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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

I have no way of expressing this ask more than this. I crave for someone being so whipped and in love with me that they would do anything (walk him like a dog sis) and I know you've already written some things like that but I beg of you to write more. Sorry I'm on my period rn and I want some Marauders fluff, maybe the fic be about period comfort? Idk, sorry if that makes no sense, have a good week 😭🙏 Dealers choice on Poly, James, sirius, or Remus (I don't currently have emojis but its the cake anon)

I hope this was along the lines of what you wanted? Ngl lovely since the request seemed basically just for fluff and comfort I treated it like a free space on a bingo card so thank you!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 997 words

The sound of your door opening makes your back tense enough that you nearly gasp in pain.

“Hello?”

“Just me,” your boyfriend says, voice coming towards your bedroom.

“Oh.” Relief and affection are unmissable in your tone though you try to seem less eager. “What are you doing here?”

James is frowny as he comes in. A sad little pucker to his lips as he takes in the sight of you stomach-down on the bed, taut and motionless with your head turned to the side to see him. You find your own self-pity intensifying under his concerned gaze.

“You said you were hurt,” he says.

“I didn’t say that.”

James gives you a fond look, dropping his duffel bag on the floor and taking his phone from his pocket. “Woke up with my back all funny,” he reads aloud from your texts. “Can’t move, won’t make it to the gym sorry.” He tsks, squatting beside your face. You watch the flex of his quads with a reverence you’ve only recently stopped being embarrassed of. “You spelled can’t without the apostrophe. That was the really scary part.” You wince, and James cracks a smile, kissing you. “How badly does it hurt?”

“It’s not that it hurts very much,” you say, pushing out your bottom lip a little in the hopes he kisses you again. “It’s just surprising.”

James takes the bait, pressing his lips gently to yours before pulling away again. “Surprising?” he repeats.

“Yeah. Like, you know when you get shocked by a door handle or something and your whole body seizes up? It’s like that, but only when I move.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice either,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the curve of your back where it disappears under your bedcovers. You take the opportunity to trace the line of his jaw with yours. “Can I have a look?”

“A look at what?” you ask. “It’s in my back, Jamie, it’s not really something you can see.”

“I know, just…” He starts crawling onto your bed, mindful of not making the mattress shift underneath you. “Can I?”

You bite the inside of your lip. Your wariness is evident in your tone. “Sure.”

James brushes a hand over your hip in thanks. He moves slow, settling with his knees straddling your legs and untucking the sheets from around you carefully. You trust him, but it’s hard not to go rigid as he pulls your sleep shirt up above your waist, feeling somehow more exposed for your incapacity of movement.

He hums. “It doesn’t look inflamed.”

“Told you.”

“You told me,” James agrees, sounding amused. “I just thought if it was a muscle thing, it’d be swollen or something. Where does it feel like it’s coming from?”

He lays his hand, ever so gently, on your lower back, and you gasp.

He takes it away instantly. “Shit, sorry. I’m sorry, angel, that hurt?”

“It’s fine.” You force yourself to breathe past the pain. “It just surprised me.”

“It can surprise you and hurt at the same time,” James says, remorseful. “I’m sorry. If I…if I warn you that I’m going to touch you, do you think that’ll be better?”

Just the prospect makes you feel tense. “Maybe,” you hedge.

“Okay. I’m gonna rest my hand here, but I’m not gonna push. Relax, sweetheart.”

He’s right. This time, his touch is enough to make the muscles of your back tighten but not scream at you. James waits a beat to make sure you’re okay before drawing his hand up and down your spine.

It hurts less and less as he goes. James’ palm emanates a warmth that’s more soothing than the cocoon of your bedcovers from before. You’re safe so long as he’s looking after you.

“It’s here?” he asks, palm settling between your hips. “That’s where it hurts the most?”

“I think so,” you say. “It’s hard to tell.”

“That’s where you seem the most strung up,” he murmurs, rubbing from side to side. His pressure increases very slightly as he feels for the cause of your hurt. “Do you have a chiropractor you like?”

“No.” Your voice turns wary. “I’ve never needed one.”

“I know one who I think is pretty good,” James says conversationally.

“I don’t want to go to a chiropractor. I can’t even sit up.”

“That’s something he might be able to help with, lovely.” James’ palm soothes over your bare skin. “But okay. We can talk more about that later, let’s just focus on making you feel better for now. I think half the pain is from how nervous you are. It might get better if you’re able to relax.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to not be nervous when it keeps hurting,” you mumble.

“We’ll loosen you up,” James says certainly. “We’ve got all day.”

You frown, turning your head to look at him before lightning bolts shoot down your spine. James makes a soft, chiding sound, rubbing your taut muscles.

“You’re planning to stay here all day?” you ask.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t actually take all day to get you relaxed enough to sit up,” he says, “but yeah.”

“Don’t you have other things to do?”

“This is what I’m doing now,” James replies easily. “I’m staying here with you.”

“Oh.” You want to argue with him. Part of you feels like you should, wave him off, say I’ve got it, actually, but maybe you’re just needy. Your voice softens with apology. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” says James, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. “Of course, sweetheart. What else am I here for?”

“You mean, other than to look good?” you tease him.

You can hear his smile in his voice. “You did really miss out at the gym today. I was going to do arms.”

“Now I’m extra sorry my back decided to mutiny.”

“Hey, if it’ll help you relax to watch me do push-ups on your floor, just say the word. I’ll try whatever works.”

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peanutalergy · 3 months ago

Text

letting – asking 𖦹 s.r. × reader

in which fem!reader takes what is meant to be a casual thing too far

tags: insane angst, spencer is a bit of a dick ngl, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), post prison!spence, age gap mentioned but not really that relevant, inexperienced!reader, reader is so me lowk

wc: 2.2k

a/n: first time ever posting the shit i write please don't make fun of me this sucks so bad I can't write nicely but I had a vision and I needed to read this I'm aware it's insanely ooc don't worry I hate it too but I'm trying to overcome my anxiety I need to post it I'm sorry. english isn't my first language !!

is it casual now?

you were a rebound. you've known since the very beginning, he was kind enough to let you know. he had just gotten off a long-term relationship with a woman much closer to his own age — who you couldn’t help but notice looked an awful lot like you — and all he wanted was comfort. spencer said he couldn't have, couldn't give anything else. he wasn't looking for anything other than a warm body. you were that for him. a young, pretty, lonely college girl. that's all it was.

but it's been going on for far too long. you met last summer, and it was almost spring again. you don't really have that much experience with situationships, hell, you don't have that much experience with anything, and yet, even you know this shouldn't have lasted as much as it has. it's not normal to have a copy of his keys, or a space in his dresser, or a makeup bag in his bathroom, is it? is it okay that he's been calling you things like my love and my baby and my girl?

truth is, you'd fallen in love with him. you've known it since halloween, a few months into this, when you two dressed up as the tenth doctor and rose for trick or treating together. after you got home and he was helping you take off your makeup while rambling about doctor who, you looked up at him and simply knew.

you started calling his apartment home after the first time he went on a case and let – asked – you to stay there for the whole week. you still have your own apartment, but you're barely there. it's just an extra place to keep the clothes you couldn't fit into the drawers he emptied out for you. this was home. he was home.

when he asked you to be his valentine by sending chocolates and a bouquet, the first real bouquet you ever got from a guy, it's safe to say you were confused. when he took you out to the nicest restaurant you'd ever been to, and gave you the most gorgeous necklace you've ever seen, and told you you're the prettiest girl in the world when you put it on along with the dress he bought for you, you were convinced there was something going on. you spent the whole evening thinking he might have changed his mind, he might actually want you to be his girl, despite the agreement. people change.

until you got home and, after having sex, he shattered your silly dream with a simple question:

“you know you can see other people if you want to, right?”

you're not even sure why those words hurt so much, after all, deep down, you knew you could. he's not your boyfriend. but the fact he feels the need to remind you of such thing, especially after the night you two had, hurts, a strange kind of pain you'd never felt before, and you're sure he could feel your heart breaking inside your chest beneath his head. if he hadn't heard it then, though, he certainly did after a beat, when the next words slipped out of your mouth in a shaky whisper.

“have you been seeing other people?”

“no, of course not. i just think i should let you know. i can't give you anything more than what we have now, so i don't think it's fair to ask you for loyalty.”

and you haven't been able to think straight since then. all your other answers that night were short and dry, and the fact that spencer didn't ask if you were okay made it clear that he knew you weren't, and he knew why.

you loved him.

now, weeks after, you were standing on his balcony with a warm cup of tea in hands, trying to pretend you didn't feel the cold wind hitting your bare arms. you woke up too early and didn't want to be stuck for hours in the torture that consisted of a mixture of your overthinking mind and his sleeping body subconsciously holding you, so you carefully untagled his limbs from yours and went to his kitchen, giving yourself the liberty to have breakfast. after all, he said to make yourself at home when you basically moved in.

you don't even hear the glass door sliding open, which is why his arms wrapping around your waist and his head burying itself in your neck startled you.

“it's too early, why are you up?” he mumbled against your skin before pressing a soft kiss beneath your jaw, his warm breath bringing some sort of comfort from the cold, until you remember why you're out here, in the first place. “jesus, baby, you're freezing. let's go inside.”

“i’m not cold” you almost cringe at how pathetic your voice sounds as it comes out of you. trying to hold back tears only resulted in a weak mumbled whisper, somehow worse than just turning around and sobbing uncontrollably in his arms.

“what's wrong?” he asks, and when he's answered with a long moment silence, he gently spins you around to be facing him. “are you okay? what's happened, love?”

love.

it probably isn't meant to, but his tone of voice feels almost mocking. the smartest, most rational part of your brain tells you you're probably just overthinking it, like everything else. but the emotional voice, the loudest one, is screaming he knows.

he knows what's wrong and he's making fun of you. he's trying to make you say it. he's trying to get you to admit you're in love with him.

but it's only when you feel his hands cup your cheeks, breaking you out of that train of thought and slightly cheering you up, that you come to the conclusion that you should probably leave. this is toxic, and you both know it.

the money you've spent on therapy over the past five months is being poured down the drain every second that you spend here. but then again, he's been paying you back in gifts and kisses and cuddles, and, probably most importantly to him, sex. that doesn't matter, though, because when it ends and you're left alone with the knowledge he doesn't love you, you feel somehow worse than before.

you hesitantly look up, and when you see his soft eyes roaming all over your face with a worried expression, you're almost convinced he loves you. his gaze feels so warm, you almost forget you're standing outside in the winter wearing only a shirt.

when he says your name in a whisper, in that gentle tone that made you feel like the love of his life, you're reminded of the truth. you're not.

and then it snaps. you want to be mad, you want to yell and hit and cry and give him all the reasons you hate him. but there aren't any. you can't be mad. he warned you about this, didn't he? he said it was just a casual thing, nothing else was going to happen, can't get too attached. it's your fault for taking it too far, isn't it?

so you just pull away and walk inside. you know he'll follow you. you drop off your half drunk tea cup in the sink and you walk to the bedroom. this isn't a conversation you can avoid, you know that, but the only reason you should have it out there in the cold is for your own suffering. and you're trying to have more self respect.

it's not long before you hear the expected soft knock on the bedroom door, and he doesn't wait for an answer before slowly pushing it open and sticking his head in. he meets your eyes and you nod, quietly letting – asking – him to come in.

“what's wrong, baby?”

“please, could you just- please stop calling me that.”

he's silent for a second, staring at you in slight shock, before moving to sit down in front of you in the bed. “okay. is there a reason you're suddenly pushing me away like this?”

you had a whole monologue scripted in your mind. you were going to say how this relationship is confusing, and you were going to put to practice everything your therapist said about setting boundaries and proper communication. but the words leave your mouth before you can even think about it.

“i love you.”

he's either a really good actor, or a really bad profiler, because his reaction convinced you that he actually had no idea. and also that that was the last thing he wanted to hear from you. “sweetheart, you know i can't-”

“i know. i know, i'm sorry. i'm just- i got too attached, and, and it's totally my fault, we agreed on- and it's okay. i'm stupid, i shouldn't have gotten attached, i'm too sensitive, whatever, i know. i'm just-” you let out an exhale as you rub your eyes, trying to slow down in order to keep the tears in “-i have to leave.”

he's quiet for a moment that feels like it will never end. your mind would usually start drifting off to the worst possible things that could happen, but you can't think of any scenario worse than him letting you leave. when he speaks again, though, there's a hint of desperation in his voice “no, you don't have to leave. please. stay. we’ll pretend this never happened. stay.”

that might actually be the worst outcome.

“no, i can't just- that's not how that works. i can't forget i love you. i can't stay here if you can’t love me back. i- i know what we agreed on, but you don't get to treat me like a girlfriend without making me one.”

“what, you want to just have sex and leave?”

“yes! yes, actually. that's what casual means. not- not dates, and gifts, and pet names, and keys, for fucks sake.”

he seems to notice the tears forming in your eyes, something you barely noticed yourself, and he wraps his arms around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest as his hand moves up and down your arms in a soothing manner that only makes you more upset because you know he doesn't mean it in the way you wish he did. you don't have the strength to pull away, though. not physically. you just can't bring yourself to pull away.

you bury your face in his chest and cry quietly, mumbling things like i'm sorry and i fucked it up and i love you while he presses kisses to the top of your head, whispering comforting words that you don't fully process due to your current state.

when your breathing slows down a bit, he pulls away to look at you and takes your face in his hands, wiping away the tears and saying softly “stay. please. don't leave. i need you. you- jesus, you can't- please don't leave. you helped getting me through the breakup, and… i can't love you the way you want me to, but… i do care for you. so much. please.”

you stand up, shaking your head as you put distance between the two of you — if you don't, you'll be crawling back into his arms in no time. “no, no, spencer, don't do that. you've been so confusing, and, i just- i can't do this. not like this. please. don't do that.”

another bit of silence. he looks down at the striped bedsheets where his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns, then up at you almost pleadingly “please, let's just go back to how it was before. casual. that was nice. we don't have to-”

“no, god, please, no, stop.” you sob as you wipe your face, looking around the room in an empty attempt at calming down “that wasn't casual, spencer. and it can't be. to me, at least. never. please, stop– stop it.”

his eyes move between you and the bed a few times, before settling on a spot on the bedsheets to stare at for what feels like forever before he gives in and nods, asking you to leave. you're both glad he's doing so, and disappointed he didn't fight for you a bit more.

you have to battle the urges to go up to him again and kiss him and sit on his lap and hold him close. instead, you put on a pair of sweatpants and grab your phone and jacket before walking out. you didn't forget about the clothes, you just didn't have the energy for packing. you know he'll do it. you wish he wouldn't.

when you get “home” after the longest cab ride of your life, you collapse onto your bed, and don't move for hours. it was already dark when you looked outside again, so you just went back to sleep.

all that goes through your mind is how sweet and caring he was to you, and you hate that. you hate that he had the guts to be such a loving man when he felt none of that love. you hate him.

and sure, in a few days, when he gets lonely, he'll call you again, and you'll go again. you'll stay a long time over there again, you'll forget today ever even happened. you'll fall in love with him all over again, and you'll be convinced he loves you too. you'll be the happiest you've ever been (for a while) again. you don't have that much self respect, after all. in a few days, you'll get to pretend to be his again.

but for now, you hate him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #spencer reid fic #angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader angst #my stuff

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pinkyqily · 21 days ago

Note

I can see Juju never playing about her gf, like how she lowkey pulled up on that Michigan player after that foul, I can imagine her acting that way if someone said something about her gf

IMAGINE SOME PLAYER TRYING TO START SUM WITH YOU BUT JU DOESN'T PLAY ABOUT HER GIRL LIKE THAT ON OR OFF THAT COURT

The game was a close one against Michigan, but usc managed to close the gap. During the 4th quarter, a Michigan player it would be funny by colliding into you when you had the ball.

It all happened so fast, one moment you had the ball and was about to shoot, next thing you know, you're on the ground, head hurting.

As you tired getting up, you found yourself staring at the commotion going on.

Ju was arguing well more like yelling at the player that had so-called in bump into you.

Things got a little physical real fast with the Michigan player shoving ju, juju who then shoves her back but real hard that she fell back on the ground.

You witnessed all this while still being on the ground with a wrist that was starting to feel like hell. But you soon got up seeing that Judea was starting to get hella heated with the girl.

Both teams had to get their players, refs being no use in the situation.

You got up walking towards them, you got in-between ignoring the girl who pushed you earlier.

"Ju just leave it no point". You said to her.

"Nah bro, just let me pull up her lil ass since she thinks shits funny."

"And what get a game suspension, Judea be so for real right now." This time, you pulled her away more of her using her own legs.

As you both made it to the bench, she was still talking about the situation. "I still think you should've let me do sum since her ass thought she tuff or sum."

"You're already gonna be in hot trouble with coach and your mom, and you still wanna pull a on court fight, girl can you be so for real." You said to her.

As you said that, she rolled her eyes at you. "Doesn't matter if it my mom or coach nagging me, no one gon hurt my girl and think they can get away with that shit."

You laid your head on her shoulders as you both held hands while sitting on the bench. "It like you get extra hotter when you're pissed." You told her.

Guess the Michigan girl learned something the hard way cause o the moment fame ended and it was time for the high five shenanigans, she immediately looked away from ju really quick moving quite fast in the line.

On your way to the locker rooms you and ju got a real laugh out of that one.

Kyi Radio: love a these dululu imagines there so fun to write ngl hopefully I made your dululunese come to life with this one,ju would most definitely not play about her girl.

Divider credits to @cursed-carmine

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luvyeni · 10 months ago

Text

HOT MESS ,, 이제노

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ collegecrush!jeno x reader wc. 2.4k

genre. smut

🦢◞  includes ... oral ( fem receiving ), unprotected sex, praise kink , this is kinda angsty.

request. can u write a "campus crush" fic based on jeno's look at the airport please 🙏🩷

「 authors note 𖹭 」 ngl i didn't expect it to be so angsty but reader literally is me and my brain.

❪ masterlist! ❫

your brain was always on go; constantly it was like it never stopped, even when you would sleep it was like your brain wouldn't turn off— it was never ending, and becoming a college student; living on your own made it worse.

running into your class; the professors back was turned around so you snuck in , sitting down. “you're late again.” yoo jimin, your best friend; the complete opposite of you; she was constantly put together, it was like she had everything together. “i stayed up last night to study.” you whispered, huffing out pulling out your ipad, hair all over the place. “how did it go?” you stared at her stoically. “how do you think?” you said. “point taken.” she said.

“maybe you have like adhd or something.” karina walked next to you; watching you go through your messy planner. “because this can't be normal.” she said. “im sure the doctor has something to cure whatever this was.” you shrugged. “with my luck i would probably be too busy and forget to take it.” she laughed. “probably, you're just a hot mess and that's okay, i still love you anyway.” she wrapped her arms around you, calming you. “messy hair and disheveled clothes that i'm pretty sure you had on yesterday and all.”

jeno on the the hand; he seemed to have his life together— he never came to school looking crazy; even after a night out in which he was black out drunk with his group of friends, he'd turn up the next day, showered, shaven and ready to go on with his date. “it almost scary why aren't you hungover.”

haechan groaned, his head down low. “you out drunk me yesterday; jaemin left you in your dorm unable to pick yourself off the floor.” jeno smugly shrugged, his hair black hair was neatly styled, his outfit that he picked that morning neat on his body.. “i feel fine, maybe you should lay off the alcohol.” the boy would've lunged at the boy if he didn't feel like his head was gonna explode. “haechan look you and yn both look like you had a good time last night.”

jeno turned hearing your name, a small smile on his lips, one no one couldn't unless they were looking really close. “fuck off jaemin.” you huffed sitting down. “except yn looks like that all the time.” haechan said, yelling as you began bang on the metal table. “how's that headache? huh you asshole.” jeno held his hand out , stopping you. “you'll hurt yourself.”

he moved his hand away from you; that didn't really help your rapidly beating heart. along with the stress of school and your everyday life; jeno lee was another thing that raced throughout your already cluttered mind; he sometimes was the only thing that could calm your messy mind— not like he noticed or anything.

“she’ll hurt herself— she hurt me!” haechan cried out. “my head.” holding his head in his hands. “jimin hold me.” you all watched karina fight the whining boy off, you laughter making jeno smile slightly, only stopping when jaemin caught him; wiggling his eyebrows at the boy, jaemin was the only one who knew about his crush on the girl.

“you should ask her out.” jaemin said one day out of the blue. “yn, you should ask her out.” jeno was shocked; he thought he did a good job hiding his infatuation with you. “haechan isn't all the way there and renjun could care less, so of course they don't notice, but bro i'm your best friend , and i can tell , and you don't really hide , you literally write the notes down so she can study.” ever since that day, jaemin never let him live it down.

“yn you have a class soon.” jeno turned to you as you looked down at your phone. “oh yeah i better go.” you shot up. “my professor is gonna kill me if im late again.” you collected your things. “jeno don't you have this class too?” renjun asked, he nodded; calmly getting up, saying goodbye to everyone, before walking away; but walking slowly so you'd be able to catch up to him.

you both made it to the class, you found your seat in the back; jeno took a seat in the front like always, occasionally looking back to check on you— he felt bad, watching you stress out all the time, you could never seem to get anything right in your eyes; but in his eyes you were perfect.

“yn.” your professor stopped you as you were leaving out the door. “yes?” you stopped. “your research paper.” she started. “is there something wrong with it?” you sighed, she didn't have to say anything, but you knew. “listen what if i give you an extra day or two, go over it; read my notes and try again.” she said, you nodded. “thank you ma'am.” you turned walking out of the class, where jeno was waiting. “oh jeno you're still here?”

while waiting for you, jeno overheard your conversation with the professor. “yeah, everything okay?” you nodded. “just need to go home and get my head together so i can get this essay right this time.” he walked silently next to you, before he spoke up. “i can help you.” he said. “go over the essay with you.”

“y-you don't have to, it's all word vomit i don't want to put you through that.” he waved you off. “i don't mind it.” you were about to reject him again when he grabbed your arm, stopping you. “let me help you.” your eyes widened at the sudden touch. “sorry.” he said, removing his hand. “it-its okay.” you said, heart racing. “i can come over to your apartment and go over it with you.” he said. “and it won't be a problem?” he shook your head. “you'll never be a problem, okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”

“come on let's go.”

it had been so long since you had anyone over besides karina and she was used to your madness; but it had been even longer since you had a cute guy over, and you weren't really planning on having one over— otherwise you would have cleaned your room. “it's a little messy.”

“it's okay, it's just clothes.” he smiled watching you frantically pick up the clothes, shoving them in your closet. “sit.” you pointed to your bed. “please, make yourself comfortable.” you said. “um …” you turned to jeno, your face losing all color— he was holding your bra in his hand. “did you forget something?”

you practically lunged at the boy to grab the item, throwing it into your closet. “let's get started.” you said; he smiled watching you go through your bag to pull out your laptop. “here.” you opened it, pulling up the essay. he took the laptop from your hands, your fingertips touching. “let's see, it can't be that bad.”

it was bad; but jeno didn't let you know that— well he tried. “um, okay.” he said, you frowned. “it's bad isn't it?” he sighed, reading through the essay, looking at you; your eyes were desperate. “i can help you fix it.” he said, you sighed. “it's useless.” taking away the laptop. “if only i can get my brain to stop just for a second , my essays won't be so shit.”

you hated this; your brain wouldn't stop, it was overwhelming. “hey.” jeno called your name, you bit at your nails in stress. “hey.” he stopped you, holding your hands down. “calm down , i told you i'll help you wouldn't i?” he said. “i’ve seen worse essays trust me, jaemin will plagiarize if i let him.” he laughed. “i can help you fix this, but you have to calm down first.” your eyes traveled to where your hands met. “you're so cute but you're a hot mess.”

“me-me? cute.” he chuckled; but you were freaking out inside and out, he shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. “let's finish this okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”

after going over the mess of a essay; reading the notes the teacher gave you and jeno talking you through it; you finally put together an essay that was at least readable and would satisfy your professor. “thank you so much jeno, you saved my life.” you smiled. “it was all you, you'll do good if you just turn that pretty little head off and learn to breathe.”

“that's easy for you to say, your life is so put together.” you said. “i can barely get out of bed on time, it's like you said im a hot mess.”

“you don't want to hear my problems.” you said. “the essay is done and you probably have things to do, you can … mph” before you could get the rest out; jenos lips were on yours in feverish kiss, pulling away to give you enough air before his lips were on yours again.

he pulled away again, ready to kiss you again, but you held his chest signaling him to stop immediately. “did i make you uncomfortable?” he said. “no-no.” you said flustered. “just, it happened so fast, and now my head and my heart is racing.” you were rambling on and on and it made jeno want to kiss you again, you were so cute. “then just turn that pretty head off and let me help you.” he looked at you with so much want in his eyes. “okay?”

you nodded, he held the side of your face, pulling you into another kiss; his lips swiping across your bottom lip, sticking his tongue in your mouth , his grip on your waist, lifting your shirt. “lifting your arms for me pretty.” he took your shirt off , throwing it to the floor. “he-hey just because i use my floor as a hamper doesn't mean you do.”

he laughed, “i'll be sure to fold your clothes neatly the next time i fuck you.” he pulled your pants down, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. “baby you really are a hot mess aren't you.” he kissed your stomach once he laid you on your back. “i like that.” he reached for your waistband, pulling them down your leg. “keep them open pretty baby.” he kissed the sides of your thighs. “such a pretty little pussy.”

you felt the warmth of his lips as he kissed your cunt. “j-jeno.” it had been a while since you've felt anything like this, and lord was jeno good at what he was doing , licking your folds , his nose brushing up against your clit, for the first time in a very long time; there was only one thing on your mind— it was jeno.

“fuck jeno!” you moaned, gripping his dark locks. “im… im gonna cum.” you whined feeling him removing his lips for your clit , one of his fingers invading your hole. “you gonna cum for me?” you nodded, he groaned , his cock hard; he was ready to fuck you. “y-yes.” you gasped. “pl-please let me cum.”

“shit.” he cursed, adding another finger, curling them inside you. “so tight baby, go ahead and let go for me, make a mess all over my fingers for me.” you gasped out his name , moaning as you came. “good fucking girl.” he fingered you through your orgasm, until you were holding his wrist , grinding against it. “je-jeno.” he no longer looked put together; his hair messy, clothes disheveled— even his brain was running a mile a minute, he finally knew what it was always like in your head. “you look so pretty when you are cumming.”

ridding himself of his clothes; folding your legs in half, giving him a view of your cunt. “pretty little pussy, want me to stuff my fat cock inside?” slotting his cock in between your folds; moving his hips, the tip of his cock catching your clit , both of you moaning. “pl-please fuck me.” you begged. “shh , baby i got you.”

positioning his leaky tip at your entrance, slipping inside. “fuck.” he sighed, your cunt sucking him in. “so tight.” he gasped as he fully bottomed out. “je-jeno you're so big.” you moaned out; his hand coming up to your throat. “yeah, you like my cock stretching your tiny pussy?” he hissed as you tightened around him, your eyes crossed as he plowed into you. “did i fuck you're pretty head empty?” he questioned, a moan following. “had so much fuck so much going on inside it , now it's nothing but my cock.”

he tightened his grip around your throat; speeding up his thrust. “de-deeper jeno, fuck!” the desperation in your voice , you needed to feel him; the deeper he went , the tighter his hand wrapped around your throat— the less you thought about anything, all your troubles floated away. “je-jeno im gonna cum.”

“yeah?” he speed up, cursing as he chased his orgasm. “hold it just a little baby, fuck , wanna cum with you.” his forehead was pressed against his. “i-i can't , jeno im gonna cum.” you gasped , your fingernails digging into his arms. “ugh , fuck!” he cursed , rubbing your clit. “fuck i'm gonna cum , cum for me pretty baby.”

he made direct eye contact with you as you came , cunt gripping him like a vice. “shit!” he pulled out , roughly stroking his cock as he came, his warm seed splashing on your stomach. “fuck fuck fuck.” he squeezed his base , milking himself, groaning. “shit.”

“you want another?” he toyed with your clit. “your little clit is still desperate for my attention.” you moaned , his finger filling you up. “je-jeno.” your glazed over eyes. “your pretty little mind is floating somewhere else isn't it?” he chuckled. “fucked you too dumb?” you gasped , moving your hips, grinding against his hand. “go ahead, cum for me again, pretty.”

you felt like you were floating; mind empty as you came down from second high. “come back to me, pretty girl.” he coached you back down , a smile on his face. “good girl.” he removed his fingers from your cunt. “you did so good for me.”

“something on your mind?” jeno asked as he watched you pick at your nail beds for five minutes. “there's always something on my mind.” you laughed , about to bite your nails , he grabbed your hand, holding your hand down , rubbing your knuckles. “not when you're occupied.” he smirked , you slapped his naked chest. “it's not that.” you said. “it's you.” he tilted his head. “what do you mean?” you shrugged. “you can tell me.” he said, you sighed.

“when you're around you help me not think, you calm me.” you confessed. “so what you're saying you're a hot mess without me?” you pouted. “why are you making fun of me?” you whined , he laughed , wrapping his arms around your body. “thats fine with me.” he kissed your forehead. “you're a hot mess.”

“but you're my hot mess.”

©LUVYENI

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tang3r1n · 7 months ago

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ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴀʙʏ

cw; 18+, heavy topics ngl, refrences to poverty and starvation, angst, GAY LESBIAN SEX, slight cannibalism symbolism if you squint rly hard, refrences to sex work and/or sexual assault

A/N: abt 900 words and literally cranked this bitch out in lile half an hour. jesus fuck how in the hell did Sevika bring me out of my fucking writing dry spell. what the actual fuck. i haven’t written in a year and ofc when i do it’s fucked up analogies and lesbian sex.

To be born of the cursed flesh is a cruel fate worse than death.

To be born as a tainted babe, cast out from the womb with vile stares and scornful words, is the most unlucky a child could be.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. She’d lived her life good, honest, she deserved the fruits of her labor, a young life filled with pain and struggle. But she was that of the unfavored, not the blessed ones of Piltover, not the nobles with their mansions or the Council with their riches. She was impoverished, born starved, raised hungry, grown into a ravenous woman who begged for the moresles of candied love the scum around her shoved down her throat or inside her.

She lived to survive, didn’t have time for anything outside of the coins thrown her way and the scraps she fed from. Ironic how she never looked the part; plump and soft, malleable and pliable, her hunger hidden beneath that syrupy, sugary smile that oh-so softly graced her cherub cheeks. She pranced around in fine silks and soft feathers, smoke and shimmer stinging her nose and eyes, ears never without the soft whines and moans that fluttered through the halls of the brothel.

Men were somehow more starved than she, their oafish bodies sweaty and fetid as they grabbed her with rough hands, uncaring of the bruises and marks that grew, staining her already tainted body. She loathed them, pushing her brain to the clouds of smoke circling overhead as she rode out whatever sick ride they put her on. The rides were never long, thankfully, mercifully, their essence all that remained once they stepped off with little more than a sideways glance and those same scornful words she learned years ago. Her bed was a sanctuary, a soft, pillowy escape where she could let her mind drift and fly away, she dreamed of soft touches and sweeter kisses, honeyed words and gentle smiles against her plush skin.

This woman above her, her tan skin and dark lips, soft breasts and firm muscles, rough hands caressing her like she was made of porcelain, felt like heaven. Her touch was better than shimmer, a rush incomparable to any human emotion, a religious awakening, it was invigorating. Men were hurtful, slapping and choking all while they shared the same blood and flesh that she had— but this woman, with her metal arm and scars, was slow and sybaritic, gluttonous how she sucked and kissed at her skin.

Long fingers pumped inside her, working choked gasps and impossibly soft moans from the cursed one’s mouth, curling inside her cunt to almost lazily press against that spot that made her dizzy, stomach twisting as her eyes fluttered shut. The woman’s voice was low and deep, chiding her for looking away, for her hips trying to worm away from this pleasure, “look at me,” the woman whispered, licking a stripe up her neck littered in hickeys. The other keened, hazy eyes half lidded as she looked up to her savior, the older woman grinned, wolfish and possessed, yet she didn’t feel fear. Not like she had before, the woman was all-consuming, dominating her very soul and suffocating her under that strong body built by the gods, yet she could only cry and cling to her skin, begging for more and more.

She was starved, and this woman, bringing her to climax, the sinfully delicious sounds of her own cunt squelching clashing with her pitiful cries, was feeding her. Feeding that bottomless pit she had been build with, feeding her with lips sloppily meshed together in a fucked up display of power and perversion. Feeding her with those dangerous fingers circling her pearl and filling her up. Feeding her with praise and love like a false prayer, flooding her mind with devotion and compassion she so desperately craved.

With the burst of her orgasm, she wailed, tugging on her savior’s messy hair as her body shook in pleasure. White blinded her as her glassy eyes rolled back, devilish smile fading away with a dark chuckle. The woman gently slipped her fingers from her cunt, a dull ‘pop!’ making her ears burn as she watched the woman suck on the soaked fingers. The woman’s eyes rolled back, a delicious moan rumbling from her chest and in that moment she wondered if this woman was starving too. If her savior craved just like she did, if this woman watched her with the same kind of hungry eyes as she did.

She was pulled into another sultry kiss, lips smooshed and smacking as they stole each other’s breath, wrapped up in each other’s arms. The woman pulled away first, keeping her close with a firm hand around her thick neck, string fingers ever so gently cutting off her oxygen, “such a pretty girl,” the woman whispered, a secret for just the two of them, “my new favorite treat.”

Born damned, she scavenged for love and life, but staring into those dark eyes, she saw the same hunger, the same damned flesh tangled up in her’s in a macabre display.

#holy shit venus actually finished a work.#.v speaks #maybe the issue is i’m becoming more of a girl kisser #.venus updated!#..arcane #x chubby reader #x fat reader #arcane x reader #tw angst #tw sa implied #arcane smut #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika smut

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ga-lily-o · 8 days ago

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⚹ Reader is gn! ⚹

Tags/Warnings: Allusions to sex the night before // Sappy, sappy inner monologue // fluff // mildly suggestive language // short blurb // I cried writing this I want this so bad // I just wanted to write domestic fluff ngl // under 1k words

Summary: Mark Grayson is many, many things. A hero, a Viltrumite, his mother’s son, Oliver’s brother, but god does he love being yours.

(Author’s note at the bottom)

Mark loves you. That’s not the big reveal, but it certainly hits him like a bullet every time he’s reminded of just how deeply he does.

Like a freight train to the lungs every time he catches you, sees you, in a way only he gets to see. With sleep sagging at your shoulders like a weighted blanket over hickey-bitten skin, your legs in the bare air as you nurse a cup of whatever was the first thing you grabbed on the counter. Which happens to be your favourite morning wake up, because Mark always makes it for you when he wakes up first.

And he’s damn thankful for the chance, don’t you get him wrong. Any opportunity to hear you hum in quiet, tired delight; to see the way your eyes droop as you let the smell of it waft under your nose, he’s going to take it. Because loving you in the quiet of everything, is Mark’s favourite kind of morning.

“You jus’ gonna stare, baby?” you ask him, the words a tired drawl as you hold out an arm to let him slip himself closer, your cup (the one he’s got the matching set of) gently clinking when it hits the counter. He slips his arms under yours, feeling his heart swell at the quiet laugh you let out by his ear, and he breathes you in. Like home, and the lingering night before.

He’d stay staring at you forever, if you’d let him. Would die happy curled up against you or simply watching you go about your everyday, no matter how boring or dull. Though it’s hard to say anything gets boring or dull with you around, not with the way you’re always tugging at his heartstrings or making him laugh.

“I’m just admiring my work,” he says, in lieu of voicing his true, sappy thoughts. His head stays tucked into your neck, and he feels and so clearly hears the way you giggle. “I don’t think I left enough of them on you.”

Your palm makes contact with his back, though he’d hardly call it a hit. If anything, he barely feels it at all with the way his skin is quite literally invulnerable to most physical attacks. Still, he winces, just to give you the satisfaction of it and to see the way you raise a brow at him when he pulls back.

“Stop pretending, asshole,” you mumble, but there’s a fondness twisting your words into something affectionate, and here’s another reason why he loves you. Even while making fun of him, you somehow make him feel loved.

“I’m not pretending,” he whines lightly, clicking his tongue with a playful frown. Your drink’s getting cold, but your smile is getting livelier and livelier and Mark loves you like it’s breathing. “It really hurts my heart when you hit me.”

The way you tip your head to the side to laugh makes him grin on instinct, leaning in closer until his nose bumps against the side of yours, and you’re chest to chest with your back to the counter, arms wrapped around his shoulders like his are wrapped around your waist.

“You’re impossible,” you laugh, eyes closed and breath shaking, and he watches you peek your crinkled eyes open with the same focus one might watch a total solar eclipse.

“Mmm, wrong,” he teases, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, laughter making its way through to him from you like an infectious giggle fit, “I’m Invincible, actually.”

Because here’s the big reveal: Mark wants to marry you. And when you stop giggling, he kisses you with the full force of it knowing you’d catch him either way.

A/N: I decided to make my own borders this time cause I’m . bugged by the lack of coherency in the visuals of my posts. Anyways, I cried a little while writing this. Something about domestic love and ‘loving in the quiet’ always always gets to me. Because it’s one thing to love someone as they are at their best, it’s another to see them in the morning and find them beautiful for the way they look. All disheveled and what not.

This is also shorter, because I tried to write more of it, but the pacing was just off. It’s more powerful and poignant in my opinion to keep it as this first part alone. If I do continue it, it’d be at a later date, and I wouldn’t want to write the proposal unless I got the inspiration for it, just because it gets hard for me to write scenes like that without accidentally falling into oc or self-insert territory.

Consider this more my new borders debut than me posting a fic 😭

#mark grayson x reader #lee’s writing #mark grayson x you #mark graryson fanfic #invincible x you #invincible x reader #gn reader

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signanothername · 5 months ago

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Hi Anó! Do you have any advice for writing characters like killer? How do you achive that nuance? I love your comics and would love to learn about your artistic process a bit!

Hi Gal!! A delight to see you in my inbox! <3

Omg thank you sm hcchhcchch (have you seen your own comics???? *shakes you* /pos)

Ok but I say this genuinely, I think your ideas and comics are such a beautiful and refreshing take on these blorbos, you’re doing such an amazing job both writing and art wise (your 2 Killers idea is so fucking good eeeeee) <3333

Ok to the question xgzggxzg

Killer is definitely.. complicated to write, I struggle with him sometimes ngl shshhdh

I honestly went and reread his entire comics, lore and answered asks to get a deeper look into him to be able to write him

But when it comes to writing him, I generally try to keep 6 things in mind at all times

1-trauma: how does the resets, working for Chara, having his code get manipulated and killing over and over again till what was new became something old affect him? (the whole idea of Killer killing people started as an offer of trying something new, so he kept killing till he got bored and killing became something stagnant)

This can easily be portrayed in Killer’s canon inability to till what’s real or not, as well as his hallucinations and the guilt he’s ridden with, always running from his past yet never outrunning it, as it always catches up to him

2- conditioning: his conditioning started from the days of Chara, then continued into his days with Nightmare, how does his conditioning affect him in his daily life?

How was he conditioned specifically? And how does that contribute to Killer’s perception of self, autonomy, self worth, and life in general? How does it change his body and mind?

Does it make him believe he’s just a machine meant to please others even when it hurts him, does it make Killer perceive vulnerability as a death sentence

How does he feel about his masters? Does he hate them down to every bone, or does he not care?

3-personality: Killer’s personality always change depending on the stage, but what are the main traits that you know Killer will always have regardless of the stage? Being quiet is one thing, he keeps to himself (as much as the fandom loves to portray him as extremely hyperactive, he’s not at all the loud, talkative, hyperactive skelle the fandom makes him out to be)

He’s also extremely secretive, seems to have knowledge that others don’t, and seems to always be up for a social interaction regardless of who’s with him

He’s also actually extremely patient (another thing the fandom stripped away from Killer’s character), and is very docile (isn’t aggressive unless pushed and never is an attack on sight kinda person) yet holds a grudge big time

He seems to see himself as superior over others, he’s extremely fucking intelligent it’s actually scary

These traits are something I try to keep consistent within my writing for Killer

4- relationships: what are his relationships with other characters like, and why?

Taking the 3 points before into consideration, how does Killer’s trauma, conditioning, and personality make him perceive others and others perceive him?

Are his relationships healthy? Toxic? Are they one sided or mutual? Does he care about the person in his vicinity or are they just another nobody? If he cares why? If he doesn’t what would he do to them?

Would he take advantage of his relationship with someone or is it a relationship he wishes for it to vanish?

5-stages: I think this is truly what makes Killer extremely complicated, cause see all of the 4 points above? how does each stage differ from each other?

How does stage 1 deal with his guilt/truama and conditioning? How does stage 2, 3, and 4 deal with them?

Depending on each stage Killer’s outward perception, personality, attitude, thoughts, and actions change

But how do they change exactly?

This is something that you need to understand each stage for to be able to integrate into writing

Stage 1 is the stage where he’s most sans like, yet never sans enough, stage 2 is when he’s apathetic to everyone and everything and perceives killing as “fun” because he’s painfully understimulated , stage 3 is when he’d attack whoever is in front of him, and stage 4 is when killer is no longer present mentally

How does each stage deal with his environment, with the people around him, how does he deal with the dissociation and how does he perceive himself in each stage?

6-environments: how does the environment Killer lives in affect him?

Killer starts in an environment of time loops, how does that affect his perception of time and reality? He then becomes Nightmare’s subordinate, a dangerous environment with constant threats to his life from every angle, how does Killer feel about it? How does he deal with it?

Will he get to try his luck and escape, or has he given up on himself and the idea of freedom? Does he even believe he has a chance for a better life in a safer environment? Will he go for a safer environment or will he cling to the comfort of what he knows?

When he does finally go to a safer environment, how would that affect him? Both positively and negatively? Would he feel like something is missing? Would his mind constantly tell him that this safe environment isn’t really safe?

Then of course, beyond these main 6 things, there’s the in between, what are Killer’s likes? His dislikes? How does he feel about sleep, food?

Generally when writing characters, it’s important to keep in mind interpersonal factors, intrapersonal factors and environmental factors that ends up affecting the character’s behavior, or in this specific situation, Killer’s behavior (god I’m realizing how much my uni major affects my writing of characters rn chchc)

But I say the biggest life saving advice I have that helps with writing characters in general (and especially complicated ones like Killer) is having the question “why” as your closest friend

When you make a statement about a character, in this instance Killer, always attach the question “why” at the end till you can’t attach it anymore, until you reach a point where asking “why” becomes unnecessary and annoying

For example:

“Killer loves golden flower tea”

Why?

It reminds him of the bed of golden flowers he passed out on

Why does that matter?

Because it was the point of no return from a change that will always dictate who he is

Why is it a point of no return?

Because his soul had deformed beyond recognition and it can never be brought back to how it used to be

Why would it dictate who he is? Why can’t he just choose to be someone else?

Because he was conditioned to be this killer by a higher power out of his control

At this point, there are no more “why”s that would make something as simple as a golden flower tea statement more nuanced than it already is, so when you ask why again, you find that you’re unable to continue giving an answer, that’s the point of where you stop

In fact, allow me to test you by giving you a quick question about your own interpretation of the characters, why does your Nightmare admire Error? What is in Error that Nightmare admires specifically?

Of course, you don’t really need to answer me, but I’m just giving you an example of how asking “why” can help you make so many simple things more nuanced

Ok but what if you know there should be an answer to a “why” but you don’t know it yet? Then you keep it in mind for later, you won’t always have the answers to everything on the get go, sometimes, you need a bit of time to figure things out and write characters the way you feel satisfy you, until then, you can work on other things about the characters

*Cough* anyway, this is honestly everything I can think of off the top of my head? Hopefully I didn’t miss anything ydfhgchchchc

Do let me know if you’d like any more help or need clarification on anything, I’d be happy to help where I can <33333

Now have a sketch of your 2 Killers cause I love them dearly, they have a special place in my heart (genuinely adore how you write Killer already btw)

#anothers ask #killer sans

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secretaccountlol · 2 months ago

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GDA SUPERHERO NO WORKER COMP

Author note. (Holy yap I’m sorry)

If you've seen my Tumblr, you know l've only written for Spider-Man before. But recently, l've been getting into Mark Grayson (Invincible), and there aren't many fics for him yet, so... (atleast at the time of writing this)

Disclaimer: I'm still getting a feel for Mark's character, so excuse any OOC moments. Also, slight canon divergence-Mark's a bit older here (early 20s, college arc), and Omniman is still gone. Oh, and his bathroom is connected to his room because I said so. Uhhh plz comment, repost etc if you like this, (I read ALL OF THEM) and first time out of my comfort zone highkey scared ngl...

Shoutout to the lovely, supportive, stunning : @sobbingscripter

Another shout out to @clownprincesshq , the detailed notes on how write/the character of Mark is something I read to trying to study his character.

I hope I don’t let yall down LMAO.

About 4,000 words give or take.

18+ no minors go away!

Warning : uhh not much? Mark is kinda pissed at the reader at first due to story beats. So yk some name calling but only once.

Oh and typos, guys I'm dyslexic and this is my first story in a while go easy on me.

Oral sex on reader, the smut is short I got waaay too into the writing of the reader and mark.

Reader is AFAB, she/her pronouns aren't used :D (if l missed any please let me know l'll correct it)

Y/N is not used.

Reader has superpowers, they are * undefined* Very vague like super strength and flying.

SUMMMARYYY:

You’re hurt, no where to turn. Maybe Eve? Rex? No, too far. You’ll never make it.

You see his house.

Mark. Invincible.

Would he even open his door? Or would he just slam it in your face?

PART TWO IS UP NOOWWW

The world was spinning.

Or maybe that was just the blood loss.

Your arms trembled as you slapped a weak hand against Mark’s bedroom window, the glass cool against your burning skin. Inside, the faint outline of his sleeping figure was barely visible through the haze of your vision.

“Mark!” you hissed, voice cracking.

Nothing.

A frustrated groan tore from your throat. Of course! He was a heavy sleeper.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you muttered, though the insult lacked any real bite. If a doctor asked you right now, “On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?” you’d probably throw them through a wall for wasting your time.

You balled your hand into a fist and slammed it against the glass again—harder this time.

*Crack.*

The window shattered under the force, shards raining onto Mark’s floor.

“Oh.”

Turns out, when you’re bleeding out and half-delirious, controlling your superhuman strength isn’t exactly a priority.

Mark jolted upright, eyes wide with alarm. “What the fuck are- ?!” His voice cut off abruptly as he slapped a hand over his own mouth, glancing toward his door. Right. His mom.

“Why the hell are you here?” he whisper-yelled, scrambling out of bed. His feet barely touched the floor before he was at the window, shoving it open. “And why did you break my window?!”

“Thank god,” you breathed, swaying slightly. “I thought I was gonna have to hover here all night—”

Your vision blurred. The edges of your consciousness frayed like a frayed rope, darkness creeping in. Just as your eyelids fluttered shut, Mark’s hands shot out, gripping your forearms.

“Shit—I got you, hold on—”

With a grunt, he hauled you inside. Your body hit the floor with a dull *thud*, sending a fresh wave of agony through your ribs.

“Dude, my mom is sleeping!” Mark hissed, crouching beside you.

You let out a weak, pained laugh. “Geez, how about ‘Are you okay?’ Or ‘Why are you covered in blood?’ Or—I dunno—‘Are you dying?’”

Attempting to sit up, you winced as your spine protested, a sharp spike of pain shooting through you. You collapsed back onto the floor with a groan.

…Actually, the floor wasn’t so bad. Cold. Solid. Maybe it would soothe the fire licking at your skin.

“I would’ve even taken ‘Why aren’t you at the GDA?’” you muttered, tilting your head to look at him.

Mark’s expression softened, worry etching deep lines into his forehead. “Okay, yeah. That was a dick move. I’m sorry—you just fuckin’ spooked me.” He shifted uncomfortably, eyes scanning the gashes and bruises littering your body. “Are you… okay?”

His hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, like he wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting you further.

You smirked. “Nah, I just love lying on the floor.”

A laugh tried to force its way out, but it turned into a wheeze halfway through. Ow.

“Hey, hey—careful,” Mark murmured, his touch feather-light as his palm pressed gently against your sternum.

You swallowed thickly. “I… Do you have a med kit?”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, my mom kept one from when she used to patch up my dad, but I—” He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I don’t really know how to—”

“’S’okay,” you slurred, fighting the heaviness in your eyelids. “I can walk you through it. Just… get it before I pass out again.”

Your fingers twitched toward his wrist, brushing against his pulse point. Warm.

“Please?”

Mark’s breath hitched. Your eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pain—in any other situation, they might’ve been mistaken for bedroom eyes. He shook his head sharply, as if dispelling the thought, before scrambling to his feet.

“Be right back. ”Don’t die.”

“I’ll try”

You hummed in acknowledgment, but the darkness was too inviting. Your eyes slipped shut.

The next thing you knew, a hand was shaking your shoulder.

“Hey- hey! Are you dead? Please don’t be dead. I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s a dead person in my room.”

You cracked an eye open. “Oh, wow. Not even sad I’m dead, huh? Just ready to bury the body?”

Mark exhaled sharply, relief washing over his face. “More like I don’t wanna explain to my mom why her son—who just got back from college—is suddenly a serial killer.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure she wouldn’t be thrilled if you took after your dad.”

Silence.

“…Too soon?”

You winced. “My bad. Pain makes me a jaded fucker.” Your voice dropped. “I wish I had a family as tight as yours.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well… it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

You blinked. Then grinned. “Mark Grayson making a pun? Has the world gone mad?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Cracked?” You coughed out a laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Considering I definitely have cracked ribs right now?”

Mark rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You must be feeling better if you’re able to lift yourself and make shit jokes.”

You choke back a laugh as you wriggle out of what is left of your costume off your body. You scoff as Mark’s breath hitched, turning away from your indecency.

“Still a virgin?” you teased, reaching for the med kit.

“Still a bitch?” he shot back.

You smirked. “Touché.”

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can you just tell me how to patch you up? I’d like you out of my house before sunrise.”

“Right.” You fumbled with the kit, hands shaking. “Okay, take this gauze and press it here to stop the bleeding. Then I’ll thread the needle so you can sew me up.”

Mark paled. “Sew you up? I can handle basic first aid, but I’m not playing surgeon tonight.”

Your fingers missed the wound entirely, and a frustrated tsk slipped out. “I said I’d walk you through it. It’s fine.”

“You can barely hold your hands steady,” Mark argued, snatching the kit back. “Let me just—uh—” He rummaged through the supplies. “Liquid bandages. Here.”

His fingers brushed your side as he leaned closer, applying the adhesive with surprising gentleness. “Most of the big cuts are already healing,” he murmured.

You grinned weakly. “Might not have Viltrumite recovery, but close enough, eh?”

Mark grimaced at your smile, your bloodstained teeth made his stomach turn “Jesus.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, broken only by your occasional hisses and Mark’s muttered apologies. His hands were careful, methodical—like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch.

“Instructions say to wait five minutes before it’s waterproof,” he said finally, sitting back. “After it dries, hop in the shower. I’ll lend you some clothes so you can leave after.”

He stood, moving toward his dresser.

You watched him for a moment before sighing. “Trying to get rid of me that fast?”

Mark stiffened. “Yup.”

“Then, why are you giving me a reason to come back? ” You teased, gripped the wall, hobbling toward him as you motion towards his clothes.

He didn’t turn around. “I’m not.”

“You don’t want the clothes back after y’know I wash them of course”

“Nope.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing your temples before you speak.

Your chest tightened. “Mark, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry, doesn’t cut it.” His voice was sharp, but you could hear the hurt underneath.

“Mark—”

“No. Don’t ‘Mark’ me.” He finally faced you, eyes burning. “I confided in you. You were my teammate—” His hands clenched. “You were my friend.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You reached for him instinctively, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mar—”

“Get your fucking hands off me.”

The venom in his tone sent a chill down your spine. That was the voice he used on villains. On traitors.

And now, it was the voice he used on you.

“You have to see it from my perspective!” you snapped, gripping his collar. “Your father was one of the strongest heroes we had, Mark! He killed the Guardians! He was a double agent for 20 years fucking years before he attacked—how was I supposed to know you weren’t the same?!”

Mark’s eyes flashed with guilt, then angry pushed “Don’t you—”

“Especially because he coincidentally decided to fuck the world up right when you got your powers!” Your voice cracked. “It was fucked for Cecil to put that shit in your head. I know that. And I hated myself for taking their side. I still hate myself for it.”

Your arms wrapped around yourself, nails digging into your skin.

“I thought I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered. “I had no one but him and the government.” A bitter laugh escaped. “Had being the key word.”

Mark’s breath caught. “Is that why—?”

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes.

“Yeah. He didn’t… take it well when I said I wanted to leave.”

Mark’s hands twitched at his sides before he stepped closer. “Did he do this to you?”

Your brain racked itself for a response, Mark wasn’t waiting, hands zip to your shoulders.

Mark’s grip on your shoulders tightened. “Did. He. Hurt. You?”

You whimpered. “Mark—you’re hurting me.”

He recoiled like he’d been burned. “Shit—I’m sorry, I just—” His hands hovered. “Did he?”

You swallowed. “No. I was pissed. Went on patrol. Found trouble. Got fucked up.” You exhaled shakily. “Usually, I’d go to the GDA, but…”

Your voice trailed off. You’d left your entire life behind for your morals. For him. And now you were standing here, pouring your heart out like some guilt-tripping mess.

“I should go,” you muttered, swiping roughly at your face. The words tasted like ash. “This mess is mine —not your problem. Thanks for… y’know. The patch job.”

You lunged for the window, ignoring the scream of protest from your ribs. Just get airborne. Just push through. But your legs betrayed you, buckling like paper under the weight of your own hubris. The sonic boom you’d aimed for sputtered into a whimper, gravity clawing you back toward earth.

Mark’s house grew terrifyingly large in your plummeting vision. At least you're aiming for the yard.

Strong arms intercepted you inches from impact, the sudden halt stealing your breath.

“Yeah,” Mark murmured, his voice vibrating through your back where it pressed against his chest. “You’re definitely staying over.”

You craned your neck. The dim streetlight silhouetted his hero gear—the sharp lines of his reforged Invincible suit, goggles still faintly glowing from the chase.

“Aren’t I glad to see you?” you rasped, forcing levity into your voice.

He huffed, the sound warmer than it had any right to be. “Dunno. You ran out pret-ty fast.”

“Costume change just to come get lil old me?”

“Well, you can get a little squirrely, I didn’t know how far I would have to chase you.”

His feet plant on his roof as he bridal carries you inside,

“Alright- uh, so the bathroom is over there and I left you some clothes here to use.” Mark motions with his head.

“I think you can put me down now, in-vin-ci-ble” Your smirk widens as Mark's face turns beet red as he drops your legs softly.

“Yes, right right right. Sorry sorry- uhm. I-i’ll stay here“

Mark awkwardly shuffles to his bed, hands in his lap as he watches you slink into the bathroom.

The shower scalded away the night’s failures. You lingered until the steam thinned and the water ran cold,

Mark’s silhouette was a shadow against the moonlit window, his shoulders slumped in a poor imitation of relaxation when you emerge,

You can tell he's pretending he doesn't notice your there, he was a lousy liar, his body too honest you watch as it shifts feeling his eyes on you. You cough to get his attention

“Clothes are over there,” he blurted, jabbing a finger at the dresser without turning. His ears burned crimson.

You smile, nodding as a thank you, The towel hit the floor with a damp thud.

He choked. “Jesus—warn a guy!” His body makes a 180 to the wall barring his view of bare legs.

“Pfft, Mark, it’s fine,” you snorted, flapping a dismissive hand even though he’s still stubbornly facing the wall.

“ I - mean are you sure I-just, y’know your privacy and, and stuff!” You giggle as Mark's hands karate chop the air as he intensely monologue.

Even his posture screamed guilt—one foot pivoted toward you like a compass needle, betraying him entirely.

“Privacy’s a luxury where I grew up, Flyboy. “

“Still—you don’t just do that without warning someone!” Mark’s protest cracked mid-sentence, his head twisting to steal a glance over his shoulder before committing to facing you fully. ”Plus,

You’re not with them now. Remember?” The edge in his voice bled into something softer—an oath masquerading as a reminder.

The words hung in the quiet of the moonlight. “You get to choose what you want to be now.” Your name—always a weapon in others’ mouths—feels soft, malleable on his tongue as he stepped closer.

You curled inward, arms wrapping around yourself. “I-I don’t… I’ve never had choices before.“ The admission clawed up your throat, raw and bloody.

Well now, you have plenty of time to figure that out.” His eyes breathe hop, taking a hold on you as his gaze softens, mellowing the heat of the unknown for you.

”Its late, we should lay down.” Mark smiles at you as you nod. .

The floorboards creaked as you knelt, laying flat.

“What’re you—?”

“Laying down to go to sleep?.” You shift on the floor, wincing as your ribs protest. “Goes great with existential crises.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s fine! Feels just like home!”

Mark dragged a palm down his stubbled jaw, the *click* of his molars grinding louder than his words. “If you sleep on the floor, I have to sleep on the floor.”

You square your shoulders, chin jutting. “Your roof, your rules, right? I rule that you get yourself into that damn bed, and I stay here. Not like you can make me”

A beat. Then—

The grin that split his face wasn’t boyish. It was predatory, all white teeth and dilated pupils.

“Oh, no. I can make you.”

He moved faster than your battered reflexes could track. One second you were glaring up at him—the next, his arms banded around your waist, hauling you onto the mattress.

“Mark Put me down, you asshat!”

“ Issa compromise,” he declared, legs tangling with yours to pin you in place. His knee brushed dangerously close to your thigh.

You squirmed out of his grasp. “You’re insufferable.”

Your glare could’ve scorched planets as toss it over your shoulder you lunged for the bed’s edge.

His forearm banded across your ribs, hauling you backward into the crater of his body.

His palms splayed hot against your hipbones, thumbs digging into the hollows like he was mapping fault lines. You arched, but his grip was tectonic—unyielding.

“Nope, no escapin’”

You grunt wriggling once more, his knees caging your thighs as he wrestled you flat.

“Goddamnit, Mark! You are so-“

The contact was accidental. Had to be. But when his knee brushed that electric junction between your thighs, your breath shattered into a gasp—sharp, fractured. Mark stilled, arms iron bands around your ribs as he hauled you backward into the heat of his body.

"I win," he purred, lips skimming the helix of your ear. The vibration unspooled something primal in your gut.

"Y-you’re a dick“ you hissed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Ah yes.” Mark chuckled, as he nosed the frantic pulse at your throat. ”I’m a dick for making sure my friend doesn’t sleep on the floor.” His knuckles grazing the waistband of your borrowed sweats.

His head tilted to meet your eyes “How terrible of me?” he grins.

Asshole.

You feel your face is a nuclear plant right now.

He has to know right? That he’s turning you on? That you're basically soaking the brand-new pants he gave you?

“Y-y- I- “ Your words dissolved into a choked stutter, palms slamming over your burning face as you twisted away.

“Hey? Oh— shit. Did I crush your ribs or something?”

“No– you didn’t I just—“ You bite your lip, not exactly first-date conversation material to tell him you want him to fuck you senseless? You swallow the confession, reaching for the closest lie instead.

“I- uh.. can feel..” you squeak,

You turn to look at his face again, eyes moving between his mouth and then his eyes as Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“I can feel you- against my ..-butt..”

You mentally scream into the void, what are you 5? as if your brain short-circuited mid-crisis. Ass was right there. Ass was obvious. Why didn’t you say ass.

“I-“

Mark is short-circuiting too, lips stuck on a half-formed syllable.

“I am so sorry- I just and we uh, it’s -“ his body launching upright so fast the headboard rattled. Palms slapped the air in surrender, then cycled through all the gestures of sorry he could muster.

A quiet huff of laughter escapes you as you watch him unravel - his hands conducting an invisible orchestra of panic, gaze ricocheting between your face, the ceiling, and some fascinating spot on the bed sheet that might hold the secrets of the universe.

You slip your hand up to his cheeks, “Mark, it’s okay.”

His entire body stills—that terrifying, pre-battle freeze—before his gaze locks onto you.

“I-..I liked it.” Your lips curled into a smile, suckerpucked his heart.

Your mouth brushes his cheekbone - just a whisper of contact,

Your lashes dip—not from shyness, but from the weight of this moment, the gravity of him.

The kiss you press to his cheek is featherlight, barely there, yet it sends a current through both of you.

No script for you. no rehearsed lines—just instinct and the way your pulse roars in your ears.

Movies never showed how soft skin could be, how his breath would catch, how right it would feel when he leans into your touch like you’re the only solid thing in the world.

The first real contact of lips ignites something primal in your veins.

Not fireworks - that's too tame - this is a supernova erupting behind your ribs as Mark's tongue slides against yours, your teeth clashing against eachother.

He braces above you, the solid heat of his body pressing you deeper into the mattress as one broad hand slides down the arch of your spine. When he finally breaks for air, his breath comes in ragged gusts against your swollen lips. Your hands skate lower—hesitant, then hungry—nails catching on the hem of his shirt.

“Do you want to-? I mean we can stop here I don’t .. I don’t want you to feel rushed, okay?”

“You said I get to choose now, right? Right now, I choose you.”

The words leave your lips repeating the vow he spoke before, rough at the edges but unshakable. Before he can react, you surge forward—capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and no hesitation.

You didn’t even have to ask, he rips it off without a second thought, and you reach to do the same before he stops you.

“No.. keep it on, I- .. like how my shirt looks on you.”

A grin appears on your face as he leans in to kiss you again, his hands once again finding your waistband, this time slipping your pants, his pants off your legs, and you kick them off.

You palm his member through his shorts as you groan into his mouth.

“Fuckk-“ Mark's words slip through your mouth before allowing his hands to slip down your stomach to your folds.

Your thighs clench as hands fumble, to find your clit, hips buck in response, your whines fueling his attack.

“Feels like your thighs are gonna break my wrist-“ A small chuckle at your dismay.

You offer a whimper as a rebuttal between your lips as you widen yourself, pushing harder against his clothed crotch.

“Not fair-“ you pat your way back up, slipping your hands into his shorts, your hands making contact with his burning hot skin. His cock, feels strong, solid.

“Holy shit- your-- your hand, oh fuck.” You watch as Mark's eyes squeeze close, brows knitting together as the pleasure flows through him.

His hands grip your wrist as he grinds down into your hand.

“Sorry- fuck. ss’feels so fuckin’ good-“ his whimpers fuel your core with desire, you pull away as Mark keeps bucking at your hand, and he whines at the loss of your hand.

“Nonono- why’d you?” He pouts as he starts to rub your clit once more, and you buck again.

“Take- ah! Take off your pants, I refuse to be the only one naked here.”

“You can still talk in a full sentence, I guess I haven’t done my job clearly yet”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Mark offers a smirk as he slithers down your body, His hands slip up your shirt softly cupping your breast,

His lips graze your waist as he sinks into your heat.

A tentative lick sends your body in a state of shock, your head throws back a moment before you steady yourself to look at him again.

“ That felt-“

“Heavenly?” His mouth hungrily at your clit, Licks tantalize, each one deeper than the last your hips try to buck up his hands grip your waist, pinning your place, heavy pants feel the room as you grip his hair earning a moan that vibrates your clit, and as an ever delicious way.

“God, You taste so fucking good, I could keep eating out for days” his fingers prod your hole, circling its edge before slowly stretching your cunt, you swear you can hear god calling your name as he fucks his fingers deeper.

An intense pressure is building inside you, clawing at you as you grip the sheets of the bed, “Ma-shit what- something, what-“

Mark groans in response, his fingers moving as he sucks on your clit, your eyes shut.

“I— I feel like I’m going to - hn-feel“ your hand reaches for his hair again, earning slurps from Mark's punishing mouth “I f- I—-i’m gonn- burst!”

An overwhelming surge of energy pluses over you, as your stomach twists, your eyes roll back. Your mouth chants Mark’s name like a mantra.

You struggle to breathe as you come down from your high, hazy vision as you see Mark hovering over you with slight concern on his face.

“Wha- what was that?” Your eyes blink slowly as your vision begins to clear.

“Uh- well, that was- you came, I think? Honestly, I’ve never- seen someone do that when they cum?” Mark rubs the back of his neck as he speaks.

“Do- do what?” Your head cocks to the side as mark bewilderment grows,

“You don-?” His mouth splits into a grin, “I made you cum so hard that you have memory loss?”

“I-“ creeping embarrassment reels in your mind, “Shut up! It’s - I don’t have experience like you!”

“Cleaaarly? And you called me the virgin?”

You lunge forward and shove him with all the force you can muster.

At least you tried to, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch. It’s like trying to push a brick wall. That infuriating smirk still clings to his face, calm and smug,

“Just tell me what happened!”

“Fine, fine-, when you came, you caused a power surge, knocked out the power in the neighborhood for a good minute.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He deadpans.

“Huh, didn’t know I could- do.. that? I didn’t think my powers were electric as well?”

You open your mouth to speak, words getting caught in your throat as soon you look at Mark.

Your head turns instinctive, as shame burns your ears.

“Uh. So I know it caused a power surge and all when I came but-“ you face him once more,

“can- can we continue, please?” Your feet shuffle under Mark as he chuckles at your out-of-character shyness, though not unwelcome.

His fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up until you're drowning in those puppy eyes, “As much as I would love that, I ..like you, I don’t want to overwhelm you, especially with what’s going on so much going on, I-“ The words fracture as his smile does, “I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Your palm seals over his racing heart, your other lays on his cheek, “But you aren’t- I wanna be here, with you, Mark.”

“I know, and believe I want nothing more than to take things fast with you but, ” his thumb swipes across your lips, “But, you have no one to tell you this. When I was in your position -uhm, similar situation? Yeah.. in a similar situation, everyone told me to slow down, to wait.”

A shuddering breath escapes him as his eyelids lift, They flutter heavy as his gaze finds you “You’re gonna experience a lot of new things now that you're not under Cecil’s control. I need…no- .. I want to be that person for you, help you slow down, take in the little things in your new life.“

Your breath catches, as realization settles over you.

He’s right, things are different. You are different.

No handlers. No missions. Just you.

You are not alone, Invincible will catch you if you fall now. The ground is softer when it’s him.

“Okay. I trust you.”

“Okay.”

The slow collision of lips mend the promise between words.

“Okay, I’m getting sleepy again, let’s lay down.”

“Agreed”

A soft hum of agreement as he pulls you back against his chest, his nose finding its familiar spot in the crook of your neck. His arms lock around you like living seatbelts,

The realization comes slowly, sweetly it repeats:

No mission clock ticking down by the bed.

No weapons within easy reach.

Just Mark's steady heartbeat against your spine and the quiet creak of the house settling around you.

You fall asleep to the rhythm of his fingers tracing idle patterns between your shoulder blades.

“I got you.”

The door's whine of protest came a half-second before Debby's singsong voice.

“Mark, I hope you’re hungry. I cooked pancakes and eggs! I tried out a new recipe, so tell me if-“

The sentence died mid-air as your spine met the headboard with a thunk, blankets yanked to your chin in reflex.

“Uh- hi, Mrs. Gray-uh- Miss Debby..?” Your voice pitches up an octave as you yank the sheets higher again , toes digging into Mark’s calf in a what the hell kick that would’ve sent a normal person flying.

Mark jerks awake with a noise halfway between a snort and a choke, hair sticking up in sleep-mussed spikes. He blinks at the doorway like he’s trying to decrypt an alien language.

“Hm- wha, why are you?” His eyes are rubbed from sleep as he turns the door.

“MOM?” He bolts upright so fast the mattress protests, voice cracking.

“ Shit- I mean shoot, I am so sorry I can explain I promise- they were hurt, and we -“ His hands flap between you and the first-aid kit still open on the nightstand like it might magically explain everything.

Debby’s smile doesn’t even twitch.

“Just come down to breakfast when you're ready, don’t let the Pancakes get cold!” she sing-songs, already retreating. The door clicks shut with devastating calm.

“I guess that went.. pretty well?”

Mark collapses backward with an arm over his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’ll never live this down.”

part 2

#mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x reader smut #mark grayson #invincible smut #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark x you #invincible x reader smut #invincible

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ghoulishhx · 3 months ago

Text

my masterlist (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

ꕤ = fluff - ✩ = angst - ꩜ = smut - ◇ = hurt/comfort

MDNI please and thank you !!

- i do not own any of the gifs i use -

☆ Frank Castle ☆

my pookie, i mainly write for frankie but im down to write for anyone else requested too!!

──── ୨୧ ────

One-Shots/Short Fics

The Feeling's Mutual - ꕤ ꩜

Toys - ꩜

Face-Riding with Frank - ꩜

Overstimulating Frankie - ꩜

In Sickness and in Health - ꕤ TW: mentions of suicide and depressive episodes

Use Your Words - ꩜ switch!reader

Please Don't Go - ✩ ꩜ (mentions of smut)

Part 2: Acceptance - ✩

Part 3: Babygirl, I Love You - ꕤ ◇

Seven Stitches - ꕤ ꩜

Punish Her - ꩜

I Know It's Over - ◇

Be Quiet - ꩜

Cookies - ꩜ ꕤ

My Girl - ✩ ꩜

Heart Eyes - ꩜

Part 2 - Show Me - ꩜

Friday I'm In Love - ꕤ ꩜

Pretty Girl - ꕤ ꩜

Addicted - ꩜

Distraction - ꩜

Strangers - ꩜

──── ୨୧ ────

Drabbles and Headcanons

Frank Castle x Artsy!Reader - ꕤ

Frank Castle x Boxer!Reader - ꕤ ꩜ (mentions of smut)

Frank Castle x Switch!Reader - ꩜

Switch!Reader headcanons - ꩜

Whimpering!Frank x Switch!Reader - ꩜

Frank Castle x PlusSize!Reader - ꩜, drabble about biting

Boyfriend!Frank x Fashionista!Reader - ꕤ

more headcanons about Fashionista!Reader - ꕤ

Boyfriend!Frank and Princess Treatment - ꕤ

Boyfriend!Frank celebrating reader's anniversary of being clean from self harm - ꕤ ◇

Boyfriend!Frank x Musician!Reader - ꕤ

Frank Castle eating you out, headcanons - ꩜

Frank Castle x Professor!Reader - ꕤ ꩜

Frank Castle and FaceTime Sex - ꕤ ꩜

Glazed Donut Frankie - ꩜

Frank Is Always Hard Around You - ꩜

Frank Castle x EasilyBruised!Reader - ꕤ

Possessive!Frank - ꩜

──── ୨୧ ────

She Plays Bass (ongoing? series)

Chapter 1 - Slow Chemical

Chapter 2 - I'm Your Biggest Fan ꕤ

Chapter 3 - im ngl this shit ass series is at the bottom of the pile idk if chapter 3 will come at all

──── ୨୧ ────

♡ INBOX IS OPEN FOR SUGGESTIONS, I WILL LITERALLY WRITE ANYTHING ♡

(as long as it's not illegal and/or weird)

mwah enjoy :3

#masterlist #frank castle #the punisher #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff #frank castle slow burn #frank castle smut #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x reader #x reader #fluff #smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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bonus-links · 4 months ago

Note

dog days part 1 or 2!

por qué no los dos. I kinda consider it one big update anyway lol. this one might get long, I'll stick a readmore somewhere

i was insane for this. the comic will probably never be this decorated again but I had to do it at least once 😂 I try to give each era it's own subtle stylistic flair, though this is definitely the most overt one. I'm still really proud of this update!! sometimes I think I burnt myself out with this so bad tho that the first half of ch2 is pretty low on ornamentation bc of it. it takes like. a lot of extra mental energy ngl

it's slight but this whole interlude has a paper texture the rest of the updates don't :-)

there's lots of patterns to talk about here. twili patterns for the panel where wolf is zoning out.

the pattern on the sides is kind of an abstract depiction of Ordona, although her light orb is in her hands instead of the horns. I was also riffing off the patterns on a lot of the Ordonian's clothes. The green parts are pumpkin vines! those generally represent wolf himself

this is the dinner I reference at grandma's party in pt. 8

the pumpkin vines change into these kind of gold-leafed vines I often use to refer to zelda. They do this a few times throughout the update.

small detail I should include more often- wolf fidgets with his earring when he's bothered by something or thinking hard.

Lots of people have translated this in the reblogs so I won't do it here, but it's essentially a summons from Zelda to the castle. It's intentionally a little difficult to parse- Wolf is not from Hyrule. I like to imagine a difference between written Ordonian and Formal Hylian. Wolf can read it, but it doesn't come naturally. Also, Wolf is referred to as "Sir Link Goatherd of Ordon" where "Goatherd" could be both an occupation and a surname (that's actually the origins of surnames like Gothard, which I considered using)

Zelda's full name in the letter is Queen Zelda Celestia Nohansen Hyrule (though I think I write it as "Of Hyrule"). Idk if this makes sense actually, but it was meant to be a nod to the fact that TP is a parallel timeline to WW. WW had King Nohansen, so I imagine that as part of TP Zelda's lineage.

Wolf agreed to be a Royal Knight on the basis that it was only a formality, but then Zelda started actually summoning him to things anyway. He basically ignores them all, but they've been coming with increasing frequency. In Zelda's defense, the political situation she's dealing with trying to rebuild the kingdom is pretty tense. She could really use his help.

my favorite part of this update!! I feel like there should be no easy way to use the shadow crystal. if you want that power, you've gotta shove it in your forehead yourself! and yes, it does hurt. His ears flatten a little in anticipation. also sidenote I think this is the best I've ever drawn him lol

I like to think Yeto and Wolf are still buds.

I think whenever Wolf wanders like this, he frequently finds himself in the desert. He's given up on looking for shards of the mirror of twilight, though.

The vines get yellow as they reach the bottom of the page- Wolf's time to hide in wolfmode is running out.

little baby spirits of light hidden in this page, except ordona

who's hiding on this page instead! while Link the Cat reminds Wolf it's probably time to go back to his family in Ordon.

Wolf can't turn back into a human on his own, so he has to return to the sacred grove to reach the master sword. And yes, Skull Kid makes him play hide and seek every time 😂

those are midna's hands on either side.

this pattern has the organic shapes of the world of light, rather than the geometric twili patterns, showing that Wolf has immediately clocked that it's not a portal to the twilight realm. but alas, it's too late to turn back.

In terms of the timeline, while Loft and Slate trek across Hyrule to Hateno, Wolf is lost in the Lost Woods.

I wanted to put Ilia in this update more but this ended up being the only time she showed up lol

and that's all I've got! if you read all of this i love u

#ask #bonus content #directors commentary #postscript

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aventurineswife · 3 months ago

Note

don’t wanna be annoying buuuut can i request a sick fic with Aventurine taking care of Reader?

maybe Reader is kinda overemotional when they’re sick — they’re always feeling sad or irritated when they’re like this. they try their best to behave tho!!

(my dad may or may not have gotten sick. and just being around him may have gotten me sick too… 😭)

Calculated Kindness

Summary: When you fall ill, Aventurine takes it upon himself to care for you, blending his characteristic charm and subtle vulnerability. As you struggle with the emotional toll of being sick, he offers comfort in his own unique way, revealing glimpses of the man beneath his flamboyant facade.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Subtle Angst, Protective Aventurine, Reader Feels Useless (me honestly), Tender Moments.

Warnings: Mild emotional distress (Reader struggles with feeling weak and overemotional while sick), Brief mention of dehydration (in a lighthearted context), General themes of vulnerability and comfort.

A/N: bestie, you're never annoying me 😭🙏. Also, rip I hope you get well by the time this fic comes out 😔🙏 (ngl I can relate lmaoo happened to me plenty of times)

The first thing you noticed upon waking was the ache, sharp and unrelenting, throbbing behind your eyes. The second thing was Aventurine’s voice, low and teasing, cutting through the fog of your illness like a finely sharpened blade.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, his tone laced with that familiar blend of charm and calculation. "And here I thought I’d have to call the medics—or, at the very least, write you a will."

You groaned, shifting beneath the blanket cocoon he'd apparently wrapped you in. The weight of his gaze made you simultaneously want to melt into the bed and throw something at him.

“I’m not dying,” you muttered hoarsely. “Just… sick.”

His lips curled into a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was seated at the edge of your bed, legs crossed, his overcoat draped casually over the back of the chair. His hat rested on the nightstand beside a tray of what looked like soup, tea, and a suspiciously well-folded napkin.

“Good,” he said lightly. “Because while I’m known for extravagant gambles, I draw the line at dragging corpses around.”

You tried to glare at him, but it came off more as a tired pout. "You could at least pretend to feel bad for me."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and tilted his head with mock concern. “Darling, I am positively heartbroken. Can’t you see the sorrow etched into every perfect feature of my face?”

Despite yourself, a weak laugh bubbled up. "You're insufferable."

“And yet, you keep me around.” His grin softened into something warmer as he plucked the tea from the tray and handed it to you. “Here. Drink. Hydration is key, or so I’m told.”

You took the cup, cradling it in trembling hands. The warmth was soothing, though it didn’t do much to quell the swirl of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Being sick always turned you into a mess—sad, irritable, and just a little bit pathetic.

He must have noticed your expression shift, because his voice dropped to something quieter, less performative. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…” You trailed off, swallowing hard. The tea in your hands blurred as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I hate feeling like this. Useless. Weak. I hate that you have to take care of me.”

His brow furrowed slightly, though the gesture was almost imperceptible. “Is that what this is about?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. “I’m trying to be good, I promise. I’m just—”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle but firm, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. He reached out, placing a hand over yours. The warmth of his skin was a grounding contrast to the chaos in your chest. “You don’t have to ‘be good’ for me. And you’re certainly not weak.”

“You don’t understand,” you whispered. “You’re… you’re you. Always in control, always on top of everything. And I’m just…”

“Human?” he supplied, his tone laced with dry humor.

You scowled at him, though it lacked any real heat. “I mean it, Aventurine. You’re too good at this.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, his usual mask of confidence and charm slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man underneath.

“I’m not as infallible as you think,” he said quietly. “I’ve just had a lifetime of practice pretending.”

You blinked at him, startled by the honesty in his words.

“But this?” He gestured vaguely to the tray of soup and tea, the carefully tucked blankets, the feather-light touch of his hand against yours. “Taking care of someone I care about? That’s not pretending.”

Your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. “Aventurine…”

“None of that now,” he said, his teasing tone returning as he gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “If you cry too much, you’ll dehydrate, and then I really will have to call the medics.”

You huffed out a weak laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for,” he said, his grin widening. “Now, finish your tea like a good patient, and maybe I’ll let you win our next card game.”

You snorted, lifting the cup to your lips. “You never let anyone win.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “But I do make an excellent nurse, don’t you think?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong.

Now I need to see him in a nurse dress... 😔🙏

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msmk11 · 11 months ago

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Hiii!! I love your work so much and was wondering if you could do a poly marauders (and lily) x hufflepuff coded fem reader comfort fic 💛 maybe they are just having a bad day, being insecure and everyone tries there best to comfort her? thankyou (even if you decide not to)

Omg hi lovely! Thank you so much for the request. This is actually my first ever and I’m so excited and happy to write it for you! I hope it lives up to your standards - MK <3

Just Hold Me For Awhile

——————————————————————————

Poly!Marauders + Lily x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Cw: low self-esteem, hurt/comfort, sad/anxious reader

A/n: Baby’s first request! Ngl I rewrote this like three times, but now it finally feels genuine and I’m very happy with it. I hope you all enjoy :)

There is no evidence to confirm your fears besides the incessant voice inside your head.

You’re not good enough.

You’re not smart enough.

You’re not funny enough.

You’re not pretty enough.

Eventually, they’re all going to leave you.

You are going to end up alone.

Deep down, you know none of these things are true. But reason is no match for your anxiety and the extraordinariness of each of your partners.

James- best Gryffindor chaser the team has had

in years.

Lily- number one in your class.

Remus- Casanova of Gryffindor tower.

Sirius- absolutely fearless in the face of adversity.

You- the ordinary Hufflepuff who just got lucky.

It consistently amazes you that you ended up in a relationship with these four bold, well-known, and well-liked Gryffindors. They all love you so much and you feel grateful that you get to love and be loved by them everyday.

But no matter how much love and care they give you, it cannot entirely soothe the deep-rooted feeling of inadequacy lurking within. You can’t help but sometimes feel out of place in your own relationship- not because your partners exclude you, but rather because your obvious ordinariness situates you outside their circular of extraordinariness.

It’s a feeling that’s lingered since the four first showed interest in you, but recently it’s been possessing you tenfold.

All these thoughts are racing around in your head as you sit at the foot of Sirius’ bed in the boys’ dormitory. Peter is off on a date, leaving you five with some much needed alone time. The moment is serene, with Sirius painting your nails a soft green, Lily braiding Sirius’ hair out of his face, Remus dangling over the edge talking to you three, and James on top of him, massaging his back.

The four are talking about some recent Hogwarts drama, so you’ve sort of zoned out of the conversation, only adding in commentary here or there.

“I mean, I’m so glad Pandora hexed him,” Lily says, “he totally deserved it.”

“I just never would’ve pinned her as the type of person to hex someone, with the way she’s so soft spoken and all,” Sirius replies.

“She does hang out with your brother and Junior though,” Remus reminds him.

“And Evan is her brother,” James adds with a laugh, “it’s in her blood. I just wish I could’ve seen Mulciber’s face.”

“It probably looked as dumb and stupid as always, if not more so,” Sirius jokes.

Everyone busts out laughing and you faintly chuckle through your anxiety-induced brain fog.

Someone taps the side of your cheek.

“Doll, you there?”

You jolt out of your trance and look at Sirius, “hmm? Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted anything else done to your nails.”

You briefly glance down at your perfectly manicured nails, “oh, uh, yeah. Perfect as always, my star.”

Remus reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “are you okay, dove? I feel like you’ve been awfully quiet today.”

You smile a little and wave him off, “oh yeah, fine. Just tired, Moons.”

“Wanna come take a nap, angel?” James asks sweetly, opening his arms.

Though you’re not actually that tired, it’s mainly just an excuse, you can’t pass up the offer from your cuddliest of boyfriends. You peck Sirius’ cheek as a thank you for doing your nails and then crawl onto James’ lap. You situate your head on his chest and curl up as he wraps his arms around you. His musky cologne eases the knots in your stomach a little and you try to focus on the steady beat of his heart.

“Better?” he mumbles into your hair.

You quietly hum in confirmation.

You keep your eyes closed all cuddled up with James as you listen to your partners quietly chat. Within minutes of your getting settled you sense movement on the bed. Remus shifts upwards to lay next to you and James- you can tell from the sudden increase in body heat- and you feel Sirius and Lily lay down at your feet.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of rough lips- Remus’ lips- against your forehead. Though he thinks you’re asleep, you hear him whisper, “get some rest, my sweet girl.”

Someone’s head falls on your knee and then you hear Lily’s voice, “she’s so pretty when she sleeps, isn’t she? All soft and peaceful.”

You recognize Sirius’ habitual stroking of your leg with his thumb as he adds, “I didn’t think she could get any softer or sweeter, but here we are.”

“Our angel,” James coos.

Though you suppose most would feel pretty lucky to hear these things about themselves, they only make you feel worse.

You hate yourself.

You hate yourself for having four wonderful, caring, and loving partners, and you can’t even appreciate them because of your own self-loathing. You despise this nasty habit of self-sabotage, but you’re not sure how to break it.

As you lay there and listen to them say such nice things about you, you feel a lump grow in your throat and hot tears spring to your eyes. The tightness in your chest is near painful, and you need some relief.

You try to shift just the slightest- as if you’re just moving around in your sleep- to bury your head in James’ chest, out of everyone’s eyesight.

But once you let one tear drop, a whole rainstorm comes. You try and keep your sobs and sniffling quiet, but your hot, wet tears give you away to James.

“Angel?” James asks worriedly. He pulls you away from his chest to look at your face and sees the snotty, tear-stained mess you’ve become.

“Dove,” Remus pleads worriedly, “what’s wrong? What’s happened.”

Your sobs are too strong for you to respond and you can only shrug your shoulders. Your eyes are blinded by tears and you can’t see their faces, but you know they’re filled with concern and worry. To make them worry like this only causes you to cry harder.

You’re not really aware of what’s happening around you. All you know is one minute your in James’ arms, and the next in Sirius’. Sirius strokes your hair away from your face and holds you in his lap like a baby. He rocks you back and forth quietly, not saying anything at all.

It’s nice, not having to say anything and just crying. Even if you had the ability to speak through your tears, you don’t know that you could. There’s no easy way to describe your feelings of inadequacy, and no amount of ‘talking it out’ could ever just solve the problem either. So you just cry. Cry because you’re angry that you feel this way. Cry because you’re sad. Cry because you’re tired. Tired of not feeling like you’re ever enough. And you cry just because you can. Because you know that your partners will be there for you for as long as you need to cry.

And when the sobs finally quiet to a hiccup here or there, you appreciate that they give you silence to breathe and just process everything.

Lily stands and wanders off, coming back with a glass of water that she presses into your hands. You sip it gently before James takes it from you and sets it on the nightstand. Remus goes and grabs a hot washcloth, wiping your face oh so gently with a soft look in his brown eyes. Sirius hands you back to James- your most tactile partner- and settles again at your feet.

Then, with the most quiet and tender voice, Sirius asks you only one thing, “What do you need from us?”

“Just hold me for awhile.”

And so, like many days before, and hopefully every day after, you five pile into bed, reveling in each other’s warmth and security.

As you lay surrounded by your lovers, you know that even though those same lousy feelings continue to reside inside of you, you will figure it out. And when you’re ready to talk, or rant, or cry some more, your partners will be there.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james potter x reader #james potter x you #the maruaders #remus lupin x reader #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x you #lily evans x you #lily evans x reader #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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callme-holly · 5 months ago

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hi pretty !! i hope ur doing well and are having a good start to the new year 💋💋

i'm not sure if ur still taking requests. but if u are taking requests and aren't busy, could u pls do the outsiders x reader when they’re angry w reader ? i feel like dallas would be so hot when he’s angry ngl (but that’s just my opinion)

thank you !! 🫶🫶

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝

𝐚/𝐧: the way i need to write fics for this...

Darry Curtis:

Darry very rarely gets mad at you, but when he does, he can act quite brash. He won’t yell or make a big deal out of the situation; it’s more of a quiet frustration and also a little bit of disappointment if you two have had an argument. He’ll give you some space to start with, distancing himself, and the tension between you both will be pretty thick and uncomfortable. When he does finally speak to you, he’s blunt and pretty firm with his words. It’s not that he doesn’t mean them; he just wants to make sure his message gets across to you so that the problem doesn’t happen again.

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda doesn’t get mad at you very often; his anger certainly doesn’t stick around for very long, but when he does, it stems more from hurt than frustration. He’ll turn a lot more serious, quietening down and only giving you short, brief answers. He doesn’t like arguing with you at all and hates when things are tense or out of the ordinary between you both. It won’t take long for him to cool down and talk it out with you, solving the issue and brightening up once more.

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony’s anger is a lot quieter and tends to simmer below the surface. He’ll try and hide it; he won’t ever yell, but the way he pulls away from you says everything. If you try to speak to him before the problem has been resolved, his words are clipped and a little snappy. Despite his frustration, he won’t hold a grudge against you for too long. After you’ve given him some space to think things through, he’ll come around and talk to you about the issue when he’s ready.

Johnny Cade:

When Johnny gets upset or angry with you, he’ll go very quiet, retreating in on himself a little. You’ll find he tries his best to avoid you, not wanting to stir up any unnecessary confrontation and definitely not wanting to start an argument with you, though his quietness doesn’t make his frustration any less intense. Once he’s had some time to think, he’ll apologise to you, even if he hasn’t done anything wrong, and will sit and talk it through with you, nodding along and listening to everything you say.

Dallas Winston:

Dally’s anger comes out hard and sharp, and when he’s mad at you, he doesn’t hesitate to let you know. He can be very brutally honest when he wants to be, and sometimes his words can cut a lot deeper than he intends them to, which more often than not results in a pretty heated argument. He’ll storm off, needing the time to cool off, but deep down he knows he was harsh, and he cares too much about you to leave things in a rough patch. He won’t ever apologise outwardly; he does it in his own way and much prefers to use actions over words.

Steve Randle:

Steve’s anger is very hit or miss. When he gets upset, he’ll either yell at you or go deathly quiet, choosing to give you the silent treatment until he feels ready to face the problem. He isn’t great when it comes to emotions, so if you try and solve the issue before he’s properly processed it, he’ll be incredibly snappy and a little upfront. However, once he’s gotten it off his chest, he’s incredibly apologetic and will do anything to make it up to you. He’s a firm believer in talking things through, even if he isn’t great with words, and he’s willing to listen to everything you have to say.

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two’s anger is usually fuelled by a build-up of frustration that just gets tipped over the edge. He can be rather dramatic about the issue, making a bigger deal than it actually is, but he can also get incredibly serious, and that’s when he starts to get snappy and blunt. It won’t take too long for him to cool down, and when he does, he’ll try to lighten the mood, clinging onto you and mumbling apologies in between little kisses. He doesn’t like being upset with you and doesn’t like when you’re upset with him, so he’ll try and fix it as quickly as he can.

#the outsiders x reader #darry curtis imagine #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

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always-just-red · 6 months ago

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Hi! Hope you're having a good day!

Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)

Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)

Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.

Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.

You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)

Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!

AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!

Beneath The Mask

Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands

Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌

| Word count: 4.6k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.

You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.

How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.

How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.

You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.

He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?

“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.

“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”

“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”

He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”

Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”

“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.

“They have Luke, Sylus.”

“I know.”

“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”

“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.

It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”

“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.

Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?

“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.

It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever.

“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”

“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”

Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.

“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”

But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.

“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, boss.”

And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:

The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?

Maybe he doesn’t.

There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.

…

Clink.

You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.

You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.

You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”

“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”

“Right now?” you ask cynically.

He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.

“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”

The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.

It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.

“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”

A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.

The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.

“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.

“You win?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.

Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.

“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”

“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.

“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”

Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”

“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”

Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…

Does he really not care?

You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.

There’s nothing for it, then.

“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”

Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.

“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”

Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.

“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”

Got him.

The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”

His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.

With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.

“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”

You freeze instantly.

Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…

“You ok?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around.

He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.

“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”

“The hunter?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”

You’re quiet again. Thinking.

“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”

He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.

You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.

“Stay,” he says. “Please?”

His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.

You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.

…

This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.

It all happened so quickly.

Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.

You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.

Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.

This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.

It makes you smile, despite everything.

Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…

Cells.

A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.

There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.

You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.

Metal rings out. Flesh splits.

The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.

Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.

Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.

“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.

“Rude.”

Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”

The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”

You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”

“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”

You glance up; you can’t help it.

He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”

Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—

“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”

It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.

Luke slow claps. “My hero.”

You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.

“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”

“Um. Home?”

Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”

You wince. “I did go rogue.”

You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”

You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.

Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.

Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.

“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”

…

Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.

“Anyone there?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.

You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.

His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.

“Stop it.”

“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.

You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.

Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.

There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.

Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.

“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.

He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”

You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.

Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.

There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.

Someone catches you.

“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”

You want to protest, but your breath is gone.

“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.

…

“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.

“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.

Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.

“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.

“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”

“He did not!”

And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.

Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.

“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.

It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.

You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.

The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.

Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.

“What?” you cave.

“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.

You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”

Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”

There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.

“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”

The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)

“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”

Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.

There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair.

He's safe. You're all safe.

They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.

A language of tiny, intimate details.

Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.

#🖋rach is actually writing #luke and kieran x reader #luke and kieran #love and deepspace #platonic sylus x reader #sylus #lads #lnds #l&ds

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xoxo-sarah · 1 year ago

Text

The Fair

↝a/n: well this was heart wrenching. ☹️ Why did I decide to write this? I hurt my own feelings with this one, guys.

↝pairing:Daryl Dixon x reader

↝warning: angst, death, season 9 events, Alpha + whispers, the spikes, Daryl never getting his happy ending, it's a bit gruesome ngl, crying, fighting, torture, getting shot, stabbing, self-loathing (Daryl ☹️), more death, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 6.24.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

The early morning sun shone across the town of Alexandria, although not doing much for how the fall chill nipped at any skin showing.

Daryl glanced up from his spot on the porch, after hearing the door open. You stepped out, face scrunching when the smell of nicotine hit your nose. Daryl simply took in your appearance. Freshly showered, clean clothes, and wet hair knotted into a different style than usual. He took a final puff of the cigarette, before flicking it somewhere off the porch.

As you stepped forward, his hand motioned to your hair, "I tried a different braid. I think it's called a fishtail, I'm not sure though. Needed to practice so I could do something different for the fair." You shrugged, moving to take a seat beside him on the rickety porch steps. His hand raised, feeling the bumps of the braid.

He knew you were excited for the fair, wanting to get out of the walls of Alexandria, and not to do a supply run. You need this; time with friends who feel more like family every day.

Daryl dropped your hair, looking around at the other houses. They were quiet, due to everyone still being asleep. If Daryl hadn't stayed the night, you would probably still be in bed. But you woke up to Daryl, who hadn't slept a wink, due to his stress levels. The whole whisperer thing had him on edge, and it only got worse when Lydia came into the picture. Daryl had been just fine only caring for the people he kept close to him, people who he had known for years. But then came Lydia, who was just a kid. He had needed out; out of Hilltop where Lydia and Henry were. You were his safe space, somewhere he knew he could always go to.

Feeling weight being added to his shoulder, he turned, listening as you whispered into the crisp morning air, almost like talking normally would wake everyone, or disturb the peaceful space of the porch. "She's a good kid. She just doesn't know any better. Alpha, her own mother only taught her survival. It's not Lydia's fault, you know that. Give her time."

"Might not have time." He couldn't help but grumble. He knew you were right, Lydia is a kid. She only knows survival. To an extent, Daryl could relate to her. You lifted your head, looking over his face,

"Maybe, but I have a strong hunch that you have enough time to go wash the stench off of you." Your nose scrunched again, more animated than before.

Daryl rolled his eyes before standing. You watched him as he walked to the door, flipping you off before the door shut behind him. A heavy sigh exited your lips when you knew he was gone.

It had been a little over two days since you last saw Daryl. It's not like you were worried. He could hold his own. Atleast, he could before people who wore the dead's faces were among everyone.

That might have you on edge. Or it might be the fact that he had the thing that Alpha wanted, making him become an even bigger target.

Your fingers divided your hair, twisting it into the same braid from before. Your mind was elsewhere, hands moving without a second thought.

The house that you occupied in Alexandria was quiet. Too quiet. You had grown comfortable with the usual silence, since Daryl had left in search of Rick.

The house you once shared turned into yours, with Daryl only visiting. He never stayed for long. Maybe it was the memories, or something that you had no knowledge of. Either way, you weren't going to push him.

Men like Daryl, once they're pushed too far, they leave. It's like their fight or flight goes off. You weren't one to push.

When Daryl and the little gorup found Lydia, Daryl had to escape for the night, going straight to the familiar house. He had told you everything about the Whisperers and Lydia, how They had killed Jesus. Although her group had killed someone who you could rely on, you pitied Lydia. The moment between you two was short-lived when morning came. After he had taken a shower, he was on his way back. Your time together wasn't much, but it was something. Given the circumstances, it was enough for both of you.

A knock at your door had your trailing thoughts stop, along with your hands. You were quick to tie the braid up, before moving to the door. Daryl stood, shoulders sunk in, along with the bags under his eyes, blood coating his hands. Your eyes met, relief, from seeing him mixed with the concern from seeing the dried blood, ran through your back.

Daryl stood against the kitchen sink, scrubbing his hands together, watching as the water turned red before flowing down the drain. "Henry's hurt." Was the first thing he had uttered since you opened the door, letting him in.

You perked up from where you were perched against the counter, having been watching his movements. "How bad?" He shook his head, letting you know it wasn't life or death, without saying a word.

"Here was closer to get him stitched up. Lydia's with us."

Your eyes traveled over his face, looking for any sign of how he felt about that, and maybe even a hint of how much shit you were all in.

"She's a kid." He sighed, turning the water off as he used your same words from before.

You nodded, hoping he knew that he didn't have to explain himself to you. You trusted him and his instinct.

Now night time, you walked with Daryl and his little group as they got ready to leave. Aaron insisted on walking with you, staying with Daryl as you were in step with Henry and Lydia.

You tried to ask questions that were easy for her to answer, questions that didn't revolve around how she had grown up. Questions that made her feel human, not just a piece in the game of survival.

As your conversation drew to an end, you listened in to Aaron and Daryl, " 'Member way back when I told you, you'd make a great father?" Your eyes traveled to the gravel under you. "You got to skip the exploding diapers part, but I was right."

Henry and Lydia tried to contain their own little conversations, hiding their smiles and blushing from the other. Just two teenagers acting as normal as two teenagers could in the broken world.

Daryl grumbled, "A lot has changed." You felt eyes boring into your back but didn't look. You smiled as you felt Dog rub against your legs, begging for attention. Would you and Daryl be able to be happy in a world like this?

"I stand before you today at the start of a new tomorrow. A tomorrow made possible by the sacrifices of many over the years." After a long ride to the kingdom, you stood amongst the crowd, watching as Ezekiel stood on the balcony, giving one of his infamous speeches.

"Among them, a man whose mission was to build community and strengthen the bonds between us. A man who had to destroy the very thing that connected us in order to save us. It took far too long to fulfill the promise of what Rick Grimes and his son, Carl, envisioned, the same promise Paul Rovia, better known to most as "Jesus", believed in when he brought us all together those many years ago. We always will be. We fought our way back to each other. We have grown. The crossing over the river may be gone, but we have rebuilt a bridge, nonetheless. Today is proof we can unite, not against a common enemy, but for the common good. So eat, drink, and be merry...'cause we got a lotta lost time to make up for."

Jerry stepped forward, a hug grin on his face, "Let the First Annual Inter-Community Reunification Fair begin!"

"Jerry!"

Jerry swung around, looking up at the King.

"We changed that."

"For reals? F. A. I. R. Fair?"

Ezekiel sighed, leaning over the railing to stare down, "It's too many-nevermind. Let the Fair of New Beginnings begin!"

Applause broke out through the crowd, doves being released into the air.

Tara, who stood beside you, nudged your shoulder, directing your attention to the gate of the Kingdom. The gates opened, revealing Michonne- who was set on not coming to the fair- with Judith, Daryl, Connie, Henry, and Lydia in tow.

Your feet moved before you even thought about it, and you were in front of Daryl before you knew it. He opened his arms, welcoming the warmth of your arms around him.

Sure, you had seen him not that long ago, but being apart from him became even scarier over the week. Daryl swayed from side to side, before you pulled away slightly.

Carol came over when you two had fully broken apart, bringing her best friend into her arms.

You smiled, watching the two. After she teased him, she watched as you moved back under his arm, laughing when your lips collided with his cheek, watching Daryl grow shy, his ears turning a pink hue.

"C'mon, I heard there's a fair or something happening." You winked at Ezekiel, as he joined in on watching the two of you, throwing his arm around Carol.

It only took about 15 minutes before the fun was cut short.

"You just got here." you sighed, utterly frustrated. You couldn't have one day that was slightly normal. Somebody always had to be a threat. It just happens to be Alpha's group.

"Hilltop's in danger."

"I know,” You huffed, kicking the asphalt under your feet, stopping when Daryl halted, reaching down to pet Dog's head. "I just think you deserve to have fun too. Or at least let me go with you."

He instantly shook his head, standing at his full height. His eyes slightly squinted as he looked at you, "'T's too dangerous, you know that."

"Exactly. You need more people and you know i'm a good shot." You cracked a smile, trying to ease the tension. Daryl looked away, hiding his slight amusement. "At Least be safe." Your voice was serious, almost threatening. Unwinding your arms, letting them fall to your sides, as he finally looked back. "I mean it, Dixon." He puffed air out, before bringing you into a side hug. You two stood by the gate, not caring as people walked past, trying to get ready to leave with Daryl.

The hug was warm- comforting, too bad you don't get the luxury often. "You too." His gruff voice was muffled in your hair, followed by a dry kiss on your forehead. "Can you take care of Dog for me?" He pulled back, already knowing your answer.

You only got a single nod in before Carol walked over, an apologetic smile on her face about the whole thing; having to interrupt to hint that it was time to go and having to cut your time together short.

Saddiq grunted as Michonne rushed over to his pitiful body. His tired eyes reluctantly raised to look at the people following behind her. As he saw Daryl, the pain felt fresh, like all the wounds were pulled open and dirt was shoved into them. He shook his head, trying to get the picture of your last moment out of his head. Your screams of agony rang in his head. What you made him promise rang even louder. He could only cough when the makeshift gag was ripped from his mouth, waiting as Michonne cut his hands free. "What happened?" Michonne asked.

Saddiq could only point, words dying on his tongue. "I-I..."He stumbled with his feet as much as his words. Michonne held most of his body weight as he tried leading them to the hill.

Michonne's face dropped in horror, as they walked closer, close enough to realize exactly what was in front of them, close enough to identify the heads on the spikes.

All it took was for the wind to pick up, causing the braid to sway in the wind, for Daryl to feel the world stop on its axis. He could only watch as your mouth moved, biting and nipping at the air like a feral animal.

Something that would haunt him forever, the hunger for human flesh taking over the one person he couldn't live without. As you began to let out a growl, he had to turn his head, looking anywhere. He couldn't take the sight, feeling his stomach churn.

You were just in his arms, smiling at him, joking around, wanting to spend the time at the fair with him.

His eyes caught a head of blond hair, his body moving before he could think twice. "No! No!" His hands attached themselves to Carol's shoulders, frantically trying to conceal the gruesome picture before them that would surely give him nightmares, if he was even able to sleep. "Just look at me." His voice broke, but continued to repeat himself.

He watched as her lips pursed, before they began trembling, feeling his own emotions breaking through the comfort-others-before-yourself facade.

His body slowly collapsed with hers, his hold on her not faltering. If he held her tight enough, he might be able to feel the warmth you always radiated in his arms.

Maybe it was selfish to try to find comfort of his own while he was comforting her, but he couldn't help himself. Who was going to comfort him? You?

Daryl wasn't one to cry much, but he felt his eyes begin to burn. Before either of them knew it, their tears mixed together on Daryl's clothes as his grip tightened even more.

"I was there. I was taken with the others. And I saw...I was supposed to die with them. I was ready to." Saddiq stood on the podium, looking out at the crowd of mixed communities, all of which had lost someone dear to them. "Then, Alpha whispered in my ear, "Tell them." Something hit me and everything went black. ANd when I woke up, I was alone." The image of you, tears and blood dried on your face as you laid lifeless. "What happened was evil."

Daryl stood in the very back of the crowd, arms crossed. His own thoughts ran wild, so many 'what if's. What if he had stayed? What if he had let you go with him? What if, what if, what if... Daryl tuned out the rest of the speech, only zoning back in when he felt a shaky hand on his shoulder.

"Y/n..." Saddiq did everything in his power to not let his voice shake, but it was useless. He forced himself to keep eye contact, feeling like he at least owed that, even if his eyes were glossy and his nerves were shot. Daryl had to know. He had to know Saddiq was honest and kept his word for you. "She fought. Hard." The shaky man shook his head.

-flashback-

Siddiq looked around, at the old barn, at the people who stood around wearing the dead’s faces, at his friends and family kneeled down, gagged and tied up.

You stared at the people standing, a fire behind your eyes, that Saddiq had never seen before. He couldn’t recall you even blinking.

As Saddiq watched for you to blink at least once, your eyes shifted from the person you were staring down, to behind them.

It was only a split second before the person you had been staring at was hit in the back of the head.

Ozzy, Alek, and DJ yelled as they swung at each and every masked person. You weren’t sure who untied you, but you didn't have time to see. You were on your feet, punching the closest whisperer to you, picking up the knife that had fallen out of their hands.

Everything turned into a massacre.

You stabbed and swung and stabbed some more. Hearing a yell, you swung around on your feet, grabbing the person holding Enid down, before you grabbed by the back of their shirt, your hands moving fast and with force as the knife punctured the chest repeatedly.

Blinded by rage, you moved on adrenaline.

Large hands grabbed your shoulders, yanking you off of the dead body. You could only watch as a new group of Whispers amerged, and charged at what was left of your group.

Alpha stood in front of you, inspecting you. She moved her hand to your hair, her grin making your blood boil. “Beautiful hair. Shame I have to keep it on your head.” The image of her flashed in your head. The blonde hair, of which you now knew wasn’t real, or wasn’t her actual hair. The thought of her cutting it off of someone made you sick.

She tsked, turning when she saw one of her own push someone into the dirt, their knife raised to strike.

“Stop.” All eyes, including your own, were watching the scene play out. Alpha’s eyes scanned the small barn, bodies littering the ground. “They’re the last two.”

The hands tightened on your arms, but you weren't about to show weakness, not over a few bruises being made. One hand moved to hold you still, as another brought a blade to your neck.

Your nostrils flared, watching as Alpha dragged Saddiq right in front of you, although it didn’t take much force with how his body ached, before she held a knife to his throat too.

“What do you think; should we let them decide on who should die?” Alpha’s words were directed to the man behind you.

Your eyes caught sight of Tara, who laid limp on the ground, blood dripping from her mouth. Clenching your jaw, you looked past Saddiq, straight into Alpha’s soul, or lack thereof, anyway. “Now," Alpha pointed at you, “You’re Daryl’s. I Watched you this morning.” You felt the grip on you tighten even more at the mention of Daryl’s name. “You’re loved by everyone- is he?”

She shifted her crazed eyes to the back of Saddiq’s head. When she didn’t get an answer, she put pressure on the knife, drawing blood.

“Fine!” you croaked, “Fine, kill me. Please, he-he’s important. More than me. Please.”

You turned your attention to the man holding you, “Daryl, he said he beat your ass. Told me all about it. You want to hurt him back, right?” You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but you just hoped they would take it out on you, not Daryl or Saddiq.

Beta growled, his breath becoming erratic, as he looked at Alpha for any signal. He could make one quick move and break your neck, but you knew Alpha wanted you to suffer. She wouldn’t let him have all the fun.

It had to be you. Saddiq had a baby on the way. Rosita had told you, and made you promise to keep it on the down low.

There was a long moment of silence, only the angry hot breath fanning over your head, before you were thrown to the ground, hands tied behind your back again. Alpha made everyone leave, dragging Beta out as he shook in anger, ready to pounce.

When the two were out of earshot, you stared Saddiq down. He began shaking his head, “You can’t-”

“Yes. Yes, I can, Saddiq. Rosita needs you.” The baby needs you, especially in this world. “You have to tell Daryl that none of this was his fault. I know him, he’s going to blame himself and pull away.”

You licked your lips, feeling the dryness and small cracks in the skin. Maybe it was selfish to ask that of him, but it was the only thing you could think of in the moment. You didn’t want your last moments to be thinking of how Daryl will pull away, like he always did when he lost someone. He wouldn’t have you to help him out of it. “Tell him I wouldn't blame him for anything that happened tonight. Please, Saddiq. Please promise me. Just…make sure he’s not so hard on himself. Please-”

A gunshot rang out, followed by your screams. You fell onto your side, blood oozing from the wound on your shoulder. Saddiq’s head swung to where the bullet had come from, Alpha walking back in, handing the gun to Beta as he followed her. Whatever conversation they had had outside left Alpha fuming.

Another scream ripped through your throat when Alpha brought her foot up, putting weight on your open wound. “Why are you so willing to die for him?” She seethed.

“‘Cause that’s what you do for family, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared up at her from the weird angle.

Your next words were directed to Saddiq, as if you knew what was going to happen next. “ Tell Daryl I love him.”

It all happened so quick. Alpha leaned down, her other hand holding a knife as it dragged across the soft skin of your neck. Your hands fought to move to the blood flowing out of your neck, but were bound behind you. Your mouth moved like a fish out of water, until blood coated the inside of your mouth, painting your teeth red.

Saddiq watched the life drain from your eyes, his brain blank. He felt numb. Alpha walked back over to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Before he knew it, everything went black.

“-She wanted you to know that she loved you. I could tell she did. I’m sorry it's not her standing in front of you.” Daryl didn’t reply, much like how he hadn’t uttered a word since Saddiq began talking about you, about your last moment. He walked away, leaving a teary-eyed Saddiq.

The wind was chilly as Daryl and Lydia walked up the hill to where Daryl felt the word stop. The spikes still stood, a reminder that that was Alpha’s territory now.

Darl looked away from Lydia as she kneeled in front of the spike, where Henry’s head had been. He let her have a moment.

“She’s just a kid.” Your voice rang out in his head, a reminder that she was a kid, dealing with the loss of someone who she cared for and who cared for her. Sounds familiar.

His eyes caught sight of the familiar spike, glaring at it with all the hatred in his heart. Blood had soaked in and dried to the wood. Your blood.

He hated the world even more. He hated Alpha, Beta, the fucking whisperers, and the wanted to hate you for being so selfless, but he couldnt get himself to. Most of all, he hated himself for going against your last wish. The guilt would eat him from the inside out and he would let it.

He felt like he deserved it.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

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