#how low have we sunken

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[soft-persephone]

You know You Love It

MDNI // Explicit!!! // WC: 1.5K// Warnings: slight dom sub dynamics, but not really, somone making you do things you don’t want to do, you know how consent works. I’m not your Momma. // mastierlist

AN:// this was way shorter than I thought it would be.

Real AN://, this fic is heavily inspired by @megamindsecretlair go check out her Terry Fics if you haven’t already. This one is def exist becaue of the recent one she put out based of a request.

Terry was tired.

He had a long day at his new job; he wasn't sure if he cared about it.

How long this would last, he wasn’t sure, but he had a reason to have one now. You were good for it.

He sighed when he saw you in bed, still sleeping. The sheets were rumpled, no corner left unturned from his side to your side. You were currently on your stomach, leg turned up towards your face and your other leg hanging off the side of the bed. Your eyebrows fitfully scrunched together, your lips pulled tight in a frown.

Bad sleep was still sleep, and you needed every bit you could get.

He took a shower, taking his time to wash the frustration of the day off of him.

When he was done, he walked into you now on your side with one hand by your face. Your other guarding your side.

As if hearing the towel pat against the skin, or maybe it was the soft rustle of his t shirt and loose pajama pants sliding along his skin, but your eyes fluttered open.

“T,” you softly called out, your voice thick with sleep, “is that you?”

“Yeah, I just got home.” He sat on your side of the bed, reaching out to touch you wherever was closest. He caressed the skin of your leg. Your skin was always so soft, if not a little warm. Despite only having a tank and the slimmest shorts you could find to keep cool because you can’t stand being hot at night, you were still hot to touch. Somehow, no matter how little clothing you wore, it didn’t work.

You sat up, and moved towards him. Straddling his lap.

“You don’t have to get up. You should sleep.”

“Don’t want to.” Your tone was playfully apathetic. “We can sleep later.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting to not show his frustration. No matter how wide your eyes got, how you batted your eyelashes at him, you were putting on. Always putting on.

You knew when you were irritating him and showing it only made you put on worse.

“What are you doing?” He said even and calmly as he could, hiding the bite in his voice.

You slid down onto your knees in from of him. Your expression soft and innocent.

“You promised.” You batted your eyes up at him.

He kept his gaze even and cool, unwavering.

“Terry.” You pleaded.

“Okay, just. . .” He sighed. . .“okay.”

You flashed your teeth in a smile that was oh so pretty. Your shoulders relaxing into a normal position your eyes fighting their sunken state, showing in the sweetest way just how alive and in it you were.

How could he said no no to that.

Not breaking his firm steady gaze, he pulled himself out of his pants, already half hard.

Despite your sweet face, it was cruel how slowly you dragged your tongue from the base to tip. Tenderly, you massaged the tip with your tongue, lathing the bit of precum before placing small wet kisses on it.

His hips dipped on the bed and his back arched slightly, his dick bobbed against your lips, eager for more.

“Cut-cut that out.” He stammered fighting to keep his voice stern. “Just put it in your mouth.” He managed to scold you.

You ignored him, placing wet kisses down his length, your breath fanning across his sensitive skin with each one. Slow, so terribly slow, you lathe at his balls with your tongue.

“Fuuhck.” He balled his fist at his sides, squeezing the sheets so tight his knuckles were two shades lighter.

He didn’t want to get so loud because that shit only made you worse, but when they were finally wet to your liking, gingerly wrapping your mouth around one, you slid your tongue around it in small circles, not too harsh or too soft, he couldn’t help the low drown out groans that spilled out of his mouth.

You let it go with a pop before moving on to the next one.

He was leaking so much. It was spilling down the sides of his dick, it was dripping from tip.

His balls tightened in your mouth and with a hot gasp you pull off.

“Shit,” your tone too normal and light, like you haven’t been teasing the fuck out of him, “I don’t mean to do that for that long.” You looked up at him like you were sorry. Your long lashes batting up at him apologetically.

His dick stuttered, threatening to bust.

“Fuck you.” He strained out in a wine. His eyes dark and stormy through their just blown gaze.

“Oh. . .” Your eyes went wide before fluttering elsewhere, darting around the room.

You took it too far and now he was upset. You frowned with a pout, but he promised. How can he get so mad if he promised.

Not wasting time, you took him in your mouth, his hips pushing his dick past your lips just as much as you were taking in, desperately thrusting up.

Now that you could set your own pace tonight you didn’t have to take him all the way so soon at the start, you could take your time, jerk the rest of him with your hand, and finally savor the taste of him in your mouth, the smooth velvety skin and the natural musk he exuded from every pore.

You sucked a little harder hollowing your cheeks as you did, eager for more.

“Ah,” he hissed, “wait, fuck. . .baby wait.”

It was too late, he was already filling your mouth.

You spit whatever was left in your mouth and latched back on him.

He roughly pushed at your forehead, making you wince, but the more he did that the harder you sucked his softening dick to keep it in your mouth. His stomach and chest heavily heaved up and down as he breathed in and out.

“Quit. . . Playing.” He strained against gritted teeth, fighting the whimper bubbling up his throat.

You swatted his hands away.

Eventually as you slowly mouthed at his dick, he got hard again and his groans and whimpers subsided.

Satisfied, you moved your head back to let go and sit on top of him. Your pussy wet and desperate to finally have him inside, but a large hand firmly grasped the nape of your neck as he pushed himself to the back of your throat.

“Where the fuck you think you going?”

He set a hard and brutal pace.

The wet sound of his dick sliding up and down your throat as you whined around him made your pussy ache around nothing. The hair of his base roughly tickling at your nose as his balls slapped occasionally on your chin.

“If you love my dick so much,” he emphasized his point by holding your face against his hips, savoring how your throat clenched and unclenched around him as you choked on him, “why do you keep spitting it out?”

He looked down at you with a smirk, wiping a stray drop of his cumb that leaked from your mouth before shoving it back inside with his dick, pushing just a bit more for you to make a sloppy choked sobb on his dick and finger he pushed inside with it .

“You know how much that hurts my feelings.”

It was Terry’s favorite sick game he liked to play.

The first time you ever sucked his dick, without thinking you just spit it out when you were done, he was taken aback, almost offended. The way his face fell and his eyes dropped was almost cute, big, wide, and cloudy with somber soft gray blue clouds, but it didn’t stay that way. He liked to force you to swallow sometimes, and you never knew when that day would be.

Tonight was one of those times.

His grip on the back of your neck tightened. His hips started to thrust down your throat with as much fervor as his grip on you was shoving you towards him. With a low, drawn huff of a groan, he spilled down your throat. The thick hot spurts of his cum sliding uncomfortably through your body, filling your belly with a particular warmth you weren’t too fond of.

You meweled against his softening dick as the tightening of your muscles released. Your thighs starting to seize and tremble as you came undone, unexpectedly coming in a way you did not want to as well.

“Shh.” He rubbed your face with a thumb as he came down your throat and you spilled around nothing. “You know you like it.” He murmured.

[emchante]

Divorced dad!Daniel + “Sighing softly at the shell of your ear so you can hear how much you affect them” -> imagine you’re the first person he’s with after a long time and he’s so vocal when you palm him through his boxers 🙏🏼

~🫠

sweet temptations | d. ricciardo

summary: daniel had been relieved from dad duties for the weekend, so he invited you over for dinner. not long after, you’re on top of him and helping him get off— something he hasn’t experienced in a while.

prompt: “sighing softly at the shell of your ear so you can hear how much you affect them” + divorced dad!daniel

warnings: 18+ content, post-divorce daniel, handjob through clothing, dirty talk.

w.c. 1.3k+

masterlist | requesting rules

a/n hello lovelies! divorced dad!daniel series finally has it’s first official blurb and i’m so happy with it. thank you to my wonderful anon for requesting, i loved writing this. please let me guys know what you think, i would love to hear your thoughts and would be honoured if anyone wanted to drop into my inbox so we can explore this series together <3

the night was cool, the streetlights of the neighborhood glowing dimly through the thin curtains of daniel’s living room. you could count how many times you had been round at his place on a single hand, as he often came to your house, whether that be with or without his kids.

this weekend he was free from dad duties, and he had invited you to his house for dinner. this.. thing you both had going on was still new. it was more than a casual fling, but nothing had been set in stone or defined as of yet.

that didn’t matter currently, not when you found yourselves entangled on his sofa, the fingers of your right hand tracing lines up his exposed chest.

daniel’s breathing was heavy, his rose-inked hand was firm on your waist, pulling you closer. your left hand trailed down his body, brushing over the hardness straining against his trousers. a shudder ripples through daniel’s body, a low groan erupting from him.

“god,” he breathes as his head falls back, sunken eyes dark and hooded as he gazes up at you, full of need. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

you smirk at his words, giving him another gentle squeeze. his response is immediate— a long-drawn moan, his hips shifting toward your touch, craving more. “i think i have a small idea,” you tease, winking as your thumb circles over his hardening cock.

you relish in the whimper that escapes him at the small movement, enjoying the jerking of his hips at any touch. your eyes trailed over him, taking in the sight in front of you. the older, handsome and —quite frankly— powerful man that everyone seemed to fawn over, was currently beneath you on his worn down sofa, cock straining as he moans for your touch.

you lean on your right hand, using it to ground yourself as you move closer to daniel’s face. you place a line of soft kisses from his chin, up his jaw and one final kiss on top of the freckle that resides under his ear, before moving your lips up.

“but still, tell me,” you whisper, biting on the bottom of his earlobe and gaining a soft gasp from him before continuing. “tell me what i do to you, daniel.”

a deep flush creeps over daniel’s cheeks, but he doesn’t shy away. instead, his right hand moves to your face, nudging it until you’re both eye-to-eye. his dark eyes were clouded with desire and need, staring deeply into you.

“every time you touch me, it’s like— i don’t know,” he stammers, voice quiet as he tries to gather his thoughts. “it’s been so long since someone made me feel like this. it’s like im re-experiencing everything all over again, like this is all new to me,” he explains, licking his lips as he stares at you, waiting.

you lean down and press your lips into his, capturing him in a slow kiss as you let your fingers work him slowly; palming him through the fabric of his trousers. his reaction was instant, another low, guttural moan erupting against your lips; and it sent heat pooling in your belly.

“god, you’re so sensitive,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back and pointing your head down to watch. you press your hand a little harder, and are rewarded with a twitch beneath your palm.

daniel nods quickly, head tilting to the side so his lips are against your ear. you bite your lip while he pants into your ear, swallowing thickly before sighing softly. “yeah, you— you have no idea,” he stammers, hips bucking up into your hand again desperately. “please.. don’t stop.”

your fingers found the button of his jeans, and another shaky breath escaped him. you tilt your head back up to look at him, and his eyes meet yours with a look was half-desperation, half-anticipation.

“is this okay?” you whisper, wanting to double-check he really was okay with this. despite his eagerness, you wanted to make sure.

any doubts you had were shut down in an instant as his hand grabbed your face, pulling you closer to capture your lips in a fervent kiss. “more than okay.”

your hand makes its way into daniel’s jeans, cupping his straining cock through his boxers. you give him another squeeze, enjoying the warmth in your hand now you were closer to his cock than before. the sound that escapes daniel can only be described as pure, unfiltered relief. “oh— oh my god,” he chokes out, his voice straining as he stretches his head back against the couch.

you could feel him pulsing beneath your hand, the heat building as you continued. you were drawing needy sounds from him that made your own heart race, desperate to hear more. the sight before you was one you wanted to memorize, so you kept your eyes trained on his body the entire time.

as you kept stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers, you bit your lip as you listened to the string of soft moans fall from his lips. his head was writhing from side to side, hips shaking and jerking almost uncontrollably as the pleasure started to truly overtake him.

he tried to get into somewhat of a rhythm, focusing on trying to grind his aching cock against the palm of your hand. another deep groan escaped him as his body started to tighten, and you knew he was nearing the edge.

you move your face closer to daniel’s again as your lips ghost his own, his eyes opening as he tries to keep them trained on you. you can tell that daniel wants you to lean in that inch closer, connect your lips and kiss him hungrily again.

but you don’t.

you keep your lips brushing his own as you continue to stroke him, eyes boring into his own. daniel gets bored of your little game fast, and leans forward to capture you in another kiss. he kisses you like his life depends on it, tongue grazing your bottom lip slowly before slipping it into your mouth. his hips continue to buck into your hand, thrusts becoming more hurried.

“come on, daniel,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back. you lick your lips before taking you bottom lip between your teeth, squeezing his aching cock and sighing. you move to his ear again, kissing just behind it before whispering to him. “let go for me.”

daniel’s body shuddered, his breath hitching as his whole body went rigid, and with a final strangled moan, he did as you said. you could feel the heat and dampness through the fabric as daniel finished, his head falling back against the couch while squeezing his eyes shut, riding out the waves of pleasure as small whimpers and groans escaped him.

you continued to cup him through his boxers, your thumb slowly rubbing against his softening dick through his boxers. when his breathing was starting to even out, his eyes opened slowly and he lifted his head to look at you. you slide your hand out from his unbothered jeans. you wink at him, licking the slight wetness off your thumb which causes a low groan to come from daniel.

daniel uses his hands to push himself up, back resting against the armchair before moving one of his hands onto your waist, and pulling you into him. you rest your forehead against his own, and daniel takes it upon himself to place a soft kiss onto your lips.

⋆˙⟡ enjoy the fic? come chat to me through my ask box, publicly or on anon! i’d love to talk to you and hear your thoughts about it <3

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

hi hello!! i love both your mer aus theyre wonderful omg

could we mayhaps have more of gaz seeing through remora readers shit and being so over it? like (if i remember correctly) he likes annoying the real her out when he feels like shes sunken too deep into the brainless lil fishy thing, but what exactly does he do? now that im actually thinking abt it i lowkey just wanna see them sass each other lmao

-- monstie >:3

pspspsps mer Gaz enjoyers @thoseofmonsters @persephone-kore-law @cod-z

47 / 1.2k

...

You peek out of the water's surface next to Gaz. He's laid out on a smooth, flat rock, sunning. You'd think he's indulging himself, but he does this all the time.

"Gaz?" you pipe up. "Aren't you drying out?"

Gaz peels an eyelid open, squinting in the sunlight as he glances over to you. The motion is lazy in the heat of the day. "Nah."

You glance up at the gulls gliding by overhead. You don't trust them. "Well... aren't you hot?"

"S'pose. Not uncomfortable, though." Gaz closes his eyes again, basking leisurely. He pats the rock next to him, offering the open space. "Sit with me."

"No, thank you."

Gaz cracks a single eye open at that, frowning. "Why not?"

You clutch the edge of the rock with nervous hands and glance over your shoulder. "There are boats over there. Humans."

"So? You like humans.”

"When they're in the water," you mutter. You eye the boats in the distance. They're small, but they're not diving boats. "But not like that."

Gaz rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you. He doesn't so much as glance in the direction you're looking. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you if that's what you're worried about."

"Don't they look at you funny? When they see you up here?"

"Maybe." He rolls onto his back again, stretches his arms overhead, arches his back, and lets out a content sigh. Then he laces his fingers behind his head. "Don’t care. I like being out here. They can ogle me as much as they want."

You notice the boats aren't coming too close, either. "They don't try to talk to you?"

"They do." The corners of Gaz’s eyes crinkle. "I ignore them. Most get the message pretty quick and steer clear.” He glances at you. “What's wrong? You're more skittish than usual.”

You grab his hand and tug it. "Come on, we need to go back to the reef now."

Gaz peers down at you over the ridge of his bicep. "Not quite yet." He closes his eyes again. "I’m comfy."

"Please?" You rummage around your brainthoughts trying to come up with a reason. "I need your help with something."

"With what something?"

"With something. And you're the only one who can do it."

"Yeah?"

"And it has to be now."

He smirks at your pitiful efforts to budge him. Your persistence is cute. "And what is this it that I have to do right this instant?"

"It's... taking me to the cliffs where the seabirds nest."

"You know how to get there."

"But Ghost will get mad if I go alone.”

"Then say I took you. He's asleep. He won't know."

You huff. "Gaz, that's lying."

Gaz rolls onto his side again to look down at you. "Oh, tsk, tsk. Poor little thing. Always so honest and forthcoming yourself, aren’t you?"

Heat pinches the hollow of your throat. He's shaming you.

Gaz leans in, his voice low and lazy. "Tell me something, darling. Do you pretend your head is empty because you can’t help yourself, or because you’re afraid not to?"

You sink down into the water until only your eyes peek out. Heat licks all the way down your chest, radiating against the cold water. "You're being mean."

"Am I?" he croons, his lips curled smug. "I don’t like it when you play dumb. Makes me want to be mean."

If you were a bolder creature, you'd call him a brute.

He reaches out and gives your ear a fond flick.  "S’cute when you pout."

"So you're not coming with me?" you mumble.

"Mm, I didn't say that." Gaz glances up at the sky as he pretends to consider your wants. The corners of his mouth tug up into that dimpled smile of his that never quite disappears. "I'll take you there if you lay with me."

You grasp the edge of the rock again, pulling yourself closer again in relief. "You will? By the cliffs?"

"No." He pats his sunning rock again. "Here."

You look down at the salty, ocean-smoothed stone. "But people will see."

"Don’t care." He pats again, more firmly this time. "Come up. Get warm. You're worrying so much it’s wearing me out just watching you.”

You glance over your shoulder again. It's not like you haven't laid out in the sun before. You like to snooze in the sun as much as any mer. But it always seems to attract attention. Human attention. You're not scary-looking to them like Gaz is. You're more like a novelty. A bauble. Something from old sailing stories.

Humans get way too close to you if you give them the opportunity.

Gaz watches you. “You really think I’d let anyone lay a hand on you?”

"No, but..."

Gaz reaches out and gently grips your face, turning you to look at him again. “Now," he says calmly.

You nod at the command. "Okay. Now. Yes." For Gaz. Your fingers flutter over the edge of the rock as you look for a place to pull yourself up. You try to tune out the ambient human noise behind you.

Gaz helps you pull yourself up out of the water, depositing you on the sun-warmed rock next to him. You end up on your side, mirroring him chest-to-chest.

You stare at his collarbone. "Hi."

He slides a warm, rough-skinned palm up under your jaw to tilt your chin. “Hi yourself.”

His sharkshin feels strange when it’s dry. Not bad, but... strange. Still smooth, but grainy with salt. And it's cold up here. Even in the sun, the breeze makes you shiver and duck into Gaz's chest. You still feel so exposed with your bare back to the busy shallows.

“Relax. Fussy thing.” Price’s words. Gaz pulls you against him, one arm curled over you. Then he stretches out on his back, bringing you with him to sprawl over his chest. He drapes his hand over the fin that trails down the base of your spine, rubbing his thumb over the arch of your lower back.

"Better?" he asks, his voice barely above a rumble against your ear.

"I guess so." Not really.

"Don’t pout. No one’s gonna come up to you while I’m here, you know. Only thing snatching you off these rocks is me. That make you feel safe? Cuddling up with the most dangerous thing here?”

You give him a flat look, still feeling your earlier embarrassment. You’d push him off this stupid rock if you could.

His grin widens. "Don't look at me like that. You started this."

"I'm telling Ghost."

"Tattle-tale."

"Hmph." You wriggle over until you slide into the crook of his other arm with your hand on his chest. This way, you can see the humans and their boats over him, but you're mostly hidden from view.

"Sullen little…" Gaz's other arm slides over your back, holding you snugly to him. One big hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing in a way that makes your eyelids flutter. His mouth is right next to your ear. "Now will you stop flinching every time a boat passes?"

“Okay."

"Good. Now stay," he orders in a low voice, "and stop wriggling."

...

more mer au / more Gaz / masterlist

[chithereader]

you and me / aaron hotchner

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x singer!reader , aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff, a little angst

cw: a lot of conversation, i went a little crazy i just love interviews like zane lowe’s!!! and soft aaron

a/n: this photo just makes me think of aaron waiting backstage for popstar!reader / singer!reader

and requests are open!! would love to know what you guys want to read ◡̈

You requested that the set-up of the interview be comfortable. You knew you’d be talking about your albums which are notoriously packed with stories and emotions, personal and imagined. Now what is more comfortable than your own home? 

When you were designing your home, you knew from the start you wanted a conversation pit. You’ve always dreamed of a house that screamed cozy and comfortable, warm and inviting. Even if it cost millions to make, you had no regrets. 

But aside from the occasional family dinners, your sunken living room was only ever used when Aaron and Jack sleep over, and you had a movie marathon night. You'd throw in duvets and pillows on the pit and bunch together whether it was cold or not.

So you thought this interview is perfect to justify your design choice. To use the conversation pit for actual conversation. Which brings you to now, sat across your good friend and favorite interviewer Zane Lowe, your previous and latest album being the topic of conversation. 

“Your previous album was– you know, I mean, it was–” Zane appears to struggle for a word to encapsulate one of the lowest points in your life. Fractured was definitely an emotional album to make and an even sadder one to listen to.  

“Depressing?” you jokingly say. Talking has always been so easy with Zane. He just has this air to him that lets you know he truly just wants to know you. You sit on the couch sideways, facing Zane. Leaning on the back rest with your elbow, head resting on your hand while your other hand fidgets with the tassels on the pillow. 

He laughs, “Well, you were definitely at a low point in your life romantically.” fiddling with his chin, thinking of his next words, “You just– I think you perfectly captured in your songs that sort of loss and tangible grief that comes with letting go of a person- not because there weren’t any love anymore but more because love just wasn’t enough to keep it going.” 

Remembering what had happened– the air felt thinner. Like it was getting harder to breathe. You had to remember that that point of your life was over. You felt such real pain that time, so much so that you struggled to function in your daily life. That void. That ringing emptiness. 

You’re brought back to reality by Zane’s voice, “Could you touch on how that came about?” 

You breathe out a small sigh and with a gentle smile you recall, “Yeah, uhm.. I was in this relationship.. which in hindsight, I’m so lucky to have been in. It taught me so much and truly made me so much more mindful I guess. I mean like, smarter? More conscious definitely of what goes into making a relationship work, and what makes it strong.” 

“But like you said, it ended because as much as we both wanted it to work, as much as we loved each other, it just wasn’t happening. And it was a vicious cycle that was tiring us out. We just knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You pause for a bit, reflecting. 

Flashes of you and Aaron driving home in silence after a dinner at Rossi’s play in your head. You didn’t talk the whole night. Not when you were dressing up. Not in the car ride on the way there. Not when you sat down together. And definitely not when each of you were across the room, busy in separate conversations ignoring the glaringly obvious. 

Looking down at the decorative pillow in your lap, you start, “And I think that in my experience, that’s a lot more painful. I think that break-ups that happen when one hurts the other is somehow better because you get to hold on to I deserve better or like– there’s just thing like anger that drives you to move on.”

You’re taken back to that night. Coming home and feeling the weight of it fall on both your shoulders. You sat for hours in silence, holding each other. Knowing that when the sun rises, he’ll go to work, you’ll go on tour, and your little world will be put to rest. 

“But having that overflowing love for a person who is just not meant for you– I mean how do you tell yourself to let go? How can you even try to convince yourself ? Because people say so often that as long as you love someone there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them and that’s true. I’ve been there, and even everything wasn’t enough. And that was something we really struggled with.” 

“Just admitting that we had to love each other from afar before we turned into strangers together.” 

It just didn’t make sense. The love you had for each other was real. It was deep and true, and neither of you had any doubt of what you meant to each other. There was no question of loyalty or trust. 

But the traveling, the conflict in schedules, the missed calls and messages left on read. You just became both so busy, you were worlds apart. It even reached the point that you haven’t talked for days and neither of you noticed. Or minded. You thought of each other, yeah. But there wasn’t that urge to reach out anymore. There was just… longing. 

–

“Which brings us to now. Your latest album Leftover Love– it’s a lot more hopeful isn’t it? I mean I’d even go as far as saying that it’s about falling in love all over again.” Zane sips on the tea you made him. Leaning over the makeshift coffee table to add more milk in there. 

You straighten a little. Mood instantly lifting at the mention of your favorite album to date. Images of the inspiration behind the album filling your head. 

Zane puts down his tea to gesture generously, “And hearing it live, you could just feel it in the crowd– this kind of electricity. And because there’s no other way to put it– your songs in this album feel a lot like jumping and dancing with a partner in a room full of people and everything is just in slow motion. It’s like this sort of alignment or clicking into place, finding that one person that makes those small moments feel so.. big.” 

He put it perfectly into words. You had really hoped to relay through your songs the recent turn of events in your life. People who have supported you and loved you when you were at low points in your life got you through that, and you felt so strongly that they deserved to know and feel even a fraction of the happiness that you’re feeling right now through your new songs. 

“Definitely, I mean I’m so proud to say that these songs, even if they’re a touch fictional or exaggerated or romanticized– they are based on truths, on real things that have happened or are happening in my life.” You’re getting excited. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater to cover your hands until only your fingertips are visible– you place both hands down on the pillow as if bracing yourself for the climax of a rollercoaster ride. 

“The song Blindly for example, it’s about that feeling or like moment of realization that you’re just so crazy in love you’d follow this person anywhere blindly. I love that the sound’s so grunge-y and messy– insane. Because that’s literally how it feels to be in that whirlwind.” 

Zane picks up on your excitement, nodding at your explanation. He relaxes more into his seat and gestures to you, “It’s a good thing you mentioned that because I actually wanted to ask you why that song slows down at the end. I think that was such a unique and beautiful thing to do to the song and it works so well. But I just want to know what made you do that–” You’re biting your lip smiling, so proud that it was recognized as a conscious choice as a musician and artist.

Zane continues, “It goes from crazy drums and guitar, and the bass– then slows down into this almost hypnotic music box sound that transitions by the end into just this beat like a pulse.” 

Your smile grows bigger which Zane mirrors, “I’m so happy you picked up on that. I have to say that’s actually one of the songs I’m most proud of because it’s one of the first songs that I was heavily involved in the engineering of the sound.”

“But yeah I guess ultimately I just wanted it to mimic that transition from being in crazy love, tornado-esque to it literally settling into this beautifully calm and serene kind of love.” 

Zane listens intently, nodding and humming in agreement and knowing. Finally understanding the point of view from which the sound was created. He has this gentle smile on his face, almost of encouragement knowing you had more to say, 

“Like you go from all these dates and the honeymoon phase, and your heart’s just beating crazy fast all the time and then it turns into that steady murmur of your fridge in the null of the night when you’re baking muffins together in silence.”

You take a deep breath, chewing on the inside of your lip. Hopelessly trying to minimize the smile fighting its way on your face, “It’s just that process of someone becoming your home.” 

-

You're ushering out the last of the production people. Walking alongside Zane who’s the last to step out your front door, you give him a big hug which he returns warmly. 

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and breathe out a laugh, “Thank you.. Really.” 

You separate and smile at each other. Waving goodbye as he walks backwards to his car. You stand by your front door until they pull out of your driveway.

Once you see that your driveway is empty, you turn to your door and see him leaning against the doorframe with a smug, knowing smirk. 

Rolling your eyes playfully as you pass by him into your home, he chuckles. You hear his footsteps behind you and you know he’s following you around while you tidy up the dishes you and Zane used, “Aaron, take out the trash please.” 

This man just listened to you talk about him for hours. With headphones and a monitor set up in the other room– Aaron just got his ego inflated to a size so immeasurable he can’t hide his smile from the strangers beside him controlling lights and volumes. He has got to be humbled.

“Oh so I’m back to Aaron now?” He catches up to you, halting your movements from behind as he takes hold of your arms so you can put down whatever was in them. Then he turns you around by your shoulders so you’re facing him, grinning that smile that makes you go Fuck and then blank in your head.

“And here I was thinking I was home.” Aaron pulls you close, sliding an arm around your waist only to settle on your back as the other holds your hand against his chest, in between you. He starts swaying you both slowly as he buries his nose into the side of your head, humming a familiar tune. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It's been a long, long time

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

While he was listening to you go on about how you loved him all throughout your rocky start and even more well into the present– he became overwhelmed with the realization that for once in his life, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he is loved. Truly, deeply, and steadily loved. And that filled him with something that nothing and no one could ever define or measure. 

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part V

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.  

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land." 

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines. 

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face. 

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.”  She’s practically pleading now.  “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.  

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you. 

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.  

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days.  Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure.  You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last. 

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--" 

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late.  You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name. 

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her.  It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process. 

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes.  You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man. 

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika. 

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.” 

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.” 

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices.  Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines. 

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face.  She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm. 

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?” 

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape. 

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are. 

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.”  Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.” 

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew.  In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity. 

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration. 

“I’m satisfied  – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling. 

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many – I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed. 

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched. 

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction. 

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way.  You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming.  She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel. 

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home? 

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle.  You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

[leth-writes]

yandere Tim Drake x meta reader part two

summary: we find out more about what life is like now for the reader.

Warnings: The usual for my blog!

Tim had luminous green eyes. They were the most sickly green, almost glowing, you’d ever seen, pale and round and sunken into his skin like you could see the skull beneath his skin. It was like he was secretly a corspe walking around, without a soul. Sometimes you did think he didn’t have a soul.

Tim had basically changed your life completely in the span of a week. He was still the only one in the general population who could really see you, but he introduced you to his family, the Waynes, who were all able to see you as well, though none as clearly as Tim could. It was like there was something in the water that transformed their reasoning and observational abilities; you couldn’t even sneak down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat without Alfred, the tall, lean family butler, greeting you. Though, most didn’t look you in the eyes. You thought it was because they had noticed how uncomfortable you got at direct eye contact, though Tim continued to stare into your eyes like he was trying to yank your soul out through your face. It was stressful, but you didn’t have any choice; you owed him. He’d got his dad to practically adopt you, letting you stay in the manor and giving you a whole host of things you hadn’t seen since you were a child, including the softest blanket you’d ever felt, and Bruce had gotten you a private tutor named Jonn, who was also able to see you. Jonn’s presence was a soothing balm on your frayed nerves, though you were loathe to admit that Tim was the cause of your anxiety. There was just something about him, afterall.

You had a new family, and things you could leave in your room without worrying they’d get stolen, and cute clothes, and a tutor… it was a better life than you’d ever had before. Yet, you felt guilty. Weren’t you taking too much? So, you approached Jonn one day, asking him to create a bracelet that would limit your abilities and let you be seen. It was the only way to be able to get a normal life and pay back your generous benefactors, though they insisted they didn’t need the gesture of kindness.

Jonn had complied; afterall, it wasn’t too hard to create one off of pre-existing schematics that were commonly used for cases similar to yours. He had gifted it to you in front of the entire family, who clapped and congratulated you. All except Tim, who leant in the corner with his arms crossed, looking out the window with those distant green eyes.

It had only been a week since you got the bracelet when it first went missing. You searched everywhere, high and low, including getting the others in on the search, to no avail. You had only the family bedrooms left to search, though you’d have to be quick. In and out, quick as you could manage, you searched Jason, Dick, and Damian’s rooms. Then you crossed over and searched Bruce and Cass’s rooms. Finally, you knocked on Tim’s door. It was just a formality at this point, you couldn’t imagine him misplacing it. Faced with no response, you opened the door. And spotted the box.

You’d never seen this box before. It was plain, nondescript. A faded grey, it looked slightly aged and well-loved. Pulling off the lid, you found photos. dozens and dozens of photos. Most were of you, though a few were of Tim’s other family members. Dick, Jason, even Bruce all made appearances, clearly going back years before you’d ever met. Hell, some seemed to be from before Jason had even joined the family, and well before Tim had met the Waynes or lost his parents. How did he get these? There were pictures of you sleeping, walking, breaking into buildings and the school library, even changing… most were from before you’d ever met Tim. Underneath it all was your bracelet, pulled apart into small wires and bits.

“Oh, you’ve found the box,” Bruce’s voice rang out from behind you. You whirled around, watching as he shut and locked Tim’s door, staring at you with a clear, blank expression you’d never seen on his normally joyful face. “It’s Tim’s?” You replied, voice trembling.

He sighed, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. “Yes, it belongs to Tim. I know it seems creepy, but you have to understand… Tim isn’t like us. He doesn’t experience emotion in the same way we do, he never learned the normal boundaries of relationships, growing up the way he did. He uses his camera as a way to capture us, to keep us with him, it’s his way of keeping us safe when he can’t act.”

“They’re from before he met me.” You said, voice hard and cold.

“Yes. Tim tends to stake out anyone he finds particularly interesting. That’s why most of the photos are so old. Think of it as his way of doing research. He feels the need to build our family by snatching up people he thinks of as his, moving around the pieces of our lives until we can be safetly integrated. It’s not so bad, you get used to it.” He continued.

“My parents…” You began, almost too afraid to ask.

“Yes. He planted the idea of a surprise move, a new start. They were being haunted by the ghost of a child they’d never known, and Tim needed a way to get you into position. He’s got a very strategic mind.” Bruce supplied, once again adopting that soft smile you’d grown used to. “Don’t worry, he only does it because he cares. You should see what he does to his enemies…”.

Tim Drake saw you in a way no one else had before.

[shiftertech]

"Can I tell you something?"

The girl sat by the campfire, lazily stoking it with a stick doesn't remove her gaze from the licks of flame. "Depends. Are you going to give me an explanation as to why we're here?"

"I—," you sputter out the short noise before clamping your mouth shut. It'd be better if you showed her. She pokes at the crumbling logs again, a dance of embers bursting upwards in drifting spirals.

"Because I know we're not here just to camp," she continues, eyes tracking upwards with the glowing specks. "You've been anxious as fuck since we arrived. I have eyes. Your fingernails look like shit with all that biting." Ah, fuck.

"W-well, it's something you should really know about me." You shuffle between the fire and the foldable chair placed beside it, eyes stinging as you catch a face full of smoke on your way to her side. You take a knee on ashy soil, still slightly damp from showers the prior day, and steady yourself with your hands.

She doesn't look at you. You dig your fingers into the dirt.

"You know what I've been thinking this is," she finally asks after a prolonged moment.

"What, hun?"

"The moment since we've got here, I've been thinking, 'This is it. This is the part where he breaks up with me.' I been thinking this is your intricate, fucked up way of separating." She waves her free hand in the air, continuing, "And how would I know! I can barely tell what's on your mind most of the time!"

That's not what this is. Not at all. Your heart breaks to even comprehend she's felt like this.

Perhaps it shows on your face because she gives you a peculiar side-glance, eyes glinting with curiosity.

"No!" You reach for her but she flinches, your hand halting in place mid-reach, going slightly limp. Softer, "no, that's not it. Why would I—"

"You're a mirror."

The first time she says it, it sounds like a profound realization.

Silence. The crackle of fire, the chirping of night critters, the cacophony hiss of wind swept tree branches, gone. She sits there, an infinite stare piercing the flames once more.

"What?"

"A mirror. You take on the mannerisms, the patterns, the emotions that others show you, and give it right back." She hangs her head low to the dirt as if she's espousing some fatal truth. "It makes you so easy to love but impossible to know.

"Because, love? Your mirror is cracked. I've known you long enough to tell it isn't you.

"And that was okay for a while. It was so simple to be with you... until the past month.

"You've grown distant and quiet, and I'm worried that you've been a mirror for so long that you haven't noticed your cracks were growing to the point of you being unable to reflect me anymore.

"I'd like to know what lies behind the broken shards but...

Is there anything even there?

Her head turns to you, golden fire-lit eyes landing on your face. You can see your perfectly blank face reflected in them. Hairline cracks decorate your face in an intricate web, crumbling shards falling from your glassy cheeks.

Your hands find their way to your face, fingers landing on the smooth surface with a hard clink. More cracks form at the points of contact, branching to other splits in the material of your smooth skin and knocking more shards loose.

The dirt beneath you is littered with ash and glass. Pieces of you, sharp and fractured, sunken into the earth. Your glass fingers try to pluck the shards out of the ground but only manage to break them further, chipping away at intricately painted details of soft skin and nails bitten away to the false skin. Soon your struggling to bend your fingers at all, stiff as can be in a straightforward posture.

Soft, fleshy fingers gently grab your flaking chin. She turns your emotionless face towards her. Her eyes glow brighter, no longer permitting reflection.

"I'm sorry." A hand is placed upon your chest, just over your heart. "It's too late to go back, you already saw it..."

Another hand combs through the thin glass hairs on your head, shearing them off as she goes. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she says, "but it'll be okay. I've been here before too you know."

She pushes with an inhuman force upon your chest...

And your glass shell shatters.

Emptiness prevails in the sensation of your chest, a million shards falling inwards and disappearing into your void. The gaping hole spreads further as your internal gravity wins over the failing integrity of your body.

Before you, a known but undefined entity kneels onto the dirt with you, in a body of its own design. Her perfectly crafted hands place themselves upon your cracked thighs, thumbs gently tracing circles over the smooth surface. She leans forward, lips next to your broken left ear, its top half snapped off. She speaks in a voice she spent much time perfecting.

"It's almost done, sweetest. Just know I'll love you, whatever you decide to be without your shell. I'll be by your side."

With a quick movement, she shifts all of her immense, impossible weight into the hands on your thighs. They shatter instantly, and take the lower legs and feet folded beneath with them, shards falling upwards into your core. All that remains of you after a few moments is a wispy void. And then...

"Oh. Gorgeous."

An ember from the campfire strays from its upwards path, drifting towards the void of you.

And then another.

And another.

Unlike your shattered shell, these embers do not flicker out of existence in your gravity well. Instead, they begin to wrap around your core in a tight orbit.

The campfire dims as the void of you draws out bursting flecks of glowing carbon, drawing more and more into your orbit, until you are just a sphere of spinning ember light. A sparking fire ball of potential.

Potential. You can feel liquid potential circling around you, currently formless. Potential you can control, shape and mold into whatever the void of you desires. You're not sure what to make of it.

"Whatever you want. This is for no one else but you. Don't hold back," your loving entity replies to your wordless question.

You begin with a small movement. An arc of flame goes wide of the sphere before falling back into the fold. Okay. Maybe you can put more strength behind it.

A minor explosion is the result of that effort, as you learn the extent of your shaping strength. The entity leaps back, a few nasty embers leaving burns across her skin, which are quickly overtaken by a golden glow from inside that fades back into unblemished epidermis. You feel larger, embers leaping off of molten liquid hissing and bubbling in the brisk air.

"Okay, now shape it!"

For lack of a better template at the moment, you try to form the liquid with invisible hands into curves just like the contours of her body. The torso comes into definition, followed by limbs shooting out, and finally a head filling out a rather obvious replication of her, made of the caustic liquid. Your molten feet touch the ground, boiling the water trapped in the soil beneath into steam.

A bubbly laugh comes from her. You look up from your glowing body to see her head thrown back. She's actually crying of laughter, what the hell? She said anything!

You place liquid hands upon your liquid hips, annoyed at the obvious judgement of your choice of form, which only serves to make her double over again.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's just..." she pauses to wipe a tear from her eye. "I should have expected you'd try to be me first! Shattered one mirror for another, eh?"

Another bout of laughter. You'd consider her an ass if it wasn't so cute. Well, no, she is an ass, but a cute one at least. This sudden flow of emotion-laden thought comes with new curiosities.

You look down at your body once again, and decide you like its curves, but start to make simple alterations. Simple begins with changing your height, material expanding with a deep thrum and burst of heat until you're towering over her.

"Wow, that's like, a lot more than professional athlete height!" The comment wavers in tone, as if the size is affecting her. You lean in close and her face turns red—and not just from the orange glow of your molten body.

Having had your fun with height, you shrink back with a sharp hiss of escaping pressure and heat, much to her apparent disappointment. There are other things you try, like proportions and weight, but some things stay the same, like having breasts, which feel so right it feels wrong. You make this form your own.

It's pretty clear that you've settled on a feminine body, which makes so much sense to a certain part of you. You are a bit tired of being a humanoid light bulb though.

"We can work on that now. Imagine what you want to be made of, and reach for it."

The lava that makes you starts to cool off, flickering light ebbing away to dark basalt. You feel it crack and reform as you bend your arm at the elbow. A new idea strikes you, and before long, the rock crumbles away all across your body as if it were just a thin crust, revealing a shiny metal skin beneath. Neat.

After definitely not an abundance of playing around with this (you really liked being a sentient humanoid water thing, that was cool), you returned to what you knew best, with human skin and hair.

You test your voice for the first time, a feminine lilt, saying, "what happens now? Once I find what I want to be, will I be stuck like that forever?" The lightness of your tone gives you a fluttery feeling in your chest.

Her hands find her way onto your hips as she pulls you close. "That's the best part. What we want to be isn't a static thing," she says. "As we grow, as we learn, as we experience, what we want to he changes. You and I are gifted with the knowledge that we are malleable things. Entities of change. One's who can embrace it with no restriction."

You look at your hand, you shape it. Scales chase up the wrist and previously bitten down nails slide out into avian talons. You flip it over, and in the midst of the motion consider another form. Tufts of fur burst from the gaps between scales, and leathery pads swell upon your fingers and palms. The talons shrink back into canine claws, that you could easily imagine digging into the dirt to pull you into a sprint.

You let it return to a human shape as you look back at her, emotions overwhelming you.

"I had something I wanted to tell you," you say, tears pooling in your eyes. She tips her head forward, your foreheads touching. "I think... I'm a girl..."

"I know, baby. I know you are."

She wraps you in her arms as you let it all out, sobbing into her neck. She doesn't let you go even as the campfire simmers and cracks, no more flames licking up into the sky. She doesn't let you go as the night critters resume their chirping. She doesn't let you go as the wind swept trees bristle under the growing light of dawn.

Not even as you both let sleep take you, no more mirrors and broken shells keeping you apart.

[prodbyton]

I THINK WE NEED TO TALK ABT MORNING AFTER WITH ANTON?? With the sun streaming in and you both are lying naked😭 he probably looks like a Greek god with the way he lays on the bed naked and the way the light hits him (he’s literally modern day Adonis or smth😩) would literally just want to prop yourself up to stare at him😔 he’ll probably wake up after a while and pull your naked body over his while you both are giggly and shit and you just snuggle yourself into his (incredibly firm and well built) chest and you both just sleep the day away, you lying on top of him (and go another round later)

im going to be thinking about this for the rest of the day

just imagine after a long night with anton, the both of you falling asleep right away after he had cleaned you up and cuddled next to you. waking up the next morning (probably early afternoon,) you’d see the boy still sound asleep with his lips parted while he breathed, face sunken into the pillow. your intertwined bodies were separated throughout the night, but you two were still close. you took the space between you two as the perfect opportunity to admire the boy. you would trace his features with your eyes, loving the way the light that peered through your curtains hit him at the perfect angles. he’s so beautiful that if you were told he wasn’t human, you’d believe it.

once he finally woke up , he’d notice you looking at him and smile , giving you a cute “good morning baby” before he’s pulling you by the waist to have your body on his. you’re resting on his chest while he traces patterns on the middle of your back with his fingers, occasionally traveling to your side to pinch or tickle the flesh while you two just enjoyed each others company.

at some point you both had fallen back asleep, not worrying about the world outside of your bedroom. you had a leg wrapped around his hips, head snuggling between where his arm connected to the rest of his body. that arm wrapped around your neck so his hand could rest on your breasts, innocently kneading the soft flesh. he’d leave soft kisses on your forehead and your hair, telling you how much he loves you and that he really enjoyed last night. you’d make a joke about recreating last nights event, but he didn’t take it as a joke. almost like he was a bull who was being teased with a red flag, he’d have his mouth on you in an instant. kissing all over your body while you had your hands in his hair, messily eating you out until you were cumming on his tongue, still a bit sensitive from last night.

i feel like he’d be into soft, lazy sex the morning after, his energy level not being 100% but he still wanted you. so he would just turn you to the side so he could spoon you, holding your leg up with his strong arm while he stretches you out with his cock with slow, deep thrusts. he’s a huge sucker for intimacy so the low moans that came out of you with each drag of cock inside of you has him cumming so fast :3 he’d whisper sm praises in your ear to trigger your own orgasm, you would stay in that position for a bit longer, cockwarming him since neither of you wanted to separate

send a riize member + hc or kink

[mx-pastelwriting]

Workaholic

Viktor x GN! Reader

Summary: Pulling Viktor away from his work.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Viktor sleep deprived, Arguing with Jayce, Eepy Viktor, Cleaning Viktor's Place, Bit Sad

Walking into the messied lab holding Viktor's lunch tightly, not wanting to drop it, having brought some for Jayce had made the bag heavier.

Laying eyes upon the two boys hard at work, Viktor tinkering away at a machine and Jayce working on paperwork. Jayce is the first to look up, smiling at you, giving his lunch, receiving a "Thank you" in exchange before walking over to your boyfriend's workspace.

Placing the bag on the desk gaining his attention, leaned on the edge of the desk, meeting Viktor's tired eyes. Smiling weakly at you, struggling to keep his eyes open, sunken cheeks and red eyes that surrounded his amber ones stared back at you.

Not living together, you hadn't been aware of his sleeping patterns; the only reassurance of him getting rest was from staying over at his place and saying goodbye before going home telling him to rest.

“You look exhausted. How long have you been working?” You ask, worried, cupping his cheek. “I’m fine, I just need a nap.” Even with his calm dismissiveness, you persisted. Of course, this not being the first time.

“Let’s go, you need rest,” you stated, pushing away from the desk grabbing the bag of food. “Hold on, wait, we were close to a breakthrough,” Jayce's voice sounds from behind.

Turning to the man watching as he stepped back at the look on your face, “Look at him, Jayce,” responding in a low voice. Having had this conversation with Jayce before, Viktor never knew when to stop working. Jayce knew that; it was his job to make sure Viktor stepped away.

“We talked about this, no more long hours.” whispering with a voice filled with anger, "You can pick it up another day, I'm taking him home to rest," emphasizing the word rest. Not waiting for Jayce to respond, you turn to see Viktor standing, struggling to hold himself with his cane.

Moving to aid, supporting his body with a hand warped around his waist with an arm resting above your shoulder. Sounds from the cane hitting the ground filled the silence as neither of you spoke, arriving at Viktor’s.

Opening the door, having a spare, meeting the same clutteredness as the lab. Setting down the food as you walked through the apartment, passing by notes that covered every surface.

Entering the dim bedroom setting him down slowly on the blanket-covered bed, when staying over cuddled close to Viktor, the many blankets felt like heaven, but for him, it was a necessity, his body still not used to Piltover's cold nights.

Quickly undressing Viktor before tucking him in, taking only a second for sleep to take effect. Tracing the outline of his sleeping figure, thinking of the complaints of soreness that were to come in the morning.

Looking away, scanning the room, seeing what's changed since you've been there, little changed, only becoming more disorganized. Taking the opportunity to clean up his space before you join him in bed, starting by picking up clothes scattered about. Cleaning up tripping hazards and the small amount of dishes placed atop his desk.

Walking into the kitchen seeing the few dishes in the sink, noticing them to be the same ones from a week ago, when you had last visited. Realizing Viktor had been living off of the lunches and late dinner dates in the lab you brought him, thinking about it any further broke your heart even more.

Just as you started washing, Viktor's voice called out for you, setting the dishes back in the sink before washing off the soap from your hands. Making a mental note to finish in the morning, knowing how worked away his body from the lab, having no strength nor time to do it himself.

In the short distance to the bedroom, you undressed, making crawling into bed cuddling Viktor more comfortable, laying atop his chest wrapped warmly in his arms and blankets, having the rhythm of his heart and lungs taking in air to lull you to sleep.

Remember to eat and drink water today! <3

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @scrunkalicious @sophieissleepy

[norrizzandpia]

Grow As We Go (Hurt Me Once Part 2) (OP81)

Summary: Maybe they didn’t miss the childhood best friends to lovers trope?

Warnings: angst, but a happy ending 🤭🤭

Note: Awww i loved this little series also SIDE NOTE just to point it out Hurt Me Once was Y/n speaking to Oscar but this song Grow As We Go is Oscar speaking to Y/n 🧡🧡

You say there’s so much you don’t know. You need to go and find yourself. You say you’d rather be alone cause you think you won’t find it tied to someone else. Oh, who said it’s true that the growing only happens on your own? They don’t know me and you.

His footsteps stayed frozen outside his front door, a sunken feeling in his stomach. He didn’t even know how he got home, disassociating during the drive after Y/n slammed the door on his face. Oscar knew he had to be feeling the worst kinds of sadness, but, as his eyes stayed on the door in front of him, he felt nothing.

Y/n was gone. He tried to get that through his head, but it still seemed outrageous because that was never supposed to happen for them in his mind. They were supposed to be with each other, be together, grow with the other throughout the entirety of their lives. They were Y/n and Oscar. No one knew them like he did, no one understood them like he did.

Or so he thought.

Conflicting, self-deprecating thoughts rushed in his mind as his hand smacked against the wood, trying to gain balance as he got lost in himself.

A creak was heard before his body was flying forward, losing the balance he had been trying to maintain. He stumbled forward, almost falling face down onto his family’s wood flooring whilst his mother yelped out at the sudden movement.

Once settled, and that means Oscar was leaning against the wall looking disheveled and defeated, his mother came up to bring his face in her hands.

“Osc? What happened?” She said in a worried tone, although she had an inkling as to why her son couldn’t even look her in the eye.

With his gaze trained on the floor, he whispered, “She shut the door on me, mom. She left me.”

Nicole had been mad at him, sure, but the sight of his darkened eyes and trembling lips had her maternal side overcoming the bitter one. Sweeping him in her arms, she gently shushed him as he began to choke up and cry.

“It was my fault. This was my fault. I could’ve stopped it. If I would’ve just told her how much I loved her, she would be happy. I would be happy. We would be happy.” He rambled, short inhales of breath at random times as he tried to sort through his pain.

Nicole nodded her head in understanding, “I know, Osc. I know, but you can’t beat yourself up over this. There’s no point.”

He pulled away to look into her eyes, the sight of his bloodshot ones making Nicole wince, “But, there is a point! It’s her! It’s Y/n! Of course, there’s a point because I love her!”

He shoved his head in his hands as his mother put a hand on his arm, the voices in his head quieting as he spoke softly, “Why couldn’t she just grow next to me? Why does she think being alone is what’s holding her back from changing?”

Nicole shook her head, “I don’t know, Osc, but this might just be what she thinks is best for her right now. You need to respect that.”

“Of course, I will, but it still hurts to know that she thinks I’m holding her back.”

As he began to make his way toward the stairs, Nicole bit on her lip as she hesitantly asked, “What are going to do about Lily?”

She watched as he stopped, his back to her as he thought over his answer. Taking a deep breath, Oscar began walking again whilst saying, “I’ve tried to mask my feelings for Y/n for so long. It’s not fair to anyone to continue doing it. Especially Lily.”

—

I don’t think you have to leave. If to change is what you need, you can change right next to me. When you’re high, I’ll take the lows. You can ebb and I can flow, and we’ll take it slow. And grow as we go. Grow as we go.

Her mind got away from her as she stood in the empty coffee shop. Flashes of Oscar and his face right as she shut the door on him haunted her at every moment. Part of her wishes she had just taken what he was telling her, taken the fact that he loved her and ran with it, but the other part of her, the scared part, wondered if doing so would ensure her heartbreak.

This was the kind of back and forth she had to listen to everyday, all day. She wasn’t doing any growing. She wasn’t changing or evolving in the way she thought she would without him. All she was doing was missing him, whether he loved her or not be damned.

“Oscar, black coffee with milk!” The booming voice of the barista interrupted her thoughts as her brain caught up with the name and order. It was either the biggest, cruelest coincidence or Oscar was in the same coffee shop as her.

With the same name and same order she had continuously gotten him for years prior, her eyes searched around the room. Excluding the baristas and her, there was only one other person in the shop, standing in the middle of the store. She met his eyes, his already being on hers, as they both did a once over of each other.

He was too struck to move, his body simply standing limply as he stared back at her. The coffee he had paid for getting cold by the second, he watched as she walked up to him slowly.

“Osc?” She said quietly.

The nickname was like a knife to the stomach as it brought him back to all the times she had said that very nickname while laughing at his joke, but, now, she says it timidly, hesitantly, nervously.

“Y/n,” He breathed out, sounding relieved. Almost as if he hadn’t been surviving without her.

He knew that to be true, but she didn’t and he wanted to keep it that way.

“How are you? How is everyone?” She asked, a small smile on her face as she remembered his beloved family.

He nodded slowly, “Good. They’re good.”

She smiled bigger, something that warmed his heart, “And you? How are you?”

His eyes left hers, trying to hide the utter sadness he had been feeling without her, “I’m- uh, I-”

She looked down, nodding, “I get it. Me too.”

His head tilted, “I miss you, Y/n. If you need to change and do your thing, I’m all for it. I want to support you through that. This is something we can do together and I want to try. I know you do too. If changing is still what you need, do it next to me.”

His quiet whispers provided the privacy they needed to have this conversation as she willed herself to fight the strong feelings for the man in front of her off.

“I don’t know, Oscar. I was being honest that night when I said I couldn’t do what I needed to do with you in my life.” She countered even though that sentence wasn’t fully true. This time apart had proven one thing: she couldn’t get him off her mind long enough to even think about herself.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t miss me too. Look at me and tell me you don’t wonder what we could be.” He pressed, wanting nothing more than to tilt her head toward his and force her to look him in the eye.

She shook her head as the barista called her name and she swiftly picked up her order. Before she could fully get passed him, he latched onto her arm and turned her around, saying, “Lily and I are done.”

She nodded, shrugging off his hold and making her way toward the door, “Sorry to hear.”

He watched her frame walk away through the window, muttering to himself, “That’s not something to be sorry about.”

—

You won’t be the only one. I am unfinished. I’ve got so much left to learn. I don’t know how this river runs, but I’d like the company through every twist and turn. Oh, who said it’s true that the growing only happens on your own? They don’t know me and you. You don’t ever have to leave. If to change is what you need, you can change right next to me. When you’re high, I’ll take the lows. You can ebb and I can flow and we’ll take it slow, and grow as we go. Grow as we go.

His call came in at 2 AM. Thankfully, she was already up, thinking of him and all they could’ve been. Her shaky fingers pressed the green button as the call connected and she put it to her ear.

“Y/n?” He said brokenly.

“Osc?” She whispered back, knowing whatever was happening, he was incredibly vulnerable.

“I’m sorry I called you. I know you’re trying to move on from me and I’m probably making it worse, but what am I supposed to do without my best friend? You’ve been the biggest part of my life for the whole thing. I can’t just forget about you like you’re asking me to.” He said, putting his heart in her hands.

“Oscar…” She didn’t know what to say because, frankly, she was struggling with the same thing. It was proving to be harder than she anticipated, moving on from him and the irrevocable love she held for him.

“You’re not the only one. I’m 22 just like you. I have so much to learn and so much to grow from. We’re both in the same spot. We can do it together. Why are you fighting us so hard?” He challenged, knowing him loving her back wasn’t the problem.

She sighed, “Because, Osc, what if we don’t work out? What if we date and then break up? Then what?”

“We stay best friends.” He said assertively.

She scoffed, “Come on, Oscar. Be real here. We wouldn’t and you know it. We would break up and never speak again because, then, we’d be ex’s, not ex-best friends.”

He breathed slowly on the other side of the phone, clearly conflicted by her arguments, “But, Y/n, I’ll always love you, whether we’re ex’s or ex-best friends. You don’t ever have to leave. Just give it a shot. Give us a shot.”

She met him with the silence, “I have to go, Oscar. I have homework I need to finish.”

Her abrupt change of tone told him he had found what was wrong. She was scared. Scared to get hurt: scared to put herself in an even more vulnerable position; scared to give him her heart.

“It’s 2 A-” He was cut off when she hung up on him, effectively shutting him out again.

—

I don't know who we'll become. I can't promise it's not written in the stars. But I believe that when it's done, we're gonna see that it was better that we grew up together. Tell me you don't wanna leave cause if change is what you need, you can change right next to me. When you're high, I'll take the lows. You can ebb and I can flow. We'll take it slow and grow as we go.

He was fed up, done acting like they weren’t just tip toeing around each other.

They loved each other, that much was clear. Being scared, he understood that, but he wasn’t about to let her throw the idea of them away and him with it.

It was Friday night as he sat and stared at his phone, willing himself to call her and convince her of the fact that she shouldn’t be scared when it came to him. However, when the dial sound went out and he was met with her voicemail, it hit him.

It was Friday night. The night they would go out to the movies, just them two, and wander back to the other’s house. He couldn’t dare to dwell on the fact that he had ruined that tradition by bringing Lily and he, sure as hell, couldn’t dwell on the fact that Y/n had probably been going back there every week on Friday in the months they’d been apart.

His car wasn’t fast enough. His foot on the pedal, down to the floor, as he swerved through traffic. Yeah, it was incredibly dangerous, but he was a professional driver and he was in love, so what the hell.

Finally, after ages, Oscar pulled up to the infamous theater. He sat in his car as he looked toward the spot they always met and, sure enough, her y/h/c hair was blowing in the wind as she stared at the doors. His heart plummeted. This place had been one of happiness and falling in love, but this whole time he had allowed her to make it into a symbol of their separation, of his mistakes.

Jumping out his car, Oscar’s legs spanned the concrete quickly. He watched as her peripheral vision picked up on his chaotic form, her eyes glancing up to meet his before contorting in confusion.

When he reached her, she continued to look at him in a perplexed way as she said, “What are you doing here?”

He shook his head as if it would organize the thoughts bouncing around the walls of his head, “You can’t be here without me.”

Her forehead wrinkled further, confusion deepening, “What?”

He sat down beside her, on the bench where he had realized he loved her in a way that wasn’t friendly years ago, “You can’t be here without me. We’ve made too many memories here together to have them be tarnished by the shit that I’ve pulled.”

“Oscar-” She started, but he interrupted her.

“No, Y/n, let me finish. I don’t know what’s in store for us or what the future holds when it comes to me and you. But, I do know that if we continue to live our lives without each other, we’ll both regret it. Even if we do fall out of love, which would actually have to be you falling out of love with because I won’t ever stop loving you, we would’ve given us a shot and no ‘what ifs’ would be able to linger. Don’t you see what I’m trying to say? It would be so much better if we just stuck together and found out.” He took her hands in his as he looked at her, giving her everything he had, “Tell me you don’t want to leave. Tell me that what you said that night about needing to fall out of love with me isn’t true anymore. Tell me that you love me too. Because, I know, we can find a rhythm. We can find a way to be together while giving you the space to be your own person. That’s a healthy relationship, Y/n. We can be that. I know we can. It’s just a matter if you care about us as much as I do.”

She smiled at him, her head cocking as she whispered, “Are you done?”

He nodded, “What I was going to say before you interrupted me was that I don’t come here to tarnish the happy memories. I come here to remember the happy memories. I’m here every week because when I sit here, I think about the times when things were simpler, when we weren’t fully aware of the fact that we loved each other. As much as I miss those times, I wouldn’t trade them for the feelings I felt when you first told me you loved me that night. This place is a symbol of the way we’ve grown together and it’s helped me to understand that we’ve been growing right next to each other this whole time. Being scared isn’t an option anymore because you’ve had my heart this whole time. Yeah, there were some bumps in the road, but you’ve kept it safe and protected it for the most part. I’m all in with you and shoving you away doesn’t make sense anymore.”

He stared down at her, his smile slowly growing on his face as she finished, “Of course, I don’t want to leave.”

He breathed out a sigh before pulling her into his arms and whispering how happy he was that she had given him another chance.

“I love you,” He said in her ear while she breathed in his scent.

The two pulled away far enough that Oscar could look her in the eyes and silently ask her if he could kiss her. When all she did was smile back at him, he leaned in and reminded her of the reasons why she needed to stay.

Why she wanted to stay.

The couple sat there that way, tangled in each others’ arms, for the hours to come. Kissing lightly and basking in the beginning of their journey together, Oscar thanked whatever God that was out there that she had found love in him enough to agree to grow as they go.

Grow as we go.

Grow as we go.

Grow as we go.

End.

Tags: @sunnytkm23 @luvrrish @oosnapitskat @mehrmonga @f1enthusiastsstuff @piastrisize @au-ghosttype @sopheeg @cxcewg @strawberrychita @loveforyeonjun

Ps. the comment on Hurt Me Once where it was like “i thought education would hurt me but here we are” I CACKLED AND LOLED that was too good fr im sorry to whoever posted that i would tag you but im too lazy to go look after spending hours on this 🥲

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 11

Moniker: Alex Risk Level: Low. Alex has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Wax play Safeword: Refer to first brief. Alex is safe, he will take such good care of you. We will enjoy watching it, but if you would rather we didn’t just tell Alex and he will make sure you are out of sight of the cameras but still able to be heard by us - Farah & Gaz

You had only been to a spa once in your life and had hated it. It was awkward not knowing what you were doing when the masseuse left the room to “let you get ready”. How were you supposed to know what clothing came off or how you were to be laying when they came back or where the towel was supposed to sit?

That’s why you had been stiff walking in to find what looked, smelled and sounded like a spa treatment room. Yesterday was… it was bad? You honestly weren’t sure what to call it. So you appreciated that obviously the powers that be thought you needed a break but you couldn’t imagine this would be enjoyable.

It’s a damn good thing Alex found it very easy to prove you wrong.

He was naked, the shiny sheen of scented oil on his skin that smelled like Farah had. Not hard which was kind of a relief because while you wouldn’t object to sex, the bluntness of yesterday wasn’t something you were eager to immediately repeat.

Below the knee of one of his legs was a prosthetic. It was a good model. You knew that because most special forces did, most of you knew several people who had been stuck with low range, cheap ones that were uncomfortable to wear and served to remind them of what they had lost because they had outlived their usefulness as a soldier and so the military had no interest in looking after them. You were glad he had escaped that particular curse.

“Hi darlin’, will you take your robe off for me? You can lay it right there on that chair and then jump up on the bed.”

You weren’t wearing anything under the robe, but nakedness had stopped bothering you somewhere along the way so you shrugged it off. The sort of table sort of bed was comfortable enough when you scooched your ass onto it.

“Ok, here’s the deal. I really like unwinding a wound up girl, and you are wound up something awful.”

“Don’t like unwinding wound up boys?”

“Nah, them I like winding up more” he said with a wink.

Oh no. Oh he sort of reminded you of Gaz, charming enough to be hazardous to your good sense. You were not having a cock in your damn ass today. You just weren’t.

“Are we…” you started, trying not to be crude because, like an idiot, you wanted this roguishly handsome guy with his pretty accent to like you.

Not that you imagined you were coming off very demure when instead of just asking the question properly you gestured vaguely to his dick and then wound up staring at it slack jawed because it wasn’t only his arms and chest that were tattooed. Oh my God, that must have hurt surely? There was Arabic text running around the circumference.

“Farah Karim.”

“I- oh my god sorry, I wasn’t- wait what?”

“That’s what it says, Farah Karim. A woman named Iskra tattooed it and it hurt like a bitch because she was a bitch about it.”

You just stared at him, trying to formulate any response that wasn’t looking at the camera and freaking out because go Farah. Seriously, how did you become more like her? She was wearing the virginity of several women on her wrist and there was a man wearing her name on his cock? You had met international super spies and nobody came close to that level of fundamentally sensational.

“Ah ah ah, no can do darlin’. You’re supposed to be unwinding so stop going goo goo eyed and lay down on your front would you?”

You felt a burst of butterflies in your stomach at the embarrassment of ‘going goo goo eyed’ and were only too happy to bury your face into the bed to hide. There was a hole for your face which you had expected, but it was also oddly shaped. As if it had been created with your exact proportions in mind because there were sunken in parts that your body melted into instead of what you had experienced before which was having your chest and tummy crushed.

“Now I’m gonna start with an oil because the wax will be easier to get off that way. If you enjoy this we can do it again whenever you want, but we’re not gonna go too hard this session darlin’. As much as I’d like to get your chest and pussy flinchin’ from the heat, we’re gonna stick to your backside for today so you can get a feel for it. If you’re amenable to it, after I’d like to give you a full body massage. The happy ending ain’t optional, think you need to relax proper and I’ll need your body to sing to do that.”

“O-ok.”

It put you at ease that he just explained it all for you, although you hoped there weren’t any surprises as he rubbed oil into his hands to heat it and then started applying it to your shoulders.

“My hands will be the only thing of me touchin’ you today darlin’ so you don’t need to tense thinkin’ about if I might sneak around the brief. I’m naked ‘cause I thought it was only fair if I was asking it of you.”

His thumbs dug into your back muscles and you groaned. You knew your muscles were probably tight, but it was so woefully apparent when they seized against his ministrations.

“Sorry” you mumbled, feeling like you were doing it wrong since you weren’t just turning into goo.

“You’re fine, more than fine. Told you I enjoy unwinding girls, so I’m happy to work you until you’re a relaxed ball of melting butter.”

Sounded good to you, but given your previous experience you couldn’t imagine he’d succeed. And given that it was actually pretty painful and you kept flinching and tensing over it, you didn’t get any more confident.

“Sorry darlin’, you got a lot of tension needing worked out. Will get most of it after the wax, just wanted to get the worst of it first.”

“It’s ok. Don’t think massages really work on me anyway. Is the wax going to, I dunno, wax me? Like is it going to hurt taking it off?”

“So little faith in me. Trust me, it’ll work on you. And no, it’s not the same formula as wax for hair removal” he said before running a hand up the back of your thigh.

The knee-jerk reaction was to be embarrassed. You hadn’t shaved since the night before you came to the Kennel, too exhausted to even think about it, so you were all stubbly now.

“If it bothers you I can shave it once we’re done during aftercare since it isn’t long enough to wax. Does it bother you?”

Did it? You wanted to be the feminine ideal of soft and smooth even though you knew that was a weird societal thing rather than actually tied to femininity. And you did like rubbing your legs together like a cricket in bed after a fresh shave. But did it bother you?

“I’m not actually sure?”

And you weren’t. None of them had really cared that you were stubbly, hadn’t mentioned it at all. In fact pretty much everything you were insecure about didn’t seem to factor at all in how they played with you. In a way it was annoying because why had you spent so long thinking these things would be a problem when it came to having a sex life?

“Hm, have a think about it darlin’. Now take a breath.”

You absent-mindedly took the breath, too busy thinking about if it would be weird for him to shave you tonight to even worry why he was asking you to in the first place.

The first drip of wax seared into your skin in a way that made your whole body seize, frozen in a flinch. It felt insane, like it was sizzling through layers of skin and fat and muscle and settling into your bones. But when the second drip landed on your spine you found you liked it.

You liked how it caused your muscles to lose control and rapidly contract at the shock. How the heat spread out through your skin in a web making that one little droplet warm a much larger area.

“Good darlin’?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re taking to this like a dream. You ok with me moving to your ass? Think it’ll look unreal with wax dripping on it.”

“Go ahead” you said on a sigh, surprised at yourself considering you really didn’t think you’d let him near your ass today.

But you trusted him. He was Farah’s for a start. But he was also checking in, explaining everything, giving you the option to say no to one thing without it being a safe word stop. This was more how you imagined a regular intimate moment between two people would go rather than these odd sessions as an employee.

The fat of your ass cheeks took the wax differently, at least it felt like they did. It was sort of like the feeling of Keegan spanking you, but distilled into one tiny spot that flowed like lava before hardening.

Your pussy was happy about it, that was for sure. It wasn’t clenching on nothing as it had been doing throughout all this, instead it was just giving you a lazy stream of wetness, content to enjoy savouring the feeling. How the fuck did Alex do that? Make it so that your body was so in tune with what he was aiming for? So eager to let go of tension and just relax?

He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Farah and Gaz are going to be going insane seeing how damn pretty your body looks right now all relaxed and covered in wax. Would put money on him being on his knees eating her out right now.”

“You’re the worst” you whispered back playfully, knowing damn well he knew the thought of it was sure to have you gushing (and it did).

He laughed, masculine and strong in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“Now you’re going to relax. You were a delight taking the wax, well done darlin’”.

You felt like a little kid with how happy the praise made you.

He really massaged you after that. You joked around with him about how he was probably going to give you more bruises that the rest of them combined and he just kneaded harder after saying he took it as a challenge.

At some point everything changed. Your muscles finally loosened off and you felt like you were melting into bonelessness. He got you on your back and it felt like you were getting embalmed with how he massaged into the meat of your breasts with no sexual intent behind it.

Finally, after every inch of you was lathered in oil, loose and warm, he massaged between your legs with the same energy.

You hadn’t realised you could have a non-sexual orgasm, but that’s what it felt like. His touch wasn’t seeking anything for his own gratification, it was purely the last part of a massage designed to reset your body, mind and soul into stillness. You cumming your damn brains out wasn’t the culmination of teasing and fucking, it was just part of this odd, sensual experience.

“There we go, perfect. You’re perfect. That’s it, slow” he said as he helped you sit up and gave you a glass of water, watching you sip at it.

“Bath?”

“Nope, can’t move. Whole body is jelly. This is where I live now.”

“Aww that would be a shame, Farah’s set on making dinner for you and believe it or not Gaz bakes unbelievable cookies.”

You whined, because that sounded great, but you never wanted to move again. He just chuckled warm and fond before getting robes on both of you and scooping you up in a princess carry to take you to get fed and then get a nice long bath. Considering the absolute state Farah had put Gaz in, he was pretty sure he’d be needing to give him one too.

[piratekane]

(post-3x05 kacy scene)

Warm fingertips press down against the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, a melody she knows that she knows but can’t quite place in the early grey of the morning, the sun rising, muted, through the low clouds outside the window. She was asleep a minute ago and there’s a dream quickly fading away as her eyes open slowly and the room shifts into focus.

“Morning,” Kate whispers, still sunken in her pillow.

“G’morning.” Lucy pulls the words from the back of her throat like she’s pulling cotton from a cattail. “Time s’it?”

Kate doesn’t roll over to check her phone. “Early,” she guesses. “Too early for our day off.”

A day off. A present for her jungle excursion, courtesy of Tennant. A whole day to let her body come down from the high of being chased through thick vegetation with a life hanging delicately in her hands. Lucy lets her eyes close again and sinks back into her pillow. She goes back to focusing on Kate’s fingers looped carefully around the wrist between them. Tap, tap, taptap. Tap, tap. A song, then. One that she knows but can’t quite place.

“Is that Boot Scootin Boogie?”

Kate exhales a short laugh. “Taylor Swift.”

“Who else would it be?” Lucy feels the bed shift as Kate slides a little closer. She can feel the soft heat coming off Kate’s bare arms and wants to reach for it, pull it back over her, close her eyes and slip back into sleep for just a little bit longer.

It was a long day yesterday, her nerves pulled to their breaking point. When she stepped over the threshold to their apartment, the weight she had been working so hard to push off came crashing down on her. She doesn’t remember tasting the pizza Kate ordered, doesn’t remember picking Love is Blind on the TV or queuing up where they left off. She doesn’t remember brushing her teeth or turning out the light.

She does remember Kate’s body warm behind her on the couch, her own body pressed to Kate’s front as they sat wrapped up in each other. She remembers Kate’s arms and how they wrapped low around her waist in bed and held her tightly. She remembers soft lips to her bare shoulder and I love you against her skin as she let the exhaustion take over.

She remembers the Kate of it all, the steady and warm and loving presence she’s come to need like oxygen in her lungs. She remembers the overwhelming feeling of love—one she thought she’d never find in a million years.

“I could sleep another hundred hours,” she admits, eyes still closed.

She feels Kate’s smile against the back of her hand. “You can. We have nothing planned today.”

The thought is so tempting. She could pull Kate’s arms around her, drape them over her like the light comforter they’re sharing, and let herself sink back into sleep. It’s not too far off; she could reach for it and be asleep in moments.

But Kate is awake and tapping out a Taylor Swift song against her pulse point and that usually means banana pancakes and a Golden Girls marathon and pressing Kate against the counter edge and kissing her until either their lungs start to burn or the pancakes start to smoke. Lucy loves those mornings and the way Kate tastes like the bites of bananas she snuck before mixing them into the batter.

“Did I dream yesterday?”

“Only if we were having the same nightmare.” Kate’s free hand pushes back some of Lucy’s hair. “Otherwise, it was real.”

Lucy slides her foot forward, curling her ankle around Kate’s calf. “I thought so.” She opens one eye, studying Kate’s profile. She’s committed it to memory by now. “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“It did,” Kate murmurs. “That very much happened.”

Lucy sighs. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. She can see it vividly in her mind and she closes her eyes against it again, trying to fill it with Kate—Kate so close and so warm.

“I’m not ready to talk yet,” she admits. She isn’t. She can’t. She’s still working through her family in her own mind; she can’t possibly put into words what they’re like and what they’ve done to her and to each other.

“We don’t have to talk.” Kate’s voice is soft and genuine and Lucy thinks again—again and again—how lucky she is. “We can just lay here. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

Lucy knows Kate isn’t lying. She knows Kate won’t push and she won’t prod and she’ll let Lucy set the pace for when and where and how. And it sounds perfect—a whole day in bed with Kate and their bodies pressed close together, hidden away from the world.

But someone told her to live her life yesterday. Someone who had the courage to throw theirs to the wind and start over from scratch. Someone who proved that there are still good people in the world who want to do what’s right for the sake of doing the right thing. And even if she can’t talk about it yet, even if she’s not ready to unlock the ugly parts of her past and lay them out on the table, she’s not going to lay in bed all day and let the world just pass her by.

“No.” She opens both eyes, staring deeply into Kate’s brown ones. “Let’s get up. We can make pancakes.”

“Banana or blueberry?”

“Both,” she says, feeling greedy and not caring. “And bacon. And toast. And—“

Kate laughs. “Okay. Remember we can only eat so much.”

“I can eat so much. I’m from—“

“Texas, yes.” Kate laughs again and leans in, kissing Lucy softly and pulling away too soon.

Lucy thinks about chasing her, pressing her deep into the mattress and not stopping until she has to come up for air. But she settles on letting Kate pull away and slide out of bed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail that exposes the long line of her neck. In her thin tank top and her soft shorts, no one has ever looked more beautiful than Kate does right now.

Lucy may be holding some things back, may be keeping some things close to the vest, but this? This she wants to scream from the rooftops. This she wants everyone to know. This she wants to tell Kate.

“I love you.”

Kate looks back over her shoulder, a smile on her face that threatens to break through the grey clouds outside their window. “I love you too.”

Live your life, Lucy Tara.

Lucy smiles as she gets up and stretches her arms above her head, feeling the tension break in her shoulders. She is going to live her life. She’s going to take every moment and hold it tightly in her hands. She’s going to love Kate with every part of her that’s capable of it and when she’s ready she’ll tell Kate everything she wants to know.

“Lucy?”

Lucy looks up. “Hmm?”

“I said, we can make toast too. If you want.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she smiles. “Life is too short to skip the toast.”

Kate rolls her eyes, pulling the sheet back up on the bed. “Where did you read that?”

“That’s a Lucy Tara quote, free of charge.” She winks when Kate laughs and scrubs her hair back off her neck into a bun. “There’s more where those came from, by the way.”

“Lucky me,” Kate grumbles, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Lucy says softly. “Lucky you.” She holds Kate’s eyes for a moment. “Lucky us.”

Kate’s smile slips into shy before she clears her throat and gives the neatly-made bed one last pat. “Lucky us,” she echoes. She slips out of the bedroom and heads towards the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

Lucy watches her walk away and thinks: this is a good life. This is a life worth living.

She follows Kate.

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 4 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, minor injuries and anxiety attacks

Summary: Following the fight, you run away, your mind spiraling…

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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In my blind haste to get away, I bump into people which results in them spilling their drinks and shouting at me.

It’s muffled though because my ears are ringing and I have to blink rapidly to prevent the room from drifting out of focus.

I can’t faint now. Not here.

I push through my dizziness and finally make it outside where I stumble to my car. I fumble with the keys, trying to unlock it so I can at least lay down in the backseat, but my hands are shaking too much.

With a whimper I give up, my knees buckling beneath me. I have just enough sense left in me to slide down the side of the car and lean against the tire, rather than letting myself fall forward.

Coward.

The man’s voice keeps replaying in my head until it slowly but surely turns into my dad’s.

I wince and hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth with my eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Numb. It’s the only way I can describe how I’m feeling. It’s the only thing I felt for the last couple of days and now I’m at my parents’ front door.

My uniform feels tight and suffocating, and I have to clench my fist to prevent myself from tugging at my collar.

Harper is next to me and she isn’t looking to be doing much better. Her face is void of any emotion and she has the sunken eyes of someone who hasn’t slept all week.

Her blonde hair is slicked back beneath her cap and tied together in a regulatory braid and her uniform, not unlike mine, is crisp and clean.

“Good evening, Sir,” Sergeant Lane says once the door opens. The way he’s standing is shielding Harper and I from view, but when he steps aside, taking off his cap, my dad’s eyes land on us.

He freezes and his face falls. My mom appears a second later, taking in the scene with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y/N, Harper?” she says, her gaze—whether it’s consciously or not—darting to the empty space next to Heather. “What’s going on? Why are you home? Where’s Noah?”

The first tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away aggressively, but it’s only the first of many and a second later I’m sobbing. I clasp my hands over my mouth to muffle the sound and lean my head back against the tire.

“How could this happen?” my dad hollers, his voice cracking.

Harper and my mom are huddled up on the couch, crying.

I’m standing in front of the coffee table, my cap in hand, while my dad paces through the room.

“Dad, we did everything we could,” I choke out. I haven’t cried yet. I haven’t cried since I begged Noah to keep his eyes open. “I did everything I could.”

“No you didn’t!” My dad spins around and stares me down with so much hatred, I have to avert my tear-filled eyes. “You didn’t go after him, you—!“

“I couldn’t!” I interrupt with a pained cry. “We were under direct fire.”

My mom lets out a sob and buries her face in Harper’s shoulder.

“But you let him run off!” My dad fires back.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” I cry, “He disobeyed direct orders!”

“You were his superior officer!” My breath catches in my throat when I’m suddenly yanked forward by the collar of my uniform. “It was your job to keep him safe!”

I look up to find my dad baring his teeth, the vein in his forehead throbbing dangerously. When he speaks again, his voice is low and shaky. “He enlisted because he looked up to you. He did everything to impress you and get your approval, and now he’s dead because you did nothing.”

“Dad…” I whisper, the tears I’ve been holding back now dripping down my face.

My dad’s lip twitches and his grip on my collar tightens for a moment before he shoves me away. “Leave.”

Eyes widening, I straighten out my uniform and look at my mom for help, but she’s still crying into Harper’s shoulder. “Dad, please…”

“LEAVE! I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN,” he shouts, shoving me again.

I don’t fight back. I can’t. I look at my mom again and this time I can tell she’s purposefully not looking at me. Neither is Heather, I realize, which shatters my already broken heart.

They think it’s my fault, too.

I choke out a sob and run out of the room.

“You’re a coward, you hear me?” My dad shouts after me when I open the front door. “Coward!”

“Hey,” a soft voice rips me from the memory. My eyes snap open, and I scramble to get away, but then familiar green eyes find mine and I stop.

“It’s okay,” Lena says. She’s crouched down in front of me in her heels, a position I’m sure isn’t exactly comfortable. She reaches for my hand and I let her take it. “You’re okay.”

I gulp and clench my jaw, not attempting to hide the tears that are still running down my face. My heart is pounding in my chest and everything’s still a bit muffled, but I’m no longer on the brink of passing out.

Lena stays with me for what feels like hours, holding my hand in silence and running her thumb over my knuckles until the ringing in my ear finally stops and I feel like I can breathe normally again.

“Ms. Luthor,” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have—“

Lena squeezes my hand and shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. Let’s just go. I’m taking you back to my place. I can’t in good conscience leave you alone after what happened tonight.”

I want to protest, but the headache that is starting to form has me agreeing with a dejected sigh.

I pull myself up, my knees still a little weak, before helping Lena who’s struggling to get up herself because of her heels and her dress.

Without saying anything, she reaches forward and roams around in the pockets of my jacket until she finds my keys.

The proximity makes my ears tingle, but I ignore it as best as I can because it’s super inappropriate. Not only because of what just happened but because she’s my boss. My very attractive boss…Of course I’ve noticed, I’m not blind, but she’s off limits.

It’s clear that she intends on driving, so I get in the passenger seat, my body slumping against the door as soon as I’m done putting my seatbelt on.

“Wait, what about the others?” I ask when Lena starts driving. I lift my head off the window and look at her.

She glances at me for a second before focusing back on the road. “We split up to look for you when you ran off. I texted them as soon as I found you. They’re probably on their own way home.”

Relieved and, admittedly a little touched that they all went looking for me, I lean my head back against the window. My eyes however stay on Lena whose profile is on full display since her hair is in a high ponytail.

She really is beautiful, especially now because her guard is down. Her face is relaxed and so are her shoulders. Gone is the raised eyebrow and the clenched jaw.

She looks younger like this and it makes me realize just how much stress she’s under all the time.

When we come to a stop in front of her building she looks over, slightly startled that I’m already watching her.

“Are you alright?” she asks, a barely noticeable flush making its way to her cheeks.

I send her a tired smile and nod, too exhausted to respond verbally.

“Okay,” she mumbles, ducking her head shyly and opening her door.

I get out myself while she hands the keys to the building’s valet. She also slips him some money and says something which I don’t catch because I’m waiting by the door.

The elevator ride up to the apartment is silent and when we get inside I’m unsure what to do. Lena’s by my side though and leads me through her bedroom and into the bathroom where she guides me to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I raise an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s planning on doing but then she wets a small towel and gestures at my face. “May I?”

I look past her to see my reflection in the mirror and grimace. The blood that ran from my nose earlier is now dried and all over my mouth and chin. Some of it also got onto my shirt and jacket alongside the beer and liquor stains I acquired when I was bumping into people.

My eyes find Lena’s again and I nod, showing her that I’m okay with her cleaning my face.

She starts a little hesitant at first, but soon the hand that is not holding the towel is on my chin, directing my head every which way.

Again, the proximity is making me nervous, but I can’t help but watch her while she works. Her brows are furrowed in concentration and she bites her bottom lip every now and then.

I gulp when she wipes the last of the blood away, her face now merely a couple inches from mine because she leaned in to get a better look.

Her eyes dart up to mine and when she realized how close she is, she freezes. Her breath is shallow and her hand drops from my chin to my chest.

I don’t move. I can’t. Not when her eyes are taking in every detail of my face.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a knock at the front door.

Lena snaps out of her daze, panicking slightly, and rushes out of the room.

My shoulders fall and I take a deep breath. This has never happened before. Yes, we’ve shared some small talk and coffee here and there, but we’ve never been alone like this. We’ve never been this close.

Before my mind can go down a rabbit hole and dissect every interaction I’ve had with the young CEO, Lena returns with a plastic bag.

“What’s this?” I ask to break the tension that her return has inadvertently created.

Lena pulls what looks to be a plain grey sweatshirt and some sweatpants from the bag and hands them to me.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to be sleeping like this,” she gestured at my stained shirt which now that I’m thinking about it smells like booze.

I get up and shake my head, attempting to give the clothes back. “I really can’t take this, Ms. Luthor. You’ve done more than enough and I— I should probably go home.”

Lena looks almost disappointed, but it’s quickly replaced by determination. “No, I’m not letting you leave. I—“ she hesitates— “know what it’s like to be alone after something like tonight, so I’m not letting you go home. You can stay in my guest bedroom. ”

I really want to say no and just go home, but the pleading look she’s giving me convinces me to give in with a sigh. “Alright, thank you.”

Lena smiles softly and pushes the clothes back into my arms. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do after the way you defended me tonight.”

This time it’s my turn to get all shy and squirmy. I feel my ears tingle and tighten my grip on the clothes. I could have just told the guy to keep it moving, but I did defend her to him and let’s just say that that is not something that falls within my job description.

“It was nothing,” I reply honestly.

“No,” Lena says lowly. “It was everything.”

I look up to meet her eyes again to find her already watching me with something I can’t quite place.

She takes a careful step forward, her eyes not leaving mine, and ends up placing her hand on my forearm after hesitating and not really knowing where to put it. My heartbeat soars at the contact and the skin on my arm where she’s touching me is heating up.

She squeezes softly and sends me one last smile before leaving me to change. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Ms. Luthor.”

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Again, not proofread yet but I wanted to get it out sooner rather than later.

I have an exam coming up, so I won’t be able to write as much, but I’ll try my best to keep updating this story.

Also, here you go @nuianced-tck-enby :)