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Experimenting in procreate for the first time, help

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so it seems you guys liked my last post so heres these two!! wait two? guys wheres crowe- (alt/bloody version under the cut! lol)

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I love how all of the Batman villains are like “ah he’s not at the manor, it’s defenseless! and then alfred just racks an AK-47 and is like pull up bitch

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Happy Pride Month to this bisexual king !!

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Could I request headcanons for how Dracula, Hector, Issac, Trevor, and Alucard reacting to his oblivious gn crush confessing to him without knowing he likes them romantically please?

i do think this is a cute request, and i'm glad i'm able to write it for different characters lol. thanks for your requests! (sorry this is so late, i know i promised earlier, i got a bit busy with summer classes starting!)

slight language

dracula

as a vampire, he can wait a long while until you would be able to hear your confession fall from your mouth. he tends to be slightly flirty, making comments that make you question his feelings for you, and only makes the feelings you have for him grow stronger. but, he will admit that your obliviousness tends to grate his nerves. he wishes you were able to know his feelings clearer, but wishes to hear you confess first.

he wishes to be able to nudge you further, but he waits it out. he currently flips through a book of his, as you're curiously looking over some of the science related instruments he has, excited for the learning you could be doing. he hums at your excitement, causing you to feel warm. you turn to him on the seat in the corner, about to ask him a question, and then are startled when he's right next to you.

the closeness causes you to stumble over your words, and you find that you can't hold back your feelings back. you kept the feelings to yourself for so long, so unsure if he felt the same way about you. but you felt that the feelings needed to come out, even if it means that you could be potentially stuck as a friend and face embarrassment. you could only hope that he would still let you work in the sciences, and just ignore each other.

but you're pleasantly surprised when he smiles, leaning in really close to you. "i'm glad you feel the same way. i've been waiting for your confession for seemingly eons, my dear." he leans in, caressing your face softly, as he kisses you.

hector

he thinks he's obvious in his flirting, making it frustrating when you don't seem to reciprocate the feelings he has. he tries to hold out, waiting to see if you'll ever pick up on them, as he continues to work on his projects for dracula, where he'll formulate ways to try and get you to realize his feelings. (it will never be outright telling you "i like you, do you want to date?").

meanwhile, you're relentlessly agonized over the way he acts around you, seemingly unable to fathom the idea that he likes you. you know you should be more so focused on the plans for dracula, but you couldn't get over the feelings you have for hector and how he was acting towards you. which is why you storm his area of work, demanding some answers from him.

"i can't believe you were so oblivious. of course i like you, i can't believe i wasn't that clear to you." he says softly, after jumping out of his skin after being so deep in thought. he came toward you to your stunned, borderline humiliated self, and kissed you softly, sealing his words and previous actions with it.

the air seemed sucked out of your lungs as you grasp onto hector, relieved about the tension you were holding onto, glad your feelings were reciprocated. as you pull back, you apologize for your strong coming on earlier, to only be met with a puff of laughter and being pulled in for another kiss.

isaac

he tends to be forward with his emotions, but when it comes to feelings for you, he thought you knew about those feelings without having to tell you outright. he wanted to see how you might confess, or in general, how you would make your feelings known to him. he can understand emotions very well based on how one carries themselves, so is always looking for your body language when you're around him to get a glimpse of how you feel.

when you always visit him when he's doing his work for dracula, he can't help but always figure out if today would be the day you would tell him. but, with you on the other hand, you don't think his feelings for you are obvious, you're very much on the oblivious sides of his feelings for you. when you go see him, you're always excited to talk with him about his work, or ask him about general life topics. but always too nervous to tell him your own feelings, in fear of being rejected.

on this particular day though, you've received slight encouragement from hector about just doing things, even if they scared you, and you built yourself up enough to tell isaac that you liked him. which, to his delight, was exactly what he hoped. he thought it was cute that you couldn't tell you like him after you confessed you didn't know, intrigued by your obliviousness.

"well, i'm glad we're able to move beyond that stage and be together now." he murmurs, gathering you in his arms. you beam up at him, planting a small kiss on the side of his cheek, and he moves so you're finally able to kiss on the lips.

trevor

he tends to be more sarcastic and dry, which leads to you not picking up his flirting sometimes, often thinking he's making an off hand joke when he flirts with you. it's a mechanism for you to put down the festering imagining thoughts that he did have a crush on you, which you did not want to entertain in case you get your feelings hurt because of your crush on him.

you, sypha, and trevor were on the excursion after leaving alucard behind, and sypha was trying to push you to sit next to trevor, who was guiding the horses. she got you up there, and trevor doesn't miss the way you glare back at the disappearing sypha, brow raised in question. she has been trying to get you to confess feelings for weeks now, sick of your consistent worries about him, since she was confident he liked you back.

when you turn to see trevor's gaze, you can't help but feel under scrutiny, immediately slouching on the bench. he tends to be a bit antagonistic, so he pressures you to tell him what's on your mind, snickering anytime you did a behavior indicating any sort of embarrassment. his snickering comes to a halt though when you blurt out your feelings for him, and he almost misses sypha's bated gasp.

"thank god, fucking finally." he mutters, putting the reigns in one hand and leaning over to kiss you softly on the mouth, before he quickly jumps back to guiding the horses. you're left with your mouth agape and with sypha's giggling, knowing the two of you would have a lot to talk about later.

alucard

he is someone who can be hard to read, which is why you're so apprehensive when it comes to reading into what his feelings are for you. you have hopelessly fallen head over heels for him, but couldn't build up the courage to tell him how you felt, in fear you would be rejected or laughed at.

which were the feelings you were unloading on sypha and trevor; more so sypha, as trevor rolls his eyes at the situation and half listens as he searches through a variety of books. sypha gives you her full attention, and comforting interjections when you speak about.

since you weren't around vampires very often, you forget how well they listen. a fact that sypha and trevor knowingly left out, hoping that alucard would listen to you and come forward about his feelings. something the both of them were at the listening end as well, listening to how he speaks of you.

which worked well enough, as alucard felt a bit stunned, unaware of how his actions seemed to you. he came down the stairs at once, slightly laughing at sypha's glittering eyes of excitement, as she yanks trevor out of the way. "i have always liked you, nearly almost since we first met. i'm sorry i wasn't as clear." he says, pulling you in for a sweet kiss, one you melt into, glad you finally got your answer.

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Omg they're back

I feel crazy but I know what I saw, I even google them last night and it said the same thing, they were deactivated

I'm so confused

What happened to srardika-graphics?

I was just scrolling through my tags when I noticed both of their accounts were deactivated

I just want to know what happened cause I guess I missed a post of theirs saying something about it? Or did it just happen? Idk 😭

I honestly just want to know what happened to them cause I love their work

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What happened to srardika-graphics?

I was just scrolling through my tags when I noticed both of their accounts were deactivated

I just want to know what happened cause I guess I missed a post of theirs saying something about it? Or did it just happen? Idk 😭

I honestly just want to know what happened to them cause I love their work

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Okay, so I have been obsessed with Epic the musical lately, and while listening to "Would you fall in love with me again", I got this concept of Alucard who falls in love with the same soul every century or so. This time, he happened to find that person when they were quite young (late twenties), and they had a relationship for a bit before circumstances got them separated for twenty years, and when MC came back, they had the audacity to tell Alucard something along the lines of "I changed a lot since we last met, would you still love me despite it all?" And then we get Alucard pulling the "I would fall in love with you over and over again, no matter how where or when, no matter how long it's been you're mine!" (And maybe even "Don't tell me you're not the same person! You're always my spouse and I've been waiting... For you") I will let everything else up to you cause I lost the wire of my thoughts here

Ah, epic.. i have no full knowledge of it, i’ve seen buts and fanarts of it, but i’m only there for my beloved Lord Hermes to be honest. hehe, enjoy!

I apologize for this being submitted late, i have a busy life to maintain, but i do make time.

This is taken place at nocturne.

“I will love you in every lifetime.” You promised at your last breath when his supple arms held you.

he found you, once again, and you still had similar features to the same face of the past, you looked beautiful.

You both loved each other dearly, his ethereal-like beauty never failed you to mistaken him for a terribly disguised angel.

By your mannerisms, your wit, your scoldings— he knew it was you.

Oh he was so terribly in love.

Until fate had to be cruel to set you two away, wrenching him from you for your sake to live.

“How about you? Were you ever in love?” Richer asked, his voice blending in the silence within alucard’s contemplation— his conflict, his thoughts of you.

“Countless times..” he murmured— those countless times were the times he fell in love with you over and over again.

His eyes softened at the thought of you, where are you? Are you alright? Are you well? Worse. Are you dead???..

He closed his eyes, shaking his head before leaning back once again as he was about to fall off of balance.

During the moment of the drolta’s attack, instead of alucard’s sword clashing with drolta’s claws, it was yours.

Your sword.

he was shielding richter and annette, ready to attack at any moment, but somehow,

fate was kind.

You fought off Drolta for a brief moment before Alucard rushed to fight alongside you, he did not have time to keep his eyes on you but he had time to fight alongside you, you looked near old but not near to death, you looked beautiful as ever, and he knew it without a glance.

At the aftermath of the brutal battle,

He wanted to look for you, but you weren’t there, looking through the crowd of cacophonies whispering about the beheading of the french royal..

You were not there.

everything was starting to go back to the serene moment, the night’s veil enveloping beautifully on the sky, the lamps shined brighter,

So as his eyes when he saw you being thanked by maria.

You’ve improved so much, did you have any lovers after him? What had you done during the separation?— that, evil, painful seperation?

Your powers blended with his perfectly as if you two were one, you had a few scars on you, were you in an adventure? Journey? who were you with? His thoughts ran through his head.

You bought some croissants for them, handing each one until you gave your last to Alucard, he took the opportunity to pull you close, away from the group into a secluded place, his hands were trembling, you still held the croissant on the other hand, he looked like he wanted to cry, his steps were rushed, as if desperate.

…

“Y/n..” his voice cracked. “Where have you been all along?..”

“i’ve been traveling, just as you told me..”

His hand raised to cup your cheek, he couldn’t say anything, just reveling in your beauty, the beauty you effortlessly maintained, the beauty that complimented his.

“why.. why have you came now?..”

“i..” you trailed off before placing the croissant somewhere close, the flat surface of the railing diving you both and the seine bridge, your now-free hand found his clenching ones, clenching hard because he’s afraid that you will disappear if he ever let go.

The desperation in his eyes was prominent, waiting to hear your voice once again..

“I was looking for you..”

His breath hitched before his arms swiftly wrapped around you in a tight embrace, the embrace. Slowly, his head lifted just to look down at you, you still had the same eye color, the same glint of your eyes..just a little crinkle at the corners, but you weren’t that old.

"I’ve changed a lot since we last met..

would you still love me despite it all?"

He almost wanted to laugh at that ridiculous yet breaking statement.

"I would fall in love with you over and over again, no matter how where or when, no matter how long it's been..

you’re mine, y/n.. always been.”

“oh look at me.. i look far from—“

"Nonsense.. don’t even say you arent the same person..

You’ve always been my spouse and i.. have been waiting..”

you promised not to leave this time.. you couldn’t bear to see him witness the cycles of your passing over and over again, no matter how stoic and calm he was, you could see a flower wilting.

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🦇 Alucard x reader 🦇

You knew playing truth or dare with your crazy friends was a bad idea, but you gave your curiosity a chance… and that’s what brought you to this gloomy forest.

The night was eerily quiet and still. You couldn’t believe that you were really doing this. Going into the forest at night in search of an old abandoned castle, which was said to be inhabited by a vampire.

You certainly didn’t believe in the nonsense, but the feeling of being watched didn’t leave you for a moment as you entered the castle’s surroundings. You felt scared and nervous, but you pulled yourself together and took another step towards the scary palace bravely... or stupidly, if you will.

The opening of the back door of the castle, the only open entrance, caused an eerie creak in the stillness of the night. Your heart pounded in your chest with fear and tension.

"No," you thought to yourself.

"I just have to pick up any old tools from here and leave. I'll be fine.. It's just an illusion."

you thought to yourself as you stepped forward, still feeling like you were being watched. But it was just an illusion... wasn't it?

But it wasn't the feeling of being watched that scared you most, it was the new, clean furniture. The castle was creepy and old from the outside, but here? No.. The place was clean and tidy, as if it were prepared for the arrival of someone truly high-ranking.

You felt a shiver run down your spine and swallowed nervously. You were nervous, but you quickly grabbed a book from one of the tables and headed straight for the door.

Bang!!

The door slammed right in your face, causing a gasp to escape your lips, fearful... no, it was just air. You tried to open the door, only to discover it wasn't just air; it was locked.

"Didn't anyone teach you to respect other people's personal space? Or at least ask permission before entering?"

A deep, cold voice rang in your ears, causing your body to freeze and your eyes to widen..

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Having a close friendship with Adrian tepes.

Oh, you thought it was a mere ‘close’ friendship like trevor and sypha? No. You both are so close, you two act weird around each other.

Bullying each other most of the time, he says ‘have some class’ while playfully and purposefully looking at you up and dow with an exaggerated expression.

whenever you point at him, or simply having your hand palm his face, he bites.

He bites. I will state it again. He bites.

Okay, jokes all aside, you both are very close, he loves your company and mostly spends time with you, people nearly viewed you two as a couple despite the bicker and banter.

Well, you two were aware of the fact people assume you two as a couple, so you two took advantage of that, well.. playfully.

Empty threats, really, empty threats, he always says he’s going to kill you and eat you just to end up shoving his well cooked food down your throat.

Playful smacks, mostly from you though. oh, and playful flirting.

You both are like .. a mood swinging duo, you both playfully flirt then after 4 seconds, you both declare war on each other.

You wear his coat alot, usually when he does not have a coat rack to place his black coat on, you’re automatically his target.

cheek kisses, lots of them, honestly, you see why people view you two as a couple initially.

Sweet nicknames descending to diabolical nicknames.

in a best friend way, he loves to just say ‘i love you’ out of the blue, and holding your hand alot (like how he does with sypha.)

Most of your ‘arguments’ end up eating together quietly, sometimes he’d even feed you.

If you grew up in a household where you ate with your hands (i know i did.), you love feeding him with your hands, despite his fangs, you effortlessly brush through them, do not fall for those ‘i forgot the utensils’ from him.

When you two do activities together, you love singing along with him, maybe improvising some lyrics to the point you two become a Disney song probably.

no personal space, literally none. You are reading in the couch? Make space for him, he’s gonna be pressed up against your chest.

occasional sparring that ends up him chasing you down the castle or.. naps.

Regarding the esoteric side of him, you know most of it, you’re the first person he trusts if not sypha and trevor.

You both occasionally nap together, be it on the couch or his bed, really anywhere.

Feel free to add more to this! Honestly, i’d love to see these type of headcanons.

-FB

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SECOND CHANCE

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

what if you got a second chance to fix everything? when your fear kept your heart locked away, watching helplessly as mark grayson slipped through your fingers and loved someone else, the universe offers you an impossible gift—a journey back to where it all went wrong. this time, the words you swallowed will spill from your lips. this time, your trembling hands will reach for his. this time, you'll rewrite your story without regrets. because some loves are worth fighting for, even across time itself.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

god... imagine actually being in invincible, though, where you were childhood best friends with mark grayson—like, the kind of friendship where you were there for each other’s first everything, except for the mushy romantic stuff. first time figuring out what the hell algebra even is, first time learning where babies come from in that awkward sex ed class, first time sneaking into an r-rated movie and giggling the whole time because you were definitely not supposed to be there. the two of you walked out of there traumatized, by the way. growing up side by side, stumbling through life together. and of course, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, you fell in love with him. hard.

it wasn’t just one thing—it was everything. his stupid, dorky laugh, the way his voice softened when he talked to you, the way his brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, like you were the only one who could make him light up like that. you fell in love with the way he knew you—knew when you were upset before you did, knew exactly how to make you laugh even when you were sulking (though, ironically, he never seemed to notice this—the way your heart stuttered every time he looked at you). you fell in love with the way he was softer with you than anyone else, the way his sarcasm turned into something warm and teasing just for you, the way your inside jokes piled up like a secret language only the two of you spoke.

it was inevitable, really. like your heart had been sculpted from the very beginning to love this ridiculous, awkward, seance dog-obsessed dork. but the universe didn’t seem to care. because mark? mark loved amber. and you had to watch it happen—had to listen to him gush about her, had to smile through the way your ribs ached every time he canceled plans (or just never made them) because he was too busy saving the world or holding her hand in paris. you told yourself you were okay with it. that you were happy for him. and you were—of course you were. this was all he ever wanted, ever since you were kids dreaming about being superheroes together.

but it still hurt. it hurt so much that you started pulling away, letting the distance grow like weeds between you. you stopped texting first, stopped laughing as easily, stopped letting yourself believe you were someone he couldn’t live without. and when he did try—when he showed up at your door with that guilty look, when he texted you six times in a row like he was scared you’d disappear—you just got angrier. why now? why not before, when you were still right there, waiting?

you thought cutting him out would make it easier. but your heart didn’t get the memo. the dreams only got worse—visions of him holding your hand, of him whispering i love you like it was the easiest thing in the world. your subconscious was a traitor, replaying every impossible fantasy just to remind you of what you couldn’t have.

and then, as if the universe hadn’t messed with you enough, it decided to twist the knife one last time. one moment, you were walking home from your part-time job, head full of useless what-ifs—the next, screeching tires, blinding headlights, and then—

darkness.

and then your bed. your old bed. your old room. your old life.

you sit up, gasping, heart pounding like you’ve just run a marathon. what the hell? did you just—die? or worse—did you just wake up a year in the past, back before mark got his powers, before amber, before everything went wrong?

for a second, you just stare at the ceiling, waiting for the punchline. but the joke never comes. the air smells like your old laundry detergent. your phone buzzes with a text from mark—a stupid meme, the kind he’d send you every night back when things were simple.

and something in you snaps.

if this is real—if you really got a second chance—then screw waiting. screw fate. screw playing it safe. you’ve already lost him once. you’re not doing it again.

this time, you’re telling him everything.

and just like that, the two of you were staring at each other—eyes wide, lips parted, hearts pounding so loud you swear the whole world could hear it. his expression shifts from shock to something achingly tender, that same soft look he’s always given you when no one else was watching. the look that used to make your stomach flip, the one you thought was just friendship but now—now you know.

it wasn’t a perfect confession. your voice cracked, your hands shook, and halfway through, you almost chickened out. but you meant every word. every stupid, messy, love-drunk syllable of it. the way you’ve loved him since you were kids stealing candy from the corner store, since you were teenagers staying up too late talking about nothing, since you were here, in this moment, breathless and terrified and so, so in love it hurt.

and then—

"wait, hold on—you liked me back? no, no, wait. you still like me?"

his voice is barely a whisper, disbelieving, like he’s scared if he speaks too loud, this’ll all vanish. and then he’s laughing, shaky and breathless, running a hand through his hair like he can’t believe this is real. he admits it—all of it. how he’s loved you for years, how he tried to stop loving you, how he tried to like other people just to prove to himself he could. but it was never the same. no one made him laugh like you, no one understood him like you, no one made him feel like his chest was going to crack open just from looking at them.

"i thought—god, i thought if i ever told you, i’d ruin everything," he murmurs, voice rough. "that one day, i’d just—break. that i’d get on my knees and beg to kiss you before someone else did."

your laugh bubbles up, bright and unfiltered, the kind you haven’t heard from yourself in months. and mark—mark lights up, like you’ve just handed him the sun. his eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile so wide it’s almost stupid, and then—

"can i kiss you now?"

his voice is so small, so hopeful, and you nod before you can even think.

his hands cradle your face like you’re something precious, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s memorizing the feel of you. his fingers tremble—just slightly—and his breath hitches when he leans in, close enough that you can see every fleck of gold in his brown eyes, every flutter of his lashes. and then—

his lips meet yours, and god.

it’s everything. the way his mouth is soft but insistent, the way he sighs into you like he’s been waiting forever. your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes this quiet, desperate sound in the back of his throat that sends fire straight to your chest. his kiss is sweet and clumsy and perfect, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into it. i love you. i’ve always loved you. i’m never letting go.

when you finally pull back, breathless and dizzy, his forehead rests against yours. his eyes are half-lidded, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his lips kiss-swollen and curved into the softest smile.

"better than my dreams," he whispers.

and you realize—it is. because in your dreams, it was always fleeting. always out of reach. but this? this is real. his hands on your waist, his heartbeat under your palms, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

this is yours.

maybe you’d spent too long blaming the universe, convincing yourself that mark grayson wasn’t meant to be yours. but now, with this second chance, you weren’t going to let fear win. not again.

and so, you didn’t.

you and mark became everything to each other. dates at that stupid diner you loved, where he’d steal fries off your plate and grin when you fake-glared at him. late-night walks while the two of you share earphones, singing along to your favourite songs. the first time his powers kicked in—how he showed up at your window in the middle of the night, breathless and wide-eyed, whispering, "i can fly."

you’d never forget the way he held you close as you soared above the city, the wind tangling in your hair, his arms tight around you like he was scared to let go. how the two of you slow-danced in midair, swaying to a song only you could hear, his forehead pressed to yours as he murmured, "i’ve never been happier than when i’m with you."

you were there for his fight with nolan—how you stumbled into his hospital room afterward, where he laid bruised and bandaged, his voice breaking as he whispered, "i thought he was going to kill me. i was so worried about how you'd feel if i had died—" how you held him through the night, your fingers tracing the fading marks on his skin, promising him, "shh, baby, it's okay. you're okay. thank you for coming back alive for me. you’re not alone. you’ll never be alone again."

and he wasn’t. because mark was there for you, too—when you cried over stupid things, when you laughed until your stomach hurt, when you whispered "i love you" for the first time after you had confessed, when you gasped it against his skin the night the two of you became each other’s everything. it was clumsy and sweet and perfect, the way his hands shook as he touched you, the way he kept asking, "is this okay? are you sure?" like he couldn’t believe you wanted him just as much.

years passed like that—five of them, full of love and fights and making up and growing together. and then, one evening, mark got down on one knee.

you’d remember it forever. the way his hands trembled as he held yours, the way his voice wavered as he poured out his heart. "i’ve loved you since we were kids," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "and i want to love you for the rest of my life. please—marry me?"

you said yes before he even finished, your own tears spilling over as he slid the ring onto your finger. he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious.

your wedding was everything you’d ever dreamed. mark’s smile was so bright it hurt to look at, his eyes never leaving yours as you walked toward him. when it was time to say "i do," his voice cracked softly, and you could feel his hands shaking in yours. the kiss that followed was soft and lingering, his lips tasting like salt and happiness.

marriage was even better. lazy mornings tangled in sheets, mark pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder as the sun filtered through the curtains. stupid arguments over whose turn it was to do the dishes, only to end up laughing and kissing instead. the way he’d hug you from behind while you cooked, his chin resting on your head as he mumbled, "smells good, but you’re way prettier."

"is this is a new strategy for trying to turn me on?"

"depends, is it working?"

then came the night you saved a kid.

he was seven, small and scared, cornered by muggers in an alley. you and mark moved without thinking—him with his strength, you with your quick thinking. when it was over, the boy clung to your leg, trembling.

"you’re invincible," he whispered, awed, as he looked up at mark from behind your leg.

mark smiled, crouching down to his level. "yeah, but you know what’s even cooler? them." he pointed at you, and the kid giggled.

one thing led to another—foster papers, adoption forms, a tiny room in your house painted blue because that was his favorite color. now, your son curls up between you and mark on the couch, his small hands clutching a picture book as mark reads to him in silly voices. you watch them, your heart so full it aches.

this is your life. mark grayson, your husband, your hero, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passes you a cup of coffee. your son, grinning up at you with a gap-toothed smile, yelling "love you!" before racing off to school.

you don’t know who gave you this second chance. but as you sit there, surrounded by the two people who mean everything to you, you whisper a quiet thank you to the universe.

because this?

this is perfect.

but then, the universe remembered that it liked being cruel to you.

because as you were walking home with your son—his tiny hand warm in yours, his backpack bouncing with every step as he chattered about his day—you felt it. that prickle on the back of your neck, like the universe was watching. like it was smirking. and then—

screeching tires.

your body moved before your brain could catch up, arms wrapping around your baby, shielding him as you braced for impact. the last thing you saw was his wide, frightened eyes—

and then.

darkness.

again.

you wake up gasping, lungs burning like you’ve been drowning. the lights above you are too bright, stabbing into your skull. your mouth tastes like cotton, your throat raw, your limbs heavy and numb. but none of that matters. because your son—

"...m’son," you croak, the word scraping out of you like broken glass.

there’s a sharp inhale from the doorway. then—

"oh my god."

mark’s voice.

he’s at your side in an instant, his hands—too warm, too real—clutching yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. his face is pale, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for weeks. his eyes are red-rimmed, wet, his lips trembling as he chokes out, "you’re awake. you’re finally awake, i—i thought—"

he can’t even finish. he just presses his forehead to your knuckles, his shoulders shaking.

you don’t care. you can’t care. not when your baby isn’t here. but also, why does mark look younger?

"mark," you rasp, fingers twitching weakly in his grip. "where is he? is he okay?"

mark freezes. when he lifts his head, his brow is furrowed, confusion flickering through the relief. "...what? who are you—? no, no, wait, let me just—let me get you some water, okay? you’ve been out for weeks, your throat’s gotta be—"

he’s already pulling away, already turning toward the door, and no—

he doesn’t know.

the realization hits you like a truck.

the room tilts. the beeping of the monitor spikes. because suddenly, suddenly, you understand. the universe isn’t just cruel—it’s laughing at you. watching you with bared teeth as it waits for you to put the pieces together.

and when you do—

you break.

a sob tears out of you, raw and guttural, your hands flying to your mouth like you can physically shove the sound back in. but you can’t. it keeps coming, wave after wave, your chest heaving as you crumble. because it wasn’t real. none of it was real.

your son. your baby. the way he’d curl into your side during thunderstorms, small fingers clutching your shirt like you were his anchor. the way he’d shriek with laughter when mark tossed him in the air, his tiny arms flailing as he yelled "again, again!" the way he’d whisper "love you" every night before bed, his breath warm against your neck—

and mark. your mark. the way he’d smile at you over his morning coffee, his hair sticking up in every direction. the way his hands would linger on your waist when he thought no one was looking. the way he’d press his lips to your temple and murmur "you’re my favorite person" like it was a secret just for you.

gone.

all of it.

because the mark standing in front of you now—his hands hovering like he’s scared to touch you, his eyes wide with confusion—isn’t yours. not really. not the way he was in those ten years your mind invented for you.

and god, how are you supposed to look at him now? how are you supposed to meet his eyes without seeing your husband flicker across them—the one who knew every inch of you, the one who held you through nightmares and bad days and everything in between?

just a dream. just your mind playing the cruelest trick imaginable while you rotted in this hospital bed for ten weeks. ten weeks for ten years. ten weeks for a lifetime.

mark comes rushing back, water forgotten, his hands frantic as they cradle your face. "hey—hey, look at me, what’s wrong? please, talk to me, i—i don’t understand—"

but you can’t. you won’t. because how could you ever explain? how could you tell him about the life you lived, the son you loved, when it would only hurt him too? in fact, maybe he'd think you're crazy.

so you shake your head, biting your lip until you taste copper, your tears soaking his palms as he begs you to "just breathe, just breathe, i’ve got you—"

but it doesn’t help.

nothing helps.

because you didn’t just wake up from a coma.

you woke up from a life.

and no one will ever understand how much you lost.

days bled together after that, each one heavier than the last. you stayed curled up in your childhood bed, the blankets pulled tight around you like they could shield you from the gaping hole in your chest. the tears never really stopped—they just came in waves, sometimes silent sobs that shook your whole body, other times ugly, heaving cries that left you gasping for air. you hated this. hated the universe for playing such a cruel joke on you. hated that you could still smell your son's shampoo when you closed your eyes, still feel the ghost of your husband's lips against your forehead. most of all, you hated that no one could possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd lost—because to everyone else, it had never existed at all.

your parents tried, bless them. your mom would sit on the edge of your bed with trays of food that always went cold, her fingers brushing through your hair just like she did when you were little. your dad would linger in the doorway, his face drawn with worry, making awkward jokes that fell flat. you knew they were scared—they'd almost lost their child, after all—but their concern just made you feel worse. how could you explain that you were mourning people they'd never met? so you pushed them away, turning your face to the wall until they left with quiet sighs.

but mark... mark kept coming back. every night without fail, sometimes still in his suit with fresh cuts on his face, sometimes so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. he'd bring your favorite snacks, even though they usually went untouched. he'd tell you about his day, his voice soft and careful, like he was trying to tether you to reality with the sound of it. when you couldn't bring yourself to eat, he'd sit beside you and coax small bites into your mouth, his fingers gentle as they brushed crumbs from your lips. "just a little more," he'd murmur, his brow furrowed with concern. "please?"

one night, when the weight of everything became too much, you pretended to be asleep when he slipped through your window. you heard his quiet sigh as he sat on the edge of your bed, felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned over you. his fingers were trembling when they brushed the hair from your face, so light it was barely a touch at all.

"i wish i could take this pain from you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "seeing you like this... it kills me. i should've been better. i shouldn't have been such a coward that you don't even trust me enough to tell me what's hurting you."

your breath caught in your chest at his words, so similar to the ones your dream-mark had said years ago (or was it weeks? time didn't make sense anymore). the ache in your heart grew sharper, more insistent, as mark kept talking.

"i broke up with amber," he admitted, his thumb tracing absent circles on the back of your hand. "i... i only got with her to try to forget how i felt about you. and that wasn't fair to her. because the truth is..." he took a shaky breath. "the truth is i've been in love with you since we were kids. i was just too scared to ruin what we had. but seeing you like this... i can't stay quiet anymore."

the similarities were too much—the tremor in his voice, the way his hands shook as he spoke, even the words themselves. it was like hearing an echo from a life that never was. hot tears pricked at your eyes again, spilling over before you could stop them.

mark's breath hitched when he saw you were awake. "hey, no, don't cry," he murmured, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't have—"

"no," you croaked, your voice raw from disuse. you reached up to grip his wrist, holding it against your cheek. "don't stop."

his eyes searched yours, wide and hopeful and so painfully familiar. "i promise i'll do better," he whispered, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "no more being scared. no more running away. i'm going to love you the way you deserve, if you'll let me."

and for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed, the hollow ache in your chest didn't feel quite so unbearable.

mark became a constant presence in your life again—not just his nightly visits, but quick stops during the day between hero work. he'd swing by with steaming containers of your favorite takeout, determined to put some weight back on you ("you're gonna disappear if you keep this up," he'd murmur, pressing a kiss to your temple as he handed you chopsticks). new issues of seance dog appeared on your nightstand weekly, their spines already cracked from where he'd read them first. sometimes he'd just plop down on your bed and scroll through tiktok, his shoulder warm against yours as he showed you silly animal videos or dumb memes he'd saved because they reminded him of you or if he thought you'd find them funny.

your parents noticed the change, their worried expressions softening whenever mark made you laugh—really laugh—for the first time in weeks. you could see the relief in their eyes when you started eating more than a few bites at meals, when you began leaving your room for more than just the bathroom.

but recovery wasn't linear. some mornings you'd wake up reaching for a small body that wasn't there, your arms aching with phantom weight. you'd catch yourself listening for little footsteps that would never come. the grief would crash over you so violently you couldn't breathe, couldn't move from where you'd collapsed on the bathroom floor. other times, you'd tense at every car horn, every shout from the tv, waiting for the universe to remember you—to rip this fragile happiness away like it had before.

mark didn't know why you sometimes flinched when he touched you, why your breath hitched when he did certain things—the way he'd tilt his head when confused, the particular cadence of his laugh when he was genuinely amused. these were your husband's mannerisms, the little things you'd fallen in love with over a decade that never was. it was bittersweet, loving them all over again.

then one evening, your dad mentioned offhand how terrible it was about the guardians of the globe. your fork clattered to your plate. "what?"

"you didn't know?" your mom frowned. "it happened just days after your accident. the whole team was..."

the words faded into static. this had happened in your dream too. as if summoned, the news flashed on the tv behind them—breaking coverage of a battle downtown. your stomach dropped when you saw the blurry footage of mark and nolan trading blows that shook buildings.

no. no no no.

your fingers dug into the tablecloth as you watched, heart hammering. this couldn't be happening again. not like this. you found yourself praying to any god that might be listening—please let him survive this. please let it end like before. the familiar prickle of being watched crawled up your neck, but when you glanced around, there was nothing. just your parents' concerned faces and the tv showing nolan rocketing into space alone.

you were moving before the news anchor finished speaking, barely registering your parents' confused calls as you bolted to your room. you knew exactly where mark would be—the gda's hidden medical wing, same as in your dream. throwing on the first hoodie you found (mark's, smelling faintly of his cologne), you were out the door before your parents could stop you.

and déjà vu hits you like a punch to the gut because everything was so painfully familiar. the narrow hallway with its too-bright emergency lights, the quiet hum of advanced technology lining the walls, the antiseptic smell that made your nose wrinkle. there, outside the white room with its familiar rhythmic beeping, stood debbie—her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, fingers clutching a crumpled tissue. she immediately wipes her tears away when she sees you speed walking towards her, her red-rimmed eyes widening with concern and something like relief.

"oh honey," she breathes, pulling you into a tight hug that smells like lavender and grief. "i'm so glad you're okay—that you're recovering." her hands tremble against your back, and you can feel how much older she seems in this moment, the weight of nearly losing both her son and husband pressing down on her. you rub comforting circles between her shoulder blades, the way you used to—no, the way you remember doing in another life.

"he's inside," debbie whispers when she pulls back, her voice raw. she tries to smile but it wobbles at the edges. "i think... i think he needs you right now more than he needs me." there's no jealousy in her words, just a mother's quiet understanding. you squeeze her hands, reassuring her that he loves her, that he'll be okay, that you'll take care of him. debbie thanks you again, her fingers brushing your cheek like you're something precious, before she murmurs about needing some air and walks away.

the door handle is cold under your palm. your breath stutters as you push it open, and suddenly you're standing in a scene ripped straight from your memories—the sterile white walls, the steady beep of the heart monitor, the way the dim lighting casts long shadows across mark's battered form. your chest tightens with a stress and anxiety so visceral it steals your breath. just like the first time—wait, the first time? that was just a dream, wasn't it?

you shake the thought away as you rush to mark's side, your knees hitting the floor with a thud that echoes in the quiet room. and just like before, mark crumbles the moment he sees you, his face twisting with pain and relief as he leans into your embrace. his body is warm and solid against yours, his tears soaking through the fabric of your—his—hoodie as he sobs, "i thought he was going to kill me. i was so worried about how you'd feel if i had died—"

the words hit you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs. because that's exactly what he said in your 'dream,' syllable for syllable, the same ragged desperation in his voice. instinctively, your arms tighten around him, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other traces the fading bruises on his skin—purple and yellow blooms you remember kissing better in another life. "shh, baby, it's okay," you murmur, pressing your lips to his temple. he shudders at the contact, leaning into you like a flower toward the sun. "you're okay. thank you for coming back alive for me. you’re not alone. you’ll never be alone again."

mark makes a broken sound in the back of his throat, his fingers clutching at your hoodie like he's afraid you'll disappear. "promise?" he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.

"promise," you breathe, and suddenly the pieces are slotting together in your mind with terrifying clarity. the deja vu, the familiar words, the way mark's hands fit against yours like they were made to. maybe it was real. maybe it wasn't this reality, but it was a reality—some other timeline where you loved and lost and loved again. maybe the universe didn't hate you as much as you thought. maybe, just maybe, you were meant to be by mark's side. the hope that blooms in your chest is fragile but bright, a tiny flame in the darkness. you could have that life again. you could get married, could hold your son in your arms once more.

the thought makes you hold mark tighter, your fingers tangling in his hair as he nuzzles into the curve of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin, his heartbeat steady under your palm. real. alive. yours. maybe not yet in the way you remember, but you have time. you have hope. and for now, that's enough.

sooo this was supposed to be a quick little 500-word flash fiction to distract myself from my mountain of assessments (due tomorrow... whoops). but then my brain went "but what if we made it hurt MORE?" and suddenly i'm 5k words deep in emotional damage at 1 AM with word open and my unfinished homework in the other word document. priorities, am i right? i swear i started writing like "oh this'll be a little sad!" but then the angst gremlin in my brain took over and next thing i know i'm sniffling at my own writing like "why do i DO this to myself??" but also lowkey proud of how much it hurts? the way i had to take emotional damage breaks while writing this... worth it. hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent pain fest as much as i enjoyed creating it! now if you'll excuse me, i'll be over here giving myself a pat on the back while simultaneously crying over my poor life choices (both fictional and academic). teehee ♡

[some-gurl-idk]

squeamish neck kisses

mark grayson x gn!reader

content: this is for my 300 followers event! this is the ask submitted for it by @lhester <3

a tapping at the window.

you glance up from your phone at the sound, pausing the video you were watching. a quiet sigh escapes you as you stand. bare feet pad across the room as you approach the window, fingers easily working at the lock.

mark smiles sweetly at you from behind the glass, fingers spread on the windowsill. when you’ve got it open, he floats through and lands behind you.

“a text that you were coming would’ve been nice.”

he sheds his sneakers beside your closet door before turning back to face you. his hair is mussed from the flight to your home, complimenting the way he squints. the wind most likely dried his eyes.

“sorry, sorry. thought i’d surprise you.”

he slinks closer, arms wrapping around your waist. his eyes are soft, even as they blink a few times more than necessary. in the dark of your room, they look more gray than blue.

“mission accomplished.”

he huffs as the words roll from your tongue, leaning in to carefully press his lips to yours. his teeth graze your top lip as he tilts his head, hands toying with the hem of your shirt. you part, giving him an unimpressed look.

“give me a moment to close the window, vincible.”

mark lightly protests, though he backs off so you can turn your back to him. as you shut the window and turn the lock, he saunters to your bed. discarding his zip up jacket, his eyes land on you again. you close the curtains.

you spin and begin treading to your bed. he stops you midway, arms finding their way back around your waist. his nose prods at your neck, running along the soft skin. bumps rise along your skin at the chill of the tip of his nose.

“missed you,” he murmurs. his words dance across your skin like little huffs of breath.

“missed you too.” your whispered response earns a gentle squeeze in hid arms. his hands slowly slide under the hem of your shirt and rest on your lower back.

it’s silent for a moment as he hugs you. it doesn’t last long before his head tilts and his lips are pressed to your flesh. he places open mouthed kisses that leave a suction sound when he parts to land his next.

a breathy sound escapes from your lips as he brushes a certain sweet spot. having heard you, he brushes over it again experimentally. a little laugh escapes you.

now, mark is more precise. he takes note in his mind in which areas of your neck earn what kinds of reactions. after a giggle from the spot connecting your jaw to your neck, his arms tighten around you and he starts his assault.

his lips brush against every spot he can remember, giggles and laughter escaping you. you squirm in his arms, though his grip on you leaves no room for getaway. as an open mouthed kiss is pressed to the spot on the side of your neck, you let out another wave of laughter and your knees buckle.

rather than keep you upright, mark goes down with you. his mind doesn’t move quick enough to think to grab you, though he stops himself from falling on top of you. the groan you let out is enough for him to smile sheepishly.

“sorry.” he’s moving again, rising to his feet and helping you to yours. as you plop onto the bed, he climbs on after you and drapes himself atop of you.

his cheek presses to your collarbone and his arm wraps around your middle. you shake your head, your own arm wrapping around his waist.

“you’re a mess.”

his mouth opens to protest, though it closes as he thinks. you’re right, aren’t you?

“yeah, i guess i am.”

A/N: i’ll admit, not my best work, though i hope you enjoyed anyways. i feel i haven’t written for mark in a while and i would like to get back into it :(

masterlist

[some-gurl-idk]

Invincible characters react to their first kiss with you ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕩 𝕊𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕕𝕖; ♡⋆.ೃ࿔*

Rex stood with his arms crossed, watching Y/n talk to Bulletproof. She was smiling just a little, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, answering something shyly — and it made something twist inside him.

He didn’t even know why he was mad. It just irritated him.

Why was she like that with him?

Why not with him?

Loudly — on purpose — he called out:

— Oh, cool. New dynamic duo? Y/n and Mr. Emotionless?

They both turned. Bulletproof just gave a short nod, not getting involved, while Y/n looked down awkwardly.

— What? — she asked softly as she approached Rex.

— Nothing, — he scoffed. — Just wondering if you're gonna be chatting with him all the time now instead of me.

She blinked.

— We were just talking…

— Yeah. I saw. Smiling at him like he's a stand-up comic, not a walking brick wall.

Y/n frowned a little.

— Are you… jealous?

He made a face.

— No. I’ve got eyes, that’s all. I remember when you couldn’t say two words around me — now suddenly you’re Miss Chatterbox with *him*? Feels kinda… weird.

She went quiet, then said softly but seriously:

— With him, it’s just like talking to a friend.

But with you… it’s different.

Rex looked away, scratched the back of his neck.

— Well… good. ’Cause, you know, I’m kinda used to you being my awkward, shy, ridiculously cute Y/n. Not someone who chats up every guy around.

She smiled a little:

— I’m still her.

It’s just… being around you is harder. Because I like you.

He froze for a second, then blurted:

— Damn…

— Was that supposed to be adorable and flustering at the same time?

’Cause, yeah, it worked.

She giggled, leaning her head lightly against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her casually and muttered:

— Alright, alright… Just no more “buddy-buddy” team-ups, okay?

They stood close — a little closer than friends, a little quieter than usual. Rex was looking at Y/n thoughtfully.

— So… — he said suddenly, — did you ever have someone before me?

She flinched just a little but didn’t look away.

— No… I didn’t.

— No one? — he squinted.

— Mhm. Not even… — her voice dropped. — Not even a kiss.

He froze, then raised his brows and stepped in closer, smirking:

— Hold up. Are you telling me… this — he motioned around her face with his finger and gently nudged her shoulder — this sweet, awkward, horned Y/n — and no one even tried?

Y/n looked down and shrugged:

— I… never really thought about it.

— No way, — he snorted. — What, was everyone blind?

She flushed even deeper, hiding a little in her hoodie collar.

— Ah, I get it now, — he said, drawing it out. — You were saving the moment. For someone… special. Like, I don’t know, some incredibly amazing guy.

He pulled an innocent face, clearly referring to himself. Y/n gave a shy little smile:

— Maybe…

Rex gave a thoughtful hum:

— Well, if that’s the case… I guess I could make the sacrifice.

She looked up at him — surprised, embarrassed. And he was already speaking softer now, with that look that always made her heart beat faster:

— Want me to be your first kiss? Only if you promise not to compare anyone to me afterward. No one’s gonna top it anyway.

Y/n giggled through the blush:

— Cocky much?

He leaned in a little, voice dropping to a playful whisper:

— Mhm. But you’re still saying yes, right?

She nodded.

Rex leaned in and kissed her — slow, gentle, like it wasn’t just a kiss but something a little more. And when he pulled back, he smirked again:

— There. Officially spoiled now.

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 𝔼𝕧𝕖 ˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

The rooftop was quiet, bathed in the amber hues of the setting sun. The city buzzed below, distant and unfocused, like background noise in a dream. Up here, it felt like the world had slowed down just for the two of them.

Eve sat with her legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees as she gazed out toward the skyline. Her hair shimmered in the dying light, like it had caught fire in the best way. Y/n sat beside her, close but careful — her hands in her lap, fingers nervously tracing the hem of her sweater.

They had been talking for nearly an hour now. Not about missions. Not about powers. Just… about things. About the little thoughts that filled their heads at night. Favorite songs. Old cartoons. Secret fears. Eve had a way of listening that made you feel seen, and Y/n always found herself saying more than she planned.

Then Eve turned slightly, a playful smile on her lips.

— You’re blushing again.

Y/n looked down quickly, tugging her sleeves over her hands.

— Am I?

— Mhm. You always do that when I look at you too long.

Y/n tried to laugh it off, cheeks now fully warm.

— Maybe I’m just cold?

— Sure, that’s why you turn red like a strawberry.

Eve nudged her gently with her knee, teasing but soft. Y/n peeked up through her lashes, finally letting out a breath.

— It’s not just the way you look at me. It’s… you. You always make me nervous.

Eve blinked, genuinely surprised.

— Me? Why?

— You’re confident. You always know what to say. And you’re beautiful. It’s kind of… a lot, when I’m sitting this close to you.

Eve was quiet for a moment, her smile dimming into something softer.

— That’s funny. Because you’re the one who makes me nervous.

Y/n looked up, eyes wide.

— Wait. Seriously?

— Yeah, seriously. You’re so… genuine. You don’t fake anything. It’s like when I talk to you, I can’t just hide behind all the stuff I usually do. And that’s kinda scary. In a good way.

Y/n blinked fast, heart thudding.

Then she said it. Barely above a whisper.

— I’ve… never kissed anyone before.

The words lingered in the air, delicate and vulnerable. Eve’s eyes searched her face, not for weakness — but for truth. And when she found it, her expression only softened further.

— Never?

Y/n shook her head slowly, tucking her hands under her chin like she could hide in them.

— I always thought I’d know when it was right. But it never was. Until now, maybe.

Eve inched closer, slowly — like she was afraid to break the moment.

— Y/n… would you be okay if… I was your first?

Y/n froze, breath caught in her throat. Then, after a beat, she nodded.

Eve reached up and gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing Y/n’s cheek. The touch was light, reverent. Their eyes met — and held.

When Eve leaned in, she moved slowly, giving Y/n every second to change her mind. But she didn’t. She leaned in too, heart pounding, and when their lips touched, it was like a sigh — soft, unsure, but full of promise.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. No fireworks, no rushing. Just warmth. Care. A quiet electricity that pulsed between them like a heartbeat.

When they pulled back, Eve rested her forehead gently against Y/n’s and whispered, her voice a mix of wonder and playfulness:

— Told you. Not so scary.

Y/n smiled, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes shining.

— Only because it was you.

Eve let out a small, breathy laugh and brushed her thumb lightly along Y/n’s knuckles.

— Guess that means I did something right, huh?

— You did everything right.

And for a while, they just sat there — shoulder to shoulder, hearts a little lighter than before, as the sky shifted from gold to deep blue.

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕪𝕤𝕠𝕟 ˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

The park was nearly empty by the time they reached the quiet path. The wind rustled lazily through dry leaves, and the rare lampposts seemed to breathe light softly, not in a hurry to disturb their solitude.

Y/n sat down on the bench first, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her fingers. Mark sat beside her, just slightly to the side — that awkward kind of politeness when you want to be close, but you're afraid to scare someone off.

— "Feels like the whole world’s already asleep," he mumbled, staring into the shadows beneath the trees.

— "But we’re not," she replied softly, with a gentle smile.

A bit of silence followed. Then Mark started telling her about how Rex tried to heat up a frozen burrito in the lab microwave and nearly caused a small explosion. Y/n let out a laugh she couldn’t hold back, hiding her mouth with her sleeve, and Mark smiled with relief.

— "I’m glad you came," he said after a pause, scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks were slightly pink, though he tried to hide it by looking away. — "You always kind of… hide a little. But I’m really glad you didn’t hide from me."

Y/n squeezed her fingers together.

— "I do hide," she admitted quietly. — "I’m not like the rest of you. Sometimes it’s easier — to stay quiet. Just to be near."

He turned toward her — and this time, his whole face flushed. Even the tips of his ears and his nose turned pink.

— "But I like when you're near. Even when you’re quiet. Especially then."

She lowered her eyes but didn’t turn her head. Stayed silent just a bit longer than she should have.

— "Can I… say something dumb?"

— "Only if I get to say something dumb too," he replied with a soft smile — and another blush.

She exhaled a little:

— "You would’ve noticed anyway. Even if I never said anything."

— "Noticed what?"

— "That I like you."

He froze, holding his breath for just a second. And when her words fully registered — he flushed instantly and visibly. Cheeks, ears, even his neck.

— "I… me too. For a while now. A lot."

Y/n clutched the hem of her sweater awkwardly.

— "Do you… do you want to kiss me?"

He swallowed, nodded quickly, then exhaled a shaky breath:

— "I do. But only if you do too."

She didn’t say anything — just nodded, barely.

Mark leaned in slowly — carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile. His lips met hers gently, almost hesitantly. The kiss was light, warm — like breath in the cold. So careful. So honest.

When he pulled back, Y/n still had her eyes closed. Then she whispered, barely audible:

— "That was my first."

Mark froze. Then blushed again — deep and bright.

— "Then I… I hope it was… good. I really tried."

She giggled softly, and he smiled too — calmer now, though still visibly pink.

— "Want to know something dumb?" he asked.

— "Yeah."

— "I wanted to do that ever since… you accidentally froze the door and then apologized to it."

Y/n snorted, clutching at his sleeve.

— "And you still wanted to kiss me after that?"

— "Even more."

She leaned in a bit, resting her cheek against his shoulder. And he, still a little flustered, wrapped an arm around her — careful, like holding a fragile gift.

And that’s how they stayed — in that corner of the park, beneath the quiet glow of the streetlamps. As if the lights themselves were softly blessing the beginning of something new.

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕟 ˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

They were sitting aboard a small observation shuttle, quietly drifting in orbit above Earth. Through the transparent dome above their heads, the planet glowed in its fragile, blue beauty.

Allen turned to Y/n — his smile was wide, but not cocky. Just… warm. Kind.

– You know, – he said, tilting his head slightly, – you humans have this amazing thing. You give meaning to "firsts."

Y/n looked at him, a little puzzled.

– First meetings. First words. First glances. First kisses...

He paused, then continued a bit softer.

– Where I’m from, it’s more about efficiency. But the longer I spend here, the more I understand – a "first" isn’t just a moment. It’s… a memory. Something you keep.

He looked at her more seriously.

– I don’t want to just be part of your experience. I want to be something… good, if you’ll let me.

Y/n froze, looking at his face, at the kind, slightly sad eyes that suddenly held an entire universe of understanding.

– I… – her voice trembled. – I’ve never…

He nodded gently.

– I know.

Y/n gave a shy smile, her cheeks flushing.

– You don’t have to…

– I don’t have to. I just… want to. But only if you do too.

She was quiet for a long time, looking into his eyes. Then – slowly, but steadily – she nodded:

– Then… okay.

Allen leaned forward carefully, giving her time to change her mind. His hand lightly touched hers — warm, steady. And when their lips met — for a second, for a breath, for forever — she didn’t just feel nervousness… she felt a deep, quiet calm.

He pulled away gently, smiling:

– That’s going to be one of those “firsts” I’ll remember forever too.

Y/n let out a soft laugh through her light daze:

– Even though you’re from another planet?

He winked:

– Especially because I’m from another planet.

Allen pulled back slightly, and there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He cleared his throat like something was caught there and said as casually as he could:

– So, if I understand human customs correctly… now we’re supposed to… eat ice cream?

Y/n blinked, confused:

– What?

– Or… wait… – He frowned in thought. – Watch a movie under a blanket? Or officially declare ourselves in love? Is that… protocol?

Y/n giggled, covering her mouth:

– No, not… I mean, not all at once.

– Aha! Good. Because I’m still not sure when exactly I’m supposed to give you flowers or meet your parents.

He leaned in slightly and whispered:

– I actually prepared a speech. Just in case I had to ask your father for permission to date you.

Y/n nearly choked with laughter:

– What?!

Allen shrugged with mock offense:

– I put effort into it! It included the line: “I respect your daughter and, as a representative of the Coalition of Planets, I humbly request your diplomatic support in the development of our romantic alliance.”

– You’re insane, – she laughed breathlessly.

He nodded with mock seriousness:

– It’s been medically confirmed. I have two hearts. Which means I can be twice as in love.

Y/n blushed, staring at him, and then he grew unexpectedly serious:

– But right now, both are beating for you.

And for just a second, despite all the laughter and awkwardness, her heart beat a little faster too.

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 ℝ𝕠𝕓𝕠𝕥 ˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

They sat on the edge of the tech deck, surrounded by the soft hum of machines and dim lighting. It was almost empty here — as if time had slowed down. Y/n kept sneaking glances at him, trying to understand how he felt. Not how he looked — but what he felt like. The texture of his place in the world.

— You look a lot, — he said quietly, not looking directly at her. Just stating it.

Y/n flinched.

— I’m sorry. I just… — she swallowed. — I can’t help thinking that you…

He turned to her slightly, calm and composed:

— Not him. Not one of them. Not Rex.

She gripped the sleeves of her sweater, exhaling through her teeth:

— Yeah. You talk like him… look like him… But you’re not him. And I keep waiting for someone to realize that — besides me.

He was quiet for a long time.

— It matters to me… that you see it.

Y/n looked down, then slowly turned her head toward him.

— Can I ask something weird?

— All of your questions interest me.

— Well… — she hesitated, — what’s it like? Being… you know… real?

He looked at his hand, like he still wasn’t quite used to it.

— Complicated. Unpredictable. Sometimes too… loud. But it’s better than living behind glass.

Y/n blushed a little, but didn’t look away:

— Can I… touch? Just… curious.

He looked slightly surprised, but didn’t pull away.

— You can.

She carefully reached out and touched his wrist, running her fingers along his skin — it was warmer than she expected. Soft. Almost normal. But still… not quite. It felt like touching something that wasn’t supposed to be real, and yet was.

— Amazing, — she whispered. — It’s like… someone built a person out of all these parts, but it still turned into something real.

He smiled faintly — barely noticeable.

— Maybe that’s what a person is.

She stayed still, still holding his hand.

— You’re not like the others. I don’t know how to explain it… but it’s not about the body. It’s about you.

For the first time, he looked a little uncertain. And quietly said:

— Then maybe I don’t have to be afraid of being myself around you.

She was still holding his hand — uncertain, but not letting go. At some point, their fingers intertwined, and Y/n flinched slightly at the unexpected contact. He looked at her slowly, as if considering something.

— You’re trembling, — he said almost in a whisper.

— I… I’m not used to being this… close, — she murmured. — With someone who feels everything so clearly.

He lowered his gaze.

— I’m not used to it either. This… is a new protocol.

She let out a soft chuckle, then quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed. The corners of his lips twitched — almost a smile.

— Would you like me to try something off-protocol? — he asked, looking at her with such quiet intensity it made her chest tighten.

She couldn’t answer right away. She just nodded slightly. Barely.

Robot slowly leaned in — carefully, as if approaching the edge of a cliff. His hand was still in hers. And the moment their faces drew close, Y/n closed her eyes.

And then their lips met.

The kiss was quiet. Hesitant. Not out of fear — but out of newness. As if they were both learning to breathe again. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t long — but it held more than just a touch. It held recognition. An attempt to be honest. Courage.

When he pulled away, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer. Then she opened them — and for the first time, looked at him differently. Not as someone strange or confusing. But as someone real.

— That was… — she stumbled, but her eyes were glowing, — …very off-protocol.

— Then I’m glad I broke it, — he replied softly.

Y/n laughed — quietly, blushing, full of warmth. And he simply looked at her, as if truly seeing her for the first time — and understanding: yes, he had Rex’s body… but to her, he was becoming himself.

𝕊𝕙𝕪!𝕐/𝕟 𝕩 𝔻𝕦𝕡𝕝𝕚-𝕂𝕒𝕥𝕖 ˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

They sat on the roof of an abandoned building, catching their breath after the fight. The sky was painted in golden-pink shades of sunset, and in the distance, the echoes of battle still lingered. The air smelled of dust, blood, and exhaustion — and yet, it was surprisingly quiet.

Kate stretched, brushing grime off her shoulder.

— Honestly? You were amazing. I saw how you covered for Monster Girl — that was badass.

Y/n smiled shyly, glancing away.

— I just… acted without thinking. Probably just lucky.

Kate turned to her, a bit closer now, her voice softer.

— That wasn’t luck. That was you. Every time, you're getting braver.

Y/n blushed, hugging her knees. But she stole a glance at her friend — a little longer than usual. Kate noticed. Her gaze grew warmer.

— What?

— I just thought… — Y/n whispered, unsure, — you’re beautiful.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Then Kate gave a small chuckle.

— And you’re adorable, you know that?

Y/n let out a tiny squeak and hid her face in her knees.

— I mean it, — Kate added, quieter now. — And… I noticed. The way you look at me.

Y/n tensed, ready to retreat, but Kate leaned in slightly.

— I like it.

Before Y/n could get scared of her own feelings, Kate gently leaned forward. Their lips met — soft, hesitant, but intentional. It was a post-battle kiss. A kiss after everything. Between two people who were already close… but only now brave enough to admit it.

When they pulled away, a quiet cough came from the edge of the rooftop:

— Ahem.

One of Kate’s clones stood by the broken railing.

— Sorry to interrupt, but next time, could you maybe give us, the duplicates, a heads-up before… y’know, that starts?

Y/n turned bright red, covering her face. Kate sighed deeply.

— You’re my clone. Haven’t you learned tact?

— I’m a copy, not a saint. I was on lookout duty… and then this happened. What was I supposed to do, not watch?

Kate rolled her eyes and turned to Y/n with a half-smile.

— Remind me to delete her later.

Y/n laughed softly, hiding her face against Kate’s shoulder. And for the first time all day, her laughter wasn’t nervous — it was warm and full of light.

[some-gurl-idk]

My Ornery Old Man

Alucard x Reader

Contains: Alucard x Reader, tooth rotting fluff, wolfcard, Nocturne timeline based

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You wake up in your large shared chambers in Adrian’s castle, lying on your side. As you stir, you feel a weight on your hip. Looking down, you see Alucard in his wolf form. He does this sometimes.

The white wolf’s eyes are closed, his face nestled against you as he naps. Though you wish your love would stay in his human form, you can’t help the way your heart swells at the sight of the (very old, immortal) puppy resting so peacefully. You don’t quite understand why he does this, but he’s over 300 years old—you’ve long since decided to just let him be. If this brings him comfort, you won’t say a thing.

"Adrian, dear," you murmur, reaching down to scratch the soft fur between his ears.

"My love," you whisper again. The wolf’s eyes finally open, golden and sleepy. He shifts slightly, crawling up the bed so that his head and paws now rest on your torso instead of your hip. You gently run your fingers through his fur, humming in satisfaction as he settles.

"My love… I want to see you," you say softly.

He huffs in response, turning his head away to rest more firmly on your stomach as if to ignore your request, as he stays draped over you.

"Ornery old man," you mumble under your breath.

That must have done it, because the next time you blink, the wolf resting on your stomach is no longer a wolf.

"Old man? Ornery?" Alucard scoffs. His long white hair spills over you as he glares, amber eyes sharp with indignation.

You giggle, sitting up slightly as you run your fingers through his hair. Your thumb presses gently between his brows, smoothing out the slight scowl on his face. For a moment, he closes his eyes, relishing your touch, before blinking up at you again.

"My love, you may look young, but you are 300 years old," you remind him, voice teasing. "I’d say that gives you every right to be an easily aggravated, stubborn old man."

He intertwines his long, pale fingers with yours. "I don’t like it when you call me names, my dear," he murmurs with a small pout.

You trace your thumb over his bottom lip, amused. "You’re such a sensitive senior individual."

"Darling..." His voice is low, a warning.

You smile. "I’m sorry, my love. I forget how easily I can get under your skin."

You continue tracing his lips before gently pulling back the side of his mouth, revealing his fangs. Your thumb brushes over one of them, marveling at its sharpness.

He continues talking, ignoring the fact that you have your fingers in his mouth because—well, he’s sweet that way. "However," he mumbles, his words slightly muffled by your touch, "you are the only one capable of truly getting under my skin, which I have made so thick over three centuries… and you simply love to bully me. Such a cruel-hearted woman, being so unkind to such a tired old man."

You chuckle, still tracing his fangs. You’ve always wondered about them. He never uses them, not even for sustenance. Perhaps that’s why, over the years, he has lost so much of his coloring—his once golden hair now nearly white, his skin just as pale.

"My sweet boy," you coo, watching his reaction.

He always finds it amusing when you call him "boy" despite his age, but he loves it nonetheless.

"If I didn’t find my way under your skin at least once a day, I’d be such a bore, my love. All my charisma would be sucked right out of me," you giggle.

You finally remove your fingers from his mouth and return them to his hair, massaging his scalp as he sighs in contentment. He nuzzles into your lap, his lips curving into a small smile.

"Tell me you love me," he murmurs dramatically. "I’m so tired and worn out my love. I must be reassured that I mean a great deal to you, my dear."

"Adrian," you whisper, caressing his cheek. "You are my sunrise."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your wrist. "And you, my sunset, my love."

[some-gurl-idk]

REVERENCE

pairing sinister! mark grayson x gender neutral reader

the bedroom is vast, the sheets are silk, and the blood on his hands is yours to worship. mark grayson comes home to you—not as the hero the world thinks he is, but as something far more devoted. something far more dangerous. and when he presses his bloodstained lips to your skin, murmuring about the cities he burned in your name, you don’t flinch. you never do. (you love him too much for that.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

the bedroom is vast—high ceilings, obsidian-black walls lined with gold filigree, a canopy bed so large it could fit a dozen people, though only one matters. you. lounging against the plush headboard, you sigh and toss your book aside, the leather-bound volume landing soundlessly on the silk sheets. boredom gnaws at you, sharp and relentless—until the doors slam open.

there he is.

the doors burst open with a crash, and mark strides in, his yellow cape flaring behind him like the wings of some wrathful god—except it’s torn, singed at the edges, and splattered in crimson. the metallic tang of blood floods the room before he even takes a second step. his gloves, usually a bright, pristine yellow, are soaked dark red, fingers leaving smears on the doorframe as he shoves it shut behind him with a thud that rattles the walls.

he doesn’t blink. doesn’t even seem to notice the blood dripping from his hairline, trailing down his cheek like war paint, or the way it rolls off his knuckles and splatters onto the marble floor. his eyes—black as the void behind his visor, hungry, yours—lock onto you the second he steps inside, as if nothing else in the world exists.

"my love," he croons, voice thick with reverence, and in an instant, he’s on the bed, slowly crawling toward you like a starving man offered a feast. his gloves sink into the silk sheets, leaving behind smudged, rust-colored prints as he moves. droplets fall from his sleeves, blooming into dark roses on the ivory fabric. you spare the stains a single, fleeting glance before lifting your gaze back to him, unimpressed.

he doesn’t care. he wants you to see it—wants you to know exactly what he’s done for you, how far he’ll go. his breath comes heavy, uneven, his lips curling into something between a grin and a snarl as he closes the distance between you.

"messy," you mutter, nose wrinkling.

he laughs, low and rough, pressing his forehead against your knee. "you should see the other guys."

he reaches you, pausing just inches away, his breath hot and ragged against your skin—iron and smoke, the scent of battle still clinging to him. then, with a reverence that borders on madness, he takes your hand, his bloodstained fingers curling around yours like a sinner clutching a relic. his lips press against your knuckles, searing, possessive, leaving behind a smear of crimson that lingers like the ghost of his touch. the blood is warm. he is warm. and when he pulls back, his eyes burn with something feral, something yours, and the heat of it coils low in your chest, thick and syrupy, like honey laced with poison.

you’ve known this boy since you were both children—since he was all scraped knees and too-bright smiles, since you were the one who never flinched at the sight of blood. (you were raised in it, after all. trained to spill it before you could even spell your own name. cecil tried to wash the violence from your hands, but some stains never fade.) mark had been different back then—softer, kinder, his darkness still just a whisper under his skin. but you saw it. the way his breath hitched the first time he saw a corpse. the way his eyes lit up when you showed him how to snap a neck cleanly. you had to, of course, because at the time you thought it was the only reasonable way to deal with bullies.

you never told him it was wrong.

why would you?

he loved you for it.

and now—now he comes home to you with countries crumbling in his wake, his hands drenched in the blood of those who dared exist outside your worship. he kills for you. lives for you. and you let him, because his devotion tastes like victory, because the way he looks at you—like you hung the stars just to watch them burn—makes your pulse stutter like a dying thing gasping for air.

"you’re disgusting," you murmur, thumb brushing the blood from his bottom lip.

he grins, all teeth, and catches your wrist, pressing another kiss to your palm. "you love it."

you do.

god, you do.

"i razed a country for you today," he murmurs, thumb tracing your wrist. "burned their cities, slaughtered those who resisted. they’ll chant your name now—or they’ll die screaming."

you scoff, tilting your chin up with practiced indifference, though the way your fingers curl tighter into the sheets betrays you. "i didn’t ask for a whole country."

his laugh is a dark, rasping thing, vibrating against your skin as he leans closer, his bloodied gloves sinking into the pillows on either side of your head. "you don’t have to ask," he murmurs, voice dripping with something between reverence and obsession. his breath is warm where it ghosts over your lips—iron and something sweet, like decay and candy. "you deserve everything." his teeth flash, sharp and white against the red still smeared on his chin. "the stars, the planets—i’d tear them from the sky and string them around your neck if you wanted. i’d drown the world in blood just to see you smile."

you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches—just a flicker, just enough.

he sees it.

always sees it.

his grin splits wider, unhinged and adoring, and he presses closer, his nose brushing yours. "you like it," he accuses, voice dropping to a whisper. "you love me."

"i tolerate you," you lie, even as your hands fist in the front of his ruined cape, even as your pulse jumps under his touch.

he laughs, the sound rough and delighted, and you feel it in your bones. "liar," he breathes, and then your fingers are in his hair, yanking him down until his lips crash against yours—hot and desperate and tasting like copper.

he melts into it, into you, pliant and worshipful, because he’d do anything for you.

and you?

you’d never admit how much you love it.

(but he knows.)

(he always knows.)

the scent of smoke and iron clings to mark’s skin as he pulls back from the kiss, his lips smeared with your shared violence. his pupils are blown wide, black swallowing the thin ring of amber left in his irises—hungry, devoted, yours. you can see your reflection in them, distorted and perfect, the only thing he’s ever truly worshipped.

"you’re insufferable," you mutter, dragging the back of your hand across your lips—smearing his blood like war paint, the metallic tang sharp on your tongue. your voice stays carefully bored, but your fingers betray you with the faintest tremor where they press against the ruin of his suit, feeling the rapid-fire beat of his heart beneath your palm.

his grin splits wider—all teeth and madness, the kind of expression that would send armies fleeing. pupils swallowing brown hues whole as his gaze locks onto you with terrifying focus. blood mats the tips of his hair, flecks of crimson catching in the dim light as he tilts his head, slow and predatory. his grip tightens around your wrist, pressing your pulse point to his lips in a mockery of prayer.

"a lie, again," he murmurs against your skin, breath scalding. his tongue darts out to trace the thrumming vein there, tasting iron and victory. when he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression is nothing short of rapturous—lips parted, breath ragged, devotion carved into every sharp angle of his face. "you love me."

(you do.)

(you do.)

(you do.)

you shove him away with a scoff, but not before your nails bite into the ruined fabric of his suit, carving half-moon wounds into the bloodstained material beneath. your lips twist in feigned disgust, but your traitorous pulse jumps when his breath hitches at the contact—the barest flicker of satisfaction curling in your chest at the way his muscles tense under your touch. "i tolerate you," you snap, voice dripping with practiced disdain. "at best."

(lies. all of it. every word tastes like ash on your tongue because the truth is—)

(you adore him.)

(you crave him.)

(you'd raze planets just to watch the way firelight dances across his skin.)

he laughs, the sound rough and jagged like broken glass, his head tilting back to expose the column of his throat—still splattered with the evidence of his devotion. when his gaze finds yours again, it's molten, burning with something feral and possessive. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, dragging across the blood still smeared there. "you adore me," he breathes, voice thick with reverence. his fingers twitch against your hips, digging in just enough to bruise—as if he can't bear to let you go, not even for a second.

(he can't.)

(he won't.)

(you're his.)

you don’t deny it.

(you never do.)

the truth is, you’d raze cities for him. you’d carve out the hearts of kings and lay them at his feet if he asked. you’d watch the world burn just to see the way the flames reflect in his eyes.

but you’ll never tell him that.

instead, you flick his forehead, scowling. "you’re getting blood on the sheets."

he catches your hand again, pressing your palm against his cheek, smearing red across your skin. "then ruin them with me," he murmurs, voice dripping with devotion.

you roll your eyes, but your fingers curl against his face, thumb brushing the arch of his cheekbone. "disgusting."

"you love it."

you do.

god, you do.

and when he leans in again, his lips brushing yours in a silent plea, you let him.

(because you’re just as insane as he is.)

(because you’d burn the world for him, too.)

(because he’s yours.)

and when he pulls back, his eyes gleaming with something feral and yours, you sigh, long-suffering, and tug him closer.

"fine," you mutter, like it’s a chore.

(like your heart isn’t pounding.)

(like you don’t love him more than breathing.)

he grins, sharp and adoring, and kisses you again.

(and if you kiss him back just as desperately—)

(well.)

(that’s between you and the blood on your hands.)

something about writing this 1.7k one-shot felt like stitching up old wounds with gold—messy, a little painful, but weirdly beautiful in the end. i thought it was short, just a quick indulgence, but then i saw the word count and realized i’d poured more into it than i meant to. oops. (or maybe not. maybe i needed this—sinister mark on his knees for you, blood on his lips, devotion like a knife pressed to your throat. but at the same time you're leaning into that blade, perhaps maybe even holding his wrist as you keep him there. maybe we all need something this unhinged sometimes.) real life’s been… a lot. assessments are piling up like bodies in sinister mark’s wake, deadlines creeping closer like shadows at dusk, and suddenly all my friends are coupling up like the world’s ending tomorrow. meanwhile, i’m here, stress-eating junk food and channeling my loneliness into writing about a morally dubious man who’d burn the world down for a single kiss from you. (therapy? never heard of her.) but hey, if i can turn this chaotic energy into something you enjoy—something that makes your pulse skip or your breath catch—then maybe it’s worth it. maybe we’re all a little insane here, and that’s okay. take care of yourselves, lovelies. drink water, scream into a pillow if you need to, and remember: if life won’t give you a mark grayson of your own, you can always borrow mine. <3