediately spark up a conversation, probably having met earlier and already became friends.

class had started, and your teacher kept talking. you had forgot a vital rule in her class, assigned seats. "hello matthew, welcome to the class. i hope everyone treats you with kindness and you make your time here productive. unfortunately, we do have assigned seats, and i have you seated next to, y/n. she's in the back over there."

she points to you and you don't necessarily notice as you're looking down at your phone. "y/n." you look up to the sound of your name being called a bit sternly, and see your teacher and a couple pairs of eyes looking at you, and a certain matt who was grabbing his bag.

"yes?" "matthew is coming to sit next to you." your eyes widen a bit as you make eye contact with him again as he walks towards you, smirking at you softly. you nod to the teacher and pull your eyes away from matt, who's now sitting next to you.

"sup." he slumps down next to you, your knees hitting each other. "hi." you respond, no more than a whisper. he nods and goes on his phone, the both of your guys' knees still rested on each other.

"we follow each other on insta right?" he says as he pulls your profile up, a sudden wave of embarrassment flowing through you as he clicks through your highlight of yourself, lingering a bit too long on the few bikini pics or pajama pics.

"mhm." you hum. he chuckles softly, nodding again. "nice." he puts his phone away, and his eyes rake over your body. you pay no attention to it as you tap on your computer a couple times to start working on the assignment.

"wanna hangout later?" you almost thought you were dreaming. "w-what?" you look over at him, your eyes meeting. "hangout. later. i'll pick you up and we can jus' go to the park or somethin'. whatever you wanna do. not a date though. jus' wan' a pretty girl to show me her favorite spots."

he had a certain tone to his last words, "favorite spots" which gave you a hint of something else besides what he was saying, a hidden intent in his words. this caused a shiver through you before you nod. "um, yeah sure. here." you hand him your phone for him to put his number in, and he does, quickly texting himself before taking his phone out, texting you back and saving your contact.

"'ight. i'll pick you up later, yeah?" "yeah, sure."

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 comment to be added or removed.

[bonelessghoul]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Summary: In a game that costs you your blood, sweat, and tears, Young Il is there to protect you from it all. After forging you way thus far with your own strength and will, you begin to realize just how much you'd grown to care for player 001. Note: This is lowkey a tidbit of something bigger I had been working on but I was so antsy to put it out there!!

There was a moment when you relinquished everything you knew about how to be human—when survival took over, and everything went cold. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but as the curtains parted to reveal the massive room before you, the sheer vastness of it swallowed you whole. It was like a carousel stripped of its animals, the vacant platform stretching into a haunting void.

Your breath hitched as your new friends brushed by, awe painting their faces. But for you, awe was eclipsed by dread, your mind conjuring images of what would take the place of those carousel creatures.

“YN." A voice said, soft and steady, cut through your daze.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped walking, your gaze frozen on the ceiling where the carnival-like top stretched impossibly high, its center receding into shadow. You turned your head to see Young Il, his face unreadable but his nod reassuring. You swallowed hard, nodding back as your feet reluctantly followed.

Behind you was Hyun Ju, player 120, and the odd group you had become apart of for the relay. You glanced back at them, Guam Je and her son above her with player 095 at their side. Gaum Je waved excitedly at you and you bowed your head, smile growing across your face.

“This game? We played it in school,” Jun Bae said, his eagerness to conquer bleeding into his tone. “We formed groups by hugging back then.”

Dae Ho, ever the pragmatist, glanced down at his fellow marine. “I think instead of hugging, we go into these rooms.”

The colored doors, bordered with arches of blinking carnival lights, seemed to mock you. Your heart raced as you scanned each one, already strategizing, already crumbling under the weight of possibilities.

Who would go where? How many would make it? What if one of you got left out?

These were thoughts you didn’t have before the relay; perfectly content in your own world of surviving and not having to worry about anyone else. It was almost a torturous game in itself when the survival of your new friends began to weigh as heavy as your own as you walked into this new game.

You didn’t even notice the tightness in your jaw until Young Il’s worried eyes found yours again. His look, calm but probing, was enough to pull you back.

He was another problem you unexpectedly faced here.

Once on the platform though, Gi Hun called you all into a tight huddle.

“If the number is bigger than six, we’ll get the additional people we need,” he explained.

“What if it’s smaller than five?” Dae Ho asked.

“Like four or even five?” you blurted, your voice cracking under the strain of your thoughts.

“Whatever happens, don’t panic,” Young Il interjected, his tone even but firm. “Stay calm.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed. There was something in the steadiness of his voice, the way his words seemed to reach only you, that settled the storm within you.

“We’ll make it out together,” he said, placing his hand in the center of the group.

For a moment, you hesitated, your independence warring with the strange comfort his presence gave you. But then you took a breath and laid your trembling hand on his. The others followed suit, their hands piling over yours. As the huddle broke, your fingers brushed Young Il’s, and though you tried to pull away quickly, the brief contact was enough to remind you of what was at stake.

The platform jolted to life, a playful carnival tune echoing through the air. The motion sent a ripple through the group, and you stumbled, catching yourself against Young Il’s steady hand on your shoulder.

The music began, your heartbeat syncing with its rhythm, pounding in anticipation of the inevitable stop. When it did, the abruptness made your bones rattle. Instinctively, you gripped Young Il and Jun Hee’s arms, the three of you clinging together as the voice announced the number:

“Ten.”

Chaos erupted. Voices overlapped, bodies collided, and desperation filled the air. You clung to the five who surrounded you, your eyes darting frantically, searching for more.

“Hyun Ju!” you shouted, spotting her tall frame among 007, his mother, and 095. “We’re six over here!”

“How many are you?” Jun Bae demanded, urgency lacing his words as he tried to group everyone together and make sure it was the right number.

“Four!”

“Let’s go!”

Arms linked, you all sprinted toward door 44, a blur of motion and panic. The flashing pink lights disoriented you, but you held on tight, driven by the collective will to survive. As the door slammed shut behind you, relief washed over the room like a tidal wave.

Doubled over, you fought to catch your breath. But as your hands rested on your knees, they began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Is everyone here?” Dae Ho asked, his voice cutting through the heavy breathing.

A quick headcount confirmed it: all ten of you had made it. The knowledge brought a momentary reprieve, but your legs still shook as you leaned into the wall, your mind spinning.

Besides you, Geum Ja leaned her small frame upon yours, hand resting on your shoulder. She must have sensed the way your knuckles rattled in your skin beyond your control and from where you could see as your head hung down, her old yet soft hand covered yours.

Lifting up, you smiled with gratitude and she did the same, an unspoken relief shared between you two.

But the sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the silence and your smile, the relentless pops echoing in your ears. You flinched, your heart twisting with every shot. The weight of survival pressed down on you like a vice, and when the door reopened, it took every ounce of willpower to step back onto the platform.

There was so much blood scattered around the room, marking the spots where players left behind once stood.

Young Il waited for you at the doorway, his eyes scanning your pale face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, the wavering pitch of your voice betraying you.

In another world, you refused to reveal otherwise. As your hands still shook you were ready to march on, but you could only be reminded that the next round might not be as easy.

You didn’t elaborate and further and he didn’t push. But when your hand brushed his on the platform, he didn’t let go. His fingers interlocked with yours, the grip firm and grounding.

“Just—just try not to leave me,” you whispered, the words barely audible above the jaunty tune that started up again.

If he replied, you didn’t hear it. But the gentle squeeze of his hand said enough. Your eyes shut as you braved yourself for the platform to move and you felt cowardly for clinging on so desperately to one man when there were so many of you who needed that strength.

The music stopped again.

“Four.”

Panic set in as the six of you exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“You four, go!” Gi Hun barked, his voice slicing through the chaos as he tried to usher you with Jun Hee, Jung Bae, and Dae Ho.

Looking back in a panic, you watched with relief as Hyun Ju took the players in her group off as they had already made the perfect four.

“No!” Young Il said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “She stays with me. We will find two more.”

The group that started at you desperately sunk with some form of disappointment mixed with a deep sadness that couldn’t make sense in a time where their lives were on the clock. But to your relief, you saw another pair just beyond Young Il’s shoulders who were waving for two more people.

There was no time for arguments. You shoved Young Il toward the pair behind him, your heart shattering as you watched Gi-Hun hesitate before running with the rest of them.

“Go!” you shouted, you and Young Il racing to grab the two stragglers and sprint toward a door.

When the door locked behind you, you collapsed, panting and trembling. But the fear clawed at you relentlessly. You needed to know if the others had made it. You moved to the small window, peeking out despite the bile rising in your throat.

“YN,” Young Il said, his voice softer now. A hand rested on your shoulder. “Don’t look. I know it that they made it.”

But you couldn’t pull away until the gunfire started again, jolting you back just before you could see more blood spill the ground.

When the doors unlocked, you rushed out, your heart in your throat until you spotted Jun Hee. Relief surged through you, and you threw your arms around her, holding on tight as Jun Bae and Dae Ho joined the embrace. It felt like when you had won the relay when the circumstances at play didn’t phase your mind when you were filled with the heartwarming sensation of everyone holding each other.

It was simply pure happiness in knowing they made it and you looked around, their looks of relief making your heart ache and wring out like a wet towel.

“I knew you’d make it,” Gi Hun said, his pride evident as he patted you and Young Il on the shoulder.

Nodding proudly, you looked up at Young Il who was surveiling the rest of them and checked in on Juhn Hee. Your heart broke every time you looked at her and you tore your eyes away to head to the platform, weighed by a grief for something that hadn’t even happened yet but the instead the grief of what could happen.

Back on the platform, the grim reality settled over you again. But this time, when you tried to stand strong, Young Il took your hand first and your head whipped towards him.

Why did he have to hold you so tenderly? Why did he have to make you feel cursed with the knowledge that he cared?

His lips curved into the faintest smile as if he could see the way you tortured yourself, a small reminder that, for now, you weren’t alone and the platform spun.

The ear piercing tune rung out, haunting you as its end would signify the next number to be called and when the platform stopped, your heart did too.

“Three.”

You were overwhelmed by realization that it was a perfect number: you standing between Gi Hun and Young Il while Juhn Hee stood between Jung Bae and Dae Ho. You all looked at each other with wide grins before taking off running.

Young Il and Gi Hun practically flew across the room to a door with you tailing behind like a kite.

But the chaos around you didn’t cease even as your group aligned perfectly with the challenge, and your world shifted abruptly when a force slammed into your side in the shape of an arm that yanked you into what felt like air.

The force was so sudden, so unrelenting, that your hands slipped free from Gi Hun’s and Young Il’s grasp before you could scream.

“YN!” Their voices tore through the ringing of your ears , desperate and terrified.

Your back slammed into the floor into a sticky puddle, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as your body hit the slick, blood-smeared tiles. Stars exploded across your vision, and for one disoriented moment, you couldn’t move. But you tried to move your body regardless, unknown to where or what direction but only knowing you needed to find them.

They rushed out towards you as your vision cleared and you were still stuck to the floor. But before you could push yourself up to meet them halfway, two arms snaked under your own and started pulling you away.

“Young Il!” you screamed, your voice raw and strangled, being hoisted up and dragged. “Gi-Hun!”

Panic surged through you in waves, wild and all-consuming, but their grip only tightened. You kicked and fought with everything you had, your heels scraping uselessly against the floor.

“No! Let me go!” you shrieked, your cries echoing as you caught a fleeting glimpse of Young Il and Gi Hun running toward you, their faces twisted in horror.

But there was no time and your eyes found the clock with less than 10 seconds to spare and your entire body went limp.

“YN!” Gi Hun’s voice cracked, his hand outstretched as the pastel-colored door loomed closer—too close.

There wasn’t enough time.

Time slowed to a crawl, every second seared into your memory as the men dragged you through the doorway. Your legs buckled beneath you as they shoved you inside, your knees slamming against the ground. You turned just in time to see the door seal shut, cutting off the anguished faces of Young Il and Gi Hun.

Your captors finally dropped their arms from you, both collapsing against the walls as they caught their breath.

For a moment, the world was silent and you were petrified to look up at the door for the fear of seeing their bodies laid out by the pink guards. But seemingly at the thought of blood, you commanded its scent and looked around the room.

And then it hit you—your left side was soaked with something warm and sticky. Blood. Maybe your blood, but you weren’t sure. The metallic tang filled your nose, and your stomach churned violently.

“You bastards,” you hissed, your voice trembling with fury.

The man who slumped against the wall didn’t even look at you. The other one stood, panting, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. You didn’t care. Blind rage consumed you as you staggered to your feet, your legs shaking. Without thinking, you lashed out, kicking the man slumped on the floor.

“You two deserved to die out there!” you screamed, your voice breaking.

“Hey!” the standing man barked, shoving you backward.

But you didn’t care. Your fist flew out before you could stop it, connecting with his face in a satisfying crack to his nose that made your entire arm go numb. He stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood seeped through his fingers.

“You stupid bitch!” he roared, his voice muffled and furious. “You’re alive because of us!”

His words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not the pain radiating through your side, not the blood staining your clothes, not the searing ache in your chest. All you could see was the pastel door, and all you could hear was the deafening silence on the other side.

“We should’ve left her,” the man on the floor muttered darkly, his voice low and bitter.

You turned your head, spitting onto the ground where he sat, your gaze burning with unspoken venom. Your body trembled with unspent rage, with heartbreak so raw it felt like it might tear you apart. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at the door. Not yet. Not until it opened again. Not until you knew if they made it.

This was why you should have stayed to yourself. You’ve become a liability to them and yourself—especially when you were consumed with so much grief for their lives that you’d rather be dead.

The world seemed to tilt, your vision blurring with the weight of it all. You stood frozen, bloodied and trembling, as the air hung thick with uncertainty. With a resounding click, the doors unlocked, and nearly ripped it off its hinges.

Stepping out among the dozens left who slowly emerged from the rooms, your breath was hitched in your throat as you slowly looked around for their faces.

“Mom!” 007 croaked.

You watched the boy choke on his sobs as his mother approached him, but on her tail was Gi Hun and Young Il. A faint feeling washed over you, shoulders sagging as something in you wanted to break out in tears.

If this were only yesterday, you wouldn’t have shed any tears but now, your eyes grew blurry as you slowly carried yourself towards them.

They had been spinning in circles looking for you and as you got closer to them, too scared to make a sound or else you’d sob worse than 007 was, your chest rose and fell rapidly to keep your choking at bay.

But your legs picked up their pace, your breath shuddering and Young Il finally froze when he saw you.

“YN!” he called.

You smiled through your tears but your lips trembled but luckily, he and Gi Hun closed the distance between you and Young Il threw his arms around you, clutching you like you’d get snatched away again.

Face buried into his chest, your arms slowly snaked around him too, the tears seeping from your eyes as quietly as you could let them.

“I’m sorry.” you apologized, voice muffled slightly.

For what? You weren’t sure—it’s not like it was your fault. But deep down you were remorseful for the way you made the others worry for you and the way you had gone feral at being separated from them but these were not things so easily spoken.

He pulled back, hands clutching your face in a surprisingly swift and comfortable manner, looking down at you with such a soft pitiful look to his face.

“What could you be sorry for?” he asked.

Gi Hun rubbed her shoulders and you lowered your eyes.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Gi Hun affirmed, nodding at her with a brief smile. “You survived and so did we. We make it to the end together, no matter what.”

It was what you needed to hear in this moment. It was okay to care so long as you all tried your hardest to survive and that’s what they had done in that moment.

You scoffed at yourself, cheeks dampened with salty tears and his thumbs swiped them away.

“I won’t let go of you this time.” Young Il said, his face challenged by something deeper as he released your face and guided you back to the platform.

“YN!” Jung Bae and Dae Ho gasped excitedly, clapping as you stepped back onto the platform.

“What happened?” Jung Hee asked sympathetically.

Looking down at your already bruising knuckles, a grim smile crept on your face.

“Nothing that won’t happen again.”

The two boys laughed like hyenas, in awe at your strength and gushing at the bruises that painted your hand like two little girls who had just met their idol.

“I think you should take up the marines when we’re out of here, YN.” said Jung Bae, earning a nod of approval by Dae Ho.

You shook your head, chuckling at their admiration.

“No, I’d like not to punch anyone else for some time, thank you.” you dismissed with a wince, shaking your hand out.

Young Il did a double take, and as did Gi Hun who leaned over behind him to get a look.

“You did what?” Young Il asked quietly, voice low as he almost looked quite impressed too.

The fleeting moment that had passed where your rage blinded you felt like someone else entirely, but you shrugged it off, eyes falling to your feet.

“I punched the man in the face when we got through the door.“

Unbeknownst to you, he smirked proudly and Gi Hun was almost a little terrified of you. But as the rest of the players gathered, there was one pressing question that hung in the air.

“What do you think the next number will be?” asked Jung Bae, the platform beginning to spin.

There was some debate, but you were caught off guard by the way Young Il grabbed your hand.

“Two.” he said, drawing all of their eyes to him.

“There’s 126 players left and only fifty rooms. There won’t be enough for everyone.”

Maybe it was blind confidence but as you looked at your friends, everyone paired up right away, and you looked back at Young Il as the platform stopped.

“I won’t let go this time.” he said.

“Two.”

Immediately, you and Young Il took off running as fast as you could off the platform and there were so many faces around you blurred by your peripheral taunting you as you fought for a room. There was no time to divert and the door you two were approaching had one individual standing before it.

“Get in!” Young Il shouted to you, releasing your hand for a split second to fight off the man who hung by the door.

Your vision went fuzzy as you entered the room the room, but at the sight of the sheer horror of someone else in the room that made your blood run cold you froze up. You wanted to warn Young Il, caught on your words like you were choking, but he had already rushed into the room and slammed the door shut.

“Get out.” Young Il demanded

“We were in here first!” the man huddled in the corner.

Something dark came upon Young Il’s eyes as the impossible crossed your minds. You hadn’t seen him lose every ounce of life in his expression and it made your own soul feel cold looking at him.

“Turn around, YN.” he said, neither commanding nor pleading—but an order you followed nonetheless.

For a split second you did listen, quick to spare yourself of the horror but as you heard the thrashing around and the choking gasps that gurgled with last breaths of air, you found yourself turning around anyway.

It wasn’t as horrifying as you thought, having watched so many people die already and knowing your own life was at stake, you couldn’t blame Young Il. Even as he sit there, arms wrapped around the players neck like he had done this many times before, you couldn’t move away.

That’s how your mind rationalized it, but your breath had quickened to hamper down the churning of your stomach.

The sickening crunch of the players neck made your hand shoot up to cover your mouth.

A life was gone and you couldn’t figure out if this was better than being gunned down or not—but it didn’t matter. The clock struck zero and you and Young Il were safe. But as he got up, letting the body slump, your soul nearly jumped out of your body.

“YN.” he said, treading carefully towards you.

Your hands started to shake again, bile burning the base of your throat.

“You had to.” you assured, the words coming out like an automatic reply. “You had to.”

The same hands that had snapped a man’s neck were back on your face, stroking the hair behind your ear. There wasn’t any words that needed saying as he looked down at you, and you had the courage to look back up at him.

“You’re safe, YN. We made it to the end.”

Tears stung your eyes, almost defiantly so. His eyes studied your face, pausing in one particular spot. His hand slid down to your neck, fingers raising chills along your spine, but they lowered so his thumb could swat away a streak of blood along your jaw line. His hand didn't move though even when your face was untouched by blood and now, only the angry tears that puddled within your eyes.

“I know we made it. But I feel like I’m losing myself as the cost.”

You were here because of school debt and medical debt on top of it, abandoned by all those who were supposed to help or too scared to stay in the first place whether by death or selfishness. It was where you two overlapped as you gotten to know each other the past two days.

The only “self” you were losing was the part of you that made it impossible to let anyone in and you’d like to think he knew that, when you told him why you were here. But even still, he stood there as defiant as yourself deep down and held you close anyway.

Your hands reached up to hang on his wrists, reveling in the way his hands felt upon your face and you leaned into it just a little. It was a comfort you had long forgotten.

“I can’t lose myself…I’d be more afraid of losing you then. I’d be afraid to feel what I’d feel if you weren’t here anymore.”

Young Il’s lips parted at your confession and he had no words, a hint of anguish crossing his eyes as his brows furrowed slightly.

He pulled your face closer to rest on his chest and while the rest of the bodies were swept away, you took the moment to let your head sink in and forget what was happening outside with only second left before this cruel and yet blissful moment was ripped away.

~~~

[lethargiccryptid]

Jack and Jill Fell Down a Hill... Cause Steve's a Dumbass

Steve Rogers & Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

The one where Steve's a dumbass, you're a clutz and poor Bucky is just trying to keep you alive 😂

“No more, Steve, this is cruel and unusual.” Y/N slumped against the tree. Steve crossed his arms and shook his head.

“We only ran two laps, Y/N, come on, it’ll be good for you.”

“How do you know what’s good for me, Rogers? Y/N glared up at him.

“Just a few more laps, come on.” Steve held out a hand to help her up. Turning, she looked up at the tree and back at Steve. He raised a brow and waived his hand around a little. Turning back towards the tree, she wrapped her arms around the trunk.

“Meet my new friend, tree.” Y/N looked up at Steve. “Tree,” She turned to look up at the tree. “Meet Steve.” Steve sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, come on,” He paused to nod at a couple jogging by. “You’re making a scene.” Steve knelt in front of her and whispered. Y/N shook her head stubbornly and patted the trunk.

“We’ve bonded, tree and I. Tree is my home now.” Steve sat back on his haunches and ran a hand over his face.

“I wonder what Bucky will have to say about that, Y/N, act your age.”

“Oh, but that wouldn’t be fun for either of us would it, Rogers?”

“What do you mean by that?"

“Well, it’d be fine if I acted my age, but if you acted your age, I’d have to come visit you in the nursing home.” Y/N smiled up at him slyly. Steve leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

“What did you just say, L/N?”

“Oh! We're doing last names now?” Y/N’s grin widened, and releasing the tree, she turned and leaned forward placing her hands on her knees. “I said you’re an old man, Steve Rogers.” Something flashed across Steve’s eyes, and he lowered his eyes.

“That’s what I thought you were implying.” His voice dropped and he looked up at her slowly.

“Now, Steve,” Y/N stood slowly, and so did he. Steve took a step forward, and she took a step back. “It would probably be a good idea for me to start running now, wouldn’t it?” Y/N said, feeling her pulse quicken. Steve kept his eyes trained on her, and she started to fidget at the way they grew darker.

“Probably.” He nodded. With a sharp squeal, Y/N took off like a shot, Steve hot on her trail. She managed to stay several steps of him for longer than she’d have thought she could, but that streak was broken when she looked back, only to lose her footing on a steep hill. “Y/N!” Steve shouted and lunged to catch her.

“Steve, no, I,” Y/N attempted to right herself, but was thrown off balance by the full weight of a super soldier plowing into her. With a wheeze, Y/N went tumbling down the hill, dragging Steve with her. He wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to cushion the blows coming from rocks and the lumpy ground as they tumbled. “Oof!” Y/N landed on her back with Steve Rogers’ dead weight on top of her.

“Are you okay?” He looked down at her in horror. Y/N began beating the ground with her hand.

“Air!” She wheezed.

“Steve? Y/N?” Steve’s head shot up to see Bucky jogging down the hill with a concerned expression. “Get off of her, Steve!” Bucky shouted, moving to peel Steve off of Y/N. Steve scrambled to his feet and moved several steps away. “Doll?” Bucky knelt next to Y/N and touched her cheek. She was deathly pale, and her eyes were darting about wildly.

“Air!” She wheezed again. Steve winced. She sounded like a beached whale gasping for air. Bucky helped her to sit up, concern still evident on his face.

“Breathe, doll.” He commanded, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands. Y/N shook her head and slapped at the ground again. “Y/N, focus on me.” Her eyes cleared a little at his sharp tone and she focused on his eyes. Bucky led her in taking several deep breaths. Suddenly Steve began to feel awkward.

“I’m…okay…” Y/N tapped Bucky’s hand gently.

“Are you sure?” Bucky furrowed his brows and tilted her face side to side, examining her. Y/N gave him a soft smile, or at least her best attempt at a soft smile. He would have found the graceless gesture adorable if he weren’t so concerned. “You scared me out of a year’s growth, Y/N.” He gave her a severe frown, turning to look up at Steve, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What were you thinking, Steve? You almost broke my best girl.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. Before he could open his mouth, Y/N broke in.

“Buck.” She rasped, tapping the hand that had slipped from her face to her neck. His attention returned to her, and his eyes softened. “I’m a klutz.” He huffed and pulled himself to his feet. Y/N held out her hand for him to help her up, only for him to bend and lift her easily into his arms.

“You’re a little hellion.” He grumbled, pressing a kiss to her nose. “I need you to start watching where you’re going.” He punctuated his words by jostling her in his arms.

“Bucky, I’m not a child,” Y/N began, stopping when she saw the stern look on Bucky’s face. With an exasperated sigh she nodded. When he got in these protective moods, it was best to placate him. Turning to face Steve, Bucky looked him up and down and shook his head. When Steve tried to open his mouth again, Y/N caught his eye and shook her head.

Later.

Thank you for reading! Like, reblogs and comments always appreciated! 🥰

@lazyjellyfish300, 😉

[dulcescorderitas]

I know I just made a request, but I got so excited that I had to make another one, sorry for being a bit hasty, take your time.

We know that Clark is tall, that man is a fucking 6'3", he's tall, and well, thanks to his powers he's strong, that man is perfect, can you do something for him where the reader is short, 5'3" tall and she loves Clark picking her up or lifting her up? He just grabs her by the waist and lifts her up like she's a feather, which to Clark she probably is lol, but anyway, that's it, I'd be happy if you did something cute, no smut, but feel free to put it if you want, thanks 🤍

English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes

author's note: no send as many as you want!!!

it’s a thrill every single time. you could pretend you’re annoyed, act like his constant lifting is a nuisance—but deep down, you love it. no, love doesn’t even begin to cover it. every time clark wraps those impossibly strong hands around your waist and lifts you like you’re nothing, your heart skips a beat, your cheeks flush, and you feel… cherished.

today is no different. you’re reaching for something again—your step stool conveniently misplaced, no doubt thanks to your tall, teasing boyfriend. you could call out for him, but you know clark. he’s already there, looming behind you, his presence impossible to miss. the warmth of his body radiates before his hands even touch you.

“need a lift, short stack?” his voice is deep and smooth, laced with that playful charm he knows you can’t resist.

you try for a glare, but your lips betray you, tugging into a grin. “maybe i can manage on my own—”

before you can finish, his hands settle around your waist, large and secure, and up you go. your feet leave the ground as effortlessly as if he were picking up a feather. a small gasp escapes you, and you instinctively grab onto his forearms, not out of fear, but because you’re breathless at the ease, the sheer power behind his every move.

you laugh, a giddy sound you can’t hold back. “clark, you can’t just—”

“i can’t?” he interrupts, his grin audible in his voice. he holds you steady, your toes dangling in mid-air as if gravity itself bows to him. “sure seems like i can.”

and God, you can’t even be mad. you adore it—every second of it. there’s something intoxicating about how easily he handles you, how you feel weightless in his hands, safe and protected. you let out a little giggle, wiggling your toes like some victorious child.

“okay, okay, i might like this,” you admit, the warmth in your cheeks betraying just how much.

“might?” he lifts you higher just to make a point, spinning you around gently as if you weigh no more than a stuffed animal. the room blurs for a moment, and you let out a delighted squeal, grabbing onto his broad shoulders, your laughter filling the space.

“fine!” you cry out between giggles. “i love it, okay? happy?”

clark chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest as he lowers you—only not quite to the ground. instead, he shifts his grip, pulling you flush against him, one arm banded securely around your back while the other cradles under your legs.

“very,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “you know you’re my favorite thing to pick up, right?”

your laugh melts into a soft sigh as you rest your head against his shoulder. “and you’re my favorite person to let pick me up,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but honest.

he beams at you, holding you close, and you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

[cravinganotherworld]

Amorous - Squid games Frontman x Fem! Reader (series)

You enter the games to save your grandfather but it is nothing like you imagined yet something is keeping you there. Is it purely to save your grandfather or is it something more?

WARNINGS: Death, shooting, guns, anxiety

NOTES: Each game will be a new chapter, if you haven't seen squid games or do not want any spoilers for season 2 episode 3 Don't read. This will be a romantic pairing with the Frontman because i truly am a simp :))), Apart from that I hope you enjoy!:)

You stood still in your tracks, the sounds of gun shots firing to the left and right of you making you freeze. Out of the corner of your eye you see bodies fall to the ground and ear-piercing screams fill the air. Dozens of players began to run towards you trying to escape, your heart beating fast as all you can think of in this moment is if they push me…I’m dead. As the crowd rushes past you, you feel many trip over your feet but you stand there motionless, for moving will cost you something much greater than your pride. Soon enough the shots stopped and the doll turned back around shouting ‘Green light’, nobody moved and the doll turned back around on ‘red light’. On the next ‘Green light’ player 456 ran to the front.

“If you don’t cross the line before the time runs out they will still kill you, they cannot detect you if you are behind something” you heart beat quickened. “Time is running out, go on the next Green light!” He shouts. The doll turns around and shouts ‘Green light’, your legs move as fast as they’ll carry you and soon enough you had crossed the line observing as others too either crossed the line or failed. Never before had you seen someone get shot, never before had you ben in the same room as death. Your body began to shake as you walk across to the wall, sliding down it and placing your head on your knees. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder and look up to see player 456 looking down at you.

“Are you alright?” he became blurry as tears welled up in your eyes but you nodded your head with a small smile. He returned your smile and walked away comforting the next person. As the game ended the guards in pink suits guide you all back to the dormitory. Nobody spoke as you all shuffled over to your beds your minds now smeared with the memory of the previous game and the silence more deafening than anything. Soon enough more pink guards returned, revealing the outcome of the first game and the money accumulated. Before they could however multiple players deemed it wise to argue. 

“If the majority of us agree to leave then the games will be terminated, is that correct?” Player 456 shouted, there is a moment of silence.

“Clause 3 of the agreement – if the majority vote to leave then the games will be terminated and the accumulated prize money divided equally between players” The pink guard replied. “At the end of each game there will be a vote, you can have your say if you want to leave or stay” Behind him you see two more guards wheel in a table with an X and O on. “You will place your vote at this table and then stand on the aide you have chosen, you will also get a badge with either an X or O depending on your choice” You take a deep breath, surely everyone must want to go. “If you decide to continue the games the full amount to be won will be 45.6 billion Won, if you leave now each player will get 24,931,500 million Won” Shouts of outrage come from a few players in the group before they died down. “With that let the voting commence, we will begin with player 456”  

You watch as player 456 walks up to the podium and confidently presses ‘X’. A small smile comes to your lips happy about the possibility of leaving this place. Slowly the numbers go down until it reaches you.

“Player 394” Your number is called and you slowly make your way to the podium pulling down the sleeves of your jacket nervously. As you stand there looking at both options your mind begins to race. If you stay you could win so much more and pay for your grandfathers treatment, but if you leave you are sentencing him to death. Without thinking your hand presses ‘O’ causing the ‘O’ team to cheer. As you walk towards the blue side you look up and are met with player 456’s confused eyes. You quickly turn away and watch the rest of the vote unravel. Soon enough the last player was called.

“Player 001” You watched as he confidently strides towards the podium, his hand hovering over the ‘X’ before quickly pressing the ‘O’. A breath of relief washes over you and you knew that you now had to fight for your life. You stand still in your place watching the guards take the podium away whilst everyone else dispersed, thinking about what other games there could be to play.

“Lights out will be in 30 minutes, please prepare for lights out” You hear as you suddenly realize you are the only player left in the middle of the room. Your face turns red as you look down and quickly shuffle over to your bed, unaware of the glances shot in your direction by a certain player. You settle into bed, laying on your back staring at the bunk above you with thoughts of the previous game falling into your mind. Tightly you closed your eyes doing anything you can to shake the images of your teammates bodies scattered on the floor but to no avail. You sit up and bring your knees to your chest as the lights dimmed. You sighed and prepared for the longest night of your life.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

How about a little of fluffy, huh?

Enjoy it <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: you find out about your version and Wanda in another universe.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

SIGHTS

As you walked back to the camp, water droplets slid down your skin, the night breeze bringing a slight shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Your mind was in turmoil, recalling Wanda's little show by the lake. The trees seemed quieter, as if even nature was trying to absorb what had just happened.

"Did you really have to do that in front of everyone?" you asked, breaking the silence, but your voice came out hesitant, almost shy.

Wanda glanced at you sideways, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "And what exactly did I do?"

"Oh, come on, Wanda," you said, exasperated. "Lifting that guy into the air, threatening to erase them all from the multiverse? That’s not exactly... educational."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “What are you talking about? I was perfectly reasonable, if you want to know,” she said, her tone bordering on cynical, as if her threat to erase people from existence was something ordinary and completely justifiable.

"Reasonable?!" you repeated, your voice a bit louder than you intended. "You almost gave the poor guy a heart attack! He’ll never look at a campfire again without remembering you."

Wanda stopped walking, turning to face you with an expression that was both amused and exasperated. "He should be grateful," she retorted, as if explaining something obvious. "If I wanted to, he wouldn’t even remember what a campfire is."

"Oh my god! You’re impossible!" You crossed your arms, trying to look firm, but the way she was looking at you— that mix of unwavering authority and irresistible charm—made your heart race. "You know that’s not the point, right?"

She took a step closer, tilting her head slightly. "And what’s the point, then, dorogaya? That I should have let that bunch of filthy teenagers disrespecting nature go unpunished? I have principles, sweetheart! And none of them can see you like this except for me."

"I’m not talking about me," you replied, but your tone lost strength at the end of the sentence, because deep down, you knew there was something comforting—and, in a way, exciting—about the fact that she had defended you so fiercely.

"Oh, but I am," Wanda murmured, the intensity in her eyes making you feel as though the ground had disappeared beneath your feet. "No one will desire you in my presence. No one will even dare to think about you, and read my lips when I say, darling: I will know what they’re thinking. I always do."

You exhaled heavily, but tried to hide your smile at your witch’s over-the-top monologue. "Wanda… please."

Wanda turned to you, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. "Are you... worried about them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but she just made a hand gesture.

"Happy?" she asked casually, beginning to walk again as if nothing had happened.

You furrowed your brow, quickening your pace to catch up with her. "What do you mean? What did you do?"

Without even looking at you, Wanda gave a small, satisfied smile. "They’ve forgotten everything, dorogaya."

Your eyes widened. "What do you mean 'forgotten everything'? Did you mess with their minds?"

She shrugged, fingers playing with a strand of her own hair. "Just enough to make sure no one will remember my ‘little show,’ as you call it."

You stared at her, a mixture of fascination and unease growing inside you. "You can do that? Alter memories?"

"I can do many things," Wanda replied, finally stopping and turning to face you. She seemed slightly amused, as if relishing your curiosity.

"Like what?" you asked, unable to contain the question.

Wanda leaned slightly toward you, her eyes shining with that characteristic mix of mystery and power. "Ah, milaya moya," she murmured, her voice low and enticing. "If I told you everything I can do, you wouldn’t sleep for weeks."

A shiver ran down your spine, but you couldn’t help but smile. "Is that a promise or a warning?"

"Both," she replied, laughing softly before continuing to walk.

Unable to resist, you hurried to walk beside her. "You really are something, Miss Maximoff."

Wanda stopped abruptly, making you almost stumble in your hurry to keep up with her. She turned to face you, an expression that wavered between surprise and amusement. "Something?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow as a smile danced on her lips.

"Yes, something," you reaffirmed, crossing your arms with an unexpected touch of boldness. "A force of nature, maybe. Or maybe a goddess with a heroine complex. But definitely something."

Wanda’s eyes sparkled, and you realized there was something more there. It wasn’t just amusement. It was admiration. Fascination. As if she was seeing something in you that intrigued her as much as you were intrigued by her.

"You’re bold," Wanda said, her voice soft but tinged with provocation. "Do you know what happens to people who challenge a goddess?"

"I have no idea," you replied, shrugging. "Maybe you should show me."

Wanda tilted her head, a dangerous yet charming smile forming. "You really want to know what I’m capable of, don’t you?"

"I do," you replied, firm, though your heart was pounding like a drum. "I want to know what makes you the woman you are. I want to see everything you can do. Because, if I’m going to be by your side, I need to understand... you."

For a moment, Wanda was silent, just watching you. Then, she stepped forward, closing the gap between you. Her fingers lifted to trace a slow path along your face, as if deciding how far she would take you on this journey.

"You have no idea what you’re asking for, dorogaya," she murmured, her voice like honey dripping. "My power isn’t just strength or control. It’s chaos. It’s destruction. It’s everything you fear and desire at the same time."

"Then show me," you insisted, your voice almost inaudible, but filled with determination. "If that’s what you are, I want to see it. All of it."

Wanda smiled, but this time, there was something deeper there—maybe a touch of respect. "You’re brave. So brave, lyubimaya. But be careful what you wish for."

She extended her hand to you, her eyes glowing with a deep red intensity. "Come with me. And I’ll show you what I’m made of."

You hesitated for a second, but just enough for Wanda to intertwine her fingers with yours, pulling you with her. "Hold on," she said, her lips curling into a smile that was as terrifying as it was beautiful. "You asked for this."

And then, with an almost imperceptible snap, the world around you began to change.

Wanda guided you with a firm yet strange touch through the veil between worlds. Reality around you unraveled in a tangle of colors and shapes, as if every line that composed the fabric of the universe was being unfolded before you. The air seemed to vibrate, charged with something incomprehensible—a raw, terrifying power.

"Welcome to the Multiverse, dorogaya," Wanda said, her voice soft as a whisper, but filled with an authority that made you shiver. "Get ready, because there’s no turning back."

Before you could respond, the first vision took shape.

The room seemed like it was from a dream. White, smooth, and flawless walls reflected the soft light streaming through large windows. Outside, there was a perfect garden, with well-manicured lawns and flowers of all colors. The house was a reflection of what Wanda seemed to believe was an ideal life: simple, cozy, and full of love.

Wanda was barefoot, wearing a light red dress that swayed with her movement. Her hair was loose, and she appeared... ordinary, but in an almost supernatural way. In her arms, a chubby, smiling baby played with strands of her hair as she looked at him with a tenderness so intense it almost broke your heart.

Vision stood beside her, smiling in a way you didn’t think possible for someone made of vibranium. He looked so human there, so... present. With one hand, he caressed Wanda’s face, and with the other, he held a small music box that played a soft melody in the background.

“This was my utopia,” Wanda began, without looking directly at you. Her eyes were fixed on the scene, as if she were immersed in the memory. “A perfect creation for a perfect life. A home where I could have everything the real world denied me.”

You realized the setting seemed like a reflection of an ideal from the 1950s or 60s — a perfect suburban life, almost like a magazine advertisement. Yet, the longer you looked, the more artificial everything seemed. The flowers in the garden had no scent. The sunlight didn’t warm. And suddenly, you realized there were no sounds from the outside.

“It was an illusion, of course,” Wanda continued, with a hint of melancholy. “But for a while... I wanted to believe it was real. I needed to believe. I did this for Vision. For myself. For my children.”

The scene abruptly changed. Now, the same room was dark, almost in ruins. The baby in Wanda’s arms had vanished. Vision was lying on the floor, lifeless, with a hole in his chest where the Mind Stone should have been. Wanda was kneeling, her hands stained with blood, her eyes fixed on the void.

“That’s when I realized,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “None of this was mine. I was living a lie. And the truth... the truth was more cruel than any illusion I could create.”

You wanted to say something, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Everything around you screamed of pain, loss, and despair.

“I tried so hard,” Wanda whispered, more to herself than to you. “I tried to be good, I tried to be strong. But the more I lost, the more I became... this.”

You glanced at the woman, seeing tears held back in her large green eyes. Why doesn’t Wanda cry? Why does she keep everything to herself? These are questions you would like to understand and deconstruct with every reason she gives you.

This version of Wanda was a whirlwind of emotions, chaos personified. You saw her in different moments, different worlds, all versions converging on the same point: Vision. He was the center of her universe, and Wanda did the impossible to bring him back — to recreate the love she believed was her only anchor.

In the first scene, she was kneeling in a cold, metallic room, holding Vision’s lifeless body. It was a version of him without glow, without movement. The pale light reflected on her face, bathed in tears that flowed uncontrollably. Wanda murmured softly, almost inaudible, like a desperate prayer: "Please, come back to me. Please..."

You could feel the urgency in her voice, the kind of desperation that defies reason. She tried using her magic, her hands trembling as a scarlet glow surrounded Vision’s body. But it was futile. He wouldn’t return.

"I refused to accept death," Wanda explained, her voice low, as if confessing a terrible secret. "I thought I could deceive fate. That, if I wanted it enough, I could bring him back."

The scene abruptly shifted, and now you saw her in another world, facing a legion of colossal beings, each one more threatening than the last. They seemed to be guarding something — maybe an artifact or a secret she wanted. Wanda was at the center of the battle, her powers turning the ground into lava, the sky into darkness.

"I destroyed entire worlds," she continued, her eyes fixed on the scene. "I fought against those who tried to stop me, against those who said I was wrong. I didn’t care. I would do anything to bring him back."

You saw another Wanda, this time creating an entire world. She stood with her arms raised as houses rose from the ground, people took form out of nowhere, and a perfect blue sky stretched above everyone. At the center of this world was Vision, smiling, alive, as if nothing had happened.

"I created entire realities," Wanda said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "But none of them were real. He... wasn’t real."

The last scene was the most devastating. Wanda was alone, watching a version of Vision disappear before her eyes. He touched her face one last time before fading into dust, and she remained motionless, as if there was no more strength left in her to react.

"For so long," Wanda said, her eyes filled with a pain that seemed endless, "I thought love was sacrifice. That everything worth having had to be earned with pain. But I was wrong."

She turned to you, the intensity in her eyes as crushing as everything you had just witnessed. "Love shouldn’t be this, right? It shouldn’t be pain, or loss, or despair. But it was all I knew."

You felt your heart tighten. You wanted to touch her, comfort her, but it seemed too small in comparison to everything she had faced.

"You showed me something different," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Something I never thought I deserved. You showed me that love can be... healing."

This time, the air was thick with tension as you entered that ruined house, used as a temporary refuge by Wanda Maximoff. The walls were cracked, and the smell of dust mixed with something else: magic, raw and pulsing, like a storm about to explode. The organization that had sent you knew she was dangerous, but you weren’t there as an agent or a heroine. You were there as a social worker, someone who had worked with people who had lost everything — and Wanda Maximoff was exactly that.

She was sitting in the darkest corner of the room, her eyes glowing with an unsettling scarlet hue. There was no apparent pain or mourning on her face; just a dangerous emptiness, the kind that swallows worlds.

"Leave," was the first thing she said, not even looking at you directly.

You didn’t leave.

"I just want to talk," you said, keeping your voice calm, even though your heart was pounding like a drum. "Nothing more."

Wanda laughed — a dry, bitter laugh, without joy. "Talk? Is that what they call interrogation now?" She finally raised her eyes to meet yours, and the weight of her gaze was almost physical. "I don’t need your pity."

"It’s not pity," you replied, not backing down. "It’s... concern."

Suddenly, the air around her shifted. It was as if an invisible hand was trying to grab you, crush you. Wanda raised her hand, and you saw the scarlet threads of her magic dance around her like serpents ready to strike.

"Do you think you can help me?" she whispered, her voice laced with sarcasm and something deeper: pain. "Do you think you can come in here and fix everything with your sweet words? I could end you before you even finish that sentence."

But she couldn’t.

The magic around her shattered like glass, vanishing into the air before it could touch you. Wanda’s expression transformed into something you would never forget: surprise. She tried again, raising both hands, muttering words in an ancient tongue, but nothing happened.

"Who are you?" she asked, standing slowly, her eyes fixed on you like a predator finding something unusual.

"My name is Y/n. I’m a social worker." You took a deep breath, trying to seem calmer than you felt. "And I think you need help."

"You idiot! Who sent you? Are you a witch? How do you know how to manipulate my magic?" she shot angrily.

Your hands were sweating, and you felt a strong urge to rush to the bathroom — but something completely insane inside you told you that you needed to stay.

You took a hesitant step forward, keeping your hands visible at your sides. It was like facing a wild animal, where every movement needed to be calculated.

"I’m not a witch, and no one sent me," you said, your voice calm but firm. "I’m just a social worker. And I’m here because you’re hurt."

Wanda laughed, but it was an empty, bitter sound. "Hurt?" she repeated, taking a step toward you. "You think you can help me? I’m the Scarlet Witch. I don’t need help from anyone, especially not from a... social worker."

"Maybe you don’t need it," you replied, trying to ignore the heat at the back of your neck and the trembling in your legs. "But maybe you want it."

Her face hardened, and for a moment, you thought you had made a fatal mistake. But then something changed. Her eyes lost some of their intensity, as if your words had touched a part of Wanda she was desperately trying to hide.

"Why aren’t you afraid of me?" she asked, tilting her head. "Everyone is. I can feel fear in people. But in you... there’s nothing."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Maybe it’s because I see beyond that," you said, taking another step. "I see someone who is hurt, who’s lost so much, but who is still here. Still fighting."

"You don’t know anything about me," she murmured, but her voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

"Then tell me," you responded softly. "Let me get to know you, Wanda."

There was a long silence. She watched you as if trying to decide whether you were real or just another broken piece in her world. Finally, Wanda sighed and turned her back, crossing her arms.

"You’re stubborn," she said, not looking at you.

"I hear that often," you replied, trying not to smile.

She chuckled softly, but it wasn’t a cruel sound this time. When she finally turned to you, there was something different in her eyes. Something more human, more vulnerable.

"If you’re going to stay, then stay. But don’t expect me to trust you anytime soon," she said, pointing to a worn-out sofa in the corner of the room.

"I don’t expect," you replied, carefully sitting down. "So, you can’t kill me with your red power balls, nor read my mind. What’s that supposed to mean?"

Wanda let out a disbelieving laugh, actually incredulous. Red power balls? She thought with a roll of her eyes.

"I don’t know." It was a low murmur.

"Maybe a sign that you should give me a chance…" You said with your shoulders shrugged and a sheepish smile on the corner of your lips.

Wanda could never have imagined that you would keep coming back, again, and again, and again — in fact, neither could you. A not-so-friendly conversation and death threats turned into a tea afternoon where Wanda told you about life in the Avengers before everything; then a lunch on the beach where you told her about how you almost drowned when you were 9 — that day, you saw the most genuine smile she could give you given her current conditions, and you felt your heart beat differently for the redhead. Then a dinner at your place — where you learned to make paprikash just to see her smile and complain that the dish lacked pepper — with wine, where Wanda cried missing her boys, and you were officially classified by her as: "the best shoulder I’ve ever cried on, and believe me, I never cry."

Wanda hadn’t realized how important your presence had become in her life, not until you needed to travel for an important case. She missed you, and that confused her. After all, how could a visit so unpleasant and peculiar make her want... for it to be daily? That you would visit her every day and bring the cinnamon rolls from that bakery on your street that she loved so much. That you would learn more Sokovian recipes just to make her smile.

Then the kiss happened in one of those moments of silence, when words were no longer necessary. You were sitting next to her, watching the sunset through the broken window of the house she called her temporary home. The sky was tinged with shades of orange and red, as if the universe itself was painting a canvas just for the two of you.

Wanda seemed calmer that day. Her shoulders weren’t as tense, and the eyes that always seemed to hold storms had a soft, almost peaceful glow. She suddenly looked at you, and there was something in her expression that made the air feel thicker.

"Why do you stay?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

"Because I want to," you replied, without hesitation.

She tilted her head, as if trying to understand something that didn't make sense to her. "You're strange," she murmured, but there was a small, almost imperceptible smile on her lips.

"I prefer 'unique,'" you responded, teasing, though your voice trembled a little.

Then, before you could say anything more, she leaned toward you. It was a hesitant movement, as if testing the waters, but when her lips finally met yours, everything else disappeared.

The kiss was everything both of you had imagined it would be — and more. It was soft, but filled with emotion, as if Wanda was pouring everything she couldn't say in words into that moment. You felt her hand move to your face, her fingers tracing your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the kiss.

When you pulled away, she looked at you with something new in her eyes: hope. "You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Neither are you," you replied, smiling.

Months later, after your wedding in the Russian summer, when Wanda told you she was pregnant, the smile on her face was so wide it seemed to light up the entire room. You were sitting on the couch of your new home, a place you had chosen together, far from the chaos and painful memories of the past.

"I can hardly believe it," she said, placing her hands on her still-flat belly, but with eyes shining with genuine happiness. "After everything... after everything that happened, I never thought I would have this."

You held her hand, squeezing it gently. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Wanda. And these babies already have the best mother they could ask for."

The following months were a mix of nerves and joy. You had never seen Wanda so happy. She decorated the twins' room with soft colors, but couldn't resist using a bit of magic to create constellations shining on the ceiling.

"I want them to grow up knowing that the entire universe is within their reach," she explained, smiling at you as she adjusted the details with a wave of her hand.

The day Tommy and Billy were born, Wanda cried. Tears of genuine happiness, as she held the two little ones in her arms. You were beside her, holding her hand, unable to hold back your own tears.

"I never thought I could be this happy," she whispered, looking at you.

"You deserve this, my love," you replied, kissing her forehead.

Exactly seven years later, when Wanda and you were waiting for the pregnancy test to be ready, this time for Seline, Wanda could hardly believe it. It was as if the universe was finally giving back to her everything it had taken before.

Wanda looked at you that day with the same gaze she had in your first kiss — full of love and hope. "You gave me this," she said, placing her hand on your belly, moved by feeling the baby's heartbeat against your skin. "You gave me everything I thought I could never have."

You laughed, wiping away a tear that escaped. "That's not how it works, Wanda. We did this together."

During Seline's pregnancy, Wanda seemed even more radiant than before. She spent hours reading storybooks to the twins, and often you would wake up in the night to find her caressing your belly, softly murmuring in Sokovian.

When Seline was born, you knew your family was complete.

"She's so perfect," Wanda said, with a soft smile as she held the little one in her arms.

"She has your eyes," you replied, feeling a wave of love flood your chest.

And in that moment, as you looked at Wanda and the three children you had brought into the world together, you knew that everything you had been through — all the pain, all the sacrifice — had been worth it.

The path back to the camp seemed almost irrelevant in the face of the intensity that was growing between you. Each step you took on the trail was an extension of what you had shared in that intimate moment, when Wanda had opened a piece of her soul to you. The words she had spoken echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t the words that mattered at that moment — it was the feeling.

You felt a mix of adoration and a deep desire for her, and Wanda seemed to understand this as clearly as you did. But there was something more, an urgency in both of you, as if fate had brought you together once again for another dance, this time with immeasurable depth.

"You asked me to show what I’m capable of," Wanda said, breaking the silence between you. Her voice was soft, but there was something threatening in the way she spoke, something that could only come from a woman who knew the power she possessed, yet remained vulnerable. "Do you still want to love me after all of this?"

She turned her face to you, and her eyes were shining with a mixture of insecurity and provocation. The silence between you seemed to carry centuries of repressed desire, of lost and found loves, as if you both were made for this moment, but had lived countless lives and universes before finally being here, together.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands rose to Wanda’s face, touching her gently, as if you feared she might disappear at any moment. But she didn’t disappear. She was there. And you, without words, simply looked into her eyes, trying to convey all the love and certainty you felt.

"I want to love you because of all of this," you said, your voice firm, but heavy with something more — a promise, an oath made with heart and soul.

When your eyes met, the distance between you vanished, as if the entire universe had been reduced to this single moment. Time stopped. And deep down, you felt something like the touch of past lives, as if you had been there with her, in some other place, in some other time. Something that transcended everything that had happened, all the struggles, all the deaths and rebirths.

She leaned in slowly, and her lips touched yours with an unexpected softness, as if testing the moment, measuring the intensity of her own desire. But soon, the softness turned into urgency, as if, finally,

Wanda knew there was no turning back. And you, with your heart racing, matched every movement of hers, with the same intensity, with the same hunger. It was as if everything around you had disappeared, and there were only the two of you. No universe, no past, no pain.

The kiss was like a river flowing between mountains, gentle and impetuous at the same time. When Wanda’s lips touched yours, there was no more space for anything — no fear, no doubt, just the need to be consumed by her, to surrender to what fate had already drawn. It was as if everything had been a preparation for that moment. Your souls recognized each other immediately, as if they had known each other since the beginning of time, as if they had met in all past lives, in all universes, in all reincarnations. The feeling of something eternal, something that couldn’t be broken, settled between you.

It was a soft touch at first, a silent exploration, but soon the need for more became apparent. Wanda’s tongue slid against yours, and the tension between you dissolved in the intensity of that contact. It was more than passion; it was a union of everything you had been and everything you would still be. The kiss became more urgent, as if, by touching, you were rediscovering each other, merging. The world around you disappeared, the sound of the rain, the shadows of the night — everything became secondary. There was only the heat of bodies, the exchange of breaths, and the silent magic dancing in the air, reflecting the indescribable connection between you.

Wanda slowly pulled away, as if reluctant to leave that moment. Her eyes were darker now, but there was something deeply different in them. Something deeper than any expression you had ever seen in her before. Something immense, an ocean of feelings overflowing without words. And you knew. You knew that, in that look, she was giving you her soul, all the pain, all the love, all the hope.

She touched your face with trembling hands, as if wanting to engrave the outline of your being into her memory, as if she needed you desperately, as if her happiness now depended on you. Her voice was hoarse, broken, but filled with a sincerity so pure it seemed to tear her very heart apart.

"You are everything I need," Wanda murmured, almost like a plea, like a truth she was finally accepting. The desperation was there, in her eyes, in the tone of her voice. "I never knew what it really meant to live until now... until you."

Those words settled in your chest with the force of a silent scream. And then, without needing to respond, you moved closer to her, your bodies fitting together as if they had always been meant to do so. It was as if, by being together, the entire universe became lighter, clearer.

And in the touch, in the exchange of heat, you knew. You knew that she was desperate to be saved, to be happy, to find a home. It wasn’t just about the love you shared, but everything she wanted to build — a life, a family, a future. That kiss was not just passion: it was a promise. A promise that, together, you could create something that would resist time and fate.

When she pulled her face away slightly, breathing heavily, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the fragility of someone carrying the weight of an entire world on their shoulders. But you also saw something more — a renewed strength, a confidence. Because, even with the pain she carried, she knew you were there, by her side, for whatever came.

And you whispered back, with a soft but firm voice, so Wanda would know what you felt, without doubt, without hesitation. "I’m here, Wanda. Forever. And we will build all of this together. As many times as it takes."

She smiled, a smile mixed with tears and hope, as if, at that moment, the world was finally a place worth conquering. You knew their future would be unpredictable, but you also knew, with an almost palpable certainty, that they had found each other for the last time. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The kiss that followed was gentler, but no less intense. It was as if, in that moment, you were building a new beginning. The future, uncertain and challenging, seemed promising, because by her side, Wanda had everything she had always needed: you. And by your side, you had everything you had always wanted: her.

And so, in the silence of the night, with the rain tapping on the windows and the distant echoes of the camp, you and Wanda surrendered to this truth. A truth stronger than any magic, stronger than any fate. Because what you shared was eternal, and nothing, no one, could destroy it. The connection between you was stronger than anything that could be said. Stronger than any magic, stronger than any destiny. It was something intangible, yet as real as the air you breathed. Something eternal, that would withstand any battle, any pain.

And so, in the silence of the night, between the distant echoes of the camp and the touch of your bodies still tingling from the intensity of the kiss, you both knew that nothing else mattered. Because, in the end, you were together.

~*~

Oh. I need her.

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,773 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The Whisperers Warnings: language, violence, references to injuries and blood Summary: Trouble arrives in the middle of the night. A/N: This is part of a series. You can find all parts on my Master List.

Previous part here

Daryl felt as if he’d just closed his eyes when they shot open again. Dog was beside him, growling. It was a low, warning growl, and his attention was fixed toward the back of the dark cabin. Daryl swung his legs onto the floor, planting his boots, and reached for his crossbow. The interior was cloaked in shadows, the fire having dwindled to coals covered over in a blanket of ash, but he was unsure of whether or not he should risk turning on the lantern on the little table in front of him. For now, he simply stood, butt of his bow tight to his shoulder, and strained his hearing. Dog let out another growl and stood, his ears sharp on alert. Daryl thought he could hear some faint rustling outside the back of the cabin, but it could be an animal for all he knew.

Then suddenly your bedroom door was opening and you stepped out, wide-eyed, clutching his knife in your hand. Achilles sat perched on your shoulder, his feather somewhat puffed up, making him look even larger than he already was. “What’s going on? I thought I heard something,” you whispered, realizing both Dog and Daryl were also awake and on guard.

Daryl only shook his head, still straining to hear anything over Dog’s continued low growl. You could barely make out the shape of him in the dark. Dog’s growling seemed to suddenly be growing louder and then it burst into a crescendo of barks, causing both of you to jump and Achilles to take off from your shoulder with a startled squawk. He soared somewhere into the darkness near the ceiling. Dog lunged toward the front door, snarling and barking, his hackles raised and teeth bared.

Your heart thudded loudly in your ears and time seemed to slow with each breath that dragged in and out of your lungs. But you didn’t have to wait long before the front door, already partially busted in earlier by Daryl, was now completely ripped from its hinges. A figure charged forward, the glint of a long silver knife breaking through the darkness. Dog was on them in an instant and a strangled scream rippled through the air as his teeth sunk into the arm wielding the weapon. Dog dragged them to the ground and Daryl followed up with a bow shot to the head, impressive considering how dark it was.

You hardly had time to process what was happening before two more silhouettes were hurrying in. The moonlight now streaming in through the open door at least allowed the two of you to better see the attackers and the wrinkled and grotesque skins over their faces made it clear who they were. Daryl was rounding on the second figure with his bow as the third charged toward you. He had no time to reload a bolt and dropped it to the floor, drawing out his knife.

You stepped back as the last Shepherd rushed you and you only had time to reflexively duck the broad stroke of their knife, sinking down almost to the floor as your torso erupted with pain. Achilles swooped low over their head and struck them with his feet before disappearing again into the darkness overhead. You must have called out, and that was enough to draw Daryl’s attention away from his own fight. “Y/N!” he called out. “Hang on!” A fist connected with the side of his face, knocking him slightly off balance. Dog lunged at Daryl’s attacker and sunk his teeth into the Whisperer’s leg, causing them to drop their knife. Daryl plunged his blade into the side of their head and the figure went limp.

When he again turned, his stomach dropped. The last Whisperer had you pinned on the floor with your back against the stone hearth, the edge of it digging into your shoulder blades and spine. You were struggling to keep their knife away from your chest, shaking with the strain of it, your teeth gritting together. Daryl turned to grab his bow and fumbled with the bolt he pulled from the body of the first intruder, rushing to set it in the flight groove with hands shaky with adrenaline.

Your strength was waning rapidly and you could see and feel the point of the knife getting closer and closer to your chest. You looked around desperately, your mind whirring as you searched for a plan. Daryl’s knife had clattered away on the floor and you suspected it had gone under the couch, well out of easy reach. You did the only thing you could think of—continuing to block the attack with your dominant hand, you used the other to reach into the fireplace and plunged your fingers into the still smoking pile of ash and hidden coals. The heat seared your skin but you hardly felt it as you reeled back around and ground it into the eyes of the Shepherd leaning over you. They recoiled and dropped their knife, screaming and stumbling backwards blindly. You scrambled forward on your hands and knees, propelled by the instinct and will to survive, and grabbed hold of their knife off the rug. You swiftly jumped up and plunged it into their chest at the exact same moment the characteristic sound of Daryl’s bolt snapped through the air and buried itself into their head. The body dropped heavily.

You collapsed back down onto the floor yourself, your chest heaving. Achilles landed beside you, cawing and picking at your sleeve with his bill, turning his glossy head and bright eyes this way and that. Daryl rushed over to you, clicking on the lantern as he passed the coffee table, his expression grim. “Fuckin’ hell… Are ya okay?”

You hurriedly nodded, still completely unaware of the damage to your hand, though you were instinctively cradling it with the other. He nodded, though looked unconvinced. You watched as Daryl charged back to stand in the doorway, peering out into the night. He whistled to Dog and the Malinois took off outside, Daryl moving behind him with his bow, checking for any others. Not that he could be 100% sure… the surrounding trees cast the understory in deep shadow and only slender fingers of moonlight reached the forest floor. But Dog seemed calm and trotted back to his side, unconcerned, not a single hair prickling on his back, and that gave Daryl some comfort.

He let out a huge sigh and dropped his bow to his side, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before crossing the little porch and stepping back in. He glanced at the shattered door and then back to you, where you were still on the floor trying to catch your breath. He could see that you were shaking, probably with adrenaline but perhaps also from residual and now new pain.

After he dragged the bodies outside, he shoved the door back in place as best he could and then pushed a heavy wood desk in front of it as a makeshift barricade. He made his way over to you and you looked up at him, your eyes still a little wide. Daryl gulped. “Can I help ya up?”

You nodded slowly. You’d already tried to right yourself, but your side and ribs protested too much and your muscles gave out.

Daryl gripped you gently under the elbows and helped you to your feet. He stood you up merely 6 inches from him, his fingers not leaving until he was sure you were steady. “Alrigh’. C’mon and sit down,” he drawled, guiding you over to the couch. His hand ghosted behind your back the whole way.

He helped you sink down onto the couch carefully, though you still winced a little, and then arranged himself beside you. He leaned his bow up against the couch. “Lemme see that hand,” he said, his brow furrowing deeply. Daryl put his own palm out flat on his knee, waiting for you to make the first move. You eyed it, slowly uncurling your uninjured hand from around the other. “If—if tha’s alrigh?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered back up to his face and between his concerned blue eyes and then you laid your hand in his, a peculiar sensation prickling in your stomach.

He drew in a hiss of breath as your fingers uncurled and he pulled the lantern over more closely. Achilles took off from the top of armoire in the corner again and came to land on the back of the couch behind you, looking over what was happening. “Shit,” Daryl murmured, turning your wrist gently in the light so he could better see. There were shiny red patches scattered over your palm and fingers, interspersed with areas that were blistered or gray with scorched skin.

You seemed to be looking on impassively as he examined you, the back of your hand flush against his rough palm. You worried your bottom lip with your top teeth absently. His touch was surprisingly gentle considering the ferocity with which you’d just seen him fight.

“Fuck,” he swore again, softly, his eyes closing for just a moment against the image of your burned hand. “‘M sorry. I shoulda been faster,” he said.

You looked up at him again, with surprise this time. “This isn’t your fault,” you said, shaking your head. “It was them. The Shepherds.”

He sighed and relinquished his gentle hold on your hand. “‘M still sorry,” he said. “I’ll get some cool water from the kitchen. We should bathe this and wrap it in some sterile bandages to keep it from getting infected.” He dug in his pack and drew out a flashlight and set out some supplies from his first aid kit.

“Daryl—there should be a small, brown glass bottle with an eyedropper in the top of the pantry,” you said suddenly. “It’s lavender essential oil. You can add a few drops to the water. It’s good for burns,” you said. He nodded and then stood and you watched his broad shoulders and the wings on the back of his vest disappear into the kitchen.

Achilles hopped closer and wiggled his long bill into your hair, tickling you. You turned and looked at him. He cocked his head at you and let out a low grating sound. “I’m okay,” you whispered to the bird, scratching behind his head gently with two fingers. “I’m okay.”

Daryl returned with a bowl of cold water and a clean cloth. He sank down on the couch again and set the bowl between you, swirling the cloth through the dispersed sheen of lavender oil on the surface. “Alrigh’. Should help,” he drawled. “S’pretty cold.”

You sunk your hand into the water and couldn’t help the sigh of relief that left your lips, your eyes closing as the coolness quenched the burning. You held it below the water surface, watching the shifting shapes and colors of the reflected room wavering in the bowl.

Daryl’s eyes were fixed on your wrist, on an angry red mark cutting across perpendicular just below your sleeve. “Can I take a look at that?” he asked, gesturing to it.

“Oh,” you said. You hadn’t even noticed it before. “Yes.”

He nudged your sleeve up and stared at the burn. “Must be from the fireplace grate,” he said, dipping the cloth into the cold water and lifting it to let it trickle over the wound. He barely pressed the cotton across it, and you felt the satisfying coldness slowly growing warmer and warmer. Daryl dunked the cloth again and repeated the process, over and over.

“Luke and Alden were righ’,” he said suddenly.

Your brow furrowed and you gave him an unreadable look. “Hmm. What do you mean? About what?”

“‘Bout you bein’ a badass,” he said, dipping the cloth back into the cool water again and replacing it on your wrist. “I mean—I kinda suspected it from what they said ‘bout you fighting out there, and then ya punched me in the face… Pretty much cemented it right there. But this? Badass.” You could tell he was attempting to lighten the mood.

Your expression changed, softened, and you shook your head. “No. I’m not. I’m just—trying to stay alive, like everyone else.”

“Not ev’rybody would think to shove their hand in a pile of coals, damn the consequences,” he said.

You didn’t say anything and he let the silence stretch. Finally, he gently lifted your hand from under the water and set it on a towel he’d tucked beneath, dabbing at the skin delicately to dry it. It was peculiar, having someone else tending to you in this way after so much time alone. You didn’t quite know what to do with the restless energy building up in your midsection or with your facial expression. He grabbed a roll of sterile bandaging and ripped it open, starting to wrap it over your palm and up around your wrist.

“They know ‘bout this place? Before, I mean,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. They didn’t. I don’t think so. I haven’t stayed here in a very long time. They must have been watching us today, followed us here. Wouldn’t exactly have been hard. I was slow. And not alone,” you said. “Traveling openly on the ground.”

Daryl felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly followed by the realization that they perhaps still would have found you if you had been alone, and then it would have been you trying to fight off three of them while injured, and what if you’d been hurt worse? He cleared his throat. “How is the rest of you?” he asked.

You gave him a questioning look, not realizing at first what he’d asked as you were lost in your own thoughts about the Shepherds.

“Your stitches, your forearm? Your head? Alrigh’? Nothin’ bleedin’ again?”

“Oh. No. No, I’m alright,” you said, glancing down at your side to make sure you truly weren’t bleeding again through your shirt. You weren’t. “Just—sore. And tired,” you sighed.

He nodded and tucked the end of the gauze underneath itself when he was satisfied that your hand was well wrapped. “Yeah… ya should get some more rest. ‘M gonna sit up a while, stay on watch. Just in case there are any more of them. Dog will hear ‘em if there are, and I’ll be ready this time,” he drawled.

You nodded as he set the bowl of water on the table and dimmed the lantern. He climbed to his feet and hesitantly offered you some help getting up again, which you accepted. The aches in the rest of your body seemed even more pronounced now, and the hum of pain in your hand was sharpening. “Achilles,” you said softly, and the bird fluttered up onto your shoulder again. You glanced at Daryl, standing in front of the couch.

“Thanks. For patching me up,” you said.

He nodded and then started—struck with a thought. “Where’s yer knife at?” he drawled, glancing around.

“You mean your knife?” you said. One of his matching set. “I’m not sure. It slid away somewhere when I fell. I thought under the couch maybe?”

Daryl grabbed his flashlight again and shown it around the floor, finally spotting the handle poking out from under the side table by the back leg of the sofa. He retrieved it and held it out to you. “Ya better keep this close. Just in case,” he said.

You accepted it with a nod. “Night,” you said. “Um—I think I’ll leave the bedroom door open this time, if that’s alright,” you said. “That way I’ll hear Dog if he alerts. Just in case.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Course.”

“Okay. See you in the morning.”

Daryl watched your figure become swallowed up in the darkness of the bedroom and waited until he heard the silky rustling of the blankets. He let out a heavy sigh, his anxiety finally seeming to ebb completely. “Good dog,” he murmured, patting the Malinois as he passed him on the rug in front of the fireplace. The deep crimson swipe marks of blood on the wooden floor looked almost black in the low light and he cast them a sideways glance. He could still see the scattering of fine gray snow sticking to the drying blood from your desperate defense. His stomach churned. Then he turned back to the fireplace, blew the ashes from the coals, and added another log, ready to start his vigil.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning had you wandering out of the bedroom in a bit of a daze, wondering at first if you’d dreamt the Shepherds attack in the night, but the bandage and stinging of your hand told you otherwise. There was clattering in the kitchen and you stopped in the doorway to see Daryl at the little gas stove, a flame flickering under a big cast iron pan.

“Hey,” he said, finally realizing you were there. “Sorry. Was I bein’ too loud? Did I wake ya up?”

You shook your head. “No.” Dog trotted over to you and nudged your hand until you scratched behind his ears. He let out a satisfied noise when you hit the right spot and you couldn’t help smiling.

Daryl saw it. His eyes flickered over your face and back down to Dog. “Dun let him boss ya ‘round. He’ll have ya workin’ overtime on scratches,” he said.

Your smile widened just a little, but your eyes stayed on Dog. “I don’t mind,” you said.

“Where’s Achilles at?” he asked, noticing the raven’s absence.

“Out flying,” you said. “He needed to stretch his wings, and he’ll tell us if he sees any dead or people.”

Daryl nodded and stirred around whatever was steaming in the pan. “Uhh—I made some breakfast. And the kettle is hot,” he said. You wandered closer and grabbed a mug from a hook on the wall and glanced down at the food. “Yeah, uhh…” he drawled hesitantly, “hopefully it tastes better than it looks… ‘cause… it looks—”

“—like shit,” you interrupted him. It was a semi-liquid, semi-solid brown concoction bubbling in the bottom of the pan.

He glanced up and met your eyes and you both smiled a little, amused. Daryl let out a low huff of a laugh and stirred it around with the spatula again. “Yeah,” he said, scratching at the back of his head. “Hey, I never said I was a good cook.”

“But it’ll be edible,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “Last night’s was actually pretty good.” You went to the pantry and pulled out a jar of dried leaves and rose hips. You were staring down at it and then looked over at your bandaged hand. It stung and burned beneath the gauze.

Daryl was watching closely and set down the spatula. He gently took the mason jar from you and opened it up. “How is it?” he drawled. “Yer hand. And the rest of ya?”

“It’s—okay.”

Your hesitation was enough to make him worry. His brow furrowed as he handed you back the jar of tea leaves. “Prob’ly should change the bandage later today and check it over,” he said. “What about the rest, from the fight with Alpha?”

“I’m fine. Really. Just a little sore.” You dropped some leaves into your mug and Daryl grabbed the kettle before you could and poured the hot water into your cup. “Thanks,” you said.

You went and sat down (gingerly) at the little kitchen table and watched him busy himself at the stove for a little while longer. You stared as the wings on the back of his vest moved as he shifted. “Are you some kind of angel?” you asked.

“Huh?” He turned slightly to look at you over his shoulder.

“Your vest,” you said. “The wings.”

He shrugged. “S’just a design.”

“I don’t know. You seem like the hero type to me,” you said, blowing at the curls of steam rising off your tea.

Daryl gulped, completely unsure of how to interpret that. Was that supposed to be an... insult? A compliment? But suddenly you were smiling and then let out a light laugh at the expression on his face.

“Are you?”

He turned fully now, spatula still in his hand, and leaned back against the counter. “S’this some kinda test? Or—trick question?”

You set your mug down, warming your uninjured hand around the ceramic. “It’s just a question.”

He gave you a long look, and his blue eyes were intense but thoughtful. Something happened in that moment. It was just a feeling, but it bubbled up in your chest unexpectedly, and you found yourself almost startled at it. Connection. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Or was it something more than just a simple human connection. It felt different somehow.

At length, he ducked his head. “Nah, I ain’t no hero. I just—try to do what I can for my people.”

“I’m not your people,” you said quickly. “But you sat at my bedside, tried to calm me down, gave me your knife, attached yourself to me like a fucking barnacle... oh, and probably saved my life last night when those Shepherds busted in.” There was a pregnant pause for a moment where the air felt thick and electric. “You patched up my hand. You seem like you worry about me, which I can’t understand because—”

Daryl let out a sigh that you thought sounded annoyed if that was possible. “Ya are my people now.”

There was a beat before you could find your voice. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“I didn’t say ya did. Tha’s just how it works with us. Ya saved me and Dog, and ya saved Luke and Alden, even though it almost killed ya. As far as ‘m concerned, yer one of our people now. Even if ya dun think ya are. Tough shit. Deal with it,” he said with finality. He turned back to the food and you watched him curiously.

Soon, the two of you sat across from each other, almost bumping knees, and ate in silence.

Later that day, Daryl came back from hauling more water from the well to find you standing out in the open, staring out at the trees. He stopped beside you and set down the bucket. “Ev’rythin’ alrigh’?” he asked, following your gaze out toward the canopy.

You nodded. “Yeah. Achilles should be back soon.”

But the expression on your face had him worried. “Ya think more of ‘em are out there?” he asked.

“Oh, they’re out there. But hopefully not here,” you said. You looked over at him and his eyes seemed to land on the still dark bruise on your cheekbone and temple from Alpha’s boot. His face darkened. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine. You should be more worried about what’s happening back home,” you said. “If Alpha comes for her daughter—”

“Well, I ain’t back home. ‘M righ’ here. Tara and them can handle it.” He picked up the bucket again, irritated. The truth was that he was worried about what was happening back home. Henry was there. Jesus had just been killed. And they had a captive Skin freak in a cell. If only he could be in two places at once...

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night, Daryl couldn’t tell at first what woke him up. The cabin interior was nearly all deep black with the exception of a faint orange glow where the fire had dwindled down to coals cloaked in ashes. A soft sound brought his attention to the pile of old, faded newspapers stacked on the side of the hearth. He watched curiously as the corners of a few lifted in a current of air and fluttered before dropping into stillness again.

He sighed and rub a hand over his face, swinging his legs down onto the floor and planting his boots. He hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. He was still worried about more of those freaks showing up... His eyes drifted over to where Dog was curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace. He raised his head at Daryl’s movement.

The newspaper fluttered again with the same soft sound and Daryl moved around the coffee table toward the hearth and grabbed a log. He blew the ashes clear resulting in a slightly brighter glow and stirred them with the end of the wood until it caught. Flames licked upward again, crawling over the dried bark and curling inside toward the heart of the wood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the newspapers flutter again but this time it was accompanied by a cool breeze on his cheek. Considering how close he was to the fireplace and the direction of the draft, it didn’t make much sense. He held out a hand, stretching it toward the stack and cold air kissed his fingertips. It was coming from the direction of your closed door.

It didn’t make much sense that you would have opened a window… the night air was cold and the temperature inside the cabin was much more comfortable since you’d built the fire the evening before. Gulping anxiously, Daryl stood and went to stand at the door to the bedroom. He strained his hearing but could hear nothing but the continued occasional flutter of the papers beside him. He hesitated only one more moment before lifting a hand and knocking lightly. “Y/N?” he called out. “Everythin’ okay?”

Behind him, Dog whined and got to his feet.

It was probably only seconds before he knocked again but the silence felt ominously loud. “Y/N?” he called once more, his voice a little gruff still from sleep. “Are ya alrigh’?” Sharp worry seemed to pierce him. You’d been badly hurt and had exerted yourself far more than you should have since the surgery at Hilltop. Sure, you’d rested for most of that day but after the fight last night— “Look, if ya dun answer I’mma have to come in and check on ya,” he drawled, certain he was being loud enough to wake you even if you’d been deeply asleep. He stood still for a long moment, his heart pounding. Dog circled nervously behind Daryl and whined again. “Shit,” he murmured under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face again. But there was still no answer and his hand seized the doorknob and turned. The latch drew back with a metallic click and he pushed into the room. “Y/N?”

He was met with a draft of cool air that fluttered his wavy hair back as he stepped into the room. It was quickly explained by the window, which was left open a crack at the bottom.

Daryl sighed as he looked at the ruffled blankets on the bed. Empty. No sign of your pack. None of your belongings. No Achilles.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. Dog rushed past him and circled the room, sniffing and then sticking his nose into the gap at the windowsill and pulling in loud, deep breaths. Defeated, Daryl stepped farther in and caught sight of a small, rectangular scrap of paper sitting on the quilt. There was a glossy black feather sitting on top of it. He picked it up and spun it between his fingers before turning to the note. It was simple, just a few words.

“Thanks. And sorry.”

Daryl sighed heavily and chewed on the inside of his cheek before glancing at Dog. He walked to the window and shut it securely, locking it in place. “C’mon, boy. See if we can’t pick up her trail,” he said, ruffling the Malinois’ fur as he darted past him back into the main room. You couldn’t have been gone too long… He was shocked he (or Dog rather) hadn’t heard you sneaking out. He must have been deeply asleep for once. Daryl hastily threw on his pack and grabbed the rest of his gear. He doused the recently rekindled flames with water and closed the flue once the smoke and steam had diminished. He took one final look around the cabin. Everything was in its place. He wanted it to be in case you had to come back someday. Just in case.

He stared down at the note and Achilles’ feather once more before tucking them into his jacket. “C’mon,” he said to Dog again, opening the back door and following him out into the cool night. “Track her, boy,” Daryl commanded.

Dog immediately took off and Daryl raced after him, clicking on the flashlight on his bow. He almost didn’t need it. The moon was bright enough to light his way and he used the flashlight beam only to scrutinize the ground for your tracks. He strained his ears in case you were closer than he expected, but the only sounds were the distant calls of night birds and the drone of a few insects.

At first, Dog snuffled the ground and moved in a purposeful path, clearly following the trail of your scent, but after about 200 yards, the Malinois noticeably slowed. He circled and quartered, his nose to the ground and his determined bounding ended. His nose and paws stilled at the base of a large pine with branches that came within easy reach of the ground. Dog lifted his head and looked up. Daryl did the same. Dog stood on his hind legs and put his paws up on the trunk, whining.

Daryl shooed him back and stepped in close, resting his palm against the rough bark, two of his fingers landing in the sticky sap exuded from a wound to the trunk. The pine was dark overhead. He could hear and see nothing. He glanced down at Dog, who yipped anxiously. “Is she up there, Dog?” he asked in a whisper, patting his head. Dog’s paws pranced back and forth and he sat. But there was no urgency in his movements, and Daryl realized, even before he had climbed high into the tree, clumsily with his pack and bow slung on his back, that you had slipped away. No croak of raven or soft rustle of pine boughs, no snarky comment or annoyed glance greeted him when he reached the point where he could climb no higher. It was as if you had faded into a mist and blown away, swept off with Achilles’ wings…

As he climbed down, Daryl marveled at the fact that you had climbed at all, if that is indeed what you had done. He had seen your careful movements, your fatigue, your ginger stretching. He knew the extent of the wound in your side and that you’d had a serious concussion and bruising throughout your body. And on top of it, the burns to your hand were fresh and angry. And yet… you’d vanished.

He wandered back and forth in the area with Dog for some time, hoping to pick up your scent somehow, scanning the ground for a trail to track, but the undergrowth was thick and made moving miserable and completely impossible in some places. He could see why you’d climbed into the trees.

Eventually, defeated, he and Dog turned back.

By the time they reached the little cabin again, the dawn was already growing over the tops of the trees and there was nothing else to do but head back to Hilltop. He was needed there. Time to go.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Tara was standing with Enid and Alden just inside the gate when Daryl came strolling in after Dog. “Daryl!” she yelled with surprise, trotting over. Enid and Alden followed behind. “Are you okay? What happened? We weren’t expecting you back so soon.”

“How is she?” Enid asked urgently, desperate for an update on your condition.

Daryl let out sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. He shrugged. “Well, she was exhausted and sore but—doin’ alrigh’ last night. But, uhh…” he trailed off.

Tara frowned. “But what?”

He was almost embarrassed to admit it. “She, uhh—left. Without tellin’ me. In the middle of the nigh’… Just slipped right out.”

“What?” Tara asked, her eyebrows lifting, concern painted all over her features. “Why?”

Daryl thought back to what you had told him about your last settlement, about the betrayal and the devastation. “She just ain’t used to bein’ ‘round other people. Same reason she didn’t wanna stay here.”

Enid looked thoroughly worried and Alden gently put a hand on the small of her back.

Daryl did what he could to assuage Enid’s worry. “Look, she’s tough as hell. ‘M pretty sure she’s gonna be just fine. Somethin’ else happened though... Some of those Skins must’ve followed us to where we crashed the day we left. Three of ‘em. They broke in that night and attacked us. We fought ‘em off but one of her hands got burned pretty good.”

“Oh my God,” Tara said, her face falling.

Enid looked thoroughly upset. “You should have brought her back here,” she said. “We could have treated her.”

Daryl shook his head. “Enid, you and I both know there was no way she was comin’ back here unless she was forced to. I helped her get it cleaned up and patched up. She used some lavender oil on it. I think—I think she’s gonna be alright. Really. She’s tough as hell.”

Alden let out a laugh and the three others looked over at him. It seemed like an odd time to be laughing. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just—not only did she get a hit in on Daryl Dixon, but she snuck away without you knowing? Or being able to track her? If I hadn’t seen her myself, I’d say she is a damn ghost.”

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (03)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 03 - Majority Votes

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 04

PREV : Chapter 02

Your arms trembled uncontrollably as you squeezed your eyes shut. Fear coursed through you, a cold, unrelenting wave. The thought of the doll catching even the smallest movement from you filled your chest with dread. You tried to will the trembling to stop, but your body refused to listen.

The doll’s head rotated back to the front, and you opened your eyes just in time to see it settling into place. Relief washed over you. Your trembling had gone unnoticed, at least for now.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

Quickly, you pulled your trembling arms to your chest, hugging them tightly to steady them. Your legs instinctively shifted into a wider stance, grounding you for balance. Around you, the field was utterly still. None of the players dared to move. Fear had locked everyone in place, their realization sinking in. Player 456 had been right. This wasn’t just a game. One wrong move, and it would all be over.

…has bloomed.”

The field remained frozen, not a single person daring to move. It felt like everyone was holding their breath, unwilling to risk even the smallest sound.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

You heard the sound of footsteps. In the corner of your vision, you caught sight of player 456 sprinting forward, weaving through the sea of motionless players.

…has bloomed.”

Everyone stopped again, as still as statues. The tension in the air was palpable.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

Player 456 broke through the crowd, dashing ahead with a burst of speed.

“…has bloomed.”

He froze at the exact moment the chant ended. He shouted, “You’ll also die if you don’t make it there in time! That doll is a motion detector! But it can’t detect motion that’s not visible to it!”

He paused and demonstrated, clenching and unclenching his hand behind his back. True to his words, no sound followed. No gunshot. You understood immediately what he was trying to convey.

“Get behind someone bigger than you! Like you’re doing Follow the Leader! We’re running out of time! We’ve got to move!”

“The Mugungha Flower…”

The chant began again, and everyone started moving. The sound of feet shuffling against the sand filled the air as players hurried to follow his advice. You quickly positioned yourself behind a taller player, number 120, a tall woman who stood just ahead of you. From the corner of your eye, you noticed others doing the same, forming multiple straight lines as they aligned themselves behind larger players.

“…has bloomed.”

You stopped immediately, staying directly behind player 120. Bending slightly, you kept your body low, hoping the doll wouldn’t detect you. Your trembling arms stayed locked against your chest, an effort to steady them.

Crack!

The sound made you flinch. Another body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Crack!

Silence followed as another player collapsed. You didn’t dare look.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

Everyone moved forward cautiously, keeping to their lines. The sound of shuffling feet filled the air. You noticed more players had lined up behind you, forming a growing chain. Player 120, standing tall in front of you, had unintentionally become the leader of your line.

“…has bloomed.”

You froze. You noticed player 120 had stood up straighter. She was shielding you and the others behind her. Her actions spoke louder than words; she knew she was the cover for everyone in her line and she had no problem with it.

From your right, a faint commotion broke through the stillness. You heard a soft “why” before three gunshots shattered the air. The field grew quiet again as the chaos subsided.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

The players jogged forward, advancing steadily. You noticed player 120 slowing just before the chant ended, giving those behind her extra time to halt safely.

“…has bloomed.”

The cycle continued, round after round. Occasionally, gunshots echoed across the field, signaling more casualties. Each time, you held your arms tighter to your chest, forcing your trembling limbs to stay still. With each round, the finish line drew closer, inch by inch.

When the doll turned its head toward the tree, player 456’s voice rang out: “Let’s go!”

“The Mugungha Flower…”

Most of the players broke formation, abandoning their lines to sprint toward the finish line. You followed suit. Your arms, no longer locked to your chest, swung freely at your sides as you pushed yourself forward.

As the pink line drew closer, you gave it everything you had. When you reached it, you jumped, your feet landing safely past the boundary. Relief flooded you as you stumbled to the ground, collapsing in exhaustion. For a moment, you just lay there, catching your breath. Around you, others who had crossed also expressed their relief, lying, collapsing, or sitting down out of exhaustion.

You turned your gaze back to the field. From where you sat, it looked like roughly seventy percent of the players had made it across. The remaining players were still on the field, their lines fractured and disorganized.

“…has bloomed.”

The players who hadn’t yet crossed froze in place, their bodies stiff. Gunshots rang out again, and you flinched as a few unfortunate players fell to the ground. One man, hit in the thigh, collapsed with a sharp cry of pain, clutching his leg as blood began to pool beneath him.

“You can do it!” player 456 shouted. “You’re almost there!”

“The Mugungha Flower has bloomed.”

The man who had been shot whimpered. “Please help me.”

You frowned, concern gnawing at you as you watched him struggle. Your eyes shifted to player 456, who glanced quickly at the timer.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

He sprinted past the finishing line, rushing straight toward the injured player. You scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding as you watched player 456 reach the fallen man.

“…has bloomed.”

Gunshots cracked through the air again, but player 456 and the injured player remained unharmed.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

Player 456 quickly wrapped the injured player’s arm around his neck, lifting him off the ground. Together, they began limping toward the finish line, but their movements were awkward and unsteady. Then they stumbled.

“…has bloomed.”

To your shock, player 120 appeared out of nowhere, catching them before they could fall. She propped them up, steadying the pair just as the chant ended. The three of them froze. Everyone in the finishing area, including you, watched with bated breath.

“The Mugungha Flower…”

With only five seconds left, the three of them surged forward, rushing toward the finish line. Your lips pursed as fear and suspense gripped you. You silently prayed they would make it in time.

As they crossed the finish line, the doll completed its chant: “…has bloomed.”

The timer beeped, signaling zero. Relief washed over you as you saw player 456, player 120, and the injured player 444 collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily in the finishing area.

“Are you okay?” player 456 asked, patting player 444 on the back.

“Thank you,” player 444 sniffled, his voice trembling. He turned to player 120. “Thank you-”

Crack!

You flinched as the sound echoed across the area. Player 444’s head snapped back, and his body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Player 444, eliminated,” the female robotic voice announced.

You stared at the lifeless body in front of you. His face was bloodied from the headshot wound, and a pool of fresh blood began to spread around his head. Your arms started trembling again, this time without restraint. There was no need to stay frozen anymore so your fear had taken over completely. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gruesome sight.

This… this was just as horrifying as the day you found your father and mother on the front porch, their tortured and battered bodies lying there like broken shells. The memory slammed into you, raw and unrelenting, blending with the horror of the moment.

All of you who survived the first game were led back to the dormitory where you had first woken up. The atmosphere was heavy. Fear lingered in the air, and many players huddled together under the dim light of the empty piggy bank hovering above.

You found yourself sitting near player 456 and his friend, player 390. Maybe it was instinct or subconscious reasoning – your mind seeking some semblance of safety or guidance. Being near player 456 felt like the closest thing to a haven in this deadly situation.

“Gi-hun,” you heard player 390 say, addressing player 456. “What the hell is that creepy doll? It shoots people with its eyes.”

Player 456 glanced at him. “It’s not the doll. There are shooters.”

Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned in slightly. “How… do you know?”

Both player 456 and player 390 turned to look at you, as if noticing your presence for the first time. Before either could answer, a beeping noise cut through the tense air.

The lights flickered on, brightening the dormitory. The double doors at the front slid open, and a group of pink-clad guards marched in. The sight of them sent waves of panic through the room. Players scrambled backward, some ducking behind beds or hiding underneath them. Whimpers and muffled cries filled the space as others climbed up to the top bunks in a desperate bid for safety. You instinctively moved behind player 390, who was already using player 456 as a shield.

“Congratulations for making it through the first game,” announced the square-masked guard. “Here are the results of the first game.”

The large TV screen above the double doors flickered on, displaying the statistics.

“Out of 456 players, 84 players have been eliminated. 372 players have completed the first game. Congratulations again for making it through the first game.”

Suddenly, the mother, player 149, dragged her son, player 007, toward the center of the room. Tears streamed down her face. She dropped to her knees while her son stood awkwardly beside her. “Sir! Please don’t kill us! I beg you! As for my son’s debt, I will do whatever it takes to pay you back! Please forgive us!”

Then, she tugged at her son’s arm, pulling him down to the floor. “Don’t just stand there. Beg for his forgiveness!”

Her son reluctantly joined her, lowering himself to the ground and pleading for mercy. As their cries echoed in the dormitory, the square-masked guard spoke, “There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

But the mother and son weren’t alone. More players crawled toward the center, their voices rising in desperation as they begged for forgiveness. The sight of so many people pleading made your chest tighten. You hoped that all of you could be set free due to their pleads. The thought of staying in this killing field any longer was unbearable.

You wanted to go home. Back to Ji-yoo and your parents. The money didn’t matter anymore. You could always find another part-time job, no matter how grueling, as long as it meant staying alive.

Then, player 456 stood up from the floor in front of you. “Clause three of the consent form!”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward him. He stepped forward, walking to the center of the room. “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?”

The guard nodded. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” player 456 demanded.

“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”

A wave of relief swept through the players. You heard murmurs of gratitude, and some players visibly relaxed, hopeful at the chance to leave.

“But first,” the guard interjected, “let me announce the prize amount that’s been accumulated.”

He pressed a button on a remote, and the dormitory lights dimmed. Only the golden glow from the giant piggy bank above illuminated the room. A familiar jingle played, signaling the announcement of money.

Stacks of cash began to drop into the transparent piggy bank, the bills piling higher with each passing second. The sight drew players out of their hiding spots. They moved cautiously at first but soon gathered around the center, no longer fearful. Everyone stared at the growing fortune in awe, including you. The golden light reflected in your eyes as the weight of the moment sank in.

As the stacks of banknotes stopped accumulating in the piggy bank, the guard announced:

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 84. Therefore, a total of 8.4 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the 372 of you can equally divide the 8.4 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 22,580,645 won.”

You dropped your gaze, disillusioned. Around you, other players voiced their dissatisfaction.

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Thanos retorted angrily.

The guard clarified, “The rule is that a hundred million won will be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game and more players get eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

“How much will it be if you survive until the end?” player 100 queried.

“As I already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

“So if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion?”

“That is correct.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the group as the players processed this. The sheer possibility of such a massive fortune left many in awe.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” another player asked.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We always prioritize your voluntary participation.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as everyone contemplated their choices. The explanation had made you question your own decision, your resolve wavering as the implications sunk in.

“Now, let’s begin the vote.”

The guards moved swiftly, setting up the voting system in no time. A counter with X and O buttons was placed at the front. The dormitory floor lit up to indicate the voting areas: the right side glowed red for X, and the left side shone blue for O.

Almost every player stood at the back of the hall, clustered together, as the guard announced, “If you wish to continue the games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers. Player 456.”

You glanced to your side where player 456 stood. After a brief moment, he stepped forward, leaving the crowd behind and heading toward the counter.

“It’s all pointless!” a voice called out, breaking the silence. Everyone’s attention shifted to player 044, perched on one of the highest bunk beds. “You didn’t decide when to come into this world, and you can’t decide when you leave it either. When and where you die were already decided by the gods the moment you were born. No matter how hard you try, you can never escape it.”

Player 456 didn’t acknowledge her words. He resumed walking, his focus on the counter ahead. When he reached it, he wasted no time and pressed the X button. A deep ping echoed through the hall as the TV screen above displayed the updated vote.

“Once you finish voting,” the guard said, “put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest and stand on the side you have chosen.”

From your position at the back, you watched as player 456 fixed the red X patch to his chest and walked over to stand on the X side of the hall.

“Player 454,” the guard called next.

A female player stepped forward with steady strides. To your surprise, she pressed the O button, creating a lighter ping sound. After fixing the blue O patch on her chest, she walked to the O side of the room. The process continued, players being called one by one in reverse order. You stayed silent, your gaze fixed on the TV screen as it updated with each vote.

Then the guard called your number. “Player 423.”

You stepped forward. The weight of countless gazes bore into your back, but you kept walking until you reached the counter. Staring at the buttons, you felt the temptation of the piggy bank linger in your mind. But the thought of your own life outweighed everything else. You pressed the X button, and the deep ping filled the air once more.

The guard handed you the red X patch. You fixed it to the right side of your chest before turning and heading toward the X area. As you reached player 456, he nodded politely, and you returned the gesture before standing beside him. Together, you watched the votes continue.

Soon, player 390 was called. He also voted for X and joined you and player 456 on the same side, nodding in quiet acknowledgment as he took his place.

More and more players were called to vote, and the results seemed to be edging toward a tie. When Thanos’ turn came, he jogged up to the counter like an excited kid and pressed the O button with a wide grin.

His enthusiasm seemed to set something off in player 456.

“Wait a minute, everyone! Wait!” he called out, his voice cutting through the murmurs and turning every head.

Stepping out of the X area, he positioned himself in the center, between the X and O sides, facing the players who had yet to vote. “You can’t do this. Come to your senses! Don’t you see? These aren’t just any games. We will all die if we keep playing! We have to get out of here now. With a majority vote, we can! We must stop here!”

Before the tension could settle, player 100 burst out of the crowd of unvoted players, his voice booming. “Who do you think you are?! Why do you keep egging people on like that?! You scared us by saying they’d shoot us before the game even began!”

You frowned, agitation bubbling up. He literally saved us by warning us, and now you’re blaming him?

“That’s right!” a female player who had already voted O stepped forward. “He was going on about how we’d die, and I almost did because I got so nervous!”

“How did you know they were going to shoot us?” another unvoted player, number 226, asked suspiciously. “Are you one of them?”

Player 100 pointed accusingly at player 456 and addressed the pink-clad guards. “Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Did you plant him to mess with our heads?!”

Player 390, who had been standing beside you, stepped forward to defend his friend. “Uncle, that’s uncalled for. We wouldn’t have won the game and survived if it weren’t for him!”

Several players in the X area nodded in agreement, silently backing him up. Player 390 turned toward player 226. “And you! I saw how scared you were. Your legs were shaking. You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!”

Player 226 bristled. “And who the hell are you? Are you conspiring with him?”

“How rude,” player 390 shot back. “How old are you?”

“Older than you. What are you going to do about it?”

“Come on now, stop it!” player 149, the frail mother, stepped into the center beside player 456. Her voice was gentle but firm. “Please don’t do this. Listen, everyone. None of us would be alive if it weren’t for this gentleman. So enough with the greed. Let’s put our lives first and get out of this place!”

The dormitory erupted into chaos as X voters raised their voices in a loud clamor.

“That’s right!”

“Let’s all get out of here!”

O voters weren’t backing down, shouting over them.

“No, we have to keep playing!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, silently hoping the unvoted players would side with X. Lives should come first.

Suddenly, player 456 screamed, his frustration spilling over. “I have played these games before!”

The room fell silent as every eye turned to him. Even you felt a jolt of shock, your eyes widening at his outburst.

“I have done this before!” he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. “I knew about the first game because I played it three years ago! Everyone who was with me back then… they all died!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Player 390 looked stunned, his disbelief written all over his face. But you believed it instantly. It explained how he had known about Red Light, Green Light and the deadly stakes involved.

“Hold on,” player 226 asked, his tone skeptical. “If they all died, how did you survive? Are you saying you were the sole winner?”

Player 456 hesitantly admitted. “That’s right. I was the final winner.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and awe. You stared at him, still processing the revelation. Player 456 declared, “If we continue these games, every single person here, just like everyone back then, will die in the end.”

Player 100 scoffed, his skepticism turning into mockery. “Bullshit. If you were the sole winner, it means you got 45.6 billion won. If that’s true, why would you come back here?”

“That’s right! He’s lying!” shouted a woman from the O area.

Thanos came forward. “If you really won, it works better for us. You can give us tips on how to beat these games.”

“That’s right!” player 100 chimed in. “We have a previous winner with us, so what’s the problem?!”

You couldn’t hold back a scoff, drawing attention from those around you. Player 100 glared, but you held your ground and spoke calmly. “Do you really think the next games will be exactly the same as before?”

The room shifted as all eyes turned to you. You took a steadying breath and continued. “They know there’s a previous winner here. They’re not going to let him give us an advantage. The games could be entirely different tomorrow, but we know one thing. elimination means death. We should prioritize surviving over chasing money.”

The X voters nodded in agreement, their support growing louder as your words sank in.

Player 100’s glare intensified, his frustration spilling over. “Hush, girl! Stop complicating things. If the Red Light, Green Light game was the same as three years ago, why wouldn’t the rest of them be the same too? Maybe we actually have an advantage this time. Ever think of that?”

His words struck a chord with some of the players, drawing nods from a few O voters.

Before you could reply, Thanos stepped in with a casual shrug. “Pretty lady, you might be overthinking it. There is a previous winner among us. What else should we worry about?”

“And who even are you?” player 226 interjected. “You're still young. You don't know what we've been through."

Player 390 stood protectively beside you. “Wah, you all really got blind. She's got a point. At least she’s thinking ahead, unlike some people who can’t see past their own greed.”

He shot a pointed look at player 100.

“Greed?” player 100 snapped, his voice rising. “I’m trying to survive! I don't give up so easily like all of you! I don't think you all deserve that 20 million won share!"

The room quickly descended into chaos as X voters and O voters began shouting over each other. Accusations and insults flew from both sides, the noise growing louder and more heated by the second.

You sighed loudly, frustration boiling inside you as the shouting escalated. The decision weighed heavily on the unvoted players, who stood frozen in uncertainty. Glancing toward player 456, you saw him watching the chaos with an unreadable expression.

Then he turned to the unvoted players, desperation etched into his voice. “Please, I’m begging you. We have to get out now! If we keep playing, more people will die. That could be you. We have to stop this now and get out of here.”

Before he could continue, a triangle-masked guard marched forward, pressing his gun against player 456’s back. The tension in the room skyrocketed as the shouting stopped instantly. Player 456’s body tensed, his arms frozen at his sides.

“From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process,” the square-masked guard announced coldly. “Now, let’s resume the vote. Player 228.”

The triangle-masked guard kept the gun trained on player 456, who slowly raised his arms in surrender. The rest of the players hesitantly returned to the voting, the silence now thick and oppressive. You couldn’t help but glance at player 456 who stood under the guard’s watchful aim.

As the voting progressed, you noticed the gun still pointed at player 456 even after several players had cast their votes. Your anxiety spiked. Unable to stand it any longer, you pushed through the crowd of X voters, drawing a few surprised looks as you made your way toward him.

When you reached him, several eyes, including his, turned to you. You gently took hold of his sleeve and said softly, “Come on. Let’s go back in.”

Player 456 gave a small nod before meeting the guard’s gaze. The triangle-masked guard, interpreting this as compliance, finally lowered his weapon. You led player 456 back to the X zone, standing once again beside player 390. The guard returned to his position behind the square-masked guard, and the voting resumed.

The minutes stretched on as votes were cast. You watched anxiously as the numbers edged closer and closer to a tie. Your heart sank when the tally on the screen displayed an almost even split.

[X: 185 | O: 186].

The guard called out the final player. “Player 001.”

All heads turned to the far back of the room, where the last player stood.

“Everyone, say O!” Thanos shouted suddenly.

“O!”

“X!” came the counter-shouts from the X zone.

You bit your lip, your nerves fraying as player 001 walked between the chanting zones toward the counter. Your mind raced with silent pleas. Please. Just one more vote for X. If we gets a tie, we could still vote tomorrow. Some players will come to their sense in time.

The room went quiet as player 001 reached the counter. All eyes locked on the screen, waiting. Then, after a few quiet seconds, a lighter ping echoed through the room.

The tally updated. [X: 185 | O: 187].

Your shoulders slumped. On the other side of the dormitory, the O voters erupted into cheers. They hollered and clapped, their earlier fear and hesitation forgotten in their celebration. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness as you watched them, remembering how quickly they had scrambled away from the pink guards after the first game. Now, all they care about is money.

The X voters’ reactions were a stark contrast. Some groaned in disappointment, others shook their heads in frustration, and a few simply stood still, their faces pale and haunted. The fear in their eyes was unmistakable. No matter how they had voted, the realization that they would continue risking their lives weighed heavily on everyone.

As the O voters continued their celebration, players from the X zone began filing out quietly, heading for their bunks. You glanced at player 456, who still stood frozen in place, looking defeated.

You let out a small sigh and nudged player 456 gently. “Hey. It’s disappointing, but what else can we do? Let’s go.”

Player 456 didn’t say anything. His gaze lingered on the screen for a moment longer before he turned to follow you and player 390. Together, the three of you walked towards the corner of the right side of the hall.

NEXT : Chapter 04

PREV : Chapter 02

Story Masterlist

I would love to know what you think so feel free to comment as long as you could!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[seonrii]

› . ⌗﹒˙ 𐔌 . 엔시티 127.ᐟ ֹ₊ ꒱ › Snowlit warmthˎˊ˗ ──────𖹭

☆ pairing Ꜣ girldad! doyoung x mom! reader

☆genre Ꜣ fluff

☆word count Ꜣ 1,088 words

☆warnings Ꜣ none

☆author's note Ꜣ first and foremost, I'd like to address the use of images I made. I know the story takes place at night, but I couldn't find the perfect image for this story, so I used what I thought would work. That's all; I hope you enjoy reading it! If you have any requests or adjustments, please lmk! ദ്ദി(˵ • ᴗ - ˵ ) (I know christmas has already passed but winter hasn't yet!)

The snow falls softly, blanketing the ground in a pristine white layer that glistens under the faint glow of the streetlights. The crisp winter air carries the faint scent of pine, and the distant sound of wind rustling through the trees fills the quiet night. You pull your coat tighter around you, the cold biting at your cheeks as your breath puffs out in little clouds.

“Daeumi, come here,” you call gently, your voice carrying through the stillness.

Your daughter, bundled up in her bright pink puffer jacket, turns toward you, her little boots crunching against the snow as she waddles over. Her cheeks are flushed a rosy red, and her tiny mittened hands swing at her sides. She stumbles slightly but recovers quickly, her giggles bubbling into the cold air.

You crouch down, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head. “Don’t let it fall, okay? It’s too cold,” you remind her, your gloved hands adjusting the zipper snugly. “Tell me if you’re getting cold, alright?”

She nods shyly, her wide eyes meeting yours as she gives you a small, hesitant smile. “But, Mama,” she starts, her voice soft and pleading, “can I take my gloves off? Please?”

You sigh, shaking your head gently. “I’m sorry, baby. You know how your dad overreacts when you get cold,” you explain. Her lips form a pout, and she looks down, her disappointment clear.

Not wanting her to feel sad, you quickly scoop up a handful of snow, rolling it into a small snowball. “Hey, baby, it’s okay,” you say, holding the snowball up for her to see. “We can still make Olaf with our gloves on. Look!”

Her eyes light up with curiosity as she watches you mold the snow. “See? It’s not so bad. And if we’re lucky, Elsa might come to pick Olaf up. We could even say hi to her,” you whisper playfully, leaning closer as if sharing a secret.

Her face transforms with excitement, her smile stretching wide. “Okay, Mommy!” she exclaims, her little feet carrying her toward a fresh pile of snow. She begins eagerly patting the snow together, her small hands clumsily shaping it.

You join her, kneeling beside her to help shape the base of the snowman. Together, you stack snowballs, smoothing the edges carefully. Her giggles fill the air, and she hums a familiar tune—likely from her favorite movie—while working.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway draws your attention. Turning, you see your husband, Doyoung, lowering his car window. He pauses, watching the two of you with a soft smile before turning off the engine and stepping out.

Your daughter, Daeumi, too engrossed in building Olaf, didn't notice him approaching. He creeps closer, the crunch of snow under his boots muffled by your laughter.

“Papa!” your daughter squeals when she finally spots him. She abandons the snowman and runs toward him, her arms outstretched.

Doyoung crouches just in time to catch her, scooping her up effortlessly. “I missed you, Papa,” she says, her voice soft and pouty as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice warm and affectionate. Her gummy smile melts his heart, and he scrunches his nose playfully at her.

“Hi, Mama,” he greets you, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You stand, brushing snow off your coat, and kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Welcome home,” you say warmly.

“What are you two up to?” he asks, glancing at the half-built snowman.

“Papa, don’t look!” Daeumi exclaims suddenly, wriggling out of his arms. She runs back to the snowman, her hands flying as she works to finish it.

Doyoung laughs, covering his eyes obediently. “Okay, okay! I’m not looking!”

You chuckle at their antics and crouch beside your daughter to help her finish the snowman. After a few whispered instructions, she grins mischievously.

“Papa, you can look now!” she calls.

Doyoung uncovers his eyes just in time to see a snowball flying straight at him. It hits him square in the chest, and he gasps dramatically, his hand flying to his heart.

“What was that for?” he exclaims, feigning shock.

You and Daeumi burst into laughter, another snowball already flying his way. “It was Daeumi’s idea!” you tease, pointing at your daughter, who looks equally surprised at being blamed.

“Oh, really?” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. He lunges toward her, scooping her up as she squeals with laughter. Spinning her around, he peppers her with kisses, her giggles echoing through the night.

“Papa, put me down!” she begs between laughs. Doyoung sets her down gently, and she immediately runs back to the snowman. “Papa, look! It’s Olaf!” she announces proudly, gesturing to the finished snowman.

Doyoung crouches beside her, inspecting the snowman with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “I think Elsa and Santa will both love it,” he declares, making her beam with pride.

He stands and walks back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your neck. “I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender.

You smile, leaning into his warmth. “I missed you too,” you reply, your hand finding its way to his hair.

“You forgot something,” he says, pouting slightly.

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, the cold of the night forgotten in the warmth of his touch.

“Eww!” a small voice interrupts, and you both pull away, laughing as you see Daeumi covering her eyes. “Tell me when you’re done!” she exclaims, her voice filled with mock disgust.

Doyoung steals one last quick kiss, making you gasp. “What? She told us to tell her when we’re done,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You shake your head, laughing as your daughter groans dramatically. The three of you head back inside, the warmth of the house welcoming you. Daeumi snuggles into the couch with a mug of hot chocolate, her eyelids growing heavy as she recounts her snowman adventure.

Later, as you tuck her into bed, Doyoung pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you. The night ends with the two of you sharing a quiet moment, watching the snow fall gently outside, grateful for the love and warmth of your little family.