#Now to fix my broken map

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ explicit sexual content, daddy kink, caretaking.

He expected to find you distracted. 

You didn’t text or call after breakfast, or your usual lunch time, but he was too bogged down with work to get off base to physically check in, lay eyes on you, make sure you’re alright. If you’re distracted enough you forgot to text, he’s worried it means you’ve lost track of the day completely, forgotten to eat or drink something other than coffee. Your little blue icon on the map tells him you’re definitely at work, but that’s all he has until he’s able to get away. 

When he does, and he slips through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen, he finds a scene he did not expect- 

and immediately knows the rules you broke today won’t result in a punishment. 

At least, not tonight. 

You’re standing at your work table, the rectangular butcher’s block that nearly stretches the span of the room, hands covering your face, hyperventilating. You’re covered in flour and there’s dried batter on your elbows, your neck, your clothes, a chaotic mess strewn across the tabletop.  

He calls your name softly and you turn with wide, wet eyes, a trembling lower lip. 

“What-” you nearly trip over yourself to get to him, falling into his arms, your tear stained face pressing against his chest, your own heaving. “Shhh, you’re okay, you're okay.” The front door swings open and Mara is there, pointing at the table, you, before making a motion with her hand like she’s cutting air in front of neck with a grim expression. Whatever it was, or is, it’s derailed the day completely, left you in tatters. He wishes you would have just called him, followed your rules so he could have helped, been here for you, with you, supported you. He nods at her, and cups your face, tries to tilt it up into his as you sob. "Okay, shhh, I've got you, I'm here. Let me look at you baby, let me see your eyes." They're laden with tears, broken with stress and anxiety, everything in you shaking and sparking like a live wire.

“I b-b-broke the ov-oven this morning,” you cry, clinging to his shirt, “I tried to- t-tried to fix it but... and I broke m-my rules..” His heart chips a little bit at the raw distress in your voice, the way your chest heaves like you’ve just run a marathon. He has to fix it, soothe it, bring you back and take care of you, of everything, properly.

“Okay sweetheart, you're alright,” Your face turns, ear pressing over where his heart thumps in his chest, and he automatically covers the other one with his palm, blocking out the world around you but continuing to murmur softly so you can feel the vibration of his words as he rubs your back. “You’re alright baby, everything’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, m-my rules-"  

“We’re not going to worry about the rules or what happened with them right now. We're going to get you home and taken care of, and we’ll talk about the rules when you’re feeling better. Do you understand?” You shake your head, still struggling to take a deep breath. “What is your number one rule baby, tell me.” 

“Listen to daddy.” 

“Good girl. I will tell you when it’s time to think about what happened today with your rules. Do you understand me?” You sniffle, but nod. 

“Yes daddy.” 

“Left arm.” One of the reasons he bought this house over the other ones is the tub. It’s massive, jacuzzi style with jets, perfect for a soak, or a scrub, which is what’s happening now. He turns your fingers up, runs the washcloth across them until the flour beneath is gone, soaping you all the way up to your shoulders, your collarbone that’s half hidden by bubbles. 

“Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you for letting me take care of you, sleepy girl.” Once he got you out of your dirty clothes and into the bath you calmed considerably, exhaustion quickly setting in once you hit the hot water. 

“You’re welcome daddy.” A small mischievous smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and he chuckles. Sass.

He trails the washcloth across your chest and you arch your back a little bit, turning into the fabric as it brushes your nipples. 

“Alright?” This is not the moment to push you. Emotionally off balance and vulnerable, it would do more harm than good to test your limits. 

“Yeah,” your teeth find your bottom lip, and he moves downward, across your belly to your mons. You moan, hips flexing, looking for more between your legs and he rubs your cheek. 

“Do you want daddy to make you feel good sweet girl?” 

“Yes please.” He lets the washcloth sink to the bottom of the tub. 

“Open your knees f’me, like that, good girl.” He takes it slow. He’d ask you to get out if he thought you’d be comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move you, disturb how relaxed you are. When he slides down your pussy to your hole, he’s relieved to find you’re very wet, and there will be enough to last until the water in the tub starts to dissolve it, though he’ll have to be quick. You whine, wiggling as he thumbs your clit, middle finger of the same hand carefully pressing inside you to the first knuckle, the surprised gasp on your lips swallowed by his own. You’re already clenching down around him, trying to bring his finger deeper. So bloody tight.

“Ah-” He works up to his second knuckle, watching your expression, the crease of your eyebrows, the flutter of your lashes. Your grip tightens to the side of the tub, walls squeezing him as he slides all the way, circling your clit and angling upward inside you, dragging along your walls like he’s motioning for you to come here, all of his touch flexing in tandem. Your face is twisting, almost like you’re trying to resist, mentally digging your heels in. You’re getting in your own head, trying to shove your orgasm away, running from it. Punishing yourself.

He knows what you need.

“You had such a hard day didn’t you baby,” you whimper, "you worked so hard today, and daddy’s girl deserves to feel good after having such a bad day.” He passes over your clit in a faster rhythm, again and again as he strokes in and out of your pussy, bringing you to the edge. 

 “I-” 

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can come. Show daddy how good you are and come on my hand.” A lever is pulled, a dam released.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” your feet kick, water sloshes, and your face is like heaven, expressive and euphoric, just for him. “I’m coming, I’m…” your muscles tense and he stays with you, wringing every drop of your pleasure free until you go limp, chest heaving. 

After a while, he finds the washcloth. He methodically picks up where he left off, starting between your thighs, and then soaping the rest of you, making sure he gets all the remnants of the day cleaned off.  You smile, a little loopy, eyelids heavy. Time to get out. “No sleeping in the tub, c’mon.” 

“But-” 

“No buts. Up.” You pout. It’s adorable, and he’s a sucker, but the risk of you falling asleep is too great. “I’ll let you stay in until you’re all wrinkled next time, but you can barely hold your head up right now. Come on.”

He gets you dried off and into some clothes, pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts before settling you in bed with a cup of tea, bare feet sticking out from the blankets so he can rub them, trying to knead away some of the tension in your arches. 

“You need better shoes.” 

“Mmmh, I know.” You had turned your switch on, but it sits abandoned now as you drain your chamomile just before snuggling down into the pillows, slowly losing your battle to sleep. “Daddy...” 

“”I’m here baby.” You sigh and reach blindly, looking for him with closed eyes. 

“Can you hold me?” It’s not even a question, you own him.

“Of course.” He slides in behind you and you turn, nestling your nose against his neck. A whole world, right here. An entire life, his, curled up in his arms, the safest place you'll ever be.

“Night.” Half yawn, half sigh, completely exhausted. He brushes his lips across your forehead. 

“Goodnight sweet girl.” 

[littlelamy]

I'm not your enemy

credits: thank you to @mad3ylncline

The sandy building groaned under the weight of time, its cracked walls and sunken roof barely holding together. Dust and grit hung in the air, and the dim sunlight streaming through broken slats created an eerie haze around the tense group.

Rafe stood at the center of it all, the map clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. He glanced between John B, Sarah, JJ, and Kie like a trapped animal, his paranoia simmering just beneath the surface.

“Rafe, baby,” you said gently, taking a small step toward him. Your voice was steady, but your heart was hammering in your chest. “Just give John B the map.”

Rafe’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening. His eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill over. “No!” he barked, shaking his head violently. “You’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life!”

His voice cracked, and the rawness of his words echoed off the fragile walls. His fingers curled tighter around the fragile parchment as though letting go of it would unravel him completely.

“I know you will,” he muttered, his voice breaking as he looked at you. His hands trembled, and his gaze darted between you and Sarah. “You all will.”

You took a tentative step closer, hands raised to calm him. “Rafe, no one’s trying to screw you over,” you said softly. “We just need the map so we can find the crown. That’s it.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, yeah? And then what?” His gaze fixed on Sarah, a storm brewing in his eyes. “You’ll just take it for yourselves, won’t you, Sarah? My own sister would rather side with them than with me!”

“Rafe, that’s not true,” Sarah said, her voice trembling. She took a cautious step forward, but JJ grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

“Don’t,” JJ muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving Rafe. “He’s a ticking time bomb right now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Rafe snarled, his voice rising as he took a step back. The fragile map crinkled under his grip, and the group collectively tensed.

You watched him closely, your chest tightening at the desperation in his eyes. This wasn’t just anger—it was fear. He felt cornered, betrayed, and utterly alone.

“Rafe,” you said again, your voice calm and unwavering. “Look at me.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, his hardened expression softened.

“No one here is your enemy,” you continued, taking another step closer. “I’m not your enemy.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “They’ll screw me over, just like they did Dad, just like everyone else.”

“They won’t,” you insisted, your voice firm. “And even if they try, I won’t. I’m here, Rafe. I’m always here.��

He stared at you, his chest heaving. The cracks in his armor were widening, the vulnerability he worked so hard to hide bleeding through.

“Rafe,” Sarah said softly, her tone cautious but sincere. “This is what Dad would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted us to work together.”

Rafe let out a harsh, bitter laugh, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah? Like you worked with him? You let him die!”

Sarah’s face paled, her breath hitching as the accusation hit her squarely in the chest. “He died taking a bullet for me, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “He died protecting me.”

Rafe’s lip quivered, and tears began streaming down his face. His hands shook as he clung to the map, but the anger drained from his expression, replaced with pure sorrow.

Sarah’s heart broke as she stepped toward him. “I’m so sorry, Rafe,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. Rafe stood stiffly for a moment before his shoulders sagged, and he let himself lean into the hug. His tears soaked into her shirt as his walls crumbled, his sobs muffled against her shoulder.

When Sarah finally let go, her own tears glistening on her cheeks, Rafe turned to you. His face was still streaked with tears, his vulnerability laid bare in a way you’d never seen before. Without hesitation, you reached for him, your hands gently cupping his face.

“Rafe,” you murmured, brushing a tear from his cheek. His blue eyes locked onto yours, searching for something—comfort, reassurance, hope. You leaned in, your lips meeting his in a sweet, tender kiss. His hands instinctively found your waist, grounding himself in the moment.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “You’re not alone,” you whispered. “You’ll never be alone as long as I’m here.”

For a moment, it was as if the rest of the world melted away. Rafe exhaled shakily, his grip on the map loosening as he let the weight of his pain lift, even if just a little.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, taking the map from his trembling hands. As the group exchanged nervous glances, you kept your focus on Rafe, your fingers brushing his one last time.

“We’ll figure this out,” you said quietly, holding his gaze as the group began to move out of the crumbling building.

He didn’t respond, but the flicker of hope in his eyes was enough.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01

[sceletaflores]

couldn't help it, i had to kiss the teacher!

pair: professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, age gap (reader is mid twenties...logan is...his age), gratuitous nickname usage, public sex (classroom), oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), an impromptu clitoral anatomy lesson, scent kink, hair pulling, light traces of a foot fetish (i'm literally not even sorry), nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, nat trying to sound smart, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

a/n: based off of me going to my a&p lab today and getting super bored which somehow led to thoughts about professor logan who teaches a&p…that then spiraled into this very quickly. p.s this is like a t.a!reader not a student lol

professor logan has a special way of helping you retain information...

You've been huffing and puffing for the last twenty minutes.

Logan has been blatantly ignoring you for the last twenty minutes, because that's the only way a man with enhanced hearing can ignore someone.

Blatantly.

He's been at the chalkboard since you came in a little after his last class ended, busy mapping out his lesson plan for tomorrow.

The chalk squeaks rhythmically as he writes, you tap your foot in time with it.

You're perched on top of his desk, different stacks of papers messily scattered all around you like a tornado of ungraded essays and homework assignments tore across the glossy cherry wood of it.

You glare at Logan's back harder, forcing yourself to ignore the way his muscles glide and flex beneath the thin fabric of his flannel with every move. You've got your chin resting on the palm of your hand that's propped against your knee, the other holding a red pen down by your shoe.

You sigh, long and overdramatic, for what feels like the millionth time.

Logan doesn't turn around, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all. His hand hardly even slows, jotting down different tissue structures with infuriating disinterest.

You shift on his desk with a huff, dragging your eyes back to the paper in front of you. You scan over the messy handwriting and tiny diagrams littered over the page as you tap the pen in your hand against the toe of your shoe absentmindedly.

"Knock it off," Logan mutters from across the room, not looking at you as he does. It's the first thing he's said to you since you showed up.

You instantly perk up at the attention, flicking your eyes back to him.

“Knock what off?” you ask innocently, tapping the pen on your shoe harder than before. The tiny 'clack' sound it makes is sharp in the quiet of the room.

Logan finally turns, fixing you with a look that’s equal parts annoyance and amusement. “The sighin’, the tappin’, the huffin’ like you’re a broken radiator. You’ve been makin’ noise since you sat down.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unrepentant. "I’m bored."

He lets out a dry chuckle, turning back towards to board with a amused shake of his head. “Not my problem, sweetheart.”

You frown, dropping the pen and sitting up straighter, as if you’ve just been handed a challenge. "You could try and help me," you suggest, gesturing to the scattered pile with a wave of your hand. "You know? Like a good professor would."

"I don't grade papers, kid. That's what you're here for." Logan shoots over his shoulder, seamlessly picking up where he left off. “Besides, I’m good with the chalkboard for now. Better company.”

“Chalk doesn’t talk back,” you grumble under your breath.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, so now you can hear me?"

Logan doesn’t bother replying, but you can see the barely there smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

You scoot forward on his desk, pushing papers out of the way so your legs can dangle over the edge. You swing your feet back and forth, just enough to disturb another pile of papers sitting nearby, watching them slide closer to the edge.

One more swing and the corner of a stack teeters precariously. You bite your lip, considering whether or not to send it tumbling just to see if that would get him to turn around again.

Logan, of course, somehow knows exactly what you’re thinking without even glancing towards you. “Don’t,” he grumbles lowly, a warning.

You freeze mid-swing, but the urge to push his buttons is too tempting. "What?" you say, all wide-eyed innocence, nudging the pile ever so slightly with your knee.

Logan lets out a deep sigh, giving you a sideways glance over his shoulder. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes, you know that? I doubt Hank's help nags him half as much.”

You grin, taking that as a small victory.

"I was recommended," you remind him, tone overly cheery and saccharine.

"Must've been desperate," he mutters, finally stepping away from the board and dusting chalk from his hands. Logan turns, crossing his arms as he leans back against the chalkboard, giving you a look that says he’s just on the edge of being amused

You raise an eyebrow, fixing him with a blank stare. "I’ll be sure to pass that along to Professor Xavier."

Logan shakes his head, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “Yeah? Be my guest. Make sure you tell him you’re spendin’ your time testin' my patience instead of your job.”

You slump back on the desk with a groan, head tilted towards the ceiling. "It's been forever since I've taken this class," you whine, rolling your head to the left lazily. "I hardly remember any of this, how am I supposed to grade it?"

"Barely remember any of this?" he repeats back to you, brow raised in disapproval. He pushes off the chalkboard and starts to make his way towards you. His steps are slow, deliberate, like he’s sizing you up—though you know it’s mostly for show. 

Mostly.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, still splayed back on your palms and kicking your feet languidly. There’s chalk dust littered over his chest and the front of his thighs, coating them in a thin layer white. Your gaze trails the path of his steps, a slow smile tugging at your lips the closer he gets.

Logan stops in front of you, his towering frame almost filling your view entirely. You’re able to look him in the eyes perched on his desk like this, the green of them is darker than normal.

He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes glint with a teasing challenge as he tilts his head slightly, like he’s daring you to keep going.

“You got cotton in your ears when I’m up there talking or what?” he asks, voice dipping lower than before.

Your smile widens, and you shrug, trying to keep your cool under his heavy gaze. “You know I can’t listen to you when you wear jeans that tight.”

His eyes lock onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something more dangerous, something that sends a thrill down your spine. "Maybe if you paid a little more attention," he says, voice a low rumble, "you wouldn’t need to whine so much."

You roll your eyes, even as the heat between you starts to curl in your chest. "Or maybe," you counter, leaning back a touch more and tilting your head up to meet his gaze better, "you could actually help me instead of being a complete pain in the—"

Before you can finish, Logan’s hands slam down on either side of you, caging you in. His face is inches from yours now, that barely-there smirk playing on his lips again.

You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the sharp edge of his stare cutting through your casual defiance.

“—ass,” you finally finish, voice slightly more breathless than before.

Logan just stares at you, the intense and unwavering attention you were itching for earlier makes you want to squirm in place now. His gaze is almost predatory, as if he’s taking in every flutter of your eyelashes and the quickening pace of your breath. 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t back down.

You lean forward a little, tilting your head. "So, what’s it gonna take to get you to grade just one of these?" You pick up a paper from the pile and wave it in front of him teasingly. “I really need your help, professor.” 

The word drips from your lips like a challenge, a taunt.

Logan’s eyes flicker with something dangerous, a flash of heat that tells you he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be. His fingers brush against the desk right beside your thigh, close enough to feel the warmth of him but it’s still too far.

He leans down slightly, inches away from your lips. His breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting, as the tension in the air thickens.

The scent of him—woodsy and masculine—invades your senses, and you can’t help but feel exhilarated. Your pulse starts to race, a mix of excitement and a hint of challenge flashing between you. 

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut as you lean forward almost involuntarily.

Just as you’re about to close the gap, he pulls back, straightening up with a smug grin.

“Tell you what,” he starts, voice gone casual like he isn’t testing the very limits of your sanity. “I’ll help you.”

You open your mouth, cocky victory speech on the tip of your tongue, but Logan cuts you off.

“Not with grading,” he clarifies with a shake of his head. “It’s more like a," he takes a slow pause, like he's trying to find the right words, "personalized lesson.”

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse thunders in your ears. "What kind of lesson are we talking about?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but it still comes out breathless.

His hands move from the desk, gliding up your legs until they rest just above your knees, the warmth of his touch igniting every nerve ending in your body. 

“Logan—”

Anything you were going to say dissolves into a breathy gasp when he drops to his knees in front of you.

Your thighs clench together, arousal pooling in your panties sticky and wet. Logan's nose twitches, eyes darkening as he scents the headiness of your essence in the air.

His mouth twitches into a slow, deliberate grin as he catches the shift in your scent, the change in your body language betraying your desire. 

His hands, firm yet careful, slide higher along your thighs, fingers brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. The fabric rucks up ever so slightly under his touch, exposing just a little more of you to the cool air of the room and the heat of his gaze.

"Real quiet now," he teases darkly, voice husky and thick with tension, his thumbs tracing small, maddening circles against your skin. "Not so mouthy anymore, huh?"

Your breath hitches, a low heat sparking in the pit of your stomach and spreading outward.

Logan's grip tightens slightly, as though he’s testing the weight of your response, the way your thighs tense beneath his hands. He looks up at you, eyes dark and gleaming with an intensity that makes it impossible to think straight.

“You talk a lot of game, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice sending a thrill down your spine, “but I think it’s time to show me you can learn something."

You tilt your head back, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. Your body’s betraying you, hips shifting slightly forward, your legs spreading just so, inviting more of his touch—inviting him to make good on that unspoken promise that hangs between you.

Logan’s smirk deepens, dangerously close to devouring the last of your composure. "All you gotta do," he drawls, his breath hot against the inside of your thigh, "is ask for it."

His hands slide up a little more, his fingers catching on the edge of your panties. You can't help the sharp inhale that escapes you.

His challenge hangs in the air, thick and heavy, but you're past the point of hesitation. The words leave your lips before you even realize it.

"Teach me."

Logan’s grin spreads like wildfire, the kind that sparks and sets everything in its path ablaze. His eyes never leave yours, holding you captive as he flips your skirt up.

Something low and gritty tears its way from his chest at the sight of your panties, soaked fabric melded against the shape of your aching pussy. The sound echoes in the quiet room, low and primal, stirring a deep thrum of excitement in the pit of your stomach.

He shoves his way between your thighs, spreading them even further to make enough room for the width of his shoulders.

"You're a smart girl," Logan says easily, leaning down to trail kisses along the skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where you really need his mouth. "You should be able to tell me what tissue this is made of."

He dips his head, trailing his nose along the soaked fabric of your cotton panties until it nudges against your clit.

"Logan, I– ah!”

A sharp slap to your thigh cuts you off, pinpricks of pleasure making you cry out as they bloom red across your skin.

“Is that what you call me?”

It takes a second to click in the haze of your mind, what he’s asking for. When it finally does, you're whole body shivers, a broken moan falling from your lips as you take in the expectant look in Logan's eyes.

Your mind whirls, but the answer tumbles from your lips like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

"Professor," you gasp, voice soft and laced with need.

Logan's grin is devilish, hands gripping your hips tight enough that you can feel the strength behind them.

"Good girl," he growls, voice thick with approval, the heat in his gaze burning you from the inside out. 

You let out a soft whimper, hips instinctively tilting toward him, silently begging for more. But he doesn’t move. Instead, his grip on your thighs tightens, holding you firmly in place.

“Uh-uh," he rumbles, his mouth inches from you, but not close enough to touch. "You know how this works. You haven’t answered my question."

You can’t respond, silent as you stare down at Logan, wide-eyed as your mind races for anything to say that’ll get him to keep going.

"Come on, baby," he urges, thumbs rubbing slow circles over your skin. "Just tell me somethin' smart, I'll give you what you want."

You try to focus, try to remember something—anything—about what he taught in class. But all you can think about is the way his hands feel on your thighs, the heat of his breath, the maddening nearness of his mouth.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the edge of your panties, just shy of where you need him most, and you can't help the frustrated groan that escapes you.

“What's sweet thing made of?" He nudges the soaked fabric against your clit again, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Fuck...erectile tissue," you manage to breathe out, mind fogged as you claw for the right answer. "But it's—it's surface is covered in epithelial tissue."

Extra credit.

Logan hums, the sound low and approving. 

"Very good," he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath your panties, pushing the fabric aside. The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin sends a shiver of pure pleasure through you, your body arching off the desk in response.

His fingers tease along your slit, and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to spill out. Logan watches you closely, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he spreads you open with his fingers, exposing the slick heat between your legs.

Your back arches off the desk with a loud moan, hands gripping the edge hard enough that your knuckles turn white with it. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, sliding his index finger through the wetness gathering at your entrance. “This is all for me? This pretty pussy all wet for your professor?

He presses a finger against your entrance, teasingly pushing just the tip inside before pulling back, relishing the way your body instinctively arches toward him.

You shake your head, peering down at him with glassy eyes. “You were never my professor,” you shoot back breathlessly, unable to keep from pushing against him even now.

Logan hums absentmindedly, eyes glued to the space between your legs. “Lucky you,” he drawls, sinking two fingers inside you without warning.

Your head falls back with a cry, thighs tightening around his shoulders as sparks go off at the base of your spine. 

“Now, tell me how you feel,” Logan prompts, his voice gravelly and filled with that dark, teasing edge. His fingers glide up, slick as they draw tantalizing circles over your clit that set your nerves ablaze.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassment mixing with arousal as you wrestle with the overwhelming sensations. “I—uh,” you stammer, trying to organize your thoughts, but they slip away like sand through your fingers. “I feel–ah!…good.”

Logan lets out a chuckle. “Good, huh? Just good? You can do better than that. Don't get shy now, baby.”

His hand speeds up, the lewd noise of your slick pussy fills the room with each thrust. “What’s it feel like when I’ve got my fingers in you, hm?”

The dam breaks inside of you, all the embarrassment leaving your body as your hips start rocking down against him lightly.

“Feels so good,” you slur, head lolling to the side to watch him through half-lidded eyes. “Your fingers feel so good in me, professor.”

You’re playing with fire and you know it, but when your eyes slip down his body to find the hard imprint of his cock more than visible through his jeans, you can’t help yourself.

You slide your foot up his toned thigh until the chunky sole brushes against the tented denim.

Logan’s eyes flutter shut for just a second, his grin turning almost feral as he feels the pressure of your foot against him. His hips rock forward slightly, just enough to acknowledge your touch.

“You’re pushin’ your luck, kid,” he bites out, voice rough as gravel, but there's a thread of amusement running through it—like he’s enjoying this game just as much as you are.

You give him a slow, languid smile. "Maybe I like pushing," you breathe, dragging your foot up and down the length of him slowly.

Logan groans darkly, sliding his fingers out of you in one slick motion that makes you whine in protest. His hand moves to grip your ankle, firm but not painful, keeping you pressed against his cock. 

“God, you smell so fuckin’ good,” he says quietly, the words passing through his lips like he couldn’t hold them in anymore. He brings his soaked fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a groan. 

"Taste even better." His voice is rough, filled with desire that matches your own. You can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily, begging for more.

His grin widens, and finally, after what feels like an eternity of teasing, he gives in. Logan lowers his head, his mouth pressing against your clit in a slow, deliberate kiss that has your back arching off the desk, a strangled cry ripping from your throat.

Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as you guide him closer, urging him on. His tongue flicks against your clit expertly, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin with every drag of his head.

Your body feels like it’s been set on fire. The heat builds in your core, faster than you can control, a coil winding tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap. 

“I—I think I’m going to—” you stammer, overwhelmed by the pleasure as he picks up the pace, fingers moving faster.

“Tell me,” he growls, the rumble of it vibrating against your clit as he holds your gaze, plunging his fingers back inside of you. “I want to hear you say it.”

“God, Professor! Fuck, Logan, I’m gonna—” you cry out, your body trembling, ready to explode. Your pussy weeps around the stretch of his thick fingers, soaking his hand and his wrist with your wetness.

"Atta' girl," he growls, pressing his thumb over your clit to send a jolt of ecstasy through your core. "Makin' a fuckin’ mess all over my desk, just like that.”

He leans in, wrapping his mouth around your clit and sucking while his fingers keep up their relentless pace. With barely any pressure, he drags the harsh edge of his teeth over your clit and sends you tumbling over the edge, your body arching into his mouth as you come. 

The sheer force of it has your whole body tensing, your foot pressing on the clothed length of his cock harder than before. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes screwing shut as his hips buck up against the heel of your shoe. 

As you ride the waves of ecstasy, Logan’s eyes stay locked on yours, watching. Greedy eyes taking in every detail of your face, every moan and whimper that falls from your slick lips, every tremor of your body.

He doesn’t relent, his fingers working you through the aftershocks, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you’re left breathless, heart racing, and utterly spent. 

As you come down from the high, you glance at him, chest heaving with exertion. 

Logan’s already looking at you, his gaze has a little more softness mixed in with the heat still simmering. He drops one last kiss to the slick skin of your thigh before pushing your foot off his lap and standing. His lips and chin glistening with your release, that cocky smirk still firmly in place as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Your eyes fall to where he’s still hard and tenting the denim of his jeans, pre-come leaking from the tip to stain the fabric darker.

“Ready for another one,” he whispers, leaning in close. His lips brush over yours, hips slotting between your thighs to grind the hard length of his cock along your sensitive pussy.

You can’t help the smug smile that takes over your face, your arms raising up to circle around his neck. Your eyes trail along the boards forgotten lesson plan over his shoulder, to the papers that were sitting on his desk scattered on the hardwood. 

Your legs circle his waist, dragging him closer. "I think so."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[goatskickin]

On the third day of GOATmas, my true love sent to me...

...desks! Wood recolors of desks!

I've recolored every desk that EA has created in a pack or expansion that:

1) already had wood recolors

2) didn't have wood recolors, but I felt that wood recolors suited them

For the colors: I am using Dynamite, Depth Charge, Shrapnel, Safety Fuse and Time Bomb by @pooklet, and Nesert and Honey by Io aka @serabiet.

Please check out the Add-On's I've recommended! They are meshes made by community members that will use these textures too. Or, they are bits of CC that go along with these nicely!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Andromeda Desk - deskatomicagekids

notes: did not have a wood texture but it does now! The lines of the desk were too good to pass up. Wood texture nabbed from Seasons, I think.

Bakonmi Sprok Desk - desktechep8

notes: some of the original texture and some new stuff too

Recommended Add-On: #1

Broken In Desk - deskbohemian

Notes: much of the existing texture but edited a lot.

Recommended Add-On: #1

Counter Productive Work Surface - deskclub

notes: the SHINIEST desk that ever did live. Basically the original texture though

Fine Finish Desk - deskfantasy

notes: the texture of this was mostly quite good! Did remove the curly bits. I sure do wish that the knobs and the deco had a recolorable subset.

Recommended Add-On: #1

Home Office Desk - deskquaint

notes: the 2nd shiniest base game desk. Almost all is the original texture

Recommended Add-on: #1, #2

Patchwork Desk - deskgoth

notes: brand new texture! Now you can actually use this desk! The shape is quite nice

Retratech Office Pal Economy Desk - deskvalue

notes: it's your very fave desk! The one you likely have lots of fun recolors of already. Original texture - no white recolor though, as the desk comes with one

Recommended Add-ons: #1 #2

Swervy Curvy Desk - desksurfer

notes: I saw the vision on this one! Previously no wood recolor, but now it has one. Wish that little bendy metal leg had a recolorable subset

The Rollin Secretary - deskcountry

notes: this is one of my favorite desks and it is so cute!

TibetanDesk_deskcentralasian

notes: mac and cheese yellow handles (no recolorable subset) but at least the wood looks alright. The mapping on this one suuuuuucks

Recommended add-ons: #1

Download - Sims 2 Desks - Wood Recolors

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recommended downloads:

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 3 - Weak and Alone

The hairs on your body stood up for a good while before you could relax again. You didn’t know meeting the yellow bat would be this fucking terrifying. Like, c’mon man! You fought many weird, crazy, dangerous, and scary things in your life as a hero, why was coming into contact with one of this world’s heroes that terrifying?

And besides this guy was just- is just a human, not a mutated creature or even an alien, just a regular human like you. But something about him just- put you off.

Crime in the mornings are so rare, how bad was your luck for it to happen when you were there? Wrong place and time, maybe? Or your luck is just shit and that’s that.

You don’t even question how this guy found you-er the robber. Even if he was in the area, Oracle or the other Robin must have been on surveillance duty or something. If you recall only two of Batman’s wards are mostly the “man in the chair” type. Oracle because of what happened to her with the Joker and one of the Robins because he’s one of the smartest ones. Or something like that.

Regardless, you’re okay now. That’s all that matters.

Hands in your pocket you remembered you looted the guy earlier. Taking out  some cash you realized this guy had money. He had three-hundred, so why try to rob a convenience store? Well, whatever, not your problem.

You’ve become really good at pushing your problems to the back of your head.

What is now your problem is finding a library. Lifting your mask back on your face you continue to march forward, regardless of direction. Picking a random bar from your snack bag, you begin to eat it under your mask to calm your stomach so you can think.

“Okay, cheap food and non perishables are what I will live off of.” You don’t plan to stay in this wack world for long, so saving money is key. “Next, find layouts, maps, anything to get a semblance of where I am and what I can do. I need information, and lots of it. Third, I need a generator to power my gizmo. Finally, supplies to build a GHM. ‘Go-Home’ machine.”

So far things are looking very bleak but that's okay. No worries. Um, on the bright side, you haven’t glitched at all, so your gizmo watch isn’t totally off the record. As long as it’s still connected and alive, you’re sure Miguel can find your signal.

You did just suddenly disappear during a fight that was basically your mission that Miguel sent you on. That means Miguel already knows of your unfortunate case and should most likely be looking for you, right? 

He wouldn’t abandon you, right? He’s the one that recruited you after all! He came to you. He knows of your existence and predicament. You have somewhat of a mentor and student relationship for fucks sake! He wouldn’t leave you stranded in favor of his issues with Miles…right?

You’re not getting forgotten… right?

You matter…right?

No! You can’t think like this! You also can’t put all your spiders in one web. You need more options, alternatives. Whether Miguel is looking for you or not (you choose to believe he is), you need to find a way to either go home or get in touch with him.

You gotta do things your own way.

You’re smart, resourceful, use your brain! 

You’re good at improving, inventing, and repairing- a tinker if you will. Taking things apart, fixing what’s broken, or building things. That’s one of your strong suits- it’s time to use that big beautiful brain of yours to find out what’s wrong with this watch.

So in order to do that, you need materials. So how would a broke but smart pretty woman such as yourself find materials that won’t catch the eyes of the batsonas? Simple. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.

That’s right baby!

A junkyard. 

Now to find a junkyard, you need a map. So to a library you go!

With newfound determination and energy, forgoing any unsavory thoughts and focusing on buildings and landmarks.

Getting pretty far into the city you managed to find a public library and mentally fell to your knees begging to all the gods to not run into any and all of the bat family here.

So you pass through the automatic doors and immediately feel relaxed. Honestly being in this world makes it hard for you to even feel safe when everything and everyone could be a potential danger to you.

Not to mention how quickly and easily some of the criminals can escape. You reeeeeally don’t want to face the villains of this world. You’d rather your own Vulture than their Scarecrow or whatever. 

Giving the librarian an award winning (and non suspicious) smile, you made your way over to the row of computers. Sitting further away from the camera, you sit down and stare at the dull desktop.

“Okay, good, I’m here, no bats in sight, now what?” Feeling slightly overwhelmed you took a deep breath and then checked the date and location. 

Reading the latest news was beneficial, now you know just who is in Arkham and who’s free at the moment. Thank the gods that the Joker is locked away. You really aren’t ready to face the big bad baddies of this world. 

Soaking in as much information as possible, for hours you learned the latest news, Batman sent the some criminals to Arkham, Bruce Wayne hosting a charity event in a couple of months, Dick Grayson is coming to Gotham (why?), Lex Luther’s recent scandal, Superman saves the earth (again), Damian Wayne’s anticipated art museum opening. Wow, nothing interesting. 

Nearing four hours just sitting there, you decide to call it quits and pull up maps one last time. Double checking your information you make sure that everything was like you never touched it and thensome. 

Waving good-bye to the librarian you headed off to the large junkyard you found. The walk was pleasant and free of crime. Fuck you daylight robber. Though you know it isn’t true, crime happens everywhere and anytime, just some are quieter than others. 

Arriving at the junkyard, you realized just how ginormous it is. Walking around you spot an abandoned warehouse, where equipment usually is stored and you jump with glee. Knowing there are no working cameras around here, you rest easy knowing you can just go ham on tinkering to your heart's desire.

Setting your bags down, you look around. There are tools that were left behind and you were ready to kneel and thank the gods. Looking at the equipment and workbench, you’re thoroughly pleased with what you have to work with. Shedding your hoodie, you step outside and into your paradise.

Finding many useful and discarded materials you quickly get to work in picking apart metals and material. Dragging them inside the spacious warehouse you go back and forth picking and dragging materials.

And the day flew by, just like that. It’s already late afternoon and you looked over your work.

You’ve made great progress with gathering materials. Having a mountain inside the warehouse to work with and on the workbench there was already something in the making. You’re building what is essentially a charger and beacon for your web watch. 

This will give out a signal for Miguel to latch onto and discover your location. The only issue is if Miguel is looking for you, this will help greatly. The other issue is, you need energy, and lots of it. Sunlight here would suck with how gloomy Gotham can be.

So direct sunlight can’t be its only source. 

Regardless you’ll fix and create the panels anyways. For now, since it’s late, you’ll take a break and fix this place up. 

Sike, you just make a web hammock on the ceiling and web your bags to the wall next to you. After discovering the owner of the motel tried to get inside your room (that you fucking paid for) while you managed to finally catch some Zzz’s, it was decided to just leave.

Though you still need food and a place to do your necessities. Maybe you just have to suck it up and go through the centers here.

Sighing in the silence, your mind began to spiral.

The warmth and comfort of uncle Ben as he took care of you when you had nightmares, the gentle embrace of aunt May when you had succumbed to fevers, and the loving presence of Peter Parker when you were at the brink of it all.

You miss them, god you fucking miss them! You hadn’t felt those things in years, not after closing yourself from everyone when you lost them. Sure you had the mentor and student relationship with Miguel, but you never let yourself get close.

Not with Miles and the others, because you felt like a protector, a role model, someone who can’t show weakness.

Not with the hundreds of other Peter Parker’s either. Those Peter’s are just as smart, charming, dorky, and special as your Peter Parker. But they aren’t your Peter Parker. And they never will. Your Peter was even more special, more smart, more charming, more dorky, more charismatic, more everything! He was everything! And then… he left.

No, he didn’t leave.

You just couldn’t save him. You must not have been enough for him. You had seen the signs! You could have done something! But you didn’t. You got complacent, cowardly. Afraid to lose what you have. 

Uncle Ben’s death taught you to treasure what you have before it’s taken away. Aunt May’s death taught you to keep things as they are, so they don’t break. You vowed to never make those mistakes again.

So when you met Peter Parker, you made sure he knew just how much he meant to you. How special he was, and how important he is to you. You weren’t blind, you noticed the painted smiles he wore at times. How life seemed to be dragging him down. But you were too afraid, too complacent. You didn’t want to tip the scales and possibly break something too fragile. You never pushed, or prodded because you knew if someone did that to you, you’d leave.

But the most important thing was that Peter isn’t you. Peter was strong, faaaar stronger than you, he isn’t glass. He held on for soooo long, and still tried to hide his pain from you. But you knew. You also knew that Peter knew that you knew. You just never pushed.

Peter Parker’s death demonstrated just how powerless you are. How much of a coward and paranoid you became. If you just talked to him, maybe he would still be alive. 

With you…

Maybe, you would have accepted his confession once you mustered up the courage to take a leap and accept his feelings for you.

Just maybe.

But, there is no maybe anymore. There will never be Peter Parker and You. Because there hasn’t been another you so far. 

And you live with that guilt and hatred towards yourself. But if Peter’s death taught you anything else, it’s to keep moving.

You have to keep going, for Peter’s sake. And for your sanity.

Because the more time you spend in this universe and not in your own, where you can visit Ben, May, and Peter’s graves, you are slipping ever so slightly.

You’re losing your fucking mind.

You just want to go home.

-

“Nothing Bruce. It’s only been a day but so far nothing.” Catwoman’s sharp voice cut through the silence.

Batman doesn’t reply in acknowledgement but nods and leaves the rooftop, leaving Catwoman peeved.

“I told you I’d keep looking, maybe it was nothing. You’re just too paranoid.” She huffed before going her separate way.

Batman felt his eyebrow twitch. First, this disturbance that apparently leads to nothing (that’s not true, he can feel it.) Then it’s news about a freak who caught two crooks beating a civilian. At first he didn’t pay it any mind until they kept spouting about a person in a suit shooting a sticky substance.

Gordon couldn’t get a sample because of how sticky the substance was and only for it to dissolve thirty minutes later. Jim Gordon also couldn’t add anything to this person’s claim because it was night and dark and he could only see the silhouette of the person.

But then again, that’s just two things that were off. A coincidence sure, but he doesn’t really believe in coincidences. Not in Gotham.

Placing his hand on his earpiece he spoke, “Anything?”

“Nothing to note. Maybe she’s right. What if this shift was just a coincidence?” Oracle replied.

“Not likely,” He heard her huff, and he sighed. “But not impossible either.”

Oracle would take that over a paranoid Batman any day. It’s the closest thing to an agreement then she will ever get. “I’ve been scanning the whole day but so far, nothing. Not even something similar.” She mumbled to herself.

Just as she takes a small break and sips on water, she hears footsteps approaching.

“How can I help you, Duke?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you if you're busy. Looks like you could use a break.” He replied.

“Honestly, yes. With the whole issue near the East End, I need it.” Barbara swirled her chair around to face Duke.

Duke rubbed his neck in apprehension. “Did you-”

“Find anything?” Oracle finishes for him. He nods. “No. Scanned her face and everything but nothing came up. Then I checked beyond, outside of Gotham. Truly nothing. She’s a ghost.”

“Or, maybe a survivor?” Duke proposed.

“Possibly. Many trafficked survivors and escapees have made it to Gotham.” Barbara entertained the idea.

“Do you know where,” after a hesitant pause he let his hand fall to his side, a slight glint in his eyes that went unnoticed. “She is staying?”

“She was staying at a motel near Park Row. She hasn’t returned since.” This was cause for alarm for Duke but he kept it in.

“Where-” He tried.

“Relax Duke. You know most would call this- what’s the word, ah, stalking.” Barbara teased, causing Duke to flush slightly.

“You’re right. I just…” He straightened up before he chuckled at his memory of you. “I never got her name.”

“That’s cause she never threw it. Not even the guy from the store got it.”

“Alright, thanks though.” Duke nodded and headed out.

Barbara bid him well and returned to the screen. Wondering how you, a random civilian, caught Duke’s attention. But then again, after scanning your face on the screen she too couldn’t help but find herself unable to look away. 

And yes, you could say that you’re pretty, she can see that, but there is just something about you that makes you different and she can’t figure out why. Just what about you has her curious. But then again you are a civilian and she won’t mix personal interest with work. 

Despite parading that Bruce was being paranoid about the disturbance in the air. It was strong enough to send an alert to her, and it could be something dangerous. But it happened so fast that you could blind and you would miss it.

For now, the thought of the pretty civilian will be put on the back burner, but not forgotten. She’ll get to you when she solves this stupid case in front of her. That and the mysterious spider person that three people (not including her dad) apparently saw.

“Coincidence? Probably not.” typing the keyboard she clicks enter and watches the monitor scan Gotham for the same frequency as the disturbance to see if she can put up anything, even a trace.

Nothing.

Clicking enter, she watches the screen again.

Prev; Next;

I realized have like ZERO outline for a fleshed out story sucks balls. Well, let's see where this goes together. I ordered some Signal/Duke comics and I am excited to see them arrive. Anyways, which new bat person do you think you'll meet next? There is only one right answer and it isn't Duke.

You're name isn't Tinker, but it's probably what I'll use as your alias.

[writeriguess]

Hiiiiii I love your work so much and I was wondering if you could do a little Drabble with bf Katsuki and reader where she picks at her skin and has scars all over her arm and stomach from picking at it??? I really love your work and wanna see this if you have time thank you sm!!!! 🫶🫶❤️❤️

Scarred, Not Broken

The sound of the television hummed softly in the background, casting a dim glow across the living room. Katsuki sat at the end of the couch, his arms crossed, one knee bouncing slightly—impatient, restless, but still here. He always was. You sat curled up beside him, one leg tucked under yourself, your oversized hoodie swallowing most of your frame.

His eyes flicked to you, and then down.

Your fingers, restless and trembling, picked absentmindedly at the skin on your arm, nails digging into old scars, new wounds, anything that felt uneven. You weren’t even fully aware of it until—

"Oi."

His voice was low, sharp, but not angry. More concerned.

You blinked, fingers halting their picking for just a second before you tried to brush it off, pulling your sleeve down slightly. "What?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Katsuki reached out, his rough, calloused hand covering yours, stilling your movements. His thumb grazed over the ridges and indentations of your skin, tracing the healed and healing wounds that marred your arms. His expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes darkened, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

"You’re doin’ it again," he muttered.

Your throat tightened. You hated when he caught you doing this. Not because he ever made you feel bad about it, but because it meant he noticed. And if he noticed, that meant he cared. That meant you had to explain yourself, and you weren’t sure if you had the right words.

"I… I didn’t mean to," you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I don’t know. It’s a habit."

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly frustrated but not with you—with himself, with the situation, with the fact that he couldn't just fix this the way he wanted to. His grip on your hand tightened slightly before he let go, instead tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

"Take this off," he said, not unkindly.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"’Cause I wanna see," he said simply. "Not just your arms. All of it."

You hesitated. Your stomach, your sides—everywhere your fingers had found imperfections to pick at, scars decorating your skin like a road map of battles fought against yourself. You didn’t want him to see that.

"Katsuki, I…" Your voice wavered.

"Just let me, alright?" His voice was softer now, less gruff. "Ain't like I don’t already know, babe."

That made your chest ache. Of course, he knew. He had noticed way before you ever admitted it. You swallowed hard, then, hesitantly, you lifted the hoodie over your head, leaving you in just a tank top.

Katsuki’s gaze dropped instantly. His fingers twitched at his sides before he lifted one hand, tracing a few of the deeper scars along your forearm with an almost reverent touch. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

You felt small under his scrutiny, shifting uncomfortably. "I know it’s ugly."

His head snapped up so fast you almost flinched. "The hell did you just say?"

Your breath caught.

"Don't ever say that shit again," he growled, voice low and serious. "Not about yourself. Not about this."

You looked away, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest, the way your throat tightened at his words. "But it is, Katsuki. I—I do this to myself, and I hate it, but I can’t stop. And now I’m just—"

"You’re just my girl," he interrupted, voice firm, unwavering. "And that ain’t ever gonna change."

You sucked in a shaky breath.

Katsuki shifted, moving in closer, pressing a palm against your stomach, feeling the raised scars beneath his fingertips. He traced them lightly, reverently, before he bent down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against one of the more recent ones. The warmth of his lips against your skin made your breath hitch.

"You don’t gotta hide from me," he murmured, pressing another kiss, this time against the side of your arm. "I’m not goin’ anywhere, alright?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You nodded quickly, unable to find the words.

He sighed, then leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y’know, I can help, if you let me."

"Help how?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Katsuki gave you a look, one that screamed don’t be stupid, but softened almost instantly. "Whenever you feel like pickin’, just grab me instead." He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. "Squeeze my hand, tug my damn sleeve, hell, punch me if you want. Just don’t do this to yourself."

You stared at him, your chest tightening. "You’d really let me punch you?"

"Baby, I let you steal my hoodies, eat my food, and hog my bed," he scoffed. "You think I wouldn’t let you punch me if it helps?"

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and he grinned, smug and satisfied that he got you to smile.

Katsuki exhaled through his nose, rubbing your arm one last time before leaning back against the couch, tugging you toward him. "C’mere."

You didn’t hesitate this time, melting into him, letting him hold you, warm and solid and grounding. His arms wrapped around you, hands resting against your back, fingers tracing patterns against your spine.

"You’re safe with me," he muttered into your hair.

And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed it.

[beckyninja]

Hope

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: So. Much. Angst.

Description: Guilliman mourns his beloved's "death".

Oof, this was a rough one to write, even though it's short. I've really put this poor blueberry through the wringer.

(This is a continuation of my Guilliman x Reader series. To find the previous chapters, check out my Masterlist.)

Guilliman observed the rage in Captain Takahashi’s black eyes as if from a great distance. Dimly, he registered her voice as she bent over the holographic star map.

“We will come to the beginning of the Wards in a few standard hours’ time.” She gestured with her left arm, the right ending in a bandaged stump just below the elbow. “I’ll need a moment to observe the maelstrom and discern the patterns, before I can begin imparting instructions.”

The Chief Navigator stood at her elbow, double-jointed fingers steepled before his gray lips. “These ‘Wards’, you say? They are a… maze, in the Warp?”

“And out of it.”

“How is this possible?”

Guilliman let his gaze drift between the two.

The Captain’s eyes remained fixed on the map. “You’d call it, Archeotech. The secrets of its creation have been lost to time though, thank the Light, TerraNova’s original colonists preserved the knowledge of its maintenance. I am no engineer, but every school child learns how our forebears scattered mechanical ‘beacons’ of a sort behind them as they fled the Machine War.” 

Pressing her remaining hand to her lips, she gave a single, tearing cough. A medica in a charred uniform, half her face bandaged, stepped forward.

“Captain, you should return to the infirmary for your next round of anti-rads.”

Captain Takahashi waved her away. “In a moment, Lieutenant.” She returned to the star map. “As I was saying, these ‘beacons’ emit frequencies that twist both the Warp and Realspace, bending reality and unreality into a knot of ever-shifting pathways. The Wards.”

The Navigator’s white eyes widened. “As a child I heard rumors… stories of Navigators caught in such knots… driven mad….” His head jerked toward the Captain. “How do your people pass through such insanity?”

“Few ever do.” The Captain’s lips tightened. “But for those who must, we are taught to recognize the patterns in the maelstrom, our reflexes sharpened to make split-second navigational corrections. It is a brutal process, and in the last few decades has mostly been delegated to new navigational computers.” A sharp snort. “Mine, which now happens to be charred debris in the void.”

Something rose inside Guilliman, clawing at his shield of detachment. “You made promises, Captain Takahashi.”

Every soul in the room, even his Ultramarines, flinched. The TerraNovan Lieutenant cowered back against a wall. 

The Captain trembled a moment, then turned to face him. “I did. And I will keep them, Lord Guilliman.” Her eyes rose to his face, but did not meet his gaze. “I am of the last generation of naval officers trained to manually navigate the Wards. I will see your fleet through.”

“Some would call your actions treasonous.”

Her eyes managed to meet his. “All those to whom I swore oaths of service betrayed me, Lord Guilliman. Because of them, hundreds of my crew are dead. Not just proud voidsmen and women of our Navy, but the families who sailed with them. Children. The ship we called our home lies a broken corpse.”

Her eyes dropped away. “I failed them. And I failed the only one of our royal family for whom I felt any true loyalty. Let them call it treason.” She clenched her one fist.

“I call it vengeance.”

For a brief moment, a flicker of understanding passed between them. Primarch and Captain. He felt himself nod before turning away and exiting the room.

He moved without conscious thought, feet following patterns drilled into him long before his ten thousand year stasis. Corridors, doors, people all passed in a blur. The cacophony of the ship morphed into a meaningless babble. Vaguely, he registered the heavy tramp of ceramite boots behind him.

Too late did he realize his destination.

The door to your quarters stood before him.

No….

His hand reached for the control panel.

No…!

He watched himself enter the code, heard the hiss of sliding metal as the portal opened into darkness.

Stop….

But his body refused to obey. Or, perhaps, it obeyed some urge far more powerful than conscious will. He heard himself ordering his guard to remain outside, and stepped through the door…

…into memory.

Your scent rose all around him, overwhelming, choking. It shattered the frigid defenses he’d erected around his mind and hearts. It stabbed. It soothed. He loved it. He hated it.

He stumbled forward, hands pawing blindly until they met the bed. His knees buckled. He crashed to the floor, hands still tangled in the sheets that smelled achingly of you. 

You…you…you…you….

You, standing before him for the first time, single heartbeat fluttering like a bird in his ears.

You, face earnest as you advocate for the home and people you care for.

You, giggling at one of his ill-timed, foolish jests.

You, laid out beneath him, eyes shining as you tell him you love-

“No…,” Guilliman groaned, “stop. Please….”

The memories ceased, replaced by something far, far worse.

You, dressed in purest white, standing before him at the altar, pledging love and faithfulness for the rest of your days.

You, blushing fiercely, as he presents their new Lady to the cheering crowds of Macragge.

You, panting his name as he worships your perfect body.

“No, no, no!” He buried his face in your sheets, only for the concentrated fragrance they carried to unlock his most searing fantasy.

You, glowing with joy as you bounce a golden-haired child on your hip, your belly growing round yet again.

“Pater! Pater!”

“Come, Roboute! Work will wait. Come spend time with your family, my love!”

Roboute Guilliman, Primarch, Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man, wept.

He did not weep as he had as a young man when Konor Guilliman, his true father, lay dying before him. He did not weep as he had when, after his reawakening, he discovered the memorial to Tarasha Euten deep within the Fortress of Hera.

Even in those times, he’d known there to be a future beyond his pain.

But now….

Fabric tore as his fists clenched around the sheets. He raised his eyes to find one of the innumerable skulls carved into every surface upon the ship. A grisly symbol of the deity supposedly watching over them all.

“Why?” His voice felt ripped from the bleeding center of his being. “If you have the power people say, why do you use it to torment me?” 

He staggered to his feet, still clasping the torn sheets. “Have I not given enough? Did you find me undeserving of even the smallest modicum of happiness? Why, then, did you let me feel it, only to rip it away?”

His next words came as an agonized roar. “Why did you give me hope?!”

The very cruelest of punishments.

Guilliman looked down at the shreds of fabric in his hand. “What did she do to deserve your ire?”

But, deep within, he knew the truth. The Emperor had not doomed you. He had. His love was a poison worse than any follower of Nurgle could concoct.

Hadn’t everyone he ever cared for died?

“I am sorry. Oh Throne, I am so sorry, my love.” Once again, he buried his face in your fragrance. “Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

He knew he tortured himself. He also knew he deserved it.

Vengeance and rage could only light his steps for so long. He would destroy all who had taken you from him. And then their fire would flicker out, leaving him with nothing but a cold, lonely trudge into the gray of the future.

At the thought, all strength left him. 

Roboute Guilliman curled onto the floor, knees tucked to his chest, whimpering like a child left alone in the dark.

…ping….

His eyes snapped open.

…ping…ping….

He clawed to his feet, chest heaving in great gasps. 

…ping….

Guilliman hurtled from the room, nearly bowling over Cato Sicarius. The Commander’s queries went unheeded as he crashed through the great gilded doors at the end of the corridor and into his personal office.

ping…ping…ping…

There, on his desk, lay a small vox receiver, gifted to him by Captain Takahashi. The unfamiliar device was set to receive one specific frequency from one specific source: a miniaturized beacon set into a band of gold and sapphire.

A band he’d placed upon your finger minutes before you left the Macragge’s Honor.

“If you need me, press the largest gem in the ring. A beacon will activate.” He’d grasped your chin, ensuring you looked into his eyes. “And I will come for you.”

Ping!

The receiver lit with a pulsing, golden light.

And hope, that cruelest and most enduring of flames, ignited in Guilliman’s hearts once more.

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[cameronsbabydoll]

welcome to my 1,000 followers celebration! all of the following fics are based off of the songs on lana del rey’s album — blue banisters.

credits to @rafesangelita for the layout inspiration

♡ TEXT BOOK

SUMMARY: You weren’t looking for love. You were looking for something familiar. Something steady. Something that reminded you of the father you lost. And maybe that’s why you let Rafe take you home that first night. But months later, you start to wonder—maybe he isn’t like your father. Maybe he’s worse.

♡ BLUE BANISTERS

SUMMARY: You used to think love meant becoming what someone else wanted. That if you were soft enough, quiet enough, goodenough, they would stay. Rafe promised to fix the things in your life that were broken. He said he’d take your pain away. But only if you let him change you first. And by the time you realized what he really meant, it was already too late.

♡ ARCADIA

SUMMARY: You don’t know if Rafe Cameron feels like home or if he just feels familiar. But maybe there’s no difference. Maybe you’ve mapped yourself to him so many times that the roads will always lead back here—to his hands, to his bed, to the place you both know you can never really leave.

♡ BLACK BATHING SUIT

SUMMARY: In a quiet moment by the pool, you and Rafe find yourselves navigating an unexpected vulnerability. Wearing nothing but a simple black bathing suit, you begin to shed the layers of expectation and pretense, realizing that maybe for the first time, you can just be yourself.

♡ IF YOU LIE DOWN WITH ME

SUMMARY: In this push and pull, this game of pretending things are over when they never really are. He still looks at you the way he always has, still treats you like you belong to him, even if neither of you says it out loud. Tonight, it’s the same old story. He picks you up at eight, whiskey on his breath, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. You should turn him away. You should end it for good. But when he touches you, when he whispers your name, you realize—you don’t want to. And neither does he.

♡ BEAUTIFUL

SUMMARY: You’ve always been a little different from Rafe. While he hides behind anger and pride, you wear your sadness like armor. But Rafe doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t know how to fix it, and it frustrates him more than he cares to admit. Tonight, he’s determined to show you that he can make things right, but the question is: will you let him?

♡ VIOLETS FOR ROSES

SUMMARY: You loved Rafe Cameron once. Maybe, in some twisted way, you still do. But when you walked away, it was because you finally chose yourself over him. Now, he’s back—standing in your doorway, whiskey on his breath, refusing to let you go without a fight. And part of you hates that it still feels like he owns a piece of you. Because even when you’re standing tall, heart hardened, he knows exactly where to touch, exactly what to say. And Rafe has never been the type to let go of something that belongs to him.

♡ DEALER

SUMMARY: In the throes of addiction, you find yourself ensnared in a toxic relationship with your dealer, Rafe Cameron. Each encounter blurs the lines between need and desire, transaction and intimacy. After a night of blurred boundaries and shared vices, you awaken to an empty space beside you and a silence that amplifies your isolation. Desperate for connection, your calls go unanswered, leaving you to confront the void left in his absence.

♡ THUNDER

SUMMARY: Rafe is different when he’s with his friends. Condescending, dismissive—someone you barely recognize. But when you’re alone, he’s soft, sweet, the man you fell for. It’s not until the older Kook wives give you a knowing look that you start to realize: this is what happens when you date men like him.

♡ WILDFLOWER WILDFIRE

SUMMARY: You grew up in a house where love was conditional, leaving you soft, eager to please, and terrified of rejection. When Rafe enters your life, he offers a sense of protection, something you’ve never had before. His love feels safe at first—he showers you with affection, making you feel special. But as time goes on, his temper and possessiveness emerge. What once seemed like care starts to feel suffocating.

♡ NECTAR OF THE GODS

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron was never meant to love you���at least, not in a way that was safe. It started as a game, a fleeting obsession, but somewhere along the way, it became something darker, something he couldn’t control. You tried to leave. You tried to resist. But Rafe doesn’t let go of what’s his. And now, you’re both lost in each other, drowning in something as intoxicating as it is destructive. Because love like this? It never ends—it only consumes.

♡ LIVING LEGEND

Rafe Cameron became a legend the moment he left you behind. Fame, fortune, and recklessness shaped the boy you once knew into a man untouchable by consequence. His name dripped from tongues like honey, his face painted on magazine covers, his reputation whispered in dimly lit rooms. He was everywhere—except where you needed him most. You told yourself you let him go. Then he came back. And now, the past isn't just knocking at your door—it's standing in front of you, six feet of trouble wrapped in nostalgia, asking if you ever really stopped being his. Loving a legend always comes at a cost. But losing him? That might just be worse.

♡ CHERRY BLOSSOM

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron has always struggled with loneliness, but when you, an older woman, enter his life, he begins to rely on you in ways that blur the line between love and dependence. As he pulls you deeper into his world, his need for you becomes suffocating. What begins as a comfort, a safe space, soon turns into something darker, with Rafe unable to differentiate between love and obsession. You try to help him, but as he clings to you more and more, you wonder if you’re saving him—or if he’s pulling you into something you can’t escape.

♡ SWEET CAROLINA

SUMMARY: Love isn’t always perfect, but it’s constant. And through every moment—the fears, the doubts, the late-night lullabies—one promise remains: we got you.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 2

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, slight sexual language Wordcount: 5.9K A/C: SURPRISEE we're back!! again, be prepared for a slow burn y'all, don't expect anything big anytime soon (sorry). anyway got lots of love for chapter 1 so ty for that and being so patient with me over christmas! hope you had a good time over the holidays aand again send me your thoughts on the chapter! NOW GO READDD

-

Before London

“After you ma’am.”

Trey presses his keycard against the reader on the door, pulling it open for me. I can already feel myself regretting leaving my hair down, the spring breeze not as gentle as I’d hoped, causing my black strands to fly all over my face. Hurrying inside, Trey follows after me into the corridor. The moment he shuts the door I miss the wind, the heat inside College Park Center stifling me.

“Is it always this hot?” I ask, already fanning myself, my chunky knitted sweater a horrible choice for the temperature.

“Holy shit, no,” The guy walking in front of me groans, opening another door at the end of the corridor and letting us into another room, lined with doors. I already knew I was bound to get lost here, the identical doors and hallways making it feel like a maze. A security guy walks by us, but Trey stops him, asking about the heat.

“Yeah man, AC is broken,” the guy complains. “Should be fixed tomorrow.”

Great, and for once I thought I could get away with wearing a sweater. 

“Nothing works around here huh? Can’t wait to get out of this damn arena,” Trey says as we walk off, me following after him, my heels tapping against the floor echoing up and down the narrow hallway.

“When’s that gonna be? 2026 right?”

“Yeah,” Trey says, abruptly turning right into another almost identical hallway. 

“Someone’s gonna have to draw me a map of this place,” I laugh, already feeling the sweat dripping down my back and breathing becoming laboured in the heat. 

The man laughs, interrupted by the sound of balls bouncing off the floor faintly somewhere far away. “You’ll learn, your keycard should be coming next week.”

It was the first of what I already knew would be many times at College Park Center. Linda had sent us to come get some footage of the arena, simultaneously encouraging us to get some clips of Paige Bueckers’ first official practice. 

I knew it was my first proper test. I had made a few posts here and there already in the past week but this was the first time it was just me, Trey and his camera. No script, no guidance. It was up to us to figure it out, and watching Linda closely in the past week she didn’t seem too impressed by Trey. So it was on my shoulders, like always. Which was fine by me, I was used to it. Being the one to carry the load - work, relationships, friends, you name it.

Finally the man beside me comes to a stop, unlocking the door beside us.

”This is for the media team. The players are around that corner closer to the court.”

I step into the small room, two leather couches in the corner, a couple desks lined up, a fridge and Dallas Wings merch and posters covering the walls. The lack of windows made the room feel tighter than it was, and the slight musty smell didn’t make my first impression more favourable.

”Welcome to our office,” Trey grins, reading my uncomfortable expression.

”It’s… cozy,” I say, not believing a word that spills from my lips. Trey laughs, hand wrapping around my shoulder. I still wasn’t used to how touchy people in Dallas seemed to be, or at least Trey, but it didn’t make me cringe and tense up anymore.

”You can also work anywhere else in the building,” he comforts me and I sigh in relief.

“Oh thank heavens,” I chuckle, pulling the knitted sweater off, leaving me in low waisted, white, flowy pants resting on my hips, and a silky leopard print top, with thin straps holding it up. If I was dressed this way for my previous job in London I surely would’ve been fired, but what I had found out in the past week was no one at the Wings cared to dress corporate, most younger workers dressing in sneakers and hoodies. I notice Trey watching me for a while, his gaze quickly averting when I catch his eye.

“Well,” I say sitting down on the desk, “Shall we throw some ideas around?”

-

It felt good to be back on the court. After my last season at Uconn I felt ready, focused, like I was on fire. What felt even better was Koclanes had made sure to make it clear for everyone - I’m a point guard, no reason I shouldn’t be running offense instead of the nonsense Geno had me doing last season. 

Honestly, it was such a relief I had to fight back tears hearing it. All season I had fought to do what Geno wanted me to, I wanted to be the perfect player, to make him proud. I think in the end I had done so, but God it would’ve been so much easier if I just got to run the ball. 

“P!” I hear Arike’s voice from behind me, somewhere on the left. Trying a no-look pass, I let the ball fly. Turning around I realise she's nowhere near where I thought she was. We had a lot of work to do, I knew this. But I missed my girls. I knew them better than anyone, knowing where they were each moment of the game, where I could easily find them. Now I had to start from scratch once again.

“My bad,” I laugh, wiping sweat off my forehead. Of course the AC had broken down the day of my first official practice in this hellhole. Instead of cancelling, we all agreed to take lots of breaks and we had all undressed to our sports bras and shorts. Still, the sweat is dripping down my neck and back, and my chest heaves fiercely.

“Paige, Arike, Tea, take a break before you get a heatstroke,” Chris yells from the sidelines. Gratefully, I jog to the seats and sit down, chugging water, Arike sitting right next to me. We both knew it would take a while for us to build that chemistry the team needed us to have. Thankfully, I really liked her already. Could’ve been worse I guess.

“P,” Arike mumbles breathlessly, elbowing me. 

“Get your sweaty ass off me,” I jokingly complain, making the girl snicker to herself.

“Just look behind us,” Arike groans, nodding her head backwards. Turning my gaze, I nearly fall off my seat. About ten rows behind us, Zari is sitting cross-legged, her hair down not in the neat, tidy way as usual but unruly, soft waves falling over her shoulders. The curves of her breasts are visible all the way from here, left strand of the slinky top falling off her shoulder, forehead glistening with sweat. Even so, she makes me feel breathless.

It had been nearly a week since I last saw her, and I had spent that entire time convincing myself I was delusional - there was no way anyone could be as beautiful as I remembered her to be. Now watching her whispering with Trey, I realised it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Clearing my throat I turn back, shrugging, acting like it made no difference to me. I didn’t need the other girls to clock how much I’d been thinking about Zari. Which had been more that I’d like to admit.

“It’s your girlllll,” Arike giggles, finger poking my shoulder.

“Alright, enough,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. Before I can stop her, Rike is waving them over.

“Bro,” I scoff in a whispered voice, quickly rubbing the soft towel against my skin, wiping as much sweat off as I can. Great, here comes this perfect, poised, classy girl and I’m here sweating like a sinner in church, red in the face, half naked, hair falling out of my bun. 

“Whatchu guys doing here this early?” Arike asks as Trey and Zari come up to the row of seats behind us. I’m still wiping the towel against my neck, giving an awkward smile to the pair.

“We’re here to play, clearly. Can you not tell by my fit?” Zari asks, her gravelly voice smooth like butter in my ears. My eyes roam her body, watching the way her midriff is exposed from how low waisted her pants are, her stomach slightly soft, light brown skin peeking out. Eyes travelling upwards my eyes take in her chest, and my mouth goes dry. 

Arike kicks my ankle, and I realise everyone’s noticed my staring - no, my ogling. Face going bright red I rub my jaw, looking for any save. At least say something Paige.

“You look… nice,” I murmur, making Arike cover her mouth to hide her chuckling. 

But instead of calling it out or embarrassing me more, Izara merely smiles and quickly brushes her fingers through the long, black ends of her hair.

“Thank you Paige.”

Paige. Paige. Suddenly, for a fleeting moment my name becomes my favourite word, the way it sounds from her lips making my heart race. 

“Haven’t seen you around the building, neighbour,” she grins, her hand reaching to squeeze my shoulder. It’s sweaty. I know when she quickly pulls away.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty as hell,” I chuckle awkwardly.

She scoffs, easily waving it off with her hand. “Isn’t that your job anyway?”

I smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck, hoping she might notice the flex of my arm. God what was I doing? She was probably straight anyway. And I had promised to stay celibate. Besides I don’t think she likes me anyway, even as a friend. Are we even friends? Probably not, we’d talked like one time. I’d like to be her friend though, I think. Wait, everyone’s quiet. Fuck, what did she say.

“Uh, yeah?” I mumble, not sure what to say.

“It was a hypothetical question darling,” she giggles. “Does anyone have a towel please? I feel like I’m sweating too.”

Immediately I hand her the one on my shoulder, drenched with my sweat.

“Paige I’m pretty sure she wants a clean one,” Arike says, grabbing a fresh towel from underneath the bench. 

“Oh right,” I murmur, laughing at myself. To my delight, the black haired girl laughs too.

“I mean I could get some good money selling that,” she chuckles, wiping the towel against her glistening neck.

“Yeah, her fans are something else,” Trey adds, and suddenly I’m reminded that he’s there too, my focus all on the girl standing behind me.

“Speaking of your fans, can we get you in for a clip later? Only for a moment, I promise,” Zari pleads, batting her eyes at me. There’s no universe in which I could say no.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

-

“I must tell you Izara, Jasper came over today. Brought back some of your things. He’s such a considerate young man, he had packed everything so nicely. Not a single plate was broken. Now I know I know, not that hard but men are a bit dim sometimes. I can’t even tell you how many plates your father would’ve broken if I ever let him pack any-”

“Muuuum,” I groan, her rambling about my ex-fiancee making my heartrate pick up quickly. I turn the phone away to roll my eyes out of sight from my mother on facetime.

“Anyways, he came over and Izara. That man looked so poorly, like he hadn't slept or eaten. I just feel so bad, he’s really upset Izara.”

“Mum,” I try to stop her but as always, she barely hears me.

“I just don’t understand why you ended things. He’s a good man. Good men are so hard to find Izara,” my mom preaches, the same words that I’d heard nearly daily since I informed my parents about our breakup. My brother had been more supportive, he’d never liked Jasper. At least there was someone in my family who saw him for what he really was from the get go.

“Mum, if we keep talking about this I’m going to end the call, please. I already told you that I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally assert myself, hearing my mother let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine. Fine! You do need to tell me one day though, because I don’t understand any of this nonsense of-”

Taking a deep breath I close my eyes, trying to swallow my frustration. I can’t. “Mum, I’m really tired. I’ll call you back tomorrow after work, okay. I gotta edit some posts anyway.”

With that I hang up, throwing my phone on the bed as I sit on the bedroom floor. Running my fingertips through my hair I lie down. Just for a moment. Then I’ll get back to work.

Chewing on my cheek I fight the tears threatening to spill over. I didn’t want to cry. No, I refused to. I just wish I could get my parents to shut up about it. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, of Jasper, of the hell I went through the past year.

As I take deep breaths to calm myself down, suddenly I notice a faint bitter, acrid smell. Abruptly getting up I search my apartment for something burning, checking everything I could think of until I realise it’s coming from the stairway. Putting on a pair of slippers and grabbing my keys I slip outside, walking around to find the source of the smell - until I end up behind Paige’s door.

Without thinking about it further, my hand firmly knocks three times on the door, other hand subconsciously brushing through my hair to flatten it, hoping I looked at least presentable. 

I found the blonde interesting. Whenever I observed her, she seemed to have this insane confidence, this incredible skill to put people at ease, to get them to like her. It would’ve been so easy for Paige Bueckers to be just another entitled basketball star. However, she was anything but that. Yet, around me, she seemed to tense up for whatever reason. I had a feeling she didn’t like me at all.

When the door opens, Paige is standing there looking discombobulated, eyes widening further when she sees it’s me on her doorstep. The blonde is holding her nose, still just in a sports bra and grey sweats hanging low on her hips, boxers showing just the tiniest bit reminding me of how a teenage boy might dress. And I might’ve poked fun at it but something about it suited her, made her even more charming.

“Zari! Uh, hey,” she murmurs, holding her nose.

“Is that smell coming from yours?” I ask, the scent getting even stronger now. “I can smell it all the way in my apartment.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she groans, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I didn’t know microwave meals can burn.”

“Evidently,” I chuckle, glancing over Paige’s broad shoulders into the apartment. It was the same as mine, though looked to be bigger. The same white walls, cold and sleek and modern. Suddenly I hear her stomach rumbling, making Paige bring her hand to the bare skin there and letting out an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry,” she murmurs but I shake my head.

“You’ve got to stop apologising so much love,” I could feel all the nurturing bones in my body beginning to take over, as this poor, hungry, younger girl stands in front of me, in an apartment smelling like smoke. “Did you open all the windows?”

“Oh right, I should prolly do that,” Paige murmurs, looking back into the apartment, stomach rumbling again. I couldn’t help it, I felt pity towards the girl.

“I was just about to make dinner actually, do you want to come downstairs while you let your place air out?” I ask, inviting Paige over. 

“Uh…” she mumbles and I can feel my stomach twisting in anxiety. Why would I be anxious? So what if she says no? I really didn’t want her to though for some reason, maybe I just needed a friend that bad. 

“Ion wanna bother you if you got something to do,” Paige says, swinging back and forth on her feet. 

“You’re not! I’m offering,” I insist. 

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Aight. Thank you.”

With that Paige grabs a navy Uconn hoodie, her keys and phone before we make our way down, her blue eyes watching me unlock my door. She steps into my apartment, looking around. Not that there was much to look at yet, the walls were blank and the basic furniture was sitting where it had been placed for me. 

“I haven’t really decorated yet,” I murmur, following the blonde girl in.

“I can see that,” she chuckles, blue eyes roaming the space. I watch as she takes steps further, and can’t help but grimace at her shoes.

“Sorry, but could you take your shoes off please?” I ask carefully.

“Yes ma’am,” Paige obeys without thinking, kicking her sneakers off and placing them neatly next to the wall. The way she bends to my will quickly, so eager to please, makes my face burn up for some reason.

“So you’re hungry?” I ask, walking into the kitchen with the blonde following close behind.

“I’m starving, but you don’t need to be cookin’ for me, we could just order a lil something? Or go out?” She suggests, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

I wave her off, grabbing my big chalkboard which had every meal planned in advance, a column for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“No no no, I like to cook. Especially for other people, so really, you’re doing me a favour,” I insist, feeling her come up from behind me to peek over my shoulder at the board. My skin tingles as the heat of her body radiates off of her, the pounding of my heart not letting up. Must be the Dallas heat making me all loopy.

“You weren’t joking about being a planner huh?” She chuckles, her finger scanning over the text as she reads. 

“I just like to be organised. I don’t see any harm in being prepared.”

For a moment she stands close behind me, reading. I can feel her breath on my bare shoulder, goosebumps spreading down my arm.

“Damn, you can cook all this stuff?” Paige asks, clearly impressed. 

“Well, yes. I like to cook,” I chuckle, putting the board down and turning to the girl behind me. “I could teach you, if you’d like?”

“Who says Ion know how to cook,” she scoffs, our eyes locked in each other’s gaze. I realise this must be the longest she’s held eye contact with me yet. Not used to it, I look to the floor and shrug.

“The burnt smell coming from your apartment does,” I tease, opening the fridge next to the girl, everything neatly organised. “Now, what would you like to eat Paige?”

-

“Like this?”

“Oh, well, almost. Let me show you darling.”

Suddenly her hands are on mine, guiding the knife through the vegetables as she stands next to me. 

“See, you don’t need to lift the knife, keep the tip on the board, got it?”

Honestly I barely take any of it in, my heart beating so loudly I was sure Zari could hear it. My skin tingles as her shoulder presses against my arm, my eyes locked on how our hands look together. Her brown skin makes mine look paler, the long nails on her slender fingers making mine look stronger, more masculine. To my dismay, Zari’s hand lifts off mine and she steps back as if suddenly aware of our closeness.

”Now why don’t you try for me?”

For her? I didn’t know her well at all, but everything about her had me wanting to do anything for her. 

So I do as she says, doing my best to follow her advice, my brows furrowing in concentration. I watch as the knife cuts the pepper into pieces, uneven in size. I wasn’t very good at this cooking thing, I should probably consider getting a personal chef. Maybe I could hire Zari and have her cooking for me in a maid dress, or in lingerie. Okay no, I gotta focus.

”There you go, good job Paige,” Zari murmurs, watching closely, her hand coming up to rub my shoulder. ”You’re doing so good.”

I swallow, my throat bobbing. It’s almost embarrassing, the heat between my thighs when I hear her say those words, her praise making my mind spin, her touch leaving fire in its wake. God, I need to get a grip.

”Uh, do I add them to the salad?” I ask flustered.

”Yes! Let me check on the chicken,” Zari smiles, taking the food out of the oven. The smell is making my mouth water, why doesn’t chicken ever smell like that.

”Yo that smells so good,” I groan. ”What spices did you use?”

”A lot,” the girl laughs. ”I can write down the recipe for you?”

”O-okay,” I mumble. The time spent together had only turned me more tense, I was just hoping she couldn’t see it.

”Go into the living room love, I’ll make your plate. Would you like some wine?”

Before I can think, a yes slips through my lips, too discombobulated by the nickname. I didn’t even like wine. 

Cussing to myself in my head, I walk into the living room, eyes roaming the identical furniture to mine. Except hers was neater, and the only decorations in the room a vase of white lilies on the coffee table and a colourful chart hung on the wall. Looking closer I realise it’s a fully colour-coded schedule, every minute planned in advance. Jesus this girl was wound up tight.

I plant myself on the couch, Izara soon bringing me a plate of quite possibly the most delicious looking chicken salad I’d ever seen and a glass of white wine. The dark haired girl sits in a black leather chair facing me.

“Oh my God,” I groan, my mouth full of food. It was delicious. Zari laughs, lifting her glass.

“Cheers.”

”Cheers,” I smile, grabbing the glass, trying to hide the scrunch in my face as I sip the white wine, the bitter taste filling my mouth.

Zari lets out a soft laugh, noticing my expression. ”You don’t like it?”

I shake my head, my eyes still closed. ”I hate wine,”

”Why didn’t you say something Paige? You don’t have to drink it, poor girl.”

I laugh at myself, placing the glass on the coffee table. 

”I dunno man,” I rub the bridge of my nose. 

There’s a moment of both of us chuckling filling the room till it goes quiet again. I recognise a sliver of unsureness on the other girl’s face, something I’d never seen before.

”Can I ask you something?” She asks, voice softer than I’m used to. I nod.

”Did it upset you when I didn’t recognise you that first time I saw you?”

Her bluntness shocks me. I put my fork down, shaking my head. ”No, not at all,” I reply. 

She thinks for a while, putting the plate down on her lap and watching the floor. ”I’m just getting a sort of feeling that you don’t really like me much.”

I’m shocked, confused. Our eyes meet for a moment but surprisingly, she looks away. The way she says it seems lighthearted, casual, like we’re talking about the weather or something.

”Huh? No, not at all Zari,” I say urgently, chasing for her gaze. She meets my eyes, shrugging. From the outside she didn’t seem bothered at all by the possibility of me hating her, if it wasn’t for the way she was fiddling with her golden necklace.

”I don’t quite know how to explain it. You just seem a little uncomfortable around me.”

Okay. Apparently I hadn’t been as slick as I thought. In the midst of trying to hide the little innocent crush I had, I’d come off so cold and withdrawn now Zari thought I didn’t like her. Great.

I sigh, feeling a heat rise to my face. ”Shit Zari, I’m sorry,” I say, knowing there was no other way of explaining my behaviour.

”I’mma be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re pretty intimidating.”

She thinks for a while, taking a bite of her food and swallowing before speaking again.

“How come?” Zari asks, tilting her head.

“You seem like a woman who knows her shit, and you got this mad confidence too,” I admit, picking at my cuticles. “You’re also really pretty. So yeah. Intimidating.”

I swear, for a fleeting moment, her face flushes red - but only for a second. Then she laughs and nods.

“Huh, I must work on that,” Zari says more so to herself. I shake my head.

“Nah I like that, but honestly I just feel stupid as hell around you.”

“Well you are American,” she says seriously, but the twinkle in her eye tells me she’s teasing. 

“Alright now, best country in the world,” I grin, making both of us burst into laughter. Zari sips her wine, shaking her head.

“Just to be clear Paige, I do not think you’re stupid,” she hums, meeting my gaze. A look on her face that tells me she’s being genuine.

“Okay, my turn to ask a question then,” I say, leaning back on the couch. Zari crosses her legs in her chair, intrigued.

“Are we playing 21 questions?” She asks, teasing again. “Pretty sure the last time I played this was in uni with this guy who was trying to shag me.”

It’s a tempting idea, but I shake my head swiftly. “Nah, just wanna get to know you.”

“Well go ahead.”

“You’re from London right? What in the hell got you to move to Dallas, Texas out of all the places in the world.”

Zari thinks for a while, looking up at the ceiling and shifting on her chair to get more comfortable.

“I used to work summers at this pub in Leicester Square, All Bar One. It’s horrific, super touristy and the pay wasn’t great,” the girl starts. “And there was this older man who came to London the same week every summer I worked there. He was from Dallas and told me all these stories about it being the greatest city in the world.”

“And you believed him?” I ask amused.

The girl laughs. “No, absolutely not. But then I was uh… well let’s just say going through some stuff and saw a job offer in Dallas and thought of him and took it as a sign I suppose. Not that I believe in signs but.”

I don’t pry, but I do notice the way her right hand squeezes into a fist as she talks, telling me she was really affected by whatever she was talking about.

“My turn,” she says to change the subject. “You miss Uconn?”

Easy question. “Like crazy,” I start. “‘M not used to living alone.”

“The silence right before you go to sleep is the worst,” Zari says, like reading my mind.

“Exactly,” I reply. Our eyes meet for a moment, in a silent exchange. We might be really different, but she gets me. “Miss having friends.”

“Aren’t we friends?” The girl asks, her eyes studying me.

“Are we?”

“I think we are,” she hums. “Or could be, if you’d like. It’s not that I’ve got friends here either.”

I think for a moment, looking at the empty plate on my lap. Friends. That’s all I could want.

“I’d like that Zari,” I murmur. A silence falls over us, now more comfortable than before. 

“Sooo, why haven’t you decorated?” I ask. Zari chuckles and shrugs, looking around the living room.

“I only have a visa for a season. Seems like a waste to start turning this place into a home,” the girl explains.

I furrow my brows, studying her face. “What’s the point of coming here then? If you’re not tryna make it home?” I ask, and my words hit me just as hard as they do Zari. The past couple weeks I had spent moping around, feeling sorry for myself, refusing to move forward. Maybe it was time to accept that this is my home, that maybe I should be trying a little harder to make it so.

“I mean I got some shelves but I realised I don’t have a drill so I can’t put them up,” she says, pointing to the wooden boards leaning against the wall in the corner.

“I got a drill.”

She turns to me, surprised. “You do?”

I nod, feeling proud that I might just get to save her once more. “Yeah, my dad got me a tool set when I moved.”

“Smart man, do you know how to use it though?” Zari questions, making me scoff.

“Of course I do,” I say offended, though I hadn’t used it more than once before. Finally I get up from the couch, grabbing the girl’s empty plate from her. She begins to stand up too.

“Nah, you sit Zari, I’mma put the dishes away and go get that drill, aight?” I say. She looks up at me, eyes wide, surprised, studying my face. Like she wasn’t used to this. Eventually she nods, her mouth stretching into a smile. She’s pleased, I could tell. It made me wanna do more. “I’ll get you another glass of wine too.”

It’s her turn to go speechless, as she hands me the empty glass. I can still feel her eyes on me as I walk out of the room.

-

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“I got it, sit down.”

“But, are you sure you can keep it str-”

“Zari, please sit down and drink your wine. I got it.”

Letting out a frustrated huff, I plop myself onto the soft couch, resting against the cushions. My eyes are locked on the blonde, her veiny hand wrapped around the drill, the muscles of her back flexing from the strain of holding the shelf up.  

I huff again, sipping on the wine and crossing my legs. I felt useless just watching her like this. I was so used to doing everything for myself, letting someone else work for me felt entirely backwards. Still, a part of me was enjoying being taken care of this way.

Done with the shelves, Paige takes a step back to admire her work. “Uhh, I don’t think it’s straight.”

“What?!” I ask, sitting up to see better.

She turns to me, a big grin on her face. “Kidding.”

I throw a pillow at the blonde, laughing too.

“You’re not very good at that huh?” She asks, dodging.

“At what?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

“At relaxing,” the blonde says, taking a sip of a can of Coke. She’s got a point so I don’t argue. I was wired that way, being tense was part of me, a tightness in my shoulders constantly a reminder of my brain working overtime.

“I’m not the relaxing type,” I answer, standing up to look at the shelves on the wall. I gasp noticing she’s done well, even to my standards. It wasn’t lopsided at all.

“Did I do a good job?” Paige asks as I walk to stand next to her, finishing the last sip of wine.

“Mhm,” I nod, noticing a tingle running up my arm as our hands brush together for a fleeting second. Strange, must be the wine. “You did good, thank you Paige. I owe you.”

The blonde scoffs, leaning close enough for our arms to press against one another. I smell a hint of her shampoo, fruity, apple maybe? Either way, it must have been the closest I had been to a person since me and Jasper called it off.

“You made me dinner, you don’t owe me nothing,” she chuckles. I feel her eyes on me, seeing the way her face is turned to me in my peripheral vision. I could feel my chest heaving, not quite sure why.

Paige points to the colour coded schedule on the wall. I knew it seemed excessive, neurotic even. But it was the only way I got everything done. My life wasn’t easy, far from it. I had always been one to plan, but ever since my break up structure seemed like the only thing keeping my life from falling apart.

“You follow that forreal?” Paige asks, walking closer to the schedule to read through it. 

“What’s the point of having it if I don’t,” I point out, watching as her blue eyes roam the different colours. Shaking her head, she turns to me.

“You ever take a break?”

I chuckle, leaning in to point out the yellow text on the paper. “Yes, I got it scheduled in.”

“It says you should be working right now,” Paige says.

I nod. “I know.” I knew it by heart.

Paige’s blue eyes land on my face for a moment, studying me. I could feel the wine making my cheeks heat up, so I look away, back to the shelves the blonde had put up for me. The idea made my heart flutter, someone doing something like that just for me. Without expecting anything in return.

“Well,” the taller girl grabs her toolkit. “I should prolly head out and let you work.”

I feel a slight disappointment deep in my gut, hoping she would stay a little longer. After all, she was the only friend I had. But I knew what the schedule said. 

Thursday 7:00PM-9:30PM work

So I nod, following the girl to the front door, watching her put her shoes on.

“Thanks for dinner,” the blonde smirks, lids heavy as she looks down at me. My skin burns, I must have forgotten to turn the AC up after work.

“Thank you for the drilling,” I say which makes Paige let out a loud laugh. Realising what I said, I cover my face with my hand, joining her. “I mean, for the shelf.”

“Right,” Paige grins, wiping her lower lip with her thumb. “You ever need help relaxing, I’m right upstairs.”

Her voice is hoarse, deeper than usual. For a moment I think she’s flirting with me, trying to imply something entirely different than one might think at first. But I quickly shake the idea off. That wine really went to my head.

“I’ll see you Paige,” I murmur, watching her go, closing the door behind her.

I stand there for a moment, still a hint of her shampoo in the air. Turning left I eye the kitchen, everything perfectly in place just how I liked it. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had cleaned for me. Jasper always claimed my standards were too high, that it was impossible for a person to fulfill my requirements. But looking at my kitchen now I had no complaints. Maybe there really were people out there that wouldn’t always disappoint me. Maybe Paige was one of them.

My eyes land on the hoodie draped over the back of a chair, navy blue and too large to be mine. I pick it up, looking at the Husky decorating the front, and I know I’m either mad or much more wine drunk than I realised when I lean in and press my nose against it, inhaling the scent, a mix of skin and deodorant and sandalwood. Returning back to my senses, I quickly pull away and neatly fold it, urgently hiding it in my wardrobe and closing the doors. 

“Jesus Izara,” I mumble to myself, making my way to my desk to work, the faint scent of sandalwood still apparent in the air around me.

-

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@sierrale8ne@lupinqs@lovegalor333@d3arapril@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@bueckersfive@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

[sabrinasopposite]

game-boy; resume?

pt. 2 of ,,game-boy !'' / clark kent x reader

but you took my love for granted and it took me two years to understand it

summary: a broken heart and a gameboy. y/n makes her way to smallville to fix the things that matters her, was it her desire of the happy ending or truly her heart?

It was strange, how a game could feel so much like life—full of little victories and crushing defeats, like a series of choices made in a world that offered no reset button. Y/N had tried to move past it all—the late nights, the quiet silences after Clark’s absence, the emptiness that lingered in the spaces he used to fill.

Yet, she found herself holding the Game Boy again, tracing the worn edges of its plastic casing. It was as if the world had somehow paused for a moment, waiting for her to press *Start* again.

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. That the game would offer something new? That it would play itself differently this time?

Maybe.

But there was something about it—the way the colors flickered on the screen, the way the music filled the air—that made her feel like she could win. Even if the game had been broken before, maybe now it could work again.

The days drifted by in a haze, a blur of routine that left her empty and wanting. The memory of Clark lingered like a half-finished puzzle, pieces scattered around her heart that she couldn’t seem to place. She would see him sometimes, in passing, his smile as easy as it had always been. But it wasn’t the same anymore. She wasn’t the same anymore.

One morning, she found herself driving without quite knowing why. The motion of the car was almost soothing, a rhythmic hum that filled her thoughts with a strange kind of quiet. It wasn’t something she planned. Sometimes life didn’t need to be planned. Sometimes it simply asked you to follow the faint trail of breadcrumbs, just to see where it would lead.

And so, she drove, westward, the road stretching before her like a never-ending line on a map. There was a place she’d seen once, a shop with peeling signs and neon lights that flickered like forgotten memories. The words "Vintage Electronics Repair" had called to her then, and when they reappeared in her mind now, she didn’t question it. She just drove.

The shop was tucked between rows of weathered buildings, a small oasis of history amid the rush of the world. Old clocks, radios, and scattered trinkets filled the window display, each one a relic of a time that seemed to stretch out like a half-remembered dream. Inside, a man was bent over his workbench, his glasses perched low on his nose as he adjusted the internals of a broken radio. He barely looked up as Y/N approached, but when she handed him the Game Boy, there was something in the way his fingers touched it—a recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

He nodded silently, taking the device from her as if he knew it held more than just circuits and plastic. It held memories, and perhaps, pieces of her heart.

Hours passed. Y/N wandered the town aimlessly, trying to avoid the thoughts that buzzed in her mind like static. Her hands felt empty without the Game Boy, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something important. The moment stretched out, pulling her further from the reality she’d been living in, into a strange space between wanting and needing.

When the repairman finally returned, she was almost nervous. Would it be the same? Could it be the same?

The Game Boy was different. In her hands, it felt… better. The worn edges had been smoothed, the screen clearer than before, the buttons clicking with a newfound precision. It was almost too perfect. Like someone had restored it to a version of itself that felt unfamiliar. It was… better. 

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tracing the contours of the newly restored device. It was no longer the one she remembered. It was something new, something polished, something she didn’t know how to approach. It had changed, but so had she.

As she stood in the shop, staring at the Game Boy, the soft sound of a familiar voice reached her ears, pulling her from the haze of her thoughts.

"Hey."

Her breath caught in her chest. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Clark stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed, but there was something different about him now. His smile was the same, but his eyes—they held something more now. Something softer. Something deeper. The lines of his face seemed both older and younger at once, as if time had moved in ways she couldn’t quite understand.

It took her a moment to find her voice, to remember how to speak in the presence of someone who had once been everything to her. “What are you doing here?”

His smile faltered, just for a second, before it returned, warmer than before. “I heard you were in town.” His voice was casual, but his eyes… they lingered on her face in a way that made her heart ache. “Smallville’s a small place. Thought I’d see how you’re doing.”

The words felt like a weight, heavy in her chest. She wasn’t sure if he was here out of politeness, or if there was something more behind his visit. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was like stepping back into a level of a game she had already lost.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N’s gaze dropped to the Game Boy in her hands, and for a split second, she wondered if this was it. Would it always be this way—trying to fix something that was already broken?

“Clark…” she began, but her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. There were too many things she wanted to ask, too many things she needed to know. But instead, she held his gaze, searching for something that might give her an answer.

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know things ended… differently,” he said quietly. “But we don’t have to pretend it never happened.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was the one she needed. The weight of his words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, she felt as if the game had started again. But this time, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to play.

Y/N stood there, her fingers still lightly grazing the newly repaired Game Boy. Clark’s words hung in the air like a thin thread, delicate, yet weighted. She knew she should walk away—should leave the shop, the town, everything behind—but there was something in the way he was looking at her, like a flicker of the past had ignited in his eyes. It pulled her back, as if the magnetic force of their shared history had never quite released its hold on her.

For a moment, she thought she could walk away. She thought she could turn the Game Boy off, leave the old world behind and start anew. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to turn the screen dark again.

Clark shifted his weight, sensing her hesitation. His voice softened, pulling her out of the dizzying loop in her mind. “You look different,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it—an observation more than a compliment, like he saw past the surface and into the layers of time between them. 

Y/N forced a smile, though it felt thin. “Guess time does that to people,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the words felt hollow, slipping off her tongue like they were meant to fill a void that only he could see.

But he didn’t push it. Instead, his gaze dropped to the Game Boy in her hands, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Still got that thing, huh?”

It was as if he was trying to make a joke, a way to bridge the gap between the past and the present. But it didn’t work. It only made the silence louder.

“I had it repaired,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “It’s… different now.”

Clark nodded slowly, taking in her words. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but he stopped himself. The space between them felt impossibly wide, yet neither of them seemed ready to cross it.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her pulse. Her hands tightened around the Game Boy, feeling its weight—new, restored, like it was waiting for her to push Start again, as if the game could fix what was broken. But the truth was, she didn’t know if she could play this game anymore.

Before she could speak, Clark’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence again. He glanced at it quickly, his expression unreadable. Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots, the old feeling of being left behind creeping in, the sensation of watching him slip away even when he was standing right in front of her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at the screen before quickly tucking it back in his pocket. “Work stuff.”

Y/N nodded, though the tightness in her chest didn’t go away. There it was again. That familiar distance. It was the game she’d been losing for too long, but each time she tried to quit, each time she tried to walk away, she found herself back in the same spot. The same loop. The same unresolved question: Could she ever really stop?

The relapse started quietly, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She’d told herself she was over it—over him, over the weight of the past. But when Clark stood before her, in the same small town, with the same smile, the same pull in his gaze, it was as if nothing had ever changed. It was like being handed the controller to a game she’d promised herself she’d never play again.

But here she was.

“Clark,” she started, her voice barely a whisper. “You... You’re still with her, aren’t you?”

There was a brief silence. His eyes flickered, guilt flashing across his face before he exhaled sharply, looking away. His expression wasn’t just regret—it was the heavy weight of someone who had hurt the person they loved and didn’t know how to fix it.

“No,” he said finally, his voice low. “But… we’re trying to be friends. We’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N felt like she’d been struck. He wasn’t with Lana anymore, but they were still tethered to each other in a way she couldn’t understand. They were tangled in a history Y/N wasn’t part of, and no matter how many times she pressed Start, she would never find herself in the same level.

She had been so desperate for the game to reset, to find a way back to the beginning, when everything had been simple, and nothing had hurt. But now, with the screen so clear in her hands, it was harder to ignore the fact that some things couldn't be fixed with a button press. Some things weren't made to be replayed.

A familiar ache twisted in her chest. She felt like she was falling behind, like the game was moving faster than her fingers could follow, each press of the buttons failing to keep up with the pace of the game, her heart.

"I don't know if we can be friends," she whispered, her voice trembling despite herself. "Not after everything. We were toxic from the start.“

Clark’s face softened, the edges of his mouth curling into something like regret, like understanding. But Y/N couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep replaying the same levels, trying to force a different outcome.

With one last glance at the Game Boy, she realized something. She hadn’t been playing to win. She’d been playing to lose, over and over again, because it was easier to lose than to walk away.

And maybe that was the hardest part—to stop. To shut off the screen. To leave the game behind.

Clark stood there for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the words faltered, held back by the weight of everything that had passed between them. Finally, he spoke, his voice a whisper, raw and sincere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the weight of his apology settling heavily between them. “I know I hurt you. I shouldn’t have just disappeared the way I did. It wasn’t right, and I... I regret it.”

Y/N stood frozen, the Game Boy still clutched tightly in her hands. The sincerity in his words cut through her like a blade, but it also stung with the realization that this was the first time he wasn’t just apologizing for his actions, but truly understanding the consequences of them. But was it enough? Was he enough?

Clark stepped closer, his hand hovering like he was unsure whether to reach for her. His voice was softer now, almost pleading. “You matter to me, Y/N. I— I don’t want you to think that you were just something I could walk away from or play with.”

Y/N’s heart twisted, torn between the overwhelming desire to believe him and the knowledge that she had been hurt too many times. Clark’s voice shook, but his words weren’t just a last-ditch effort. They were the admission of someone who had been through months of reflection, who was no longer just talking from a place of guilt but from a place of understanding.

For a moment, she thought about giving in, about losing herself again to the pull of the past. But even as she fought it, she knew: She had to let go.

“You don’t get to do that, Clark,” she said, her voice shaking as she fought to stay grounded. “You can’t just show up and say that like it fixes everything. You can’t just come back and expect me to fall into step with you again.”

His face tightened, like he wanted to say something—like he was fighting to explain himself, to make her understand. But then he stopped, his eyes flickering with an almost resigned pain. He knew she was right.

“I know,” he said quietly, taking a small step back, his voice soft. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I had to try.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. In that moment, she saw the raw truth of his words—the quiet acceptance that he may never be able to fix what he had broken. It was a growth she hadn’t seen in him before. He wasn’t asking her to forgive him. He wasn’t asking her to play along or try again. He was finally giving her the space to decide what was best for her.

There was a long silence, thick and suffocating, and for the first time, Clark didn’t try to fill it. He simply waited, as if knowing the decision was hers alone to make.

Y/N’s mind screamed for her to walk away, to shut the door on him and everything he represented. But her heart—her foolish heart—whispered for her to stay. To take the chance.

But no. The game had changed.

"I think we both know," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, "that this—whatever this is—can't go on like this."

She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes steady and unflinching. Clark’s expression faltered as if he was about to say something, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“I need something real, Clark,” she continued. “Something that doesn’t break apart every time I let my guard down. Something that doesn’t leave me wondering if I’m just an option you pick up when it's convenient.”

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing larger as she spoke. Clark was silent, but there was no anger in his eyes—only the understanding of someone who had known what it was like to be lost, to feel like there was no way to come back.

He looked at her for a long moment, his own chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to reach out to her. He wasn’t going to stop her. He wasn’t going to plead. He just stood there, holding the space for her to make her decision.

“You’re not just an option,” he said softly, his voice almost hoarse. “I never meant to hurt you. I just... I don’t know how to fix it.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in months. And in that moment, she realized that she wasn’t looking for him to fix it. She wasn’t looking for any promises anymore. She didn’t need him to say the right words, or to prove himself.

"It doesn’t need fixing anymore, Clark,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve learned how to fix me.”

Clark took a slow breath, and though his expression was still pained, there was a quiet respect in the way he looked at her now. He had nothing left to give, nothing left to ask. And for the first time, he understood what she needed, even if it wasn’t him.

Y/N slowly stepped back, the Game Boy still in her hands, heavier now than ever before. She could almost hear the echo of the button clicks in her mind—the same rhythm that had once drawn her in. But she had learned that no game, no matter how addicting, could define her.

“I think,” she said softly, her voice steady with finality, “it’s time for us to finally be done with this game.”

Clark didn’t argue. He didn’t try to pull her back into the cycle they had once shared. He just nodded slowly, his eyes still holding hers, as if silently acknowledging the end of this chapter.

Y/N took one last look at him, then turned and walked toward the door, her heart aching but lighter than it had been in months. She wasn’t running anymore.

“Goodbye, Clark,” she said, her voice steady.

The soft hum of the city outside felt like a lullaby, a promise of new beginnings. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N smiled—not because of a rush, but because she knew she was ready to live.

🕹️ hi everyone! I know it's not a happy ending but I wrote so many drafts of the part two.. and somehow I always end up with the version of them two being on their own. It's important to see the toxicity of them both and y/n's addiction or idea of clark's attention. just like in games, we are all focused on it and feel addicted to know what's the next step, what's the next level. 🕹️I am still thinking of writing a spin-off to clark's version of the story, or maybe a ,bonus' chapter of them in few years :) love ya ! 🕹️ taglist: @blackynsupremacy @angelsgalore @alelo23 @caliicela

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 9

Bonus panels for some extra backstory.

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 (Special) | 19

That night, the swordsman makes a last minute decision to rectify things with the blonde. He figured that there's no point in delaying as this might be the only chance they get to talk one-on-one before they get stuck in Skypiea with Law for however long they need to be up there. Since his cocktail-making skills are apparently subpar at best, he thought he'd turn to doing something else that he hopes Sanji would like before he pops the question–about the name, he reminds himself. Whatever it is, it will need to be something incredible to make up for the shame of not knowing something so simple about the man after all the years they’ve known together.

He thinks about quickly jumping off to collect some flowers in Jaya’s South Grove, but he is met by Jean Bart who drags his sorry feet back inside. The large man assigned himself on “Zoro duty”, not wanting the Warlord to get lost the night before he needed to depart with their captain. Apparently they had pissed him off enough already that day.

Zoro turns to the kitchen to try and find Sanji's favourite snacks, and maybe sneak away with a couple bottles of wine to help set the mood. Unfortunately he bumped into Hakugan and Uni who are guarding the door, ready to strike him down should he set foot inside the room. They give him a powerful performance of their martial arts prowess as a gentle reminder that he's banned from the place, warning him that they’re not afraid to put their lives on the line to enforce Law’s rules. When he tried to ask for their assistance to go and fetch what he needed, they both turned him away, thinking that he's just trying to distract them so he can do whatever evil thing he apparently was set out to do.

His last option was the library. He’s not much of a reader but he figured he would try because he knew of Sanji’s love for knowledge and books. He wants to read a story or two with him to see if that’s something they would enjoy doing together. Sadly, when he arrives, he is met by the Grand Line’s most impatient doctor who is currently studying the Skypiea map with Bepo at the polar bear’s drafting table, trying to come up with a plan of action for when they get there in the morning. Not wanting to be distracted or have the library wrecked the way Zoro did with the kitchen, Law used his Room ability to teleport him out of there before he could even get a chance to grab something off the shelves.

Having no other options left, Zoro resorts to the idea of giving the blonde mind-blowing sex. He would worship him like the king he is and he would do it all night if the other man demanded it so. The swordsman figured it's probably the safest bet anyway while they’re in the early honeymoon phase of their relationship. Sanji is highly skilled in that area for a very good reason.

He makes his way to their bunkroom. Under the door, he sees that the dim light of the desk lamp is still on. Finally, things are looking up. He thinks to himself that now’s the perfect chance to make a move while Sanji is probably still up reading at this hour as usual.

Until he hears a couple of familiar voices on the other side of the door. They were muffled, but their identities were clear.

Sanji

…Are you sure that you're okay? I don't know how effective it is with the front broken like that.

Niji

Dunno. It's like…having mood swings. The sensation goes in and out. It's a bit weird.

Sanji

I need you to get it fixed first then. And while you're at it, drop off the new stones at the lab.

I'm not sending you in until you're all good.

Niji

I can still fight.

Sanji

I'm not letting you take the risk until your helmet’s fixed, Niji. That's my final word. You’re on your own with this next mission and I need you to be able to make good calls.

Another pang of guilt hits the swordsman–for not being careful enough and wrecking the commander’s helmet, and for eavesdropping for as long as he has so far. He starts walking backwards, and was about to turn his heel and move somewhere else to give them privacy when Sanji’s voice pierced through the door.

Sanji

Hey, Mosshead! Don't be a creep and get in here.

Zoro flinches, and silently curses the blonde’s mastery of his observation haki. He doesn't want to make things look worse than it already is so he opens the door awkwardly. He's met by two pairs of eyes.

Sanji is leaning with his palms against the desk while Niji is sitting on the chair, fiddling with the blonde's claw gauntlet on the table. It looks like there's two now. From afar, Zoro could tell that their blades are longer, sharper and more dangerous than the last. The metallic scale armour that covered the glove is a new addition, having only just durable leather holding everything together before.

Niji

Spying on us, are we?

Zoro grits his teeth, throwing the blue-haired man an annoyed look.

Sanji

This is also his room, Commander.

Niji tuts disapprovingly then resumes his work on the claw gauntlet.

Zoro

I didn't want to interrupt. I’ll just head out for some fresh air.

Sanji

You didn't interrupt anything. The commander was just showing me his handiwork. He’ll be done soon! I just needed a couple of fitting adjustments done and we’re all set.

Niji

Hmm… no. Now that I think about it, this will take a bit longer than I thought. 

Sanji

What? But you said–

Niji

Whoops.

As if done on purpose, a buckle disassembles itself in Niji’s hands. Little bits of metal scatter on the desk.

Sanji

You’re such an ass. Fine. Stay here, hog the room. I don’t care. Let’s go, Marimo.

Niji

No, I need you to stay here so we can refit it. Because the buckle’s broken now.

Sanji

You broke it!

Niji

And I need to fix it but I can only do that if you’re here. So, stay.

Sanji

I will actually pluck your eyeballs out one of these days, Commander.

Sanji stomps out the door, grabbing Zoro’s arm along the way.

Niji

Where are you going? We need to get this done tonight before you head off first thing!

Sanji

I’ll be back!

Zoro and Sanji walk arm-in-arm quietly to the deck of the ship. They were met by Jean Bart who was about to tell off Zoro for being outside, but the blonde reassured the large man that he has eyes on him, promising to keep the grumbling swordsman out of trouble. Happy with the response, the Heart Pirate retires inside for the night.

Zoro

Isn’t the whole point of me being here is to keep an eye on you?

Sanji chuckled heartily–music to the swordsman’s ears.

Sanji

I know. What the hell happened to us?

They proceeded to the bow of the ship and settled themselves against the railing. It was quiet and serene. The crescent moon is up, revealing the dark silhouette of Jaya island on the horizon. Above, stars shone brightly across the span of the night sky–its reflections twinkled playfully on the still waters of the ocean below.

Sanji

You’re awfully quiet.

Zoro tears his gaze away from the scene. He looks next to him where the blonde has a hand wrapped around his arm and finishing a cigarette with the other.

Sanji

You usually are, but your silence is…louder somehow.

The swordsman rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Suddenly he’s not so sure what to say and how he’d ask the big question. He wanted to get this far tonight–tried many times to set up the scene better but to no avail. He also didn’t realise how he would feel right in the thick of things.

Zoro

There’s been a lot in my mind. Sorry.

Sanji

Never apologise for that…but whatever it is, I could tell that it’s eating you up.

Zoro sighs and returns his gaze to the island on the horizon.

Sanji

Is this because you had a fight with my brother?

Zoro’s eyebrows shoot up.

Zoro

Did he–?

Sanji

He didn’t have to. His helmet's busted and don’t think I haven’t noticed your little injury on your forehead, damn Mosshead. If you don’t take care of your head, how will you be able to photosynthesize?

Zoro scowls at the mockery.

Sanji laughs lightly, kissing the swordsman on the cheek as a way of reassuring him that it’s just a joke. After noticing that his attempt to release the tension didn’t work, he speaks in a slightly more serious tone.

Sanji

Did he try to scare you away? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night?

Zoro shakes his head.

Sanji

Don’t freak out or anything but… you’re not the first that he’s done that to. I can tell him to back off if you want.

Zoro

No… it’ll take a lot more than that to get me to leave your side, Curls.

The blonde’s expression softens.

Zoro

Though, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was trying to avoid you. I spent hours… ages… trying to plan this whole thing for us tonight but I feel like whatever I do…

The swordsman gets flashbacks of all the times he’d slashed and stabbed the man. He remembers cursing his way repeatedly for attempting to propose to him for the umpteenth time. He recalls their first kiss–how the first thing that came out of his mouth was to tell him to not kill the Celestial Dragon, and because of that, it nearly cost him his life. In fact, he might have permanently if not for their skillful doctor. He remembers the way the blonde held onto the liberated family from Sabaody. How, even in his critical condition, he fought from fully succumbing into sleep just to make sure that everyone was okay as they fled from the Pacifistas. 

And now, with a seemingly easy task of organising a romantic night, the swordsman can’t even do such a simple thing for him.

Zoro clenches his fists against the wooden railing.

Zoro

I can’t seem to do anything right by you…. I just feel like everything that I do is not good enough–or just flat out hurts you. And right now, I have nothing but myself to offer. For whatever that's worth.

Sanji

Zoro…

Zoro shifts so he’s looking at Sanji face to face then holds both of his hands in his, making the other man drop his cigarette. The determined fiery look in his eye makes the blonde jump in surprise.

Zoro

Curls, I want to get to know you better.

Sanji

Uh–sure!

Zoro

What’s your favourite food?

Sanji

Uhm… let’s see…

Zoro

If you had all the money in the world, where would you go?

Sanji

Oh Mellorine, I do have all the mon–

Zoro

How long does it take to get there?

Is that where you want to go for our first date?

Is shopping your thing? I'm not good with that stuff but I could ask Nami or Robin for advice.

If we’re going on holiday, can we do it alone first or would you prefer bringing your family along?

How many kids do you want to have?

Sanji

MARIMO!

Sanji thinks that he’s about to go crazy. His face is all red, he feels hot up to his ears and his heart is pounding so much like it's going to burst out of his chest. The swordsman’s sweetness and thoughtfulness overwhelms him with joy. He starts laughing out loud–in a way that he’s never laughed before, ignoring the slight ache from his recent surgery. He thinks that if he breaks stitches this way, so be it, because he’s never felt his chest so light and heart so full. He felt so happy that he could fly. 

The swordsman looked confused and offended from all the unhinged laughter like he was being made fun of.

Sanji cups Zoro’s face into his hands, trying his best to recover from his outburst.

Sanji

I didn’t realise that you needed to know everything now!

Zoro looks down to his lips, watching that attractive smile that he’s always drawn to.

Zoro

I just… I really wanted to… to…

Sanji pulls him in to claim his mouth with his. He pushes Zoro roughly against the railing, determined to show the swordsman how much he appreciates him at that very moment. He slides his hand up and down the man’s body, massaging, caressing and feeling everything that he could lay his hands on. He wants to show his love and admiration to the man by worshipping every part of him. Zoro was more than happy to reciprocate the affection.

They stayed like that for what seemed like a lifetime. Regrettably, Sanji pulls himself away from the most passionate kiss he's ever had in his life so he could breathe. He kept his body close as he panted.

Zoro leans in and continues his assault on his lips–biting and sucking hard then giving them soothing licks to ease the arousing pain–not wanting for everything to stop so soon. Between breaths, the blonde speaks.

Sanji

We have our entire lives to get to know one another…. What’s your rush, Marimo?

Zoro freezes at that, blinking his eye. Then for the first time that night, he smiles his genuine toothy smile.

Zoro

I guess we do, don’t we?

Sanji scoops up one of his rough hands and gives it a tender kiss on the calloused knuckles.

Sanji

I want to savour every moment of this–of us, okay? Right now, it’s just you, me… and this.

Sanji gestures at the scene in front of them, then swings his hand around to point out the environment surrounding them–the bright moon, the calm waters and the clear starry skies.

Sanji

Nothing else matters.

Zoro looks into his wide blue eyes. They're positively glowing a lot more so than usual tonight. He wraps his arms around the man and leans his forehead on his, kissing the bridge of his nose. The blonde was correct–nothing else mattered. It felt right to be there. In his heart, he decides to make it a mission to spend every waking moment to prove that he's worthy of his trust, even if it takes a lifetime for him to open up and tell him his real name. He would not demand it that day. He thinks that if he truly deserved it, the blonde will share it to him in time at his own volition. They do have a lifetime to get to know one another, after all.

The swordsman had lost a gamble with Nami that night. He’ll have to remember to send the navigator a couple hundred Beri through the post somehow for betting on him falling in love that year.

—

At a far distance, hidden in the thick mist of the sea, a particularly tall and lanky Warlord watches the blonde and his green-haired companion through the lens of his spyglass. With a flick of his wrist, he retracts the telescope and tosses it to a dark silhouette of a man.

Stranger

Now's the perfect time. Let’s do it.

Doflamingo

Hmm…no. I want to savour… every… moment of this….

He lets out a deep chuckle. 

Doflamingo

Besides, I have another job for you. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

You are dismissed.

He waves off the man, and the figure walks off. Doflamingo stands from the comfort of his chair and takes a few long strides to the bow of the ship, never taking his eyes off the small dot on the horizon that is the Polar Tang.

Doflamingo

I’m grateful you showed us the way, Pirate King. You never fail me, do you?

…Sanji.

----------

I had way too much fun with those panel drawings. (Honestly part of it was me trying to find an excuse to draw more dofsan lol)

If it's not obvious yet, I try to line up certain things about this Sanji and canon Sanji. Instead of him being exclusively in love with mermaids, I like to think he loves all merfolk in this story.

Fukaboshi's always been the one on my mind as Sanji's "the one who got away" romance. I was rewatching Fish-man Island arc and I remembered how wise and noble he is, and has a great sense of responsibility to look after his family. I figured this Sanji would be attracted to those qualities.

Plus, you know, have you seen those big hands? Fwah~!

[thanksbutno98]

The Rest of My Life

John Price x girlfriend!reader OC

Summary: After being broken hearted over John Price he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. Only the time you spent broken up comes into question.

Warnings: Angst, sexual themes, swearing, mentions of cheating, domestic argument, slut shaming, low self esteem, not edited.

——————

Days were bleeding in to each other on these cold British mornings. You went from sleeping in a a cold empty bed heartbroken over a man who convinced himself he was undeserving of love, to now being wrapped in his warmth every night. What felt like three months of hell trying to get over John Price culminated in a final one night stand. Or so you thought. Never in your wildest dreams did you expect him to chase after you, confess his feelings, and ask you to be his. It felt like your broken heart was beginning to be stitched back together after he shattered it so recklessly.

Falling into his arms felt natural, it had been everything you wanted. But it still hadn’t fixed the hurt from before, when you were only lovers, and you weren’t sure John was emotionally ready for that conversation. Or maybe it was you who wasn’t ready. Enjoying each other was what felt good, intoxicating almost. After feeling so miserable for so long no part of you could muster the courage to bring up any hurt, you needed peace now.

Things had progressed quickly in the first week of you and John becoming an official couple. The need to be around one another and the sexual chemistry was consuming. Neither of you could get enough of the other having spent so long apart.

From staying up all night talking to going eight rounds in the sheets until midday. You two slept, ate, and breathed the other. It felt like you were making up for lost time. That the three months spent broken hearted needed to be shoved so far into the past and replaced by everything you were rushing to do now. Dinner dates on the couch, shower sex, nights out on the town, bad movies, boring tv, board games, quickies on the kitchen counter, taking your time to map out each others bodies again, the experiences of three months had been crammed into this week.

Avoiding the conversation of what you two were up to while apart felt better to you. You didn’t want to know or hear about the women John had pacified himself with. Didn’t want to know all the drunken hookups and girls that had followed him with their heels clicking against the pavement to his flat after a night out; only to experience what you had been fantasizing about those three months apart. It was best avoided.

Currently you and John were laying in your bed having just started to catch your breath after another mind blowing after dinner sex session. John was bare chested, hairy toned pecs rising and falling at a fast pace as he lit a cigar. His bottom half was covered by your comforter while you laid on top of it naked and on your belly. Your face was resting against your forest green silk pillow as you admired John’s rugged features puffing smoke out into your crappy little flat. It had you smiling how even after having sex for what felt like the thousandth time this week his eyes were still admiring your form and settling on your ass, his left hand coming over and giving it a smack.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” The words came out mumbled due to the cigar tucked between his teeth. His hand stayed on your ass as he gripped the flesh and then swatted it again, making a playful grunt to emphasize his point.

“Good.” Your smile was sweet and John could see in your eyes how feeling this desired by him was making you glow.

“Missed it. Went three months of no sex to this has been heavenly, darling. And with an ass like that I’m thinking I might’ve died and truly gone to heaven.” John smacked your ass again and then ashed his cigar in the glass trey you had set out on the nightstand for him.

His comment caught you off guard. There was no way he went an entire three months broken up with you and not slept with anyone else. You knew John’s history before you met and the man was dangerously close to being a slag if not one already. One night stands were more his thing than what you two had stumbled into before calling it quits.

“Funny, you don’t have to fib.” It was easier giving John an out than him bending the truth. You didn’t want to talk about it really, the details would hurt. But you also didn’t want to be lied to.

“I’m not fibbing.” John looked at you perplexed and a bit offended. Any notion of you thinking he was a liar was off putting.

You only stared at him with that look you always gave him when you expected him to correct himself. He’d seen it many times when you asked him how he was doing or if something hurt his feelings. It wasn’t meant to be condescending but it left John feeling like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Do you think I was sleeping around?” John quickly followed, realizing you actually didn’t believe him.

“I mean, yeah. You told me yourself you only had one night stands before me and they were as frequent as you could get them.” You tried to shrug it off. Although the notion of knowing John could so easily sleep with whomever did set your teeth on edge.

“Didn’t tell you that for you to use it against me.” Taking a drag of his cigar you could see he was becoming combative which you still weren’t sure how to defuse.

John Price was such a complex man to you and you struggled to crack him. He kept his feelings expertly hidden under anger and grumpiness which was meant to send people running or have them back off. But not you, you weren’t the type to back off, but you just weren’t sure how to snap him out of it quite yet.

“I’m not ‘using’ it against you. I’m just pointing out that getting laid isn’t exactly hard for you. And it’s not like we were together or promised each other anything.” You used your fingers as air quotes. Trying some honesty and nonchalantness was your way to approach this. Maybe it would work?

“That was before I met you. I haven’t slept with anyone else since we were together that first time. It’s only been you.” John’s hands came to the sides of his hips as he sat up and moved himself back to rest against your wooden headboard.

Oh, fuck. He was telling the truth.

For a moment John tried to comfort you and show through his abstinence that you were the only one for him. Yeah, he was horny while you were apart but he couldn’t get himself to look at another woman without being wracked with guilt. Other women didn’t interest him and it left his heart aching horribly because he wanted you. Even when he relieved himself you were the only thing on his mind.

The confession should have made you feel flattered and truly the only one for John. But it didn’t. All you felt was an overwhelming sense of dread. John found it a lot easier to read you than you did him, and he saw shame painted across your gorgeous face.

“Were you sleeping with other people?” Taking the cigar, John snubbed it in the ash trey then watched your face carefully for any deceit; although he felt that he knew the answer.

“I mean. . . Yeah. I thought we were over and I. . .” You couldn’t get yourself to speak beyond that.

John’s face was unreadable as he sat there and stared at you stone faced. Part of you expected him to be angry even though you knew it was unjust. You had been insecure about the idea of John sleeping with other women, so much so you had been avoiding this conversation. Now here you were being the slag who’d slept with someone when John had stayed true to you.

“We weren’t together. I can’t be upset with you for that.” The way John spoke had you wondering if he believed what he had just said.

“I’m still sorry. If I thought we had a chance I would’ve never done it. I was trying to get you out of my mind any way I could.” You admitted.

Laying here naked having this conversation was making you feel much more exposed than you were use to. You slowly sat up and grabbed John’s t-shirt from the floor and slipped it on. You could see the stoic man brooding and lost in his own thoughts.

His hands had bawled into fists at the thought of you with another man. John knew you loved him, even if you hadn’t said it yet, there was no doubt about that considering you put up with how horrible he was at the start. But now he wondered if your love was strong enough to stay faithful; although it wasn’t a fair question to be asking himself.

“Did you know him, them? Was he a friend? Or just some random guys you met at a pub?” John wasn’t sure what he would gain from asking this but he had to know. You were absolutely gorgeous, any man would gladly take you home so John was certain you had your pick of the litter.

John needed to know what type of men you had allowed into your body while he was off doing fuck all. He wanted to know if you let them do the things he did, or if these men made you feel better than John could. Deep down he wanted you to tell him it was the worst shag of your life and the guy was ugly and had a small cock that couldn’t get you off. That it was only once and you hadn’t taken anyone else after.

“It was Hugh. The guy I dated right before I met you.” The confession had John’s ears ringing.

You had told him about that prick. How he’d been controlling of you, from the way you dressed to the friends you kept. That he would yell and shout at you; call you names. How he only thought with his dick and you were tired of him by the end of it all. John also knew from a drunken confession by one of your friends, who wasn’t a friend anymore, that Hugh was amazing in bed. So good in fact that your friend crudely joked for every one orgasm a normal person had you’d have five with Hugh.

John remembered confronting you about what your ex-friend told him and you admitted it was all true but didn’t think that mattered when you wanted only John. You went as far as telling him to get over it unless he was ready to date you. John couldn’t argue with that back then but now he had a leg to stand on.

“The prick who’s ’good in bed.’” John used his fingers as air quotes, as a way to mock you from earlier. You weren’t expecting that to be thrown in your face but could understand this reaction was stemming from insecurity. Something you were all too familiar with.

“So what if he is? It was once a few days after you broke things off with me and I’ve ignored all his calls and messages since.” You tried to defend yourself. It felt unjust to be treated like this for being honest to a question you were asked.

“A few days!? All it took was a few days to be hoping into someone else’s bed.” John’s questions was crude and off putting. It had you flinching and leaning back at how cruel you found it. It left you feeling like he was calling you a whore.

It also didn’t reflect what had happened, because you and Hugh had slept together in your apartment not his. Your silence must have given you away as John looked from you to the bed he was currently laying in.

“Oh, here. It happened here.” It was more of a statement as John realized he was sitting naked in a bed where you’d shagged your ex while John was crying over you.

The face he wore was one of disgust, like you were dirty for what you did. The judgmental look had you clamming up unable to speak up. It felt absolutely horrible to be treated like this when you already felt so jilted from when you two were only hooking up.

“You wash the sheets?” You found John’s words had gone too far as he looked at you like you were revolting.

“You’re being a prick. Also, don’t talk to me like that. I’m not some punk you don’t know, I’m your girlfriend.” It was hard but you spoke calmly. Getting up from your bed you grabbed your cotton shorts from the floor and a clean tank top before heading out of your room, around the corner and towards the bathroom.

“You’re just going to walk away?” John was up, still naked, and following after you.

You shut the bathroom door and locked it before he could catch up. John stopped just outside, having heard the lock click. His temper was getting the better of him as he realized his pulse was racing and he was breathing heavier than he had been earlier. He started to actually think about what he had just said to you since you just so calmly told him to ‘not speak to you like that.’ Placing his forehead against the cool wooden door he wondered if you were crying on the other side due to his callousness.

“I’m sorry.” John spoke loud enough he hoped you could hear him.

You were sat on the edge of your bath tub with your head in your hands. You felt gross and dirty. Seeing John look at you the way you felt about yourself only had the insecurity inside you growing and latching on to your walls stronger than before. You didn’t respond deciding you had nothing to say that wouldn’t end up in you bawling or lashing out.

John waited outside the door hoping you’d open it. This fight wasn’t worth it. He’d let his emotions get the better of him and treated you in a way he knew you didn’t deserve, all because he was insecure. The shower started and John sighed deeply at his own mistakes. This would be the first shower you two weren’t taking together since becoming a couple. And now that John thought about it, this was also your first fight as a couple and it was only week one.

You took the opportunity to decompress and get the tears out while you washed off. It always felt best to you to cry under a warm stream of water because it helped wash the dirty feeling, that took over your skin at times, off.

You felt especially dirty because the night Hugh came over he was dropping by to see if you’d called things off with John and he just happened to be right. The fact was, you were vulnerable, heart broken, and self destructive in that moment he knocked on your door. So you let him in and let him stay the night. And Hugh was not about to pass up on your moment of weakness.

You had regretted sleeping with Hugh the next morning when you woke up with him in your bed. It felt strange to see someone who wasn’t John next to you and you woke him up to kick him out. Only Hugh being the arrogant asshole he was thought you were waking him up for sex. He made a snarky comment that only anal interested him at the moment and if you let him have it you could call him ‘by your ex’s name if you liked.’

Hugh had never been thrown out of a woman’s flat so fast or with that much ferocity before. He had barely gotten his jeans back on as you shoved him out your front door, after literally kicking him out of your bed and on to the floor. You even threw his shoes at him, one hitting him in the back of the head. The force with which you slammed your door made the building shake and he swore he saw dust slowly cascade down from the old dilapidated ceiling. Only for you to open the door again, chuck his wallet and keys at him and then slam it shut.

There were countless efforts after that where Hugh tried to reach out and apologize. They all fell on deaf ears until the last time he came and knocked on your door. Your dad happened to be over and you asked him to scare the guy away, which he happily did. Since then it had been radio silent.

You didn’t bother dating after that. It felt better and easier to focus on yourself and work. The time between then and now was hard. A lot of it was spent crying, eating icecream on your kitchen floor, watching romantic movies, and doing anything to get over John. You tried letting yourself feel all the hurt but then it never went away. So you tried ignoring it and that just resulted in random massive meltdowns which also wasn’t healthy.

By the time three months had passed and John called you that night for a hookup you were desperate to make the hurt go away. You thought that sleeping with him one last time would get it out of your system and on your way down the stairs of his building the next day you realized how big of a mistake you made. That John Price was the love of your life and there would never be a way to get over him or move on; you’d only be settling.

You never expected him to chase after you and practically beg you to be his girlfriend. That everything you’d been crying over and longing for would happen. You didn’t even ask for an apology for how he treated you. You were so desperate for him you let all the hurt that built up slide just so you two could be together. It felt too good to be true and now as you dried off and got dressed after your shower you wondered if you were right.

Stepping out of the bathroom you expected John had left by now. He had gotten to see how dirty and desperate you were and there was no coming back from that. You saw it as an easy way for him to lose the little respect he had for you. Even though you could forgive him if things were reversed you didn’t expect him to. But then you walked into your bedroom to see your bed neatly made, clothes put in the hamper and John sitting at the foot of the bed. You two caught eyes through the mirror and he was quickly standing. He was dressed in his pajamas showing you he had no intention of leaving which tugged at your heart strings.

“I shouldn’t have said those things. You’re right I was being a prick. I have no right to be cross with you about anything you did when we weren’t together.” John started to close the distance as you stood in the doorway motionless.

The way your bottom lip wobbled and the angry tears welling in your eyes had him feeling even more like an ass. He could see that you’d been crying and now you were willing yourself not to break down. You weren’t sure if you were crying because John had said sorry so easily or if it was the fact he didn’t leave. John saw you as such a tough woman who hid her tears so well. Seeing you like this in front of him had him taking the final steps to close the distance and wrap you in his arms.

“I’m sorry. For leaving you for those three months, for calling you for sex instead of talking about how I felt, and for not making you mine after our first date.” With whispered words John confessed what had been weighing on him for so long. Now that you two were together and he found the courage to admit to himself that he couldn’t live his life without you, John had felt immense shame for the way he treated you and lead you on in the past.

“I’m gross and desperate. How can you respect a girl who so easily jumps in bed with you whenever you ask? It’s pathetic. It’s my fault.” The tears came quick as you began to sob into John’s chest. You were mad at yourself, mad at him, just mad at the world.

He had no clue this is how you felt. To him you were a prize, someone so loving and kind who deserved the world. You were a confident woman who knew her worth, who would never let these kind of things tear you down, but John was clearly wrong. The time he spent with you felt fleeting because he never thought himself good enough for you and wondered why you waisted so much time on him. To hear that this was what you thought of yourself and John’s treatment of you only supported this false claim, pained him.

“You’re not dirty, or pathetic. Of course I respect you. I’m sorry if it didn’t feel that way.” Hearing him say he was ‘sorry it didn’t feel that way’ when he did nothing to show you he respected you was your breaking point. Pushing him off, you couldn’t control your tongue as you let all your feelings and resentment burst from you. White hot rage flowed from your lips as it all spilled out.

“You didn’t respect me enough to make me your girlfriend, you only wanted sex and someone to welcome you home so you didn’t feel lonely. I gave you that ultimatum because I thought you cared about me enough but you just tossed me aside like I was nothing to you but some cheap whore. Like all the time we spent together, all the love I poured into you was meaningless! Then you call me after three months of nothing and I jump right back in bed with you, because I’m desperate enough for a shred of affection from you. Do you get how cheap and dirty that made me feel?” You felt yourself breathing heavy but you couldn’t stop the vitriol that poured out of your broken heart.

“Then you ask me to be your girlfriend that very morning. Talk about fucking whiplash! And you ask without a real apology or acknowledging what you put me through, and I just fall into your arms like some weak woman that I’m not! And now you’re making it seem like I’m a whore for sleeping with someone once because you broke my heart!?” You poked John’s chest multiple times as you shouted through tears. You felt vindicated to let him have it and pour all this out onto him since it could have been avoided if he wasn’t so dense from the start.

John stood there feeling like an absolute fool hearing you explain things from your own point of view. It didn’t seem that serious until now and the hurt John had caused you clearly ran deep. Hearing you say he’d caused you to feel dirty and cheap was never his intention. He was stuck in his own world not wanting a serious relationship and then stumbling into you. You weren’t suppose to happen, a girl like you shouldn’t have existed and been everything he ever wanted. You waltzed into his life so ready to love him when he never thought he was deserving and turned his whole world upside down.

“I-. . . I- don’t know what to say.” John sputtered out completely at a loss for words. He felt shell shocked, smacked by the truth that had been in front of him but he was too emotionally dense to understand.

“Well figure something out.” You snapped back. Your normal calm and collected nature was out the window as you allowed your emotions to lead you.

“Why me? After everything I’ve done, how selfish I’ve been, how can you still want to be with me?” The question took you off guard. You were expecting John to fight back not stay completely calm with nothing but regret swimming in his eyes. He looked as if he were in pain as he stared back at you.

“B-because.” You stammered and then decided to hell with it, you might as well continue being honest.

“Because I lo-like you and I have for a while. You’ve been a jackass but no one has even been able to make me feel the way I feel about you. When you’re not being an absolute idiot you’re charming, kind, and funny. You care about people even when you get nothing in return. You cared about me until you s-stopped.” Gripping on to your cotton shorts your head fell forward as you began to sob again. You were so terrified he would stop caring about you as easily as he had before.

“Look at me.” John took your face in the palms of his hands so you would look up at him.

Lowering his head to try and come down to your height as much as he could. There were tears cascading down your red rimmed puffy eyes and you were shallowly hiccuping, trying to catch your breath. Taking his thumbs he ran them over the streaks of tears and then went back to gingerly cupping your beautiful face in his rough hands. It was a strange feeling to hold someone so precious in the same hands that had taken lives and done unspeakable things.

“I never stopped caring. I can promise you that. You are not cheap, you are not gross or dirty. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I was a prick to string you along for so long and then toss you aside, I regret it so much. I regretted it every day I couldn’t see you or speak to you. There were so many times that just hearing you say ‘good morning’ on the phone would’ve saved me from drinking and smoking the days away. My life was horrible every second without you and I let myself suffer because I thought I didn’t deserve you and I was doing you a favor by walking away.” Sliding his hand from your face, down your shoulders and arms both of his large hands took yours.

“I was so lost in my own selfishness I thought that not making you my girlfriend was the right choice and not once that I was disrespecting you day in and day out. I never wanted you to feel cheap, or dirty, or like I didn’t care; when you were the only thing on my mind. Please darling, please don’t think yourself lesser because of me. It’s my goal to let you know how special you are and it’s clear to me now I have a lot of ground to cover and damage to undo. You may not trust me when I say this but I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” Seeing you shake your head up and down at his words and then your face break into another fit of sobs was heart wrenching.

John had done some real damage to your self esteem and it was hard to stomach. He had also never poured his heart out like this before, to anyone. Sorry had never been so easy to say and his faults had never been so blatantly wrong in his eyes he could own up to them so willingly. It was a new sensation to be so vulnerable and he half expected you to lash out again but you didn’t.

You couldn’t get yourself to respond to John. It felt validating to hear him admit he had strung you along, that he threw you aside, that the things you felt so deeply wounded about were truly realized by the man you’d fallen so deeply in love with. To hear he recognized you had little trust in his feelings toward you made things feel like they could be fixed; because the first steps of healing your broken heart were finally being taken.

“Yeah, you have a lot of sorrys to catch up on.” You hiccuped out trying your hardest to stop crying. John could only sigh at your attempt at humor to quell the storm raging inside. At this point it was apparent you used humor to help cope even when it was inappropriate.

“How can I say sorry starting tonight? I’ll do whatever you want.” Squeezing your hands lightly John wished he could steal all the sadness that clung to you and take in on himself.

“I-don’t know. I really don’t.” You were just starting to catch your breath.

“That’s fine. How about we start with ice cream and I’ll rub your feet. And you can shout at me again if you need to.” It was a poor attempt on fixing things and John knew that. But what he also knew was sugar seemed to help you when you were feeling down and who didn’t love a foot rub.

“That’s all you got?” There it was again. Another attempt at humor as you started to look and feel embarrassed for your emotional outburst.

“No, but let’s start there.”

——————

“Think they’ll be over there. If you look just right you can see a tree trunk under the water over there. Means big fish.” John pointed off into the distance of the pond you two were on.

The pair of you were sitting in a small row boat on a pond somewhere you’d never been and fishing. John told you this was where he came to decompress and ‘get away from it all.’ He’d never brought anymore here before, not even his siblings or friends. It was his place, the only place untouched by anyone but him and he wanted to share it with you.

He told you he would start to show you how serious he was about you, and for some reason that meant bringing you here. But then he told you this is where he would come when his mind became too loud and nightmares came too often. This is where he sought solace after losing a comrade or a particularly gruesome deployment. It’s where he came often when you two had broken up. It was the only place he could manage all the pain of what it felt like being without you. So it felt right to him to share it with you.

“So this place like heaven to you or something? When you picture yourself spending eternity in paradise this is it?” It was a bit of a snarky question as you’d never seen John so at peace somewhere before.

It seemed like he shed all the baggage and pain that weighed him down most days. There was an eir of contentment about him when you had thought previously that was a feeling he was incapable of. Seeing this side of John was brand new and it felt soft, vulnerable almost. And vulnerable wasn’t a thing you thought he’d ever be.

He swore you to secrecy that you’d never give this location up which was when you realized he really was sharing one of his close kept secrets. You said yes, obviously, because you weren’t sure you’d be able to make your way back to the middle of nowhere. It felt naughty to know one of John’s secrets since he was so closed off but there was no reservation from him about sharing it. He wanted you to be apart of this and he needed you to continue to seep into his life, like you so easily did.

“Don’t be a smart ass.” John scoffed as he rowed you two closer to the spot he had just pointed out.

“No, seriously. You seem pretty protective of this ordinary looking place.” Gesturing around you to the scenic area as you spoke. To you it was an ordinary pond, in the ordinary woods, in the not so ordinary UK.

But to John, it was magical.

“Ordinary?” He questioned with a playful scoff and stopped rowing to look at you with a soft smile. He was so handsome clean shaven with a flannel and fishing vest on.

“This is the best place to catch Carp. And just over there is where we’ll set up our campsite, it has the best view of the sky. The dock over there is also the best place to swim, only spot without weeds.” John pointed over to the distant shore that was near where he parked his truck. You only smiled back still not seeing what John so easily did; so he continued.

“There’s a patch of wild flowers up and over the hill behind where we’ll camp. Sometimes when the wind is strong enough it’ll smell like you’re standing right in the middle of’em all. Oh, and if we’re lucky we’ll see a shooting star tonight. I’ve seen plenty out here so maybe you’ll catch your first.” John sounded like a little boy as he gushed over this place. Looking around it started to take on a different look. Maybe it was special, and that was just because it was special to him.

“So your happy place?” You asked softly which had him grinning like a fool as he leaned back to check he was going in the right direction as he rowed.

“Yeah, my happy place. Now it’s more like heaven with you here.” John was smiling off into the distance as he continued to row you in the small boat. You could see it was an easy comment for him to make, one that held weight but didn’t seem like a confession; only fact.

“I love you.” You spoke softly surprised that the words had slipped past your lips when it was something you normally thought in the privacy of your head. But it felt right.

“Did you see that!” John had started speaking halfway through your confession and was pointing off at where the log he mentioned earlier sat at the bottom of the pond.

“What?“ You asked and could only stare at him dumbly, not completely sure he heard you.

“Dinner!” John clapped his hands together before grabbing his fishing pole and casting his line off into the direction he saw something moments ago.

“Did you not hear me?” You blurted out.

“Hear you? Not when a Carp that size jumps out the bloody water.” John looked focused as he tuned into how his rod felt, trying to hook the massive fish he had just seen. You on the other hand kept your mouth shut not able to confess what you just had again. It was too embarrassing that he hadn’t heard you.

“What were you saying, darling?” John asked, blue eyes still focused in the general direction of the log.

“Nothing important.” You let out a content sigh hoping that would be the end of that conversation. You found it a bit comical and just smiled down at your lap.

“Doubt it. Everything you say is important. To me at least.” John added the last part with a shrug. Before you could respond he sharply pulled his rod and started laughing a bit crazily in your opinion.

“Got the sucker!” With gritted teeth and sparkling eyes John reeled and tugged expertly.

Seeing the smile that took over John’s face when he reeled the fish in and then showed it off to you would be seared into your memory. He babbled, which was unlike him, how you had to be his good luck charm because he’d never caught a fish this big here before. Then went on about how he’d cook it for you and boast about how much you were going to love it and how happy he was to not be by himself here. That this would be your place together now, not just his. He went as far as almost capsizing the boat to kiss you and thank you for coming with him.

Taking you here and having this moment together felt amazing. To know John was bringing you into parts of his life no one else was allowed was new to you and also him. He kept giving you daydream eyes as if you couldn’t be real and he was imagining you. It was sweet to watch him glance over at you to see if you were as happy as he was when just the simplest things like a fish swimming by happened. It was childlike and filled with wonder at what it felt like having you beside him. No one had ever looked at you like that. Like you were their whole world.

Before you were kept at arms length. His feelings about you were hidden, what his family was like, what he thought and how he expressed himself, all veiled in uncertainty. Now you could see he was on full display to you. There was no hiding in this moment and even if he hadn’t heard you, you knew deep down he would’ve told you he loved you too. A man with a look like that in his eyes was a man in love. You knew that for sure.

So you thought it best to wait for him to say it first. Because even without it being said, you two both knew you loved the other.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @cazrielsfairygf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword @faceache111 @azu21 @thirstyb-ches @nini-11-08 @sgtgarricks @kiki-is-hyperfixating @mayflysdie @thirstyb-ches

[gummilutt]

H&M Banner improvements

A somewhat odd creation from me, but! I have been really enjoying posing and creating poses, and in that process it dawned on me that it would be fun to have pictures of actual Sims in my clothing stores instead of the semi-ugly stuff that EA gave us. My friend at @kashmiresims was kind enough to pose out a bunch of her lovely townies for some recolors, but when I went to recolor the banner I discovered EA made the texture square. And to fit the Sim in that square, they chopped the legs off and placed them horizontally. I refuse to continue this folly, so off to fix it I went! I have three things for you today :)

1. A default replacement of the original banner, with improved mapping so that the texture is straight and easier to recolor. It was 256x256, now it is 128x512 so same total amount of pixels, it is just long instead of square. I've included redone versions of the original recolors, so they will look the same. However, if you had other custom recolors, they will be broken. Sorry, can't do anything about that unfortunately.

2. I made an add-on mesh that hangs lower because I find the original sits too high to be easy to use in most stores. It is repositoried to the original. Required the default, mapping will be wrong if you don't use the default.

3. 10 additional recolors sporting various sims from the lovely region of Kashmire, coming to your hood with their newest ad campaign. Seen in a store above, swatch below.

Installation instructions: Default file goes in zCEP-EXTRA folder in your documents The Sims 2 folder, recolors and add-on mesh goes in Downloads. Can place default in downloads too, but you won't be able to make recolors.

Download everything - Dropbox (SFS is down :() Download only meshes - Dropbox

Credits: Kashmiresims for the lovely pictures used for the recolors, as well as helping me fix the maxis recolors without them getting blurry. Thank you! :) @gayars who gave info on and tested getting SimPE to pick up on the new texture. @latmosims and @morepopcorn who taught me how to map things in Blender making this creation a possibility for me to do :)

[itsgreti]

BENEATH THE MASK

pairing. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary. (Y/N), Task Force 141's medic, saw Ghost's face for the first time while patching up his injuries.

warning. descriptions of gunfire, explosions, scenes depicting injuries, medical treatments, and blood (typical cod theme)

word count. 2.3k

a/n: english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me!

The desert wind howled across the rocky terrain as the Task Force 141 team moved swiftly through the night. (Y/N), their medic, felt the weight of her gear as she kept pace with Captain Price, Soap, Gaz, and the mysterious Ghost. She had been with the elite unit for a few months, but Ghost remained an enigma to her, a silent, masked figure whose presence was always felt but never fully seen.

Their mission that night was simple in concept: infiltrate a heavily guarded compound and extract crucial intel regarding a new shipment of chemical weapons. But as they approached the compound under darkness, their plan quickly unravelled. A patrol they hadn't anticipated stumbled upon them, leading to a chaotic firefight.

Bullets whizzed through the air, accompanied by the sharp cracks of rifles and the distant thunder of explosions. (Y/N) took cover behind a crumbling wall, her mind racing as she assessed the wounded. Soap and Gaz held their ground nearby, providing cover fire as Captain Price barked orders over the radio.

Suddenly, Ghost appeared beside her, his presence as silent as ever. He motioned towards Soap, whose shoulder was grazed by a bullet. Without a word, (Y/N) nodded and hurried to assist.

The firefight continued for what felt like an eternity, but the team managed to eliminate the immediate threat. With the area momentarily secure, they regrouped in a small, dimly lit room within the compound. Captain Price leaned over the map spread out on a makeshift table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We need that intel," Price said grimly, his voice low yet commanding. "Ghost, find it. (Y/N), patch up whoever needs it and be ready to move out."

(Y/N) nodded, her focus shifting to Soap and Gaz as she pulled out her medical kit. Soap winced as she began to clean and dress his wound, but Gaz remained alert, scanning their surroundings.

As (Y/N) worked, she stole glances at Ghost, who was hunched over a computer terminal in the corner of the room. His movements were precise and deliberate, his gloved hands flying over the keys as he accessed the encrypted files.

The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the occasional click of Ghost's keystrokes and the muted sounds of the ongoing battle outside. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the mask—his past, his motivations. But such thoughts had to wait. Right now, their survival depended on securing the intel and getting out safely.

Just as Ghost seemed to make progress, an explosion rocked the building, sending debris flying and knocking everyone off balance. (Y/N) stumbled, but Ghost was quick to steady her, his gloved hand gripping her arm firmly. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of his presence, his strength beneath the mask.

"Ghost!" Captain Price called out, his voice urgent. "We're running out of time. Can you get that intel or not?"

Ghost nodded, his masked face unreadable. With renewed determination, he returned to the terminal, his fingers moving faster now.

Outside, the gunfire intensified, drawing nearer by the second. Soap and Gaz exchanged worried glances, their weapons at the ready. They knew they couldn't hold out much longer.

"Almost there," Ghost muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Suddenly, the screen flickered and then displayed a map with a blinking marker. Ghost's gloved hand hovered over the keyboard as he extracted the data onto a portable drive.

"We've got it," Ghost announced, his voice calm yet triumphant.

Captain Price wasted no time. "Good. (Y/N), pack up. We're moving out–"

Before Price could finish his sentence, a barrage of gunfire erupted from outside the room. Bullets tore through the walls, sending chunks of debris flying. (Y/N) ducked instinctively, shielding her head with her arms.

In the chaos, Ghost acted decisively. He grabbed (Y/N)'s arm and pulled her towards him, shielding her with his own body as they sought cover behind a thick concrete pillar. His masked face was just inches from hers, his eyes intense behind the tinted lenses.

"Stay down," Ghost ordered, his voice low yet urgent.

(Y/N) nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, his presence a comforting shield amidst the chaos. For the first time, she found herself grateful for his silent strength.

Captain Price and the others returned fire, their shots echoing through the room. The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. But Task Force 141 was relentless too, fighting tooth and nail to hold their ground.

As the firefight raged on, (Y/N) couldn't help but steal glances at Ghost. His mask remained firmly in place, betraying nothing of the man beneath. But now, with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't before.

"We need to move," Captain Price shouted over the din of gunfire. "Ghost, (Y/N), cover us. Soap, Gaz, with me!"

Without hesitation, Ghost and (Y/N) provided covering fire as Price and the others dashed towards the exit. Bullets whizzed past them, impacting the walls with deadly precision.

"Go!" Ghost called out, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

(Y/N) nodded and followed Ghost as they made their way towards the exit, their backs pressed against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, their lungs burning with each breath.

Just as they reached the exit, a stray grenade sailed through the air and landed at their feet. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in horror as she realized they were trapped. Without thinking, Ghost pushed her behind him and shielded her with his body once more.

The grenade exploded with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. (Y/N) felt the force of the blast against her back, but Ghost absorbed the brunt of it, his body tensing with the impact. She could hear him grunt in pain, but he didn't falter.

"Ghost!" (Y/N) screamed.

"(Y/N)..." Ghost's voice was strained. He was conscious but clearly in pain.

"Ghost is down!" she shouted into her comms, her voice filled with urgency.

There was a brief crackle of static before Price's voice came through, sharp and focused. "Gaz, Soap, fall back to Ghost's position! (Y/N), get to him now!"

As the smoke cleared, (Y/N) peered around Ghost to assess the damage. His mask was scorched and cracked, revealing a glimpse of his face beneath. Blood trickled down his neck from a gash caused by a piece of shrapnel.

"We need to get him out!" she called out, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A few moments later the team managed to get to the position of (Y/N) and Ghost. Soap and Gaz provided cover as Price helped lift Ghost. They moved quickly, bullets whizzing past them, the sounds of battle all around. Outside, the night air was cool against (Y/N)'s skin as they regrouped with the extraction team and jumped into the helicopter that was waiting for them. As everyone was situated, (Y/N) immediately went to work, her focus solely on saving Ghost.

Captain Price and the others scanned the area around the helicopter, holding off the enemy as they flew off. (Y/N) didn't hesitate, knelt beside him. Ignoring his initial resistance, she gently pushed aside his damaged skull mask, and her hands went to his fabric mask that was under the other one.

"I need to see the wound," she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising within her.

Ghost caught her wrist instinctively, his gaze locking with hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"It's alright, I need to patch you up," (Y/N) said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Ghost hesitated, his grip on her wrist loosening ever so slightly. He gave a barely noticeable nod, allowing her to proceed. (Y/N) peeled back the mask, revealing his face for the first time. His face was a canvas of battle-hardened features, each scar telling a story of survival and sacrifice. A deep, fresh gash ran from his cheek down to his neck, the wound raw and bleeding, but the older scars drew her gaze – the jagged line across his left eyebrow, the faded burn mark along his jawline, and the small, puckered scar near his temple. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, contrasting sharply with the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes that caught her attention – dark brown, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Carefully, (Y/N) cleaned the wound on his neck and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding. Ghost felt a strange mix of emotions. He was not used to being exposed, his face a closely guarded secret. The sensation of her hands, gentle yet firm, was foreign but strangely comforting. Despite the pain, there was a sense of relief, a small crack in the armour he had built around himself.

Even though the severity of the situation, she remained calm, her training guiding her every move. Ghost winced, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he watched her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"There," (Y/N) said gently, securing a bandage around his neck. "That should hold for now."

Ghost's eyes met hers, a mixture of pain and gratitude in their depths. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice strained.

"I've got you," she replied firmly. "Just hang on."

As (Y/N) finished, Captain Price stepped over the duo, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "How is he?" he asked, his eyes on Ghost.

(Y/N) looked up, exhaustion evident in her features. "He'll be okay. The wound was serious, but he's stable now."

Price nodded, his respect for (Y/N) clear in his eyes. "Good work. You saved his life."

(Y/N) offered a tired smile. "Just fulfilling my duty."

Price clapped a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. The helicopter blades whipped through the night, and (Y/N) stayed beside Ghost, her hands steady as she pressed the bandage on his wound. The field dressings had been held, but the ride was rough, so she kept a close watch to ensure he stayed stable. Despite the dire situation, Ghost’s eyes remained sharp, and focused, a silent testament to his resilience. (Y/N) looked at the others and Ghost knew that she wanted to check on them. He nodded and without another word, he moved (Y/N)’s hand from his gash and pushed her to go to the other injured comrades.

Once she agreed, (Y/N) turned her attention to Soap. She barely took care of his shoulder which took a hit during the firefight, and although he didn’t say anything, she knew he must be in pain.

“Soap,” she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the helicopter. “Let me see your shoulder.”

Soap glanced at her, his usual bravado dimmed by exhaustion. “It’s just a scratch, doc,” he muttered, but he didn’t resist as she moved closer.

(Y/N) carefully peeled back the torn fabric of his sleeve, revealing the graze. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, leaving a raw, bloody scar. She winced at the sight but quickly set to work, cleaning the wound with practised efficiency.

“You need to take it easy,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “This might not be serious now, but it could get worse if you don’t let it heal.”

Soap grinned, a flicker of his usual humour returning. “Don’t worry about me, lass. I’m tougher than I look.”

(Y/N) smiled back, shaking her head. “Maybe, but even tough guys need to let their medics take care of them.”

As she bandaged his shoulder, Soap’s grin softened into something sincere. “Thanks, doc. We’re lucky to have you.”

She finished securing the bandage and patted his good shoulder. “Just doing my job, Soap. Now sit tight, we’ll be back at base soon.”

She glanced around the helicopter, checking on the rest of the team. Gaz was alert, his eyes scanning the horizon, and Captain Price was deep in thought, already planning their next move. Despite the weariness and the injuries, there was a deep sense of unity among them. They had faced the fire together and come out stronger on the other side.

As the helicopter touched down at the base, the team began to disembark, their movements slow and weary. (Y/N) remained beside Ghost, her presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. His mask was back in place, hiding his features once more. But now, she knew the man behind the mask – a warrior with a haunted past, driven by a sense of duty and honour. She held his hand gently, ensuring he felt her support. Even through the pain and exhaustion, Ghost’s eyes flickered with a rare vulnerability, acknowledging her silent strength.

As the other medics arrived and began to transfer him onto a stretcher, Ghost’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “You don’t have to stay,” he muttered, his voice strained but sincere.

(Y/N) smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. “I want to. You’re my patient and my friend. I’m not leaving you now.”

Ghost’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features. “Not used to... this kind of care.”

She chuckled lightly, adjusting the blanket around him. “Well, get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

There was a brief silence as the medics prepared to move him, the sounds of the bustling base fading into the background. Ghost looked at her, his expression serious. “Thanks, (Y/N). For everything.”

(Y/N) leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Just focus on getting better, Ghost. We need you.”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth behind the fabric mask. “I’ll do my best.”

“You better do,” she said, walking alongside the stretcher as they moved him towards the infirmary.

[ll7esxs]

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Use the phone + Text you!

Characters: Logan walker, hesh walker, keegan russ, kick, merrick.

X GN! reader!

notes: idk it's safe.

Logan walker:

Not big on texting—he's more of a "call if it's important" guy.

He doesn't even remember how he got the phone.

Old but reliable Samsung Galaxy S21 (won’t upgrade unless it literally dies).

Phone case? Just raw-dogging that phone like a menace. The screen is cracked as hell, but Fix it everytime.

The lock screen of his phone: A stock wallpaper of mountains because he never bothered to change it.

He put it On vibrate 24/7. If it makes a sound, he's confused.

But ofc he feels it when you call or smth.

Battery is always at 5-10% even though he don't use it so much but the battery gone low by itself😔.

He forgets to charge it and just borrows Hesh’s charger.

One-hand texter—his replies are short because he hates typing.

Probably doesn’t have social media? He would have whatsapp, messages and instagram! you told him to make but he just leave it and never enter the app💀

But has Google Maps and a weather app for no reason.

If he texts you, it's short but meaningful:

"You good?" His way of saying he cares

"Will Be home soon." Which could mean in 3 hours or 3 weeks

Will shock you, because you were kinda hesitated to send him a meme, so when you did send him a meme, he'll react with either "😂" or "?" depending on if he gets it.

This shocked you asf cuz you didn't know he understand memes.

This gave you butterflies.

Doesn’t use emojis, barely types full sentences.

You: "Did you eat?"

Logan: "Yeah. You?"

You: "What did you eat?"

Logan: "Food."

You: "Curse you i just asked."

Logan: "Y/n I have been eating for my entire life why i wouldn't now?"

Takes accidental blurry pics of stuff he finds interesting (like a cool sunset or a random stray dog).

You get unintentional thirst traps of him sweaty after training.

If you compliment him Logan: "Didn’t mean to send that."

You: "Sure you didn’t. 👀"

You sent him cupcake remixes songs.

If you call, he picks up but doesn’t talk much—just listens to your voice."Mhm. Yeah. Miss you too." (He smiles but doesn’t say much)

He shrugs when you asked him if he will come back "Yeah, of course! Where i would go anywhere else?"

Hesh walker:

IPhone 12 Pro Max (YEAH FIGHT ME FIGHT ME👺) – Upgraded because he needed better battery life for all his texting.

Clear case with a germa shepherd on the back. Super protective case because he’s broken too many phones.

Homescreen: A Ghosts team Logo

Lockscreen: A picture of Riley sleeping ("He looks majestic.")

Ringtone: Something dumb like "Danger Zone" or an old classic rock song.

Sends way too many gifs and voice messages If he is lazy.

Has a million notifications but replies to you instantly.

Somehow has 100 unread messages from people he doesn't acknowledge them but they know him since he is kind of famousin the field but replies to yours instantly.

Camera roll? 90% nature pic and riley, 10% squad pics, and a secret album of cute pics of you (you don't even know abt it he is like so cool abt it too).

The most normal texter in the squad. Fast responses, actually uses punctuation.

Sends dumb jokes, random pictures, and voice notes of him teasing you.

"Dad just gave the longest speech ever, send help."

[Pic of Riley napping] "He stole my seat. Again."

Uses his phone for music, probably has a playlist of classic rock and hype songs.

Definitely texts you mid-work if he’s stuck waiting for something "Low-key bored. What are you doing?"

Yes he uses social media, especially whatsapp, insta and massenger!

Has a lot of messages from other people He doesn't even know.

You’re his favorite person to text.

"You won’t believe what I fuckin' just did—Dude I tripped over Riley’s toy and tried to act like it didn’t happen in front of logan."

"Mission sucked. But thinking about you made it better."

Sends selfies, pics of Riley, and random squad candids.

[Sends a pic of himself in gear] "Your man looks good today, huh?"

You acted like cupcake's remixes😍🙏🏻.

[Sends a pic of Logan asleep on the couch] "Took this at my own risk."

If you don’t reply fast or didn't send him morning or evening messages he would go with: "Helloooo??? Where’s my daily appreciation text??"

Calls you before and after missions."Yo, just checking in. You good? Need anything?"

When he’s tired, his voice gets softer: "Wish I was home with you right now."

His phone charge getting like 85-70% but then logan ruined his charger since he use it so much but hesh never complain abt it.

Keegan p russ:

Google Pixel 8 Pro Minimalist, good for low-light pics (probably why he picked it).

Black matte case, no design. Practical, sleek, untraceable vibes.

Homescreen: Dark-themed clockLockscreen: A night sky "It’s calming."

Ringtone: Default Pixel tone, but it’s always on silent.

Turns off read receipts and disables typing indicators.

Only 5 apps installed: Messaging, maps, camera, notes, and WhatApp.

Camera roll? Basically empty except for surveillance photos and one random blurry pic of you.

Doesn’t use his phone unless necessary when you call so much. Half the time, it’s either dead or on silent.

Dryest texter ever."Ok."

"See you."

But once he shocked you with a message showing he cares through text, i mean he is like logan save his emotions in real life!.

He really cares about you, you get slightly longer texts:

"Stay inside tonight. Got a bad feeling."

"Be safe." Sent at 3AM, no explanation.

If you call him, he might answer, but expect a "What’s up?" and then silence while he waits for you to talk.

Responds hours later but it’s never on purpose. Just forgets.

You: "You alive??"

Keegan: "Yeah." 6 hours later

You: "That’s all I get?"

Keegan: "Been busy."

Never takes pictures but if he does, they’re surprisingly nice candid shots of you when you’re not looking.

"Thought you’d like this." (It’s a picture of the night sky because he knows you love it)

If you send him a selfie, he just replies (after hours) "Pretty."

THEN ASAP SAVES THE PIC.

Phone Calls: Rare but deep."You don’t have to talk, just stay on the line with me."

He say this if he got a brooding feelings inside.

If he’s on a dangerous mission, he’ll call you before it and just say: "Don’t worry about me. Just wanted to hear your voice." yeah he was desperate.

Thomas merrick:

Huawei Y9 bye.

Black leather case—very executive and no-nonsense.

Homescreen: A Ghosts insignia

Lockscreen: A motivational quote like "Discipline is freedom." (please yall tell me you see the vision)

Ringtone: Loudest default ringtone that woke up the whole base (so he never misses a call cuz he use it for job!).

Prefers calls over texts. If you text him something long, he’ll just call, Doesn't do small talk over text but prefers actual phone calls when he has time.

Very formal texter—uses punctuation and full sentences.

Camera roll? Mostly mission photos, but has one saved picture of you (doesn’t talk about it).

Barely touches his phone. Work comes first.

If he texts, it’s super direct and practical.

"Landed. Safe."

"You need anything?"

If you text him something dumb, he’ll just leave you on read.

Might check his phone once in a while but never during briefings.

You’ll never catch him scrolling through social media. Ever.

Straight to the point, but sometimes softens up for you cuz once you notice he never eat like usual so you remind him.

You: "Don’t forget to eat."

Merrick: "I won’t."

You: "I know you’re lying."

Merrick: "Fine. I’ll eat. Happy?" he didn't lol.

Doesn’t take pictures unless you ask. If you ask for a selfie, he would be confused and stuff cuz here never did take a selfie telling you he will come back anyway.

But when he come to your house, he takes pictures of you, not himself.

Like i said her prefer phone calls especially when he is free.

His voice is calm and steady, but you can tell he relaxes when he hears you.

"You alright?" His way of saying he cares

If you’re upset and wanna yapp, he stays on the phone until you calm down. No rushed words—just listens.

Barely on his phone unless he’s checking mission reports. If you text, expect a reply in 2-5 business hours.

Kick:

What if i told yall he's got the money to buy iphone 15 pro max😔?you wouldn't believe me.

GUYS GUYS GUYS!, I know yall would come to me saying "GIRL WHO BUY IPHONE 15 HE'S BROKE IN THIS HALF APOCALYPSE WORLD"

Guys think abt it's 2027 there could be IPHONE 17!! SO kick broke ass bought IPHONE15!!

The only reason he chose it because he think ios is the safest program

fully jailbroken (probably has custom security software on it).

Some shockproof tactical case "Gotta be prepared." (for what😭)

Homescreen: A digital clock widget with a custom UI.

Lockscreen: A sci-fi looking interface with data widgets yes he was excited abt his phone that he organized it.

Ringtone: Custom-made—probably a futuristic beeping sound made the gang looking around smoothly thinking they got into space or smth.

Has two phones—one for work (Some random old galaxy) and one personal for you and other contact (the iphone)

"Yall don't deserve to be talked by this masterpiece".

He has all the social medias, talking with people he knows! but not that active.

The tech-savvy one. Probably has all the best apps and knows how to use them.

Can type ridiculously fast. His texts are fast and efficient but lowkey sarcastic.

Camera roll? Mostly encrypted files, but has a high-quality photo of you looking cool.

50% memes, 30% gym pics, 20% pictures of you.

Texts fast but types like a hacker—always looks like he’s in a rush.

"KICK STOP COMING ONLINE THEN OFFLINE THEN DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN!!" that's because he answer you but then disapper then answer you again like he leave the app so many times.

"ETA 5 min. U good?"

"Saw this and thought of u [sends a random gadget or meme]"

You know memes like a lot, but him, he send you stuff that u will never unserstand it.

The guy who helps fix everyone else's phones when they break them.

Lowkey a gamer. Might send you a "Wanna play something later?" text when he actually has time off and bored.

types in perfect grammar but all lowercase because he’s too lazy.

You: "What are you up to?"

Kick: "fixing some encrypted comms. you?"

You: "Being good ig."

Kick: "confirmed. always lookin' good"

Takes the best photos of you. Angles? Lighting? Perfect.

You: "Why do your shots look so good??"

Kick: "Not my shots cuz you're fint shyt"

Sends gym selfies like "Should I flex more? Nah, already flexing too much."

Again...cupcake remix.

"Don't have to say this, But be careful out there, okay?❤️"

Super chill over the phone. Probably calls you when he’s working on tech stuff just to have company.

"Talk to me while I work. Keeps me focused."

"There is no way..."

"way."

[aspenmissing]

Hi!! Sorry about the long request, I sometimes have a hard time writing down what I imagine in my head 😭😭:

I was wondering if you could do a Silco(mentioned??) with a fem preferably partner with powers? Would it also be trouble to add/mention some of the other characters like Jinx or Sevika

⚠TUA SPOILER FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T SEEN IT ⚠

Like the reader comes from a family like the Hargreeves but instead of the WHOLE family erasing themselves from existing and fixing the world , it's just her that gets "erased". People who were dead are now alive again (you can decide who). The ending could be either the reader still being remembered by those in Zaun, remembered by both Zaun and Piltover or just forgotten by everyone.

ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ʙᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 4757 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪᴄᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ (ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪꜱᴇ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ! ɪ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ! ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ꜰᴀʀ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛᴜᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

You weren’t born in Zaun.

You fell into it—like a star crashing into the dark, leaving a crater that never quite healed.

You didn’t belong to this world of smog-choked skies and broken promises. You were a spark from a family forged in old magic and stranger science—each sibling a living calamity, their gifts too rare to understand, too dangerous to ignore. One sister could bend reality with a whisper—"I heard a rumor..."—and the world would obey. A brother conjured the dead, laughing with ghosts that crowded empty rooms. Another slipped through time like pages in a book, never truly anchored to the present. And your eldest brother, shaped by science and sorrow, could crush concrete with a single punch.

And you?

You bent time.

Not like rewinding a clock, not like childish fantasies of undoing a broken moment. You didn’t reset. You rewrote. You saw time as others saw light—woven, fragile, ever shifting. Cracks in the present, echoes of the past, possibilities of the future humming at the edge of your vision like a living map. Where others saw reality, you saw fractures. Where others saw fate, you saw choices.

You could stitch moments together, reseal wounds in time before they became scars. Or tear them open wide and fall through them—undoing seconds, days, lives.

But it always came at a cost.

Time does not like to be handled. It bites. It stains. And the more you used your gift, the more it took. People forgot your face before they remembered your name. Rooms you never entered would react to your presence. Photographs blurred when you stepped too close. And sleep? Sleep was a battlefield of futures colliding, of fractured memories you didn’t yet live. You were never quite in the present. Never just now.

And when the world began to crumble—again, and again, and again—your family left.

One by one, they turned away. Not because they were heartless. But because they were tired. Tired of carrying the weight of a world that never wanted to be saved. They chose stillness, silence. Hiding. Some buried themselves in anonymity. Others vanished entirely, slipping between the cracks you used to mend. For them, the battle was over.

But you stayed.

You chose to.

Because even when the world turned to rot, even when Zaun choked on its own smoke and Piltover sharpened its ivory towers into weapons—there was still something left. Someone left. A spark. A chance.

And his name was Silco.

He wasn’t like your brothers. Not like the self-appointed saints of Piltover, either—those stiff, starched people who spoke in innovation and moved like they believed the world owed them gratitude for existing. Silco didn’t look at you with awe. He didn’t flinch when you spoke of time bleeding, of stitching reality like torn cloth. He didn’t stare at your eyes when they lit up with fractured visions or avoid your touch when the rewinds left your skin cold and your lips trembling.

He looked at you like a fellow survivor.

Like someone who knew what it was to crawl from the wreckage of something that should’ve killed you. Someone who didn’t flinch at the weight you carried—because he carried his own, and he recognized the shape of yours.

He was rage refined into elegance, ambition tempered by loss. His voice was gravel wrapped in silk, curling through the air like smoke and secrets. His eyes could cut glass—razor-sharp, always calculating. But when he looked at you—really looked—he softened. Just enough for you to see the man beneath the war.

“I don’t understand your power,” he admitted once, as you sat beside him on the docks, your knees drawn up, both of you watching the shimmer-stained water catch the light like fire. “I don’t need to.”

You’d looked over at him, exhaustion stitched into your features after pulling a splintered hour from the timeline and sealing it shut like a wound. “Then why trust me with it?”

Silco’s lips twitched into something like a smile. “Because every time you touch time, it screams. And yet you never run. You stay.” He paused. “I know what it means to stay.”

He never asked you to change.

He simply asked you to stay.

And gods, you did. You stayed for years.

You stood in shadowed backrooms with Sevika, arms crossed, exchanging quiet nods over maps and sabotage routes. She didn't say much at first, just eyed you with suspicion—until the night you froze a collapsing beam in midair during a mission gone wrong, long enough for her to drag a bleeding enforcer to safety. After that, she stopped calling you "Silco’s ghost-girl" and started calling you "Storm."

=

On rooftops, you sat beside Jinx under the dizzy neon of Zaun's patchwork skyline. She’d dump the guts of her bombs in your lap with zero warning and say, “I wanna make this one sing.” And you’d smile, reroute energy paths with glowing fingers, gently remind her that singing bombs are cute until they level a block. She’d grin, smeared in grease and shimmer, and nudge your shoulder. “You get it,” she’d whisper, like it was a secret only the two of you shared.

=

You were there, too, at the edge of Viktor’s workshop, long before he turned cold with obsession. You stabilized hextech when his hands trembled too badly to finish a project. He once said, “You… warp what I can only attempt to understand. How do you see it?”

“It sings,” you told him, watching the glowing core shift in your hand. “Like something remembering itself.”

=

You were there when Vander fell. You held Silco back when he would’ve thrown himself into that chaos too soon, too angry. And later, you held him in silence as he shook—not from grief, but from the terrible clarity of what came next. He was not a man built to mourn. He was a man built to rebuild—out of ash, if necessary.

=

You were then when Jayce finally broke, when the weight of progress and guilt became too much. His once bright eyes, filled with ideals and visions, had dulled to something distant. The man who had been so sure, so steadfast in his pursuit of a better Piltover, was now a man wrestling with the destruction he'd unknowingly helped create.

“I thought we could fix it,” he told you one night, his hands gripping the railing, staring at the city below, haunted. “I thought we could change everything. But now it’s too late. It’s all falling apart, and I don’t know if I can stop it.”

You stood beside him, feeling the weight of his words. “You were trying to save people, Jayce. But you can’t fix the world by pushing it into something it’s not. You have to rebuild, not just repair.”

He looked at you, eyes tired but grateful for the simple truth you gave him. “Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly, shoulders sagging. “But I don’t know where to start.”

=

You were there when Jinx shattered, too.

You found her in the dark, after everything. Knees curled to her chest, eyes wild, fingers twitching like they still held a trigger. “She left me,” she whispered. “Vi left me.”

You knelt beside her slowly. “She didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. “But it still hurts.”

You touched her arm gently, steadying her breath with the slow pulse of time settling, anchoring. “Sometimes,” you said softly, “things break and stay broken. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”

Jinx blinked at you, lips trembling. “But what if I want to break things?”

You smiled, sad and knowing. “Then break them. But do it your way. Not because the world tells you to. Not because you're angry. Break them because you have something better to build.”

=

You held Silco through it all. Through bloodstained nights, through hard decisions, through every little loss that stacked on his chest like bricks. You learned how to read the quiet moments in his breath, the tension in his hands when he was on the verge of choosing violence. You steadied him. He grounded you.

Two survivors trying to rewrite the world, one fracture at a time.

But eventually… something gave way.

Not a crack. Not a splinter.

A tear.

Time had limits. So did your body. So did love.

The world twisted into its worst version yet.

It didn’t happen all at once. It never does. Catastrophes creep in quietly—one compromise at a time, one wound ignored too long, one more secret stashed in the dark. And then, all at once, you look around and realize the ground you’re standing on isn’t ground anymore. It’s ash.

Zaun was a powder keg now. Not the kind you could diffuse. The kind with too many fuses, all burning from different angles. The shimmer trade had exploded into something unrecognizable—less about survival now, more about addiction, control, war. Children ran messages for chem-barons in the alleys you used to walk safely. People spoke of Silco with reverence and fear. They called him king, prophet, saviour.

You knew better.

Piltover responded with more walls, more weapons. “Peacekeeping,” they called it. But peace didn’t wear hextech armour and fly overhead in bladed airships. Peace didn’t come with prison cells and propaganda broadcasts. Piltover had grown sharper, harder, colder. The soft tyranny of progress now had teeth.

And in the heart of it all, Jinx unravelled.

She still laughed, but it was a jagged kind of laughter, too close to a scream. She still built things—beautiful, terrifying things—but you’d see the trembling in her hands when she thought no one was watching. The light in her eyes flickered more than it used to, like a lantern running out of oil.

You tried to reach her.

“Hey, powderbug,” you’d say, gently nudging her with your shoulder, like you used to.

Sometimes she’d grin. Sometimes she’d flinch. One day, she looked through you like you weren’t there. “I had a dream,” she muttered. “You burned. I didn’t stop it.”

You wanted to hug her. Instead, you said, “Then wake up.”

But she never really did.

=

Vi had reemerged, all fire and fists and bruises stacked like armor. She was trying—gods, she was trying—to pick up the pieces. But she was brittle. Hollowed out. You saw it in her knuckles, always split open. In the way she refused to meet Jinx’s eyes. In how she stood between Caitlyn and the world like a barrier made of guilt.

Caitlyn had changed, too. Her words were sharper, her glances darker. The justice she’d once believed in had turned into something grim. She didn’t just want to clean up Piltover anymore. She wanted to burn it down and start over. She didn’t say it out loud—but her silences screamed.

And Viktor… Viktor was dying.

You could see it in his gait, in the tremble of his fingers, in the way he worked longer, slept less, smiled rarely. He clung to hextech like a drowning man to driftwood. You helped him when you could—steadied his lab, paused flickering moments so he could breathe—but it wasn’t enough. You were slowing time for him. Not healing it.

And Sevika… Sevika drank more now. Fought more. Fell silent during meetings. She still did the work, still held the line, but there was something heavy in her. A kind of mourning that didn’t speak its name. You caught her staring at Vander’s old bar some nights, her fingers twitching like they wanted to hold a ghost.

Jayce had fallen far, too. Once the shining symbol of Piltover’s hope, now he was a shadow of that man, lost in a pit of regret and unspoken guilt. His ideals had crumbled, and all that was left was the weight of progress he couldn’t undo. You saw it in his eyes—unforgiving, unyielding—and in the way he buried himself in his work, too proud to admit that even the grandest creations couldn't heal the fractures he'd created.

But Silco?

Silco had become a king.

He wore power like a tailored suit—sharp, immaculate, dangerous. His speeches were colder now. More calculated. He talked about unity, about sacrifice, about Zaun rising—but it didn’t sound like him anymore. It sounded like something else. Like someone rehearsing a role. Like someone who had forgotten what he used to fight for.

He barely slept. Ate little. Pushed you out of meetings more and more often. Said things like “You don’t need to see this” and “Let me protect you from it.” And you knew—you knew—that wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with.

Not completely.

You tried to reach him. Again and again.

“This isn’t you,” you whispered one night, after a confrontation turned violent—when he ordered the bombing of a Piltover outpost knowing innocents would be caught in the blast. “You told me once you’d never become them.”

He lit a cigar with shaking hands, exhaled slowly. “I also told you I’d do anything to see Zaun free.”

“Even kill what’s left of yourself?”

He looked away. “If that’s the price.”

=

You watched him vanish in pieces. Day by day. Word by word.

And you? You could feel time unravelling. Not just metaphorically. Literally.

The world’s edges began to blur. Moments overlapped. The air buzzed with skipped seconds and flickering lights. You began seeing fractures—more of them, deeper, pulsing with chaotic possibility. Timelines tangled. You’d stand in one place and see two different versions of the same conversation echoing over each other. People forgot things they shouldn’t. You forgot things you shouldn’t.

And in those moments—those glimpses—you saw it. The end. Not a bang, not a war. Just… collapse. Like a structure too damaged to keep standing. Like something that had been patched too many times.

You saw Vi fall, fighting too hard for too long. You saw Jinx pull the trigger on someone she loved. You saw Viktor—gone. Sevika—alone. Caitlyn—disillusioned. You saw Jayce, broken by the weight of his own ideals, the man who once dreamed of progress now buried under the rubble of it all.

Silco… empty.

=

The future was breaking. And you could no longer fix the cracks. They were swallowing everything.

It wasn’t about Zaun anymore. It wasn’t even about Piltover.

It was about everything.

And in that moment—sitting in the shadow of a crumbling sanctuary, your fingers glowing with the last of your power—you knew what had to happen.

There was only one fix left.

And it would cost you everything.

You made a choice. A final one.

It was a decision that had been growing in the back of your mind, in the edges of every sleepless night, in the space between the cracks in time. You could feel the fractures widening, pulling the fabric of reality apart bit by bit. You could feel yourself slipping—could see the people you loved—broken, scattered, fading. And the world, too—spinning ever closer to a collapse, drawn into a black hole of its own creation.

You couldn’t fix it. Not the way you had before. You couldn’t just patch things up or slow it down, weaving through time like a fine thread, snipping and reattaching moments. This was different. This wasn’t just about pulling a piece of the puzzle back into place—it was about rebuilding the whole damned thing from the ground up.

So, you did it.

You rewrote the world.

Not a reset. Not a do-over, a chance to relive some better version of the past. It wasn’t about erasing the pain or undoing the hurt. You could feel that even as you twisted the threads of reality with the power you held in your hands. That wasn’t the answer. You weren’t trying to save the world in some naive, perfect way—you were trying to make it something else. Something more.

A sacrifice. A complete unraveling of the timeline, carefully sewn into something better. It wasn’t just about correcting mistakes. It was about reshaping everything—turning it into something that could survive this constant war between survival and destruction. You traced the fractures with glowing fingertips, feeling the tug and pull of each break, each moment that had been shattered.

The timeline—the whole history—was in pieces. You saw them all, scattered like jagged shards. You saw your friends, your loved ones, the people you cared for—their futures already lost. And in the cracks, you could feel your own essence—the very core of who you were—tearing apart. But it was the only way.

You whispered the spell that lived deep in your bones, the words that had always been a part of you, yet somehow separate from you. They were more than just magic; they were a calling. A purpose. You bent time backward—not just for a few minutes or hours—but years. The weight of it was unimaginable. Every thread you pulled felt like you were ripping yourself from the very fabric of reality. You could feel the echo of each choice, each moment you had to let go of, knowing they could never come back.

And then… you did the impossible. You tore yourself out of the weave entirely. You erased yourself—taking your presence out of the world, erasing your own existence from history. No one would remember you. No one would know your name. You became nothing, a ghost in a timeline that would continue on without you.

You fixed it.

But the price was more than you could have prepared for. More than you had ever imagined. The cost of this kind of magic—the kind that twisted reality itself—was not just steep. It was a death that wasn’t death. You didn’t fade away. You didn’t disappear in the traditional sense. You were erased. Not from memory—not from the stories—but from the timeline. Completely.

Gone. Not a trace. Not a whisper.

=

The moment you made the decision, the world shifted. Silco’s voice was frantic in your mind, but distant. You could hear him, feel him, reaching for you as if he could stop you. As if he could reach into the void and hold you back.

“Don’t do this,” his voice cracked, thick with the weight of his emotions. “You can’t—”

You could feel the desperation in him, and it nearly broke you. You knew what this would cost. Knew that you would be leaving him behind, leaving everything behind. But there was no other choice. The timeline had to be fixed. And in your heart, you knew you were doing the right thing.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking, knowing that he would never hear it. “I’ll always love you. But this is the only way.”

The tears that threatened to spill were caught in the crackling energy around you. He couldn’t reach you—not in time. Not when the world was already crumbling around you, its very existence teetering on the edge. His voice became a faraway echo, and in the distance, you felt his hand reaching for you, but you were already gone.

“You have to remember,” you whispered, even though he could never hear. “No matter what happens, remember that I love you.”

And then… there was nothing.

The world continued on. The timeline righted itself, but you were gone. You erased the cracks, healed the wounds of time—but in doing so, you left nothing but a faint echo of who you had been. No one would ever know the price you paid. No one would remember you.

And that was the way it had to be.

But somewhere in the fabric of reality, in the delicate balance between the past, present, and future, Silco might still feel the faintest pull of your presence. The smallest, most fleeting memory of someone he loved, someone who loved him, someone who had disappeared without a trace.

No one would remember. But he would feel it. He would always feel it. The love you had shared. Even if he couldn’t remember the face, the voice, or the name, he would feel you there, in the broken pieces of the world you left behind.

Now…

Vander is alive again, running the Last Drop with a fatherly warmth that fills the Undercity. The bar, once stained with blood, now echoes with laughter and the voices of children, a symbol of peace where violence once ruled.

Vi and Powder, real sisters now, bicker over weapons and patrols, their bond stronger than ever. Vi teaches Powder restraint, while Powder reminds Vi to smile. Jinx, still unpredictable, has channeled her energy into art instead of destruction, laughing genuinely for the first time in years.

Viktor walks without his cane, stabilized by the time-frozen crystal you left behind. His work flourishes, and though he never figured out where it came from, he knows it was meant for him, a final gift that allowed him to continue his life’s work.

Jayce now leads with quiet confidence, balancing ambition with humility. His focus has shifted from power to creating a better future. As a mentor to young inventors, he teaches not just how to create, but why. Though he rarely speaks of the past, he holds a quiet gratitude for the chance to build something worth fighting for.

Sevika remains a fighter, but now with a gentler touch. She trains kids and runs security for Vander, her bitterness softened by the passage of time. She lights a candle weekly, a quiet ritual she doesn’t fully understand, honoring something lost.

And Silco?

He’s not in charge anymore.

He never tried to be. Instead, he runs a sanctuary on the edge of the Undercity—a haven for orphans and lost souls. People think he went soft. They mock him in whispers. He doesn’t care. The world needs softness, now. It needs healing. He doesn’t fight the way he used to, doesn’t scheme for power, doesn’t build empires from rubble. Instead, he builds lives. He reads to the children, tells them stories of monsters and myths, of kings and queens who had fallen from grace, and one red-haired woman who could talk to the stars. He tells them about you, though he never says your name. He talks about the way you changed the world, the way you changed him.

They ask him where you went.

He never answers. The question is too sharp, too painful. He can’t bring himself to speak it aloud, because if he does, he’ll break. Every time they ask, he wonders if they’re really asking for him. If they feel the gap that you left. They do. They always will.

But every night, before he locks up, he stands at the window of his office and clutches a small, warped locket—its brass tarnished by shimmer, its edges frayed from overuse. Inside is a piece of you. Not a photo. Not a letter. Just your voice, bound to the metal by a time loop that refused to let you go.

It whispers, when the city sleeps:

“No matter what happens, remember that I love you.”

People feel you, sometimes.

In the quietest moments, they sense something—a presence, a brush against their mind, a flicker in the corner of their vision. Jinx will pause mid-laugh, eyes wide and searching, as though your silhouette just passed through her reflection. She’ll look into the mirror, the kind of look someone gives when they can’t decide if what they saw was real or a trick of the light. The moment is gone too quickly for her to voice it, but it lingers like an echo. A memory she can’t place.

Sevika, hardened by years of loss and violence, catches herself reaching for a second glass on the rare nights she lets herself unwind. She doesn't understand why. The motion is as familiar as breathing, but on those nights, when she holds the empty glass in her hand, it feels wrong. It’s as if her body remembers something her mind refuses to acknowledge.

Caitlyn, sharp-eyed and methodical, once found a carved sigil at a crime scene—a mark she couldn’t place, though it was buried deep in old surveillance footage that no longer existed. She kept it to herself, the image gnawing at her, the puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere but somehow connected to everything. The sigil was etched in a place where it shouldn’t have been—hidden among the shadows, right before something irreversible happened.

They don’t know your name.

They never will.

But they know something was there. Someone was there. A protector. A flame that flickered in the dark. A whisper of warmth in a city that had long forgotten what it felt like to be safe.

They tell stories in Zaun. Of the woman who fixed the world.

Her name, her face—lost to time. Her actions, though, they feel them in the space between their breaths, in the quiet moments of rest, in the way things have started to change. She is a ghost to them now. A myth, spoken of in hushed tones. Some call her a god, others just a memory. But whatever she is, whatever she was, her presence lingers. Like a dream that won't let go, no matter how hard they try to forget.

But Silco?

Silco remembers everything.

You had planned it so he wouldn't. You had stitched a final thread that severed all memory of you from the world, carefully binding him to a timeline that would never recall your name, your face, the quiet moments you shared. The universe had tried to erase you, to erase everything you’d been—what you had done. Yet somehow, his mind resisted. It could’ve been love, or defiance, or just the fault in his madness, but something inside him clung to the pieces of you that the rest of the world had lost.

And so, he remembers.

Even when it makes no sense. Even when the world has forgotten. Silco feels you in his bones. Your absence is a constant ache, a gnawing hunger that won’t let him rest.

You wake him in dreams, where he can almost touch you—hear your voice, feel your warmth, see the way you smiled when no one was watching. The dreams are never clear, but they’re enough to make his heart ache with a grief that has no name, a loss he can’t explain. In the quiet spaces between wakefulness and sleep, he reaches for you, but the dream always slips away before he can grasp it.

You sit beside him in silence. There are nights when he can feel your presence next to him, so real, so vivid that he almost expects to hear your breath, feel your weight on the bed beside him. But when he turns, you’re not there. Still, the space you left behind is filled with something—an energy, a pull, a connection.

You are the lullaby that ends every story he tells the children. Not one they can hear, but one he sings in the quiet of his mind. The stories he tells of monsters and myths, of a world that could have been and the one he is trying to build. He never speaks your name out loud. He can’t. You are a ghost, a memory wrapped in time, but your presence is undeniable.

When he stares at the sky, his fingers curl around the locket, the one piece of you left behind, tarnished by shimmer, frayed from overuse. It’s the only part of you he has now. The only thing that keeps you tethered to this world.

And as he stands there, clutching the locket, his lips shape the memory of you. The words come as naturally as breathing, though he never says them aloud.

“If you remember anything… remember I loved you.”

It’s a fire that burned twice, once in the depths of Zaun, and again in the heart of the man who would never let you go, no matter how far you were from him. No matter how many lifetimes passed. And in that moment, even though the world may not know your name, Silco does. He always will. Because you are the woman who burned twice—once as the flame that lit his way, and once again as the ember that never truly left.