#that truly deserve more recognition than they get | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

umehaji · 5 months ago

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— 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓;

☾ Content: popstar f!reader much more famous than your pro volleyball player boyfriend- you finally hard launch your relationship on instagram but the public reaction isn't what you expect, so you take matters into your own hands

ft. Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hinata Shouyou, Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou, Kageyama Tobio

☾ A/N: inspired by dua lipa and callum turner and my girl sabrina

— 𝐔𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢;

Ushijima doesn't even have an instagram, naturally. the closest thing is he's got is his team's account, curated and managed by the PR team. so when you wiggle your phone in front of him to show him the chosen piece for your account, he just gives it a cursory glance and nods. the photo is from backstage at one of your concerts earlier this month: you, glowing with joy, arm slung casually around his neck, leaning into him as you beam up at him with a smile that could light up your stadiums. he's got one arm wrapped securely around your waist, usual stoic expression softened by a warmth in his eyes as he gazes down at you- one that only you seem to be able to draw out of him.

but the reactions to your post are swift and crushing. you're beyond proud of Ushijima- proud of his quiet strength, his dedication, his raw talent. you know you shouldn’t and it shouldn’t—doesn’t—matter, but your thumb keeps scrolling through the comments. each one feels like a knife twisting deeper, a personal attack, particularly the ones suggesting he doesn't care, that he looks like he's got the emotional depth of a spoon, that this is all just a PR move somehow. watching the sweetest man you know not get the recognition he truly deserves hurts more than you want to admit.

ᯓ🏐

when Ushijima steps into your shared bedroom, shirtless, his hair still damp from a post-workout shower and sweatpants slung low on his hips, his gaze finds you sitting at your vanity. the soft light of the mirror highlights your delicate features, casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

"toshi," you greet him warmly, turning toward him with an inviting smile. he pads over to you, barefoot, and you tilt your chin up expectantly. he rests one hand on the back of your chair, the other on the edge of your desk and leans down, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, his head tilting to deepen it as he lifts a hand to your cheek, gently smoothing his thumb across your soft skin before drawing back, a small smile curving up on his lips when he sees the dazed look in your eyes.

"morning, love." he says simply, before walking off to the kitchen to make himself a protein shake. completely oblivious to the phone propped up against your mirror, the livestream on the screen, and the chaos that you've just unleashed within your fanbase.

readerfanatic_official joined popicon4life just fell to my knees screaming in the 711 parking lot platinum_readerstan she's dating a TREE tinyreader777 'morning love'???...our queen is built different i would've evaporated on the spot bipbop_23 ...i get it now readerfan2024 guess i'm into volleyball now glitznglamfan girl i'm scared for ur holes

— 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐨𝐮;

it's a cute photo: the two of you on a beach at a resort, there for one of Oikawa's games. Hinata's got his head in your lap, one of your hands gently running through his messy orange hair while your other hand rests on his chest. you're gazing out at the sea, a serene smile gracing your face as you enjoy the view, while Hinata looks up at you, equally captivated by what he sees.

the comments that flood in are anything but kind. most of them poke fun at his height, with fans wondering how he managed to catch your eye when he's fighting gravity every day, others insisting that he must just be very funny. and it doesn’t bother Hinata at all, not that you can tell- he just scratches the back of his head and laughs, exclaiming that it's nothing he hasn't heard before, that he’ll just have to work twice as hard to earn your fans’ approval. ignoring your protests that he has nothing to prove.

ᯓ🏐

a few eagle-eyed fans are the first ones to notice it and not long after, screenshots of your activity start to circulate. first it's you liking an edit of Hinata lifting his shirt during ones of his games to wipe sweat off his brow. then it's a clip of him leaping into the air, showing off his energy and athleticism. a third like is a snapshot of Hinata celebrating a victory, fists clenched and knees bent, muscles in his thighs flexed as he roars with triumph.

the one that nips it in the bud is when you share a post to your story. it’s a reel- a compilation of Hinata’s spikes, his raw energy and unstoppable power lighting up the court as he slams the ball past his opponents. your fans lose it when you post a mirror selfie on the same day: you've got your back turned toward the mirror, all dolled up for an award ceremony in a gown that leaves nothing and everything to the imagination. you look good, accentuated by the man at your side who, unlike you, is facing the mirror. but Hinata isn't looking at the camera- his heated gaze is on your reflection instead. one of his arms is curved loosely around your waist, hand resting just above your ass.

the internet goes wild.

mvpmichelle8 2h 385 likes our girl is thirsting publicly on main i respect it robsessed247 2h 306 likes rip to her ass cheeks keanue_433 2h 243 likes ...what team does he play for again stanacctreader 1h 178 likes she got herself a short KING FR newvolley_98 1h 85 likes so when’s the next game where you get a front-row seat to his… spikes? 🥵

— 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮;

you don’t exactly share the photo yourself, but it might as well be yours. when Vogue posts the cover shot and tags you, it goes viral almost instantly. because Atsumu is seated in a luxurious chair, looking every bit like a king in his perfectly tailored suit, legs spread confidently, an air of dominance about him. you're perched on the armrest beside him, the slit of your black dress exposing the smooth curves of your body. one of your hands is loosely intertwined with his, resting on your thigh. the chemistry is palpable, electric. the sultry confidence in your posture paired with the intensity in Atsumu's gaze makes it impossible to look away. paired with the article about your relationship, this is a power couple at its finest.

or at least so you think.

the opinions of your fans are mixed, but those who disapprove don't hold back. they say that he must be cheating on you, that he looks untrustworthy, that his self-assured interview quotes only highlight how self-absorbed he is, implying he’s too consumed with himself to ever treat you right. Atsumu's ready to fight everyone questioning his devotion to you before you remind him that he can’t spend all day replying to hate comments- he has practice, and that you’ll handle it.

ᯓ🏐

you show up to the world championship that month with your entourage in tow. you visit Atsumu in his locker room to wish him good luck, ignoring the way his teammates trip over themselves gaping at you. he almost doesn’t let you leave, seizing you in a deep kiss that leaves you a little unsteady on your feet, but you plan a firm hand on his chest because you have places to be, a job to do.

when Atsumu steps up to serve and you watch as his routine unfolds, the familiar movements flowing effortlessly, your PR team is at the ready. his signature has evolved since his early days, the fist still a familiar gesture, but now his index finger uncurls at the last moment, pointing into the crowd. he doesn’t need to look; he always knows exactly where you are. but today, it’s different. you’re not in the shadows, hiding behind sunglasses or a baseball cap. today, you’re wearing his jersey, sitting front and center, in the best seat in the house. you’re clapping louder than anyone else, beaming so hard your cheeks hurt.

this time, when he finds you in the crowd, the whole world is watching.

Us Weekly: Atsumu Miya Makes History with Serve: Fans Go Wild over Major 'Couple Goals' Moment at the World Championship Buzzfeed: Is He Pointing to Y/N? 10 Moments Atsumu Miya Was Literally Screaming 'I Love You' Sports Illustrated: Atsumu Miya’s Serve Gets Personal: The Unspoken Gesture You Didn’t Know Was for Y/N Kyodo News: Fans Flock to See Miya Atsumu's Relationship with Global Sensation Y/N in Full View Cosmopolitan: Y/N and Atsumu Miya: From Music Charts to Volleyball Courts—Their Love Story (Exclusive)

— 𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮;

what you think is a beautiful moment, your fans interpret quite differently. in the photo you post, Bokuto's strong arms are wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he hugs you from behind. his hands are positioned low on your abdomen, fingers spread wide and pressing down lightly, a playful gesture that has you squirming in response. the candid shot your manager took captures you in mid-laugh. you're tilting away from him, hands gripping his wrists, body twisted in a half-escape as though you're trying to dodge his ticklish touch. Bokuto's lips are pressed softly to the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder partly obscuring his face. his expression is partially hidden, but the corner of his mischievous grin peeks out, his eyes glinting at the camera as he looks up right at that moment.

your fans tear him apart, their words dripping with criticism- accusing him of being too touchy, claiming that you don’t want him like that, that he's too obsessed, too forward. the comments flood in, one after another, each one more biting than the last. the relentless stream of negativity cuts deep, and you can see the toll it takes on Bokuto as he scrolls on his phone with a downtrodden look. you tell him to ignore it, that he has nothing to worry about, but you can tell it does little to lift his spirits.

ᯓ🏐

you show him that night just how deeply you care about him, straddling his lap and gently cupping his face in your hands. your lips meet his in a soft, reverent kiss, a silent exchange that you hope conveys volumes. you murmur against his mouth, telling him how perfect he is, watching with a quiet smile as the tips of his ears go red. but then he shifts, flipping you over on the bed, caging you in with thick arms all while still blushing so prettily. and when you feel something hard and big pressing against your inner thigh, you wonder what you've gotten yourself into.

Bokuto goes even redder the next day when he wakes up to incessant texting from his teammates and he opens social media to find a photo on your feed: it's of him shirtless, lying on his front and cradling a pillow with his cheek smooshed into it, his hair down and expression peaceful. what's not so peaceful is the view of his bare back- red streaks running down his tanned skin, unmistakably from your fingers. the white sheets thrown over his legs obscure anything from the waist down but his face flushes deeper as he takes in the rest of the intimate scene.

you've got one hand resting gently on his head, fingers woven loosely in his hair, thumb caressing his cheek mid-stroke. it's soft, casual, possessive.

fan_gurl_4 1h 403 likes the way we thought HE was the obsessed one...how the turn tables bobfriend_76 1h 386 likes she's marking her territory glamjam69 1h 207 likes ...this ain't demure or mindful at all menin4k22 45m 146 likes ma’am for science, p-please remove those sheets readerfan234 14m 121 likes the way she's touching him...i need a moment to grieve 😩

— 𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨;

the release party for your new album goes off without a hitch, and you score tons of cute photos with Kageyama, cuddling up to him that night to scroll through and select the best ones. your top choice is one of the more simple shots: you, with one hand resting on his chest, leaning into the arm he’s wrapped around your waist. his long fingers were hot against your skin through the delicate fabric of your dress, and you swear you can still feel the imprints of them. he's serious in the shot, his lips set in a stern line as he gazes into the camera, but you adore that look on him. especially when that same gaze shifts to you, hinting at something deeper, something darker, waiting for later.

your fans, however, don't see what you do. so you wake up to a barrage of comments, about how he looks boring, how he probably doesn't know a single one of your lyrics, how you could do so much better. naturally, Kageyama doesn't give a single shit as to what your fans think about him. just kisses you goodbye and heads off to practice, duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder. but you care.

ᯓ🏐

it takes a fair amount of convincing and a hefty dose of bribery, which somehow includes you securing an advertisement contract with one of Kageyama's favorite yogurt brands, but he finally agrees to appear in the music video for your latest hit. though, you can't help but think it had more to do with you casually hinting that your company had intended on pulling in one of the hottest actors currently on the scene, known for making girls swoon at meet-and-greets.

he plays a cop arresting you for a string of crimes you commit in the name of revenge on your cheating ex, culminating in him pushing you down in the backseat of his patrol car. it's hot, steamy, and when he shoves his knee between your legs, leaning over you with one hand pinning your wrists above your head, you won't deny that you make a mental note to recreate this scene later, without the cameras.

the music video shatters records and skyrockets to the top of the charts.

and the comments this time? well. they speak for themselves.

bops234 • 1 day ago this awakened something in me fando23 • 12 hours ago i'm going to need this man's @ immediately barkbarkbark_89 • 12 hours ago are we sure he doesn't want to switch career paths stanacctreader • 10 hours ago i thought he was just a plain slice of milk bread but boy was i wrong freedomsings145 1h • 5 hours ago casting your real life boyfriend as the main romantic lead in your music video is such a power move, as always our queen's taste is IMPECCABLE atsumumiya • 2 hours ago he looks like a foot

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #miya atsumu x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #☾.writes #☾.haikyuu #haikyu x reader #shoyo x you #ushijima x you #atsumu x you #bokuto x you

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moghedien · 2 months ago

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omg we finally got the mierin backstory and I truly cannot stop laughing her life sucks so bad all because oopsies she accidentally broke Satan out of jail? LMFAOOOOOOOO

Imagine you had a terrible break up with the person who is the love of your life, but you weren't the love of theirs. You watch this person marry someone they very clearly love and adore more than you. You watch the two of them have a family and grow happier and happier. And you can't even really escape seeing this because they're your colleagues and your ex is one of the most well known figures in the world. They're everywhere being very happy and living the life you wanted and you just have to watch it. And everyone only knows you as the person who used to date your ex and got dumped

So you pour yourself into your career and research. You're talented, after all. You're very talented and strong in the power even in an era of strong channelers. You haven't received the recognition you want or deserve, but you're still working, still researching, still making break throughs. Constantly being reminded of your ex by everyone and everything, but you're doing your own thing. And, well, its not really the life you wanted. And you are lonely, you are heartbroken, but you're going to help people and that will give you some fulfillment. You just have to commit to the work and not worry about your ex.

And you do make some genuinely remarkable breakthroughs. You and the team your working with find a source of what seems to be unlimited power. Something that isn't limited by gender or ability, something that anyone can tap into. In an age of already immense technology and knowledge and magic, you found something that could catapult it into a golden age for what is already a golden age. You're doing something that will help everyone, that will change the world for the better. You don't know what it might be. You have no reason to know what it is. No one has even heard of the Dark One, after all, how could they have expected you to?

And you tap that source and it does change the world by unleashing the ultimate evil into an Age that had forgotten such things even existed. Everyone knows you were involved. Other researchers that were working on this commit suicide in shame. You're the one left to take the blame, the scorn, the humiliation, the guilt for something that no one could have seen coming. For something that everyone would have done if they had been in your shoes. For something you certainly didn't mean to do. Your grand act that was going to save everyone damned the world. Your crowning achievement that was going to give you the recognition outside of the shadow of the person who broke your heart is now the thing that will stop anyone from trusting you or recognizing your talents ever again. You haven't even sworn to the Shadow yet and people already hate you, already blame you, are already concocting stories about you and your motivations.

And of course, the only thing people remembered about you before this was that your ex broke your heart. So now to everyone, you're just a jealous bitter ex girlfriend that brought literal hell to earth because you couldn't get over a man.

That's literally all anyone will ever see you as from now on, so that might as well be who you are.

#mierin eronaile #lanfear #wheel of time #wot show spoilers

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lotuswish · 4 months ago

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˗ˏˋ what loving you feels like to them (pt. 2 - savanaclaw) 𓃭 .ᐟ

synopsis: have you ever wondered what falling in love feels like for each twisted wonderland boy? this series explores love from their perspective-how their personalities, experiences, and desires shape what loving you means to them.

featured character(s): leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl.

content warning(s): none.

a/n: what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words, but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it's still their own!

link(s): (masterlist) (pt. 1 - scarabia) (pt. 2 - you are here) (pt. 3 - heartslabyul) (pt. 4 - ignihyde) (pt. 5 - pomefiore) (pt. 6 - octavinelle) (pt. 7 - diasomnia)

leona kingscolar

loving you feels like a storm to leona kingscholar—wild, consuming, and impossible to ignore. it’s not soft or gentle; it’s raw and powerful, shaking the foundation of the walls he’s spent his life building. leona has always been a man who distances himself, resigned to the shadows cast by others’ expectations and his own bitterness. yet, loving you feels like being dragged into the sunlight, where he can’t hide from how deeply and fiercely he cares.

for someone as proud and guarded as leona, love feels like vulnerability, and vulnerability feels like weakness—something he’s spent years despising. but with you, it’s different. it’s infuriating at first, how you manage to slip past his defenses, see through his sharp words and careless demeanor to the soul beneath. it frustrates him because you make him care when he’s tried so hard not to, when he’s convinced himself it’s better to want nothing than to risk losing it all. yet, at the same time, it’s impossible for him to resist you. your presence becomes the one thing he craves, a rare oasis that cuts through the arid emptiness of his cynicism, bringing a sense of life he didn’t realize he was missing.

loving you feels like a battle he didn’t ask for but can’t walk away from. it’s the quiet war between his instinct to keep you at arm’s length and the overwhelming desire to hold you close, to make you his in every sense of the word. it awakens something in him he thought long buried—a longing not just to be wanted but to be truly seen, understood, and loved for who he is, flaws and all. you don’t expect him to change or prove himself, and that unconditional acceptance both humbles and enrages him, because it feels too good to be true.

loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better, even when he resents the effort. you inspire him to fight—not for power or recognition, but for you, for the life he dreams of building by your side, even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. it’s a quiet kind of ambition, one he keeps close to his chest, but it drives him more than he thought possible.

for leona, loving you feels like discovering something he never believed could exist—a place where he isn’t judged for his flaws or dismissed for what he’s not, but truly valued and deeply cherished for who he is. it’s a kind of peace he’s never known, a calm he never thought he’d deserve. it’s not perfect, but it’s real, and to him, that makes it irreplaceable. he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

ruggie bucchi

loving you feels like both a risk and a reward to ruggie bucchi, like daring to believe in something that feels almost too good to be true. for someone who’s spent his life scraping by, fighting for every scrap and opportunity, love is something he never thought he’d have time for. yet, here you are, proving that love isn’t a luxury he has to earn—it’s something you offer freely, and that alone feels like the biggest miracle to him.

to ruggie, loving you feels like warmth in a cold, unforgiving world. it’s the kind of comfort he never thought he’d get to experience, like the feeling of a hot meal after a long day or the rare quiet moments where he doesn’t have to worry about tomorrow. it’s unfamiliar and almost disorienting to feel safe with someone, to trust that you won’t turn your back on him when things get hard. at first, he finds himself holding back, keeping his guard up because he’s used to people taking advantage of him. but with you, the walls come down, bit by bit, as you show him that your love isn’t conditional.

loving you also feels like motivation, like the fire that keeps him going even when the odds are stacked against him. ruggie has always been a survivor, driven by the need to make a better life for himself, but with you in his corner, his dreams feel a little closer, a little more achievable. you believe in him, even when he struggles to believe in himself, and that belief makes him want to work even harder—not just for himself, but for you too. he wants to give you the world, even if it means pushing himself to his limits to make it happen.

at the same time, loving you feels grounding. you remind him of the things that truly matter, of the joy that can be found in the little things—shared laughter, quiet moments, and the simple fact that you’re there. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to put on a show or prove his worth. you accept him for who he is, and that kind of unconditional love feels like the rarest treasure he’s ever come across.

for ruggie, loving you feels like a gamble that paid off in ways he never imagined. it’s not always easy—he’s used to relying on himself and struggles to fully open up—but the reward of having you in his life is worth every moment of uncertainty. you make him feel like he’s found something worth fighting for, someone worth sharing the best parts of himself with. loving you feels like coming home after years of wandering, and it’s a feeling he’ll hold onto with everything he’s got.

jack howl

loving you feels like growth to jack howl—steady, natural, and deeply rooted, like a tree that grows stronger with time. for someone as disciplined and driven as jack, love doesn’t come easily or suddenly. it’s not a whirlwind or a grand revelation; it’s something that builds slowly, shaped by trust, respect, and countless little moments. it surprises him, how deeply it takes root in his heart, but once it’s there, it’s unwavering.

to jack, loving you feels like a quiet kind of strength. he’s always been proud of his independence, his ability to handle anything life throws his way, but with you, he learns that letting someone in doesn’t make him weaker. instead, it makes him stronger, giving him someone to lean on when he needs it, someone to protect and fight for. you don’t expect him to be perfect or unshakable all the time, and that acceptance is something he treasures more than he can say.

loving you feels grounding, like a steady presence in his life that keeps him balanced. jack values honesty and loyalty above all else, and with you, he feels secure in a way he’s never felt before. you’re not just someone he cares for; you’re his partner, his mate, someone who stands by his side no matter what. he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you—you see him, flaws and all, and you love him anyway. that kind of trust is rare, and it’s something he holds onto fiercely.

but loving you also feels like a challenge, one that pushes him to be better. jack’s always been hard on himself, striving to improve and never settling for less than his best. with you, he finds new reasons to grow, not just for his own sake but for yours too. you inspire him to step outside his comfort zone, to take risks he might otherwise avoid. whether it’s learning to be more open about his feelings or letting himself be vulnerable, you make him want to reach higher, to be someone worthy of the love you give so freely.

for jack, loving you feels natural, like something that was meant to be. it’s not flashy or dramatic—it’s steady, enduring, and unshakable, just like him. you’re his anchor, his motivation, his reason to keep moving forward. loving you feels like the pull of the earth beneath his feet—natural, stabilizing, and something he relies on without question.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

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ohodie · 1 year ago

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SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

#luke castellan enemies to lovers #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fic #luke castellan smut #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader smut #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #pjo x reader #pjo tv show

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atyourmerci · 1 year ago

Text

☀︎To the light is to the darkness✩

Abby X reader X Ellie

Prologue to vengeance (can be read alone)

☀︎ ☀︎

Summary: Abby is your childhood best friend, you did everything together, taught each other everything. You were utterly infatuated with each other until Ellie Williams enters your world.

Warning: smut, MDNI, porn w lots of plot, innocence arc, mutual pining, lots of sexual tension, mutual masturbation (in the same room, together), fingering if you squint, useless lesbians, lesbian love triangle, abby needs a hug, phoebe bridgers as her own warning, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: okay so holy fuck did I get carried away with this one. I didn’t want to leave yall on a cliffhanger but this dynamic deserves more and I don’t want to rush through it. I hope yall enjoy. This chapter is mostly just abby but there will be lots more Ellie in the next chapter promise :)

✩ ✩

“Someone you couldn’t lose. You said we’re not together, so now when we kiss I have anger issues.”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

A relationship that felt more of interlacing two souls into one that resided in two structures. Shared autonomy of mind, breath, word, and body. Unspoken feelings, touches, and stares.

What started in green fields of pink flowers and brown roots ended in dark rooms and pining embraces. Hand shakes turning into interlaced fingers, laughter filled glances turning into tense stares, and experimental pecks turning into open mouthed pants.

The first time you meet abby was at school at 15. Bright eyed and bushy tailed still untainted from the reality of the world around you. You were quite shy in those years, keeping yourself away from the wild hairs of children ready to grow up and take charge. You were okay with the stability of childhood, the sticky sweet feeling of safety and uncharted terror.

Before Abby’s dad had died, before the muscles and long locks of golden blonde hair she was reserved too. Abby was wrapped in a bubble of comfort, a loving community that doted on her. She felt no need to join the crowd of chaos when she had everything she needed.

Well she thought she did…and then she met you.

In class you had your face shoved into a notebook doodling away of ferns and dandelions you had seen in the fields early that day. If it were up to you, you’d spend every last dying breath in the fields, soaking in sunlight and trailing your fingers through the rows of flowers.

Abby sat next to you in class, always too shy to speak up to you. You always seemed so busy, either reading, drawing, or with your head in the clouds, never truly listening to the lecture ahead. She admired your creativity, attention to detail, and the utter sense of unawareness to your surroundings. She wondered why you didn’t talk to the others, you were so inviting, so pretty. She once wished to look like you, how effortlessly magnificent you looked.

She grew too curious, over zealous at the thought of being close to you, understanding you. She knew she had to speak up.

“H-hey you draw pretty cool- I mean- it’s really good…what you draw.”

You had never taken more than a glance at the freckled girl until then. She always seemed just as busy as you, so you never bothered her.

You let out a bellied laugh at the now crimson red faced girl- completely embarrassed by her attempt at recognition.

And that was that. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip from then on out.

Abby seemed to understand your weird quirks and odd fascinations. Even when she didn’t, she was there open minded and wide eyed to hear your lengthy ramblings on about nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like you did most of the talking. Not that it was one sided or you wouldn’t let her butt in, but rather she was completely enamored by what you thought. Sometimes all she wanted to do was to hear you talk, you were her favorite person, the own mold of herself.

She wanted to think what you thought, feel what you felt, see the world through your eyes.

As the years went on you only seemed to grow closer to abby as she grew fonder of you.

Some could call it an obsession, the way you treated each other. Not a single thought went by that the other didn’t know. If you were there, so was abby. If you knew something, so did she.

Everyday she would follow you to the fields after school, your special escape you’d learn to share with the other half of your being.

You’d make her lay across the flower ridden fields so you could draw her glistening hair kissed by the whisk of wind. She let her hair grow longer since you’d ask to braid it for her every morning. She liked it short but she wanted to let you have room to make intricate designs and lace them with weeds you’d found.

Abby would playfully nudge you when you’d draw the hump on her nose in the drawings, but you loved it too much to not appreciate it. You loved all the things she couldn’t in herself.

You two spent hours out in the field daily, even when it rained you’d make her dance around like fairies as mud splattered across your shins. Anything you wanted, she’d do as long as it was with you.

That’s when you asked her to try kissing, she’d obliged.

“Have you ever…kissed anyone?” You ask staring off into the cloud painted sky, tall grass framing your bodies.

She lets out a breathy giggle, “no… you would know if I did.”

You shrug, shoulder crashing gently into hers, “I don’t know, maybe it was too embarrassing to say.”

She trails off, “h-have you?”

“No dumbass you would know…” you push your shoulder into her turning to give her a toothy smile, “what if I’m not good when a boy kisses me?”

Her eyes remained trained onto the pillowy cloud, “you can try on me- I-if you want to.”

It was a good idea, she wasn’t going to judge you, she was your best friend, she was only there to help.

“Okay.” And without a second thought your upper body shot up and lent over hers, pressing your lips into her plush pink ones. It was gentle, only a placement amongst the flesh, yet so charged. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and up to your throat, something you had only felt once before when you and abby went swimming.

Closeness you thought. Being close to someone causes that. How nice it was to be so close to your favorite person, maybe one day you could feel close to someone again.

After that you continued to experiment kissing. At sleepovers you’d talk about the boys you wanted to kiss, then show each other how you would kiss them. It turned into an innocent routine, pecking her before she would leave, kissing her in the fields when you felt the butterflies.

You’d told her about them- the fluttering in your stomach. Whenever you felt them she told you that she wanted to feel them too. Transferring them through the soft pink flesh, she’d say she’d feel them after.

Soon she’d tell you when she got them, to which you’d return the gesture back. As time went on, the butterflies came more often.

People were starting to notice the relationship, started talking about how close the two of you were. You’d shoo off the irrational comments and over zealous accusations, but abby never did. She just didn’t respond.

“Who am I to ask for more? But you’re breathing in my open mouth. You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

Abby started spending the night daily, she practically lived in your room at that point. After her dad died your relationship grew stronger than ever. In such a treacherous time she clung to the only person who truly understood her. Many a nights she spent huddled into a ball in your lap weeping as you smoothed the hair behind her ear and rubbing circles into the grown muscles in her back.

Abby had taken to working her emotions out in physical labor. Now being a solider full time out of school she had grown muscular and more rough. Her heart was still the same for you, but had grown caged off to the people around you.

Her pleasantries for the rest of the community had grown stale, only allowing a few to get near her. But you… there was always an indefinite spot inside her for you.

Since abby was always around now, in the darkness of every night, privacy had flown right out the window. Not that you had minded- there wasn’t much of really anything abby didn’t know or hadn’t seen.

But when that eery sense of familiarity crept up, when the butterflies would come at night.

She had started out sleeping on the extra bed in your room. Before she had practically moved in she’d sleep with you, but since her stay turned to no vacancy she’d taken to given you the last sense of space, even when you hadn’t asked.

In the middle of darkness as the crickets chirped outside the window you’d tell her the feeling had come back, and she’d always agree, and the room would fall silent again.

“Abby?” You call out to a darkened room, illuminated by the shine of the moon.

“Yeah?” She’d call back from the other side.

“Do you ever…fix the feelings of the butterflies. Like make them go away?”

“Uh yeah- sometimes…when it gets bad.”

“I think mine are…bad right now,” it felt embarrassing almost, there was nothing she could do to help, fix your issue. Transferring the butterflies to abby only made them worse sometimes, and you were boiling.

“M-mine too,” she admits.

“You can fix it- if you need to.”

“A-re you going to stop yours?”

“Is that okay?” You say reluctantly into the tense air coating you. Every slight move felt with a million nerves.

“Mhmm,” she responds, a rustling heard coming from her direction.

Soft hums filled the air from the feeling of release you had allowed yourself in the presence of your best friend. Abby’s breathy moans would only follow quickly after your own, never before.

Dual release become a routine. Allowing the sticky sweet sensations of climaxing in the same bedroom of your other half. It became another thing you shared with her, another check on the list of the endeavors you’d participated in with her.

Talks of the butterflies and the unleashing of them never left those four chipping walls. Some things were meant for just Abby’s ears. All best friends must do the same. You’d never heard of others talk of sorts so you sealed your lips, a secret kept like a bird in a cage.

As you both had grown accustomed to the routine things gradually got more intense. Sometimes you couldn’t get the butterflies to fly away even when you tried for hours, panting out whimpers of frustration. Even when they would go away sometimes they would crept back in immediately, your body unable to be satiated.

Abby begun sleeping in the bed with you, to calm the frustrating unnerve you felt after no avail. She’d tell you she wish she could help you, make them go away. She’d do anything to make you happy.

That’s when you started touching yourselves next to each other. The routine was upheld for so long that it felt natural to do it even when she was right next to you. First fully covered, then in undergarments, to finally completely bare.

Seeing Abby’s bare flesh only made it worse. You weren’t stupid, the pieces were falling into place before your eyes. But you hadn’t seen anyone else naked before, maybe it would be the same. Her flesh so pale, her nipples shades of pale pink roses, and the hair that trailed down to her folds as golden as wheat. You had never seen something so magnificent, so beautifully crafted.

That was something you didn’t share with her. The drawings of her bare flesh. You made sure to memorize each chisel, line, and freckle to be as accurate as possible once you got to your notebook. With every piece of her revealed opening thousands of opportunities to draw her art. She was so fucking beautiful.

“When was the first time?” The auburn girl had asked you.

It all had meshed into a blur, what had happened and when it did. When you and abby had started sleeping together it started on opposite ends. Heat not close enough to sting your flesh but the air still tense enough to be cut clean with a blade. As time grew on and the routine becoming daily, the space between you started to close in. Knees brushing as your legs wavered, arms transferring sticky sweat in the blistering heat of arousal.

The inevitable placement of foreheads touching as you watched each other fall apart, watching the butterflies flutter out of her throat with every pant.

From what you could call the ‘beginning’ of sorts, rather an act of mercy, came from her.

You found yourself in the familiar position of unnerve. Rubbing aimless quick circles on your abused clit. It became a matter of principle at the point, needing to fulfill the urge even knowing the outcome would leave you more helpless than before. Abby’s butterflies were far gone, now rubbing lazy stripes down her slit in attempt to not let you feel alone. She never wanted you to feel like she wasn’t completely enthralled by your every move.

Your leg sprawled across her own, wide open, bucking your hips into the air as you let out frustrated grunts, eyes sealed shut in concentration. She just watched. She loved watching you touch yourself. Abby felt like the luckiest girl in the world getting to watch you, kiss you, feel you. She wanted to feel more of you, every atom in your body she’d kiss if you’d allow it.

“Let me help” she said, eyes trained on your open mouth.

Your brain was too fuzzy to even comprehend the depth of the act, so pent up and eager.

“Mhmm,” was all you could muster up. As her calloused fingers transferred from her skin to your abdomen, your body jolted up. You had never been touched by another. Not like this. She took her time running the tips of her fingers from your side to the mound, taking your hand and moving it your thigh so she could replace it with her own.

Something deep in your belly erupted when you felt her fingers meet your clit. A flock of doves released from their cage, a gasping goldfish meeting water. An exaggerated sigh of relief came out as a depraved moan. Every nerve in your body heightened by her gentle touch.

She drew cautious and attentive swipes across the newly swollen bud, watching for when your breath would hitch.

“You’re so warm,” she said studying your face as it contorted in pleasure. Your chin raised high, burying your scalp into the frilly pillows below. She had then studied the flesh around your neck, oh why had she never noticed that. How thin the skin was there, how close she could get to you in that space.

“I-it feels b-better when you do it,” you admit to her, water in her hands, hips grinding into the soft touch of her. “Y-yeah really?” She says, perking up, so pleased with knowing she could make you feel better. She’d do anything to make you feel better.

You let your stagnant hand run down her chiseled chest to meet her mound, her sticky slit pooling at her core. You meant to return the favor, an eye for an eye. “It’s okay- just let me help you.”

You shook your head in agreement, but let your hand rest on the pulsing flesh, you wanted to feel her like she felt you.

With every gentle circle she took you closer to release. It was so much faster when she did it. When you did it together before you would lie there for hours flicking at the raw skin to no avail, but in minutes she had you tipping at your edge.

Her strokes felt akin to the ones on your notebook, gentle and cautious direction, seeking a desirable outcome. You’d thought to picture this, able to recreate this on paper shielded from her eyes. What would she think if she saw them? Maybe you’d grown too fond of the other half of your heart.

“Abby!” You scream out, nearing your pending release.

“Y-yeah? D-does it feel okay- are you okay?” She perks up in concern, helplessly worried she had hurt you.

“Yes- Yes! It- it’s coming,” you pant out, body slick with sweat as your arousal pools below you. A sloppy mess of bodies interlaced with remorseless pleasure.

“Let me feel them, I want to feel them,” abby says inches from your face, intently watching the contortions of your face below her. The butterflies, oh how she wished she could flutter in your tummy as they do so effortlessly.

You cave shamelessly, pressing into the soft pink flesh. You try to keep them stable, but as you reach the cliffs edge you can’t help but moan pathetically into her throat. Your hips thrust into the calloused fingers, chasing the lasting feelings of her, escaping your doom and passing the burden through your lips onto hers.

You did draw of this, and every time after that. It became an obsession, mental images snapshotted to accuracy for replication later.

The routine increased in frequency and intensity. Exploring each other’s most sacred places. She would let you touch her sometimes, but only when she was touching you. Abby seemed more interested in your pleasure than her own. But she cared about you, she never wanted you unsettled. She wanted to be your salvation.

“I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it, I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning.”

“Does she make you feel them?”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

Ellie Williams was so…vulgar, erratic, a ticking time bomb. The pieces of the puzzle connected at last when you lied eyes on the auburn haired girl.

She had entered the WLF as gentle as a bomb to a building. Fiery hot attitude, a chip on her shoulder, and drowning green eyes. At first glance she utterly captivated your ever fleeting thoughts.

When she first walked through the corridors of the stadium your eyes fixed on her, staring rudely at her every move. “Who is that, the girl?” You ask the unfazed blonde next to you, too busy working at sharpening a blade, “names Ellie, they say she’s trouble. By the looks of her, checks out.”

“What did she do? Why is she here?” You continue your glare, taking note of the pink scare rippled along the crest of her eye.

You had never drawn anyone other than abby, but the girls features were so strong, the strokes would come naturally in your grasp. A secret muse possibly, even from a far.

“I don’t know- stay away from her. She reeks of trouble,” she’d remark, finishing off the blade and leading you off to a pending mission.

You tried, you really did. She was so compelling, and you? You were a bee to honey. Was she soft unlike her features? Did she speak of the world beyond her? Did she like to watch the clouds mesh into unlikely objects? Did she know of the butterflies and their ever present existence in your lungs?

Your notebook grew of only her, the short frayed hair, the pink scare, the freckles that littered her face. So effortlessly magnificent she was, unknowingly your own secret work of art.

Until abby found them.

Related to this work

Song lyrics: casual , waiting room , cool about it

Moodboard

If you enjoy the childhood best friend trope with abby highly recommend this fic by @kieranscaren she writes beautifully and gave me great inspiration for this work:)

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

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yan-lorkai · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, so I've read the rules, but I'm not sure how much I can ask for. Can I get a headcanon about the TWST Housewardens finding out that the GN! reader has a boyfriend? Oh, and the reader's boyfriend is just some random student NPC in their dorms. If it's too much, just some of them reacting would be cool. Thanks!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Finally done, yay! Been a while since I wrote for all the housewardens so it is a little lengthy. Hope u enjoy, darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tw: Yandere content, stalking, implied violence and kidnapping.

He's been watching you this whole time, feeling his heart beat inside his chest whenever he heard your sweet laugh and saw you smiling. His feelings slowly start to grow as you become friends, but there's just one problem: You have a boyfriend. What an unpleasant surprise! Well, what a shame that your boyfriend will disappear under suspicious circumstances that will never be resolved and he will be right here by your side to comfort you :)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul know just what to do. He plots and plans and trap your boyfriend on a deal he can't refuse. It's a tricky deal, trickier than usual, I mean, a one in a lifetime chance, whatever it is. However you won't never know what happened to him, not when you come to Azul asking if he knows something, not when he is comforting you and rubbing your back as you cry while he pretends to be just as sad as you. As if he ever feel sad to lead your boyfriend to his demise when he can have you like this, when he can mend your heart himself and love you like you deserve. Though when you recover Azul will show you just how devotion and love truly feels. He has been deprived of it for too long, bullied and teased, and he will have you, even if you found out about the deal, even if you claim to hate him, he can bear it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim is a sweetheart on the surface level, so happy all the time, so friendly. But he is oh so suffocating, always touching your arm and pulling you into a hug, kissing your cheeks and forehead and laughing when you tell him to knock it off. People always tend to assume he is your boyfriend and tell you that you too are a very cute couple, and they're always shocking when you tell them that Kalim isn't your boyfriend but just your bestie. Not yet, at least. On an intimate level, he likes to think about what to do with your actual boyfriend. People love money more than they love humans. Can he bribe him? If so, how can he guarantee that he won't go back on his word? Or should him send Jamil to do his dirty work? Mmm, so many options, either way, by the end of the month your boyfriend will disappear and you will need a friendly shoulder to lean on and Kalim is more than happy to be there for you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia already has Ortho investigating this student and is so easy to watch him since he is in Ignyhide. He isn't worthy your time, your love and care, he is but a little plankton, not very smart or interesting, Idia don't know what you had seen on your actual boyfriend but he is never going to tell this to your face. Instead, he invite you to his room to play and study, assuming a more softer approach about this little problem than most yanderes, telling you how your boyfriend has been acting strange and visiting another person's room for a very long period of time. He even show you a very factual and not at all fabricated camera footage as a proof. Idia considers himself a very good friend when he comfort you and wipes your angry tears, telling that you deserve better, that he can treat you better. After all, it wasn't your fault that your boyfriend was a cheater. And Idia can show you what true love is.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Vil is horrified about your taste in men. Like, really, Liebling? You love this... Thing? Well, He has to give recognition where it is due and as a Pomefiore student, your boyfriend tried to polish and better himself. Though it wasn't enough. He wouldn't be good enough for you even in thousand years. Vil likes to imagine how he would take care of you, love you, polish you. He likes to imagine how he'd let down his walls around you and told funny stories from his movies or backstage gossips. Knowing you have a boyfriend kinda of shatter those thoughts. He tried to be happy for you, he really tried but in the end he couldn't help himself. So he created a potion, so sweet and yummy, and gave it to your boyfriend. Simple as that. Having you crying on his lap was just a bonus, a bonus Vil would cherish dearly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Malleus has what he wants. And he wants you. It's only natural that things will fall in order after he states his claim on you, every single little thing start to goes wrong in your relationship and you, stressed and sad, tells Malleus every single thing while he comforts you. Sweet words are whispered in your ears, great dreams greets you everytime you sleep and in your dreams you are always so happy by Malleus's side, exploring woods and swimming in lakes, petting sheeps and listening to the birds singing. Simple things. Great things. While you sleep, Malleus send nightmares to your boyfriend, makes him so horrified and paranoid that he can't even form coherent thoughts. He wants you and he will have you, even if he has to tear you two apart like this, since your boyfriend took to isolate and murmur to himself.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle doesn't like this. He quite dislike your boyfriend a lot, he is messy, a rule breaker, a bad student, he isn't worthy your time and love. Riddle is consumed by a jealousy that make him see red, nowadays he is always collaring your boyfriend, always making him busy so you two can spend less time together. And if you come to Heartslabyu to try and spend time with him, Riddle will just lie to you and tell you he didn't do anything and has no idea about what you're talking about. Yes, he gaslight you. But he is doing that because he knows what's good to you and that is certainty not your boyfriend. Instead, he fills your head with doubts and lies, and takes you to the Unbirthday party so you can have a little fun. Savor the present moment, the little snarky jokes Riddle tells you and the delicious tea. Forget about your boyfriend before Riddle takes matters into another level.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona is smug. Like, really? You love this guy? He is so much better than your boyfriend, more smarter, stronger, he huffs whenever he see you two being all cute and chummy together. He should be the one holding you, kissing you, cuddling you. You are his precious mate so he put all his effort in conquering your heart and love. And when Leona is determined to do something there's nothing in the whole world that can make him stop. He plans and make so many strategies in order to be successful all the while he has Ruggie making the dirty work for him. Kill him, bribe him, whatever, Leona will make you a single person again before making you fall in love with him. Even if he has to turn your boyfriend into dust, he will without thinking twice.

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syntheticsymp · 2 months ago

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OK, I’ve been obsessed with that man for YEARS and that post about Nikto is one of my biggest headcanons (although there are also other drugs that do the same thing but do the opposite by increasing libido… so I’m sure if he/they knew they’d switch him off immediately, just so he could have his precious little thing shaking and screaming desperately for him, lol). So, figuring he still has dysfunction issues and is a very proud man, I think he’d be pretty good with his hands… I mean, he doesn’t need his dick to make you cum and he’ll prove it… (although I wouldn’t mind using it as a pacifier… ehh… just saying…).

*forehead kiss* Babes, I love the way your brain works. I am obsessed with this. Just thinking about this scenario gave me so many ideas. Nikto is one of the characters I love writing most for because his personality/personalities are so complex. I'd love to hear more of your headcannons because this man deserves more in-depth analysis.

If Nikto’s libido was high, god save his girl. He's not a kind man in the slightest, meaning you'd practically be a living sex toy for him. Round after round, not caring if you passed out on him, which you did many times.

Luckily, his medication was switched back about a week later after he got on it. But not before you were thoroughly molded to fit his stupidly thick cock. You sported a small limp for about a month, but Nikto didn't seem to mind carrying you room to room. It was the closest he could get to apologizing to you.

However, going back on his regular meds came with another problem. His ED was far worse than before. He went to KorTac’s doctor for it, but after being told there wasn't a good solution unless he wanted to go off meds altogether, he put that doctor’s head through a wall. His poor girl would stay empty for a long time. That's what truly irked him, the idea that you would forget how he feels inside you. That you would see him as inadequate. It didn't matter how many times you assured him otherwise, the voices in the back of his head were loud enough to speak over you.

Nikto was never good with affection. The two ways he knew how to show it was either physically doing something for you, or sex. Now that the latter was off the table, he was trying something more… your speed. It wasn’t really working. He wasn’t exactly one for change.

You, on the other hand, were growing used to him. His violent mood swings, what to do during his episodes, everything. The life you had before him was fading the longer you stayed locked inside with him. You started minding this less and less. After all, he claimed he loved you.

Though, he could only give you the closest thing to love he was capable of, if he was capable of love at all.

His hand lazily pet your head as he read some book in Russian. You were perched between his legs, cheek resting against his thigh, lazily pressing kisses to his soft cock. You alternated between that, licking fat stripes down his shaft, and sucking on his one remaining ball. He had lost the other during Mr. Z’s torture, that much he had told you. Occasionally, he'd give you a grunt of recognition, communicating that he appreciated your actions. Though, his lips stayed shut.

This wasn't for sexual reasons. He got nothing out of this, no pleasure aside from the knowledge that he had you wrapped around his finger. Which, oh, he loved seeing you so desperate that you'd suck so diligently on his cock, soft or not. But you knew the truth. You knew this was a tactic to keep you close and quiet while he read his book. You didn't mind, not really.

At least whatever medicine he was on now kept his libido at a dismal. Keeping up with him otherwise would be a nightmare.

Most of your nights with him, when he wasn't disassociating or trying to kill you, were like this. Quiet. Content. Nikto and his little pet. No brutality bleeding over from his job, no voices convincing him to choke you out, just silent affection. He was trying so hard to prove he wasn't rotted on the inside, that he loved you.

Then, Krueger decided to make a comment at work. That man was single-handedly the reason for most of Nikto’s bad moods. Usually, Nikto could block out his partner’s constant dirty jokes and babbling about old war stories, but some things he took a little too personally.

“How’s that little birdy of yours doing?”

That was enough to stop Nikto in his tracks. How had Krueger known about you? It wasn’t like Nikto had told him, or anyone for that matter. You were his, his to keep, his to protect. If your name got out at work, you could get hurt. Nikto knew the consequences of loose lips all too well.

So, Nikto didn’t answer. A glare would do.

He greatly underestimated his teammate’s need to harass whoever was closest. Most people assumed Nikto was the cruelest of the duo, when in reality, it was Krueger. He may hide it behind his signature toothy grin, but Krueger was downright evil, if evil truly existed. The only reason he hadn’t been fired was because he was a valuable asset. KorTac needed its monsters. No sane person would go on the missions Krueger and Nikto did so willingly.

“She’s cute,” Krueger continued. “If she ever needs a proper fuck, send her to me. Poor thing deserves someone who can actually make her come.”

It had been a joke. Nikto knew that. He worked with Krueger for long enough to know how the Austrian messed around. Still, that didn’t stop the comment from replaying in Nikto’s mind over and over. The voices whispered it to him over and over.

Even two days later, when he finally arrived home from deployment, it was still on his mind.

He could make you come. He had done so before, on the rare occasion that the medicine didn’t betray him. Sure, it hadn’t been recent, but he could. Besides, you cared about him anyway. You promised him you did. You wouldn’t lie to him.

Right?

He willed his brain to shut up as he took off his muddy boots, puttng them in their place by the door. It was late. You were probably asleep by now. He could simply get your reassurnce in the morning.

But, then again, why should he have to wait? He had been patient enough when finding you, carefully stalking you, bidding his time before bringing you here. Now that you were his, he shouldn’t have to wait.

Nikto didn’t care to use his stealth training when he moved through his house. He lived there, after all.

He pushed the door to his bedroom open, only to find it empty. Once again, the voices started whispering their honeyed poison.

She must have left us!

You were foolish to leave her.

Krueger was right. You couldn’t please her. You’re the reason we are alone.

Using the heel of his palm, he hit his temple. Did it help? Not really. But it gave him a reprieve, the feeling of physically beating the voices in his head back helping in its own way.

“Nikto?”

He snapped out of his daze. The voices receded. They weren’t far, just at his fingertips, but quieted enough that he could hear you through the fog.

“Yes.” His words were detached, like always. “It is us.”

You were sleeping on the couch, the pink blanket he had purchased for you when you first ‘moved in’ wrapped around your shoulders. You must have stayed up late watching one of your silly TV programs again.

“Are you…” It was important you choose your next words carefully. Nikto was never ‘ok’ and if you brought that up, it would cause a conversaion you did not feel like having at three in the morning. Asking about his deployment would only lead to reliving the memories, and then send his mind right back to that mindset. “Are you my Nikto?”

He nodded. Yes, of course, he was yours. Not the violent alter ego, not the one that wanted to watch you squirm and cry. No, he was the closest personality to sane that existed in his mind.

Sitting up a little straighter, you scooted over to the side of the couch, then pat the spot beside you. Oh, to think six months ago you were doing whatever you could to escape him.

Instead of joining you, Nikto took off his mask. You no longer stared at his scars, they had become more familiar to you than any normal facial structure. The chunk of missing flesh where his cheek once was, exposing his teeth, and the chemical burns that singed off most of his ear and molded part of his eye shut was simply the only face you knew. His short hair was messy with sweat from being hidden in that mask for so long.

Then, he placed his hand on the back of your neck, leaning down to meet you. He pressed his lips to yours forcefully, parting his lips to allow his tongue to slip through. He didn’t waste time when it came to tasting you, he never did.

The sleepy moan that escaped your parted lips was the closest thing a monster like him could get to heaven. Your mouth was warm in a way he was always chasing, hoping that it could somehow thaw the cold that had taken over his heart.

With your half-closed eyes and sleepy state, he quickly had you pinned to the couch, his hands shoving the blankets to the side.

You pulled back for just a moment to breathe before he pulled your back in. He needed to forget about the battlefield, about Krueger, about the voices constantly reminding him of himself. He breathed you in, lungs rattling, the long, scarred-over slit on the side of his nose causing a familiar whistle,

He kept you caged, pressing his crotch against yours. Only to find, once again, that he was soft.

He pulled back, hissing beneath his breath. Your eyes were wide, your eyelashes fluttering in a way that was so delectable. He wanted to fuck you, he knew he did. So why couldn’t he?

Maybe Krueger was right. What kind of man was Nikto if he couldn’t even fill you with his seed? Not that he wanted any of those snot-filled brats, but with you, he still wanted the option. He wanted you all round and pretty for him.

Instead, you were stuck with something broken. A damaged man who had thought he was worthy of you. You were his, he made sure of it. Yet there was always that doubt.

Seeing he had stopped, you started to scoot out from under him. Only for his hand to find it’s natural place on your throat, squeezng enough to keep you still. You had been in this position enough times to know that the worst possible thing to do was to fight him.

“You have been good for us while we were gone, yes?” He hummed, his Russian accent always seeming stronger after he had been gone for so long.

With the pressure on your windpipe, you could only get out a few words. “Yes. I-I have.”

The corners of his lips twitched up and his scars twisted in a way that looked painful. “Then a reward is overdue.”

Your eyes widened as his hand went to push up the shirt you had stolen from him to wear. Like always, you weren’t wearing pants. He never allowed you to, and always threw a fit if you did. Another one of his strange rules. Even if he couldn’t use your pussy the way he wanted to, he still wanted access.

He swiped his finger agonizingly slow up your slit, not entering, simply collecting your slick.

You shuttered underneath him, an action so innocent he couldn’t help finding so beautiful all on its own. All your little reactions, he had them committed to memory.

“Nik-“ You squeaked, nearly going cross-eyed. He hadn’t been intimate with you in a way that stimulated you in a long time. It had only made you that much more desperate.

“Needy thing,” he tutted. “Did you miss us that much?”

The words falling from his lips did nothing to distract you from the way he pressed his thumb against your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingers. The scars and ridges embedded into his skin rubbed against you in a way that was impossibly perfect.

“Yes!” You blurted out, “I missed you, all of you, so much!”

Tears began to form behind your eyes, and for once, they weren’t caused by pain. He inserted his pointer finger, slowly sinking it into the joint as your walls clenched around him. It wasn't as thick as his cock, but it wasn't bad. With his thumb, he kept stimulating pressure on your clit.

Back, years ago, when Nikto was still ‘Andre,’ he had been a bit of a playboy. His face was handsome in all the right ways, with a sharp jawline and nice facial harmony. Girls, and a few guys, often had interest in him, but he rarely reciprocated any genuine feelings. Nobody ever said he was a good man before he became a monster. He had left many girls crying after breaking up with them, not so much as batting an eye at their tears. But that experience gave him something. The man knew how to use his hands.

Granted, he hadn’t had to in some time, but he certainly remembered. Besides, it wasn't too hard to please you.

He curled his finger inside of you, causing you to squirm beneath him. Then, he started pumping.

Each motion was slow and deliberate. When he was having sex with you, the few times he could, they were all rapid and frenzied, like he was more animal than human. Whatever he was giving to you now was different. Soft, but causing stars in your eyes.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging desperately. It wasn't like you to get worked up so easily, but something about his languid touch, how his finger fit inside you, was other-worldly. The fabric of his hoodie was bunched in your palms as you moaned beneath him.

Warmth pooled in your stomach.

Then, Nikto suddenly pulled his hand away, leaving you as empty as you were before.

“Hey!” You squeaked out, sitting straight up, only for him to push you back down.

The look in his blue eyes was familiar. Dangerous.

At that moment, you realized something. This wasn’t truly for you. Nikto wasn't trying to get you off just to make you happy, even if it was some twisted type of ‘reward.’ He was doing this for himself.

“You do not come until we say so.” He bit out the words like they owe him money, his R’s rolled in a way that was simply delectable.

You nodded quickly, doing whatever it took to get him to continue.

And, after a moment, he did. He resumed toying with your clit, his easy thrusts, he even threw in a second finger once he thought you could handle it. You picked up on his rhythm, practically humping his hand. Perhaps you truly did miss him.

Your first orgasm came easy. Hot, thick spurts of cum slid down his hand, wetting the cuff of his hoodie, leaving you breathless. You expected him to pull his fingers back out after that.

He did not.

He picked up right back where he left off, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving you even more sensitive.

“Hang on, wait,” you tried to say and move away.

Only to once again find his free hand on your throat, holding you down. This time, he was not as kind to your pussy. His thrusts got deeper, harsher. And those damned baby-blue eyes were fixated on the way you took him. The way your cunt swallowed his fingers, the cum sqeulching as he pushed in, made him swallow.

“No.”

Making you cum once was not enough. He had so much lost time to make up for. Curling his fingers in, thrusting so deep he swore he could feel your womb, sloppily making out to swallow your moans, it was all he ever needed.

You lost count of how many times you came. He did not. A chorus of your screams and his rough, Russian words filled his home. Luckily for him, the two of you were far enough away from society that nobody would walk in. He didn't have to hold back or muffled your pretty voice.

The night dragged on for hours, his hands never seeming to get tired. Nikto had the training of a soldier and the endurance of one as well. Not even the devil himself could pull him off of you. All he could do was stare at you, never growing tired of your expressions, the ratio of pleasure to pain finally at a balance.

It was around seven in the morning when Nikto decided he was done with your reward. You had passed out around twenty minutes earlier and couldn't take another round, not even unconscious. So he scooped you up and finally, finally took you to bed. While he didn't need sleep, you did.

He brushed your hair out of your face as you lay in his lap. You were just awake enough to tug gently at the elastic of his pants.

With a small twitch of his lips, Nikto did as you wanted, and pulled down his pants just enough to free himself. Even after everything he did to you, every mind-numbingly hot face you made, he was still soft.

But, for whatever reason, he no longer felt guilty about it. How could he, when you sleepily slipped the thing into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, just wanting to have him there.

This was probably his favorite ‘welcome home’ he had ever received after a deployment. His fears had been wiped away so easily.

Nikto had no clue why Krueger’s words had gotten to him. Clearly, Nikto could make his precious little thing cum as many times as you needed, as many as he wanted. And you seemed more than happy to fall asleep on his lap, face buried in his crotch, using his cock as a pacifier. He was wrong to ever doubt that.

You were made for him just as he was made for you. Forever and always, you were his.

#call of duty #cod x reader #nikto x you #nikto x y/n #mwii nikto #andre nikto #nikto imagine #nikto x reader #cod nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto #nikto fanfic #smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

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OMG RAVEN YOU’RE INTO EVER AFTER HIGH? I love it but can’t talk about it bc none of my friends have seen it 😭 I wish it was talked about more, especially with how deep their lore runs. I love EAH’s dynamics with the complexities of destiny. If twst followed the same logic as eah’s world it would be so interesting. How would you feel if the worlds were to mesh together and how it would work? You can interpret that in any way you want; the characters meeting or twst being bound to the same rules and societal expectations of eah, or whatnot.

Also who’s your favorite eah character compared to your favorite twst character (Leona)?Jade, right?

And have you read the eah books? I haven’t, but I’m going to try to sometime!

Eah alt account when?

I'm still salty that the Monster High x Ever After High crossover movie never saw the light of day-- Part of the reason why I don't like Disney (I mean the faceless corpo, not all Disney products) is because they have such a strong association with fairy tales that it pushes other interpretations out of the market or it leads to people assuming Disney "owns" those fairy tales. Ever After High's lore and themes run so much deeper than most other fairy tale reimaginings I've seen (and I've seen a lot). It's such a shame it doesn't get the respect and recognition it deserves even though EAH is the one out here challenging the status quo whereas modern Disney is content with mediocrity that appeals to the masses.

I think EAH and TWST, at their cores, share similar ideas so combining them would work well. Friendship, self-identity, defining your own future, questioning what "good" and "evil" truly are... It's all there. I'd imagine that if Twisted Wonderland (or at least NRC) followed the same rules as EAH, then everyone would be descendants of their Disney counterparts. (This is actually a common misperception of what TWST was to new fans; people mistakenly believe the TWST characters are children of the classic Disney villains. This has never been canon.) Unfortunately, I'd have to take away the Disney villains being twisted to be "good" guys in Twisted Wonderland's world in order for this to work by EAH rules, so... There's that to consider. This, in turn, can result in the student body splitting into Royals (pro-following one's destiny) and Rebels (anti-following one's destiny). Perhaps RSA and NRC could be one school in this AU...? Just so we have a mix of "good" and "evil" descended children in the same vicinity as one another. A must-have are the constantly bickering Narrators!! It's only really when Yuu shows up that the majority opinion starts to shift. Maybe then Crowley becomes concerned with students rising up and fighting back against the system that relies on them being complacent to keep the cycle of stories going. I've seen some readings of EAH which theorize that Royals guaranteed a happy ending is a stand-in for privilege, and that interpretation leads into very interesting conflicts when we also consider that magic in Twisted Wonderland is a privilege afforded to few.

To cover just the dorm leaders (because covering all the TWST characters would make this post way longer), I definitely see Riddle, Kalim, Idia, and Malleus as Royals and Leona, Azul, and Vil as Rebels. Here's my thought process:

Riddle is pretty self-explanatory. He comes from a background where he's used to being told what to do by his mother and so he also heavily relies on her strict, unyielding teachings to play by the book when he goes out there in the real world. Riddle is inflexible and hesitant to go against the grain--and, more importantly, he fully believes that following the rules will lead to his happiness... that doing as his fairy tale ordains will lead to a happy ending. What happens to the Queen of Hearts is dubious in the end since it's framed as Alice's dream, so I think that vagueness gives Riddle hope that by behaving himself, he'll earn the happiness he desires.

Leona is a Rebel, and not just because that's the aesthetic of his dorm. Being that he is highly intelligent and demonstrates a lot of foresight, he'd be aware of what future is in store for him and aggressively fighting against that. It would make him more desperate than ever to prove his worth, because not only does everyone see his powers as terrifying, but they also see him as a future brother murderer and dictator that will bleed the land dry of resources. It'd make the situation with his family even more strained than it already is, not to mention the extra jealousy he must feel toward Cheka, who is still too young to understand what's going to happen later.

Azul is someone who acts like a Royal but is actually a Rebel. He acts polite and like he plays by the rules, but clearly he doesn't behind the scenes. I see Azul as the kind of Rebel akin to Duchess Swan... as in, he believes he can steal away someone else's destiny for himself. Azul would constantly be looking for loopholes to save himself. He's put way too much stock into becoming a better, stronger person and he'd want to defend this new life he has made for himself. His obsession with protecting his contracts could translate well here.

Kalim is a Royal because he's mega rich and has been sheltered from the concept of bad things that happen to normal people; he has nothing to worry about. It also helps that Kalim is twisted from a character that doesn't meet a bad ending. I think he'd be aware of Jami's doomed destiny, but Kalim is so ignorant that he thinks it'll just be fine and it'll work itself out. Part of his growth could be being forced to reckon with the reality that Jamil is suffering under the legacy assigned to him and accepting the role that he plays in that by not acting.

Idia is a Royal--or at least pre-book 6 Idia is. He's a very pessimistic guy and repeatedly expresses hopelessness about the future, bemoaning the curse he and his family have to bear. Idia doesn't want to try to fight his fate, he's already accepted that it will happen and so closes himself off from others to save himself that heartbreak. Post-book 6 Idia will have swapped over to the Rebel side thanks to Ortho reviving the hope in him.

Vil is a Rebel simply for the fact that he fights social conventions. He's already out here shattering gender roles, but finds it much harder to breach that expectation that villains are just villains and nothing more. Vil keeps getting rejected at every turn, told that it's impossible to rewrite his story, that his frustrations are the natural result of jealousy and an ugly heart that festers in side of him. He steels himself to prove that notion wrong, working himself to the bone to get up on that stage and stay on it, waiting to be lavished with praise that he truly is the fairest one of all. I feel this would be so fascinating for Vil's own arc about self acceptance; maybe he wears himself down emotionally because he HAS to basically be perfect due to his job but also denies himself normal feelings like anger and jealousy because confessing that you have such "ugly" feelings only validates that you're shallow just like the stories say you will be.

Malleus is a tough one, but I settled for Royal in the end. Maleficent is doomed to be slain by a sword, right? So am I saying that THE Malleus Draconia, who is infamously arrogant about his magical abilities, would lie down and take a stab like that? Of course not! However, I do think that Malleus is initially someone who values tradition and living up to noblesse oblige. As the future ruler of a nation, people's stories are relying on him to play his expected role out, which he'd be fully cognizant of. I also think Malleus would be afforded the luxury of not having to face his destiny as soon as his peers are due to his long life span. This is in part because the person destined to slay him doesn't come into his life for literally hundreds of years. Then when book 7 arrives, Malleus has to deal with his loved ones leaving and/or betraying him as well as the realization that this is his destiny: dying alone and unloved. That'd just break him.

ahdbiqwdbqwli I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS AU FOR FOREVER BUT I'LL CUT IT SHORT OR ELSE I'LL NEVER SHUT UP 😭

EAH has so many good characters and interesting storylines, it's hard for me to pick a favorite! I of course love Apple and Raven's dilemmas, but I feel like it's cheating to pick one of them as my favorite. The whole Wonderland gang is also fantastic... I'm a sucker for their aesthetic, but they're so fun and silly in general. Kitty, Lizzie, and especially Madeline are 👌

Mmm, when I think long and hard about it, I think my favorite EAH character has to be Briar Beauty, daughter of Sleeping Beauty. Firstly, I love all the pink, roses, and bramble in her design. Secondly, I love the layers to why she is the way she is. Briar's a party girl not because "lmao, wouldn't that be a funny haha subversion of Sleeping Beauty" but because she wants to live life up before she falls asleep for 100 years and literally loses all her friends and family to the natural passage of time. That's seriously so smart and such an inventive way to think about the trauma a descendant of Sleeping Beauty might have. Seeing Briar transition from one of Apple's besties and biggest supporters to an outright rebel is satisfying as heck. (Gotta take a moment to shout out this classic moment :3)

I don't know if I would compare Briar to Jade since they're entirely different characters. However, looking at the source material, I'm actually surprised I like Briar as much as I do since I have never cared for the story of Sleeping Beauty. A part of me finds this ironic since Malleus harbors a similar fear as Briar (losing loved ones) yet I see Malleus's desire as way more selfish and self-serving than Briar's. I believe that's because Briar doesn't have the same arrogance as Malleus, so I'm more forgiving with her. EAH's actual equivalent to Malleus is Faybelle, daughter of the Dark Fairy, but I don't like her as much as I do Briar (hence why I'm comparing Malleus and Briar, not Malleus and Faybelle).

I haven't read the EAH books but I want to one day! I'd prefer to borrow them since I don't have enough space in my room for more physical books, so as soon as I find copies at a library or something...

This blog has kind of become a place where I occasionally talk about my other interests, generally as it relates to TWST, my main interest. I'd like to keep it like this since managing multiple blogs can be so draining. It already takes quite a bit of time to regularly write responses to asks just on one blog!

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lyn31 · 10 days ago

Note

SERIOUSLY LOVE your writing so much omg! i discovered your acc by your zayne pregnancy fic and i was wondering if you can make zayne and mc had a soft lovemaking (two rounds) while zayne's being gentle? 😆

Ahh yess ofc, most people find me through that series 😂 Which honestly perfect, love that series! 🫶🏻😩 I did not expect to write the whole thing ahahaha but anyway! Here's a gentle love making, ah well, it's not two round technically, I mean you can count it as two, but it just the perfect cut! I thought if I continue it'll drag on too much but there's plenty of gentleness going around 👀

OH! And... I kinda make it like a fill in blank for Fragrant Possession card ;-; Dw, there's not much spoiler if you didn't read the story yet! Just letting you know! Let me know what you think!💕

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Zayne Fragrant Possession (Celebration)

Summary

After the storm of battle and the glow of recognition, you let Zayne peel back every layer of your tension with steady hands and quieter love, until what’s left between you is nothing but warmth, want, and the ache of being truly seen.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Smut, Gentle sex, a lot of kissing, a lot of touching, body worshipping, multiple position, oral, banter! :D This is basically a fill in blank fic, where after MC did the speech, they eat at the restaurant and back to their hotel room, celebrating on their own :) Enjoy!

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The hotel room door clicks softly shut behind you.

Zayne doesn’t speak at first. He just stands there for a beat, eyes tracing the length of you—your tousled hair, the way his coat still hangs loose over your dress, the tiny scratches on your skin left behind from the earlier battle. You’re halfway between disheveled and radiant, and he looks at you like you're the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.

Then, a slow exhale. A quiet, unshakable kind of awe.

“You were incredible today,” he says simply. But the words land heavy, warm. His voice doesn’t tremble, but something in his gaze gives him away completely.

You let out a soft laugh, dropping your purse onto the dresser. “You say that like I didn’t just get dirt on my tights.”

“And still accepted an award like royalty.” He steps closer, undoing the first button of the coat draped over your shoulders.

Your lips twitch. “Well, without your coat I would look like a battle-hardened maiden.”

“While that’s not really proper for a formal event, I think the world would be grateful to see it.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting as he slides the coat down your arms with careful hands. “Hmm. Miss Hunter of the Year.”

You murmur, “Zayne…” but he’s already hanging the coat and returning to you. His fingers graze your cheekbone as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, gentler than the night deserves.

“Congratulations again,” he says quietly. “I’m proud of you. More than I can say.”

And it’s not the words that unravel you—it’s the way he says them, low and reverent, like you didn’t just win some award, like you built the stars he looks at every night.

You don’t say anything back right away. Just stand there in front of him, heartbeat slow and full, feeling the space between you shrink to nothing.

The night outside is quiet. The city doesn’t know what you gave up to be here. But he does.

He leans in.

It’s not rushed or sudden—just the natural conclusion of everything unsaid. His lips brush yours like he’s still asking permission, and you meet him there with a softness that nearly undoes you both. Slow. Warm. A kiss that speaks in quiet gratitude and long-held admiration.

Your hands find the collar of his shirt, and his find your waist—familiar now. You press your forehead to his as the kiss breaks, breathing against his mouth.

“Shower,” you murmur, almost dreamily.

He hums in agreement, the sound low in his throat, almost amused. His hands slide a little lower, then around, and with practiced ease, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. There’s no urgency to it—only care, only the certainty that you’ll be safe wherever he carries you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, cheek against his collarbone as he walks toward the bathroom, the soft shuffle of footsteps on hotel carpet the only sound around you.

The light in the bathroom is muted when he switches it on—golden and quiet, like the rest of the night. He sets you down with a gentleness that makes your chest ache and turns the water on, testing the temperature with his hand before adjusting it to something warm and steady.

Neither of you rushes. You undress in that slow, unhurried silence of people who know every inch of each other. He reaches for the clasp at the back of your dress without a word, fingers ghosting against your skin as he lowers the zipper. Your clothes fall away between soft glances, and when he undresses, it’s with the same quiet calm—never showy, never impatient.

The moment you step beneath the stream of water, your shoulders finally drop. Heat sinks into your skin, loosening the last remnants of tension.

Zayne steps in behind you a second later, hands grazing your waist as he closes the distance again. He doesn’t touch with hunger—this time he touches to soothe. He takes the shampoo from the hotel shelf and begins working it into your hair, fingers slow and sure, massaging your scalp with delicate pressure. The water runs down your back while his thumbs circle behind your ears, and you can’t help the sound you make—barely a sigh, but one that draws a small smile from him.

“You always melt when I do this,” he murmurs.

“Feels good,” you say softly. “Feels like you.”

He rinses your hair with the same care, cupping water in his palms to shield your eyes. Then he works his way down—your shoulders, arms, sides—rinsing and washing, never lingering too long, but never moving too fast either. The silence stretches, comfortable and golden.

You return the favor in kind—lathering soap in your hands and trailing it down the long line of his back. You feel the way he exhales when your fingers skim his spine. He leans just enough into your touch that you know he needed it too.

By the time you finish rinsing each other, the bathroom is thick with steam, warm enough to soften the mirrors and blur the corners of the world. Your skin glows with heat, flushed from both the shower and the way his hands had moved over you.

You glance at him, cheeks damp, hair dripping in soft waves against your neck. There’s a pause—just long enough to feel it—and then Zayne reaches up, his knuckles brushing beneath your chin, tipping your face toward him with a feather light touch.

“Better?” he asks, voice low and steady.

You nod. “Much.”

Zayne hums, then reaches for a towel, unfolding it with quiet care. The moment the fabric touches your skin, it’s warm and plush, a gentle contrast to the cool air outside the shower.

He starts at your shoulders, patting you in slow, deliberate passes. Between motions, his lips find your temple. Then the bridge of your nose. The curve of your cheek.

You stand still beneath the weight of it—of him—not because you don’t want to move, but because you don’t need to. He lowers the towel slowly, brushing it along your arms, down your sides. Every pass feels less like drying and more like memorizing.

When the towel reaches your waist, his mouth finds yours—unhurried, tender, the kind of kiss that makes your fingers curl against his shoulder, still slick with water. You breathe a laugh against his lips.

“I don’t think this is very efficient, Dr. Zayne.”

His mouth slips down to your jaw, then lower, his breath cool against the heat of your collarbone. “Multitasking,” he murmurs, “has a proven success rate.”

You snort softly but don’t argue. Not when his hands feel this careful. Not when his lips make you forget what dry even feels like.

But when the towel skims down your legs, you reach behind him, grabbing the other towel and lightly tapping it against his shoulder. He pauses, glancing up. You arch a brow.

“Pretty sure I’m dry enough,” you say with a teasing tilt of your head. “Your turn.”

Zayne straightens at your nudge, and you step in close, mirroring what he did moments ago—starting at his shoulders, gently patting the water away from his chest, then his waist.

He watches you quietly, his expression unreadable, but you feel the shift in him when you rise on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw. Another to the hollow beneath his ear. Then one more, soft and certain, against his lips.

You both pause when you're done, towel draped over the edge of the sink, robes slipped over clean skin, damp hair tucked behind your ears.

His hands settle at your waist again, light and certain.

“Definitely the efficient way,” he says, tone calm as ever. “We should always dry off like this.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest.

Zayne pulls away just enough to reach for the small hotel hairdryer, his brows lifting in a silent question. You sigh, dramatically.

“Do I have to?” you murmur, though you’re already turning around, letting your damp hair fall loose over the towel draped across your shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he replies, deadpan.

“And here I thought you were warming me up just fine a second ago.”

A soft huff of laughter escapes him, but he says nothing at first—just plugs in the dryer and gently begins to run his fingers through your hair, loosening the strands before the hum of warm air starts. The heat wraps around your scalp, and his hand never leaves you, guiding each section with quiet patience.

You close your eyes.

It’s not the heat that makes you melt—it’s the way his fingers never leave your hair, always grounding you, gentle and steady. Each motion is unhurried, reverent in its own quiet way. You feel his breath near your ear as he shifts angles, the towel still draped loosely over your shoulders.

“This part always makes me sleepy,” you murmur, lips curving faintly.

He makes a low sound of acknowledgment—something between a hum and a chuckle—but says nothing, continuing with the same careful attention.

“Is this my reward for winning an award?” you ask lightly.

“No,” he says, his voice softer now, more certain. “This is just a reward for being by my side.”

You swallow, caught off guard by how easily he says it—like it’s obvious. Like your place beside him is something valuable, not questioned.

Then, after a pause, he adds. “But now that you mention it... We should do something more tomorrow. A proper celebration.”

The dryer clicks off.

You turn slowly to face him again, hair still a little damp at the ends but no longer dripping. Zayne sets the dryer down, his hand slides to the edge of the towel, pulling it off from your shoulder as he meets your gaze. The air between you shifts again—closer now. Warmer. His hands then find your hips through the robe’s fabric.

“Tomorrow?” you echo, your voice quieting.

“Mhm. Tonight’s for us.”

Your fingers drift up to the knot at his robe, tugging it loose as you lean in. He meets you halfway—his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that starts soft but lingers, deepens. His hands curl at your waist. Yours slip under the lapel of his robe. There’s nothing rushed about it, just heat gathering between touches, weightless and slow.

By the time you part for breath, your noses are still brushing, and your lips are slick from the kiss. His hand cups the side of your neck, thumb stroking lightly just below your jaw.

You whisper, “Should we…?”

His gaze is already on your mouth when he answers, “Come here,” and kisses you again—this time guiding you slowly, deliberately toward the bed.

The bed is cool beneath you when you sink onto it, the mattress shifting gently under your weight. Zayne follows you down without breaking the kiss, one hand braced beside your head while the other finds your thigh beneath the robe—skin to skin, cool, warm and searching. His fingers trail up slowly, following the curve until his palm rests just beneath the hem, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly into your skin.

Your breath stutters when he deepens the kiss. No hunger unchecked. Just that same careful reverence he’s held you with all night.

Your hands move to the lapels of his robe yet again, fingertips slipping past the fabric to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. You part the robe a little more, easing it back over his shoulders until it hangs loose, framing the strong line of his body. Your palms splay across his skin, taking in the heat of him, the softness just beneath the muscle. He exhales softly against your mouth, like the touch alone is enough to ground him.

His hand slides higher along your thigh, the heel of his palm brushing the curve of your hip as he leans closer. The robes part further with every movement, but neither of you bother to shrug them off. There’s something more intimate in the layers—how they slip and shift just enough to reveal skin, but not all at once. Like the night is meant to be savored, not conquered.

You tilt your head back just a little, letting your lips part beneath his—and he leans in with a kiss that turns deeper now—less tentative, more claiming. His teeth graze your lower lip before he draws back just enough to whisper, “Tell me if you want more.”

Your breath catches—he’s close, warm, waiting. The ache between your thighs throbs at the edge of restraint.

“Yes,” you breathe, almost too soft to hear, but he hears it. Feels it in the way your hands curl into his robe, tugging him closer.

His mouth finds your jaw, then the edge of your throat, cool and open. You gasp when his hand cups under your knee and slowly draws your leg over his hip, aligning you more closely. The heat between you flares as your bodies press together through the thinning layers of fabric.

“You feel…” he starts, but trails off, voice roughened, lips against the hollow of your throat.

“Like yours?” you murmur, teasing—but the sentiment hums low in your chest, dangerously real.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to see your face beneath the dim light. The answer is already there in his eyes, but he says it anyway, because it’s the way both of you like it.

“Always.”

His hand moves beneath the robe again, fingertips trailing a path across your waist, your stomach, then down again to your thigh, brushing it slowly. Your own hands mirror him—exploring, learning him again in the hush between kisses. Every sigh, every shift, every quiet press of mouth to skin adds to the slow rhythm you’re building, one touch at a time.

Then his hand slides higher, finding the edge of your robe and drawing it open a little more. You feel the fabric fall away from your chest as his mouth moves lower—past your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder, until his lips brush the swell of your breast. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t dive in. He parts his mouth over your skin, kissing softly around it, never quite where you ache for him yet.

You gasp as his hand move to touch the other where his mouth is not, kneading you gently through the loosened robe. Your body arches into his palm without thinking, and he responds with a soft exhale, lips dragging over the skin he’s not yet fully bared.

The coolness of his touch spreads under your skin like ice melting slowly beneath sunlight—his fingers stroking in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing out every reaction.

Still, his mouth lingers close but avoids the center.

He’s savoring you, utterly focused, as if every inch of you deserves its own moment.

His other hand is moving too, sliding along your inner thigh, just shy of where you need him. The sensation is maddening—the heat, the teasing pressure that makes your breath hitch and your hips shift without thought. You can feel the anticipation building, centered deep between your legs, pulsing and insistent.

Your hands find his chest—his robe already fallen halfway down his shoulders, giving you room to touch further. Your fingers trace the lines of muscle across his chest. With every slight movement, his breath hitches, then finally up to his shoulder where you clutch gently, grounding yourself.

Then his hand finally moves, slipping the rest of your robe aside so your breast is fully bare beneath his palm. The contrast of his skin on yours makes your breath stutter. He cups you directly now, and this time when he rubs his thumb over your nipple, you let out a soft, broken sound.

Zayne hums against your skin like approving the sound you make.

His fingers roll and flick the sensitive peak, gentle but purposeful, coaxing another gasp from you. But his mouth still doesn’t move to meet it—still kisses just around, just beside, as if teasing you is its own form of reverence.

“Zayne—” your voice catches in your throat, heavy with want.

Your hips shift again, arching toward the hand that still lingers at your thigh. Your body is already aching, already pulsing beneath every careful stroke.

He feels it—the way you move against him, the way your thighs tremble slightly under his touch.

And finally, his hand glides up, cupping your bare core under the fabric. You moan then, head tipping back into the pillow as the heat flares. He doesn’t go straight to it—doesn’t press too deep yet—but slides his fingers along the seam of your entrance, slow and patient.

Your grip tightens on his back, fingers curling into his bare shoulder.

He exhales again, slower this time, like he’s feeling it all with you. Then he leans up slightly, brushing his lips across your cheek as his fingers tease just barely inside the edge of your folds.

“You’re so warm…” he murmurs, low and quiet like a confession meant only for you. “And already so ready…”

His voice sends a fresh ripple of heat down your spine.

And his fingers—circling the entrance in maddening, deliberate strokes—leave you trembling with want.

His mouth trails downward again, brushing just beneath your breast before returning to it with a lingering kiss. The coolness of his breath and the drag of his lips make you shiver beneath him, and still his fingers stay at your entrance, applying only the lightest pressure—enough to keep you aware of his presence there, but not enough to ease the ache.

Then you feel it—his lips parting around your nipple as he sucks gently, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in slow, savoring strokes. The sound you make is almost a whimper, hips rolling toward his hand instinctively.

His free hand is just as worshipful—cupping your other breast, thumb circling the nipple there, kneading softly in time with his mouth.

The combination pulls soft gasps from you with every motion. Your back arches, offering him more, chasing the pressure he still keeps just out of reach. And Zayne… he enjoy it thoroughly. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth is deliberate. Measured. Like he wants to know how each one makes you breathe.

He finally gives your breast one last suck and a stroke of his tongue, then lifts his head slowly. His hand still teases your breast, but his mouth starts moving lower again.

You feel his breath first—tracing the path down your stomach, then the light drag of his lips as he leaves open kisses along the curve of your belly, just above the soft edge of your robe.

With each kiss, he parts the fabric more, exposing more of you to the warm night air and to him. There’s reverence in it—no rush, no hurry, just the quiet focus of someone who’s utterly devoted to the woman beneath him.

Sometimes, it still stuns you—how gently he touches you when he could so easily take. Like he’s not just savoring you, but committing every part of you to memory. You wonder if he knows how safe he makes you feel. How easy it is to fall for him like this.

And when he reaches the very top of your thighs, he pauses just so he can look at you.

Then he leans in.

Soft. Slow. Like he’s greeting you.

You jolt at the sensation, a shuddering breath caught in your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets.

Then he brings his hands to your thighs—gently parting your fold—before carefully spreading you with his fingers. You feel exposed, flushed, but the way he looks at you...

His eyes lift to yours, gaze steady, reverent.

And then—he licks you.

Long, slow, deliberate. Like he’s tasting something exquisite. His mouth is still cool and wet, tongue gliding from your entrance upward, catching along your folds. You moan, hips lifting in response, but his hands on your thighs keep you grounded—gentle, but firm.

His nose brushes your clit as he focuses on your entrance again, tongue teasing just inside, and the brush of pressure there sends your head falling back with a gasp.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice shaking. One hand finds his hair, fingers threading into the soft strands, holding on.

He groans quietly into you—pleased—and the vibration of it makes you tremble. He licks deeper this time, tongue sliding into your entrance, slow but sure, like he’s not just doing this to make you feel good, but it’s also make him feel good.

His nose nudges your clit again, not quite an accident, but he doesn’t stay there—just a tease, another layer of the delicious torment he’s weaving.

The slick sounds of his mouth on you grow louder as your arousal builds, and the heat in your core starts to throb with growing need.

You feel it when his tongue pushes deeper, just enough to make your breath catch again, and when his mouth pulls back slightly, his fingers replace it—slick and warm with your arousal. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with those calm, hungry eyes as his finger circles your entrance, then slowly slides inside.

The gentle stretch still makes your hips jerk.

“Fuck—Zayne—” you pant, eyes fluttering shut.

He hums again, and you feel it in your bones.

He slides the finger in all the way, slow and careful, letting you feel every inch of it. Then he pulls back just enough to add another—pressing in with a steady rhythm, stretching you around him. Your walls flutter at the intrusion, already slick, already clenching as if trying to pull him deeper.

“Still so tight,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, voice soft, but thick with heat. “Even after how wet you are for me…”

His tongue returns to your clit, finally closing around it with a slow suck that draws a broken moan from your lips. The motion is deliberate, focused—just like the rhythm of his fingers, thrusting slowly, curling slightly inside you.

He’s not rushing. Zayne devours you like he’s trying to memorize every part of your taste, every sound you make, every twitch of your body beneath his touch.

You can barely breathe through it. His fingers thrust deeper, angled just right to brush against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl—and the same moment, his tongue flicks hard across your clit, making your hips buck up into his mouth.

His grip on your thighs tightens to keep you grounded while he builds you higher.

“You like that,” he says quietly against you, his breath teasing your sensitive flesh. “You always do…”

Then he flattens his tongue, pressing it firm to your clit as his fingers thrust harder—still slow, still controlled, but with more purpose now. The slick sounds of him fucking you with his fingers, the wet flick of his mouth, the way he keeps watching your face even as he works you apart—it’s all too much.

Your thighs tremble again, starting to close around his head as your orgasm threatens, but he holds you open, patient and unrelenting.

“Zayne—ah—don’t stop—”

He groans again, a low rumble against your skin, and the vibrations ripple straight through your core. His fingers curl deeper, finding that spot again and again, each stroke timed with the pressure of his mouth. And this time, when his lips close around your clit, he sucks harder—tongue circling in tight, slow spirals that make your eyes roll back.

You’re close. Too close. It hits you in waves—heat and pressure and pleasure mounting into something sharp and overwhelming.

Your fingers twist tighter in his hair. Your back arches. Your legs shake.

And then you break.

The orgasm hits like a crash—sharp, clenching waves pulsing through your core as your hips jolt up into his mouth. You cry out his name, breathless and broken, voice catching as pleasure floods through you. But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps his tongue on you, keeps his fingers moving inside you through every pulse, drawing it out, dragging you through every last ripple until you collapse back against the bed, panting, thighs trembling.

Only then—only when your body begins to twitch with over sensitivity—does he finally ease off, fingers slipping out of you with a slick sound. He kisses your thigh once, then again, slower this time, soothing.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves up your body, mouth trailing wet kisses up your skin. His hand brushes along your side, grounding you gently as he settles above you.

And when he finally leans in to kiss you—his mouth still tasting of you—it’s soft yet deep.

Like he’s claiming you and worshiping you all at once.

Your hand finds the back of his neck as he kisses you, fingers threading into the damp strands there. He’s still panting faintly from how long he kept his mouth on you—still reverent, still hungry.

And then you feel it.

His arousal, hard and heavy, pressed against your stomach. The warmth of him, the way it twitches slightly against your skin when your hand slides lower—wrapping around his cock with a slow stroke.

Zayne shudders above you.

His breath stutters, lashes fluttering briefly before his eyes meet yours again, darker now. He just watches you as your hand moves, slow and curious, stroking him from base to tip.

You feel everything. The weight, the heat, the faint slickness from his own arousal. He’s thick, pulsing in your palm, and the way his hips twitch subtly against your hand makes you smile.

His mouth finds yours again, less urgent now—just deep and slow, tongue brushing yours.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is a low rasp against your lips. “I’ll get the condom.”

He starts to shift off the bed, reaching to the nightstand, but you’re already sitting up.

Your fingers beat him from opening the foil, snatching it from his finger.

Zayne blinks as you tear it open with your teeth.

You shoot him a wink. “I got this.”

And then—you lower your mouth on him.

He groans, hands bracing on the mattress as he watches you. Watches the way your lips wrap around the head of his cock, how your mouth moves with deliberate slowness, sliding the condom down with your tongue and then your hands, unhurried and intentional, like you’re enjoying every second.

When it’s finally on, you sit up again, tossing the wrapper aside and wiping your mouth with the lick of your tongue. You straddle him easily, settling your thighs on either side of his hips.

“I can’t do it fully tonight,” you murmur, hands on his chest, pushing him down slowly and glancing down with a grin. “Because someone’s eager.”

Zayne actually snorts at that, quiet and amused. But he doesn’t argue.

Because it’s true.

He wants to be inside you—wants it in a way that makes his body tremble beneath your hands—but not with urgency. Just with need. A calm, aching desire that burns steady and slow.

You guide him to your entrance, lining him up with a roll of your hips, and his breath catches as the head of his cock nudges against your slick folds.

Then—slowly—you sink down.

It’s a stretch, thick and full, but the wet heat of your body welcomes him, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you. You both moan—soft, shared—and he grips your hips, head falling back against the pillow as you pulse around him.

He groans, almost reverently when you clench around him.

You start to move. Not fast, not hard—just a slow, dragging grind of your hips as he thrusts gently up to meet you. The rhythm is lazy, unhurried, but deep. Every roll of your bodies pulls a new sound from your throat, from his mouth—a quiet symphony of pleasure and heat.

His hands roam—sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts again, thumbs brushing your nipples, making you shudder, until they’re swollen and sensitive. Your own hands explore in return, dragging through his hair, brushing his jaw, pressing to the firm planes of his chest.

You’re both touching constantly—palms and mouths and fingertips everywhere, like you can’t get close enough. He thrusts into you slow and deep, each roll of his hips stretching you just enough to keep you gasping, but it never becomes frantic. It’s all heat. Intimacy. Reverence.

“God,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his neck. “You feel so good…”

Zayne’s hands slide down your back, smoothing over the curve of your spine. “So do you,” he murmurs, voice breathless, raw. “You’re perfect…”

He thrusts again, his hips lifting into yours as he whispers your name—low and tender against your skin.

Your fingers slip down between your bodies, finding your clit, and Zayne groans softly as he watches your hand move. His own reaches up, gripping your free hand now—twining your fingers with his as your bodies move together.

That simple contact—your joined hands, his palm firm against yours—grounds you in a different way.

He meets you with each movement, slow thrusts that fill you perfectly—stretching, pressing, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you like he knows your body already, like he was made to fit just right.

You tighten around him as your pleasure coils again, faster this time. More insistent. Every deep stroke of his cock inside you pushes you closer to the edge, especially with his eyes locked on yours like that, watching every twitch of your mouth, every flutter of your lashes.

He lifts his hips with more purpose now, still slow, still deep, but the weight behind each thrust becomes more deliberate. He’s chasing it too—his need rising just under the surface, trembling through his arms, his breath.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice low and coaxing, and the heat of it rushes through you like a wave. “Let me feel it…”

Your breath catches as the release finally crashes over you—your body clenching hard around him, back arching as you cry out his name. Your grip tightens in his hand, anchoring yourself in that shared moment, in the pleasure ripping through you like a slow, burning flood.

Zayne follows a second later with a rough groan, his hips stuttering as he comes inside you, buried deep. He doesn’t let go of your hand—his fingers tighten almost desperately, holding on as the pleasure wracks him, pulse after pulse drawn from him while your body still flutters around his.

You collapse forward slowly, your chest pressed to his, breath mingling with his as you both tremble together—still joined, still locked in that grip that hasn’t eased.

Zayne turns his face toward yours, kissing you softly now, like he’s still lost in you—slow and open-mouthed, lips brushing between uneven breaths—when you feel him begin to pull out.

His movements are careful, deliberate, and you whimper faintly at the loss of him inside you. His cock slides out of you with a wet sound. He peels the condom off with a flick of his fingers as he shifts to the edge of the bed with a heavy breath.

He turns his head slightly, preparing to toss it—

Then pauses. Because your foot has lifted, toes curling deliberately around the softening base of his cock.

Zayne jolts under the touch, eyes flicking to yours—surprised, then amused, then desire again as his cock begins to twitch back to life beneath the teasing press of your foot.

Already, he’s half-hard again. Persistent. Responsive. Like his body refuses to believe it’s over.

You lick your lips slowly, your thighs falling open as you meet his gaze with a sly tilt of your head.

“Want to go again, boyfriend?”

His expression doesn’t even twitch for a second—and then, slowly, he shakes his head with that faint, amused exhale. But his eyes… they’re heat and yes and please all at once.

He reaches for another condom with calm precision, but there’s nothing casual in the way he crawls toward you—his body sliding between your parted legs, positioning himself right in front of your entrance like gravity’s pulling him there.

He rolls the condom on quickly, his hands practiced, then brings them to yours—lacing your fingers together and pressing both your arms out to the sides, gently pinning you down beneath him.

Then he pushes in.

It’s slow. Deep. He stretches you again with that aching drag, and both of you groan softly—like your bodies can’t quite believe you’re doing this again so soon, but neither of you would dream of stopping.

Zayne lowers himself fully, chest to chest, mouth brushing yours as his hips settle in the cradle of your thighs.

This time he moves even slower.

Every thrust is deliberate, the pace unhurried, savoring every ripple of heat between you. He’s not chasing the release this time—he’s sinking into you like he wants to stay just like that.

His lips find yours again, soft and wet, kissing you through the rhythm of his hips. His hands tighten around yours just slightly with each thrust—like he needs the anchor of your body just as badly as you need his.

You moan into his mouth as his cock presses deeper, your walls fluttering around him, still sensitive, but wanting more. Always more.

He groans softly in return, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Neither of you speaks now.

There’s only touch—his cock moving inside you, your bodies sliding together in the dim light, his mouth pressed to yours like a seal.

And his hands—still tangled with yours, holding you in place as he makes love to you like it’s the only thing in the world he needs.

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The room is quiet now, except for the low hum of the night and the even softer rustle of blankets shifting as you both curl closer under them. You’re in your pajamas—finally—your hair still a little messy, your skin carrying the aftershocks of everything that just happened. Zayne’s chest rises slowly beneath your cheek, and his arm is draped around your back, fingers absently tracing patterns across your spine.

You're half-asleep, but not quite. Drowsy. Safe. Content.

“I can’t tell if I like you teasing or being gentle better…” you murmur, voice slurred from the edge of sleep.

Zayne’s brow lifts faintly, the amused breath he lets out brushing the top of your head. “I thought you liked me being rough? Isn't that what you keep asking me to do?”

You swat his chest with the back of your hand. “That’s what I’m saying! You still find a way to torture me even when you’re being gentle! I can’t understand it at all!”

He chuckles softly, then leans down to kiss your head—lips warm, lingering.

“That just means we’re perfect together,” he murmurs, low and certain.

You go still for a second, your lips twitching.

“Awww,” you whine, lifting your head just slightly to peer at him. “Well when you put it that way I can’t really make a joke about it.”

“You always find a way,” Zayne says smoothly, the corner of his mouth tugging up just a bit. “Miss Rookie of the Year.”

You blink at him, snorting at how he still goes on about the award you won, before you pursed your lips as you actually think about it. “Like maybe how I adapt to your way of doing things? Like when we fight side by side? Wait a minute—that’s not a joke, that’s just the truth…”

You groan and drop your head dramatically to his chest, muffling your face against his shirt.

Zayne lets out a quiet laugh, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head like he’s tucking you into him. You feel the press of another kiss at your temple.

“You’re the big spoon tonight,” you grumble against his chest.

“Yes, darling,” he replies instantly—so calm, so amused.

You groan again, but this time it sounds more like surrender than protest. He kisses your head one last time, his body warm and still, and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you under with him, tangled together and too in love to care whose legs are where.

Sleep pulls you both down, quiet and close. Perfectly matched.

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Notes

I mean I have to? No? I def have to ahahaha But anyway! Hope you enjoy this! They're too sweet for this world 🫶🏻😩 Another card's fic is over here! Zayne - Immediate Disorder Extended (Mature) Zayne - Immediate Disorder Extended Extra (Smut)

73 notes · View notes

magix-winx-club · 3 months ago

Text

God, I just want to sleep P3

Daryl x disabled!reader

Part: 1, 2,

Summary: Daryl goes on a run, you hiding in your cell

TW: slight angst, fluff, and a long section about scavenging because I love it. Also, the big spot mishap did not happen

Daryl stormed out of the Cell block, the anger in his veins made him feel like he was vibrating. He had no idea what he was even angry about. You? For not telling him. At himself? For not noticing how much you struggled. At the world for being how it was now, making it hard for medicine to come around. He had no idea, all he knew was the rage bubbling to the surface as soon as he saw that sweet smile on your face and how you looked yesterday so small and sad. He had one simple job, and in his mind he had failed you.

You had not moved from your spot for a while, just sitting there looking at the wall. Your cell slowly turns darker, the grey of the wall bouncing around making it suffocatingly small. The air started to get colder with the dwindling sun, which finally prompted you to move. Your legs were cramping from sitting in the same position for so long. So you began your routine of stretching them out once more. Starting with your toes and working your way up until you could finally stand. You grabbed the washed out black sweater from your chair pulling it on. Your eyes are catching on the untouched medication on your unmade bed. You took a deep breath, settling yourself carefully on one side of the bed. Hesitantly as if they would disappear if you touched them you reached out. You slowly made your way through each label, humming in recognition and relief at seeing the familiar bottles. One caught your special attention so you put it to the side and stored the rest in the small drawer of your desk.

Once done you made your way back to the bed, sitting with the all too familiar prescription of Pregabalin. By that time the sun was fully down and your Cell was practically dark.

A light at the entrance to your cell caught your attention. Herschel, was standing just by the bars of your cell, holding a makeshift lamp. “We missed you at dinner,” the older man, with his soothing voice said. You gave him a small smile, nodding before turning back to the medication in your hands. Hershel saw that as invitation enough, settling down on the chair across from your bed. Finally, he breached the subject you had no interest in discussing. “It was nice of him to get it.” You felt your heart rate pick up, your muscles tense. “I didn’t ask him to,” you practically growled out. Luckily, the older man did not call you out on your attitude. You knew he did not deserve your foul mood. “It will help.” Yeah, you knew it would, it was the same one you used for sleep, double the dose than what you would take during the day. Ever since this whole thing started you felt tired but it had only gotten worse since you ran out of medication, now truly unable to get some good nights rest. “It’s gonna make me sleepy,” you finally confessed, “haven’t taken it in so long. Dunno how I will get out of bed in the morning.” It weighs on you. Knowing that if you took it you would finally be able to sleep, but on the flip side it would give your body enough to make you sleepy for a long time. You remembered the first few days after you took the medication for the first time. How sleepy you were, how much you slept now that the constant pain was just a dull ache. But you did not get days off anymore, not at the end of the world.

“hmm, some people are still fighting the flu. And you look rather peaked. Might be best for you to spend some days in bed. No use, for you to get properly sick.” You shot the old man a look. His expression was neutral but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Shaking your head at the old man's antick you let out a soft laugh. “Isn’t lying a sin?” That got a chuckle out of the man. “I call it a necessary evil, at times.” He reached for the half full water bottle on your desk, holding it out to you. “Yeah, I guess so.” You mused, staring at the pill bottle. Taking a deep breath you opened it, pulling out one of the white miracle workers. “Thanks,” you said. Taking the bottle from him and downing the pill. The tension in your shoulder easing a bit now that you have finally done it. You knew it would take maybe an hour for it to work. You just hoped your mind would be numbed too and your dreams not plagued by nightmares. Daryl’s face shot through your mind. The angry lines around his mouth, his flushed face, and steel eyes. The knot in your chest returned in full force. Once again you said. “I didn’t ask him to and I didn’t ask Maggie either.” Would not tell them to risk their lives for me hung unspoken in the air. “I know,” the older man reached out, grasping the pill bottle you were fidgeting with from your hands. He sat it on the dresser next to your bed before taking your hands in his. “But we are a family and a family takes care of each other. Sometimes you are the caretaker, sometimes you are being taken care of. That’s just the way it is.” You did not want to cry again. It seemed all you did the past 24 hours was cry. ALl the same you felt a tear escaping your eyes. Quickly you wiped it with the sleep of your sweater. “I know. I just…” What were you supposed to say? It was hard enough accepting help in the old world, but in this? It almost felt impossible to do. Your voice was small, barely there when you whispered what you had kept to yourself for so long. “I just wish things were different.”

You and Hershel sat like that for a while, your hands in the old farmer's one, just letting the statement sit between you, when finally you noticed the tension in your legs unravel a bit.

Hershel got up, patting you on the shoulder. “Go to sleep, get some rest. I’ll take care of everything else.” Before he was fully out of your cell he turned. “It is no one's business but your own. So much is true, and if you wish not to talk that is your right. But when and if you are ready your family will be here for you.” You did not know what to say, so you just nodded, sending him a watery smile. The first true smile since yesterday.

The old man closed the privacy curtain of your cell leaving you in darkness again. You knew there was no sense in trying to compose yourself. It is strange how pain and suffering could make you so emotional. That is a side effect no one had ever told you about. So you sniffle while unlacing your boots, you let out something between a laugh and a sob while pushing your jeans off you. And a small tear slipped out of your right eye corner while switching to PJ bottom. Finally, you snuggled into your bed, exhausted and ready to sleep.

Daryl was outside, sharpening his knives, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Rick was talking about the only thing he seemed to be talking about these days, farming. After the third time he mentioned about the cycle of nature and crops he turned him out. Daryl had not seen you for almost three days. Hershel had told everyone that you were feeling sick and you needed rest. Hell, the old man did not even let anyone but him check on her. “Best to be sure she isn’t contagious.” But Daryl saw, saw the lie in the man's eyes. Fuck, he was the one who brought you your medication after all. Did it make you sick? Did he bring something back that was bad? Was he at fault for you not feeling well? Daryl felt guilt swarm his body. Did not even know why he took you back to your cell in the first place after the run. Hated that he let his temper get the better of him. He knew he had mellowed out, but the way he blew up at you reminded him of a time where all he had was his asshole brother. Daryl was angry at the world back then, but it was not him anymore. Things are different now. He had a family, a home, no longer on the outside looking in.

Breathing out harshly, he stood up, from where he was sitting on the ground. Sheathing his now sharp knives. “‘mma keep my eye out,” he told Rick before making his way to his bike, effectively cutting off the man. Today was the day the group finally went to the big spot. Sashsa and him had scouted the place yesterday and saw that the walkers had fallen for their trap with the music box.

Daryl took stock of the people around the cars. Michonne, Sasha, arguably the two people he would like to have at his back. Then Glenn, Tyreese, the new kid Zach, and Bob.

“Time to ‘et thi’ show on the road.” He snatched the car keys to one of the cars from the kid Zach and got in. No use taking his Bike, it would be too loud and they really needed whatever was in the practically untouched store. Besides, they needed the trunks and back seats of the cars if the haul was as good as promised.

Nodding to Sasha the driver in the other car on his left he pulled in front of her, heading for the gate. Next up was the car with Tyresse and Glenn in it. Michonne had been a last addition so she was in a car with Shasha and Bob. Her and Daryl thought it best the two new people would ride each with one of them. So they could keep an eye out. The plan was simple, everyone had a section of the supermarket. Responsible for filling the car with as much as they could. Once they had the basics, if something caught their eye and they did not have to haul ass outta dodge people could get whatever they wanted. He already knew Sasha would be taking watch over the cars, if that was the case. Daryl had to admit he admired the strength of that woman. While, he could only smirk at the thought of Glenn who would bounce like a kid,happy as ever to get something for Maggie. Michonne has become close to Carl and Rick. Daryl imagined she would probably scour the place for Comics and Chocolate. Tyreese, the intimidating man, who turns out to be a Teddy Bear at heart, would probably think of the elderly, try to bring them back something to make life a bit easier. The other two he had no idea. Which in the end, left him, he always brought small things back for people. Things they asked for, things he overheard or picked up on. Yet, he had no specific person to bring something back to. Your smile flashed in his mind. No, no he was not going to go there. And even though he willed his mind to concentrate on the path before him, his heart gave a painful squeeze. Okay, maybe he would keep an extra eye out on something that could help you with whatever was going on with you. If only he knew. Shit maybe he should have talked to Hershel beforehand. Silently Daryl cursed himself, gripping the steering wheel harder.

The kid Zach brought him out of his musing. “Hey, man what did you do before all this?” He gestured to a lone walker. He grunted at the kid, and just shot him a look. But either Zach had no social awareness, which he could not fault the kid for, or he simply did not care. He babbled on: “I didn’t do nothing. Was just a college kid, ya know? But I was thinking about following in my momma's footsteps.” He shrugged. “Become a physical therapist or something.” That caught Daryl’s attention. A physical therapist? They work with sick people and shit, right? He thought. Suddenly finding the kid a little less annoying. For the rest of the ride he let the kid babble on and off.

Once, they arrived on site and made sure the Walkers were all gone, each grabbed a shopping card and made their way inside. Daryl once again nodded at every Team leader. Shasha and Glenn. “Common kid, ‘et a move on.” He shoved the Kid in front of him. Daryl was in charge of any useful weapons, clothing, and blankets. Daryl surveyed the Isle for a moment longer while Zach had already started filling his card. So far so good, he thought. But the tension was never leaving his body, his eyes always searching. Satisfied that he was not gonna be Walker food right this moment he started to fill his own card.

He was standing at the kitchen section, looking at the knives and small appliances. Without giving it too much thought he started grabbing whatever he could, thinking about Carol, Beth and some people from Woodberry who took care of dinner. If any of the shit he was grabbing would make cooking easier for them he sure as shit would get them. He grabbed an assortment of knives, never enough knives. Before making his way over to the hunting section. Daryl whistled softly. It was still fully stocked. With fishing rods, Arrowheads, even some for his crossbow. Quickly he loaded it all in. His card is already full. “Hey kid,” he whispered. Zach turned his head from the other end of the Isle. “Bring this shit out front, ‘et some more cards.” Without protest Zach got moving. While Zach was gone he looked more closely at all the stuff. There was a small crossbow that looked like the baby version of his, snorting he picked it up. Even though it was small it would still pack a punch. Ammo was running low, they would have to start relying on more arcane weapons. So Daryl held onto it. As soon as Zach turned up with a new card he loaded it up. Camo clothing, the small crossbow, hunting knives. He left the bright colors of hunting clothing. Too uneasy to think about the bright color in the woods. But he did take whatever warm base level clothing he could. Especially the fleece ones, they’d keep people warm in winter.

It made Daryl smile, thinking about the future. Once he would have scoffed, seeing no point looking past the now. Things change, he thought. Daryl halted, when under one stack of clothing he found a poncho, it was dark green, thin, something to pull over yourself in case it was raining. He grinned at that, putting it in his own backpack.

Once Daryl was done with the section it looked like most stores, completely raided. Zach came without promotion and took the newly filled card back out to the cars. Tyreese was putting things away, with Bob. Next to the Hunting section was a small cubical shaped section with clothing. He picked out whatever he could reach. Whichever they did not need they could use for cleaning rags. He took special care in picking out the baby clothing, getting it in all kinds of shapes and sizes, same with the kid clothing. Daryl always had a soft spot for kids. And seeing them with torn clothes reminded him too much of his own childhood. So whenever he was on a run he took special care in bringing ‘em something back.

It had never taken his people so long to clear out one store. But there was so much, it took them a good hour to get everything they needed. He was getting antsy thinking they had been here too long. Sasha must have thought the same as she positioned herself on top of one of the cars, her rifle in hand, keeping her eyes out for anything troubling. The group slowly started to get together, putting their haul in the boxes they took with ‘em. Sahsas, Michonnes and Bob's car were already full. He had passed Michonne on his way out, saw the gleam in her eyes telling that she was ready to get them comic books.

Daryl rounded his now full car, made his way over to Sasha. She spared him no glance but knew it was him all the same. “We should get a move on,” she whispered. “hmm.” He looked around, the place was quiet for now. “Let’s give it another thirty. ‘et em some time to ‘et their shit.” Sasha nodded, straightening even more. He knew if something happened she would get them.

Turning around Daryl made his way back into the store. He walked through the empty Isle checking for anything they might have missed. Finally he came to the health section. Some shitty books about Diets no one needs. One cover caught his eye. It was of a woman stretching. And he thought back to what Zach said about his mom. He stood in front of it biting his thumb. The title had caught his attention and before anyone stumbled upon him here he quickly slipped the book in his back. And not too soon, Zach came round the corner, “Hey, you think Beth would like this?” He held up a mat, so Daryl just raised an eyebrow. “I mean with the strain and all we should probably all do some stretches. Beth said she had some back problems since Judy got so big.” So Daryl just nodded. “‘s probably a goo’ idea.” Daryl stepped around him, making his way around the corner. He saw some more yoga mats. Blushing slightly he took a light blue one and covered it quickly with the poncho he had found earlier. Saw no reason for anyone to know he had taken one too, and for who.

Finally, everyone was done. Glenn had a shit eating grin on his face and Daryl made a note to stay clear of the guard tower on the far side of the prison. He did not need to know how Glenn sounded when he came. Everyone got in their respective cars. Once he got the okay nod from Sasha and Glenn they were off back home.

The prison was bustling. Happiness radiating off every wall, for once the grey walls felt yellow with joy. Daryl's heart was lighter than it had been in a while. He had taken his two bags he had filled with his own shit up into his cell, before walking out again, to help unload. He was walking past people who shouted a thanks his way. It made him stand taller, his back straight. Yeah, today was a good day. Today he took care of his family.

They had established groups within the prison who were responsible for different sections and after a haul like this every group had something to do.

Daryl was just lifting one of the heavier boxes filled with books for the library when he caught a glimpse of someone he had on his mind almost constantly the last few days. There you were. A smile on your face. He scanned his eyes up and down your body. Watching for signs you were still sick but he found just you. He stood for a second just admiring you, and for the first time he let himself think just how beautiful you are.

You had spent the past two days in your cell. Mostly sleeping, reading then falling asleep again, doing some stretches and cleaning every nook and cranny. You had not realized how much you needed this. Hershel had checked on you three times a day. Normally in the morning, bring you breakfast, and then at midday and evening. He always brought you some food, and sat with you so you did not have to eat alone. Some tears were shed as his comforting present and just how much better and lighter you felt. However now was time to join society again, and you itched for some fresh air. When the prison suddenly started to bustle with voices you could not help but investigate. What you found left you speechless. Three trucks filled to the brim with food, clothes, medicine and various other stuff. A smile overtook your face, and your heart started beating. Once again, you felt like crying but this time of joy. But before you could let them out, you took a deep breath and made your way down to the cars. This was the time to help not to laugh like a maniac while crying.

You rounded one of the cars and came to a sudden stop. Daryl was standing there with a box in his hands, just staring at you. Your stomach dropped. You two had not talked since he blew up at you three days ago.

You were relieved when Carol struggled with a box so you quickly stepped past Daryl and made your way to her. You could not deal with him right now. Soon all the boxes were unloaded and put in their correct place. You helped Karen from Woodberry to take inventory for the clothing. She shot you a wink when she put away some clean panties, that looked nice. For once, having nice panties was cause for giggling. She shoved a cute top, that seemed to be your size your way. That was one of the perks of taking inventory, you got the first pick.

“I saw the crates of food they brought in,” Karen commented. She was a beautiful woman, with dark curly hair, and big brown eyes. You could see why Tyresse liked her so much. “with the first crops coming along, we will have food for a while.” She grinned. “If only Rick could grow some potato chips,” you only half joked. “Ugh, do not remind me,” she looked away wistfully. “Maybe a tree full of chocolates.” Suddenly, she became a bit serious. You nudged her with your elbow. “Out with it.” She took a second but once the shirt in her hand had been folded, put away and the size marked down she said: “I had my boy when I was young. The dad took off.” This caught your attention, you slowed the folding of the grey man's shirt in your hand. “I used to live from paycheck to paycheck. But once I got my degree I got a pretty good job,” she smiled to herself. “So at the end of every month I had some money to spare. I would get my boy after school, and we would go straight to the small grocery store. We would pick out a bunch of sweets, marshmallows and chocolate,” she looked at you, a smile on her face but her eyes sad. You remembered, her son was killed by the Governor. “We would get home, wait til it was dark and make a small bonfire. Gorge on smores and just talk.” She picked up another sweater from the clothing bin. “How many teenage boys do you know who would spend their Friday night with their mom just talking?” A small tear slipped from her eye. You quickly whipped it away, holding the side of her face in your hand. “Sounds like a good boy. Wish I could have met him.”

You and Karen finished the inventory close to dinner. Tomorrow you would lay out the clothing on a big table in the courtyard. It would be like a makeshift market, people could look at them, pick out some stuff. The same would be done with toiletry. Overseen by your original prison family, to make sure everyone had something and no one was hoarding. To contrast, people were communal, did not take more than their fair share, and were kind. And you fully believed it.

You made your way to the cafeteria,still deep in thoughts about Karen and her son. The people around you were smiling and laughing, some showing the small things the group brought back specifically for them, to people around them. I made your way to the line in front of the serving counter. You could see Carol dishing out food, smiling and talking to the people. You were struck by the difference in her, where in the beginning she made herself as small as possible, holding herself in the background whereas now she was standing tall, her eyes sharp and her hands steady.

“Hey sweetie,” she greeted you. “How are you feeling? Hope you are not overdoing it.” Her smile is maternal. “I am good, much better,” you would never lie to her, at least not directly to her face. “That’s good.” She reached over the counter giving your hand a squeeze.

Quickly you walked past all the full tables towards the back where you saw Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Glenn and Tyreese. They all greeted you with a smile and proclamation of “We missed you.”

You sat down next to Maggie on your left and Tyreese on your right. You were happy just to listen to the happiness of people. All excited for tomorrow's market. You grinned at the looks Maggie and Glenn shot each other. You would definitely stay clear of the Guard Tower on the far side of the prison. The looks could only mean one thing, Glenn found a shit ton of condoms. Shaking your head you looked at Hershel. “Heard, they found some new books.” The man practically read the entire library already. “Oh, yes and I will be at the market tomorrow bright and early to get me a new one.” He pointed at you. The two of you had a bit of a rivalry for new books going on. In the end you just switched out books once you were done but it was a fun little game you played. Trying to get the first pick at the books.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Karen enter the cafeteria, and how Tyreese followed her with his eyes. Gosh if eyes could form heart shapes his definitely would be like that. You nudged him with your elbow. “Can we talk later?” you whispered. He looked at you with concern. “Nothing bad, just wanted to talk.” He nodded, his teddy bear eyes conveying what you already knew. He would always be there to listen. You glanced once again at Karen and plan forming in your mind.

Dinner was over, and people calmed down but the good day was still lingering in the air, making it lighter, easier to breathe. You sat outside. Funny, you never thought you would miss the sight of a fence. The smell of death slightly wafting towards you. The groaning, and crunching of feet on gravel. Yeah, you missed this. Soon Tyresse walked over to you, sitting on the bench to your right, next to the table you were sitting on.

“First things first,” he said. Turning to you, his attention fully on you. “Are you okay?” Your love for the gentle giant seeping out into a smile you nodded. “Yeah,” gripping his hand. “Better than okay.” you looked away from him, taking a deep breath. “Better than I have for a while actually.” Tyreese observed you for a moment, “Good. That’s good.” He looked out towards the fence, you could see tension returning to his body as he watched the walkers milling about. You knew this world was hard on him. A thought struck you, yeah, Tyreese would be the kinda guy who would spend friday night around a fire, eating sweets and being happy. “You know, I took inventory with Karen earlier.” You shot him a mischief smirk. Tyreese shot you a side eye and pinched you. “You are worse than my sister.” He grumbled. “I am just saying.” Holding your hand up you moved quickly before he could pinch you again. Suddenly serious you went on. “It was a good day.” “Yeah, yeah, that it was.” you wrung your hand thinking about what you could possibly say to broach the subject without telling him what Karen had told you. You would never just take what she said and tell it to others. “We deserve this,” you started out. “We build something. It was time we acknowledged this.” Tyreese stared at you, wondering how a person in this world could still be so kind and strong at the same time. “You know, in certain cultures you would have bonfires to welcome the sun. Sun was the symbol of life.” You had to think about all the times when the darkness felt so oppressing, like a dark blanket slowly choking you wondering if your family would be alive come sunrise. “It is time we think about more than surviving.” Tyreese could not agree more. That’s why you liked him. He never lost his humanity. “With the haul we got today,” he stopped a bit teary eyed. “The smiles of the people here felt like the first rays of sunlight after winter.” You leaned your legs on his shoulder. “We deserve this.” You meant not just the food, clothing, medicine and a roof above your head. But a bonfire to celebrate life and welcome the summer. You two sat in silence watching the sun go down, bathing everything in a cool blue.

Once, you walked back into your cellblock you knew you had planted the seed of a celebratory bonfire in Tyreese's head and with Sasha being on the council you were sure that by the end of the week you would help plan one. Sasha, as hard as she was, could never deny Tyreese anything. She loved her brother too much.

You got to your Cell, pushing part of the curtain. Quickly you put on the black sweater that laid on its usual spot on your desk chair. The past three resting days had filled you with so much energy and the happiness in the room made you wide awake. So you grabbed your book, a candle and made your way outside. You liked sitting up at the guard tower, not the one Maggie and Glenn were at. Whoever was on watch could maybe use the company.

You did not check the raster of who was on duty. Just make your way straight to the Tower. You slowly took the steps up, it was pitch black so you held on tight to the railing. You made your way to the top. the door creaked loudly when you walked in. You were about to pull out the matches for the candle when you caught a whiff of something. Smoke. Your body became rigged. Surveying the tower for another exit. Why did you not think about this? obviously it would be him. You wanted to turn around and sneak out of the door but you knew he heard it open. You had not taken a step when Daryl’s voice rang out. “W’atch ya doin’ her?” His voice unreadable, his back turned to you. Taking a step forward, you swallowed hard. Before the incident, what you called the night of your unfortunate breakdown, you often came up to read next to him while he was on guard duty. “Wanted to read.” You waved your book awkwardly even though he still had his back to you. He gave his usual Daryl grunt. At once you turned heading for the door again. “You was sick.” There was something in the way he said it that made you halt. Could it be worry?

You glanced over your shoulder, his eyes now on you, appraising you. “Yeah, something like that.” You shuffled your feet, not knowing what else to do. “Was it me?” Furrowing your brows you turned fully towards him. “The meds, I’s brought back. Wa’ it ‘em.” You two stood there for a minute just looking at each other. His eyes, flickering back and forth between yours. He was biting on his lip. Releasing a breath you stepped towards him. “No, no it wasn’t the meds.” You leaned on the railing next to him, staring out at the woods. They almost seemed blue from the moonlight. “I hadn’t taken anything for a while, against you know.” You gesture to your legs. “It just knocked me of my feet,” He tensed, quickly you turned to him. “Not in a bad way. Is just…” How could you describe this? “It’s like running a marathon you can’t keep running forever. At one point you gotta stop, rest.” Dayl was watching you closely through his fringe. His blue eyes are more intense than usual. Even though he knew he could never understand what you were going through he knew exhaustion and pain. Remembering how he would lay in his bed after his father took a belt to it. And how much easier he slept when his Dad was gone on a bing.

Finally, he could not hold the question he felt burning on his tongue since he found out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You nearly missed it, so quiet was his voice. Now, the happiness that permitted the air had filled with all the worry and nervousness you felt since Daryl found you that night. It was pressing on your skin, thick in your throat. You took a step back gliding down along the wall and stretched your legs. You still had not looked at him contemplating what to say. You watched the wind sway the tops of the trees. “I don’t know.” you whispered at last. “Think I was scared.” “Of me?” He slid down next to you but with a good amount of space between you two. “No, not you specifically. Even before the world was not kind to people like me. Just figured it would be better if I kept my mouth shut.” figgeding with the bracelets on your left hand. “Deal with it myself, you know?” “hm.” Daryl got it, he did. But you were family, not a family like he had before. This family looked out for each other. “Coulda helped ya.” You turned your head, his eyes were already on you, so honest, open and vulnerable. You remembered the words he said “what the hell were ya thinkin’?”, “I woulda left yo ass ri’ht were I found ya.”

“After all you said it yourself, you would have left me.” You smiled sadly at him. You flinched when he suddenly got up pacing around the platform. “‘s bullshit.” he spat out. “Bullshit that you being left alone with this shit. We family. Ain’t no way ‘round it.” He stood tall looking you square in the face for once not hiding behind his hair. “You tell me wha shit ya need. Hell if this,” He flailed his hands. “ever falls, ya come.” He kneeled in front of you, his blue so intense you could not look away. “Ya come fin’ me.”

Like lighting it struck through you. Daryl was not angry because you were disabled, a liability, a burden. No he was angry because something was hurting his people and he had no idea. You all had seen the change in Daryl, how fiercely he fought for all of you. He would never say it but he loved his family and you knew it.

You leaned forward taking his hand in yours, big and callus. “I’m sorry.” Plain and simple, you were. You were sorry that it had come to the night, sorry that your own insecurity was keeping you from seeing Daryl so clearly. Kept you from knowing how much he would fight for you.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “‘m sorry too,” he mumbled. “Shoulda’n’ve yelled at ya.” Your thumb stroking over the back of his hand. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I’s swear. Just angry I could do nothin’ for ya.” You had to laugh at that. Clearly the wrong thing to do as he tried to pull back, before he could gripped him tightly. “Do nothing for me? Daryl you got me the first good nights sleep in, I don’t know how long, it was everything.” You lifted his hand up, pressing a small kiss on the back of it. His eyes lost the intensity they had a moment before, now watching you with a hint of a smile, the tension around his eyes lost. “Ya come to me from now on, ya hear me.”

"Okay."

"Okay?"

You smiled, pressing one last kiss on his hands, and sat back. He shuffled to the side, not letting go of your hands, and sat next to you. Your arms and legs pressed against each other. Your book was forgotten next to you, now all you wanted was to hold Daryl's hands and watch the soft sway of the tree tops.

Should I do another part?

Masterlist

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader angst

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