#'enough to drown in; all of these scattered moments.'
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teddy06writes ¡ 3 days ago
Note
Hi! I adore your writing! Could I request Fiyero comforting a reader with a bad fear of thunderstorms. Maybe the reader hides the fact they have this fear until he finds them during one. Feel free to ignore.
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Fears, and Comforts For Them
Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader
Trigger Warnings:
Summary: Fiyero never found himself questioning why you tended to make yourself scarce whenever a storm appeared on the horizon; that is, until he stumbled upon you during a particularly bad one.
{Thanks so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!}
When the first rumble of thunder had curled across the sky on his walk back towards the dorms, Fiyero had thought nothing of it. Naturally, a few moments later, when the sky opened up above him, showering him in clear, cold water, it caught him by complete surprise.
He glanced up at the dark, turbulent clouds that suddenly taken over the sky for a long moment, before taking off for the dorms again, at a much faster pace as thunder and lighting began to crash down with more ferocity.
Inside, the main common room was dark, as if no one had been, (or been bothered) to turn on the lights when the storm began. Other than the dim light from outside, the only light in the room came from one of the smaller desk lamps from a corner table.
Fiyero could just make out the shape of you, hunched over the table, as he shucked off his now soaked jacket. He started making his way toward you, letting out a laugh, "Can you believe this weather? I was barely out there for a minute and I'm soaked through!"
You glanced up, barley meeting his eyes, and let out a forced chuckle, "Yea..."
Fiyero frowned, giving you a once over, "Darling- you're trembling... What's wrong?"
"I-" Another peel of thunder burst through the air, and you cut yourself off with a flinch.
Fiyero's face softened, understanding, "Oh darling..."
You buried your face in your hands, mumbling, "It's stupid-"
"It's not stupid," He said, kneeling beside your chair, and gently pulling your hands away from your face, "What can I do to help you, darling?"
Lighting flashed in the window, lighting the room harshly for a brief moment, and suddenly your thoughts were scattered, and you couldn't seem to draw a full breath, "I- I don't-"
"Hey, hey, look at me darling," FIyero reached up to cup your face, "Breathe. C'mon, breathe with me, alright?"
He took a nearly exaggerated, deep breath in, and you copied in him, in and out, for a few long minutes before either of you moved again. His thumb brushed back and forth across your cheek, gently, "How about this: we'll go back up to my room, and I'll get out of these wet things, and then you and I can cuddle up, and ignore this whole thing until it blows over, yeah?"
You swallowed thickly, before nodding, your voice coming out small, nearly drowned out by the next groan of thunder, "Yes, please..."
Fiyero took your hand, and soon enough you found yourself wrapped up in his blankets, head tucked close to his chest, so that you could hear his heartbeat- a steady, comforting rhythm.
One of your hands was all but knotted into the soft fabric of his shirt, fingers clenching with every new roar of thunder. But Fiyero's grip on you was firm and gentle all at once.
"'yero?"
"Yes darling?" His voice was soft as he shifted, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Can you- can you tell me about your day? Or about Vinkus or- or- anything, really?"
He took in a breath, thinking for a moment, before beginning to speak quietly about his childhood. As the storm wore on, he continued, and you listened intently, until you swore you could hardly hear the thunder at all.
~~
Enjoyed this fic? Help me afford textbooks :)
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heavens-moonlight ¡ 3 days ago
Text
𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟳 : 𝗔𝗟𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛
𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦
Authors Note: It has seriously been so long but I've been gone to study as well as test for my boards and didn't want any distractions, but I’m back and more motivated than ever! Thank you so much for all the messages of concern (that I am now only getting around to seeing). This was originally supposed to go up a bit sooner but I thought it was too heavy to start 2025 off with so it's here now instead. Happy New Year to everyone and if you're still reading this story I hope you can excuse the time off in exchange for more frequent updates now that I actually have time to myself. As always, I'd love to hear what you think! Until next time ♡
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Faint morning sunlight filters through the sheer white curtains, casting a muted glow in the room. The quiet murmur of the world you've grown accustomed to is now inaudible, muffled by the window's thick glass, separating illusion from reality.
In this hushed room, the oppressive silence adheres to you like second skin, suffocating you in the familiarity—and the loneliness. Even as the clock on the wall ticks away signaling the passage of time, it's not enough to drown out the feeling that it has long since stopped—stalled at a moment where nothing feels possible, where hope is just an echo of something impossible.
A sense of heaviness settles atop your body, aching as though it has been carrying the weight of far too many days for far too long.
Your eyelids flutter open languidly, the effort of rising from the darkness of sleep too much to take. For a moment, you sit still, staring at the tender rays filtering in, but it offers no warmth, only a pale reminder of things that once felt brighter.
Feeble shadows dance across the walls, reflecting off the surface of the floors.
In the dulled haze of the scattered sunbeams, the light is neither enough to pierce through the darkness of your dismal dreams nor your despairing reality.
The beautiful, soft, and serene sunlight doesn't touch your heart any longer, for even if it did, it wouldn't change a single thing.
It feels like a lie, that sunlight.
It promises warmth, but it doesn't deliver.
Your chin quivers and you bring your fingers to your face, rubbing your eyes in an effort to physically hold back the tears. Wanting to close your eyes for just a second, even that small release of tension only makes you more aware of the pressure in your chest.
Only when warm hands envelop your own to gently pull them away do you turn to its source.
Jun-Hee's brown eyes are the first thing you see and shielding your heart, you remain strong, holding his gaze.
It brings you comfort, but also trepidation, as you focus on his irises, a rich, deep hue contrasting that of the soulless, colorless shade of murky white imprinted in your subconscious.
Death was staring at you through his eyes in that vivid nightmare, and instead of running away, you had run toward it.
You both sit completely still in one another's presence for a couple more minutes before the familiar lump lodges its way in your throat the longer you look at him and circling through a million what-if's.
It's too much.
Too much to keep pretending that things will get better.
No longer being able to ground your thoughts or steady your breaths, your hands fall from his and you rise on shaky feet, walking in a non-linear line seeking escape.
The silence swells again and you step forward, feet carrying you toward the door, each movement mechanical.
There's no destination in mind, no plan. Just the thought that perhaps if you walk long enough, if you move far enough, you can outrun whatever's holding you here.
But deep down, you know that you won't.
You know that you can't.
As you pass a mirror hung up on the adjacent wall, you stop short in your tracks.
You swallow, then blink at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizable to your own self, splatters of blood dotted across your visage and eyes devoid of hope.
It makes you physically hurt.
It makes you want to scream out loud.
Instead, you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood and swipe at your own face, each pass more aggressive than the last.
No matter how hard you press, the streaks merely smear, yet refuse to disappear completely.
You wonder if this is how it will be once this is all over.
Try as you might, you can't imagine in the slightest ever being able to rid of the gruesome memories.
The tears.
The blood.
The deaths.
The world outside continues on, unchanged, while you remain stuck in this place, trapped in the moment between yesterday and tomorrow.
At the next raise of your hand, Jun-Hee winds his fingers around your wrist and tugs it down tenderly but still firmly enough that it brings you back to your senses.
The familiar rage and hurt bubble inside your chest and you force it down, bottling your emotions as you have always done.
Wordlessly, Jun-Hee throws open the room's door and drags you along on a path straight to the bathrooms.
He turns your shoulders, facing you away from the wall length mirrors, back pressed against the counter of sinks.
The light flickers overhead as you hang your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Jun-Hee stands in the doorway, heart twisting in his chest at the sight of you. For as long as he has known you, your strength had always been something he admired. But now, you were breaking, and he felt helpless.
"Seol-Hwa," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "Please."
Your shoulders shudder as you look up, eyes swollen and red. The weight of everything you couldn't say crushes you, too heavy for words.
With determination, Jun-Hee crosses the threshold to stand in front of you, bending down to eye level and ever so gently reaching forward to cup your face in his hands. His touch is steady, even as he fears you would pull away hearing your breath hitch at the contact.
"Look at me," he murmurs, low and even. "I want you to see your reflection of yourself as I see you. Deflect all your pains, your worries, and your fears onto me. In my eyes, there is only you."
Tears make their descent down your face so you shakily inhale, trying to stop the streaming rivulets. Jun-Hee gingerly steps ever closer, thumbs brushing over your cheeks to trace the lines of every drop.
"I—I don't know how to fix it," you choke out, voice trembling. "No one can."
As your tears continue to fall unbidden, Jun-Hee sighs and reaches around you for a stack of paper towels, dampening them with cool water before softly wiping your face as if he were erasing the pain one swipe at a time.
Rather than pulling away or flinching, you surrender to the tender touch, breath slowing just a little with each movement. You can't help but to stare, the course of your nightmare haunting you even when awake.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's—" you pause, not knowing how to approach it. You decide if you didn't start, Jun-Hee wouldn't have to learn of the ending. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing if it has you like this."
You shake your head, lips pressed into a firm line.
"Was it a bad dream?"
Hesitantly, you nod, tears brimming on your waterline once more. "In it...you left." It was neither of your faults, yet the words come out laced with bitterness yet also chock-full of longing, of pain, and of regret. "You left...and I was all alone."
Jun-Hee pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head beneath his chin. He didn't have answers. He couldn't make it disappear. But he could be here. He could hold you.
"Is that what you're afraid of?" One hand comes to nestle the back of your head, patting softly in reassurance. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Wrapping your arms around him, you rest your ear against his chest, finding solace in his beating heart signaling life, chambers of sound echoing your feelings for him.
"The future seems far too bleak to give us a choice to stay."
"In any circumstance, even if I had to leave, I would always come back to you, Seol- Hwa."
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[ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴋɪʟʟ. ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪ-sᴏᴏ, ᴀ ᴄɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ, ᴡᴀs ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ. ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀɴᴛs, ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ. ]
The monotonous announcement drones on soporifically, seemingly mocking Yu-Jun's cries that nearly mask every single word like knives probing at the still-open wounds in his heart.
You can barely bring yourself to watch even after the others have left the scene one by one as Yu-Jun holds Ji-Soo's limp body in his arms behind the previously impenetrable door now split down the middle, a parallel to their parting.
"This can't be..." Yu-Jun intones in despair, shaking his girlfriend's shoulders to no avail. "I still need you here with me..."
Recognition comes at you in full force, causing you to stumble back, clutching at the doorframe in reliance as your head spins, the same exact words you had said to Jun-Hee in your nightmare reverberating in the dark recesses of your mind, echoing far too loud in the vicinity of the now empty hallway.
Sensing the movement, Yu-Jun glances over, a flash of surprise to see you still there, before it's gone and replaced by utter grief.
Pulling yourself together, you hesitantly approach. Even as you kneel down next to the two, you're met with no resistance nor reticence as you had expected.
"You don't have to stay. No one else did." Yu-Jun's voice is muffled as he pulls Ji-Soo ever closer, hunching over with his head against her own.
"I know I don't have to, but I want to," you emphasize.
At this, he looks up, confused. "I don't understand. I'm not someone who should be on the receiving end of kindness."
"That doesn't mean you deserve this," you gesture around, noticing somberly as his hands tighten, clutching at the fabric of Ji-Soo's now crinkled white shirt. "None of us do."
"Maybe I do." Yu-Jun stares straight forward at the wall, focusing on nothing. "Maybe this is karma for everything I've done wrong."
"We're people. Everyone makes mistakes. It's part of being human."
Yu-Jun chuckles darkly. "Tell me, what kind of mistake is this game then?"
"A fatal one."
There's a long stretch of silence between you two before he speaks up. "I'm sorry." You're taken aback by the sudden admission of regret, unable to hide your reaction. Yu-Jun clears his throat awkwardly before addressing you with sincerity. "My friend group, me included, haven't always been the nicest to you or yours and even though I knew it deep down, I never owned up to it. On behalf of them and myself, I want to apologize." His breaths come out ragged with so much still to convey between every intake of air. "In case—" he glances down again at Ji-Soo in his arms and brushes away stray strands of hair from her face. "—I don't get the chance to say the things I've saved to say."
"Do you have words that you regret never having said?"
"Three. Only three."
You can guess what it is without confirmation from the way Yu-Jun's lips quiver, eyes filled with unshed tears.
"Stay alive for her."
"I don't know if I can."
"You will," you respond with certainty, rising back on your feet.
"How are you so sure?"
"Are there not people you still want to save, including yourself?"
Realization finally makes its way onto his face. "H-How did you figure it out? T-That I'm a doctor?" The words come out in broken stutters.
You pull out your phone and turn it around, showing the resurrection screen. "It's hard to recognize those against you, but it's even harder to recognize those with you. We shouldn't let one another down."
Yu-Jun opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the right words to say. "I feel as though I've already disappointed so many. A second chance is not something I deserve."
"Rather than saying you don't deserve things, prove that you do."
"Do you...not have any desire to reserve revival for yourself? "
"I could, but that defeats the whole purpose of this responsibility assigned to us in saving the innocent. Doctors place the needs of others before their own. Is that not what we are now?"
Yu-Jun's entire demeanor shifts from reluctant to resolute, from hopeless to hopeful. "I'll do my best so that no more sacrifices will be done in vain."
A faint smile adorns your face, acknowledging the partnership wordlessly. "Whatever happens, don't forget to protect yourself even as you're protecting the others."
Yu-Jun makes a sound of affirmation as you turn to leave. "Wait—"
You look back over your shoulder. "What is it?"
"You're a really good person, Seol-Hwa, just as Jun-Hee has always said. I see why he likes you so much."
Faltering, the corner of your lips imperceptibly curl downward. "We're best friends. He's obligated to say that."
"I don't think feelings are an obligation."
"Feelings never do well in a life or death situation."
"Do you have words that you regret never having said?" Yu-Jun uses your own verbatim against you.
Your eyes waver but you tamper down your emotions, refusing to let them show. "I had a dream last night where I said the words I've always wanted to say and Jun-Hee and I still wind up, over and over again, at only one ending sequence."
"And that ending is?"
Swiveling your head back around to hide the tears wanting to fall, you whisper quietly before walking away, "The same as your's."
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Despite Yu-Jun declining to join, the rest reconvene in the deserted warehouse, as barren and cold as you were feeling.
Everyone is on edge, warily eyeing one another, no longer trying to hide the smallest ounce of suspicion.
Yoon-Seo speaks up next to you, words curt as she crosses her arms across her chest. "What's the reason for calling all of us down here?"
If it was possible, Kyung-Jun is even more patronizing, walking back and forth in the center with his head held high. Haughtily, he turns to the group. "Do you all not know or are you pretending not to?" He smirks. "Park Woo-Ram, that bastard, the one who deceived all of you was the Mafia. Just who was the only person to pinpoint that?" Throwing his hands up in a show of bravado, he motions for applause. "Me."
Solely, Seung-Bin claps, always one to grovel at his leader's feet. "Of course, it's no one else but you with the great hunch." His positive countenance morphs to one of disdain, transitioned so seamlessly, that it makes you wonder if he has ever displayed a genuine expression. "I can't say the same for you lot of Police. Whoever you all are, you could learn a thing or two from Kyung-Jun."
The person in question waves him off to the back and steps forward, hands in his pockets. "Hear that? If you want to catch the Mafia, do as I say."
Beside you, Jun-Hee deadpans, "Do what?"
"You'll take turns saying who you think is guilty and I'll pick for you."
Whispers grow amongst your classmates and you can sense the growing frustration directed at a single player.
Scoffing, Jun-Hee shakes his head in disbelief. "Who are you to decide? It's up to all of us."
"There's not enough collective intelligence for us to do that. Did you all forget how and why I nearly died last night? Who other than me is definitely a Citizen?" Kyung-Jun strides the length of the room as he scrutinizes everyone in turn, shaking his pointer finger in succession but ultimately drops it as he reaches you. Seeing your mien of indifference, he pivots back around, leaving his next words hanging in the air. "I think the rest of the Mafia members are hidden among those who voted for me yesterday."
"That doesn't mean anything," Na-Hee defends.
"Oh really?" Kyung-Jun whirls back around, fixating on Na-Hee and clucks his tongue at her. "On the contrary, it means everything. For the fact alone that you all sided with the opposition to rid of me. What clearer evidence is there?"
"How were we supposed to know?" Jun-Hee states clearly. "Don't judge based on one round where no one had the slightest clue."
"Then, what should I assess you on?" Kyung-Jun retorts. "Voting is the entire point of this game to figure out who's who."
"Your logic is shit if that's all you use to reason with," Jung-Won admonishes.
"You bitch—"
So-Mi cuts in abruptly, changing the topic of conversation for the time being. "What about Ji-Soo then? Why kill someone so randomly without the need to?"
"Who cares about intention when you yourself could die?"
Behind him, you can see Jin-Ha and Seung- Bin look at one another briefly, weary looks on their faces at Kyung-Jun's words, message loud and clear: Friendship amounts to nothing when it comes to survival.
Yeon-Woo timidly voices from the back. "So, Ji-Soo wasn't the Doctor then?"
"Read the notification carefully," Eun-Chan murmurs to his friend. "She was a Citizen, but that doesn't mean Yu-Jun is."
“Yesterday," Da-Bum adds, "the Police used their skill, so why didn't the Doctor?"
Mi-Na bites at her nails. "Right, because then Ji-Soo would still be here."
You catch sight of Yu-Jun outside through the metal bars across the window opening and once your eyes meet, he hangs his head in shame, walking away forlornly, no longer wanting to listen any further.
No one else notices the exchange and you breathe out on a long exhale, just as much guilty.
"Don't you all think it's weird?" So-Mi's question draws the interest of those next to her. "On the third floor, it was just Ji-Soo and Yu-Jun alone. How come only one of them made it out alive?"
Mi-Na looks over at So-Mi with a gasp. "Could Yu-Jun be a Mafia?"
"Damn," Jin-Ha intones. "If that's true, he really took his girlfriend's life."
In order to not compromise the chance of survival, although knowing that couldn't be farther from the truth especially after seeing the aftermath of the two, you bite down on your tongue to keep peace.
"She did always give him a hard time, what with telling him off and her short temper..." Yeon-Woo trails off.
"Enough of this useless talk that serves no real purpose in pressing matters." Despite the silent resistance, Kyung-Jun still mongers fear in the rest. "I'll single out someone as I see fit."
"How funny! He thinks he's actually in charge," Jung-Won mutters under her breath.
"This one." He spurns her and focuses on Jun-Hee, gesturing condescendingly. "You can tell when he did all that he could to safeguard Woo-Ram."
"Anyone would've done so to save someone who we thought would be a Citizen," you spit out. "Haven't we all been betrayed by someone we trusted?" Kyung-Jun's eyes slide over to yours, jaw clenched, not missing what you alluded to. "If it wasn't you against him, would you be able to say there wasn't even a one percent chance where you couldn't believe him?" His eyes don't leave yours, watching intently your effort at justification. "In the end, we're just victims of a killer."
"Seol-Hwa's right," Na-Hee agrees meekly. "We shouldn't vote just because of a wrong guess."
"Then, let's vote for the right guess this time: Jun-Hee."
"Don't you know about presuming innocence? Stop insisting when you don't have proof." You glare him down. "This isn't a witch hunt where we vote on the basis of who we dislike most."
Kyung-Jun steps toward you and you can feel Yoon-Seo grab your elbow to pull you back but you don't budge even as he bends down, tilting his head to the side, gazing steadfastly at you. "Do you have evidence then?" He fixes you with a challenging stare, reversing your words. "We can't defend based on who we like most."
"You want evidence?" He falters as you merely smile without any real happiness behind it. "I have it."
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The hum of the old computer fan is the only sound in the small, dimly lit basement before the clicking of keys fills the silence, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
Jung-Won's fingertips run across the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen, face bathed in the pale glow of the monitor. She wasn't aware of those standing behind her, too focused, too intent, to notice the interest of the rest, and the trepidation of yours.
"We can get the entire Mafia crew in one go if I manage to pull this off."
From the shadows of the basement, the sound of Seung-Bin's foot tapping repetitively against the floor echoes incessantly. "This is useless. Can't you work any faster than at the rate of a turtle?" His voice breaks the stillness of the room, laced with frustration.
"You're also useless. You have no right to speak," Jung-Won berates, tone sharp as she adds to the tension.
You see the screen flash and spring up from your seat next to Jun-Hee atop a half broken wooden bench discarded in the room. "Do you see anything?"
"I thought I would but..." Jung-Won spins in her chair to face you, "it's all deleted. The files are completely wiped—everything on the drive."
"That can't be." You refuse to even entertain the thought that someone else could've chanced upon this room, especially not after the weird circumstance in which you found it. "Look again." Grabbing Jung-Won's arm a bit too tightly, you urge her to scour the different file locations.
An uneasy silence hangs in the air as you both turn toward the computer once again. Your eyes bat nervously from folder to folder, trying to find something—anything—but the cursor only blinks in emptiness, mocking your desperation.
"It's not that," Jung-Won says aloud as she clicks around, clattering growing louder in defiance. "Any remaining content on here wasn't formatted properly from the start. Whoever had access to this in the first place made sure no else would after them. All traces are erased."
You can't answer right away. Jung-Won's gaze is fixed, but her fingers had slowed. The screen blinks once, twice, before the folder she'd been trying to open vanishes entirely.
A chill runs down your spine.
"It's not... it's not possible..." you whisper, words in tatters. You reach for the mouse but the screen flickers then blacks out entirely as a faint row of red text flashes in the corner.
Deleted: System Error.
The room goes deathly still.
You squeeze your eyes together tightly, stomach in knots and heart plummeting.
"Han Seol-Hwa," comes Jin-Ha's voice. "Were you trying to fool us all? Bring up nonexistent evidence? Nice team-play, Mafias."
"It's not like that! They knew of it beforehand. We're too late!" you shout back, knowing full well evading this accusation just became that much more difficult.
Jin-Ha is about to open his mouth again to reproach you, but one look from Kyung-Jun shuts him up immediately despite his growing displeasure at the newfound tandem. The latter studies you, gauging. "Are you doing this for yourself or for someone else? This whole thing was only brought up because I cornered Jun-Hee earlier."
"Let's calm down and consider the situation first." Yu-Jun sends you what he thinks is a look of support, but even in his encouragement, you can sense that worry outweighed it.
"Don't think you're off the hook either, girlfriend murderer," Kyung-Jun warns Yu-Jun.
"Did you, or did you not, know that this place would have bird's eye view of everything because you were planning to rid of evidence from the beginning?" Jin-Ha corrals you into another corner and you can sense Kyung-Jun holding himself back from going rouge on him.
Jung-Won is by your side in an instant, hands around your shoulders. "You're even dumber than you look."
"Yah!"
"If that was her intention, why would she willingly bring us all here? Unless you've been lobotomized, in what world would someone expose themselves if they're at fault?"
"Whatever," Kyung-Jun concludes, and you look away, expecting him to vote for you without doubt as his finger taps at his screen with finality. "My intuition has never been wrong."
Before the intercom can even announce his choice, Jin-Ha steps in between him and the door, eyes shifting from you to Kyung-Jun and back, equal parts in disbelief and anger. "Have you gone crazy? What are you doing?!"
Seung-Bin stands stunned, looking between the two.
"Didn't you two say that I had a great hunch a few moments ago and everyone should take note?" Kyung-Jun shoves Jin-Ha aside, the shorter of the two bumping into the wall with a thud before a finger is jabbed into the middle of his chest. "Get to learning, bastard."
"Aish shibal!"Jin-Ha curses after his leader's retreating back as Seung-Bin drags him along, the three exiting ultimately with unanimous votes, choices conformed to Kyung-Jun's.
As Mi-Na and Eun-Chan turn to leave as well, you grab at them in a rush. "I really am a Citizen." At their unconvinced looks, you double down. "I'll prove that I am. Please, at least give me until the end of today."
With their evidently remaining suspicions, Eun-Ha comes to your aid. "I trust her. If there's one person who I'm most certain is a Citizen, it has to be Seol-Hwa." She reaches out her hand and gives yours a light squeeze even as your own shakes against hers.
[ ɢᴏ ᴋʏᴜɴɢ-���ᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ sʜɪɴ sᴇᴜɴɢ-ʙɪɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊɪɴ-ʜᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
"I'll be able to restore a few files if I spend a bit more time familiarizing myself with this interface," Jung-Won declares resolutely and you, once again, feel guilty for harboring doubts against her. "I can at least promise this."
"Yes, guys," Na-Hee adds on. "We can vote before night falls once we've all calmed down and have more sound reasoning."
Da-Bum nods in agreement. "We'll know for sure by then. Let's not jump to a decision."
Eun-Ha nudges Mi-Na and Eun-Chan on either side of her, before turning around to motion at Yeon-Woo with her head. They all relent, albeit reluctantly, and as Eun-Ha follows them out of the room, she turns back to give you a half smile in silent support.
So-Mi merely smirks and leaves with everyone else aside from your immediate group, her steps light, your distress her happiness.
You plop back down on the bench and cover your face with your hands. "This is a disaster."
Hyun-Ho scoots in beside you and pats you on the head comfortingly.
"Don't give up just yet." Dong-Hyun fiddles around with the multiple outdated TV's on the opposite wall. "We won't either."
"Da-Bum," Jung-Won calls. "Did you by chance bring a laptop with you?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I need all the help I can get. With your assistance, we should be able to regain lost footage at the earliest an hour before midnight."
"Is that possible? To restore everything?" Da-Bum questions.
"Of course not everything, but if we try our best, clips from the third floor hallway where the incident happened last night is completely doable." Jung-Won is entirely confident as she notifies the group chat while Da-Bum rushes off to get the additional device needed.
Their efforts on behalf of you warm your heart, yet deep down, you can't bring yourself to bask in the momentary peace.
Saving yourself will mean losing Jun-Hee.
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The city lights on high above the rooftop cast a backdrop of white behind Jun-Hee, the stark contrast against his black hair like a shining halo.
When he turns to look at you, you can't find it in yourself to hold eye contact, instantly drowning anew in the visions of your nightmare, slipping beneath a blanket of white, the color of surrender.
You wrap your arms around yourself as the frigid night air bites against your skin, and noticing your shivering, Jun-Hee scoots in noticeably closer, pressed against your side in an attempt to offer warmth.
"Is it difficult for you?"
"What is?"
"Giving me your full support, trusting me— believing me without doubt."
Jun-Hee pulls your head onto his shoulder and leans his own against yours. "It's the opposite. You make it easy. I can entrust you with my life."
"Even if all the evidence is evading me?"
"Even then."
Closing your eyes, you let the rise and fall of his shoulder as he breathes calm you. "Why do you trust me so much?"
"I know the kind of person you are, and I know your heart."
"If everyone were to lose their trust in me, as long as you still believe in me, I don't need anything else."
"I'll always be by your side."
"It's weird," you begin. "Not once have I ever thought about my biggest fear, but every night since we have been here, the scent of death keeps lingering, both in my reality and subconscious. I can't rid of it."
"Anyone would say the same."
"Would you?"
"My only fear is that I won't be able to protect you until the end."
You raise your head only to find him already looking at you.
"Is it selfish of me to say that I'm scared? I know the possibility of making it out of here is close to none, but to imagine myself dying, I simply can't." Unabashed, you find yourself crying, tears falling down in twin trails against your cheeks. "I don't want to go like this."
"Who says you have to?" Jun-Hee's right hand cups the side of your face and with his thumb, he brushes away the teardrops cascading down, a mirrored reflection of the morning. "I would never let you die. Until my last breath, I'll make sure you're safe."
"You should always put yourself first, Jun- Hee."
Pulling his hand away from your face, he cradles both of your hands in between his and tightens his own around them.
"Don't you know that I would die for you?"
Shaking your head, you try to get him to rescind his words. "I'm not someone of importance you should sacrifice yourself for."
He smiles lightly. "To me, no one is more important than you—not even my own self."
Your breath catches in your throat and you swallow around the lump forming. "Promise me we'll go home together once this is all over."
Jun-Hee's eyes waver with uncertainty but ultimately nods. "I promise."
"You know it would never be home without you right?"
"Neither without you, Seol-Hwa."
"Then, you can never leave me here alone, if you aren't with me."
"How cute," Jun-Hee suddenly intones and you're taken aback at the fond way he says it. "You think it's possible for me to quit you." He slides off of the bench you two are sitting on, before kneeling down in front of you. From his pockets, he dangles a braided red string between his fingers as he looks up at you, the glimmer of stars reflecting in his eyes. "I wanted to give you this for our friendship anniversary but more than ever, there's no time like the present."
"You've kept this with you the whole time?"
Jun-Hee nods, fiddling with the thin strands to tie around your wrist. "I recently went to Jejudo with my parents and this really kind elderly craftsmen told me these can serve as wish bracelets, granting what the wearer most desires in their hearts." He rotates the woven strings around and you see a small white jade flower charm, its center hollowed-out, dangling from the middle. A snow flower. Your namesake. "The harabeoji said to me, with the brightest smile on his face, that I looked like I had a hidden wish but seemed far too skeptical for his liking. To my surprise, he gifted me with two and told me that sometimes, luck comes only once in a lifetime."
Grinning, he presses the textured string into your outstretched hand and you settle his forearm in your lap, wrapping the bracelet around the opposite wrist you were wearing yours on. His charm is the piece that completes yours, a simple solid sphere—a perfect match.
"I heard that until your wish comes true, the string shouldn't break prematurely, or it will never come to fruition."
"That's what the harabeoji reminded me of too, but I believe ours will be granted." "Do you really think that luck only comes once in a lifetime?"
"I don't know about that, but what I do know is that I must've used all my luck in order to meet someone like you." Jun-Hee runs his thumb over the inside of your wrist where the stone pendant rests against your pulse point, a line leading to your heart. "You're my once in a lifetime person, Seol- Hwa."
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A few hours later and your unease has yet to settle, not even at the confirmation text from Jung-Won alerting to her success.
"I think it's safe to say that we'll have the most important of clues as evidence." After a final flurry of movements, Jung-Won stretches her fingers. "There. It's done." She points to the screen and those closest to her promptly swarm the monitor to see. "With the time limit I had, I was only able to bring back the film from yesterday, but that should be more than enough to figure out who entered the room where Yu-Jun and Ji-Soo were."
Before you even have the chance to breathe a sigh of reprieve, smoke starts rising from the console as sparks fly, only briefly at first and then heightening into a full blown flame.
Jun-Hee grabs the nearest fire extinguisher and douses the system unit, but all that remains in the fallout is charred metal. You stare at the black matter, the futility of it ridiculing.
Kyung-Jun touches the box only to recoil at the heat that singes his skin. It's beyond saving and he can only chuckle. "As if murder wasn't enough, you all want to add arson to your list of crimes too? Was this a ploy in hopes that we would all burn down? Is that it?"
"Guys—" Eun-Chan interjects, pointing a shaky finger at the monitor in the corner of the room everyone ignored up until now. "What the hell is that?!" At his question, the screen lights up with colored strips of static that steadies into clear footage, the pool coming into view.
Except, it isn't the only thing visible.
Long dark hair masks the face of an otherworldly figure standing eerily still in the middle of the scene, hands at her sides. For some inexplicable reason, you feel like you've seen her before.
"Seol-Hwa's right..." Na-Hee utters, panic-stricken. "There really is a ghost..."
At that, you suddenly remember the photo you still had in your possession. Drawing it out of your skirt pocket, you briskly extend it toward the group, directing them to focus on one particular individual. "I think... there's something other than us here. She— that apparition—must have something to do with the game."
"Stop with your nonsense," Jin-Ha chastises. "You all must've faked this video to rid of skepticism."
"You idiot," Jung-Won retorts. "Look at the live stamp. It's filming in real time. I know using your brain isn't something you tend to do, but at the very least, tell me your eyes work."
"Whatever this may be," you start, eyeing everyone in succession, "will you just simply go along with it and play the game until we all perish? What if you win? Do you think you can actually make it out of here alive?" Your voice rises, both in exasperation and resentment. "Is it possible for any of us to be the same afterward?" Shaking your head, you fix the rest with a steely glare. "Get a grip! If we find the correlation between every cryptic piece of information, we might finally be able to break free of this illusion."
Without waiting for a response or agreement, you dash off toward the pool, and as you arrive, to your astonishment, the rest ended up following.
Aside from your friend group, Eun-Ha, Na- Hee, and Yu-Jun, the remaining ones do nothing to help. While you search high and low for the right angle the footage could've been captured from—even a glimpse of a hidden camera—the clock ticks by, drawing ever nearer to the hour of death.
"Time's almost up," Kyung-Jun reminds. "Are you all abandoning the poll then?"
"How about we vote in a different way?" Jun-Hee suggests.
So-Mi runs one hand through her hair as she stands akimbo. "I know you mean well, but we don't have enough time to think of another plan. How are we to do it?"
Kyung-Jun casts her aside carelessly and she stumbles, sending him dirty looks from behind his back. "Do you think we're foolish enough to go along with your idea once again? After your last one nearly ended us all? What bullshit are you spewing now?"
"Listen to him first and then decide," Jung-Won reasons, and that settles it for the time being, her intelligence holding weight.
"We have sixteen votes between all of us, and the basis for execution is by the majority. So, why don't we divide the remaining votes equally?"
"Aren't you just trying to save yourself at this point?" Kyung-Jun questions. "You've already received three. Why not take one for the team?"
"I would gladly do it as a last resort."
Jung-Won steps in before pessimism calls for drastic measures. "If I understand this correctly, you want for us to try splitting our choices in order to force a tie?"
"Yes." Jun-Hee's validation draws both curious and concerned murmurs from the group. "If we do so, it will guarantee that all of us will vote without abstaining, and that one person won't be fixed as a target. It'll bypass all the rules we've learned of so far."
"But, who will be one the one to receive the other half of the votes?"
"I will."
"Are you out of your damn mind?!" Kyung-Jun outstretches his hand, almost as if to convince you otherwise, but withdraws when it occurs to him the setting, opting to clench it at his side instead, the vein on his neck visible even under the dim lights.
"Why?" you press. "You all suspected me from the get-go, did you not?" That stuns everyone into silence, unable to refute. "I won't blame anyone. This is my choice."
[ ᴊɪɴ ᴅᴀ-ʙᴜᴍ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ. ]
[ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ. ]
[ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғ���ʀ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ. ]
[ ᴀʜɴ ɴᴀ-ʜᴇᴇ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ᴏʜ ᴊᴜɴɢ-ᴡᴏɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ʟᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴏɴ-sᴇᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ʙᴀᴇᴋ ᴇᴜɴ-ʜᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ᴋɪᴍ ᴅᴏɴɢ-ʜʏᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ᴊᴀɴɢ ʜʏᴜɴ-ʜᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ. ]
[ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ. ]
[ ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ. ]
[ ᴋɪᴍ sᴏ-ᴍɪ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ. ]
[ ᴠᴏᴛɪɴɢ ɪs ɴᴏᴡ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ. ]
Never has the stretch of sixty seconds felt so long as it did waiting for the follow-up announcement.
But, nothing comes.
Tears of happiness and shrieks of excitement ring through as everyone gathers into group hugs, exclaiming words of congratulations, but soon enough, the first flicker of red lights overhead remind you that it is too good to be true.
It is always too good to be true.
[ ᴀs ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀɴ sᴇᴏʟ-ʜᴡᴀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴠᴏᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ғɪᴠᴇ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs. ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ɪғ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴛɪᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ]
Da-Bum's consternation only serves to intensify the collective panic as the lights dim into obscurity. "We can't just all die here!"
The blaring may drown out the screams, but the horrified looks on everyone's faces ceases to fade, guises set deeper by the shadows casted.
Kyung-Jun points a finger at Jun-Hee while taking steps backward, already set to flee. "I knew it! It should have ended with him!"
Eun-Chan's phone nearly drops out of his hold. "Only five of us should vote right? Aside from myself, Yeon-Woo, Mi-Na, and Yu-Jun are also included. Anyone else?"
"Jun-Hee needs to recast his vote too," Da- Bum recalls. "He voted for Jung-Won earlier."
Jun-Hee turns to you, uttering so lowly you can barely tell if he was talking to himself or to you. "That means you already received one less vote..."
“What do we do?!" Mi-Na cries out.
Without hesitation, So-Mi condemns you while looking you dead in the eyes.
"Kim So-Mi!" Jun-Hee shouts angrily, but it's already too late.
She strides toward you and chucks your phone straight into the very bottom of the pool before yanking the school photo out of your hand, your grip having already gone limp long ago.
Tearing it into shreds, she proceeds to fling it upward into the air above, the pieces raining down on you like joss paper they burn for the dead.
"I thought it was odd when she talked about things that didn't exist and dragged us into this mess. It was going to be her anyway. Just do it!"
"This isn't right and you know it!" Jung-Won pushes her away from you, but all you can do is stand stunned, the sirens resounding far too deafeningly in your ears.
"Fuck!" comes Seung-Bin's agitated voice. "Vote for anyone, godammit!"
"All of this happened because of me," Jun-Hee addresses the group. "Choose me... because I'm the Mafia."
Only then do you snap out of your reverie, turning to him with urgency. "What are you doing? Why are you saying something that isn't true!"
He slights you and barrels on, eyes lifeless and fixated aimlessly. Consequent words that fall from his lips are too toneless, too flat, and too run-of-the-mill, for it to be an admission—all it is is a rehearsed cover up act. "I tricked you into giving up your phones so that it would be impossible to win. Any footage left remaining, I also deleted. If we had the time, I could go on and on about the truths I have hidden and the lies I have told. All I wanted was to survive, but killing people to do so...I cant bear it anymore."
"So he confesses in the end." Kyung-Jun scoffs. "It seems I'm right again."
Disregarding your surroundings, you move toward Jun-Hee and clutch at his hand, the warmth from earlier on the rooftop having dissipated. "I can't let you do this!" you sob out, choking over your words before they can even form. "If you're doing this to protect me, then break the promise you made to yourself. Break it over and over again. I'd trade it all, including myself, to keep you, please..."
It finally dawns on you that in exchange for not smashing the promise into a thousand pieces, your heart is the one that's shattered into a million pieces.
Jun-Hee at long last slides his eyes over to yours, and through your haze of tears, you can see him holding his own back from falling.
You hide your hurt, your disappointment, and your heartbreak, and he pretends he doesn't notice.
His eyes trail over every feature of your face, etching it into memory, and you feel your heart strings snap one by one as he looks at you like it's the last time he ever will.
"You promised! That you would be here for as long as I need you. I still need you, Jun-Hee..."
[ ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴍɪ-ɴᴀ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ɪᴍ ᴇᴜɴ-ᴄʜᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
Pounding footsteps grow fainter and fainter as the others run to safety, leaving everything else behind thoughtlessly.
[ ɴᴀᴍ ʏᴇᴏɴ-ᴡᴏᴏ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ᴄʜᴀ ʏᴜ-ᴊᴜɴ ʜᴀs ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ. ]
[ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ, ᴋɪᴍ ᴊᴜɴ-ʜᴇᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ]
Against the growing distance, you hold on until you can't anymore, until Jun-Hee's fingertips are no longer with reach, slipping away from you.
As you get pulled farther and farther away, the jade stone charm dangles in your peripheral vision and you make a wish.
One last chance at a saving grace.
Please, always come back to me.
When your tears distort the image of Jun-Hee in front of you, all you can feel is the bracelet still wound around your wrist, colored like the red string of fate, tethering you to him.
You cling to the string that feels like it's unwinding, holding on to the millions of fraying threads stretched between you two, keeping it from severing.
Gradually, he wanes from view and all that's left is a carmine inferno in your vision.
Perhaps that harabeoji was right after all.
Luck does only come once in a lifetime.
And that, is the greatest misfortune of all.
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𝟬𝟲 : 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦
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evergreen-dryad ¡ 1 year ago
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“One of my philosophy professors lectured wildly about love once, yelling: “When you’re in love with someone, that person is the lighthouse of your universe.” (I scrawled it inside Science and Poetry in pencil—lighthouse of your universe—as if I would ever forget that phrase.) He was a delightful caricature of his position. I could swear he literally tore his hair out while howling at us. He went on, “Nothing means as much without that person.” One of the men in the class repeated, incredulous, half-laughing, “So you’re saying you can’t enjoy, like, a vacation, without someone if you’re really in love with them?” “Of course not.” the professor replied. “Not completely. You recognize beauty, but beauty means less if they don’t witness it with you. Beauty is less. You see something sublime and your first thought is that they should be there with you. It’s not as good without them. They illuminate. They make everything more.”
— (via albinwonderland)
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thesecondhandwoman ¡ 24 days ago
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OVERWORKING HERSELF
Caitlyn x f!reader
Synopsis: Caitlyn has been working herself down to the bone, resulting in your girlfriend being tired and stressed, irritated and cold. But, despite your efforts to help, they only seem to backfire.
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The rain pattered softly against the windowpane, its rhythmic sound blending with the scratch of Caitlyn’s pen on paper. She was hunched over her desk, eyes sharp but sunken from the weight of too many sleepless nights. Files lay scattered in front of her, a chaotic mess of reports, red strings of connections, and hastily scrawled notes in the margins.
You leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with concern that had been building for days. She was drowning in her work, and no matter how many times you tried to reach out, she pulled herself further and further away.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, Cait,” you said softly, not wanting to startle her but firm enough to be heard. “You’ve been at this for hours. You need rest.”
“I’m fine,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice distant as she scratched something onto the page, her eyes never lifting from the paper.
“No, you’re not,” you replied, stepping further into the room. “You’re exhausted, and you’re not thinking clearly. Come to bed, please.”
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped, her tone sharper this time, like a blade slipping from its sheath. Her grip on the pen tightened, and for a moment, she didn’t even look at you. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you telling me when to sleep.”
Her words had a bite, but you didn’t back down, you know you couldn’t right now. You stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “I’m not telling you what to do, Cait. I’m asking you to take care of yourself. There’s a difference.”
That was when she turned to face you. Her eyes, usually so full of clarity and precision, were clouded with fatigue and frustration. Her lips were set in a hard line, and you could see the storm brewing behind her gaze.
“You don’t get it,” she said, her voice low and cold. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have the weight of an entire city on your shoulders. You don’t do anything, and yet you think you have the right to lecture me? Especially now of all times?”
Your heart stopped.
The words hit you with the force of a cannonball, hollowing out your chest and leaving you breathless. You blinked, your eyes wide with shock, as if you weren’t sure you’d heard her correctly and were waiting for her to clarify. She’d never spoken to you like that before. Not Caitlyn. Not your Caitlyn.
Staring at her for a bit longer, your expression fell, and you cleared your throat awkwardly.
“Right,” you whispered, a quiet, bitter huff of a laugh slipping from your lips. Your heart was cracking, but you held it together just long enough to plaster on a smile—a small, sad curve of your lips that didn’t reach your eyes. “Got it. I’ll leave you to it, Commander.”
You turned away before she could see the hurt settling into your features. The moment your back was to her, your face crumpled for just a second, brows knitting together as you bit down hard on your bottom lip. You forced yourself to keep walking, slow and steady, until you reached the bedroom.
You didn’t hear her call after you. You didn’t hear anything at all.
The bed felt cold when you climbed in, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You lay on your side, facing the wall, your knees drawn up just a bit too tightly. The weight of her words hung in the air like smoke that refused to dissipate.
“You don’t do anything.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the sting of tears threatening to fall. You told yourself it was fine, that Caitlyn was just stressed, that she didn’t mean it. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest from burrowing deeper.
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Back in the study, Caitlyn sat in the same position for a long time, pen in hand but unmoving. The sharp click of the rain on the window was louder now, the quiet of the house pressing in on her.
Her mind replayed the moment, over and over again.
“You don’t do anything.”
Her heart twisted.
The exhaustion that had been numbing her thoughts gave way to clarity, and for the first time that night, she stopped working. She leaned back in her chair, hands covering her face as a low, frustrated sigh escaped her lips.
Gods, she was such an idiot.
Her fingers rubbed at her eyes, trying to scrub away the burn of guilt as if it were something she could wipe clean. She thought about the look on your face, that smile you’d worn like armor just before walking away. She’d seen that kind of smile on soldiers—the kind they wore just before going into battle knowing they’d already lost.
With a heavy breath, Caitlyn stood up. Her legs felt stiff from sitting too long, but she ignored it, moving toward the door like a woman with a purpose. The hallway was dim, moonlight spilling through the windows, and as she walked toward the bedroom, her steps were quieter than they’d ever been.
When she reached the door, she hesitated.
The sight of you lying on the bed, curled up on the far edge as if trying to make yourself as small as possible, nearly broke her. You always slept closer to the middle, one hand often draped over her waist when you were feeling particularly clingy. But tonight, there was no warmth between you. Just distance.
Caitlyn let out a slow breath before slipping inside. Her heart pounded with every step as she moved toward you, her weight barely creaking the mattress as she sat on the edge.
“Y/N…” Her voice was barely a whisper, hesitant but sincere. No response. She frowned, leaning forward slightly. “I know you’re awake.”
You stayed still for a few seconds longer before finally sighing, eyes still closed. “What do you want, Caitlyn?” you muttered, and she winced at how bitterly you said her full name.
Her hand hovered over your back before she placed it there gently. She felt you stiffen under her touch, and it made her heart ache.
“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn murmured, fingers tracing slow, careful circles against your back. “I was rude. I know I was, and you didn’t deserve that.”
You didn’t reply, your face still buried in the pillow, but you didn’t push her away either.
“I’m an idiot,” she continued, her voice cracking just a little. “I’m tired, and I’m scared, and I keep convincing myself that I have to do it all alone. But that’s not true, is it?” She leaned forward, resting her head on the pillow beside yours. “You’ve been here. With me. Every step. I see it, even when I pretend I don’t.”
Her arms slowly slipped around your waist, pulling you close, her chest pressing firmly against your back. She breathed in your warmth like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.
“You’re my partner,” Caitlyn whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “I’m so sorry for forgetting that.”
Her lips trailed down the curve of your shoulder, each kiss as soft and sincere as the words that followed. “I love you,” she murmured between them, her breath warm against your skin. “More than I know how to say sometimes. And I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter.”
You let out a slow, shaky breath. Her words were like a balm to the ache she’d caused, but the sting hadn’t fully gone away.
“You hurt me, Cait,” you said quietly, your voice still a little hoarse from holding back tears. “You’re supposed to be my person like I am supposed to be yours, and you made me feel like I was nothing.”
“I know,” she said, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “I know, love. I won’t do it again. I swear it.”
Her arms tightened around you, like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t hold you firmly enough. Slowly, you reached down, fingers intertwining with hers. Her breath hitched at the gesture, and you felt the tension in her body ease.
Silence stretched through the room a bit longer before you sighed, pressing yourself back into her a bit more while squeezing her hand.
“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered, your voice soft but still a little rough.
Caitlyn let out a breath that was almost a laugh. She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, her lips brushing your skin. “I am,” she agreed, her voice tender and warm. “I am the luckiest.”
The rain outside softened into a gentle mist, the sound no longer sharp but soothing. Caitlyn stayed wrapped around you like that for the rest of the night, her fingers tracing lazy, absentminded shapes against your stomach. Her steady breathing lulled you toward sleep, and you could feel her heartbeat against your back, strong and steady.
The weight she’d been carrying wasn’t gone, but for tonight, it was lighter. She had you. She had always had you. And this time, she wouldn’t forget it.
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fortunxa ¡ 2 months ago
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the sound of her absence
Jinx and Isha
summary: Bravery wasn’t in the noise, the chaos—it was in the silence that stood still against the storm.
cw: pain. nothing act II didn’t already deliver. reader not mentioned.
author’s note: i’m quick with it.
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Zaun was a furnace, its heart always burning, always devouring. The city had been forged in suffering, a machine that never stopped grinding down the weak. And yet, somehow, in all its fire and ruin, a single spark of warmth had dared to flicker. A warmth impossibly out of place in the cold steel of Jinx's world.
Isha.
Her face came back to her, vivid and bright in her mind's eye. Wide, eager eyes that shined brighter than the neon glow of the city, full of a hope that had no place here, sparkling with questions, with admiration, with trust. The small, knowing smile of hers or the shrug of her shoulders, the one that said, "I'll be fine". And that moment—that moment—when Jinx's gaze locked with hers in the middle of the battle, when the world around them turned to fire and blood.
When the child who didn’t speak answered the world’s violence with bravery.
She had looked so steady. So determined.
So much like Jinx—staring down the chaos as if daring it to break her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the image. Isha, tiny and frail and far too fearless, standing in the firestorm. Her chest puffed up like Jinx's always did, that same reckless grin trying to stretch across her soft, round face. She had called out for her, her voice tearing raw against the chaos, but Isha didn’t hear her.
Or maybe she had. Maybe that was the problem.
She had always listened too closely.
The hideout was too quiet now, smothered beneath the weight of an absence Jinx couldn’t ignore, louder than any explosion she could create.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms and leaving bloody crescent shapes. The smog-heavy air seemed thicker tonight, each breath heavier than the last. She paced back and forth, her boots scuffing the floor, the sound filling the oppressive silence. She couldn't stop replaying it in her mind.
The air still smelled of gunpowder, acrid and sour, like a wound festering. Her fingers, smudged with grease and blood, itched for something to fix, but there was nothing left to save.
Jinx hadn’t been fast enough.
She hadn’t been good enough.
She hadn’t saved her.
She dropped to her knees, her fists slamming against the floor. The sound echoed through the empty space, but it did nothing to drown out the memory of Isha’s final moments. The way she’d thrown herself forward, packing gemstone after gemstone—overloading the power source of the pistol—before firing it at Vander. Or what used to be Vander, at least.
Hot and bitter tears blurred Jinx’s vision, dripping down onto the cold floor beneath her. She pressed her hands to her face, shaking her head as if she could shake away the weight in her chest.
“Why’d you do it?” she whispered, her voice trembling. It cracked beneath the weight of the question, but the silence gave no answers. “You were supposed to stick around. You were supposed to live. Not… not this. Not for me.” Not for anyone.
But there had been no hesitation in Isha’s eyes.
Jinx slammed her fist into the floor again, harder this time, until pain bloomed across her knuckles like some cruel reminder that she was still here, alive, while Isha wasn’t. “You didn’t have to prove anything!” she shouted into the void. “You were already… You were perfect. You didn’t have to—” Her voice broke, the words dying in her throat.
She crumpled in on herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, as though folding herself small enough could make the world rewind. Make it undo itself.
She opened her eyes to the dim, scattered wreckage of her hideout and glanced up at the walls, where one of Isha’s stick figures still smiled beside a crooked sun.
“Stop haunting me,” she hissed, her voice breaking on the last word. But they stayed, stubborn in their simplicity, a silent declaration of the joy she had tried to bring into Jinx’s chaos.
She crawled to the wall, her fingers brushing over the faint lines. The chalk smudged under her touch, disappearing just like Isha had—too easily, too quickly.
Jinx’s hands trembled as she picked up one of the little girl’s old chalks, the color a soft yellow that barely showed against the grime of the walls. Her fingers shook as she pressed it to the floor instead, sketching the outline of a sun. The lines wavered, uneven and fragile, and she hated how much it looked like Isha’s.
Hated how much it didn’t.
She snapped the chalk in half, the pieces tumbling from her fingers, and rested her head against the wall, her blue hair spilling over her face like a curtain, hiding her tears from the empty room. “I wasn't worth it.” Her voice broke again. “Why'd you try to be like me?”
But hadn’t she wanted this? To be someone worth admiring? To be someone a kid like Isha could look up to? And now that it had happened, all she could feel was the weight of it, heavy and suffocating, like chains around her chest—grief.
Grieve.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, but the apology fell apart in the still air. "I'm so sorry." The tears come harder now, Jinx’s shoulders shaking with the force of them. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood.
Her pink eyes darted to the far corner of the room, where Isha’s jacket still hung on a nail. It was too small, patched and frayed, the kind of thing someone would have laughed at in Piltover. But Isha had worn it with pride, like it was armor.
Jinx got up and dragged herself across the room, her footsteps heavy in the silence. She pulled the jacket from the nail and held it close, the fabric rough against her fingers. It still smelled faintly of her—chalk dust and grease and something warm Jinx could never name.
She sank to the floor again, rocking back and forth with the jacket clutched tightly in her arms, as if holding it could somehow hold Isha, too. But the fabric was empty, and her hands came away as hollow as the rest of her.
Be like you.
Jinx shook her head violently, a sob tearing from her throat. “Not like me,” she spat, her voice cracking. “Not like me, Isha. You were supposed to be better. You were supposed to—” Her words disintegrated into ragged breaths, and she buried her face in her hands as the tears came in full force.
She couldn't breathe.
In the dim, flickering light, she felt her world splinter further while the quiet mocked her.
Jinx pressed the jacket to her face, inhaling deeply as if the lingering scent could anchor her to a world that lost its sense once again. But all it did was remind her of how empty everything felt.
She sat there for hours, her breath hitching, hiccuping, her heart racing as her tears soaked into the grime of the floor, her sobs echoing through the empty space. And when she finally looked up, the room was still the same.
Isha was still gone.
All that remained was smoke from that single spark of warmth that had dared to flicker.
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rafestify ¡ 2 months ago
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I have an idea! Reader is a part of the Pouge group, but has never interracted with Rafe. She is the one choosing to run to cut Rafe loose. In the middle of it, the boat takes a dip and Reader hits her head passing out
After the Storm — Rafe Cameron
Summary : After a stormy accident leaves the Ex!Pogue!Reader injured, Rafe helps her to safety, and amidst the other’s mixed reactions, an unspoken connection begins to form between them. (season 4 part 2 spoiler alert⚠️)
Rafe Cameron x Ex!Pogue!Reader
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Warnings : language, blood, violence (maybe?), english is not my first language.
A/N : changed the plot a bit, i hope u don't mind anon! 🤍
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The boat rocked violently as we cut through the dark, churning waves on our way to Morocco. The storm had rolled in fast, catching us all off guard, and now the sky was a swirling mass of black clouds, illuminated only by the sharp flashes of lightning. Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the boat as if the heavens themselves were trying to tear us apart.
I clung to the railing, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my footing. The wind whipped at my hair, and the cold spray of the sea stung my face. Somewhere behind me, Pope was shouting orders to help stabilize the boat, his voice nearly drowned out by the roaring wind. Cleo and Sarah were struggling to tie down the loose sails, while Kiara and John B worked on keeping the deck clear of debris. Everyone was on edge, moving with a desperate urgency that matched the storm’s fury.
Everyone except Rafe. He was below deck, locked in a small room that JJ had secured with a heavy bolt. After everything Rafe had done, and the chaos he was likely to cause, none of us were willing to take any chances. JJ had tied him up, hands and feet bound tightly, to make sure he couldn’t pull any stunts while we were out here. I couldn’t blame him. Rafe had a way of making bad situations worse, and in the middle of a storm like this, we couldn’t afford even a second of distraction.
Still, the thought of him down there, trapped and furious, sent a shiver down my spine. I could almost hear him yelling, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door, cursing JJ and the rest of us for leaving him in that room. Part of me felt bad for him. But, he brought this on himself, and we all knew it.
“Hold tight!” JJ’s voice cut through the chaos as the boat tilted sharply to one side, nearly throwing me off balance. I grabbed onto the nearest pole, my heart hammering in my chest as the vessel righted itself. The waves were monstrous now, each one slamming into the hull with a deafening crash. The boat groaned under the strain, and I could feel the fear tightening in my gut. If the storm got any worse, there was a real chance we wouldn’t make it to Morocco.
The sudden dip of the boat was enough to send everyone scrambling for a handhold. Below deck, I heard a loud thud. Rafe, probably thrown against the wall in his tiny prison. I imagined him cursing us again, furious and helpless in equal measure.
“JJ!” I called out, my voice barely carrying over the wind. He was near the cabin door, his face set in grim determination. “You sure he’s okay down there?”
JJ shot me a look, water dripping from his soaked hair. “He’s fine,” he said, though his tone wasn’t as confident as I wanted it to be.
The boat lurched again, and I clung to the railing for a moment before steadying myself. My mind was racing, torn between the storm’s fury and the thought of Rafe locked up below deck. The guilt was gnawing at me, despite everything Rafe had done. No one deserved to be tied up and helpless during a storm like this, not even someone as evil as him.
I scrambled across the slippery deck, ducking under ropes and dodging the flying spray of seawater, searching desperately for anything sharp. My eyes scanned the clutter of tools scattered near the supply boxes, knives, a pair of pliers, maybe even a jagged edge on some broken wood. If I could just cut him loose, we could figure out the rest later. Right now, all I could think about was the sheer panic Rafe must be feeling, alone in that small, dark room as the boat tossed like a cork in the waves.
“What are you doing?” Pope’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and demanding. He was gripping the railing nearby, his soaked shirt plastered to his body. His eyes narrowed when he saw me digging through the tools.
“I’m not letting him drown!” I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly. “He’s trapped down there, Pope. If this boat capsizes or something, he’ll—”
“No,” Pope snapped, shaking his head. “Are u really thinking about him right now?”
“Are you kidding me?” I shot back, frustration boiling over. “If something happens, he’ll drown! You really want that?”
Pope didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced toward the cabin door, his jaw tight. “We locked him up for a reason,” he muttered.
I could feel the weight of the storm pressing down on us, every second stretching my nerves thinner. Cleo, overhearing us, stepped in, her arms crossed despite the biting wind. “He’ll just cause more trouble if you let him out,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You know how Rafe is.”
“I don't care,” I said, grabbing a small knife from the pile. “I can handle him.”
The wind howled outside as I pushed open the door and descended the narrow steps to the lower deck. The small room where JJ had locked Rafe was at the far end of the hall, its heavy wooden door bolted shut. My hands were shaking, the knife cold and slick in my grip as I approached.
The boat groaned under the strain of the storm, tilting sharply to one side. I had to steady myself against the wall to keep from falling. My pulse was racing, fear and determination swirling together in a storm of their own. I reached the door and unbolted it with trembling hands, the loud clack barely audible over the sounds of the raging sea.
Inside, Rafe sat against the wall, his hands and feet bound tightly with ropes. His head snapped up as the door swung open, his wild eyes narrowing when he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough and laced with anger.
“I’m getting you out,” I said firmly, stepping inside and kneeling down next to him. The room was cramped, the air thick and musty. I could feel the boat lurching beneath us, but I ignored it, focusing on the ropes that dug into his wrists.
“Took u long enough,” Rafe scoffed, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Your friends are gonna lose their minds.”
“Let them,” I shot back, sawing at the ropes with the knife. “I’m not leaving you tied up in here while the boat’s about to fall apart.”
Rafe fell silent, watching me closely. His expression was guarded, but there was something else there, something softer, buried beneath the layers of anger and mistrust. For a moment, it felt like the Rafe I used to know, the one who could make me safe when everything else was falling apart, was sitting in front of me again.
The boat suddenly dipped hard, the floor pitching sharply beneath us. I lost my balance, my head slamming against the corner of the counter with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in my skull, and I gasped, dropping the knife as stars danced in my vision.
“Shit!” Rafe’s voice was sharp, panic edging into his tone. “You alright?”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, wincing as I felt a warm, sticky wetness, blood. The room spun, but I shook it off, forcing myself to focus. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Rafe’s expression shifted, the frustration melting into something that almost looked like concern. “Give me the knife,” he said quickly. “You’re useless like this. Let me finish.” I hesitated for half a second, then shoved the knife into his hands, too dazed to argue. He made quick work of the ropes, his movements sharp and precise. The moment he was free, he grabbed my arm, helping me sit up as the boat tilted again.
“You really shouldn’t have come down here,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words. His hand lingered on my arm, steadying me.
“I couldn’t just leave you here.” I said, managing a weak smile despite the pain pounding in my head.
Rafe stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he helped me to my feet, his grip firm and steady. “Come on,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.” Rafe’s grip was firm as he helped me to my feet, his fingers steady despite the chaos around us. The boat dipped again, pitching us to the side, but Rafe’s hand stayed locked around my arm, guiding me through the dark, narrow corridor.
My head throbbed with every step, the sharp pain from where I’d hit it blurring my vision. I had to force myself to stay focused, even though the dizziness was relentless.
I barely registered the climb up the stairs as he helped me up to the main deck. As soon as we emerged from the narrow passageway, the cold wind and rain hit me like a wall. Rafe led me toward the back of the deck, guiding me to the nearest chair. My legs felt like jelly, and I was barely aware of the others as they crowded around us, a mix of confusion and anger crossing their faces when they saw Rafe.
They all seemed furious, their eyes narrowing at the sight of him, but as soon as they saw me, slumped and barely conscious, their expressions changed in an instant. The noise on the deck quieted, and the tension in the air shifted, turning into something heavy, like a collective breath held. They all stood frozen for a moment, just staring at me.
Rafe helped me into the chair, his hand on my shoulder, his gaze flicking between me and the others. He was tense, still unsure of how they’d react, but when they didn’t speak, just stood there silently, he let out a breath.
I dropped my forehead to the desk in front of me, trying to steady my spinning head. The dizziness wasn’t letting up, but the cold air helped clear some of the fog in my mind. I was barely aware of the others now, of their whispered voices, of the storm outside. I just needed to focus on not falling apart.
"Hey, easy," Rafe’s voice was softer now, and I felt his hand briefly on my shoulder. He seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether to speak or let me be. “You good?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I let my head rest against the cold wood, the sound of the storm deafening, the boat swaying beneath us. My pulse was loud in my ears, but it was the thudding in my skull that held my attention.
Rafe knelt beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. “You need anything?” His voice was quiet but insistent. “Water? You want me to get—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice raspy. “Just... just leave me for a minute.” I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, didn’t want to listen to the others or the mess we were all in. I could barely keep my own head straight.
Rafe didn’t push me. Instead, he sat down beside me, close but not too close, like he was giving me space but didn’t want to leave me. I could feel his unease, his restlessness as he waited for me to gather myself.
The minutes stretched on, the boat dipping and swaying with every wave. The storm outside raged on, but inside my head, the dizziness slowly faded into a dull throb. I sat there, unmoving, barely aware of anything except the steady rhythm of my pulse and the weight of the moment.
Eventually, the storm seemed to quiet, the winds lessening and the rain tapering off. The Pogues, who had stood silently watching, started to break away, but their eyes lingered on me, their concern palpable.
Rafe stayed by my side, his gaze softening slightly when I glanced at him. It was a quiet moment, an unspoken understanding between us, one that neither of us had to say aloud. The tension was still there, but it felt a little less heavy now, like the storm outside had made us all a little raw.
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likes & reblogs are appreciated! 🍦
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charlietheepicwriter7 ¡ 4 months ago
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Ẁ̴̧̼̟͕̱̜̞͈̩̱̤̺̖̗̌̌̓͒̓͂̇ͅò̸̟̯͂̍̀̈́̂̚ͅǘ̷̢̧͈̦͙̖̼̟̮̯̝͎̒̈́͜ͅļ̴̮̲͈̤̲̣̊̈́̎̃͆̈͆̔͆̑̇̅̋d̷̢̛͈̲̳͕̮̟͍̬͍̪͖̈̄̓̇n̵̳̫̹̥̼̄̊̽͜'̶̢̛̳̘̗͔̯̖̥̝̙̥̲͍̩̝̍̒̎̃̑̅͊̂͊͝t̷̨̧͉̫̠̻͚̣͉͖͐̊̊̀̈́ ̵̦̬̫͐͐͊͑̆̓͆̏̄͆̇́̚͘͠Y̷̨̢̡̱͚̼͚̰̠̱̤̖͍̑͊̉̽́ͅơ̶̡̦̫̬̪̯͎̹̈̍̊̇͛̅̚̚ü̷̜̞͇̳̯̯̺͎̦̠͈͕͕͎̑͒̍̌̅͛́͌̅̃̽̕͝ ̶̡̝͙̟͖̠̯̹̤͖̣̎̋̄͐̂̚͠L̸̠̞͕̳͖̥̩͙̬̰͈̱̩̳̍i̸̫͙̍́̏̎̓͊̌͑ͅk̶̩̞͈̖͔̓̏͘ẻ̶͈̱͇̪̺̬̑̈̂̑̾̐͐̿̌͜?̷̧̭̖̺̻͖̣̖̺̻͂͝
Original Post Storm
The water was slow to rise.
That didn't mean that it wasn't a threat, but it was a slow one. The rain was much worse. Burning upon contact with skin, the rain poured down on Gotham, and left Damian and Grayson isolated from the rest of the family. Civilians scattered like rats under the burning rain, hiding under awnings that were already starting to dissolve and in buildings if they were lucky.
Grayson had taken the initiative to steal a few umbrellas that they used to jump from roof overhang to overhang, the flimsy fabric barely protecting them in the moments under open sky.
Damian tried both his coms again, then his phone. Only static remained. "There's still no signal. Richard, we need to hurry back to the Manor; if Father is in danger--"
"We wouldn't be able to make it," Grayson said, eyeing the streets. Lazarus water bubbled from the storm drains, flooding the roads. They hurried on. "Our tires would melt before we could get halfway to Bristole. There's a safehouse nearby where we can regroup--"
"Richard!" It was hard to see through the glowing rain, but just beyond the building they were hiding under was- "There's a break in the rain in Robinson Park." While the flood was lapping at the grass, not a speck of water fell over the park.
Richard frowned. "That's suspicious."
Damian and Richard, speckled with burns, made their way through the eerie silence that had settled over Robinson Park. Not a sound could be heard inside the park, like the world had gone silent. No other people had made it here yet, and there were no animals around, Damian noticed with a pang of guilt.
Then... a laugh.
His hands quickly found the knives tucked away on his body. "Who's there!?" Damian demanded despite Richard's protests that it could be a civilian. It laughed again with that same distorted quality that Danyal's voice gained in the Pit. "Show yourself."
"I must say! I didn't think you'd make it this far." Behind them floated... a woman. A girl, younger than Damian, yet she looked just like the monster pretending to be Danyal. She smirked. "You're very stubborn."
"Who are you?" Why does she look like-
"Just a friend!" She quickly reassured. "You could say I'm... invested in the continued survival of Gotham."
"So, you know what's happening?"
"I know what's happening, why it's happening, and what you can do to stop it." She floated onto her back, the picture of faked relaxation. "Though, at the moment, I'm not particularly inclined to spill. Sorry."
Damian's grip tightened on his knives. "If you know how to stop this, then tell us," he demanded, his voice laced with frustration and urgency.
The girl—this eerie mimic of Danyal—rolled her eyes playfully, kicking her feet as she floated in the air. "Impatient, aren't we? But where’s the fun in just handing over all the answers? You’re on the right track, though. Keep going, and maybe you’ll figure it out."
"Enough games!" Richard snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. "This city is drowning—people are going to die! If you can help, then help us!"
The girl’s smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes hardened. "Oh, I am helping. You just don’t realize it yet." She flipped upright, hovering just above the ground now, her gaze locking onto Damian's. "You see, big brother, this isn’t just about you or me. This is about Danyal—he’s lost, confused. And unless you do something, he’ll destroy everything."
Damian stiffened at the word "brother," his mind racing. "You’re lying. Danyal is—"
"More than the Danyal you knew," she finished for him, her voice softening with something like sympathy. "He’s changed. Did your mummy ever tell you that she put him in the Lazarus Pit your grandfather has?" Damian could feel Richard's questioning gaze. "No, she probably didn't. Not after he never resurfaced."
"Then... that's the real Danyal?" Damian asked quietly.
She shrugged. "As real as he can be. But he's not the one you knew. Older. Younger. The Pit did something to him, something that made him… different. More powerful, more dangerous."
Richard exchanged a wary glance with Damian. "If that’s true, then why are you here? What do you want from us?"
The girl chuckled, floating closer. "I’m here to make sure you survive this. After all, if you die too soon, the story ends, and we can’t have that, can we?" She circled around them, her movements languid, almost lazy. "The city will return to normal once Danyal gets what he wants. And what he wants, dear friend, is you." She reached out to poke his nose, but Damian slapped her hand away.
Damian’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you helping us? What do you gain?"
She paused, considering the question, before shrugging lightly. "Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping the balance. I’m not your enemy, Damian. I’m just… an observer. A guide, if you will."
The rain continued to pour just beyond the borders of the park, the glowing drops hissing as they hit the ground. Damian could feel the heat from the Lazarus Waters creeping closer, the edge of the park growing dim and distorted.
"You said you know how to stop this," Damian pressed. "What do we need to do?"
The girl smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "First, you’ll need to survive. The Lazarus Waters will burn you alive if you don’t take precautions. Deeper in the park, you’ll find Blood Blossoms. They are an extinct plant that has power over the undead... and will prevent the water from hurting you. Eat them—they’ll protect you from the worst of it."
Richard frowned. "Why should we trust you."
She shrugged again. "Trust me, mistrust me. It's up to you. But the longer you stand here arguing, the closer those waters get, and the sooner you’ll be dead." She pointed toward the heart of the park. "The Blood Blossoms grow there. Hurry, before it’s too late."
Damian hesitated; all of his training screamed at him not to trust her. But she was right. They really didn't have a choice. With a curt nod to Richard, they turned and sprinted deeper into the park, the eerie silence swallowing their footsteps.
As they disappeared into the shadows, the girl—Dani—hovered in place, watching them go. Her playful demeanor faded, replaced by something darker, more serious.
"Danny," she whispered to herself, a hint of sadness in her voice. "I hope you know what you're doing, Damian Al Ghul. I hope you know what you need to do to save him."
With a final glance at the retreating figures, she dissolved into the night, her form flickering out of existence as the rain continued to pour down on the drowning city.
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whimsyvixen ¡ 3 months ago
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Hi! I just read your Rusty Nail fic, and I was wondering if you have SFW and/or NSFW head cannons for him? I love your writing and hope you're doing well :)
A/N: ~I'd like to apologize for waiting two years to answer this ask 😭. I've been watching slasher movies again and my motivation was brought back so I decided to have fun with writing this! Once again, I'm very sorry for the late reply but I hope you and every one else enjoys this! 🫶~
~
NSFW Alphabet | Rusty Nail | Joy Ride
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Pairing: Rusty Nail x Female Reader
Rating: 18+
Synopsis/Excerpt: He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.
Tags/Warnings: explicit content, dubcon/non-con themes, unprotected sex, choking, creampies, brief mention of captivity/kidnapping, overstimulation, large cock, vaginal sex, Rusty being sweet and a monster at the same time.
Minors do not interact
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
He's very affectionate, peppering kisses along your flushed face and caressing the dips and curves of your body as you're fighting to catch a breath after his vigorous fucking love making.
B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His hands are his favorite instrument, large enough to wrap around your throat and squeeze until his veins protrude from the force. He loves every dip and curve of your body, not knowing where to start because of how obsessed he is with your fragility and softness. He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
He's a big man with an equally big set of balls and dick. When he cums, it's in copious amounts and he always makes sure to come inside, ignoring your distressed cries and your hands pushing against him when you feel the sudden heat in your spasming walls. He licks your tears away, grinding his hips further into your puffy pussy to make sure none of his cum escapes your womb.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He read books by Nicholas Sparks and liked them. 
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He's very experienced. He prioritizes your pleasure over his because he loves seeing you come apart under his ministrations. Once you're twitching from the neverending pleasure, does he spread you wide and spears you with his cock in one smooth thrust. He listens very intently at every little gasp and moan escaping your lips so he can discover the rhythm and technique your most vocal on.
F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
His favorite position is cowgirl. He loves seeing how shy and nervous you get when you're hovering over him, licking his lips in anticipation when your pussy presses down on his engorged cock. He lets you go at your own pace, fighting the urge to thrust his hips up as you're slowly taking him inch by inch until your pelvises smack lewdly against each other. It is when your legs grow tired and your movement goes sluggish, that he takes charge and brings you down to clash with every upward thrust into your welcoming pussy. His eyes roam greedily between your sexes smashing violently together and your fucked out expression every time his cock kisses your cervix.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
He enjoys teasing you, especially knowing how flustered you get when he whispers dirty things to you. Lacking any sexual experience prior to him, your face quickly gets heated and you can’t look him in the eye when he’s promising to drown in your pussy and fuck you until the bed breaks. If he's feeling humorous, he might start to tickle you to get you to smile and shriek to make you forget your embarrassment at his words.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
He's a hairy man. His hair grows rather quickly so he needs to shave often, but he prefers to trim instead of shaving anything off fully. The hairs on his chest often tickle your nose when you're laying on him and the raspiness of his beard leaves a pleasant tingle behind on your skin when he kisses your cheeks. You have to look away when he stretches, his happy trail bringing memories of how deep you’ve had him in your throat, your nose pressed right against his pubic hair and smelling his manly musk before he proceeded to face fuck you to oblivion.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
He wasn't always kind to you. Your refusal to accept your place as his beloved had forced him to be the bad guy early on in your relationship. However, after months of secluding you from any form of contact besides his, you've become dependent on him and jump into his arms when he releases you from your prison in the basement. As he's stroking your back and hugging your hiccupping form, he hushes your whimpers with sweet murmurs of never leaving you like the people that abandoned their search for you long ago. When he’s making love to you upstairs in his bedroom, he confesses his feelings for you and worships every inch of you with his mouth and hands. He will make sure you would be protected and loved by him and him alone. 
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
He tries not to think about you while on the road because of how easily just the thought of you makes him hard under his pants. When explicit memories of you won’t leave him, he grumbles in frustration and tries to find somewhere secluded to rub one out. Once he’s parked his vehicle, he opens his glove compartment to find the piece of cloth he tore from you earlier that day. He then pleasures himself while sniffing the remnants of your cum soaked panties, shuddering at the musky scent and envisioning your pussy wrapped around him and your mouth begging him for more. 
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
The man has a breeding and lactation kink. He often places a pillow under you so his cum can stay in place inside your unprotected womb and sucks on your nipples to the point of pain imagining you plump with his baby and leaking milk into his mouth. 
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
He'll have sex with you just about anywhere. He particularly enjoys doing it in his truck, reclining his seat back to watch you bounce up and down on his fat cock in the middle of nowhere, dirty praises trickling past his lips about how much of a pretty slut you are for him and how good he'll give it to you later at home. He loves having you for dessert when he gets home from work (and killing) too, kneeling under the table in the kitchen to eat you out as you're struggling to eat the food you cooked for him while he gnaws at your clit and folds.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
It's your skittish behavior and the way you bite your lip when he's near you that drives him crazy. Despite your stubbornness not to give in to his lecherous hands, he has you bent over before you can voice out a protest. He runs his fingers lightly along your trembling legs, eyeing the way your soaked panties cling to your vulva and asking what you want him to do to you. If you stay silent for too long, he’ll lean down and threaten to leave you as you are, pressing his hardened cock between your cheeks all the while. Just as he’s about to pull away, you push your hips back and look at him pleadingly. You’re still too shy to tell him what you want so you’ll open your legs wider hoping he catches your drift. He’d want to tease you further but even he has a limit. Your panties are torn off and the clink of a belt is heard right before the room is filled with wet smacks of flesh and breathless cries and grunts echoing throughout the house. 
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He would never share you. He'd kill any man or woman who dared touch what was his. 
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Over the years, he entertained himself with a few lot lizards and learned how to perfect his technique with each encounter. By the time he met you, he knew exactly where to kiss, lick and suck to have you creaming in his mouth within minutes. He's never tasted a pussy as good as yours and will often eat you out for long periods of time, ignoring the way you're tugging on his hair to try to remove him from your overstimulated clit and quivering walls.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Depending on how well behaved you are, he can make it slow and sweet for you. He prefers his sex fast and rough, but will be gentle when your sex is sore from the poundings he gave it. However, his gentleness goes out the window when you start acting rebellious again. If you disobey him and try running away, he will catch you and  fuck you in a rage until your crying and begging for forgiveness. He'll fuck you like a bull all night until you pass out from exhaustion. You'll wake up alone and locked inside the basement again, what little freedom you had earned gone in an instant.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He's not a particular fan of quickies because he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys seeing how your will chips away with every stroke of his hands, mouth, and cock, your body fighting against your mind to reach its climax and forcing you to cry out for him after the pleasure becomes too much for you. 
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Considering how creative he is when torturing his victims, you can bet he’s just as creative in the bedroom. He's a bit of a sadist and will be curious to find out what your limits and pain tolerance is. He smiles at you when you freeze at the rope and chains he has in his hands. You’ll cry out when he handles you none-too-gently, having little time to protect yourself when he wraps a hand around your throat and forces the other down your panties. He’ll tighten his hold on your neck, wheezes and choked gasps escaping you as your eyes beseech him for mercy. In the midst of this punishment, you are horrified to feel your arousal spike, strands of your slick running down your legs as he fingerfucks you roughly. Once he finds out how much you can take, he will subject you to the same painful pleasure at a later date.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
He’s only human and has to suffer through a refractory period so he makes sure you cum multiple times before he does. He is able to accomplish this by pumping his fingers inside your pussy, stimulating your g spot while he is forcing his tongue down your throat to muffle your mewls. He’ll have you cumming on his fingers within minutes, allowing you to witness him licking the residue of your orgasm before trailing his body down to the juncture of your thighs. He’ll bury his face in your cunt, holding you in place with one hand on your stomach and stroking himself with the other. Once he’s successfully made you cum again, does he line himself up along your soaked entrance. It is a challenge not to cum once his cock is enveloped by your heat, your walls constricting like a vice around him and making him grit his teeth to prevent himself from spilling inside you too soon. He’ll pump his hips slowly at first, trying to adjust to your gummy insides and closing his eyes in concentration. His careful pace gets shot down to hell when your heels brace on the bed, tilting your hips up and colliding with his next downward thrust. He opens his eyes startled, taking one good look at your disheveled appearance and your chest heaving in a tantalizing fashion before he grabs on to the headboard and slams his hips down in one meaty smack. Within a few moments, you orgasm two more times and your head is lolling to the side by the time he fills you with his cum.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
While he does use restraints on you, he does not own any toys. He's aware of their existence but has never really thought of using them on you. He's confident in his ability to bring you pleasure by his touch alone. 
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
As was said before, he enjoys teasing you due to your inexperience with sex. His sexual innuendos and jokes make you fidget and squirm where you’re at. No matter how often he’s fucked you, he can never seem to rid you of your embarrassment when you’re both naked and touching each other intimately. It amuses him how cute you are, removing his shirt purposely in front of you before tackling you down playfully on the bed to begin teasing you further.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He'll grit his teeth to lessen his gasps and groans, preferring to hear the sweet symphony of your pleasured cries and moans instead. He'll hide his face on your neck, bracing his knees on the bed before pummeling you hard enough to make the bed creak and your voice rise with each snap of his hips. Heated puffs and throaty moans would spill from him once your walls constricted around him and coaxed him to cum inside your warm heat. 
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
It was a passing conversation he heard between truckers on the cb radio while he was driving. One of them mentioned how he and his lady kept their sex life interesting and alive for so many years. They did this by role-playing and wearing salacious outfits to spice up the sex. Rusty listened on to the conversation, his mind conjuring up images of you dressing up as a scantily clad nurse or maid, waiting to treat him and service him in any way he desired. It was another trucker’s similar experience but with pet play that had him stunned. A flux of images of you on your knees in cow print lingerie and a collar around your neck stormed his brain, triggering his lactation kink and imagining you whining about the fullness of your chest and needing his help to ease the hurt. That night, he didn’t give you a chance to welcome him home. He ripped your clothes off in a frenzy, paying special attention to your tits while you let out confused moans not knowing what’s gotten into him. He fucked you especially hard, your sweaty bodies colliding violently as his silent determination to get you pregnant echoed like a mantra in his head. 
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Being well over 6 feet tall, the dick must match the man. The first time you saw it in its entirety, you had quickly slammed your legs shut out of fear. Now you knew why you were always so sore. His cock bobbed out in the open, the weight of it nearly dragging it down as he walked purposefully towards you on the bed. It took very little effort to spread your legs, slapping your hands away when you tried to hide your sex from him. A gasp left you when the heavy weight of his cock slapped on your pubic mound, the length of it reaching your belly button as you lay frozen in place. You could feel it throbbing angrily along your soft belly, your pussy twitching like crazy as you imagined it splitting you open.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
His sex drive nearly kills you. He's always ready to go and he is not ashamed to grind his erection against your ass so you can feel how much he wants you. Even after he cums, he will continue to play with your body, ensuring you’re always ready for him once he gets hard again. 
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Once he is completely spent, he's a heavy sleeper. It's hard to get out of his arms when the brute barely feels you squirming and continues to snore softly above your head. You have to bite him to get him to wake up.
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A/N: Believe it or not, writing this killed me. Next time I make one of these, I'm only doing certain letters of the alphabet, not the whole thing 💀. Anyways, I hope you guys really enjoyed this! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated 🫶!
Aand I've got a nice treat for my followers to go with this writing~🖤
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🔞Full NSFW image here🔞--> <⁠(⁠ ̄⁠︶⁠ ̄⁠)⁠>
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valentine-cafe ¡ 1 month ago
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Hello!! Rasui-obsessed anon here! First time requesting and I’m a bit new here so sorry if I get it wrong!
( smut ) for ftm reader please? You just wanted to spend some time with the ever so busy Rasui in his office, being clingy and wanting to get intimate without disturbing his work, you suggest cockwarming!! But then it totally backfires cause now you’re all needy and whiny after a while and trying so hard not to beg him to fuck you because you don’t want to bother him anymore than you already have!!
love you guys lots! can i also be 🦐 anon hehe
˖⁺. “ how to not ! cockwarm your busy bf ” : 
﹙ top fire elemental mercenary x bttm ftm reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁
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. . . verse 9948e rasui x ftm reader!! 🍒 : ﹙ mercenary leader ˖ fire elemental character ﹚
you're always such a needy thing. you couldn't help but cockwarm your beloved boyfriends while he's busy. . . and now here you are, wishing you could bounce on his cock instead 
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﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ cockwarming ˖ teasing ˖ edging ˖ rough sex ˖ dirty talk | wc : 2.1k 
﹙ receipts ﹚: this request was so fun to write ! I hope that you like this our dearest no.1 rasui-fucker/romancer <3
꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱
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The scratch of a pen. It scribbles away so skillfully over paper. Yet the itch within you is left to swelter. So close - and yet so far.
Deep mahogany seems most interesting to you in the moment. Or at least, that is what you wish to delude yourself with. Your focus hones on the scatter of documents full of text you can barely decipher. Not that you would be able to even if you understood. Not with the warm, thick cock that fills you to the brim. A perfect stretch to your rim that you fight to hell-and-back not to clench up around your hard-working boyfriend.
How dutiful is he. Only one hand to write away at his work that you so desperately wish he would discard. Why can’t it be you on the table with his hands all over you?
Instead you will have to settle for the touch of ember upon your thigh with a calloused thumb lazily tracing circles. Mindlessly, you assume. For Rasui has yet to let out so much as a peep.
While you are here. Suffering. Needing.
All it would take is a small dip of your hips. A rock back into his lap to send fireworks through your twist of a tummy. Perhaps a tender word uttered to his ear where brunette locks lap along his lobes neatly. The slightest of pleads and you knew - work would become an afterthought.
Alas, anxiety is a fickle thing. The mere possibility of him looking at you with those flames of his eyes dampened with disappointment. The warmth of his voice drained into a dull scold: “I told you I am busy.”
It almost loops your tummy more than the intense pleasure that throbs along your gummy walls. They remember his rough thrusts, and they flutter. As though crying out for him to wreck them as he usually does. Simple grinds. Slothful humps. Whatever he wants.
Anything, but the stillness of a lake. One that you drown in. Agonisingly.
That irritable lump that continues to form inside of your throat refuses to go away. Regardless of how much you attempt to swallow it. A sigh escapes the man from behind your back. Heavy and tired. As are the few last scribbles on the current document that plagues his mind so clearly.
All before he moves on to the next. Endless. Piece of document paper, that has laid in the piles of documents.
What else can you do but cry out internally? The flames within your soul feel as though they will rage through your entire form soon enough and rip you to shreds from the need. Yet he knows none of what you feel —
In the reality of it all, he is very aware. It is all a game. Why should he tell you? Oh the cruel man of magma and fire reaching high up to the skies that he is. He recognises the loopy look.
It is sweet. That you think you remain unseen and unnoticed. Without the slightest of realisation you clench around him mindlessly. The way your eyes squint. Pearly whites biting down upon the plush skin of a bottom lip.
“Careful, darling, you’ll break skin.” He murmurs, eyes remaining where they have all this time. The sheet of paper, gathering the slightest of burn marks from the heat emitting from him.
With teeth halting immediately, and a breath hitched quietly. Your eyes move to focus somewhere else in the room — Perhaps a smell could distract you? Cinnamon? No. . . No that is just Rasui.
The window displaying the society of shades’ bustling nightlife? Most uninteresting. It gets harder and harder to not allow a whine or more out of your lungs. Head limping back against his shoulder.
“Sweet thing. You are bothered.”
Oh. Oh this bastard. The question carried such innocence. Feigned, you’d assume no less. You couldn’t do anything, it was mock. Was it not? “I am— I am okay, just tired.” The response earns the lift of a dark brown brow, and a huff. Flames puff into the air from the locks of hair at the top of his head.
“Certainly?” You yelp at the words slipped out into the atmosphere of the room, for you felt his hips shift below you. Pistoning up, as if to adjust. And then he begins to act as though nothing had happened? Pretending. Infuriating.
A part of you wishes to spin around. Hook your legs through the loops of his black office chair and ride him until creaks bounce off of the wall in an endless drone. What a sweet fantasy that is. If you promptly ignore his difference in strength in comparison to you. How easy it would be for him to simply shove your form across his table and fuck you senseless. Surely the chair creaking would be replaced the legs of the desk skidding rhythmically across the floor in no time.
Your mini mirages send another shudder through your body. Your walls flutter around his dick with one of your innermost crevices nursing along that one vein that makes Rasui restrain a groan of his own.
He couldn’t give you what you want just yet, now could he? Not when the payoff of your pitiful begging would be all the more sweeter. He spoils himself in the slightest with traces of his heated lips along your shoulder. A flicker of taste to the confection yet to come.
The click of a tongue breaks the silent. You catch his frustrated scribble of a signature on a document you barely have the chance to read, before he shuffles it beneath the stack of paper. Another operation he does not agree with - you assume.
The ball of irritation that has so stubbornly nestled itself within your core quickly bubbles into guilt. Here you are, whining over not having his dick pounding you sore.
Out of habit, you shift around in an attempt to quell the prickle of conflict within you. It seems you have so easily forgotten of your favourite cock that is buried so deep within you. Its pulses are swift to remind you, coupled with the spurt of pleasure that rattles through your body.
“Fuck,”
It is a cross between desperacy and bliss. What a cruel mix to lather itself over you skin and set your nerves ablaze. Your muscles move on memory and chase the spark of pleasure with stiff cradles of your hips. Sense and conscience flung out the window you so uselessly attempted to distract yourself with.
Surely, if you hadn’t snapped yourself back into presence, your moans would have poured through it shamelessly as well.
“Mm. What’s this?”
“Rasui. . . please.”
You can deny the shivers that course through your body no longer.
It truly was a pain in and of itself. Why could your nails not be scratching hard across the beautiful desk at this moment as you got fucked intensely?
Why did it have to imagination and nothing more?
“Please? Please what, habibi?” He croons. The deep timber of his voice vibrating through your right ear. With the mission to twist your tummy once more and have you clenching.
The needy begs he wants to hear from you— they are not coming. And it sets him ablaze. In the literal way as much as it is figurative. Emotions scattered and screaming, like a wildfire spreading across a meadow.
Hungry, tearing into it.
Just like the flames that surround his office, you feel the ones from him surround your body. Licking away at your skin in possessive manner. As if the flame had a life of it’s own.
You moan out quietly as he shifts his hips into an upwards angle, the throbbing tip of his cock hitting at the sensitive bundle of nerves you had been needing to feel getting fucked into.
“I need — I needyou. Rasui, I nee—ed you, need you so bad—”
And as you went on, you would come to feel the familiar rhythm, slow. Agonising, but despite it all you revered in it.
The pleasure shot bliss straight to your head. Nausea mixing with the pleasure and overwhelm. Furthering your whines as you cling onto him. A groan escapes your throat. Only to cut off into a gasp, when calloused, hot, flaming fingers find your nipple.
Thumb swiping across your top surgery scar. Whilst the heated voice in your ear whispers: “It is pitiful. How you wait, I am right here. Take.”
And there’s the skid of the table.
A familiar weight presses you down as though you are one of those documents. Rasui’s body so firmly pins yours against the smooth wood of his desk. It creates such a delightful friction to your already perked nipples that slide and scrape across the surface.
The hand that stroked along your thigh has found home on your head. With strength that could rage embers through vast forests, it forces your face to half-press against the solid surface. It is a sensation you would have no time to delight in. Not with the fierce claps of hips to your ass. Warmth of flame and force combined.
“Is this what you wanted?” You feel the fire lap from his tongue and lips. They kiss at your ear with a familiar heat that boils in the core of your tummy as thrusts wreck your body. Cinnamon floods your senses - more potent than earlier. An addictive aroma. Almost akin to the delicious feel of his cock splitting your walls open.
“Wanted to come around here. Disturb my work.”
His palm joins the assault. It smacks at your ass and grips at the soft flesh. The perfect leverage for him to angle his thrusts and knock against that one, darling spot. Flames might have consumed you whole - yet white floods your vision in waves. White. Hot pleasure that crawls up your throat and forces your mouth open. Subjecting the office to your moaning melody.
“All so this needy hole could get a good fucking, hmm?”
“Y-Ye - yes yes - yeesss ah! ‘m sorry-”
The table legs screech against the floor at the rise in tempo. Your nails sing in tandem from the scratches they etch into the wood. Just as you wanted them to.
Much like the bright burning stars that litter the night sky, embers scatter off of your joined bodies. Flaming hands keep you down against the wooden surface. Whilst the only thing that burns you are his nails, that dig into the skin of your waist.
A small moaned out scream mixed with pleasure and pain runs around the room. Like a wild animal on the lose. It makes you lightheaded.
The feral feel that swells within your stomach. Your sensitive hole begging for more, whereas your body only seems to collapse more against the desk each time.
“o- o-h! — o — ngh-m hn— R-Ra-sss-zuii!” You moan out loud. Yet what meets you instead is a hand squeezing tight at your thigh and leaving a few burn marks. Whilst sharp teeth find purchase in your shoulder.
“Not that. Say it right.”
The command is shot at your heart, and oh the weakness that spins around with it. In a dance of fresh air and lava pools trying to catch the wind.
Thinning your lips on instinct as the pleasure grows. It takes another hard thrust into the right spot for you to spill out messy calls for him. “D—Director— Di— Director Rasui— ngh — Pl-Pleas-ah!”
“Good boy— thas’ it, good boy.” grunts against your ear, as the pace whips itself out of rhythm. Even if he tried to keep it going, your desperate pleas sent him straight back home to the elemental realm. The sweetest song he has ever heard.
How can he deny you the pleasure of being full of his hot seed when you sing for him so delightfully?
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buttercandy16 ¡ 3 days ago
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The Bully
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PAIRING(s): DarkStudent!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader
SUMMARY: Agatha Harkness, a senior, takes pleasure in tormenting you, her shy junior. As the bullying escalates, you can’t shake the feeling that there's more to her cruelty than just power.
WARNING(s): Non-Con, Bullying, Obsession, Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Violence, Harassment, Power Dynamics, Dark Themes.
A/N: Gotta admit this is twisted. Better not proceed if this is not your cup of tea.
The first day of junior year was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to be a time for you to blend in with the crowd, get through the year unnoticed, and maybe—just maybe—feel like you belonged somewhere.
But that dream was shattered the moment Agatha Harkness laid her eyes on you.
Agatha was not the typical queen bee of the school—she didn’t just command attention; she demanded it. Beautiful in a way that made you feel invisible by comparison, her striking blue eyes had a chilling coldness to them, as if they could see right through you. She moved through the halls like a predator stalking its prey, her every step deliberate, her smile a weapon that made even the strongest students quake in their boots.
You? You were nothing special. You were shy, quiet, the kind of person who tried to stay out of the spotlight. But Agatha, in her twisted mind, saw you. From that moment, you became her target.
And Agatha was relentless.
At first, Agatha’s bullying was subtle. A misplaced book here, a whispered insult there. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just part of the high school experience. But the problem was, Agatha didn’t stop. She enjoyed it.
You’d be walking down the hallway, and Agatha’s friends would bump into you on purpose, sending your books scattering across the floor. The laughter that followed was always louder than necessary. Her voice would ring out from behind you, sharp and mocking, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”
She’d whisper just loud enough for the people around you to hear during group assignments: “She doesn’t even belong here. Do you know how pathetic you look?” The others would laugh, and you would shrink in your seat, staring at your half-eaten meal, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole. The words stung, but the sneers from the others—the agreement in their faces—cut deeper.
On one memorable occasion, she ensured your diary ended up projected on the screen in homeroom. Every scribbled insecurity, every desperate wish for normalcy, displayed to the class as Agatha read from it aloud, her voice dripping with mockery.
"Oh, look! 'I hope someone notices me.' How sweet! Everyone's noticing you now."
You begged her to stop, choking back sobs as laughter roared around you. Agatha didn’t relent. She wasn’t just enjoying your misery; she was feeding on it.
But Agatha was only getting started.
By the time the second month of school rolled around, Agatha’s cruel games had become a daily torture. Every corner you turned, there she was—either waiting for you or making sure you felt her presence.
One day in the cafeteria, you sat with your tray, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach. As you picked up your fork, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Before you could react, Agatha’s voice pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. “Hey, loser, don’t forget your real place.”
Suddenly, her drink—what had to be an entire cup of soda—was poured over your head. The sticky liquid dripped down your face, soaking your hair and clothes, as the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter.
“Smile for me, sweetheart,” she purred as you cried, leaning in close enough for you to smell her faint lavender perfume. “You look so pretty when you break.”
Your throat burned with the urge to scream, but you couldn’t make a sound. The laughter of your classmates filled your ears, drowning out everything else.
You didn’t know how long you sat there, frozen, drenched in humiliation. All you could do was stare at your hands, your fingers trembling while you silently cried.
But what terrified you most wasn’t the public bullying or even the physical taunts. It was how she stared when no one was looking.
Agatha watched you.
Her blue eyes followed you down corridors, across the cafeteria, and into the deepest parts of your nightmares. Sometimes you’d catch her in the distance, leaning against a wall, smirking as you tripped under her latest setup. But sometimes, you’d find her lurking nearby, standing too close, leaning too near, the edge of her voice dropping into something soft and intimate.
“You’ll thank me one day,” she murmured once, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder as you flinched back. “When you realize I’m the only one who cares enough to notice you.”
Over the next few weeks, the bullying turned sadistic. It wasn’t just about humiliating you anymore; Agatha wanted to break you. She wanted to make you feel like you didn’t belong. She wanted you to feel the weight of her presence crushing you every single day.
Your clothes were slashed—deliberately, carefully, the marks too precise to be an accident.
Your locker was spray-painted with cruel words. “Ugly” was the least of them. “Slut,” “Worthless,” “No one will ever love you,” the words taunted as you opened it.
Every time you tried to stand up for yourself, Agatha was there, sneering. “What? You think you have any power here? Look around you. No one cares about you. You’re nothing.”
You felt broken. Every day you woke up, dreading the thought of facing her. But you couldn’t escape. You couldn’t run.
By mid-semester, you were unraveling. Your grades slipped, and you stopped attending events. The weight of constant ridicule hung over you like a storm cloud.
You stopped eating, stopped sleeping. You stared at the ceiling at night, wondering if it was worth getting up in the morning.
She had you exactly where she wanted you
When Clara transferred to your school, you thought you’d found salvation. Clara wasn’t afraid to sit with you, to stand between you and the others who Agatha had rallied to her side. For the first time, you felt seen in a way that didn’t break you.
But the price of Clara’s kindness was high. Agatha hated her with a fervor you’d never seen before.
Agatha was watching, always watching. The moment she saw you with Clara, a new kind of fire ignited in her cold eyes. She was jealous. Jealous of Clara’s ability to make you smile, to make you forget for just a second the hell you lived in.
Clara’s presence only intensified Agatha’s cruelty. She started targeting Clara, too, making her life as miserable as she made yours. 
And Agatha enjoyed every second of it.
It started with petty taunts. Clara’s appearance, her laugh—nothing was off-limits. But Agatha’s rage simmered just under the surface.
Then Clara’s locker was defaced. “Homewrecker” was scrawled across it in angry red paint.
When Clara found her gym bag shredded and her phone destroyed in the cafeteria, Agatha’s smug grin was all you needed to see.
“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Clara finally snapped one afternoon, shoving past Agatha in the hallway. You’d never seen her stand up to Agatha like that.
But that was the mistake.
Agatha didn’t respond. She simply stared, a storm brewing in her eyes.
The day it all shattered was an ordinary one—or so you thought. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise, students laughing, trading whispers, and tossing food across tables. You sat with Clara, your head low, desperate to avoid Agatha’s gaze.
But the room stilled the moment she walked in.
Agatha’s steps were slow, deliberate, every student shrinking back as she passed. You could feel the heat of her stare long before she reached your table.
“Move,” she snapped at Clara, her voice like steel.
Clara squared her shoulders, her hand trembling on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
What happened next was a blur. Agatha grabbed Clara by the hair, yanking her from her seat and dragging her to the center of the cafeteria. The screams echoed in your ears.
The students gathered in a horrified semi-circle as Agatha pulled out a blade. She pressed it to Clara’s neck, her voice eerily calm.
“She’s mine,” Agatha said, her eyes finding yours as she tightened her grip on Clara’s hair. “You’re mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to love you.”
“Stop it!” you screamed, rushing to pull Agatha away.
There was no cruelty in her gaze—only desperation.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I had to make you see me.”
Her confession twisted something inside you—a sick, horrifying realization that the torment, the humiliation, all of it, had been her twisted way of keeping you close.
You choked on a sob, unable to respond, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before you.
Then, with a deliberate motion, Agatha sliced a thin line across Clara’s cheek—not deep enough to do permanent damage but enough to draw blood. Clara screamed, struggling against her hold.
“Do you see now?” Agatha’s voice broke, her obsessive rage bleeding into desperation. “No one can have you but me!”
She threw Clara to the floor, letting the crowd scatter like flies as she advanced toward you. Blood smeared across her hand as she reached out, grabbing your wrist in a viselike grip.
“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, her eyes wild and glistening with something raw and unhinged. “Say it.”
The room seemed to spin as her breath brushed your ear. “Say you’re mine.”
Tears streamed down your face as the truth—her obsession—finally clicked into place. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even hate. It was something darker, more consuming, and far more terrifying.
When you didn’t answer, Agatha’s grip tightened, her nails biting into your skin.
“You don’t have a choice,” she hissed. “You’ve always been mine.”
The cafeteria ringing with the chaotic noise around you, the violent energy from Agatha and the blood that painted the scene still pulsating in your veins. The sight of Clara’s blood streaking down her face mingled with the stares of students who had no idea whether to intervene or stare in utter terror. Some stared, captivated by the violent outburst, while others simply backed away, knowing better than to involve themselves.
Agatha’s pupils dilated in sheer madness, her smirk was full of an almost palpable hunger that gnawed at you, making you feel nauseous. Her fingers were still stained with Clara’s blood. "That was your fault, you know," she purred. "If you hadn’t pulled Clara into this, you would still be mine alone.”
The air felt thick with dread and something darker—a possessive heat, almost sexual in its intensity. Agatha's voice was lower now, dripping with an edge that made every word feel like a knife twisting into your heart.
“Isn’t that right?” she whispered.Her body pressed up against yours, no longer the cruel manipulator, but the woman possessed, desperate, and incapable of understanding love beyond her twisted perception of ownership.
You couldn’t breathe. Your throat felt like it was closing up as Agatha continued, undeterred, making the space between you feel suffocating.
“You think you can escape me?” Agatha’s hand caressed your cheek—deliberate, slow—and then, before you had a chance to react, she forced her lips onto yours in a searing, aggressive kiss. The cold edge of the blade still gleamed in her fingers, pressing against the soft, trembling skin of your neck. She was testing your limits, consuming you.
“You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me,” she whispered against your lips as you tried to pull back, your body repulsing the contact, but Agatha wasn’t giving you an escape. She was insistent. Every inch of her energy radiated possessiveness and torment. It was unbearable—her grip tightened on you, suffocating all sense of resistance you had.
The pain inside you deepened, like your very identity was being ripped apart.
Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip, drawing a whimper from you that only seemed to fuel her hunger. The blade pressed harder, a silent threat that kept you frozen in place as her other hand slid down your body, rough and possessive. She didn’t care that the entire cafeteria was watching, that Clara was bleeding on the floor, that you were trembling in her grasp. All that mattered was her need to dominate, to own you completely.
Her fingers found the hem of your shirt, yanking it up with a force that made you gasp. The cold air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her touch as she groped your chest, her nails digging into your flesh. “You think you can hide from me?” she sneered, her breath hot against your ear. “You think anyone else can touch you like this?”
You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to push her away, but she was too strong. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, don’t—”
“Shut up,” she hissed, her fingers pressing against you, rough and unyielding. “You don’t get to say no to me. You’re mine, and I’ll take what’s mine whenever I want.”
Her touch was cruel, deliberate, designed to hurt as much as it was to claim. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, but she didn’t miss the way your body shuddered under her hand. “That’s it,” she purred, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “You can’t hide how much you want this. How much you need me.”
You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the blade at your throat kept you still, your body betraying you as she worked you with ruthless precision. The room spun around you, the sounds of the cafeteria fading into a distant hum as Agatha’s touch consumed you. Her breath was hot against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she whispered, “You’ll never escape me. Never.”
Her fingers moved faster, harder, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, a sound that only seemed to fuel her frenzy. “That’s it,” she growled, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them all see how much you belong to me.”
You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, but it was impossible. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice—it was everywhere, consuming you, breaking you. And when she finally pulled her hand away, leaving you trembling and exposed, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “This is just the beginning. I’m not done with you yet.”
The blade disappeared from your neck, but the threat lingered, heavy and unspoken. Agatha stepped back, her eyes blazing with a dark, possessive hunger.
The weight of her command rolling off her tongue with the kind of authority that made the room shrink.
"All of you. Leave," she said, her voice low but biting. The onlookers flinched, uncertainty flickering in their wide eyes as they shifted nervously. "And let me make this clear—what you saw here today? You saw nothing. Speak of it, and I'll remind you why that blade was mine to wield."
The tension was suffocating. One by one, the witnesses filed out, not daring to meet her gaze. Some stumbled in their haste to flee, boots clattering against the stone floor, even Clara followed along but Agatha didn’t seem to care. Her focus remained fixed entirely on you.
When the last of them had gone and the room was swallowed by silence, she turned her full attention back to you. Her lips curled into something too satisfied to be called a smile, yet not quite sinister enough to be a smirk. It was the look of someone who had just claimed exactly what they wanted—someone who knew the gravity of what they’d done and reveled in it.
Her presence was all-consuming. She didn’t move closer, didn’t speak, but the air between you still bristled with the weight of unspoken things. The blade was gone, yet its absence almost felt worse—like the void it left was filled with something sharper, heavier.
Agatha tilted her head, studying you, as if relishing how small and cornered she’d made you feel. Then, finally, she broke the silence.
"You're mine now," she murmured, her voice silky and unyielding. "And you’ll come to understand—I always get what I want."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, searing into yours, before she turned away, leaving the room heavy with the remnants of her presence.
_-_-_
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spatialwave ¡ 1 month ago
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Confession || Jayce Talis x Reader
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➸ ask: “The sacred romantic moments prompts are so darn cute I can’t choose😩how about ‘truth is that i’m so damn in love with you that i don’t know what to do with myself’ for jayce. Thanking you🫶🏻” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k  ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, one-sided love, confessions, childhood friends, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: i think i popped off with this one! took me a couple of days to write, but i am so happy with it! if you like yearning then this one is for you!! hehe. the ask came from this prompt! – ➸ summary: jayce talis has never experienced love quite like this.
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The melodic whistling from Jayce had woven itself into the very fabric of your life. A soundtrack to your life you hadn’t asked for. You were never able to escape the sounds or his presence. Stuck at the hip since children, spending much of your life watching him dream larger than life. 
Jayce Talis was hope personified.
He carried a quiet tune under his breath, careful fingers toying with a rune he had meticulously carved. The warm pads of his thumbs brushed away the layer of dust that accumulated from the careful engravings, pausing his whistling for a moment as he carried out the task with a swift blow of his breath.
“Someone’s chipper,” your voice rang through his cluttered apartment. Leaning casually against the door frame, you watched as he perked up, head snapping over his shoulder. Those eyes reminiscent of the sun breaking through the clouds settled on your figure.
It was a pain, Jayce thought, for you to be so oblivious of his feelings.
Days, weeks, and months turned into years. All this time spent loving you, one-sided and terrified that you may never know. Too afraid to ruin a perfectly good thing. His yearning clung like a shadow.
Jayce had been there for you – always. Your first broken bone, your first love… your first heartbreak. Jayce remembered that day vividly, the way your body shook as you sobbed on his shoulder begging for the ache in your heart to stop, all while he held you and drowned with guilt for feeling happy that was the one there for you.
All because it meant that just maybe you would see him in another light. See him as a man who was worthy of your love.
As always, he bottled it up. Refusing to jeopardize the bond you shared. If he couldn’t have your heart, he’d protect his own.
“Yeah,” Jayce replied, his voice filling your heart with a sense of familiarity as you stepped into the room, hands settled onto your hips. Dropping his supplies, he quirked an eyebrow and straightened up slightly, “Wait, how’d you get in here?”
“You know, Jayce,” you sighed, giving a short ‘tsk’ of disappointment as your eyes bounced around his lab. It was messier than usual, the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions indicating he’d been spending more time here lately, likely on the brink of another grand discovery, as he’d call it. 
“Locking doors is free and usually saves you from burglars,” you continued, bending to poke at one of the hextech crystals on a messy desk.
“Hey,” he exclaimed, hurrying to your side with a breath of concern, snatching the orb from your curious touch, “Careful!”
The way he carefully handled his precious work was endearing, almost as tender as cradling a newborn baby. There was no faulting him for that–after all, you weren’t going to be the one to have your eyebrows burn into flames again. You learned your lesson, but it was hard not to rouse a reaction out of him once in a while.
To see the way he’d growl under his breath when you pestered him, or how he’d nudge you with his elbow affectionately. Little gestures that made him fall for you harder and harder with every passing day.
You were so damned insufferable, and he couldn’t get enough.
Eyes met yours as the two of you stood next to each other, silently. A moment of solace to bask in each other’s presence.
“You look like you need a break,” you murmured, eyes squinting to get a better look at Jayce to take in the obvious signs of exhaustion on his face. His eyes were heavy and highlighted by dark circles underneath, the growing stubble–“Did you even sleep last night?”
“I’m fine,” he chided, avoiding your gaze as he turned to tuck away the crystal you’d bothered, safely in its proper case, “As for sleep, I got enough to keep me going.”
“So… three hours, give or take? Including a twenty-minute nap for about ten minutes sometime around the three o’cock mark.”
“That’s creepy,” Jayce shot you a sideways glance, a smirk pulling the corner of his lips, “You’re creepy for knowing that.”
Your mouth dropped in a dramatic expression of mock disbelief, a silent gasp, “And you’re quite rude, Jayce. It’s not kind to name-call.”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” he snorted, slipping off his gloves from his fingers and resting them atop the desk behind him. As your eyes flickered out his open window, momentarily distracted, he took the time to admire you as you soaked in the sunlight that cascaded past his open curtains. The sunlight illuminating your features.
Jayce smiled, captivated by your effortless beauty. He would do anything to be given the privilege of showing you the way you looked in his eyes.
“You need a break,” you declared, your eyes landing on his just as he averted his gaze, “Come on before you go crazy.”
Your hand extended toward him, causing his heart to leap up into his throat as he stared down at it. Impatient, you shook it in silent urgency, and he was quick to fill it with his own as you tugged him far, far from his cluttered sanctuary that desperately needed a good clean.
“Gods,” you breathed, laughter bubbling up your chest as you found yourselves standing on the bridge that separated Piltover from Zaun. Your hands rested over the railing, fingers curved along the stone as you leaned over and looked down at the waters below, “Remember that time we came out here back when we were… what, fifteen? We stole that bottle of wine from my mother’s cabinet and drank so much that you nearly toppled off the ledge trying to climb on it.”
Jayce hadn’t been paying attention, hands tight over the rail like yours, entranced by you. Your lips were stretched into a wide, toothy grin as you looked down and relished in the cool breeze that tickled your warm skin.
His heart ached, thumping irregularly as it yearned, and cried out to be loved by you.
It’s why he allowed himself to be swallowed by his work for days on end–anything to escape the unbearable ache of being around you. It hurt, to be next to you, like a physical blow to the chest.
For years, he stood quietly off to the sidelines, watching as you were loved by others. Seeing the way your entire being lit up when you spoke so passionately about the love in your life, light in your eyes. Only to be shattered when they inevitably stomped all over you like you were nothing, leaving you a shattered mess. Jayce would be there to pick up the pieces, spending long, sleepless nights consoling you until your soft snores overtook the tears that streamed down your cheeks.
Jayce was nothing if not a coward. Regret clouded his mind each night when he would berate himself for not having the courage to confess his feelings. To tell you how much he fucking loved you.
He hated how angry it made him.
“Hello?” 
Your voice snapped him from his reverie, and his amber eyes widened as you stared at him, piercing through the fog of his thoughts.
“You really need some rest,” you said quickly, your eyebrows furrowing together in concern, “are you sure you’ve been okay?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, running a hand over his tired face in frustration as he turned away from you, “just tired.”
“Jayce,” your voice softened, and it struck a nerve in him that he wished hadn’t.
“I said I’m fine. Can you just leave it?”
Your body stiffened as you watched him in stunned silence, searching his face for any understanding of what was going on behind those pained eyes. Was it the research? Had his big breakthrough fallen out of grasp? Maybe he needed a nice herbal tea and a nap.
The entirety of your mind reeled with ways to help him, anything to alleviate the weight of the world he seemingly carried on his shoulders–unaware of the emotional turmoil that chained him to the ground beneath him.
“Why are you lying to my face?” You stood your ground stubbornly, arms crossed firmly over your chest, “It’s okay to be tired, Jayce. You work too hard.”
“I’m not lying,” Jayce replied sharply, a mix of frustration and desperation bleeding together. One hand lingered along the railing, the other moving with the passion of his words that masked the truth, “Why would I lie to you? I just–” he scrambled to gather his thoughts.
The struggle was evident on his face, and you felt your own frustration boil over. It was far and few between that you both indulged in these confrontations, bickering like an old married couple until they exploded into fiery words that often ended in mumbled apologies.
“Why are you being so difficult?” Your tone was loud and sharp, “I’m just trying to help!”
“I didn’t ask for your help!”
The words stung your cheeks like a harsh winter storm. 
Jayce’s jaw clenched tight, emotions roiling under his skin,  “Do you want to know the truth?”
You watched him, noticing the storm that swirled in his eyes, “Jayce–”
“The truth is–” Jayce began, lips trembling as he pushed through, “the truth is that I’m so damn in love with you, that I don’t know what to do with myself,” he exclaimed, confession spilling from his lips as he pressed a hand to his chest, “It’s impossible to be around you because my heart breaks every time I have to watch you leave, knowing that I can’t be the one by your side,” he choked on his words, eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts. It’s unbearable, gods, it hurts so fucking much.”
Jayce’s chest heaved with each deep breath, his guts spilled out in front of you. Vulnerable and open–what he’d been avoiding for so long.
Your lips trembled. Moving, but unable to form any sentences. All you could do was look into those eyes that spoke more than his passionate ramblings.
Your heart swelled, chest tightening in the best way possible.
“Do you know how hard it is?” he mumbled, taking a step back, “I can’t stand this anymore. I can’t. I’m sorry–”
“No,” your hand shot out and latched to his wrist, fingers tightening against his skin and holding him back from leaving. Gold-specked eyes widened, staring at you with yearning, “You don’t get to leave me here, not like this.”
Jayce watched as tears brimmed in your eyes, a smile creeping onto your lips. Beaming under the evening sun and glowing so beautifully, as if you were both earthly and divine–transcending. You were too good for this world, too good for him.
“Don’t make me stay if I can’t have you,” he whispered, voice fragile as it broke like glass.
Then your lips were on his, a gentle touch that eased every worry that dared to destroy his mind with heartbreak. It planted a seed of hope deep in his heart, one that would blossom too quickly and strongly. All because it was you who did it, the one he’d longed for all these years.
“Then stay,” you murmured against his lips, answered only by strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist with no intention of letting you go.
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lordprettyflackotara ¡ 16 days ago
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heroin kiss || kylo ren
‘& now i’m feenin’ for ya, cravin’ for ya, heroin kiss’
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sum: after being captured, kylo ren is determined to extract what he wants from you. by any means necessary.
tw:smut, minors dni 18+. sorry poe. rough sex. inappropriate use of the force, cream pie, humiliation/degrading
a/n:kylo lives in my head rent free
You were fucked.
Completely and utterly fucked.
You struggled against the metal restraints that pinned you down to the metal table, blinding lights making your eyes water as they blinded you from above.
The room was unusually sterile, your nose burning from the sickening scent. You swallowed as you tried to move, your wrist and ankles restricted in the most uncomfortable manner. How long had it been since you had been brought here? You couldn’t recall, your mind drowning in fears of what was to come next.
You had been separated from the resistance, left behind in a desperate attempt for any of the fellow rebels to survive. Many were already dead. The scattered bodies on the ground below had proven that. You guessed they had presumed you dead, stranding you on whatever damned planet had resulted in your capture. You cursed yourself for not paying more attention on where you were landing.
Now you were trapped on the finalizer, misery and torture destined to come your way. You could feel the sound of people scrambling outside of your room, the metal doors sliding open. With wide eyes you stared at Kylo Ren, the leader of the Knights of Ren. The realization of how utterly fucked you were crashed over you, upon seeing his ominous mask stare down at you. Your body froze, staring at him as you awaited his next move. You were surprised to watch him take off his helmet, his face stern as he glared down at you. “For such a tiny little thing you put up quite a fight. How many of my men did you kill on your way in with that pathetic little blaster of yours? Three?” He questioned.
His amusement confused you, Kylo Ren being known for his ruthless wrath. You opted out of speaking, instead staring blankly. You knew this could end in various methods of torture. He could use the force to strangle you, cut off your limbs one by one with his light saber or-
“Enough with the various torture methods you’ve conjured up. They’re all absurdly boring and take absurd amounts of time,” Kylo said sternly, regaining your attention. Your eyebrows furrowed, causing him to snicker. “What? Did they forget about use of the force in your training? That pretty little mind of yours is all I need,” He explains plainly, as if you not knowing was utterly boring. Menacingly he walks beside you, his eyes never straying from your face.
He can read minds? What kind of left out training fuck shit is that?
This caused Kylo to snicker once more, his gloved hand grabbing your chin. He forced your lips to pucker out like a fish, your eyes widening in fear. Instinctively you struggle against the restraints, your bones clashing with the metal. “Such foul thoughts, I wonder if your lips are the same way. Let’s see,” He grins, his smile wicked and curled upwards in amusement. You can feel your mind becoming fuzzy as he steps into your mind, your body going limp as he explores your memories. You stand beside him in your own mind, watching every moment, from significant to minuscule, like a picture movie. Your lips are unmoving, but you’re screaming for him to stop, begging for him to wait.
Ever so achingly slow, he begins exploring each path of your mind. Your updated memories aren’t enough for him, the warlord intrigued and diving deeper. “Stop this at once! Get out!” You screech, your screams falling on deaf ears. Kylo’s unmoved by your demands, waving through the boring memories and landing on one that catches his eye. His eyebrows furrow as he begins to watch, your face twisting in disgust as you turn away. Kylo’s own face turns in confusion, his eyebrows raised as he watches the memories of you and Poe.
“Poe Dameron? That’s your type?” He questions. You can’t bear to watch the events of the past play out, your stomach churning as Kylo watches them. Every exchanged smile. Every training session. Every battle fought together. Kylo can feel the romantic feelings that pound in your heart at the sight of the pilots face. Every hug, then every kiss, every sexual encounter. Every plea you gave for him to fuck you harder. To choke you. To make you forget about the worries of existing. You cover your eyes, listening to the unforgettable sounds of Poe Dameron’s smooth voice. Kylo watches, puzzled. Your romantic entanglements did not intrigue him. They meant nothing to his search for helpful knowledge. But your reaction, your screams, your emotions. That did intrigue him. And so Kylo watched it all, watching you fall in love with the beloved pilot of the resistance. It was then the worst part was coming, that you wanted to curl up into a ball.
Poe Dameron was dedicated to the resistance more than anyone you had ever met. He knew his purpose for existing was to fight for what he deemed to be right. So much so, that he deemed a relationship with you a waste of energy and time. After all, what if you were to die? He’d never be a good pilot after that. He’d never be as good of a resource as the resistance needed him to be. So as ruthlessly and heartlessly as he could, he abandoned you. Every moment Kylo watched meant absolutely nothing to Poe Dameron, the pilot leaving you without a second thought. It was then Kylo left your mind, your head spinning as you both returned to a brutal reality. Your waterline was flooded with tears, your gaze focused on anywhere but Kylo’s face.
He stared down at you, releasing your face. “Torturing you isn’t going to get me what I need,” He said emotionlessly. You avoided his gaze, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You hated how degraded you felt, humiliated by the warlord before you. With the flick of Kylo’s hand he used the force to undo your restraints, raising the table and forcing you onto your feet. You briefly stumbled, his gloved hand grabbing you and pushing you against the closest wall. His eyes bored down into yours, his touch harsh as he chose his next words carefully. “A factor you haven’t considered, is a fair exchange. I give you what you want more than anything else and you give me the same,” He says slowly. You swallow as you await his next words, your lips cracked as you slowly open them.
“W-What-”
“Don’t play coy with me. You want nothing more in this life than to feel loved. I can make that happen, you know I can. Then you’ll give me what I want in return,” Kylo says, glancing down at your lips. You shivered in fear and flusteredness as Kylo attempted to be gentle, shoving some stray hairs behind your ear. “I can read your mind, you know. I can see right through you. I can see your fears, your memories. But most importantly, I can see your filthy desires,” He whispered, leaning in close to your ear. You freeze as he smirks, relishing in the feeling of your fear.
“Little solider girl wants nothing more in this life than be ruthlessly fucked, is that right? To be treated like a worthless whore?” Kylo purrs, his breath hot against your skin. His gloved hand finds its place on your neck, holding you steady. “Submit to me. Give in,” He growls. He can feel his own desires washing over him, his body fizzling in anticipation. “Just say the word and i’ll make you feel so good, you’ll forget Poe Dameron ever existed,” Kylo continues. He knows what word you want to say. He can see how badly you want him. It’s evident in not only your flushed face, but your loud and filthy mind.
“Please.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper, your heart pounding. Kylo knows you haven’t been with anyone since Poe, your guarded heart not allowing it. He smirks as he uses the force to undress you, unmoving as the cold air creates goosebumps across your skin. Once you’re fully exposed he takes a step back, admiring your perky nipples and exposed form. You feel your face flush red. To you, sex is an intimate experience meant to be solely a love filled affair. Yet the primal gleam in Kylo’s eyes makes you feel different, your core throbbing with a different kind of desire. You were programmed to despise Kylo Ren and the ground he walks on. To, in any situation, blast him until he doesn’t move.
Yet you stand before him naked, desperate to be touched. Kylo takes a step back, soaking in your form. He forces you to sit on the ledge of the window, using the force to spread your legs. “Go on, amuse me. Touch yourself for me,” He orders, staring down at you like you’re a piece of meat. You gulp nervously as you lick the pads of your index and middle finger, before bringing them to your core. Kylo refrains from smirking at this action, your cunt glistening in the relentless bright lights. You begin to sheepishly circle your neglected clit, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with the man before you. Your cunt is so wet it takes everything in Kylo to not pick you up and use you as a cocksleeve. Instead he wants to savor this, soaking in the sight of a rebel humiliating herself for his amusement.
You go to dip your fingers into your entrance but Kylo stops you. “I didn’t say to do that. Keep circling that pretty little clit of yours,” He orders. The sternness in his voice sends a chill down your spine, your fingers slowly circling your sensitive bud. Abruptly Kylo rewards your obedience, the feeling of two thick fingers plunging into your cunt. Kylo himself is still feet away, watching as he uses the force to finger fuck you. You can feel the fingers curling upwards, stretching you out while brushing against your g spot. “O-Oh fuck, Kylo-” You babble, choking on your own words. The sight of seeing nothing there, while Kylo cockily watches, only makes your core throb much more intensively. “Does that feel good? Falling apart before me for my entertainment?” Kylo ask, tilting his head to the side mockingly. He watches your hips rut into nothing, sinful whimpers escaping your lips.
This is all you should really want. Is to feel humiliated and to feel good from doing so. Kylo knows this what you want, which is why your next statement puzzles him.
“P-Please, cmere, wanna feel you-” You whine, barely able to keep up with the feeling of being finger fucked into oblivion. Kylo’s hardened expression falters for a moment, before he regains it. He ignores the way a spark ignited within him, his feet carrying him to you. He picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he sets you on the metal table. Hesitantly he leans in, his gloved hand cupping your face. He can feel your breath hitch as he finally leans in, placing his lips against yours. This kiss feels different. Far different than any you had shared with Poe. You know this. Kylo knows this. You both want to chop it up to the heat of the moment. Two ruthless fighters being touch starved. Truthfully, maybe that’s all it was. But you knew better, your mind swirling as you passionately struggled to keep up with his eager lips.
He needed you, just as bad as you needed him.
Kylo allowed himself to give in, undoing his pants and cupping your breast. His gloved hands explored your body, worshipping each inch of your skin. No lover had ever made him feel so alive before, his cock brushing against your entrance. You struggled to keep up with the desperation that was behind his kisses as you grabbed his cock, desperately guiding it into of you. Both of you let out a groan in unison as he slowly slid inside of you, your walls clinging to him. You moaned into his mouth, his gloved hand finding its way to your throat. He squeezed your airway, watching your mouth drop into the shape of an O as he bottomed out inside of you. Kylo snickered as he read your thoughts, grinning in sick satisfaction.
“Im that much bigger than him?”
He moaned as your walls fluttered around him, the sound heavenly to your ears. You stared in the eyes of your enemy, sinful noises escaping your lips as he began to move his hips. “You like this? Hmm? Being used by your enemy for nothing more than my pleasure?” Kylo asked, his voice deeper than normal as he rutted into you. You grabbed his wrist for support, struggling to keep up as he fucked you properly. His gloved hands found their way to your ass, your legs wrapping around his waist as he picked you up as if you weighed nothing. You couldn’t control your strangled moans as he used you like a fuck toy, your hands grabbing his shoulders.
“A filthy cock sleeve, falling apart on my cock. You’re a worthless whore, aren’t you rebel scum?” Kylo seethed, fucking into you ruthlessly. All of his anger and frustrations were taken out on your poor cunt, your body going limp as you let him use you as he pleased. “Please don’t stop, fuck fuck fuck,” You whined, his cock abusing your g spot. You felt a knot form in your stomach, your orgasm threatening to come sooner than planned. Kylo sensed this, using the force to grab your face and force you look at him. “Not yet, not fuckin yet you pathetic whore,” Kylo snarled. Your body craved for release, your nails digging into his suit. “Feels so good,” You panted, your heart pounding in your chest. Kylo’s thrust never let up, his stamina one you couldn’t have imagined. Your vision grew more dazed, your body growing limp.
“I bet it does,” He smirked, feeling your walls clench around him. He slammed your body into a nearby wall, knocking the air out of your lungs. “Go on, cum for me. Cum on my fuckin cock like the good little cock sleeve you are,” Kylo ordered. Your body came on command, euphoria washing over you as your legs trembled. Your walls spasmed around his shaft, his cock filling your womb to the brim with his cum as he released. The two of you were panting messes, the warlord burying his face in the crook of your neck. It’s then you realize that you had no information Kylo wanted, none at all. You weren’t a high ranking general or pilot. You were nothing but an insignificant soldier knowing nothing beyond the bare minimum. Kylo knew this as well, sensing you had caught on. He wanted you just as bad as you wanted him.
As gentle as he could muster he pulled you against his chest, stroking your back.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and i’ll send you home.”
Those words were the last thing you heard, before falling into a deep and enticing sleep.
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marvelstoriesepic ¡ 3 months ago
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Angstober (day 16)
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Pairing: Tfatws!Bucky x Shield!Reader
Prompt: No one else to turn to
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, fainting
Author’s note: I'm a little behind with the fics but I'm trying my best! Hope you enjoy :)
Angstober Masterlist
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This is ironic, really.
Downright absurd. Laughable.
You’re just not in the position to laugh, or even crack the semblance of a smile. Your face feels stiff, evidently held together by a fragile patchwork of cuts and bruises that might split open at the slightest twitch. Not that you’d want to smile, even if you could.
You had assured Sam that you’d be fine to drive yourself back home after landing back on base about 25 minutes before. There actually had been a genuine belief that you’d be able to make it, so you told him all you needed was a hot shower to wash away all the blood and some rest, ignoring the wary looks of Sam as he watched you drive off.
Well, turns out it was a bad idea.
A terrible idea, considering the door you find yourself standing in front of right now. You don’t even know if he’s home. For all you know, he could be drowning whatever’s left of his sanity in some bar, down some street.
And even if he is here, he has every right to slam this door right back in your face. Perhaps after giving you the I told you so speech.
But in your defense, you really thought this mission would be simple. Sam and you both had thought so. It was supposed to be one of those in-and-out deals. But of course, it’s always those easy missions that turn ugly in a matter of seconds, spiraling into a slaughter that neither of you was ready for.
But hell, you even guessed Bucky saw that coming. Maybe that’s why he was so determined to join you two, but Sam and you declined immediately, insisting on sparing him the confrontation. After all, it was supposed to be a quick cleanup. Hydra remnants scattered like dust, nothing worth dragging Bucky back into that mess for.
So, Sam and you both figured he’d be better off staying behind, working with Torres on whatever else needed doing.
You’re glad you held back the comment about him hindering you on this mission by perhaps a disturbing memory or some shit. That wouldn’t have helped your current situation at all. And you did think it would have been a little harsh. Even for the bickering kind of relationship the two of you have.
Bucky wasn’t having any of that. He was ready to suit up and follow you into the fray, whether you wanted him there or not. Though, Sam and you took off before he could even strap on his gear. Simple, clean.
Predictably, that would definitely leave him in a foul mood. But to be real, grumpy isn’t new for Bucky. Actually, you only ever saw his expression soften when he was lost in thought, so lost he didn’t even notice you watching him. Or perhaps in that moment he really didn’t care.
Still, that irritable look seems to be his default setting. And, to be honest, perhaps he doesn’t even care enough to even be mad. You aren’t friends. Hell, you wouldn’t even call him an acquaintance.
You two are more like tolerated inconveniences for each other, sparse conversations always laced with sarcasm and banter. You doubt he sees you as anything other than a nuisance - someone always getting under his skin with your remarks.
So, you are well aware you really don’t have any business standing in front of his door, blood drying on your skin, looking like death warmed over.
But that’s the problem. You don’t have a choice. Because there is no way you’re making the 20 minutes to your apartment. You also won’t make it back to the base. Not to mention that driving in this state will not only endanger you, but rather the traffic around you. You're already feeling the blackness that tries to seep into your irises, pulling at your consciousness, threatening to drag you under, making you pass out before you’d even hit the halfway mark. And you don’t have anyone to blame but your stubborn self.
Bucky is your only option and you also start running out of time, the longer you linger outside his apartment, scared to knock. Terrified to do anything. You begin to sway on your feet. The longer you hesitate, the harder it gets to stay upright, and passing out on his doorstep for him to find you is perhaps even more embarrassing than this already is.
With trembling muscles, you try to lift your hand. Knocking on a door shouldn’t take this much effort, but it feels like it’s costing you everything. You’re burning energy you don’t have, and it’s starting to show.
Your hesitation seems to have been for nothing since there’s no answer after your knock. The only thing you hear is the blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat loudly pounding against your ribcage, almost like a warning.
Another knock. It saps what little strength you have left. Your breathing grows heavier, more ragged, each inhale feeling like a sharp stab. There is a tightness in your chest that could be an indication something inside you might have torn, making it impossible to get in enough air.
The apartment behind the door is still silent.
You lean your forehead against the rough wood, the coolness grounding you for a moment. It’s as close to a third knock as you can manage. Your eyes slip closed for just a second too long.
“Barnes?” He surely wouldn’t be able to pick that up without his enhanced hearing. “It’s me.”
You’re not even sure what to say; not sure what you can say that will get him to open the door. But your thoughts are starting to slow, each one taking longer to form than the last. The blood loss is getting to you, causing every joint to feel like it’s rusting over.
“Are you home?” you murmur, a faint laugh caught in your throat at how stupid it sounds.
For a moment you think you hear something, perhaps a faint shuffle from the other side of the door. But your brain is swimming in exhaustion and pain, and it could easily be your mind playing tricks on you, teasing you with false hope. Maybe you didn’t even give him enough time to get to the door. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing here - standing might be too strong of a term by now.
Time is slippery in moments like these, hard to grasp, impossible to track.
A heavy and burning sigh falls from your lips, dragging your chest down with it. You push yourself off the door with a struggle that tears at your skin, shaking your head at your own stupidity. You’re not sure if your head even followed through with the movement.
You shouldn’t have believed for a second that he’d be around, or that he’d care if he was.
You attempt to step away, aiming for the staircase, but it seems your body isn’t in the mood to listen to any signal from your brain at all. Your foot catches on itself, and before you know it, you stumble, crashing into the wall beside his door with a loud thud. A pained groan forces its way out of you, the impact shooting excruciating vibrations through your body, curling into every nerve like they’re planning to stay. You press a hand to your side, movements not entirely your own, but it does nothing to soothe the ache.
You curse under your breath, or at least you think you do, eyes fluttering dangerously. You’re not sure how much longer your feet will carry you. Are you even still standing at all?
Muffled curses break through the rushing sound in your ears, blending into the tumultuous pulse of your own blood pounding in your head. They don’t seem to come from you though.
“Fucking hell, Y/n.”
All you can manage in response is another weak groan.
Before you can fully process what’s happening and where that frustrated voice came from, you feel strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Insanely enough, a surge of exhilaration bubbles in your belly and you feel weightless for a moment, like you’re floating in some strange void that’s just barely tethering you to reality but still keeping a strong grasp on you.
The sensation is short-lived and you almost let out a whine. Not at all from the pain. You’re lowered onto something softer than you guessed the floor would feel like, cushions beneath your back. You try to wrap your head around how that could have happened.
That weight returns. The hands around you, however, don’t leave you. Your thoughts are sluggish and trying to focus on anything is an effort you’re not able to keep up with. Your vision is a spinning blur, dizzy head trying to make sense of your situation, but you can feel the tender press of the back of a hand on your forehead, checking for something you can’t quite grasp.
Blue. That’s the first thing your mind manages to hang on to. A vivid, piercing shade of blue. But it’s not just color. It’s wrapped up in something deeper. Emotions, swirling and twirling, so heavy it almost hurts to look at. The sight alone drags another groan out of you, low and pained.
“I know, sweetheart, I know. Just hold tight, you hear me? I got you.”
Wait.
You know that voice. Rough around the edges, always carrying a certain weight, but now laced with something you don’t recognize. Those eyes on you - the blue ones - you know those, too. Of course, you do. But there is something new, something like panic flooding them, you never thought you’d see in Bucky Barnes.
“Barnes?” The word barely falls from your lips, more of a croak than anything, but it’s enough. He was home. He heard you. He carried you inside.
There is something stirring inside of you, a warmth threading through the pain. Relief, maybe, or something close to it. You know Bucky and you have your problems sometimes but hell you never doubted him being the good man he is.
“Yes, it’s me,” he murmurs, so soft, you want to lay in it. Bathing in the gentleness of his voice, getting rid of the blood and pain your body holds. “Try not to talk, alright? There are some nasty bruises around your neck. You gotta go easy on your voice.”
You hum in response, the sound barely more than a soft but uncomfortable vibration in your throat. His words slide through your mind like shadows, half-formed and hard to grasp, but you understand enough.
There’s the sound of clattering around you, hurried shuffling of hands working beside you, perhaps on you, somewhere nearby. But instead of jarring you, it’s comforting, like white noise. It lulls you deeper into the fog.
Suddenly, his voice cuts through it all, sharp and urgent.
“Hey!”
It startles you. Your eyes snap open - you didn’t know they closed in the first place - body jerking from the force of his tone.
His face looms closer, those blue eyes boring into yours, pinning you down with an intensity you can’t ignore.
“I’m sorry, Y/n, but you have to keep your eyes open. You hear me?” His voice trembles in a way you never heard, and that - more than anything - forces your mind back to the surface, your eyes clearing just enough to make him out.
It’s disorienting, seeing Bucky like this. Surprising. He moves in a way that almost associates incoordination, a frantic energy surrounding him. There is something off about the way he handles himself, the way his hands fumble with supplies, clattering objects that should have stayed silent. It’s startling, unsettling even. Bucky Barnes is a man in control. Just not right now.
His hands return to your body, his touch firm and still tender, but there is a shakiness in them as his fingers skim over your torn-up skin.
He’s pressing gently where he can, wincing as if it’s him in pain every time you flinch. The fabric of your slightly torn suit sticks to your body, and he curses softly under his breath, grabbing a pair of scissors from somewhere beside him. With a few quick, jagged snips, he cuts away parts of the fabric of your suit to get a better view of your torso, revealing the bruises that litter your skin, darkening it in a sickening way.
He apologizes for every hiss, groan, and whimper you can’t suppress at the sharp sting that slices through the dull ache due to the antiseptic he uses on your skin.
His brow is furrowed deeply as he wipes the blood away with almost erratic strokes, trying to clean the area but moving a little too fast for his usual precision. The cloth is stained dark in no time, and he tosses it aside, reaching for gauze, fumbling with the tape as if he’s forgotten how to use it for a moment.
Every breath feels heavier as he continues to work on your wounds, pain pulsing with every fresh inhale.
Bucky’s eyes keep darting between your face and the wounds as if he’s checking not only for your injuries but for something else - for a sign that you’re still with him, still conscious, still breathing.
His hand moves back to your forehead, brushing some strands of hair aside with so much gentleness as he checks your temperature again. His face is tight, his jaw clenched.
It is odd, almost comforting in a way you haven’t expected. Bucky Barnes, always so composed, now seems to have trouble holding it together. And somehow, seeing him this unfiltered, this human, makes your earlier doubts vanish. Those persistent thoughts, that he wouldn’t care if you showed up on his doorstep battered and bleeding, that he’d turn away, turn you away, or doesn’t even open the door in the first place - they all but disappear.
He does care. More than you ever thought possible, more than you imagined he even knew how to. You can feel it in the way his hands linger on your skin, urgent yet careful, and in the way his curses are filled with so much apprehension and frustration.
The same Bucky you thought might not give a damn is now fighting some battle with himself as if his sheer will could hold you here.
And for some reason, that knowledge eases something inside you, delightfully loosening that knot of tension in your chest. Again, your body starts to feel like it’s floating, somewhere in the air but instead it’s sinking deeper into the cushions beneath you, slowly letting go. It’s not your body that’s floating this time, it’s your mind. As if it decided to detach itself from the pain, from the reality of your wounds and your situation, and simply drifted away. It’s weightless, flying through a space just beyond your reach. It’s almost surreal, like you’re suspended in air but you know, somehow, that you’re still lying on that couch.
And Bucky’s here.
His hands are on you. His voice is in your ears but none of it feels quite real anymore.
You don’t have it in you to fight it anymore. Your body is letting go, surrendering, and you can’t muster the strength to resist.
Bucky’s voice sounds closer, much more than you thought it had been, but it seems distant too. It’s rough, desperate; words coming out with a crack. He’s pleading with you, urging you to stay with him, to keep your eyes open.
But you can’t. You’re slipping. Still, you feel like smiling if your face would have allowed it.
Bucky is here. And although you stopped listening to his words, losing the sense of his presence, you know he will stay.
You’re in good hands.
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🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁
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piastrisun ¡ 19 days ago
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warming up to love.
pairings: franco colapinto + fem reader.
summary: beneath the falling snow, the warmth of a shared moment transforms a casual connection into something unforgettable.
genre: fluff.⠀word count: 3.6k.⠀ warning: none.
notes: i love writing long stuff about franco cause we know he’s a very talkative guy and would pull a before sunrise any day. this kinda made me wanna fall in love.
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“oh, the weather outside is frightful / but the fire is so delightful / and since we've no place to go / let it snow.”
the christmas party hums with a mellow energy as the night winds down. it’s a familiar scene—mutual friends scattered across the house, the remnants of shared laughter echoing softly. you hadn’t planned to come this year; after all, these gatherings had long been a minefield of awkward encounters and unspoken wounds. your ex, the one who shattered your heart last christmas, always seemed to be at these parties, and the thought of facing him again was enough to make you steer clear.
but tonight is different. encouraged by a friend who insisted it would be ‘good for you,’ you found yourself here, hovering on the edges, nursing a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace. franco is here, too—franco, who has always been little more than a polite nod or a quick ‘hi.’ the two of you aren’t close, not even friends, really. yet as the evening stretches on, you find his presence more noticeable than usual, his laughter drawing glances from across the room.
most of the guests have either slipped away to spare rooms or are scattered in half-asleep clusters, the laughter and music now a faint echo in the house. you sit near the fireplace, nursing a mug of mulled wine, its spicy warmth a small comfort against the chill outside. the flickering flames cast golden light over the room, and you sink into the soft cushions of the couch, grateful for the moment of solitude.
until franco joins you.
you hear him before you see him, the faint sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor. all evening, he’s been the centre of attention—his jokes landing perfectly, his energy magnetic, his laughter infectious. but now, as he lowers himself onto the couch beside you, he’s different. his movements are slower, deliberate, as though he’s shedding the playful bravado for something more genuine. he leans back, draping one arm casually over the backrest, close enough for you to feel his presence without it pressing on you.
“you’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, his voice quieter than you expect, his accent rolling over the words with a natural charm. “thinking deep holiday thoughts?”
you glance at him, arching a brow, already on guard. “oh, you know, debating whether santa’s elves have a decent union.”
a grin spreads across his face, quick and easy. “they don’t,” he replies, leaning slightly toward you, his dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. “you can see it in their eyes—overworked, underpaid, stuck making toys for kids who’ll forget about them in five minutes.”
the corners of your mouth lift before you can stop yourself, the response catching you off guard. “exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than you intended. “and don’t even get me started on rudolph. classic case of workplace exploitation.”
his laugh is rich, low, and unrestrained, and for a moment, it drowns out the crackle of the fire. “you’re good,” he says, his grin lingering. “sharp. i like that.”
you shrug, trying to deflect the sudden focus on you. “it’s just common sense. someone has to advocate for the underappreciated holiday workforce.”
his grin widens, but there’s a shift in his expression—something more curious, more intent. “so, do you always deflect with humour,” he asks, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just my lucky night?”
your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation. “and do you always psychoanalyse women at christmas parties?” you shoot back, the edge in your tone softened by the playful smile tugging at your lips.
“only the ones who seem like they have really good stories to tell,” he replies smoothly, his voice dipping lower.
you roll your eyes, though you feel the laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “you’re persistent, i’ll give you that.”
“i’m argentinian,” he says with a light shrug, as though that explains everything. “it’s genetic.”
the absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, this time unrestrained and genuine. you shift in your seat, tucking your legs beneath you as you hold your mug close, needing the warmth against your palms. he adjusts as well, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. his gaze is steady, direct, and disarmingly sincere.
“you’re good at this, you know,” he says, his tone softer now, almost conversational.
“at what?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
“deflecting,” he says simply, his eyes searching yours. “you tell a joke, flash a smile, and everyone forgets to ask the real questions.”
you shift uncomfortably, your grip tightening around the mug. “maybe i just don’t like questions,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended.
“or maybe you don’t like answers,” he counters, his voice steady but without judgment.
the weight of his words settles over you, and you find yourself looking away, your gaze fixed on the fire. the orange glow feels safer than the intensity in his eyes.
“you’ve been hurt before,” he says, breaking the silence.
“haven’t we all?” you reply quickly, your tone sharper now, a reflex to protect yourself.
“sure,” he agrees, his voice calm, unbothered by your resistance. “but not everyone builds walls like you do.”
your shoulders tense, and you draw back slightly, the heat of the fire no longer comforting. “you don’t know me well enough to say that,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but firm.
“not yet,” he says, the gentleness in his tone catching you off guard. “but i’d like to.”
the vulnerability in his voice chips away at your defences, and for a moment, you exhale, leaning back into the couch. you’re silent, but the tension in your posture eases.
“it’s not that simple,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “people think you can just… open up and everything will be fine. but when you’ve given your heart to someone who didn’t want it, it’s hard to trust anyone with it again.”
his dark eyes don’t waver, his gaze steady but soft, and he nods slowly. “i get that,” he says. “but maybe the trick isn’t trusting someone else first. maybe it’s trusting yourself—that you’ll survive it if things don’t go the way you hope.”
☆
the flickering firelight dances across his face, softening his features, and his expression is open, patient, unhurried.
“you’re different than i thought you’d be,” he says after a long pause, his voice dropping lower.
“what did you think i’d be like?” you ask, curious despite yourself.
“i don’t know,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smile. “polished, untouchable, the kind of person who always has the upper hand.”
“and now?” you press, leaning in slightly, the space between you shrinking.
“still intimidating,” he admits, his smile widening just enough to make your heart skip. “but in a good way.”
for the first time, you let the moment linger, the tension between you shifting into something unspoken but undeniable.
the fire casts a warm glow over the room, its crackling filling the quiet pauses between words. you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light but genuine. a comfortable silence stretches between you and franco, and in that quiet, you feel it—a subtle but undeniable pull. it’s unspoken, yet it lingers, drawing you closer to him in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable.
“you’re not what i expected, either,” you say, your tone casual, though the words carry weight.
franco leans forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “oh? what did you expect?”
your lips curl into a teasing smile. “someone who tries too hard to be funny. but you’re just… effortlessly annoying.”
his laughter bursts out, rich and warm, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “effortlessly annoying? that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
you shake your head, your smile widening despite yourself. you can feel your guard slipping, piece by piece, the edges softening with every laugh, every shared glance.
☆
as the night drifts on, the conversation flows like an easy current, touching on favourite movies, childhood christmas memories, and absurd holiday traditions. you trade stories that are ridiculous and endearing, the kind that make your sides ache from laughter. each word exchanged deepens the connection between you, weaving a thread of familiarity where there was none before.
he leans back, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “you know, this has to be the best christmas conversation i’ve ever had. no offence to santa and the elves.”
you raise your brow, feigning seriousness. “i’ll take it as a compliment. i don’t usually do this, you know.”
he tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression. “what? talk to effortlessly annoying guys?”
“no,” you reply with a soft laugh. “sit here, opening up to someone i just met. it’s… different.”
the teasing fades from his face as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intent. “different good or different bad?”
you meet his gaze, your heart beating a little faster at the intensity in his eyes. “good,” you say softly. “definitely good.”
the fire crackles softly in the background, the rhythmic pops and hisses filling the spaces between breaths. your laughter, which had moments ago echoed brightly, now fades into something quieter, something deeper. the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s laced with a gentle understanding that neither of you has to name. you feel it—a warmth spreading through you, unfamiliar yet comforting, like an old song you’ve almost forgotten but still know by heart. it’s a feeling you haven’t let yourself embrace in years.
franco shifts slightly beside you, leaning forward as if to close the distance without intruding. his voice cuts through the quiet, warm and deliberate. “for the record,” he says, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile, “you’re pretty good at this too.”
you glance at him, your brow lifting in subtle curiosity. “at what?”
his eyes linger on yours, the firelight flickering in their depths. he doesn’t hesitate, his tone softer now, almost confessional. “making me want to stay up all night talking to you.”
the words land heavier than you expect, and for a moment, your heart stumbles, a traitorous skip in its rhythm. you’re certain he notices, but for once, you don’t try to hide it.
your grip loosens slightly on your glass of wine, and you exhale, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. the vulnerability in his words disarms you, but it’s the sincerity in his gaze that keeps you still, like he’s waiting, patiently, to see if you’ll let him stay.
☆
you stand near the balcony door, the hum of the christmas party a soft murmur inside. outside, the chill air brushes your skin, the twinkling lights from the decorations contrasting with the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. your glass of wine rests in your hand, swirling gently, the dark liquid catching the firelight. you find yourself momentarily lost in the way the flames dance, tracing their movement, letting the quiet settle over you.
franco is standing beside you, so close now that his knee almost brushes against yours, but neither of you says anything. it's the first time tonight that the two of you have actually been alone, outside the usual nods and polite greetings you’ve exchanged over the years.
after a beat, he breaks the silence, his voice low but steady, like he’s testing the air between you.
“you know,” he begins, glancing toward you but keeping his gaze just slightly above yours, “i used to think love was supposed to be this big, dramatic thing. like fireworks and grand gestures.”
you raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk as you shift your weight, the wine glass still twirling in your hand. “let me guess—movies and cheesy romance novels ruined you?”
franco laughs, the sound soft but amused, and you can hear the humour in his voice when he responds. “hey, i’m a romantic. sue me.”
you chuckle, the ease of his words making you relax, but there’s something in his tone that lingers. the idea of love as a grand, sweeping event feels familiar, even if it's been a long time since you've believed in it. the pause between the two of you stretches a little longer, the silence pulling at the edges of your thoughts, and you finally turn to him, looking at him fully for the first time tonight.
“and now?” you ask quietly, your voice catching the reflection of the fire in his eyes. “what do you think it’s supposed to be?”
he looks at you, really looks at you this time, and there's something about the way he shifts, the way he leans slightly forward, that makes his words hit you harder than you expect. his eyes are steady, but his voice is softer now, more introspective.
“i think it’s quieter,” he says, his tone almost reverent, like he's sharing a truth he's only just realised. “more like… finding someone who makes you feel like you’re home, no matter where you are.”
the words settle heavily in the space between you. you blink, your breath momentarily stuck in your chest. there's something in his expression, something real and raw, and it pulls you in. you turn your body slightly towards him, the firelight flickering off his face, and you can feel the weight of his honesty pressing into your own guarded heart.
“that’s nice," you say, almost whispering, but a knot tightens in your throat. you shift your gaze, struggling to maintain the usual lightness, but it’s hard now. "but what if you’ve been hurt? what if 'home' feels more like a risk than a refuge?”
franco doesn’t hesitate. his elbows drop to his knees, the movement slow and deliberate. he leans in just slightly, his shoulders squared toward you, and the teasing edge that usually follows him is gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.
“then maybe you stop looking for a perfect home,” he responds, voice steady, each word measured. “maybe you find someone who’s willing to build it with you, one piece at a time. even if it’s messy.”
the simplicity of his answer leaves you breathless for a second. you swallow, feeling something shift within you, like a door cracking open just a little wider. his words hang in the air, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the weight of them settle into your chest. it’s a thought you’ve buried for a long time, and you feel a flicker of warmth in the cold air around you.
“you make it sound so simple,” you say, a soft laugh escaping you, though your voice is quieter now, more fragile.
his lips twitch into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes right away. he glances at you, his gaze lingering before he answers. “it’s not. but i think the right person makes it worth the mess.”
you exhale, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though his words have left something unspoken between you. the weight of the conversation feels too heavy to hold onto for much longer, so you try to shift the mood. you take a deep breath and let the faintest hint of a smile curve your lips.
“okay, mr. romantic,” you tease, your voice a little lighter now. “what’s your other grand passion? what keeps you up at night?”
franco grins, the teasing spark returning to his eyes. “besides annoy people by fireplaces?”
you laugh, shaking your head at him, but there’s something different in the way you look at him now, something softer in your gaze. you catch the slight change in his expression, the way his eyes soften, even if only for a fraction of a second, as he watches you.
“i like cooking, actually,” he says, a genuine warmth to his voice. he leans back slightly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he talks. “there’s something about making a meal for someone—putting care into every detail, knowing it’s going to bring them joy.”
you raise an eyebrow, amusement creeping back into your features, but there’s a spark of curiosity now, too. “cooking, huh? sounds like an elaborate way to flirt.”
franco’s grin widens, and you notice the way his eyes twinkle with mischief. “absolutely. works every time.”
you lean back, finally allowing a full smile to spread across your face. it feels natural, comfortable, the awkward tension of the night slipping away with the shared laughter, but something lingers—a connection that wasn’t there before. the warmth of the fire and the quiet rhythm of your conversation are the only things that matter now.
you lean back, your body sinking slightly into the chair, the chill of the balcony air brushing against your skin. the soft hum of the christmas party drifts in from the room behind you, but here, the cold night air feels refreshing, clearing the noise in your head. your smile lingers, and you can’t help but feel a change in the air. the distance between you and franco now feels different—closer, more intimate.
“i like that,” you say, your voice calm but thoughtful. “the way you think about it, i mean. cooking for someone. it’s... intimate.”
franco shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his gaze focused on you. “what about you?” he asks, his voice soft, genuinely curious. “what’s the thing that makes your heart beat a little faster?”
you hesitate for a moment, the chill in the air suddenly making you feel a little warmer under his gaze. his openness makes you feel safe enough to share, and without thinking, the words tumble out of you.
“i write,” you say, your voice quiet, almost wistful. “or i used to, before life got in the way. it’s like... the only time i’ve ever felt completely free.”
his expression softens, his gaze gentle as he watches you, and for a brief moment, the world around you seems to fade. he looks like he understands the weight of your words. "why’d you stop?” he asks, his voice low, quiet with concern.
you shrug, avoiding his gaze, not wanting to face the vulnerability in your own eyes. “fear, maybe,” you reply, the words hanging heavily between you. “that i wasn’t good enough. that it wasn’t practical.”
“fear’s a bad reason to stop doing something you love,”he responds, his tone firm but gentle, almost as though he’s speaking to himself as much as to you.
the silence lingers in the space between you, and the cool night air feels heavier, somehow more present. you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, your breath catching slightly as you meet his gaze. the snow falls gently, glowing faintly in the moonlight. the world feels suspended, quiet, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this stillness, and nothing else matters. there’s a sincerity in his eyes that pulls you in deeper, something you can’t quite explain.
“you should writing again,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost like a quiet plea. “you’re too passionate to keep it all locked inside.”
you swallow, the idea of writing again making something stir in your chest. but you don’t let it show, instead trying to keep the mood light. “and you should stop psychoanalysing strangers at christmas parties,” you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips.
he grins, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s a shift. his gaze softens, and the playful atmosphere between you both changes. “maybe i’ll make it my new year’s resolution,” he says with a teasing tone, but there’s something deeper in his voice now. “right after ‘kiss beautiful smart women by fireplaces.’”
you laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seems to break the tension between you. but when your eyes meet again, the air is different. the laughter fades, replaced by a quiet understanding that neither of you can ignore. there’s a pull, something magnetic. his smile fades into something deeper, and you feel it too—a tension you haven’t felt in years.
“can i?” his voice is soft, his eyes searching yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through you that makes your heart race.
you nod, your throat tight, unable to say anything. but your silence speaks volumes, and it’s enough. he gives you every opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. you stay, rooted to the spot, as his lips hover just inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest as he inches closer.
the kiss comes softly at first, tentative, almost as though he’s testing the waters, unsure of the fragility of the moment. but then, something shifts. the warmth between you builds, and the kiss deepens, both of you leaning into it, the connection effortless. it’s like you’ve both been waiting for this, and now that it’s here, it feels as though nothing else matters—just the two of you, wrapped in the glow of the lights and the quiet of the night. you both lean into it, your bodies moving as if they’ve known how to do this all along. it feels natural, easy, like the conversation you’ve had all night.
when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth. franco’s smile is softer now, more intimate, and it makes your heart flutter.
“you’re a hard one to read, you know that?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes are still searching yours.
you shake your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “and you’re impossible to ignore.”
the soft crackle of the fire still echoes from the living room, and the snow falls gently on your coat, glowing faintly in the moonlight. but here, on the balcony, it’s just the two of you. for the first time in a year, you feel something stir within you—a piece of yourself that you thought was lost. and in that moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found it again
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©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.
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zigrethsnotebook ¡ 29 days ago
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[PASSIONATE KISS]
Ford x Reader
words: 1,850
tags: sfw, angst, fluff
a/n: realized i never wrote a proposal story for Ford so here you go<3
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Ford had been out on an expedition for three days. He’d told you it would be too dangerous for you to come along and even though you had strongly protested he would not budge. So now here you were, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his trip that he’d assured you would take no more than 24 hours.
“Either I find them immediately or I won’t find them at all.” Was what he had told you. But knowing this and that he considered the whole endeavor extremely dangerous had left you incredibly anxious. What if something happened to him? You’d never be able to find him in those woods.
Stan tried his best to reassure you, told you: “Hey, the guy’s been running around different dimensions for thirty years. Give him some credit. He won’t go down that easily.” It helped. But today you could hear in Stan’s voice that he was beginning to feel a little uncertain about it as well.
You couldn’t sleep that night. You were restless, turning from side to side and trying to shut your thoughts out with music and podcasts and anything you could turn the volume up enough to drown them out. The fears of Ford not coming back.
Eventually, you got up, walked aimlessly around the shack, stared out a window for an hour and then turned to head back to bed, giving sleep another shot. Except your feet didn’t walk you to your bed but instead downstairs into Ford’s lab.
As if you were guided by invisible strings you walked straight to Ford’s desk, sitting down on his chair and wrapping yourself in the lab coat he had thrown over the backrest of the chair. It smelled like him. You pulled it around you and up to your nose. This was the closest to him you’d felt since he left.
You pulled the chair closer to his desk and took his third journal out of its place on the shelf. Ford was carrying the fourth edition with him right now. You flipped through it, chuckling at all the entries the kids had left in it. Then you got the part where Ford got it back. Right around the time you two met.
Amongst his stories of different dimensions and discoveries about the world as it was now, thirty years after he had left it, there were sketches of your face scattered between. Always with little annotations about how gorgeous he thought you looked that day or something new he learned about you. Your favorite Ice-cream flavor, your least favorite beach boys song or whatever he had found the guts to ask you that day.
The memories brought tears to your eyes. What if all of that would now be forever in the past? What if he won’t ever be back?
You turned the page again and found a picture of you both dancing together at the kids’ fourteenth birthday party this year. Mabel had taken the photo and given it to Ford. Seeing you both so happy was too overwhelming. Some tears slipped from your eyes and onto his coat.
You flipped the page once more, not able to keep looking at that photo of you both. The next page had just one sentence that Ford had written. It was the last page of this journal.
To be continued in Journal 4… hopefully with wedding pictures ♡
Your breath hitched. What? No. This… You two had never spoken about marriage. In fact, when did he write this? You didn’t remember this being in here. Your thoughts raced a million miles an hour.
So much so, that you didn’t even hear Ford entering the Lab and walk up behind you. When he saw your hunched up trembling form and the page of the journal you were looking at he softly called out your name. You jumped in surprise and quickly turned around.
“Ford!” You called out, stood up and fell around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I was so worried for you, Ford.” You mumbled into his shoulder, but he understood, hugging you tighter as well. “I know, love. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to take so long.”
After a moment you pulled back slightly and placed your hands on either side of his face. With a stern face you told him: “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me? 24 hours… you were gone for three whole days!” Ford chuckled sheepishly. “Four days, actually. It’s already past midday, love.” Flabbergasted, you stared at him. “That’s even worse!”
Only now did Ford look at you. Like, really look at you. And his face fell as he saw the state you were in. Heavy bags under your eyes, tear lines staining your cheeks that haven’t even dried. You were still in your pyjamas with just his dirty lab coat protecting you from the cold of the lab. And it wasn’t doing a particularly good job - you were shivering.
Guilt flooded Ford’s systems at the sight. He raised one of his hands from your waist to your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. You immediately leaned into his touch. “I am so very sorry, love. I shouldn’t have taken so long. I’m so sorry.” He whispered the last part as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.
You sighed. Just having him here with you again felt like a heavy weight was lifted off of your shoulders. In a much softer tone you told him: “Just don’t leave me like this again. If something takes longer than expected, find a way to let me know. I know you can.”
Snaking your arms back around his neck, you pulled his body closer to yours, your own seeking the warmth of his. “I felt so helpless. If something had happened to you, I-” Your voice broke off, unable to finish the sentence. “I know, love.”
After a few moments just enjoying being able to hold each other again, Ford let the hand from your cheek fall to his coat pocket, fumbling around in it. He chuckled, the noise sounding a little bittersweet, when he found what he was looking for. He pulled back from you slightly and looked into your eyes.
“I also know that this is probably the worst moment to bring this up, but: Do you know what I was looking for out there?” You shook your head ‘no’. This better not be about some creature right now. Now was not the time.
“Well, I only told you that the expedition would be dangerous, because I didn’t want you to come along and I knew that would be the only way to get you to stay home.” He smiled warmly at you, your stubbornness being something he loved so much about you.
“But it really wasn’t all that dangerous at all. Because, what I was really looking for was something that would complete… something. Something I’ve been meaning to give to you for a while now and… something I felt wasn’t worthy of being yours yet… It needed something special.”
You furrowed your brows at him, confusion taking over you. Ford softly let his hands wander to your arms, unwrapping them from himself as he continued. “And… I was looking for this something in that spaceship that sits under the town and also in the cave systems beneath the mountain. Well, two somethings really.” You felt him drift off into some sort of story as you saw his eyes start darting around the room.
“Ford. What are you talking about?” His eyes landed back on you. “Right.” He cleared his throat, trying not to freak out. His hand wandered back into his coat pocket and as soon as he found this mysterious object, he got down on one knee.
Your eyes widened in shock and you gasped. Ford didn’t know this, but with him returning you had completely forgotten about the last page of his journal.
He pulled a little black box out of his pocket and held it in front of him. “Right. I went to the spaceship to find the rarest metal in the solar system. Then I went to the cave systems to find the shiniest crystal on the planet. With those I went to visit Fiddleford, who graciously helped me weld the metal into a shape that could hold the crystal.”
Ford took a deep breath and opened the box revealing a marvelous silver ring, welded into intricate patterns that surely held some sort of meaning, holding a deep blue crystal that looked like it reflected the universe itself. You gasped again and let your hands cover your open mouth as you continued to stare at the man in disbelief.
“I couldn’t let you come along because I wanted this to be a surprise for you. I… You deserve the universe and all the good within it and I am more than willing to give it to you. So here I am. Asking you,” then he said your full legal name. “Will you please marry me?”
By now there were new tears running down your cheeks, but this time they were tears of joy and happiness. You nodded your head as you sobbed out a “Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you, Ford!” and fell into his arms again. Ford hugged you tightly, all the worries that had plagued him for taking so long washing away in an instant.
You pulled away again slightly, giving Ford the opportunity to slide the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, like it was made to be there. That’s because it was.
Ford held the hand that wore the ring in both of his, cradling it like it was made of glass. He looked at it with so much love and affection that you felt your own heart swell with love as well. When he looked up at you again, you leaned in for a kiss.
Your first kiss in four days and also your first kiss as an engaged couple. You basically devoured the man. Ford wasn’t any better. Both of you took this kiss and put all the emotions of the past four days into it. All the stress and worries. All the hope and love.
Ford was first to turn his head slightly and deepen the kiss, one of his hands wandering to the back of your neck, holding you close. Not that you wanted to leave. You parted your lips slightly and nibbled on his lower lip. This caused Ford to moan softly and his tongue to leave the confines of his own mouth and instead explore yours.
While this was happening you both moved your bodies so that Ford and you fully sat on your legs. You didn’t sit on his lap like this because you knew his legs would fall asleep immediately. It had happened before.
After a while you broke the kiss, panting slightly. Ford let his forehead rest against yours again. “I don’t think I’ll leave you again any time soon.” You chuckled. “Yeah. You better not.”
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admiringlove ¡ 27 days ago
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persuasion. the way writing this was kind of hurting me too ugh. anyway here it is, another part of my @angstober event this year. again, sorry for the delay. and please watch out for some very slight nsfw themes. masterlist of the event can be found here.
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you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.
this endless teetering back and forth. like a newton’s cradle, every action meeting an equal and opposite reaction, but never any resolution.
the first time you left was harrowing. painful in ways you hadn’t thought possible. your chest had burned, your hands had trembled, and every step away from him felt like you were leaving parts of yourself behind. the arguments echoed in your head long after, looping endlessly, even though all you’d truly wanted was his arms around you.
toji’s arms.
but he never gave you that, not when it mattered most. he always seemed so far away during those moments, like his mind was locked in some impenetrable place you could never reach. and next to him, you felt small. you felt like a child fumbling for answers, even though there wasn’t much of an age difference between you.
when you left that first time, you’d told him you’d come back for your things later. you couldn’t bear to stay long enough to pack your life away from his. instead, you’d grabbed the clothes scattered across his apartment—an afterthought of intimacy you thought you’d had—and left.
your place wasn’t a home; it was a shell. the silence there was too loud, suffocating in its starkness, reminding you with every passing second what you’d walked away from, and who you hadn’t yet been able to let go.
your room had become a husk, hollowed out of the life it once held. the absence of him pressed against the walls like a shadow, suffocating and stark. his things weren’t strewn across the floor in that careless, maddening way he always managed, nor did that strange, musky scent linger in the air; the one that clung to his clothes and skin, a scent you once loathed but came to crave. he wasn’t sprawled on your bed, that half-smirk pulling at his lips, looking at you like you were the only thing worth devouring. he wasn’t there to drag you down with a grip that bordered on desperate, kissing you like he needed you to breathe.
no, now the room was just a room. the furniture remained, untouched, like a stage after the curtain had fallen. the fake vines tangled along the walls, the band posters clung stubbornly to their place, and the photographs on the desk smiled back at no one. the bookshelves loomed overhead, brimming with stories you didn’t have the energy to revisit. everything was exactly where it should be, and yet, it all felt wrong. lifeless.
the man you loved wasn’t there. fushiguro toji wasn’t there.
that night, you sighed into the darkness, and when the weight in your chest became unbearable, the tears came. quiet at first, then relentless, soaking into your pillow until it felt like drowning. you woke up to the salt of it still clinging to your cheeks and the heavy dampness beneath your face. the idea of going back to his place—to face him, to gather the pieces of the life you’d left behind—was unbearable. a week passed. seven days of silence so loud it fractured you. no rough hand reaching for yours in the dark, no shared laughter echoing from your phone’s glow. no wild thrill of butterflies thrumming beneath your ribs.
without him, the world dulled, fading into muted shades of grey. the sharpness of living—the chaos of loving him—had bled out. and you were sure he was fine. you could give him that much credit. he was always good at holding you just far enough away that he wouldn’t feel the sting if you left. replaceable. that’s what you must’ve been to him.
but he wasn’t. he could never be.
he was a fever, an affliction, something that sank into your bloodstream and burned. without him, there was nothing but withdrawal. the ache, the longing, the torment of wanting something you knew would destroy you.
and so, after a week of circling the inevitable, you found yourself standing at his door again. he opened it halfway, leaning lazily against the frame, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face like it belonged there.
"finally came back, didn't ya?"
you didn’t rise to the bait, your expression deadened by days of sleepless nights and the hollow ache gnawing at your chest. "i came back to get my shit, loser," you muttered, rolling your eyes as you pushed past him. you kicked off your shoes at the door, out of habit more than anything else, and made a beeline for the bathroom with your bag in tow. he followed close behind, trailing after you like a shadow, until he propped himself against the bathroom doorframe. his arms crossed loosely over his chest, that insufferable smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you.
"yer really takin' everything, huh?" his voice was low, a little rough around the edges, as his gaze flickered to the toiletries you were gathering. you spared him a glance—brief, cautious, like looking at the sun too long might burn you—and quickly looked away. you couldn’t give him more than that. your heart had been steeling itself for this moment all week, and even then, you weren’t sure how much more you could take.
he didn’t have to do much. the way he leaned there, the way his voice curled around the words, the sheer nearness of him was enough to unravel you. you kept an arm’s length between you, refusing to let him cross that invisible line.
you dropped the shampoo and soap bottles into the bag with a heavy sigh, your hands trembling just slightly. "yeah, that’s what people do when they break up," you said, your voice flat, though the weight of the words nearly crushed you.
for a moment, the air stilled, heavy with unspoken tension. then you heard it—soft, deliberate footsteps closing the gap between you. you didn’t turn. you didn’t need to. you felt him before he reached you, his presence looming in the small space like a storm cloud.
his reflection joined yours in the mirror, his dark eyes fixed on your face. he could see it. your defeat, the way your shoulders slumped, the resignation etched into every line of your expression. you’d known, hadn’t you? you’d known exactly how this would go, as if it were scripted, as if you’d walked willingly into his hands.
his arms slid around your waist, slow and deliberate, pulling you into the warmth you’d been trying to escape. his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath soft, his voice softer.
"come on, we aren’t really broken up. are we?"
you swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink as if it could anchor you. "yes, we are—"
"i apologized, didn’t i?" his words were gentle, deceptively so, the kind of tenderness you’d begged for in last week’s shouting match. but he hadn’t given it to you then. no, toji saved that tone for moments like this, when you were already teetering, already crumbling.
his ego was insufferable. a goddamned egomaniac, that’s what he was. fushiguro toji, the man who knew exactly when to break you down and when to scoop up the pieces, holding them just tight enough that you didn’t slip away.
just like that, you ended up in his bed again. the grey hoodie you’d worn lay discarded on the floor, forgotten, as cold unrelenting air seeped through the open window. it didn’t matter—not when he moved the way he did, reckless and punishing, slamming into you like he was trying to shatter something inside you.
as if he knew exactly what he was doing. as if he knew he was breaking your mind beyond repair.
and you’d gone back. over and over, swearing each time would be the last. it never was, though, was it? the only difference between you and toji was that you loved him for all his broken pieces, while he only cared for moments like these—animalistic, primal, and starving.
how many times had you come back to him? how many times had he been conveniently nearby when the weight of your breakdowns became too much to bear? you’d stopped counting after fifteen—somewhere between your pride and his grin, the numbers blurred together.
and now here he was again, in your room, in your bed. the very bed where you’d spent sleepless nights imagining him after you left. it was almost poetic, in the cruelest way.
you looked down at him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you straddled him, your breaths still uneven. his grunts had quieted now, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his arms wrapped around you with a familiarity that made your stomach twist. you were bare to him in every way that mattered, as you always were.
"we can’t keep doing this," you sighed, slipping off of him and onto the bed to lay beside him. your chest rose and fell heavily as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning.
he tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he rolled his eyes. "ya say that, but then ya call me in the middle of the night for a quick fuck."
his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you turned away, pulling the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from his gaze. "i mean it this time," you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.
he scoffed lightly, a sound that grated against your nerves, but you didn’t look back at him. instead, you closed your eyes, letting the silence stretch between you.
"when you leave this time," you said quietly, "you won’t see me again."
your words hung heavy in the air, the finality of them sinking in even as you felt the mattress shift under his weight. but whether he believed you or not didn’t matter anymore—you were done trying to convince him, or yourself.
"come on, seriously, not this again," he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, the exasperation in his voice palpable. "we had such a good time, and now you wanna dampen the mood with this shit—"
"fushiguro," your voice cuts through his complaint like a blade, sharper and more commanding than it’s ever been. it makes him pause, his spine straightening on instinct, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious.
but you are. more serious than you’ve ever been. "i can’t keep doing this with you. it might be amusing for you, but it’s killing me. yeah? we had a good run."
those words—we had a good run—hit you as hard as they hit him. the taste of them feels foreign in your mouth, bitter and heavy. you never thought you’d say that to him. not to toji, not to the man you still loved with a depth you couldn’t articulate, more than you’d ever admit, more than he’d ever understand. your heart fractures as you sit there, each crack spreading deeper when you see his face harden.
he doesn’t say anything. not right away. instead, he gets up from the bed, the mattress shifting as his weight leaves it, and strides toward the desk chair where his clothes are piled in a careless heap. His movements are brisk, almost robotic, but the slight clench of his jaw betrays the simmering frustration beneath the surface.
"i’ll wait for yer text," he mutters, tugging on his tight black shirt in one swift motion. the fabric clings to his frame, the same way it did hours ago when you first saw him, but now it feels suffocating.
you turn your gaze away. you can’t watch him like this—not when the sight of him could undo everything you’d just resolved. "i blocked your number, remember?" you remind him, your voice flat but steady. "it’s why you came here today."
he freezes for a fraction of a second, the realization dawning on his face. "oh," he mumbles, his tone subdued. "okay. i’ll wait for you to unblock me, then."
"no, you won’t," you reply firmly, forcing yourself to look at him now. every word feels like dragging glass through your throat, but you press on. "this was the last time. it’s not happening again."
his eyes flicker, a brief flash of something you can’t quite place—irritation? disbelief? something deeper he’d never admit?—before he scoffs, shaking his head as if dismissing your declaration entirely. "whatever you say, doll."
"toji." his name falls from your lips with a weight that makes him stop. you sigh, sitting up straighter on the bed. the loose shirt you’d thrown on clings to your body in awkward folds, and your cheeks burn with an unwelcome warmth. you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to hold it this time. "close the door on your way out, yeah? and leave the spare key."
he blinks at you, as if processing the words takes more effort than it should. for a moment, his posture stiffens, his jaw tightens, and you think he might argue—but he doesn’t. instead, he nods. a single, awkward bob of his head, so uncharacteristic of him that it leaves you momentarily disoriented.
you watch as he moves toward the door, his steps slower now, almost uncertain. his broad shoulders seem to hunch slightly, his usual confidence replaced with something hesitant. when he reaches the corridor, his hand hovers over the gold-colored doorknob, suspended in mid-air.
he pauses there, turning his head to glance at your living room. it’s the same space he’s been in countless times, but now, it feels foreign to him—as if he’s unsure where to place himself, unsure if he’s allowed to linger any longer.
then he looks back at you, his dark eyes locking with yours. there’s something in them you don’t want to decipher, something too raw and too late. your mouth goes dry, but you manage a tight-lipped smile, awkward and full of finality.
he doesn’t say goodbye. doesn’t say anything. he just turns back to the door, his movements slow and deliberate as he opens it, the faint creak of the hinges cutting through the silence.
and then, without a second glance, he steps out.
the sound of the door clicking shut feels deafening. final. like the last note of a song you wish you could replay but know you never will.
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