#All the other voice are the same as when I was a kid and then boom Tim has Dick's voice

[ask-underfazverse]

"I often see my twin in him. He isn't related, but... some of us do consider him family. He was one of the first people to know the darkest parts about us. For simplicity's sake, our father was... an evil "Saint." And the things he's done to us, and our connection with him made us... impulsive, clingy, and controlling. Power, immortality, and child abuse are a terrible combo. For abuser and victim alike... what's worse, is we weren't used to surviving with people that didn't understand sacrifices must be made, for the good all. So we go back and forth, pleading to be listened to, or having bouts of violence. Malak had enough, and used a weakness against us, to try and sacrifice us to another deity that we were trying to protect him and some other people from. She had grown more active and violent with our arrival, so it seemed logical that we would have been the only one's she would have wanted... but it backfired, and he and his fellow traitors fell into the same trap. A nightmare, created by one of my brothers, who went to the side of our enemy, due to our... unfortunate cruelty in the face of fear and madness. In that nightmare, he pushed past his own fears, and saved our inner children. Became an "older" figure that finally came to save us from an eternally ending world. He was the first person that really made it feel like it wasn't our fault our own world fell apart. In a nightmare like that, heroics are hard to fake... in return for his deed, I promised to give him more privacy. He argued that he didn't deserve it, especially after betraying me and my kin... but he did what was right in the face of not only his own pain, but also the pain of others. And he rose above it all. If we stayed in that nightmare, we would have all perished... and he was the first one to make an effort for us all to escape. He's a good man, just in a bad place. Most people are. The scum of the earth can be someone else's hero under the right circumstances. He gave us courage, insights, plans, and... he gave me a chance to feel young again. I am young saint, you see... I've only truly achieved sainthood recently, as reward for enduring my father's wrath for billions of years, and saving the ancient saints of my world, who we call Gods."

He licks his lips, like a young man struggling to speak. His voice wavers. "...b-before all that. We were kids. Children... cursed to be born as men. Cursed to be seen as "old enough" so no one would realize we weren't raised. For eons, we thought we should've been old enough. We thought we should have been better... that we should have known better. But throw an infant into battle for freedom, it shouldn't be surprising when tyranny prevails. Malak...? Malak, for a moment, broke our "normal" in that dream. I felt a bit like myself again, around him. To that, I owe everything. I don't know if I would have begun healing, or even gotten to sainthood if he didn't betray me that day. I am grateful he did."

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. What you’re supposed to see him as. What you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[goatgoesmbe]

So about that post of Simons gf that's super kind. what if she's petty with her kindness. one time me and my mom got in fight and that same day she complained about how many house plants she had. so i bought her a miniature rose bush (roses being a hard plant to take care of) as make up gift. I've also made other people their coffee wrong, bought unbalanced pens, gave there cats cat nip, given their children obnoxiously loud toys, etc.

OOOH ANON, I LOVE THISS-

Like- just because reader is sweet, that doesn't mean being a pushover. You have class, and your own way of handling assholes properly.

I imagine Simon would think he needed to be the one who protect you, seeing you're all sunshine and rainbow, always so nice and kind- and he just didn't want anyone to take advantage of you, you know?

But then he realized that you're actually not a damsel in distress.

The first time he saw it, was at a neighbor's baby shower..

"You've been with him for what? 3 years now- and still no ring?" Simon glanced at you who simply smiled in response.

He recognized that voice, Stella was her name or something. She was one of those people who always wanted attention, bragging about every little thing while also dragging people down just so she could feel better about herself.

Simon had to hold back from rolling his eyes when she previously arrived. Wearing matching designer clothes with her five-year-old son, Aiden. Which was a waste of money in his opinion, the little fella will grow out of them in a short time after all.

"I mean.. come on, you're not getting any younger.. better make it official soon before you get expired- he might not be attracted to you anymore then" Before you could respond to the previous jab, Stella continued talking. You could see why she would ask something like that, it was just how she was like after all. You and Simon have reasons, but it was really none of her business. And you couldn't exactly explain to her that your boyfriend is legally dead so you couldn't marry him properly.

Simon wasn't even listening to the other lads around him anymore- not that he did in the first place. Looking at you directly from his spot, he observed the others who interact with you. You were surrounded by the other moms from the neighborhood, yet none of them said anything against Stella.

He saw you giggled and brushed off Stella's words way too casually like it didn't affect you, or maybe you didn't get that she was mocking you- Simon wasn't sure.

"It's time to go, luv" His gruff voice stopped their conversation as he approached you. He could feel their eyes on him, some of them not hiding the fact that they found him attractive from how they looked up at him with a slight flush on their cheeks. He wondered how you were comfortable being around them at all, he never spent more than a few words with them and already felt like committing murder.

Well.. whatever, you won't be meeting them again soon since you two were planning to move away.

You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and pouted "But-". "It's late" he added, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you close to make a statement at the others who still shamelessly gawked at him.

Seeing that look in his eyes- the one that means he accepted no rejection, you sighed. "Alright, let me say my goodbye" You said before turning back to them.

Simon simply grunted and waited. And when he thought you were ready to go, he raised an eyebrow when you instead walked over to the kids who were busy playing. You told them about you moving out from the neighborhood and the kids didn't seem to like that, you were their favorite after all.

"I have something for you guys to remember me by.." You chirped. Immediately, the kids looked at you with eagerness as you rummaged through your tote bag.

The side of his lips lifted under his mask when he saw you pulling out mini harmonicas. Before you could say anything more, a brat snatched one out of your hands. That was Aiden, Stella's spoiled boy. Which means it would be hard for the mom to get the noisy thing from him.

A cute little giggle escaped your lips as you watched the boy immediately blew on the harmonica messily, spraying spit everywhere.

After you made sure every kids got one, you stood up and hold his hand before skipping away with him in tow. Cacophony of moms frustrated yelling, children's laugh, and loud harmonicas left behind.

So you had planned your revenge all along, huh? Seems like you're not a total angel like he thought you were.

...

The second time is when he visited you at work. While he provided you enough for you to stay home and do nothing, you still insisted on having your own cafe. Saying that it had been your dream since you were little. And how can he say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes?

And while you do have people working for you, you still helped around from time to time. "It's the best part about having a cafe" you said to him that one time.

He was sitting at a table close enough to observe you working in that cute little uniform you designed yourself for the cafe when a guy walked in. His appearance screamed 'douche', the kind of guy who would talk about how many body counts is too many for a woman in a podcast.

Despite that, you greeted him cheerfully like you do with every other costumers. Even when he told you to write 'daddy' on the cup after you asked for a name, a disgusting smirk on his lips.

Meaning you would need to yell out that word to call for him when the order was ready.

And while Simon was fuming inside, you were calm. Humming along with the music playing from the speaker as you prepared the coffee.

But, instead of calling for the guy yourself, you turn to one of your employees. His name was Shane, written on the name tag clipped to his uniform. He was a big guy, not any taller than your boyfriend but still. A simple man who will be pleased spending the night scarfing down pizzas and beers. Now, Shane was known for many things, one of them is being very gay, and he was totally not shy about it.

You smiled before turning away to take the next order, but also secretly paying attention to what was going to happen next.

"Daddy..!" Shane shamelessly sing-sung the word loudly and even when Simon expected it already, he still choked on his tea. He also saw you biting down your lip to prevent yourself from laughing.

Shane went on for a while until the whole cafe fell silent except for the music playing that didn't fit the situation at all, which made it more hilarious.

'Daddy' finally walked over to get his order. Red in the face and looking very pissed. He was not stupid enough to cause a scene however, and simply accepted his cup without so much as a thank you. And of course Shane added the cherry on top by throwing a flirty wink.

And when you noticed the way he glanced at you after taking a sip of his coffee, tasting regular milk instead of almond- knowing full well he told you before that he was lactose intolerant. You simply gave him that sweet smile of yours, a cheerful "Thank you, please come back again..!" Thrown his way like how it always is whenever a costumer was leaving.

Simon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Feeling proud (and maybe a bit scared) of his pretty bird being cruel in her own ways.

So when he saw you sighing after an argument on the phone with your mom, he didn't question it when you went ahead and buy a make up gift for her.

[pyromantic-mishap]

okay i can't remember if this is canon or fanon or just me, but.

The Bat-fam all kind of resemble each other, right? Like especially Bruce and Dick and Jason, as adults they all look pretty similar. Jason and Bruce especially (my heart, omg) resemble each other bc they have similar builds and so on

Now, Bruce has filled in as Nightwing in the comics, because Dick was in trouble and Blüdhaven needed Nightwing, and Dick's been Batman before, so he took that upon himself (instead of asking literally anyone better suited to it, like Tim for example). Here's where the fun begins.

Imagine for me, if you will, the medical wing of the Batcave. Jason Todd lies on one of the beds, bleeding and broken and beaten, stoically growling as Alfred sews up his wounds, desperate to return to Crime Alley, because some dangerous shit is going down and by some circumstance only Red Hood can intervene in a way that will permanently end the threat. Batman isn't trusted like he is. Nightwing doesn't elicit the same grudging respect he does. The Red Hood needs to be there, and Jason can't do it. He tries to stand and his legs give way before he's halfway up. He's panicking because this enemy is threatening his kids, and he doesn't know what to do if he can't be there, when Bruce gives him a *look*.

Tim and Alfred both catch the look, and Tim visibly pales. Jason immediately starts to reject the idea, and Tim is about to lose his shit, when Damian pipes up from across the room, agreeing that it is the only way. Bruce and Jason share a long, deep stare, and some unspoken communication passes between them that even Alfred isn't able to read. Jason says, "Okay."

Bruce hugs his son and turns to leave, and immediately Tim is up after him questioning and shouting and arguing, the way he used to when he first became Robin. He's scared, both for Bruce and for the rest of his family. Everyone knows what being the Red Hood did, has done, is still doing to Jason - is it at all a good idea for Bruce to inflict that on himself? Damian almost follows, but a soft "ahem" from Alfred tells him to leave his father and brother to it.

As he suits up, in a costume so unlike his own and yet fits him so easily, Bruce relents on his silence. He looks earnestly into Tim's red, tear-rimmed eyes, and tells him that he knows. He understands. He wouldn't be able to do this if it weren't for Tim, and if there were another choice he'd take it, to spare his soul and his sons'. But this is how it has to be.

In one of the greatest displays of willpower Bruce has ever shown, he straps on Jason's gun belt and pulls on his son's helmet. From his hospital bed, Jason Todd watches as the Red Hood races out into the night, leaving a trembling Tim Drake standing alone- not alone, as Damian and Cass sidle up to him, wrapping their arms around him, telling him Bruce will be fine, everything will be fine, he doesn't need to be afraid any more.

Barbara gets the shock of her life when she hears Bruce's voice coming in over Red Hood's comm channel.

[imsofreakingtired]

modern!sevika - cute/silly hcs

(that picture,, shes so precious jdhjfsdhnd)

will walk confidently into the room and stand there staring blankly, completely forgetting what she came in there for. sees you and gives you a kiss on the forehead. leaves. 5 seconds later she comes back, grabs her prosthetic arm, and walks out again

lowkey likes when it snows and the streets are icy because that gives her an excuse to make you hang onto her arm in order not to slip (she never slips)

rarely dreams, and when she does it's mostly nightmares, but sometimes she sleep talks the most random things. you wake up to hear her mumbling something like "the chicken is crisper when it's burnt, but i don't want your oil." will also answer you in her sleep if you ask her follow-up questions. remembers none of it in the morning.

or she'll just swear in her native language and you've picked up enough Hindi to wonder whose mother she is cursing.

gets car ad jingles stuck in her head periodically and is always humming something under her breath as she works or vacuums or whatever

has incredible navigational skills when walking or taking public transport but somehow gets lost every time she drives. google maps is the bane of her existence.

falls asleep in front of the TV at 9:30 sharp like a middle aged dad. i mean the TV could be on full blast, in the middle of a climactic action scene and she's knocked out snoring. but when you wake her up to get her into bed she will not be able to fall back asleep until well past midnight

whenever she sneezes and you automatically say "bless you" she NEVER FAILS to give you a deadpan look and say "i am not blessed."

will cackle at bad jokes long after you stop even pretending to find them funny

she's an unwilling morning person. always up early but never happy about it.

when she's stressed she just disappears and fixes something. one time she replaced all the handles of every sink in the house

reads almost exclusively non-fiction books on mechanics, neuroscience, and roman history.

has awful hearing and makes you repeat yourself 23 times every time you say something to her from another room...

...but then gets irritated if someone makes her do the same thing.

loses everything somehow. her keys. her glasses. her arm. her left boot. her books. her other boot. her wallet.

(and she never fails to give you a heart attack about it. she'd say in the most casual fuckin voice, "i swear my wallet was just here." and you take off searching for it only for her to find it in her pocket)

sometimes you have cozy nights in together: bake cookies, burn incense, smoke a joint. she is extremely sweet when she's high. she can't stop giving you little kisses all over and tells you huskily that you're the best thing that ever happened to her.

but also in her normal state she has a habit of bluntly saying things that hurt you unintentionally. like when you need her to give emotional reassurance, but she gives you a stone cold solution instead.

she's learned this hurts you and tries to watch her words. not always successfully, but you know she tries.

will never touch social media and no amount of teasing, begging, persuading, cajoling will get her to change her mind.

does not particularly like kids but has a sixth sense when it comes to looking after them. like one time at a family barbecue she caught the little kid of your relative when he fell off a tree branch, single-handedly, purely by instinct. he might have broken a bone otherwise or worse. she becomes something of a local legend for that event.

has the funniest bedhead in the mornings like her hair sticks out everywhere. you want to take a picture and use it as her contact pfp but you also don't want to die

will do the taxes with ease but she's uncomfortable with customer service phone calls. every time you need to contact an agency about something she stands next to you like a nervous kid while you argue with the sales representative.

drinks way too much caffeinated tea and coffee. refuses to cut back on caffeine because of the withdrawal headaches.

will trip over literally anything. and bump into everything. never feels nor remembers where the bruises come from. kicks doors shut and flings them open and always breaks the hinges. she doesn't do this intentionally, she just forgets her own physical strength.

[mrs-stans]

As a woman with facial differences, I'm grateful for Sebastian Stan's award speech.

Iva Ballou Jacksonville Florida Times-Union

An open letter to actor Sebastian Stan

Sebastian Stan, winner of Best Performance by a Male Actor in a motion picture musical or comedy for "A Different Man," is shown at the 82nd Annual Golden Globe Awards at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills, California on Jan. 5.

I usually only watch the Golden Globes for the fashions, so I was tuning in and out during the Jan. 5 broadcast. I paused when I saw Kerry Washington in that pink dress. Then they announced your win for “A Different Man,” a movie about a man with neurofibromatosis, a condition that can cause facial disfigurement.

“Our ignorance and discomfort around disability and disfigurement has to end now. We have to normalize it and continue to expose ourselves to it, and our children,” you said. “We have to encourage acceptance. One way we can continue to do that is to champion stories that are inclusive … we can’t be afraid and look away.”

Those words stopped me in my tracks.

I immediately found myself back in fifth grade, walking out of band practice surrounded by second-graders in the hallway, all their words and laughter tearing into me for the way my face looked. They thought I was something between a supervillain and a joke, while all I was thinking was, “Don’t let these kids see you cry.”

I was 10 years old and am now in my 30s. Yet this incident, like so many others before, continues to haunt me. I am far from alone.

The media’s persistent use of facial difference as a shorthand for evil is not a victimless crime. As a proud member of the facial difference community and as a professional who supports individuals and families navigating similar journeys, I hear similar stories to mine every day (and worse).

The mental scars remain raw long after our surgical ones have healed. No wonder we suffer increased rates of depression, isolation and self-harm.

That’s why I cannot thank you enough.

In just a few sentences, you gave us hope and strength. You shined a light on the struggles of millions of people who have spent their lives feeling invisible and misunderstood. You were not afraid; you did not look away.

On behalf of the facial difference community, I implore you to continue telling stories that fearlessly depict our lives in all their richness, depth and beauty. Use the influence that comes with your Golden Globes win to encourage others in the entertainment industry to do the same. Our lives depend on it.

Thank you, Sebastian Stan, for using your voice to inspire change.

[chariaki]

The classic meet cute!

Kento Nanami x reader

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Kento Nanami's first time meeting you was when he went to his usual park, only to find it crowded, but in the midst of it all, he saw you, lovely under the sun's shine .

He had grown accustomed to spending his weekends in quiet solitude, usually nestled in a corner of the park, away from the chaos of the world. But today was different—today, the park was brimming with life, filled with kids running around, families having picnics, and pets playfully darting between the crowds. Apparently, there was a school event going on.

His eyes scanned the scene, but they paused when they landed on you. There you were, sitting in a beautiful sundress, your attention completely absorbed by a cat you were delightfully feeding. He couldn’t help but watch you for a moment— it's as if you sat in perfect placement under the sun's warm light—but the moment was short-lived.

The feline, a curious one, suddenly saw him and, before he could react, wrapped her tail around his leg.

Kento Nanami who froze, didn't know what to feel. It was a mix of emotions, the weird warm feeling from the cat on his leg—or was it because of you who sat sunkissed, and is now looking straight at him!?

Did he have something on his face? Or worse, a stain on his shirt from the sandwich he had just eaten?

You looked at him, and for a moment, as cliché as he disliked it to say, he felt like the world went in slow motion.

Kento Nanami whose heart skipped. Why were you staring at him for so long? He awkwardly looked down at his shirt and wiped his hands as if to check if there was something wrong with him.

"Hello!" he blurted, the pitch of his voice higher than usual.

Ugh, that was smooth.

You smiled, a soft gleam in your eyes. "Hi!"

You returned the same energy, easy and light.

Kento Nanami whose face flushed in embarrassment, and he turned away in a hasty retreat, hoping his awkwardness wouldn’t be the highlight of your day.

But as he turned, the universe had other plans.

The cat, apparently struck by Kento’s exit, decided your jacket was far more interesting than the crumbs you had been feeding her. She dragged it across the concrete floor, claws and teeth tugging at the fabric.

Kento didn’t even think. Before you could react, he was already moving—his body moved faster than his thoughts.

Perhaps it was the instinct to protect his peace. Perhaps it was the nagging thought that you’d be annoyed if your jacket got damaged...or perhaps it was simply because you were beautiful, and he wanted to see you smile at him again, and maybe... even talk to you.

"Hey—wait!" he called out, chasing after the cat with a surprising burst of speed, looking a little... ridiculous. He reached down and snatched your jacket from the cat’s persistent teeth.

With a little tug, Kento managed to get your jacket back—but it was slightly torn from the feline’s chewing.

He cleared his throat, trying to act cool. "Please excuse me about that... um, the jacket, I mean. I—"

"You’re not really a cat person, are you?" you said, laughing lightly.

"It seems so..," He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But... I would like to make it up to you. Let me buy you a new one?"

You paused for a second, then grinned. "Well, if you insist, I guess I could lend you my time, and let you treat me to a new jacket."

And just like that!

Kento Nanami found himself wanting to spend the rest of his afternoon with you, helping pick out jackets at a nearby store. He didn't expected to enjoy himself, but he did. You were easy to talk to, and the more time he spent with you, the more his heart felt lighter.

By the end of the day, he found himself walking home with his thoughts occupied by you.

He reached into his pocket and found a pink note folded inside. Unfolding it, he smiled when he saw your number written on it, with a little happy face.

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

The universe, it seemed, had a funny way of making him step out his shell and see more of the world—and for once, he wasn’t complaining.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Death and the Fool

Chapter 2: The Ace of Pentacles--Upright

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Where the personification of Life believes she has no chance with Agatha Harkness after Death gets to her first

Spotify playlist here

Chapter 1

Taglist: @hannah-0730 @loveshineslikethesky

“The Ace of Pentacles–Upright: Opportunity, prosperity, new adventures.”

__________

October 2026

The first thought that comes to your mind is not good. 

The house that stands in front of you looks just shy of completely mangled. The door has been ripped off its hinges, splintered into a thousand pieces. Outside, the flower box holds crushed shrubbery and chrysanthemums and the roof drain pipe is half way from completely falling off. 

You take a few measured steps forward and notice the mailbox is overflowing with mail. You sigh, roll your eyes, and continue towards the house.

Stepping through the door, you’re met with piles of splintered wood, and as you try to watch your footing, your eyes lock onto something familiar. Your heart lurches when your fingers touch it. The Triple Goddess pendant was all too familiar. You had known Agatha for over 300 years and she never once went anywhere without it.

You slip your nail beneath the clasp of the pendant. Inside is another familiar sight and you smile bitterly at the piece of dark hair before closing it again and dropping it in your pocket.

You can't see her, but Agatha’s voice is clear and distinct, and your chest warms hearing it for the first time in decades.

“Fine, I’m driving.”

There’s no chance of reacting when she rounds the corner as soon as the words escape her mouth.

You’re both frozen, staring each other down, and the kid behind her looks between yourself and Agatha.

“Hi,” he smiles, attempting to hop towards you. When he makes eye contact, something feels off about him. You recognize every single soul that walks the Earth. You create them from nothing, yet form them into everything. But this one, you don’t recognize. 

“I’m–” His mouth is forced shut and it looks almost as if his own skin is stretched over his lips. When a black squiggle paints itself over where his lips would be, you narrow your eyes at him.

Agatha reaches for a pair of scissors and cuts the rope from around the boy’s wrists, handing them to him, “Cut the rest of yourself free,” she sneers, “and go outside, you’re driving.”

He struggles to hop between the two of you, stumbling briefly on the wood chips, but managing to catch himself before he leaves for the grassy front yard. 

“He has a sigil,” you point out, watching him carefully.

“Yep. I’ve been calling him ‘Teen’,” she says. “He’s pretty insistent on not being a kid.” 

You turn your head to look back at her. “Rio said she ‘stopped by’.” You pause and look around at all the damage in the house–broken glass and china in the kitchen and more concerningly, blood on the floor. “It seems she left out some parts of her story.”

Agatha purses her lips, “Like trying to kill me?”

“Oh, I’m sure you enjoyed that, Aggie,” you sigh, leaning against the wall. “You were never one to shy away from a fight.”

Agatha’s stiff and cold demeanor didn’t falter, even at the nickname. “Why are you here?” she asks.

She’s so different from the Agatha you originally knew. The Agatha that would laugh at the stupidest jokes you’d tell her. The Agatha that would climb up a tree to scare you and Rio and laugh with that mischievous glint in her eye. The Agatha that would sing lullabies. 

Oh, how you miss the Sun.

“Just checking in,” you shrug. “Where are you driving to?”

“The last time I saw you–”

“You told me I’m too pure,” you butt in, remembering the memory that you aren’t too fond of. “You told me that I’d be corrupted by your ways if I did not leave. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you that night, Aggie–Unlike Rio, I can find any soul, anywhere, at any time without her necessary process. No amount of dark magic can hide you from me, Agatha, and you cannot corrupt me. You cannot corrupt Life.”

She’s quiet for some before she glances at Teen, who sits on the grass, clearly distracted by his phone. Agatha leans in closely, lowering her voice, “We’re walking the Road.”

You pull back, searching her eyes for any sign of farce, “You said you would stop with the Road bullshit, Agatha. What is he, sixteen?”

“Well that was before Wanda Maximoff drained me of everything and stole the Darkhold…besides, I’m just having him drive me around collecting witches for the coven,” she shrugs. Agatha grins as she watches you sigh, “Why don’t you join us, hon?”

“Excuse me?”

Agatha takes a pair of sunglasses and cleans them off with her shawl before slipping them over her eyes and smiling at you. “You’ll be here with Rio to collect their souls after I drain them anyway. Why don’t you have a bit of fun?”

You want to say no. You want to say no so badly, but you don’t. Instead, you groan. “Fine, but I’m not having that kid drive me around. I’ll stay here and…clean up.”

“Sounds good, doll,” she smiles–and, oh, how you love when she smiles, especially when it has that mischievous undertone. Agatha steps over pieces of the door and exits through the doorway. “We’ll be back soon!”

When the pair of them leave you’re left to your own devices. You look around the entire first floor, ending in the kitchen. You let out an exasperated sigh, Rio really did a number on this place.

By the time you finish cleaning the house, it’s three o’clock and Agatha and Teen still aren’t back. You aren’t usually the type to snoop around but you’re so curious as to how Agatha’s been living the last few years.

In the room off the left of the foyer is the sitting room Agatha came out of. Afternoon light creeps in through the curtains but the lamps provide a warm ambience as you take a lap around the room. 

You don’t recognize a single person in the framed pictures–there’s a bearded man with an older woman who looks to be his mother, a picture of three women, and a bigger picture with a huge group of people all wearing shirts that read “Bohner Family Reunion”. 

There are collections of records and Blu-Ray discs from the previous owner and you rifle through them–a colossal amount of classic rock and movies that you know a guy would try to man-splain to you when you tell him that you “just don’t get it”. 

On the partition wall separating the sitting room from the dining room, there are at least thirty pictures and pieces of paper covered in red ink. Upon further inspection, the pictures are nothing but daisies and patches of grass, and the ink on the papers are just random letters and scribbled lines. You think back to your conversation with Rio the previous night.

“She’s gone all true crime and thinks she’s trying to solve a murder. It’s kind of funny actually, I’ve been playing along.”

When you go upstairs that’s when you see the little touches of the real Agatha. The door to her bedroom is open and you amble in. Her bed is unmade and you’re not one bit surprised after having asked her decades ago why she doesn’t make it. 

“I’m gonna be sleeping in it again tonight, why the hell would I go through all that effort just to mess it up again?” she had replied.

On her nightstand is a ceramic bunny figurine. Closer to the bed is an empty wine glass with the smallest bit of dried red at the bottom, and beside that is a bottle of ibuprofen and a half-way read through book.

In her closet are all different decades of clothing–50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and the 2000’s. You find leg warmers and laugh to yourself, imagining Agatha Harkness wearing these brightly colored monstrosities over whatever workout fit she was wearing. Your favorite, however, is the 50’s and 60’s section. You can remember those years so vividly, going to diners with her and drive-in movies after she finished “walking the Road” again.

After closing the closet your attention is pulled to a chair across the room. You walk over to it and see there’s a pair of black boots, a folded white blouse with purple slacks, and a teal trench coat hanging over the back of the chair. On top of the neatly folded blouse is a small envelope with Rio’s familiar handwriting, reading, Agatha.

The sound of Agatha’s voice reaches your ears. You look at the clock and it’s almost four. You’re able to hear her voice clearly, snapping back a snarky remark when Teen asks her where she’s going. 

She’s in the doorway of her room quicker than you realize and when you turn around she has that sly smile that makes you weak in the knees each time. 

“The house looks good,” Agatha says, tossing her shawl and hat on the bed. 

“Thanks, who did you steal it from?” you tease.

“I don’t know,” she huffs. “Some guy named Ralph…or Randall? Robert? I don’t know. I–What the hell is that?” 

She walks quickly over to where you are and snatches the note from the folded clothes. After tearing it open, she scans the lines and rolls her eyes, balling the paper up and throwing it away in the bathroom.

“She does know your style!” you chuckle. You take the clothes from the chair and bring them to her, smiling softly when she glares at them. “Just put them on, Aggie. You want to look good when “walking the Witches’ Road”, don’t you?”

She looks at you, fighting herself before sighing, completely defeated. “Fine. But I’m not going to like it.”

“I don’t expect you to,” you smile, chuckling as she shuts the door in your face.

You have to remind yourself to breathe when Agatha steps out of the bathroom. She could wear a potato sack, a garbage bag, and she’d still be the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

“Right,” she huffs, looking at herself in a full length mirror. “How do I look?”

You could answer in a million ways. You could tell her that the way she has her hair pinned up makes you want to place a thousand kisses over the exposed skin. You could tell her that she looks so good you want to rip the blouse she’s wearing open and have her take you right there. That the way her hands adjust the collar of the jacket makes unspeakable thoughts fill your mind.

But you don’t say that.

“Good!” you say. 

She looks at you through the mirror, grins, and turns around. “Good?”

“Amazing!” you correct yourself.

“Amazing?” she repeats. “Hm…Thank you.”

You take a deep breath and let it out. “You’re missing something, though.” 

Under the curious eye of Agatha, you step closer to her and reach into your pocket. When you grasp the pendant of the necklace and pull it out she visibly tenses. But you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you move closer and reach around her neck, clasping it in place and adjusting it to lay beneath the collar of her blouse. Your fingers straighten out the pendant before pulling away. 

It’s quiet. 

Your eyes meet and you can see something in her soften. 

“Where did you find it?” Agatha asks quietly.

“Amidst the pile of door that Rio left behind,” you answer, letting out a quiet hum. “You’re not you without it and I know how much it means to you.”

“Is his–”

“Yes,” you cut in. “It’s still in there.”

She gives you a subtle nod. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, and you can almost swear you saw her eyes glance down at your lips. “You should probably get downstairs. Who knows what Teen is getting up to?”

Agatha scoffs, “Not much probably. Teenagers these days are too soft.”

Downstairs, you see Teen, who has set out what he calls “Pre-Road appetizers”. Over the mantel, he’s taped up a sign that reads “Welcome Coven”.

“I think it’s cute,” you shrug, watching as Agatha tears it down and huffs.

“No, leave it up,” a voice behind you says. “Really sets the mood.”

Teen breaks out into a smile and beckons her in. “Please, come in! Right, Agatha?”

“I don’t care, I mean whatever…” she mutters. Agatha seems mildly annoyed at this situation and you’re finding it hard to reserve a smile.

When Teen offers the new witch a “pre-Road appetizer”, she declines just to be overshadowed by another woman behind her.

“I don’t mind a lapsed expiration date,” she chirps, taking a bite of the expired granola bar. She pauses as she looks at the witch beside her, “High Priestess.”

“Jennifer Kale, potions,” she says.

“Lilia Calderu, divination,” the second one says. She narrows her eyes. “You’re bound.”

“And you need a chemical peel,” Jen retorts, much to Lilia’s dismay.

Behind them, a third woman appears and sighs. “This is never going to work. Your front door is missing.”

“Alice!” Teen exclaims with a bright smile. “How did you find us?”

“I’m an ex-cop,” she shrugs. “That’s gonna be my answer to a lot of questions.”

Impatient, and completely over the introductions, Agatha sighs loudly and claps her hands. “Okay!” she chirps. “We’ve got everyone! Let’s go!”

“Um, what about the green witch?” Jennifer asks.

Agatha scoffs. “Oh, we don’t need one of those! Let’s g–”

“Yes, we do!” Lilia insists.

“Green magic is arguably the most important of the skill sets needed for the road,” Jen says.

After more bickering, Agatha finally relents and leaves the house to retrieve the “green witch”. An awkward silence falls over the room as you all wait for her to come back, and it felt longer than it actually was.

“Okay!” Agatha cheers. “I’ve got our green witch! This is Mrs. Hart.”

A small woman stands beside Agatha, smiling as she greets everyone. “Oh, actually, it’s Sharon!”

You can see Agatha becoming visibly frustrated at the revelry, but she hides it (and not well) with an overly cheery smile. “Alright, let’s go!”

You and Agatha stand together with Teen in between you. You watch as the coven takes in their surroundings. Lilia strolls around, nosing around in the boxes on the shelves while Sharon, Jennifer, and Alice stand there awkwardly.

“Do you think we’ll need another car?” Teen asks. “I don’t think everyone will fit in mine.”

Agatha sighs, “You don’t drive to the Road, Teen. The Road is conjured. In fact, why don’t you go upstairs.” She turns him around and despite his protests, keeps pushing him toward the stairs. “Yeah, let’s getcha up there. Let the adults handle this.”

When he leaves the basement, Agatha turns to you, “Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t come down here.”

The sun is almost completely set when you and Teen make it upstairs. The dim lighting leaves an eerie glow around the house and it’s almost unsettling as you watch Teen explore the living room. When he gasps and picks up Agatha’s rabbit, there’s a twinge in your chest and it feels like you’re seeing Nicky for the first time again.

But your thoughts are interrupted when Teen drops the rabbit and slowly walks outside. You follow closely behind him, “What are y–shit.” 

Agatha had made sure your priority was keeping him from going back down into the basement, but that priority had changed. Now, as you stare face to face with the Salem Seven, your priority has changed: protect Teen and make sure they never reach Agatha.

You pull Teen back, “Get inside, now!” 

You can hear the faint sound of the ballad below the floorboards as you cast a protection spell over the vacant doorway in an attempt to hold them off. Teen pulls the nearest couch over and blocks the entrance. He moves to another room and it’s quiet–and you know that means nothing good. 

Teen’s scream from the other room makes you react before you can even think. You run to him, pulling him behind you just before one of the Seven can reach him. You cast another spell, sending one of them flying into the wall before you turn and run to find Teen.

You can hear shouting below you and just like that, it stops. You know what that means. This wasn’t the first time you’ve witnessed it. 

Teen’s screaming echoes through the house and you can hear him running towards the basement. “Agatha!” he shrieks. “Agatha!”

You run after him, just on his tail as he makes it to the basement. “Teen! Wait!”

“Is this the Road?” you hear him shout. “Is this the Road, because we should really get going!”

And now you’re nothing but confused. 

Is this the Road? 

The Road? “The Road” should be three dead witches and Agatha’s neighbor.

And then you reach the bottom of the stairs. 

You pause and stare at Agatha. The air feels electric and the very thought of the Salem Seven leaves your mind, because when you look up from the hexagon door, your eyes meet and you both share the same questions:

Where did that come from? And why is it here?

[emma23]

Ohhgg Steven Grant getting baby fever... Reading that little drabble, I can only imagine it getting worse. He sees little clothes, children at a park, even nursery builds in an IKEA catalog and gives you those puppy dog eyes. He isn't pressuring you intentionally but God if he isn't the king of getting what he wants

Marc feels like he would be in the "we are not ready for a baby absolutely not" category. There are too many uncertain factors, so much can go wrong and he doesn't want his love or their child to get put in harms way because of his moon knighting so to speak

Jake could probably be convinced, but still would see the dangers and still tell you that it's something that they should really be on the same page and be extremely prepared for (don't get it wrong he would be ecstatic to be a papa)

Steven.... Baby fever is contagious.. he wants that taste of domestic bliss and all the hardships that come with it. I don't even want children, but I think Steven could convince me with little effort,,

Omg love the idea !!! 💕

Steven/ Marc/ Jake x reader

You weren’t expecting it when it started.

It was subtle at first—Steven’s eyes lingering a little longer than usual when you passed a baby stroller on the street, his lips parting in quiet awe when a toddler giggled at him in the grocery store. You noticed the way he hesitated in the baby aisle at Target, fingers brushing over the tiny socks like they were made of gold, and how he always seemed to pause when flipping through a magazine that happened to have an article about parenting.

At first, you thought it was nothing.

But then, you caught him staring at an IKEA catalog, completely ignoring the ‘practical storage solutions’ section he usually obsessed over. His focus? A nursery setup, all soft blues and yellows, tiny bookshelves filled with plush animals, and a crib that looked like it had been handcrafted by angels.

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath.

Steven Grant had baby fever.

And Steven Grant was very, very good at getting what he wanted.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The idea of a little one running around, a mix of you and them, was… sweet. But this was not something you could decide on impulse.

And Marc? Marc was a hard no.

"We are absolutely not ready for a baby," he told you one night, arms crossed over his chest like a barrier between him and the conversation. "We have too much going on. Too many risks. Too much shit we still need to work through."

His voice was firm, but there was something in his eyes—fear. Not of being a father, necessarily, but of bringing a child into his world, a world that was dangerous, unpredictable.

Jake? Well.

"¿Un bebé, huh?" He tilted his head, assessing you with that sharp, knowing look. "I mean… It’s a big thing, mi vida. We’d have to be sure. Really sure. But…" A slow smirk spread across his face. "I'd be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea of a little one calling me ‘papá’ someday."

That left you in the middle of a tug-of-war you weren’t prepared for.

On one side, Steven and his dangerously persuasive pout.

On the other, Marc’s logic and fear.

And in between? Jake, who was probably enjoying this chaos a little too much.

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon when you and Steven went to the park.

It was meant to be a simple outing—fresh air, a walk, maybe some ice cream. But then, Steven saw them.

The kids.

Toddlers chasing after bubbles, little ones waddling unsteadily across the grass, tiny hands reaching for their parents’ fingers. A dad lifted his giggling daughter into the air, spinning her around before settling her onto his shoulders.

Steven didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

And when you turned to him, his eyes were soft, filled with something deep and yearning.

"Love," he murmured, barely audible. "Can you imagine it? A little one. Someone to love, to protect… to teach about ancient Egypt and proper museum cataloging, of course."

You snorted, nudging him. "Because that's exactly what kids want to learn about."

"They should," he huffed playfully, but then, more seriously, "I just… I think about it a lot, yeah? I know it’s not simple, but I want that with you. I do."

You exhaled slowly, heart squeezing at the way he looked at you—like you were the whole damn universe.

"Steven…"

And then—

"Absolutely not."

Marc’s voice. Sharp. Unyielding. He was at the front now, pulling Steven back like a parent snatching a kid away from the edge of a cliff.

Steven groaned, rolling his eyes. "Marc—"

"No."

"Marc, c'mon, mate, it’s not like I’m asking for one right this second—"

"You're looking at car seats like you're about to shove one in our shopping cart."

Steven huffed. "That's exaggerating."

"It's not. Y/N, back me up here." Marc turned to you, arms crossed.

You hesitated. "Well… I mean…"

Steven’s eyes snapped to you, hopeful.

Marc’s narrowed.

You sighed. "Marc, I get it. I do. But…" You glanced at Steven, the sheer want in his expression making your stomach flip. "It’s not crazy to think about, is it?"

Marc groaned, rubbing his face. "Christ."

"See?" Steven beamed. "Not crazy."

"Not crazy," Marc muttered. "Just—fuck, okay, hypothetically—"

Steven’s eyes lit up.

"—if we ever did this, we’d need to be prepared. We’d need to think about safety. Logistics. The reality of it."

"Of course," Steven agreed immediately.

"And—"

"Ah, mierda, just give in already."

Jake.

"Jake." Marc’s voice was warning.

Jake just laughed, low and easy. "C’mon, hermano. You know you’re picturing it now."

"I’m not," Marc snapped, then scowled. "Okay, maybe a little."

Jake smirked.

Steven grinned.

Marc sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck."

That night, you and Steven curled up together on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, his arms snug around you.

"You really want this, don’t you?" you murmured, fingers threading through his curls.

Steven pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "More than anything, love."

You swallowed hard, leaning into him. Maybe… maybe this was something you could want.

Much later, when things turned heated—when Steven had you pressed against the mattress, murmuring sweet, desperate things against your skin—he whispered, "Y'know, practice makes perfect."

You flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you love me."

You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly. "God help me, I do."

[noirsdoll]

just a quick drabble abt reader picking up prison!jimmy from jail!

(for context this is an au where he went to jail for what he did to anya. cw for mentioned rape/abuse and smoking)

His hair could do with a trim.

Jimmy’s thrown it into a bun that’s more of a limp knot than anything— jagged strands frame his constant grimace and splotchy stick-and-pokes peek out from under his collar. 

He put on muscle, it surprises you. The man’s only ever been a deadbeat to you, you’re shocked his eyes even had the strength to look at a barbell. The fat jokes you brainstormed on the way here promptly die on your tongue. 

There’s a nasty split in his lip and a bruise frames his cheekbone like crappy blush. He's wearing the same leather jacket that he had on when he got arrested, it's gray on the shoulders from water damage. Ratty jeans and even rattier sneakers— at least he’s not sagging. 

The automated slammer doors roll shut behind him with a beep. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet and pretending like you’re not the only one standing here to pick him up. 

“Over here, sweetie.” You snap your fingers at him like you’re calling a dog with a toy in its mouth. “Hurry up— I’m double-parked.”

You turn without checking if he’s following you— Orpheus has nothing on you. His grunt of annoyance confirms there is a cat in your box. 

You pop your gum, rounding the hood to the driver’s seat. The keychains on your keys jingle as you unlock your car. It’s one more accident from falling apart, your wheel’s missing its horn and the entire radio unit’s been stolen. 

Spitting the gum onto the pavement, you slide in front of the wheel. Jimmy stands awkwardly outside the shotgun door— it’s still locked because you think it’s funny that he gets so annoyed when it is. 

Your shiny pumps stomp down on the gas and you pull out onto the street, clearly speeding along the barren road. Jimmy stares out the window with his arms crossed, giving you the silent treatment you expected. You watch the plains melt into shitty residential areas and the street lanes get more crowded. At a red light, you light one of your many cigarettes of the day. 

After a moment, he reaches for your cigarette like a greedy toddler, you swat his hand away without a glance. With the cigarette tucked firmly between your lips, you complete a two-handed turn onto your driveway. 

Jimmy kicks over one of your lawn gnomes on your way to the door— for looking at him funny, you guess. You pay it no mind.

“Your room’s exactly how you left it,” you say, tossing your keys by the door.

When he doesn't answer, you turn to face him. “What, so you’re just not gonna say anything to me now?”

“You could’ve paid my bail,” he says quietly, malice tinting his voice.

“You could’ve not gotten arrested.” You lean on the kitchen counter and light a fresh cigarette as soon as the current one fizzles out. “God, Jimmy, do something with your life, why don’t you?”

He stands there on the other side of the room, staring at the ground, silent. The way he gets when you’re right and have talked him into a corner. You’re angry now, continuing the tirade.

“Two years, Jimmy. Christ—,”  You run a frustrated hand through your hair. “Do you expect people to always just clean up after you?”

“I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“But you wanted me to, right?”

He snorts. “You act like you know me.”

“I clearly don’t! You got that girl pregnant, Jim. That poor fucking girl, God, I— I can’t believe you.”

His eyebrows twitch in surprise. “She got pregnant?”

You nod. “She kept the baby. The kid’s sixteen months old.”

“Oh, and you two are friends now?” Jimmy asks cooly.

“The least I could do was help out after what you did.” You scoff. ”Why’d you even do it in the first place? Am I not enough for you?”

Jimmy half-rolls his eyes. “Did I ever say that?”

You can’t believe this is the man you waited for all this time. “Don’t you feel ashamed? Remorseful? Anything?”

“I was fucking drunk, okay? I don’t wanna talk about this again—”

Your eyes go wide in shock. “Being drunk doesn’t make you stick your dick in the first pussy you see! It doesn’t make you strangle a girl half to death!” You bury your face in your hands, tears swimming in your vision. “God, Jim. Fuck. Fuck!”

Jimmy walks closer, draping his arms around you. “Don’t… cry, please.” It’s said with as much empathy as he can garner— a net total of zero.

“I shouldn’t be here right now. I fucking shouldn’t.” You look up at him with glossy eyes. Your cigarette blazes out in your limp hand, all but forgotten. 

Your hand cups his face, running your thumb over his prickly stubble, catching on his fresh shaving nicks. He tried to shave for you today. He tried.

You look away. “I fucking hate you. I hate you.”

“I know.”

[mi-co-uk]

coming clean

blue!reader x saviour!matt

WARNINGS: embarrasment, self hate, idea of not being safe,. the series itself will contain heavy angst , fluff and smut 𖦹

I've never written a fic before so any feedback and support is appreciated !

p.s the grammar is wrong but I like it that way coz it feels like a diary entry but if it's distracting I can change it :3

pls enjoy <3

other parts: intro // 1 // 2

CHAPTER 2

────୨ৎ────

I didn't think I'd ever see him again.

I guess i was partially right. the version of him I knew is gone. he seems so much more sure of himself now. I used to be the more confident of the two of us - sparking conversations because I knew he wouldn't, complimenting him when I knew he was skeptical.

here I am now, sat so pathetically in front of him. a shell of the girl he knew while he's grown fully into his body and soul.

my matt.

it's hard not to stare. I can tell he's thinking the same about me by the way his eyes dart widly from me to nick, to me, to chris, to me, to my neck.

he used to look at me with adoration. like I was everything perfect in the world, his eyes full of love. there was only a hint of sadness when he remembered I couldn't be his. I was already someone else's. maybe I still am.

but now his gaze is swimming with empathy. pure pity making me feel sick to my stomach.

it's disgusting. its digusting because it makes me feel like I am.

I'm so fucking embarrassing.

I shouldn't have messaged them.

my body feels more and more hollow the longer it says silent. everyone lacks in movement, uncertainty so prominent it's almost unbearably loud.

matt locks eyes with me again, a new glint sparks before he stands up abruptly. if I didn't feel borderline catatonic, I probably would've flinched.

he slowly shuffles away to the room across the living room, the door creaking open. matt steps back out the room before it had even finished the harsh screech.

he rests back down gently at the end of the L shaped couch. he's a little further away that I'd expect him to sit, though I appreciate it.

"you remember?" he whispers softly.

I look down towards his hand, noticing the stuffed animal in his grasp.

as much as matt used to be nervous around me, he was never fully embarrassed. he was comfortable, just wanting to maintain a good impression. he never felt humiliated when I turned up to his house on those days when everything was a little too much. sometimes we would talk about it and sometimes we wouldn't. silence or not, he'd be holding that same toy pug that's he's had since I've known him and long before that.

the childlike nature of it was irrelevant then and it should feel that way now. I can't help but be reminded of the fact that I'm not really a kid anymore. but I feel so utterly vulnerable and clueless as if I am one.

he slowly gestures it towards me, letting us mirror who we were before. it's ironic really. I run my thumb across the soft ears. Just like matt used to. there's a break in my sniffs causing me to realise just how intrusive the sound of it had been.

"y-you um. you don't have to tell us everything but, we can grab the whiteboard so you can talk?" matt starts, before slightly repositioning himself in his seat, slightly nervous from the intensity of the situation.

I keep my view locked down to the plush animal in my lap.

"but um." he continues, "it's good to see you, yknow? despite the circumstances." his voice loses confidence and volume the more he speaks.

I peer up at him slowly, his gaze much more familiar than before. he really means it. my eyes grow hot just as he flashes a quick tight smile.

my breath hitches before all the built up pressure in my chest starts escaping me again. warm tears flood down my face, building up further when the embarrassment sets back in.

chris sets the small whiteboard on the low counter in front of me without me even noticing his first movements.

the sobbing doesn't stop, as I continue praying that it would. I grip the stuffed animal close to my chest and cover my face with my other hand, before bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head atop them.

I'm turned directed to the wall as I calm my breathing. I bend the arm holding matts pug, using the crease of my elbow to rest my head.

I think of what he'd tell me if he was here.

"you're fucking crying? this is your fault. stop acting acting like a fucking baby."

the humiliation sets back in enough for my breathing to slow, burying everything back down.

I feel matt rub his thumb just above my elbow, caressing gently.

"it's okay." he whispers. "I know it doesn't feel okay now, and- and that's okay but, you're with us, yeah?" I continue staring at the empty wall beside me.

"it's safe." he speaks lowly, full of sympathy. "you're safe."

it should piss me off more than it does. I'm not safe. I can never be safe for as long as I live. but I know matt would spend that life trying to make sure i was or at least the closest thing to it. as he always did before.

I face towards him, quickly acknowledging him with a sniff before turning to look at the whiteboard. I set aside the pug, reaching for the board and pen. I perch cross legged, staring with empty eyes down at it.

where do I even start?

𐙚🧸ྀི

a/n I feel like I'm going a bit slow with this but yep here we areeee , I also wanna say that I'm from the UK so idk what specifically might be worded confusing for some people but i tried to make it less so at parts like when I said couch not sofa lol but I hope it makes sense regardless

let me know what you think !

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ - mi

tags: @pair-of-pantaloons

[itzy-bitsy-spidey]

"Pokemon collection (pt. 7)"

Or "something made a hole in my backyard pt.7"

Shadow The Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

Notes: Happy Valentine's day!! If you're feeling nice leave a comment, they are hugely appreciated!

Part 6

Fainting was a weird sensation. It´s like when you stood up really fast and you get dizzy, except instead of going away the dizzines just makes you fall to the ground and hit your head.

It was the waking up part that was higly confusing. Mainly because the first thing you saw was a yellow-orangey creature.

"AHHHHH" Yeah, probably the whole neighborhood heard you scream.

And then you heard multiple voices at the same time from which what you understod was: "Hey, there´s no need to scream" from what sounded like a child, "You´re not dead!" from an older child, "This one is weird, she is silent and then loud" that sounded like a grown ass adult. And there was also Ozzy barking.

"Okay everybody, move aside, give her some space" Now that voice you did recognize, that was your aunt Maddie.

Only when she sat next to you did you register that you were laying in the couch. How long had it been?

"Hey sweetie" She started as she gently laid her hand on your arm as though you were a scared animal that would run off at any moment. "I´m sorry this all came as a surprise to you, we didn´t mean to..."

"I´M BACK, WHO SCREAMED?" Tom interrupted her as he appeared out of nowhere, or maybe he had come from upstairs, you didn´t know, you were sooo confused.

"What happened? And why is there a blue hedghog here?"

"We were going to tell you, but then you showed up with Shadow and we didn´t want to..." Once again your aunt was interrupted.

"Hi! I´m Sonic! Your super awesome cousin you didn´t know you had" The hedgehog practically screamed on your face.

"I´m sorry, did you just say cousin?" You asked at him, but you didn´t even let him speak as you turned towards your uncle "Is this why you said kids? Are these... things..."

"Rude" Said, well, Sonic, you guessed.

"...Your kids? And you didn´t tell me?" You couldn´t quite tell if you were feeling offended or confused, there was a sort of thightness on your chest, as if you were hugely overlooking a very important detail.

"Why did you not tell me? And why are there so many of them? What, do you collect them like fucking pokemons or something?" Now you did know what you were feeling.

Angry, hot with anger. You could feel it in every vein on your body, your eyes couldn´t focus on anything, until you found a victim, still sitting right at your side.

"I asked you for help! I thought he was dying and you didn´t even think about telling me that you had seen others like him?!" you screamed at your aunt Maddie as you got up from the couch.

"I didn´t know what to do, he is dangerous!" She quipped right back.

"That´s not your call to make, I would have handled it if you had said something" that was probably one of the first times in your life you had disagreed with your aunt.

Shadow wasn´t dangerous. Sure, he was hurt and he didn´t really trust you, but that didn´t make him dangerous.

"HE TRIED TO KILL TOM!"

...

...

"What?"

Your voice had came out so low you weren´t sure the words had actually left your mouth at all.

"He did, that´s why he has a broken arm" Maddie explained as she grabbed your hands on hers.

"But he´s not bad..."

"He has the ability to be..." she stated as if it was an unmistakable truth.

"Maddie that´s enough, we talked about this" Finally Tom approached the two of you, he put his working arm in between you and stared sternly at his wife. Yet she kept looking at you in your eyes.

"But it doesn´t matter anymore, he´s gone" She tried to smile reassuringly.

"What?" Suddenly the hold on your hands felt restrictive "What do you mean? What did you do?!" you ripped your hands of of hers.

"I-I, nothing, I didn´t do nothing, he was gone when I went looking for you" She seemed shocked at your harsh reaction.

Dread filled your entire body, it had drenched you in an awful way, freezing you from head to toes. A sound left your lips, it wasn´t quite a word, more like a strained gasp.

And the you ran.

You didn´t hear your aunt calling for you as you left the house, or the little yellow fox asking "What is going on?", all you could be aware of was the blood pumping through your legs and your heart beating wildly in your chest. There was a ringing in your ears too, that damned type of ringing that appears when the world is too quiet.

The run to your house felt awfully longer than the walk you had taken that morning, and once you finally arrived your brain was working too fast, trying to focus on everything at once.

From afar the house had looked normal, but the door was open, the lock busted. Your heart had left your chest altogether and was then beating on your throat.

You walked in slowly, the speed you had taken on the run dead as you had stepped on the welcome mat. A voice came from the living room, so you went there first.

The wooden floor creaked with every step you took, and anticipation built in your chest. But there was no one there, only the TV on, broadcasting a Mexican novela.

With every second you gained speed as you ran all the way to the bedroom you were staying in, the one Shadow had taken as his own while he healed.

The bed was neatly done and everything was on place, except the window, which was wide open

"SHADOW! SHADOW WERE ARE YOU?!" you screamed through the window, looking for signs of him on the backyard.

Something warm dripped onto your hand, and, as you touched your face trying to figure out were the liquid had came from, you felt traces of tears painting your cheeks.

You kept calling out his name as you searched around the house, your voice growing weaker and more broken as you didn't find him.

Finally you reached the living room once again, and you collapsed on the couch. You tried to hold your hands together so that they wouldn't shake.

A creak sounded from the window behind you; you turned around.

There he was standing, looking straight at your eyes with his usual frown. He exchanged looks with you for a few seconds and when you finally moved he was too confused as to move.

You jumped over the couch and hugged him. The hard floor digged onto your knees and your body felt tired, but he was alright which was what mattered.

"Where where you?" You questioned him.

"A woman came by, I did what you told me, I hid". His frown looked almost concerned then, as if he was worried he had done something wrong.

"Yes, you did well" You laughed and broke the hug, choosing to keep your hands on his shoulders instead "Maybe a little too well".

"I'm..."

"The ultimate life form? Yeah, yeah, I know"

"No, I'm... Sorry, that I worried you" he stared at the ground.

You almost choked on a sob at his words.

"It's okay, I was just worried you were hurt, there's nothing to apologize for sweetie" you explained as you held his face in your hands.

What a twist your life had taken.

Taglist:@boogiemansbitch@vxllys@whoisgami@baby-bloos@sapphireravensworld@mothmanperson@4rm-the-mf-concrete@eliknowsnothing@pooplyface1423@kyouzki@moon-trash1507@shadowforlive

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Don't Wait For Me"

Part 5

You found out by accident.

Marshall had been hanging around more lately—more than usual. He barely left the house unless it was for something necessary, like picking up groceries with you or taking Whitney to school. He was always there, watching you like you might disappear if he turned away for too long.

You hadn’t really thought much about it. Not until Hailie mentioned something offhand over breakfast.

"Is Dad leaving today?" she asked, stirring her coffee.

Your stomach dipped. "Leaving?"

"For LA," she clarified, glancing up. "He was supposed to be gone last week, but he moved things around. Paul’s been blowing up his phone about it."

You set your fork down carefully. "He moved things around?"

"Yeah." She frowned, suddenly hesitant. "You… didn’t know?"

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, I didn’t."

You found Marshall in his home studio, headphones around his neck, absently scrolling through his phone. When he saw you standing in the doorway, he set it down, stretching his arms.

"Hey, baby." His smile was soft, easy. "What’s up?"

You crossed your arms. "When were you going to tell me about LA?"

His expression barely flickered, but you knew. "I was gonna tell you," he said after a beat.

"When?"

"When it mattered."

"It matters now."

Marshall sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Look, I just… I didn’t want to leave yet. Not when things are still—" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I didn’t want to leave you."

Your throat tightened. "Marshall, you can’t just put your life on hold for me."

"It’s not like that—"

"It is like that," you cut in. "You should’ve told me."

"And what? Left you here alone, knowing how you’ve been feeling?" His voice sharpened, frustration creeping in. "I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t care, baby. I’m not just gonna hop on a plane and act like everything’s fine."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "You don’t have to act like everything’s fine. But you also don’t have to babysit me."

"That’s not what I’m doing—"

"Then what are you doing, Marshall?"

Silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I’m trying to make sure you’re okay."

You shook your head. "And I’m trying to make sure you are. You love what you do. You need to go do it."

Marshall studied you carefully, as if trying to gauge whether or not you were really okay with this.

Truthfully, you weren’t sure.

But you had to be.

"If I go," he said slowly, "I need to know you’ll be honest with me. No more pretending. No more faking."

You hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

"Promise me."

Your chest ached, but you met his gaze. "I promise."

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway, pulling you into his arms.

"I’ll only be gone a few days," he murmured against your hair. "You call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

You closed your eyes, gripping his hoodie tightly. "I will."

And for now, that had to be enough.

---

The days felt longer without Marshall there.

You kept up the act for the kids, same as always. Smiling through breakfast, helping Whitney with her schoolwork, making sure Alaina and Hailie had everything they needed. You cracked jokes, cooked dinner, made sure the house felt as normal as possible.

But at night?

At night, it all fell apart.

Once the house was quiet, once the girls were asleep, once you didn’t have to hold it together anymore—you couldn’t.

Some nights, you just sat in the dark, curled up on the couch, staring at nothing. Other nights, the weight of it hit you so hard you couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the sobs from clawing up your throat, couldn’t stop the ache in your chest from threatening to swallow you whole.

And you couldn’t tell Marshall.

Because you knew he would come home.

He’d drop everything, get on the first flight back, and you couldn’t let that happen.

You just had to make it a few more days.

You could do that.

You had to.

You didn’t hear Hailie get up.

Didn’t realize she was standing in the hallway, listening.

Not until it was too late.

Not until you heard her bedroom door close softly.

Not until, miles away in a hotel room in L.A., Marshall’s phone started ringing.

He almost didn’t pick up.

It was late, he was exhausted, and he had an early meeting in the morning. But when he saw Hailie’s name on the screen, his stomach twisted.

"Hail?" His voice was groggy, still thick with sleep. "What’s wrong?"

"Dad, you need to come home."

He was sitting up instantly, heart slamming against his ribs. "What happened?"

"It’s Mom." Her voice was tight, low. "She’s not okay."

Marshall swung his legs over the edge of the bed, already reaching for his jeans. "Talk to me, Hailie. What’s going on?"

"She’s been faking it, Dad," Hailie whispered. "She’s been pretending for us, but I heard her tonight. She was crying so hard I—" She broke off, swallowing thickly. "She didn’t want you to know. She thinks you’ll come home."

His jaw clenched. "She’s right. I am."

"Dad, I don’t know what to do."

"You don’t have to do anything, baby," he assured her. "I’m coming home."

"Okay." A shaky breath. "Please hurry."

"I will."

He hung up, heart pounding, fingers shaking as he dialed Paul’s number.

The meeting could wait.

The whole fucking industry could wait.

Because nothing—nothing—mattered more than getting back to you.

---

You barely slept.

By the time the sun started creeping through the blinds, you were already out of bed, already moving. You had to keep moving. If you stopped, if you let yourself think, it would all come crashing down again.

So you focused on the morning routine.

Wake Whitney up. Get breakfast ready. Make sure Alaina and Hailie had everything they needed for school. Keep smiling, keep joking, keep faking.

By the time you dropped them off, your chest was so tight it felt like you could barely breathe.

And as you pulled into the driveway, staring blankly at the house, it hit you all at once.

You needed Marshall.

Not just wanted. Needed.

Like oxygen. Like gravity. Like something fundamental and vital that you couldn’t live without.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone. You hit his name, pressed the call button, held your breath.

It rang once.

Twice.

Voicemail.

You hung up and tried again, but it went straight to voicemail this time.

Panic crept up your spine.

You tried again. And again.

Nothing.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, and suddenly it was hard to breathe, hard to think.

What if something happened to him? What if he wasn’t answering because—

No. Stop.

You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles ached.

He was probably just busy.

You told yourself that over and over, but it didn’t help.

You needed to hear his voice.

You needed him to pick up and tell you everything was okay. That you were okay.

But he didn’t.

And for the first time since he left, the panic swallowed you whole.

You sat in the car, gripping your phone like it was a lifeline, willing it to ring.

Nothing.

You tried again. Straight to voicemail.

Your breathing was coming too fast now, shallow and uneven. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging into your skin.

Where is he?

You felt sick.

You stumbled out of the car, barely making it inside before the weight of it all slammed into you.

Marshall wasn’t answering.

He always answered.

Unless—

Your chest tightened, stomach twisting. Memories you had buried clawed their way up, images of him unconscious on the bathroom floor, paramedics shouting, machines beeping.

What if something happened?

What if he was—

No. No, no, no.

You pressed your hands against your temples, forcing the thoughts back. You couldn’t go there. You wouldn’t go there.

But you needed him.

You needed him now.

And he was gone.

Your legs gave out before you reached the couch, knees hitting the floor with a thud, but you barely felt it. You clutched your phone, fighting the sobs building in your throat.

You were so lost in the panic that you didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the keys drop onto the counter.

Didn’t hear the footsteps—hurried, desperate—until they stopped right in front of you.

"Baby?"

The voice broke through the fog in your head, and your heart nearly stopped.

You lifted your head.

Marshall was standing there, breathing hard like he’d been running, eyes wide with something close to panic. His bag was still slung over his shoulder, like he hadn’t even stopped to put it down before coming to find you.

You blinked. "M-Marshall?"

"Jesus, baby." In an instant, he was in front of you, dropping to his knees, hands cupping your face. "What’s wrong? What happened?"

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. You just launched yourself into his arms, gripping the back of his hoodie like he might disappear if you let go.

"I c-called you," you choked out. "You didn’t answer—I thought—"

"Shit, baby, I’m sorry." He wrapped his arms around you tighter, pressing his face against your hair. "I was on the plane. I turned my phone off. I should’ve—I should’ve told you I was coming home."

You froze. "You were already coming back?"

He exhaled shakily. "Yeah, baby. Soon as Hailie called me."

Your eyes burned. "I—I didn’t want to ruin your trip."

Marshall pulled back just enough to look at you, hands firm on either side of your face. His gaze was intense, voice rough with emotion. "I don’t give a fuck about that."

You swallowed hard. "I need you."

His expression softened, something breaking in his eyes. "I know, baby." He pressed his forehead to yours. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

And for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest eased—just a little.

[larluce]

LETS PLAY!!

What do you think is this merthur story about?

Fire and smoke, burning and suffocation, was the only thing Merlin could see and feel.

"Satan can take many forms!" He could distinguish the voice of the king that was superimposed on the others who shouted 'Witch!' in the background. "Like this witch, who has taken the appearance of a man to confuse my son and induce him to commit the worst of sins. Do not be fooled! They call themselves healers, but with their spells and potions they corrupt our children."

Merlin would have laughed if he had the strength. If he were really a woman, he would not be in this situation to begin with. But he supposed that it suited the king for people to believe that. Maybe he even tried to convince himself that this was the truth.

That his son was not a sodomite.

The flames rose and burned his skin more intensely. He let out a heartrending scream.

Arthur... even his thoughts sounded weak, but he made an effort think of Arthur.

He remembered when he saw him for the first time, entering his medicinal herbs and potion stant. His pearly smile, his sky-colored eyes, his blond hair like gold. He remembered their walks through the fields, when they kissed for the first time under his own roof, his laughter, when they gave themselves to each other for the first time with such passion and, yet, so much innocence in that small cabin abandoned in the middle of the forest.

Tears ran through his eyes. How could such a beautiful thing be a sin?

Another burst of fire. He shouted again, but the scream quickly turned into a cough. Hopefully the smoke would kill him before the fire.

Think of his voice the pain was unbearable, but the memory of his beloved made it a little less unbearable. He could almost hear his voice saying "I love you" in the ear after making love. His voice saying his name as if savoring it in his mouth.

But suddenly he heard the voice of his beloved farther away, still saying his name, but this time screaming in horror.

"Merlin!" his screams were almost as heartbreaking as his, as if he were also being burned in flames. "No! Let me go! Merlin!"

Merlin made an effort and looked up. He tried to distinguish something, but couldn't see anything. There was too much smoke.

No... no, no, no, no ¡No! a despair grew within him, even greater than his fear to death. He could not die without seeing him! Not without seeing his face one last time.

"Let me see him!" he prayed to the heavens then with all his might. "Let me see him, just one more time, please."

And God granted it... only not in the way he expected.

...

Several centuries later...

Mildred Duffy, a 60-year-old woman, looked out the window with a motherly smile as the principal guided another interested couple to the playground to meet some of the children. That orphanage had become almost a second home for her and she loved those children as if they were her own. It would always be a great joy to find each child a home, a family, even if later she would spend weeks missing their little faces and worrying about their destiny. She turned her attention to the even younger children that were in the same room, who were drawing at the tables or playing with dolls peacefully on the floor. No couple who saw them would believe how murky the past of many of them were just by seeing them like that, in their purest innocence.

"Did you send for me, Miss Duffy?" a voice took her out of her reverie.

He turned to meet one of the young volunteers there. She suppressed the laughter when she noticed how noticeably tired and stressed she was, with some hairs coming out of her bun and her clothes tugged and stained with paint.

"I did… Claire, right? I need you to keep an eye on the kids while I take care of something".

The girl opened her eyes wide.

"All of them?" The girl's voice rose an octave and Mildred couldn't contain a soft laugh this time.

"Careful, Claire. They can smell your fear."

"I'm not afraid of them". The girl became defensive immediately. "It's just that I didn't think they were going to be—"

"Such little devils? They are" Mildred interrupted smiling. "But only if you let them. You've made the mistake of seeing them as helpless children in need and they have used the compassion you have towards them in their favor". She shook her head in disapproval. "Pitty is the last thing you should feel for them, Claire. It's okay for you to be kind, but there is a thin line between being kind and being permissive. Show them who has the authority!" she tapped her on the back, encouraging her, before heading to the door. "They are all yours".

…

Mildred went down the creaky wooden stairs, unhurriedly. She'd only had to file some papers in her office. Something that hadn't taken more than 20 minutes, so she decided to give 15 minutes more for herself. She was confident Claire wasn't having any problems. Besides, she was an old woman, she also deserved a break.

She didn't intend to do anything other than wander around the place for a while. She wanted to make a mental note of what could be changed in the infrastructure, aesthetically speaking, such as the color of the walls, which seemed to come from the same palette of opaque colors for more cheerful colors, for example, or some furniture that didn't seem to combine with the space. Mildred sometimes believed maybe she should've been an interior designer instead of a tutor because of how much those details bothered her.

But Mildred's plans changed as soon as she finished going down the stairs.

"That he deserved it, he deserved it" she heard a little voice. "Doesn't mean you didn't do wrong, Double C. You know Dimples doesn't like when you're mean to people".

The woman turned in the direction of the voice, surprised. At this time children were either in the playground or in the games rooms, where couples could see them, not hidden in the corridors.

"Okay, okay, I'll drop it. But don't think we've finished this conversation, uh? I should be mad at you too, you know"

She soon found the source of the sound. On one side of the stairs, in a half-hidden corner, a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes was sitting on the floor playing chess… completely alone.

"Don't hurry me" the girl complained to someone who wasn't there, seeing the black pieces in front of her with an infinite concentration. "I'm thinking"

A new maternal smile formed on Mildred's face. She would recognize that girl anywhere.

"Am I interrupting?" decided to make her presence known.

"Of course not, Miss Duffy" said the girl returning the smile. "Prince Cotton Candy and I were playing."

"I see" Mildred said in a particularly animated voice and sat next to her watching the game as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "I didn't know you knew how to play chess. Who taught you, darling?"

"Fairy Dimples"

"Of course" she giggled, tender. The girl probably was making up her own chess rules. "Is she around?"

"He, he is a he" corrected the girl. "And no, Cotton Candy and Dimples fought again for something stupid, and they won't be in the same room until they make up"

"Looks like they fight a lot."

"They do, but they love each other"

"It's good to know that". Miss Duffy decided then to turn a little serious. "Bridget—"

"Brigitta" corrected the girl. "But you can call me Biddy. Prince Cotton Candy calls me that."

"Sorry" she apologized. "Biddy, I don't doubt Prince Cotton Candy and Fairy Dimples are very nice people and great friends, but maybe you could… try to make some new friends? It's not good that you isolate yourself so much from the other children, darling".

"I had other friends" the girl's cheerful voice clouded a bit of sadness. "Jheny and Chris. But they aren't here anymore".

Mildred's heart clenched in her chest. From what the orphanage psychologist had told her, these three had been inseparable… well, at least until the children in question were adopted, leaving little Biddy alone. Prince Cotton Candy and Fairy Dimples appeared shortly after she said goodbye to the last of her two friends.

"Imaginary friends are sometimes created as a defense mechanism to cope with a loss or it may be the result of a major change or significant alteration in a child's life," the psychologist had explained her "But it's nothing abnormal, Mildred, she's 5. Many children have imaginary friends at that age and as soon as they came, they leave, it's not something we should force. I think it's important to clarify her she shouldn't prefer her imaginary friends over the real ones, but beyond that, I don't think you have anything to worry about. "

Yes, maybe she was worrying too much.

"Check!" exclaimed the girl, excited, eating a bishop with her horse and cornered the white king.

"Oh, wow. You really can play chess" Mildred said surprised when she saw the girl moved the pieces correctly.

"Yes, I told you Fairy Dimples taught me"

Mildred frowned and shifted her gaze from the girl to her side, specifically where a second player would be if there was one.

A chill ran through her. Could it be…?

An incredulous laugh escaped her, dismissing those thoughts immediately. Yes, she was definitely worrying too much.

"Right, I forgot" She stood up, briefly resting one hand on the girl's shoulder in a loving manner. "Don't forget to leave that board in its place when you finish, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Duffin" the girl answered cheerfully and dismissed her with her hand in a very adorable way. Mildred smiled. She didn't understand why nobody hasn't adopted that girl yet. She was way too charming.

Well, time to go see how Claire was doing with those little devils.

…

"Double C!" Little Biddy said as if she was calling someone out. "It's your turn".

Silence.

The impatient expression of the girl softened to a more understanding one.

"You know Dimples never stays angry for too long. he's not even avoiding you to bother you. He disappears because he doesn't want to say hurtful things that aren't true… Or at least that's what he told me."

Silence.

The girl laughed.

"Well, don't tell me that, tell him. And remove that sad doggy face already and play. Come on, be a good loser".

Almost immediately afterwards a white bishop rose into the air and, in one quick movement, brought down the black king.

The little girl smiled.

"Checkmate".

...

Now, this originally was a very old draft I had for a another's fandom story that I never finished cause the fandom kind of died in between. But today a started reading my old drafts out of nostalgia and I realised this prompt actually fitted merthur way better than it did for the original pair. I made very minor changes (we got Brigitta in this AU too! :D).

While I never finished the story, I clearly remember how it was going to go, so... What do you think is happening? Share your theories in the reblogs or comments 😄

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

PS. I LOVE YOU

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem! Summary: Eddie has always thought Valentine's Day was stupid, and now that he's finally decided to participate in the traditional card giving, he finds it even more unbearable. Warnings: mention of tears, Jason being a dick.

Valentines masterlist

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"This is so stupid" Eddie whispered to himself as he walked through the empty hall.

The bell was about to ring for lunch, and he had to do this, he had to because if he didn't do it now, he would never do it.

It was Valentine's Day tomorrow and Eddie had already postponed asking you to be his valentine for weeks now, so it was now or never.

So, with the handmade card he made in his hand, he walked up to your locker, slipping it through the slim hole before going to the cafeteria.

The thought of you reading what he wrote made his hands go clammy and his mind go fuzzy.

If he could, he'd take the letter back right now, taking it from your locker and rip it up to prevent the embarrassment he's about to face.

But this had to be done.

He loved you.

The bell rang a few seconds later, kids flooding into the room and lining up for food and going to sit at their tables, talking shit about teachers they just had or rolling their eyes about homework and the banners of Valentine's Day that piled on the school walls.

But Eddie sat alone for a few minutes, his knee bouncing under the table, and every few seconds, he'd rub at his nose, his nerves making his hands restless.

You were late. You were never late.

Maybe you found the card, read it, and decided to avoid him. Maybe you were off somewhere laughing about it with your other friends. Or maybe you just didn’t feel the same.

His stomach churned at the thought.

He shouldn’t have done it. He should’ve kept his dumb feelings locked up in that part of his brain where all his other embarrassing thoughts went to die.

And then you walked in.

Like nothing had changed.

You plopped down across from him, food in your hand, greeting him the same way you always did.

And that was it. No mention of the card. No weird look. No “hey, we need to talk.” Just you, unbothered, unshaken, completely unaware of the storm raging inside his head.

Eddie's throat felt tight. He could barely look at you, his usual sarcastic remarks dying on his tongue. He'd poured his heart out to you, and you'd... ignored it.

Not even a rejection.

Just silence.

He forced a chuckle, trying to play it cool. “You’re late. What, ditch me for a better lunch date?” His voice didn’t sound like his own, too forced, too hollow.

You rolled your eyes, stealing a fry off his plate. “Relax, Munson. Had to run to my locker first.”

His stomach twisted.

You went to your locker. You definitely saw it.

But you didn’t care.

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked down at his food.

His hands felt weird, like he didn’t know what to do with them. His nose twitched again, and he wiped at it a little too aggressively.

"So, uh…" He struggled to find something normal to say, something that didn’t sound like "you gonna say anything?"

"why? did I miss anything good?" you asked, shoving another fry into your mouth.

Eddie hesitated, then shook his head. "Nah. Same old crap." His voice was quieter now, flatter.

And that was that.

You kept talking like normal, like nothing had changed. But for Eddie, everything had.

The guys sat down a few minutes later, loud and easy like they always were. Jeff shoved half a sandwich in his mouth mid-sentence, Gareth was already rolling his eyes at whatever he was saying, and Eddie-

Eddie was quiet.

Jeff and Gareth didn’t say anything about it, but they noticed.

Noticed how Eddie barely touched his food.

Noticed how his usual sarcastic remarks were missing.

Noticed how his sad, restless eyes kept drifting back to you when you weren’t looking.

Gareth caught it first. A flicker of something in Eddie’s expression when you laughed at something dumb Jeff said. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something heavier. A quiet kind of heartbreak.

Jeff saw it next.

The way Eddie's fingers twitched against the table like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t. The way his nose scrunched like he was trying to physically shake off a feeling he didn’t want.

They didn’t ask.

Didn’t push.

Just shared a quick glance between them, like they both felt the shift in Eddie, but knew better than to call him out on it.

Instead, they carried on, filling the silence Eddie left behind.

And you- you didn’t notice any of it.

You just kept talking, laughing, like everything was fine.

Like he hadn’t told you he loved you.

Like he hadn't spent hours beyond hours gluing, writing and re-writing, stamping and drawing, trying to make the perfect card to tell you how much he cares about you.

It was stupid anyway.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The hellfire was relatively quiet during lunch, Eddie gone to a drug deal and everybody else eating their face in to hide the loneliness of Valentine's day that haunts their single lives.

Every other girl had been given flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, All the gifts under the sun, but you? you just waited for the day you and Eddie got together.

You wanted it so desperately to happen, but it never has, he just didn't feel the same.

Your thoughts were flooded with the image of you, laying in bed alone watching sixteen candles while eating your ice-cream tonight until the cafeteria went quiet.

Then you heard your name.

Loud. Clear. Smug.

Your head snapped up, eyes locking onto Jason Carver, standing on top of a table, holding a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

People were watching. Some were laughing, some were wide-eyed with intrigue, leaning in like this was the best entertainment they’d had all year.

And Jason- Jason was reading.

"I don’t know how to say this to your face, so I’m saying it here. If I don’t, I never will. And I can’t- I can’t keep carrying this around inside me anymore, not when it’s getting harder and harder to pretend like I don’t feel the way I do."

Your brows furrowed slightly, stomach twisting with something uneasy.

"I don’t even know when it started. Maybe it was always there, just waiting for me to be stupid enough to realize it. But all I know is, one day I looked at you, and everything just... shifted. Like the whole world was a song, and you were the only thing keeping it in tune."

The room burst into a mix of laughter and mock gasps. Jason placed a dramatic hand on his heart.

"I love you."

Your chest tightened as you looked around, the whole room staring and laughing at you.

The Hellfire boys were frowning, their eyes wide.

"I love you in a way that keeps me up at night, in a way that makes everything else feel dull. Like nothing else matters when you’re in the room. Like I don’t know how I ever got through a day before you."

Jason gagged playfully, and more laughter rippled through the crowd, but you weren’t paying attention to them anymore.

Your breath was catching in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs as Jason continued.

"I know I’m not what you deserve. I know I don’t have much to offer you, that I’m not the guy people picture when they think about who you should end up with. But I swear to God, if I could, I’d give you everything. I’d give you every stupid mixtape, every guitar riff I’ve ever learned, every last piece of me, just to see you smile."

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. Your head was spinning.

"I don’t need you to love me back. I just need you to know. Because if I don’t say it now, I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

A beat of silence.

And then- the final blow.

"From Eddie."

Everything in you froze.

The cafeteria roared- laughter, gasps, shouts. Someone whistled. Someone clapped. Jason grinned, milking the moment, waving the letter around like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Eddie?

Your head snapped up, searching wildly- and then you saw him.

Standing frozen in the cafeteria doorway, face pale, eyes dark and wide with something raw, something broken. His hands were shaking.

And in an instant, it all hit you.

This wasn’t a joke.

This wasn’t some prank; some made-up letter Jason had cooked up to humiliate you.

This was real.

Eddie had written that.

Eddie had written those words- for you.

And you had never seen them. Not until now.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Eddie was heading back to the cafeteria after doing a deal when he heard the room oddly quiet for a Friday afternoon.

He stood at back door when he heard familiar words.

Familiar in the sense that they are his, that he wrote them- that you ignored them.

'Like the whole world was a song, and you were the only thing keeping it in tune."

Eddie froze in place, his ears ringing, luckily no one had seen him yet, not that he even looked, everyone was blurred.

Everyone but you, he watched your reaction.

The frown on your face. the way your eyebrows furrowed deeply, the way you fiddled with your fingers, your eyes twitching when Jason read out 'I love you'

Eddie felt sick; he couldn't move.

His stomach twisting- his legs wobbling, his lip trembling as Jason finished the letter

How did he even get it in the first place? Eddie doesn't know.

And by the look on your face when you finally spot him, neither do you.

You never saw that letter in your life, you would know.

The whole Cafeteria burst out in a fit of laughter.

A hot burn welled in Eddie's eyes, his throat locking up.

He needed to get out. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stand there and watch them all laugh at him, at you, at something that was supposed to be his.

So, before anyone could stop him- before you could look at him with whatever expression you were about to have- he turned and bolted.

The cafeteria doors slammed behind him as he stormed down the hall, wiping at his eyes furiously, cursing under his breath.

He was such an idiot.

Such a goddamn idiot.

How could he have been so stupid? Thinking- what, exactly? That you’d read it, and everything would be fine? That you’d somehow, miraculously, feel the same way?

He should’ve known better. He did know better.

He had given that to you yesterday, and you still hadn't mentioned it.

But that didn’t stop the hurt from swallowing him whole.

He didn’t hear the doors swing open behind him when he got to the front doors. Didn’t hear the hurried footsteps until-

“Eddie!”

Your voice.

His whole body tensed.

His steps faltered, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he turned around now, if he looked at you-

“Eddie, wait-please!”

Your voice cracked, just slightly, and it wrecked him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His breath was unsteady, his heart hammering like it wanted to break free from his chest.

He reached his van, his hands shakingly dropping the keys before he could open the door. You were still far away enough for him to quickly grab them and put the key in the lock, getting in the driver's seat. he turned on the engine when you reached his van.

He flinched when you knocked on the passenger window

His eyes snapped to the side, breath catching when he saw you standing there.

Your expression was unreadable, your lips parted like you didn’t know what to say yet.

Eddie’s throat burned. He quickly looked away, rubbing harshly at his nose, blinking hard to shove back the tears threatening to spill.

His fingers fumbled to start the van again- he just needed to go, to get out of here before you said whatever you were about to say.

But then- you opened the passenger door.

And you climbed in.

And you said nothing.

Eddie swallowed, staring straight ahead, barely breathing.

The silence stretched between you like a thick fog.

Then-

A rustling sound.

Something being placed gently on the dashboard.

Slowly, hesitantly, Eddie looked down.

His letter.

Crinkled, a little torn at the edges- but still intact.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched toward it but stopped short.

How did you get it back from Jason?

And then he saw it.

The redness on your knuckles.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wide, startled.

You shrugged.

Eddie’s stomach twisted.

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I punched him.”

Eddie blinked.

Your voice was calm, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it was obvious.

Like you had always been on his side.

Something inside him cracked.

He dropped his head, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as his shoulders started to shake.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice thick, barely above a whisper.

You just watched him, quiet, waiting.

His hands were trembling. He wiped at his face roughly, still refusing to look at you.

Eddie let out another breath, pressing his fingers into his eyes, willing himself to get it together.

You reached out- gently, carefully- and took his hand.

You held his hand, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The silence felt heavier now, like the air itself was waiting for the answer to your question.

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, and finally asked- simple, direct- "Do you really love me?"

Eddie froze, his body tensing as the words hung in the air between you, raw and unspoken. His eyes flickered to yours, filled with something- fear and vulnerability and something deeper.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure what to do next, like he hadn’t expected you to ask that.

But then, slowly, his hands moved away from the steering wheel, and he turned his head to face you fully. His breath was still shaky, his gaze intense, searching your face like he was looking for some kind of sign.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice raw, almost too soft to hear.

He looked ahead, leaning back in his seat as he nodded his head

"Yeah, I do"

You blushed furiously, now that it was just the two of you, you flet relaxed, it was just you and him.

You noticed his hesitance and smiled sadly

"Eddie it's ok, please, you don't have to be nervous. S'just me" you assured him

He shook his head "yeah that's kind of the reason why I'm nervous, sweetheart"

You pulled your hand away from his and fiddled with your fingers as you stared at him.

He was too pretty to look sad.

"and before you say I should have told you in person- then think again because this rejection is bad- imagine the rejection you'd give me in perso-" he started rambling, his fists locking on the steering wheel before you cut him off.

"-When did I reject you?" you frowned, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat "I'm never going to reject you, Eddie. I'm telling you that I feel the same way"

His eyes went wide as he whipped his head around, facing you once more

"Y-you do?!" he asked

"yes!" you smiled brightly when he grinned at you, his eyes glowing with emotion as you nodded

"you're not just saying that?" he asked self counsiously

You shook your head vigorously "not at all, Eds. You trust me, don't you?"

He looked down at the gear stick before nodding, a breathy laugh escaping his lips

"Yeah, I do" he said "I just don't understand how you didn't get the letter. I put it in your locker, number 142"

You thought for a moment before laughing

"Eddie, I switched lockers, remember? that dude beside me was a total creep? I'm three down from you now"

Eddie banged his head against his steering wheel, the loud honking noise making you jump, and he mumbled to himself

"Yep- yep I remember now, Jesus, I'm a fucking idiot" he mumbled, his leg bouncing

You leaned over, reaching your hand over his arm, rubbing over his tattoo when he leaned away from the wheel, gazing up at you from the contact of your fingertips tracing over the swarm of bats.

"You're not an idiot..." you hummed, leaning closer as you raced your other hand up his chest, your fingers finding the curls of his hair.

His smile was dopey and lazy as he looked at you, his own hands finding your waist shakily.

He was so scared, afraid that if he touched you, you'll disappear, but alas, you are still in the passenger seat, shuffling towards him, the hand in his hair making its way towards the back of his neck

This was a dream-like experience for Eddie, your hands roaming his body so softly it gives him goosebumps, sending shivers down his spine

"It might be a little late but... did you want to be my valentine?" you asked.

He blushed and nodded like a schoolgirl at your question. "T'would be my honour, sweetheart"

You beamed at him and kissed his cheek sweetly, finding the way he leaned in closer to you so cute.

"are you gonna make me a card?" He mumbled, leaning in close to dig his nose into your neck, his hands rubbing over your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders

"Of course I will. and I'll personally give it to you, no locker mix-up this time" you nodded

He chuckled softly, murmuring against the skin of your neck.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴀɴʏᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴀɴʏᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ, ᴀɴʏʜᴏᴡ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦-𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘺.

angst, suggestive, slow burn, emotional conflict, physical touch, unresolved tension, masturbation, friends with benefits?, kinda phone sex, flirting, vulnerability, yearning, intimate moment, unspoken feelings

listen to the song that inspired this fic while reading!

word count - 2.1k

The phone buzzes in her hand, its glow flickering in the dim light. She'd told herself that she wouldn't call him tonight. That maybe, just maybe, it would be better to stop. But she couldn't. Not when the screen lit up with his message.

He picks up, and almost automatically, her fingers tremble slightly.

“Hey,” Chris's voice cracks through the static. It’s soft, distant, but it makes her heart race, like it always does.

“Hey,” she responds, her voice a little too shaky for her liking. She clears her throat, but it doesn’t help much. “How’s everything?”

“Same old,” he replies, his tone low and a bit distracted. She can hear the faint noise in the background. Maybe a TV, maybe music, but it’s clear his mind is somewhere else.

There’s a long pause. She knows he’s not looking for conversation, not really. But the silence makes the tension even thicker.

“What’s wrong, kid?” he asks, his voice softer now. He must feel it too, the way their conversations have shifted. Her stomach flutters, unease twisting inside her.

“I don't know,” she admits, staring at the ceiling as she leans back against the headboard. “I just... I miss you. And everything.”

She’s not sure why she says it, but the words feel like a weight that’s been there too long. It’s true, in a way. She does miss him, even though she knows she shouldn’t. The other day she looked up at the night sky, and thought of him shirtless. She’s beside herself. She can’t stop herself from letting it all out.

Chris is quiet for a moment. Then he laughs, a low chuckle that doesn’t sound like it’s full of humor. “You’re always so honest.”

There’s something bittersweet in his words, something that makes her heart skip. She can't read him anymore. He used to be so open, so direct, but the more she got to know him… now there’s a barrier between them. She doesn’t know if it’s his distance or her own fear, but it’s suffocating.

She presses her fingers to her lips, feeling a familiar, gnawing hunger. “You know I don’t mean just... talking.” The words hang in the air, heavy with the things they don’t say. She wants to ask him to come over, wants to feel his hands on her again, to have the physical part of him that she is lost without. But she doesn’t, because she’s scared of what that might mean.

Another pause. Then he sighs, a sound that drips with something she can’t quite place. “I know,” he murmurs.

It’s enough to make her breath catch in her throat. She knows he understands. She knows that it isn’t about the words anymore.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “All the time.”

Chris doesn’t respond right away. And when he finally does, his voice is calm, too calm. “I can’t come over tonight.”

A lump forms in her throat. It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it’s what she expected. She had always known he was unreliable, always knew that he’d never give her everything. She craved it anyway.

“Then ...?” she starts, but her voice cracks again. She’s not sure what she’s asking anymore, not sure if she wants more or if she just wants this unbearable tension to break.

“I don’t know,” Chris says, his words drawn out, lazy almost. “Maybe I’ll call sometime.” It sounds like he’s just giving her something to hold onto, just enough to keep her wanting more.

And it hurts, in a way she wasn’t prepared for. The emptiness in his tone, the distance. It all feels like something that might have been, but will never be again.

“Anytime, anyplace,” she whispers, part of a line from a song slipping from her lips without thought. Her mind is cloudy, thoughts swirling with desperation, but she doesn’t care. “You can call me, Chris.”

His silence is long. Too long. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, but there’s something almost... detached in it. “Maybe.”

The words feel like a hollow promise, and it stings. But she’s addicted to it, to the way his voice makes her feel like maybe, just maybe, she’s not the only one caught in this tension.

‘I don’t need you to be here,” she breathes, almost to herself. “I just need... something.” The weight of her words settles heavily, and she lets her fingers brush against her neck, lingering in that vulnerable spot.

Chris’s breath hitches through the phone. “Yeah? What do you need, exactly?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath the surface. She can feel the challenge in his words, a challenge she’s too willing to take.

Her pulse spikes. “I need you,” she replies, her voice lowering, becoming more deliberate. The words feel dangerous, reckless even. But the desire is too strong, and she can’t hold back anymore.

Chris’s voice dips lower, now warmer, but still guarded. “You sure?” he asks, as though testing her. “We’re still friends, you know. Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” she replies, her voice tinged with a need that she can’t deny.

She hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end. The line between them has shifted, something heavier hanging between them now. “Okay,” he says softly, almost in a whisper. “Let me take care of you then.”

The tension crackles like static in the air, her heart racing, her fingers gripping the phone tighter.

Her breath hitches as she feels her skin flush with the words Chris has left hanging between them. There’s something in the way he says it, so careful, but still loaded with meaning. An invitation, a test, a question without an answer.

Her mind races, caught in the split-second choice between giving in and pulling back. But tonight, she doesn’t want to pull back. Not when his voice has her tangled in knots, and his words sink deeper into her chest than she’d care to admit.

“Chris,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. “What are you waiting for?”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for her to wonder if he’s reconsidering, if he’s pulling away, but then she hears it. The soft sound of him shifting, the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift in his breathing.

“I’m not waiting,” he says, and this time, there’s something darker in his tone, something deliberate, like he’s letting his guard slip just a little. “You’re the one holding back.”

Her heart stammers. “I’m not holding back,” she insists, though the lie feels heavy on her tongue. “I’m just-”

“Just what?” he interrupts, his voice low and smooth, almost dangerous now. “What are you afraid of?”

Afraid of this. Afraid of how badly she wants him, how close she feels to the edge of giving herself up. Of how much she wants him to reconsider her, reconsider everything. Afraid of the way he’s looking at her without even being here, the way his voice makes everything feel real and impossible at the same time.

She knows she’s standing on the precipice, but she can’t stop herself from leaning closer.

“I just want you,” she breathes out before she can stop herself, the words spilling from her lips like a confession she’s been holding in far too long.

Chris lets out a slow, quiet laugh, and it makes her heart race even faster. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, just like that, it shifts. The conversation isn’t about the unspoken tension anymore. It’s about the need. About the aching desperation that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

His voice drops again, thick with a kind of purpose she recognizes but doesn’t know how to deal with. “You want me to make you come, huh, kid?” he asks, the words like a slow, deliberate caress.

“Yes,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, it feels like everything is suspended in the air. Then, she hears him exhale, just the slightest hitch in his breath. “Alright,” he says quietly, almost like a command. “Then tell me what you want me to do.”

She swallows hard, feeling the weight of the question hanging between them. She’s never been one to ask for things. She’s always been the one who waits, who lets them come to her. Have their way with her. But with Chris... it’s different. She doesn’t want to wait. Not anymore.

“I want you to make me feel like I’m the only one who matters,” she says, voice trembling as she edges closer to the edge of something she can’t control.

“You are,” he murmurs, voice deep and steady, like he’s holding back just as much as she is. “But if you want more, you’re gonna have to ask for it.”

Her body shivers at the command in his voice, at the way he’s not asking, but demanding - without saying a word, without making it clear. The game is set, and she knows the stakes. The truth is, she doesn’t care about the rules anymore. She wants to feel this, wants to feel him without the distance, without the hesitation.

“I need you,” she whispers, the words almost choking her. “Right now.”

Silence stretches between them, thick and heavy, like the space in the air before a storm. Neither knows what to say next, but both can feel the pull of the moment.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to say something. Something that will shatter the fragile tension between them. But then he just laughs, a little breathless, a little unsteady.

“Anything, anyplace, anyhow,” he recalls, the words laden with meaning. “You know what you want from me.”

Her pulse is racing now, heart pounding in her chest as she tries to steady her breath. The world outside seems to fade, leaving just the sound of his voice, the crackling silence that binds them together.

The words are almost too much to handle. But she can’t help it. She needs to hear him, needs to feel him.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands again, his voice a quiet growl that echoes in her ear, sending a shock of heat through her body. “I’m listening.”

And that’s when she lets go. She’s done with holding back, done with waiting for something that might never come. Tonight, it’s about this. About feeling him, even in the silence.

She hates how much she wants him, how it feels like she's losing herself in the need. It's so much more than just desire, and yet, it's still... just that.

“I want you,” she says again, more firmly this time. “I want you to make me forget everything but you.”

Chris’s response is a quiet, approving hum, but she hears the shift in his voice. The way his breath has become heavier, more deliberate. “Close your eyes, baby,” he whispers. 

She obeys. 

“Are you touching yourself?”

She nods, making a small noise when she remembers he’s not with her.

“I won’t stop,” she whispers, though this time, it’s less of an answer and more of an agreement.

Chris groans softly, almost like he’s pleased. “Atta’ girl.”

The comment makes her whine.

“Imagine it’s me, kid. My hand. Touching you nice and soft, pressing down, then dragging. Pulsing. Curling.”

She listens, losing herself in the movements as he guides her. She brings her other hand down to press deeper, pathetically craving intimacy with a ghost.

“Now press harder. Faster. Do you feel yourself, baby? Fluttering like a flower?”

She whimpers loudly, cum leaking out of her. She’s too sleepy and worn down to continue like this.

“I can’t anymore, Chris.”

“That’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”

“Are you?”

For a moment, everything is quiet again, the tension thick and unspoken, lingering between them. But there’s something there now, something unbreakable in the way they’re connected, even through the smallest, simplest words.

“Do you think I’ll disappear?” he asks softly, his voice trailing through the quiet.

She hesitates, her mind racing. “I don’t know,” she says, unsure of what he’s asking, unsure of what she feels.

“I hope not.”

“I know that. But… do you think I should?” he presses, his voice still soft, but there’s something more in it now. Something pulling, tugging at her resolve.

“No,” she breathes, a part of her knowing that the answer has always been there.

“Good,” he murmurs, and the word settles between them like a promise.

The space between them feels heavy, like there’s too much left unsaid, no matter how in tune they are physically. Neither of them moves to change it. They linger in the quiet, both trapped in the same moment, both believing they are alone in wishing for one more moment in this, their empty galaxy.

thank u rose 4 the dividers <3 @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: no idea tbh. shout out to my ex.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts comment to be added/removed from my non-au taglist!

till next time !!