#celine x mark

[human-gutz]

# title ; he'll let your world burn [ chapter one ]

# pairings ; actor mark / reader

# word count ; 3,541

# trigger warnings ; guns, vomit, actor mark being an asshole

# notes ; zombie apocalypse au! i meant to post this sooner, decided to get some of chapter two done first but it's here now. requests are open. will hopefully get a oneshot posted soon + i have plans for another chapter book.

Diinnngg.

Glancing up at the top of the door, taking notice of the bell chime. Holding it open for Mark to walk through. Not really wanting the chime to go off a second time. Letting go of the door as soon as Mark stepped past you, watching it close for a moment before turning and scanning over the gas station.

The place looked mostly untouched other than obvious signs of quick evacuation. Normally this would be a bit of a shock, but this gas station was practically in the middle of no where.

Walking behind the counter, grabbing one paper bag. Heading back out to the main area, opening up the bag and grabbing a few snacks and small candies from the shelf. Shoving them inside of it. Setting sack down near the entrance.

Glancing back over to the counter at the sound of another bag being opened. Mark was grabbing cigarette cartons and putting them in a bag. After a moment, he took notice of your staring, a frown fitting his face.

"What?" he sounded annoyed, "I have no clue when the next time we'll come across a store, much less one that isn't ransacked."

You just rolled your eyes, not bothering to give him a response as he went back to grabbing cartons. Instead heading towards what you assumed was storage.

Pushing open the door, taking a peak inside you spotted boxes stacked up everywhere. Along with exactly what you were searching for.

Walking inside, leaving the door propped open with a random box. Picking up one of the cases of water bottles you found, walking back out of the storage area and setting it near the bag of snacks, and now Mark's cigarettes as well.

Seeing as you hadn't heard the door open, you assumed he was filling up his own bag of snacks.

After all, he was right. Neither of you had a clue when the next time you'd find a place to get food would be. Most of the places you two had stopped at were abandoned houses. With most of the food either rotted or animals had gotten into it. Most of them were a good way to get gas at least.

Siphoning wasn't too hard, that being said Mark absolutely refused to do it. Something about him being a 'man of class' or whatever. You never really paid much attention to him most of the time.

Snapping out of your thoughts as another bag was placed next to the two already there. Turning your head to look at Mark, his face still just showed annoyance to you. It always felt like that now.

Setting the bags on top of the water case, picking them up and pushing the door open with your foot. Standing by the passenger door, watching Mark open it up. Pulling foreword the seat, you leaned in to place the waters in the back. Moving the bags off top of the waters and instead setting them in the seat next to it.

Pushing the seat back into place and climbing inside, shutting the passenger door. Mark had already gotten in and was starting up the car by the time you got yourself situated.

As he pulled out of the station, you debated asking the question that had been festering in your head ever since this roadtrip began. The way there was easy, you had the map and directions all written out, but in a rush to leave the city. You had none of it left.

"Are you sure we've actually been going in the right direction?" There was almost a bit of nervousness in your voice, glancing in his direction as you asked.

Mark didn't take his eyes off the road, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. His frown deepened at the question, or you assumed that was the reason.

A sigh came before he spoke, "Pass me a pack of cigarettes." He completely ignored your question. Part of you wondered if you were right and he just didn't want to admit it.

Staying still for a few more seconds, watching him glance over at you for a moment with a glare which quickly got you moving.

Unclicking your seatbelt, twist around to reach through the gap in the seats. Prying your fingers under the cardboard, flipping them to the side and wedging your fingers in. Pulling out a pack, turning back to Mark. Setting them down in the center.

Without looking away from the road, he moved a hand down to grab the pack. Tearing the thing plastic away, just tossing it to the floor. Opening the lid and pulling out a cigarette, setting the box back in the center.

"Light it."

The cigarette was held out towards you, tilting his head towards the lighter that also laid in the center for a moment.

Part of you wanted to be shocked by the other commanding you around but it was Mark. It would be a surprise if he didn't do it to someone.

Picking up the lighter, flicking it open and rolling the flint wheel. Seeing the flame spark to life. Placing the flame under the cigarette, the edges began to crisp up and burn, pulling it away after a moment. Closing the lighter and setting it back in place. Quickly moving to roll down your window, spinning the crank.

Hotboxing the car wasn't exactly an experience you would like to have.

Staring out the window, feeling the breeze run over you. It was.. pleasant. Probably one of the few nice moments you had on this entire trip.

God.

This entire trip was a disaster.

You hadn't even been the one meant to go. Damien was, but he had an important business meeting he couldn't miss so y—.

"It shouldn't be more than a day or two left."

Mark snapped you out of your thoughts.

Turning back to look at him, he still had his eyes glued on the road but his grip on the steering wheel had relaxed. It had been nearly two days without him being able to smoke, so seeing him relaxing now that he had one.. made some sense.

He took another drag of the cigarette, "I've driven this route plenty of times. If I wasn't fucking sure of myself I wouldn't of even tried," not looking still, but a fake smile took over his face. "If you'd like to question me anymore, I'd more than gladly pull this fucking car over and leave you for dead. Capisce?"

It felt like your stomach did a flip, turning from looking at Mark to the floor. You couldn't tell if it was a joke to scare you or the truth. When it came to him, it could be anything.

Just giving a small nod. Not even checking to see if Mark acknowledged, or even saw it.

---

It had been a few hours since you two had left the gas station, the car was silent other than Mark telling you to light a cigarette for him every now and again.

You were in a place you actually recognized finally, it was a small town about six or so hours from where Mark's manor is. There wasn't much here, just a grocery store, a few houses, a gas station, some other buildings, and the whole reason you were here. A motel.

Mark pulled into the lot, turning the car off and just sitting there.

You didn't bother waiting, quickly unbuckling yourself. Going to open the car door only for Mark to grabbing your wrist tightly, keeping you in place.

"Stay."

He opened his own door, stepping out of the car. Leaning down, pulling out what looked like a small handgun out before shutting the door. Watching him head towards the reception room, disappearing inside.

Understanding Mark was.. hard to say the least. He seemed to like playing the nice, friendly, friend most of the time. He would protect others from threats, the people closest to him knew he just liked playing the hero.

He was an actor, through and through.

After a few minutes, Mark emerged. What looked like a set of keys in his hand.

Motioning for you come follow him, you opened the car door and finally stepped out. Walking over towards the other, going a quick pace before slowing down as you reached his side. Keeping just a step behind him.

Stopping by a nearby door, you couldn't see what he was doing but seeing the door open a moment later, it was assumed he was unlocking it.

As soon as you spotted the singular queen bed, you glanced over at Mark. He didn't seem to care, not even acknowledging it. Instead walking over and untucking the comforter, shaking the dust off it.

You were confused, "What room am I staying in?" The two of you wouldn't be sharing a bed.. right?

"Here. There's probably extra blankets and pillows in the closet." His voice was matter of fact, no room for protest.

Not like that would stop you from doing so.

"I'm not sharing a bed with yo—" He cut you off with laughter.

Taking a moment to calm before turning to look at you, crossing his arms. Tilting his head, a wide grin on his face. "Fuck no, we aren't sharing a bed.. but with how things are, you aren't staying alone. It's not safe." Turning back to brush the dust off the pillows, "you can sleep on the floor. Probably would be more comfortable than sleeping at your desk like you normally do."

Just staring for a moment, on one hand you wanted to just tell him to go fuck himself and go get your own room.. on the other you knew Mark wouldn't hesitate to lock you in the bathroom or somewhere to keep you here.

Walking to the closet, you decided it was easier to just go along with it than fight with him on this.

Pulling out all the pillows and blankets from the closet, dragging them to the side of the bed closest to the door. Dropping them on the floor and kicking them around with your feet. When you were ready to sleep, you could fix it up later.

"You're not smoking in here then."

There was silence for a bit, he was probably thinking it over.

"Fine." That was the only thing he said in response, he sounded annoyed by it, but there was only much pushing he could do before you would stop cooperating with him.

Walking back out to the car, you opened up the passanger door. Pushing the seat down once more. Grabbing the two snack bags and a few waters. To make sure he really wouldn't smoke inside, you left his cigarettes and lighter in the car. Shutting the door behind you, heading back towards the room.

Setting them down on the desk, shutting the door to the room. Grabbing a random bag of chips from your bag and sitting down in one of the chairs. Opening it up and snacking on it.

It clicked with you how hungry you were once you did, the last time you ate was probably a day ago? That wasn't something you were trying to pay attention to until now. Practically tearing through the first bag, tossing it in the trash and grabbing another.

"Hungry?"

You glanced in Mark's direction, realizing how ravenous you were acting. Pausing, staring down at the bag then back up him. Just giving a small nod.

"Go get in the car, we can go down to the grocery story and see what is still… edible. There's plenty of stuff here we can use to start a fire or something if we need to."

His voice seemed gentle, almost caring. It was.. odd. You didn't want it to end though, so you just gave a nod. Setting the chip bag down and heading back to the car.

Mark followed after, the both of you getting in the car. It came to life with a rumble, he quickly pulled out of the lot and started towards the grocery store.

As you road around town, it was surprising to see the fact this place also seemed untouched. It was probably one of the towns that completely evacuated before things got bad. Made things easier for the two of you at least.

The car came to a hault just a few feet from the entrance, waiting a moment, seeing if Mark was going to stop you again. After seeing him step out without saying anything, you followed along.

Stepping inside, a horrid smell hit both of you instantly. At first you wondered if you were wrong, there really were people here.. or, whatever what was left of them.

It only took a few moments before realization set in, it was the smell of rotting meat. The electricity was down, nothing was keeping the food here was fresh. That didn't make it any better, the smell was still nauseating.

Before you could process it, everything you just ate was coming up. Quickly stepping back outside, spitting it up over the concrete. The smell still was invading you but it was getting easier.

Glancing back towards the store, you didn't see Mark. He probably went farther in to go grab stuff.

Walking back to the car, opening the door and reaching into the back. Grabbing one of the water bottles and opening it. Taking some water into your mouth and just swishing it around, spitting it out on the concrete. Doing it a few times until the bottle was empty, dropping it on ground.

Hesitantly walking back towards the store, slowly pushing the door open and trying to breath through your mouth instead. Doing your best to ignore the smell.

"It's not that bad, there's no need to be all dramatic about it."

You heard Mark speak from somewhere in the store, a scowl running across your face. It looks like he was going right back to being an asshole.

Peaking down the aisle he was standing in, taking note of the fact he was smoking. Walking towards him, he seemed to be looking over all the canned food.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." It was the only response you could be bothered to give.

He glanced over at you for a moment, a more neutral look on his face. Looking back at the soups, he grabbed two off the shelf. Handing you them both. "Go wait in the car. I don't want you puking again."

There was slight hesitation before you stepped back and turned, walking back out to the car. Setting the cans on the floorboard, just watching the door to the store. Waiting for Mark to emerge.

It didn't take too long, he came out carrying a full grocery bag. Opening up your door, setting it in your lap before shutting it.

Glancing down, you peered inside. Looking over everything as Mark got in and started up the car. You saw some more cans, a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a few bars of chocolate.

A small smile crept up on your face, looking over at Mark. He still held a impassive look, glancing towards you for a moment then back on the road.

"If we're gonna have a fire might as well have something nice."

It didn't take long before the two of you made it back to the motel, Mark grabbed the bag from your lap and stepped out of the car. It was only then you noticed him grab another bag from the floorboard.

Picking up the two cans from the beginning, shutting the car door and following after him. Setting them down on the concrete next to where he set everything else. Not bothering to follow Mark into the room, knowing he'd come back out.

Seeing him come out with one of the chairs and two rolls of toilet paper, setting the rolls next to you. Dragging the chair a bit farther down.

Taking a small step towards him, "Wha—."

CRACK.

He had grabbed the top of chair and slammed it into one of the support beams. One of the legs came completely off, two more cracked while the last was still undamaged. He slammed it over and over until all four legs were on the ground.

You just stared at him, a bit of fear hit you. It just reminded you of how strong Mark really was, motel chairs weren't very light and he picked it up with ease and slung it around.

He picked up four broken chair legs, walking back over to you. Crouching down and arranging them in a square. Placing the two toilet rolls in the middle of the square. Pulling the lighter from his pocket and setting one of them on fire, then placing the sitting piece of the chair on top of it.

Sitting down on the opposite side of him, listening to the flames crackle as the fire began to spread to the chair. Mark grabbed from the bag he had at his feet, pulling out a small metal pot then grabbing the two cans he gave you earlier.

Turning your head away from Mark, letting him do the cooking. If you said anything, he'd probably make you take it over.

This was tiring. No one could ever expected something like this. No one probably did.

You weren't even sure who'd still be around when the two of you finally got home.. who'd even be alive.

People tried escaping towards the cities but that only seemed to cause mass chaos, they were absolutely horrid when the two of you finally made it out. You remember having to practically beg Mark not to leave you behind. He said if you could make it to his car, he'd bring you.

It was pure luck you even made it.

Turning back to face Mark, it was hard to see him as the person he was now. He was always so kind back in college. Supporting both you and Damien with your careers. He was madly in love with Celine, doing practically anything for her.

Then something changed.

You weren't sure when, maybe it had always been a facade. Maybe Mark really was just.. a good actor.. it was hard to tell.

Turning towards the soup, he was stirring it with a plastic spoon. It was boiling now, he pulled it off the flames. Pouring it out into two paper bowls. Sticking a plastic spoon in yours before handing it to you.

You honestly could care less about how hot it was, you dug in. Hissing slightly at the burn, pushing past it and continuing to eat.

Glancing up, noticing Mark was just staring at you. He had set his food off to the side, probably giving it time to cool first. Setting your empty bowl into the fire, watching it burn up.

"Want me to make some more?"

You shook your head no at the question, just watching the fire. Moving to grab the marshmallows instead before realizing, you had no way to even cook them. You could probably go and find a stick, but with how dark it already was.. it probably wouldn't be the best idea.

Pushing yourself off the ground, you stared at the fire for a bit longer before stepping inside of the motel. Sitting down on the makeshift 'bed' of pillows and blankets.

A few candles had been lit around the room, probably by Mark. It was a nice source of light. He'd probably put them out before he went to bed.

Kicking your shoes off, setting them off to the side. It wasn't the most comfortable, but you planned on leaving the rest of your clothes on. Just in case.

A few minutes later, you could hear the sizzling of water being poured on the fire. Moving to your knees, peaking out the window.

Mark was dumping a few water bottles onto the fire, using the top of the chair which the flames never reach to spread the ashes out. He just seemed to be staring and waiting, so you moved back to sitting.

Laying back and closing your eyes, trying to get comfortable enough to get some rest.

.

.

.

"Here."

Opening your eyes back, seeing Mark standing in front of you with another paper bowl and spoon.

Pushing yourself back into a sitting position. Grabbing the bowl and spoon, looking over it. It was a s'more.. kinda? From what it looked like, he crumbled up the graham crackers, put down some chocolate and marshmallows, then another layer of graham crackers.

Glancing back up at Mark, he had already walked off. Locking up the room and taking his own shoes off. Getting himself ready for bed.

Digging your spoon into the dessert, taking a bite of it. It tasted just like a s'more, so there were no complaints from you. Finishing it up quickly, you set the bowl and spoon on the bedside table beside you.

Laying back down, pulling one of the blankets over you. Exhaustion was hitting you like a truck now. Closing your eyes once again, the candles being blown out and Mark moving the sheets around were the last thing you heard before sleep took over.

[melancholypancakes]

Author note: Here's a love triangle script i made with Mark, Y/n and Dark.

We all know why Y/n chooses Dark ;)

[...]

Why.. why do you always choose him?!" a voice echo in the darkness.

Y/n gasped and turns as she was in Dark's embrace, Dark glared at the red figure.

The figure stomps as it growls before forming into Mark.

"Why won't you love me the way you love him?!" his nostrils flared as hatred ran through his veins.

"Why do you look at him like that?!" Mark exclaimed.

"He's not even Damien and you still choose him y/n!" He exclaimed once more, demanding an answer.

"Because She's not a psychopath like you!" Dark exclaimed as Y/n looked up at him.

Before he could say more she pressed on his chest to show she could handle this.

"He may not be the man I knew, but he has both Damien and Celine parts," Y/n says as she stares into Mark's red eyes.

"No matter what form he's still the person I love." she declares as she warmly smiles at Dark.

"Mark, maybe once upon a time I once cared for you but I could never love you," she says gazing at him with pity.

"Not because I was with Damien but because you were corrupted, cruel, vicious, and narcissistic." Y/n glares at Mark as he gazes back.

He was shocked, by her confession how could she not love him?

"You could never truly love me, you loved Celine but like she." She once more tears Mark with her voice.

"You and I weren't meant to be, I knew who my true love was.." Y/n says warmly as she holds onto Dark's hand.

"One more thing. "Y/n" is not my name." she glares at Mark.

"My name is Ruthanne Kobayashi, title me a villainess in your story!" she exclaims as she grins.

" I could care less! I choose my actions, my words, and my voice from now on!" Ruthabbe proudly exclaims being free to be herself.

Mark growls in frustration as he witnesses "Damien" once again ending up with Y/n.

Dark, may not had be Damien but history was repeating itself once more...

[shironezuninja]

All caught up with Deadpool 2. Loved how the Opening Credits with Celine Dion’s “Ashes” resembled like a James Bond movie opening. The most beautiful thing to hear after tragedy strikes Wade’s life. Now we’ll see if Vanessa really does break up with him in Deadpool & Wolverine…if that rumored post was stating it hours ago.

[manebioniclegali]

Sometimes, strange things happen. And sometimes, the answers aren't obvious to those involved. You have a funny feeling about all this.

Word count: 1062

~~~~~~

“You like him, don’t you?”

That startles you, head whipping towards Celine while Markus disappears into the distance. Without meaning to, you keep track of him out of the corner of your eye. “Huh?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m— I’m not playing dumb. Why would I like him?” Your lips tremble at the lie.

“I’ve seen how you look at him.”

You roll your eyes, hopefully not appearing forced. “Celine, I look at him with something short of contempt. We bicker constantly; that does not attraction make.”

“Stop. Lying to me.” She spits the words out through gritted teeth. “Just admit that you like Mark!”

“What? No!” You frown, and your brow crinkles in concern. “Celine, what’s gotten into you?”

“Maybe I should be asking you the same thing!”

Celine’s sudden ferocity doesn’t make any sense, even as you try desperately to create some. …Unless— “Celine…do you like Mark?”

Her face flares in a matter of seconds, faster than you remember.

“Celine…Celine, you like William, I thought…?”

“Can’t a woman have more than one romantic interest?” she snaps.

“I don’t understand—”

“No, of course you don’t!” Her voice grows louder. “You couldn’t understand! You never did! You never will! Now tell me whether or not you like the bastard!”

Something almost seems to fracture in the back of your mind. “Wh…what?”

“I said tell me if your heart belongs to him.”

There’s another voice on top of hers when she speaks, a deeper one, and you take a step back defensively. “N-no!”

“LIAR!”

Celine rushes you, hands outstretched, red echoes around her, filling up the space behind her until it blocks out everything else, when suddenly—

***

You’re awake.

…

You’re awake?

The ceiling above you, the sheets surrounding you—all of it feels just as real as the…dream? you just had. You pinch your skin, and it sure feels like reality, not some lucid dream.

You rub the sleep from your eyes. You don’t get it.

Who’s Celine?

There’s a knock at your door, pulling you from your reverie. “Yes?”

“It’s me! Are you decent?”

You sit up and verify your situation. “Yeah.”

Mark enters the room, humming, with a tray populated by a surprisingly unburnt breakfast. “I thought I’d bring you a little something after our adventures—”

He stops dead in his tracks, silent. You think he’s staring at you, but he almost seems to be looking through you. It has you squirming in place before long. “...Mark?”

He blinks, bringing himself back to reality, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes before his smile reaches them again, continuing to approach. “Sorry, dear, lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”

You roll your eyes at the term of endearment, unable to snark so soon after waking, adjusting the bedsheets for him. You decide to answer honestly. “For the most part. I did have a really weird dream, though.”

“Oh?” Mark says, settling onto the bed and placing the tray before you. “How so?”

You’re quiet a moment. He’s used that tone where he pretends he’s not interested, but he very much is. You’re not sure if he knows you’ve picked up on that habit of his. “Some woman kept asking me questions…I don’t even know who she was, but she knew you.” Something tells you that saying what the questions were would be a bad idea…mostly because you aren’t sure the full extent of your answer. “She wasn’t very nice to you.”

Mark borders on that deadly quiet again, a sharpness on his features that you rarely see, juxtaposing his hand brushing gently against your arm, up and down. It’s a bit distracting. Thankfully, his voice is more that smug playfulness. “You’re not exactly nice to me, either.”

You open and close your mouth, face growing warm. “Maybe not, but not like her. Although, I don’t think she had time to be as mean as she could be.”

His eyes narrow. “Do you remember her name?”

The time you spend thinking isn’t to try and recall it, although you hope he thinks that’s the case. “No,” you lie. His eyes narrow further, but despite your nervousness, you don’t rescind your statement. Something about this woman will set him off, and you’re not sure how or why.

Suddenly, he’s in your space, and you inhale sharply, looking up at him. Your plate rattles loudly on the tray. You feel like you should make some snarky remark, but you can’t think of anything, his eyes boring into yours. There’s that odd flickering again…

Finally, after what seems like ages, he backs off with a sigh. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’re telling me.” You try and make it sound sarcastic, but your voice is thin. You change subjects in an attempt to distract from that. “I’m not sharing this breakfast, not with how hungry I am.”

His expression softens, returning to his teasing—although his eyes don’t quite bounce back. “How do you think I feel? I had to slave away over the stove, making your food while I starved—”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” you joke, gently punching his arm with more playfulness that you feel right now. “You made the easiest thing in the world, you better have starved if you messed this up.”

“No, I don’t think I would have starved.” His grin is stirring up something that you’re unsure of. “You would have shared. Out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘kindness,’ I woulda given you the burnt pieces.” You huff. “You know, can’t have breakfast without some juice.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I didn’t want to spill it and I was going to bring it separately—” He pulls himself from the bed, striding towards the door. “I’ll be right back!”

You keep up your smile until he leaves, then let it drop with a long exhale. It’s probably best that you forget about the all-too-real dream, forget about what just happened, and definitely forget about any of the emotions swirling in your chest. You don’t need to wonder why it felt vaguely like it was pulling from a memory. You don’t need any of that. Truly, all you need right now is breakfast. You situate yourself properly, scooting back from where Mark was reclining, and dig into your well-deserved meal.

[cuddlesworks]

commission for adorablelilly09 on insta!

[cottoncandyswisherz]

we'll see

toxicbabydadd!chris x birthdaygirl!reader

warnings: toxicccccc, rough, unprotected sex (dont be dumb) biting, choking, the word 'then' a million times

-

ITS A REAL BITCHES BIRTHDAYYYY

your house is full and everyone's drunk. except you. 

you have to say sober, because you're breastfeeding your daughter aaliyah. 

but you don't have to be shitfaced to have fun, so when you hear your song come on, you tap your best friends shoulder. 

you've had a routine to freak hoe since high school so she knew what time it was. you move through the routine with no grace. throwing ass is not elegant but it's what you do best. 

"WE ATTTTEEE!" she yells over the music.

"AND DIDDDD!" you shout back. 

"IM NOT DRUNK ENOUGH!" and with that, she's gone. off to make herself another drink, leaving you to go to your room to call the sitter and pump. 

but as soon as you enter, you see chris standing in your room, on his phone. he looks up when he hears me. 

"what the fuck?"

"i just wanted to give you your gift and leave."

"so you went to my bedroom?"

"i saw you dancing with celine. i didn't wanna kill your vibe."

you scoff at this and sit on your bed, bringing out your phone. "you killed my vibe when you fucked someone else while i was 8 months pregnant with your baby."

"aight, bro, chill."

"fuck you."

chris walks around your bed and stops right in front of you. his waist dangerously close your face. he places his hand under your chin, gripping your jaw. 

"watch it, mama."

WOOOOOOOOOSHHHHH just like that. panties ruined.

but tina aint raise no bitch so you stand up, roll your eyes and walk over to your dresser to fix your lashes.

"or what, chris?"

"you know what."

"i really don't" you said bluntly. "you don't get to have the whole 'i'm sorry, please let me cum' thing anymore due to the fact that you're a cheating whore that i no longer love."

hearing that must have pissed him off because he was on you in an instant. his lips on yours, his left hand applying beautiful pressure to your throat, his right hand squeezing your ass.

your head grows fuzzy. its like he has crack on his tongue and is intoxicating you with each stroke of it. 

you don't have time to think of the hurt he caused as he moved from your lips, to your neck, then to your chest. 

then he's on his knees. pushing your dress up your hips and kissing down you waist sucking hickeys onto your thighs. 

"you think that shit's funny?" he growls, biting the meat of your inner thigh. "talking shit to me, after i've been trying to get you back for months?"

this made you laugh. "you'll never get me back chris."

he turned you around so your front was pressed against the wall. his fingers gripped the edges of your panties, guiding them down your legs, biting your ass and smiling when he saw the mark of his teeth in your cheek.

"we'll see."

and then he was standing up, your back to his front, and you felt him on your bare ass, his sweats doing  little to hide the effect you clearly had on him. 

you felt his hands grip your hips and move you from the wall to your dresser, so you could see yourself. 

"i want you to watch." he slid his bottoms down to knees, freeing him of his his restraints. "i want you to watch me ruin you." 

and then he was sliding in you with so much force, you jerked forward, throwing your hand up on the mirror to brace yourself. and in that moment you remembered why you'd let him get you pregnant. 

this man was a fucking beast. 

he was fucking you like it was all he could do to stay alive. hard, fast, and so, so, fucking good. he was so deep, hitting the same spot that made you taste purple. all your senses were out the window yet you felt everything he was doing. you felt his hand digging into your waist, you heard his grunts of pleasure, you saw his eyes trained on where you were joined. 

he looked so.... fuck. 

all you could do was grasp at the edges of your dresser and keen for him.

until you felt him move impossibly faster and his fingers reach under you and draw quick circles on your clit. then all you could do was tremble in his arms and reach behind you to push him away because it was beginning to be too much. 

he used his free hand to pin your arm to your back and use it as an anchor, digging deeper in you so you felt more of him than you thought there could be. 

"oh fuuuck-" you gasped. 

"you don't love me anymore mama?" he forced out. 

"chris- shit! please...." you cried out. "i'm gonna-"

"hold it."

"no! please no." you begged. 

"you wanna cum?"

"yes please, chris" you were a mess at this point. eyes rolling back as you tried to do what he'd asked. you knew that if you came before he'd allowed it, you'd never leave this room. 

"do you love me?"

as much as you wanted to say yes, you refused to let him win so easily. 

"no."

this only pissed him off because he shifted from fast and hard to slow, deep, torturous strokes that made your brain go blank. 

"jesus fucking..."

"you sure?"

"i don't know..."

"i think you do mama." his pace on your clit was the same demonic speed as before, confusing your mind. "all you gotta do is admit it and you can come all all over me. i want you to make a mess for me. i wanna feel you all over m-"

"FINE FUCK!" you cried. "i love you."

"that's my girl."

that's all it took for his pace to restart, pounding into you with ferocity. 

"cum, mama. cum for me." 

and you did. you sucked in a deep breath and slammed your eyes shut as you shook on the dresser. 

all you heard was the blood rushing in you ears as you let go of everything you'd been holding for the past 2 minutes. 

"shit, babe. i'm gonna-"

that snapped you back into reality. you did not want any more kids right now so you gathered all the strength you could and turned around, dropping to your knees and taking him in your mouth.

your head rested on the drawers of the dresser as you felt his load shoot down you throat with a moan that can only be described as godly. and when he pulled out of your mouth he pulled you up to your feet by your throat, kissing you with so much passion, you were ready to go again. 

but then he pulled away and gripped your face so you were looking into his eyes. 

"you'll always belong to me, y/n."

niyah speaks rushed as helllllll but hapy late birthday!!! @55sturn

taglist: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @thisisntmattsturniolo @chaossturns

[hhnguyen]

make me proud

Bringing my Sully Reader series to a bittersweet, yet hopefully comforting end.  

♢ Pairing: Tuktirey x Oldest sister!Reader, Sully family x Oldest sister!Reader

♢ Word count: 3.2k 

♢ Genre: angst, sibling love, fluff, grief - Warnings: cursing, major character death

⌲ Description: Time was passing by, and with hazy memories Tuk finds herself reminiscing about the person her sissy once was. 

M A S T E R L I S T

R e c o m m e n d e d   p l a y l i s t : 

⌲ ashes - Celine Dion ⌲ brother - Kodaline ⌲ the nights - Chlara  ⌲ the call - Regina Spektor

“Hello there,” Grinning, Tuktirey watched from a safe distance at the insistent yapping from a nest of Viperwolf pups. 

This pack specifically was only a couple of months old, but friendlier than those residing further away from her village, thus more used to the comings and goings of the Omitikaya and not trying to kill anyone who came too near.

Tuk found herself visiting the energetic pups several times a week, always making sure their protective mother and pack weren’t too near when she snuck closer than anyone would recommend. 

But she was confident in her abilities to protect herself, the bow slung over her body never left behind when outside the borders of her home. Not to mention the two extra daggers strapped to each thigh with firm leather holsters. 

Allowing herself a couple more moments of silent admiration, she swallowed back a giggle as one of the bravest of the pups came bouncing over in her direction, stumbling clumsily over its legs and trotting the last couple of feet before rubbing its leathery body against her ankle, no sign of viciousness present. 

Bending down to give the creature a little scratch behind its ears, the wolf gave a yip in satisfaction, tail thumping against the ground until a far-off howl sounded. 

Forgetting Tuk’s presence all the pups started to howl in reply and she used their distraction to swiftly turn back around and climb up the tree she had come from, safely keeping herself a distance away as the rest of the pack came running through the bushes with their newest prey for the day, growls mixed in with the barks of the youngest. 

With one last glance, Tuktirey started her short journey upwards before giving a sharp whistle. 

A screech replied her quickly, a shadow flying over her only for a few seconds before landing down on the large branch before her, leaves fluttering down the ground from its appearance hidden within. 

“Hey there boy,” Tuk trailed a gentle hand down her Ikran’s neck, somewhat feeling a little melancholic today, tracing the midnight blue skin with yellow and green marks. “Mawey Atanzaw.”

The old ikran listened, calming down and nudging his head against her hands as she smiled, nuzzling him back. She wasn’t the only one seemingly restless today. 

Atanzaw himself was aware of what day it was, having acted impatient from morning until now. 

Oh, what a shock that day had been for everyone; Tuk’s iknimaya was a moment still prone to come up in discussion to this day, four years later. 

She had followed the same rites of passage as all her family before, making it all the way up to the Hallelujah Mountains without much issues. And just when Tuk thought she had found her bond, Atanzaw had swooped down from the sky like the vicious beast that he was known for. 

Chasing away her first prospective Ikran and snarling at her. 

No one had seen the animal since your death nearly seven years ago, the ikran having taken to the skies and never seen again after your body was brought back to Metkayina village to be buried with the ancestors. 

She had been frozen to the core, all reason of what she was doing vanishing, until the realization that the ikran wanted her to fight; prove her worth to become his newest rider. 

An occurrence that had never happened before in the history of her clan. 

Once a rider died, it was well known their mounts refused to take any other. 

But there she had been, faced with the fiercely loyal best of her long passed oldest sister. 

“You want to see her, don’t you?” Tuktirey whispered, gently tracing the lines of his face as Atanzaw scuffed. “How about a little flight, then we’ll go.” 

Swinging herself up on the saddle, the ikran didn’t need any more direction to follow their usual flight route circling her home forest. 

Leaning forward to rest her whole body upon the warm skin of her mount, Tuk took a deep breath; eyes closing and feeling the wind whip past her as they soared above the trees. 

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in a beautiful picture of soft oranges, pinks and yellow, bathing her in a backdrop of warmth and comfort. 

Ten years have passed since your death. 

Tuk remembered that day more clearly than the others. 

When her family had finally managed to pry her and Kiri away from the grasps of their enemies, her eight-year-old mind thinking everything was going to be alright from there out as they floated above the water on Payakan’s fin until she noticed the usual bright absence of her oldest sister. 

Her questions had been answered in the worst possible way as she was led to the flat surface of rocks in the middle of the dark ocean, the flames of the sinking boat being the only light to illuminate them

But it had been bright enough for her eyes to take in the scarily still form of you. An image of cold serenity with a wet cloth covering your body from the neck down, eyes closed as if you were dreaming. 

Tuk had thought you were. 

Simply sleeping that is. 

Sinking slowly down to her knees beside you, small hand shaking your shoulder to wake up, to hug her and assure her that everything was okay now. That their family was safe and they could go home. But you wouldn’t wake up. 

“Why won’t sissy wake up, daddy!” Her child self had sobbed, hiccuping and whipping around to stare at her dad for an answer. 

He had only scooped her up in his arms, tugging her head into his neck with comforting nothings, apologizing for something she couldn’t hear through her sobs of denial. Kiri had stared, seeing but unseeing, fists clenched by her side as their mother sank down and pulled your damp head into her lap. 

The bright roots from the tree of souls brought her back to the present as Atanzaw swooped down slowly. The area was empty from what she could see, because Tuk had arrived late to her family’s tradition of visiting you on your death anniversary.

Instead of heading straight to the tree and connecting her queue, she found a slab of high rock several feet away and sat down. Her ikran settling down on his stomach beside her with a grumble as she absently traced his neck. 

“Come on, Tuk Tuk! Atanzaw won’t wait for us forever!” Your voice seemingly whispered in her ears, your bright laughter following as the memories of her small self rushing out of the hut for your weekly sister bonding time. 

“Tuk Tuk, mom and dad won’t be happy if you don’t clean up before dinner!” What an ongoing issue it had for you to force her to simply clean up after a day of adventures outside. 

“Why are you crying, Tuk Tuk?”

“I-I had a n-nightmare of you leaving m-me…”

“Awe, my sweet little Tuk. I’ll never leave you, okay?”

“Y-you promise, sissy?” You had grinned so widely that it seemed like you could shield the entire world from her. “When have I ever broken a promise?”

Tuktirey couldn’t help but scoff, the sound feeling loud in the emptiness of the space as she plucked out handful of grass and letting them flutter to the ground. 

“You’re a goddamn liar, sissy,” She couldn’t help but mutter bitterly. 

“Careful now. She won’t be too happy hearing you say that.”

Looking over her shoulder to face the familiar deep voice of Neteyam, grinning almost innocently. 

Tuk rolled her eyes, never stopping her aggressive little plucking of nature. She would apologize to Eywa another time. 

“What are you doing here, Teyam?” 

Her oldest brother heaved a sigh as he sat down on her other side, his ridiculously broad shoulders brushing her own. Just like everyone else, he had grown into himself as a strong male Na’vi. She knew that if their father decided to step down today as Olo'eyktan, Neteyam would be more than ready to take his place. 

But alas, Jake Sully was still a stubborn male who assured he was more than capable for a couple more years before letting the role of leader go to someone else. A stubborn old fool, their mother had berated him to their amusement. 

“I assumed since you didn’t show up earlier, I would find you here sooner or later.”

Her brother, now twenty-five was one of the respectable leaders of their clan, as a general and heir to their father. Neteyam even surpassed Jake in build and height, all the teenage softness melting into a strong wide jaw and high cheekbones. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” Tuk muttered again as he chuckled.

“And let you remain here alone ruining that poor grass?” Her hand stopped at his pointed words with an inward sigh. 

Pulling her knees against her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, never taking her eyes away from the gently swaying branches of the Tree of Souls. 

“What’s the issue, Tuk?”

“What makes you think there is one?”

She didn’t have to look to know about the brow Neteyam raised at her. “You’ve been acting odd the last couple of days. Even mother and father have noticed.”

Tuk gnawed at her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Since when have I ever judged you?” 

That was true. Neteyam was always willing to offer an ear for her problems, often ending the conversation with a comforting hug to brighten up her days. 

“I…think I’m forgetting her.” Tuk’s whispered admission floated into the air with a shuddering breath, eyes welling up with tears she let trail down her cheeks. 

A guilt that had bothered her ever since she realized with horror how she couldn’t seem to recall how your smile had looked like, if the colors of your eyes had been as yellow as she remembered, or a more dark orange. 

“Oh Tuk…” She didn’t fight the hold Neteyam slung over her shoulder, pulling her into his side, lips pressing against the crown of her head. “Why are you beating yourself up over that?”

“I can’t forget her, Teyam,” Tuk’s voice shook. “She’s…sissy. What kind of sister would I be if I can’t remember what her smile looked like? How her laugh sounded. It’s not right.”

“Who told you that?” Neteyam’s voice was a low comfort. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

“No, not even close, Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey shook her head. “Don’t do that. I don’t want your lies, Teyam.”

“Do you believe Y/N would call you a liar?” His question made her pause because she didn’t know. 

She didn’t remember what you would have said in moments like these, and it was that exact feeling that was eating her up from the inside. 

“You were eight, Tuk,” Neteyam continued seriously. “A child in the midst of war and mayhem. We all were. Trauma has haunted us all since then, you as a child couldn’t even escape it. Your memories warp over time, and no one would blame you for forgetting details of scenarios over a decade ago.”

“But it’s sissy!” She repeated vehemently. 

“Sissy would tell you to suck it up and stop being a wimp.” 

Words that your oldest brother would never use on a daily basis made them both freeze, before sharing an airy laugh together at how you would 100% say that to their faces. 

“Yeah, she would…” 

How Tuk hated the truth of those words. You would have told them much more than that with narrowed eyes and hands on your hips. Probably including a couple of cuss words followed by your signature whack to the head. 

“A day does not go by where we don’t miss her,” Neteyam’s voice had taken a note melancholy, Atanzaw in his silence seemingly agreeing with a rumble from his chest. 

“Y/N will always leave a mark within our lives long after we’re gone as well. Just look at Lo’ak. That fool has managed pretty well for himself.” 

Giggling at their inside joke, Tuk could see what he meant. 

After the war ended, everyone besides their second brother decided to return to the forest. Lo’ak had been firm in his decision of remaining with the Metkayina, Tsireya by his side as mates and to lead the future generations to come. They were doing incredibly well last time the family had heard, welcoming a healthy baby girl as their first child and naming her after you. They had promised to come for a visit the moment the babe was old enough for long travels. 

None of the family had expected Lo’ak to be the first one to create a family and life for himself, but he had put all the credit on you. How he promised to be strong for your sake; A promise he had now fulfilled to its brim to the pride of everyone else, your parents especially. Kiri herself had taken over the role of Tsahìk, with their grandmother only growing more weary by the day, and there was no one else suited better to the role than her. 

 That left only Tuk, with her eighteenth birthday having passed, she was officially an adult in human terms. She had chosen to become a part of the hunters, often led by Neteyam as well. 

She took after you a lot in that sense, her sense of adventure and adrenalin. 

“You think sissy would be proud?” Tuk asked carefully. 

Neteyam nudged her enough to catch her eyes as she followed his gaze to the tree, his small smirk obvious. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

“W-what?”

“I think of all days, that today is when Eywa might feel a bit more giving than usual.”

Despite her confusion over his mysterious words, Tuk listened and stood up. Walking the distance towards the closest root, she expected the same familiar connection to Eywa and hearing the whispers of the past brush over her mind as well the warmth spreading through her body. However her heart hammered when she felt her mind being pulled in further, as if dragging her away from the ground itself. 

Where was she? 

Slowly looking around, Tuk could vaguely recognize it. It was still home, in the forests on one of the many wide branches belonging to their trees. But it was taller than most she remembered, somewhere further away from their village. 

“Should I be offended that you look confused?”

Gasping, Tuktirey whirled around quicker than she had ever moved. Her hand covered her mouth, blinking as if in a dream as you grinned at her. 

Looking just like you had back then. Burnt orange like the sunrise, that was your eye color. 

“...sissy?” She was too afraid this wasn’t real. Because it didn’t feel like it.

Your grin widened, beaming almost - arms opening wide. “Hey Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey propelled into you mid sob, somehow still feeling smaller than you despite her couple inches on you. The familiar warmth of your grasp around her body brought her back to her childhood almost frighteningly fast, making her think how she managed to ever forget that feeling. 

“How tall you’ve become,” You murmured gently, hands trailing down her long braids, kept neatly within a leather tie. 

“I-I can’t believe this. How-”

“Eywa has granted us the gift of seeing each other again. A rare occurrence.”

Although not wanting to part from your arms, Tuktirey forced herself to pull back slightly. 

Only to be startled by the fact she had to look down to meet your sparkling gaze. You had always seemed like a larger-than-life figure to her. Towering above like an impregnable shield, it was now she realized how you had only been sixteen. How young your features looked now compared to her own eighteen. 

Had you always been that slight? 

“I don’t know what to say.”

You chuckled, reaching up to brush a singular braid back and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you have something to say?”

“I-I thought I did,” Tuk admitted, grasping your smaller hands tightly as you watched her patiently. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, then how about I start?” Meeting your eyes, she watched them crinkle. “I missed you, Tuk Tuk.”

Eywa knows how she managed to smile, a light laugh following despite her tears. “I miss you so much, sissy.”

“You are stunning. I always knew you would be.” 

“How could you?” The words slipped out before she could stop. “You’re not here.”

But you simply snorted, obviously disagreeing. “I’m always there, Tuk. Even if you can’t see me, or feel me. Or even want to remember me. I’ll always be there.”

“Then why did you leave?” Tuktirey couldn’t help the choked question, knowing better than to expect an answer to it. 

You had been shot. Not chosen to die. But you defied all expectations as always, answering with a smirk. 

“Shit happens.”

Their dad would have been proud to hear that. 

“You are so much like Dad,” She huffed out almost exasperated. 

“And don’t you let him forget,” You winked.

A cribble crawled over her skin, the leaves of the trees rustling almost in warning as your face tilted up towards the sky, smile faltering the slightest.  

“We don’t have much time.”

“No,” Tuk shook her head, gripping your hands tighter, probably near painful but you gave no indication of it. “I want to speak with you more. Apologize or something, I can’t forget you!”

To her surprise, you laughed. Loud and coming from your belly. “Forget me? Oh Tuk Tuk, you worry too much.”

“What?”

“You fear the natural sides of life. Apologize? For what? How do you expect to forget your favorite sibling?” Your joke did not dry the fresh tears gathered in her eyes, before your eyes softened. 

Hand coming back up to cup her cheek, thumb gently brushing against it. “You are allowed to forget my face. Even my voice. I would never hold it over you, Tuktirey. But this,” You patted her heart. “That will never be gone. You’ll always find me there, okay?”

Lips wobbling, Tuk sniffled almost pathetically as she nodded. “Okay.”

Her blurry vision took in your face carefully, for what felt like the very last time for a long while. 

Looking at your shining eyes, loving wide grin with the same hint of mischief you always carried around. 

The wind rose as you reached up to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, hands squeezing hers one last time before stepping back and letting go. 

“I love you, sissy.” Tuk managed to croak out as the surroundings were starting to brighten. She swore it was a tear running down your cheek as your grin widened enough to show your teeth. 

“I love you too, Tuk Tuk.” And then a classic you-move; offering her a two-finger salute with a wink. “Make me proud, tiger.”

With a sharp gasp, Tuktirey was back; eyes flying open and stumbling back only to be balanced swiftly by Neteyam.

But he didn’t look concerned. There was a knowing glint in his expectant smile as she stared at him silently, almost stunned. 

That smile widened at the look on her face. “So what did she say?” 

As reality caught up with her, Tuk straightened before huffing out a laugh, wiping away the stray tears on her cheek. 

With twinkling eyes, she ran her tongue against the inside of her mouth in thought before blurting out. 

“That you’ll always be a sniveling crybaby!” 

Cackling, she ran away with a squeal towards Atanzaw as Neteyam growled playfully behind her, bringing up the chase as she took to the skies; heart and soul lighter than she could ever wish for. 

Am I crying? Maybe.

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[karteinss]

Co-workers.

Top Male! Reader x Sub! Scara

Unreliable Narrator/Outsider's perspective, original female character, and male reader.

Cw: bottom scara & slight nsfw.

M/n and Scaramouche were polar opposites, nothing of them matches up but they did have one thing in common; Wanting to become the Employee of the year.

M/n was a bright handsome young man, always loyal and obedient (or so their boss thought), almost never missing a day at work. He was loud but generous, a fun guy to hang out but he could also have a serious side to him.

Meanwhile, Scara was a rather cold but pretty man, a quite intimidating figure in the office. Though he holds no authority of a higher figure, his face and cold tone was intimidating enough for anyone to look away, afraid to make him angry.

The only way they would "interact" was through their rivalry. Insane, right? That's what Celine thought when she first entered their department.

It really was a tiring job, not only did she do overtime often but she has to do it with those 2, making it even more struggling and painful.

She really wishes she could've been put in another department, to do overtime in peace at least.

She was tired and absolutely annoyed at both of them in the first year of her job but as another year passed by, she got used to it.

But it didn't mean that she didn't get tired of listening to their bickering, it could lead to “physical” fights if they go far enough which she herself had to stop..

She was just like their nanny, an underpaid one to be exact.

For those who are asking: No, the HR doesn't know a thing about this since they always fought at places where the security cameras couldn't see.

And none of the other employees decided to snitch on them— Let's just say that they were too afraid.

The amount of stress she gained was abnormal from just listening to them bickering!

She should get paid for doing such a job so torturous.

.

.

.

Celine was just doing some work peacefully, writing documents and other things an average worker with a minimum wage salary would do. Well, her peaceful and quiet atmosphere was short-lived when she suddenly heard a loud crash in the Janitor's closet.

Ah, fuck, they're at it again.

Celine walked towards the Janitor's closet and she was right— Inside, there was M/n on top of Scara, their clothes were slightly messy.

God, when will they ever stop fighting?

Celine just sighed, “What are you both doing? You should be doing your work, not fight. Stand up” Celine commanded, her voice sounded threatening but there was barely any intimidation in her voice.

As they both stood up, she saw red-blue marks on their skins.

Damn, how far did those bastards go? Celine was confused, they would always fight “Physically” but they were never badly injured.

As she was still rambling inside her head, M/n talked first.

“He started it first.”

The accusation made Scara's eyes widened as he yelled.

“WHAT!? NO I DIDN'T!” Scara responds with a loud yell, which made M/n smirk. “Yes you did, you dragged me here first, no?” He said calmly, meanwhile, Scara looked so angry and red— red from embarrassment, maybe.

Scara tries to respond back but he stays silent, he just walked right out of the Janitor's Closet with his ears and cheeks painted a light red.

He must've been embarrassed.

As Celine watched Scara walk out, M/n suddenly whispers; “Don't tell the HR or anyone about this, it was just a friendly fight, no worries.” M/n whispered but a small smirk was visible on his face as he too went out of the closet.

Well, AT LEAST M/n was slightly better than Scara in terms of personality.

Though, she often questions if their dynamic was healthy or not— They get into physical fights often, isn't that too extreme?

She lets out an exaggerated sigh as she too left the Janitor's closet to resume her work—

She wonders if they truly hate each other.

“Celine, they're fighting again...” Her colleague pointed out, it was in the middle of the day, it was only 1pm and this was the 3rd time today! Not to mention it was a goddamn Monday! Could her day just get any worse?

“I know, just let them be” She responds calmly, too tired of their bullshit as she continues writing a document.

“M/n is dragging scara somewhere—”

A slam could be heard from Celine's table as Celine immediately walked over to them, grabbing Scara's arm to pull him back.

“You will NOT fight in this office, fight elsewhere.” Celine said to M/n as she dragged Scara from M/n's grasp and dragged him back to his chair.

“Work, don't fight, this is an office.” Celine said as she left both Scara and M/n stunned.

“We're not fighting! I just wanted to talk to him privately—”

“Is it work related?”

That seemed to stun M/n as he went quiet.

“No...It isn't.” M/n says truthfully, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Find an appropriate time to do it, then. Office hours aren't supposed to be time for you both to start a petty fight” Celine was getting more and more tired of them, she was hoping this was the last time they'll fight for such petty reasons.

“Right, sorry..I won't do it again” M/n apologizes as Celine nods. “You too, Scara.” She also told him, Scara just silently nodded she finally went back to her seat in peace.

Hopefully this will be the last time they fight.

A few weeks have passed since then and one day, M/n didn't come to work which was unusual since he never missed any days of work. But the more unusual thing is that Scara didn't come to work either— This should've been an advantage for Scara but apparently, he too didn't come to work.

“Weird” Celine thought to herself, maybe it was just a simple coincidence.

Well, atleast she would have some peace for a day.

No, it was just a coincidence.

Every goddamn time one of them gets sick, the other doesn't come to work either.

It can't just be a mere coincidence, right?

Curiosity killed the cat as Celine finally decided to ask both of them why they don't come to work when the other was sick.

And all they answered was;

“I want to make the rivalry fair”

That didn't stop her curiousity at all!

It seems out of character for those two bastards who literally fight every goddamn time they even lay their eyes on each other.

But hey, at least Celine has the peace she always longed for on those days.

It was just a normal Friday night for Celine, overtime in the office again, stuck with those two bastards and some other colleagues which Celine thanked God for.

The good thing is she gets paid for this shit, which is a good thing but she secretly wishes for more pay— A fee for taking care of those delinquents who kept trying to bite into each other's necks.

It was always; “He started it first!” this or “He doesn't deserve to be employee of the year!” that, well turns out none of them were employee of the year, Celine was.

At least her efforts paid off but it was a headache of trying to comfort an upset M/n and an annoyed Scara...God, those two were like the Sun and the moon.

As Celine was rambling inside of her head, she didn't notice how the sky became darker. She glanced at the office computer and saw how it was already time for her to leave, she looked at the left and right sides of her to notice how both Scara and M/n were both gone.

Oh no, those fuckers were probably at it again.

She hurriedly tries to look for them in every nook and cranny, she couldn't find anyone to help her as she realized her other colleagues had already left as she panicked.

They could be in a massive fight, oh god. What if they try to kill each other and one of them tries to kill her too???

All those negative thoughts were making Celine's head spin, but she still tried to look for them despite her fear of possibly getting killed by one of those psychos.

She searched and searched and finally— She stood in front of the Men's bathroom, there's no way she's going to do this right? Celine was reconsidering her decision, will it be like those true crime documentaries where she'll get brutally killed in the bathroom!? This was the men's bathroom, what if someone saw her and thought she was a huge ass pervert?

All those thoughts kept running throughout her head, but she stopped to listen into the bathroom as she heard a...whimper?

There was definitely someone there.

She placed her ear next to the door, trying to hear what was happening inside.

She heard...sounds of pain? Moans? Groans?

Then, she heard a voice like Scara screaming and begging to do whatever the other person was doing to him.

“M/n..! S-stopngh—”

Oh my fucking God.

M/N WAS A MURDERER.

What if she barges in and gets killed too in the process?

What if M/n found out she was eavesdropping and was brutally murdered?

What if..

What if!?

All of those “What if” questions kept repeating inside of her head as if she was back in 5th grade studying about WH-Questions.

God, she didn't like Scara but she didn't want him dead...

There's no other choice but to barge in.

As Celine starts to bang on the door, trying to communicate with Scara by screaming— She stopped when M/n finally opened the door and to her surprise; He wasn't covered in blood, rather, he was covered in sweat and some sort of...liquid? Not to mention, his clothes were messy like it had just been put on.

Did...did she misunderstand the situation?

She was speechless and embarrassed, as M/n suddenly coughs and talks.

“Hey um..do you mind leaving us alone? I..I promise you I'm not a murderer”

That's something a murderer would say!

“And why should I?” Celine responds back, leaving M/n sweating nervously. He stepped aside to show a somewhat perfectly fine Scara but he too was drenched in sweat, his clothes were a mess though.

“Oh...”

Did Celine interrupt something?

“Y-yeah uh...Please leave us alone...I want to talk to him privately”

Oh...

“Yeah...uhm, sure. Sorry.” Celine apologized as she quickly took her leave in embarrassment, so she misunderstood everything!?

They looked like a mess, and they were drenched in sweat. Were they exercising?

What the hell were they doing in there?

All those thoughts were repeating again and again as she quickly packed up her bag and turned off the office lights.

As she passed the same men's Bathroom, she could've sworn she heard a loud moan.

She doesn't want to know what they're doing.

[smuttysabina]

Smitten by Tentacles

(Celine x Tentacle Monster, 1.8K Words) Tags: Tentacles, Even More Tentacles, No Eggs This Time Though, Literally Gallons of Cum, Buckets of Cum Even, More Cum Than Her Body Has Room For, She Kinda Digs It, This Girl Reads Too Much Hentai, Also Unorthodox Monster Hunting Techniques, Actually It May Be Orthodox, IDK, Tentacle Rape (But Consensual, Sort Of)

Celine was quite used to walking the streets of LA at night, meandering through the suburban apartment complexes on her way to indulge herself. What activities she engages in will be left unsaid, but it was a rather tired but proud girl who was making her way home that night; never mind the trail of liquid glistening in the moonlight that marked her journey. Perhaps it was the scent of her sex then, that attracted Celine's final partner of the night, her ovulation had not gone unnoticed by her previous companions; and it would not be overlooked now. Humming as she strode along, Celine instinctively kept her senses straining to their fullest extent, mankind knew well to fear the darkness; as well as the horrors that dwelt within. Not that Celine was afraid, this kitten bore claws, merely cautious. But what was caution in the face of mind-numbing monstrosities (as well as mind-numbing orgasms)? The sound of something undulating against the pavement draws Celine's attention, and she pauses to glance down a seemingly empty alleyway; perhaps it was just the wind then...

But it was a warm and windless night, and before Celine could react she was torn off of her feet and hauled into the dark confines of the alley. She writhes in the iron grasps of her captor, every limb held tight, her legs forced open and her chest thrust forward. She opens her mouth to yell but it is swiftly filled with something thick and meaty, smothering her screams. She gags as the unknown object wriggles down her throat, cramming its way into her stomach before unleashing some sort of warm liquid into it. Celine groans as she feels her stomach slosh with thick fluid, her vision going grey around the edges as she struggles to breathe. Then the tube is suddenly withdrawn, allowing her to gulp in deep droughts of air; before she burps and begins heaving up the liquid that had just been unloaded into her. Thick, salty goo pours out of her mouth, tears running down her face as she coughs it up in long streamers all over her shirt. Breathing raggedly, she now has enough time to properly focus upon what exactly was assaulting her; a seemingly endless array of glistening pink tentacles. Celine moans, she's seen enough hentai to know where this is going. Not that she particularly minds...

A strange warmth spreads from Celine's belly, suffusing her with an erotic glow, her skin prickling with sensitivity; her exposed pussy involuntarily leaking in arousal. A pink tentacle drifts closer to her face, and Celine is unable to resist opening her mouth once more, eager to enjoy having her hole violated again. This time though, it makes her work for it, forcing her to slurp upon it, gleefully running her tongue along it as she attempts to milk the tendril. Celine moans needily, filled with a strange desire to taste the tentacle's cum once more; she feels herself dripping in anticipation. Suddenly the meaty tube begins to pulsate, throbbing as something swiftly travels down its length. Celine's cheeks hollow as she sucks mightily upon its tip, and she is rewarded with a fresh flood of tangy tentacle semen; her throat bobbing mechanically as she swallows every last drop. She whines as the feeler is removed from her mouth, her mind afire with lust; she wants more! Celine gasps as her pants are painfully wrenched off, revealing her soggy panties, the fabric stuck tight against her moist pussy lips. She watches with avid interest as a fresh tentacle gently prods at her wet spots, squeaking as it presses against her slit. Fresh juices slop through her panties as her pussy responds to the pressure, her hole is already beyond ready to get filled. While she is focused upon the burning sensation in her cunt however, several more tentacles haul Celine's shirt up her chest, her breasts wobbling within their constraints before her bra is moved upwards as well.

Celine's tan nipples are already engorged, rigidly refusing to yield as the tendrils play and rub against them. She finds that the tentacles holding her arms have slackened, and so is able to squeeze her hefty breasts together provocatively; escape is the furthest thing from her mind now. With the tentacle still hard at work teasing her pussy, Celine happily welcomes another between her tits, squeezing it tightly against her chest as it slithers in and out. Her mouth involuntarily opens and her pretty little tongue pops out, dangling enticingly as the tentacle's pace increases. With sudden speed, the tendrils slams itself into Celine's gaping mouth, twitching as it unloads a fresh stream of cream down her throat; which slops messily out as she coughs it up. It seems the tentacles had taken a liking to her bodice however, as now several tentacles insert themselves between her breasts. It's all Celine can do to hold her boobs together as the four tendrils excitedly pump away, writhing and squelching in the mushy confines of her tits. Her chest judders under the onslaught, her ponderous breasts growing pleasantly sore as they are violently fucked. Celine was hardly worried though, as soon all four of the tentacles are spraying cum like firehoses all over her chest and face, utterly ruining her shirt and coating her in salty slime.

Scooping goop from her eyes, Celine glances down past her violated breasts to discover that her cunt was next on the menu. With surprising tenderness, the tentacles remove her panties, thick streamers of grool connecting it to her soaked slit. The feeling of warm air against her pussy causes her to shudder and whine, she had never felt like this before... So Celine had hearts in her eyes as she watched the bulbous member approach her sex, beyond eager to be bred and filled to the limit. The thick tip of the tentacle pushes softly against her entrance, and her cunt devours its wide head with ease; she could have taken an entire arm without blinking she was so horny. She moans as she finally receives what her body had been begging for since she had been captured, as the curved tentacle slowly coils its way inside of her. Celine gawps as she watches her tummy bulging obscenely, her pussy stretched until she feels as if it's about to break. Then the tendril withdraws, and starts thrusting. Celine throws her head back at the abrupt explosion of stimulation from her sensitive cunt, her eyes rolling back as she orgasms spasmodically. Her entire body bucks and writhes, uncontrollably pissing and squirting all over the pavement as her mind turns into much from the unceasing pleasure. Celine hardly even knew what was going on between her legs anymore, only that she desperately craved more of it. Her erotic trance only ends when a burst of heat and pressure unceremoniously erupts into her cunt, and she realizes that she is getting creampied by a tentacle monster. The moment is so rapturous, Celine simply passes out, her form limply hanging in the tentacle's embrace as her brain attempts to figure out how to react.

When Celine blearily comes to, she finds herself staring down at a vast puddle of liquid, with a steady drip coming from directly below her. Belatedly, she becomes aware that she is now being held upright, is completely naked, and is still astoundingly aroused. Celine's slightly broken mind had rationalized her situation by convincing itself that all of the tentacles were in fact, very good boys, who required an unending amount of pampering; using her matronly body of course. So when she starts stroking off the tentacles in either hand, alternating between the two when using her mouth; she was perfectly content. Her contentment only grew when she felt further pressure against her pleasantly sore slit; of course her pussy should be used to help reward these boys. Celine groans as the fresh tentacle starts to pump away between her thighs, goodness these good boys were hung beyond belief! More appendages curl around her, squeezing her breasts and caressing her thighs, one ambitious tentacle even starts to probe Celine's asshole... Who lets out a squeak, popping the tentacle out of her mouth to admonish the one below, firmly instructing it to lubricate itself before entering her ass. In response a second member joins the first inside of Celine's stretched out pussy, the pair pummeling her insides together as she cries out in surprise. Her juices quickly begin to splatter all over the place as once again starts a chain of orgasms that leaves her gasping for breath, holding the tentacles within her fists tightly. The rightmost one explodes all over her face and hair, bringing her to her senses in time to experience her guts getting filled.

Celine's body was used to taking a pounding, well tempered from the uncountable fan-gangbangs she had participated in, but this was something novel even to her. The tentacle burrowed its way through her insides, where her stomach had been protruding before, now it appeared downright grotesque. Her tummy sloshed from side to side as sudden gushes of cum surged inside of her, she was so full of tentacle jizz she felt bloated! Having her voluptuous figure turned into a cum-dispenser did not slow Celine's milking efforts down in the slightest however. She quickly grew experienced in draining the tentacles using her mouth within minutes; oftentimes the appendages were the ones left quivering and drained. The tentacles violating her lower holes were constantly being replaced as well, the stinking puddle beneath Celine growing rapidly in size. Soon enough, several members were sharing her ass and pussy at the same time, as many as four or five fleshy tubes hammering away at her seemingly unbreakable orifices. After what must have been hours, the tentacles finally begin to tire; flopping limply out of her reach to retreat into the shadows. Celine pouts as her prolapsed holes sputter emptily, licking her lips clean of watery fluid only to discover no more tentacles waiting to ravage her throat. She is unceremoniously dumped into the pond of sexual juices she helped produce, glancing around to spot the tendrils lazily withdrawing deeper into the alleyway. What sort of good boys would leave a lady so rudely unattended like that?

With an annoyed huff, Celine stalks over to where her purse lay abandoned, stained beyond repair from tentacle cum. She smoothly produces a sawn-off shotgun from within its voluminous interior, her mind returned to reality now that she was no longer getting spit-roasted by a monster. Celine jogs down into the depths of the side-street in pursuit; while she had enjoyed getting tentacle raped, she could hardly allow such a beast to roam free...

And perhaps, it still had a little left in it before its time was up...

[wosoragebaiter69]

MASTERLIST

Requests: CLOSED (i’m retired)

Interactions: HERE

Everything you need to know is here.

i write pt2 sometimes if i do believe it has potential, other than that i just make oneshots

marked with a ** if it’s teen reader

Barça Femeni

- you don’t have to be perfect **

- teasing **

- that’s enough **

- BEACH!

- why would you train? **

- forgotten about you **

- late **

- a bit hot **

- a bad batch **

- tears streaming down your face (and lena oberdorf x reader)

- but i didn't did pour the whiskey

Patri Guijarro

- they’re idiots

- double wham

Alexia Putellas

- the heart wants what it wants

- ignored

- you are broken on the floor | part 2

- death is a funny thing

Leila Ouahabi

- sometimes it’s hard

Hayley Raso

- together forever

Lena Oberdorf

- you’re ok, you’re enough

- tears streaming down your face (and barça x reader)

Celine Bizet

- north london is-

—————————————————————————

Other (on ao3, special fics)

Aitana x Ona

- trust isssues

[sungbeam]

𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗! — eight

viii. is that my shirt ?!

2.1k written (omg im sorry)

in which sungchan's so-called plan includes a dash of jealousy, a pinch of friendship, and ... jisung's shirt??

park jisung x f!mc ; humor, mentions of alcohol, swearing, uhm ur wearing jisung's shirt at some point so if u think that's uncomfy...

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a/n: surprise 😭? ik u all probably don't even remember what's going on cuz it's almost been TWO YEARS since the last update,, im sorry btw 😭 anyways, it's only this long bc i was stupid when i outlined this and i had to write more to make my stupid idea not sound as stupid

You could already tell that Mark was given speaker privileges when you pulled up outside the house and you felt the bass pulsing through your car. Your brother Mark had a few different aux cord modes: bass boost, lo-fi hoe, Celine Dion, and just plain stripper. You didn't particularly enjoy the latter because that was your brother (gross), but all of the others were quite enjoyable.

Chaeryeong told you earlier she would be coming with her dance club friends, so you had coerced Sungchan to carpool with you. Well, you actually hadn't needed to do any persuading. He somehow just… asked you. Huh. Weird.

"I didn't even realize I stole this shirt," you told him as the two of you hiked up the front lawn of the house, narrowly dodging a couple giggly boys stumbling down the street. You wrinkled your nose at the distinct "Beatbox" logo written in charmingly messy bubble letters on the front, signifying that one charity event the boys hosted a year ago. The back had been decorated in more pen inked doodles and a scrawl you guessed was close to Mark's. Or maybe it was Jeno's… either way, Sungchan had found it tucked among the rest of your t-shirts and you threw it on with no further complaints.

Sungchan shrugged, holding the door open for you as you both entered into the throes of the party. "You didn't realize you stole my pen that one time."

"A pen is different than a whole damn shirt though."

You glanced over at him to see if you had lost him to the crowd, but you should have known better since he towered almost everyone here. He seemed to have gotten a text from someone, but he was quick to tuck his phone away and search the crowd. "Who're you looking—"

He slung an arm over your shoulders and steered you toward the living room. "No one. C'mon, Mark hyung just asked me to bring you over to the DJ booth. Something about cashing in a song suggestion."

That immediately drew your attention. "I can't believe he remembered."

(And Sungchan couldn't believe he just got away with that. He looked over his shoulder toward the hallway where he saw Jisung's face appear in the crowd, then caught his eyes. Sungchan grinned to himself. It was time to get started.)

When you and Sungchan finally reached the DJ booth, Mark greeted you by handing you his phone. Mark and Sungchan exchanged looks over your head—everything was going perfectly.

"Hey, I'm gonna get us some drinks," Sungchan told you with a reassuring pat on your shoulder. You nodded to him as you scrolled through your song choices, but Sungchan was practically gone.

Not even a few steps away, Jisung appeared before him, his dark bangs hanging in his eyes. "Oh, hey."

Sungchan chirped back at him, "'Sup, man."

Jisung narrowed his eyes just slightly, head cocking to the side. "Is Yn here?"

Sungchan almost laughed at how well this was going. "Yeah, she's back with Mark. I was actually just gonna get her a drink—"

"I can get it," he said, and his eyes widened as if even he was surprised he just said that. He cleared his throat, cupping the back of his neck. "Uh—I mean, I can get all of us drinks. I was actually gonna ask if Mark hyung wanted anything."

Suuuure, Sungchan wanted to say. But he could respect this guy's quick thinking. "Oh, cool. Thanks, dude. I think Mark hyung says he's okay, so it's just Yn."

"Cool." And then he was gone.

As Sungchan turned back to the DJ table, he realized Jisung hadn't even asked Sungchan what you wanted or liked to drink.

When he returned to the DJ table, you threw Sungchan a confused look. "I thought you were getting drinks?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Jisung said he'd get them."

"Jisung?" Now, why in the world…

As if your brain had magically manifested him, you spied Jisung carefully maneuvering through the crowd. In one veiny hand, he clutched the necks of two bottles of some mystery liquor, most likely beer, while he raised a little can of ginger ale into the air over his head as if scared the bodies around him would spill it (yes, spill a sealed can of ginger ale).

You couldn't help but eye his attire—the white tank top beneath a dark bomber jacket, paired with a pair of black jeans. There was a silver chain link choker around his neck, and Sungchan even raised his eyebrows at the way your eyes made a generous sweep of the newcomer's form.

You hated him, huh?

Jisung set the beer bottles on the cleared off space on Mark's table, his eyes meeting yours first. He passed you the ginger ale, "Hey, for you."

You accepted it with a hasty nod. He must have asked Sungchan what you wanted.

"Oh, thanks." You took the bottom hem of the Beatbox T-shirt you wore and swiftly swiped it over the rim of the can, before cracking it open with a satisfying click and hiss.

Jisung clasped the back of his neck instinctually, but when he saw the shirt you wore, he thought offhandedly that you and he could've matched. Not that he wanted to match with you. Definitely not. Why would he want that?

You were probably wearing one of your brothers', but he could've sworn the little doodle on the corner of your shoulder looked… familiar.

Wait.

Wait a goddamn second.

Jisung's eyes widened in alarm.

Sungchan held back a snicker. "Uh, you good, Jisung?"

Jisung coughed, glancing over at Mark in case he had caught him staring, too, but the older Lee brother had already turned the opposite way to speak to Vernon from the SVT fraternity. Jisung popped open his beer bottle, then passed the other to Sungchan. "Yeah, ahem, I'm great. Hey, Yn, is that Mark's shirt?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you ducked your head to look at the shirt. "Actually, I'm not really sure."

"Oh really? 'Cause… I… I think it's mine."

You sputtered a laugh. "Good joke."

He grimaced. "Can you… turn around?"

"Turn around? Why?"

If Sungchan's eyes weren't deceiving him, he was certain Park Jisung was blushing.

Jisung sighed, a stressed sound. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as he inspected the shirt you wore closer. “Because I would've written my name somewhere on the back,” he mumbled with a wince.

You could feel your face and neck warm after he stated his reason, and in an effort to get this matter solved so he could stop staring at you, you turned around. After a moment of silence, you twisted your head over your shoulder to peer back at Sungchan and Jisung. “See? Not your shirt.”

“Except, it definitely is his shirt, Yn,” Sungchan said, lifting his free hand up to cover his grin.

“What?”

Jisung had gone quiet, eyes widened like twin saucers. Not a thought passed behind those eyes as you attempted to look at your back to confirm exactly what both Sungchan and Jisung were telling you. It was impossible—how in the world could Jisung's shirt appear in your closet?

“Sungchan, is it really his shirt?” You asked your friend, pleading for him to tell you this was all a huge misunderstanding.

Sungchan had the decency to look sheepish. He reached over and gently grabbed your shoulder, pulling a part of the T-shirt edge so you could see. This brought you and him closer together as he pointed out Jisung's name to you.

The movement did not go unnoticed by Jisung, who watched this interaction with a wariness he didn't know what to make of. You were wearing his shirt, and somehow looked… good in it…? His eye twitched—why weren't you as friendly with him as you were with Sungchan? He could totally be a good friend—

Acceptance, swiftly followed by immense embarrassment, swept over you. It seemed it wasn't just Jisung who had gone quiet; neither of you could look the other in the eye.

After stepping away from you, Sungchan's eyebrows arched high as he sipped his beer and his gaze flickered between the two of you. “Well, this is awkward,” he mused unhelpfully.

That was enough to snap Jisung out of his daze. He clasped a hand on the back of his neck. “Would you be more comfortable in one of your brothers’ shirts? I can go grab one for you to change into—”

“Oh, uhm, yeah. I can just go upstairs and raid Mark's closet or something. I'm sure you'd like your shirt back.”

“No—I mean,” he sputtered, “yeah. It's no worries, really, if you don't wanna go through the trouble.”

Sungchan suppressed a screech akin to a pterodactyl. He hadn't thought you two would be this awkward around each other. It all played out a lot differently in his head, but… wait. Where the fuck did you go?

He realized quickly that you and Jisung were no longer right in front of him. Sungchan's head swiveled around nearby to search the crowd for you and Jisung, but it seemed that both of you were nowhere in the vicinity. Maybe you were headed up to swap shirts after all; that made his life easier.

As soon as you'd changed out of Jisung's Beatbox T-shirt and into one of Mark's Justin Bieber tour T-shirts, you prepared to step back out into the party. When you opened the door to Mark's bedroom, you found Jisung right where you'd left him, stationed outside while nursing his beer and holding your can of ginger ale.

“Here's your shirt,” you said to him, drawing his attention to you.

“Ah, thanks.” He traded you his T-shirt for your drink, but still, neither of you could hold eye contact.

For a moment, you racked your brain for something to say to loosen all this tension. “Uhm, you did great at the showcase, by the way. Your performance, I mean.”

Jisung's head perked up. “Oh, you stayed for it?” There was an intonation in his voice just now—you’d actually stayed and you also complimented him? He didn't understand why his heart was rattling around in his ribcage like a stampede of galloping horses, but he guessed it had something to do with the fact that he was pleasantly surprised. Something like pride filled his chest.

You gave a small nod, and if he wasn't mistaken, it almost looked shy. “I did end up staying. The thing I thought I had planned…” you trailed off and you filled the silence with a nonchalant shrug.

“Well, thanks for watching and I'm glad you thought I did well,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Was he finally getting through to you? Were you warming up to him at last?

He couldn't help but search your face then in the dim hallway light. Were your eyes always so pretty? There was a small smudge of silver glitter on the side of your cheek that glistened like diamonds, and he recognized it from somewhere on his shirt. It must have gotten into your face while you were changing.

He raised a hand, then froze. “Uh, you've got a little—a little something—” He pointed to his own cheek to tell you where it was.

“Oh!” You used the back of your hand to rub at it, but because glitter never listened the first time, it stayed put. “Is it gone?”

He winced. “No, it's, uhm—right… right there…”

You tried again, and he awkwardly tried to point it out without actually touching your face.

On your fourth attempt, he huffed. “Here,” he muttered, lifting his hand and gently brushing the glitter off.

When he was done, his hand fell back to his side like a dead weight as reality came crashing back. He coughed. “It's gone now.”

You averted your eyes. “Oh, cool, thanks.”

“Anyways, I should probably go put this away,” he said, gesturing down the hall toward his room with the shirt in his hand.

You gave an eager nod. “Right, yeah. I'll just—I’ll see you back down at the party then?”

Jisung bobbed his head in agreement. “Yeah, for sure! See you down there.”

Like two rats, the pair of you scurried away from each other in opposite directions. Even as you were descending the stairs, you threw a look back at Jisung, who was opening his bedroom door at the end of the hallway. Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had tossed you a glance just milliseconds before.

You swore you could still feel the brush of his fingers against your cheek, but it wasn't like it meant anything, right?

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[mbgcreates]

Until We Are Parted

You are nervously waiting for Damien to emerge from the "seance room" with his sister. Surely this day can't get any worse.

A/N: I've had this one in the wings for a little over a year and a half, and I'm glad I could finally finish it! Set during the final chapter of Who Killed Markiplier.

Word count: 914 (I really thought this was longer!) Damien x reader (kinda). Reader is referred to as his wife, but otherwise there's no gendered language used. Reblogs are much much appreciated!

~~~~~~

It's been far too long since they went in that room, too long since the self-proclaimed Seer brought her twin with her to try her occult magicks once again. It was bad enough when she got the DA involved, but with your husband now the one with her, it makes that unease in your gut grow. Back and forth you had paced, anxiousness quickening your steps, but now your feet take you back down the hall, towards where you saw Damien and his sister last. You hadn’t meant to walk so far away, but whatever Celine was doing, you didn’t want to be anywhere near, despite not wanting to leave your husband behind.

There is a figure in the hall when you approach again, although you don’t notice at first, too caught up in the thoughts in your head. It takes you another moment, but that’s Damien, only just now exiting the room. You perk up, although your unease doesn’t leave you. You open your mouth to call his name, but stop in your tracks.

There is something…wrong with your husband.

You're just being silly, you think at first; the stress of Mark's death and both you and Damien being accused, followed by Celine's sudden arrival, must all be getting to your head. But, even down the hall, when he turns and looks at you…

…there isn't a drop of warmth in those honey brown eyes.

"Darling," he says, half a second too late and stilted, a belated smile forming that isn't your husband's. "What's the matter?"

The words tumble from you before you can think. "What the hell have you done with my husband?" you hiss.

"What do you mean?" He chuckles. The hairs raise on the back of your neck at the sound, both familiar but somehow entirely foreign. "It's me. It's Damien."

"The hell it is!" Your voice gets louder by the end, a slight wobble attached that you were hoping wouldn't reveal itself. "I— I don't know what happened, but you aren't Damien."

The smile on the body's face threatens to drop, but all he does is open his arms and take a step forward. "Don't be silly. I'm as much Damien as you are my wife."

The slight hesitation before calling you his wife, the way he holds himself, the other small things about him that you can't explain but all are setting off alarm bells— Whatever is happening, your husband isn't there anymore. But before you can let that sink in, another thought occurs to you. "Wh…where's Celine?"

There's no mistaking the way his expression twists, a particular ugliness to it that has no place on Damien's face. He mutters something belligerent under his breath. You take a step back, a sudden fear dropping your stomach. His head whips up, and you freeze when you make eye contact. It's almost absurd how fast that smile is plastered back on.

"She's…busy." That ire you saw on his face slips into his voice. Something tugs at the back of your mind.

"Tell me who the hell you are," you say, soft but hopefully threatening, "or I'll scream."

His face twitches. "And who will hear you?" He takes a step forward. You match it back. "The others are too busy pointing fingers to investigate."

Has it really devolved that badly? "Fine," you say. "Fine. I won’t scream, then. But, you are not my husband, and I am not your wife.”

He stops, then barks a laugh. "You really are as astute as I remember. Maybe that's one of the reasons the two of you got along. I always said you could have gone into a career alongside Damien."

Your brow furrows, a memory of a long-ago summer day resurfacing. You can so easily hear the conversation, the pleasant laughs all around. It couldn't be. "A lot of people have said that," you reply cautiously.

"Have they? Few knew the two of you as well as I did, so I highly doubt that." He huffs. “And here I just gave you credit for your smarts once again.”

Your lips suddenly feel dry. “It’s impossible, though.”

“Friend, the impossible is at my fingertips. And if you test me further, you might see firsthand."

You’re not sure what that means, but the hardness in his eyes leaves no room for guessing. There’s a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Mark…what did you do to them?”

“Just what they deserve,” he spits, not bothering to disguise his disdain any longer. “Every last one of them will get what they deserve.”

Your limbs feel like they're buzzing. Your breathing quickens, and there are pinpricks behind your eyes. Are you even in your body right now? “What did you do to my husband?”

“Look in front of your damn eyes.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY HUSBAND?!”

Your desperate screaming is barely audible over the sharpness of a gunshot. You turn towards the sound, shocked out of your despair, when something taps against the back of your neck. The muscles in your legs give out, and you collapse to the ground, eyes rolling up into your head. Your vision paradoxically goes bright white, but not before spotting a strange shape, like a tendril of ivy, in the air where you once were. Your mind retreats, as if it's being pulled from your body, and the last sensation you have is your gut plummeting like a rock. You don’t even feel the tears slip down your cheeks.

[justyoursicanon]

Oneshots ideas I wrote at school

Empty Eyes - Bing gets taken and experimented on, but at least people won't hate him anymore...? After all, how can you hate something that isn't there anymore? (Based on my personal headcanon revolving around Bing's eyes,)

Welcome To Wonderland - Eric wakes up from a nightmare and is unable to go back to sleep. Luckily, Host always has a story ready.

Markiplier: The Musical - Since Mark can sing, so can the rest of the egos.

romantic_extension.exe - The androids in the Ego Manor get infected with a love virus. (Still considering if this will be a single fic w both Google and Bing under the influence of the virus or will be separated into chapters for different perspectives) (Will contain Google x Bing)

Mutual Hatred - Google and Bim have one thing in common: Their experience with Matthias. (Will contain one-sided Bim x Matthias) (Google hates Matthias withe very code in his programming LMAO) (Title will possibly change once I start writing it)

System Restart - Bing gets restarted and loses everything in his memory files. (Basically temporary android amnesia.)

Sentimental Memory - Dark wears a wedding band, but he isn't married. But Celine once was.

A Father's Love - Eric is finally given the love from a father figure(s) (The egos taking Eric under their wing and treating him like their own son.) (Eric gets the fatherly love he deserves.)

I have no clue when I'll be able to write any of these due to school eating my ass but I will try 🙏

[mosaiclobster]

Swords and Saddles (Farmer x Hayden)

This 4-part fic is wrapping up very soon, so I figured it'd be fun to cross post before the final chapter goes up! This is the first chapter of my 10k+, E-rated Farmer x Hayden fic - if you like it feel free to check out the rest on AO3 xo

CHAPTER 1: SPRING

Hayden stepped into the frigid morning air, and breathed deep. He loved spring: growth, snowmelt, sun. It was the perfect time to welcome a new face to Mistria.

Hayden rubbed his hands together for warmth, and headed for the stables. Once he’d answered all the neighs and whinnies, Hayden grabbed a handsomely embroidered leather saddle off its perch. It was the same one his daddy rode on, and his grandpappy too. It wasn’t as old as Sweetwater, but almost nothing in Mistria was.

Hayden was proud of that legacy. It used to sit heavy on his shoulders, but he was strong enough to carry that weight. Unfortunately, most of Sweetwater’s horses weren’t strong enough - big enough - to carry him.

Rufus was 18 hands tall, and used to pulling plows and wagons. Hayden placed a broad, comforting hand on his speckled gray neck. “How ‘bout a little ride next door, huh?”

Rufus nickered good-naturedly, and took the saddle without complaint.

The new farmer had arrived late last night, but word traveled fast around Mistria. It was a small, close-knit town with an earned reputation for drink and gossip.

It felt even smaller now - some folks left after the earthquake. Hayden didn’t blame them, but he didn’t write them letters, either. There were buildings to repair, and animals to tend to.

Hayden braced against his stirrups, and looked eastward. Could be nice, having a neighbor again.

He spotted Celine first: her pretty, pleasant face, framed by blonde hair and a seafoam green half-cape. He’d known her all her life - not all of his, though. Sometimes it was hard to shake off the years between them.

The other woman was a head taller than Celine, even in flat leather work boots. Her linen shirt was tucked into brown, high-waisted trousers, and stark white against her olive skin. It brought out the freckles on her forearms, and the red in her long, curly hair. Auburn, that was the word for it. Chestnut for horses, auburn for people.

White was a bold choice for clearing farmland, but her cowboy hat looked well loved, and nicely fitted.

Hayden noted all of this without once pulling on Rufus’s reins. Celine’s eyes were wide as saucers, but the other woman only raised her brows. Instinct finally commanded him to stop, just short of spraying them both with dirt.

Celine was a kind girl, and slow to anger. She never shied from speaking her mind, though. “Hayden! You almost ran over poor Artemisia.”

“Ha! That’s a mouthful.” He blurted this nervously, and loudly.

Artemisia looked up at him, shielding her almond eyes from the early morning light. The sun made them golden.

She touched the brim of her cowboy hat, and smiled. “You said it. That’s why I go by Artie.”

Her nose was strong, and a little crooked - broken, mended, broken again.

The rest of her face was no less striking. Full lips, suited for a wide, expressive mouth. Thick brows and high cheekbones, marked by laughter and time. How much of it? Hayden wasn’t sure, but he’d put some tesserae on her being closer to Valen’s age than Celine’s.

She was beautiful. None of the gossip had prepared him for that.

Artie let Rufus sniff her outstretched hand. “He friendly?”

That voice. It was smooth and sweet, like honey.

Hayden patted the gelding’s neck, and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. “Sure is. He likes meeting new folks as much as I do.”

Artie’s grin was wry, and gap-toothed. “That makes three of us, then.” Rufus snorted in agreement.

Celine’s gaze flitted between them. “Since you like animals, you should visit Hayden’s farm-”

“-Come by anytime. I’d love to introduce you to the herd. Or the flock, depending on who you ask.”

Hayden’s reins were slick with sweat. He squeezed the braided leather until his knuckles whitened.

Artie tipped her hat again. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Was that a wink, or a trick of the light? Hayden reached into his saddlebag, and prayed his hands wouldn’t shake.

“Here, before I forget.”

He held out a rusty old watering can, stuffed with bags of seeds. “Just a little something to get you started. Turnips are easy to grow, and they love Mistrian soil.”

Artie brightened. “I owe you one. Thanks, neighbor.”

Hayden managed the handoff alright, but he was eager to ride off before he could make an ass of himself. “Sure. Come by anytime.”

He’d said that already. Celine pursed her lips.

Artie smiled. “Be seeing you.”

Hayden rode Rufus towards Sweetwater, and marveled at the unseasonable warmth.

Half the town would be after her. He’d look like a bumpkin compared to Balor or Ryis, and a dullard compared to Jupiter or Adeline.

Hayden shook his head. He wasn’t the competitive sort, and there was no point in getting worked up over somebody he’d never have a shot with anyway.

He caught himself looking over his shoulder. Artie waved.

Nothing wrong with making a friend, at least.

It took a few days for Artie to make good on her visit. For one absurd, harrowing moment, it felt like summoning magic; he worried that the singular force of his thoughts had finally pulled her towards Sweetwater. He worried that, somehow, she knew what those thoughts were.

He’d been having dreams, too. The kind you can’t tell anyone about - that you shouldn’t even have in the first place.

Hayden focused on weeding his bed of tulips, and waited for Artie to approach. He was going to be friendly, neighborly, and normal.

“Mornin’.”

He looked up at the sound of her voice.

Artie was wearing a sleeveless white tank top and denim overalls with one of the straps undone. Her arms were well muscled, and crossed under her chest.

No bra this time. Hayden made eye contact, and held onto it for dear life. “Mornin’. You here for introductions?”

Artie smiled. “That’s right. Word around town is you’ve got a lady of the house.”

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. Smartest animal I ever raised - do you want to meet Henrietta at the beginning of the tour, or at the end?”

“Let’s save the best for last.”

Artie had an easy rapport with the animals, and a natural curiosity about them. Henrietta seemed charmed by her interest, and preened indulgently while Artie peppered Hayden with questions.

Hayden tried not to sound too eager. “Thinking about starting a flock of your own?”

“Someday. Henrietta’s a lot to live up to, though.” She gave the prize-winning bird a farewell pet, and followed Hayden towards the front gate of Sweetwater.

He pointed at the sword on her back, glinting in the morning sun. “You’ll make quite the livestock guardian.”

Artie flinched. Then she unsheathed her blade, and smiled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m trying to convince your pal Errol to open the mines. All kinds of treasures down there, I hear.”

That explained the pickaxe, then. He dared a closer glance at the rest of her - no dirt or grass stains.

Hayden kept his tone curious, and light. “So, how’re you liking farming so far?

Artie stopped walking. She stuck her sword into the ground, and leaned on the hilt.

“It’s different.”

Compared to what? Treasure hunting? Hayden suddenly realized how little he knew about this woman, or where she came from. “Different always takes some getting used to. Can’t be the toil of it - you look strong.”

Just a friendly observation. He’d say the same thing to March.

Artie’s biceps twitched out of reflex, or pride. “Thanks. No, it’s not that.”

Hayden watched her try to find the words. He knew the feeling well, and gave her time to think.

Finally, a sigh. “I’m not good at waiting. I want something, I go and get it. I’d work twice as hard if I could make it all go twice as fast.”

“If only, right?”

Hayden was just being polite. He loved the pace of growing crops, of nurturing new life. Each plant and animal had its own natural rhythm. He was a patient man. He didn’t know any other way to be.

Artie leaned deeper into the hilt. The neckline of her top gaped open a little, but Hayden kept his focus on her reddish curls.

Artie’s eyes roamed freely: first over Sweetwater, then over Hayden. “Got any tips for a greenhorn? Or any ideas on how to pass the time?”

Hayden swallowed, and pushed past the shame of where his mind leapt first. “I hear the fishing’s good around here. Never took to it, myself.”

“Oh? What do you like to do, then?”

Something in Artie’s gaze sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. He put the feeling aside - it was a perfectly reasonable, neighborly question. “Spend time with friends, mostly. Play some cards, have a couple beers.”

Artie grinned. “I like that too. I had dinner at the Sleeping Dragon last night, can’t wait to go back.”

Hayden seized on the chance to change the subject. “Make sure to come in on Fridays. I’ll save you a seat at the poker table, but fair warning - Olric’s on a hot streak.”

“That doe-eyed blacksmith? You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Artie gave him a once-over. “Alright. If Olric ends up with more tesserae than me, I owe you a beer. And if I win, you owe me one.”

Hayden crossed his arms, and smiled. “Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

She pulled her sword from the grass, and slung it over her shoulder. “Good. See you Friday.”

Not flirting. Just a friendly wager.

Hayden repeated those thoughts like a mantra for the rest of the week.

But when Friday night arrived, Artie did not. He told himself it was a relief - better this way. When Balor took the empty seat beside him, he didn’t protest, but it took him a few minutes to stop glancing over his shoulder at the door.

Then, a quiet panic set in. Maybe she’d just been humoring him. Maybe she regretted the bet, and decided to avoid him all together. He might’ve ruined her first Friday in Mistria.

A familiar voice snapped him back into awareness. “Hayden, are you alright? You look pale.”

“No checkup needed, doc. Just a little tired.”

Valen shook her head. “You’re not drinking enough water. Hemlock, can we get a pitcher for the table?”

Hayden groaned, but knew better than to argue. She’d been like this since they were kids. He dutifully sipped from his glass, and watched Terithia shuffle the deck with a flourish.

“I thought you were saving me a seat, Hayden.”

He’d never heard Artie say his name before. Somehow, that was more disarming than her hands on his shoulders.

Everyone greeted her warmly. Hayden was no exception - he stood up, and clapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, we can make a spot for you anywhere.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Scooch over, then. You too, Balor.”

The men moved their chairs apart, and let Artie slide in with her own. “Thanks fellas. So, Olric. I hear you’re the one to beat.”

He smiled good-naturedly. “I’m still learning how to play.”

Terithia shuffled the cards again. “Don’t listen to him, lass. He’s a slippery one.”

Hayden learned two things that night: Artie was good at poker, and bad at losing.

He didn't fare any better, but he felt like a winner when Artie brought his beer to the table.

“You got me this round, Farmer Hayden.”

Balor tutted in mock disapproval. “A bet about betting, that’s something you don’t see everyday. Feel free to cut me in next time.”

Artie leaned back in her chair. “I get the sense you’re in on just about every deal around here, Balor.”

“It’s my business to be. Buy me a beer, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Hayden shifted his attention across the table, towards Valen. He didn’t want to impose on whatever was happening next to him.

“How’d you make out tonight, Valen?”

“Broke even.” She sipped her wine, and smiled coolly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Course you did. Wish I could say the same.”

“Oh? I’d say you came out ahead.” She clinked her glass against his pint of beer.

The demands of spring kept Hayden from spending much time with Artie. There were mares to foal, and crops to harvest, and more mouths to feed than ever. Fridays were the exception: he kept saving her a spot at the table, and she kept taking it.

One Friday, as summer neared, Hayden was late - a filly had wandered off, and it took him hours to soothe and bridle her. He walked into the Sleeping Dragon, dead tired and parched, to find Artie’s cowboy hat on the seat beside her. There was a beer on the table, full to the brim.

An impulse seized him. Hayden picked up the hat, and placed it on Artie’s unsuspecting head.

That got a laugh, especially from Artie. Everyone else settled back into conversation - Hayden could barely hear her over the din. “Look who finally decided to show. Thought you could use a drink, whatever it was that kept you.”

It was so full, he had to take the first sip without lifting his glass. Leaning down like that, it was hard to keep his hair out of the way - he reached for it, but Artie was faster.

“Careful, there.” She pushed his hair behind his ear, and lightly held it back while he drank.den

No one seemed to notice. Hayden sat back in his chair, beer in hand, and tried to think friendly, neighborly thoughts.

[am-i-late-to-this08]

BROKEN GLASS

DA X DARKIPLIER

My first da x darkiplier fanfiction so be nice 👍

Pt. 1?

Warning: swearing, panic attack, blood

"COME BACK YOU BITCH!" You punch the mirror out of anger, to no avail. "GET ME OUT OF HERE YOU FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Your voice ricochets off the Walls of the mirror. "GET, Get me out." The blood in your ears defining you. "Please, please," You said as your voice faded into a whisper, your legs gave out underneath you and fell to the ground. "Fuck all of you." Tears cascaded down your face onto the tiles beneath. The entry was silent, only the echoes of your voice and damen-celine-mark things footsteps. That godforsaken bitch put you in here, whatever it is now, out there in your body you think? You don't know what happened, or where you are. You don't even know what you are anymore, only that you're stuck in a mirror. Stuck in this entry until someone has use of you.

No sense of time makes everything better. You think. The only thing keeping you sane is the ever increasing sense that one day you'll be useful to someone and get out. Your only purpose now is to watch as the years or centuries pass and wait. You've had a long time to think about what happened, and consider your life choices. All of this makes zero sense, but you know every letter of the books that were kept in the entrance room. The small bookshelf is slim pickings, a Bible, encyclopedia, a thesaurus, Shakespeare's greatest plays, molby Dick, smoke and mirror's (the irony),grimms fairytale and a book in Latin. You pick up molby dick off the coffee table and flip to the bookmarked page, somewhere in the middle. A sound of glass shattering catches your attention, maybe a raccoon or something like that. Instead you see yet another shard fall from the ever disappearing mirror. You fear once the remaining shards fall yet another confusion series of events may occur. "How do I know what I look like?" You ask yourself. After however long you have been in here, you lost any capacity to keep thoughts inside. Not like anyone will hear you.

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

Yet another scuffle draws your attention to the outside. "Look how far you've fallen." A smooth voice coos. "I can't believe you're still here. Good God." Damien's tone calls. "You..." I glare at the man before me. His gray skin contrasts with his white tuxedo, lines of blue and red etch him. "... You bitch." He looks you up and down disinterestedly. Dark circles line his eyes, or is it eyeliner? "That's gay." You whisper. His brow furrows. "Pardon?" You laugh. "You're wearing eyeliner. That's gay as hell. Or did Celine do that?" You ask. He simply shakes his head. Red copy's glitch around him as his eyes flash black. "Celine says hello." Your face goes blank. "So, what do you need from me? Wanna steal whatever is left of my soul? I can't think of anything else you can get from me." You grumble. "You always saw through me. I mean us." The last word emphasized by a distortion in his voice. "I need your help." He paused as his face softened. "You're the only person I can trust." Rage contorted your's. "Seriously?" You snort. "After how long? You ask me for help? Why don't you use my body for something useful, like digging a hole and dying in it?" You snap. Before he can respond you turn away as glass cracks underneath your feet. He sighs. "It been ninety four years. I thought you might wanna know." Ninety four years? Shit that's a long time,you think. "How's the colonial? Is he dead?" You ask. " No, he's alright. As alright as he can be, watching you die changed him. Now-now he's fucking insane. Worse than you, and your bad." He adds, avoiding your glare." Thanks." You mutter. "Nothing is going to get better if you stop being so goddamn stubborn all the time." The blue etchings glitch around him, Damien? "Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss, he recoils like he's been struck. "Alright." His tone shift's to calm. "Stay in here for the rest of eternity and rot more than you already have. I won't come back, not for a long time." His gaze finally meets yours, no emotion in his eyes. "If you want I can bring you something to pass the time. Or, I can get you out and you can help me. This is your choice." He adjust's his jacket, fidgeting around. " Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss again. He shakes his head and breaks contact." I'll come back tomorrow in case you change your mind." He looks you over one last time before walking away.

"Fine, I'll do it. Only if I don't ever come back here." You cracked,the thought of eternity in this place was worse than whatever he had planned you decided. "And this time, I won't be your pawn. I won't be killed ether. Last time it didn't end well." He nods. First thing in the morning he came back, all your rage yesterday disappeared and turned to grief." Do we have a deal? "He purrs, something shift's in his eyes. "Yes. But-how exactly does this work? Will I be possessing anyone?" You asked. Dark shook his head and laughed." No, it's hard to explain but you'll get your old body back. So, don't worry." He explained calmly." Okay, get on with it." You chime. He reached out his hand, his fingers dipping into the inky black in-between of the mirror. You follow his motion. His cold hands contrast with your hot and clamy ones, with a firm tug your hand is pulled through the black. All of a sudden every heartbeat sends waves of needle-like pricks and and pain through your body. You clench your jaw and hiss through the pain, his grip tightens. You feet come off the floor and kneecaps scrape against the remaining shards of glass. Just like it started the pain fades replaced pounding in your head and the stinging in your legs. You opened my eyes which you unknowingly closed. With your eyes glued to the floor you notice the diamond tiles are backward and the way your blood drips on the dusty tile. Once your breathing began to steady you lift your head, dark stood a few inches away with his hand reached out comfortingly. "Thank-thanks." You croaked, his smile brightened. The blood seeped out of the wound on your knees, bits of glass still stuck in your flesh. You looked down at your blood stained white dress pants, the outfit you 'died' in. "You're bleeding." Dark said, hand still in yours. He follows your eyes and pulls back his hand leaving yours cold. "Shit." He swears." What?" You ask, blood still dripping." Let's get you cleaned up, we need to go." He says huridley. " Okay, I doubt there's any clothes or a first aid kit here." You grumble." Right." A tingle goes across your kneecaps and the monotonous dripping stops. You look to see the open wounds close and the bits of glass fall into the puddle of blood. "Since when can you do that?" You blurt. He lifts his head and meets your eyes. "Practice." You scoff at his response.

[ask-sister-solaris]

“Stay with me”

Something to make my fellow ghesties cry

Dracopia x oc

“Your fading….amore don’t leave me!”

Copia shot up in bed panting. A thin layer of sweat covered him, his chest heaving. Looking at the empty bed beside him was a painful reminder of what he did to his lover.

He had drained her dry. His own lover. The guilt chewed away at his chest as he laid down again. His darlings bloodstained clothes were still draped over his vanity chair. Not that he could see himself anymore. He didn’t want to.

Celine….his darling Celine. By the time his brothers had come it was to late. She’d gone. By his hands. Biting his lip he got up and washed and dressed. He called his makeup artist to do his makeup so he could perform his papa duties.

He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. The woman that stepped in looked exactly like Celine, down to the puncture wound…no..they hadn’t…had they? A smile graced her lips as she went over.

“Copia…they saved me…And stop worrying I said I forgive you”

He reached out and held her cheek. This was another cruel nightmare. He was sure of it. She would start blaming him, or pull away throwing accusations at him. And the dreams always contained some replica trying to copy Celine’s way of letting him now she was ok.

“In the silence of your room. In the darkness of your dreams. You must only think of me. There can be no in between”

His eyes widened. His new song, the one Celine herself got to listen to before everyone else. Tears pricked his eyes as she held his face and wiped his tears away.

“Don’t cry amore, I’m here now. We have life eternal”

She kissed his cheeks and rested her head against his chest. This was real. She was…she was back. The guilt that had built up melted away as he wrapped his arms around her. He felt drowsy and shot up in bed, looking to his side there she was, despite the bite mark being there she was…there. She hadn’t died…it was…a nightmare?

“Amore what are you doing? It’s 3am go back to sleep we have work to do tomorrow”

Celine looked at him slightly grumpy but her eyes full of love. Copia kissed her and the wound as a way of saying sorry

“You were fading amore mio”

“No, you were in the darkness of your dreams, tesoro”

She chuckled and kissed his nose.

Fin