#hope you guys are having a good day?????? what is normalcy

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Nsfw warning. Ford literally fucking bill under the cut. It's not like... explicit? You can't like... See. anything. It's so dumb. I'm playing this for laughs. It's for the bit guys

FUCK FOR YOUR LIFE, ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(YOU DIE IN THE MINDSCAPE YOU DIE FOR REAL *lying*) This is so dumb but this is a scenario that kept replaying in my head when I started liking this ship. EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT FORD FUCKING THE TRIANGLE AND NO ONE COMMITS TO THE BIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well thankfully, I have no standards. I drew this like a month ago and I was laughing the whole time. I think it was subconsciously inspired by the part in adams family values when debbie throws that bigass casette player in the bathtub.

This was on Patreon for a little over ten days, and now I'm releasing it to the world wide web, like a rehabilitated animal returning to nature. I sorta hemmed and hawed as to whether I should just leave it on Patreon, because it kinda seemed like it's home after a while. But when I was drawing this, it was always my intention to put it on tumblr. That being said, the "nsfw" stuff I've been making specifically for patreon is a little more... idk, obtuse? It leaves less to the imagination :'D So I guess this is fine.

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game. 

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team. 

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder. 

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts. 

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly. 

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation. 

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up. 

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern. 

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned. 

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started. 

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts. 

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms. 

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!? 

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known. 

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious. 

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice. 

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that. 

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

[froggibus]

Not Done Yet - Wriothesley

Pairing: Wriothesley x f! reader (reader has a pussy + uses fem pronouns)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: your boyfriend will do anything to keep you from moving to the Overworld

CW: dubcon, breeding, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, overstimulation, fingering, wall sex, dry humping, doggystyle, mating press, lots of dirty talk, praise + degradation, use of ‘good girl’, dom! Wriothesley, semi feral wriothesley , possessiveness, arguing

hello welcome to this episode of kinktober where the Wriothesley brainrot continues. the minute I met this man in game it was just absolutely over for me and I had SO many thoughts of him and ugh. hope you guys like it <3

Kinktober Masterlist

“You want to do what?”

It’s hard not to cower under your boyfriend’s gaze when his eyes have become so chilly. His voice has taken on an angry edge, a ball of electricity forming in your tummy. 

You swallow hard and point your chin. “I want to move.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you, taking a step closer. It’s times like these that you realize how much bigger he is than you, how much more powerful he is than you. The air takes on a bitter cold. 

“Away from here, I mean,” you add, turning your gaze to the dangling chandelier of his office and the warm light it emits. 

“To the Overworld. You want to move to the Overworld and abandon the life you have here.” His voice booms, “you have a home here, y/n. You have me here. And you want to throw it all away so you can work like a dog until the day you die?”

You scoff. “So I can have a real life, Wriothesley. A chance at some normalcy. To get a normal job and have normal food and—and have a family.”

He looks taken aback at your final sentence. The gears in his head turn, slowly processing this. You’ve never talked about having kids before, not with him. Sure, you’re not always the most careful about using protection, but he never thought that would be something that you want. 

He steps forward again, backing you up only inches from the wall. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, “you’re not leaving me. You can’t.” 

You shiver, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold air or from the dark look in his eyes. You stare at him defiantly, though every instinct tells you to look away from him. 

You can see your breath when you speak. “I can and I will.”

Wrong answer. 

In an instant, he has you pinned against the wall, one hand with a bruising grip on your hip, the other snaking around your throat. 

His eyes darken as he smashes his lips against yours. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, the sudden pain making you gasp. He slips his tongue between your lips and you suck instinctually. 

He slides his hand down from your hip and under your thigh, lifting it up to his side. He thrusts you against the wall, groaning into your mouth. You whine against him, raising your leg higher to give the growing bulge in his pants easier access to your aching core. 

“Why would you ever wanna leave this, hm?”

His words snap you out of your trance, your hands trailing up to his chest to shove him off of you. Heat surges through your body, your head spinning as if the world is rocking beneath you. 

You take a deep breath and gather your bearings. “We’re not done arguing, Wriothesley.”

“I am,” he pushes you against the wall, using his size to his advantage. He presses himself against your back so that you can feel every twitch of his muscles, every rise and fall of his chest. 

His hands go to your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh. He grinds himself against you, hard bulge nestling between your legs. 

He digs his teeth into your neck, sharp canines grazing the sensitive skin. He gives a rough, playful thrust, and a moan slips out between your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment taking over. 

He gently sucks at the spot he just bit. “That’s what I thought,” he says in that familiar, commanding voice—the one he uses to break up prison riots, or convince you to let him chain you to the bed. 

He slips a hand between your legs to cup your throbbing core, feeling the heat overflowing from your pussy. Another whine slips out, your knees shaking in anticipation, threatening to give out. 

He tightens his grip on your hip to hold you still, his other hand furiously rubbing your clit through the fabric of your pants. You arch your back, letting your knees spread apart to give him easier access. He pulls his hand away and smacks your ass, laughing at the soft moan it elicits. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back to rub against his cock. You brace yourself against the wall with your hands, leaning forwards with your hand down. He thrusts against you, hard cock grinding against the fabric of his own jeans. 

His other hand slips into the waistband of your pants, trailing down to your soaking panties. He runs a finger along your slit, “god, you’re absolutely dripping.”

You hide your face in your arm against the wall, shaking your head in shame. Wriothesley laughs, pushing his hand into your panties and running it between your lips. You look so cute when you’re writhing beneath him and hiding your face. He can’t wait to see how cute you’ll look when he has your eyes rolling back. 

He rubs steady circles on your clit, your pussy only gushing with more slick as he touches you. You push back against him with every moan, rubbing your ass onto his aching hard on. 

He leans over you, pressing himself against you completely. His lips hover just below your ear, “hm, pretty girl. So nice and wet.”

He dips a finger inside of you, just barely prodding your entrance with the thick tip. Shockwaves rush through you, your hips jutting out with a mind of their own, your pussy clamping down around him. He pushes it in up to the hilt, your gummy walls clamping around his thick finger. 

He curls it inside of you and watches you fall apart around him, a slutty mess just from one of his fingers. He pushes another inside, working you open. Your arms shake against the wall, threatening to give in and make you face plant against it. 

There’s a hot pressure building in your stomach, heating up more and more by the second. Your thighs quiver on either side of his arm, your arms bend inwards, and suddenly you pitch forwards. 

Wriothesley anticipates your fall, keeping his arm tightly around your waist. He holds you up with one arm while finger fucking you with the other. He continues pumping his fingers inside of you, warm juices dripping out of you and coating his knuckles. He can feel you open up around him, the vice grip you had around his digits finally loosening. 

He curls his fingers inside of you one final time, hitting that soft spot within your walls. You cum violently, muscles spasming against your will. Your whole body shudders and you collapse completely into his arms. You keep your eyes closed, trying to regain control of your senses as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. 

When you finally open your eyes, you’re laying on his bed with your clothes off. Wriothesley stands at the end of the bed, also naked and stroking his hard cock. The dark lighting of the bedroom only makes him look more defined, the contours of his abs and arms making you drool. 

He kneels on the bed in front of you, fisting his cock. You find yourself staring at the bulge of his biceps, the contour of his abs, the precum dripping down the tip of his cock. You’re barely aware that he’s propping you up on your knees, running his hands over the swell of your ass. 

He dips a finger into your puffy pussy. You shudder from the sensitivity, your walls fluttering around his finger. 

He squeezes your ass and pulls his finger out. “Hm, I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?” You ask weakly, your face pressed into his pillows. 

He rubs his cock through your folds, collecting all of your slick onto his tip. “Ready for me to fuck you,” he says, lining his tip up with your entrance. “Ready for me to ruin you.”

His words send a chill up your spine, the undertone of his voice something entirely foreign to you. You have no time to ponder what it means before he’s pushing his cock inside of you. 

No matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how long he prepares you for, it’s always a stretch. He’s so big that he fills you completely, the head of his cock pressing against that spot inside of you perfectly. He parts your walls around him, an almost painful stretch. 

He keeps a hand on your hip, using it as leverage as he pulls out and drives himself into you. He keeps a desperate, brutal pace, bottoming out with every thrust. The curve of his cock has him rubbing against your walls, pressing into your g-spot with every shift of his hips. His balls smack against your pussy, shining with your juices. 

His hand digs in hard enough to bruise, the other reaching around to rub your clit. “So tight,” he groans, “ ‘s like your pussy never wants me to leave.”

You whine, bending your back and allowing him a better angle. He slams into you roughly, knocking all of the breath out of your lungs with the impact of his hips against yours. 

His thrusts start to get sloppier, his orgasm building right along with yours. He pulls you up so that your back is flush with his, his cock getting dangerously close to your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, kissing at your neck, “fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“M-me too!”

He pounds into you at a desperate pace. “G-gonna cum inside you,” he groans. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in you, cum right inside that little womb of yours.”

“Wrio~”

He shoved you forwards. “Gonna breed this pussy, hm? Then you’ll have to stay with me—fuck.”

His cock twitches inside of you as he bottoms out for the last time, holding you flush to his thighs as hot ropes of cum fill you up. He sucks and bites at your neck as he finishes cumming inside of you, letting you fall onto your face against the bed. 

He keeps his cock inside of you, effectively plugging you with his cum. He gives you no time to recover before he’s flipping you into your back, throwing your legs over his shoulders. 

“Wrio—it’s too much!” 

He smirks at you, something feral behind those crystalline eyes. “You’re not going anywhere,” he grunts, thrusting into you. “Not until you’re nice and full.”

You’re surprised that he manages to keep the pace he does, fucking his cum back into you with renewed vigour. He leans over you, giving himself better access to slam into your pussy. You cry out with every thrust, raking your nails down his back.

It’s so sensitive, it’s too much, but fuck, does it feel so good. “T-too deep,” you whine, your own words sounding foreign and far away to you. “Too big.”

He laughs, “but you’re taking it so well, sweetheart. And doesn’t it feel so good?”

You nod, babbling incoherently into his ear. Sweat beads down your temples, tears coat your lashes. Your skin takes on a feverish sheen, but you don’t care. All you care about is the feeling of his cock slamming into you and how his arms flex with every thrust. 

His thrusts start to get sloppy, his pace slowing down to a steady rhythm. He lets himself collapse on top of you, effectively folding you in half. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fucking breed you and keep you nice and full. Make you my little whore and keep you here with me.”

You whine, black spots starting to crowd your vision. His thrusts are slow and deep now, his hips moving into you brutally. 

“You’d like that, hm? You said you wanted a family,” he bottoms out inside of you, his cum flooding your pussy. “I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

The combination of his cum and his cock inside of you has you feeling so full it almost hurts. Your senses have dulled, all of your thoughts of leaving having been fucked away. 

Wriothesley lays on top of you, bowing his head into your shoulder. His dark hair tickles your collar bone, his lips pressing against the flushed skin of your chest. 

“Did so well for me,” he mumbles into your skin, “such a good girl.”

You can only nod, running your fingers through his hair to try and ground yourself. You lay there in silence for a while—just him breathing into your chest and you stroking his hair. 

After a while, he props himself up. That same soft look has returned to his eyes, “you’re not really going to leave, right?”

It’s posed like a question but sounds more like a plea. His cock is still inside of you, more and more cum running out as it’s softened. You still feel dizzy from the overstimulation, but looking at him now, you don’t see how you could possibly leave. 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to leave.”

[lilreidgirl]

Bored

Summary: Your husband, Spencer, changed after getting out of prison and you finally snap

Warnings: Inspired HEAVILY by "bored" by billie eilish (my wife!!), kinda toxic relationship? and kinda toxic Spencer?, sex mentioned so MDNI(18+), not wanting sex but still having it mentioned, arguing mentioned, crying, let me know if i forgot anything!, English is not my first language, NOT PROOF READ

WC: ~1.4k

A/N: This is so bad, I just made it cause i love Billie, Spencer and angst, perfect combo BUT this is also my first angst fic so yayy!!!!

You knew it would be hard, Spencer getting out of prison and all, but you never expected this much of a change in your life. We all like to think that we aren’t extremely dependent on our relationships and that our state of mind doesn’t depend on them, but that’s not true.

Ever since he had gotten out of that horrid place, the cage they locked him in for something he didn’t do, the tortures walls he found himself to be for 3 traumatizing months, he had been different. That’s of course what one would expect, but you were hoping that with a bit of help and a lot of love, he would be alright. He wasn’t.

It started off with simple things, not wanting to touch you at all which you understood and naturally respected, staying longer at work, not being interested in what you had to say and not saying much himself either. It broke your heart seeing this empty and numb version of him, because that hollow person was supposed to be your husband.

It’s not like you didn’t try and help him get out of the dark place he was so obviously in. You have it your all, trying to get him to talk to you about what he’d been feeling, trying to make him feel some joy and normalcy but nothing worked. You were getting used to it. You were getting bored.

It was yet another night where you sat home alone, you wondered where he was, wondered if he was truly “working late” like he had so curtly informed you over text. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to all the possible things he could be doing instead of being here -- at home with his wife. God, it was unfair. You knew it was wrong to think such a thing after everything he had gone through, but couldn’t he see how you were struggling with him? How you needed him just as much as he refused to admit he needed you?

Finally as the hands on the clock showed 11:23 P.M., the door opened and Spencer walked in. His hair was unruly and a scowl that nowadays seemed to be permanent was present on his face. The tie, that you had tried to help him put on that morning but he had slapped away, hung loosely around his neck, laying unorderly on his button up shirt.

“Hi,” you said, cringing at the meekness and eagerness in your voice. Truth was this was probably the only conversation you guys were going to have for hours based on past events, so who could blame you?

“Hey,” he responded as he turned around to put his bag and shoes to rest next to the now closed door.

“How was your day?” you asked, trying to keep it simple as to not “scare him away”.

“Good.” Gosh you could roll your eyes at the bleakness of his unflavored answer.

“And how are you?” You tried again, hoping for more this time as you put the book you were reading down and unconsciously leaned towards him.

“I´m fine.” The smile on your face felt as faked as ever now, the corners of your mouth willing themselves remarkably to stay up.

“You, um- you promised you’d come home on time tonight, I made your favorite meal,” you hoped your tone didn’t sound accusatory -- the last thing you wanted was to make him upset. “It’s not like I’m in control of that.” The slight venom in his words made you almost physically flinch. He sighed exhaustedly before reluctantly muttering a small, “Sorry.”

“You going to bed?” he asked. You knew what that meant. Basically all the interactions between the two of you were short “hello´s”, heated arguments, and sex. He quite clearly wanted this short “hello” to turn into the third option. As painful as it is to admit, you were inclined to accept, to shut your mouth and go to bed. But you knew that if you did, it would be taking one step further into this dull life and marriage that now stood before your very eyes.

“No.” You shook your head as a small repeating of your response. “No? C´mon, I’ve had a long day,” he sighed again, tilting his head as he spoke, his frustration already to be seen on his face.

“I´m tired. And I just don’t want to.” You had by then made your decision; you were going to stand your ground.

“Just this once?” It was a weird thing to hear coming from his mouth, the one that had not so long ago, asked you again and again and again if you were “alright with this” and “sure”?

“It’s already been more than once, Spencer,” you couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth -- they lay before you in a tense silence.

“What?” You couldn’t say what he was feeling at that moment, his tone directing your thoughts to a variety of different emotions -- none of which were positive.

“It’s nothing-,“ you started but quickly got cut off. “No, no, it’s not ´nothing`. You’re saying… you’ve slept with me multiple times when you didn’t want to?” His hazel eyes stared at you, the familiar comfort you had once known in them gone – you tried to convince yourself it was just the dim light of the living room but at the back of your mind you knew it wasn’t.

“I…” you didn’t know what to say, all thoughts leaving your brain as he looked at you in horror. All but one; he cared. “W- Why?” He studied you intently, taking in the way your body slightly curled in on itself when his voice seemed to raise. God, he really didn’t mean to.

“Well… I just thought if I could at least give you this whenever you wanted… you wouldn’t leave. It’s not like we do much else together – that and fighting.” You admitted as you felt tears prick up in your eyes. He motionlessly stood in shock -- you could almost hear how loud his thoughts were from where you were sitting on the couch.

“…But I can’t do it anymore,” you murmured when the silence that took over the room got too much for you to bear, “I can’t keep giving you every piece of me while you…” you trailed off, feeling a gnawing feeling settle in your chest, a feeling of wrongdoing. He was struggling, you shouldn’t be doing this.

“I’m honestly getting bored of trying to get you to acknowledge me.” You watched with solemn eyes as his long legs took rushed strides so that he ended up by your side. He bent his legs, squatting down in front of you. That fear from before was still in his expression but now accompanied regret.

“I… I’m so sorry,” His hands came up to cup your face, as he tried to figure out how to word the immense amount of emotions coursing through him.

“I’m sorry, baby, I- I never meant to hurt you… I know I haven’t been in a good headspace lately. I’m going to try, okay? I’m so sorry.” He pulled you towards his chest and you immediately accepted the gesture, burying your face in his messy shirt as you started to sob.

“I just-,” you sputtered between sniffles and sobs, “I wish- I wish you would love me like you used to, love me just for being me.”

“I do, I do, I really do,” he tried to reassure you, his voice breaking. “I’ve been a mess and I’ve been mean, but I love you just as much as I did before. No, more. I love you. I love you so damn much.”

The rest of the night consisted of him repeating that phrase, that truth as he cradled you against his chest, and talking about the ways things had been, how they should be in the future – can be – will be. And as you woke up, opening your tired eyes and turning to the side, your eyes met him – your husband.

And for the first time in months, that brought a bright smile to your face.

[elikajinnie]

Note: Hello! Just posting this birthday fic before I start my journey to London! Happy birthday @ikeuverse !!! luv u bay boo <3 Hope you enjoy this dark fic as a present!

Warnings: Office au, Violence, Obsession, Suggestive Content, Needy Behaviour, Pet names, Blood, Choking, Crazy Man in Love, Murder

Synopsis: Jay prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions and impulses in check, even the ones dark enough to ruin his image. But every man has a breaking point, and his was you. You awaken something in him—something unstrained and dangerous.

Jay considered himself a patient man—steadfast, composed, and reliable in almost any situation. A colleague dumping extra workload on him? No problem, he could stay an extra hour to finish it. The coffee machine running out right before his turn? He’d refill it without complaint. His computer crashing, and IT dragging their feet to fix it? Fine, he could manage.

He could handle all of it.

But what he couldn’t handle—what made his patience snap like a dry twig—was seeing someone ruin your day.

You, the person who had his heart entirely, even if you didn’t know it yet.

The first day you’d walked into the office, he swore it was love at first sight. There was something about you—so effortlessly beautiful, so free yet reserved. You weren’t loud or attention-seeking like some of the others in the office. You simply came in, did your work and left.

And the fact that you didn’t talk to many of your colleagues? That you seemed to reserve most of your conversations for him?

That pleased him more than he’d care to admit.

Because the truth was, Jay wasn’t a good man. Not in the way people thought. He wore the mask of the perfect coworker, the dependable guy, the one you could always count on. But underneath, in the shadows of his mind, there were thoughts he’d never dare to voice. Things no one needed to know.

They didn’t need to know what he thought when he saw someone laughing too loudly near your desk, stealing your attention away from him. They didn’t need to know how his jaw tightened when another colleague asked you out for lunch, or how his stomach churned when you smiled politely but didn’t refuse.

And they definitely didn’t need to know what he imagined doing to the coworker who’d made you frown earlier today.

It wasn’t much—just a small comment, a careless remark about your work that Jay knew wasn’t fair. But he saw the way your shoulders slumped, the way your smile faltered for the rest of the day. It was enough to ignite something dangerous inside him, something he fought hard to suppress.

No one got to hurt you.

Jay’s hands flexed against the desk, his knuckles turning white. He took a slow, measured breath. No one had to know what was going on in his head. Not you, not the person who’d hurt you, no one.

No, no one could find out. And no one would find out.

Jay repeated that mantra in his head like a lifeline, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the desk as if the movement could ground him. If he just held his patience, if he kept his emotions under control, everything would be fine. He was good at hiding things, good at maintaining the mask of normalcy.

But he shouldn’t have underestimated how much his feelings for you overthrew his rational thinking.

It wasn’t just admiration or a harmless crush anymore. It was deeper, sharper, something that dug into his very being and left him restless. It consumed him, made him hyperaware of every glance you gave someone else, every moment you looked even the slightest bit upset.

And when he saw the person who’d hurt you walking past his desk, laughing as if they hadn’t just wrecked your mood, that feeling boiled over.

His fingers stilled, his jaw tightening. He didn’t know when he stood up or when he started walking. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to think this through, to sit back down before he did something he couldn’t take back. But that part of him was no match for the storm brewing in his chest.

He caught up to them in the hallway, his voice calm, measured, almost too controlled. “Hey.”

The coworker turned, their expression a mixture of confusion and faint unease. “Hey?”

Jay smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Got a minute?”

They hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly as if sensing something was off. Jay's smile didn't waver. "It's important," he added, voice still smooth but carrying an undertone that left little room for argument.

Reluctantly, they nodded, following him into one of the empty meeting rooms. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a bubble of tense silence.

Jay leaned against the door casually, arms crossed, tilting his head as he studied them. "You know," he began, his tone deceptively light, "I noticed you had a lot to say to her today."

Confusion flickered in their eyes before it shifted into indifference. "What? It was just a comment. It’s not that serious."

Jay chuckled quietly, the sound low and cold. "Not serious to you, maybe."

"Look, man, if she’s upset, that’s not my problem." They moved as if to leave, but Jay didn’t budge.

His smile faded.

"See, that's where you're wrong." His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "It is your problem now."

The coworker’s bravado faltered for a second.

Jay leaned in slightly, his eyes sharp and unblinking. "I’m going to give you a piece of advice—free of charge. You’re going to stay far away from her. No comments, no jokes, no anything. Understand?"

They scoffed, trying to mask their unease. "Are you threatening me?"

Jay’s lips curled into a slow smirk. "Threatening?" He let the word hang in the air. "No. I’m just making sure we understand each other."

The tension in the room thickened. Jay didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared until the other man shifted uncomfortably.

"Fine. Whatever," they muttered, pushing past him. Jay let them go, listening to their hurried footsteps fade down the hall.

Slowly, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. The tightness in his chest eased, but only slightly.

That should be enough—for now.

But deep down, Jay knew this feeling wasn’t going away.

And to Jay's dismay, the warning didn’t stick.

The coworker didn’t stop.

Oh, they were smarter about it now—waiting until Jay wasn’t around to make their comments, keeping their voice low, making sure their jabs seemed like harmless jokes to anyone else. But Jay knew better.

Because Jay always knew.

He was always watching. Always listening.

Always watching you.

It wasn’t difficult. He knew your schedule, your habits, the way you tucked yourself into quieter corners of the office during breaks. He knew which paths you took to avoid unnecessary conversation, which meetings you hated sitting through, and which tasks weighed you down.

And he knew when something was wrong.

Like now.

Jay watched from across the office as that same coworker leaned in a little too close to you at the copier, their smirk too smug, their voice just low enough that no one else could catch the words.

But Jay could read your body language—the way you stiffened, how your eyes didn’t meet theirs, how your hands faltered as you shuffled papers.

That was enough.

Jay’s vision tunneled, the hum of the office dulling into static. His hands tightened into fists at his sides.

They thought they could get away with it, thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But Jay was always paying attention.

And now?

They’d crossed a line.

Without thinking, without hesitation, Jay was moving, his steps steady. He didn’t care about the people around him, didn’t care if anyone noticed the shift in his expression—cold, and dangerously calm.

This time, a warning wouldn’t be enough. No, this time Jay would make sure they understood.

Permanently.

His steps were silent as he closed the distance between you and the coworker.

He saw it—the subtle shift in their stance, the way their hand moved just slightly, as if they were about to reach out.

To touch you.

His.

Jay’s hand shot out, clapping down on the coworker’s shoulder with more force than necessary.

“Is there a problem here?” Jay’s voice was calm, smooth, but laced with something colder beneath the surface.

The coworker jolted slightly, caught off guard, and quickly shook their head. “No, no problem. Just talking.”

Jay’s grip didn’t loosen. His smile was polite, but his eyes were sharp, piercing. “Funny. It didn’t look like talking.”

The coworker shifted uncomfortably under his hold, glancing at you for some sort of support, but you said nothing. Jay noticed how you subtly moved closer to him, putting a few more inches of space between yourself and the other man.

Oh, how that pleased him.

Something dark and satisfied coiled deep within Jay’s chest.

You felt safe near him.

Exactly where you belonged.

Jay leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for the coworker to hear. “I think it’s best if you get back to work. Before I decide to take this to HR. I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you’ve been treating your coworkers.”

The blood drained from the man’s face. “It’s not like that—”

Jay’s grip tightened, just for a second. “Now.”

The coworker stumbled back, muttering something under their breath before practically fleeing the area.

Jay let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back, and turned his attention to you. His expression softened instantly, concern replacing the coldness in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded slowly, still a bit shaken. “Yeah… thanks, Jay.”

That small, grateful smile you gave him nearly made his heart stop.

“Of course,” he murmured, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you—your hand, your arm, anything. But the way you stayed close to him, the way you trusted him to handle it?

It was more than enough for now.

Jay would deal with the persistent coworker in due time.

He was a patient man, after all. He could bide his time, wait for the perfect moment—when there were no interruptions, no prying eyes, and no one to witness what he intended to do.

Because Jay hated repeating himself.

The coworker hadn’t heeded his warning, and now Jay had to escalate things. He didn’t want to resort to this, but they’d left him no choice.

For you, though? It was worth it.

It was always worth it.

Jay kept his routine flawless, his demeanor at work unbothered and professional. No one suspected a thing as he continued his tasks, chatting with colleagues, even offering his usual polite smile to you when you passed by his desk.

But beneath the surface, he was calculating.

When the time came, it was almost too easy.

The coworker stayed late one evening, likely trying to catch up on the workload they’d neglected while harassing others. Jay lingered too, casually packing his things, waiting for the office to empty out. When the last employee left and it was just the two of them, Jay approached. “Working late?” he asked, his tone friendly but his eyes sharp.

The coworker glanced up, startled, before nodding hesitantly. “Yeah, just finishing up.”

Jay nodded, stepping closer, his presence filling the room. “That’s good. Means we have a chance to chat without anyone interrupting.”

The coworker stiffened, the unease in their expression growing. “Look, if this is about previously—”

“Oh, it’s definitely about previously.” Jay’s voice dropped, losing any trace of friendliness. He leaned down, placing his hands flat on the desk. “I warned you, didn’t I?” His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone. “I told you to stay away from her. No comments. No games. Nothing.”

The coworker stammered, trying to explain, but Jay cut him off.

“And yet, you didn’t listen. You thought I was bluffing.” He straightened, his gaze cold and unyielding. “I never bluff.”

The coworker’s mouth moved, spitting out excuses—something about misunderstanding, about it being harmless—but Jay wasn’t listening.

Not really.

He only pretended to listen, his expression carefully composed, nodding faintly as if he was weighing the words.

But his eyes drifted, scanning the dim office. The quiet hum of machines in sleep mode filled the space. The hall was empty. The cleaning crew wouldn’t arrive for a few hours.

Perfect.

His hand moved slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the cold metal of the stapler sitting carelessly on the edge of the desk. He gripped it tightly, feeling the weight of it, the solid heft pressing into his palm.

And his mind spiraled.

You.

You, who always greeted him first in the morning, your voice soft but warm.

You, who smiled at him every time he placed your favorite drink on your desk, pretending it was nothing.

You, who leaned in close to help him when the printer jammed, your fingers brushing his.

You, who tensed, shoulders rising when this man got too close, discomfort flashing in your eyes.

You. You. You.

Everything about Jay had become built around you.

Every thought. Every choice. Every breath.

And if making you happy meant eliminating what made you uncomfortable, what hurt you… then it was simple.

Jay’s grip on the stapler tightened.

Without hesitation, without a second thought, he swung.

The solid crack of metal against bone echoed in the empty office. The coworker barely had time to cry out before Jay brought the stapler down again. And again.

Each hit was harder than the last, fueled by something dark and burning inside him.

You.

Even when the coworker’s body slumped, weak and broken, Jay didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until the coworker was nothing more than a twisted, crumpled body on the cold office floor—still, silent, and broken.

Jay slowly straightened up, his breathing steady, calm. The bloodied stapler slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull, wet thud.

He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back casually, not caring about the smears of blood staining his skin or clothes.

His eyes stayed fixed on the body.

Unmoving. Silent.

Good.

His mind, once a storm of spiraling thoughts, was quiet now. Peaceful.

A slow, satisfied smile crept onto his lips.

This was right.

This was necessary.

He tilted his head slightly, admiring his work for a moment longer before pulling himself away.

No panic. No guilt.

Just clarity.

Because now, the problem was gone.

And you—sweet, perfect you—would never have to feel uncomfortable again.

Jay turned away, already thinking about how easily this would disappear.

He was careful. He was smart.

And most importantly, he was patient.

No one would know.

And tomorrow, when you smiled at him in the office, when you thanked him for the coffee, when you leaned close to help him with the printer—he would smile back.

Because this?

This was all for you.

And you would never need to know.

At least that was what he planned, until the sharp, broken sound of a gasp shattered the stillness.

Jay’s head snapped toward the sound.

There you were.

Frozen by the exit, your coat still on, bag slung over your shoulder—just as it had been when you left the office an hour ago.

But you hadn’t left.

Or maybe you had and come back.

Why?

Jay’s mind, so quiet a moment ago, now whirled with questions.

Why were you back?

How much had you seen?

How long had you been standing there?

Your wide, horrified eyes flicked between the mangled body on the floor and Jay’s bloodied figure.

His chest rose slowly with a deep, steady breath.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

For a fleeting second, Jay considered stepping forward, saying something—anything—but his feet remained planted.

The silence between you stretched painfully thin.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Jay’s mind sharpened, cutting through the static.

He couldn’t let you be afraid of him.

Not you.

Slowly, deliberately, Jay raised his blood-streaked hands in front of him, palms out as if calming a startled animal. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and soft. “I can explain.”

But could he?

Could he explain that this was for you? That every swing of that stapler, every brutal hit, was to protect you?

Would you understand?

His heart beat steadily in his chest, not with panic—but with focus.

This was just another problem to solve.

Like the one lying cold and unmoving on the floor.

Jay’s eyes didn’t leave yours. He smiled. Slowly. Softly. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he murmured.

Now, he had to decide what to do next. With you.

His jaw clenched as he prepared himself for the worst.

The scream.

The panic.

The rush for your phone to call the police.

He was ready to take it all.

If you ran, he wouldn’t chase.

If you screamed, he wouldn’t silence you.

Because he had done what needed to be done. He had removed the problem.

For you.

But then—

You did something he never expected.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the ground with a soft thud.

Slowly, cautiously, you stepped toward him.

Jay didn’t move.

Not when your trembling hands reached up. Not when your soft fingers cupped his blood-smeared cheeks.

Your eyes searched his, wide and filled with something between fear and disbelief. “Jay…” you whispered, barely audible. “What… what did you do?”

Jay blinked, his breath shallow under your touch. His lips parted, and the words spilled out. “I… I did it for you.” His voice was quiet. “He wouldn’t leave you alone. He didn’t listen. I… I had to stop him.”

The room seemed to freeze.

You didn’t recoil.

You didn’t scream.

You just stared, shocked, processing the weight of his words.

Jay searched your face, looking for disgust, horror—anything. But it wasn’t there. And that broke something inside him.

Before you could speak, before doubt could flicker in your eyes, Jay moved. His arms shot forward, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. One hand slid up, cradling the back of your head, gently but firmly turning your face away from the mangled body on the floor.

“You shouldn’t look at that,” he murmured against your hair, his voice softer now but tinged with something.

Protective.

Possessive.

His grip tightened, holding you like you might slip away.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Jay whispered, his thumb brushing against your temple. “You’re mine to protect. No one gets to make you uncomfortable. Not him. Not anyone.”

He held you close, his body warm and solid against yours, his gaze piercing as if he could see into the deepest parts of your soul. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You don’t need to be scared.” He closed his eyes, savoring how perfectly you fit in his arms.

He’d do anything to keep you here.

Anything.

His hand slowly stroked the back of your head, a soothing motion that contrasted sharply with the violence that had just taken place. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t run.

Jay’s grip tightened, his mind racing. Maybe you understood. Maybe deep down, you knew he had done this for you. “I… I couldn’t let him near you anymore,” he confessed, voice barely a whisper. “He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away.

Jay’s hand, still cradling your head, slid down to gently cup your cheek—thumb brushing over your skin, leaving a faint smear of blood. “But it’s okay now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding, for acceptance.

And when you still didn’t pull away, when your body stayed close to his—Jay’s lips curved into a slow smile. “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked softly, almost childlike in tone. His fingers pressed just slightly against your skin, his need for reassurance growing heavier. “Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know I did this for you.”

The room seemed to close in, the silence suffocating. But Jay’s breath was steady, his hold firm.

He would wait.

He was patient.

But not forever.

Not with you.

Because now that you knew, now that you had seen this part of him, he couldn’t let you go.

And if you didn’t say what he needed to hear… Well.

Jay could be persuasive.

“I… I believe you,” you whispered eventually, the words shaky, barely holding together.

And that was enough.

Enough for Jay.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something unhinged sparking within them.

A slow, shaky breath left his lips as a grin stretched across his face—wide, relieved, and far too dangerous. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured.

In one slow, fluid motion, his blood-slicked hand slid to the side of your neck, fingers curling possessively around your throat. He then leaned in, so close that your noses brushed, his breath hot against your lips. “Say it again,” he whispered, voice cracking with need. “Please… say it again.”

You gasped softly, wide-eyed, frozen beneath the weight of his stare. But before you could form another word, Jay couldn’t wait anymore. His lips crashed into yours, desperate and unrelenting. It wasn’t a kiss meant to be sweet or careful—it was starving, as if he was finally taking something he’d been denied for far too long.

His other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, crushing you against him as he groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural, like he’d been holding it in for years.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt as his grip on your neck tightened—not to hurt, but to keep you there, to feel you.

His lips moved hungrily against yours, consuming, devouring, as if this kiss could erase everything else.

The blood on his hands smeared against your skin, staining you, marking you as his. And that thought—oh, that thought—made Jay shudder.

Finally, finally, you were his.

His lips moved to brush against your ear as he whispered, his voice heavy with desire. “You’ll never have to worry again, do you understand?”

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. His hand, still resting on your neck, felt like a constant reminder of how much he owned this moment. How much he owned you.

You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat, overwhelmed by his presence, and the weight of everything that had just happened.

And Jay noticed.

A flicker of understanding crossed his face, and his lips curled into a grin. “I know you’re shocked,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur. “I know. But you don’t have to be. Not anymore.” His thumb brushed over your lips, tracing the curve, as if memorizing every part of you. There was no room for doubt anymore. This was what he’d been working for. What he’d needed to do to make you his.

The thought of you, fully his, made him tremble.

And there was nothing left but the need to keep you close, to never let you go.

Jay gently pulled you back, guiding you until your back met the wall behind you. His lips found yours again—feverish, desperate. The kiss was a claim, a mark, an ownership. He wanted to feel you beneath him, to know that no one else would ever get to see you like this. His kiss deepened, growing rougher, more demanding, as though he could pour every dark thought and overwhelming need into you.

Jay wanted more.

No—he needed more.

The thought of anyone else seeing you like this, touching you, even looking at you—it made his grip tighten, made his breath grow heavier.

His mouth trailed down, kissing along your jaw, to the soft skin just below your ear. He lingered there, lips brushing your pulse, his teeth grazed your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. That sound—your gasp—ignited something in him.

He wanted to burn himself into you.

To make sure you would never forget.

Jay’s lips crashed back onto yours, fiercer, deeper, as if he could devour every breath you took.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, his voice low and rough. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your waist so tightly it almost hurt, the other wrapped firmly around your throat. “Baby…” he murmured between kisses, lips barely pulling away before claiming you again.

You gasped, trying to pull back, your hands pressing against his chest. “Jay—”

But his grip on your throat tightened, holding you in place as he swallowed your protest with another bruising kiss. “Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice dripping with hunger. “Don’t say my name like that. Makes me crazy.” His lips dragged along your jaw, down to your neck, where he bit down—not too hard, but hard enough to make you whimper. “Good girl,” he breathed, lips curling into a dark smile against your skin.

You squirmed slightly, your hands trembling as they gripped his arms. “Jay...please—”

“Oh, princess, now you beg?” he chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hand still cradled your throat, his thumb brushing along your pulse. “You’re not going anywhere.” Then his mouth was on yours again, more desperate, more claiming. “My sweet girl,” he mumbled.

You tried to turn your head, tried to catch your breath, but Jay wouldn’t let you. His grip on your throat kept you exactly where he wanted you.“Don’t pull away,” he groaned, biting your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“You belong here. With me.”

Another kiss.

“You understand that, don’t you, baby?” His hand flexed on your throat, a silent warning. His breath was ragged, lips swollen, eyes dark with obsession.

Jay wasn’t asking this time.

He was demanding.

And he wasn’t going to stop until you gave him what he wanted.

Until you surrendered.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as Jay’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse race. His thumb stroked your skin slowly, in stark contrast to the desperate, punishing kisses he pressed against your lips.

“Say it,” he murmured again, lips ghosting over yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You swallowed hard, the words tangled in your throat. “I`m—”

That was all you managed before his hand flexed. “No, baby,” he rasped, his tone unyielding. “Not like that.” His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. “Say it like you mean it,” he whispered against your mouth. “Tell me you belong to me like you mean it.” Jay’s breath turned ragged, his grip trembling slightly as if even he was starting to lose control. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible but heavy with desperation. His thumb brushed over your pulse point, feeling it quicken under his touch. "I need to hear it. Need you to say it."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. The hesitation in your eyes made something in him crack.

"Baby," he breathed out shakily. "You're mine. Mine. I'll say it a thousand times, scream it until my throat bleeds if I have to." His voice was hoarse and strained. "But I need you to say it back. Just once. Please."

His lips ghosted over yours, softer now, but his hands trembled where they held you. "Tell me you belong to me. Tell me before I lose my mind." His lips pressed desperately against your jaw, your cheek, your lips—frantic, as if trying to draw the words from you. "I can't—" he choked, pulling back just enough to search your eyes. "I can't breathe without you. Just say it, baby. Please."

"Say you're mine."

Every time you tried to pull away, tried to catch your breath, Jay wouldn’t allow it. His grip on your throat anchored you, holding you exactly where he wanted you—his. “Come on, princess,” he murmured. “You know it’s true. You’ve always been mine.”

His lips brushed over your cheek, down to your ear.

“Mine to protect.”

Another kiss, softer this time.

“Mine to touch.”

His hand squeezed your hip, dragging you impossibly closer.

“Mine to love.”

The way he said it—love—sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was dark, consuming.

You felt breathless, overwhelmed.

And yet… you didn’t speak.

Jay leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his own burning with need. “I won’t ask again, baby,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, smearing blood along your skin.

“Say it.”

And in that suffocating silence, with his grip steady and his eyes locked on yours, you knew you had no choice.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Like he would burn the world down if you didn’t.

Your breath trembled, your mind spinning. Jay’s hand on your throat was firm, his body pressed so tightly against yours that there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Say it.

His words echoed in your head, each one heavier than the last. And somehow, despite the fear, despite the chaos in your chest, your lips parted. “I…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Jay’s grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make your pulse quicken. “Louder, sweetheart.” His voice was a low growl, his lips brushing against yours. “Say it so I know it’s real.”

Your chest heaved, and for a brief second, your gaze flickered to the dark stain on the floor behind him. The body. The blood.

But then Jay’s hand shifted, his thumb stroking along your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.

To the man who had done all of this for you.

To the man who would do it again.

And something inside you cracked.

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

Jay froze.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence between you.

Then, slowly, his lips pulled into a wicked, satisfied smile.

“That’s my girl.”

Before you could take another breath, his mouth was on yours again, brutal and hungry. His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, his other hand still warm and solid around your throat.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he muttered between kisses, voice rough and uneven. “Hearing you say it…fuck...” He kissed you again, harsher this time, as if the words you spoke had completely undone him.

Jay was losing control, and he didn’t care.

Because now you were his.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, making sure you felt every inch of his need. “Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing over your cheek, down to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin, sending a shiver through you.

“Jay—”

He growled at the sound of his name, his hand around your throat flexing.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

Jay let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as he laughed—low, dark, and completely unhinged.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, “you’re mine.” His breath grew heavier, ragged against your skin.

Being this close—feeling you against him, hearing you say you were his—shattered whatever thread of control he had left.

His mind spiraled, drowning in the intoxicating thought that you belonged to him.

Only him.

His mouth smashed against yours again, bruising and desperate, like he was trying to crawl inside you, to erase any space that could ever exist between you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his hands roaming everywhere—gripping, pulling, needing. His lips found your jaw, your neck, biting and kissing until your skin bloomed with marks.

“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he growled, his teeth scraping along your throat. “I can’t think when I’m around you. I can’t fucking breathe without wanting to touch you.”

His hands gripped the fabric of your clothes so tightly they shook, like he might rip them off just to feel more of you. “Fuck, baby…” His voice cracked, breath ragged. “I need you. Right now.”

His mouth found yours again, messier this time, all teeth and tongue and need.

You whimpered, trying to turn your head, overwhelmed by how hard he was pressing you into the wall.

But Jay wasn’t having it.

His hand shot up, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back to meet his lips again. “Don’t pull away from me.” His voice was a warning, but there was something desperate beneath it. “You said you’re mine.”

He kissed you harder, punishing, needy.

“So act like it.”

His hand slid under your shirt, rough and fast, gripping your skin like he could mold you into him, his mind spinning with every sound you made, every shiver he felt under his hands.

And it still wasn’t enough.

“I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

“I want them to look at you and know they’ll never fucking have you.”

His grip on your waist tightened, his breathing quick and shallow.

“Because you’re mine.”

Jay’s lips crashed into yours again, wild and unrelenting, his hands gripping you like he’d fall apart if he let go.

And in that moment, you realized—

There was nothing left of Jay’s control.

Only you.

Only this.

And he would burn everything down to keep it.

...and the twisted part? You didn’t feel guilty. Not even a little.

The memory of that night lingered like smoke in the back of your mind, heavy and intoxicating. Jay’s wild energy, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world—sent a shiver down your spine every time you thought about it.

The office had grown quieter since then. People whispered about the sudden disappearance of your colleague, speculating everything from a sudden transfer to something more sinister. You kept your head down, your lips sealed, and Jay? Jay acted like nothing had ever happened, except when it came to you.

You felt him everywhere. His gaze burned into you during meetings, his hand brushed yours at the coffee machine, his voice low and dangerous when he spoke your name. It was suffocating and addictive all at once.

“You’re distracted,” Jay murmured one afternoon, his voice startling you. He was leaning against your desk, his tie slightly loosened, looking every bit like the confident, composed professional everyone thought he was. But his eyes—they told a different story. They always did.

“I’m just tired,” you lied, trying to focus on your computer screen, though the heat of his presence made it impossible.

“Liar.” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it. He leaned closer, his fingers trailing along the edge of your desk. “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t need one. Jay was good at reading you, too good.

“You should come by my place tonight,” he said casually, like he was suggesting something as mundane as grabbing a coffee. But there was nothing casual about the way his fingers brushed your wrist, the way his tone promised so much more than just conversation.

“Why?” you managed to ask, your voice steadier than you thought possible.

“Because,” he said, his lips curling into that devilish smirk that always sent your thoughts spiraling, “I like having you close. And you like it too, don’t you?”

There it was—Jay’s true colors, bold and unapologetic. He was dangerous, unrelenting, and completely unhinged. And yet, you couldn’t say no.

Because deep down, a part of you liked it. Maybe even loved it.

That night, you found yourself outside Jay’s apartment door, your heart pounding harder than you’d ever admit. You hadn’t even fully decided to come until your legs had taken you here on autopilot. Something about the way he consumed you, mind and soul, left no room for logical thought.

Before you could knock, the door swung open. Jay stood there, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his chest, his hair slightly disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it.

“You’re late,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“You didn’t give me a time,” you shot back, feigning confidence you didn’t really feel.

He chuckled low, a sound that made your stomach flip. “Touché. Come in.”

You stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind you, the sound feeling heavier than it should have. His place was exactly what you expected—sleek, modern, and meticulously clean, but somehow it still felt like him. The air was warm, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered everywhere, pulling you further under his spell.

“Drink?” he offered, already heading toward the kitchen.

“No, I’m good,” you replied, shifting awkwardly on your feet.

He returned moments later, empty-handed, but his eyes were locked on you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re tense,” he observed, closing the space between you in a few long strides.

“I wonder why,” you said sarcastically, though your voice wavered.

Jay tilted his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “What? Are you scared?”

Your breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers ghosting over your jaw before tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I’d never hurt you.”

The way he said it, so certain and sincere, made your chest ache. It was the truth, but it was also a lie. Jay would never hurt you, no. But the lengths he’d go to for you? Those would destroy everything—and everyone—in his path.

“I should go,” you said, the words barely audible, even to yourself.

“But you won’t.” His hands were on your waist now, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Because you don’t want to.”

He was right. You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to run. You wanted him, in all his terrifying, obsessive glory.

“Jay—”

“Shh.” He silenced you with a kiss, his lips rough and demanding, stealing whatever protests you thought you had. His hands gripped you tighter, his body pressing yours against the wall as if he couldn’t stand even a fraction of space between you.

You let yourself melt into him, into the chaos and the fire. Because with Jay, that’s all there ever was—chaos and fire.

And, God help you, you craved it.

Jay’s kisses grew wilder, more desperate, like he was a man starved, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His grip on your waist tightened, almost bruising, and his body pressed you harder against the wall, leaving no room to breathe—not that you cared.

“It’s been too long,” he rasped against your lips, his voice raw with need. His hands roamed over you, searing through the fabric of your clothes. “So beautiful...”

Your response came out as a broken gasp when his teeth grazed your neck, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. His hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch into him, and his low growl sent shivers down your spine.

“Jay—” you managed to choke out, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance as his lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone.

“I can’t stop,” he confessed, his voice strained like he was losing a battle with himself. “Not when it’s you. Never when it’s you.”

His words ignited something deep inside you, both fear and exhilaration that only Jay could elicit. He lifted you effortlessly as he carried you toward the couch, his eyes never leaving yours.

He laid you down gently, hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his weight pressing you into the cushions, his lips trailing a path down your jawline.

“It’s been too long since I could touch you like this,” he murmured, his voice rough and shaky. “Too long since I could feel you, taste you, claim you.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into his touch. His hand slid under your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours making you shiver.

“Say you want this,” he demanded, his voice low but commanding. “Say you want me.”

“I do,” you whispered, the words barely audible but enough to send a dark smile curling his lips.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he growled, and then he was kissing you again, harder, deeper, as if he was trying to consume every part of you.

And you let him, because in that moment, Jay was everything—your fire, your chaos, your undoing.

a/n: Happy birthday bayyy! Hope today goes amazing for you! Love yaaa <333

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[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[ceoofyearning]

I only pray, don’t fall away from me

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The world feels like it’s falling apart around you, but Azriel finally comes home and helps you hold all the pieces together.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt and Comfort, depressive themes & thoughts, anxiety, nightmares, mentions of a minor character death (not the mc/reader) || please mind the tags.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this week was though so here’s a bit of a hurt & comfort fic; hope your days are kind to you guys xoxo

Links: Fic Masterlist | My Art

You’re so damn tired.

The last few weeks have been difficult, to say the least. The healing house has been filled to the brim with the wounded and sick. Altercations with Beron’s soldiers by the border have been increasing at an alarming rate, while countless spies from the continent have been winnowed in after being caught by Koschei’s contingent forces. You can’t even begin to imagine the state of the civilians that might’ve been caught in the crossfire. 

There is tension in the air with the threat of the inevitable war looming on the horizon. It doesn’t help that the winter chill, in all of its foreboding fury, has come to ravage the lands and its people. You love your work as a healer, you really do. Some days, the thought of the good you do, the people you help, is enough to keep you going. But too often, it feels like a thankless job that leaves you drained to the core. 

In your free time, you’ve been parsing through ancient texts in search of information on Death Gods and anything that could be used against Koschei. His looming threat is a cloud of dread that hangs over everyone, especially Rhys. The least you could do is to help carry the burden. It’s not like you could sleep, anyway. These days it is as though your mind adamantly refuses to let you rest. At the very least, the task keeps you distracted when you’re stuck alone in your apartment. 

Ever since Azriel had been sent to the continent for a reconnaissance mission nearly a month ago, the apartment you share has started to feel a little too big, too desolate. Before you knew it, the white walls had been transmuted from your home into what felt like the bars of a cage. 

The two of you haven't been apart for so long since the mating bond snapped. You didn’t think you'd feel his absence as acutely as you did, but it felt like the loss of a limb where the wound refused to heal and you were already bleeding out. His part of the bond is blacked out completely, a devouring void where Azriel’s comforting presence should have been. It’s for your own safety, he said. But you can’t help it. You’re plagued with worry, with imagined hurts and tragedies, amplifying the brewing conflict in your mind. 

It is easier to catch yourself when Azriel is near. When the thoughts begin to swirl like a hurricane around you - winds whipping, oceans rising - it feels like Azriel’s arms are the only safe harbor you can rely on. But Azriel isn’t here now. 

What frustrates you most is that you’ve been better recently. You’ve been good. You ate your meals, slept reasonably, even had a goddamned routine set up. You guzzled down your tonics in hopes of smoothing out the edges of your frayed mind, that perhaps it could lend you some semblance of normalcy. But no. Weeks of being haunted by nightmares, of overextending yourself, of loss and suffering seeping under your skin day by day have taken its toll. 

You are just too damn tired. 

A child died, barely over thirteen years old. She was bastard-born, which meant she had nothing to her name other than the rags on her back and her birthright to suffer generational oppression and cruelty. This is the worst winter the Night Court has had in centuries, and she didn’t even have a decent roof over her head. Needless to say, she hadn’t been in the best health. But despite that, the moment her cycle had come, the men forced her to go through the clipping. In her struggle, the imbeciles accidentally nicked a vital artery. Normally, her Illyrian healing would’ve granted her a strong chance for survival, but she had been so sick, her body weakened by hours spent in the frigid cold. 

By the time you had been summoned to heal her, she no longer had the strength to recover. Numbness washed over you at the image of her unseeing eyes, the same shade as Azriel’s in the right light, trained toward the vast empty sky. You have a feeling it isn’t a sight you’d forget any time soon. 

You don’t know how long it’s been. The room is shrouded with a thick blanket of darkness, the only respite coming from the dwindling candlelight by your bedside. Only silence exists within these four walls, interrupted by the occasional patter of water leaking from the kitchen sink. You burrow deeper into the sheets, inhaling the trace of Azriel’s scent that still lingered like it would somehow quell this ache inside you. 

Despite spending most of the day bedbound, you’ve barely had any sleep. There is no respite to be found in the dreaming, only nightmares lying in wait. It seems your mind has a knack of bringing your worst fears. Azriel bruised, bloodied and utterly alone, lost, somewhere in the vastness of the continent, hazel eyes - his, then hers, then his again - glazing over, crimson seeping into the arid ground below. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve gathered your grief and worry like rocks to wear around your neck. Your body is heavy, the phantom weight sinking and settling within the marrow of your bones, refusing to leave. It feels like you could stay in this bed forever until you dissipate into nothing but sand, smoke and thought.

You managed to send out a request for the texts Rhys needed translated, but not much else. You’re thankful he directly portalled them on your worktable because you don’t think you could brave the journey to the library today. You don’t think you could do much of anything today, in all honesty. 

So there you lay, bundled up in a collection of blankets, at least three inches of cotton and down that never seem enough to warm you. A book rests in your hands, yet your eyes remain unfocused, not truly seeing the words.

You run your thumb over the crisp paper, knowledge older than you, older than this city and yet you couldn't even bring yourself to focus long enough to dissect their true meaning. Your will is liquid in your hands, slipping through the cracks in between your fingers. Accidentally, you tug too hard on a page and it tears easily beneath your touch. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve been horrified by what you’ve just done. But as you are now, it is difficult to care. 

That’s what you feel like at this moment, you realize. These past few weeks have left you feeling spent, worn out, paper thin. Absently, you stretch out your hand towards the candlelight, close enough to feel the warmth lick against your cool skin. The flame casts a brilliant silhouette around your shadowed hand. It’s a wonder why golden light doesn’t seep right through. 

That’s how Azriel finds you.

The front door of your apartment creeks open, letting in a flood of muted morning light. Your first instinct is to retreat beneath the covers to shield yourself. Azriel calls your name in the silence, worry permeating each syllable. No doubt, he is cataloging the mess your shared space had become in your unintentional neglect. 

You say nothing, wondering if you could just close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, anything to escape his scrutiny. A breath of relief escapes him when he finds you in bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. 

The urge to curl tighter around yourself is strong. But he repeats your name and, as though he had cast a spell, you unspool before him, your muscles unwinding, one fiber at a time. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, voice painfully soft.

“Okay,” you croak out from beneath the blankets. 

Azriel gradually draws the sheets away from your body, giving you ample time to protest if you’d like. Then, he rests his hand on your shoulder. Unbidden, a shiver runs down your spine, followed by a stuttered breath. You don’t realize how much you missed his touch until his textured hand begins its soothing path up and down your back, his heat sinking into your skin. 

Shame washes over you despite the bone-deep comfort you find upon his gentle ministrations. You don’t want him to see you this way. Azriel deserves better, the voices in your head insist. He deserves a mate whose mind does not devour itself at every given opportunity, a mate who does not quake beneath the weight of the world and the idea of their own immortal existence.

As though detecting your train of thought, his shadows leave their preferred perch on his shoulders to pool around you instead. Tendrils of darkness brush away the tears on your face, while some thread through your hair like a gentle breeze. 

On the other hand, Azriel urges you to rest your head on his lap. He begins to run his hand through your hair, uncaring of how greasy and tangled it has become. Eventually, his voice pierces the silence, injecting warmth into the distance between you. He hums a tune you do not recognize, but you can't help but cling to each winding note like a lifeline. Azriel has always had a beautiful voice - depthless, silken and soothing. It feels like a privilege to hear the song that he normally reserves for his shadows.

You must’ve been a pitiful sight to behold, and yet Azriel never looks at you like you are. He always treats you like something to cherish, something to love, like you’re someone he’s spent lifetimes desperately waiting for and you’ve been entirely worth the wait. A traitorous part of you feels like you’ll never deserve it, this love.

Azriel must sense the hurricane of emotions waging a one-sided war in your head, despite the mental shields you adamantly keep up. But he doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t brush off your worry with empty words and false promises. Instead, he simply says, “I love you.” 

He speaks it as though it is a fact like one would say that the sky is blue, and the grass is green, and the world would keep on turning in peteruity, orbiting the sun the same way you’ll continue to orbit around each other. His chapped lips ghost over your temple, murmuring your name like a plea, a prayer. 

“More than anything in this world,” he adds as he pulls you into his embrace. 

Your body is pliant for him, arms winding around his neck like that is where they’re meant to be. His arms wrap around your waist to hold you impossibly closer. Webbed wings stretch to curl around the two of you, creating a cocoon of darkness that keeps the rest of the world at bay. With your head resting on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding in chorus with yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply after a long stretch of silence. “But sometimes I wish you could’ve had a better mate.” 

“There is no one better,” Azriel insists. “There is only you, my love; through light, through darkness, through whichever end. Only you.” And you feel the truth of his words as surely as the twinned beating of your hearts. Sometimes it’s hard to convince your traitorous mind that you could have this, that someone could love you so deeply despite having seen you at your worst. Azriel presses another kiss against your cheek, and despite yourself, you begin to believe his words.

You don’t know how long Azriel holds you like that, but it finally feels like a stretch of eternity you could bear.

“What can I do to help, love?” Azriel prompts, cupping your face in the cradle of his scarred palms - their texture, a familiar comfort. 

You turn over his question in your head for a few moments, savoring his scent, the sensation of his skin against your own. A part of you is tempted to ask him to lay beside you for the rest of the day, for a week, for an entire lifetime. You know Azriel would if you asked it of him. But beyond this room, the world continues its elliptical path around the sun and time still ticks on regardless of how disconnected you feel from your own reality. 

“A bath,” is all you manage to say.

Azriel nods, before reluctantly peeling himself from you. “Have you eaten?” 

“‘M not hungry,” you mumble as you sink back into the sheets, sighing as the comforter swallows you up. In truth, you can’t remember when your last meal had been. Hunger didn’t seem so pressing in the last few days.

“That’s not what I asked.” Azriel’s tone leaves no room for argument or negotiation. 

“No,” you finally answer, although with much trepidation. “Not yet.” 

He hums, clearly displeased, but says nothing else. You can already imagine the frown that must be stretching across his face. But it seems Azriel’s presence alone is enough to quieten your mind, at least for now. You must’ve been dead tired because it doesn’t take long for the rhythmic sound of Azriel's familiar footfalls to lull you into dreamless sleep.

"Love," Azriel whispers, his hand hovering over your shoulder, rousing you from your shallow slumber. You blink languidly until molten eyes come into focus. The candlelight flickers, and shadows dance across his face. Azriel’s normally sharp features are softened by the tenderness in his expression. You’ll never tire of waking to the sight of him. 

With a groan, you half-roll half-stumble out of bed. Azriel stays an arm’s length away in case you need him, but he’s careful not to crowd you. His shadows have no such reservations, however. The dark tendrils fretfully twine around your arms, making you smile. You thank them quietly, and for a moment, they seem to dance with delight. Regardless of your initial unsteadiness, you manage to pad all the way to the bathroom.

Upon crossing the threshold, the sweet scent of jasmine immediately overtakes your senses. The tub has already been filled up, steam rising from the sun-covered surface. You begin to unbutton your tunic, clumsy fingers tumbling through your first few attempts. Azriel steadies your hands with his firm grip, his shadows gently circling your wrists. 

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to your tunic, and you nod, not wanting to think anymore. His movements are precise, almost clinical, while he undoes the first five buttons, before bunching the garment in his hands and pulling it over your head entirely. Your skin breaks out in gooseflesh once exposed to the cold air. Azriel is careful to keep his gaze on your face, even as you step out of your undergarments. 

Azriel only betrays his composure when he traces your cheekbone, like he can’t quite help himself. From this distance, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. For a moment, the two of you only stare at each other. The bond glows bright between you, the golden thread gleaming as though it hadn't spent the last few weeks completely stretched thin. 

But then, Azriel withdraws, tilting his head to the steaming tub. Obediently, you step into the water’s warm embrace, the heat nearly stinging your skin. Logically, however, you know it’s only because you’ve allowed yourself to stay in the cold for too long. 

A relieved sigh escapes you as you sink further into the tub. One of his shadows rushes to pillow your heavy head as it rests on the tub’s rim. You thank the sweet little thing, and swirls of black sway back and forth like a dog wagging its tail. Meanwhile, Azriel takes his place by the head of the tub, sitting back on his heels. 

“I’d like to wash your hair,” he says and you're touched by the earnest quality his voice takes. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You’ve never been good at denying Azriel anything, nor did you want to. The more the ice beneath your skin thaws, the more you find that you want him near. 

Azriel begins by running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp as he pours warm water over your head. With a pop of a bottle, the floral scent of shampoo fills the air. He lathers the substance on your head, his touch tender even as his fingers work through the knots in the strands, untangling them with care. 

After a while, he rinses off the suds and coats his hands with oil. He begins combing his fingers through your hair, starting from the ends and working his way up. The rhythmic motion of his fingers is calming as he draws circles against your scalp. You find yourself melting into the moment, feeling utterly content for the first time in what feels like a very long time. 

Once done, Azriel grabs a small towel and asks, “Do you want help washing?”

You shake your head, wanting to do this for yourself, at least. Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he spares you a soft smile. With that, Azriel leaves the towel by the tub and politely excuses himself from the room. With the door left slightly ajar, you could still hear him move around the apartment followed by the lyrical clinking of silverware against ceramic.

It takes you a few minutes to gather the energy to lather yourself with soap, and a few more to finally rise from the bath. But once the grime is off your skin, you feel a bit of the weight wash off with it too. You feel a bit more like yourself.

After drying off, you tug on the silk robe Azriel has left for you, securing it loosely around your waist. Upon exiting, you spy him by the dining table, scooping a generous serving of soup into a bowl. The mouthwatering aroma of rich broth wafts through the room, and you realize just how hungry you are when your stomach growls in protest. You approach him from behind, making sure that each step is audible.

Azriel continues to set up the table, but you can tell he’s aware of your presence from the way his shoulders seem to relax. The sudden urge to have him close is palpable, an instinct so deeply ingrained into your being. So,  gradually, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face on his back. You take a deep inhale, breathing him in - a lungful of moontime mist and cedarwood smoke. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you murmur against Azriel’s back, your voice muffled by his shirt. 

“I’m glad to be home,” he whispers. His hands abandon their task in favor of twining his fingers with your own. 

Azriel turns to face you and holds your face in his hands. Beneath the swathes of sunlight, his eyes are alight with golden flame, flecks of green scattered over his irises like an afterthought. There is nothing but love in his gaze, nothing but acceptance. 

“Thank you,” you say, tilting your head so the words could kiss his lips, not quite touching but close. “For being here, for loving me, for choosing me, everyday.” 

“I will always choose you,” he vows, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Today,” another peck on the tip of your nose; “Tomorrow,” one more on your cheek; “And all the days after,” he finishes with a chaste caress on your lips.

Then, he rests his forehead on yours, your bodies slotted against each other like a lock and its predestined key. In Azriel’s presence, you find it easier to breathe, easier to simply be. For the first time in a long time, your mind is clear and your heart beats in a calm, languid pace that matches his own.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you request, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel’s gaze is searching, scouring for any hint of anything short of absolute certainty. Perhaps you should tell him that in this world of constant change and chaos, he’s the only one you’re certain of.

Azriel must be satisfied with what he finds written across your features because he replies, “So kiss me then,” the ghost of a smirk playing across his lips.

You’re surprised to find that it’s easy to return the playful expression. Your rise to the tips of your toes while your fingers thread through his raven black hair. When your lips touch, it is as though the world breathes a sigh of relief. Reality realigns and everything outside the two of you and your shared breaths turns inconsequential. He moves against you with practiced ease, like the natural ebb and flow of the tide.

An eternity of this, you think, doesn’t seem so daunting after all. 

AN: i’m not sure if that was too much but thank you for reading 💙 As always, i’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts

English isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please lmk thru dm! 💙

Also, I just wanted to yap about the Az fics im in the process of writing:

1. Vampire!Azriel x Reader (Working tittle: Ashes in my wake)

I just love the idea of cannibalism (or yk, blood drinking) as a metaphor for love in literature so here we are. ( @/annikin-im-panicin this is ur influence) This one is a bit of a dark fic (nothing too crazy tho, I think), so i’m not sure how it’ll be received. But the idea has been haunting me for yonks so I just had to write it.

2. Tattoo Artist!Azriel x Lucien’s Best Friend!Reader (Working tittle: Drink dry the river Lethe)

This one is a multichapter fic (maybe 4-7 chapters, we’ll see) so it might take me a while before I start posting, but i’ve mostly finished writing the first (very smutty) and second (very angsty) chapter. I ‘m not entirely sure what direction to bring this yet but maybe you guys can help me decide?

Unrelated to Az, but i’ve been brainworming a poly dark-ish innocent!reader x Feysand fic, and a slightly less dark and more sappy(?) poly warrior!reader x royal!nessian fic. I’m so excited to start these but my pile of wips is giving me the stink eye 😂

[a-lurking-fae]

FONTAINIAN READER + A/B/O DYNAMIC + TERMINAL ILLNESS

It's 7 in the morning but I HAD TO WRITE THIS DOWNNN

What if Fontainian!Reader + A/B/O dynamics + ill reader?? But the reader isn't an omega, no. They'd be a beta, and as we know, betas aren't that suseptive to pheromones at all, some not even noticing it.

In a family filled with strong Alphas, a simple beta is just... there? A weak beta that's quite out of place, are you really sure you belong there?

You don't notice how people run from you. They're scared of you for some reason? You don't notice the furious pheromones of your family when someone tells you you're a stain.

Whenever Bruce lectures you, that's the only time you actually talk to him. You don't know that he as been emmiting pheromones that literally scream "It's ok." or "Don't be scared."

No. He's straight up intimidating, he doesn't know you can't smell pheromones, he never really took the time to know you. You could've been an omega and he would even know. So you think he's super angry!

But, apparently Bruce can't help the bitch face and rough tone (っ ͡ ͡º - ͡ ͡º ς). Now if Fontainian reader was sick, I don't mean like terminal diseases from earth— I'm thinking about the abyssal corrosion. If the reader was an adventurer, it wouldn't be a surprise if they ran into the abyss.

But let's add the fact your the Hydro Archon's granddaughter, and the fact that your also the Hydro Dragon's granddaughter! You'd make such a good target, if your cursed, you don't have much to lose anymore.

So you pack your bags and leave for Fontaine, leaving the family for good. So you left a note for Alfred, telling him all about your situation. He'd be distressed! Alfred would tell Bruce, convincing him to get you. You were his daughter, why would he leave you to die!

Bruce promised himself that he wouldn't let another of his kids die, but here you were, that thing in your system killing you painfully and slowly.

Bruce knows about Teyvat, that's where your mother was from. He never met your grandparents, he'd like to know them now. The family faces another problem though, how do they get there?

Dick would skimm through your journals and diary, trying to find any clues on how to to you. But you've written it in another language, something that never existed in earth. And if you were well-versed in most languages in Teyvat, you guys know that when your super angry, sometimes you speak in all of them.

So instead of Tim and Barbara finding a pattern in your stuff, it's filled with multiple mixes of mysterious languages. Any progress would end up with another dead end.

Duke is absolutely happy, the both of you were the same age! Basically twins, both your birthdays a few days apart. You were the only sense of normalcy that he always craved, something most of the fucked-up-and-traumatized family members couldn't do. But when you left, that sense of stability started to fade. He worries about you day-and-night, he hopes that you'll be home soon.

Cass would learn normalcy from you, she was a trained weapon, she didn't have any clue what to do with you. After all, you always did your best to understand and teach her about emotions. She appreciates you a lot. You took care of her when she was sick, bandaged her up when she was injured, and baked her snacks. She wants to experience it with you again.

Damian's family is very much traditional. So he most likely would be angry, how could you leave them? Not only are they capable Alphas, but they're powerful as well. It was your adventuring in that world that got you sick. You should have simply stayed at home. When you get back to the mansion, you'll sit tight until they find a cure.

If it was Nicer!Damian, then he would be angry at himself. He wasn't enough for you to stay in Gotham, he promises that he'll be a better brother. He knows you could die any time there with the abyss and all! He nags Bruce and Tim to find you faster. Motivating them with the fact Teyvat is dangerous, wars there are going on! It was finished, also, Inazuma was far as fuck!

All-in-all, they'd do everything in their power to reach you, so they'd recruit the Justice league, especially Diana. She's well versed in these stuff after all. The Al Ghul's would help too. Checking family records if there were any thing pertaining to Teyvat.

Meanwhile, in Teyvat. You're swimming with the sea otters with Neuvilette and Furina, who took time off to spend time with their grandchild.

[fxtalitygod]

EPILOGUE. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy mentions, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 1-2x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), implied incest mentions

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Today marks the day I finish this series. Guys, I cannot believe it took me two years to finish this damned series. Do not get me wrong, I loved writing it, but boy, it was a major pain in my ass. As corny as it sounds, thank you all for sticking with me throughout this series. When I originally posted the first chapter, I did not expect ANY attention whatsoever; it was just a self-indulgent thing I wanted to write because I wanted a better representation of (Y/n) where, yeah, she may not be the strongest. However, she still knows how to make do with what she has and make that her strength. I also wanted to give a more realistic relationship with the pairing. As much as I love Sukuna's character, I did not believe him to be a character capable of "true love" but a character that values others but not in the way you might think. I'm talking literal value, currency value, and benefit value. I wanted a more realistic take on the story because I did not know how many more historical "Kuna," "Suku," or "Kunie" stories I could take. No hate for those who write it or those who enjoy it; it just isn't my personal cup of tea. I like true crime and dark stories (I have this serial killer project that I'm stoked about because I know I will get my group an A+), so I tend to enjoy those darker sides, which I believe is why I like Sukuna's character so much, he just feeds into that side of me. There are some of the fantasies I enjoy where Sukuna is non-canon, such as AUs and all that, but when it comes to JJK's storyline or his historical AUs, I tend to fall short of enjoyment of that type of fantasy.

Anywho, thank you all for sticking around and enjoy the epilogue. I hope it was worth the wait. I may or may not have written three times because my perfectionism kicked in every time I proofread it, and I found something I did not like and scraped half the chapter. I bet I'll find a little thing here and there when I post this. Still, it won't be anything noticeable, something along the lines of my tags and probably my TW, though Im usually very on point with those kinds of things. Still, it always seems that AFTER I make the post, I really start to notice things even after proofreading it 50x.

P.S. I plan to do a behind-the-scenes post on all my original ideas. I have worked on this little project for two years, so you bet I had alternatives. Feel free to send me asks or messages asking me about things you are curious about, and I will gladly answer.

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

The market was bustling at this time of day. Workers were heading home from a hard day of work, rushing through the roads as they grabbed ingredients and materials for their households to prepare their meals and homes; everything was so normal...and if she were being honest, it felt strange. The confined life of the temple had practically become a comfort, so when presented with a slice of normalcy, it was foreign and, if she were being honest, alarming as well.

Having so much freedom was intimidating and overwhelming– the fear of having something good and it being taken away was a looming thought that brought many anxieties.

Years have passed since that fated day, Sukuna Ryomen's downfall. Since the fire and the slaughter that had immersed, Sukuna's actions had remained silent. There were whispers of sightings and rumors that the curse user had met his demise, but she knew better. Sukuna Ryomen was unkillable, and if anybody had truly caught a glance of him, they would be dead before they could live and tell the tale.

"Mama."

The world seemed to stop as the word processed through her head. Blood ran cold, and breaths of air seemed to come in at a faster rate. The woman turned to the little girl holding her hand, causing her heart to shatter.

"Darling, I told you not to refer to me as your mother, remember?"

The question remained as a statement rather than an inquiry as if refamiliarizing the child with a rule she had been reacquainted with on multiple occasions.

"I-I know that, but why can I not? You care for me like a mother, so why can I not call you my mother?'

"We have discussed this before, child," the woman sighed, "I believe it unfair to be taking the title of your actual mother."

"Well, if my real mother had not given me away, it would not be like this..."

Pausing mid-step, the caretaker held her breath, controlling the emotions and memories that flashed through her mind. The girl's sentence rang through her head, eliciting a feeling she was not commonly met with... aggravation. With no hesitance, the woman's minimal steps turned into longer strides, her grip even firmer on the young girl's hand. Getting to their place of lodging was more vital than anything, as she wanted to avoid discussing such sensitive matters in a public setting. Prying ears were close enough in such a crowded setting.

Upon reaching the home, the stand-in mother pulled the child inside before shutting the door. She swiftly bent down to the young one's level and took the child's shoulders into her hands. The little girl was shocked by the woman's reaction, staying silent and still as if afraid of what was to come next.

"Child, I will not hear you speak such false claims of your mother. You do not know the sacrifices she made to get you here."

The girl's expression of fear shifted from dread to shame. Her face was red from embarrassment after she was caught for her prior statement. However, as children do, she made it her goal to justify herself.

"What is the point of her sacrifice if she left me. Did she not want to be around me?"

"She did not leave you; if she were still in this world, trust me, she would be right here with you!"

The caregiver's words came out with little thought; all she knew was that she would not tolerate the little girl's false assumptions. However, now that the words spilled out of her mouth, she began to regret them. Seeing the tears well up in the girl's eyes made her wish she had phrased it differently.

"What do you mean?"

The caretaker cursed under her breath before inhaling through her nose, exhaling softly before speaking.

"You deserve the truth, my dear, and the truth is that your mother sacrificed her life to ensure you had a good one. She loved you so much that she valued your life more than hers. You might not understand this now, but that is a mother's love." The woman's breath stuttered, "She loved you more than you could ever know. I will not claim the title as your mother for that reason."

The girl was overwhelmed with emotion, only knowing how to express it through tears. The woman could not bear it and brought the girl close to her chest, embracing her to give any form of comfort that might help– it broke her heart to hear the child's quiet sobs.

After calming down, the kid spoke, though with some light chokes.

"W-what s-should I call you then?"

The warden took a sigh as she thought over her charges question. In all honesty, she had no idea what to say. What answer could she even give her? She could not allow her real name to float between the child's tongue as it would expose her identity. What name could she let the child speak?

"Hmm," the woman loosened her embrace, looking the little girl in the eye with a soft smile, "What do you think you should call me?"

The girl tilted her head, wanting more elaboration.

The lady chuckled softly, "What do you think my name should be, child?"

The caregiver had expected the girl to take some time to come up with an answer; however, the kid took no hesitation when she blurted out...

"Makato-san!"

Silenced engulfed the home as her caregiver failed to respond.

"Makato-san, I'm going to the market. Do you need anything?"

Another prolonged stillness as the young lady waited for a response.

The girl scrunched her brows in concern, extending her neck to look further into the room as if the individual she was looking for would appear. With the growing silence, the young adult searched the home for her guardian.

"Makato-san?"

She searched and examined the silent home with slight panic before finally stumbling upon the older woman, staring blankly at the floor she was kneeling on– unresponsive as she continued to stare.

With caution, Y/n's daughter reached her hand out to her caregiver's, placing it on the woman's shoulder. The response she got was one she had not expected.

The Makato turned suddenly, grabbing onto the young woman's wrist with an ungodly strength that even the girl was unaware of. This caused the girl to wince in pain as she tried to pull her arm away. Her arm was turning a light purple from the lack of circulation, proving the grip's vice.

Despite her fear, the charge could only feel concerned as her caregiver made eye contact, tears welling up in her eyes. It stayed like that for a couple more seconds before she snapped back into reality, gasping as she was presented with the image of her actions, quickly letting go of the young lady's arm.

"I'm so sorry, my Dear. I did not mean to...I was just..." The woman paused, swallowing her following words; however, her stutter did not disappear: "D-D-Did you need something, m-my, Dear?"

"I was preparing to leave and was going to ask if you needed anything from that market," the girl paused, choosing her next words carefully. Makato-san, you've been acting strange as of late. Is everything alright?"

The young woman was old enough to recognize the hesitance in her caretaker's features and the short lack of response.

"Whatever do you mean, Darling?"

"Please do not take me a fool," the youthful female voiced before sighing and looking at Makato in pity, "I'm worried for you, Makato-san. Ever since the refugees from the other village came, you have been behaving irregularly."

The refugees.

To say that their arrival was a shock was an understatement. At first, Makato thought nothing of it until the newcomers began to tell their stories. Their village was burned in a monstrous fire by a "crazed" sorcerer, and their home was now unsustainable to live in as it was left entirely in shambles. Despite this information, Makato thought little of it as there had been few stories of criminal sorcerers destroying homes, most being "inspired" by Sukuna's actions after his sudden hiatus. It was not until an elderly woman, who she happened to hear at random, described the appearance of the sorcerer.

"He was monstrous, the vile thing; he had four arms and two faces if you do not count that horrid mouth on his stomach. I watched both of them grin as it chewed on the remains of my eldest son." the elder choked and sobbed as the memory came back to taunt her.

Makato's heart dropped to her stomach. Rushing home in search of her charge, she found the girl working on her studies. Seeing the child she worked so hard to raise brought relief, but it was not long before the memories and visions began to haunt her. Sometimes, she would see you standing there, looking down at her, motionless and silent, with a pained, pitful look.

She hated it.

When you looked at her that way, she felt weak and vulnerable—as if she were failing. She was not as cool and calculating as you were, nor as confident or intimidating. Had you been here, you would have more than likely been able to disappear from society and find a nice, quiet life for yourself and your daughter. But you were not here; that was the problem– you were just a figment of her imagination.

Even then, she wanted you to stop looking at her that way.

Sometimes, she was left in her privacy and saw your vision appear to accompany her. It would drive her mad as she tried to convince you, even herself, that she was doing enough. She would speak into the silence of the room and get no response.

"What else could you want with me? I am doing everything I can!"

Silence.

"I am happy. She is happy. We are happy. Is that not enough for you?"

Silence.

"He thinks she is dead– he thinks I am dead! There is no possible way that..."

Silence.

"Please, stop looking at me that way. I am capable of doing this...please have faith in me."

"Makato-san?"

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Makato tracked what the girl had said earlier, not wanting to worry about her charge further.

"I apologize for my irregular behavior, my Dear. I can assure you that I am alright. I have had a lot of stress these days regarding the refugees. I want to do my part to assist them, but I have been running myself ragged and am just...tired."

The girl hesitated, not wanting to accept her caretaker's excuse, but she knew pushing the subject would not do her any good, so she nodded in understanding. The worst part is that Makato knew your daughter was aware of her white lie, but she would not admit it for some slim hope that the girl honestly did not know. Sometimes, she wished your daughter had not inherited your intelligence and perception.

"Do you need anything from the market, Makato-san? I plan on leaving soon to aid the refugees."

"No, I believe we have enough supplied for quite a while. All that I ask of you is to be safe, Darling."

Your daughter agreed, letting a soft smile slip onto her face before hugging Makato. The woman accepted the embrace before experiencing a wave of realization. Intelligence and perception were not the only things she inherited from you; she happened to be a real beauty as well.

"My Dear, if you plan on seeing that boy of yours, speak your peace now and know that I only want you to be safe and happy."

The girl struggled to find words before lowering her head in embarrassment, her face bright red with fluster.

"You are of age now, and I want you to know the responsibilities that rest on your shoulders."

"Makato-san, I never meant to keep it a secret. I just...I was afraid of your disapproval."

The more experienced woman could understand where she was coming from. Long ago, she was in the girl's position. However, she was never allowed to pursue her love due to the circumstances of her arrangement, but that does not mean she did not try. Despite her efforts to keep her relationship together, it was all for not in the end. She was given away as a sacrificial lamb to a monster.

Your daughter had a chance of love, and the caregiver would not squander it for her. She wanted your daughter to have a chance at a relationship she never had. Maybe it was questionable on her part due to the circumstances of her mission, but she did not entirely care. She just wanted your daughter to have a normal life.

She knew that was what you had wanted for your child.

"I do not disapprove, Darling. I just want you to be happy and to be careful."

"I promise that I will Makato-san."

There was a pause of awkward silence before the young woman embraced Makato once more.

"Thank you, I'll be back soon."

Makato smiled as she watched her ward leave the home. She had no problem admitting she was happy for the girl, but something deep within her told her it was a bad idea. It was hard for her to come to terms with, but she had an itching feeling that did not settle with her.

The world was perfect at the moment. Your daughter had put smiles on faces from her charity and was now being rewarded with a proposal for her marriage. She hugged her lover, showing her love and adoration in any way appropriate for their stage in relationship. If you were here, you would be beaming with joy, giving consent to the marriage with no hesitation because this is all you could ever want for your girl, and it would have been all you wanted for your twins.

You never had a chance of love and a happy life; seeing your children be able to pursue their lives to the fullest, especially in romantics, would have been considered a blessing to you.

"This is the happiest day of my life, honestly, but have you received my guardian's blessing?"

The young man chuckled, caressing her cheek reassuringly, "I plan on coming over for dinner tonight to ask for your hand properly if you will have me."

The girl could only agree eagerly through her expressions, unable to speak in fear of shouting instead of politely inviting him. Hugging him one last time before parting to rush home and prepare their meal; however, a chill went up her spine the moment she left; everything felt cold, and she could not explain why. Maybe it was the lack of his embrace, but she had never felt that way. There was only one good reason she could name.

Her nerves were getting the best of her...

"What if Makato-san declines."

The young woman's moods changed throughout the day as she prepared for the most significant evening of her life. One moment, she had the goofiest, filled with overwhelming joy, but there were other times when she would find herself chewing her nails from anxiety, and right now, she was having one of those times.

"Dear, stop that. This behavior is far from healthy. What has you behaving this way?"

"Nothing, everything is fine. I suppose I'm just hoping dinner will turn out acceptable tonight."

"Dear, please do not insult my intelligence with these excuses. What is going on that you are not telling me?"

"Well, I—" there was a pause. How was the ward supposed to say anything without giving anything away?

"You what? Spit it out, child, you are worrying me."

"I cannot say. I am sorry. But do not worry, please; something good is about to happen. Please trust me on this."

Makato chewed the inside of her cheek. She did trust her ward, but she had this gut feeling, this sickening feeling that she could not name. Maybe it was just her nerves getting the best of her, so she pushed it aside. She trusted your daughter, the only trustworthy person that Makato knew.

"Alright... is there anything you need help with?

The younger one smiled sweetly, taking her caretaker's hands in her own.

"No, I have it handled. You have been so stressed the past few days that you should just relax. Tonight, all your worries will be washed away." With that, she parted to continue her work for the big news. She was all but too excited.

She was also naive.

She was a sweet little girl, but she was naive. To think all of Makato's worries and problems would go away by simply relaxing, through sweet and simple gestures, was an innocent way to think. It was how Makato raised that girl because she wanted that sweet little girl to have that luxury. There were times she wondered if she had made the right choice, but then she would remember what pain looked like and what too much experience could do to a person.

No, she made the right decision. This is what you would have wanted.

Right?

Yes.

Makato went, and she sat as the young woman finished her final preparations for the meal. The girl looked more stressed than ever, rushing at the final threshold, but it seemed that preparations were finished and she was filling time. She found little things to do that held no significance. She was in her head, making Makato question if everything was truly fine.

Then, the footsteps could be heard. He was here, and everything was going to change. Life was going to change, and it was between her and that door. The biggest day of her life was only a dinner conversation away. So she opened the door and was presented with an image she thought she would never see or experience.

"We must leave. The village is under attack, and we do not have much time."

The smell of smoke was strong, and embers could be seen from a not-to0-far distance. The world came crashing down, and she could not say a thing. She could only stand there with an oblivious smile.

"What?"

Fear, confusion, anger, any negative emotion she could feel, she was feeling. This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to get a blessing and marry the man of her dreams. Why now? Why this? This could not be real, there was no way.

If the world had crashed down for your daughter, the heavens collided into the earth, dissipating everything in its path in Makato's eyes. The older woman stood, no thoughts running in her head as she strided to the boy, grabbing him by his garments

"You tell me now, and you tell me true, boy! What did you see?!"

Her sudden actions left him too stunned to speak, but after some shaking and calling for his attention, he found himself capable of a response.

"Makato-san, what is happening?" It was like everything hit her at once, but she was still trying to understand why it was happening today– why it was happening now at the most crucial moment of her life.

"I do not know what it was, but it was a man of stature. He was disfigured; he had two faces and four arms. He came without warning, started flames, and began a massacre. His face was cold, as if he felt absolutely nothing."

There was no doubt in her mind that it was him, no doubt her former husband as reigning terror; however, based on the emotionless state of his ambush, bloodshed was beginning to lose its flavor. It was comical, but as much as it had some humor, this was no joke. This was all too real.

Makato grabbed your daughter's shoulder, pulling her out of her shock. Tears were in her eyes, looking at her caretaker pitifully.

"Makato-san, what is happening?"

She was naive, and being naive was safe, but being naive was also unrealistic. Makato gave the girl a sheltered life, eliminating the possibility of danger to the girl. That was no way to live.

"Your father, that is what is happening."

"What?"

And the shock returned. Makato made an effort to avoid mentioning Sukuna in conversation, only mentioning you in light memory. As far as your daughter was concerned, her father did not exist...until now.

"That so-called man is your father, Ryomen Sukuna. That is the man who drove your mother to eventually kill herself," A pause, licking her lip as she readied herself to elaborate, "Your mother sacrificed herself to protect you from him. He drained the life from her and left her no choice but to die, but she gave it purpose. She died to give you a life, a life away from him."

"I-" Your daughter was at a loss for words. Everything was hitting her too fast.

"I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it from you. I wanted you to have an everyday life, but I should have noticed sooner or later that the truth would reveal itself and that he would present himself one day."

There was nothing to say, only to exchange expressions of fear and dismay.

"W-Well, what do we do now?"

"We run."

Taking the two charges, Makato grabbed whatever necessities they needed to start a new life. She had been planning this since the day she ran from the temple. She would admit that now, with a third party, it would be more complicated than she had intended, but they would make do.

They exited the home frantic. The smell of smoke became more potent, and the embers were closer than before. The flames became more evident as they spread. Any entrance to the main road would have been a route to death, but Makato had never planned to use that path. There was a back trail through the woods, one she had discovered when your little girl was merely five years of age.

They ran towards the thicket, avoiding as many obstacles as possible. Things were looking smooth, with hardly any disruptions. It was almost serene, but that was the issue. To have such tranquility was a nauseating notion for mayhem being at their backs.

It was too quiet to be safe.

And that is when she knew to push the girl and her lover aside, veiling their presence with her technique before everything went black.

Ringing...

Ringing...

And more ringing...

The lights were brighter, and the smoke and ash came straight from the source. She woke up coughing and gasping for air. For a moment, she thought she had been dreaming, immersed in a life that was not hers. Maybe she was waking up, back to her village, back to her parents, back to the life before she got caught in that awful nightmare.

"I am surprised that it was you, of all the women she let live." Sukuna started, looking down at what he believed to be the scum of the earth.

No, it was all too real. His voice registered through her head instantly despite not hearing it in years– at least in person. She had repeated memories, but sometimes she wondered if she had deformed his voice from years of not hearing him speak down on her. Turns out she remembered it accurately. It still managed to send chills down her spine and make her wish to be six feet under the ground.

"I was probably too forgettable for her to ever really care about whether I lived or died." Makato spat.

"That is reasonable enough, but that would not serve her memory well and rather insult her intelligence. I will say that, if anything, my Little Flower was too clever to let such technicality slip from her. She probably pitied you and your fruitless womb, so she gifted you with a child for you to care for in her absence. And knowing your broken state, she probably knew you would be eager at the opportunity."

Makato scowled, turning her gaze to the ground. How dare he speak of you in such a way. He said that as if you were on his level, as devious and conniving as he was, and claimed your actions were selfish when they were the opposite. You did this for her daughter, not for yourself. If you had it your way, you would be there.

"How old is she now?"

She refused to answer, turning her gaze back to the dirt. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of belittling her more than he already had. It was humiliating, but she still had some dignity and a promise she wished to uphold.

"What does it matter? She is dead. (Y/n) told you herself that she was gone."

A sharp pain was felt at the back of her head as he pulled her hair to force the woman to look up at him.

"Do not picture me a fool! For a woman whose last words claimed her daughter was gone, she left me the most humorous smile. I know that age of the girl, but I would rather hear from you, bitch, how long you have been holding her captive."

No response.

"Answer me!" Sukuna snarled, pulling at her scalp once more.

"Nineteen years of age," Makato smiled. Why? Do you wish to act as a father now? Well, you are too LATE! While you were out throwing tantrums, I raised her child, which you would not know how to do without being given exact handwritten instructions."

"On the contrary, you let her potential slip, and now she is nothing but another womb to breed. Unfortunate, due to the heritage of her mother and myself. However, a womb is still useful regardless."

Out of anything Sukuna had done, out of anything he had said to threaten her, that was the most horrifying.

"You are a disgusting bastard."

"Do not speak as if you can fill her shoes as if you have her confidence. You would not be in this position if you were half the woman she was."

"You are right; if I were half the woman she was, I could have easily manipulated you and have you play the role of the arrogant man with an ego so big, he does not notice the knife pointing at his back," A pause as she licked her lips, swallowing to try and quench her dry throat, "Everything that woman did was out of fear, much like everyone else; however, she knew how to tick your interest and she used that to her advantage. Honestly, I am ashamed. I only noticed it when she told me about her plan."

A twitch in his eye, he was irritated. It was known through body language and the knowledge of his nature that he wanted to tear Makato apart, limb from limb, until her body was unrecognizable.

"What? Afraid to face the truth of her decision. She could have run away with ease; she could have killed you, but both of those options would have been considered a mercy for you. She took away the one thing that you valued: herself. That must eat at you a lot."

With a swift motion, he scooped the former wife from her neck, squeezing her throat as he raised her to face him eye-to-eye.

"You are a worthless bitch who cannot even reproduce, summing you up to nothing. What is your worth?"

Nothing but the struggling breaths of the woman attempting to pry herself from this monster's grip.

"Exactly, you are worth nothing."

Darkness, wherever they were, was dark. The girl and her lover were still in the woods, alive as well as they could manage. She could only remember running into this place before being shoved into the dark area. She felt the ground around her and reached her arms out into the pitch black as she tried to navigate this strange place. It scared her.

"Makato-san? Where are you?"

No response, only silence.

It was dark and frightening, and she did not know what to do. What could she do? She could cry, so she did; she cried as she tried to find her way back. This had to be some kind of night terror. She would wake up, and she would be at that doorway, welcoming her lover into their home, eating their meal, and then sharing the news. Her lover would get her caretaker's blessing, get married, and live happily ever after, right?

Dreadfully wrong.

Instead, a hand reached out and pulled her out of the darkness. The world was still unlit, but moonlight and the flames dancing in the distance could be seen nearby; however, she was not a part of the conflict.

She was about to scream, cry for help, anything to get attention drawn to her location, but was stopped by a large palm to the mouth.

"Shhh, my love. It is only me. It will be alright."

For the first time that night, she felt genuine relief. Turning her head to see her man, she looked down at her disheveled features. She weakly smiled, moving herself to embrace him. It all lasted for a few seconds until she realized the missing member of their little group.

"Where is Makato-san?" she whispered.

The man looked down, not daring to respond. She attempted to make eye contact, but he would only look away.

"Where is she?" she insistently asked, but louder.

" I do not know; a couple curse users emerged from the woods. Makato shoved us into the ditch, and when I came out, she was gone."

"Well...Well, we must go look for her."

A grasp to the wrist effectively stopped the girl.

"No, I cannot risk losing you, and I know Makato-san would agree. She would not want you going out to risk your life to save her."

How could he say that? How dare he say that! What right did he have in this decision?

"Then you do not know her." she scowled, trying to withdraw from his hold, but his hand did not budge.

"Then why would she tell you everything had she not already predicted the possibility that she might die."

"Because... because...she needed me to know because if we were going to run away, I would need to put in my own weight by knowing our threat...yes, that was it! Now let me go!" She tried to reason, but not to him—herself.

Denial.

"It was a confession! As if she were lying on her deathbed, she confessed everything to you. She wants you to move on, knowing there are dangers like your father. She wants you to kno-"

"Well, she may not be dead yet, so we have to try!"

With whatever strength she had deep down, she broke free from his grasp, sprinting towards the village and the flame. She could hear him following her, but in her mind, she wanted to believe he was doing it because he could see her reason. He would help; she was sure of it.

She was almost there, and she swore she could see the silhouette of her caretaker, but then she found herself on the ground. It was only for a second before being lifted into the air, a hand covering her mouth as she got further from her destination.

Kicking, muffled screams, and the distant cackling of flames could be heard. She bit her partner’s hand in an attempt that he would let her go from the sudden pain, but he was resistant. He merely grunted and winced while continuing his journey back. But then there was a halt.

There she was, Makato, thrown onto the ground. She could see her in the distance. The woman looked weak but very much alive, and she was right there. The daughter kicked, shoved, jabbed, and bit even more, trying to get loose. However, her lover would not budge because although he could see Makato, he could also see the shadow hovering over the woman, the shadow your daughter was refusing to look at.

Then the shadow disappeared, and the dreadful monster emerged, Sukuna Ryomen, hovering over Makato with disdain. Watching as she tried to crawl away but failed miserably. She was fighting, doing her best, but her fate was inevitable.

Death was the only option, and death is what she got.

Ryomen Sukuna caved into his impulses, ripping her limb from limb until she was unrecognizable. The daughter watched, horrified, as the woman who raised her was mutilated to nothing but a pulp. What sort of sick joke was this? She remained silent as she tried to think of who would pull such a childish trick, watching as the image got smaller until nothing was left. Eventually, it was just a tiny yellow dot in the distance and nothing more; all she could do was look at it.

"Promise me you will live."

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe o-

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

The scream echoed through the dark room, and you tried to comprehend where you were. The walls were closing in, and the air was too thick to breathe. It felt like like suffocation.

What was this?

Why now?

Where is this?

Why is this?

How is-

"Y/n!"

You snapped back into reality, frantically looking at your surroundings to notice you were in your bedroom.

"Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?"

The silence was tense as you sat there, trying to remember your nightmare. You thought long and hard, but in the end, you had nothing.

"I...I don't know."

You heard a sigh, a hand rubbing your back, and another reaching for your cheek, wiping the stray tears you were unaware of.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight, again?"

Some of you wanted to say no, but the opposing side longed for it. You stared at the clock on the wall before you, reading the time. It was a little past midnight, and you had hardly gotten any rest. You had a big day tomorrow, and rest was crucial to get through your day. God knows the things you would do if you did not properly sleep.

Turning to your twin brother, you weakly nodded, "Okay."

He did not hesitate to tuck you under his arm as if in an attempt to protect you from any harm to come your way, to shield you from the nightmares. However, despite his presence, it was like a part of the dream appeared that you remembered but didn't at the same time.

"Do you think I'll be a good mother?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Please just answer me...for my sanity."

Your brother sighed, resting his cheek on your head as he rubbed your shoulder to comfort you.

"Y/n, I have no doubt you will make a great mother. Come on, let's go back to sleep. I'll stay here, and everything will be better in the morning."

"Promise me it will be better in the morning."

"What?"

"You don't have to hold up to it. I just...I just want to hear you say it."

"I promise it will be better in the morning."

"Okay..."

New series?? Sequel???Maybe, but first, a little break ☆~ (˃̵ڡ‘˶ )

Taglist (Thank you all so much for being a part of this series):

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident

@fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx @chariotwaves 

[andbreakmynose]

he won't go away

he's haunting you. am al.

WARNINGS: p-in-v, he's possessive and a bit mean, feelings, references to drugs/drinking, technically cheating but not really

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

Being a young woman in the 21st century had to be torture. You thought the breakup would be the hardest part; moving all your stuff out of the shared apartment was incredibly sad; sometimes you still got sad when you saw his shirts in your closet. But it turns out the hardest part is actually trying to get back out there. The apps of hell.

It was practically impossible to find someone who matched your standards. Alex, your ex, was so perfect in (almost) every way that everyone else paled in comparison. Seriously, how were you supposed to fall back in love when your last boyfriend was a global phenomenon rockstar?

He was almost everywhere you looked, practically inescapable. Every shop you went into was selling his newest record or playing one of their songs. His face was in every magazine at every store. The month you spent traveling in the states didn’t even help; Arctic Monkeys had finally crossed over, and he was big there too.

The worst part of it was that even when you scrolled Tinder to move on, you’d see him. Someone would have them as his favorite band; they’d have a lyric in their bio; they’d be wearing merchandise; or you’d check their Instagram to see concert photos. It was a frustrating cycle of constant reminders that he didn’t want you anymore.

That’s what he said—that he couldn’t stand to be in a relationship with you anymore. That he was moving on to “bigger and better things,” and you weren’t a part of that. You had sensed it was coming; he had started to become cockier; he was drinking and smoking more, and you even thought he might be taking something stronger. You didn’t blame him though; he was on top of the world, and you were just his hometown girlfriend who worked a 9-5.

You didn’t mean to keep up with him, but you read the headlines: ‘Arctic Monkeys Announces Massive UK Tour’, ‘Arctic Monkeys Sells Out Madison Square Garden’, ‘Arctic Monkeys To Headline Reading and Leeds.”

Those were tolerable; you knew he’d be big. The ones that bothered you were the personal ones. ‘Alex Turner Seen Wasted After Big Night Out’, ‘Alex Turner Seen With Another Mystery Blonde’. That was frustrating. You envied him in a sense; he didn’t have to worry about seeing your name anywhere. He was able to move on as quickly as possible and never look back. He had all the money, all the girls, and everything he could ever need at his disposal.

It was obvious you had become bitter; your best friend had remarked that you ‘just hadn’t been yourself’ since the breakup and “needed to get laid soon” or you’d “become a criminal case.” Maybe she was right, and that's what put you on the apps. You wanted to find a nice, normal man, someone who wasn’t performing at the Olympics.

The guys were nice for the most part. You had seen a few cute ones and had a few good conversations. There was even a date once! He was a nice guy from the north side of town who worked at a bank. The dinner you had with him was good, but the chemistry just wasn’t there.

For every match there were at least 50 strikeouts, but you were hopeful about this current guy. His name was Rob. Rob was tall and had pretty blue eyes and worked a well-paying job in finance. He liked nature and Oasis and had two dogs. He was the type of normalcy you craved. He asked you on a date, and of course you said yes; maybe you’d finally move on.

-

The two of you decided on one of your favorite pubs on a Saturday. And when Saturday came along, you pushed your nerves to the side and tried to look as presentable as possible. You felt a bit guilty about wearing a dress that Alex bought you, but you had to wear it at some point. You cover yourself in perfume and slip on your finest lace lingerie, just for the confidence. Today is supposed to be the day you become the new you.

Rob was already there when you arrived; he wore a nice outfit and looks good, but you’re not immediately head over heels. Maybe this would take time; that was fine. He gestured to the open bar stool next to him and the pint waiting for you. You smiled and walked over to him.

“Hey! Thanks for... this.” You pointed your head towards the pint and took a seat next to him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he smiled at you, giving your body a once-over. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”

His compliment doesn’t fluster you as much as it should, but you still smiled and thanked him, attaching your lips to the glass and taking a drink.

The conversation was easy; he told you about what it’s like to work in finance, and you told him what it’s like in your occupation. He showed you pictures of his three dogs whose names you could not remember, and you showed him pictures from your trip to Italy last year, neglecting to add the piece of information that you went with Alex.

Things seemed to be going really well; your bar stool had ended up closer to his, and his hand brushed across your knee a few times. Maybe the night would end well and you’d get to go home with him; you hadn’t been fucked since Alex and your vibrator weren’t doing the job anymore. In fact, it was going so well that you were about to ask about a second date when his head perked up and his eyes darted to a corner.

“Holy shit! Is that the guy from Arctic Monkeys?”

Your first thought was that somehow he knew that he was fucking with you and wanted to get you upset. But then you noticed the genuine surprise and shock in his face—a lump forming in your throat. Maybe he got his people confused?

The split second glance you turned in Alex’s direction is all you needed to know it was him. He was carrying himself the same way he had been, and you could almost hear the boom of his voice from the other side of the pub. Christ. Your stomach suddenly felt like you could throw up any second.

“I think it is.” Your voice was barely above a mutter, but Rob heard it all, his face perking up even more.

“That’s so cool! I saw them last time they came here!”

You nodded and said you saw them too. You didn’t tell him that you also saw them in London and Paris and New York and Tokyo, and that he dedicated a song to you on your birthday at a show in New Jersey. It felt like years of memories were flooding back, but you just had to repress that.

It seemed that Rob wasn’t that big of a fan because he quickly diverted his attention back to you and started talking about some hike he took a few months ago. You’re sure it was lovely, but your mind couldn’t really focus on anything but the man who hadn’t even noticed your presence. You kept nodding and attached your lips to your drink.

After a bit of one-sided conversation, Rob patted you on the back and excused himself to the restroom. He leaves you alone. Alone with Alex, only half a room away. You ordered a second drink to try and distract yourself, but that’s no help.

You swear you hear your name come from his lips, echoing in your eyes in an almost painful way. It’s just a hallucination; you’re just remembering stuff. That’s what you tell yourself.

“Her? Yeah, she was my bitch ex. Too uptight for me, if you know what I mean.” His voice booms through the room, like he’s purposely saying it as loud as possible because he knows you’ll hear. Fuck.

You couldn’t help it; you had to check. When you turn your head to the side to see him again, his dark eyes are staring right into you, that cocky smirk he adopted in the last months of your relationship present on his face. He caught you.

You didn’t recognize the guys he was with; they were probably figures from his new life. You also didn’t recognize the blonde girl he conveniently had his hand on the ass of. You couldn’t tell rather to be flustered or pissed that his attention was on you and not whoever she was. He still stared directly into your soul; something between anxiety and sorrow filled you up.

Rob returned after a minute, snapping you out of your trance and pulling your attention back onto him. Right, your date. You smiled and tried to focus on his face—his face that was nowhere near as attractive as Alex’s.

“So, what was it you were saying about hiking in Ireland?” It was a copout, but it was safe; he was more than happy to talk about himself. He went on and on about the cows and the grass and his sister Emily.

Every few minutes you’d hear Alex say something else. Something about the ‘pretty lady standing next to him’ or the ‘total fucking bender’ he went on last week. Was he trying to rile you up? Get a reaction? Well yeah, it worked. You could feel your blood start to boil while you drank more and more.

That caught up; after maybe your third drink you had to pee, really bad. You stood up and apologized to Rob before excusing yourself in the ladies room. Your head was starting to spin, and it would be lying to say you weren’t overwhelmed. You did your business and took a second to breathe.

You opened the door to head back to your date that was going very well. Thank you. The door creaked open and then shut just as instantly, your back against the door and your body back in the bathroom. Him.

He wasn’t a big man by any means, but his presence took up the entire room; it made you feel small. Alex was staring down at you, and it was hard to tell if he was really bored or really turned on.

“We need to talk.” Is all that he uttered? His voice was surprisingly monotone for him.

“In the ladies room at a pub?”

He nods.

“I have a date. He’ll get worried.” You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground even though all you wanted to do was fold.

“Yeah. That’s why we need to talk.” He backed away from the door and leaned against the wall, very obviously checking himself out in the mirror. He ran a hand through his quiff and turned back to you with a scoff. “I don’t like him. He’s a twat.”

You scoff back, “Yeah? Well, last time I checked, you didn’t like me either.” Alex winces at this.

“I never said that,” he corrected you, his face slightly less smug. “I said I wanted to explore. Try new things. Spend the rest of my tour living like a real rockstar.” He pauses for dramatic effect, staring you up and down. “But I’m over that, baby; I want you back. I want to be us again. Please.”

You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not; he probably was. He was probably drunk and didn’t know what he was saying. But goddamnit, these last months of pain came back, and you couldn’t help but feel for him. You wanted him back too.

“What about your new life? The fucking benders. All your new friends out there... the new girl you were fondling earlier.” You needed to stay strong; you couldn’t cave like that. You made sure that all your mockery and frustration with him for the last months came out in your voice.

He sighed again, his hand returning to his quiff. You couldn’t tell if he was that obsessed with himself that he wanted to perfect it constantly or if it was a nervous habit.

“What about your new life? Chad from finance is telling you about the stock market and his university days.”

“Rob, actually. And he’s very nice. Nicer than you’ve been this past year.” An eye roll.

Alex guffawed at this, nodding his head in a way that reminded you of a movie greaser.

“And yet you still want me more than him, don’t you? You want me again just as bad as I want you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was the alcohol, but yeah, you were getting hot and bothered. The rockstar act was obnoxious, but it was also sexy as hell.

“I can’t just leave. Rob’s a nice guy; I don’t want to destroy him.” Even if you were about to throw yourself at your ex, you still had enough morals to think about Rob.

Alex hummed and thought for a second; he wasn’t going to let you just run away from him. He needed you to come back home.

“Go up to him and say ya got your period or something. You need to go home and take care of it. You’re a smart girl; figure it out.” Condescension laced his voice. He brought his hand up and ran it across your arm just to watch the goosebumps it elicited. “See, you want this. Come home with me.”

You couldn’t fight it anymore and nodded. You were weak for him; he was your weakness. He was perfect, and you couldn’t go without feeling him again.

“I’ll meet you out front,” the smirk reappeared on his face, and he gently guided you out of the bathroom with his hand on your ass. He went right towards the exit and left you to go right towards Rob.

“Hey Rob. I’m sorry it took me forever. I have some lady problems going on, and I need to run home and grab a pad. I’ll text you about a second date, yeah?” You smiled at him but gave him no time to respond before you were out the front door and Alex was wrapping his big hands around your back. You had a long night ahead.

He kept his hand on your shoulder the entire way home; no words fell from his mouth. There was this feeling he was giving you, like he was disappointed beyond words even though he was the one that ended things.

The drive to his place was painstakingly familiar. You had done this very same trip back and forth more times than you could count. One of your first dates had been him taking you here and then kissing you while the band played a Stone Roses song; maybe you had fucked with fate by returning to the same location.

You felt a sharp pain searing through your heart when you saw the brick exterior of his flat. That was your home. Your home for two years that you had been shut out of only within the last 5 months. And you were back.

He made a whistling noise followed by a click, as if you were a dog. You’re embarrassed in the way you immediately folded, hopping out of the car and walking up the familiar stairs to the front door. His keys opened it up, and you took a step inside, the sight of it all flooding your senses.

The flat was redecorated, but it was still yours; there was your old sofa in the corner, the painting you bought with him at the market, and his collection of leather boots sat at the door. The smell was also different; it was no longer you and Alex. It was just Alex. Musky cologne and cigarette smoke replaced what was once the smell of your baking and your combined scents.

Alex watched you take in the sight; a humorless chuckle left his lips. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same pain; he missed you more than he wanted to admit. His eyes flicked back over to your body, scanning you in. Fuck, that dress.

“Why are you wearing my dress?” It was basically a bark, an accusation. All pain he felt was met with anger. You were wearing something he bought you to see another man.

“It’s not your dress. It’s mine.” Playing dumb never worked with Alex, so you were unsure why you did it. Maybe it was a defense mechanism that led to your relationship's downfall.

“Don’t be a bitch. I bought that dress with my money for my eyes to see you in it. It’s my dress.” His voice was harsher now; the frustration of months without you and the alcohol clouded his head.

“I thought it made me look pretty. And until an hour ago, you wanted nothing to do with me. I figured game was game.” There’s a truth to your words, but it still elicited a deep scoff from the back of his throat. He took a step towards you.

“Does make you look pretty. You’ve always been the prettiest baby.” You started to take this as him softening in a way; he was complimenting you instead of getting mad again. But then he took another step forward and, in one swift motion, pulled the dress over the top of your head, leaving you exposed in your lace bra and panty set. A deep blush covered your face, and a groan left his mouth.

“Fuck. You’re killing me, baby.” His hands started to travel up and down your body, making your body shiver when he ran by your chest and hips. “You expected him to take you back home? You wanted him to fuck you and make you forget all about me?”

“I tried,” but before you could even begin to explain the complexity of emotions running through your brain, he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was simultaneously the most degrading, humiliating, and hot thing you’d ever experienced.

He brought you over to the bed, your old shared bed, and threw you down on it, looking down at you with lust-blown eyes.

“I tried. I really tried. But I just can’t fucking get over you. Been looking for you everywhere, hoping to make you mine again.” The confession made your heart stop, but not for long until his hands started to remove your bra. All the heat and tension of the moment made your panties start to feel wetter, and your nipples perked up. Alex licked his lips.

“You were looking for me?” You tried to manage your cool and not give in too easily. You hadn’t been fucked in so long, but he was supposed to be your ex; he kicked you out, and now he’s begging for you back.

“You were looking for me too. Don’t lie.” He said it like he knew it was a truth, even if you hadn’t admitted it yet. His hands slipped off your underwear and slipped it in his pocket. “You’re not wearing these for someone else again.”

After seeing how you bit your lip to hide a moan, he smirked and ran two long fingers through your folds. Nothing could compare to his touch; you had tried so many different vibrators, and yet you hadn’t felt pleasure like this since the last time he touched you. A small whimper escaped your lips, and thats when he knew he won. You were his again.

He started to circle his fingers around your entrance, brushing against your clit a few times before entering you. The first moan of the night escaped your lips, and he gave a knowing nod and chuckle. His free hand worked to dispose of his leather jacket and then started to work at the buttons of his shirt.

“I’ll fuck you if you say you’re mine again. If you promise to come back to me. Be my baby again. Me and you.” He rasped, voice pooling with desire, dominance, and genuine affection. It was an odd combination, but so was Alex. It all made you miss him more. He bent his fingers inside of you and started to move them faster.

“SHIT! Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be yours again. Please Alex.” You felt pathetic at how easy you gave in, but the sight of the bulge pressing against his jeans was enough to show that you weren’t the only one desperate. And it was nice to know he wanted you back for more than just a fuck.

“Atta girl.” He smirked and then removed his hand from inside of you, bringing it to his lips to taste the distinct and vaguely sour-sweet juices from you. The sight was pornographic, and while you whined at the lack of contact, you moaned at the sight. “Missed your taste,” he added before he used his hands to slip his jeans and boxers off in one solid motion.

And there you were, back to old times. Two naked figures in a shared bedroom. Most of your nights pre-breakup were spent fucking until you both passed out. You were sure tonight would be no different.

He pushed you back on the bed slightly, angling his own body so his throbbing would line up with your leaking cunt. The sight made you salivate; he was big, and the head was turning red in desperation. It was like his cock missed you just as much as the rest of him.

He leaned down to meet your lips in a searing kiss, not even bothering to ask you for permission to slip his tongue in your mouth. He let this dance go on for a bit, the kiss becoming sloppier and teeth starting to collide. He let you get totally preoccupied in the kiss before he shoved himself inside of you with no real warning, his entire length puncturing your hole.

You were definitely tighter than last time you two fucked, the result of the absence of him. He smiled at that; it felt better than it ever had, and it was a confirmation you were really holding yourself back for him.

“Tight baby. Thank you for not sharing my pussy with everyone else.” He chuckled a bit at his own words, as if they were funny, before he decided you had had enough time to adjust to his stretch and began to move.

Just as he did, the moans began to fall from your mouth, the pleasure beginning to build up in ways you forgot were possible. Every movement stretched your tight warmth out more and more, filling you up with such deliciousness that you couldn’t help but cry a stream of ‘Alex!”.

His breath started to become a bit shallower, and he reached out to palm at your tits while he thrust. It was like a teenager seeing them for the first time, but he had missed them so much. His fingers pinched at your nipples, his cock hit every nerve entrance in your vagina, and his mouth returned to yours to envelope you in a passionate fire. Every part of you felt hot, and every part of him felt hot. Just how it was supposed to be.

A pace was set after a minute; he was fast and hard because he needed this and he knew you did too. You knew he wouldn’t last too long out of the sheer intensity and desperation of it all.

As his grunts became louder and his movements faster, you brought your hand down to circle around your clit, the little movements causing a full-body shiver to run down and a stream of obscenities leaving your mouth. He grinned at this but didn’t move your hand; he’d usually help you out, but he was too preoccupied with your perfect tits. Every sense of yours was activated, and on full sensitivity, it was just too hot. Your vibrators couldn’t compare to him, and he realized then that your pussy had ruined every other girl for him. He spent months seeking pleasure, but you’re the only one he wanted.

It was the hottest feeling in the world when you felt his dick begin to twitch inside of you; the addition of this made everything just the hotter. You sped your hand movements up and your back arched slightly, your mouth falling open and your eyes turning white. You two were both close.

It was a sudden snap of the coil inside your stomach that had you cumming, practically exploding in bliss. It was an orgasm to an extreme you hadn’t had in a while, maybe since even before the breakup.

The feeling of you cumming just turned Alex on more, and he was soon to follow after, making one final thrust before he pulled out and covered your stomach in warm lines of milky cum. He stared at it for a second, finding it the most beautiful sight in the world, before collapsing next to you, catching his breath.

The two of you layed like that for a while, chests returning to normal speeds and minds trying to process what just happened. His cum was still on your stomach, but all you could think about was how you had just crossed a line you were never supposed to cross with an ex. As if he could sense this, he lifted his head up and wiped the cum off your stomach with his shirt from the floor. It was laundry day tomorrow anyway.

“That was... incredible. I missed you, baby.” He said, and his voice returned to a softness you only remembered from your most intimate moments.

“I missed you too.” You giggled a bit at his choice of cleaning material but smiled at his words, moving your body a little closer to his when he laid down again.

“Good. I want you to be my girl again.

“I want to be your girl again. We’ll figure this out in the morning, I guess.” You were both too fucked out to make logical, rational decisions.

“Yeah. We’ll get through this. I won’t be a twat again. I promise.” And then he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, almost like a silent promise that he wouldn’t. At the moment you trusted him, but maybe it was just the sex lingering in your brain. At that moment, what you knew was that the man you had loved for years was back next to you, and Rob from finance was someone you’d never have to worry about again.

A/N: this is shit again but i felt like putting something out. currently in the process of applying to transfer universities so i'm pretty out of time.

[cloudraker]

What would the tfp autobots (your pick) reactions would be if their neutral NB cybertonian ally goes, "Oh? You didn't know? I have a Conjux now :)" and brings the motherfucker predaking.

But hey! Atleast the predacon is a green flag. The man would do anything for the reader, respects them, and is utterly smitten. At that point the autobots wouldn't have to worry about him anymore since reader is their ally

This has been rotting in my inbox for so long,, anon if you see this thank you for your patience

TFP Preadaking with a Neutral S/O

Under the cut :)

Setting this after the war/the return to Cybertron

Assuming you didn't fight in the war, you're probably the most normal person he knows. You're probably the most normal person on Cybertron at this point. The others don't think much of it when you start spending more and more time out by yourself- there's a lot to take in now that the war is over and cybertron is so different

Your little adventures start at a few hours, then it's half a day, and before long you're gone for days at at time. That's when they start asking questions

Where have you been going? What could possibly be so important that you go missing for days at a time when there is- what do you mean you met somebody?

Having to explain that yes you met somebody and yes they're on Cybertron and well you don't know if it's a good idea if they all met him. It's all very "he goes to a different school you don't know him"

They eventually get you to agree and when you actually bring him around the Autobots are.. well they sure are there and that sure is a guy you've brought home

Predakind, to his credit, is on his best behavior. He's standing behind you (a respectable distance away from them) as you talk the others out of shooting him then and there

He doesn't stay long, much to your disappointment. A few conversations with both sides reveals their past history, leaving you caught in the middle.

The overall consensus on the Autobot side is "you're an adult, we can't stop you but it's also a really bad idea-"

Ratchet would be the most understanding- which isn't saying much. He's upset but he also knows you don't have the same feelings towards Predaking as he and the other Autobots do- to you, he's just some guy you met. While he makes his many grievances known, he also makes it clear that if anything happens you'll still have people supporting you

Magnus is.. conflicted. On one hand, part of him is glad that there's some sense of normalcy for somebody- a hope that things will be okay. On the other hand, he doesn't have an other hand

He doesn't count as an Autobot but Knockout would warn you against the predacon, calling him things like dangerous and a brute while also trying to dig any gossip out of you. Will begrudgingly make sure you're polished and shiny before you go out if you ask him for help. Very "you're going out dress like that?"

Once they get more familiar with the idea, Predaking starts making the occasional appearance

At first it's just flying by overhead, letting you know he's still around even if you haven't been able to see each other much lately. Then it's coming to meet you when you've got plans and then he's making very awkward small talk with Bulkhead while he waits for you to come out

Everybody starts to relax a bit when they see just how good he is to you. This hulking beast of a robot, built for fighting and dragged into a time not meant for him, bending to take your hand and kiss your knuckles whenever he sees you. How you never come back with a so much as a scratch on your pain and only with good things to say

He gets some serious side-eye when he enters the base for the first time, and everybody is a bit tense, but it (thankfully) all goes well

He's eventually asked to help with some repairs or some mundane task and- while somewhat reluctant- he complies. For you, of course, in an attempt to make life just a little bit easier

It's a very, very slow journey to having both your partner and the Autobots start to build even a semblance of trust, but you're willing to put in the work and Predaking is willing to put in the work for you

[daryldicksuckon69]

Unspoken Truths (16+)

Pair: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Alexandria Era (No particular season, Glenn, Abraham live and there's no Saviors)

Tags: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Teasing by the whole group

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: none

Summary: Daryl and Reader and reminded that they need to step into reality and admit the growing attraction between the two of them that literally everyone else sees except them.

@futuremilfemma hey :) i saw that your request were open and i had something in my mind 🤭 first of all i love your fics and your writing style especially in „ride his motorcycle“ when the character had this cute relationship with the women of the group and their little gossip sessions. sooo i was wondering if you could write something like this: the group finally settles down in alexandria (pre negan) the reader and daryl have known eachother since the quarry (they went hunting together. bonded over past trauma, etc.) and they have always hit it off and are now labeled as best friends but everyone around them can see that they feel more. like they try and convince them to confess and all but they just keep admiring eachother from afar especially daryl when he sees the reader getting ready for the party at deanna‘s? sorry if that‘s too much i would just love reading something like this

A/N: Thanks for the request emma, I hope this is what you were looking for. I was keke-ing while writing about the girls and guys teasing reader and daryl haha

The walls of Alexandria loomed in the distance, a symbol of safety and normalcy in a world where both had become distant memories. Daryl, perched against the frame of the front porch, watched the community come alive. People bustled about, preparing for a party Deanna was hosting that night—a strange but welcome change of pace from the endless survivalist days on the road.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about all this. The quiet, the calm—it unnerved him. It was a stark contrast to the constant danger they’d faced since the prison, the farm; since anything in his life, even before people lost their brains: Alexandria seemed almost too good to be true.

And then there was you.

You had been with him from the beginning, always by his side during hunts, sharing long silences and stories of past hurts, unspoken but understood. Over the years, you’d become his anchor, the one person he could trust completely. The one person he didn’t feel judged by, and the one who saw past his rough exterior. You got him in a way no one else did.

Which is why it was complicated now, more than ever.

His gaze flickered to the house where you were getting ready for the party. The curtains were drawn back, and he could see you through the open window. You’d always been beautiful to him, though he’d never said it aloud. That wasn’t his way, after all. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the fact that you had spent so long getting ready, or maybe it was the way the soft glow of the evening light bathed you in an ethereal warmth. Whatever it was, Daryl couldn’t look away.

You were standing in front of a mirror, adjusting the dress he’d recognised all too well. 

You and Daryl had gone on a supply run, just the two of you—like old times. Though Alexandria offered some respite from the chaos, there were still days when you both preferred the quiet of the woods, where the only sounds were your footsteps and the rustle of leaves.

It had been a rough few days, though. A week ago, Spencer, Mayor Deanna’s son, had rejected you. The memory of his dismissive words still stung—how he’d said you were “nice,” but he wasn’t looking for anything serious. It wasn’t just the rejection that hurt, but the way he’d made you feel small, like you were an afterthought.

Daryl hadn’t pried, but he knew something was off. He’d seen the sadness you tried to hide and how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes lately.

“Need somethin’?” Daryl asked as he pulled open the door to what used to be a boutique, stepping inside first to make sure it was clear.

“No, just looking,” you muttered, following him in. The boutique was a sad shell of its former self. Clothes lay scattered across the floor, mannequins toppled, and the scent of dust and decay filled the air.

You trailed behind him, not really interested in finding anything specific—just glad to be moving. Daryl moved with his usual quiet intensity, sifting through racks with a practised eye. He didn’t speak much, but his presence was a comfort. He’d always been that for you, even when words weren’t necessary.

As you wandered near the back of the store, your gaze fell on a shattered mirror. You stared at your reflection for a moment, feeling the weight of Spencer’s rejection creeping back in. The cracked glass seemed to echo how you felt inside—fractured, unimportant.

Suddenly, Daryl’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Hey.”

You turned, and your heart skipped at the sight of him holding up a dress—a simple, sleeveless one in a soft, faded green. He held it awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure how to handle it, but his expression was serious as ever. “Thought this might suit ya.”

For a moment, you were speechless. The idea of Daryl, tough and rugged, holding up a dress for you was almost surreal. But the sincerity in his eyes softened the moment.

“Me?” You arched a brow, stepping closer to inspect the dress. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “Kinda matches your eyes, I guess. I dunno.” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through. “Just… figured ya might like it. After… y’know.”

It took you a second to realise what he meant. After Spencer. It wasn’t just that Spencer had rejected you– it was the casual way he’d brushed you aside, as though your feelings were nothing more than an inconvenience. It has cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

The realisation made your chest tighten, but not with sadness this time—with something else. He wasn’t just showing you a dress. He was trying to make you feel better, in the way only Daryl could.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Daryl. That’s… sweet.”

He grunted, clearly embarrassed, his gaze darting away. “Ain’t nothin’. Just a stupid dress.”

But you shook your head. “No, it’s not stupid. I like it.”

For the first time in days, you felt the shadow that had been hanging over you lift just a little. The dress was a gesture, small but significant. Daryl didn’t give compliments easily, and for him to go out of his way to do something like this—it meant more than you could put into words.

You took the dress from his hands, feeling the worn fabric between your fingers. “Maybe I’ll wear it to the next one of Deanna’s parties,” you joked lightly, trying to ease the tension.

Daryl’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a split second, something unreadable passed between you. “You should,” he muttered, his voice low but firm. “You’d look real good.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight behind his words. His gaze lingered on yours for a moment longer before he turned back to the rack of clothes, mumbling something under his breath. It wasn’t like Daryl to give compliments, much less ones that carried so much weight.

Your heart fluttered at the thought.

Tucking the dress under your arm, you smiled softly to yourself. Spencer’s rejection suddenly seemed like a distant memory. Maybe it didn’t matter what he thought. Maybe the only person whose opinion really mattered was standing right in front of you.

He saw the way you ran your hands over the fabric, smoothing it down before reaching up to touch your hair. It was rare to see you like this—clean, dressed up. It made his heart race in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He wasn’t even sure if you ever really noticed how hard he tried, in his own way, to make you feel like you mattered.

“What’re you starin’ at, Dixon?”

Daryl stiffened at the voice behind him. Rick. Of course.

“Nothin’,” he muttered, turning away from the window as if caught doing something wrong. But Rick wasn’t buying it, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told Daryl that much.

“Yeah, sure. Nothin’.” Rick chuckled softly, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Everyone sees it, you know.”

Daryl frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Sees what?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You and her. You think nobody’s noticed the way you two are? C’mon, Daryl. It’s obvious.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his boots scraping against the porch floor. He wanted to scoff, shrug it off like Rick was wrong, but the truth stuck in his throat like splinters. It wasn't just how you made him feel—he was terrified of what would happen if you knew.

“Ain’t like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Rick’s tone was teasing but gentle, like he knew exactly what Daryl was feeling. “You ever think about just… telling her?”

Daryl’s throat tightened at the thought. Confess? To you? The idea seemed ridiculous. You were his best friend—why would you want anything more from a guy like him? You deserved better. Someone who could give you more than just broken words and awkward silences.

“Nah,” he finally muttered. “Ain’t my place.”

Rick sighed, giving him a sympathetic look. “You’re not fooling anyone. Just think about it.”

With that, Rick walked away, leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts. He huffed in frustration, casting another glance toward your window. You were moving now, stepping back from the mirror to admire your reflection. A soft smile touched your lips, and something inside Daryl clenched.

He didn’t deserve to feel this way, did he? Not about you.

But he couldn’t help it.

The small house in Alexandria buzzed with excitement as you stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the green dress Daryl had found for you on that run weeks ago. You weren’t exactly used to getting dressed up, and the idea of attending Deanna’s party made you feel awkward, even if the people around you seemed eager for a night of normalcy.

Behind you, Rosita lounged on the bed with her legs crossed, twirling a strand of her hair, while Carol and Maggie were sorting through a small pile of accessories on the table. Michonne leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk already playing at her lips.

“You know,” Rosita said, eyeing you with a sly grin, “if you’re getting all dolled up like that, maybe it’s not just for the party.”

You blinked at her through the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Carol chimed in, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “You’ve been wearing that same look all afternoon. Like you’re not sure if you’re nervous about the party or something else… or someone else.”

Your cheeks burned instantly, and you turned to look at her. “Carol, don’t start—”

“Daryl,” Maggie finished for her, waggling her eyebrows playfully. “We’re talking about Daryl.”

You groaned, shaking your head, but the teasing only intensified. Michonne smirked, uncrossing her arms and stepping closer. “Oh yeah. It’s obvious,” she added. “The way he looks at you… like he’s ready to rip apart anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.”

“Pfft,” Rosita snickered, shifting on the bed. “That man’s got it bad for you. I mean, you’ve been glued to his side since day one. You’re practically the Bonnie to his Clyde. Except way less murder-y… sometimes.”

You laughed despite yourself. “We’re just friends.”

Maggie let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “If you two are ‘just friends,’ then Rick and Michonne are still ‘just patrolling together,’” she teased, throwing a playful glance at Michonne, who raised a brow in mock offense.

“Hey, at least Rick and I own it now,” Michonne quipped, smirking. “You two? You’ve been dancing around each other forever.”

“Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment,” Carol said thoughtfully, her smile turning softer. “Daryl’s like that. He’s patient, but… when he cares about someone, he doesn’t let go.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up at her words. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—about Daryl, about what he meant to you. But you’d always pushed those thoughts aside. Why ruin a good thing?

Rosita, though, wasn’t about to let you off the hook. She stood up and walked over, grinning as she picked up a necklace from the table and held it up to your neck. “Come on, admit it. You’ve noticed the way he looks at you, haven’t you? He watches you like you’re the last good thing in this world.”

You swallowed hard, your mind drifting back to the way Daryl had looked at you earlier today when you caught him staring before the party. The way his eyes softened just slightly, the way he averted his gaze as if he was afraid of being caught.

Maggie smirked, stepping closer and nudging your arm. “Face it, girl. Y’all are the definition of ‘cute couple that won’t admit it.’”

“I—” you started, but Michonne cut you off, crossing her arms again with a teasing grin.

“Daryl may be rough around the edges, but let me tell you, when it comes to you…” She paused for dramatic effect, raising a brow. “He’d take real good care of you.”

Your face went hot. “Michonne!”

“What?” Rosita laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulder as she wiggled her brows. “You know it’s true. He’s got that whole protective thing going on, like he’s just waiting to step in and—”

“Rosita, stop,” you groaned, covering your face in embarrassment.

But the room erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t help but smile behind your hands. The teasing was relentless, but you knew it came from a place of love. They saw something in the way Daryl and you interacted—something you had been too scared to fully acknowledge yourself.

As the laughter died down, Carol stepped forward, her expression soft and kind. “We’re only teasing because we care about you. And him. He might not be good with words, but Daryl… he shows how he feels in other ways.”

Maggie nodded, her voice gentle. “Like finding that dress for you. You know he didn’t just stumble on it by accident, right? He wanted you to have something nice. For yourself.”

“I can think of something else he wants her to have all to herself,” Rosita quips, turning the room into a bottle of laughter once again. 

You looked down at the green fabric, brushing your fingers over it. Daryl had given it to you during one of your lowest moments, and you hadn’t realised until now how much it truly meant. It wasn’t just a dress. It was his way of saying he saw you, that you mattered to him.

Rosita gave you a playful nudge. “He may not say it out loud, but actions speak louder than words, right?”

You met her eyes through the mirror, and for a moment, everything felt so clear. The tension between you and Daryl had been building for so long, and maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop pretending it didn’t exist.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Maggie said, adjusting a bracelet on your wrist, “just remember—we all think you two would be great together.”

“Yeah,” Rosita added with a wink, “and don’t be surprised if Daryl tries to ‘take real good care of you’ later.”

You groaned again, laughing despite yourself. “You guys are terrible.”

Michonne grinned, her voice low and teasing. “Terrible? Maybe. But we’re right.”

And deep down, you really wanted them to be right.

The sun had begun to set by the time the party was in full swing. The house was filled with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses as the residents of Alexandria tried to pretend, just for a moment, that the world outside wasn’t in ruins. Daryl stood in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, scanning the room with the practised eye of someone who never quite let his guard down.

And then you walked in.

He hadn’t seen you since earlier when you were getting ready, and now that you were here, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. The dress you wore was simple, but it hugged your frame in a way that made Daryl’s heart stutter. Your hair was loose, framing your face, and your eyes… your eyes were searching the room until they found him.

When you smiled, his throat went dry.

Daryl quickly looked away, feeling like an idiot. He was supposed to be a damn hunter, a man of few words, not some lovesick fool gawking at his best friend from across the room.

“Wow,” came a voice at his side. Daryl looked over to see Carol, who had caught his reaction and was now giving him a knowing grin. “You really should tell her, you know.”

“Not you too,” Daryl grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Carol chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m just saying, Daryl. It’s been obvious for a long time. She feels the same way—you can see it in the way she looks at you.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Feel the same way? No. That couldn’t be possible. Could it?

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Carol nudged him gently. “It’s a party, after all.”

Daryl hesitated. He wasn’t good with this kind of stuff—feelings, emotions, talking. But as he glanced back at you, standing there, laughing with Maggie and Glenn, he realised that maybe Rick and Carol were right.

You spotted him as he was walking out into the yard, your eyes lighting up as you excused yourself from the conversation and made your way over to him just outside the house.

He could spend the rest of his life admiring you from afar, or he could take a risk.

"I'm goin' out for a smoke," Daryl nods, as he leaves through the back door.

The dim street light reflected the sheen of sweat on his toned bicep, Daryl’s eye locked on you as you made your way over to him. It was hard to see his expression as the setting of the sun glared in your eyes.

His heart pounded in his chest as you approached, every step making him more nervous than he’d ever been facing walkers.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stopping just in front of him. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled, avoiding your gaze for a moment before finally looking at you. “You, uh… you look nice.”

You smiled, a hint of surprise flickering in your eyes. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He snorted at that, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ fancy ‘bout me.”

“I like you just the way you are,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat. There it was again—that feeling. The one he’d been trying to ignore for so long. The one that made his heart race whenever you were near. He swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

Before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out.

“You ever think about… us?”

Your brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Us,” he repeated, his voice rougher than he intended. “I mean… hell, I dunno. Everyone keeps sayin’… like maybe there’s more. Between us.”

You blinked, processing his words, and for a moment Daryl feared he’d made a huge mistake. But then your expression softened, and you took a small step closer.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

Daryl’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Yeah?”

You nodded, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “I thought you’d never say anything.”

“I didn’t think I deserved to,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled at that, and the warmth in your eyes nearly undid him. “You’ve always deserved it, Daryl.”

And with that, the unspoken truth between you finally became clear. You had always been more than just best friends. You had always been each other’s home, in this world of chaos and ruin.

Maybe it was time you both admitted it.

The moment hung between you and Daryl like a fragile thread, one pull away from unraveling everything. His admission still echoed in your ears, making your heart race. You stood in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, your pulse quickening with each second that passed. You could feel the tension—thick, electric—stretching between you, both of you aware that this was a moment you couldn’t come back from.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Daryl…”

He was still avoiding your gaze, the vulnerability in his expression so foreign it almost took your breath away. Daryl Dixon, the man who had survived everything, was scared—of you, of what this meant. You could see it in the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the way his jaw tightened as if he was bracing himself for something he couldn’t control.

But there was something else in his eyes too. Something raw and hungry, something that made your skin tingle.

“Daryl,” you whispered again, softer this time, stepping closer. He didn’t back away. Instead, his blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, and the intensity there sent a shiver down your spine.

Before either of you could think twice, before you could second-guess or push it away, your hands found his jacket, gripping the worn leather like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. His breath hitched as you closed the distance between you, and in the next heartbeat, your lips were on his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative—like you were testing the waters, unsure of how far you could go. But the moment his lips moved against yours, the hesitation melted away. Daryl’s hands came up to your waist, pulling you closer as if he’d been holding himself back for too long. The gentle touch of his calloused fingers sent sparks through your skin, making you gasp against his mouth.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

The kiss deepened, his grip tightening around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. The world outside—the party, the people, the chaos—faded into the background until it was just you and Daryl. You could taste the intensity of his need, the years of unspoken words between you bleeding into every brush of your lips. He kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered, like he’d been starving for this—starving for you.

Your heart pounded as you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat. The noise sent a wave of heat rushing through your body, and suddenly, you wanted more. Needed more.

Daryl seemed to feel the same. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress in a way that made you shiver. He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with want.

“You sure ‘bout this?” he rasped, his voice rough with restraint. His thumb traced slow circles on your hip, as though he was fighting against the very desire that had his body trembling with tension.

In response, you tugged him down again, crashing your lips against his. It wasn’t soft this time. It was all heat and desperation, like you couldn’t get enough of him, like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d spent denying this.

He groaned against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as his hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you closer. You could feel his body against yours, all hard muscle and heat, and it made your knees weak. Without breaking the kiss, Daryl backed you against the nearest wall, your back pressing against the cool surface as his mouth trailed down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck.

“God, Daryl,” you breathed, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he kissed his way down your throat, the rough scrape of his stubble igniting a fire beneath your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen from the kiss, his breathing heavy. “I ain’t… I ain’t good at this,” he muttered, his voice low, filled with doubt. But there was a vulnerability there too, a softness that made your heart ache.

You cupped his face in your hands, brushing your thumb along his jawline. “You’re better than you think,” you whispered, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his lips.

The reassurance seemed to break whatever was left of his hesitation. His hands were back on you, running down your sides, his fingers skimming over your dress before gripping your thighs and lifting you up effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you.

Daryl kissed you again, rougher this time, his hands sliding under your dress, fingertips brushing against bare skin. His touch was searing, leaving trails of fire in its wake, and the need pooling in your core only intensified. His body pressed against yours, pinning you against the wall, and you could feel the hard planes of his chest, the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Daryl…” you whispered, your breath hitching as his hands roamed higher, slipping beneath your dress. Every touch sent a shiver of pleasure through you, and you arched against him, craving more of his heat, more of him.

His lips were back on yours, his kiss desperate and demanding. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held himself back, like he was afraid of losing control. But that was exactly what you wanted—you wanted him to lose control, to let go of all the tension he’d been holding for so long. His hands were gripping your waist, pulling you closer, and the heat between you was undeniable. His breath was heavy against your neck, lips grazing your skin, when—

“Daryl? You out here?” Rick’s voice cut through the air like a bucket of cold water.

Both of you froze, bodies tense and pressed together against the wall. You heard the sound of boots approaching, and panic shot through you. Daryl stepped back quickly, dropping his hands from your waist, but not before Rick rounded the corner, his brows shooting up in surprise.

“Oh, uh—sorry,” Rick said, holding up his hands in a mock surrender, though there was a smirk creeping onto his face. “Didn’t mean to… interrupt.”

Your face flushed red as you adjusted your dress, smoothing it down, while Daryl scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly flustered. His shoulders were still tense, and he shot Rick a look that could’ve melted steel.

Rick, ever the leader, just shrugged. “Deanna’s lookin’ for you two. Figured I’d check out back. Didn’t expect to find… this.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but words failed you. The heat of the moment had been so intense, so all-consuming, that being yanked back to reality felt almost disorienting. Daryl, on the other hand, let out a low grunt, clearly still agitated by the sudden intrusion.

Rick, picking up on the tension, tried to backtrack. “Look, I’ll tell her I couldn’t find you. Give you some more time.”

“No,” you blurted, straightening your back and forcing a shaky laugh. “No, it’s fine. We’ll… we’ll be there in a minute.”

Rick nodded, the smirk still lingering on his lips as he backed away, throwing one last glance at Daryl. “Y’all take your time.”

As soon as he was gone, you and Daryl were left in awkward silence. You dared a glance at him, his eyes still burning with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, embarrassment, maybe both. He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head slightly.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rougher than usual. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You swallowed hard, the moment that had felt so heated now replaced with a strange tension. But you managed a small smile, stepping closer and brushing your fingers lightly against his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

His gaze flickered to you, softer now, but still conflicted. He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to say next, but before he could speak, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get back inside.”

As you walked back inside, Daryl’s hand brushing yours was a silent promise. The air between you was charged with what had just happened, but there was a new understanding. “We’ll talk later,” you said quietly, and he nodded, a small smile breaking through his earlier tension.

The house was bustling when you walked back in, laughter and music filling the air, the warmth of the party wrapping around you like a blanket. You felt a bit dishevelled, your mind still lingering on what had almost happened out there.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted with knowing looks from your friends. Maggie’s eyes landed on you first, and she exchanged a smirk with Rosita, who was sitting on the couch. Carol and Michonne were nearby, their gazes flicking between you and Daryl, who had taken up his usual stance near the door, trying to stay invisible.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Rosita teased, raising an eyebrow at you. Her eyes darted from you to Daryl, a grin spreading across her face. “You two were gone for a while. Everything okay?”

Your face flushed again, and you glanced at Daryl, who was doing his best to avoid everyone’s eyes. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, shuffling his feet, and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously.

“Yeah,” you managed, trying to sound casual. “We just… needed some air.”

“Uh-huh,” Maggie drawled, her tone dripping with amusement. “Is that what they call it these days?”

Carol, who had been watching quietly from the side, stepped forward with a soft smile. “Glad you two finally got some air. It’s about time.”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond, but before you could, Michonne chimed in, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “You two need a map, or did you manage to find your way back okay?”

“Michonne!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as everyone around you erupted into laughter. Even Rick, who had rejoined the group, couldn’t suppress his grin.

Daryl, still standing off to the side, cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. But there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You alright, Daryl?” Rick asked, his voice teasing but with genuine care beneath it.

Daryl grunted in response, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t nothin’,” he muttered, but his eyes briefly flicked to you, and the tension between you was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

Rosita, never one to miss a beat, leaned back on the couch and sighed dramatically. “Well, if that’s what fresh air does, maybe we should all get some.”

Laughter rippled through the group again, and this time, you couldn’t help but laugh with them. The teasing, though relentless, was filled with warmth, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. They weren’t judging you—they were happy. Happy that, after everything, you and Daryl had finally taken a step toward something more.

Carol caught your eye, her smile gentle as ever. “Don’t let us embarrass you too much. We’re just glad you both finally stopped dancing around it.”

As the laughter subsided, you and Daryl exchanged a look that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the end of the conversation, but it was a start. You reached out, gently touching his arm, and he responded with a nod. In the midst of the party’s warmth, there was a new, tentative promise between you—an acknowledgment of all the unspoken truths that had simmered between you for so long.

There was a new, tentative promise between you—a promise to face the unspoken truths head-on. It was a promise of more conversations, more moments, and perhaps, the start of a deeper connection where everything that had remained unsaid would finally have a place.

[euphorix-moon]

Lyricist

Musician!Ellie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You and Ellie longing for each other after your breakup

Warning: Just an angsty fic

A/n: It's definitely been a while since i've posted here but i've missed writing here so i'm just tryna get back into the groove of things, this work might be a lil rusty

It's been a year since you and Ellie had broken up and went separate ways. You were devastated when Ellie came to up to you one day saying that it would be better if you two broke up. Her music career was just starting to blow up and she thought that it would be the best for both if you guys ended things so she could focus more on her career.

Although you were upset Ellie thought that her career was more important than the relationship you two had developed you wouldn't try and fight her. What would even be the point of trying to get her to stay. You didn't want to carry the guilt of potentially holding her career back

The breakup had gone way smoother than Ellie had expected,and it had hurt Ellie more than she expected. Although she had prepared herself for this, it still hurt to see things end. She had wanted and hoped you'd fight for the relationship just a little more. It hurt Ellie a lot to end things right here especially after how much you have helped her, but it wasn't really her choice. Ellie had worked so hard to get where she is in the music industry, once one of her songs started blowing up her company had not wasted time in trying to promote her. Ellie was extremely grateful for this opportunity but, the only problem was that her agency was really working her hard to the point where she didn't really have much time to spend with you anymore. You didn't mind Ellie not being around as much because you knew this was her dream and you wanted to support her through every step of the way but, Ellie thought you deserved way more than the treatment you were getting from her and her hectic work schedule. It put Ellie in a tight corner but eventually she called it quits with you.

Since that day Ellie has worked hard and she had finally became a mainstream artist. You would walk around your city and see pictures of her plastered around almost every corner. There was a very bittersweet feeling within you, one half of you couldn't help but be proud of her but another part of you couldn't help but loathe seeing her after that day she left you high and dry. Although you do resent her for what she did, you can't help but still miss her. You'd think about the days where Ellie would show you the drafts of her songs or the days where she would ask you to help her come up with new lyrics to her song. Once in a while you do take the time to listen to her music and every time you do it gives you a wave of nostalgia when everything was good for you.

Ellie had always loved writing her songs about her experiences in life and had built a fanbase around people who could relate to her or just liked the vibe of her music. Her most popular songs and the songs she wrote the most about were about you, deep down she missed you a lot and whenever she was in a mood (which was pretty often) she started writing about you two and the time spent together. Wether it be bad or good she found herself cherishing all these moments she had with you. She found herself regretting leaving you and wishes she could get you back.

After getting more mainstream, Ellie had tried to get back into the dating scene to at least gain some,a sort of normalcy that she craved for. Recently Ellie has found herself getting more lonely and just wanted the feeling of having someone by her side, these feelings reminded her a lot about you and the comfort that you gave her but she doubted that you would want her back after how she left you. She had tried but there are little to no people who are actually genuine with her. She felt as if nobody could get past the fact that she famous and it seemed as if they just wanted to get near her just for the sake of it. After long days, she just wanted someone to lean on but after she had left you she found herself alone. With all these feelings sitting in her system she finds herself writing them all out into her songbook. She never expected these songs to get out in the first place but after her manger found her songbook it was over for her.

You spend time working in your cafe, the radio is always playing throughout the restaurant just to give the customers something to listen to. On numerous occasions you have heard Ellie's songs playing on the radio but you usually just tune it out, Until one day when the cafe was running pretty slow, you just happen to catch the lyrics of her song and wonder if there is still hope that she may come back to you.

A/n: Hopefully yall enjoyed and maybe i may make a part 2 where they reunite

[anothermansjeans]

How would you think the team would react to meeting singer!reader??

HEHE FIRST TIME MEETING THE REST OF THE TEAM!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY !

cw: reader meets the team :), spencer gets embarrassed, reader gets embarrassed, but it's all in good fun!! song mentioned at the end is picture you by chappell roan!

wc: 1.1k

singer!reader masterlist

++

Having a two week break during a tour usually meant resting as much as possible before starting back up. For you though, it meant spending as much time with your boyfriend as possible before you're on the other side of the country.

Staying with Spencer brought normalcy to your life. Paparazzi weren't down your back, people minded their own business, and it was easy to blend in– he brought the calm to the storm that is your life. Today, you were feeling that it was time to get out of the house, and the only motivation that could muster you up out of bed was to potentially visit Spencer.

Y/N: paperwork day??

His response was almost immediate.

Spencer: Yes. There’s not much left to do. I’ll probably be coming home earlier today.

Y/N: awesome!! :) have you had lunch? i can bring you something!

Spencer: I have not. You don't need to come all the way here, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.

You smiled while reading his messages. He was always considerate of your feelings.

Y/N: noooo, i want to, spence. i want to meet the rest of your team as well…?

It took him longer to reply to this one, and you were scared you crossed an unspoken boundary.

Spencer: They can be a bit much, but as long as you're comfortable I would love for you to meet them.

You smiled, immediately letting him know you'd be there within an hour. It was almost exactly an hour later when you were walking out of the elevator onto his floor, clad with a baseball cap and sweats, holding your joint lunch in one hand and your phone and sunglasses in the other. You could spot Spencer within seconds, and as you got closer to his desk, you heard who you presumed to be his coworker whistle to him.

“Oh, pretty boy, I think there's a special delivery for you…”

Spencer whipped his head up, seeing you lift the brown bag as you continued to walk towards him. He stood up when you got to his desk, and took the bag from your hands, placing it next to the stack of papers before engulfing you in his arms. You– being completely used to this behavior– let out a giggle when you heard a muttered “who is that guy and what has he done to Reid,” coming from a woman off to the side.

You let go after a minute, and turned towards the three people currently standing with you. “Hi, I’m Y/N!” You sweetly smiled at them as they gawked at you, and you felt Spencer’s hand sneak up to your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

The built man in front you eyed the interaction immediately, and gave a grin as he extended his hand. “Derek Morgan. It's great to finally meet you.”

You shook his hand and turned towards the two women, “Emily,” she too put out her hand for you to shake.

“I’m JJ,” the blonde said as you shifted to look at her. A gasp was heard from across the room, causing everyone to swivel their heads towards the sound, and there stood Penelope.

“Y/N!”

“Penny!” The two of you met in the middle for a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Likewise, pumpkin.” The two of you giggled as the office doors above the bullpen opened up. The chatter below caused two men to make their way down with the rest of the group.

“Y/N, this is Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi,” Spencer said, moving back over to you and slyly placing his arm around your hip. Of course, he wasn't as sly as he intended because everyone on the team clocked the move.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the older man smiled.

“My son loves your music,” Aaron said, causing you to pale as you thought about the very explicit album you recently released, “the radio edits,” he added, noticing the relief flood your face.

You let out a breathy laugh and backed your body into Spencer's instantly melting into his body. “Right, well, I’m really glad I’ve met you all. Any time you want to hang out at a show just say the word. I’d be happy for you to come.”

They all hummed in appreciation, and Spencer gave you a squeeze, “do you want to have lunch?”

Looking back at him, you gave a nod, but before you could move an inch, Penelope spoke up. “Do you want to have lunch all together? The conference room is available and I don't think anyone has taken their lunch yet…”

Staring into Spencer’s eyes, you silently asked him if he was okay with it, and when he gave a subtle nod, you turned to Penelope with a smile. “We would love to! As long as that's okay with everyone?”

Everyone agreed, and you all sat around the round table getting to know each other as you dug into your lunch.

“Okay, I’m sorry, Spence, but I need to know what songs were specifically written about him.”

JJ’s question caused a blush to appear on Spencer’s cheeks and you stifled your laughter. “Um, well… the entire 'favorite’ album is about him.”

“Oh wow, an entire album?” Derek’s words were directed to Spencer, but instead of acknowledging him, he dug back into his sandwich.

A short laugh was released from your lips at the interaction. “Yes, a whole album. The uh, last five songs on my album ‘rebuilding’ are about him too.”

“And any singles?”

You lifted your eyebrows at the eagerness that came from Emily. “‘Espresso’, and 'Unconditionally’, but that one isn't officially out yet for streaming.”

“Wait, go back,” Penelope paused the conversation, “you said the last five songs… so ‘Picture You’ is definitely about Spencer?”

Now you and Spencer were both blushing. Clearing your throat, you looked everywhere but at the people around the table. “I mean… I like for my listeners to think about whoever they want… given the context of the song…” Spencer’s hand went to your knee, inching his hand towards your thigh and rubbing it gently, letting you know you're both in the same boat.

“But you…” Emily started, a small smile creeping onto her face, “thought about… Spencer.”

“Mhmm.” And that was all she was going to say on the matter.

“My man!” Beside Spencer, Derek clasped him on the shoulder and gave him a shake, everyone around you snickering.

As embarrassed as you were, you knew these types of conversations were bound to happen when meeting the people closest to Spencer, so in the end, as long as you had him, it didn't matter how embarrassed you were. For Spencer, it was the same. He understood your world the best to his ability, and he knew you showed your feelings best through your music. So what if he had to deal with a little bullying from his team?

++

singer!reader taglist: @itsleilabxtch @wietske27 @taylorswiftilovecowboylikeme @marshatesthisreality @ladylincoln @delightfulmakerpiegiant

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

[whole-circus]

Hihi I recently started reading your works and stchnvdhnifbmb I'm obsessed now lol

I must ask how the creeps would react to someone who was there for them before they became the way they are now? I'm quite curious (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；)

Take care and hydrate <333

Creepypastas with reader that had knew them before tragic eventes

➥ with Jeff the Killer, Homicidal Liu, "Ticci" Toby, Eyeless Jack, Ben Drowned

Ahh you waited so long for this Im so sorry!T^T

Also you guys have no idea how sweet that is! Im glad that someone likes to read my scribble! <3 Lots of love and also remember to hydrate! I choose couple of pastas, but feel free to inform me if you would like someone else!

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

☆ Jeff the Killer

During one of this normal days, or maybe during calm night? You finally saw him..You were looking at eachothers, not sure what to do - sure, he may be a killer now..but this killer was once your friend? Does he even recognize you? But to your suprise, he just started laughing. It wasn't his casual maniac laughter..this one were more friendly, just like the laugh of him you remembered. The laugh of your best friend. He remembered you..and even if he is way diffrent now, then the part of him is still your best friend. You are finally something good in his miserable life, and he almost felt normal once again. Its funny how you make a man like him smile and sigh in relief, just by your presence. And he doesn't care what he did do somehow deserved you again - all he could do is being grateful for that.

☆ Homicidal Liu

You manage to meet Liu on one, ordinary night. Even if he looked, oh so diffrent, then inside you could still recognize his past self. When it comes to Liu, he couldnt believe his luck in that moment. He craves for sense of normalcy like nothing else, its his only true wish..but now you are here again? He start to remember all this nice moments from his childhood..you were in all of them! Even if he didnt recognize you at first, he felt so many strong emotions and could find something familiar..and like that after a quick chat you finally were in eachothers arms once again. There you were..his only hope and only love, you have no idea how long he had waited for you - and when he finally got you, he wont let you go again.

☆ "Ticci" Toby

After everything he had done, Toby really became all this names they used to call him in school - he was a monster, a freak in fact. Could you even look at him in the same, sweet way you used to as a kid? He was scared, constantly scared..so he didnt made a first move. Until that day. When he finally saw you again, he finally felt at peace. The feeling when you were again in his arms felt like coming home from a long journey. He was able to feel the same thing, the same love and care from you. And he already felt much better, just from seeing your smile again.

☆ Eyeless Jack

He was sure you wouldn't recognize him..now he was a monster after all, a inhuman being, a demon straight from poeple nightmares. But he wished, he dreamed that you would look at him in the same way - they way you used to when everything was normal. Meeting you again made him so incredible happy..he almost feel human again! All he could do was just hug you, and sob quietly.. you had so much to talk about, but you have time for that..the only thing that matter is you right now.

☆ Ben Drowned

Ben wasnt the same person you used to cherish and care for..shit, he wasnt even a person, a human anymore. So was he still worth of your friendship? Your sweet words and hugs? Was he even worth looking at you? But he finally decide to meet you once more, he had all eternity and he needs you to make it worth exisitng. So when he showed up at your doors? He had it all planned, the things he will do and say..but just seeing you made him tear up and look in guilt to the ground. His always cool and smug persona, was replaced with the seriousness and culpability. And when you took him into your warm embrace? When you started to shush him ,a dcomfort him? He felt at peace once again, almost like nothing else matters but you both. You already made him the happiest and nothing can compare to you, nothing else in this world.

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

[thedemoninme141]

Not a bad Christmas (set in the "Not a bad day" universe)

Summary: Wednesday ended up as your "Secret Santa".

Theme: FLUFF!

Parings: Wednesday Addams & Female Reader Wordcount: 5.8k. Set in the "before dating" period

Warnings: JealousWednesday!!! Cringe Fluff?

(A/n: I know the next chapter was supposed to be in "after dating" period but I felt like it would be better in "before dating" period.)

“I am SO excited!” Enid declared, her voice loud enough to draw glances from neighboring tables. She didn’t care. "You guys, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment."

"For breakfast?" Yoko asked dryly, sipping her coffee.

"No, for this!"Enid gestured dramatically, nearly knocking over her juice. "The Christmas party! You all know Principal Weems put me in charge this year, right?"

"You’ve mentioned it," Bianca said with sarcasm. "Maybe only a hundred times."

Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking genuinely intrigued. "What’s the big deal about this year's Christmas party?"

"Eugene, it’s not just a big deal. It’s the biggest deal!" Enid leaned in, her voice dropping as she whispered "I pitched an idea to Principal Weems that is going to make this the most amazing, unforgettable Christmas party ever!"

"What’s the idea?" Eugene asked,

"I’m not telling!" Enid sing-songed. "It’s a surprise! Weems might even announce it today."

“If it’s not as groundbreaking as you’re hyping it up to be, we’re going to riot.” Bianca said dryly.

“I can handle the pressure!” Enid declared, “I was born for this. And besides, Christmas is my favorite holiday. It’s sparkly and cheerful, and everyone gets to come together! It’s the one time of year people have no excuse to be grumpy.”

Wednesday’s dark gaze flicked to Enid, a sarcastic remark brewing on her tongue. However, she bit it back, opting instead for a slow sip of coffee. Grumpy? She could name a dozen reasons why grumpiness was not only justified but necessary—especially during a holiday that encouraged excessive sentimentality. She glanced sideways at you, seated just beside Enid, you looked intrigued. Great.

She didn’t need her visions to predict that whatever Enid had in store would be an exercise in torture for her, and likely for everyone else. She hoped she would be able to ignore it, maybe stay locked in her room during Christmas but then, there was you... who just glanced back at her, giving a warm smile.

Wednesday quickly looked away, back at her food... oh wait she was done eating.

Why did you smile at her like that? Why did her heart just skip a beat? Why did her stomach twist into knots at your smile?

“Wednesday!” Enid’s voice cutting through her reverie.

“What?”

“I said, aren’t you so excited for the announcement?” Enid beamed at her, completely oblivious to Wednesday’s growing annoyance.

“Thrilled,” Wednesday deadpanned, “Nothing brings me more joy than waiting for yet another banal attempt at forced merriment.”

Enid pouted. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. This is going to be so fun! Right?” She nudged you with her elbow, seeking validation.

You chuckled softly, nodding. “It’ll be fun, Enid. I’m sure whatever you’ve planned is going to blow everyone away.”

“See? At least someone believes in- Oh, Weems is here!"

The din of student conversation gradually quieted as Weems stepped into the center of the quad, her presence commanding attention.

"Good morning, everyone," Weems began, her voice clear and authoritative. "As you all know, the holiday season is upon us. This year, we aim to celebrate with a bit more… normalcy, after last year’s unfortunate events." Her eyes flicked briefly toward Wednesday, who met her gaze with a defiant smirk. Unfortunate? Maybe. Enjoyable? Yes.

Weems cleared her throat. "To that end, I’m pleased to announce a new tradition for our Nevermore Christmas celebration: a Secret Santa gift exchange!"

The announcement was met with a collective groan from the students.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Yoko muttered. "Ugh, I hate shopping for other people," Bianca complained

"What if we just… don’t do it?" someone called out from another table.

Weems’ smile tightened, her patience visibly waning. "Participation is mandatory. Each student will draw a name at random later today and will be expected to provide a thoughtful, appropriate gift."

"This is absurd," Wednesday declared, her tone icy. "Forcing us to partake in such a vacuous activity only reinforces the notion that conformity is more valued than individuality."

"Oh, come on, Wednesday," Enid said, her excitement undiminished. "It’ll be fun! You might get something you like."

"Doubtful," Wednesday retorted. "Unless my Secret Santa has access to poison or medieval torture devices or a collection of preserved organs or..."

Your giggle interrupted her, earning a sharp glance from Wednesday. "You know, it’s not that bad," you said, leaning slightly toward her. "Maybe you’ll get something one of those things."

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. "Hightly unlikely"

Enid, meanwhile, was practically bouncing in her seat. "I can’t wait to see who I get! This is going to be amazing!"

"Amazing for you," Bianca said dryly. "For the rest of us? Not so much."

Weems raised her hand for silence. "That will be all for now. The details of the exchange will be posted later today. I trust you all will approach this with the spirit of the season in mind." Wednesday wants to summon a sprit to haunt that excuse of a principal.

With that, Weems turned and strode away, leaving the quad to devolve once more into hushed complaints and reluctant acceptance. Enid turned to you, her eyes sparkling.

"This is going to be SO GREAT!" she said, grabbing your arm. "I already have, like, a million gift ideas. What about you? Are you excited?"

You smiled, glancing briefly at Wednesday, whose scowl had deepened even more as if that was even possible. "I think it’ll be… interesting."

"Interesting?" Enid repeated. "It’ll be fantastic! Secret Santa could be a good bonding activity.” Enid said, her chipper tone grating against Wednesday’s mood.

“I’d rather bond with a guillotine,” Wednesday muttered as the group started gathering their things for class. Enid, still beaming with unrelenting excitement about the Secret Santa announcement, latched onto Wednesday’s arm, chattering nonstop about potential gift ideas and how this year’s Christmas party would outshine any before it. Wednesday, for her part, thought about finding whoever this Santa Claus is and putting an end to him.

Entering the classroom, Wednesday took her usual seat and Enid plopped into the chair beside her. You were just a few seats ahead, settling into your spot. The seat next to you, tantalizingly empty…

Nate? Nick? or whatever his forgettable name was appeared in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the empty seat beside you. He brightened instantly, taking a step forward as though he were about to claim it.

Then his gaze shifted to Wednesday.

Wednesday’s expression remained perfectly neutral, except for the sharp, unmistakable intensity in her dark eyes. She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. She simply stared at him.

The boy froze mid-step, his face paling. His eyes flicked to the faint burns on his hand, still healing from the “accidental” cocoa incident at the ugly sweater party.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, spinning on his heel and fast-walking to a corner seat as far away from Wednesday as possible.

The scene would’ve pleased Wednesday had it not been for the way you glanced back at her, curious and faintly confused. She quickly diverted her gaze, feigning interest in the carved graffiti on her desk.

Moments later, Bianca came in. Her eyes immediately landed on the empty seat beside you. She started walking toward it, only to pause midway. Instead of sitting there, she veered toward Enid and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Enid,” Bianca said smoothly “mind switching seats with me?”

Enid’s face lit up. “Of course! You can sit here! I can sit next to Y/N!” She began gathering her things without hesitation, practically skipping to the seat beside you.

Bianca slid into Enid’s vacated spot,

“You are not wanted here,” Wednesday said icily, her tone as sharp as a blade.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Relax, Addams. I’m not here for your sparkling personality. I just figured sitting here was safer.”

“Safer? Why would sitting beside "me" would be safer?” Wednesday’s tone turned even colder.

Bianca smirked. “Please, as if we haven’t noticed how you practically plot murders in your head for anyone who gets too close to Y/N.”

Wednesday’s spine straightened, her glare intensifying. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, spare me the denial,” Bianca said dismissively. “Enid is safe from your wrath because, well… she’s Enid. But me? Let’s just say I care too much about my life to be a victim of your jealousy.”

“I am not jealous,” Wednesday hissed, her voice low but venomous.

“Uh-huh.” Bianca gave her a knowing look before turning her attention to the front of the room, clearly enjoying herself.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, her dark eyes flitting back to you. You were laughing softly at something Enid had said, your smile so warm it could melt snow. Wednesday felt a strange mix of frustration and longing twist in her chest. How could someone like you affect her so profoundly without even trying?

“Alright, class,” the teacher finally announced, setting down her book with a flourish, “we’re ending a little early today because it’s time to find out who your Secret Santa recipient will be!”

“Yes! Finally!” Enid exclaimed, bouncing in her seat like a hyperactive puppy.

Wednesday’s gaze shifted to the front of the room, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. A new wave of dread crept into her mind. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading since Weems’s announcement.

“Each of you will receive a small box. Inside that box is the name of the person you’ll be playing Secret Santa for." The teacher said, "Miss Sinclair, I believe you have the materials?”

“Oh! Yes, one sec!” Enid practically bolted from her chair, nearly toppling it in her haste. She sped out of the room in a blur of rainbows🌈🌈🌈, leaving everyone staring after her.

Wednesday felt like it hadn't even been 5 secs before Enid burst back into the classroom with a large, overly festive box clutched in her arms.

“Ta-da!” she declared, dropping the box onto the teacher’s desk with an audible thud.

Several students groaned at the display.

“Why is it so… glittery?” The teacher asked.

“It’s Christmas!” Enid replied, as if that explained everything. She opened the larger box to reveal an assortment of tiny boxes, each neatly wrapped and tied with red ribbons. “Pretty, right?”

Wednesday arched an eyebrow. “If you mean ‘pretty excessive,’ then yes.”

Enid ignored her, already grabbing a smaller box. “Okay, so I’ll start handing these out! Bianca, wanna help?”

Bianca sighed but stood anyway, muttering, “Might as well get this over with.”

The two of them began pulling out the tiny boxes, reading the names written on them, and distributing them around the room. Students grumbled their thanks, some reluctantly and others with mild curiosity as they turned the boxes over in their hands.

When Enid finally reached Wednesday, her excitement was still at an all-time high. “Here you go, Wends!” She thrust the small box toward her.

Though Enid had wrapped the box with black paper, Wednesday stared at the box as though it might explode. She took it with her usual reluctance, her fingers brushing against the ribbon’s texture.

With deliberate slowness, Wednesday pulled the ribbon loose, lifted the lid, and peered inside.

Hopefully, it would be someone she loathed. The possibilities were endless: a smug siren, an irritating vampire, or perhaps even that one werewolf who insisted on howling every full moon at midnight since she wolfed out. Yes, she could relish the challenge of giving them the worst, most spiteful gift imaginable.

But luck had a way of avoiding her at the worst times.

The name on the slip of paper felt like a slap in the face.

Curse you, Enid Sinclair.

Y/N L/N.

Her stomach dropped. Of all the names. Of all the cursed possibilities.

Wednesday’s chest tightened. This was a disaster.

Being your Secret Santa meant she’d have to think about you even more than she already did. She’d have to choose a gift, something meaningful, something that wouldn’t betray the tangled mess of emotions she felt whenever you were near. She couldn’t risk exposing herself, couldn’t let you know how much you affected her.

And yet, a small, treacherous part of her was… excited. The thought of giving you something, of seeing your reaction, was almost enough to outweigh her dread. Almost.

Her jaw clenched. No. She couldn’t let this ridiculous tradition get to her. She’d find the most generic, impersonal gift possible and be done with it. That was the only way to survive this.

But as she watched you lean back in your chair, your gaze flickering toward her with a curious smile, Wednesday felt her resolve waver.

This was going to be the longest Christmas of her life.

Enid practically hop-skipped down the hall as she clutched a small notebook filled with ideas for Eugene’s Secret Santa gift to her chest. She was going to be the best Secret Santa ever.  

"Maybe I can knit him a bee-themed scarf! Or get him a limited edition honey collection—do they even make those? I’ll make it happen!"

She pushed the door open to their shared dorm room, fully expecting to see Wednesday brooding on her typewriter or reading some obscure book about medieval torture methods. Instead, she froze mid-step.

"Wednesday… what the hell is this?"

Wednesday had her cursed investigation board back out, its surface covered in a chaotic mess of photos, red strings, and notes. At first glance, it looked like Wednesday was solving another gruesome murder in the woods.

Enid’s pulse quickened. "Oh no, no, no. What happened now? Did some monster claw its way out of the woods again?"

Wednesday didn’t immediately respond. She was too engrossed in pinning another photo to the board, her expression dark with concentration. Enid’s eyes scanned the board, her heart pounding as she prepared for the worst. But then her gaze landed on the pictures.

Your pictures...

Not once, not twice, but in multiple photos. Some candid shots of you laughing in the quad, others from a class project presentation, even one blurry photo of you reading in the library. There were sticky notes around them, though the handwriting was too small for Enid to make out. She blinked, her mouth falling open.

“Wednesday,” she began cautiously “what is this? What did Y/N do?”

Finally, Wednesday turned her head to look at Enid, her expression unreadable, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “Y/N did nothing.”

“Then why... why is she all over your investigation board?! Are you trying to prove she’s some kind of secret villain or something? Because I’m telling you, Wednesday, Y/N is, like, the nicest person I know.”

Without a word, Wednesday plucked a folded slip of paper from her desk and shoved it into Enid’s hands. Enid unfolded it and read the name written in sharp, neat letters.

Y/N L/N.

The realization dawned on Enid almost instantly. Her lips parted, forming an "O" of understanding. "Ohhhhh," she said, drawing the sound out like a squeaky balloon. "You’re her Secret Santa!"

"Astute observation," Wednesday deadpanned, crossing her arms.

Enid’s eyes darted back to the board, her previous panic replaced with intrigue. "So, is this—?"

"Yes," Wednesday interrupted with a sigh, "This is… research."

"Research?" Enid echoed, "Wednesday, this is borderline stalking. You don’t need an entire murder board to pick out a gift!"

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. Her gaze flicked back to the board.

Enid’s eyes scanned the chaotic collage again, only to land on a picture of another student, a girl... Darcy? Enid remembers. Unlike the others, this photo had a bright red circle drawn around it.

"Uh, Wednesday?" Enid said cautiously, pointing at the circled picture. "Why is Darcy on here?"

Wednesday’s response was immediate and emotionless. "That girl is Y/N’s nemesis. I thought perhaps eliminating her would be an appropriate gift."

Enid gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Nemesis? What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Darcy spilled coffee on Y/n." Wednesday said flatly.

“Spilled Coffee??!!” Enid repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “Darcy spilled coffee on Y/N six months ago. By accident! And she apologized, like, a hundred times.”

“Same thing,” Wednesday said, her tone indifferent.

"Alright alright. Lets take it down a bit. Have you tried thinking about something normal? Maybe a book." Enid asked shrugging.

Wednesday glared at Enid. “A book? How unimaginative. I refuse to insult her intelligence with something so pedestrian.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” Enid shot back. "How about you tell me the list of what you have considered."

“A taxidermy specimen,” Wednesday offered.

“Dial it back.”

“An antique dagger that captures the souls of its victim.”

“No, that's... wait... does that actually exist?”

“A preserved tarantula.”

“Wednesday!” Enid groaned, throwing her head back. “You can’t give her something creepy! You’ll scare her off!”

Wednesday’s expression darkened, and she muttered under her breath, “It’s better than being dull.”

“Look,” Enid said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “I get it, okay? You like her. Like, really like her. And that’s scary and new to you, I get it. But you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just think about what would make her smile. That’s all that matters.”

Wednesday’s gaze softened, her usual sharp retort dying on her lips. She glanced at the board one more time, her mind swirling with uncertainty. “What if… I choose wrong?”

Enid smiled gently. “You won’t. You know her better than you think.”

Wednesday didn’t argue. But as she looked back at the pictures of you... and that smile. Maybe the answer really was simple.

And so, she found herself standing at the edge of the quad.  her dark eyes surveying the chaos.

She held the small box in her hand, its contents weighing far more heavily on her mind than its actual physical mass. The box was simple plain black, tied with a thin crimson ribbon.

This was idiotic. Completely, utterly idiotic.

Ridiculous, she thought, glancing down at the gift. Why should this be any different from any other calculated gesture?

But it was different. You made it different.

She inhaled deeply, the cold air filling her lungs before she began her measured descent into the quad. Her steps were deliberate, slow.

Around her, students chatted and mingled and she felt their eyes occasionally drift toward her, as they always did, but tonight, she barely noticed. Her focus was elsewhere.

You.

Wednesday spotted you almost instantly. You were seated at one of the circular tables near the center of the quad, surrounded by her circle of idiots. Each of them had their gifts piled near their chairs, wrapped in colorful paper that made Wednesday inwardly puke. There was something almost unsettling about seeing you like this.

Enid whispered something to you and you smiled but, that smile didn't quite reach your eyes. Your usual brightness was dimmed tonight, replaced with an air of... nervousness? Contemplation? Whatever it was, it made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

As she neared the table, Enid was the first to notice her. The werewolf’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wednesday! You made it!” Enid’s voice rang out, drawing the attention of the entire table.

Your eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, the noise around her faded. The nervousness in your expression softened slightly, replaced by something gentler. You offered a small, shy smile that sent an unfamiliar warmth spreading through Wednesday’s chest. She quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat as she reached the table.

"Of course, she made it," Bianca drawled, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Our personal Christmas Grinch wouldn’t miss the chance to haunt us while we are trying to have some fun."

Wednesday’s gaze snapped to Bianca, her dark eyes narrowing. "If I wanted to haunt you, Bianca, I’d do it with far more creativity than attending this… overdecorated spectacle."

"Overdecorated spectacle? Some of us put effort into this, you know." Enid pouted "Well at least you came, so come on, have a seat!" Enid said brightening up again as she patted the empty seat beside her.

Reluctantly, Wednesday slid into the offered seat, her posture as stiff as ever. She placed the box on her lap, keeping it hidden from view, her fingers resting on the ribbon as if to reassure herself it was still there.

"Hot cocoa?" Eugene offered, holding out a steaming mug.

"No," Wednesday replied flatly, her eyes darting briefly to you. She doesn't need to burn anyone. For now.

You glanced up then, your gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before you quickly looked away, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. Wednesday’s stomach twisted at the sight, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.

You reached for your drink and for a moment, you seemed lost in thought again. Your brow furrowed ever so slightly, and your gaze drifted to the flickering lights above. Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she observed you, her mind racing to decode the emotions playing across your face.

Were you nervous? Sad? Or perhaps simply tired of the holiday cheer? Was it the Secret Santa event? Did you draw someone you weren’t fond of?

Who had you drawn? And what had you chosen for them? The thought unsettled her more than it should have. A fleeting image of you selecting a thoughtful gift for someone else sent a sharp pang of irritation through her. You, holding a gift, your face bright with anticipation as you presented it to some undeserving fool.

Perhaps that girl you’d partnered with in herbology last week or the one who lingered too long near your station, or the one who asked you on a dance in the ugly sweater party... maybe she would need to burn someone after all.

Before she could spiral further into her thoughts she felt the chatter quiet almost instantly and Wednesday didn't bother looking at the stage.

“Good evening, everyone,” Weems began, her voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. “I’m delighted to see so many of you here tonight, embracing the spirit of the season”

Wednesday suppressed a groan, straightening in her chair but not bothering to feign interest.

Weems continued, her smile widening as she surveyed the gathering. “This year has been relatively… uneventful.” She hesitated just a fraction of a second, her gaze lingering momentarily on Wednesday before moving on. “For which I am profoundly grateful.”

That earned a few chuckles from the crowd, and Wednesday’s lips twitched in faint irritation. Uneventful? That was certainly one way to describe it. From monsters lurking in the woods and unraveling a centuries-old conspiracy to.... brooding. Yeah.. that's what Wednesday found herself doing last year... Was Bianca right about her brooding all the time?  

She should’ve hated this year, every day of it. It was, by all accounts, actually uneventful. The monotony alone should’ve driven her mad.

But it hadn’t.

And she knew exactly why.

Her gaze flicked back to you, almost involuntarily. You were still seated, your hands now wrapped around your cup as you leaned closer to Enid, nodding along to whatever trivial nonsense she was whispering in your ear. You didn’t look extraordinary, not in the conventional sense. Your sweater was unassuming. And yet, to Wednesday, you radiated something inexplicably magnetic.

It was because of you.

Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the ribbon of the box in her lap, her thoughts momentarily scattered. She should have hated this year, loathed it for its lack of intellectual stimulation and excitement. But no matter how much she tried, that hatred never came.

Because of you.

She sighed, a sound barely audible even to herself, and returned her attention to Weems, who was still mid-speech. “This year has proved what Nevermore can be,” Weems declared, her tone resolute. “A place of growth and of potential. As we stand on the brink of a new year, let us carry forward the bonds we’ve strengthened here tonight.” Weems’ gaze swept over the gathered students, lingering briefly on Wednesday, as if daring her to contradict the sentiment. Wednesday met her gaze with a neutral expression, unwilling to give the principal the satisfaction of any visible reaction.

“And so,” Weems concluded, her voice warm yet authoritative, “let us feast, celebrate, and look forward to the possibilities that lie ahead. Happy holidays, my dear students.” A polite smattering of applause followed, and Weems stepped back, gesturing toward the long tables laden with food at the edge of the quad. The students began to stir, rising from their seats and drifting toward the table.

From her seat, Wednesday found herself observing Enid tearing into her food, a sight both grotesque and vaguely amusing.

“Enid, you’re one drumstick away from wolfing out right here.” Bianca quipped from across the table.

Enid shot Bianca a pointed look, her cheeks already puffed out like a chipmunk’s from the food she was furiously chewing. Swallowing with a dramatic gulp, she said, “Hey! It’s not my fault everything tastes so good! And for your information, I was busy all day! You think this whole event planned itself?”

Wednesday barely registered the conversation, her dark eyes fixed on her untouched plate. The food, no matter how well-prepared or fragrant, was irrelevant to her. Her mind churned with far more pressing matters.

The gift.

The prospect of giving you the gift in front of everyone at the table was a particular source of dread. She was not one for public displays, especially when it came to something as vulnerable as this. What if they mocked her choice? Worse, what if you did?

Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the box, her knuckles whitening. She refused to entertain that thought any longer. No. You wouldn’t mock her. You weren’t like the others.

You were kind... loving and you weren't... at the table?

Her heart skipped a beat as she scanned the immediate area. You were nowhere in sight. The seat you had occupied moments ago was empty, your plate still half-full. Wednesday’s brow furrowed, a sliver of unease creeping in.

Where had you gone? She hadn’t seen you leave. Had she been so lost in her own head that she missed it?

And then she saw it—a small piece of paper resting just beside her plate. Her brows furrowed as she reached for it, unfolding it with deliberate care. The handwriting was unmistakable.

Meet me near the fountain.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wednesday’s lips, unbidden but not unwelcome. Of course, it was you. Who else would have the audacity to summon her like this?

She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her pocket before rising to her feet.

Enid paused mid-bite “Where are you going? You barely touched your food!”

Wednesday didn't bother answering as she made her way through the crowd. Each step felt deliberate, measured. Her grip tightened around the small box in her hand as she approached the pathway leading to the fountain, her mind already racing.

What would she say when she saw you? Would she hand over the gift without a word, letting the gesture speak for itself? Or would she attempt something more... personal? Words weren’t her forte, especially not when it came to feelings. And yet, with you, words seemed both inadequate and entirely necessary.

And there you were.

Sitting on the bench, your back straight but your posture relaxed, you stared ahead at the frozen fountain.

For the briefest moment, Wednesday froze. Her mind, usually a whirl of calculated plans and sharp observations, was disturbingly blank. You looked so...you.

Finally, she took a breath, steady and controlled, and stepped forward.

You must have heard her approach because you turned your head just as she reached the bench.

Your eyes found hers.

That smile, the same smile. that had marked its place in... her unnecessary blood-pumping machine they called "heart". There was something different about it this time, though. It wasn’t the shy or nervous smile from earlier. It was warm, inviting, and... knowing. As if you had been waiting for her all along.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Sit.”

Wednesday hesitated for only a second before lowering herself onto the bench. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, noting the way you rested your hands in your lap, your fingers brushing against one another absentmindedly. You were close, closer than she realized, and the proximity was enough to make her hyperaware of her every movement.

How does one start something like this? She had rehearsed no fewer than twenty scenarios in her mind, yet now, sitting here beside you, they all felt insufficient.

“Do you believe in fate, Wednesday?”

The question caught her off guard. She turned her head to look at you fully, her brow furrowing as she considered your words.

“Fate?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “The idea that our lives are predetermined by some cosmic force?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering.

“Fate,” she repeated, her tone contemplative. “A concept often romanticized but rarely substantiated. It implies predestination, a lack of autonomy, which I find… unsatisfactory.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and modest, yet it sent a ripple through her. “That’s a very Wednesday answer,”.

“And what would your answer be?” she countered, her gaze steady on you.

“I think,” you began, your eyes returning to the fountain, “that fate isn’t about things being preordained. It’s about moments, little choices that lead us to places we never expected to be. Like… sitting here, tonight, with you.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of your words pressing against her usual walls of detachment. You had a way of saying things that left no room for deflection, no safe harbor for her to retreat to.

“Perhaps,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter, “fate is less about inevitability and more about… alignment. An intersection of paths.”

You tilted your head, considering her words, and then smiled. “I like that.”

The silence returned, but this time, it felt warmer, less daunting. You shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing against hers, a small, fleeting touch that sent a spark of something unfamiliar coursing through her.

“There’s something I need to give you,” she said finally, her voice steady but softer than usual.

You turned to her, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Oh?”

She held the box out toward you, her movements precise but tinged with an underlying hesitation.

"You are my secret santa?" Your lips quirked into a teasing smile as you accepted the box. “I hope it’s not a tarantula,” you joked.

“It’s not,” she replied flatly.

You untied the ribbon carefully, your fingers deliberate as you removed the lid. Inside was a glass globe, delicate and intricately crafted. In the center stood two shadowy figures, featureless yet unmistakably human, lost in their own world, but at peace.

Your fingers hovered over the small button at the base of the globe. With a curious glance at Wednesday, you pressed it.

The soft melody of the piano that played was instantly recognizable. Your eyes widened, and you turned to her.

Your breath hitched as you glanced at her. “Wednesday, is this...?”

“The ugly sweater party night,” she finished for you, her eyes flicked back to the globe, unable to meet yours. “A memory. One I thought you should have, too.”

Your smile was radiant, and for the first time, she felt as though she had done something right, truly right.

And then you snapped your fingers.

A small, glowing purple portal materialized in the air, swirling and pulsating with quiet energy. You reached into it, your movements unhurried, and pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in deep blood-red paper. The portal vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace behind.

So, you could conjure portals. That explained how you’d managed to place the note near her earlier without her noticing, a feat she had, until this moment, deemed improbable. You possessed a skill that defied logic and simplicity, and though she hated to admit it, she was impressed.

You held the box out toward her, “I am your Secret Santa too, Wednesday,” you said, your voice light, a trace of mischief dancing on your lips. “Talk about fate, huh?”

Wednesday tilted her head ever so slightly, her dark eyes flicking between you and the box now resting in your lap. "I am skeptical of calling it fate. A calculated scheme seems more acceptable.”  ENID.

Slowly, she reached out and took the box, its weight heavier than she anticipated. You watched her with quiet anticipation, she tore away the paper, revealing a wooden case beneath. Her brow furrowed slightly as she opened the case, her breath catching the moment her eyes fell upon the contents.

Inside was a dagger, encased in glass, its blade gleaming even in the dim light of the fountain. But this wasn’t just any dagger.

The hilt was ornate, at its base, a ruby-red gemstone sat nestled within the design, pulsing faintly as though alive. The blade itself was thin, wickedly sharp, and etched with complicated patterns A faint inscription ran along its length in a language she recognized as Hungarian.

Her eyes widened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine, real smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She recognized this blade instantly.

“Elizabeth Báthory’s dagger,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The infamous serial killer of the 1600s, known for her brutal methods and rumored vampiric tendencies, had wielded this blade. Legends spoke of its dark history, of how it was used to drain the blood of her victims.

“How did you get this?” she asked, her voice low, almost adoring.

You shrugged lightly. “I have my ways.”

Wednesday’s gaze returned to the dagger, her fingers brushing against the glass casing as if to confirm its reality. Her mind raced with the implications of the gift, not just its historical significance, but what it meant coming from you.

You had given her something she cherished, not for its material value, but for what it represented.

You saw her. Not the façade she presented to the world, but the depths of her being, the parts most people recoiled from or misunderstood.

You didn’t shy away from the darkness that fascinated her; instead, you embraced it, honored it even, cared for it... cared for her...

The weight of that realization settled over her, mingling with an unfamiliar warmth that she didn’t know how to name.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice you leaning closer until your head rested gently on her shoulder.

She froze.

Her gaze flicked to you briefly. You were gazing down at the globe in your lap, the soft melody still playing. Her eyes returned to the dagger. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her gaze fixed on the ruby gemstone embedded in the dagger’s hilt.

Not a bad Christmas. Not bad at all.

Wanted to post this in Christmas night... but finished early. Comment how you guys liked it!

Also comment what you would've given Wednesday as her secret santa.

->WORKLIST<-