#i listened to reflections while writing this

[colouredbyd]

Hi gorgeous! I love your new theme and all your writing!! ♡

I came to ask for something from Regulus, he being very protective, IMAGINE in the time of the Death Eaters and someone insults reader for being half-blood 🫣

And he's so scary when he's angry, how I love him <333

Blood On Silk

regulus black x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you attend a ball hosted by the House of Black, an unwelcome presence marked by your bloodline. an act of cruelty leaves you injured, shattering the fragile facade of their world. in response, regulus rises fiercely to defend what he loves, breaking free from the name that bind him.

warnings: motional violence, physical assault, humiliation, family conflict, psychological trauma, halfblood!reader, manipulation, power imbalances, prejudice based on blood status, making out, suggestive comments, slight mentions of sex, social exclusion, regulus being so in love, vivid depictions of blood and injury, blood supramacy, happy ending. i listened to the rains of castamere while writing this? tw: this was written in an airport lounge…not proofread!!!

w/c: 4.3k

masterlist

You are standing in front of the tall mirror, the pale silk of your dress catching the candlelight in a way that makes it look like you’re wearing moonlight.

The fabric falls soft against your skin, elegant and seductive all at once, the kind of dress that feels like it doesn’t belong on someone like you.

Regulus would disagree.

He approaches without a sound, all warmth and certainty cloaked in silence. You see his reflection before you feel him—the flicker of his dark eyes, the slow lift of his hands.

From a velvet box, he retrieves a necklace: silver, fine as a thread, strung with a single obsidian star. 

The charm glimmers with something ancient, a pulse of enchantment just beyond recognition. You don’t recognize the symbol at first, not until the pendant brushes your collarbone and you feel the enchantment hum gently against your skin.

The chill of the metal is brief, and then there is the heat of his fingers, brushing the back of your neck. He lingers there and when he leans in he presses his lips to your skin, right where your pulse flutters.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me wear this,” you whisper, trying to steady your breath and failing. 

Your voice trembles at the edges, not because of fear, not entirely, but because you know where you’re going.

Because you know who will be there.

“Your mother is going to behead me with her eyes. And your cousins, I don’t think they even bother hiding their hatred anymore. Not that they ever did. I mean, do you remember last time? Narcissa told me I looked like a swan drowning. I don’t even know what that means.”

Regulus doesn’t interrupt, he never does. 

“I just don’t want to embarrass you,” you admit softly, your hands wringing themselves in your lap now, fingers tangled in nervous threads. “They’re going to look at me and see someone who doesn’t belong, someone who shouldn’t be there, someone who—”

“You belong to me.”

You freeze. His hands are still resting on your shoulders, thumbs tracing tiny circles that you didn’t even realize had soothed you into silence. You look up at him in the mirror, and his gaze is already waiting.

“They can say whatever they want, amour,” he murmurs, eyes dark and steady, “and they will. They always do, but I stopped caring about their opinions the moment I realized they couldn’t love anything without destroying it.”

Your heart folds at the edges, soft and aching. He has always been like this—quiet, composed, never loud with his affections, but devastating with them all the same.

He doesn’t promise things with grand declarations or raise his voice to drown out the noise. He simply stands with you, day after day, word after word, until his loyalty becomes the one thing you don’t question.

He leans forward again, arms wrapping around your waist now, and rests his chin lightly against your shoulder.

“You walk into that ballroom,” he says, barely more than a whisper against your skin, “and you hold your head higher than any of them. Not because of them, because of you, because you are more than they will ever understand.”

“I still think I’m going to throw up,” you murmur, half-laughing.

“You won’t,” he says, kissing your jaw. “But if you do, you’ll do it gracefully. And I’ll hex anyone who dares to comment.”

That makes you laugh, properly this time, and he smiles against your skin. 

You glance sideways at him, take in the sharp lines of his profile, the way his hair falls loose at his collar, the curve of his mouth set somewhere between solemnity and affection.

“I know I’m overthinking it,” you murmur, the silence too loud around your thoughts.

“But sometimes I feel like walking into these places is like being willingly set on fire, just to see how long I can smile through it.”

He looks at you then—fully—and stops walking. “Don’t do that,” he says gently, tugging your hand until you turn toward him. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“So am I,” he says, and then, without giving you time to step back or brace for it, he spins you softly in place, pulling you into him so that the fullness of your dress sways around your ankles.

You land against his chest, your breath catching in your throat as his arm slides around your waist. The other lifts to cradle your face, thumb brushing against your cheek, his gaze fixed on you like you are the only thing he’s ever seen that made him question the world he was raised in.

“Do you know what I see?” he whispers, voice dipping lower with each word.

“I see grace in motion, I see strength wrapped in beauty, I see someone who stands in rooms full of cruelty and still holds onto softness, and I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever touched and I still can’t believe she lets me touch her at all.”

Your breath stumbles out of you in a small, startled laugh, but he’s already leaning in, lips grazing your neck where your pulse beats so clearly beneath your skin. 

The kiss is feather-light, almost reverent, and then another follows, just below your ear, then lower still, and your hands curl in the lapels of his suit to steady yourself as your knees begin to forget how to hold you up.

“Regulus—” you breathe, but it comes out as more of a sigh.

“You wear white like it was spun for you,” he murmurs into your skin.

“You speak and my world quiets. You worry and I want to carry every weight until you forget how to frown. You reach for me and I forget everything I was ever taught to want, because none of it ever came close to you.”

Your fingers climb to his shoulders, clutching tighter now, your body drawn to his like a tide pulled toward gravity. The silk of your dress rustles as you shift against him, and the scent of him makes your head spin. 

You tilt your face, brush your lips against his jaw, a silent invitation that speaks louder than anything you've said aloud.

He chuckles softly, not unkind, but with that aching kind of fondness that wraps around you like warmth in winter.

“No, amour,” he murmurs, voice threaded with restraint that costs him something. He presses one last kiss to your collarbone, slow and deliberate, before pulling back just enough to look at you. “We have to go.”

Your groan is dramatic and half-playful, your fingers still tangled in the folds of his robes. “You’re cruel.”

He smiles. It’s crooked this time, boyish in the way it rarely is, and entirely undone by you. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t leave at all,” he admits, brushing your hair back from your cheek with gentleness. 

“And if I give in, we’ll be late, and I won’t be able to stop. And tonight, of all nights, I need them to see you. I need them to see what I chose instead of them.”

Your throat tightens.

Regulus leans in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear now, velvet and promise and flame. “But when we’re back—” his voice dips, warm and low, “—I’m going to spend the entire night showing you how much I love you. Every minute of it, slowly.”

You shiver. Your heartbeat is a hymn in your chest.

“And if you still think you don’t belong,” he adds, kissing your temple, “I’ll remind you again, and again, until you forget they ever made you doubt.”

You close your eyes and breathe him in. And for the first time since the invitation arrived, you begin to believe you might survive this night—because you are not walking into it alone.

The air outside the dressing room clings with a kind of hush, broken only by the gentle click of your heels and the rustle of silk with every step. 

Regulus walks beside you, silent as always, but present in a way that steadies the tremor in your chest. His hand rests over yours, fingers tangled just tightly enough to keep you tethered.\

The carriage waits outside, polished black and moonlit, drawn by a pair of thestrals that flick their heads but make no sound. He helps you in with the ease of habit, and when you settle into the dark leather seats, you realize he hasn’t let go of your hand. 

You ride in near silence, the quiet between you made of shared thought rather than absence. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as though he’s memorizing you again, dress and necklace and all, but says nothing.

You glance out the window as the manor comes into view—Grimmauld Place transformed. The windows shimmer with charmed frost, and light pours from within like liquid gold. 

A quartet plays softly somewhere inside, and you can already see the silhouettes of guests drifting past tall arched windows. You swallow.

“I still think your mother is going to hex me on sight,” you murmur.

“She won’t,” Regulus replies, calm and certain.

“No offense, but I don’t think certainty applies to Walburga Black.”

He smiles faintly. “If she does, she’ll regret it. I’ll make sure of it.”

You glance at him—at the quiet promise in his voice, the way it’s laced not with arrogance, but loyalty. He isn’t loud in his defiance. He never has been. 

When you enter the ballroom, it feels like walking into a relic—heavy with history, thick with enchantments that tangle around your ankles like smoke. 

The chandeliers float above like frozen constellations, dripping crystal and silver, casting fractured light across the black marble floors.

The entire space glows in cold elegance: long tables draped in obsidian silk, wine dark as garnet glinting in goblets, every movement reflected in the polished floor beneath your feet.

Regulus doesn’t loosen his grip on you.

You feel the eyes before you see them. 

“She looks odd,” someone murmurs behind a fan.

 “Is that silk? Bold choice,” says another, sharper voice.

 “Didn’t know half-bloods came in white,” someone else laughs, too quiet for most ears.

Regulus hears. Of course he does. His jaw tightens, but he keeps walking, his hand warm and steady against your spine. You press a little closer to him.

“Don’t give them the reaction they want,” he murmurs without looking down. “They’re only brave in groups.”

You exhale slowly, nodding.

He leads you into the middle of the floor, and everything else fades into hush. The world narrows to the soft glide of his steps, the rhythm of the dance between you, the heat of his palm against yours. 

“You’re holding your breath,” he says softly.

“I’m trying not to look like I want to flee.”

He turns you in one fluid motion, your skirts sweeping the floor like mist. “You don’t look like that,” he says. “You look like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re very convincing.”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re surprisingly charming tonight.”

“I’m always charming,” he replies, with the barest edge of amusement.

You laugh, and the weight in your chest lightens.

Later, you slip away for a moment of air, ducking near the arched corridor that leads to the gallery. 

That’s where you find Andromeda, standing with a glass of wine, her posture regal without effort. Her dress is pale silver, understated but elegant, her hair pinned into a low twist that speaks of old money and quiet rebellion.

She turns when she sees you.

“My, you clean up well,” she says, voice smooth and laced with fondness. “Though I must admit, I was beginning to wonder if you’d survived the entrance.”

“Barely,” you murmur. “I think someone tried to curse my hem with a trip-jinx disguised as a compliment.”

“Ah,” she says lightly, sipping her wine. “Welcome to the House of Black.”

You laugh.

Andromeda tilts her head slightly, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “You look lovely,” she adds, more sincerely. “That colour suits you.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“No,” she says. “It’s exactly enough.”

You glance away. “I feel like I’m trying not to unravel.”

“Then you’re doing a fine job of it. I learned long ago that here, grace is a kind of armor. Wear it until they tire of throwing stones.”

You nod. “How did you survive this world?”

“I didn’t,” she says simply. “I left it. But Regulus—” her voice softens slightly, “—he’s not like the rest of them. He’s quieter about it, but the break is there. You’ve helped him make it real.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. So you say nothing, but your heart feels steadier.

Before long, Regulus finds you again. You don’t see him approach, but you feel him—his presence brushing close. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing effortlessly.

“Stealing you for a moment,” he says, glancing at Andromeda.

She nods. “Only a moment. I’ll keep your absence noticed.”

He leads you down a side corridor, then through another, past heavy curtains and walls lined with bookshelves. You don’t speak until the noise of the ballroom has faded to a distant hum.

“Where are we going?” you whisper.

“Here,” he says simply.

It’s a small study—dark and quiet, firelit. The door closes behind you with a soft click.

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to him, hands at your waist, mouth finding yours with the same quiet hunger he’s been holding in all night. 

You melt into him, your fingers sliding up into his hair, your body arching with practiced ease into his hold. The kiss deepens, slow and warm, and you moan into it, the tension slipping from your shoulders like silk sliding from skin.

His hands travel gently, possessively, over the curves of your back, his lips brushing your jaw, your throat, the dip beneath your ear.

“You’re driving me mad,” he murmurs, barely a breath. “Do you know that?”

You smile against his mouth. “I was starting to suspect.”

He laughs, a soft, breathy sound against your skin. “You look so beautiful, amour, Tu es la plus jolie fille que j'ai jamais vue, mon amour.”

“You keep talking like that and I’ll never make it through the rest of the evening.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes, still breathless. “Then we’d better go back now,” he says, though he makes no move to release you.

You blink at him. “You’re stopping this?”

He smiles, warm and wicked. “We have hours yet,and I plan to spend all of them after this reminding you why I’m worth enduring these evenings for.”

You breathe out a slow, dazed laugh.

“Now come,” he adds, brushing a final kiss across your cheek. “They’ll miss us, and you still haven’t danced with me twice.”

You straighten the bodice of your dress, fingers brushing over the silk as if smoothing fabric could ease the tremble beginning in your ribs. 

The heat of Regulus’s kisses still lingers against your throat, and though your mouth tastes like wine and him, there’s something else now pressing in at the edges—responsibility, decorum, the weight of being seen.

“I think I’ll stay here for a minute,” you murmur, adjusting your neckline with a soft sigh. “Freshen up. Fix this hem before it unravels completely.”

Regulus’s brows draw together. “You sure?” His voice is quiet, but there’s something firm beneath it, like the idea of leaving you alone, even in his own home, puts him on edge.

You smile up at him, brushing your fingers over his chest as if to reassure him. “Yes. I’ll only be a moment. And besides—Andromeda’s probably still near the gallery. I’ll find her.”

He doesn’t speak right away. His eyes flick over your face, searching for something you’re not sure he names. Then murmurs, “I don’t like the idea of you wandering this house alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you reply, gently but amused. “And you promised your mother you’d speak to the guests from St. Petersburg. You’ve spent nearly the whole night glued to my side.”

His mouth twitches, but not in disagreement.

“I won’t be long,” you add, smoothing the lapel of his robe. “You’ll find me before the next dance?”

“Always,” he says. 

He kisses your cheek before he leaves, his hand lingering just a second too long on your waist. And then he's gone—swallowed into the golden thrum of the evening, back into the tangle of names and obligations that the House of Black never stops demanding from its heirs.

You stand still for a moment in the quiet room, letting your breath settle.

The mirror is old, etched with ivy vines in its silver frame. You lean toward it, dabbing at the corner of your lip with a lace handkerchief, checking that your necklace hasn’t shifted, that the pale silk still sits smooth against your skin. 

You murmur a quick cooling charm, press a softening spell to your lips, and slip out the side door—intent on finding Andromeda.

But the house is a maze. Somewhere between the east corridor and the gallery, you miss a turn. The halls here twist in silent curves, lined with portraits whose eyes follow you like questions, and the flickering sconces seem too dim, too far apart. 

Your heels click softly against the floor, and the further you walk, the more you start to feel the chill seeping back in. .

Eventually, you spot the entrance to the ballroom again—the carved double doors wide open, music swelling gently beyond. You exhale in relief and head toward the sound, hoping to find Andromeda or Regulus again before anyone notices your brief absence.

You step just inside, and the shift is immediate.

They’re gathered near the wine table—half a dozen purebloods, all in deep jewel-toned robes, laughing softly over the rims of their glasses. 

You recognize some of them. Mulciber, Selwyn, Avery, and Rosier, with his ever-present smirk. A few you don’t know by name, but you’ve seen them enough to recognize the tilt of their mouths when they look at you.

Their eyes find you the moment you enter.

The laughter dies down, not all the way, but just enough to sharpen. 

You turn, slow and poised, planning to walk calmly back the way you came and find Regulus or Andromeda.

But you only take two steps before three of them peel away from the others, stepping into your path like they were waiting for this exact moment.

The room does not stop, the music doesn’t falter, the wine still pours. But for you, the air sharpens.

The one who approaches first is tall, pale, with an expression carved from disdain. His robes are midnight blue, his ring heavy with a Black family crest, though you don’t think he belongs directly to it.

“Well, well,” he says, sipping from his glass and letting his eyes drag slowly down your form. “I thought the help wasn’t allowed to mingle with the guests.”

Your fingers tighten around your clutch. You take a small step to the side.

He mirrors it.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, head tilting. “Lost your pureblood escort?”

Behind him, another smirks. “Careful,” he drawls. “They say she's clever. You might get hexed.”

“Not by her,” the first replies. “She wouldn't dare.”

You draw a breath and lift your chin, spine lengthening with practiced grace. “Excuse me,” you say, voice cool but steady. “I was just leaving.”

But he steps closer.

And the exit feels farther than it did a moment ago.

It happens too fast to stop but slow enough that you remember every detail.

The man with the wine doesn’t speak. He simply steps closer with a kind of ease that drips arrogance, his expression coiled into something that resembles amusement but hums with quiet malice. 

The crystal goblet in his hand tilts ever so slightly. For a heartbeat, you think—perhaps hope—it’s an accident.

But it isn’t.

The red spills like venom across your bodice.

It pours over the neckline of your white silk gown, blooming across the fabric in heavy, blood-colored streaks. It splashes onto your stomach, your waist, your arms. The silk darkens instantly, clinging to your skin, seeping into the stitching, crawling over the satin like rot.

You gasp, staggering back a step, hand flying to your chest, trying uselessly to stop the stain from spreading.

The man smiles as he lowers the now-empty glass.2

“Well look at that! It seems blood always stains,” he says loudly, clearly, deliberately.

It lands with the weight of a curse.

The surrounding crowd is silent for a moment, and then soft laughter rises like smoke, too smooth, too rehearsed, too cruel to be anything but intentional. No one steps forward. No one scolds. No one so much as flinches.

You’re frozen in place. The wine is cold, as it seeps through the fine fabric and chills your skin beneath. But it’s not the temperature that has your chest tightening—it’s the way they’re watching. Like your pain was planned, like this was a performance and they’ve all just taken their seats.

You turn to leave. Your steps are stiff, your throat burning. You want to find Regulus. You want to find Andromeda. You want to wake up from this, tear the ruined dress from your body and disappear into a night where you never came at all.

You take only a few steps before a hand closes gently but firmly around your wrist, halting you. You do not see the owner of the hand—only feel the sudden restraint. Before you can pull away, a deliberate push unsettles your balance, sending you off course.

A sharp scrape runs across your upper arm. It burns briefly, then stings.

Looking down, you notice the fabric of your dress torn where a ring snagged the seam. Blood wells slowly through the satin, vivid against the pale silk. It mingles with spilled wine, staining the fabric as though it were always meant to be.

The laughter around you does not cease. If anything, it deepens, curling around your ears like a thick velvet thread.

You do not cry, not now, but your breath begins to catch, trembling slightly.

Then a hand rests lightly on your shoulder. It is neither harsh nor unkind, but sudden enough to startle you. Turning, you find yourself no longer alone.

Regulus stands before you, a calm yet resolute presence separating you from the others. The atmosphere shifts subtly but unmistakably.

His gaze does not seek yours. Instead, it settles on the man who still clutches the empty glass—the same one who shoved you moments before.

Regulus’s eyes snapped to your arm where the blood welled beneath the torn silk, dark and vivid against the delicate fabric. 

It wasn’t just a wound—it was an insult writ in crimson, a raw mark of the contempt you had endured. The mingled wine stain and blood on your dress screamed humiliation, and it shattered something deep inside him.

His breath hitched, trembling with something fierce and uncontrolled. The laughter—low, cruel, mocking—wrapped around you like suffocating chains, each chuckle a slap against his heart.

Without thinking, he seized the empty wine goblet from the man who stood too close, the one who had shoved you, whose laughter still echoed like a blade in the heavy air. 

The glass was cold, fragile in his hand, but Regulus held it like a weapon.

His voice broke free in a savage roar that shattered the fragile veneer of the ballroom’s polished grace. “Do you think blood stains?” His words sliced the silence, jagged and merciless. 

“Do you think that because she bleeds, because her blood mixes with your filth, she is anything less than any of you!”

He thrust the glass forward, eyes blazing. “I’ll show you how Black blood stains.”

With a brutal shove, he slammed the man backward against the carved stone pillar. The goblet slipped from his fingers and shattered, shards scattering like the shattered pride of those around him.

In an instant, the room erupted. Wands whipped up, light flashing like blades drawn in panic and outrage. The air thickened with magic and tension.

But Regulus was unshaken. His own wand sprang from his sleeve with a flick of his wrist, a dark, lethal promise gleaming in his hand.

“I will not hesitate,” he growled, voice low and charged with wrath, “to tear apart anyone who harms her again! I don’t fucking care who any of you are!”

The crowd held its breath, caught between fear and fascination.

Then Walburga’s voice, sharp as a whip, cut through the chaos. “Enough, Regulus!”

Her presence was cold command. Her eyes flickered with disdain as she stepped forward, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

He spun toward her, every muscle coiled in fury. “You will not silence me, Mother!” he spat, voice ragged and fierce. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“You disgrace this family with this girl,” Walburga said icily. “Lower your wand and leave this hall.”

Regulus’s hands clenched the wand so tightly his knuckles whitened. His breath came ragged, voice rising in a crescendo of unrestrained anger. 

“Disgrace? She is the only thing here worthy of honor. The only blood that matters, and you—you are poison!”

Without warning, he shattered the empty goblet in his fist, the crack of breaking glass echoing like thunder. The jagged shard flew through the air, catching Walburga’s cheek with a sickening cut.

Gasps tore through the stunned crowd.

Regulus’s voice dropped to a low, venomous hiss, thick with contempt. “Even your blood stains, Mother. Filthy red, just like the rest of this rotten house.”

Regulus turns.

And the moment he sees you, really sees you, his fury falters.

Because you’re shaking. Your hand is clutched at your side, trying to hide the blood, the silk soaked with wine and something far more human. 

Your lip trembles, and your eyes shimmer, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. The humiliation. The fear. The way they all watched.

Tears pour from your eyes before you realize it, the sob catching at your throat like it’s been waiting all night to be let out. You try to step away, try to hide—but Regulus is already at your side, his arms pulling you in like the world is ending.

“No,” he breathes, over and over again, kissing the crown of your head, holding you like you’re made of glass and flame all at once. “No, no—I'm here, you're safe now, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You bury your face into his chest, sobbing harder than you have in years, your fists clutching at his blouse, smearing blood and wine into velvet. 

He doesn’t care. His hand is cradling the back of your head, his other arm wrapped fully around your waist, rocking you just slightly as if trying to comfort the storm out of your bones.

“I’m so sorry, amour, ” he whispers, voice raw and low, “I should’ve stayed. I never should’ve let you out of my sight. I knew they’d try something—I knew—”

“Regulus,” you choke. 

“I’m here, ma belle.” His jaw tightens again, but his voice stays gentle. 

You cling to him like you’ll fall if you don’t. He lifts you gently, one arm under your knees, carrying you through the parted crowd. No one dares speak, not even Walburga, not even Bellatrix. The room has gone quiet as stone.

Only the fury in Regulus Black’s eyes dares meet theirs.

He doesn’t stop until you’re upstairs. He finds the guest room furthest from the ballroom and kicks the door shut behind him.

He sets you down softly on the velvet chaise, then drops to his knees in front of you. His hands tremble as they brush over your stained dress, searching for the cut.

“Let me see it,” he murmurs. “Please.”

You nod, breath catching. The torn silk peels away, and he sees it—a shallow slash, bright red and angry.

His face crumples.“I’ll fix it,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I’ll fix it all.”

“Come on,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Let me take you away from here.”

And this time, when he carries you through the hall, no one dares look him in the eye. Not even the portraits.

They all turn their faces away.

Because Regulus Black has chosen.

And he chose you.

You knew it before he spoke, before his fingers found yours with a reverence that felt like a vow—he had chosen you, not just in that moment, but in every quiet glance, every defiance that led him here. 

He would never return to this house, and you would never need him to. 

As for Regulus, nothing he left behind could measure against what he held in his arms. In his eyes, you were purity uncorrupted, something sacred they could never touch. 

He would tear down bloodlines, unmake legacies, dismantle every stone of the house that made him, if it meant being loved by you. And as always, he would take you home—carry you from cruelty, dress your wounds with devotion, and leave you blanketed in a love that demanded nothing and gave everything. 

And in the end, he understood: just as their cruelty stained silk with blood, your love had stained him with something far deeper, something no name or legacy could ever wash clean.

[ynasomniaur]

｡𖦹°‧ fuck me eyes | s.g

classification: archive (fluff)

synopsis: They say GOJO Satoru is too much — too powerful, too beautiful, too far gone. But no one ever really ever dared to know him and his scars. Until you.

author’s note ⟡ ݁₊ . hi so i finished it hehe this is inspired by ethel cain’s ‘fuck me eyes’ lyrics — “they wanna take her out but no one ever wants to take her home” and that sealed this piece. try reading it while listening to it for just an elevated experience… mwehe not proofread though… enjoy! i loved writing this. lmk your thoughts! hearts and reblogs are highly appreciated. lovelots!

wc: 1.7k

──★ ˙

GOJO satoru is a whore.

at least that’s what people say.

that he’s a notorious playboy or fuckboy — or some other term people would call him every week or whatever — known for incredible and mind-blowing one night stands. his eyes are so damn captivating people go crazy over it the moment he bats it.

people fawn over him. they love him — people practically offer themselves to him willingly, just one look from his ocean eyes and yup, hearts around him remember to beat just to break, burst, collapse.

he’s a heartbreaker, a damn good one at that.

at least that’s what people say.

GOJO satoru is an arrogant asshole who doesn’t give a fuck because he has everything. those cold piercing eyes are just portals of his own apathy.

that he’s a snob, a power tripper; loud and annoying. that since he knows he’s good looking and rich he just takes advantage of the people around him. he’s a know-it-all. boastful. insensitive and apathetic. people say he doesn’t even have a heart that’s why stepping over people is so easy for him.

that GOJO satoru is devoid of emotions — cold hearted.

his eyes reflect hollowness.

at least that’s what people say.

he doesn’t bat an eye when someone offers him chocolates and flowers, how everyday he receives tons of love letters; he doesn’t even show any remorse when he rejects someone that lays bare their heart on their hands, stripped raw just palpitating his name, willingly devout at the mercy of his affection that just doesn’t seem to exist.

it just fucking doesn’t — he’s cold hearted.

not the one to commit. reckless beyond reparation. just another conceited and affluent man who grew up always, always getting what he wants. just another insufferable, maddeningly beautiful man with beautiful eyes that feels entitled to everything around him because, for some reason it does.

that’s what people say.

and he thinks it’s true. hard cold fact burning bright red on his skin full of scratch marks. the curses that slip off the lips of the people he’d been with, tears full of disdain and hatred; lockers and mailboxes overflowing with love letters. maybe he really doesn’t care. maybe he does.

he’s just there… like a mere bystander of what people say about him that each time feels and becomes real. maybe it is.

like a water that takes up the shape of any container it’s in.

the audience of his own mind; the passenger of his own car — never entirely present nor complete. drifting over his hazy waking days full of indulgence and reckless youth. why not?

he’s just there to experience and for so long; he just became desensitized by everything people threw at him.

people want him.

they either want him or want to be him.

but fuck does it also fucking sting so bad, like his skin ripped apart from part by part, nerves from the veins from the tendons from the bones until he’s messily undone by everyone that surrounds him.

a masked vulnerability. they gave him the tools, the cutting edges, ‘you shape it,’ and maybe that’s what love is — to be guided..? but does it actually involve shedding your flesh for the people’s satisfaction?

because deep down he knows the difference between being wanted and being loved and he knew damn well none of it was love at all but over time, over his measly life decisions, over his sins and broken lineage, maybe it is. maybe to be loved is be broken.

condemned.

offered and tainted.

GOJO satoru is a unreal. a divine being. too damn ethereal that most people think he’s carved and molded by the gods themselves and sent him as a touch of blessing and grace in this unruly world; that the closest you could ever get to heaven is through his vastly deep, striking blue eyes.

at least that’s what people say.

more and more years that piles up on his being; he felt much more of a concept rather than a human. he’s smart enough to see the patterns, recognize the botched notions, but what does it change?

awareness doesn’t equate to freedom when you weren’t given a chance to be free in the first place.

so damn untethered. hazy. he’s everywhere but home.

hollowed blue. he’s a concept of damnation and salvation based from what they say. his eyes — always his fucking eyes — that looks like the exact replica of his parents, his father mainly and he’d laugh — his laugh sometimes scares him; its mechanical, a practiced response rather than a genuine reaction — “i know.”

his parents doesn’t know how to raise a child but they’re that damn good at raising hell.

and maybe that’s what he’ll ever be. irredeemable.

never home.

revered as divine by many, abhorred down to his guts by the world, all while he burns skin deep, superficial marrows all dented. fractured. sticking out.

until he met you.

maybe it’s a cruel punishment waiting to strike him down to ashes again. you looked at him in a way that nobody ever did; him as a human not as a concept or rumor or narrative people plastered everywhere.

to you, he’s satoru. just satoru and good-fucking-god that unraveled something within him. something rustic. decaying and withered nursed back to life. slowly.

for so long, he felt like he’s just constantly drowning from everything that his lungs just blown blue and purple until you.

for the longest time, he finally learned how to breathe without suffocating.

not from the contact of air in his nostrils. in his lungs. just... breathing. he noticed how his shoulders drop whenever you’re around, with him. how his tense and monitored breathing becomes even and comes down with a long, freeing sigh.

your presence feels warm. dangerously and tenderly warm sometimes the voices and fatigue from his cracked bones tell him to pull away; its dangerous, until you’d reach out to him and brush his hair away from his face and everything just falls into the most perfect places.

apparently this is what it feels like to be loved. not just wanted. not as a flesh to be used, a vessel to be trained, a figure to blame and hate - just human. humane. loved dearly so, he could feel the adoration for him just from the feather light brush of your fingertips. that was enough.

his eyes that he grew to hate, most times devoid of emotions, peels its sclera and holds the most venerating love that he wish he can say but sometimes the letters couldn’t really trace the complexity of his affection that swells not just within his heart and chest but in his whole being. it runs deeper than his existence.

funny how most of his life he felt like a bystander of his own being, his own lifeline, just drifting but now that he has you…

he feels tethered. grounded. like a body one with the mud and ground and grass, all yours to nurture.

he never learned how it feels to come home for he never was home, but to you it felt somatic. like everything about him just knows your existence like a familiar path to gravitate towards to — path to safety. as if his atoms and cells knew you before he could ever know your name and existence.

he’s already imprinted himself unto you and yours to him.

he’s not cold-hearted. maybe his heart just doesn’t know how to warm itself up. it was a defense mechanism from the piercing criticisms because back then if he let himself feel, he’ll erode. too much of a burden and responsibilities placed on his shoulders. he'll disintegrate.

he’s not a heartbreaker. he was the one who stood before all the people who cursed him with an already broken heart. he just happened to bleed all over others too. and believe me when i say he's utterly sorry for that.

and most of all? maybe he was a whore. all the body counts? yeah fuck he can’t ever undo that. he knows that well enough.

he’s just looking for a home maybe he can carve himself unto. even if it was definitely temporal. to be skin to skin with someone was the closest thing to what feels like home back then.

because maybe if he did it enough it’ll fill the gaping void within him. if he did it enough someone’ll crave him for who he really is rather than just a concept or a flesh.

just him.

he’s not what people say. you reassured him enough for him to believe it… most times. he tries his best because sometimes your love terrifies him — how can such a sinner like him deserve a love so fucking genuine it washes away his dubious doubts and fears?

how?

why?

he knows he’ll never ever be kind enough to himself. just doesn’t seem right. he’ll push you away once the burns that were embedded on his soul sears again. he just doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire of his wrongdoings. sins. damnations. he’ll never ever be the angel people make him out to be.

irredeemable.

at least that’s what people say.

but you taught him that to love isn’t to burn. that it doesn’t have to shout. it’s not turbulent and just blue. that to love is to hold space and hold his hand in the process of you understanding things.

that to love is to finally let yourself be seen. held. loved. even with the edges he thinks is too unlovable. it's not. never will be, because if someone loves you?

they'll witness. they'll hold you, see you for who you are — flesh and imperfections, wrong decisions and just you. already enough, always has been. just made forgotten by the cruel voices outside. you taught him all that and god, it always takes his breath away whenever he knows he's loved. he can't believe he has you. too damn lucky.

he’s undone, but he’s yours. that may be all he ever needs to hear.

or know.

for him to finally be a human and be humane with a home.

to just be satoru.

and that’s the greatest divinity of redemption he'll forever be grateful for.

──★ ˙

author’s note ⟡ ݁₊ . helloooo!!! i hope u enjoyed itt hehe till next time <33if u guys see any typo or read any ungrammatical sentence... pretend its not there hehe i might update please, xanny tomorrow. lovelots! xoxo, yna

[theefaustina]

Close to You

Part 1: here | Part 2: here

Thinking about confessing to Ni-ki felt awkward and embarrassing. You remember the times you would glance over to the dance studio he was in and stare a bit too long until he noticed you ogling at him. Often, you find yourself having butterflies in your stomach, and your heart bursting with emotions you couldn’t explain. 

You wish you could hold your heart close to his. Trying to get a feel for what he thought of you. However, your lack of action seemed to make it difficult for you to progress to anything near a confession. You would rather stare at the ceiling than to put your dreams of confessing to him into reality. 

You wouldn’t even know what to say or how to express your emotions.. Ni-ki found you to be a shy, introverted, and independent person. When you first played Animal Crossing together, it felt awkward whenever someone tried to break the silence between you two. Usually, Ni-ki would be the one to speak and then you would come up with a response. He was best at communication while you listened. 

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but to zone out and hear just his voice. It was deep and oddly relaxing to listen to; almost as if he put you under a trance of comfort. Due to this, you would forget what he said and instead began to enter a tirelessly long daydream.. 

You and Ni-ki cycling around his hometown in Okayama during the springtime. Both of you would pass by gardens, structures reflecting part of Japan’s history, and art museums. Whilst it tired the two of you, eventually the cycling came to a halt in Okayama Korakuen, a beautiful garden where there was a vast land of greenery and a path for people to walk through. 

You and Ni-ki put the bikes aside and would begin journeying throughout the garden, appreciating the views as you both held hands. You love the feeling of intertwining fingers with Ni-ki; the connection becoming whole. It was new and somewhat euphoric. 

It seemed almost too perfect and too difficult to let go of Ni-ki at this moment. The mere touch of his hands was enough to make you smile, reaching your cheeks. Ni-ki noticed this and giggled cheerfully. Then, he would lead you over to a bridge which overlooked the stream of water flowing by the garden. 

Here, time stayed at a standstill. 

You felt his strong gaze towards you. Adoring your features as you take in the scenery in front of you. He cupped your cheeks before placing a kiss on your lips; the ones he wanted desperately to touch and feel. The plumpness and softness of your lips was almost like a spell; put under Ni-ki to constantly and continuously be attracted to. 

Of course, you couldn’t control your emotions and replied with a kiss. You placed your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. At this moment, you thought that you would never be capable of love after Ni-ki. Love seemed too perfect and too difficult to lose. Before the end of your daydream, you instinctively knew your love for him will direct himself close to you.

A/N: I apologize for inconsistent uploading as I am transitioning from high school to university. I still want to thank you for reading, especially if you've read parts one and two! Course enrolment for my university is coming soon so I am trying my best preparing for that than writing the next part for this series so stay patient. :)

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[nightwonder7]

Norton would think being feared is the same thing as being respected. And it would take him a while to understand the difference between the two. So when he becomes Fool's Gold, he thinks he has finally gotten the respect he deserves, when in reality he is just being feared. It doesn't dawn on him until much later that this isn't what he wanted. This isn't the kind of "respect" he actually desired.

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

just remembered that i had to chicken out of my last P5R playthrough (went back a save file and just took Maruki's deal) because i was so grossly unfamiliar with game mechanics and also, devastatingly under-levelled. so TELL ME WHY. when i finally, FINALLY BEAT HIM. FULLY AND COMPLETELY. I hit an apparently common bug that gives you an infinite loading screen before you can get the final cutscene. i'm actually fuming.

[amelikos]

The Horizons stage show in AnimeJapan 2024 (last year) was interesting and the bits with Friede and Amethio's VAs are still on my mind. They got to talk about their battles and their characters in general. (The event took place one day after the initial broadcast of HZ044 and before chapter 2 ended and thus reflects the events of the anime at the time.)

Either way, Horie Shun (Amethio's VA) talked about how Amethio changed through his battles with Friede. How Amethio battled out of a sense of duty at first, but gradually, feelings of frustration and his personal desire of wanting to win began to develop inside of him.

And Yashiro Taku (Friede's VA) talked about how through his encounters with Amethio, Friede grew to respect/acknowledge his will/conviction even though they had different objectives at the time.

Very interesting insights from their VAs, hopefully the same this year too.

[sasukimimochi]

Word Count - 1112 ; Warnings: depiction of animal death, injury... (i'm not sure it needs more warnings but pls let me know if theres anything u think needs to be warned for).

.Shattered Reflection✦.

- .✦Breaking Dawn. (The origins of Shattered Reflection)

Wei Wuxian grabbed the nearest weapon from the wall as he shoved some shoes on quickly, not wanting whatever was tussling the chickens to get away with hurting them or even worse before he could get outside.

He hated having to get up in the middle of the night if an animal came and attacked the livestock, but Lan Wangji was doing it every time and he was still so sore after putting up a new rain water collection system, so he wanted to let the other rest more since he himself did much less.

He felt like he should probably take something a bit better, like a bow and arrow, but he was fairly confident in fending anything off as long as it wasn’t a typical wild dog, which he would definitely shout for Lan Wangji to come help him with, as brave as he wanted to be.

He greatly underestimated what was out there, however.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian shouted aggressively as he ran out of the house, sickle in hand. He had to present himself as aggressive, otherwise it’d be hard to scare off whatever was in the-... the…

coop…

Wei Wuxian completely froze up, face pale and eyes wide on the dark, hunched over figure in the chicken coop. He could hear the sickening crunch of bones, the tearing and snap of flesh as those sharp teeth and claws broke through skin and feathers to feast.

The beast inhaled deeply as it lifted its head, red dribbling off its jaw in sickeningly slow, syrup-like drips…and turned its head directly to the frozen Wei Wuxian, who was so afraid he dropped his sickle with a quiet clang.

Lan Wangji was alert already because of the noise and Wei Wuxian’s shouting, but he sat upright immediately when everything went virtually quiet other than the subtle clucking of scared chickens. His heart dropped however when he heard his husband scream, and not just any scream, but one that he made when he was genuinely terrified. Usually, this just meant a dog or coyote, but something seemed much more urgent and terrified with the nature of it.

“Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji jumped out of bed, rushing out without even grabbing his shoes. 

Wei Wuxian was pinned to the ground by a massive black werewolf, and he had dropped his sickle many feet away.

Lan Wangji didn’t have time to think. He rushed forward, grabbing the sickle from the ground roughly and dashed towards his husband and the wolf. In seconds, in what felt like an eternity, Lan Wangji took such a tight hold of the fur of the werewolfs head and cut it’s head off in one urgent, messy motion.

Wangji threw the head away and wiped the blood off his face so he could see, and leaned down to check his husband over. “Wei Ying! Wei Ying, are you alright?” He took his trembling husband into his arms, dropped the sickle, and rushed inside.

Wei Wuxian was bitten. Lan Wangji cleaned the wound immediately, drained the bite area, and applied medicine, but…

“There’s…a chance we didn’t do enough.” Lan Wangji tightened the wrappings, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry…”

“L-lan Zhan…I…you did what you could. I’m…I’m glad it was me, not you.” Wei Wuxian leaned into his husband’s weight, feeling the other bring his head in to rest upon his shoulder.

“Wei Ying…” Lan Wangji didn’t agree, but what were they to do? They’d not seen one of the creatures before, and it was quite the shock for both, however…he couldn’t imagine how stressful it could become for Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian shook his head and leaned it into the other’s, closing his eyes. “We’ll know if…If something happens by dawn, right? So…I just have to stay awake until dawn. We’ll know for sure.”

Lan Wangji pursed his lips and leaned against his husband’s hair, closing his eyes tight. “Mn…will be here for Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian actually made it through most of the night, so by the time early morning was set to arrive, he was feeling pretty hopeful.

“Lan Zhan, see? I’m strong. Everything will be completely fine.”

Lan Wangji gently pet the other’s hair back, eyes low in worry. “There is still time left. Don’t move too much.” The bite of a werewolf worked by poisoning through moonlight. If they moved too much now, there was a chance he wouldn’t make it through the morning without his body entirely changing.

“Of course, I won’t move…” Wei Wuxian frowned and scratched slightly at his arm, where the bite lay near. “I…It feels uncomfortable.”

Lan Wangji gently pulled the other’s hands away. “I’ll look. But stay still.”

He wished though that he hadn’t, when the bandages fell away.

Lan Wangji tensed, staring at the still bleeding wound with hiked shoulders. The skin around the area was colored somewhat with blackened lesions, and hair seemed to be sprouting from the area in small tufts. “W-Wei Ying…” He swallowed tightly, “It’s…” What they hoped wouldn’t happen.

Wei Wuxian was hardly listening, whimpering quietly as pain seemed to periodically ripple from the open lesion. “Lan Zhan…it’s…ngh!” He grits his teeth and curls up reflexively, trembling in his husbands arms. He fought the feeling, but how could you fight something that was already in your system? And he was losing the battle. He knew it, but he fought anyway.

Lan Wangji grimaced as he listened to his husband cry in pain, the snaps of his bone rearranging under his fingers and muscle spasms that followed. “I’m here. I’m here Wei Ying…”

His husband was no longer a small trembling body in his arms as time passed. He became full and soft, but with claws and teeth and hard angles.

His husband whimpered, and it wasn’t the sound of a human.

The sound made his husband bark and cry in fear, which only made him even more afraid. Lan Wangji covered his ears and buried his face in the fur atop his head, humming quietly to his husband in an effort to calm him. 

His husband was no longer human. He didn’t get to him in time.

“It’ll be okay…” He tried to comfort him, but until Dawn broke and his husband’s skin was once more against him, he was terrified.

Wei Wuxian was so tired and weak as the sun filtered through the room, finally able to calm down now that the sound of his own voice wasn’t what he was most scared of.

“Everything will be okay.” Lan Wangji whispered into his hair, gently petting down his husband’s spine one stroke after another.

“Everything will be okay…”

They had been through so much together, and this would be…quite the challenge, especially for Wei Wuxian…but they had each other. He held the man tight, the tremble fading away into exhausted sleep.

They would always have each other.

They will figure out what to do.

“It will be okay.” He whispered, with a gentle kiss to his husband’s temple. 

“It will be okay.”

-

This is something i'll casually update, i'm not sure how much i'm going to do of it but i of course got hooked on my joke idea of "wwx as a werewolf who is afraid of himself" and so, here's the origin of how he became one.

The setting is for now in ancient china but LWJ is a farmer (they still know how to fight tho, how much idk? cuz werewolves kinda throw a wrench in the mix of things. i need to design them before i feel like a decision is really made).

but anyway i'll post the other thing i prepared after i get some sleep i'm exhausted ; w ; i'm still recovering but i wanted to get this one up during the weekend at least as i said i would. remember, GOM isn't uploading this week; but i will be posting two things i already wrote to compensate for it. I have a Clash of Immortals bonus chapter (yes a whole chapter) set in the future where they're already established i'd like to finish the sketch for so i can post it next. i just gotta sleep though for a bit i'm so tired- the one that's coming is rated explicit i'd say so make sure you have mature posts set to "show/blur" and not "hide."

the sketch i did is more like a cover art and more metaphorical i believe than a literal scenario! i'm having trouble thinking but if you've read this far you know those things didn't happen here XD i wanted to sketch something with a lot of symbolism.

Thanks for reading!! 😊💖✨

Check out more art of this/other MDZS Projects on my masterpost! ❤

[brontes]

heaven have mercy on me but I have been provoked into hypothetical podcast planning

[randomgumwrapper]

and she said ‘what’s with this dog motif?’ and i said ‘do you have something against dogs?’ i am almost completely soulless i am incapable of being human i am incapable of being inhuman i am living uncontrollably

[daddy-long-legssss]

Thank you to @ineveryspaceandtime for the tag <3

2023 had a lot of joys and grief for me.

One of my biggest highlights was a solo trip to London, England and seeing the Arctic Monkeys twice in concert. I made new friends through this fandom. Got two new tattoos. Tried jollof rice for the first time. I'm always dancing so that's nothing new but I had really good laughs with friends and family (the ones that make you feel like you'll have a six pack after cause you've laughed so hard). I fixed up an old turntable by myself using YouTube tutorials which was a cool project. Deciding to travel and prioritize myself while two of my family members were ill was a really big, tough decision but I'm glad I did it. I learned how to make Caribbean dishes which was really important to me and a way to preserve my heritage and my grandma's legacy. I also baked some really amazing things from my favourite cookbook. I stopped biting my nails which is a big achievement for me but overall, I just had really good moments with friends and family but especially myself in 2023.

Hoping there will be even more joy and personal growth in 2024. Tagging anyone who'd like to do this!

[punch-love]

Which playlist is your highway speeding phonk playlist? Is it ur driving or your car music playlist? Or maybe just a close enough playlist that captures the type of music u were saying? (+ I’m listening to ur new lp playlist while trying to see if you had a playlist titled highway speeding lol and I’m loving the new songs u added for lp!!)

I have a couple of them, but my current one is this one which is what I've been adding new songs to. the one I used last year is this one and is much longer but less curated and has more than one genre. they're both my driving playlists. no one who is my passenger wants to listen to that much non-stop phonk lmao

[morelikesin]

I'll be posting something tomorrow 🩷

[sapientiiae]

@valistheanshield asked: "I come as a blade, a sacred guardian, so keep me sharp and test my worth in blood." sleep token: take me back to eden starters

Despite her narrowed gaze, her eyes shine bright as blue topaz, glinting in the sun as she looks over the male. She’d had to tip her head back to meet his own stare, trying to decipher his expression, but Clive was composed and left little to be read. She thought she might have seen a brief flash of sincerity in his eyes, hinting his words were genuine, but it could have been a trick of the light for all she knew.

The princess's lips were pressed in a thin line, her golden hair radiant beneath the sun as it billowed in the wind. After everything Hyrule had been through — she’d been through — Clive was a new, interesting twist to the story. What exactly was it the Goddesses were up to this time? What did fate have in store to have two individuals with such troubled pasts meet? 

As far as she could tell, Clive had been nothing but authentic since they’d met. He’d told her of his home and past when it hadn’t been any of her business. But the male still had a lot he wished to accomplish, based off what he’d told her a few weeks ago. If that was truly the case, why make such a statement? It was an offering, was it not?

“Why? Who am I to decide your worth or test such a thing?”

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[bloatedandalone04]

Rich in Life

Summary: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex, swearing, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, fingering, all that good stuff, i had writer’s block and for some reason the only person i could write about was bob, so...enjoy.

It was Saturday night, and instead of being at home by himself like he had grown used to, Bob was out at The Hard Deck, perched on a stool with a Ginger Ale in his hand as he watched Phoenix kick Hangman’s ass at pool. 

It was entertaining, to say the least, because Jake was usually so stuck up and cocky about everything and anything, it was nice to watch his fellow aviator effortlessly beat him at something. 

The bar was lively as usual, but Bob didn’t mind it. He had ditched his usual khakis for a white tee and jeans, his casual clothing choice outside of his work uniforms. 

As he listened to the comical bickering, he looked over at the bar and watched as you talked with Penny, a kind smile on your lips as you gave her your full attention. God, you were so sweet and so sexy, Bob was still in a little disbelief that he is the one who gets to take you home after this. 

He adjusted his glasses and looked over at Jake, who was smirking at him, and Bob just shook his head. He’d grown accustomed to the teasing remarks and looks from his co-workers about how hot his wife is. He knew you were fucking gorgeous, he’s married to you. 

“I still don’t know how you landed her, Bob,” he said as he bent down to line up his shot again. “She’s a fucking stunner. Total smokeshow. I don’t know what she sees in you. No offense.”

Bob just shook his head again as Bradley reached over and smacked the blond on his shoulder while Nat glared at him from across the table. He didn’t care to say anything back as he turned his head and saw you begin to make your way through the crowded space, your drink held up a bit as you carefully maneuvered between bodies. 

Your pretty engagement ring and wedding band reflected off the lights as you settled beside him once again and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He was still a little taller than you, even from his place on the stool, but it also made him the perfect height for you to snuggle against him. “Sorry I took so long. Penny is so sweet, I just had to stay and talk with her for a bit,” you murmured, a gorgeous smile on your lips as you sipped on your red drink. “But I’m back now.”

Bob smiled back at you as one of his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. “It’s okay. Penny is great, I don’t blame you for wanting to hang with her instead of us guys and Nat,” he said, knowing Phoenix was far too focused on drilling into Jake to hear his words. “You know, you look stunning tonight.”

You really did. Your pretty blue and pink sundress looked gorgeous on you, and it was one of Bob’s favorite things you owned. Of course you knew that, though. 

A blush coated your face as you nuzzled your head against his shoulder, hiding as if you were embarrassed by his words. “Are you trying to ensure you get lucky tonight when we get home? Or are you just being your natural sweet self?” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow. “I can never tell with you, baby.”

Bob grinned, his hand tightening its protective hold on your hip. “Can you blame me? You’re the most gorgeous girl in the room,” he said back, knowing just how lucky he was to have you by his side, and he loved the flirty banter that always happened between you and him every time you went out together. “I just want to make sure you’re having a good time, baby.”

You leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m having a great time,” you said, winking up at him as you moved closer to his side and sipped your drink some more. “But I kinda can’t wait to get back home with my hot husband.” you added, shrugging casually as you slipped your left hand into the back pocket of his jeans and gave him a teasing squeeze. 

His breath hitched slightly and he held back a low groan as he leaned into your touch by pure instinct. “Is that so?” he hummed, trying to keep his cool in front of his friends. He was known as the sweet, shy and quiet guy at work and in public, but with you, he was as dirty as it got. 

But that side of him was just for you. 

Bob lifted his hand and cradled your jaw between his fingers as he looked you in the eyes. “I think we can arrange that, sweet girl,” he said, his tone promising as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips

You moaned softly against his lips, because you were shameless as much as you are sweet, and that’s one of the things Bob loves about you. “Bob,” you whispered against his lips as your fingers teased the collar of his shirt. “Take me home. Please?” 

Bob stood up and set his forgotten drink aside before he wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you towards the door. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said quietly as he led you out towards his truck, where he kissed you a few more times before getting in the driver’s seat. 

As soon as he was behind the wheel, he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers as he drove. Once he parked the truck in the driveway, Bob was pushing open his door before rounding the front of the truck to open yours. He gathered you into his arms as he walked with you towards the front door, his lips peppering kisses along your neck. 

When he got you up to your shared room, Bob laid you down on the bed, his gaze heated as he looked at you. His hands were already tugging at your dress as he kissed you deeply, tasting the fruity drink you’d had at the bar on your tongue. 

He pulled away and pressed a few kisses to your shoulder blade before he looked at you with nothing but adoration and desire in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands as if you were the most fragile, most stunning thing he’d ever seen. “I need to taste you.”

You moaned at his words, your eyes unguarded and trusting as you writhed under him. You reached down and pulled off your dress, tossing it aside to find later, which left you in just your panties since you skipped a bra tonight. 

Bob’s hands gripped your knees and spread your thighs, his eyes darkening as he looked at the lace clinging to your heat. You were so hot, he was having a hard time taking his eyes off your gorgeous body, but your soft laugh had his gaze meeting yours. “Taste me,” you encouraged as he pulled off his shirt and kicked off his jeans.

Your words definitely had an impact on Bob as he leaned down and nuzzled his face against you, inhaling your all too familiar scent. He was rather slow as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties and tugged them down your legs, showing him the pretty view of your glistening folds. He leaned in and licked a stripe up your slit before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue, and Bob moaned at your taste, so addictive and sweet and all for him. 

He worshipped you with increasing fervor, switching between gentle licks and hard sucks that had you bucking against his face and sliding your hand into his hair. “Mm, I love tasting you,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding up your stomach to palm your breast as his thumb teased your nipple.

Your head fell back on the pillow as you writhed on the bed, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Bob…fuck, baby,” you gasped, arching your back as he devoured you like a man starved. 

Bob groaned, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers as his tongue explored your most private part. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you pinned to the bed as he feasted on your sweet taste. 

His hand left your chest and slid down your torso, and he slipped two long fingers inside you, your arousal and his saliva giving him easy entrance. You were so wet for him and warm and tight, Bob had no control over the way his hips bucked against the mattress. You were so hot. 

“Come on, baby,” he mumbled against your pussy, his lips brushing against your clit. “Let go for me, I got you.”

When he curled his fingers and sucked harder on your puffy clit, you came for him with a soft cry, your eyes squeezing shut as your back arched. Bob licked and lapped at your folds greedily until you had quieted down and fell back on the bed, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. He crawled up your body, slowly pulling his fingers out of you as he did so, and he licked them clean before kissing you deeply.

Then he pushed his boxers down and slid inside you. “God, baby,” he groaned against your mouth as he began to slowly roll his hips against yours. You were so tight, Bob had to hold himself back from fucking into you like he wanted to. “You feel so good, taking me so well.”

He broke the kiss and trailed his lips along your jaw, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he picked up the speed a bit, making your mouth part as soft moans left your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your back arching as his cock immediately filled you. You were still sensitive since he’d just made you cum a mere five seconds ago, but you didn’t mind it at all. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, your body shaking a bit as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “Bob…oh, my fucking God.” 

Bob lifted his head and kissed you again, his tongue brushing against yours and muffling your whimpers. “I love feeling you wrapped around me. So tight and warm,” he rasped, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his hips snapped a bit harder against yours. “So sexy, baby.” 

He reached down in between your bodies, his fingers instantly finding your throbbing clit, and he teased the bundle of nerves as he increased the pace even more until you were shaking once again. 

“Gonna make you cum again, sweet girl,” he promised, his voice low and husky. “Right here on my cock. Just for me.”

In public, Bob was a softie (for the most part), but when he was with you, he had no filter, and the filthiest things freely left his mouth. He knew it drove you wild, the switch up that only happened with you, and he knew how much dirty talk turns you on. 

You were shuddering from the sensitivity, your eyes rolling back a bit as you moaned louder. “Just for you,” you echoed, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as your hands slid into his hair and made it a mess. “Just yours.” 

Bob moaned, peppering kisses along your shoulders as he reached down to grip your knee with his free hand, and he lifted it slightly to change the angle. “Just mine,” he agreed against your skin, his body heating up as a light layer of sweat formed on his forehead. When you clenched around him, he let out a strangled sound as he fucked you into the bed. “That’s it, baby, squeeze me.”

Your moans and whines were growing louder and louder, and your fingers were beginning to pull at his hair. “Bob,” you whimpered, guiding his lips back to yours in a messy kiss. 

Your hips were bucking against his as his fingers continued to rub fast circles onto your clit, and he knew you were close when he felt you tighten around him once again. “Come on, sweet girl,” he murmured, his body pressed right up against yours as he rocked his hips into yours. “Cum for me again.”

Your body tensed up in his arms as you broke the kiss and tipped your head back, a long, loud cry leaving your lips as you came around him, enveloping him in a warm wave as you shuddered uncontrollably. 

“Fuck yes,” Bob groaned, his hips stuttering as you clung onto him. A few seconds later, he was there too, and he was filling you up entirely as you whimpered and trembled under him. 

He gave a few more slow thrusts before he pulled out of you, and he watched as his glistening cock slid free from your warm body, and a bead of cum dripped from you. You were so beautiful, he’d never get tired of watching you come undone for him. 

Bob leaned down and pressed a softer kiss to your lips, and when he pulled away, his mouth was turned upwards in a lazy grin. “I love you,”

You hummed, draping your arms around his shoulders as you finally settled under him. “I love you too,” you said back, keeping your legs wrapped around him as you kissed him again in a post-sex make out session. “Stay like this, right here. Don’t get up yet.”

“Okay,” he whispered, holding you tightly in his arms as he gently eased his body down on top of yours, covering you like a shield. “We’ll stay like this for as long as you want to.”

You nodded slowly, a soft smile on your lips as you smoothed out his messy hair and adjusted his glasses. Then you were leaning in and kissing him again, and you continued to for a long time after that.