#isabelle x reader

[fandomnerd9602]

I got a request male elite yautja reader x isabelle from predators 2010

Y/N lowers his spear gun…

Isabelle lowers her rifle…

Isabelle: you’re not like the others

Y/N clicks his mandibles in communication…

Isabelle: I’m sorry I don’t speak-

Y/N communicates in sign language…

Y/N: does this form of speech work?

Isabelle: yes

Y/N: I will get you and your allies off this planet

Isabelle: thank you. We must find them first

[zoobie-the-popplio]

For me, personally, it's just me and Isabelle.

self care is shipping your animal crossing persona with tom nook and isabelle

[yeyinde]

preacher's daughter (Ethel Cain inspired) and biker Ghost would go so hard. all that corruption, religious trauma/catholic guilt, and small town gothic misery, you know?

sheltered daughter meets violence personified. the devil and the sacrificial lamb. you meet him when you wander up to the motorcycle club on the outskirts of town with a pamphlet about salvation clutched in your trembling hands. he leans his big, intimidating frame against the door jamb, and with his arms crossed over his broad chest, says must be good on your knees, aren't you, birdie?

(you answer with an earnest yes, sir, i worship on my knees everyday and pretend the heat that flares in your belly when he groans is from the too-hot sun; the first of many sins.)

later that evening, your daddy tells you that he's an honest and good man, but sometimes he prays that God strikes that vile place right down. you bite your tongue and nod, but sneak out at night and meet him there where you slip into silk lingerie and dance on stage just for him. he tells every man there that if he catches them staring at you, he'll stab them in the eyes, and you think it's the most romantic thing you'd ever heard.

it's love letters carved into the sunbleached bones of a half-submerged deer left to rot in the stagnant bog just outside of the abandoned white chapel. something watches you from the dark stained glass windows as he runs his tattooed fingers over your skin, leaving smears of gunpowder and soot.

(someone set the old man's car on fire—the who leered at you while you stood in the choir, wearing your lily white dress and sang glory be while you tried to forget what those tattooed hands felt like when they slipped under your skirt and between your thighs.

the old man was still inside—)

they call him a ghost. a demon. you call him Simon and daydream during bible study that you'll run away together. hop on the back of his old Harley and forget this place ever existed.

a daydream that quickly turns into a nightmare when your sordid relationship comes to light, and your daddy threatens to have him locked away for good. there's a gun in the safe upstairs. you think about the time Simon dragged you into the woods to shoot at cans and lose your faith under the sweltering sun when you pull the trigger.

"for us," you tell him, breathing in the dank church air ripe with sin and the stench of blood. "i did it for us."

it's leaning on the back of his Harley with your fingers threaded around his thick waist as the town grows smaller and smaller in the distance. staring up at the endless blue sky and grinning wide because you finally got your monster of a man wrapped around your finger.

(and all it took was a little deal made with the thing that lives in the abandoned church.)

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

postwar!Levi absolutely chafes under enforced bedrest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable with doing nothing

his useless legs feel like cinderblocks holding the waterlogged sack of his body to a riverbed, drowning slow

his nervous system hasn’t caught up to the uneasy peace, flooding his veins with adrenaline that has nowhere to go, leaving him gasping for air and sick over the side of his bed

he can’t clean the mess, and that might be the worst thing of all, the helpless wait for someone to witness his weakness

postwar!Levi can’t tell his fevered dreams from reality, follows the green smudge of Erwin’s cloak across an endless battlefield, calls to his commander till he’s lost his voice and wakes up tasting copper

the people who come to check on him are not who he wants to see- why hasn’t Hange visited, changing his bandages with their steady hands?

he leads Isabel and Furlan up a set of stairs that never seem to end, crunching over the hollow bones of birds that died searching for the sky

postwar!Levi finds his clarity has returned one featureless morning and he weeps for the first time since the battle of heaven and earth, mourns the loss of the delirium that had left the door open for his loved ones to creep through

he begins to recognize the recurring figures at his bedside, the gentle touch on his forehead that signals your arrival with water or blankets or bread

the light of anything more than a candle burns his blind eye, so he learns your face only by the flicker of firelight, the absence of shadow

postwar!Levi is desperate for something to occupy his fractured mind, painfully empty without the urgency of strategizing survival

you hide your surprise when he asks you to read to him in a voice rasped with disuse, saying he doesn’t care what it is, just something to focus on outside of himself, and you understand

you begin to visit him every evening, reading softly from your favorite books as he lies taut and silent in bed, brow furrowed in concentration, breathing through the pain that wracks his battered body

postwar!Levi finds unlikely comfort in your voice, your consistent presence, the slow walks along the winding paths of the stories you tell him

you take a quiet pride in the way he seems to soften each night, just barely, the deep black shadows under his haunted eyes fading into the color of an old bruise, his furrowed brow smoothing into satin as you read

postwar!Levi is sitting up when you arrive one evening, gives you the barest incline of his head in self-conscious greeting

he frowns and shrugs off your praise for his progress, doesn’t want to hear of how miraculous it is that he can heave his once-superhuman body up against the headboard, doesn’t confess how long it took or how much it hurt

he does, however, ask you for tea, not telling you that it would be the first time he’s accepted a cup he hadn’t prepared himself, swallowing a sick resignation with the request

postwar!Levi makes eye contact with you for the first time when he offers gruff thanks, shivering as your fingertips brush around the warm ceramic

something clenches in your chest and you turn away to hide it, occupying yourself with invisible specks of dust on his bedspread

you’re busy swiping the corner of your apron over the nightstand and miss the way his eyes go wide, then soften as he watches you bustle around him

“it’s alright. you don’t have to-” “-I know.”

the two of you speak at the same time, fall into the same embarrassed silence, watching each other warily in the low candlelight

your shadows overlap where they are thrown onto the wall as if they don’t realize the distance between the bodies that grew them, or refuse to recognize it at all

[cece693]

She Doesn't Know

pairing: alec lightwood x male reader tags: secret relationship, Alec isn't ready to come out, leads to you being flirted with a lot, jealous Alec, clary being clary, things are changed to fit my narrative better

Alec leaned against the stone pillar in the Institute’s training room, trying to ignore the slight tension coiling beneath his ribs. You were in the center of the open space, demonstrating an elegant series of blade techniques for a group of wide-eyed onlookers: Izzy, Jace, a handful of other Shadowhunters, and of course, the newest arrival—Clary.

There you stood, the picture of confidence and grace. Each arc of your blade elicited murmurs of appreciation from the small crowd, and Alec couldn’t help but feel an all-too-familiar twinge of envy. He watched from a short distance, arms folded over his chest, jaw tight.

You were his boyfriend. His partner. His. Yet, in the eyes of almost everyone else here, you were the Institute’s star: gorgeous, talented, charismatic. Alec had overheard rumors that you were the “ideal Shadowhunter”—the sort of person even the Inquisitor might commend without hesitation. You had been many people’s first crush: from timid recruits who looked up to you as the epitome of skill and kindness, to seasoned warriors who admired your strength and devotion to the Clave.

But none of that changed the fact that you were Alec’s secret—at least, outside of Izzy and Jace. His siblings knew, had known for a while, but it wasn’t something Alec wanted the entire Institute gossiping about, especially not while he was still grappling with how to tell his parents. And definitely not to Clary Fray, the redhead who’d only just discovered she was a Shadowhunter at all.

It didn’t help that Clary had developed an instant fascination with you from the moment she was rescued. Alec suspected it was more than just gratitude. She listened with rapt attention anytime you spoke, eyes shining like you were the only person in the room. And the problem wasn’t just that she was smitten. It was that you, being the gentle soul you were, rarely turned anyone away. You humored her questions, you corrected her stance in training, you comforted her when the nightmares of her mother’s kidnapping returned.

Alec’s heart twisted in on itself every time he saw her giggling at something you said. He couldn’t exactly scold Clary for enjoying your company—she didn’t know you were taken. Worse yet, Alec couldn’t just stride up and put an arm around you to make some blatant claim. Not in front of a group that still assumed Alec’s straight.

“She doesn’t know,” Izzy said softly as she approached. Alec was startled; he hadn’t heard her footsteps. She was wearing her signature confident smile, but it was tinged with sympathy. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Alec sighed, keeping his gaze locked on you. Having stopped your training, you now were talking to Clary, the little girl's laughter echoing through the room, high and bright. Alec could almost taste the jealousy on his tongue. “I know she doesn’t know,” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “I just—It feels like he’s everyone’s favorite. Even with Jace—”

“Jace is his parabatai,” Izzy interjected teasingly, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you still think he's making a move on your boyfriend. When they drew those runes, he basically gave up those feelings.”

Alec heaved a silent breath. “It’s not…I know Jace respects our relationship. It’s just—he’s my best friend too, right? So it feels strange that whenever I look for him, or for my boyfriend, they’re off training together, or exchanging some inside joke.”

Izzy placed a comforting hand on Alec’s arm. “You’re not used to sharing, but you’re going to have to. You can’t lock him up in your room away from everyone else.”

Alec shot her a glare, but a reluctant half-smile tugged at his lips. “That wouldn't be such a bad idea, actually. But, seriously, that's not what I’m trying to do.”

“I know,” Izzy said, voice gentler. “Talk to him. He’d want to know if you’re feeling this way.” Alec glanced from Izzy back to you. He knew she was right; you’d pick up on his mood soon if you hadn’t already. You always had a knack for sensing when Alec was troubled. Or jealous.

Later that evening, Alec found you seated on one of the long benches in an alcove behind the Institute’s library. Dim overhead lights cast dancing shadows along the shelves. You’d folded your arms on the table in front of you, scribbling notes on a mission report.

He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, admiring the way your hair fell over your forehead, the focus etched across your face. Of course people gravitated toward you—you were breathtaking, inside and out. Alec’s chest warmed at the reminder that, for now, your heart belonged to him.

Taking a quiet breath, he approached and gently rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up, a brilliant smile lighting up your features the moment you saw him. The corners of Alec’s mouth tugged up, and he sunk down on the bench beside you.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting aside your pen. “You okay? You seemed a bit off in training earlier.”

He shrugged, then shook his head, deciding to be honest. “I’m just…” He swallowed. “A little jealous, I guess.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise before softening with understanding. “Of Clary?”

Alec’s mouth parted, but he hesitated. It felt foolish to say it out loud. “She doesn’t know about us,” he finally admitted. “And I can’t exactly blame her for…flirting.” His lips twisted wryly around the word. “But it drives me crazy.”

You slid closer, your thigh brushing his. A comforting warmth radiated between your bodies. “I can see that.” Your voice was gentler than ever. “I’ve been trying to discourage her without being mean, but she’s persistent.”

Alec let out a breath he’d been holding. “I don’t want to let my jealousy show. And I definitely don’t want anyone else figuring out my…preferences before I’m ready.” The words still felt awkward on his tongue, but it was the truth. “It feels like all eyes are on us, you know? You’re…well, you’re you.” He almost laughed at his own phrasing. “People watch you. They notice who you talk to, who you train with, who you spend time with. If they notice me acting possessive or something, questions will start.”

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “I understand. There’s a lot riding on you, on your family name, on how the Clave sees you.” Your voice lowered. “I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to hide, but I also don’t want to force you out before you’re ready.”

Alec’s chest felt tight. Gratitude washed over him in a gentle wave. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the reassuring feel of your hand in his. “I’d never want you to hide either, but—yeah, it’s complicated.”

“It is.” You brushed a thumb over his knuckles. “I care about you, Alec. That’s not going to change, no matter who else needs a training partner or who else tries flirting.” A soft smile tugged at your lips. “And if Clary presses too hard, I’ll find a tactful way to let her know I’m not interested.”

Heat rose to Alec’s cheeks. It felt absurd that a single line could chase away so many of his doubts. You had a way of cutting through his insecurities with your kindness. Every word felt like a reaffirmation of your loyalty to him.

For a second, Alec let himself imagine a future where the entire Institute knew the truth—where he could step forward and simply stand behind you during training, wrap an arm around your waist without worrying about the stares. Where Clary could look at you both and see just how uninterested you were in her. One day. Soon, maybe.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Darlin', can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: In a world full of death and tortue, wouldn't it be the easiest to seduce a man who is able to protect you at any cost? Ryomen Sukuna definetely is exactly that. Now, the seduction part...

Warnings: no really deep plot, just some teasing and a little bit of spice here and there, language, reader trying to seduce Sukuna with literally everything lol

Inspired by the song "favorite" by Isabel LaRosa

Your mission was clear since the first time you saw him in action, felt how strong he is: Get Sukuna to fucking adore you.

It might sound ridiculous to the untrained ear. Sukuna, the king of curses, the most frightful creature walking on this planet? To even consider you’d be able to warm his heart is worth a laughter. You know exactly how all the others would react when they hear your wild plan to seduce him, to get him to catch feelings for only you.

But what better defense than having the king of curses by your side? This fucking world is nothing but a battlefield and as a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re in the middle of it. Day in day out you risk your life in order to safe others. And even though it might sound tempting to simply haunt after Gojo Satoru, it’s not the same.

No, you want Ryomen Sukuna and no one else.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way through Shibuya’s train station, Sukuna’s fingers lying in your purse comfortably. What better way to catch a glimpse into his heart than giving him back those? Well, to be exact you don’t have a set plan apart from getting him to like you. After all, love can’t be forced, right?

Well, that skin tight dress paired with those high heels you chose for today might do that, though.

“Now, where are you Yuji?”, you mumble to yourself, eyes darting around the worn-down area.

There is no doubt in the fact that a fight occurred here not long ago. The air still smells like blood and sweat, the wall is still hot from an enormous impact. But who? Was it Yuji? You follow a trail of blood with your hips swinging from side to side. You just need to find him, need to seduce the king of curses. This is your best chance to not croak in this shitty job.

Your heels stop in their tracks.

A tuft of pink hair rests against the entrance of the rest room, so minor that you almost missed it.

Almost.

You walk towards the beat-up boy while casually inspecting him. He’s definitely alive, but barely. Yuji’s whole face is covered in multiple cuts and bruises. Who on earth did he fight against? And where is that other person? No, it’s not your responsibility to think about that right now. With a swift motion you open your purse and reveal those oh so deadly fingers.

“Now be a good boy and swallow”, you purr.

Your hand grabs his neck and yanks his head upwards while you carefully feed Yuji Sukuna’s fingers. Please, let this work. You are tired to the brim of running away, of fighting curse after curse each and every day. How about a peaceful life with Sukuna by your side? Fuck Jujutsu High, fuck Satoru Gojo. You don’t want to die before you were even able to live properly.

“Get your hands off me, human.”

For a moment, your heart skips a beat. Just one look into his red gleaming eyes and suddenly so matured face is enough for you to realize that this isn’t Yuji anymore. No, the person you are sitting on with your hand wrapped around his neck is none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

Finally.

“Oh, you’re awake. That went smoother than I thought”, you reply with a cheeky grin, not moving an inch away from him like he told you to.

“Who the hell are you, brat?”

He has definitely seen you before, you are a jujutsu sorcerer without any doubt. But why are so damn close, why does your hand wrap so delicately around his neck? Your dark eyes rest on his face unpromising, lashes hanging into your orbs seductively. What’s that supposed to be?

“My name’s whatever you make it. But how about wife?”

Sukuna isn’t able to move, let alone speak. Did you really introduce yourself to the king of curses like that? He shouldn’t waste any time, wring your neck the way you deserve it, dissolve you into tiny pieces. Who the hell do you think you are to speak to him like that? You, a puny woman? Not even the fact that you reunited him with a few of his missing fingers is enough to spare your life.

But why…Why does he still sit there like he did before, allowing your hand to rest against his neck? Why is he unable to give you a sharp answer like he always does?

“I am the king of curses”, is the only thing he’s able to press out.

“And I’ll be your girl. Deal?”

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, eyes scanning your features up and down. You do have a pretty decent face for a human, your delicate eyes keeping him trapped. That confidence dripping from each and every pore of yours, the way your body is so near that he’s able to hear your blood circulate…

“What the hell are you talking about, stupid girl? If I wanted to, I could kill you without even flinching. Now get off me and run for your life.”

When Sukuna finally regained his threatening voice again, he expected your heart to shiver, your body to stumble backwards until you run away. But instead, you move even closer and dare to sit on top of him, gleaming eyes now staring him into the ground while your naked thighs rub against his pants.

“But you didn’t. Think I must be your favorite.”

The fact that he didn’t kill you right on the spot when you disobeyed his order is enough proof that your plan is actually working. Yes, you managed to confuse the king of curses, to arouse his interest. Now the only thing that’s left is seducing him.

“You are annoying as hell. Now get off me, I have some work to do”, he barks back at you.

His hand grabs your wrist roughly and removes your grip around his neck. But instead of simply throwing you off him, he holds your arm in place while keeping only inches of distance.

Oh, his lips are so close that you are literally able to taste them. Just one movement, one innocent flinching of your hips above his and the gap between you both is closed.

“Are you trying to seduce me, dumb girl?”, he breathes out.

He does it so well, keeping himself cool and composed while his mind races back and forth with your intoxicating smell penetrating his nose. In his long life, there was never a woman who actually tried to seduce him. After all, he’s the king of curses, so strong because of the fact that he never felt love or affection for anyone in all those years. He’s heartless, cold, a menace. Why would a woman ever get the idea of showing him affection? He came here to kill, to destroy this fucking city and make that brat suffer.

But now there’s you.

And apparently you couldn’t care less about the fact that he’s the king of curses.

“Actually, I am”, you purr, your free hand beginning to draw small circles onto his chest.

“Why would you do something so fucking stupid?”

“I mean, you’re the strongest, right?”

He has to blink a few times, the way you look at him as if he’s the dumb one catching him completely off guard.

“I’m the king of curses”, he reminds you all over again.

“And with being your favorite, you take me places-“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, he interrupts you roughly.

You roll your eyes in sheer annoyance, nails now digging into his chest.

“Make me your wife so I don’t die”, you finally blurt out.

Is this the reason behind your questionable action? He could have killed you right on the spot and just one look into your gleaming orbs tells him that you know that all too well. And still, you risked your life for him to protect yours. Were you really so sure you’d be able to seduce the king of curses with a lousy dress and some high heels?

“Why would I do that?”

Enough playing. He should behead you right on the spot before torturing you for the time you wasted. You aren’t even worthy to breathe the same air as him, let alone being this close to his body.

But…Why isn’t he able to simply throw you off, then? Why is he even questioning what you’re up to, replaying your words over and over in his mind?

“Because I’ll let you taste-“

Your mouth is so close to his ear that your hot breath caresses his skin while the filthiest thoughts leave you with ease. His eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, disgusted but at the same time…

“Enough”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your shoulders roughly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Aren’t you at least a little invested? I have a lot to offer”, you reply, ignoring his last question elegantly.

The war inside his head makes him forget that he’s actually out on a mission for a moment. You…you are so different from all those other jujutsu sorcerers, risked your puny life so that he eventually watches over you. How ridiculously brave, how fucking stupid. But still, when your gleaming eyes rest on his face like that, that oh so cheeky grin plastered on your face you make him wonder. A wife, his favorite?

Before he’s able to think straight again, a wave of freezing mist darts towards you at neck-breaking speed. His heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards Uraume who fixates you with hate dripping from every poor of her warped face.

You won’t be fast enough. No jujutsu sorcerer except for Gojo Satoru himself is able to escape Uraume’s powers when surprised. If he doesn’t react, you’ll die. But isn’t that what he wants, that you finally vanish into thin air and leave him alone? You, the girl who just claimed him as her husband only because she doesn’t want to die.

“No.”

His body moves on its own. All of the sudden he finds himself standing in front of you, his hand deflecting Uraume’s Frost Calm with ease.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, Uraume.”

You can’t believe it, breath getting stuck in your throat. He really did save you. Even though all you did was purring at him, trying to convince him with sugary words, Ryomen Sukuna stood up for you and defended you against one of his. Out of instinct, you push your wobbly legs off the ground, excitement filling you to the brim. With that oh so cheeky smile, you wrap your arm around his and eye the person in front of you up and down innocently.

“But she…she is a human being, Master. She’s a weakling, one of your enemies”, Uraume breathes out.

“Who allowed you to speak to your Master like that? Get out of my sight and do what you were taught to.”

You watch in awe as the person standing in front of you crumbles, their hateful gaze almost piercing through you like a knife until their gone as fast as they came.

“So, I really am your favorite, huh?”, you hum.

“Shut up brat, I’m the only one who can kill you. Now get going, I have a lot of work to do.”

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@okay-it-is-ivy

[bumblesimagines]

Heaven in Hiding

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Ever since (Y/N) became Conrad's best friend, he and Belly have butted heads. Their rivalry eventually comes to a head and makes things so much more complicated.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical TSITP warnings, belly girl get a grip, love triangle/square shenanigans, minor Jeremiah bashing cause he's so irritating

~~~

Belly never considered herself someone capable of hating another person. She could get irritated sometimes, especially with her blabbermouth of a brother or her occasionally emotionally distant mother, but the bubbling feeling of fury often lessened and smoothed over hours or days until she inevitably forgot why she was mad at them in the first place. It was easy to smooth things over with Belly, to make her laugh until it was all smiles and breathy words.

That was until she met (Y/N) (L/N) one fateful summer when the Fishers eagerly brought the next door neighbor Conrad had befriended to Cousin's. Suddenly, four kids became five, and any chance of becoming 'one of the boys' flew out the window when they had a shiny new face to show around Cousins and no more room for her.

She was eleven at the time, at the peak of her crush on the unattainable Conrad Fisher, and (Y/N) held all the attention from both Fisher boys (and even Steven) for the whole summer. How could she compete with another boy, let alone one who practically 'oozed coolness', as Steven had put it in a moment of awe? How could she compete with a cheeky, mouthy, skateboard-riding thirteen-year-old who had the boys effortlessly running after him, trying to imitate him?

To say Belly had been jealous was an understatement. He got Conrad all year 'round, and he just had to soak up his attention during summer, too? How was that fair? Belly only had the summer (and sometimes the holidays) to lay eyes on the amazing boy she was certain she'd marry one day, and his attention remained entirely focused on his new best friend.

Her jealousy slipped out of hand at times, she had to admit. Excessive eye rolls, snappy comments that earned her hard looks from her mother, huffing and puffing all around the house, pouting, or scowling when he so much as spoke. Childish, yes, but justified in her young mind, then. It only seemed fair to show her annoyance when she couldn't match up to him. 

Laurel lectured her so intensely on the ride home that the only option for the following summer was playing nice, and she did! She slapped on a polite smile the next summer, greeted (Y/N) with feigned happiness when she saw him, and asked about the soccer practice she'd overheard Conrad mentioning. He smiled back, ruffled up her hair condescendingly, and once her mother was out of earshot, he called her four-eyed Billy Conkel and snickered until her face was hot and tears were brimming in her eyes from embrassment.

It was then that the bitter rivalry truly began.

Passive-aggressive comments, insults hidden behind sarcasm or playful teasing, competing at the boardwalk with one of them always being the whiny sore loser, always conveniently forgetting to get the other an ice cream cup or milkshake when they got everyone else something, glares and scowls saved for when no one else was looking.

It only made everyone around them chuckle or roll their eyes playfully, even Conrad, who always cracked a little amused smile when they'd bicker over one thing or another.

For Belly, it was the most grating experience of her life, one that got worse as they matured. (Y/N) remained the cheeky, mouthy, skateboard-riding guy who began smoking weed, drinking beer, and going to parties with or without permission, and what Belly found most mortifying of all? Conrad eventually followed in his footsteps. The first time she'd caught Conrad smoking, just a summer after she'd smugly listened to Conrad lecture (Y/N) about it, she felt like dragging (Y/N) into the pool and drowning him.

But, as much as Belly wanted to consider (Y/N) a spawn of Satan sent to make her life a literal living hell, he'd proven her wrong.

On her fourteenth birthday, they did the typical traditions: pancakes, happy birthday singing, and showering her with heartfelt presents that she cherished. Of course, each year Conrad and (Y/N) 'worked together' to get Belly her present, which everyone knew was bullshit but nobody else seemed to care as much as her that (Y/N) piggy-backed off Conrad's efforts.

Until that year, when he tossed a small, shiny maroon bag at her and she reached in, half-expecting some barely-working headphones or plastic sunglasses from Dollar Tree, but instead she pulled out a beautiful, expensive-looking hair clip.

It was shaped like a flower and in a pretty red-orange ombre that left her stunned into silence while she delicately ran her fingers over the colors. When she glanced up at him, she caught him watching her intently before he looked away to avoid her eyes. It'd made her lips quirk, just the slightest bit.

She still hated him, just as much as he seemed to hate her very existence, but the gift softened the tension that'd been brewing for years until there was only minor bickering and the mean-spirited teasing became light-hearted to the point she allowed herself to laugh at times or give him light shoves. She could tell it pleased everyone, and she'd hoped (silently, of course) that the peace would continue.

It was ruined the second her relationship with the Fisher brothers grew beyond complicated.

Even though she'd been expecting it, his hostility the moment she stepped onto campus with Jeremiah in search of his missing best friend still startled her. Despite his own notable reservations with her, Jeremiah managed to convince (Y/N) to allow her to join them on the ride to Cousins in their desperate search for Conrad, though he'd scoffed and rolled his eyes whenever she so much as audibly sighed.

Belly couldn't find it in herself to be annoyed, not when nearly everyone she loved was pissed at her: her mother and brother blamed her for drawing the boys apart when Susannah needed them the most, Jeremiah couldn't look at her for more than a minute, Conrad disappeared from her life the second things got hard between them. Her stunt at the funeral left a bad taste in (Y/N)'s mouth, she knew it the second she caught his disgruntled stare while picking herself up from the floor.

Belly could tolerate his anger, but she drew the line when it was directed at her closest friends.

There was shouting from the room down the hall, muffled by the walls, as she stepped out of the bathroom with her dirty clothes clutched in her arms. She shuffled into her bedroom, tossing them aside into the laundry basket and straining her ears to listen more carefully. She couldn't pinpoint which voice belonged to whom, but the volume and anger in both had her hurrying out of her bedroom to check that it wasn't Conrad and Jeremiah getting ready to fight.

Gingerly wrapping her hand around the cool doorknob and twisting it slowly, she found herself surprised to see (Y/N) and Jeremiah in each other's faces when she cracked the door open. It'd been (Y/N) who'd called Jeremiah when Conrad first went missing to ask for his help, and Jeremiah hardly fought his decision to go with him to Cousins. Her eyes flickered between the two, the soft squeak of the door opening wider getting lost in their argument. 

Jeremiah's brows were tightly pinched together, his hands curled into fists that made the veins along his hands more prominent. "You always take his side! When are you ever going to take mine? You're supposed to be my friend, too!" His chest heaved, and despite the volume of his voice bouncing off the walls, he looked more hurt than pissed.

"Oh, my god!" (Y/N) groaned loudly, his eyes rolling so hard that Belly was sure he'd caught a glimpse of his brain. His head lolled back briefly, shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. "Conrad is my best friend, Jeremiah. I'm always going to defend him!" 

"Even when he's wrong?" Jeremiah scoffed. "This is my home, too! I should have a say in what happens, shouldn't I?" 

"How the fuck do you expect to be treated like an adult when all you do is act like a child?! You're so fucking annoying that I can't stand you half the time." Belly's heart skipped a beat when (Y/N) drew closer to Jeremiah. She wasn't fully sure what her plan was if they began fighting, but she knew she'd do whatever it took to help Jeremiah. "Yeah, Con can be an asshole, but while he's always trying to protect you and always making sure you're happy, you do nothing for him in return but bitch and complain like a fucking baby."

(Y/N) jabbed his finger in Jeremiah's shoulder, hard enough for Jeremiah to wince and stumble back from the force, before stepping past him with a quiet huff. His heated gaze landed on her, briefly eyeing her as he walked past her before he turned his back to storm down to the bedroom he'd been given years prior. Belly flinched when the bedroom door rattled shut, her lips parting to release the breath she'd been holding in her throat from anticipation. 

Frowning, Belly looked back at Jeremiah, her heart constricting at the look on his face. "Jere-" 

"Not now, Belly," Jeremiah muttered when he stepped around her, his fist shoving into the pocket of his pants to roughly tug out the keys to his car.

His footsteps thumped loudly along the staircase until she heard the front door slam shut and the engine of a car rumble soon after. She swallowed, contemplating running out barefoot to stop and comfort him or hurrying out back to get Conrad back from his walk on the beach so he could deal with the situation, but instead, she speedwalked to (Y/N)'s door, the bottom of her bare feet slapping harshly against the floorboards.

Shoving the door open and letting it close behind her, Belly scowled at him. "You have no right talking to him that way, and you know it!" 

"Oh, for god's sake, Belly." (Y/N) tossed his hands up in exasperation and reluctantly turned around to face her, his slumped shoulders telling her most of the fight had been taken out of him during the argument. "I don't need to hear a lecture from you, of all people."

"Wha-" Belly sputtered, her eyes widening as her cheeks grew hot with shame. "What's that supposed to mean?" She knew what he meant, knew it so well it made her gut twist violently.

"You've done more damage to him than I'll ever do." (Y/N) let out a dry chuckle, his fingers brushing over his forehead to wipe the little sweat along his hairline. Belly wanted to hurl into the nearest toilet out of guilt, but anger licked up her back more swiftly, distracting her from the regret slithering in her gut. "Stop acting like you're some goddamn moral highness after everything you've done to them. After everything you'll do to them." 

"You don't know me." Belly's voice trembled, just as the rest of her body did.

"I've known you for six years, Conklin. I've watched you make a fool of yourself enough times to make me immune to second-hand embarrassment." (Y/N) stared at her blankly, as if he were dealing with an intolerant child and not a girl just a little younger than him.

It was the same look Laurel sometimes got when she was too exhausted with her or Steven to react properly. His lips curled upward, a hint of cruelty behind them. The type that always left Belly feeling ignored and small, as if her feelings barely mattered. 

"I've watched you chase after Con like a little puppy begging for attention-"

Belly's voice was firm. "Shut up."

"-even when he obviously liked other girls. I watched you chase after him last summer over and over and then the second he finally decided to think about himself before anyone else, you go and make out with his goddamn brother. He forgave you; of course, he did. His mother gets sicker, and he needs his brother more than ever, but Jeremiah's too busy wallowing over some stupid crush he got because you don't have braces anymore to care about him."

"Shut up." She couldn't help how softly the words came out, how almost defeated they sounded.

(Y/N) ignored her, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. He always knew what words to say, what to do to make it feel as if there was a knife jabbing into her ribs. "A couple of weeks after I first came here, you told me I was ruining everything by being around." He gave another little, dry chuckle and scratched the nape of his neck. "I think you were just talking about yourself, right? 'Cause it looks like the only one who ruins things here is you." 

"Just shut up!" 

Belly barely processed her movements until the palms of her hands were slamming into his chest, toppling him over onto his bed. A hot rush came over her body, feelings she'd been bottling up and only releasing when she wept into her pillow at night, erupting in a flurry of swats and slaps she directed at his shoulders and chest. 

"Hey- Jesus, Belly, get off me- what are you doing?!" 

(Y/N) wrangled her wrists into his hands, and it was only then she realized she'd climbed onto his lap to smack him. He stared up at her wide-eyed and perplexed, but she couldn't be bothered to feel embarrassed when she felt so exhausted.

Susannah was dead.

The woman she considered to be a second mother was dead. Gone and buried, never to grace them with her teasing smile or raise their spirits with her joyful laughter. She was dead, and her boys were barely speaking to each other because of Belly's stupid feelings. The one thing Susannah cared for above all else was her boy's utmost happiness, and she'd stomped all over it without a care in the world.

Belly's lips began to quiver, tears rapidly welling up in her eyes. She'd been passing through life like a ghost, letting homework go forgotten, letting down the team when they needed her the most, letting everything swallow her up like a tidal wave without turning to Laurel or Steven for advice and help.

It made her feel so helpless, so useless. She tried, she really tried, but marching on through every day felt like an insult to Susannah. How could she just move on? How could anyone possibly expect her to come to terms with the fact she'd never see Susannah again? Everyone treated her like a delicate china cup on the verge of shattering, but none of them did anything to help, as if she'd figure out how to keep herself together.

A sob bubbled up in her chest, and (Y/N) immediately stiffened under her, his breath audibly hitching. Under a clearer mind, she would've felt inclined to scramble off him and rush off to her bedroom, but her body felt weighed down. Tethered by invisible anchors.

"I can't believe she's dead," Belly whispered shakily, her eyes squeezing shut as teardrops tumbled down her flushed cheeks, gliding along her chin until they dripped down. Her shoulders shook with violent sobs and wheezes, the air slowly leaving her lungs until she was gasping for air that refused to linger enough for her to breathe properly. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to curl into a ball. 

She wanted her mother. She wanted Susannah.

"She wasn't there." Belly hiccuped, and then gasped for air. She remembered Steven's graduation speech, how she turned her head to the side expectantly, as if Susannah would be sitting beside them silently cheering him on. But she wasn't. "She- She didn't get to watch Steve graduate. She- She won't be there when- when I graduate-"

"Hey, hey, Belly. Breathe."

She felt him release her wrists from his tight hold and instead wrap his arms around her, one curling around her waist and bringing her down firmly against his body. Her fingers grasped at his shirt as she buried her face into his chest, her body continuing to shake and tremble with the passing sobs and heaves. A headache nipped at her temple, pain pricking her from how hard she cried. She was certain the noises echoed through the empty house.

"Take a breath, Bells. Just- Just take a breath and hold it in your chest." He told her more calmly than she expected, his palm pressing against her back of her head to soothingly run his fingers through her hair. "C'mon, Bells. Do it." 

Belly heaved, an ugly, guttural sound, another sob wrecking through her body before she managed to suck in some air and hold it as he'd instructed. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, quick and insistent until it slowly calmed, allowing her sobs to soften into sniffles and whimpers. She released the air, finding her body calmer and more responsive.

"Okay," (Y/N) took in a deep breath himself. "Uh, name five things you see."

Blinking away the tears that gathered in her eyes, she tilted her head to press her cheek into (Y/N)'s chest instead and glanced around the room in search of things to name. Against the navy blue of his walls, her eyes locked on the decorations. "Uhm," She sniffled. "I see- I see a poster for Alien and- and a picture of you and Con." 

That was two.

"I... I see a white dresser with- with a jar of seashells on top." A gift from Conrad, she remembered faintly, meant for the fifth-year anniversary of him joining them at Cousins. Another two down. "And- and your shoes by the door." Last one.

Her body deflated, the fog in her brain lifting enough for her mind to focus. Her eyes kept darting around the room, taking in everything she could from the angle she was in. The white closet doors that were cracked open just a little out of sight; the red and white letterman jacket tossed over the footboard with a big 'S' over the breast area; two golden framed pictures of previous years at Cousins; a large painting of a tropical beach Susannah likely put up before he claimed the room as his. 

"Feeling better?" (Y/N) asked tentatively, his arms sliding off her and falling limply at his sides, the muscles still stiff. She could hear his heartbeat and felt it against her ear. It was gentle, soothing. The rhythm calmed her, like a lullaby.

"A little," Belly answered hoarsely, her fingers releasing his wrinkled shirt and pressing weakly against the comforter. 

Her hair cascaded down her shoulder with her movements, the bed whining softly as she pushed herself up and settled over his lap once more. Heat pinched her cheeks, embarrassed with herself and her show of self-pity, but it was done. Her sworn enemy had seen her at her lowest, and quite possibly her worst. Not even Jeremiah or Conrad had seen her breakdown so violently before, and she hoped to keep it that way.

She waited for (Y/N) to shove her off him, to grumble about her soaking his shirt with her drool and tears, and usher her out of his room so they could both ignore what'd happened for the rest of their lives. He stared up at her instead, or rather, stared at her for a few seconds before his eyes darted away, his mouth pressing into an awkward, unsure line.

He almost looked meek and small, not the smug and judgmental asshole she had come to know him as. There were things about him she hadn't noticed before, like the faded scars peeking out from beneath his messed-up shirt, which he'd gotten from years of roughhousing and soccer, the warmth that radiated from him like a fireplace, and the faint tan line around his neck from the short seashell necklace he constantly wore. He was gentle when he wanted to be, she noted. She'd always seen him tugging and pushing, keeping Conrad within arm's reach at all times, like an anchor and its ship. He never offered that affection to the others. Steven had Jeremiah to hug and shove and laugh with, she supposed.

"I'm.. I'm sorry." She exhaled and rolled off his lap, her body bouncing slightly when she made contact with the mattress. Her knee bent and tucked beneath her other leg, her hands toying with each other as she set them over her lap. "I-I shouldn't have... God, I.." It was mortifying. She wanted to erase the moment from her head.

"It's whatever," (Y/N) said under his breath as he sat up and dragged himself further onto the bed until his feet were left dangling. "We're all, uh... dealing with it differently. I miss her, too. It's weird visiting home and not seeing her waiting on the porch. Sometimes... sometimes I forget and wonder if she's out grocery shopping or- or I'll go to call her when I hear gossip she'd love." He gave a little laugh, followed by a long, heavy sigh. 

Belly sniffled. "I do that, too. Sometimes I start texting her 'cause I need her advice or someone to talk to and then... I remember I'll never get an answer back. It's the worst feeling in the world. I-I thought nothing would top Conrad and I breaking up, but..." Belly shook her head and raked her fingers through her hair, pushing strands out of her face that only slipped right back to where they were previously. "I just want to forget everything for a moment."

(Y/N) reached out to her and carefully wiped away the tear marks on her cheeks with his thumb. "Drinking helps, but it'll be a problem in the morning. I don't think the boys or their aunt would appreciate you stumbling around with a hangover, though." His shoulders shook with a laugh, mouth forming a grin he typically reserved for Conrad.

"Yeah." Belly agreed softly despite not being able to focus fully on his words because of his lingering hand, leaving her chest feeling... weird. His fingers extended, tucking her hair behind her ear, before he retracted his hand to rest it over his thigh. "I wouldn't want to leave a bad impression on their aunt Julia." She chuckled breathily, her eyes darting away from him. Had (Y/N) always been this handsome?

"I hear she's a bitch."

Belly gave his arm a soft smack and shot him a look despite the quiet huff of amusement. "Maybe she's changed, who knows? I mean, if Steven died.. I don't know what I'd do with myself, and he gets on my nerves every single day. They say grief makes people do and think crazy things."

"Like selling your dead sister's summer home that her family still uses?" His brows knitted together, lips jutting out in a scoff. "The grief I've seen is... drinking and driving, screaming at bystanders, and sleeping with anyone and everyone willing.. technically but not technically making a scene at a funeral-"

"Ugh."

Belly slumped back on the bed, the air being briefly knocked out of her lungs as her body sank into the comforter and mattress. She stared up at the high ceiling, her nose crinkling and mouth twisting at the memory of her in that little black dress, huffing and puffing at Conrad before falling in front of everyone. Nobody laughed, thankfully, the atmosphere had been too somber to laugh at some eighteen-year-old making a fool of herself, but the silence was somehow more humiliating. 

(Y/N) chuckled, and the space beside her sank with his body coming to lie there. "The second-hand embarrassment was intense. I had to spike my own drink to get through the day. It was horrifying-" 

"I get it!" Belly groaned, her hands flying up to cover her face in dismay. "I swear I didn't mean to make a scene. I.. I shouldn't have yelled at Conrad or- or said anything. I hate myself for it." 

(Y/N) hummed softly. "Well, the boys don't hate you for it. I don't think they'll ever hate you, no matter how weird things get. And listen, I know they've known you for years and you're the only pretty girl they've been around since kids, but... Jesus. It's like they don't even-"

"You think I'm pretty?" Belly's hands lifted from her face when she lolled her head to the side to peer at him. Part of her always thought he viewed her the same way he viewed the boys, just another face he saw often. 

"Belly, you were always pretty." (Y/N) huffed and rolled his eyes as if his words were the most obvious thing in the world. "Glasses or no glasses, braces or no braces, dresses or shorts. You look the exact same as you did three or four years ago. Jeremiah's jus' used to rich girls who doll themselves up all the time. That's why he was so surprised. It's his norm." 

"I thought- you didn't think I was ugly? Why do you call me Billy Conklin, then?" Belly propped herself up onto her elbow, twisting around to lie on her side and stare down at him. "I thought the whole reason you called me that was because you thought I looked like a boy." 

"I call you Billy 'cause it pisses you off, not because of how you look, dumbass. I mean, maybe if you hadn't been such an ass to me when we first met I would've liked you, but then you got all huffy with me." (Y/N) shrugged casually, his eyes pointedly staring past her and at the ceiling instead. "I couldn't let it slide." 

"Oh." 

Her cheeks burned with warmth again, and she suddenly felt shy. Her mind had always been full of Conrad: What did Conrad like? What would Conrad say? What would Conrad think? Would Conrad notice her if she did this or if she wore that? Conrad, Conrad, Conrad, Conrad, and then, for a couple of days, Jeremiah.

Always the Fisher boys, her Fisher boys, but she'd never given (Y/N) much thought. He was always an extension, someone who was just there, someone who was always in the way. But... looking at him now with a fresh set of eyes, and a new opinion of him..

Conrad couldn't look at her for longer than a few seconds. Jeremiah always looked awkward in her presence. (Y/N) was... himself. A familiar face who hadn't changed, who hadn't looked at her differently when she arrived at Cousins looking taller, prettier, older. Jeremiah was a wildcard, loud and attention-grabbing. Conrad was calm and steady, but unpredictable.

(Y/N) stayed the same. Consistent while her world spun out of control.

"Do you think you could ever..." Belly trailed off, her voice quieting down into a whisper. His eyes returned to her face, flickering between her eyes as his brows furrowed. "Do you think if.. if things had been different.. You and I would have..." 

"Too late now," (Y/N) muttered. 

"Is it?" 

[gnrswife]

Izzy Stradlin XFem!reader

Words:266

Warnings: smut..duh

cmon baby one more..." he coos into your ear, nails still digging into the fleshy fat of your ass as he guides your hips up and down on his girthy cock. he was determined to get one more orgasm from you. he had to.

it felt like forever. you had been bouncing up and down on his shaft for what felt like ages. you couldn't even recall when it all had started. one orgasm to another, he simply couldn't get enough. he was addicted.

you felt that same knot in your stomach tighten again, this time it was much tighter and intense. the grip you had on his shoulders tightened, your nails engraving small crescents.

your boyfriend had noticed this, he swiftly grabs onto your waist, lifting you up and slamming himself into you at an cervix bruising pace. it was so quick you could barely could even process your own high approaching by second. then you felt it.

back arched, eyes rolled all the way back, jaw dropped, legs trembling. it was intense and heavenly. you've never felt anything so good in your life. it was so good that you didn't even notice the fluid you had squirted everywhere.

as you came back down from your high you realized your boyfriends thrusts had came to an abrupt end. "w-whyd you stop?" you ask, somewhat disappointed. but your boyfriend was looking into your eyes, a cheeky smirk plastered all over his face. "baby- you squirted on me..." he panted out, slowly beginning to buck his hips into your cunt again.you notice the tacky thin layer of liquid painted between your thighs and his lap. you let out a breathy sigh before your boyfriend whispers into your ear.

"y'think you could do that again for me pretty?"

an: the story ive been gatekeeping for like 2-3 days😭😭 SORRY FOR THAT BTW...im very forgetful and i sleep alot😁

[nelo0wesker]

Prison Break!

Armando X reader

@violetmuses

————————

You bang on the prisoner door. “Aretas wall” she says unlocking the door and walking in to cuff Isabel. Once she cuffs Isabel. Y/N stops and whispers “Es hora”. Isabel smirks, feeling you put the knife against the back of her neck and make her hair and collar of her shirt block from anyone seeing the knife.

“Y/N, Aretas te dan problemas?” A guard yells out of the room about to come in. “No asegurándome de que esté asegurada” Y/N yells out and then forces Isabel to come into the room with her ignoring the guards as they walk to the work room. She uncuffs Aretas and pushes her inside about to close the door but another women guard looks at Y/N. “Vienes adentro” the woman asks as Y/N looks at her and smiles. “Ningún alcaide quiere que coja el correo” you lie with a convincing smile. “I’ll pick up Aretas in 30 minutes” she says loudly as Isabel turns to look at Y/N and nods her head as other prisoners go to their stations.

——-

30 minutes go by as Y/N starts whistling looking at her phone as she starts walking towards the work room where the prisoners are. She was texting Armando looking at the messages. She puts her phone away as she hears a commotion in the work room. She looks inside to see Isabel stabbing the guard and other prisoners jumping in. She watches how Isabel puts on the prisoner outfit and lays to the ground to seem dead as the real guard was put in the washer. Y/N turns her head hearing movement to her right knowing other guards are coming.

She whistles a slow tune walking away as guards run into the room bringing Aretas out yelling for a medic. You bring your hat down to cover your eyes from the bloody scene and twirl the keys in your hands. She pulls her phone out once she sees the ambulance leave with Isabel. “Ella viene hacia ti” she types and sends to Armando and all she got was a bien.

——

Y/N whistles as she gets off her bike and goes to meet Armando and Isabel. Once she gets inside Isabel smiles at her. “Y/N you were excellent hija” Isabel says going up to her and takes off the guard hat revealing your beautiful hair. Isabel looks at your hair and touches it. “Tu pelo hermoso largo no lo cortas” Isabel whispers to you with a sickening grin. “I won’t” you say in English as you walk away from her to sit on the couch ignoring Armando for now as he goes to talk to his mother. You go back to whistling in a low and menacing tone.

Her whistling stops as she watches Armando leave going somewhere else. “Y/N!” Isabel says and you turn your head towards the Latina women. “I need you to find me a list of people” Isabel tells her as she walks up to you. “Who?” You ask her listening to all the names listing off of Isabel’s mouth. “Got it” Y/N replies getting up from the couch. “I’ll give you the list tomorrow”

——-

You were in bed out of the prison guard outfit typing on your computer as Armando walks in with blood on him. “Where have you been?” You ask him as he turns to you and goes up and kisses your forehead. “Getting some men to work for us” he replies grabbing clothes out of the closet and dresser. “What are you doing?” He questions her stopping. “Looking for these men your mother wanted me to find” Y/N says and sighs. Armando stops hearing the sigh.

He knows how much you wish for his mother's approval. You and him were born in that prison together and grew up together. You especially tried to grow attached to his mother cause yours sucked. “My mother loves you like a daughter,” Armando tells you. Y/N looks up at Armando. “It doesn’t feel like it… feels like I’m being used” Y/N says pausing on her typing as she turns to her boyfriend. “Doesn’t it feel like she’s using you?” You ask him as he pauses. He shakes his head no. “No, my mother wouldn’t use me. She wouldn’t use you Y/N…” he replies leaving the room to take a shower as you pauses and watches Armando leave. “You're being lied too, cariño.” Y/N whispers and goes back to searching for these men Isabel wanted her to find.

————————

Translation

“It’s time”

“Y/N Aretas giving you trouble?”

“No making sure she's secured”

“No Warden wants me to pick up mail”

“She's coming your way”

“Your hair is beautiful long don't cut it”

“Honey”

[tea-biscuits-books]

traitor

steven conklin x reader

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

summary: you've been in love with him since childhood, until you find him and taylor kissing at a party

word count : 1.9k

song: i love you i'm sorry ~ gracie abrams

part 2

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

As the sun began to set and the sky took on a deep orange hue, the party at Nicole's house was in full swing. The air was alive with the sound of laughter, music and the occasional pop of a champagne cork. Y/N takes small measured sips of her drink, stumbling as she hits somebody. 

“ow! shit, sorry,” she grimaces, turning, before jumping as she is met with startling brown eyes, gazing at her softly. Steven grins at her easily, balancing her as she sways slightly on her feet.

“easy there tiger,” The nickname rolls off his tongue effortlessly, making shivers dance down Y/N’s  spine as he smirks down at her. She couldn’t deny the inevitable butterflies that arose in her stomach as he touches her cheek.

“You and that supid nickname,” She groans, flicking his forehead affectionately. Steven rubs his forehead, rolling his eyes at the younger Fisher. 

“Oh shush, you love it.” She does. More then he would ever know. His attention strays from her as he turns to look at a group of boys calling his name.

“go find belly,” he pushes her forward slightly, watching amusedly as she stumbles.

“I’ll find you later.” Nodding, Steven bids her a goodbye, before dissapearing into the mass of sweaty and grinding bodies. Y/N sighs, attempting to calm her racing heart. It seems to sing in her chest, fluttering and beating with excitement. As she walks onto the dance floor, hands capture her hips, swaying her to the side as hot breath touches her ear. 

“What is a pretty girl like you doing alone?” Y/N shifts uncomfortably, turning to meet a very drunk, attractive brunette who hands her a lazy smirk.

“Name’s Ray darling.” He tilts her chin up, inspecting her with a scrutinising eye. 

“And you, are stunning.” 

“Y/N Fisher,” She mumbles, before attempting to push him away.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” She wriggles as his grip tightens on her wrist, dark and menacing. 

“Darling,” He clicks his tongue conscendingly.

“why in such a rush? You don’t have a boyfriend do you?” He leans in, tracing patterns on Y/N’s bare back as he pulls her flush against him. 

“No, listen, I really do got to go,” She says, pushing him back. Ray groans, running a veiny hand throughout his thick, brown curls.

“at least put your number in.” He hands her his phone, tapping his foot as people bump into them, Y/N groaning in disgust as she sees Nicole and Conrad’s tongues intwined. She felt slightly bad for Belly, but she was a bit of a entitled brat sometimes. 

“fine.” She replied shortly, tapping in the digits, before walking away. As she ascended the stairs in search for her asian best friend, tapping on the doors as she went. She cringed as moans and unholy sounds filled her ears as she accidently creaked open a door, squeaking as she was met by a brunette’s arching, bare back. Cleansing her mind and eyes, she continued on, knocking and slightly opening doors. 

“Belly? Belly!” She called, before stumbling through an open one, smiling as she was met with her blonde best friend making out with a shadowed figure. The two jumped apart almost immediately, Taylor squinting as Y/N shook tipsily. 

“Y/N!” She cried, her face creasing guiltily. 

“tay tay!” Y/N smiled, shifting her gaze and feeling the happiness seem to melt off her body. The silhouette looked up, the light falling onto his face.

“S-Steven?” Her voice felt small as Steven’s jaw fell open, as he scrambled to the door. 

“Y/N!” She swallowed as a sob rose in her throat, sobering instantly.

“I gotta go,” She choked, tears falling down her face as she ducked behind a curtain of hair, exiting the room hurriedly. 

“Y/N!” Steven yelled, chasing the running girl as she rushed down the stairs. Pushing through the dancing crowd, she breathed a relieved sigh as she was met with Ray’s drunken gaze. Without any other words, she pulled his head down in a frenzy, meeting his lips forcefully. His lips molded with hers, tasting alcohol as his tongue swirled around hers. Jeremiah’s rendition of summer nights filled the air as she made out with him shamelessly on the dance floor, right in the gaze of the asian. And for the first time, Steven Conklin experienced heartbreak.

It was a tension-filled car ride back, the only sound was the gentle humming of the radio as Steven grunted. Taylor shuffled in the back, fast asleep, makeup smeared across her face. Y/N stared determinedly out the window.

“I’m sorry.” Steven muttered.

“For what? Kissing Taylor or me finding out?” Y/N huffed, her gaze fixated on the passing landscape. 

“Don’t be like that,” Steven scoffed, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the wheel, swerving slightly.

“Like what?” She mocked, rolling her eyes. The older conklin, pursed his lips.

“Acting like a brat.” He hissed, ignoring the sharp stabbing in his chest with every word he uttered.

“Well you’re acting like a child!” She yelled suddenly, her glare stormy as she turned towards him. They fell silent for a moment, Taylor barely stirring in the backseat. 

“I thought she was you.” He whispered, his lips barely moving.

“What?” 

“When I kissed Taylor I thought she was you.”  Y/N heart leapt in her chest, as she reached a hand out. 

“steven-” He barely spared her a glance as he exited the car, slamming the car door. Y/N’s lip trembled as she called out weakly with tear-filled eyes. Her chest felt heavy and hot as the summer wind sung against her face.

“Steven!” She stumbled into the house, weeping silently and pathetically, tripping up the stairs.

“Steven wait!” As his bedroom door slammed, shaking the floorboards, Y/N sunk to her knees, sniffing and wiping her nose. 

“i-i love you,” But nobody heard, a silent prayer in the wind only the gods would hear. 

As Y/N awoke from a restless sleep, she rocked on her feet as she grunted, slipping slightly as she was overcome with nausea. Bile poured from her mouth into the toilet bowl, as she began to cry again softly, wiping her swollen, red eyes. She felt pitiful as she sat on the cold white tiles, her tears spilling onto her shirt and onto the floor. She didn’t move an inch as a knock sounded on the door.

“Hello?” Conrad’s voice echoed through the door, concern tinging his soft tone. The door creaked open woefully as her older brother inspected her curled up, shaking figure.

“Oh Y/N/N,” He murmurs, picking up her limp figure as she stares at him numbly. It feels like old times, her sleepy figure in his arms as she giggles after a movie marathon late into the night. Y/N curls up absent-mindedly, sobs wracking her body.

“I love him, I love him, I love him,” She whispers, as Conrad rubs her back consoldingly.

“I know Y/N/N, I know,” He lays her down on her bed, watching as she simply looked at the plaster above her, mumbling inconherently.

“Sleep well mkay?” He pecks her forehead, before exiting and shutting her bedroom door softly. Y/N’s thoughts are filled of Steven. The way he says her name. The way he would ruffle her hair. The simple ways he would bring her painkiller tablets on her period, or how he would remember just how she likes her coffees. The way he would bring her muffins on early Monday mornings.  The simple ways they would walk on the beach together hand in hand, their matching shell anklets, the sunset on their faces. Steven, Steven, Steven. She shut her eyes. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. When he’s nervous he runs a hands though his hair. His favourtie faded spiderman t-shirt that Laurel has told him so many times to throw out. His dream to go to Princeton. Their matching chain bracelets with small heart charms. Steven, Steven, Stev-

She yawned as she slowly began to sit up, rubbing her sore eyes. Y/N took a sip of her water, washing out the sour taste in her mouth. As she began to descend the stairs, memories began to rain down on her. As she touched foot on the bottom floor, and the clatter of cutlery hit her ears, Y/N stalked towards the dining room. 

“Y/N dear! Are you okay? Conrad-”

“Mom.” Jeremiah cut her off, smiling softly at Y/N’s messy state.

“Well look who decided to show up.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, before she flinched back. He masked his hurt look with a pleasant smile. 

“come, eat.” He pointed to the potato salad and pasta with his fork, patting the seat between him and Belly. Y/N sat uneasily, picking at the pieces of creamy, boiled potato that Conrad plopped on her plate.

“excuse me,”  She didn’t look up as a chair screeched upon the floorboards, and familiar, worn converse stomped past her. 

“Steven! Young man, you sit-” The words died on Laurel’s lips as Steven’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. The two mothers seemed to share a look, as if saying ‘teenagers.’

“oh, young love. don’t you remember Laurel?” Susannah sighed dreamily, placing an arm on her best friend’s shoulder. The other woman smiled in response, obviously reminiscing on old memories. 

“the good old days,” Y/N poked at her pasta, prodding it with the metal prongs, before clearing her throat and pushing her plate away.

“Uh, I’m not very hungry. I’m going to go too.” She quickly walked upstairs, not glancing back as she heard her mother’s tired sigh. Softly, she padded to the bedroom door to the left of hers. ‘Steven’ was scribbled in red crayon, and taped on the door. She didn’t bother knocking, barging in, watching as he quickly turned away, shielding his red, blotchy face. 

“what do you want.” 

“we need to talk.” She spoke shortly, not waiting for a response as she plopped down on his bed. 

“you’ve said all you need to.” She began to tear up.

“I was drunk Steven. I’m sorry-”

“sorry?!” he turned to face her, his jaw clenched.

“do you know how in love I am with you Y/N? Do you know how much it physically hurt,” He let out a watery laugh, swivelling in his desk chair.

“For you to just spit those words out at me like you-” He pulled on his hair angrily, letting the strands loosely fall onto his cheek. 

“like you���hate me,” His voice turned to more vulnerable as he seemed to fold into himself. 

“I don’t hate you,” She whispers, inching towards him slightly.

“I’m so in love with you Y/N that I do the dumbest shit when you’re around, and you make my heart go all weird and warm in my chest.” He takes a breath as you wrap your arms around his quivering figure gingerly.

“I love you too…” He sniffles rubbing his nose.

“you’re just saying that.” 

“no, I swear, I love you too.” Her eyes begin to feel hot, and they water as she pulls him closer.

“I’ve loved you since we were children Stevie…” Steven cries into her hair, before pulling her back up, pressing his lips against hers. It was slow and magnetic, built up through years of unsaid words and nervous feelings. It was just how she had imagined it. The older boy pulled back, pressing his forehead against hers.

“never leave. swear on it.”

“i promise.”

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

It felt so real.

What - Yearning. Daryl misses you and your family so badly that it seems his imagination is dreaming you up to keep him from going crazy

When - big time jump to when Daryl finds himself in France (spinoff season 1, episode 2)

Where - the school in France

Pronouns - she/her (howdy, wife reader!)

TWs - language, reference to child loss, self-loathing, sappiness (it's fanfiction, y'all XD ) and Daryl gets a little...'excited' (mild instance of sexual arousal between a married couple)

Perspective - Daryl 3rd person POV

References - some are yet unpublished because this is a significant time skip, which means a few little surprises. Others can be found throughout the series!

Series? - the Slowpoke Series! It's a fun, slow time that sticks to canon to help maintain immersion (as much as you can with adding an oc lol) ;)

Can I read this chapter if I haven't started any part of the Slowpoke Series yet? - definitely

----------------------------

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“It's so good to hold you again, sugar.”

Those words, that voice, made him relax into the bed. She was there again! He’d last imagined her when he was being tended to by those nuns, so it was only, what, a handful of days ago?

Wasn’t enough for him, he missed her so much.

“Dare, I want them all. Full stop, every last one.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I knew you’d say that.”

“As if you aren’t wantin’ to take at least a handful. All those kids with just an old woman to care for them…well, now she’s dead, but…” She sighed and held him tighter. “Lou reminds me of Enid. Don’t you think they look similar? M’sorry her name had to be Lou. A lot of things over here are making you homesick, ain’t they? And that poor boy in Maine, named TJ, too.”

He pulled her closer, doing his best to not wake himself up so Y/N would stay with him. He wished that kid, with same name as his oldest, has just gone back to his girlfriend like he'd told him to.

“Our own Louise lights a candle with me for you every day. Those nuns would be proud.”

He swore to himself that whenever these dreams happen, there’s got to be some way it isn’t just all in his head. It was way too real.

It felt so, so real.

But that Louise was lighting candles for him, he knew because Carol told him when she spoke to him briefly over the radio in Maine...

“Did Carol also mention that Lydia’s been drawing you? Or did I write part that in the letter?”

“The letter. Carol and I didn't have much time to say anything.” Y/N wrote him a long, long letter. One part mentioned how both Lydia and Glenn took to getting nightmares again after he left. At Maggie’s suggestion, Lydia had been drawing his picture. Apparently it helps her feel safer.

RJ had been 'retreating more than usual,' also. Adam was acting out, too, so she wrote. If Daryl was figuring it right, the boys losing another father figure probably hadn’t helped.

“Dare, he’s three. Three-year-olds don’t only act out with foster parents, Adam would be doin’ the same with Alden. And RJ is without Michonne right now. That's the greater culprit.”

His wife also wrote how Coco just started calling her ‘mama,’ and correcting her to say ‘auntie’ wasn’t working yet. She chalked it up to her being a motherly figure and the baby assuming all caring ladies were ‘mama.’ He wondered if Gabe knew yet. Ain’t like Y/N hasn’t been a mama to that little girl since Rosita died. Actually, nah, Gabe obviously knew; Y/N would’ve (legit) run to him immediately and told him what was up.

The faces of all their kids ran through his mind over and over, Lydia and Judith and RJ included. Then his wife’s face. Carl. Adam. Hershel. Gracie. Coco. Carol. Ezekiel. Maggie. Rosita. Aaron. Jesus. Jerry. Rick. Merle. T-Dog.

“Oo, I want to be here when T-Dog visits. Has he ever visited?” Y/N chirped.

He wished. “Once. I just think about him a lot.”

“Bummer. He must have been so thrilled when we actually did name our first after him, without you even tellin’ me nothing about how he’d teased you on it! Say, what about Uncle Jesse? Does he visit? He must’ve been happy TJ’s middle name is for him!”

He shook his head. You even visited me before I was smart enough to fall for you. When I fell down the ridge. It was you and Merle.

A sneezing from one of the kids in another part of the building resounded four times. It woke him briefly.

He closed his eyes, focused…

It was okay, Y/N was there. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief.

“I am a mite surprised you didn’t take the floor anyway,” Y/N admitted, peeking over his side to look at where the nun Isabelle was laying down next to him. “Or share with Laurent so the two sisters could share.”

“Neither of them trust me enough for me to share a room with the boy. And she sounded like she didn’t want me on the floor. Must be that I’m gettin’ too old." All I feel these days is tired and sore. "Hell, I don’t think I could get up if I slept on the floor.”

Angel, I ain’t the same without you, I’m a fucking mess. Look at the shit show that I’ve made of things.

His wife whispered, “Hey. You know I can hear that, I’m from your imagination.”

“Y/N, I miss you so fucking much.” Baby, I’m so goddamned far from you all and I don’t know how I’m gonna get out this time.

“No cusses in front of the kids, Daryl,” She cupped her belly, the one he was imagining she might have again. Carol, when she spoke to him, used what little time there was to mention how Y/N was avoiding taking a test because she missed him too much. Y/N didn’t say nothing about it in her letter she'd packed in there during one of his home visits.

How’s that for a reason to hate yourself?

“You should,” shot back another familiar voice. “Leaving your own kin, leaving your woman. Ain’t you learned nothing, boy? Didn’t think you was that much of a deadbeat but here’s proof the apple didn’t fall far from the tree."

Merle.

Damn, it’d been ages!

"Yup. Nanu nanu," his brother mocked, waving his metal stump and glaring. "Here you are, in the white flag capital of the world, surrounded by Euro kooks instead of your own blood.”

“Oh, Daryl, don’t imagine him as cruel again!" Y/N cooed. "Let us both love you if you’re gonna go about having us here.”

Daryl breathed slowly so he wouldn’t wake up. When he felt level enough, he answered, “I don’t have much control over what y’all say.”

“I thought you had some control over it.” Y/N gently pushed his hair off his face. He loved it when she did that. Delicately, she examined the new scar gracing his forehead.

“I blame that old coot what you let whup you on the head as to why you’re seeing things,” his brother crooned.

His wife nodded. “Another concussion, you poor man. But this isn’t a hallucination, it’s just a dream. It’s that good kind of dream where you’re not fully awake but not fully asleep.” She trailed her hand along his forearm.

“Y/N, you’re too good for this sad sack.”

She fired back faster than Daryl knew his imagination could go. “Merle. You love your brother to death and you’re happy he got hisself a wife and family.” Y/N had pushed herself up to sitting in order to scold him. “Tell me you don’t swell with pride seein’ him be a good father and good husband. The cycle stopped with him, and you’re proud of it.”

Daryl, a hand protectively around his wife’s side, was busy trying to figure out what Merle was even doing, whittling?

Ah, he was eating an peach with the knife attached to his metal stump.

Weird, he thought ghosts didn’t eat.

“Maybe I ain’t a real ghost, retard,” was a blunt comeback. “Maybe I’m just a poor copy you conjured up in that concussed little head of yours.” Merle then turned to Y/N. “As for you, kitten, he left you and your brats! Left you when you was up the duff, left you when you don’t even got all your legs no more! How’s he supposed to protect you when he’s out here?”

“Merle William Dixon! I ain’t ‘kitten’ and those ‘brats’ are your nieces and nephews, dick. Noah’s middle name is even for you, so you best watch your mouth, hear?”

Merle smirked and sliced off another wedge from the peach. “There’s my sister-in-law. I had to make sure your square self at least still had that fire in ya.” He offered her a slice, but she crossed her arms.

The expression on her face was so disappointed it made Daryl’s chest tug.

His brother duly inclined his head in apology and raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right, ma’am. Y’all are doing a good job on them brats. And this sumbitch ain’t nothing like our old man, so there’s something.” Merle chopped another piece of fruit. “And it’s always a pleasure to roll with a fellow amputee, Y/N. Not many can relate to how trippy the phantom limb bullshit can get.”

She tilted her head in agreement, rubbed the spot above her prosthetic calf, and settled back down next to her husband with a big sigh. “I do wish Daryl imagined you in a kinder light, Merle, but, either way, I’m happy he watched Mork & Mindy because it got him thinkin’ about you — and now you’re here for him!” Her hand grazed along her bump. “And, you meant to say to him that I was possibly pregnant.”

“Dunno about that, sister, you’ve always seem to know when you been knocked up.”

“That ain’t incorrect,” she confessed, curling in on herself. “Even if I was, it’s possible we had a loss again, Merle. Whether early or late this time.”

“Another reason he shouldn’t be screwin’ around out here.” Merle next words sliced him as if his heart were the peach in his hands. “I'm angry for your own good, lady. What if you had to handle another kid's death, this time on your own?”

The bad memories crashed down like waves threatening to drown him in grief and guilt. He wanted to pummel his brother in the hopes Merle would best him and make him pay for leaving her.

But Merle wasn't actually there. Neither was Y/N. It was pretend. Daryl was just beating himself up in his head, and failing even at that.

Y/N said the words as Daryl thought them: “Why are you twisting the knife?” She swallowed and covered her face with her hands. “Maybe, this mission is w-worth the sacrifice of, of us not havin’ him here right now.”

No. It’s not.

I know you said that before I left to make it hurt less, but it’s not. Listen to your stutter, you know it ain’t.

I should be back there with you, not constantly leaving for weeks at a time. I'm supposed to be home now. I'd told Carol when I reached her on the radio back in Maine that I'd be there in a about a week, which is what she would've told you. This whole thing is horseshit!

“Darlin’, think on happier things or you’ll upset yourself awake or into another nightmare,” Y/N soothed. "You almost woke from anger at Merle just there, which is really just anger at yourself." Her fingers laced into his where his hand rested on her belly. His wish was that his dream would include feeling the baby move. He loved that feeling. Except, he must’ve been waking up because his dream wasn’t letting him feel her hand or her belly very much when he tried. Still, it felt real enough. He’d take what he could get.

“Might could be fun to think back on how beautiful it was making them, if indeed we made another one.” She walked two fingers along his bicep. “Would’ve happened on or around the last night before you left. Or,” she mused, then started to giggle. At that moment, he could even imagine the vibrations of her laughter as if she were really, actually laying beside him. It felt so real! “I wouldn’t be surprised if made them on the day itself, that was soo — oh man, hold up!” She pulled away from him and eyed his crotch in suspicion. “No sex dreams allowed, there’s a bride of Christ in the room! Keep that thing down, deal?”

He almost laughed out loud, and possibly in real life. So long as he didn’t wake up, he didn’t care if he laughed in his sleep. The reactions, the tone, it was all just like his Y/N. And he could hope they had another kid. He’d take as many as came along.

Aw, shit, how far would she even be along, if this one made it? How long had he been away?

“Goddamn, y’all, is this some kinda kink you got?” Merle cut in. “Me and the penguin are still here, you perverts.”

“Oh hush, neither of us are actually here. Him and me aren’t doing nothin’, he just got a little aroused,” Y/N countered. “And to answer your question about another baby, Daryl, I reckon you’ll find out when you come back.” She shrugged. “Unless you reach us on a radio? Eugene is diligent about it, especially now.”

That was another thing she wrote in her letter. Eugene and his radio.

The helplessness crashed back down on him. “I’m tryin’ babe.” He didn’t want to start crying. The nun was next to him and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop crying once he started.

Merle jeered, “Try harder, Darylina.”

He was right, Daryl needed to. He needed to try harder! What kind of washed out fuck-up was he?

“Sweetheart,” his wife called softly. Her hand caressed his cheek. It felt so, so real. “Margaret — a woman who knows the pain of losing a husband — trusted this to you because you survive. And I trusted you to go, because you’ve got the brains, the balls, and the grit. You don’t die or get bit, Daryl, no. You always come home.”

Bullshit. Not this time.

“Not bullshit. Yes, this time.” She looked to the window. “Merle, back me up.”

“Based on your track record, she’s right, little brother.”

“You may not believe you can or will,” she lifted herself up on her hands and leaned forward to kiss him. It had to have been real. It felt so, so real. But he was not about to open his eyes to see if by some miracle it was. “Despite how you feel right now, my bet is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

Shit, he was about to break down. “Y/N, maybe I don’t deserve that. You saw the shit-show what got me here.” And there came the tears. “I left you, that’s all there is to this. I don’t deserve you.”

“Oh, that word.” Y/N wasn’t a fan of the word ‘deserve.’ “On that topic, what an honest prayer you said to bless the food! So many times you used ‘deserve,’ ugh, but,” she paused, “God loves honesty like that. Very, very much.”

She kissed his eyelids where the tears were starting to slip out, kissed the scar that never seemed to fade, then settled back against the side of his chest and curled one leg around him. With her hand, she rubbed comforting circles along his torso. “And He don’t punish or withhold, that’s just our fallen world. His hand is always out for you,” she murmured. “Say, how long do you think you can keep up with imaginin’ my theology?”

“Angel, I’m already at my limit. That’s why part of me thinks you’ve gotta be here somehow, some parts of this feel so real. Smart stuff like this ain’t in my head.”

“TJ and Georgia would call out your self-hate if they could hear you. You’d owe them a lot of quarters. Hm, and euros, seeing as you're here.”

His chest tugged at their names. “How are they?”

TJ, their oldest besides Lydia, had long hair like the little French kid here. Just one other thing that ripped at Daryl’s heartstrings to make him ache so bad for home it shocked him that he wasn’t bleeding out.

“They’re as good as gold and better. Just like their father.” That phrase he knew was from his memory because she’d said it before. “All of us miss you like crazy. Postal level.”

You shouldn’t.

“Daryl.” Her hand gripped his. There’s no way it wasn’t real. It felt so real. “When I was broken after Carl's death, and I claimed the same stuff — that you should leave me and TJ, that you needed someone better, that your life would be better if we weren’t a part of it — how much did it rip you up? ’Cause even if I hadn’t told you this before, you would have to understand how it’s tearing my insides to shreds hearin’ you think the same.”

Calm. He had to stay calm or he’d be alone again.

“I’m right,” he whispered.

“I have to disagree.”

“I —” his voice went up. He switched tactics and spoke to his brother. “Merle, talk some sense into her. I failed. This is it, this is—”

“—You did screw shit up like a royal turd, but your lady would rip my danglers off if I went along with your pretty little pity party.”

Believe it or not, the tough love helped. Felt genuine, as if Merle really was shouting some sense into him. It felt so real.

He caught his wife giving Merle an air high-five. “Thank you, Merle.”

In hindsight, Daryl figured it must’ve be because Merle, in Daryl’s imagination, had to raise his metal arm to return the five. He taunted Y/N, “You’re welcome, peg-leg.”

Dream or not, Daryl was fixing to bark, but his wife playfully kicked her own prosthetic and taunted back, “Love you, gimpy.”

His brother was smug. “Square.”

As if Y/N hadn’t heard that before.“Trailer trash.”

As if Merle hadn’t heard that before. “Goody-two shoes.”

“Two shoes? Ahem,” Y/N drawled as prim and proper as a southern belle. “Did we not just establish how I only require but one shoe these days?”

Merle slapped his thigh and cackled like a hyena and Daryl couldn’t help but do the same. Y/N joked about her missing calf like she got paid for it, pirate jokes to no end.

Daryl hadn’t felt this light in months, not even close to it since leaving home.

…And to think, it was all a lie.

All fake.

They weren’t really there. Not his wife, not his dead brother. It was all in his head.

“Oh, my sweet mangy hick. Enough moping and angst, enjoy the moment! Merle and I really did a fair job on our banter just there. And you never know, Merle could really be here, seein’ as he’s dead.”

“Y/N, I even miss bickering with ya, goddamn,” he breathed.

“It is one of our love languages. That reminds me — you’re doing great with the French, Dare!”

She can’t be serious. Or, rather, he himself can’t be serious. “Babe, I ain’t spoken a word of it. The letters don’t matter half the time. I swear, these people sound drunk.”

Merle snickered, “Hell, even I speak better French than him. Voulez vous coucher av—”

“—Well, I meant like when you used the dictionary to translate that conjugated verb.” Her voice had gone down when she said this and it sounded, well…how it usually sounded when she was turned on. “If I were there, the part where I’d push your suspenders off your shoulders would drive me wild…”

Stay calm or you’ll wake up, Daryl.

And you realllly don’t want to start a sex dream with some other chick in the room. A nun!

“Get a room, horndogs. The word was ‘conjugated,’ not ‘conjugal,’” Merle spat. “This is why you got all them kids.”

His wife made one of her signature huffs, but didn’t say nothing back to Merle. Into Daryl’s ear, she sympathized, “Being horny is so annoyin’.”

Ha. Blushing even in his dreams. Part of him wondered if he was cracking up in his sleep, too, but either way, it felt good. Felt real. It felt so, so real. “I don’t even know what ‘conjugated’ means, Y/N.”

“Yes you do, otherwise I wouldn’t say it. I’m a figment of your imagination, remember?” Aw man, why’d she have to nuzzle him in the crook of his neck? He loved it when she did that. Mmm, hot damn it felt so real… “And you know that you doin’ something like conjugating a verb in another language would be sexy to me.”

“I told y’all jackrabbits to keep your britches on. Now, Daryl: ‘conjugate’ is when you make the verb agree grammatically with the subject. You’ve heard that word before,” Merle explained. Seemed out of character. And the room looked strange, there was—it was another room now?

Daryl’s thoughts turned to when Y/N and Rosita would speak Spanish. Listening as Judith helped TJ and RJ with phonics. Watching Georgia sing to baby Louise that song Siddiq had taught her in, what language was it?

“Hey. Dummy,” Merle scoffed. “You’re driftin’ off, sweet boy. Gotta stay a teensy bit lucid if you want us here.”

So that’s why the room had just looked different. He’d been slipping.

“I still don’t get how this happens, which is why I think you’re actually here,” Daryl said to both of them. “Merle, you’re probably in…somewhere in-between.”

“What, I don’t get to be in heaven yet? Y/N, you hearin’ this uppity sumbitch?”

“He still has trouble believing in such things, Merle, especially lately. I prayed for your soul, so I got hope.”

“Thank you, sister.”

“Anytime.” Y/N looked up at Daryl and smiled. “Then what about me, dude? I ain’t dead, pinky promise. So, how is it that I come to be here?”

Yeah, he’ll be as sappy as he wants with his wife of ten years. “Maybe you’re dreamin’ about me, too.”

Merle’s kissy noises were interrupted by Daryl firmly telling him to get out after which Y/N smooched him harder than she’d had in his imagination since he’d left America. The smell of her, the sounds she made, the way she would lift her head so he could bury his face in her neck, it all felt so real.

It was when she ran her hand lower down his abdomen and almost reached his you-know-what that it all stopped cold. “Sorry! Aw, shoot — Merle! Get back in here, quick, we got carried away! Well, t-technically it was all you, Dare, but — just, please don’t get a stiffy with a nun in the room!”

“Someone should put that on a shirt,” his brother called.

“Ew, no, Merle! Good Moses, maybe I really should ought to be there if you’re startin’ to imagine messed up t-shirt slogans.” She was only teasing. “Ooh, but if I were really there I could meet little Sister Sylvie! So far, I like her.”

“I knew you would.” Daryl grinned. “The way she is with the boy, she reminds me of you.”

If only you were really here, angel.

Wait, no, I don’t want you here because you wouldn’t be safe. I need you safe.

She brought his hand to her lips. “I know what you meant, sugar.”

Unexpectedly, the nun shifted on the bed, nearly jolting him fully awake.

Slow breaths. Keep your eyes shut, do not open them!

He kept them shut tight and pictured where Y/N had been to try and keep her there.

“What am I, chopped pig’s feet?” Merle grunted.

Daryl relaxed. Merle was still there, and he got back the feeling of Y/N beside him.

“You know,” his wife considered. While she was still there, he was having trouble visualizing her. Was he still close to waking up? “That Sister Isabelle is willin’ to risk sharing a room with a strange American says a lot about how much she’ll give to protect the boy and the others here.”

“Still damn weird she didn’t just share a room, the three of ’em.”

“It is. It’s really weird.” Y/N rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth of her breathing against him. If he focused really hard, he could just about imagine the feel her heartbeat, too. “Maybe she’s fixing to be the first line of defense, with all them other kids livin’ here.”

“Still weird,” he grunted. “Hey, where’d my—” He looked around in his imagination at the room. “Where’d my brother go?”

“Maybe he wanted another peach. Or, maybe you're too close to wakin’ up. Be careful, darling.”

He breathed slowly and kept his eyes locked shut. His frustration was growing. It had felt so real, why was it going away?

Calm. Stay calm so she’ll stay.

“It was also unusual,” Y/N thought, “how Sister Izzy—”

“—Sister Izzy?”

He imagined that her mouth would have twisted in embarrassment. “Yes, I’d probably definitely give her that nickname. You sure know how to portray me realistically.” She started again, “It’s unusual how she didn’t accommodate for your maybe-not-wantin’-to-be-seen-in-the-tub-by-a-nun. By anyone, for that matter. Although,” she reconsidered, “they were nurses who had to change your undies and cauterize your wound, weren’t they?” When he pictured her bottom lip beginning to tremble, he held her closer. “Oh, I hate that they all died but for two! What has this world come to? Why would those men kill them?”

That was something.

The dream got easier to maintain. He felt the curve of her waist. The rise and fall of her chest. It felt real again. It felt so, so real.

Relieved, he didn’t know what to say at first other than, “The water was cloudy enough.” When he was getting treated, bathed, doctored, how hard he wished it was Y/N doing it. Another thing that made him ache, watching them nuns give him medical attention when for the past 12 years it’d almost always been his wife.

He breathed out heavily. “Dunno, when she was in there, it wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“The habit can have that effect on some. The crucifixes and religious artworks hopefully brought some peace, too.”

“Habit?”

“Nun outfit.”

He tried to hold her even tighter. The way it felt more real than before encouraged him, got him nearly falling off his seat with excitement that he got her back!

Except, the excitement turned into panic that he might lose this moment because he was so happy, as fake as it was.

And it sent him over the edge. Just like that, he was awake. Very awake. And alone. No Y/N, no Merle.

He blinked as the room came into focus.

None of it was real. He’d, he'd known that.

And now he was awake. Lying on some flat, shitty, tiny bed, an ocean away, in a country full of people he didn’t understand, that had walkers who burned you when they touched you, and soldiers who shot up a convent full of nuns who patched up strangers and were only trying to keep a little boy safe.

He didn’t even have his ring anymore. All he had was a snippet on a voice recorder that told the world his name and how badly he'd fucked up.

Daryl turned onto his side, the pain from his burned arm screaming at him, but he didn’t give one flying fuck. Y/N wasn’t there anymore because his stupid ass had woken up! He’d earned the pain, he needed it, he deserved it.

Quietly, he thought to hell with it and let himself weep. He was so fucking done with all this bullshit.

He wanted Y/N back. He wanted his kids back. The fuck kind of brainless jackass was he, leaving them for so long, so much? And for what?

To "see what's out there?"

As if he'd find people who had a cure?

To bring Rick and Mich home? If Rick is even alive, if Michonne is alive.

To transport some creepy French boy to a group of weirdos grasping at the hope of some imaginary friend in the sky who damns them if they don’t do all the rules in the world that He’d let go to shit as a punishment or test?

Really, was Daryl that much of a guilt-ridden jerk-off to still say yes to whatever Maggie asks him to do? It’s a hopeless fu—

“Daryl, I love you so much. Please don’t blaspheme.”

“Y/N?” I thought you was gone. No, you were gone, I woke up! “You’re back?” Holy shit, thank you. Thank you! Thank you, Whoever's up there.

That small, shy smile melted all the ice he’d just had in his heart. “Try not to wake all the way again?”

He didn’t waste any more time blubbering like an idiot, he reached for her and held on. It was still a dream, so he had to be careful to not get too excited or do anything too stimulating. And, don’t worry, he wasn’t about to willingly get a hard-on when there was a nun next to him.

He just needed to have Y/N in his arms again so he could make it through the next 5 minutes without going insane!

For 12 years, she’d been there, loving him in one way or another. For 10 years they’d been husband and wife. Without her, without their kids there, in that strange, foreign place, he was losing himself so quick it brought him to his knees with shame.

Her lips pulled away for a moment. “I wouldn’t agree that you’re losing yourself. I watched Shaney lose himself, it looked different. Daryl, I’m serious,” she insisted. Her fingers tousled about his hair so like how she did in real life that Daryl assumed he was doing so to himself in that half-sleep. “Listen: did you not save that dad and daughter even after they robbed you?”

Big whoop. “You know what those guerrilla shits would’ve done to her." The same thing that got done to you. "And those assholes would prolly have made the old man watch and killed me regardless.”

“Yeah, but you also went back to try and save that gaggle of nuns from those jar-head pieces of shit, that’s got to count for somethin’.” Wait, that was Merle’s voice. He was back, too?

Daryl looked over at the window to see his brother there once more. Merle winked. “My baby brother, the hero. Stay zen if you’re fixing to keep us here, now. Keep hittin’ that sweet spot between dreamland and the real world.”

Y/N beamed at Merle before turning back to Daryl. “And did you not help those children get the medicine, Dare? Heck, now they got access to that whole castle full of supplies and it’s so much more secure. Um, m-minus the moat full of dead ones.”

“I lied to those kids out my ass, Y/N. Lied and didn’t give a damn.”

“And you ensured none of them got hurt, then promptly admitted the lie with what I’d call purity of heart.”

“I cut that boy’s mule loose without a second thought. You see that? He loved that thing.”

“Better than to have failed to back up the cart in time, which would have happened and would have gotten all five of y’all eaten. And it was almost fast enough to escape by the looks of it. One dead mule to the benefit of four living souls is a good outcome.”

“What’d my sister-in-law say earlier?” Merle asked. “Brains, balls, and grit? Not to sound all mushy gushy, but she’s right.”

The memories of falling into that moat of walkers seized him, made him start to panic again. No brains, no balls, he almost died right in there—

“—Baby, shh,” Y/N hushed. Her arms tightly wrapped around him the way she would when his nightmares hit bad. “You survived. No bites. No burns. Not even a broken bone, I don’t know how you managed it again.” Her lips, her chest, her hands pressed against him. It felt so, so real. “But you always seem to.” She kissed him. “You’ve got brains.” Another kiss. “Balls.” A deeper kiss. “And grit. And you’re alive, sweetheart. There’s always hope as long as your heart is still beating.”

“How will I get out of this?”

“You’ll find a way,” she said with confidence. “You simply don’t know what the way is yet.”

“What do I do about the nuns?”

“Help them keep Laurent safe, of course — if you choose to do so.”

I don’t want to.

“You don’t have to,” she assured him.

I want to go home.

“And you will,” she assured him once again.

I don’t want to help them. I don’t want to. I don’t fucking want to!

…God damn it. “But I should.”

“You ain’t obligated,” Y/N responded, but with hesitation that time. “It is up to you.”

Merle was the one to point out, “It’s that conscience of yours, kid. Sometimes you just can’t help but help. I’ve been watchin’ you these past, what is it, 11 years since I got my crusty white ass killed?” He chuckled to himself as he shaved off the final bit of peach before flicking the pit away. “Can’t be too mad at it when it roped you a fine piece of ass to squeeze at night and how many kids because of it?”

“Merle,” Y/N warned.

Daryl could feel his anger rising.

“What, ain’t you relieved I can’t call you ‘sweet little virgin’ no more, son?” Merle kept egging on.

“Daryl, this isn’t really him. Don’t get angry or we’ll both disapp—”

“—So, my thinking is, Daryl, that you just won’t be able to help yourself from bringing that little sissy boy to them nutjobs —”

“Shut up!” Daryl burst out — and opened his eyes in real time. Again? Is he that much of an idiot?

His pulse was pounding. Dread and self-loathing flooded his mind, how stupid could he be?

Immediately, he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate hope to get his wife and brother back. He focused, focused, focused, prayed, pretended, focused…

“Daryl,” came her voice.

He could hear Y/N, but not see her. It was clear that it was all him forcing the memory of her voice back. It was all in his head.

“Why bother caring that it’s in your head, sugar? Breathe slowly and focus on the feel of my body against yours. I don’t wanna leave you."

“Y/N, I need to get back,” he panted. “I can use their help to do that. Those religious people, the Union of Hope or whoever, Isabelle says they got a good radio. I need that to get back home.”

“Well, there you go! I trust you.”

He reached up to tangle his fingers where her hair would be. His imagination wasn’t letting it happen, so he focused with gratefulness that at least he could still hear her.

“Just don’t abuse their trust, and you’ll be alright,” she softly pleaded.

Don’t break their trust? “Angel, you don’t know what I did to end up in this mess.”

Of all the ways he could have daydreamed her reacting, it was that her laughter filled the room. “For the last time, my mangy hick, I am a figment of your imagination and quite literally know everythin’ inside that brain of yours. And I still love you despite that ‘shit-show’ what landed you here.”

He brought to mind the color of her eyes, wanting, wanting, begging for a miracle that would make her truly there with him so he could stare into them all night. “What would you say if I asked ‘that if I don’t find nothing, what good am I?’”

“Y/N, you can blame our raising for that shit right there,” his brother commented.

“You poor boys. Broken people sometimes make for broken kids.”

Gently, he started to perceive the way she would rub her cheek against his chest when she’d lay down with him. “Daryl? If I were here, I’d say things to try and make it stick in your head that your worth ain’t dependent on what you can offer.”

“What does it depend on, then?”

“Careful, you’re treading into religious waters now, and I ain’t sure you’ve got the bandwidth tonight. But God is involved,” she hinted.

This mess was hopeless, wasn’t it? No winning, no out, no happy ending.

“Angel, I can’t come home empty-handed.” He squeezed his eyes tighter and willed himself to not lose his cool yet again. “I can’t come home with no Rick or Michonne, no cure, no nothin’ but a burn, more nightmares, and more lives on my conscience.”

“You can,” she answered simply. “It ain’t all on you. No — please, don’t get any more upset or you’ll wake up again! Daryl, I’ve already slipped so far away!” He heard his wife begin to cry, but the sound went further and further from him. All he could see were the backs of his eyelids.

Still, he held on as best he could. “Please stay here, angel.”

“I-I would, sweetheart.”

“When I’m back, I won’t even want to leave the walls to hunt if it would mean not being next to you, d’you know that?”

“Let someone else hunt. You’ve done enough to last a lifetime.” Her voice was hoarse the way it had been when she’d said those same words to him about a year and a half ago. “More than enough. Oh Daryl, I’m so sorry we’re going.”

“Not yet, angel, please don’t!”

“Use all those things makin’ you homesick as reasons to hope. Do it for me, sugar. Get yourself home again. Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

“I won’t. I’ll get back to you. Tell the kids I love ’em?”

There was silence.

Stillness.

Daryl lay there, accepting that he couldn’t feel Y/N next to him anymore.

His throat tightened. “Angel?”

He doesn’t know why he bothered. She was gone, he knew it. He ran his finger where his ring should’ve been, if he hadn’t lost it.

“Angel,” he tried again.

Silence.

“Babe, please. Please.”

Silence.

“Y/N, please, one more time, angel.”

Silence.

The pain in him was hollow and cold.

Feeling small and helpless, he lifted his arms above his head and held back a wail of despair. He closed his eyes again and, in his head, he cried out in desperation, “Merle?”

At first, there was no answer. He hadn't expected one. Why should he?

But then he heard a quiet, low, “I’m still here.”

Merle spoke slowly and heavily, almost as if it hurt him to admit it. “I don’t think she’s gonna come back tonight, Daryl. You’ve already fallen out a few times. I ain’t gonna be here much longer, neither. You know that.”

Any strength he had left seeped out like a stab wound, leaving him crying like a child. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“I know, little brother.”

“It felt so real.”

“It sure as hell did. I think you needed it, even if it hurts like a bitch now.”

It had felt so, so real!

But it wasn’t. “I’m alone,” he choked out.

“Nothin’ you can’t handle.” For a moment Daryl could make out his brother’s face again. “You’re a tough sumbitch, so I’d advise you act like it. Quit blubberin’ like a baby and wipe the snot out your nose.”

Daryl sniffed and tried to get a grip.

“Good.” Merle’s voice began to echo. He was almost gone, too. “Now listen here: don’t die, don’t get bit. Get your ass back where you belong.”

The room came into view.

The echoing stopped.

The hollow, cold pain he’d felt at knowing they were gone there turned sharp and hot. Turns out, it was actually the throbbing in his arm. Daryl really had turned onto his side, which positioned his burned arm underneath him. He strained to get off it and flip onto his back.

You know what? The pain from his burned arm didn’t hold a candle to the ache in his chest.

Were those tears on his face, too? Guess he must’ve started crying for real in his sleep. Made sense considering how real it all felt. It all felt so real.

If only his pulse would stop racing, he felt sick.

He was getting damned old.

Instinctively, he tried to fiddle with his wedding band, which is when he recalled yet again how he’d lost it. Only a faint tan line remained.

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and chewed at his lip. Another tear or two escaped and ran hot down his cheek.

A strange part of him wished he hadn’t lied to Laurent about having a wife and family back home. At the time he said it so it wouldn't hurt as much, but…

“You deserve a happy ending, too,” the kid had told him. Just like his Judith had, when she saw how low and unworthy he begun to feel. She told her auntie Y/N, too, of course, not that his wife wasn’t unaware of how twisted his head had gotten into thinking he was no good. It didn’t feel twisted to him, it felt honest. He didn’t deserve them. They were too good.

His wife’s words to him played again in his mind. He may have just been making all that shit up in his brain, but he was only remembering a mix of real things that she’d told him before, over and over in the hopes his stupid ass would accept it one day.

“Despite how you feel right now, my vote is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

He did need a reason. It was getting harder and harder to hold onto hope. Any hope.

So, maybe, a weird kid with long hair like TJ’s who drew a picture of some washed-up bum on a beach three weeks before Daryl showed up was reason enough to hope. He could grasp onto that.

If it would get him home, hell yeah, he could do that.

How the same weird kid told him what his niece had and what his wife had could be reason enough, too. He could grasp onto that as well, if it would get him home. He could do that for them.

Daryl ran his hand in slow, gentle circles along his stomach like Y/N would. Maybe he’d been doing this in his dream, which is why it felt so real.

It had all felt so, so real.

------------------------------------------

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[cheriepie111]

Wanna Be Your Muse

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A master perfecting his art…

Warnings: Nudity, Allusions to smut

Title is from ‘Muse’ by Isabel LaRosa

"Stay still," Benedict commanded, his voice low. He sat in front of a large sketch pad, his gaze focused on your nude form. As a model at the Royal Academy, you were quite used to being drawn in this state. You were also used to the crass comments and lewd jokes from patrons. Benedict was different though. His gaze was always adoring and his words exalting. Perhaps that was why you always let him fuck you after such sessions. 

The soft scratching of Benedict’s pencil on the paper filled the room, broken occasionally by whispered praises. Finally, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. His green eyes darted appreciatively between the paper and your body. After a few moments, he sighed deeply, beckoning you over. 

You secured your silk robe around your waist as you padded over, your arm winding its way around his neck. His work never failed to amaze you- the way he would capture the glint in your eyes, the curves and dips of your body, the sunlight weaving through your hair. He drew you with the same reverence as a Grecian goddess and you never felt more beautiful than when you sat for him. 

“Oh, Benedict,” you gasped. “It is exquisite.”

“Exquisite indeed,” he murmurs, pulling you to stand between his spread knees. His hands fly to your robe, nimble fingers working the belt. The silk pools at your feet as he quips, “I suppose it helps to have such a stunning muse.”

[hazelsmirrorball]

Undercover Spider-Woman | Hazel Callahan

Spider-woman! Hazel Callahan x fem! Reader, loser! Hazel x Fem! Reader Summary:  PJ decides to do a Fight Club Halloween Party and Hazel has no choice but to wear her superhero costume.  Warnings: english isn’t my main language, not proof-read,fighting, spicy? a/n: first bottoms imagine! Hope you guys like it, I’ll probably do more parts and I might do more Hazel one shots! I really hope I’m not shadow banned! Thank you

part two

October 31s, Halloween. A perfect excuse for teenagers to get drunk out of their minds while dressing up without being judged. Couples would go in matching costumes or go to haunted houses. Little kids would go trick or treating and the fight club, well they were making this halloween one to remember.  Usually people would hang out, go to parties but since this year October 31st came around a week day, those plans were out of the picture. Plus adding to the fact that none of them were that popular to be invited to a party , excluding Brittney, Isabel and Y/n. The fight club, specifically PJ, made it their mission to make this halloween one for the books.  

Hazel could hear the faint music playing from inside the gym as she paced back and forth debating if it even was a good idea to stumble in these conditions. She could risk everything she had been hiding so well since sophomore year for a party. Hazel took a deep breath taking her mask off and pushing it inside her bag as she felt her bangs covering her face.  She anxiously licked her lips feeling the metallic flavor overpowering her tongue as she hesitated to push open the big gym doors. Her glove covered hands hovered against the door as she thought if it was a good idea to go inside in the first place. 

What was PJ’s wonderful idea of making Halloween one for the books, you may ask? Fight Club with costumes. She made it her mission to sell the idea really well, but who wouldn’t like to have girls fighting in slutty costumes, heaven on earth,or  at least that’s what  PJ said. 

Hazel didn’t have anything against the party, she loved the idea of hanging out with her friends on halloween. She finally clicked with a group of friends good enough to celebrate a holiday together. Hazel was ecstatic, she had made it her mission to make the perfect Anakin Skywaker costume, which she had succeeded perfectly. She had slept the night before with her costume freshly dry cleaned next to her.  But her plans got destroyed when Green Goblin decided to show up and ruin her day by turning the city into his playground. Who would’ve known that Halloween was going to be a crime filled day. Hazel had managed to leave everything in perfect conditions  with ease leaving  just in time for the party. But just not in time for her to change out of her suit into her Anakin costume. 

So that’s how she found herself waiting outside of the gym doors in her spider woman suit. Her face was covered in bruises from the fight before and her hair was sweaty and messy due to it being stuck in her suit for a long time.  It wasn’t that she looked bad in her suit, it gave her power, made her unrecognizable. She wasn’t that nerdy little girl that people would stomp over. She was a badass that saved the world. She was a good superhero and she looked good doing her job. The red and blue suit would drive people crazy. She had even caught PJ and Josie gushing over her on a daily basis, but what if it slipped? 

The suit wasn’t one of those cheap costumes you could find in a store for under 30 dollars. It was a high tech suit that could kill someone in an instant and wearing that suit for a fight club meeting drove her insane. She worried on a daily basis that she could easily murder a girl with a blink of an eye, but now, with her suit on, it just made things even more difficult. Wall crawling,  superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, spider senses, spiderwebs and healing factors, all open for everyone to see. 

Hazel took one last breath while pushing the doors open. She let out a cough as smoke filled her nostrils, taking her by surprise. As she looked around, she noticed the usual bright lights of the gym were now red while smoke came from a smoke machine not far away from the door. Hazel chuckled, feeling the nerves quickly ease off, as she looked at her friends standing near a makeshift snack table. PJ did outdid herself. 

“Well look who decided to finally show up... Wait, is that the costume you made? Dude I actually thought you were going to do a crappy Anakin costume like last year. You have improved so much, this shit is so fucking cool, way better than the store one’s”   PJ said as she pushed down her sunglasses to take a better look. Hazel let out a nervous chuckle thinking of what words to say, but nothing came out. She looked at PJ taking in her costume, noticing the familiar men and black, lanyard hanging from her black suit pocket. 

“It makes you look super hot, Hazel! You even have an ass!” Sylvie exclaimed, taking off her scream mask while biting onto her fake knife. Hazel blushed, hiding her face behind her hands. If she had one more comment directed her way she was going to lose it. 

“No, but like PJ is right. This looks really good. How did you even make this look so good?  It looks like the real thing.” Josie added as she circled Hazel around taking in her costume. Hazel's eyes wandered as she shook her head, scoffing. 

“Please, how would you even know what it looks like, if you haven’t seen the real one.” Hazel said as she took a cup of punch gulping it down to ease her nerves. She wasn’t going to outlive this night.

“Because Y/n bought a Spider-Woman costume and it looks like shit compared to yours. No offense, Y/n. Your ass still looks good though.  ” PJ yelled, pointing at Y/n, who was standing a few feet away from her. 

Her body was adorned with a tight low quality version of the suit Hazel was wearing. But Hazel found herself staring in awe, not being able to move one bit. Hazel scanned every inch of Y/n Osborn's body taking a mental picture of her to remember in the future. 

Y/n Osborn had been Hazel’s crush ever since she understood what liking someone more than friends meant. She was Hazel’s everything, yet she wasn’t aware of that. They shared countless classes together but Hazel couldn’t even address her without turning into a nervous wreck. Fight Club had changed Hazel’s opportunities, when she had seen Y/n walk through those gym doors, she knew that at least a friendship would come out and she wasn’t completely wrong. Y/n did talk to Hazel, but Hazel didn’t talk back. She managed to mumble responses but that was about it. When it came to Y/n, Hazel felt like she was never bitten by a radioactive spider and that she was the same loser she had been all her life. 

But now seeing her in that outfit, wearing her iconic colors. Her hair moved softly because of the wind that came from the smoke machine. The red light outlining her body made Hazel go insane, she really was not surviving October 31st but if she didn’t she was going to leave with that image of Y/n engraved in the back of her head. 

“Shut up, PJ! It’s not my fault that this was the only thing that they were selling.I didn’t know that Hazel was going to show up in a better quality looking costume. I thought it looked good in the costume” Y/n muttered as she placed down a bag full of candy on the table. Brittany tapped her back for support as the rest of the girls looked back and forth between the two Spider-woman costumes. 

“You know what! Since we are all here, let’s get to business” Josie said as she walked towards the makeshift fighting mat that was in the middle of the gym. The girls followed close behind leaving Y/n and Hazel near the table. Y/n leaned down as searched for something in her bag which didn’t go unnoticed by Hazel. She took a deep breath quickly biting her lip before she could say something that could worsen the situation. As she looked for a notebook and a pen for notes, her eyes never left Y/n’s body. She took all the strength in her body to walk towards her and place her hand on Y/n’s lower back leaning with her. Hazel lips lightly grazed on her ear as she felt Y/n’s body tensed as she gripped harder on the thing she was searching for in her tote bag. 

“I think you look fucking hot in that costume.” Hazel responded by tapping her back and moving away towards the group of girls like nothing. Y/n gulped, taken aback by Hazel’s actions not used to this side of her. She cleared her throat jogging towards the girls sitting in between Josie and Sylvie, avoiding the hungry look Hazel was giving her. If Hazel knew that wearing the suit with Y/n was going to change the way she acted with her, she would’ve worn it to school years ago. 

“Well, let’s make this fun. Spider-Woman vs. Cheap Spider-girl” PJ exclaimed pushing Hazel out of her thoughts as she noticed Y/n groan and get up glaring at her. Hazel followed standing in front of her, but different from the other times she fought with her, she didn’t break eye contact with her sending her a cocky smile.

"Could you please drop it already, PJ? I get it, it's a shitty costume" Y/n muttered, as she sent a glare towards PJ, trying to avoid Hazel's haunting gaze. 

PJ shook her off, wiggling her eyebrows while pointing towards Hazel. Y/n quickly adverted her eyes towards her noticing how Hazel slipped her mask on up to her nose making it possible for her to see her pearly whites. Y/n raised an eyebrow, confused by the sudden change in Hazel’s actions, used to the girl being deadly afraid of looking her in the eye. The girl that was used to being a blushing mes with her stood tall smirking down at her. Before Y/n could even process what was going let alone swing a punch, she felt her body smash against the floor, her body being pinned down by Hazel. 

Hazel's thighs pinched her into place making it impossible for her to move. Hazel hands pushed Y/n's hands on top of her head as she leaned towards her. Hazel’s chain slowly moved up and down Y/n’s face as she struggled to get Hazel's body off hers, she had done it before, why was it so hard now? Seeing Hazel in this new angle made her nervous. Her once sweet eyes were full of something Y/n couldn’t describe, Hazel’s agitated breaths made her loose concentration as her masked eyes scanned her face with a proud grin on her face. She wanted to punch that cocky grin out of her face.

“Oh, see, the cheap costume is losing. Punch her already, Hazel! End her.” PJ exclaimed, clapping, making Hazel chuckle. The other girls yelled at Hazel encouraging her to finish the job. Maybe it was the sudden glory she felt, the suit, the hollers and Y/n being under her in her suit, made Hazel feel like one of her dreams was finally coming through. The things she kept hidden in her bedroom was finally happening. 

Y/n noticed how Hazel was far gone taking advantage off this already pissed out of her mind. Y/n wrapped her leg around Hazel’s waist taking her by surprise. She quickly took over turning them around making Hazel face the floor while Y/n straddled her. She leaned towards her, her lips grazing softly over her cheek. 

“I think I like this position better.” She said softly into Hazel's ear, making her warm inside. Hazel wasn’t going to lie and say that she didn’t like this position, but she felt powerful with the suit. She was going to be on top. Hazel with ease pushed Y/n off her straddling her once again, smiling at her. 

“I guess a little change doesn’t hurt once in a while.”  She responded by making Y/n roll her eyes. 

“Hey! Stop with the porno and hit each other already” Sylvie yelled making Hazel punch Y/n straight in the nose.

“Fuck!” Y/n yelled, holding onto her nose as blood started trailing out like a water stream. Hazel quickly got off her, her once confident persona slipping away. As  she slipped the mask off she could see how Y/n stood up coughing the blood out of her lips. 

“Shit, Hazel! We didn’t tell you to kill her” Josie exclaimed, helping Y/n up. She shakes her shrugging it off. 

“It’s okay! I’m usually the one that beats Hazel. I guess tonight was her comeback” Y/n said laughing softly as she stopped the blood flowing with a piece of Isabel shirt she had managed to rip off.  Hazel knew it wasn’t fine and that she could’ve killed Y/n if she hit her just a little bit harder.

 “I’ll take her to the bathroom. Help her clean up while you guys continue. Keep the party going” Hazel managed to get out as she took Y/n away from Josie’s grasp leading her to the bathroom. 

Y/n stayed quiet as she sat on the sink whilst Hazel nervously cleaned her probably broken nose. A smile adorned her lips when she noticed that Hazel wouldn’t dare to look at her, her Hazel was back. 

“Why are you smiling?” Hazel asked, dropping the tissues of the trash can watching the bloody mouth smiling towards her. 

“I was worried that my nervous little Hazel was gone, but I guess she’s back. Got worried for a second. ” She replied as she inspected Hazel. Hazel turned away blushing as she leaned against the door behind her, nearly falling back. 

“I’m really sorry about your nose. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard” Hazel replied quickly while gaining her balance. Y/n shook her off while getting down from the sink. 

“It’s no problem, finally you stopped being soft with me. I was starting to believe you didn’t want to hit my pretty little face” She replied sarcastically as she headed towards Hazel. Her hand pushed off the bangs from her face making her see Hazel’s features better. Y/n slowly moved closer to her but stopped dead in her tracks when both her and Hazel's phone vibrated. She quickly moved away looking at her phone while Hazel cleared her throat looking at hers, seeing the notification that Green Goblin was on the loose. 

“I really need to go! But please text me if you are feeling better! I really am sorry” She said quickly as she noticed Y/n also running towards the door. 

“Yeah, it’s no problem! I also have to go, my dad wants me to help him with work” Y/n said as she followed Hazel outside. Both of the girls looked at each other parting ways not knowing that in a few minutes they were going to face each other once again but this time to battle against death. 

part two

[cece693]

STOP LOVING ME

pairing: alec lightwood x gender neutral reader synopsis: Alec confesses his feelings for you. However, while a part of you wants to accept him, the other—the one who has done unspeakably ugly and evil deeds—can't.

The rooftop was cold, but not to you. Not anymore. You stood on the ledge, arms crossed, your silhouette caught between moonlight and shadow. The city below pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Somewhere down there, people were laughing. Living. You hadn’t felt alive in a long time.

Alec’s footsteps were soft, but you heard them before he even reached the gravel. “You weren’t at the Institute tonight,” he said, voice steady, always steady with you.

You didn’t turn around. “Didn’t think I was needed.”

“You’re always needed,” he replied, the words tight. “Especially by me.”

That got your attention. You turned, slowly, and found him standing just a few feet behind you, jaw clenched, brows drawn. He looked like a man who had rehearsed something a hundred times and finally decided it was worth the risk to say aloud. “Alec—”

“I love you.”

Silence.

Just like that. He said it as if it was a truth carved into him.

You blinked. No one had said those words to you in centuries—not without screaming, or blood, or regret. And here was Alec—stupidly good, painfully brave, impossibly young—offering you something you’d buried long ago with your own name.

“Don’t.” Your voice cut through the air like a blade—quiet, sharp, and final. “Don’t say that you love me.” you repeated, softer now. As if you regretted raising your voice. As if you regretted hurting him. But not enough to take it back.

Alec took a step closer. “Why not?”

You looked away, toward the flickering lights of New York, the distant pulse of a city that never slept. “Because you don’t mean it. You think you do. But you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I don’t care about your past—”

“You should,” you snapped. “You should care, Alec. You should run.”

His brow creased, but he didn’t move. “You’re not a monster.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “No? I’ve killed for hunger. I’ve killed because I didn’t care. There was a time when the world could burn, and I would’ve watched just to see the light dance on corpses.” You turned to face him then, your eyes shadowed with centuries of regret. “You see something good in me—but it’s not real. It’s your kindness, your hope, your light. It’s not me.”

Alec stepped closer again, carefully. “What if I do see the darkness?” he whispered. “What if I see all of it and still choose to love you?”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Alec didn’t flinch.

He didn’t retreat like you wanted him to. Like you needed him to. He just stood there, unshaken, in the space between your sorrow and his stubborn hope.

“Maybe,” he murmured, a half-smile flickering at the corners of his lips, “but I’m your fool. And I’d rather be that than live a life pretending I don’t love you.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand. Loving me costs something. Everyone who ever tried...they died, Alec. Or they changed. Became something ugly just to hold onto me.”

“I’m not afraid of changing,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I’m not worth what you’d lose.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t get to decide that.”

The words struck deeper than they should have. You had spent decades, centuries maybe, defining your worth by the damage you caused. And here he was—so human and full of belief—undoing it with a single sentence.

You stepped back, like a wounded animal trying to run from the open hand. “Stop this,” you whispered. “Before you ruin yourself.”

“I’d rather be ruined with you than whole without you.”

You trembled.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—you fled.

Because it was easier to disappear into the dark than stand in the warmth of his love and wonder if you could ever deserve it.

[spiderb00]

OKAY, LISTEN TO ME SAPPHIC. WHY ARE YOU ALL SLEEPING IN HAVANA ROSE LIU??? LIKE, I DIDN'T SEE ANY FANFIC ABOUT HER OR ISABEL ON MY TIMELINE, THAT SHOULD BE CRIMINAL. PLEASE WRITERS, DO SOMETHING!

[lovers-rck]

fic rec where someone from the club hosts a party and reader and hazel go and they get a little drunk and pj locks them in a room together until they admit their feeling to each other and things get a little hot n heavy :)

intentional lowercase ;) thank you!

also i did a very vague correction so forgive me if there are any mistakes! english is not my first language.

☆

"seven minutes in heaven!" you hear pj yell and run away, except that you and hazel weren't playing that game.

hazel chukled and went to open the door, almost tripping over a ball of dirty cloth. She grabbed the door handle and tried to open.

the first time doesn't work, but she knows she is a little bit drunk and maybe she was opening the wrong way. the second time doesn't work either, and that's when she starts to worry.

"it's locked" she says "pj locked the door"

"what? " you say "let me try" the room is dimly lit, highlighting the worried features that took over hazel's face.

you grab and try to open the door. one, two, three times later you realized that, in fact, is locked. pj locked the door and ran away for who knows how much time.

"im sure this is one of her pranks" hazel looks at you, her eyes a little sleepy from the alcohol "she will come back in a few minutes"

but you are impacient. three minutes has passed. you look at the posters in Annie's walls, all with a inspirational quote about women and printed pictures of Simone de Beauvoir. five minutes. hazel groans in protest, looking at her dirty shoes and thinking why she didn't clean them before going out, she's embarrassed now. seven minutes pass. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelv...

"pj!" hazel screams "pj let us out please! i already apologized to you when i said that you only created the club to fuck cheerleaders! please!"

for the next ten seconds the only things you hear is hazel's voice, she's loud and desperate, her hands hitting the wooden door for so long that you almost find a rhythm.

eventually hazel gives up, and in a matter of seconds all the loud noises that she made earlier end up causing her a big headache. she feels less drunk than before, but the after feeling isn't so much better. then she looks at you, sitting in the floor, your legs crossed like a kid and your eyes resting. you were a chill drunk, hazel was a chaotic one.

she find a very strange feeling looking at you, something growing in her stomach. hazel never saw you the way she was seeing you now, always admiring you in secret, always playing the fool when you catch her eye in between classes or practice. she knew that this wasn't product of the alcohol, and that scared her.

so she tried and is currently trying to ignore that little feeling growing inside of her, that little tiny and obviously-not-romantic feeling that became stronger everyday.

okay yes. she was in love with you. so what?

it was not a big deal. it's not like at the very sight of you she becomes dumb and slow and words come out of her mouth like vomit without thinking. it's not like she freeze everytime you touch her or grab her hand. it's not like she is completely, hopelessly, in love with you.

okay it was bad.

"we have to get out of here" hazel says "I'll become anxious and you know i left therapy last week!"

so you get up and grabs hazel's hand. you guide her to sit in Annie's bed, standing in front of her and demand her to breath with you.

inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

you don't let go of her hand at any time, and neither does hazel. you look at her, her eyes are closed and her lips swell as she exhales the air as you taught her. you look at her and the sudden impulse to scream what you feel for her invades you.

but you two are friends, and friends don't do that. friends help each other without expecting anything in return. but you realized that you didn't want to be hazel's friend when after every shared moment you expected something in return, something to give you a hint, something to answer the doubt that has been in your heart for a long time.

¿did she look at you with those eyes in purpose? ¿did she caressed your cheek in accident that one time? ¿did she makes jokes about couples with you just for the laughs? ¿did she likes you?

the last question is the worst, you consider.

"thank you" hazel says, and you smile slightly in return. always waiting for something else.

and you think she gaves you something in return when you feel her thumb caressing your hand. she stares at your intertwined hands, and so do you.

shyness takes over your bodie, and the giggly and playful hazel disappears. it was always easier to pretend that nothing happened, that all the touches were accidents and all the looks meant nothing. to pretend that they were just meaningless feelings.

but neither of you can do that anymore when you feel hazel pull your hand slowly, bringing your body closer to hers but leaving a space, leaving open the door of regret. you close that door the moment your free hand caresses her face and she smiles at you.

"can i..."

"yes" you say "please"

she obey and guide your bodie to bend down slightly for her to kiss you. you inhale sharply when her lips makes contact with yours for the first time, and suddenly a scared feeling takes over your body

but hazel grabs your face and you understand that there is nothing to fear when you are with her.

her kiss is delicate and slow, but hungry. she grabs your legs and sits you in her lap, not getting enough of you. her mind cannot comprend what is happening, but is unable to stop it. her fingertips swim across your skin, trying to memorize every feeling, every texture that is so new to her.

she fears that she might be a little rough or fast with you, that maybe she crossed the invisible line. she freeze and for a moment she just stay there, her forehead against yours, breathing and trying to process the last five minutes.

"did i do something wrong?" you murmured

"no, no, you did nothing wrong"

"what's wrong?"

she swallows and hold your hand "nothing is wrong"

"don't be scared"

"im not scared" hazel replies, hating how you read her so easily. you raise you eyebrow "okay maybe i am a little scared"

"of what?"

you heard how the girls are laughing at something downstairs.

"i don't know" she exhales "im afraid you won't be my friend anymore after this"

"we were kissing and you were all worried about our friendship?

"yes!" she replies "your friendship is very important to me"

"i know" you gently put a strand of hair behind her ear "your friendship is important to me too. im not gonna ignore you after this if that's what you fear hazel"

"okay" she nodds "okay"

you laugh slightly "okay"

and you kiss her again, more desperate than before. hazel quickly responds to your body and grabs your waist, pushing you towards her.

you move slightly in her lap and she gasp. the strap of your shirt falls off your shoulder and hazel leaves your lips to find a home on the skin of your neck and shoulder. she kiss and bite the flesh, your breathing becoming a little louder.

in a bold act, you grab hazel's hands and place them in your breasts, hoping that she would catch the sign.

and she does, so she moves you shirt up and start massaging your flesh, you nipples alrrady hard to receive hazel's hands. you whimper lightly when you feel hazel's tongue, leaving a trail of kisses all over your tits.

her hand starts going down when you both heard the lock of the door and a scream

"oh my god!" pj screams and hazel cover your breast with her hands in panic "oh my god! guys! guys! oh my god"

pj jumps and start running away, her screams invading the house

"it worked! guys it worked!" pj screams downstairs "the were sucking each other's titties!"

and all the girls scream with her.