#SHE STOLE MY JAG

[radiostudio07]

she's going places (textless alt beneath the thingy)

[leth-writes]

Yandere! Batfam x reader

Tried a different format for part 3.

You ran, down the hallway and thundered down the stairwell, sneakered feet slapping against the harsh concrete. You could hear Tim giving chase, racing after you. Yet, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be soulbound to someone you stole from, let alone someone who was threatening you right before you found out! You just knew that it would be an unpleasant experience, especially considering the animosity his family no doubt had for you. You burst out into the lobby, Tim close behind, and skidded to a stop. There, standing directly in front of you, was Jason Todd.

He was leaning against the wooden, warped table, leather jacket unzipped to expose his tight muscle shirt. His hair, complete with the little tuft of white at the front, was expertly styled to look perfectly messy. You had to admit he was cute, even if he was part of the now duo threatening your peaceful, if stressful, experience. His eyes flicked up from where they had been staring at his phone, which looked tiny in his hand, then widened in shock as yet another bond snapped into place in your chest. Your ring finger’s string, thick and jagged, now glowed a blood red, leading directly to his now slack hand. You stood halfway between the door to the stairs and the door outside, with Tim now standing just behind you and to your left.

“You feel it too?” Tim asked his brother, jerking his chin in your direction. His dark hair was mussed from the chase, though he remained poised, with not a bead of sweat on his forehead. You turned to face Jason fully, warily taking a step away from both of them, inadvertently putting yourself in a corner.

“Yeah. She our thief?” Jason murmured, eyes still locked on your own. You averted your gaze at the reminder of your actions. Shit. Of course, even when you met your soulfamily, you had to mess it up by stealing from them! You wouldn’t blame them if they rejected you completely and asked you to stay far away from them.

Tim nodded in response to his brother, stepping closer to where you now stood cornered. Jason loomed in the background, now texting and periodically lifting his gaze as if to check you were still present. “We aren’t mad. We just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting too… cocky. I mean, at first Bruce was ecstatic that someone was savvy enough to take some money. Work on uncorrupting the relief funds is slow going, you know? But this month you took so much that he was sure you were moving from relief to scamming.” He explained, hands raised as if to calm you.

“Listen. I’m sorry, I just needed enough to help cover rent for the building. Our new landlord hiked the rent up and no one can get jobs and we’ve all been so stressed…” You found yourself slightly tearing up. Jason clicked his tongue, pocketing his phone and striding forward to place an arm around your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge. Why don’t we head to a cafe and you can tell us all about your new landlord?” he moved you forward with his arm, waving lazily at Tim in a gesture to follow. 

“Jason, we need to head back to the manor. If anyone spots her, it could put her at risk-” Tim started, looking irritated. “We’ll just go out for some coffee and get an explanation. We need to sort out the landlord situation, even if they won’t be living here anymore.” Jason interrupted, once again waving lazily. He seemed quite relaxed, a direct contrast to Tim’s tightly wound posture. “Wait- no! I’m sorry for stealing but I can’t leave my apartment!” You burst out, pulling away.

“You don’t need to apologize. Not like Bruce is missing a couple thousand. He’s got more than enough to be set for life. Let’s go chat at the cafe, I’ll buy you a bagel; you look hungry and you didn’t get to bring your groceries in.” Jason tugged at your arm, marching you forward as Tim rushed to walk next to the two of you.

You didn’t miss the implication that they had been watching you and were aware of your actions that day, but knowing they had been aware of you since the beginning, it no longer surprised you. You supposed that going to the local cafe, indulging in a treat you hadn’t had since long before you been working at that convenience store all those months ago, wouldn’t be too bad.

Not running was your third mistake.

[slu7formen]

Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.

Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.

Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.

Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.

I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.

I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.

Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler

₊˚⊹♡

The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.

You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.

You knew it.

From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.

The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.

But then he suddenly just, snapped.

A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.

The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.

You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.

You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.

Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.

A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.

"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.

He lied.

Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.

"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.

But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.

He was gone.

He had left.

You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.

Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.

The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.

You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.

You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.

The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.

The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.

And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.

The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.

How could you be so weak?

These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.

Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.

Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.

In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.

You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.

You hated how much you missed him.

The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.

New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.

Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.

Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.

Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"

Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.

You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.

The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.

Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.

“Luke?”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.

"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.

You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.

"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.

"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.

"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."

He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."

You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"

Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.

"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.

You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.

Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.

"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.

"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."

His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"

Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"

You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.

"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."

The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.

Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.

He deserved it, that much was clear.

"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"

Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"

He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.

He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“

"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"

Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.

"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."

You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."

The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."

"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."

A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.

What had he done?

"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."

Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.

Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.

"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."

You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.

"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"

His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.

"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.

Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."

You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."

“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.

He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."

And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?

"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."

The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.

Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."

A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"

He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.

He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.

You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.

"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"

He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.

But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"

"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."

His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.

The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.

"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.

Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.

The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.

He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.

With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.

Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.

But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.

Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.

The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.

His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.

"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.

He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."

With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.

"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"

You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?

Did he care?

Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.

"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."

[dollyzdaydreamz]

John Marston x Ballerina! Reader

All the Luck

Description: Set after the fall of the Van der Linde Gang. John Marston, aimless but trying, crosses paths with a ballerina who's also lost something. Both, in their own way, just try to make sense of what's left.

♡ inspired by rdr1 John’s personality :3

♡ fluff, sfw, kind of switches from John’s POV to Readers.

♡ no Jack or Abigail for obvious reasons lol

Warnings: mentions of injury, sickness.

The streets of town had long since gone quiet. It was that peculiar kind of late where the world felt like it was holding its breath, no chatter, no wagons, just the wind scraping softly along the dirt road and the creak of a sign swinging outside the saloon. The respectable folk were long home by now. What remained were the lonely, the reckless, and the men like John Marston, men who weren’t entirely sure which they were anymore.

He adjusted his hat, crossing the road with boots that left faint marks behind him. He’d just dropped off another sorry bounty, some thief who fought harder than he was worth, and now he was loitering, not so much searching for his next lead as he was avoiding going home. Whatever “home” meant these days.

Then he saw her.

She sat on the stone steps of the town’s modest theatre, a wilted thing in soft pink. Her legs were folded in, slippers still tied neatly around her ankles. A ballet costume, he guessed, clinging in places it shouldn’t in the cold as she was trembling. Her face was buried in her hands. Shoulders shaking.

John stopped like he’d hit a wall. He’d seen and walked past worse. But something about her stopped him dead in his tracks. Maybe it was the contrast, the delicacy of her attire in this godforsaken town, in a world that rarely had patience for anything soft. Or maybe it was the way her misery felt… private. And he was intruding just by looking.

Still, something rooted him to the spot.

He took a cautious step forward, slow like approaching a skittish animal, “Miss?”

She jolted and lifted her head slightly, and he faltered when her bloodshot and makeup smudged eyes met his,“What do you want?”

John lifted his hands so as to show he meant her no harm, “Just noticed you sittin’ there. Thought maybe somethin’ was wrong.”

You hesitated, feeling your eyes tear up at the memory, but the words tumbled out anyway, “I auditioned to be the lead in the show, but I didn’t get it.”

You paused, wiping your eyes as you held back more of your frustrated tears, “And then someone stole my damn horse!”

He blinked, “Both? Same night?”

“Yeah. Hell of a double-feature.” You murmured dejectedly as you uncrossed your sore feet and leaned your aching head on the column beside you.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that left him. He leaned against the railing beside you, shaking his head, “Some folks got all the luck.”

You exhaled, but couldn’t muster up a smile.

“You got anyone?” he asked, “Someone who can take you home?”

You shook your head, “Just my mother, but she’s sick. Can hardly move. That’s why I wanted the lead so badly, pays real good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” John murmured, quieter now.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, “Can I take you home?”

Your gaze drifted toward him, taking notice of the revolvers on his hip, the way he stood like he hadn't a fear in the world. He was tall with dark, deep set eyes and tan skin that underscored the jagged scars on his face. He was a little rough around the edges, but quite handsome. The realization made you flush and look away, suddenly more interested in a loose seam on your pointe shoes.

“You don’t look like the chivalrous type,” You murmured tentatively.

“Can’t say I am. Just figured a girl like you can’t be sittin’ out here all night,” He huffed, motioning toward the drunks staggering around the outside of the saloon.

A long pause. Your mom always told you not to take rides from strange men, but tonight you’d just have to make an exception.

Then you nodded, getting up and dusting off your skirt. You stumbled a bit as a wave of exhaustion hit you, grabbing onto the railing for support.

“Woah, easy.” He said, holding out his hands in case you fell.

“I’ll let you take me home, but if you kill me, I’ll be sure to haunt you,” You warned.

He chuckled, still staying close as you slowly made your way down the steps, “Fair trade.”

The ride back was quiet. Not uncomfortably so, just still.

Your arms rested around his waist, careful not to seem like you were clinging. But the truth was, you were clinging a little. To the strange sense of calm that came from the steady way he carried himself. Your fingers accidentally brushed a big scar along his rib through his shirt, and you swallowed, wondering where it came from.

“I never asked for your name,” You said.

“No, you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well what is it? Mr. Enigmatic?”

He chuckled, “John Marston.”

“Why does that sound familiar?” You asked, more so to yourself, wracking your brain over where you might have heard the name before.

His posture stiffened.

“I guess it’s just a common name,” You dismissed with a shrug.

“Guess so,” he said curtly.

You yawned, trying not to let your cheek rest against his back. But it was hard not to lean into something when you’d spent the day falling apart.

“So,” he started after a beat, “What made you wanna be a ballerina?”

You exhaled, eyes on the barely visible stars in the clouded night sky, “I guess it's the one way I know how to tell a story. Without fumbling for the right words. You just move, and people feel things.”

He didn’t say anything, but you felt the way his back lifted with his breath. Like he understood that more than he’d let on.

You slumped a little, feeling a frown tug at your lips at the memory of your dance instructor’s frustration.

She kept droning on about how you needed to stop being so stiff, stop worrying about being perfect. You can admit perfection isn’t realistic, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to get close to it.

All you could think about during your set was your mother, the debts, things that needed fixing. Eventually her frustration boiled over and she dismissed you in the middle of your audition altogether,

“But of course, Ballet can be a bitch sometimes.”

That got a chuckle out of him, “I’d trade my holster in for a pair of tights if it meant I didn’t have to chase after idiots all day.”

That made you jolt in shock. So he was a bounty hunter.

That explained all the weapons. You loved reading western novels, ones that depicted the adventures of bounty hunters chasing after criminals and bringing them to justice.

“You don’t enjoy it?” You asked.

“Truthfully? No,” he admitted. “But that's all I know. Ain’t a long list of things I’m good at.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe you’ve got some hidden talents. Singing maybe?”

He snorted. “Ah yes, my gravelly tones could rival the angels.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of you at his painfully dry humor.

John felt himself ease up at the sound, warm and honest, one he hadn’t heard in a long time, one he probably didn’t take advantage of enough a few years ago.

“What about dancing?” You teased, “Most people out here can manage a little two-step.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Miss, I’ve got two left feet and both of ‘em are useless.”

When your house finally came into view at the edge of town, you let out a sigh of relief. The porch light was glowing softly, casting shadows across the wooden railings. It was a small house, old but well cared for, with a few wilted flowers still hanging in the boxes outside the windows.

Your mother sat bundled in a quilt on the front porch, curled into the old rocking chair you’d mended twice already. She stirred at the sound of hooves and slowly pushed herself up, one hand gripping the post for support.

“Mama,” you called as John brought the horse to a stop in front of the steps.

She blinked against the dim light, then frowned slightly as she caught sight of him.

“Who’s this?”

Before you could answer, her gaze flicked from his revolvers to the bloodstains on your tights, to your face, tired and smudged with makeup, but relieved.

“He helped me,” You said quickly, “I didn’t get the part…and then my horse got stolen, so he brought me home.”

Your mother’s shoulders eased almost immediately as she pulled you into a warm hug, “I’m sorry baby.”

“It’s alright.” You murmured, trying your best not to burst into tears yet again.

When you pulled away, she turned to John, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr…?”

“Marston,” he replied, tone firm but kind, “John Marston.”

She smiled, “Well, John, you’ll come in for some tea, won’t you?”

John hesitated. You could already see the excuse forming in his mind, some half-muttered “ought to be going,” but you gave him a quick nudge, wanting to repay him in the slightest.

He relented with a shrug, “Guess I could sit for a minute.”

Inside, the house was warm and a little cluttered, filled with trinkets from years past. You led him to the couch in the living room, and he sat stiffly, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to.

The cushions gave a soft little sigh beneath him, and he looked mildly offended by how deep he sank into them.

From the kitchen, John watched as your mother moved slowly, gathering the tin of tea and setting water to boil.

You noticed the way her hands trembled as she reached up to grab the teacups, dainty little floral things passed down from your grandmother.

She tried not to show how much effort it took, but she never let you help her.

John saw it too.

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on her hands as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“She’s been sick for a while,” you whispered.

He only nodded, not wanting to pry.

Once the tea was poured, your mother handed him one of the porcelain cups.

“Thank you,” he said, careful as could be, taking it between two fingers like he wasn’t sure what to do with something that delicate.

You tried not to laugh at the sight. Scarred hands and calloused knuckles, holding a tiny rose-covered teacup.

He glanced at you sternly, “Somethin’ funny?”

“Nothin’,” you said, biting your lip. “Nothin’ at all.”

Conversation came slow at first. Your mother asked polite questions, what he did, how he ended up out this way. He dodged with vague answers, but there was a glimmer of honesty under it.

“Used to run with a rough crowd,” he admitted, staring into his tea, deep in thought. “Ain’t proud of most of it. These days, I just do what needs doin’.”

A quiet settled for a moment before your mother glanced toward the window, frowning faintly.

“That wagon’s still falling over,” she murmured, mostly to herself, “Been meaning to fix the hinges. Can’t seem to hold a hammer steady long enough these days.”

“I can try tomorrow,” you offered, though you already knew how it would go. You weren’t exactly handy.

John paused for a moment, then he stood up before either of you could say anything else, “I’ll take a look.”

“What?” you blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I ain’t doin’ much tonight,” he said, setting the teacup down on the coffee table, “Might as well make myself useful.”

And just like that, he was out the door.

After a few minutes, you looked through the window as he grabbed a few tools from the side of the house and rolled his sleeves up. The porch light caught on the scar along his forearm, the worn seams of his shirt, the muscles shifting beneath sun-bronzed skin as he adjusted the broken wheel.

Your mother sipped her tea, watching you quietly.

“…Do you like him?” She asked after a moment.

You blinked, whipping your head back to her, “What? No. I mean, he’s just—he was being nice.”

She gave you a look, the same one she used to give you as a kid when you snuck cookies from the tin. You huffed, sinking back into the couch.

Outside, John hammered the last nail in, then tested the wagon with a gentle push, it held steady.

When he came back inside, wiping his hands on a rag, you tried not to stare too long.

“Should be alright now,” he said, sitting down beside you again, a little easier this time.

Your mother had forced him to stay longer, eat a few biscuits and share a few more stories. About an hour later, John wiped his palms on his trousers one last time, then stood up from the couch with a small grunt. You stood too, not really wanting him to leave but knowing he probably would.

“As much as I’d love to eat some more a’ these, I really should get goin’,” he chuckled.

You and your mom walked him to the door, feeling an odd pinch in your chest you couldn’t quite name.

“Thanks again,” you said as he tugged his hat off the coat hook, “For everything. I owe you now.”

He paused, deep set eyes softening just a little, “You don’t owe me nothin’. Just glad you got home alright.”

You smiled, “Still. If you ever need something…a tutu, some pointe shoes, just say the word.”

John chuckled, and gave a slight tip of his hat. He stepped down the porch, the warm light casting along the dark tufts of hair poking out from beneath his hat, “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss.”

You watched as he mounted his horse, and then rode off into the dark, lingering on the step until the sound of hooves faded entirely.

Once you were back inside, you collapsed back onto the couch with a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling and letting the weight of the day sink in.

What the hell just happened?

You’d danced, cried, got your horse stolen, got a ride home from a bounty hunter, gave him tea, watched him fix your damn wagon, and somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d developed a stupid little crush on a man who was just being kind.

Great.

From the kitchen, you heard your mother’s slow, knowing footsteps. She didn’t say anything. Just gave you that same look. You groaned and tossed your arm over your eyes.

“He was just being nice,” you muttered, like you needed to remind yourself more than her.

A few days passed.

John hadn’t expected to see her again. But when he rode through town, something in him, something small and ridiculous, slowed near the theatre.

And there she was.

Through the tall windows, in the quiet of the dim studio, she twirled. Over and over like the world might end if she stopped.

He dismounted, drifting toward the open doorway, boots scuffing the wood. He leaned against the frame, eyes growing half-lidded from the dizzying repetition.

“You keep spinnin’ like that, I’m gonna hurl.” A raspy voice drawled from behind you.

You gasped and stopped mid-turn, but your face lit up just as quickly when you were met with the sight of a familiar cowboy, “John!”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, suddenly unsure why the hell he’d come in the first place.

“You’re fine.” You said, trying to steady your breathing, “I was just practicing for the show.”

He nodded, glancing around the empty studio, “Looks like you’ve been at it a while.”

“Since dawn.” You huffed, stretching out your ankles, wincing at a particularly sore spot.

He whistled, “I’d shoot myself if I had to stay in here that long.”

You jolted as thunder cracked. Rain began to thrum against the roof.

You looked out the window and sighed. “Great. Make sure that gun’s loaded, because we’re stuck here until it stops.”

John chuckled, but noticed the tightness in your jaw. The way your fingers flexed, restless. He figured you were nervous, or worried. About the show, or your mother maybe, he wasn’t the best at reading minds but he figured it was something along those lines.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting as he thought of an idea, “You know, maybe spinning like that ain’t helpin’ you much.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Maybe you just need to…” he shrugged, and let out a chuckle, “Let loose–I don’t know.”

“Let loose?” You asked, “I mean, I already stretched–”

“Not like that,” he groaned, though a mischievous little smile tugged at his lips, “C’mon.”

“Wait,” you laughed nervously as he took your wrist and began dragging you out the door, “but I still need to practice my pirouettes!”

“No. No more pirou…what’sits!” he said, tugging you into the street.

“Pirouettes.”

“Whatever. Just have fun for once,” He said, grabbing a hold of both your hands.

“I do have fun—“

You were cut off when he spun the two of you in a clumsy circle, boots sloshing through puddles. You nearly fell, laughing as he caught you. His grip was firm, but surprisingly gentle.

You looked down to see the dirt had muddled your once spotless pointe shoes, “Not my shoes!”

“I’ll get you new ones,” he chuckled absentmindedly, carelessly twirling you again, “Don’t think, just keep movin’!”

You danced, if you could call it that. He dipped you with the grace of a cowboy, none, but you couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re terrible,” you chuckled between breaths.

“Excuse me?” He grinned, hat askew, hair wet and clinging to his forehead,

When John saw the perpetual furrow in your brow untense, like the weight had been lifted off your shoulders, he figured it was worth making a fool out of himself.

You eventually collapsed against the outside of the theatre wall, soaked and breathless, laughter trailing off into silence.

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “I feel… a whole lot better now.”

“Reckon you needed it,” he said as he took in his soaked attire, “Hell, so did I.”

The rain eased into a gentle rhythm above you. And for a moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist.

The sky was beginning to blush with sunset when you stepped off the wooden walkway, clutching the small envelope in your hand a little too tightly. It held a single ticket.

You weren't even sure why you felt nervous. You’d face entire theatres of eyes without breaking. But this? Bringing something to John, asking something of him, it made your heartbeat a little uneven.

He was always around the east side of town around this hour, by the hitching posts or the sheriff’s office. But today, the street was oddly still. Your steps slowed when you noticed the commotion ahead.

A couple men, perhaps lawmen, stood outside the doctor’s office, talking low and serious. One of them had blood on his sleeve.

Your stomach dropped when you heard the name “Marston.” Your legs moved before your thoughts caught up. You walked into the clinic, ticket still in hand, and nearly slammed into the doctor himself.

“Where is he?” you asked, catching your breath.

The old man looked you up and down before looking back at him in confusion, “You a friend?”

You didn’t answer. Just pushed past him.

John was on the cot near the back, shirt discarded, his side wrapped hastily with gauze and stained deep red. He was pale, jaw clenched even in unconsciousness, and looked like someone you didn’t recognize for a moment. Vulnerable.

You hadn’t expected to ever see him like this. John was always upright. Always strong, always helping everyone else. Carefully, you pulled a stool beside him and sat. You didn’t realize how hard you’d been chewing your lip until it started to sting.

He stirred and then his dark eyes blinked open, glassy but sharp enough to recognize you.

“…Hey,” he rasped.

Your heart skipped.

You scooched closer to him, “You got shot didn’t you? What the hell were you doing?”

He tried to get up but winced as he shifted, “Somethin’ stupid.”

You didn’t laugh.

His tired gaze drifted to your hands, hoping to find some way to deflect the attention off of him, “What’s that?”

You looked down at the ticket and blinked like you forgot you were even holding it.

“Oh–um,” Your fingers fumbled to smooth it out, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a ticket. For my show.”

His brows lifted a little, amused. You could already hear what he might say, so you rushed to add,

“You don’t have to come. Obviously. Especially now that you’re injured and need to rest.”

He stared at you a moment, expression softer than before, then he reached out and took it from your hand. You face warmed when his fingers brushed yours,

“It’s in two weeks,” you added quietly as he held the paper to his face.

“I’ll try and make it.” He said, setting the paper down on his chest as his eyes began to droop again.

You visited him a few times after that, when he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

The doctor’s office was still, touched with the low golden light of early evening. The curtains filtered the sun into soft ribbons across the worn floorboards and across John’s bare chest, where the bandages wound firm around his ribs.

He lay propped against a few stiff pillows, his breath slow but steady, a faint crease between his brows as if even resting required effort.

You sat beside him again, curled slightly into the wooden chair, fingers idle in your lap. The ballet ticket you’d given him the other day was resting neatly on the side table, next to a glass of water and a few faded newspapers.

“Town drunk tried to dance with a scarecrow this morning,” you said after a moment, voice breaking the silence like a pebble in a still pond.

John opened one eye slowly, his lips twitching. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said, biting back a grin. “Middle of the market square, arms wrapped around it like it was his long-lost sweetheart. Folks just let him be.”

He gave a quiet laugh, wincing slightly as it strained his injured torso, “Better than him tryin’ to fight it, I suppose.”

You chuckled too, leaning your head against the back of the chair. “Yeah. Sheriff just shook his head and said somethin’ about it being too early for all that.”

John’s eyes lingered on you a beat longer, then dropped again.

“How’s your mother doin’?” he asked after a pause, “She was real sick last I visited.”

Your expression softened. “She’s doing better. Getting stronger every day.”

He nodded, slow and tired, but a faint relief crossed his face. “Glad to hear it.”

John shifted slightly, exhaling like he wanted to say something else, but instead mumbled, “Thirsty…”

He started to push himself up with one arm, grimacing as the movement tugged at his side.

“Wait, don’t,” you said quickly, reaching out and placing your hand gently on his shoulder. “Stay still, I’ve got it.”

Your fingers barely pressed so as not to hurt him, but his body stilled instantly beneath your touch. The heat of your hand on his skin lingered, and though he didn’t say anything, his face flushed a faint red.

You stood quietly and crossed the room to pour him a glass of water from the ceramic pitcher, then returned and handed it to him. He took it carefully, fingers brushing yours.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost shy. You supposed he wasn’t used to being helped like this, knowing it’s hard for most men to be seen vulnerable, put aside their pride like that.

You sat back down beside him, letting the silence stretch again. After a while, you glanced over at him again, watching his breath slow, eyes fluttering heavier.

“My instructor says I’m getting better,” you said softly, almost like a secret.

John opened his eyes a little. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. She said if I keep it up, I might lead next season.”

A small smile formed on his lips, tired but real. “That’s good. Real good.”

You looked down at your hands and then back at him, catching the way his gaze lingered.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his eyes close again with a slow exhale.

“I’d limp all the way there if I had to,” he murmured.

You smiled to yourself, quiet and full.

You let him sleep, chest buzzing with something warm, a peaceful quiet settling in the air like the fading light through the curtains.

The night of the show came fast.

The theatre buzzed with nerves and perfume, ribbons tied too tightly, and the soft whisper of satin slippers against floorboards. You adjusted your hair, then peeked out through the heavy curtain.

No sign of him.

“Looking for your cowboy?” one of the other girls teased behind her, nudging her side.

Word got around this town fast, you’d only been seen out with John twice and your entire studio knew about it.

You tried to keep your voice level, “No!”

Another girl laughed softly. “He gonna lasso a bouquet for you after the final bow?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks pink.

The lights dimmed and the music rose, letting you know your cue came with the rest of the girls.

You moved like you were floating, but a small part of you was still somewhere else, checking the shadows behind the last row of seats.

And then, halfway through the second act, you saw the back door creak open, slow. A figure slipped in, leaning against the wall with the kind of quiet that didn’t want attention. His hat was low, and you watched from the corner of your eye as he eased into the farthest seat in the back.

Your heart leapt so fast you nearly missed a step.

After the curtain call, you changed quickly into a soft pink dress, one of the few nice things you owned.

You found yourself checking your reflection in a vanity mirror nearby, smoothing down your hair, adjusting your dress. You brushed a bit of lint off it and shifted your weight, trying to shake the nerves.

Then you froze.

God. What were you doing?

You looked at your reflection and sighed, well shit, you were trying to look nice for him.

But you shook your head and pushed yourself off the vanity, he was just someone who helped you. That’s all. You stepped out into the hall, scanning the crowd. Most were trickling out already.

But then you found John standing near the exit, smoking a cigarette as his gaze lazily drifted around, waiting.

Your heart fluttered at the sight. He wore a black striped shirt and matching black pants. He was without the usual rifle and gun belt. It was odd seeing him without them, but he looked handsome, like he actually tried to dress up for the show.

You walked over, nerves fluttering in your stomach like you hadn’t just danced in front of hundreds.

“Well?” you asked, hands tucked behind your back.

He snuffed out his cigarette with a small smile, “You didn’t fall once. So I’d call it a success.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s your review?”

He chuckled, “I wasn’t sure I’d like it. But… It was real’ nice. I’m no expert, but you did great.”

“Thanks for coming.” You grinned.

He gave a small shrug, “Figured I owed you, you know, for the ticket.”

You swatted him and he winced, clutching his rib,

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I forgot!—“

“I’m fine, just messin with you.” He smiled, leaning back up as though nothing happened.

“You should take on comedy,” you shot him a glare.

“Think so?” He asked, chuckling at the way you rolled your eyes and waved him off.

You stepped outside together, the theatre lights fading behind you.

“So, you really are feeling better?” You ask, worried he was concealing any pain.

“Yeah, ‘been shot enough times to heal pretty quickly.” He said, recalling every time he was marked during a robbery with the gang.

He cleared his throat a little, glancing at you from time to time,

“You look…nice.” He said quietly.

“Thank you,” you smiled, motioning to his shirt, “you look quite nice yourself.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, looking down at his attire as though he didn’t believe you.

“Yeah, although I do miss all those death weapons strapped to you,” you sighed.

“I’ll be sure to bring them next time.” He replied, matching your sarcasm.

He glanced at your pink frilled dress, then down at his worn shirt and dusted jeans, still slightly wrinkled from the quick change.

“We’re a hell of a pair,” he started with a chuckle, “I mean, you look like you came from a picture book and I look like I crawled outta the saloon.”

You laughed, blushing a little as you noticed the contrast yourself.

“Do you…wanna get somethin’ to eat? There’s a diner down the way. Nothin’ fancy.” He asked, avoiding your gaze entirely.

You blinked. It took you a second, but then you grinned as the realization hit you.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

He looked away, muttering, “Guess I am.”

You smiled at his flustered state, all giddy that you made John Marston of all people flush like a school boy.

“I’d love to.”

Relief settled over his shoulders like a warm coat and he sighed, “Okay. Good.”

You walked in step down the quiet street, comfortable silence stretched between you. After a moment, he offered his hand, a little awkward and you took it.

His hand was rough. Yours were soft.

As you walked through the warm dusk toward the diner, your joined hands swinging slightly between you, a funny thought came to your mind,

“I’m glad I didn’t get the part and lost my horse.” You murmured with a little smile.

John's brows furrowed, looking down at you in confusion.

“Then I wouldn’t have met you,” you explained, looking away as you felt warmth rise to the tips of your ears.

“Huh,” John huffed, “I guess I’m glad you had an awful day too.”

You chuckled, swatting his arm.

You were two people from entirely different worlds. But somehow, just somehow, it made perfect sense.

Some folks really do have all the luck.

like if you think john is hawt '(*>﹏<*)′ 🍥lmk what you think by leaving notes, i love reading them. 🍥feel free to send in requests :3

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere! Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 0: The Body I Stole

[part 1,2]

(CW: death, femme bodied gender neutral reader, child abuse) very short prologue for a story idea I had

There was a muffled sound of a woman struggling quietly as she chased the terrified gasps of a child running for his life. A small boy, maybe five years old, covered in scrapes and bruises new and old, was fleeing his mother as she limped after him.

Avery had caused the accident.

Her eyes were cold and sharp, glaring at the road ahead of her as they drove down the curvey mountain. It wasn't his fault, the scene at the birthday party, but his mother didn't believe it. She never did. The fear of being "disciplined" was something Avery never really shook, in fact, it was something he learned to expect..

He didn't know why he did it. But a surge of adrenaline electrocuted his fingertips, and launched his little arms towards her and the steering wheel. The family car swerved towards the trees, rolling twice before smashing into a tree.

The mother was practically dragging her shattered ankle through the weeds as she tried to catch her kid.

"AVERY! COME BACK HERE RIGHT! NOW!" Her voice tore through the woods. The venomous words that promised pain was heard by more than just Avery, however.

They didn't know what the situation was, nor did they care.. All (Reader) could think about was their hunger.

A twig snapping made the woman stop, believing she had found her child. The scowl on her beautiful features deepened, making the woman look more like a monster than the creature who had just woken up.

"Avery. If you come out right now I won't be mad. I promise."

Even to a monster that had been sleeping for the past hundred or so years, her lies were obvious. (Reader) listened to the little one covering his mouth a few feet away, and guessed that he was the Avery this woman was speaking to. But unfortunately for her, Avery was hiding in the opposite direction.

She couldn't even fake a smile as she hobbled over towards where the monster hid, stretching out their creaky joints.

As she passed the thick trees to where she heard the snapping branches, a small look of hateful triumph was shattered as she found something else standing where she assumed her son would be. The eight foot tall creature with grey skin smiled down at the human. Their body smelled of dirt and moss, but looked like a mummified corpse stretched out. Black hair fell around their shoulders, almost covering their six, blood red eyes, focusing on the trembling prey before them.

Her beautifully painted lips weren't given a chance to scream before the creature opened it's jagged toothed maw, and bit her pretty little head in half.

(Reader's) strong jaw crushed the woman's skull easily, splashing her soft innards down their throat and across their naked chest. It had been so long since they ate that they forgot to take the basic feeding steps.

What was her height? Her hair color? Her chest size? They forgot to care. It wasn't until the only thing left of her body was her left leg.

"Ah.. I made a mistake." (Reader) mumbled to themselves as they tried to recall what their meal's appearance was. If they hadn't been starving, they would have morphed into their new persona before eating them.

They did their best in replicating the woman.

Their spine snapped loudly as they shrunk, hair and skin rapidly changing in color and texture, until they were the woman as they somewhat recalled her to be. 'I'll just find a better suit later..'

Not even the woman's clothes remained in the bloody aftermath. (Reader) sighed as they shook her leg. 'My starvation made me sloppy.' They finished off the last leg of their meal, before turning and surprising themselves with the appearance of a small boy with black hair watching them. (Reader's) new eyes widened, having been so focused on their food that they hadn't noticed him sneaking up on them.

As they contemplated killing and taking the young boy's form, he surprised them again, rushing forward suddenly and wrapping his thin arms around (Reader's) naked flesh.

A/N: I know it's short, but I had an idea for a multiple chapter story, with a clingy adoptive son ❤️ needed to get the OG mother out of the way before the story, because even though this is what I want to happen in the story, it doesn't fit the way I want the first chapter to start haha

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 18: I Love This Curse On Our House

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: y/n takes care of jenna

warnings: 18+! enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption, insane man, stabbing, animal abuse and cruelty, attempted murder, neglecting personal health,

AN: i hope someone gets the title reference bc i love that song

word count: 3.2k

The soft creak of the couch beneath her was the first thing she registered.

Then the dull ache blooming in her ribs, the sharp fire in her thigh and shoulder, and the gentle pressure of blankets tucked snugly around her frame. A scent - faint antiseptic, clean linens, something almost familiar like sugar and rain.

Jenna stirred slowly.

Her eyes cracked open into a haze of muted sunlight spilling across the living room ceiling. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. And then everything crashed down all at once.

Cam. The knife. The hallway. The door. The blood. The goddamn key.

She gasped - the sound ripped through her raw throat as her body jerked, panic surging as her limbs thrashed against the pain. “Where is he?” she croaked, voice hoarse and ragged. “Where is he- I need to hide, I need to-”

“Jenna- Jenna-” came the voice that grounded her. Warm. Shaking. Soft and urgent and trembling with fear. Arms wrapped around her immediately, strong but careful. “It’s okay. He’s not here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Y/N.

Jenna collapsed into her. Her body convulsed with sobs before she even realised she was crying. The trauma poured out in one long, jagged breath as she clung to Y/N’s chest, the fabric of her shirt dampening with tears. She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop feeling his hands, the glint of the blade, the sound of her own screaming echoing through her skull.

“He’s gone,” Y/N murmured. “I promise. He took the car… some of our supplies. But he’s gone.”

Jenna swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “How’s Angelo?”

Y/N loosened her hold only slightly to brush her hand through Jenna’s hair. “He’s okay. The limp’s mostly gone. That cut above his eye is healing nice. The side wound too, as long as he stops licking at it.”

Jenna shut her eyes. Relief pulsed through her like a heartbeat - sharp, sudden. “Good,” she rasped.

The silence that followed felt heavy. Not the comforting kind that usually existed between them - but taut, uncertain.

Jenna glanced up.

Y/N was hunched awkwardly beside the couch, her face pale and drawn. Hollowed. Her eyes, once bright with warmth and wit, looked sunken - deep bruises beneath them. She looked gaunt, like she hadn’t eaten properly in days. Her shirt clung to her frame more loosely than it used to. Her jaw looked sharper. Her hands shook when she tucked the blanket closer to Jenna’s side.

Jenna didn’t say anything. But she saw it all. And she saw the house too - unnaturally spotless. Like someone had tried to scrub the memories right off the walls.

But the blood still lived in her mind.

She could still feel Angelo’s blood-matted fur under her hands. She could still taste iron at the back of her tongue.

Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and Jenna leaned back against the pillows, listening to the quiet clinking of pans and the low hum of a stove heating. Rain pattered faintly against the windows - soft and distant.

A little while later, Y/N returned - carefully balancing two plates in her hands. One considerably more full than the other.

Jenna blinked. “Why’s mine a feast and yours is a crumb?”

Y/N glanced at her plate, then back at Jenna’s, then down at the floor. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.

“He stole food,” she said softly. “Cam. He took some of our best stuff when he left. We have to ration more now.”

She paused, her throat working hard. “And it’s my fault. I helped him. I brought him here. I let him stay. I didn’t see the signs and now�� you and Angelo got hurt. So I’m rationing for both of us.”

Her voice cracked halfway through. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jenna sat up straighter - a wince flashing across her face from the movement. She stared at Y/N, stunned into silence.

“You’re being stupid,” she said finally.

Y/N flinched.

“No, not in a mean way,” Jenna added, softer this time. “I get it. I do. Honestly? Yeah, part of me still blames you a little. I’m still working through it. But you trusted an old friend in a new world. That’s not evil, that’s human. And… I’d probably have done the same.”

Y/N didn’t look up.

“But I still trust you,” Jenna whispered. “You’ve never not had my back, even when things were at their worst. Cam- he was hope. Maybe some dumb part of both of us hoped he’d be a reminder of normal. But he wasn’t.”

The couch dipped as she reached out, nudging Y/N’s thigh gently.

“You’re the caretaker now, aren’t you?” she teased. “Then act like it. I need you strong. Not passing out after skipping meals and playing janitor all night.”

There was a long pause.

And then, finally, slowly - Y/N looked up. Their eyes met.

And Y/N reached for her plate again.

Took a bite.

The silence was no longer sharp - just tired. Healing.

Jenna leaned back against the cushions again, sipping water from a glass Y/N had brought earlier.

And for the first time since waking, she didn’t feel completely alone in her body.

-

It was still raining - a gentle whispering kind of rain that blurred the garden view into watercolour smears beyond the windowpanes. Jenna sat propped up against two pillows now, the dining chair Y/N had dragged over sitting nearby with a pile of medical supplies on it.

Y/N was crouched in front of her again, focused and quiet, brows furrowed just slightly. There was a ritual to this now - one Jenna had come to recognise as both painful and oddly tender.

Y/N’s fingers were careful as she peeled back the gauze from her thigh wound first. Jenna winced at the initial tug, more from anticipation than pain.

“It looks better,” Y/N murmured. “The swelling’s gone down. No sign of infection.”

“That’s because you went full Florence Nightingale on me,” Jenna quipped, glancing down at the pristine wrap job already halfway undone. “Minus the bonnet.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her lips twitching, but didn’t reply. She was too busy disinfecting the area again - apologising softly even though Jenna barely flinched this time.

One by one, she worked through the other wounds. The shoulder. The ribs. The stitched slash near her cheek. The bruises, faded now but still tender, along her back and jaw.

Y/N said nothing more as she applied the anti-inflammatory cream, her hands precise. Jenna watched her closely the whole time - the determined pinch of her expression, the way she whispered “sorry” every time she adjusted the bandage.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” Jenna said softly, breaking the quiet. “I don’t just mean the bandages. I mean… all of it.”

Y/N glanced up at her briefly, eyes tired but warm. “Practice,” she replied. “And a lot of fear.”

Once Jenna was rewrapped and dressed in a soft T-shirt Y/N had laid out earlier, Y/N moved on to Angelo. The dog was curled at Jenna’s feet, his tail thumping sleepily against the blanket.

“Alright, warrior,” Y/N said gently, brushing her fingers along the cut near his brow. “Time for round two.”

Angelo tolerated it with quiet dignity - only flinching a little when the disinfectant hit the spot on his side. Jenna reached out to scratch his ears as Y/N worked, and he leaned into her hand with a small, satisfied grumble.

When it was done, Y/N rummaged through the basket near the kitchen and returned with a large chewing stick, tossing it toward Angelo like an offering.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “You saved us.”

Angelo wasted no time in settling down with his prize between his paws.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “And where’s my treat?”

That made Y/N pause - then, for the first time that day, she laughed. Really laughed. Soft and hoarse, but real. It cracked through the thick, mournful air like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I’ve got something,” she said, standing up with a stretch.

Jenna watched her move to the kitchen. She could tell the stiffness in her walk wasn’t just from exhaustion - but from hunger, from mental collapse barely held at bay.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, balancing a wide mug in one hand and a plate in the other. Steam curled gently off the top of the drink.

Jenna sat up straighter as Y/N approached, blowing softly at the hot surface. “Vegan chocolate milk,” Y/N said, “with that weird hazelnut syrup we found. And biscuits. Proper ones.”

She set the plate down on the nightstand, then passed over the mug with two hands. Jenna accepted it carefully, the warmth blooming instantly against her palms. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second as she soaked it in - the comfort, the care, the weight of the moment.

She took a sip.

It was absurdly sweet. Ridiculously indulgent. And exactly what she needed.

Jenna opened her eyes again. “So…”

Y/N blinked at her.

“How did I survive?”

The question hung in the air like a trap. Jenna didn’t ask it with any sort of pressure, but Y/N’s shoulders still tensed. Her breath caught.

“I…” Y/N looked down at her hands. “I heard the car take off. From the forest. I ran back. Saw the blood on the glass-”

Her voice faltered.

“I knew. I knew something had happened. I heard Angelo upstairs and just - I ran.”

Her eyes were distant now, like she wasn’t in the room anymore.

“I found you in the bathroom. With Angelo. He was guarding you. You were…” she swallowed hard. “You were pale. Cold. I brought you to the bedroom. I did everything. Stitching. Glue. There was a kit in the supplies. It helped.”

“What kit?” Jenna asked quietly.

Y/N looked at her like she didn’t want to say.

“… Blood transfusion.”

There was a pause.

“You gave me blood?” Jenna’s tone cracked upward, not quite angry - just surprised. Shaken.

Y/N didn’t flinch. “You lost too much. And you weren’t waking up. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jenna blinked, then looked down at the blanket over her lap.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did,” Y/N said immediately, firmly. “I really did. I don’t know if I could do this without you, Jenna. I don’t want to do this without you.”

The words landed like a rock to the chest. Jenna’s fingers clenched tighter around the mug. Her eyes burned - not from pain this time, but from something else. Something softer.

“I don’t want to do this without you either,” she whispered.

They reached for each other at the same time.

Hands found hands.

Warmth met warmth.

And for a moment, the rain outside didn’t matter. The trauma didn’t matter. The world, for all its brokenness, held this one fragile truth:

They still had each other.

-

Four days passed. Four silent, slow-burning days.

Each began the same way - Y/N cracking her eyes open to the pale light bleeding through the villa’s gauzy curtains, stiff from sleeping in the chair beside the couch where Jenna lay healing. And each night ended the same way too - Y/N hovering quietly, adjusting blankets that Jenna had already adjusted herself, brushing a kiss to her temple before silently collapsing onto the nearby ottoman in exhaustion.

Their rhythms had changed. Not in a dramatic way. Not in anything someone else might notice. But in small, subtle, unavoidable shifts. Jenna didn’t like the way the shadows in the hallway stretched at night. Y/N didn’t like leaving any door closed. Jenna flinched when she heard keys jangle. Y/N double-checked every window lock - then triple-checked.

Y/N had taken on everything. Every chore. Every ounce of maintenance. The work of ten men packed into her thinning frame. She planted and weeded, filtered and boiled, cooked and swept. She rarely sat. Her fingers were always in motion, hands wrapped around a rag or a wrench or a wooden spoon. Jenna knew it wasn’t just about keeping the house running. - it was a lifeline. A penance.

Jenna didn’t push her. Not directly. But it was obvious. And by the fourth day, she’d had enough.

“You’ve checked the pantry five times today,” she said from her place on the couch, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N froze halfway through pulling open the bottom cabinet. She held a jar of lentils in her hand, eyes flicking between it and the shelves like she didn’t remember why she grabbed it.

“I was just-” Y/N started.

“Looking for hope in the shape of canned beans?” Jenna offered, arching a brow.

Y/N gave a weak smile. “Something like that.”

Jenna sat up straighter, wincing slightly but adjusting the pillow behind her back. “Talk to me.”

Y/N hesitated. Then sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the cabinet.

“I think we’ve got a week left,” she said at last. “Maybe less. Not counting the garden, which is… not even close to producing anything helpful.”

Jenna didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

“I have to go out,” Y/N added. Her voice cracked. “But I can’t leave you again.”

A silence followed, thick and heavy. Jenna looked down at her hands. She hated this part - the part where logic and emotion collided like bricks. She didn’t want to be left alone either. But they both knew Y/N was right.

“I’ll figure something out,” Y/N added quickly, as if trying to fix it before Jenna could even react. “I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t.”

She stood. Her legs wobbled slightly but caught themselves. Then, without another word, she disappeared up the stairs.

Jenna tilted her head in confusion, listening to the muffled clatter of footsteps and something being dragged from overhead. Ten minutes later, the garage door creaked open and the sound of hammering echoed through the villa.

By dinner, Y/N re-emerged - sweaty, dirt-streaked, and breathing a little hard. Her arms carried a plate of food in one hand and a tray of mismatched cutlery in the other.

“Soup,” she said, placing the bowl into Jenna’s lap and plucking the napkin off the tray like she was unveiling a prize. “And something else.”

Jenna quirked a brow. “What else?”

Y/N grinned and gestured toward the back door with her thumb. “Come see after we eat.”

After a few spoonfuls and an amused exchange of glances, Jenna finally asked, “So… what have you been up to?”

Y/N’s grin widened - mischief creeping into the tired edges of her face like sunlight through blinds.

“You’ll see.”

-

You wiped your hands on a towel as the last of the dishes clinked quietly into place on the rack, the kitchen now spotless and still smelling faintly of sautéed garlic from dinner. The villa was too quiet. Too clean. Too peaceful in that artificial way that only came when everything underneath was trembling.

Jenna was curled on the sofa, legs wrapped in a blanket, Angelo stretched at her feet with one paw flopped over his nose. She’d been watching DVDs all day - cycling through films with a sort of dull detachment you recognised too well. Her eyes flicked between the screen and the windows sometimes, like she wasn’t sure if this moment, this peace, was real.

It was. But only for now.

You stood frozen in the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge for a long moment, watching the soft light flicker across her face. She looked tired still. Better - stronger - but tired. And you could see it. In her posture. In the slight slouch of her shoulders. In the way her hands occasionally clenched and unclenched the edge of the blanket as if she were trying to ground herself. As if she were still afraid it might all vanish.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and turned away.

The pantry had become your sanctuary. Your obsession. Your prison.

You opened the door for the third time that day, flicking on the lamp overhead. You’d memorised every label. Every expiry date. But you counted again anyway.

Five tins of beans. Three of chickpeas. One of pineapple. Six protein bars, the dry kind. Four potatoes left, all bruised. A half bag of oats. An opened packet of powdered egg substitute. Some lentils. Barely enough rice for two days.

You stood there staring for a long while, your arms limp at your sides.

You couldn’t leave her again.

But staying meant watching everything slowly run out - and the guilt of that would eat you alive just the same.

You closed the pantry and leaned against the wall, closing your eyes briefly.

You needed a solution.

And in the silence, something clicked.

-

The attic was hot and stale, even in the early evening. You pulled the cord light on with a soft click, dust motes spiralling in the beam like snow in amber.

It was mostly boxes. Cobwebs. An old couch missing one leg. A broken guitar. A few plastic crates of someone else’s past.

But in the far corner - half-covered by a sheet and wedged between a stack of paint cans and a forgotten snowboard - you saw it.

A child’s trolley cart. Wide base. Rubber wheels. Sun-bleached blue and dusty as hell.

You dragged it free, flipping it over to test the frame. Sturdy. Not perfect - but good enough. Your mind immediately started assembling the possibilities. The couch cushions would make decent padding. You could reinforce the sides with some leftover wooden planks in the garage. It wouldn’t be fast, but it wouldn’t need to be.

It would keep her off her feet.

It would let you go out - together.

It would mean you wouldn’t have to leave her behind again.

The idea lit something in your chest that had been dim for days. A spark of purpose. Of control.

You worked for hours in the garage under the dim light of the solar bulb above the door. Your hands moved on instinct - measuring, cutting, hammering. You padded the seat, reinforced the corners, even tied down a folded umbrella over the back half to act as a sun cover.

You were so focused you didn’t even realise how late it had gotten.

When you stepped back into the villa, your shirt damp with sweat and your hands streaked with dust and grease, Jenna was still curled up on the couch - the end credits of Mrs. Doubtfire rolling in slow silence across the screen. She looked over at you with one raised brow, setting aside the mug of now-cold herbal tea you’d made her hours earlier.

You gave her a small, sheepish smile and carried two plates to the dining table - roasted carrots, wild rice, a half-portion of lentil loaf you’d put together using the last egg replacement.

She looked at you, amused. “So… what have you been up to?”

You paused just long enough to look up at her.

And smiled - for real this time.

“Come outside. I wanna show you something.”

--//--

AN: good luck anyone who has exams/finals ;)

AN: we haven’t seen any zombies in a while…

[elliespassagerprincess]

Are you interested im doing something with the song she by tyler the creator ft Frank ocean?

Could be for ellie or abby, but its really giving dark vibes of lesbian yearning 😭

Thank you!

She - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i am totally interested!! id write whatever you ask:) i went quite dark with this one... lmk if you want one with a happy ending:) i deadass got carried away with writing this lmao

this story is based off the song She by Tyler the Creator. If you can listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: 18+ MDNI: Mentions of explicit sexual content (restraints, biting, choking, rough sex), obsession, psychological manipulation, mental deterioration, dubious/blurred consent in emotional and sexual contexts, Stockholm syndrome, stalking, kidnapping, murder, suicide, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, paranoia, delusions, violence

Summary: When Ellie starts watching her a little too closely, it’s hard to tell where curiosity ends and obsession begins. What begins as quiet glances and subtle tension quickly turns into something darker—something neither of them fully understands, but both feel deeply.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

You moved into the safe zone two months ago. Quiet, kind, polite. You kept to yourself, helped at the medical tent, smiled when people passed. Ellie noticed you right away.

Not because you stood out—at least not to most. But Ellie saw the way your hands trembled slightly when you stitched a wound. How your eyes scanned the environment like you were waiting for someone to come back. Or leave.

She liked that.

She liked the way your window lit up at night, a soft amber glow behind sheer curtains. You read. Sometimes you cried. Once, you laughed—just once—and she pressed her forehead against her window across the alley and watched your lips form around a sentence. She imagined you reading to her. Her name in your mouth. Her name in your bed.

She told herself she was just watching. But then it became routine.

She started to learn the rhythm of your days. When you left. What time you came back. What you wore. What you ate. The exact second you turned off your lamp and slid under the covers. She’d stand in the shadows across the street, chewing on the skin of her thumb, eyes locked on that sliver of light between your curtains.

Ellie didn’t smile much anymore. Not unless she thought of you. And even then, it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker—sharper. Something that clenched her stomach like a fist and made her palms itch.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. You weren’t hers. But that didn’t stop her.

You first met her when she came in with a deep cut on her forearm. Self-stitched, jagged. Her expression unreadable.

“You should’ve come in earlier,” you told her, gently cleaning the wound. “This could’ve gotten infected.”

She just stared. “Didn’t want to waste your time.”

You paused. “You knew it would be me?”

Her jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

You smiled. Ellie didn’t.

But later that night, she traced the shape of your smile in the fogged glass of her bedroom window. Over and over until her finger bled from the cold.

Ellie started showing up more. Dropping off supplies. Asking if you needed help moving crates. Pretending to look for something just outside your tent.

“I heard you play guitar,” you said once, handing her a bandage kit. “Do you still?”

“Only in my head.”

You wanted to ask what that meant. But her eyes were dark that day. Watching you like she already had the answer.

You didn’t know she was in your hallway the night you cried into your pillow. That she sat just outside your door, back against the wood, fists clenched, listening.

You didn’t know she stole one of your gloves when it dropped outside the infirmary. That she kept it in her jacket pocket. That she touched it every time someone else looked at you too long.

You didn’t know you were the reason someone disappeared.

That guy—tall, arrogant, always flirting—he hadn’t shown up in over a week. No one knew where he went. Ellie did.

She watched him follow you to your door one night. Heard you laugh nervously when he touched your arm. Saw the way you recoiled when he leaned in too close.

Ellie followed him into the woods the next day. Said nothing. Did what she had to.

For you.

One night, you came home late. The infirmary was overwhelmed. Blood on your shirt. You were tired, broken, still so beautiful. Ellie watched you through the crack in your curtain.

She saw you undress.

Saw your bare skin in that soft yellow light. Saw you pause in front of the mirror, fingertips grazing your ribs like you didn’t recognize yourself.

Ellie’s breath hitched. Her hand trembled. She pressed it to the windowpane like she could reach through.

You looked sad. You looked lonely. You looked like you needed someone.

Her.

The first time you saw her watching, it wasn’t on purpose.

You pulled your curtain aside to close the window and there she was—across the alley, standing in the dark. Still. Unmoving. Eyes glowing faintly under the porch light.

You froze. She didn’t.

She just tilted her head. Slowly. Like a predator curious if its prey would run.

You didn’t.

You closed the curtain. Heart pounding. Skin hot. You should’ve been afraid.

But you weren’t.

Ellie showed up the next morning like nothing happened. Gave you a thermos of coffee. Smiled—for the first time. You stared at her fingers as they brushed yours. Cold. Calloused. Familiar. You let her in that day.

She sat in your chair. Looked at your books. Touched the necklace on your shelf like she already knew its weight.

“You’ve been watching me,” you said, not a question.

Ellie blinked. “Yeah.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

She stood up. Walked toward you. Stopped just short of touching.

“Because I love you.”

You should’ve laughed. Should’ve run. Should’ve screamed.

But all you said was: “Since when?”

Ellie’s voice dropped. “Since the first time you turned on that fucking light.”

You kissed her. You didn’t mean to. Or maybe you did. Maybe you were just as broken.

It was desperate. All teeth and breath and guilt. She gripped your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear. You gripped her jaw like you wanted to know her shape from the inside out.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was dangerous. But it felt like breathing after drowning.

Now she’s in your bed almost every night.

She never stays till morning. Always slips out before the sun rises, back to her shadows, back to her window.nBut her scent lingers on your sheets.

And when you close your eyes, you feel her watching.

And when you open them, she’s there. She always is.

The first time you tried to distance yourself, Ellie didn’t speak.

You had turned to her in bed, barely whispering, “I think I need space.”

Your voice cracked. You hated how small it sounded.

Ellie didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just nodded. Kissed your shoulder and slipped out like always. But that night, your window stayed open.

She didn’t watch you through it. She was already inside.

She started leaving things in your house. Quietly, deliberately. A book you mentioned once—resting on your nightstand. Her hoodie folded on the arm of your couch. A note in your handwriting that you didn’t remember writing.

“You miss me.”

You found it under your pillow.

Your hands trembled as you stared at it. You told yourself you were imagining things. You told yourself it was just coincidence. You told yourself Ellie wouldn't do that.

But deep down, you knew better.

People started asking if you and Ellie were together. You always paused too long before answering. Smiled too tightly. Said, “It’s complicated.”

Ellie never used that word. She said, “She’s mine.”

She wasn’t just watching anymore.

She was following.

You’d leave work and catch a flicker of her hoodie in the crowd. You’d step outside at night and feel her behind you. You’d dream of her fingers wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back into her.

One night, you turned the corner too fast and slammed into her chest. She didn’t apologize.

Her hands gripped your arms.

“I didn’t know you were—” you started.

“Yes, you did,” she said. Her voice was a blade.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The tension curled around your throat like smoke. You wanted to run. You wanted to stay. You wanted her to tear you apart.

Inside her mind, it only made sense:

She knew what you liked. What you feared. What you needed.

She could protect you. She could fix the ache inside your chest.

You just had to stop pretending you didn’t feel it too.

You were hers. You just didn’t understand it yet.

Ellie started keeping a journal. It wasn’t full of words. Just drawings.

Of you.

Sleeping. Smiling. Naked. Crying.

Sometimes she’d draw herself with you—your hand in hers, your head on her chest. But always, always, your eyes were closed.

She liked it better that way.

When another woman tried to flirt with you at the market, Ellie was there before you could even react. Just a shadow beside your shoulder.

“She’s not interested,” Ellie said, low and cold.

You touched her wrist. “Ellie, stop—”

The woman blinked at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Ellie didn’t respond. Just stared. Long enough to make her leave. Long enough to make her afraid.

Later, Ellie brushed your hair off your cheek and whispered, “You don’t need anyone else.”

You didn’t answer. Because part of you agreed.

You started hearing her voice even when she wasn’t there.

Soft murmurs at the edge of your consciousness. A whisper behind your ear.

“You’re mine.”

You looked over your shoulder constantly. Not because you were scared. But because you hoped it was her.

One night, you confronted her. “Are you watching me when I sleep?”

Ellie didn’t lie.

“Yes.”

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

She stepped forward. Her hands cradled your jaw like you were something fragile—something sacred.

“Because it’s the only time you’re honest.”

You shuddered. “That’s not love.”

Ellie’s eyes flashed. “No. It’s more than that.”

She started sleeping on your floor.

Didn’t ask. Just curled up on the rug like a stray wolf. Eyes closed, but never fully asleep. You stepped over her on the way to the bathroom and felt her fingers brush your ankle.

You didn’t stop her. You didn’t speak.

You just left the door unlocked. Every night.

Eventually, your light never turned off.

You didn’t pull the curtains anymore. You let her see.

Because pretending you weren’t hers felt worse than giving in.

And the worst part? You started watching her too.

You counted her steps. You tracked her breath.

You studied the scars on her knuckles and the cracks in her voice when she said your name.

You wanted her under your skin, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sane. It wasn’t safe.

But it was real.

And in this world, that was all you had.

The cabin was two hours from the nearest town.

You didn’t remember falling asleep in the car. You didn’t remember agreeing to come.

You just remembered Ellie’s voice: “There’s too many people around you. Too many eyes.”

She made it sound like love. And you were so tired of fighting.

You woke up wrapped in thick blankets. The fire crackled low. Rain tapped against the window like a pulse.

And Ellie was already watching.

She sat in the rocking chair, legs spread wide, one hand curled beneath her chin. The other rested on her thigh.

“You’re safe now,” she said.

You sat up slowly, brain hazy. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere they can’t reach you.”

You should have run. Instead, you pulled the blanket tighter. And whispered, “Okay.”

The first few days felt like a dream. A stillness you didn’t realize you craved. Ellie chopped wood outside shirtless, sweat glistening down her spine. She cooked, fed you, fixed the fire. She moved like a soldier, like a lover, like something primal that found peace only when she could watch you.

“Do you hate it here?” she asked one night. You shook your head.

Because here, she didn’t have to hide what she was. And neither did you.

She kissed you after dinner. Hard. Possessive.

You tasted desperation in it—an edge like she was afraid you’d disappear mid-kiss. Her hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The plates clattered. You didn’t care.

“Tell me you’re mine,” she growled against your throat.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your head lolled back as her hand slid up your shirt, gripping your breast with a brutal need.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. It felt like a vow.

That night, she took you.

Face pressed into the mattress. Hands pinned above your head. Her mouth feverish on your skin, trailing teeth and tongue in frantic worship. Every thrust came with a litany—Mine. Mine. Mine.—punctuated by bruises blooming under her fingertips.

You came with a scream you didn’t recognize. You came again, sobbing her name.

And when it was over, she curled around you like armor.

Whispered, “I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

You didn’t reply. Because you didn’t want to leave.

Days blurred.

Ellie read to you, bathed you, watched you sleep. She didn’t let you touch the keys. Didn’t let you wander past the woods.

“It’s not safe,” she’d repeat. “People lie. I don’t.”

You believed her. Or you needed to believe her.

One night, she tied your wrists with her belt. Not out of cruelty.

But because you asked her to.

Because your mind was starting to slip too—spiraling in on itself like hers.

“I want to feel it,” you whispered. “What it’s like to be… owned.”

Something in Ellie snapped. She fucked you on the floor. Face flushed, voice shaking. She held your chin and made you watch her as you came. Over and over.

“You’re not leaving,” she told you afterward. You smiled, dazed.

“Why would I?”

You found her journal. Pages filled with you—sketches, fantasies, maps of your body. But also lists. Daydreams:

"Her in a collar"

"Me watching her sleep, knife under the pillow"

"Keep her full. Keep her scared. Keep her close"

"Fuck her in front of a mirror until she can’t tell who she is anymore"

You should’ve been afraid. But instead, you wrote your name in the margin next to hers.

By the second week, you stopped asking when you’d go back.

By the third, you stopped wondering who you used to be.

You were hers now. And worse?

She was yours.

Because obsession, when shared, is just another kind of love.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in the cabin.

Days feel like water slipping through your fingers. You forget what month it is. Sometimes Ellie forgets your name. But you always know hers.

She carved it into the headboard, right above where she made you hers. She whispers it into your skin every night like a ritual. She branded it into your bones.

Ellie.

She watches you brush your hair. Stares like she’s never seen a woman before. Like you’re some phantom that might slip through the cracks if she blinks too long.

“I think I’d kill someone for you,” she says one morning.

You don’t flinch. You smile.

“Who?”

She doesn’t answer. But that night, there’s blood under her fingernails.

You break first. It happens slowly—your grip on reality softens like wet paper.

You cry when your reflection doesn’t smile back. You scream at the storm outside like it’s mocking you. You bite down on Ellie’s arm while she’s fucking you because you need to feel something real.

She doesn’t punish you. She moans.

Ellie starts hearing things.

She locks the door even when no one’s around. She kisses you with a hand on your throat now, like she’s making sure you don’t lie. You find notes stuffed in her boots:

“She’s slipping. She’s forgetting me. I’ll make her remember.”

You don’t tell her you read them. Instead, you leave one of your own:

“If I forget you, kill me.”

The next time she fucks you, it’s on the front porch. Naked. In the cold. Rain on your bare chest. She wants the world to see—wants the sky to know you’re hers. You ride her with your hands knotted in her hair, blood dripping from your lip where she bit you. You come like you’re trying to leave your body behind. She drags you back in with her mouth.

You stop caring about survival.

You drink wine for breakfast. You forget how to spell your last name. You tell Ellie she’s inside your lungs and she kisses your ribs like that’ll keep her there.

“I want to die here,” you say one night.

She presses her forehead to yours.

“We already did.”

There’s no mirror in the bedroom anymore.

You smashed it after Ellie asked, “Do you still recognize yourself?”

You didn’t.

You don’t.

And that was the point.

The last time you go outside, it’s because Ellie begs you to. She wants to show you something—this twisted, gorgeous mural she painted in the barn. It's all you.

Your eyes. Your mouth. Your cunt, over and over, blooming like some unholy flower.

“It’s worship,” she says.

You drop to your knees and lick the paint off her fingers.

There’s no turning back.

Not now. Not when the lines between captor and captive, lover and lunatic, have blurred past meaning.

You are two sides of the same sickness now.

Two gods of one deranged altar.

Two corpses in one grave, still moving, still wanting.

You kiss her like drowning. She holds you like possession.

And when the world finally forgets you exist— You are relieved.

The cabin is quiet. Too quiet.

Ellie hasn’t spoken in two days. Not really. She hums to herself, sometimes, drawing you in her sketchbook over and over until the pages wrinkle under the pressure of her pencil.

You ask what she’s thinking.

She just looks up and says, “You’re so quiet when you sleep.”

Like that answers anything. Like that means everything.

That night, she takes you to bed like it’s the last time. She’s soft with you. Gentle, even.

Kisses your eyelids, your palms, your knees. Cradles your hips like she’s trying to memorize their weight. She doesn’t fuck you like she wants to own you—she fucks you like she’s already lost you.

You cry. She doesn’t ask why.

When you wake up, the gun is on the pillow. It’s cleaned.

Oiled. Loaded.

And next to it is her final drawing: the two of you under the covers, a red thread wrapped around your throats, knotted into a bow at the center.

Underneath, she’s written: If we can’t live like this, we don’t live at all.

You find her on the floor, knees tucked under her like a child. She’s holding a second pistol, one she probably stole months ago.

When she looks at you, she doesn’t smile. She just says, “Will you let me do it?”

You nod.

Because that’s love, too. Trusting someone to end you.

She holds you in her lap, like a lullaby. One hand buried in your hair, the other on your pulse. You breathe together.

You’re not afraid. Not anymore.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Ellie kisses your temple.

“I know.”

The first shot rings out, and the birds fly from the trees.

The second shot follows, echoing through the forest like a vow.

And then— Nothing.

When they find the bodies, you're curled together, as if sleeping.

No notes. No names. Just each other.

Forever.

[call-mi-jinx]

Dave Lizewski X Reader - Headcannons 2

warnings - mentions of seccsual acts xoxo,

Main Masterlist Dave Lizewski Masterlist

a/n - based off this ask! hope you enjoy! and also sorry if some of it is cringey i cringed at some bits too 😭😭 ta ta my lovelies xx

dave lizewski x popular! reader

he always knew he didn’t have a chance with you, so he never even thought about talking to you let alone telling you

he always yapped to todd and marty about how beautiful and “out of his league” you were

he always stole glances at you in the classes you had together or when you passed him in the hallway

sometimes he’d have bursts of confidence and begin walking up to you but it was always at the fifth step that he chickened out

you only noticed him when you were paired up for a science project

he asked if you would want to meet up at this cafe/comic book store but you said you’d be more comfortable at your house

so every time you met up, he always came to your house, in your room

the whole assignment was due in about a month because of how much work had to be done

and over that time, you wished you had met him sooner

on the last day of you two doing the project, he finally gathered up the courage to ask you out

you said yes after having a blank face for what felt like hours to dave

when telling your friends you were slightly worried you would get the piss taken out of you, but haley (your best friend) convinced you they wouldn’t and they didn’t much to your relief

dave however, always overthought about what people would think

he always thought that you deserved someone better, someone “in your league”

you always reassured him that you only want him and even showed him (if you know what I mean 😏)

after about a month dave finally became confident with himself but there was sometimes off days for him

for your first month anniversary, he got you the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers and the cutest hand written note about how much he cared about you and appreciated you

he met your dad and at first your dad didn’t like him (before he even met him) but after the dinner you three had he loved him like a son (don’t ask pls idk ✋🏻😭)

when you met his dad, your palms were clammy and your breathing was jagged but dave held your hand through the whole thing which made it better

haley always hung out with you two, she never thought she was a third wheel. more like your kid

at graduation, dave took you to the most beautiful lake house in the woods, that’s where he gave you a promise ring

he made a speech before giving it to you which made you bawl your eyes out

[kioflerkira]

“ MOVE ALONG ”

pairings: violet x reader genre: romance warnings: language, mild suggestive themes, possessive behavior, brief unwanted flirtation, alcohol mention summary: zaun isn’t a city of love—but somehow, in a bar that smells like grease and regret, vi makes it feel like home

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

ZAUN WASN’T EXACTLY known for its charm.

it reeked ass of metal and oil, the air constantly heavy with a smog that clung to your lungs like cobwebs. the bar you found yourself in tonight was tucked between two crumbling buildings, its flickering neon sign barely holding on to the word "spanner’s."

inside, it was the usual: a mix of rowdy locals, a couple of sketchy tech heads trying to sell knockoff gadgets that end up breaking within 2 days, and one — actually multiple — guys already passed out face-first into their drink.

you didn’t mind it, really. the noise, the smoke, the chaos— it was all a kind of comfort now, thanks to the company you kept. or rather, the one person you were waiting for.

VI

she’d told you to meet her here after she dealt with some business. typical vi things. you had half a mind to look for her when someone slid into the seat beside you.

"what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a pit like this ?"

you blinked, slowly turning your head to see a guy— mid-20s maybe, with a jagged smile and breath that screamed too many bottles deep, and he fuckin stank — leaning way too close.

you offered a tight-lipped smile. "just .. waiting for someone."

"bet I could show you a better time."

unternally, you rolled your eyes. outwardly, you shifted away, scanning the bar for any sign of pink hair.

the guy clearly didn’t take the hint.

"c’mon, sweetheart. just one drink. then maybe you and I could—"

"they said they were waiting for someone."

the voice sliced through the air like a blade.

you didn’t even need to look. you knew that voice. confident. dangerous. laced with amusement and threat in equal measure.

vi

the guy turned, face already twisting in irritation. "and who the hell are you supposed to —"

he didn’t get to finish.

vi was beside you in two strides, one hand resting possessively on your shoulder, the other slinging around your waist. she tugged you in, pressing a kiss to your cheek with an obnoxiously loud mwah that made your face heat up.

"mine," she said, voice hard as her glare. "move along."

the guy blinked. twice. then muttered something that sounded vaguely like a curse before stumbling off to a far corner.

you turned your head to her, half amused, half embarrassed. "really ?"

vi shrugged. "what ? I had to stake my claim.”

"like i’m a piece of land ?"

"nah, you’re way more valuable than that." she grinned, finally dropping into the seat beside you. "more like a legendary artifact I stole from some ancient tomb. all mine now."

you snorted. "you’re ridiculous."

vi leaned in, her smirk softening. "maybe. but I saw that creep get too close, and well .." she paused, brushing a thumb over your cheek, "I don’t share."

your heart did that annoying flutter thing.

you tried to sound annoyed. "you were late."

"fashionably."

"you made me deal with a sleazy drunk guy alone."

"and I showed up just in time to dramatically save you. you’re welcome."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

"one day someone’s gonna flirt with me and you’re not gonna be around to punch them."

vi cracked her knuckles. "then i’ll just find them after."

you laughed. "you’re unhinged."

"only for you, baby."

you leaned into her side, the bar noise fading into the background as vi wrapped both arms around you this time, chin resting atop your head.

she kissed your temple. "next round’s on me. then we go home and you tell me all the ways you missed me."

you snorted. "you were gone for like thirty minutes."

"an eternity."

and despite the grime, the STINK, the god awful lighting—you felt more at home than anywhere else. because with vi, even a bar in zaun felt like the safest place in the world.

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Stolen Moments: A Fairy Tale

A spur-of-the-moment story for @inklings-challenge

The princess steps into the center of a whirling masquerade. She is resplendent in green as the Queen of May. A man slips through the crowd and stands before her, dressed all in brown as the Autumn King. He bows with a flourish, silently asking for a dance.

She stands like stone. “You should not be here,” she says.

“Can I not dance with my wife?”

He reaches for her hand. She pulls it away. “I have no husband.”

“In this place, no. Yet I remember otherwise,” he says. “And so do you.”

She turns on her heel and strides away. He follows, quick as ever. The dancers part around them like water. She scowls. He was always too clever for her, always too quick. Even a world of her making bends to accommodate him.

“Do you know what I’ve done to find you?” he asks. “The countries I’ve crossed? The mountains I’ve climbed? I’ve fought gryphons and giants. Searched for treasures lost since the invention of time. Flown to the moon and tunneled to the center of the earth.”

“I’m sure you enjoyed yourself immensely.”

“I bargained with the four winds, gave up my shadow, traded three days of my life just to have this moment with you.”

“I am sorry you wasted your time,” she says. “Do what you will, you cannot take me from here.”

“No,” he agrees. “You are trapped here by your own will, and only by your will can you escape.”

She chose this day well when she arranged her escape. The grandest ball the Mountain King ever held, the day of her sixteenth birthday. Long before she ever met that too-curious trickster who stole away her heart with cheap promises. Here there is music, beauty, bounty, every pleasure she can imagine. She will gladly live in this day forever if it means freedom from her ties to him.

“You think you can persuade me,” she sneers.

He laughs. “No one in the twelve worlds can do that.”

“You think you can steal me.”

Even behind his mask, she can see his gaze darken. She has offended him. “I will not steal a wife.”

“What do you call our wedding day?”

“You chose me.”

“Do you call it choosing, when you hid your true face behind so many lies?”

“You had your own secrets.”

“Do you blame me for hiding them?”

“No,” he says.

She stops. Of all the things she imagined him saying, this was not one of them.

“No,” he says again. “You were right to keep your secrets. I was wrong to seek them out.”

She turns to look at him. He removes his mask, revealing his deceptively young face. His eyes, once blue, have turned greenish-gray. His face has three jagged scars.

“You hid from me,” he said. “As I hid from you. I should have been patient--proved that you could trust me. Instead, I forced my way into your secrets and destroyed everything. I'm sorry.”

She is speechless. She expected excuses. Dazzling explanations.She had never expected contrition.

He reaches beneath his jacket and removes a small glass pendant. It shines the same bright blue his eyes had once been.

“This is yours,” he said.

Her heart. Taken from her in a childhood curse so long ago. Only her husband could put it in its proper place, if it remained unbroken during five years of marriage. Prince of thieves that he once had been, he had found it and broken it on the eve of their second anniversary.

“You repaired it,” she said.

“I replaced it. With mine.”

She has seen him in a million lies. This is not one of them.

“You may stay here if you wish,” he says. “I came only to atone. I do not expect you to forgive me.”

He places the pendant in her hand, bows, then turns away.

When he leaves, she knows she need never see him again.

“Wait,” she says. She removes her mask. “Don’t leave without your wife."

He stops. The other dancers disappear.She puts her hand in his and kisses him as she did on their wedding day.

He is alight with joy as she pulls away. "Does this mean--?"

“I forgive you,” she says.

He laughs aloud.

The heart he gave to her, she freely gives to him. The blue returns to his eyes as their hearts are restored, new and whole.

As the curse crumbles around them, they leave the ballroom behind.

[jasmine-the-fox]

Fashion show

Happy New Years!!! i hope everyone is celebrating today!!! this is a Damienette fic so please enjoy!! this was a request by A29Z10

The New Years fashion show was always a huge deal. The judges were always big and famous people and to sign up you needed connections or you can only watch from your TV or if you have a ticket to get in. Due to Marinette being the famous MDC she worked for many famous people and so had many connections to sign up to the contest this year.

Marinette worked very hard on her dress for this contest and hoped for the best, Chloe who became her best friend was there to help her as she worked on her design with there boyfriends Jon Kent for Chloe and Damian Wayne for Mari checking up on them to make sure both of them were fine.

The judges were: Chloe’s mom, Gabriel Agreste, Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale and Bruce Wayne. Everything was fine when Chloe looked confused when Lila walked in as one of the contestants “I bet Gabriel made her entry and she’s claiming it as her own” she said with a small laugh… But Mari and Damian weren’t sure about that at all. Lila looked very calm and ready for this, they had a feeling that Lila had something planned and Mari hoped it could be quickly resolved in the end. Soon it was time for the contestants to present their pieces. Marinette took a breath to calm herself before revealing her design to the judges who were amazed.

Only for Lila to interrupt…

“I can’t believe you Marinette! I have tried so hard to become your friend and you decide to steal my design!” she shouts as she reveals the exact same dress Marinette made. She was now certain that Gabriel made it… but how did Lila steal her design? Before she could say anything, her classmates surrounded her and began to scream horrible things at her for doing this.

Adrien after a while dragged Mari away “This can be quickly resolved Marinette. If you date me, I’ll claim it’s your design and Lila must have mixed up her design with yours by mistake… otherwise I’ll make sure your banned from the fashion world and have your life ruined” he said making Mari glare as Damian took her away “Father is looking into who was inside your studio when the dress was done and when you did your sketch” he explained making her nod.

Mari decided to check her things to see if maybe Lila had access at some point… and didn’t notice Lila following her… but Chloe did and informed Jon to check the camera’s and make sure there were being viewed where Lila and Mari were while she followed them.

She watched as Lila walked up to Marinette as she looked through her bag “It’s best if you give up and accept defeat Marinette. No one will believe you that I stole your designs” she said with a laugh as Marinette turned to look at Lila “How? The security around my studio was set up by Wayne enterprise” she said making Lila laugh “Easy. I just disguised myself as an employee and got in… then I just sent the design to Gabriel and he made it for this contest. And don’t even try saying I confessed… I’ll just lie and say you threatened me to lie to say I did steal it” she said before walking away with a smirk.

And that smirk fell seconds later…

Since the contest was live… everyone saw and heard Lila’s confession. Gabriel was removed from the judge’s table for helping a contestant cheat and steal someone else’s work and Lila was arrested for her crimes. This resulted in the police digging into her and discovered that Lila was not only working with Hawkmoth but she bribed her principal and miss Bustier to get away with her lies.

They also uncovered that Adrien was helping her with some of her lies so he was taken in by the police to be questioned as a result. Of course, Lila is akumatized into Volpina once more but she is quickly defeated by Ladybug, Honeybee, Superboy and the Batfam… resulting in discovering that Hawkmoth was Gabriel Agreste this whole time and that Adrien was not only Cat Noir but had been slowly helping his father.

In the end it was over. The class is sued for there actions towards Marinette and Alya gets sued for her blog causing it to get shut down. The class all get blocked in getting their dream job’s and have to get horrible job’s they all complain about. Some even say that if they can get Mari to forgive them then she would help them get there dream job’s… but none of them can reach her since she got a new number and blocked them.

Adrien was cut off from the class for what he did but believed that Marinette loved him and tried to find her… but then a year later he sees in a newspaper that she is engaged to Damian Wayne while Chloe is engaged to Jon… both of them were proposed to on New Years together.

The picture used for the story… was Marinette kissing her fiancé on New Years with her ring in clear sight… and Chloe doing the same with Jon but her showing of her ring was as if she was shoving it to their classmates… and it hurt Adrien deeply.

[izzabela]

Idk how to start with this but like how Hanzo is the last couple timlimes kinda clawed out of hell just to avenge his family and shit. Something along the lines of the reader doing it with one of the Lin Luei bros of your choice? Like they died during a mission gone wrong that ended in a massacre with only the Lin Kuei bro alive. So the reader just out of sheer desperation to get back to them bascially claws themselves out of the Netherrealm to try and get back to them. Their covered in burns and they look like shit, but their back

From the Depths of Hell - Kuai Liang x GN!reader

in which you come back home

a/n: DLC announcement, how we feelin?

ship[s]: kuai liang x gn!reader

warning(s): bodily injury(/ies)?, gore?, angst, non-kanon story, non-kanon lore LOL

the TATTOOS GUYS THE TATTOOS OH MY ELDER GO-

=====================

You looked at Kuai Liang's eyes as he stares at you. His eyes, that are usually focused and reserved, held a line of tears as he looks into your eyes.

The fight to defend the Fire Temple and Hourglass from another timeline threat ended, and the casualties in this were double Shang Tsung's atrocities.

While Liu Kang, his champions, and other titan allies remained relatively alright, mortal casualties from the Lin Kuei and the monks of the Wu Shi climb high.

This was not a war, not even a state of emergency. This was a bloodbath, a massacre- carnage.

It was so bad that the aid you and the Lin Kuei provided, most (if not all) of the men and women that were born into this clan, perished.

The lone survivors were you, Kuai Liang, Bi Han, and Tomas. Not even Sektor and Cyrax made it.

"My dear?" He calls out to you, and you smile as you happily close your eyes, arms are wide open for him to embrace you.

Except you can feel something pass through you. Like a wave of goosebumps, you don't feel the muscular body of Kuai Liang, nor the warmth of his arms.

You turn around and watch as he kneels on the ground, cradling a body that looks eerily similar to yours. You try to get his attention, waving your hands, screaming his name even. But when you try to grab his shoulder, your hand phases through it, and your eyes meet the gaze of your very own, lifeless, ones.

Kuai Liang's shoulders rack violently, rocking back and forth as he holds your cold body. There's a deep, ugly gash running down your collarbone to your stomach, scratches littering your usually clean face, and blood coming from the top of your head. You gasp, falling to your butt as you scoot away.

Your ghostly presence shakes again, this time two people passing through you.

"Brother..." Bi Han's voice is rough, but eerily soft as his eyes lay upon the situation at hand. Tomas is also by his side, and he looks into the sky as he fights the tears that threaten to fall.

"She told me she could handle it..." he mumbles, still rocking back and forth. "I let her go because she told me so..."

Suddenly, you could feel yourself slipping away from the bloodshed. Your arms tried to reach for something, anything, but the mysterious force that stole you from your dearest and his family was too strong.

One minute, you were in Earthrealm. Next, you found yourself in the chaos and eternal damnation of the Netherrealm.

The scenery of the realm frightened you. You had heard the rumors, learned from Ashrah as well, but seeing it in person was different. Jagged and sharp mountains painted the endless and borderless horizon. Echoes of the screams and cries of the damned can be heard throughout the realm, and no matter how much you cover your ears, it rings clearly through your hands.

"By the elder gods," you plea silently. Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming sorrow of this place filling your soul.

You begin to cry, wandering aimlessly in the terrain as your body begins to burn, scar, and tear at the elements it faces. What's worse, though, is that you couldn't feel it- not a single thing.

You couldn't feel the jagged stones and rocks that pierced through your feet and scraped your legs. You couldn't feel the fire that burned your arms and torso, your burns scarring over themselves as you wandered. And you couldn't even feel the tearing of your skin as debris from the whirling winds cut you up.

"No use... stay here... all alone... the fire welcomes me..." you mumble this mantra over and over again.

There is no possibility of keeping track of time here. Order, law, civilization as you once knew did not exist here- not when it's ruler-less, borderless, and populated with the most wicked.

And you had to walk through it all.

********

As you walked, Kuai Liang mourned. The loss of his clan was one thing, the loss of his beloved? You? Impossible to comprehend.

While everyone mourned differently, Kuai Liang was different. Fire is beautiful, but also dangerous. It can be wild, uncontrollable, an element of destruction. And by the elder gods, he was ready to explode.

The yellow-clad ninja's depression was violent and manic. He lashed out on everyone, almost burning his brothers and burning Liu Kang's champions. He did not sleep, his insomnia coming back full force to keep him training or sparring.

He wandered the empty palace, sometimes stopping in the courtyard and yelling exercise mantras- as if he still had initiates to train. He was falling deeper and deeper into a psychosis- and you weren't there to witness it.

Bi Han, Tomas, Liu Kang and his champions, hell even some of the Outworlders the Lin Kuei allied with, they all tried to help him, but it was no use. Kuai Liang was a ticking time bomb, and every little thing could be considered the ignition.

One night, Kuai Liang finally passes out from exhaustion of his insomnia. Tomas heard a thud in the hallways, and found one of the servants trying to pick him up. i know i said everyone died but do you honestly think servants go? Tomas tells the servant he's got it, and rushes to his brother in his study.

"B-Bi Han!" he stutters out, his brother on his back as he calls for the cryomancer.

Bi Han gets up immediately, and it's slightly scary for Tomas to watch him tie him down without saying a word.

However, it was for his own good, he'd been growing more and more unstable, taking him out traditionally would probably get one of them killed.

As Tomas watches his brother's chest rise and fall, Tomas prays for the first time in decades.

"God, whoever. If you can hear me, please..." he begs.

"Please return my brother."

********

You're not sure how long it's been since you've heard a noise other than a scream or cry.

But when you hear the faintest whisper of Tomas's voice, your tears cease and your humanity is brought back momentarily. You wipe your eyes and look left, right, down, and up, trying to figure out where and how you heard Tomas's voice.

"return?" you repeat what you heard.

The whisper grows into something more tangible, like a hushed tone someone used in the library. You can hear his voice more clearly, but not yet loud enough.

"Please- retu- bro-," you hear his voice whisper fragments of words.

You shut your eyes tightly, using the last bit of your energy to really zone in on his words.

"God... whoever. If you can hear me... Please. Please return my brother," his voice booms in your head. It's shaky, almost like he's holding in his tears.

"Oh Tomas..." you coo as your tears begin.

Tomas hasn't gone to church in decades. Being from Prague, The Czech Republic, catholicism used to be a major part of his identity. After his parents, he lost the spark and drive he had for the religion.

"The fact he is praying..." you mutter to yourself. "Oh elder gods."

Kuai Liang must've not taken your passing as well as his brothers. Death was natural in your line of work, Kuai Liang had hosted many burials in honor of his clans-people, but you were different. You weren't just a clan member, a ninja, or a woman.

You were Kuai Liang's, just as he was your man. You were his fire, his drive to fight, his partner for life. To be separated so soon... you can only imagine what it would be like in his shoes.

You wipe your tears as you get up from your spot on the ground. More burns appear, but they do nothing to you as you begin to tread for the end of this realm.

However, despite such a noble start, you realize the pain that once felt dull to you was creeping back in increments. Slowly, the agony began to settle in.

"I guess the more human I am, the more I'll feel again," you groan, walking the grounds of the Netherrealm as you try to find any semblance of an escape.

Finally, you stop at a huge wall. Looking up, you realize that it's emitting a haze of heat, just hovering your hand over it feeling like you got burned again. You think of stopping, returning back to the sad, yet easy life of a wandering spirit.

"No," you tell yourself. "Not when you have something to live for."

And so, you grabbed onto the stony wall, hoisting yourself up as you reach, grab, and pull yourself higher and higher. It's hot, scorching, melting your skin as more burns cover your body; you don't care.

Not when your beloved's brother prayed for the first time in years. Not when you realize the agony your beloved is living through as you lie here- wandering and helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue.

Blue and white.

It's cold, too.

You aren't sure how long you had been climbing, but when you make it back to Earthrealm. And while the chill bites you, it feels like a warm hug.

The warmest of hugs.

Using the last of your strength, you pull yourself up and land into the powdered snow. You gasp as you lay in the snow, rolling around in it like a husky.

You're on hands and knees as you take in your surroundings, and bits of yourself too.

This is Arctika, that's certain. The fir and maple trees that are around this part of the small nation, the constant snowfall the region has is also an indicator. You climbed out of hell to finally be home, but that's the least of your worries.

Looking down at your body, you examine the serious burns that mar your arm. Like a crazy artist on a canvas, your arms are painted in splotches of pink and brown.

But why can you only see one arm?

Your leg also experience this type of artistry, except scars of deep cuts add more depth to this painting. You knew your leg would be cut up from the climb, but you didn't realize to what extreme they would be.

You honestly don't want to look at your face, but when you lick your parched lips, you limp to the nearest body of water you could find.

By the gods, you had never been so... shocked. No words could describe what happened to your face, but it's not a secret when it's this obvious.

A huge, healed burn starts from your right eye, down diagonally across your nose and lips, and ending at your chin. You also realize why you can only see one body part.

Your left eye has been blinded, and there's a scar over your eye as well. You don't remember when this happened, but it doesn't matter when it's real and on your face. You stifle tears as the realization sets in, and all the adrenaline that kept you alive leaves, and you pass out next to the water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuai Liang remains in his room, bound to his bed as his brothers stare him in the face. He's livid, body temperature rising as he tries to use his fire to melt the chains that hold him.

Too bad they're imbued with magic.

"Release me at once! Bi Han! Tomas!" he seethes, venom dripping from his words.

Both men look at one another as they meet with sad eyes. For the first time in years, these two agree on one thing- that their brother has become unstable and a threat.

"We cannot do that, brother," Tomas says softly, and Kuai Liang is practically pulling the chains off the walls before a servant bursts through the doors of the bedroom.

"Grandmaster! I come bearing news-" but the servant is immediately yelled at by Bi Han.

"What do you have for us that allow you such disobedience?!" Bi Han screeches, but the servant is out of his water as he keeps talking.

"Grandmaster, master Tomas... She is here." The young men stare at the servant with semi-lax faces, and they push out of the way as the servant locks eyes with the bound pyromancer.

"How do you mean?!" Kuai Liang yells, arms shaking the chains, but it falls on deaf ears as they run out of the room.

Bi Han and Tomas are in the courtyard, and the servants are trembling at their knees as they carry your slumped body. Bi Han and Tomas rush to them, the former carrying your head and the latter at your feet and legs.

"This... is a trap. We saw her die," Bi Han states matter of factly.

"But look, brother," Tomas points out a damning feature of yours. "No one else in the clan has such a part on their body."

"Agh...." you groan, moving around as best as you can. The men move more softly, trying to keep you comfortable.

"(Y/n)?" Tomas calls, and you blink multiple times before the vision of an ashen-haired man appears in your eye.

"Oh elder gods, you're real," you whisper, touching his cheek as Tomas turns pink. You turn to Bi Han and touch his face too.

"It's not a dream...." you mumble to yourself, and Bi Han sits you up so you can breathe properly.

"That... is not possible," Bi Han mutters. "We saw you....die. Kuai Liang held you, he-." You cut him off at the mention of your partner.

"Bi Han, where is he? How is he? I heard he has gone mad, show me where-" it seems everyone in this family has a habit of not letting people finish their sentences.

"Wait, how do you know he was going crazy? You've been dead for months!" Tomas gets up, pointing an accusing finger at you with an accompanied glare.

"I heard you pray, Tomas," you say, getting up slowly to your feet. Tomas is shocked, a bit scared, but he nods as helps you. You arm is over his shoulder, and you limp.

"You look well for what the Netherrealm has treated you," Bi Han quips, and you raise a brow at his dry humor.

As you walk upstairs together, entering the room, and you're met with such a heart-wrenching sight.

Kuai Liang has wrist burns where the chains hold him. His eyes are sunken in, and he has deep and heavy eye-bags under his dimmed eyes. His skin is dull, but there are littered bruises and cuts all over him.

"Kuai Liang?" you ask carefully, voice echoing into bedroom. His head is up, and his tired eyes are bright at the sight of you.

"Oh... darling," you whimper, limping over to him as you wrap your arms around him, his warmth crawling all over your skin as you breathe him in.

"I'm here, I am here. You do not need to be afraid or angry, please beloved," you beg, crying as your shoulder wrack and shake.

Kuai Liang breathes you in, that natural scent of yours with the slightest hint of death. But it doesn't overpower your smell. In fact, it compliments your scent.

Kuai Liang's chains are removed, and finally his hands wrap around you. He holds you, so tight that he was afraid you'd leave again. He tries to look at you, but you're shy.

Also, mangled at the face, you cannot forget that your face isn't what Kuai Liang fell in love with.

"Kuai, no, please do not look,' you whisper. "I am not the same as I was before..."

Kuai Liang just holds your cheek, rubbing it as he smiles tiredly.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you." Your eyes well up in more tears as he kisses the scarred parts of your face.

You hold each other, your arms lovingly around his back.

It would take more than death to tear you apart from him.

=====================

no yap notes, see yall in the next fic!

[justwinginglife]

-request-

Hey!!! I‘m Reading your one shots for a while now, and I have to say that I LOVE your work!! Keep going and I love you pooks🎀

So, I wanted to ask if you could write about y/n who’s in love with soshiro and he finds out about her feelings (or she confessed to him about her feelings), but he doesn’t feel the same

I mean it’s heartbreaking but HEAR ME OUT-

Would be nice💞

Xoxo

AHH thanks so much! Also LOL I will totally do this for you, but I will be so sad about it. I need to get with Soshiro, if I don't get with him, I die. I will probably immediately write another fic about getting together with him after I write this so I can feel better lol. But thanks so much for reaching out to me!

Joy Of My Life

For the longest time, your feelings for Soshiro kept you company. They held you afloat when you had nothing else to look forward to, filling your days with pleasant thoughts, taking you back to your schoolgirl days when you'd giggle under the covers, gossiping with your friends. When you got older, other men made their futile attempts at seeking entrance into your heart, but your feelings would lock the door and throw away the key, barring admission to anyone but Soshiro Hoshina.

It was physically impossible for you to love anyone else, not with the way he was. Not when he'd saved your life over and over again. And not just from the kaiju. From yourself, from dark thoughts that swirled like a torrential storm in your mind. From your so-called parents and your family that proved that blood did not matter in the slightest. He was more family to you than anyone else. Even the small things he did- they saved you, little by little, until your soul felt whole again.

You'd think about the way he'd take you anywhere you wanted in his free time, always being the driver because he knew you hated driving. And then he'd drive like a grandma and you'd tease him for it, saying maybe you'd overcome your fear of highways just so you could show him what real speed was. He'd laugh but he'd continue to drive cautiously all the same. You were shocked when one day you learned from someone else that he actually usually drove like a maniacal, road-raging, speed demon. He was just safe for your sake.

You'd think about how he never took a day off of work except on your birthday so he could remind you how grateful he was that you were born. Even when sometimes you wish you'd never been born at all. But you couldn't think that way now. Not when you had someone waiting for you, someone laughing with you, someone to hold you, to care for you. Even if it wasn't the way you wanted him to care for you, you were still thankful for any part of him that was yours. Any piece of him that belonged to you, any moment you'd shared with him alone.

Maybe one day, he'd give you his smile and you'd store it away in your fondest memories. And the next day, he'd tell you a joke and you'd preserve it in your mind exactly the way he said it, save it for a rainy day when you were in need of a laugh. A wrinkle of his nose, a raised eyebrow, the curve of his lips, you stole anything you could from him and you were happy with it. Happy with the little that you got because it was better than the nothing that came before him. Better than the emptiness and the loneliness and the silence.

Slowly, you felt all the jagged, unwanted, broken pieces of you mending themselves. Repairing the damage to your heart so you could have something worth giving to him.

And so, for awhile, you were content just allowing your feelings to be nothing more than just warmth in your chest, kindle for the fire of your love. But then the Hoshina clan started spreading word that their youngest son was in need of a wife and that fire within you began to burn more erratically, flames sputtering and trembling at the thought of him being with another woman. You knew you had no choice but to release your longtime companion from the confines of your heart, and finally confess your feelings to him.

Once they'd been set free, you wondered if your feelings would ever be comfortable shrinking back into their hiding place again, or if they'd never be the same after getting a taste of the outside world. You were scared to find out but you knew you couldn't keep going on this way forever.

By the end of the day, the delicious, familiar pang of your one-sided love would either transfigure itself into endless tidal waves of crushing agony at being rejected, or endless rays of blissful sunshine at the joy of being accepted.

But rain or shine, you are determined to move forward into this uncharted territory so you find yourself on Soshiro's familiar doorstep once again.

Hey Soshiro, thanks for fixing my front porch, by the way I'm in love with you.

Hey Soshiro, when you took me out for dinner the other day because my stove broke, I imagined it was a date in my mind.

Hey Soshiro, I know we've been friends for awhile, but I've always seen you as more.

You'd think that with how long you'd been in love with him, you would've at least thought up a better way to confess to him. But not once did you ever even imagine that you'd be doing this, so it never occurred to you to unscramble the mess of your feelings and produce a reliable means of conveying them to him.

You wonder if your heart is sprinting laps inside your chest because you feel it bursting when you finally manage a weak knock on his door. Part of you hopes he didn't hear it and you can go home, forget you ever wanted to confess to him. But part of you knows this has to be done and that part of you knocks again, louder this time.

He is surprised to see you but he eagerly lets you inside anyway, a grin at the ready.

"What's up?" He knocks his shoulder against yours as you pass by him.

You take in the familiar sight of the inside of his apartment, wondering if he'll ever let you in again after you say what you have to say.

The look he gives you grows increasingly more puzzled with every passing second.

You seem to be ignoring him, the way that you just keep taking in your surroundings as though it's the last time you'll see them.

"Alright, you're acting weird, spill the beans." He sits you down firmly on his couch.

You fiddle with your thumbs as your voice struggles to catch up with your thoughts. "I, uh, have something to say to you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Okay? So say it then."

You cough. "Right. Working on it."

"Well work on it a little faster." He laughs.

You swallow hard and the action suddenly makes him very nervous.

"Sorry, I mean take your time. I was just teasing."

So now he knows you have something serious to say and now you're even more scared to say it. But you say it anyway. "I care about you. A lot."

His brows furrow as he ponders how something so simple can get you so worked up. "I care about you too. What's the big deal?"

"No I mean," You swallow again, this time more painfully, "I love you. I'm in love with you."

Your words seem to find him because suddenly he's sinking into a chair now too.

"Oh shit." He mumbles, steadying himself on the arm of the couch.

You bite your lip as you wait for his verdict.

It seems like hours since he last spoke. It's been a few seconds.

But the silence itself is a response and you're taking every painful second of it like a knife to the heart. You wonder just how long you have to wait before it's appropriate to cry. You wonder what you'll do with this new feeling that's invading your chest. What it'll do to you.

You think you might be drowning because you can't remember what it's like to breathe. The air is so thick and so heavy in your lungs, that you feel like a stranger to oxygen.

You wonder how he'll apologize, you know he'll apologize. He can't help it. He's kind. He doesn't want to hurt you, even unwillingly. You wonder if your eardrums might shatter when you hear his voice again. When you hear his apology, his rejection. He's taking too long for it to not be a rejection.

You wonder if he can tell you're spiraling.

"I can't... I can't return your feelings. As wonderful as they are, as grateful as I am for them, as important as you are to me, I can't return them and I'm sorry."

There is it is. That damn apology. It sears its mark on your chest, but somehow the sting is still bearable. He still loves you. Not in the way you want, not in the way you're desperate for, but he still loves you. Enough to be honest, enough to be sorry, enough to hurt when you hurt. And that makes you smile a little, even through the tears.

You remember all the times that fluttery, jittery feeling in your chest kept you hopeful for better days, kept you eager for tomorrow. All the times you remembered what it was like to wish for something and to dream for something after years of being told you couldn't want anything, shouldn't need anything. These feelings have kept you sane, kept you human, for as long as Soshiro has been by your side so have they. And they were beautiful and they were wonderful and you're glad he finally got to know even a glimpse of them.

You're not sorry for having them and you're not sorry for loving him. If you could do it all over again, right down to his rejection, you'd do it in a heartbeat. He saved you and will probably continue to save you even now that he knows this big secret of yours that you've kept safely tucked away inside the deepest, most genuine parts of your heart.

You're not sorry. And he shouldn't be either.

"Don't apologize, it was the joy of my life being in love with you."

[xshingie]

How I'd imagine the Richter/Annette kiss in Season 2 basically

---

Read it on Ao3!

Annette crouched behind the thick foliage, her gaze fixed forward. The fortress loomed before them both; guarded by jagged spires piercing the pitch-black sky, flying buttresses jutting outwards like the claws of a massive beast, and uneven towers crowned with jagged parapets like dark sentinels. Snarling night creatures with burning red eyes flanked the perimeter of the grounds.

Any moment now. Attention still rapt, Annette could barely contain her pounding heart, waiting for that telltale sign.

Beside her, Richter shifted restlessly, crunching the leaves and twigs on the ground.

“Stay focused,” Annette whispered sharply without looking at him. “You need to be ready when Maria fires the signal.”

“You know… this might be the end of the line for me.” Richter began, his tone low and ever so casual, even with the impending colossal battle ahead of him; and Annette didn’t even need to look to know that charmed grin of his was already sneaking on his face. “How about sending me off with a gesture of encouragement for good luck?" 

Annette turned towards him. With a gloved finger, Richter tapped his lower lip, which was indeed, curved in a sly grin.  

"Not the time, Richter.” She shot him a glare, her lips pressed into a thin line. “And you’ve got plenty of encouragement already. It’s called your ego. Try not to snag it on anything your way there." 

“I could use a little more, you know.” With an exaggerated pout, Richter mooned his puppy eyes at her. “Charging forward to fulfill my destiny. selflessly sacrificing myself with nothing to remember me by but my Belmont name and the vampire overlord I’ll vanquish.”

“Don’t say that. We’ll make it out of this.” Annette bit her lip to curb her own smile despite herself, resisting the urge to tousle his hair. “Besides, haven’t you practiced your signature big, flashy hero move for this exact moment?”

“True, Belmonts don’t need rewards for saving to the world – but I’m not above taking one upfront.” Richter leaned forward and winked at her, dropping his tone into a tender rasp. “You know, just in case this face gets roughed up out there, you might want to kiss it while it’s still perfect.”

Annette rolled her eyes. He really wasn’t going to let up, was he?

“Fine,” she said, conceding with a sigh as she leaned closer. Thankful that the darkness concealed her blush, she brushed her lips against his cheek for the briefest moment.

But before she could withdraw, Richter turned his head, his fingers quickly sweeping across her cheek, capturing her surprised gasp with his mouth. His lips moved over hers with a firm pressure, his grasp tightening between his fingers to steady the tilt of her head. His tongue stole past her parted lips, stealing the opportunity to further coax out the gasp that melded into a soft moan.

When he finally pulled back, Annette could do little more than stare at him for a moment between her lidded gaze between her lashes, still catching her breath. 

“W-was that necessary?” Annette managed, concealing her fluster with a huff. So much for hiding her embarrassed flush. “What was that?”

A crimson phoenix erupted across the sky, its brilliant red flare cutting across the pitch-black darkness in a sweeping arc.

With a brazen swagger, Richter stood up to his fullest height, hands already pooled in fists with twin blue flames, and threw her the biggest grin over his shoulder. “Something to look forward to continuing when I get back.”

And just like that, he propelled himself forward, leaving a still-stunned Annette.

The tips of her fingers lingered over her bottom lip, still tingling from being kissed so thoroughly and passionately. 

“Unbelievable.” Annette shook her head, finally allowing a smile to herself as she watched Richter’s blue silhouette disappear from view. She uttered what she had come to realize she didn’t want it to her last chance to say to him-- 

“You stupid Belmont boy.”

[abby-the-druid]

Covenant

Ah haha so I watched Nosferatu, and I have been obsessed. I am now writing a SasuSaku oneshot based off of the premise. This one shot has developed (in about 2 days time) to a 5,500 word fic with another 12 scenes planned but not fleshed out. That said, here's a lil preview because I need someone else to maybe obsess with me.

Covenant

“You ask after him.”

Her dream self looked up to him from the ocean, the sky colored like a bruised peach, oranges and soft pinks reflecting in the calm waves. She was sitting on the sand, the waves kissed her toes, her heavy dress drenched in salt water. She thought that she should be cold, soaking as she was, but she felt nothing but warmth.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

She watched as she trailed her finger in the sand, drawing lazy lines, the grains rough but comforting against her skin and she sighed.

“Must we discuss it?”

She could see, in her peripheral vision, as his pitch eyes flashed red, and she pursed her mouth.

“He is my husband.”

“I am your husband.”

“But you do not exist.”

He was beside her in an instant, towering over her from her position on the ground. He was seething, nostrils flaring, eyes blood red and narrowed. He knelt beside her, sinewy body menacing even with its seeming frailty, and he leaned into her, until his nose brushed her temple, and he hissed.

“Are you so naïve to think such idiotic thoughts?” His breath was cold against her wet hair, and a shiver of anticipation ran up her spine. “We made an oath, a covenant. You vowed yourself to me, and only me.”

“You who exists only in my head, only in these nightmares. What meaning does a vow have if it was meant for one who is not real?”

He scoffed, harsh and guttural. “I have been away from you for too long.”

“You cannot be away from something that does not exist.”

“Heed me, wife, I am coming to you, to take you back. To remind you who you belong to.”

“Pray, monster, how will you remind me?” her green eyes were wide as she looked up at him, heat dripping between her legs at the intensity behind his eyes. “Show me, so that I may be prepared for you.”

He growled, low in his throat, an animalistic noise that made every hair on her body stand on end. He dove at her, then, knocking her back into the sand, hands furiously ripping at her dress until she was left bare before him. Her nipples hardened in the ocean breeze; breath caught in her lungs as he pulled himself from his trousers.

Heat pulsated between her thighs, and before he had a chance to nudge her knees apart, she was spreading herself for him, whimpering and nearly begging for him to remind her.

A wicked smile stole across his face, regal features twisting into something almost grotesque though it only made her heart race harder. He aligned with her slick opening, and plunged into her, filling, filling, filling her until she could take no more, and even then, he pushed.

He pulled out of her slowly, and in his absence, she felt a sense of loss, mind muddled and breath hitching, she barely registered he was speaking.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” it was breathy, threadbare, and floating.

“Tell me that you are mine.”

“I am yours.” She said automatically, soul echoing the words.

“Tell me,” he pressed into her again and she gasped, walls already fluttering around him, and she felt almost ashamed at her body’s eagerness. “Tell me that you remember me.”

“I remember you.”

“Tell me,” he growled, grinding his hips into her, leaning down into her and nipping at the jagged four pointed birthmark adorning her breast, “tell me when the time comes, you will let me in.”

“I will let you in.”

His lips pulled back into that sickening smile, and for the first time since finding herself on the beach, she noticed how glitteringly sharp his teeth were. She wanted to ask, she always wanted to ask him things when he was in a talkative mood, but the way his cock filled her had her body seizing in pleasure, and as it cascaded over her, crashing and crushing her as if she were in the riptide, he licked at her birthmark again,

and bit down with a disastrous crunch.

Her scream blended into the moan that accompanied her orgasm, a harsh mix of throbbing pain and breathtaking pleasure that left her mind reeling. He was latched onto her, greedily sucking as bright, carmine blood seeped from the corners of his lips and trailed down the edge of her sternum before pooling into her navel. She felt the shards of her ribcage catch against his teeth, and she wanted to cry, but he was still rocking into her, in time with the gluttonous slurps that accompanied his noisy swallows, and she found she could do nothing but lie there, eyes rolling back into her head as he fed on her and fucked her until her limbs grew heavy and her eyelids closed.

“Sakura.”

Something jostled her, but a soft moan was her only response.

“Sakura, open your eyes.” 

She felt her lids flutter, sight coalescing for a moment to finally see his features clearly. Long sooty lashes, irises black but tinged in red, aristocratic nose, regal cheek bones, and thin lips coated in dripping crimson. Her heart fluttered and she felt her throat gurgle.

“Tell me again.”

.

.

.

“I am yours.”

[gazpachoandbooks]

Arya and Hot Pie's compilation because their friendship is so important to me

"You better give Hot Pie the sword, Arry," Lommy said. "Hot Pie wants it bad. He kicked a boy to death. He'll do the same to you, I bet."

"I knocked him down and I kicked him in the balls, and I kept kicking him there until he was dead," Hot Pie boasted. "I kicked him all to pieces. His balls were broke open and bloody and his cock turned black. You better gimme the sword."

Arya slid her practice sword from her belt. "You can have this one," she told Hot Pie, not wanting to fight.

"That's just some stick." He rode nearer and tried to reach over for Needle's hilt. [...] The Bull shouted, "Behind you," and Arya spun. Hot Pie was on his knees, his fist closing around a big jagged rock. She let him throw it, ducking her head as it sailed past. Then she flew at him.

[...] By the time Yoren pulled her off him, Hot Pie was sprawled out on the ground with his breeches brown and smelly, crying as Arya whapped him over and over and over.

"Is it a fight?" he asked.

"I guess," said Hot Pie, scrambling on all fours for a big rock to throw. Arya could not believe what she was seeing. She hated Hot Pie! Why would he risk himself for her?

He scooped up the shortsword the officer had dropped. "Who wants this?"

"Me!" Hot Pie yelled.

"Don't be using it on Arry." He handed the boy the sword, hilt first.

"I'm scared," Hot Pie murmured when he saw the one-armed woman thrashing in the wagon.

"Me too," Arya confessed.

He squeezed her shoulder. "I never truly kicked no boy to death, Arry. I just sold my mommy's pies, is all."

"I need to make water," Arya explained.

"Well, use that tree right there." (Hot Pie) pointed. "You don't know what's out there, Arry. I heard wolves before."

The crying girl whimpered and wept, but when Hot Pie offered her a bit of goose she gobbled it down and looked for more.

Hot Pie squatted on the pallet beside her, watching her work. "Where'd you get a good sword like that?" he asked. When he saw the look she gave him, he raised his hands defensively. "I never said you stole it, I just wanted to know where you got it, is all."

"My brother gave it to me," she muttered.

"I never knew you had no brother."

Arya paused to scratch under her shirt. There were fleas in the straw, though she couldn't see why a few more would bother her. "I have lots of brothers."

"You do? Are they bigger than you, or littler?"

More spears flew. Arya yanked down Hot Pie by the back of his tunic. [...] Hot Pie dropped his shortsword when he tried to unsheath it. Arya shoved the blade back into his hand. "I don't know how to swordfight," he said, white-eyed.

"It's easy," Arya said, but the lie died in her throat as a hand grasped the top of the parapet.

"Behind!" Hot Pie yelled. Arya whirled. The second man was bearded and helmetless, his dirk between his teeth to leave both hands free for climbing. As he swung his leg over the parapet, she drove her point at his eyes. Needle never touched him; he reeled backward and fell. I hope he falls on his face and cuts off his tongue. "Watch them, not me!" she screamed at Hot Pie. The next time someone tried to climb their part of the wall, the boy hacked at his hands with his swordshort until the man dropped away.

She never saw how the skinny man got over the wall, but when he did she fell on him with Gendry and Hot Pie [...] Even as she was feeling sorry for him she was killing him, shouting, "Winterfell! Winterfell!" while Hot Pie screamed "Hot Pie!" beside her as he hacked at the man's scrawny neck.

Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. "Arry, come on! Lommy's gone, leave her if she won't come!"

Beneath her tree, Hot Pie barked like a dog. Kurz had told them to use animal sounds to signal to each other. An old poacher's trick, he'd said, but he'd died before he could teach them how to make the sounds right. Hot Pie's bird calls were awful. His dog was better, but not much.

Lommy and Hot Pie almost shit themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. "Quiet," she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up.

Hot Pie stared at her with big eyes. "We thought you left us."

"Where's the Bull?" asked Lommy.

"They caught him," Arya whispered. "We have to get him out. Hot Pie, you got to help." [...] "Anyhow, I don't care what you say, I'm going back for him." She looked at Hot Pie. "Are you coming?"

Hot Pie glanced at Lommy, at Arya, at Lommy again. "I'll come," he said reluctantly.

Hot Pie kept stumbling in the dark and losing his way, and Arya had to wait for him and double back. Finally she took him by the hand and led him along through the trees. "Just be quiet and follow."

Hot Pie ate even better; he was where he belonged, in the kitchens, a round stone building with a domed roof that was a world unto itself. Arya took her meals at a trestle table in the undercroft with Weese and his other charges, but sometimes she would be chosen to help fetch their food, and she and Hot Pie could steal a moment to talk. He could never remember that she was now Weasel and kept calling her Arry, even though he knew she was a girl. Once he tried to slip her a hot apple tart, but he made such a clumsy job of it that two of the cooks saw. They took the tart away and beat him with a big wooden spoon.

"I'm making the morning bread," Hot Pie complained. "Anyhow I don't like it when it's dark, I told you."

"I'm going. I'll tell you after. Can I have a tart?"

"No."

She filched one anyway, and ate it on her way out. It was stuffed with chopped nuts and fruit and cheese, the crust flaky and still warm from the oven.

Hot Pie was told to crumble in the spices as the wine heated. Arya went to help.

"I can do it," he said sullenly. "I don't need you to show me how to spice wine."

He hates me too, or else he's scared of me. She backed away, more sad than angry.

Hot Pie said, "Hoot like an owl when you want us to come."

"I'm not an owl," said Arya. "I'm a wolf. I'll howl."

It made her feel bad to hide the truth from Hot Pie, but she did not trust him with her secret.

Hot Pie shifted his seat. "I know the song about the bear," he said. "Some of it, anyhow."

Tom ran his fingers down his strings. "Then let's hear it, pie boy." He threw back his head and sang, "A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair . . ."

Hot Pie joined in lustily, even bouncing in his saddle a little on the rhymes. Arya stared at him in astonishment. He had a good voice and he sang well. He never did anything well, except bake, she thought to herself.

"If I served you a cup of soup full of dead flies, would you drink it?"

"Arry would," said Hot Pie.

"The bread will be better when I make it. You'll see, when you come back. You will come back, won't you? When the war's done?"

[...] Arya didn't know if the war would ever be done, but she had nodded. "I'm sorry I beat you that time," she said. Hot Pie was stupid and craven, but he'd been with her all the way from King's Landing and she'd gotten used to him. "I broke your nose."

"You broke Lem's too." Hot Pie grinned. "That was good."

"Lem didn't think so," Arya said glumly. Then it was time to go. When Hot Pie asked if he might kiss milady's hand, she punched his shoulder. "Don't call me that. You're Hot Pie, and I'm Arry."

There was no use trying to convice the Bull of anything. Still, he was the only true friend she had, now that Hot Pie had left them. [...] She missed him more than she thought she would.