#Hurt no comfort

[bunnieswithknives]

AU based off Nature except I kept thinking about it too hard. Dales not a good dad, but its such an easy problem for him to throw money at, and what do you do when a part is damaged? Well, you replace it.

Basically an AU where Dev gets to experience medical trauma and realizes much sooner how much his dad doesn't love him

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Okay so

we're having an angst war over on @goodomensafterdark and @gleafer, @gahellhimself-blog and I are having a competition who can spread the most pain and suffering. Here's my contribution. Enjoy

don't worry, this isn't the end yet: here's part two. | Part 3

[birchtreecat]

so yall know that writing site where if you stop typing for more than a few seconds it deletes everything? yeah i decided in my sleepy ass state to write adarumi bc good god. the yuri is so doomed. anywho here it is. anything unpolished or not making sense I blame on the fact this was a 30 min frantic write <3 disclaimer of these characters are not mine but @vh-intern and @the-outlet-kohane-pharmacy !!! ____________________________________________

Rumi was a major in medicine. Ironic, considering where she was now, helping Moon with the pharmacy. She had gotten into medicine to help people- and she knew she had wanted to help someone- but who? Could she really be helping people, when these trial medications hurt so much?

Then Ada came along. Cheery, ever energetic Ada. She had started her own branch of the Vitamin Kohane pharmacies, technically making their businesses rivals. Yet, the moment Ada had walked in, Rumi fell. There wasn't even a pining phase- they met, they skipped being friends, and immediately swept eachother off. Ada had been the one consistent good thing, the one person Rumi wholly, fully trusted.

And now Ada was on the verge of death. Whoever hurt her still hadn't been discovered, but Rumi didn't care about that yet. She had just come back after weeks of being in this weird, coma induced state. Technically, Rumi shouldn't even be able to do this, overpower the screaming voices that took control of her body, her words. They say love conquers all, but she didn't think it was this strong. The thought made the sight of Ada barely breathing that much more painful. What twisted god, if they even existed, played with their lives like this?

The voices in Rumi's head wouldn't shut up. They were constantly yelling, bickering like children. Only one seemed to be even slightly friendly- and even then.. Rumi hated how loud the voices were. How they spoke of her as if she wasn't even there, how they made it so she couldn't remember anything. Yet the moment the news came, there was only one thing on her mind.

Ada.

I need you to live.

I just got you back

I'm sorry

Ada.

Ada.

Ada.

She had to hold herself back from sobbing even as her girlfriend seemed to try to communicate in her otherwise unresponsive state. The way the metallic clinks from her wound filled Rumi with a longing to make it all better, an urge to give anything if only just to see Ada alive one last time. She'd even go through hell and back, go through Moon pilling her again just to see Ada smile at her.

Truly, it was an oddly funny feeling of despair that overpowered everything else. The way she wanted to laugh at the fact that now both of them had faced death in the eyes. Would she have survived without the thought of Ada? The agonizing pain, followed by silence and tears as the voices barged into her head, shattering all serenity she'd come to know. The one thing that had kept Rumi going was Ada. How she couldn't bring herself to give up on her love. The way they held eachother every chance they got, the way she smelled and how her hugs were tight and soft and warm and felt like home. In another world, would they have died together? Would they find eachother again and again? Or would they only get this one chance, this one universe- that constantly seemed to push one of them twoards death at every turn. Had Rumi died in the backrooms of Moon's pharmacy, would she still feel this gaping hole of dread in her chest? The sense that it was all over, that there was nothing left for her but misery now? Would the voices still be crying and mocking her in her head? Or would she at least be free to welcome her girlfriend into the heavens with open arms, free from the voices that have tortured her for two weeks now?

Even as everyone left, Rumi stayed. She had control for now, and she was going to spend the entirety of it by Ada's side, just in case. She didn't trust the medicine of the Pharmacity anyways- if her experience was anything to go by.

As Rumi knelt by Ada's bedside, she didn't care if her knees would be sore after hours like this. She didn't care if she wound up getting sick from whatever was oozing from Ada's wound. All she cared about was making sure her girlfriend was alive- and that she'd know Rumi had been by her side for as long as she could have been. The same way Ada had left voicemail after voicemail checking up on Rumi, she'd now do the same for Ada. She didn't care how long it would take, they WILL survive this. Together. They had to.

Ada had to live.

What else would be worth it?

The silence of the room was getting overbearing. Rumi thought for a moment before tapping her dreams onto Ada's palm. The beach date they'd always yearned for, how she wouldn't be able to swim and Ada would probably convince her to get in the water anyways. The video games they had planned to play together, building and fighting side by side, story by story. Their apartment, filled with fairy lights and soft blankets among their studies. She felt her tears come, and this time she let them fall. Gods, what was she going to do without her? How would she bounce back without her sun?

[simp-ly-writes]

Hate the Love That Drives Ambition

─────── · · An Arcane FanFic

Pairing: Father!Silco x Mother!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You thought Silco had tried to kill you, running away to topside you find yourself to be pregnant but what happens when one day Silco appears back at your doorstep?

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, reader called 'mom/mother,' angst, fluff? maybe? just a little bit..., one mention of pregnancy, no happily ever after, very bad miscommunication, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,208 | PART TWO | PART THREE

─ · · A/N: I'm sorry but i'm obsessed with writing Silco angst rn.

─────── · ·

18 years. It had been eighteen years since you had last seen Silco... since he wanted you dead. You thought that your decades long relationship was something concrete but the man obviously thought otherwise when he began tearing the Undercity apart to rebuild anew in his vision.

You always admired his drive, his charisma, his outstanding confidence. He always knew how to make something happen and just the right words to either piss you off and smile at your rage or pick you up by your pieces.

Silco always had some witty and snarky comment for you- coated in a tender compliment that made your cheeks heat up. You remember sitting with him in bed during the few quiet mornings you both shared and fondly looked back upon.

Those moments when his chest was to your back. An arm dangling in your lap as you played with the fingers of his hand and the light jewellery he worse. A cigar would be lit in his other, tapping it outside the window that your bed was positioned alongside.

You hated that part of you that missed those tender and quiet moments when you remember that barrel being pointed between your eyes and the various cuts upon your skin.

You remember that night as if reliving the moment entirely. The cold breeze drifting down the alleyway, catching and rattling your bones like your rapidly beating heart. Your eyes were full of tears, your head cloudy with a distant ache.

Silcos henchmen chased after you for what felt like miles before you were being cornered above a sewer grate, the steam rising above it blurring all the actions that held you overwhelmed with pain before gunshots ran through your ears and you finally felt numb.

Arms picked you up, you remember that distantly brilliant blue you did everything to escape yet when those strong arms wrapped around your torso- another supporting your head... you were disgusted to admit that you were thankful for their presence that day in the Undercity... and that would be the last you saw of it.

─────── · ·

You got a job, some cleaning job in the Academy. It was a nice gig, dusting the bookshelves and mopping the marble floors until they glimmered under the sun- the sun that now warmed your skin like Silco used to- no. I musn't think of him, you reminder yourself.

You loved seeing all these young individuals running around the campus with their brilliant inventions and minds. You hated how many times you thought to see that young Silco you had grown up within them all... but as it turned out, you wouldn't be far from seeing him on the daily.

You were pregnant and the only person you had been remotely romantic with was Silco... you couldn't find it in yourself to be with anyone else just yet as his voice still haunted your dreams, the thought of his presence making your heart equally yearn and hurt.

You had a son, Rhyker, and he looked exactly like his father yet held your eyes and smile. He helped you to heal that part of you that was missing from the Undercity and as you both aged, he made Piltover feel like a new home, a new future you were finally accepting.

Rhyker was equally as brilliant as well, loving the scrap items you collected and brought home that he tinkered with inside his room. And every time he was finished, he would run out to show you his latest invention.

At the start like any good parent you smiled at his drawings and listened to his ideas and acted amazed at his creations. But going forwards into his teenage years, Rhy was truly showing a knack for tinkering as his blueprints became more complex and his creations helping you around the home.

Your son adored you, watched you work yourself to the bone that he studied hard in school with a hope of making it into the Academy- of creating something that would change the world and make it a better one for you and him. Yet couldn't help but wonder about his father.

Rhy knew he was from the Undercity, a comment you let slip when half asleep one night while cooking dinner. Yet anytime he would ever bring a even a mention of him up, you would tense, gripping whatever was in your hand until your knuckles turned white before smiling calmly. It was at these times your son was ever scared of you... of what his father must have done to someone as kind as you to illicit such a reaction but he couldn't help but dig when he gained the opportunity to.

─────── · ·

Rhyker made it into the Academy and you couldn't have been prouder while reading the acceptance letter over and over again before crying into his shoulder.

That first week he was in the library looking up all articles and databases related to the Undercity- determined to discover who his father was but unknowing that someone was already looking back at him as well.

A thousand faces passed through his eyes as he numbered down with what little evidence you gave him to about fifty people. Tall, slender, brown hair, and holding just enough power to remove someone like they did to you...

He printed out these faces and basic documentation, pasting them into his journal alongside his blueprints. He failed to realize just how late at night it was inside the library as he was the only one left in the building... or he thought so.

The flicker of a lighter, the soft glow of an amber light out of the corner of his eye had his chair screeching against the tiles as he felt for his pair of scissors and gripped them tightly in his hand.

A cold breeze drifted through the large hall echoed the sigh, carrying it through the room. "Any faces appear remarkably similar?" a deep voice says, their face still unseen. Rhykers breath hitched in their throat, hand beginning to shake as their head swung side to side, trying to identify where this voice was coming from through the shadows of night.

"Who are you?" Rhyker asked, a small part of his brain nudging with an answer. "I think you already know that, you just don't want to admit it to yourself. And here I was thinking that my son would live up to his name... or am I mislead?" the voice asks. He can hear his footsteps moving around in the shadows, the outline of a leather boot shining in the moonlight.

"You are not my father. You couldn't be- I mean. Mom would never be with some... some-thing, some monster like you are in the first place!" Rhyker yells to only hear a ghostly chuckle before Silco steps into the moonlight, head tilted high, chin raised to cover his shifting expression once seeing your eyes looking back into his own.

Silco can't help but pick up every feature of his son that looks like you starring daggers through him. "You really do look a lot like her, how is your mother doing?" Silco asks calmly, taking another drag of his cigar.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rhyker responds childishly before picking up his items from the desk. "I ask with honesty for the answer," Silco replies, head lowering as he observes the various drawings and gear-sets with intrigue.

"Well, if you could already know I'm here whats stoping you from seeing my mother?" Rhy poses back, failing to look up and catch the furrowed brow on Silco's features.

"I know that she would not want to see me... even if I do want to see her-"

"After everything you did!" Rhyker slams his books atop the table before pointing the blades at his fathers chest, "You say you still want to see her? To what? Try and kill her again- like fuck am I allowing you to do that, father or not!"

"I never tried to kill your mother, a mere... misunderstanding..." Silco tries to find his most comforting tone yet it appears cold and distant in the ears of Rhyker who's eyes scream murder.

"A 'mere-misunderstanding' that almost cost her, her life! I regret trying to find who you were, I understand that my mother was only trying to protect me from the monster that you are. Selling all of those drugs to the needy to what? Make yourself rich? Have another woman wet your-"

"ENOUGH!" Silco raises his tone, a chill running down Rhykers spine as his father walks up to him, blade pressing into his vest, pointing at his heart yet showing no discomfort but only a cold anger. "I loved. love your mother. I wouldn't have done all the things I've done without her. Things would have been different if I caught on minutes faster before I thought her gone for good..." Silco explains before taking a step back to take a drag from his cigar, looking out at a sleepy Piltover.

"So if you magically saved her, you would have been a better man? Like I believe that you would abandon your ambition for love," Rhyker retorts, arms now crossed as he watches his fathers back rise and fall with the deep breaths he calms himself with.

"You and I are not so different in that aspect. We drive our ambition from love... it only takes the right pair of lenses to see it. I tried to build a combined city but to many that don't understand the darkness- I look to be the devil and they wouldn't be far off..."

─────── · ·

You were worried sick back at the apartment. Not a single message or knock on the door from one of Rhykers friends to tell you he would not be home tonight. You paced rapidly around the kitchen, wondering to take to the streets yourself or to call a patrol out to find your son.

But the sudden rattling of keys and a soft swear as they fell to the floor had you rushing to open the door, arms flinging around to home him as you cried in thankfulness for his safe return. Yet the returning hug was slow to come by and the hands that gripped your waist tight felt distant but familiar.

Opening your eyes in shock to see your son looking at you back in the eyes. You tense in the mans arms that currently enveloped you- smelling whiskey, smoke, and the faintest scent of citrus aftershave. Their vest hiding a muscled back that your hand fall from- frozen.

You try and wiggle yourself free from their touch, tears finding your eyes once more as your struggle out with a cry but Silco only holds you. You can feel his hands shaking as he rests his head above your own. But with one last shove to his chest, you release yourself, stumbling backwards and back into your apartment.

You swiftly regain your footing, walking backwards, hands shaking as you do your best to yells threats while holding up a letter opener. "I now remember where you get the obsession with blades from, son," Silco comments with a chuckle that has your heart pounding in your chest.

"Back the fuck away from my son!" you yell, other hand ushering for Rhyker to stand behind you. You scream when he does not move, instead closing and locking the front door before walking over to you both.

"Well it would seem our son found me first," Silco explains, hands now tucked behind his back as he blinks slowly, taking in your appearance with the softest eyes he can muster, the yellow one glaring into the deepest parts of your soul.

You mouth opens and closes, failing to find the words before Silco has disarmed you and walked you over to the couch with a hand on your back, "grab your mother a glass of water, please," he asks Rhyker before kneeling in front of you.

You refuse to look at him, instead are focused just past his head, watching the wood in the fireplace burn behind him. The glass of water is presented to you yet you make no move to take it, Silco puts in on the side table before pulling your chin gently to have your eyes meet again.

"No," you softly say, shaking your head in his gentle grasp. "No?" Silco questions.

"No, you're not coming back into my life, into his life. We have made roots here. Rhyker has the opportunity of a lifetime and I. Will. NOT. have you ruin it!" you exclaim.

Silco sighs yet is internally content that you have yet to push away from his touch again. "Mom- I-" Rhyker begins to speak.

"No, Rhyker. I don't care whatever lies this man has placed into your head but they are just that- lies. Just like when he said that he loved me, would protect me, you disgust me, Silco," you spit out, watching as Silco stands in front of you, looking down, calculating something.

"Hate me all you want, darling. Just know that before hate there was love and that is something I have never departed from."

─────── · ·

─ · · PART TWO | PART THREE

[mellosdrawings]

Bittersweet Memory

Hey look, for once there's no content warning! (That doesn't make it lighter, does it?)

[PREV] - [NEXT] - [MASTERLIST]

[maddilynmuse]

Memory Of Helplessness

CW: Gore, Crushing, Temporary Character Death, Guilt, Vomit.

Hurt, no comfort. Isabeau POV. Technically everyone is there but only Isabeau and Siffrin are mentioned in much depth.

I saw this post for @mari-lair ‘s “Siffrin, more like Sif’s Out” AU and immediately got possessed by angst demons. Please note this post might have spoilers for upcoming comics in that AU, though also, this story isn’t going to make much sense without it.

Also, spoilers for the base game of In Stars and Time too. You’ve been warned!

The King’s Speech washed over Isabeau for the whatever-eth time only to be cut off by Mirabelle for the whatever-eth time. As much as Isa was actually good with numbers, he’d long ago given up on counting these loops, all of them had. It’d just make you go insane. There were enough things driving them insane, including the pit in their guts—snack time had stopped filling it a long time ago, this loop they didn’t even bother.

“Flower for you,” Siffrin said, giving it to their greatest enemy like it was nothing.

It meant nothing. It was just random (at least so Isa liked to tell himself).

Mirabelle put up their Adorable Moving Shield as the King charged his attack. However many loops ago, Isabeau would’ve started buffing defenses, but they were well past the need for that… mostly. Siffrin hadn’t even gotten to level 47 this loop, and maybe they could’ve done a better job of letting him feel useful, but that was fine. It’d reset and he wouldn’t remember a thing. As much as it’d hurt the first few times they did this, it was easier on everyone just to let Siffrin stay down.

Anyways, Isabeau punched at the king with his Paper Mache gloves. There was no triumph to it anymore even as hit points got shaved off like they were fighting a Tristess. Odile followed up with Paper Alpha V. Already down a third. It wasn’t always so easy to beat him. The King’s attack washed over all of them, the majority of it bouncing harmlessly off the shield. Siffrin was almost down. It stung Isabeau’s heart to see the way Sif’s one eye looked to Bonnie, to Mirabelle, then to the rest of them, just like it had the last few times they came here, so he didn’t look. He didn’t look their way at all. No one did.

Maybe they could’ve stopped him if they had.

Isabeau instead braced himself for a blow from the King, eyes screwing shut by instinct….

“I CAN HELP!”

c r A C K

The smell of copper. A horrible drip of blood on stone as the King raised an oversized fist. The feeling of something warm and sticky sprayed on Isabeau’s legs, his torso, maybe just a bit on his face. His eyes opened before his mind could tell them it was a bad idea.

“… Sif?”

Was that Sif? It was hard to tell. There was almost no darkless left. Or any face. Or distinctly human features at all. Mostly just fabric and pulp. The hat, also no longer darkless, floated down from the King’s fist, landing in the puddle of blood and bone dust.

This…

Hah. This was probably what he looked like under the rock. The King is a rock type, after all.

A hysteric laugh at the not-funny not-a-joke escaped Isabeau’s laugh as he tried to take in what he was seeing. His hand went down to tug at the suddenly-stained fabric as though he could still pick them up. “Siffrin?”

How? How did this happen? This wasn’t supposed to happen! It never happened before! Siffrin was supposed to be knocked out! To end up hitting the floor, maybe busted up, maybe bleeding a little, but only normal battle wounds! The King couldn’t kill them until the end, right?

Right?

And, well, sure! Siffrin got the Memory of Useless Idiot. It lowered their stats, but that was fine! With Mirabelle’s Memory of Sadness, they barely needed to fight. And, yeah, they’d been trying to read those Headache Books any time the rest of them looked away for even a second, but it’d come back at snack time, right? Which they… skipped…

“ooooooh….. you must’ve known this would happen. though that look on your face…… perhaps I was mistaken…… either way, Vaugaurde will be preserved.”

They drove him to this. They all drove him to his death. They were supposed to protect him, supposed to make sure he at least lived, and now he was a splatter on the floor again-

“Siffarooni?”

Isabeau reached out once more to the pile of meat and cloth and-

START AGAIN START AGAIN PLEASE START AGAIN-

He awoke to see his hands, free of blood, hovering above grass.

[Isabeau got Memory of Helplessness! When equipped, it makes Siffrin more likely to take damage for him in battle!]

Isabeau threw up.

[solarmorrigan]

For the angst prompt thing: Steddie and "Don't fucking touch me."

Hello! Thank you very much for sending a prompt, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, but I do think this one is my favorite out of all the fills I've done for this prompt list <3

[No warnings; Unnamed Freak (who apparently got a name in the most recent novel, but I didn't know that at the time) is named Oliver]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

-

“I’m gonna step outside for a minute,” Steve leans in to murmur in Eddie’s ear, even though the music isn’t that loud.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Eddie nods, and only just keeps himself from turning to catch Steve’s mouth in a kiss when he feels the brush of his lips against his ear; it’s not his fault he’s developed some kind of Pavlovian association between having Steve’s mouth anywhere near his skin and receiving kisses – but they do have company.

Said company is just Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver, but still. Eddie has some decorum.

Steve stands from the couch and the arm he’d had slung around Eddie’s shoulders slides away slowly, his hand brushing warm and heavy over the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb stroking once, familiarly, along the side of his throat before disappearing entirely as Steve moves towards the front door. He doesn’t do so great with groups of people in small spaces anymore; the noise gets to him, and the heat generated by so many bodies in close proximity tends to give him a headache, so he takes breaks now and then, just to give his brain a few minutes to unbend.

The door swings open on silent hinges (Steve had attacked it with a can of WD-40 and a look of determination earlier today, insisting he couldn’t stand the squeaking anymore; he’s always doing things like that around the house – little repairs, organizing, picking things up, even though Eddie insists he doesn’t have to. He says he wants to, the endearing little weirdo) and Steve steps out into the cool evening, leaving Eddie and the boys behind in the warm light of the trailer’s main room.

“So,” Jeff says, looking up from his spot on the floor and gesturing vaguely at Eddie with his beer can, “how’s that going for you guys?”

Eddie blinks at him. “How’s what going?”

“The whole thing between you two,” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie raises a skeptical brow at him.

“You wanna talk about me and Steve having sex?” Eddie asks.

Jeff’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What? No.”

“Not ever,” Gareth jumps in.

“I mean…” Oliver says with a shrug, flinching when Gareth pelts him with a balled-up napkin.

“No,” Gareth reiterates.

“I refuse to apologize for simple curiosity,” Oliver sniffs, and Eddie, seated next to him on the couch, gives him a shove.

He’s glad his friends are accepting – supportive, even (he’d like to say he wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t, but let’s be real: nerds could be hard to come by in their neck of the woods, and as long as they were the quiet type of homophobic, Eddie would probably still play D&D with them. But he’s glad they’re not), but he does have some boundaries.

Like, one or two, maybe.

“I just meant the whole… dating thing,” Jeff says, taking a sip from his beer. “Because I’ll be honest, I really didn’t see it at first, but it actually seems to be working out.”

“Dating?” Eddie parrots blankly.

“Yeah. You guys are in, like, some kind of never-ending honeymoon phase or some shit,” Gareth says. “Hasn’t it been over two months?”

“Uhhh, no, I think you gentlemen are confused,” Eddie drawls. “Steve and I are not dating.”

This declaration is met with a moment of silence.

“Seriously?” Oliver finally says.

“Yep,” Eddie replies easily. “No relationship shit here. Strictly a friends-with-benefits-type deal.”

“Seriously,” Olver says again, flatly this time.

“Yes, Oliver, seriously,” Eddie huffs, reaching over to give him another shove, only to have his hand pushed away.

“Eddie, he was practically sitting in your lap just now,” Jeff says. “You two are all over each other.”

“Constantly,” Gareth adds.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not like this is a big couch; we gotta squish. Anyway, Steve’s just a touchy kind of guy.”

“He doesn’t sit like that with any of us,” Gareth points out.

“Yeah, well, you guys aren’t the ones receiving benefits,” Eddie says. “You want him to sit on your lap? You could ask.”

Gareth lets his head hang back with a noise of frustration. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Don’t you two go on dates?” Jeff asks. “I’ve seen you at the movies. You talk about going out to eat, doing other shit…”

“Yeah, see, that’s the friends part of friends with benefits,” Eddie snarks. “Friends hang out sometimes, I’ve been told. We are all, in fact, hanging out right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m dating any of you.”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you?” Oliver asks, and Eddie can’t help but scoff.

He appreciates the fact that Oliver is passionate about pretty much anything he does, but it also means he’s given to romanticizing. He doesn’t usually manage to drag Jeff or Gareth in with him, though.

“Pretty sure he looks at me like a friend, because that’s what we are.” Eddie rolls his eyes before offering a smarmy little grin. “I mean, I’m sure he looks at me as an exceptionally attractive friend, but that’s it.”

“Genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with us, man,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes.

“Genuinely, I am not,” Eddie promises, taking the last viable swallow from his beer before getting up and heading for the kitchen, wiggling his empty can at the others with a raised eyebrow in question. Gareth raises his own near-empty can with a shrug and Eddie nods. “Look,” he says as he ducks towards the fridge, “Steve isn’t the kinda guy you have a relationship with, anyway, you know?”

Eddie doesn’t mean this in a negative way, just as a matter of fact. Steve just doesn’t seem to be a relationship kind of guy. Nancy had been something of an outlier, in how long she and Steve had lasted, and it had become clear after the dust from the Upside Down had settled that he really doesn’t have any interest in pursuing her further. Just the other day, he’d mentioned to Eddie how difficult relationships can be, and about how glad he is they have their thing together instead.

“Being with you is just… easy,” Steve had said; he hadn’t been looking at Eddie at the time, his face instead pillowed on Eddie’s chest, hair sticking to his naked skin where the sweat was still cooling from their last round, but Eddie could see the edge of a smile on his lips.

And Eddie doesn’t have much experience with relationships himself, but he knows that being friends with Steve is easy and that the sex feels equally easy and that the way he’d agreed with Steve and carded his fingers through his hair had sent Steve right to sleep with that same smile still in place.

Easy.

Now, Eddie shoves his head into the fridge and reaches for the beers that have somehow gotten pushed to the back. “It’s nothing major, okay?” he calls back towards the living room.

“Eddie…” Gareth calls back, an edge to his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Eddie waves vaguely, making sure to grab a second beer. “Anyway, Steve’s a good friend, and he’s really hot, and we’re just having fun.”

The bang of the front door against the frame startles Eddie so badly he nearly smacks his head on the underside of the freezer as he stands, a beer clutched in each hand like he might be able to use them as projectiles.

There is no threat, though – just Steve, who had apparently failed to catch the screen door before it had shut too quickly behind him. He doesn’t seem to have noticed; he’s just standing there, staring at Eddie, color rising high in his cheeks, eyes wide and shocked, like he’s just been slapped.

Concern wells up from Eddie’s gut, and he opens to his mouth to ask what’s wrong when Steve finally speaks.

“Yeah,” he croaks, “I’m not having fun.”

Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, the beginnings of cold dread trickling into his veins well ahead of any conscious thought.

“I think I– I think I should go,” Steve says.

He grabs his keys from the side table by the door, where they’ve lived next to Eddie’s and Wayne’s for the last few months whenever he’s been at the house, and then he’s gone again, the screen door banging shut once more behind him.

And Eddie has no idea what just happened, but he knows it wasn’t good. He drops the beers on the counter and bolts out the door after Steve.

Steve is nearly to his car by the time Eddie scrambles down the front steps, and he’s paying absolutely no attention when Eddie calls after him.

“Steve,” Eddie tries again, stumbling to a stop right behind him as he jams his keys into the driver’s side lock. “Steve, for fuck’s sake, what–” he reaches out, wrapping one hand around Steve’s bicep, and Steve jerks out of his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve snaps.

Eddie pulls his hand back, but doesn’t step away, entirely baffled by the sudden turn the evening has taken. “What the hell happened back there?”

Steve goes still, grip going lax on his keys. “I heard what you said, Eddie.”

“About – about what? Are you mad I was talking to them about us sleeping together? Because, Steve, they already knew,” Eddie insists, a little incredulous. “You said you were fine with them knowing! You were practically feeling me up in front of them!”

“I don’t give a shit if they know we’re having sex!” Steve hisses, finally whirling around to look at Eddie. “I meant the rest. About how I’m not the kind of guy you have a relationship with.”

Eddie’s stomach sinks. He hadn’t realized that was such a sensitive subject. “I – shit, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, I just didn’t think you wanted–”

“About how we’re just having fun,” Steve cuts in, and if he’d sounded raw before, his voice is practically ground down to nothing now.

That brings Eddie up short. “…aren’t we?” he asks after a moment.

Steve says nothing.

“I mean, shit, Steve, it’s not like we’re in a relationship,” Eddie says, offering a little laugh, because even Steve would have to admit that the idea is a little silly.

Except.

Except Steve just glances away, staring at the ground beside Eddie’s feet, and – oh, shit.

“Oh, shit.”

Steve is still unnervingly silent, one arm curled around his middle while the other hand comes up to pinch briefly at the bridge of his nose. He still won’t look at Eddie.

“You… you thought we were,” Eddie says dumbly, and Steve shrugs.

“Can you blame me? We spend all our time together, Eddie. I’m here more than I’m at my own house, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept in my own bed in the last month. We go out and do things together, I try to keep things nice around the house because I want Wayne to like me, we have, like, a lot of sex, and– we… I mean, we kiss and touch and just – do shit like that even when it doesn’t lead anywhere.” Steve shrugs helplessly, finally looking up. “I mean, Christ, Eddie, what did you think we were doing?”

“I thought we were friends!” Eddie insists. Steve throws him an incredulous look and Eddie amends, “With benefits!”

“Right.” Steve’s expression flattens back out, going cold and hard and unlike anything Eddie’s become used to from him. “Because I’m not the kind of guy you’d want to have a relationship with.”

“I said that because I thought you didn’t want to be in a relationship!” Eddie snaps. “It’s not like you stay with anyone for very long, so I just assumed you didn’t want to be with anyone.”

Some of the ice retreats from Steve’s face, leaving a watering kind of hurt in its stead. “Do you listen to me at all when I talk?”

“What? Of course I do!” Eddie might have gotten turned around in certain respects, but he will not have his merits as a friend called into question; of course he listens to Steve.

“Are you sure? Because I talk about you an awful lot. I talk about doing things with you, about doing things in the future with you,” Steve says pointedly, “about how I want to stay with you.”

And Eddie had wanted Steve to stay with him, too. He’s just been thinking – well, he’d thought it was because they get along so well, that Steve had wanted to stick around. That it had only made sense.

“We never talked about… being anything else,” Eddie says, the protest a little weak even to his own ears. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

Steve pulls a sharp breath in, pinching at the bridge of his nose again; he leaves his hand there this time, eyes scrunched shut. “Just a few days ago, I told you how much I liked being with you. How good and how easy it felt compared to anyone else I’ve ever been with,” he says, barely more than a rough whisper. “And you said…”

I like being with you, too.

Eddie had said that.

He’d meant that he likes being around Steve, likes being his friend, definitely likes having sex with him, but he’d said it while combing his fingers through Steve’s hair, while cuddled up with him in bed, and – okay, yes, he can see the mixed signals there. He can see where Steve might have gotten the idea that they didn’t have an arrangement, that they were just together.

“I– I didn’t mean–”

“Obviously,” Steve snaps, dropping his hand from his face and turning back towards his car.

Eddie tsks, frustrated, and reaches out to grab Steve’s wrist – not pulling, just trying to keep his attention.

“Don’t,” Steve warns him, pulling back from his grasp for a second time.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” Eddie tries desperately. “I really… I really didn’t.”

“Yeah. I can see that. But Eddie…” Steve is quiet for a moment, posture so tense and still that Eddie suspects he’s not even breathing. “I’m probably the best-qualified asshole around to tell you that you really have to fucking think about how what you’re doing affects the people around you.”

Somehow, that stings more than any screamed insult Steve could have thrown at him.

“Steve…”

“I’ll come get my shit out of your place tomorrow,” Steve says, low and sharp, before getting into his car and slamming the door behind him.

After that, Eddie has no choice but to step back or get run over, and he watches until Steve’s taillights are no longer visible.

He can hear the hissing of some whispered conversation just beyond the door as he trudges back up the front steps, but his friends fall conspicuously quiet the moment he steps inside.

“…hey,” Gareth finally ventures after several seconds of awkward, sticky silence.

“Hey,” Eddie says flatly.

“Do you… want us to stay?” Jeff asks.

Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “I think I should… I need to– think about shit.”

The boys all nod, throwing him variously sympathetic glances and clapping him on the shoulder on their way out. Oliver pauses, as if he’s going to say something, but Gareth gives him a shove and gets him out the door before he has the chance. Probably for the best.

Eddie feels numb as he trudges back towards his room, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He flops down on his bed, face landing in a pillow that smells entirely too much like Steve’s shampoo. Probably because it’s on the side of the bed that Steve always takes. Next to the nightstand with the small stack of sports magazines that definitely aren’t Eddie’s. And the spare pair of glasses that also isn’t Eddie’s.

With a low tug in his gut, Eddie realizes how much of Steve’s stuff has crept into his room, into the trailer, into his life – how much Steve has become a part of his life, how much of Eddie’s day has been built around him, how much he’s come to lean on his presence, has come to want him there.

And Steve is going to take it all back sometime soon. Take all of his things away before he removes himself from Eddie’s life, too, because Eddie hadn’t been thinking and he hadn’t been careful and he hadn’t realized–

Eddie’s pretty sure he just broke up with Steve.

He’s also pretty sure he hadn’t wanted to.

His main consolation, as he curls up on his side, nose still buried in Steve’s pillow, is that as soon as Robin hears what happened (and she will hear, he has no doubt), she’ll probably come murder him.

At least he won’t have to wallow for long.

Part 2

[promptedwordsmith]

Omg I love the last one soo much!!

It might sound a but crazy but could you do how they would react to you dying? :3

I'm not going to lie, cried while writing these, feel so bad for the boys

Caleb

Caleb's reaction to losing you would be a deep, overwhelming, and almost incomprehensible kind of pain, something that could shake the very core of who he is. His protective instincts would have been built on the idea of keeping you safe, of always being there, and in his mind, he would have failed you in the most profound way possible.

Initially, he would likely retreat into himself, burying his emotions beneath layers of coldness and duty. As the Colonel, he’s used to handling tough situations with steely resolve, but this loss would be different. Nothing in his life—no mission, no threat—could prepare him for something like this. He’d probably go through the motions, perform his responsibilities, but there would be a distance in his actions, as if part of him was no longer fully there.

Behind closed doors, Caleb would fall apart. His apartment, his home, would feel emptier than ever before. The quiet would be unbearable. He’d likely replay every moment with you in his mind, going over things he wished he’d done differently. His guilt would haunt him—wondering if there was something more he could’ve done to protect you, to keep you safe. The weight of his failure would be something he couldn't escape, no matter how many hours he spent immersed in work or trying to numb the pain with distractions.

Caleb might not express his grief openly at first. His deep love for you was often expressed in the quiet, subtle ways—acts of service, protection, keeping you close—and without you, he would struggle to find meaning in those small, everyday gestures. The house would remain as you left it, with everything just slightly out of place—your favorite things still where you left them, the familiar scent of you lingering in the air. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to touch any of it, afraid that doing so would erase what little of you he still had left.

Over time, though, Caleb would carry you with him in a different way. His obsession with keeping you safe would turn inward—toward keeping your memory alive. He would hold onto every little thing that reminded him of you: the flowers you loved, the notes you’d written, the meals you’d shared. Each small piece of your life would become a treasure, something to keep him grounded when the world seemed too heavy.

But even through the pain, Caleb’s love for you would never waver. It would remain with him, a constant presence, a painful but enduring part of his life. The weight of your absence would never fully leave him, but in a strange way, it would become a part of his identity—a testament to the love he had for you, and the life you had shared. And as much as it hurt, he would keep pushing forward, in the way that he always did—fighting, living, and never forgetting.

Rafayel

Rafayel’s reaction to your passing would be an unraveling of everything he is, a quiet storm of grief and disbelief. On the surface, he would likely carry a cold, stoic facade, the same aloof, composed demeanor he often shows to the outside world. But inside, beneath the carefully constructed walls he’s built, everything would shatter.

At first, he might struggle to comprehend it, the finality of it all too much to bear. The world would feel unreal—you were unreal. How could someone like you, someone who inspired every stroke of his brush, every note of his music, be gone from his life? The thought would be suffocating, pulling him under in waves.

For a while, he wouldn’t know what to do. He might find himself wandering his studio, the silence there too loud, the stillness a reminder of the absence he couldn’t escape. The art he had once poured his soul into would feel hollow, lacking the passion it once held. And when he tried to work, the empty space beside him, where you should have been, would gnaw at him.

Rafayel wouldn’t reach out to others for comfort. He would seclude himself, shutting himself off in the dark, half-buried beneath a mountain of unfinished projects and failed attempts at distractions. He’d avoid your favorite places, your routines, because each one was too painful to endure. He’d keep the memory of you close, but the pain would be too raw, and he wouldn’t know how to handle it. He’d keep your sketches tucked away, maybe keeping one by his side—a haunting, beautiful reminder of your smile, your eyes, the way you filled the room with light.

But eventually, the grief would transform him. Rafayel was never one to stay stagnant. Your memory would become a part of him—woven into every painting, every note, every whispered word. He wouldn’t let go of you, but he would find a way to carry your presence with him, even in the darkest hours.

He would stand at his easel, paintbrush in hand, and create once more. But this time, the canvas would hold something more—something profound, something full of love and loss intertwined. Your absence would echo in every piece, but it would be a quieter, gentler ache. And when he looked at the completed works, he would know you were still there, in every stroke, every color, every memory he painted.

In the end, Rafayel would carry you with him. You would be immortalized in his art, his music, and the very air around him. You wouldn’t be gone—you would simply live on in the deepest parts of him, forever a part of who he was.

Sylus

Sylus’s reaction to your passing would be nearly imperceptible to most, as he would make a conscious effort to keep his outward appearance controlled. To the world, he would remain the same calculating, strategic man they knew—his arrogance unshaken, his coldness unwavering. But beneath the surface, a storm rages, and his subordinates, the few who are perceptive enough, would notice.

At first, Sylus would bury himself in his work, just as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. His focus would tighten, his movements more precise, as though he could outrun the grief by drowning himself in his duties. His demeanor, while cool and distant, would be sharper, more driven. However, there would be an edge to him now, a quiet fury that he struggled to keep in check. And when he gives orders to his subordinates, they would find themselves on the receiving end of a more dangerous, more relentless Sylus than ever before.

In the midst of an interrogation, the change would be noticeable. What once was a controlled, calculated method of gathering information now becomes something much darker. Sylus would push harder, demand more, inflict more pain, as if trying to extract something from his captive that went beyond mere answers. His eyes would be colder, more fixed, and his hands more brutal as he delivers punishment. The pain he inflicts on others would seem disproportionate, not because he’s angry with them, but because he’s angry with himself. His grief manifests as a need to control, to break something, to feel the release of power—anything to drown out the gnawing emptiness that is slowly consuming him.

His subordinates, the few who know him well, would start to notice the changes. His actions in the field become more violent, his patience shorter. When he’s around them, his eyes would seem distant, haunted even, but his attention to detail would be sharper than ever. There’s an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before, an urgency that betrays his inner turmoil. They'd see the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his posture whenever he’s alone, and they’d know. They might not understand the depth of his loss, but they could sense that something had shifted.

And when they witnessed his interrogations, they would realize that this wasn’t the usual Sylus, the cold and calculating man who always held back, who always maintained control. No, this Sylus had cracked—just enough to unleash something far darker, far more destructive. And his subordinates would be left with the uneasy sense that the man they served was far more broken than they had ever imagined. They would see the pain behind his eyes, the grief that he refused to acknowledge, but they would never say anything—because they knew better than to confront Sylus when he was like this.

In the quiet moments when no one was around, Sylus would retreat to his private space, his office, the only place where he could allow himself the luxury of feeling the weight of his loss. His hands, still stained from the interrogation, would tremble slightly as he pours himself a drink, the sharp burn of alcohol a futile attempt to dull the ache inside him. But nothing would ever quite dull it. The grief would settle deep within him, twisting into something darker, something dangerous.

And Sylus, for all his power, would have to learn how to live with it.

Xavier

After your passing, Xavier’s response to grief would manifest in a way that reflects his stoic, self-contained nature. He wouldn't outwardly show how much he’s hurting. Instead, he would suppress his emotions, trying to keep himself distracted by work, almost to an obsessive level. His usual precision and focus would become warped by this need to avoid feeling anything related to the pain of losing you.

Xavier is someone who has always kept his emotions in check, perhaps even burying them to keep functioning. But with you gone, the act of "functioning" becomes harder. The adrenaline of his missions might serve as a temporary escape, but it would also become a crutch for him. He would push his body beyond its limits, almost recklessly, as a way to silence the ache inside. The more he threw himself into his work, the less he would have to confront the emptiness of your absence.

Physically, Xavier might start ignoring the injuries he sustains during his missions, the toll on his body barely registering. What’s a broken bone or a few cuts when the one person who kept him grounded is no longer there? He wouldn’t take care of himself the way he once might have, not because he wants to harm himself, but because he no longer feels he deserves to be taken care of. In a way, this behavior is a reflection of his grief: a quiet, self-destructive spiral where he disconnects from the world around him, choosing to numb himself rather than process what he’s lost.

Mentally, Xavier would likely be struggling with an overwhelming sense of guilt and self-doubt. He’d wonder whether there was something he could have done differently, something he missed that could have saved you. Even if rationally he knows it wasn’t his fault, the emotional weight of that loss would still haunt him. His memories of you would be a bittersweet reminder of what he can never have again, which only feeds into the spiral of isolation and pain he experiences.

Ultimately, Xavier’s grief would isolate him. He would push others away, especially those who were close to you, because he’d feel unworthy of their support or understanding. He might continue with his duties as a hunter, but it would be less about the mission and more about escaping the constant reminder of your absence.

Xavier wouldn’t know how to move forward, but he also wouldn't know how to stop.

Zayne

The sterile, familiar environment of the hospital would become his refuge. He would dive deeper into his cases, performing surgeries with his usual precision, but now with an edge of urgency, as if the act of healing others could somehow fill the empty space that your absence left. His colleagues might notice that he’s working longer hours, rarely taking breaks, and pushing himself even harder than before. But it would be subtle. Zayne would keep his personal life locked away, too private to share with anyone. He would be the model professional, the kind of surgeon people relied on, respected, and admired. But deep down, his heart would be somewhere else—somewhere that he couldn’t reach anymore.

He would avoid returning home after shifts, not wanting to face the silence that awaited him there. Instead, he’d spend more time at the hospital, catching up on paperwork or reviewing cases, seeking solace in the rhythm of his work. It would be his way of coping, though it wouldn’t be healthy. He’d try to bury the pain, to keep his mind too occupied to feel the full weight of the loss. But the exhaustion would eventually catch up with him, and the long hours would take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

On the rare occasions when Zayne would allow himself a moment of quiet, perhaps late at night when he was alone, he’d find himself remembering the smallest details of you—your laugh, the way you touched his arm when you passed by, the soft way you said his name. These memories would be bittersweet, and he would try to push them away, only to be reminded of them constantly by the quiet hum of life outside the hospital walls.

Despite his attempts to distract himself, Zayne would never truly move on. The pain would remain, but his way of handling it would be through work, through action, even if it meant sacrificing the space for true healing.

Zayne would carry you with him in his own way, honoring your memory through the subtle acts of care he gives to others. He might find himself doing small things, like making the same meal you had once cooked for him, or visiting places you had enjoyed together, hoping that somehow, it would feel like you were still there beside him.

But most of all, Zayne would be filled with an enduring, quiet love for you that would never fade. It would remain with him, silently in the background of his life, a constant presence he could never forget. Even though he would never speak it aloud, Zayne’s heart would be forever touched by the bond you shared, and he would carry the weight of losing you with him always.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

readerbot au where you have one final chance to talk to ur murderer before ur home burns to the ground but the guy is kinda super dead so its not like talking to him will accomplish anything and ur too far gone to find closure anyhow but its almost comforting so u spend the final hour with him anyway

[viasdreams]

˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sudden change in your relationship with jisung

you can read pt.2 here

a/n: hey guys…😬

fake text m.list ☁︎⋅

[twistyfish]

Oh I don’t know if that’s what you usually write for request but what about MC dying (once again) and just before dying she remembered everything from their past lives and the lads men’s reaction thinking they failed MC again

hi! i tried my best with this one because i’m not caught up on all the lore, so please bear with me. i took it in a slightly different direction

prompt~ mc dying.

content warning for death and violence

Zayne

Zayne groggily rolled over in bed, his outstretched arm bumping into the bedside table. He winced in pain, rubbing his wrist. He picked up his glasses and put them on, sitting up slowly so as not to wake you from what was very clearly a deep sleep, seeing as you weren’t awake yet

He cringed when the mattress squeaked, and his eyes immediately flashed to your still form. You didn’t budge. Good. He gently swept off the covers and stepped into his slippers, brushing his teeth and getting ready for the day.

After a cup of coffee and a banana, Zayne returned to the bedroom to kiss you on the forehead before driving to work.

***

Zayne came back from the hospital and set his things down. He washed his hands and headed to the bedroom, eager to change out of his scrubs. He opened the door and was surprised to see you still in bed.

You hadn’t been showing any signs of feeling down lately, so this was a surprise. Maybe you were taking a nap? He wondered if he should let you sleep.

It was very silent. All he could hear was the distant hum of the air conditioner. He didn’t even hear your usual light snoring.

He walked in front of you and bent down, hesitating before patting your shoulder. He patted it again before shaking you.

Oh, so you were being difficult. He picked up the blanket and threw it off you, revealing the lower half of your face. It was still and pale.

He leaned in closer and realized something very, very critical.

You weren’t breathing.

His heart rate spiked and he immediately pressed his ear against your chest, because maybe he was mistaken. Maybe you were breathing and he just couldn’t hear it very well. Or maybe you had some undiagnosed sleep disorder where you temporarily stopped breathing. Maybe you would wake up gasping for air in a few seconds.

But he didn’t hear or feel any movement at all, so he stabbed his fingers against his phone to dial the ambulance, and told the operator what was happening with a foggy brain. His voice was hardly audible by the end of it. He knew exactly what information they needed, but he couldn’t seem to remember it. Your address, your age, your full name.

Who cared about all of that? That was all useless information. All that he cared about right now was that you were dead. His partner was dead. And he hadn’t been there for her.

Sylus

Gunshots rang out, the noise of bones cracking permeating the air while bulletproof glass broke into a thousand shards. Sylus sprinted through the room and into your destroyed cell.

He hadn’t opted to send Luke and Kieran to bring you home. He had to do it himself. He knew the fuckers wanted him to show up, but he paid no mind. He had to see for himself that you were okay.

But what he saw made his stomach drop into his shoes. You were sitting in the corner of the room, chained to the wall. Your head was lolled onto your shoulder, your eyes gored out and your arms covered in burns. No. No. No no no no nonono-

He fell to his knees with a painful thump. The only thing he could bring himself to do was hold his stomach and vomit up bile. Seeing his lover like that ruined him. It destroyed him, made him want to cry and scream until the Earth was flooded and everyone’s eardrums had burst.

So when one of the men on the floor laughed weakly at Sylus’s grief, he shot without a second thought.

Nobody’s life mattered anymore. The person whose life he cared about wasn’t here anymore.

Rafayel

The air was hot and dry, and you looked beautiful with pearls of sweat dripping from your chin and collecting on your collarbone. You were wearing a flowy green dress and little teardrop earrings.

Rafayel’s eyes were fixed on you, even while you crossed the streets. The smooth curve of your back, your soft, bare arms. You were so undeniably beautiful.

He loved going on walks with you, and he was thrilled that you both had been able to take a week off for holiday. He rarely got to see you in such a light, beachy setting.

It had been around thirty minutes of walking, and you seemed to be getting a little out of breath. This surprised him, because your job consisted of a lot of movement and high energy combat.

“You’re not getting out of shape, are you Ms. Bodyguard?” He teased. “How are you gonna protect me if walking around gets you breathless?”

Your shallow breaths continued, which was a little concerning.

He stopped walking. “Hey. Is everything okay?” He asked, concerned now.

You shook your head. “I don’t feel good.” Your breaths were getting quicker and shallower, and you doubled over. Your hands were on your knees, and you gagged. Rafayel bent down next to you, and before he knew it you were swaying and then you had fallen. He barely caught your head as you went down, his knuckles scraping the pavement.

“__? Hey! Hey, hey, wake up!” He was rapidly tapping your cheek, praying to whatever deities were out there that you would get up and walk it off.

“We need help! Please, my girlfriend is sick! We need help!” He shouted. A few locals rushed over and called for help, but he was inconsolable.

After emergency surgery and two days in the hospital, he was informed that you were braindead. He didn’t say anything. He booked a flight home and sold all his paintings.

He never painted anything again.

Xavier

No. Not this. Anything but this. His shaking hand brushed bloody, matted hair out of your face.

“Stay calm. Backup is here. I’m going to take you to get medical attention,” he said in a voice that was calmer than he felt.

“Xavier.”

“Don’t talk, you’re expending unnecessary energy.”

“Xavier, I’m not going to make it.”

“Don’t fucking say that.” His facade was cracking.

“I love you. I should have said it before, but I love you so much.”

“__, please-,”

“I’m so grateful that you’re my partner. You’ve been there for me through everything and I don’t want this to be it for you.”

“No.” His voice was small, like he was pleading.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was already breathy and shrinking in volume. But the intensity was the same. The character was constant. You would die a fighter.

“No, please, I’m not ready. I can’t do this without you,” he choked, pressure building up in his nose. His eyes started leaking, and he felt nauseous.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And that was the last thing you heard. Xavier pressed his forehead into your chest, and it killed him when he felt no rising or falling. It was just him and the night.

He looked up at the stars, and he swore he saw your face.

[simp-ly-writes]

Hope in a Bottle

─────── · ·

Pairing: AU!Silco x Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You had died many years ago, or at least that was true in Silco's world. He had learned to live without you but when graced with the opportunity to see you once again- he can't help but indulge.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, ANGST (but no seriously there are no happily ever afters), some fluff/comforting moments, suggestive themes.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,668

─ · · A/N: I cried like at least four times when writing this, this show HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD.

─────── · ·

Silco often thought about you in passing moments. These moments he remembered sharing with you amongst your friends and in the comfort of your arms used to be coated in blue that he would drown and surround himself in; but as your presence forever lingered in his mind blue turned to pink and rose-tinted glasses glossed over every moment- every memory with a certain degree of fondness that he would catch himself smiling even when no one was in the room.

You would always manage to light up the room, tell him a joke when he needed it most, told him off and raised him up. He put so much of himself into you into your presence that when you left... it was like he had to redefine who he was but forever remained unsuccessful.

Silco learned to live without you physically but that did not mean that your jacket was still not waiting for your return on the back of his couch or your glass still half-filled by the bedside. Your chair at the bar was always kept at the back, awaiting your return as you both shared kisses in the storage room. He would always remember how the stained glasses reflected in your eyes, the colour breaking across your skin in a forever radiant presence just like you.

Vander would catch Silco in these moments when wiping down the bar top or taking a walk down by the Zaun bay, overlooking the artificial lights and hints of sunlight being cast upon the black waters. Watching as the mans hand opened and tensed before falling back down to his side.

"You doing alright there. brother?" Vander asked in a soft tone as they both crossed over to topside for the day. Silco looked up, a strand of his hair falling from his salt and pepper hair- blowing with the wind. "We are always alright in the hope to be better, and when we get better we hope for it to stay only to be alright once again; stuck in the cycle of it all I find myself on the better side today."

Vander hums along to Silco's words as they stop at the various market stalls to see their offerings a few new bottles for the bar from another region across the sea and a bag of sweets for the kids in the area. The men are suddenly greeted with another body stepping in between the two and falling inline with their pace.

"And how are we doin'?" Powder asks with a wide smile, trying to squeeze her arms together to encompass both of their sides before turning around to walk backwards and hold conversation.

Silco winces as Power almost misses lamp post after lamp post by mere millimetres. "We are fine, just about to make our way back home actually. Anywhere your headed, young lady?" Silco teases, his voice sharing sincerity in every syllable.

Powder rolls her eyes before turning back around, head tilting over her shoulder before she disappears back amongst the crowd, "Going to see this new invention Echo has been telling me about!" Vander shakes his head with a loving stare where Powder had just stood.

"She's going to change the world one day, you know?" Vander says to the wind, hoping that it catches her ears but it only does Silcos.

"I'm afraid she already has for she is your own world," Silco comments, placing a hand on his friends shoulder before powering forwards. "I hate it when your always right," Vander teases before taking two long strides to catch back up.

"Well I perfected it only from the best." Both mens minds go directly back to you, smiling and twirling in the bar to a new record you had found on the topside. Somehow you had already known all the lyrics after this being your supposed first time listening to the piece.

"They always knew, huh," Vander says, looking down to catch Silco small smile. "Yes, but not everything I wanted them to..."

─────── · ·

When back in Zaun and at The Last Drop, bar-goers had already flooded the decorated space for tomorrow night it would be the inventions fair, a bar local already chosen to set the mood for the night and a few university members stationed with scholarships in mind.

Both Vander and Silco were excited to witness the extraordinary kids they knew have the opportunity to show their talents to others and hopefully the collective dream of them changing the world would come true but fate always had to make its presence known in the doorway.

Blue sparkled out of the corner of Silco's eye as he leaned against the bar top waiting to continue his conversation with Vander. A half eaten apple sat beside his notebook that he was picking away at while conducting the accounting for the month. His back burned with his age from being hunched over for so long as he stood up to stretch.

Laughs echoed throughout the bar, feet dancing against the wooden plank floors, drinks clashing and spilling against the tables as another gets thrown out the side door. Powder had left a few moments ago with Echo, a certain mischievous look in her eye that Silco did not find unusual at the time would only shock his system now when he caught from reflection in the glass of his amber filled cup.

Your name graced his lips, remembering the feel, imaging your warmth against his skin and to feel it, to see it. He thought to be surreal, to be going senile as he looked to Vander for support and only found him smiling with a wink before turning back around to serve another customer.

Your skin was a thousand colours coming to life in his eyes, his hand drifting from the back of your fingertips, up your arm to your shoulder, neck upon which you shiver and rest your forehead upon his own. "How I've missed you," words that he only hoped to hear, have only read to himself in comfort written by his own hand- a fantasy turned reality now spoken to truth between your very own lips that Silco had to claim.

You melted into his touch, decades without the familiarity- him haunting your body with memory of his touch now appearing as goosebumps in recognition. You smile against his lips, hand running up against the smooth fabric of his vest before lacing in the silver locks of his hair.

Out of breath, you both pant, hands still gripping one another tightly as if afraid the other would disappear once more. "I thought to have lost you, to be so alone for so long. Why is it now that you appear just when I was surviving once again off of scraps?" Silco asks into your ear, not wanting to break this moment between the two of you. Even when in a crowded bar, it is only the two of you present in this moment.

"I would ask myself the same questions when I came back alive thanks to the technology developed in my universe and by what force I have yet to know, I am forever thankful for returning me, my soul, back to you to rest finally," you speak through tears mixing with Silco's silent ones dripping down his cheekbones and falling against your clothes that stain the fabric dark.

"I should thank that force as well," Silco murmurs, lost in your eyes, brushing away your tears. "I think it best we have the rest of this conversation elsewhere," Silco grabs your hand before pulling you out of the bar. The cheers and claps becoming distant as he leads you back to his apartment.

He locks the door behind you both, watching as you gently let go of his hand and walk around his space. Your hand feels the leather of your jacket still sat in the same place where you left it, against the couch in a forgotten moment of need. You continue towards the kitchen, seeing the various crayon pictures of Violet and Powder attached to the fridge who Silco explained to you before walking towards the bedroom. Your glass still waiting for you beside an unopened bottle you remember gifting Silco for his birthday.

"Why did you never open it?" You ask, fingers tracing around the neck of the bottle coated in a layer of dust you blow from your fingertips. "You said not to open it without you there to try it, I kept to my promise in hope for an impossible day like today. It was a reminder of not to drain my hope as many other's do."

All you can do is nod before holding the bottle in between your hands, a sickness suddenly washes over you as you take in Silco's form leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed, leg tucked over the other and the scar of his yellow eye glowing warmly- lighting up the room amongst the candles.

He expects you to open the bottle, you understand that in doing so means you are to stay but that is something you cannot do. Not when Echo and the Professor are building a time-machine, not when your world is about to erupt in ruins.

You want nothing more to indulge more than you already had into this word of perfection and wrongs written right but that would be a cruelty brought upon this world. You knew you shouldn't have gone up to him, kissed him, felt his skin upon you skin only to take it away like the hopes of everyone else who had died during this war.

But you were only human, your heart already shattered and in need of repair, of warmth and kindness but you would only be selfish just as much as those you were out to strike down. "I-I can't open the bottle Silco. I-" you start to sob, hands shaking before placing the bottle back upon the nightstand.

You bring your knees back up to your chest, breaths heavy as your head spins, blood starting to drip down your nose, the reflection of blue out of the corner of your eyes as you gripping the sheets, knuckles turning white as Silco runs over, falling to his knees as he begs to see your face.

"Please, whatever is the matter, darling?" Silco asks, the sweetness of his tone doing nothing but to further indulge your nausea as you spiral. "I shouldn't have come to you, have done any of this!" You shout, trying to shove the man away but Silco only stands, wrapping his arms around your body as you do your best to kick and shove him away.

You look over his shoulder, watching as the sunsets through the window and sheer blinds. "Silco," you sob, fingers digging into the material of his vest once again in a panic rather than in reverence. "Silco, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that this was not forever, that this will only be another memory and perhaps the once that hurts the most knowing that I left rather than was forced to..."

"Then let me hurt, allow me to bleed, allow me to weep for I have endless time for that but only a finite time to be truly happy. So please, indulge me, drink it all and leave me once more with the knowledge that you are out there somewhere in another place, alive. Please, please," Silco begs turn into whispers as you press your tears into his neck before leaving a lingering kiss.

"Until the sunrise we shall be happy in the night," you speak softly in between kisses, your vision still clouded in tears.

"Until the sunrise," Silco restates before capturing your lips once more and sighing heavily. The moons bask ignites you both, lighting the liquid in your bodies burn as you take pleasure in one another.

You feel him, your hearts and souls connecting, rekindling in what is only to be heartbreak that makes you both press harder into one another. Leave marks across each others skin and kiss them delicately afterwards. It is in you both taking a bath afterwards until the cold waters have you both frozen still in realization as the sun rises and fills the room. Its warmth lost as you pick up your clothes and leave your jacket leaning against the couch once more.

You stare at the empty bottle at the bedside and watch as Silco picks it up and looks at you through it was a wavering smile. "Goodbye, my love and know that it was always you my soul yearns for and you who I define myself as."

"I really wish this didn't have to be the end, Silco...." you try your best not to sob, chocking on your words yet standing firm in your positions knowing that comforting one another would only make the hurt worse than it already was burning. "...in another life, I can see how easily we could have had it all- could have been happy."

"I wouldn't want any other memories than the ones we share," you nod in agreement, your body shakes, skin burns in want as you reach for the cold handle that sends shivers down your spine.

"Goodbye, Silco, I love you, forevermore."

"And I you."

─────── · ·

The walk to Jinx's place is a long and cold one, a thousand pairs of eyes stare at you with their condolences. You refuse to meet any of their stares, knowing that by just one look you would be running back into his arms for comfort.

Echo and Heimerdinger are already there and waiting for you, Echo extends his hand and lifts you up onto the platform. A swirl of arcane magic mixed fits the seeds of that all-too-familiar blue have you floating with a scream as the Professor sacrifices himself with one last salute to you both. Echo holds you, the loss of today holding heavy yet his touch is not what you yearn for as you cry into his jacket, gripping the collar of it as colours swirl around your vision and you are brought back to the battlefield once more.

Bullets wiz past your had, another graces your cheek as your blood falls like tears against the broken pavement. The roar of a monster rumbles the ground as you sprint towards the closing barriers, throwing yourself over them and into a sea of dead blue enforcers.

Screams haunt your ears, echoing distantly through your memories and brought forth into reality as you step over cast aside limbs and guns. You watch as Vi ahed of you holds another as they take their final breaths, a machine gun makes you loose hearing in your left ear and next thing you knew, a burning sensation was coming from your right leg where a ghastly wound had planted itself.

Hoisting and forcing yourself to stand you carry forth with a limp and defend the entrance, holding cover and watching as the trojan horse gets rolled in through the barriers all you can feel is Silco's marks as you charge forwards with an unrelenting cry.

─────── · ·

Silco fell back into the bed and stayed in that exact same numb position until Vander came to find him, "You know, there was a part of me debating weather or not to distract you from 'em and theres a part of me now that regrets not doin' so."

"It wouldn't have mattered anyways, the hurt of not seeing them when I got the chance to would have hurt just as much if not more. But I appreciate the sentiment, brother," Silco responds, rolling the cork of the bottle in between his thumb and finger.

"Finally drank it, huh?" Vander comments, picking up the bottle from the stand as gently as possible between his large hands. All Silco can do is smile, a singular tear dripping down his cheek that gets cast away, "yeah, something like that."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: so... what did y'all think?

[bluejutdae]

• You found out boyfriend Stray Kids cheated on you

Notes: this is HURT NO COMFORT. I can’t repeat it enough. It’s just NO comfort whatsoever. They cheat. Of course this is just my imagination, I don’t know them, etc etc.

Will there be part 2? No.

[mellosdrawings]

"You'll protect her, won't you?"

You asked for Najma? Here she is.

WE'RE AT THE BREAKING POINT!!

[PREV] - [NEXT] - [MASTERLIST]

[strnilolover]

NNN - chris sturniolo - you don’t need me

Chris was easily one of your bestest friends. Having met in high school through some mutual friends, you both had clicked with your similar interests. Your friendship easily carried into your adult years even after those same friends who introduced you fell out of the friend group.

It was always you and chris — chris and you. You stuck together through ups and downs, good times and bad times. There was hardly anything that could separate you two from each other — not even his brothers who you grew close too as well. You told each other everything — who you hooked up with, things you needed help with, everything.

But that all started to change when chris met her — scarlet. When they started officially dating is when chris seemed to become more distant from you, spending more time with her. Sure you didn’t mind much, considering the fact that she is chris’ girlfriend — he’d want to spend a lot of his time with her and you didn’t mind.

But what made you upset was the lack of communication on his end — never texting you to tell you if he’s busy or when he’s going to be. You just wanted to know so you weren’t trying to ruin the plans he may have already made — it didn’t help that scarlet wasn’t any good either.

So here you were, staring down at your phone, feeling the familiar ache when Chris leaves your message unread yet again. It’s been like this since he started dating her. You’d tried to stay supportive, happy for him when he met someone new. But the excitement quickly faded as she became less of a girlfriend and more of a wedge between you and Chris.

The first time you had noticed her attitude was at one of Chris’s hangouts. You had walked over, ready to grab a drink from the table when she suddenly stepped in front of you with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oh,” she’d said, eyeing you up and down, “I didn’t know Chris invited… everyone.” She’d tilted her head in mock confusion, clearly implying you didn’t belong. You had brushed it off at first, laughing it away, figuring she was just getting used to Chris’s friends.

But it didn’t stop. Every time you were around her, she found ways to make you feel out of place. One night when you and chris had gone to dinner with a few friends, she slid up next to you while you were getting food, making sure no one was watching while she looked over at you as if she was inspecting you.

“Do you really need another plate?” she’d asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s just… some people don’t know when enough is enough, you know?” her words dripped with malice, it made you feel uneasy.

The comment left you speechless, stinging more than you wanted to admit. But you kept it to yourself, not wanting to stir up drama. Chris deserved to be happy, and if she made him happy, you could put up with her snide remarks. Or so you told yourself.

One afternoon, you decided to meet Chris at a coffee shop to catch up, just the two of you, like old times. But when you arrived, she was there, sitting next to him with a possessive arm looped through his. Her eyes tracked you as you approached, a slow, mocking smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, you’re here,” she said, her tone dripping with false warmth. “Chris didn’t tell me you were coming. I thought this was, you know, our time.” the disgust on her face was clear, to you at least. A frown pulled across your face — why couldn’t it just be you and him without her?

Chris, oblivious as ever, just shrugged, looking between the two of you with an awkward smile. “I thought it’d be fun if we all hung out.” he said, his free hand coming up to run through his hair — a habit he did when he was nervous. You went to speak, lips parting but were quickly cut off.

She didn’t let you get a word in. “Actually, babe, I think we had plans later… but it’s okay,” she said, her gaze flicking back to you with a knowing smirk. “Maybe next time you can give us a little heads-up before you just… drop in.”

You forced a smile, feeling that familiar, nauseating sense of discomfort settling in as you took a seat across from the both of them. “Of course. I didn’t mean to intrude.” you muttered, quickly picking up the menu to order something — your talking plans were ruined.

After that, her taunts became a regular part of your life. She’d bump into you at parties, slyly insult your outfit or make snide comments about how “clingy” you were to Chris. And every time, Chris seemed too blind—or too charmed—to see through her sweet facade. It hurt, but you kept swallowing it down, determined not to let her get to you — and god was it a bitter pill to swallow.

One night, Chris invited you to another party at his place, saying he missed hanging out like old times. You had agreed, hoping that maybe — just maybe — this time would be different, maybe she’d lay off for the night. But when you arrived, you noticed the way she lingered by his side, whispering in his ear as her eyes flicked toward you, a glint of triumph in her gaze.

You managed to avoid her for most of the night, sticking with other friends and keeping yourself occupied with the drinks and the snacks the were laid out on the counter in the kitchen — or just busting yourself with dancing. But when you headed to the kitchen for another drink, she followed, cornering you by the counter.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely masking the hostility beneath her smile. “You’re still hanging around like a little lost puppy. Does Chris know how desperate you are to get his attention?” her words left you speechless, stabbing you in the chest. Does she just think that’s all you are? — an attention whore?

You clenched your jaw, the anger bubbling up in your chest. “I’m not desperate for anything. Chris and I have been friends for years.” you gritted out, your words almost lost to the music — but you knew she heard what you said.

She laughed, tilting her head with a pitying look. “Friends, sure. Keep telling yourself that.” She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “But here’s the thing. He doesn’t need you anymore. So why don’t you do us both a favor and stop acting like you belong here?”

You felt your face heat up, a mix of anger and hurt swirling inside you. Every ounce of restraint you had kept you from firing back. But it was getting harder to stay quiet, harder to brush off the blatant cruelty.

Instead of responding, you pushed past her — your shoulder shoving into her’s harshly, heading outside to get some air, trying to calm the pounding in your chest. It was one thing for her to be possessive or rude, but to imply that your friendship with Chris didn’t matter hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You went home early that night, ignoring the questions from friends and the puzzling look chris had given you when you got into your car and drove home. As you drove — you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact as to why she didn’t like you. You never did anything to her, you’ve been nothing but nice.

When you climbed into bed that night — your tears soaked your pillow, crying yourself to sleep.

A few days later, you finally decided to talk to Chris alone. You messaged him, asking if he could come over to your place to talk, and to your relief, he agreed. There’s a knock at your door sometime later — your body moving toward the front door. You take a deep breath, firmly gripping the door handle you open it, and there he was, standing with his hands in his pockets, a faint look of regret in his eyes.

Does he know?

You step aside, letting him slip in past you as he flashed you a smile. Closing the door behind you, you walk to the living room — chris following behind as he takes a seat on the couch next to you. He didn’t say anything for a moment — this look in his eyes that made you frown was hard to read.

“It’s been a while..” he muttered and you forced a smile, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to already spill over. “Yeah, it’s been a while.” You took a breath, steadying yourself. “Chris, I… I need to talk to you about scarlet.” you whispered, sucking in another deep breath.

His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “What about her?” he asked.

You looked down at your hands, gathering your thoughts. “She… she’s not as nice as you think she is, Chris. She goes out of her way to make me feel like I don’t belong around you anymore. It’s constant.” the words made your chest feel tight — you can’t believe you’re even saying this.

He frowned, leaning back on the couch. “I think you’re overreacting. She’s never said anything bad about you to me.” he points out — his reply only making your tone harsher,

“Of course she wouldn’t,” you replied, frustration bubbling up. “She does it when you’re not around. It’s not little stuff, Chris. She’s cruel. She treats me like… like I’m just some random person getting in the way.” your voice strained, throat threatening to close up on you as you continued to hold back your emotions.

Chris looked away, shaking his head. “Look, I know she has a strong personality, but she wouldn’t just bully you for no reason. Maybe she’s just protective.” he tried to reason. You felt your heart sink, his words hitting you like a cold splash of reality. “Protective? Chris, I’m your friend. I’ve always been there for you. I’m not some threat.” you watched his face twist — he wasn’t understanding it.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. It just feels like… maybe this isn’t as big of a deal as you’re making it.” you swallowed the hurt, nodding slowly. “Maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… maybe you just don’t need me around anymore.”

You stood up, tears slipping down your face now as you looked down at him, feeling like you were watching the end of something you’d held so close for so long. “Wait, come on, you know it’s not like that,” he protested, standing up a flicker of panic crossing his face.

But you just shook your head, forcing a smile through your tears. “I thought you’d have my back, Chris. I thought I mattered enough to you. But I can’t keep fighting for a place in your life when it’s this one-sided.”

He steps closer, reaching for your hand, but you pull away. The distance between you feels insurmountable, like an ocean too wide to cross. He’s standing right in front of you, and yet he’s never felt so far.

There’s a long silence as he looks down to the floor, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” he mumbled, a hand running through his hair — something you’ve grown so used to, but may not ever get to see again.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Chris — or her.” you whisper, feeling the weight of those words settle in your chest. His head raised to look at you — the reality settling into him. He knew — he knew what was happening and he feels so stupid for not noticing anything sooner, maybe you were right. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Without another word, you walked to your front door — opening it as you looked back at chris, his feet moving him slowly. You were still crying — your chest aching with pain as he got closer. When he passed by you, stepping onto your front porch — he looked over his shoulder.

“I love you.” was all he said before walking away. The words settling in like a final goodbye, the tears flowing harder than ever now. As you closed the door, you realized that this was you letting him go — maybe for good — leaving behind the person you’d once called your best friend.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

ANGST WARNING CAUSE I LIKE TO SEE MYSELF SUFFER…

Men who don’t have the heart to break up with you, so they just stop. Stop the love, the touches, the time, all of the small things. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to do those things anymore or they’re too busy to do all the nice little things like before. But it all just stops.

“Hey babe! Wanna hang out today?” You happily say to him but he can’t be bothered to look at you. “Sorry, I’m just a bit busy okay? Maybe later.” You nod, understanding. But that ‘maybe later’ turns into hours, days, weeks and months. His usual time with you is just…. Gone. The amount of kisses also stopped like his time with you. “I’m just a bit busy.” When you tried to kiss him as he rushed to work or wherever else he had to be.

That’s when the feeling started. The deep, deep, pit of anxiety. That unknowing sensation of where you feel sort of ghost like. You didn’t want to admit it…

“Hey baby! Want to watch a movie with me?” You smile at him as you sit on the couch, it’s pretty late at night as he enters your shared apartment after finishing his work. “No thanks, I’m just going to head to bed.” He replies coldly as he just goes straight into your shared bedroom without a glance your way.

You just sit there, the TV drowns out. Your heartbeat quickens. You try to fight away the fear clawing at your throat and eyes. You just can’t admit it…

When you go to pick him up from his job as a surprise you catch him talking about you with his co-workers. “Hey how’s your relationship doing man?” One of his friends asks, his answer causes your heart to drop from your hiding place where you’re eavesdropping. “Oh. It’s been.. okay but to be honest I’ve been thinking of ending it recently.” He blandly replies with an awkward laugh. You can hear his friends gather around to comfort him and encourage him to do what he feels is right.

With that you run out of the building and get in your car, driving away from his workplace.

That’s when the chocked out sobs start. Tears spill as you sob. At some point you have to pull over and park because the tears keep making it hard to see.

I guess now you can finally admit it.

Finally admit that the love has stopped.

It’s all over.

Feel free to imagine whoever you want!