#and it ends up just being. exhausting. anyway

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[thewidowsledger]

Midnight Rain

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Fuck buddy Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Fuck buddy Student!Female Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags | Warnings: Angst, bit of fluff, deep talks, no happy ending but a realistic one, this is a self-respect fic y'all don't expect part two or anything

Author's Note: Just a random short product of procrastination

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

"Why? Aren't you enjoying…this?"

"Nat, I do. I swear. But I feel like I am regretting all of it."

"Your post-nut clarity is crazy babe." Natasha joked, your cheeks heated up in embarrassment but you just laughed it off once again.

⧗

Finally, it was the end of your long and tiring graveyard shift, you step out of the school building, exhausted and worn out. You pull out your phone, seeing multiple missed calls and texts from Natasha.

"Where are you, babe?"

"Can I see you? I just got back from a mission."

"Where are you, Y/N?"

"Do you have uni today or tonight? I told you to send me your schedule."

"Text back, please."

"I miss you."

"I'm in your uni :)))"

As soon as you step out of the university gate, you see her sports car parked outside, the engine purring quietly. You hurry towards the car, a few students from your year noticed and started whispering to each other, pointing towards Natasha's Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. You can feel your cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as you quickly slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door beside you.

"Hey there, cutie." She reaches over to give your leg a gentle squeeze before focusing back on the road. "Long day?"

You nod tiredly in response to Natasha's question. "Mhm, felt endless. How have you been? I never got any calls from you after you left me that night." You lean back against the leather seat, turning your face towards the window so that she won't see the disappointment in your face but is evident in your voice.

"Sorry, baby. You know, the world calls for me."

You just hummed, it's not that you can demand for more of her anyway.

⧗

You and Natasha had been watching TV on the couch in your apartment, slowly drinking the wine she bought. You found yourselves making out heavily. She had picked you up, wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you off to your room. Then one thing led to another.

The next morning, you wake up to the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, and a strange feeling in your lower region. As you slowly open your eyes, you realize you're completely naked, and so is Natasha, sleeping soundly beside you under the duvet covers of your bed. You made sure to slowly get up and dress yourself with your favorite sweater you arbored from one of the world's mightiest hero, then you went straight to the kitchen to cook some breakfast.

While you're busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast—the smell of bacon and fresh coffee filling the room—Natasha wakes up, stretches lazily, and watches you from the bed. She props herself up on one elbow, admiring your focused expression as you cook. "Good morning...smells amazing here."

Natasha slides out of bed, she dresses herself up and pads softly into the kitchen behind you. She wraps her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Need any help, gorgeous?" Her voice is still husky with sleep.

"Get the plates and prep the table. And sit pretty for me."

She chuckles softly before reaching on top of your cabinets, her height towering you. You turned around only to be trapped by her, you giggled and hit her chest playfully before moving around her to put her coffee and your milk down the table.

It was so out of the blue, you two were okay as you both dug into the breakfast you made. Natasha was telling you about how she caused a circuit problem on Tony Stark's suit and how she had to sing for the Hulk for him to calm down. You two were joking and being playful around, but all of a sudden it changed.

"I don't think this is for me." You laughed it off, but there was more to your words.

Natasha suddenly frowned, her mood dropping down. "What do you mean?"

"I…I just-I feel guilty." You muttered, flashing a small awkward smile towards her.

"Why? Aren't you enjoying…this?"

"Nat, I do. I swear. But I feel like I am regretting all of it."

"Your post-nut clarity is crazy babe." Natasha joked, your cheeks heated up in embarrassment but you just laughed it off once again. The redhead immediately noticed making herself feel bad about it, then the tension became finally really serious, Natasha cannot help but ask. "Why? Why do you feel that way?"

"I just…I just feel like I am losing respect for myself with this kind of set up. I don't think this is for me, beb." Your voice was raw with vulnerability.

"So, what do you want to happen?" She asks in a flash, you laughed to make the atmosphere lighter, which always worked.

"Wait, my dialogue is not yet done." You smiled, you were still trying to sort things out in your mind but you have been thinking about this for some time now.

You told her that you feel like you aren't made for a fuck buddy type of relationship. You will not call what happened to you both a mistake, but an experience. Somehow, Natasha felt bad since she was the one who offered to be fuck buddies but you kept reassuring her that you agreed to it in your own will.

You and Natasha met in a bar while partying, both of you were hard drinkers and accidentally something happened between both of you that night due to drunkenness. You didn't even realize that she was the Black Widow not until you ended up being in the Avengers compound.

Natasha said that she wasn't ready for commitment and you agreed being so focused on your studies and side job—from there your relationship or set up rather, started.

"I don't know, I just feel sorry for myself. I pity myself." All playfulness instantly drains from her face. She's completely taken aback, her brain momentarily stopping from processing. "This type of set up isn't for me, I cannot keep up. I know I wasn't looking for something serious because of the demands of my study and my job but I didn't know that it would change."

You stare at her for a long moment, your eyes searching hers. You then gave her a faint smile.

"I am not made for relationships like this, I don't think I can still do this anymore. I think I am ready for something serious, a relationship where I can respect myself. I want to be with someone genuinely, not this shallow. I finally want someone to know me for who I am. I know you are interested and attracted to me, Nat. But now I am yearning for a deeper connection. Like I hope you knew I do digital arts, I sculpted, I do paintings and I love films before you saw my body. I wish you saw all the arts I made before you get to touch me. You don't even know I can sing and dance, you don't know that I play volleyball." You look defeated, like a weight has been pressing down on you for so long and you're finally allowed to collapse but still, you gave the redhead a warm genuine smile.

"That's all. I just feel like I am wasting myself in this when I am genuinely so much more, Nat." You tried to hold your tears back, biting your inner lip but the smile on your face never faded away.

You sit there, waiting for her to say something—anything. You want her to look at you and confess that she wants the same things you do. All this time you have been hinting her that. But the silence is deafening. It's telling you everything you need to hear. The longer she remains quiet, the more your heart sinks.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just don't think it is for me, you know, love? " She cannot even say the word without grimacing, but you gave her an understanding smile.

"I know you'll find someone that will make you feel that it is for you."

It was bittersweet. You two are on a different page now. And somehow, that's okay—it's not that you can ask her to be the person to make her feel that love is indeed for her anyway. You wanted something more but she stayed the same.

[scoupsakakitty]

Knock Knock | idol!s.coups x idol!reader | angst

The cool night air brushed against Y/N’s face as she walked through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, her phone held up as she went live for her fans. The city buzzed softly around her distant car engines, faint chatter, and the rhythmic sound of her footsteps on the pavement. She’d just finished an intense dance practice, her muscles aching but her spirit still lively as she interacted with her fans.

Her smile, however, didn’t fully reach her eyes.

Every now and then, her gaze flickered nervously over her shoulder, her footsteps slowing slightly. Her breath hitched, though she tried to mask it with small laughs, brushing off the tension with casual comments. But her fans weren’t blind.

“Why do you keep looking back?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“Is someone following you?”

She swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, her voice thinner than usual. But her eyes told a different story wide, alert, and filled with fear.

She kept walking, her heart pounding faster with each step. The feeling of being watched grew heavier, like a shadow clinging to her back. Eventually, she stopped mid-sentence, glancing back one more time, her face tense.

Then she spoke, her voice firm despite the tremble. “I just want to say this,” she began, her fingers tightening around her phone, “it’s not okay to follow idols. It’s not okay to make us feel unsafe. Sasaengs are not fans.”

The chat exploded, filled with worried messages, but Y/N didn’t linger on the topic. She sighed, trying to shake off the fear as she approached her apartment building. She entered quickly, locking the door behind her with trembling hands. She leaned against it for a moment, taking deep breaths before forcing herself to smile again for the live.

“Anyway,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt, “let’s talk about something else.”

She chatted about rehearsals, upcoming schedules, random funny stories anything to drown out the lingering fear in her chest. But then—

Ding dong.

Her doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her face went pale, her breath catching in her throat. The chat exploded again:

“Who is that?”

“Did someone follow you home?!”

“Y/N, don’t open the door!”

A few seconds later knock, knock, knock.

Louder. More urgent.

Panic surged through her veins. She stood up, her phone shaking slightly in her hand as she approached the door cautiously.

The live glitched for a moment, pausing briefly as her phone started ringing. She flinched at the sound, staring at the caller ID. An unknown number. Her heart sank.

She declined the call, but it rang again almost immediately.

When she finally answered, her voice was barely a whisper. “Please… just go away.”

Her hands trembled uncontrollably. She didn’t even realize her live was still going viewers watching every terrifying second.

Eventually, she grabbed her phone, her face filled with fear and exhaustion, and ended the live without saying another word.

Seungcheol had been watching the live from his apartment, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment the screen went black, he didn’t hesitate.

He was already grabbing his jacket, his keys jingling in his shaky hands as he rushed out the door. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, panic clouding his thoughts.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

It took him less than 15 minutes to get to her apartment, speeding through the empty Seoul streets, his heart beating louder than the car’s engine.

When he arrived, he didn’t even bother with the elevator. He sprinted up the stairs, his legs burning but his fear pushing him forward.

When he reached her door, he banged on it, his voice raw with worry. “Y/N! It’s me! Open up, please!”

The door creaked open slowly, and there she was.

Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She didn’t say a word just looked at him with broken eyes, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she broke down, sobbing into his chest. Her fingers clutched his jacket desperately, like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I’m here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Seungcheol kept whispering comforting words, running his hand gently through her hair, trying to steady her breathing. He felt her tears soak through his shirt, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was alive, that she was here.

But then—

Flash.

A sudden burst of light from outside the hallway window.

Seungcheol’s body tensed instantly. He turned his head sharply, just in time to see a figure disappearing around the corner a camera still faintly visible in their hand.

His jaw clenched. His heart raced with a different kind of fear now anger.

Without a word, he guided Y/N back inside, locking the door securely behind them. His mind was racing. The photo. Their secret. The world would know.

Y/N seemed to realize it too because she mumbled through her tears, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. This is my fault. Now they’ll know. Your career—”

“Hey,” Seungcheol interrupted, cupping her face gently, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were soft but filled with determination. “I don’t care about any of that. You hear me? I don’t care if the whole world finds out. The only thing that matters to me is you. That you’re safe.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time they weren’t just from fear they were from relief.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he whispered, pulling her back into his arms. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Later, as they lay in her bed, Y/N clung to him tightly, her body still trembling with the remnants of fear. Seungcheol held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively. He whispered softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back.

“It’s okay now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She eventually drifted off to sleep in his arms, her breathing slow and steady against his chest. Seungcheol stayed awake for a long time, watching over her, his heart still heavy with worry but also filled with love.

Because nothing else mattered.

Not the photo.

Not the rumors that would come.

Not the world.

Just her.

————————————————————————————-

[firelxdykatara]

The thing that always hits me about season 5 is like... Buffy is just so fucking tired.

It comes on gradually, and of course season 6 is widely known for Buffy's depression arc, but the seeds are well and truly planted in the season before it because I think season 5 is when it truly starts to hit her that... she was never supposed to live this long.

Because throughout history, Slayers have been incredibly short-lived. They make it to adulthood if they're very lucky, and at the age of 23 Buffy is officially the longest-lived Slayer in history. At 20, she had already well surpassed the average, and she's really starting to feel it. It's no coincidence that this is the season when she starts giving up on the life of the normal girl she'd been so doggedly clinging to, refusing to give up just because she's the Slayer, since season 1. She drops out of college, her mom dies, Riley leaves (and she didn't even love him but he was something normal and good and she couldn't help but cling to him even when she knew she shouldn't and no thanks to Xander's terrible fucking advice but ANYWAY), she has nothing but being the Slayer and taking care of her sister--who isn't truly her sister but finding that out doesn't matter because she is in all the ways that count.

And she's tired. Because she's just one girl, one woman, with the weight of the world on her shoulders--and every other Slayer in history was eventually crushed by it, killed by the very darkness they were destined to fight (and die fighting), most of them never even making it this far. So she's standing there, hearing Dawn tell her that she has to let her go, to let her sacrifice herself to save the world because it's what she was created for, it's the only way- and she remembers.

Death is your gift.

And on the face of it, yeah, her death is the gift she gives to her sister to ensure she lives, and to her friends and the world to ensure they are not consumed. But also? Death is her gift. And it's not just realization dawning on her face in the rising sun--it's relief.

Because finally, finally, she can just let go.

She doesn't have to fight anymore. She doesn't have to suffer, or lose anyone else, or lose more pieces of herself. She can just stop. She can just rest.

Because the universe calls for one single champion, one teenage girl in all the world to fight all the powers of darkness and evil. And at the end of it all, the world offers her nothing in return except this--true and final peace. Death is her gift, and she rushes to meet it and she thinks finally, finally, she can just stop fighting. Stop everything. The world will be ok without her, there's always someone else to take up the mantle. She doesn't have to be the one everyone else is counting on. And she's so exhausted and so ready.

And then she wakes up in her own coffin. And all that suffering she thought she'd finally been allowed to escape crashes down on her a hundred fold, and of course she would stagger under its weight. But I think deep down some part of her blamed herself even for that. Because she'd been so ready to give up, stop fighting, end her own torment and then... her friends needed her back so badly that they ripped her from the only sliver of true peace she'd known since her Calling, and how could she say they were wrong for it when she feels so very wrong to her core for being so ready to let go in the first place?

Idk where I'm going with this, just feeling a lot of emotions about Buffy Fucking Summers today I guess.

[definitelynotshouting]

have you considered an in stars and time au where grian is looping through the events of one of the third life series and the loops don't end until he figures out a way to get everyone out without dying

WELL IM CONSIDERING IT NOW...👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

on the one hand im forever obsessed with stories where you try and try and try to change something but the first time around is how it MUST go, how it was always going to be, no do-overs no try-agains no last ditch hail mary's. when both everything and nothing has been changed. theres something just so utterly heartwrenching in being confronted with the fact that you CANT change things, not really, not the way you wish you could. that you have to let it really slip away this time. that you have to accept this tragedy and let go one last time, and find your peace with that. smth smth being haunted by the time loop and a past you can never truly escape

on the other hand the feel-good catharsis of trying and trying and tearing yourself apart to get the others out and then SUCCEEDING does make me feel ABSOLUTE SHRIMP EMOTIONS AUAAGHHHHH........... the idea of grian refusing to stop, reliving 3rd life over and over and over again until he can get the others out and fix this-- whether its being captured by watchers or a runaway glitch or something-- is just so utterly haunting in its own right too 🥺🥺🥺🥺 imagine getting bailed out of a game you were eager to play too early to actually play it and when you try to ask the friend who put it together he just looks tired, so weary and exhausted and broken. sorry youve made me insane now anon i am absolutely thinking of this now as like the aftermath of grian frantically trying to fix a glitch before everyone turns on each other and gets killed again and has to rollback the server if someone permanently dies. sits here. thinks about grian forcing himself to wait after someone's death in case this is the trick to figuring out how to solve the glitch. ouhhhhhgghhhhhhgg IM SO NORMAL IM SO NORMAL RN

ANYWAY if u want more than just a few deranged ramblings from me u should absolutely check out @isjasz and @kunehokki 's au In Stars and Lives if you havent already, it seems like itd be right up your alley!!! its a lovely au that puts some of the lifers into a more distinctly isat setting and i had the pleasure of helping with dialogue for a comic!!! :DDD o7 anon thank u for the brainrot!!!

[raingems-blog]

Die first

Warnings: Angst, death, grief, brief suicidal ideation. Not proof read.

Summary: Reader dealing with grief after the loss of Victoria.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Mourning, that was the last thing you had expected to do but here you were, sitting at the grave site of your wife Victoria. In a strange way, you had seen this coming. The minute she had decided to align herself with Homelander after sending Stan to prison, you knew that it would only end badly.

Homelander was arrogant, that was something you could tell simply from a single interaction. Behind the smile that had never reached his eyes and cold dead eyes that unnerved you, you could see that stability was not something that he possessed. You had argued with Victoria, pleaded with her not to work with him, to take the out that Hughie was constantly offering her, but she dismissed it, insisting that this was for the security of you and Zoe's future, for your family's future.

Then as predicted, it all went wrong. Homelander had exposed Victoria live on air and you rushed backstage to check on her. Love made way to rage and protective instincts lead you to cuss Homelander in every language that you could think of. Strangely, he did not kill you or hurt you, you swore that their was a flicker of respect? It didn't matter, you didn't want it.

You didn't anticipate how quickly downhill everything would go. In your shock, you had crawled to your wife who was no longer whole. Blood staining your clothing, Her blood. It stained the fabric a crimson that you had never once anticipated it would, yet as you crawled to her corpse and gently took the ring off her still warm finger, it stained you.

You hated this state, this city this country. You wanted to move, but you couldn't. This was where Victoria was, where she lay. Where the only life you had ever known was. Zoe had long fallen asleep in your arms, head in your lap after exhausting herself from crying. Being a single parent was not something you had wanted but it's what you were given and you tried desperately to give Zoe some semblance of normalcy after losing her mother in such a traumatic way.

As you stared at the headstone stone that held her name, held her titles as a mother, wife and vice president elect, you couldn't help but remember a conversation that you had had a month earlier. You had both been laid in bed, staring into those beautiful big brown doe eyes that you loved when you had suddenly asked:

"Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn't been given given compound V as a baby, if your parents were still alive and if you had simply just gotten to be Nadia instead of Victoria?"

Victoria had looked at you with a completive look, thinking about her answer before she spoke.

"Sometimes, but I gave up that wishful thinking years ago in Red River, I learnt pretty quickly that it didn't do much good to ponder on the 'what ifs'," She stared at you with tenderness that you had seen many times before. "Besides, I wouldn't have met you."

"I'd like to think that we would meet anyway, that we'd meet in every universe and in every life, I'd always come back to you." You had replied, a warm smile gracing your face. Your voice became a whisper as your next words left your lips. "Promise me that if you go first, that you'd come back and haunt me as a ghost?"

This had caused Victoria to laugh, a genuine one that you've heard so many times, one that you had the privilege of drawing out of those lips frequently. "Are you sure you'd want me to haunt you? I Don't think I'd be a good ghost frankly."

The laughter died down and she had looked at you with nothing but adoration and love, a devotion to you that no one else received. "Yes, I promise to haunt you if I do die first, even if I'd be an annoying poltergeist."

You couldn't help but feel angry that she hadn’t kept that promise, even if it was rather irrational. Instead, she haunted you with the lingering scent on her clothing and the bedsheets that you couldn't change, the remaining jewelry that she would never wear again. The leftover food that she didn't get to eat, the pictures that hung on the walls throughout the house that no longer felt like a home, just a tomb of the life you had once lived with the woman who you had said I love you to on the daily.

You no longer had tears to cry, the only thing left is a revolving door of feelings that switched between feeling numb and wanting to follow her to the grave. Had it not been for Zoe, you would have. You would have followed her in death, had a casket that would have laid beside hers, but you couldn't. You had a child to take care of and a life to live, no matter how shattered it had become. It was only for Zoe that you would go on, just for your daughter that Victoria would never get to see grow or graduate. You'd do it for her, do it for them, even if it hurt to breathe air that your soulmate could no longer breathe.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

My first attempt at a fanfiction guys, I hope you like it.

[celestialgallaghers]

Bruised Ego [18+]

Oasis brain rot has consumed me so badly i’m sorry.

Summary: Tagging along on tour with Oasis should’ve been amazing. And it was except for one major problem: Liam. You two don’t get on well and being stuck around him for days on end makes it worse. After a particularly ruthless offense on your end, Liam plots his revenge. 

Word count: 7.1k

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Your ears were ringing, the vibrations of the music still thrumming through your body. Being on tour with Oasis was fun. Ecstatic, even. The energy in the venues was unbelievable. Thousands and thousands of fans screamed, shouted, and practically worshipped the band. And somehow, they all seemed to remain relatively level-headed. I.e. they weren't divas. 

Well, most of them weren't. 

Liam was often brash and unpredictable. It was amazing that he and Noel were even related. 

You’d met Noel way back in his roadie days and the two of you had shared some good fuckin’ laughs. He was fun to be around, never taking shit too seriously. Sure he could be a cocky bastard too, but it was in a loveable way. Liam, on the other hand, was anything but. 

Over the years, you’d become part of Noel’s inner circle. You knew his friends, his girlfriends, his dealer, everything. It was inevitable that Liam would have to be part of that picture too. 

Your first impression of him was that he was a bit standoffish. He stood about, not saying much. Mostly lingered in the background, drink in hand, tossing out the occasional quip. In the beginning you didn’t mind him. However when the band really started to take off and you began hanging around more, he changed. Became more self assured and loud-mouthed. Suddenly, avoiding him wasn’t so easy. Before, you only had to put up with him at the pub or a gig, and even then, he was tolerable. Running his mouth? You walked away. Being more annoying than usual? Another pint solved that. You had ways of drowning him out.

That all changed when you found yourself stuck on a tour bus for endless hours with him. 

You’d been a fan of Oasis since their genesis. Well, since Noel joined anyway. So when they exploded all over the world, you didn’t think twice when he asked if you wanted to join for a leg of the tour. In hindsight, maybe you should've thought it through more. 

You and Liam had never exactly seen eye to eye, but the tour had amplified every little irritation. It had started small. Accusing you of stealing his lighter (you didn’t), calling your taste in music “shite”, or nicking your sunglasses. You gave as good as you got, though. A well-placed jab about his ego or a quip about how Noel carried the band usually did the trick.

Then there were the more vicious moments. Like the time you’d shared a hotel wall and he refused to turn down his music, no matter how many times you banged on the wall. Or when he told a reporter you were just some groupie who wouldn’t leave, which led to a shouting match so loud that even Noel had to step in. And of course the night he’d implied that your friendship with Noel was something more, which was completely untrue.

It was exhausting, infuriating, and completely unavoidable. No matter how much you tried to ignore him, Liam had a way of pulling you into his orbit whether you liked it or not.

Tonight’s show had been another insanely loud and energetic one, but something was clearly pissing Liam off. You’d taken on the simple job of handing them towels after the gig, and the scowl on his face almost made you laugh. And right now, as he sulked in the post-show haze, you had a feeling he was about to throw a fit over something ridiculous. By now you’d learned how to interpret Liam-isms. After being in eachothers pockets for so long, it was practically second nature. But that meant you also knew how to push his buttons, almost as well as Noel did. 

You handed off the last towel and followed everyone back into the dressing room. Another thing you loved about Oasis? Every single show ended with everyone getting completely pissed and going a bit mad. Absolute mayhem. And you loved every second of it. As you made your way through the door, you noticed Liam was already sulking in the corner. Everyone else ignored him, too busy cracking open bottles and flicking lighters. The air was thick with smoke and sweat. 

Someone handed you a beer, and you perched on the edge of a rickety couch. You’d learned the hard way not to trust the surfaces of dressing room couches. Some things were better left unknown. 

Noel found you, and the two of you clinked bottles. 

“Great show tonight,” you said, taking a swig. “They were screamin’ proper loud. I think my ears will be ringing for a week.” Noel chuckled but before he could even open his mouth, Liam mumbled something from the corner.

You turned your head toward him. “What?”

“Said if you don’t like it, you can leave” Liam repeated, his expression growing more and more agitated. “No one’s askin’ you to hang round”

You scoffed. The audacity of this man never ceased to amaze you. “Don’t be an arsehole, Liam,” you said, disdain dripping from every syllable.

Noel just stood there, vaguely amused. He had always appreciated your ability to handle Liam’s antics, no matter how insufferable they could be. Liam, on the other hand, just glowered. 

“No, really,” he said, shoving himself to his feet and shuffling over. “What exactly is it that you’re doin’ here? You’re just in it for the free ride.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned toward Noel, speaking as if Liam weren’t even there. “What crawled up his arse?” Noel smirked and took a slow sip of his beer. “Dunno. But whatever it is, it’s been there a while.”

Ignoring Liam was probably a mistake. “No, I’m seriously askin’ you,” voice sharpening. “What’s the real reason you hang around?”

You blinked, caught off guard for just a second. Was he serious? Now you were starting to get properly pissed off.

“You know damn well why I’m here so don’t act thick,” you snapped, trying to keep your voice level. “Noel asked me to come, and I said yes. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him.” 

Noel, ever the instigator, simply shrugged. “Yeah, Liam. Thought you liked when people actually wanna be around us.”

Liam ignored him, eyes still locked on you. “You don’t even do anything,” he shot back, sneering. “All you do is hand us the towels and take up space.” 

Your fingers tightened around the bottle in your hand. 

“Fuck you, Liam.” 

His expression twisted into something smug as he watched you rise to leave. And then, like the complete tosser he was, he moved to the door, blocking your exit.

“Oh, so you’re gonna run away now? Like you always do?” His voice dripped with condescension.

You glared up at him. Unfortunately, he was taller than you. Significantly taller. You tried to push past him, but he shifted, making it even harder.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, that insufferable smirk creeping onto his face.

“Let me through, Liam.” Your voice was quiet, but laced with pure rage. You were not in the mood to get into a screaming match tonight. He stood his ground, so you put all of your body weight into shoving him out of my way. He barely budged. 

This only seemed to amuse him. “And what if I don’t?” he challenged, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips. 

You clenched your jaw. You knew you shouldn’t do it. You really shouldn’t do it. But he was leaving you no choice.

Before you could overthink it, you brought your knee up. Hard.

A strangled gasp escaped him as he doubled over, finally allowing you to move past. The sound of laughter and jeers echoed behind you as you stormed off, gripping your beer tight. You needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere to stew. And maybe have a cigarette of two. 

You found a quiet, secluded corner and let out a deep sigh, still fuming. You were mad. Not just at Liam, but at yourself for letting him get under your skin so easily. His words replayed in your mind. “Free ride.” Bastard. Sure, you supposed tagging along with the band might look like freeloading to him, but to accuse you of just taking up space? That stung. Noel was your friend. He was the one that asked you to come, not Liam. If Liam had a problem with that he should’ve said something sooner, not as we were nearing the end of the tour. 

You leaned back against a cool concrete ledge, letting the chill seep into your skin. The air here was quiet, calm. Something you desperately needed after the chaos of the dressing room.

You fished a cigarette out of your pocket and placed it between your lips, willing the nicotine to ease the knot of irritation in your chest. Halfway through your second one, you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching.

They slowed as they neared, hesitating. Your gaze remained firmly fixed ahead. You knew exactly who it was. His stupid cologne gave him away. Liam. Of course. Something told you Noel had forced him to come find you. 

He cleared his throat loudly, as if demanding your attention.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

“Brilliant. Nice to see you too,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do you think, genius? I want to talk to you. You’re the one who kneed me in the bollocks, remember?”

You scoffed, flicking ash off your cigarette. “Yeah and you deserved it.” 

Liam’s scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. He knew he deserved it a bit, but would never admit it. He gritted his teeth before replying. 

“You didn’t have to be so violent about it.” 

“Yeah well you didn’t have to be such a dick either” you shot back, finally turning your head to look at him. 

Liam felt a surge of frustration and annoyance. He didn’t like being scolded and less being told he was wrong. 

“I wasn’t even being that bad,” he retorted with a scoff. “You’re the one who overreacted.”

“Yeah sure ok Liam” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like you were deliberately trying to wind me up or anything.”

Liam folded his arms, clearly annoyed but unsure how to counter that. Instead, he moved to sit on the ledge you’d claimed. A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again, his tone carrying just a hint of mockery.

“You could at least apologize for almost castrating me,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been a grin if he weren’t so irritated.

You sat up, looking at him with a deadpan expression. “Fine. I’m sorry for kneeing you in the balls.” It wasn’t sincere and he knew it. But you really didn’t want to waste your night fighting with him yet again.

“Drinks to make it better?” you offered, gesturing toward the dressing room.

He narrowed his eyes at you, still skeptical, but eventually relented with a small huff. “Fine. You owe me for that one.”

“Atta boy,” you said, patting his leg as you slid off the ledge.

“Don’t mock me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” you teased, noting how he was still wincing. “I didn’t get you that bad.”

“You definitely did!” he retorted, irritation mounting. “I’ll be sterile for the rest of my life now, thanks to you”

“Maybe that's for the best,” you said under your breath.

“What was that?” His head whipped toward you, eye’s narrowing.

“Nothing” you huffed. “Let’s all just hope and pray that the mighty Liam Gallagher's dick still works.”

“Oh piss off,” he grumbled. 

You snorted at that. Men were so touchy when it came to their dick. It honestly amused you. 

“Fine, fine,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll find you some ice for that, yeah?” 

“Don’t bother,” he grumbled. “I’m fine.”

But your eyes flicked down, catching the way he subtly adjusted himself, clearly still nursing the ache.

“Sure you are,” you replied, biting back a grin. “How bout that drink, then?”

Without waiting for a reply, you headed back toward the dressing room, hearing his footsteps reluctantly follow behind. True to your word, you fixed him a drink. By the time you handed it to him, his scowl had softened slightly, though you knew it’d be a while before he dropped the whole thing.

❦ ❦ ❦

The night stretched on, the room a blur of laughter, music, and the occasional drunken shout. People drifted in and out, and you, now properly drunk, had completely pushed the earlier incident to the back of your mind. 

What you didn’t notice, however, was the way Liam had been watching you from across the room, his gaze sharp, unreadable. There was still a flicker of irritation in his eyes, though now it was laced with something else. He’d slowly been plotting a way to get a bit of payback throughout the night.

You stood up suddenly, stretching. “Right, I’m going for a piss,” you announced, making your way toward the bathroom.

Liam’s eyes tracked you, and as soon as you disappeared behind the door, he quickly drained the rest of his drink and pushed himself off the couch. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he strolled after you, slipping through the bathroom door quietly.

He saw you, but you hadn’t noticed him. A small thrill of satisfaction ran through him. He leaned against the door, making sure it was securely shut. A quick scan of the bathroom confirmed that you were all alone.

You’d just finished washing your hands when the sound of someone clearing their throat made you freeze. Your head snapped up, and through the mirror, you locked eyes with him.

“What the fuck, Liam?”

His smirk widened at your obvious surprise. He leaned lazily against the door, arms folded across his chest, exuding a sort of casual arrogance that set your nerves on edge.

“Just checking in on you, mate,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Would hate for something to happen to you.” 

“You didn’t need to follow me in here, you creep.”

Liam just chuckled, completely unfazed. “Just making sure you weren’t up to anything. You know, plotting which band member to incapacitate next.”

You rolled your eyes, but something about the way he was watching you, like he was waiting for a reaction, made you uneasy. You suddenly felt vulnerable with your back to him.

“What are you getting at?” you asked, turning around slowly to face him.

Liam tilted his head slightly, considering you. He could see the flicker of suspicion in your eyes, and that only fueled his amusement. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

A strange tension settled in the air. The bathroom suddenly felt much smaller. You still had no idea what he was up to, but didn’t want to stick around and find out. You eyed the door, trying to plan an escape, but it seemed like you were really truly trapped in here with him. 

Liam caught the way your gaze flickered toward the door. “You’re not actually thinking of running out on me after I’ve been so considerate, are you?” His tone was mockingly hurt. “That’d be a bit rude.”

You sighed, tilting your head. “Just trying to figure out what it is you want.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, feigning innocence. “What? Can’t a guy just have a friendly chat?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Is this about earlier? I thought we’d moved past that.”

Liam scoffed. “Just returning the favor, me. You know, since you nearly ended my bloodline earlier.” 

You snorted. “What, you gonna punch me in the vagina or something?”

Liam let out a short, amused chuckle and shook his head. “Nah, that’s a bit daft, don’t you think? There are… much more creative ways to get back at someone.” 

Your gaze sharpened, suspicion flaring. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took his time, pretending to consider his options, drawing out the moment just to see the flicker of impatience cross your face. 

Then, he leaned forward slightly, dropping his tone low, almost whisper-like.

“What if I just lock the door?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “Keep you right here with me for a while.”

The air in the bathroom shifted.

You could still hear muffled sounds from the dressing room outside, but inside this tiny, enclosed space, it was just the two of you. The weight of his words lingered, heavy between you.

You held his gaze, refusing to waver. “Oh yeah?” Your voice was steady, but there was a challenge in it. “And why would you wanna do that?”

Liam’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. He could hear the defiance in your voice, but he could also see the way your fingers twitched slightly, the way you shifted just the tiniest bit where you stood. He pushed himself off the door, taking a slow step towards you. 

“Oh, you know, just to enjoy your company a little longer. It’s been a while since we had some… alone time.”

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to scoff. But Liam caught it. You turned away slightly, arms crossing over your chest in a weak attempt at indifference. But it was too late. He’d seen the heat creeping up the back of your neck, the way your shoulders tensed just slightly. Because you knew exactly what he was referring to.

That night.

Months ago, in a dimly lit pub, Liam had sworn up and down he could outdrink everyone. It had started with an innocent enough bet: who could drink the most pints before tapping out. Classic, stupid, testosterone-fueled entertainment. But as the night went on, it became less about the booze and more about Liam’s ego.

“I could drink you under the fuckin’ table, mate,” he’d slurred, pointing a lazy finger at you across the sticky wooden bar top.

“You’re already halfway there, Liam,” you’d shot back, smirking as he swayed slightly on his stool.

Noel had been pissing himself laughing in the corner, watching as his brother made a fool of himself.

Somehow, you and Liam had been the last ones standing. That’s when things got messy. The two of you had spent hours running wild through the streets, fueled by booze, drugs, and reckless abandon, only to end up in his bed the next morning. 

Neither of you had spoken about it since. You hadn’t been sure he even remembered. He never let on or made a jest about it, so you pretended that it didn’t even happen. It was easier that way. Easier to hate him than to… well you didn’t really know. It was a feeling you were too scared to explore and something told that going down that road would be detrimental.  

But now, standing here, Liam watching you with that smug, knowing look, the memory felt a little too close.

His eyes flicked over your expression, smirk widening. “You remember that night, don’t you?” His voice was slow, deliberate. “It’s a bit blurry for me, but some moments I remember quite vividly.” 

He took a step closer, and you willed yourself not to react.  You met his gaze evenly, forcing an unimpressed scoff. “We’re not doing that again,” you said flatly. Then, for good measure, you added, “And from what I recall, you were quite unremarkable.”

It was a blatant lie. 

“Hm,” he hummed, tilting his head as if in thought. “Funny, that’s not what I remember.” He took another step forward. Slow. Measured. “The sounds you made were pretty unforgettable, I must say.”

Your stomach flipped. You’d been caught. There was no escaping this. Memories that you’d forbidden yourself to think about were now rushing to the surface at an alarming rate, making you flush all over.

He was only a few feet away now, closing in. You were running out of space, out of room to breathe.

“Not. Happening.” 

The words came out strong, firm, but your heart was hammering against your ribs, betraying you. He could see right through it.

His gaze locked onto yours, eyes dark and unreadable. The tension was thick, pressing in from all sides. When you instinctively moved back, your lower back met the cool edge of the sink, stopping you in your tracks.

Shit.

Liam let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer until he was nearly flush against you. The heat rolling off him was overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” His voice was lower now, teasing. “Not even a little bit interested?”

He brought his hands to either side of the sink, caging you in. You swallowed hard.

“Liam.”

It was supposed to be a warning, a firm line in the sand. But it came out softer, almost pleading. You winced at yourself.

His smirk grew. He’d caught it.

Your eyes flickered down to his mouth, slightly parted, lips plush and so damn close. He licked them absently, and the tip of his tongue just barely grazed you. A small, sharp inhale escaped before you could stop it.

Your breath mingled with his, the gap between you shrinking, pulling you into some inevitable gravitational force. He smelled like beer, sweat, and something distinctly Liam. Something intoxicating.

Your brain was screaming at you to walk away. To push him off. To regain control of the situation. But the alcohol and sudden lust in your bloodstream were drowning out those voices, leaving behind only heat, impulse, and the undeniable truth that this was a losing battle.

One second you're standing there, locked in a tug of war, and the next, your mouth was crashing into his with bruising force. A sigh of relief escaped your throat, unbidden, as if your body had been waiting for this moment all along.

Liam, the bastard, smirked into the kiss, because of course he would. He presses back with equal if not more force. His hands move from the sink to your waist, pinning you against the cool porcelain. Your hands fly up, grasping the back of his neck, desperate for balance, for something to ground you. 

Then he does it. His tongue flicking over your bottom lip, teasing, coaxing. You let out a small, needy sound before you can stop it, and his grip on your waist tightens in response. Alarm bells ring in your head, but they’re no use.

Liam, ever the smug prick, takes his time, dragging his teeth over your lip, biting just hard enough to make you shiver. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

You tug him closer, pressing against him. You take control, tongue sliding into his mouth, swallowing the low groan that rumbles in his throat.

For a moment you’re lost in the taste of him. The heat of him. The way his hands grip you like he doesn’t want to let go. Then he pushes into you, his hips pressing heavy against yours, pinning you so firmly into the sink that you feel every inch of him. The realization sends a thrill through you, heat beginning to sink low into your stomach and down between your thighs. 

This is dangerous territory. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Then he’s grinding against you, slow and deliberate, and the pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. Your fingers tighten around the back of his neck, nails digging in as your body arches instinctively into his. Liam groans, low and rough. His hand moves from your waist, trailing down your thighs. Suddenly he’s hooking your leg around his hip, giving himself more space. 

He presses impossibly closer, and you feel him, hard and insistent against your heated core. A strangled sound escapes your throat, something needy and desperate. 

His mouth moves, leaving your lips to trail down your jaw, hot and unrelenting, and when he reaches the pulse point on your neck, he bites down just enough to make you whimper.

Your eyes flutter shut, body shaking slightly as Liam drags his teeth over that one spot that makes you shiver. He feels it, feels you, react beneath him, and the bastard smiles against your skin.

Then he sucks, lips warm and wet as he marks you, punctuating it with a sharp thrust of his hips that sends sparks up your spine. A strangled whine spills from your lips as your fingers tighten in his hair, gripping him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. A steady, aching pulse throbs low in your core, demanding more. Demanding him.

You roll your hips, grinding against him, chasing that friction, and Liam groans. A deep, guttural sound that makes your skin burn. His grip tightens, one hand splaying across your ass, dragging you harder against him.

The feeling of him hot, hard, grinding against you sends another sharp thrill through your body, but it’s still not enough.

You need more. You need all of him.

“Liam,” you manage to gasp, voice wrecked and wanting.

“Fuck,” Liam mutters, voice rough against your skin. “You really are desperate for me, aren’t you?”

His words send a fresh wave of heat straight through you, and you should fight back, should snap at him for his cocky arrogance, but then he rolls his hips again, perfectly, and all that leaves your lips is a broken moan.

He pulls away from your neck, lifting his gaze to meet yours. His lips are flushed, swollen, glistening with spit. His eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, filled with something dangerous—leave you momentarily breathless, completely losing your train of thought at how devastatingly gorgeous he looks like this.

You’re broken from your trance as you feel him twitch rather noticeably against you. Your breath catches, heat flooding through you all over again.

Liam notices. Of course, he does. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he presses forward just a little more, just enough to make you feel it.

“Feel that?” His voice is rough, teasing, laced with something darker.

You swallow hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He chuckles, breath hot against your cheek. “C’mon, love. Don’t go shy on me now.”

You purse your lips, fighting the way your body reacts to him, to his cocky arrogance, to the way he’s so sure of himself. “I don’t know,” you murmur breathlessly, tilting your head and pretending to consider. “Feels… underwhelming.”

Liam lets out a sharp breath, half amusement, half disbelief, before his hands tighten on your hips. In one swift movement, he ruts against you, slow but deep, the pressure enough to knock the air from your lungs.

You gasp. His smirk returns.

“Still underwhelmed?” he murmurs against your jaw, his lips brushing skin.

You hate him. You hate how good he is at this. But mostly, you hate how much you want more.

“Liam,” your voice wavering, thick with frustration.

He chuckled, dark and low, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns just above where you ached for him. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, hips jerking involuntarily as his hand slipped under your shirt and began toying with the waistband of your jeans, the ghost of a touch setting every nerve alight. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

You feel his fingers skimming along your zipper and nod. He wastes no time in unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, pushing them down to give himself just enough room. 

He slips his hand inside, exploring the newly exposed skin of your inner thigh. His touch was feather light, slowly dragging his fingers, deliberately teasing everywhere except where you needed him most. Your body was tensing with every drag. Every time he would get close he would skirt around at the last moment

It was torture. You tried to grind against his hand, desperate for even the smallest bit of friction, anything, but the moment you did, he pulled back completely.

You gasped, eyes snapping open in disbelief. 

Liam smirked, watching you with a cruel sort of amusement, chest rising and falling just as heavily as yours. He was enjoying this. Holding you on the edge, dragging it out.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice challenging.

Your pride flared for half a second because fuck him, he knew exactly what you wanted. But another, bigger part of you, the one that was throbbing and needy and desperate, didn’t care about pride anymore.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, eyes burning into his.

“Please,” you gasped, not caring how desperate you sounded. This was beginning to border on agony. You needed him to touch you. 

His fingers skimmed the waistband of your underwear, maddingley slow. “Please what?” he murmured, voice thick.

You swallowed hard. Frustration and want coiled tight in your stomach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, that damn smirk playing on his face as he dragged his gaze over you. He was enjoying this too much. You knew he wouldn’t give in easily.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. You wouldn’t beg. Not yet.

Liam arched a brow, clearly amused by your silence. “C’mon, love,” he taunted, fingers tracing lower but still not there. “I know you can be polite.”

Your pride waged a brief, losing battle. “Touch me,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Then, gritting your teeth, you forced out, “Please.”

Liam’s smirk deepened, victory flashing in his eyes.

“See? All you had to do was ask” he said, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Liam’s hand slid down again, this time with purpose, and he pressed his thumb roughly over your clit. The jolt of pleasure shot through you like a live wire, making your hips jerk involuntarily. His low, knowing chuckle sent another shiver down your spine.

He started circling you slowly though your underwear, teasing, barely giving you what you needed. A strangled moan escaped your lips. You were soaked. There was no way he couldn’t feel it.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, voice thick with something akin to reverence. 

Two fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, then lower, parting you as he gathered the slickness between them. The rough pads of his fingers dragged torturously along your heat before teasing at your entrance.

Your head fell back against the mirror as he finally dipped into you, stretching you in a way that was both excruciatingly slow and devastatingly perfect.

His fingers curled, expertly finding the spot that had you gasping, clutching at him. A high-pitched whine slipped from your throat. Liam sighed shakily in response, his free hand gripping your hip as he leaned in to capture your lips again. He swallowed every sound you made, lips moving hungrily against yours, matching the urgent rhythm of his fingers.

And then he curled them again, deeper this time. More deliberate.

Stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hips rocked into him, desperately chasing the pleasure, and he let you. Let you fall into the pace he was setting, let you lose yourself in it. His thumb returned to your clit, circling with devastating precision.

You were close. So close it almost hurt.

“Mm—Liam—” you gasped, body shuddering, the coil in your stomach ready to snap.

But then his fingers were gone.

Your eyes snapped open in disbelief, your body trembling from the abrupt loss. You barely had time to catch your breath before you met his gaze, smug, victorious, infuriating.

“What the fuck?” you panted.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “That’s for earlier. You deserved it.”

Irritation bubbled up as you felt your own words echoed back at you. He was enjoying this, playing with you like a cat with a mouse. 

He was pulling away from you, but before he could get too far, you grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. Hard. “Don't you dare walk away from me.”

He let out a surprised whine, head tilting back slightly at the force. When his eyes flicked back to yours, they were darker, hungrier.

“You really need to stop pulling my hair,” he rasped, though the way his body reacted said otherwise.

You smirked. “Yeah? Or what?”

His grin turned downright predatory. He leaned in close, lips ghosting over yours as he murmured, “Or I’ll make you remember who’s in charge next time,” voice thick with dangerous promise.

A thrill ran down your spine, but defiance still burned hot in your veins. You yanked his hair even harder. 

He threw his head back, eyes briefly fluttering shut as he let out a deep, guttural groan. The sound went straight to your stomach. 

When he looked at you again, there was something new in his gaze, something dangerously close to snapping.

“You’re really asking for it,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You tilted your chin up, challenging him. “Yeah? You’re all talk. I’d like to see you even tr—”

Before you could finish, Liam spun you around in one swift, effortless motion, pressing you against the sink.

Your breath caught as he caged you in from behind, his body flush against yours, his grip firm. His hands settled on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver.

He made eye contact with you through the mirror, wanting to see your every reaction when he spoke. 

“You want to play rough, do you?” Liam’s voice was low, edged with something dark and tantalizing. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trailed slowly down your back, tracing each curve like he was mapping every inch of you. The teasing touch sent shivers racing down your spine, anticipation tightening in your stomach. Your breathing was ragged, uneven. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded.

Liam tsked softly, his lips barely grazing your ear as he murmured, “Use your words.”

His hand dipped lower, grazing right where you needed him most. The lightest touch, barely there but enough to have your knees buckling.

You choked out a whimper, torn between pride and raw, undeniable need. But there was no fighting it anymore.

“Please,” you gasped, voice unsteady.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers kept teasing, playing just on the edge of where you needed him, drawing out your desperation.

“Please what?” he asked yet again, tone mockingly sweet, fingers dancing ever so slightly closer.

You clenched your jaw, stubbornness warring with your need. “Don’t make me say it,” you whispered, still clinging to the last thread of your dignity.

Liam hummed as if considering, then pulled back slightly. “Fine, I’ll just leave you here then.” His tone was maddeningly casual, like this was nothing to him. “I’ll walk right out that door.”

Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist, gripping it like a lifeline. “Please,” you exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck me.”

Liam went still for a beat. Then, his smirk curled wickedly against your skin. “What was that?” he taunted, fingers skimming along your inner thigh, feather-light and infuriating. “Couldn’t quite hear you, love.”

A shiver wracked through you, and you shot him a glare through the mirror. “Bastard, yes you did,” you managed, your voice trembling despite the bite in your words.

His smirk widened. He must have had enough too because the next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. A wave of relief crashed over you, body humming with anticipation. The mirror didn’t give you a view of him, but then you felt him. He pressed himself against you, the hard, burning length of him making you gasp. You’d nearly forgotten how well endowed he was, insides clenching in remembrance.

Liam groaned low in his throat as he felt your bare skin against his. The sensation sent a shudder through him, his restraint hanging by a thread. He pressed against you further, every inch of his body aligning with yours. His chin dropped to rest on your shoulder as his breath came out ragged and wanting.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

His eyes locked onto yours through the mirror and for a moment, you barely recognized yourself. Your face was flushed, lips parted as you struggled for breath, hair an absolute mess. Liam didn’t look much different except he carried that insufferable smugness. His pupils were blown wide, the sharp blue of his eyes almost lost in the haze of lust.

He reached up, brushing your hair aside before pressing a searing kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. The heat of it sent shivers down your spine. And then, with one smooth movement, he aligned himself against you, teasing your entrance.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed forward for you to feel him. Only the tip. Just enough to drive you insane.

“Liam, God, ple—”

Your plea was cut off by a sharp thrust, his hips snapping forward with force. He went in much deeper than either of you had anticipated, if his choked-off groan was anything to go by. Another strangled groan ripped from his throat as he sank in, fully stretching you open. The sensation stole the air from your lungs.

For a moment he stilled, chest rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths. The way you clenched around him had him hanging onto the last threads of his restraint. You could feel the tension in his body, the effort it took not to completely lose himself in you. Then he pulled back, slow and deliberate, before plunging in again.

A choked-off noise tore from your throat, almost embarrassing if not for the deep, wrecked sound Liam let out at the same time. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping tight enough to leave bruises as he built a rhythm, driving into you with increasing intensity. He cursed under his breath, clearly loving how eagerly you moved with him. His pace grew rougher, more urgent.

Your head dropped forward, letting him take what he wanted. You were already on edge from earlier, your body eager and desperate. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with as much force as you could muster.

Then one of his hands left your hip, sliding up your body. Before you could even process it, he fisted a handful of your hair and yanked your head back up, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. He wanted to see every single one of your expressions as he hit deep inside you, wanted to see the way your face changed as he hit that spot that made your breath catch. 

This sight was filthy. The two of you, tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, moving in sync. The way his jaw clenched, lips parted slightly as he watched every expression that flickered across your face, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your whole body was on fire. You struggled to keep your head up, feeling it droop again. He firmly yanked it back up again, a quiet hiss of pain and pleasure spilling from your lips. You trembled beneath him, and he groaned at the sight of it, at the way you responded to him so beautifully. His pace became relentless, his hips snapping into yours with forceful precision. Every thrust drove you closer and closer to the edge.

You were shaking now, the coil inside you wound impossibly tight. Liam wasn’t far behind. You could feel it in the way he throbbed inside you, how his movements became just a little rougher, more erratic. With a gasp, one hand slipped down between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with frantic desperation.

“Just like that, love,” Liam murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t stop.”

His words sent fire racing over your skin and a sharp thrust sent you toppling over the edge. A cry tore from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body clenching tight around him. Your legs shook, entire body trembling as you rode it out, moans spilling from your lips, unrestrained and raw.

Liam cursed, his grip tightening as he pounded into you through your release. The way you clenched around him had his own control shattering in an instant.

“Fuck” His voice broke as he buried himself deep one last time, warmth flooding inside you as his body tensed, the most heavenly sound leaving his lips. You managed to open your eyes and were met with his beautiful face screwed up in sheer pleasure as he rode out his orgasm, a face you knew you’d never forget. 

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the lingering aftershocks. Then, slowly, he slumped forward, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder, breath hot and heavy against your skin. He stayed there for a few moments, catching his breath before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your shoulder.

Your eyes meet in the mirror again. Liam was still breathing hard, hair disheveled, his skin glistening with sweat. But there was a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips, his blue eyes dark and hazy. 

After catching his breath, he slowly pulled out of you, groaning softly at the feeling. You immediately miss the warmth and weight of him deep within you. 

Liam stepped back slightly, regaining his balance, his gaze dragging over you through the mirror. You looked thoroughly wrecked and judging by the glint in his eyes, he was damn proud of that. You straightened, stretching and feeling the soreness in your limbs from being bent over a bathroom sink for so long.

“Looks like your dick still works,” you teased. 

Liam let out a deep, amused laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, it certainly does.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he tucked himself back into his pants.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “Am I forgiven then?” you question, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

Liam hummed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I suppose you are,” he said, amusement lacing his tone.

Then, before you could respond, he stepped in closer and dipped his head, placing a light kiss against your jaw. His lips barely ghosted over your skin before he murmured, voice low and promising.

“But you’re not getting off easy next time.”

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

This was just for fun but I'll probably write about Noel next :)

[strawglicks]

People are already whining abt the flag on grahams plushie be for real 💀

[s0fter-sin]

ghost who was chemically castrated by roba and soap who wants to help him to regain his sexual autonomy

nsfw, angst, roba, unnegotiated unsafe but consensual gun play, hopeful ending

💀🧼

ghost walks like it hangs low.

there’s a tilt to his hips and a spread in his thighs and johnny’s never been able to stop staring.

and ghost’s never asked him to.

he knows he’s seen him; he’s not exactly discreet. he swears he’s even seen him cock his hips out before to give him a better view. but he always pulls back just as they toe the line; verbal cold water on the tentative heat they almost can’t help but spark when they’re together.

it’s never a no; johnny’s not so selfish of a cunt that he’d push when he knows he isn’t welcome. it’s always a reluctance; an “i wish i could,” never in so many words. an open ended “but…” as ghost circles the reason without ever actually saying it. johnny knows it’s something personal, something more than a difference in rank could ever excuse.

so he backs off when ghost does, jokes instead of flirts and holds his breath through the agonising wait until ghost lets him in close again. waits to know if he’ll let him close again.

it’s almost anticlimactic, the end of their dance; his delicate steps and looping logic to work out why bulldozed as ghost comes out and says one random night, “i can’t fuck.”

it’s not bitter. it doesn’t grate coming out of his throat; he doesn’t spit it like it’s something to be ashamed, not twisted with insecurity as if it’s an accusation by an ex.

it’s a statement of fact.

“you can’t fuck,” johnny echoes anyway because even if it is the reason, the big why… it still doesn’t really answer anything.

“i can’t get it up,” he elaborates, this horrid blankness in his eyes like he’s reading from a script. “whatever you’re looking for, whatever you want- i can’t give it to you.”

johnny just looks at him, the chill air prickling his skin. “right,” he nods calmly. “because my interest in you starts and ends with your dick.”

that blank calm shatters. “johnny…” he warns.

“do you really think i’m that shallow?” he cuts in, curing himself for the way his voice breaks but he never thought ghost would think so low of him; that this whole time, ghost’s thought that’s the only thing he wants from him. “like i’d take you for a ride ‘n just drop you?”

“there’s a difference between not gettin’ it for one night and never gettin’ it at all,” ghost growls, turning his back on him to lean against the edge of the roof. his shoulders heave and the anger seeps from him in one long breath. “it’s not a hitch, johnny. not a performance issue or ptsd or whatever the fuck you’re thinkin’. it’s permanent. irreversible.”

irreversible.

johnny stops, cold creeping up his limbs and dousing his defensive anger. ghost is many things and when it comes to his words, chief amongst them all is deliberate. he didn’t say it’s unfixable. incurable.

irreversible.

johnny buries his selfish hurt and scuffs his boots, an unobtrusive warning of movement, and comes up beside him; just enough distance between them to catch their breaths. he leans back against the ledge and looks over the opposite side of the roof at the dark sky.

“mexico,” he murmurs. not an accusation. not even really a question but ghost collapses in on himself anyway; sinking into his crossed arms digging into the ledge.

“mexico,” he agrees just as quietly. “‘pparently, roba found it more entertaining to let me keep it but- cut the cords. more demeaning that way; cock’s gone, at least you don’t feel the urge. don’t have to look at the fuckin’ thing hang there when nothin’ fuckin’ works.

“it’s not ‘bout how i see you, johnny,” ghost promises and it’s almost apologetic. “but you like sex. eventually, you’ll want it. and i can’t give it to you. easier to just… not let it get to that point.”

johnny’s jaw flexes. everything in him wants to reject it, wants to protest that something as trivial as an orgasm is more important to him than ghost.

but he also knows words are useless here.

they stand there looking out into the gathering dark, tense silence hanging between them, and the only thing johnny knows is if he isn’t careful, he could lose the one person he cares about most.

💀🧼

ghost’s been uneasy since his abrupt confession.

he knows it was sudden, borderline cruel to dump his shit on johnny with no warning but he just couldn’t take it anymore; couldn’t take the back and forth when he knew it would never go anywhere, couldn’t take johnny’s hope when he knew he’d have to watch it twist into disgust and pity.

into disappointment.

he figures that’s the end of it; there’ll be no more flirting now, no more staring or heated looks, no more teasing him by spreading his knees out just to see the flash of hunger in his eyes. the control he felt playing with johnny knowing it was welcome, just because he could- he’ll never feel that again. not now that johnny knows the truth.

then he steps into his room to find johnny laying naked on his bed.

he’s not spread out like an offering, not throwing him some cheap sultry glance as he plays with himself. he’s not even hard; his cock limp over the cradle of his balls, his legs bent loosely together, arms under his head as if he’s settling down for the night.

ghost sighs and shuts the door behind him. “johnny…”

“i know,” johnny says and it’s gentle; not cutting him off, just getting his attention. “just… hear me out?”

there’s nothing else to say. there’s nothing johnny can say or do to fix his violated body. but ghost still crosses his arms and leans back against the door like he can anyway.

johnny pushes himself up and off the bed, closing the distance between them but still giving him enough space to breathe; to open the door behind him, to escape.

“i can never know what was taken from you,” he starts and ghost’s fingers dig into his arms. “i can never know what it means to you. and i can never get it back.”

he doesn’t break eye contact and slowly lowers himself to his knees. “but i can give you something else.”

“you?” ghost guesses flatly and as much as it warms his blood, as much as he’s imagined having johnny look up at him just like this… it’s still not enough to offset the sickening swoop in his gut when his cock doesn’t so much as twitch.

“i’m a nice bonus,” johnny purrs but his smile remains gentle. “but i’m not the main event.”

he lifts a hand and ghost readies to smack it away when he reaches for his thigh holster instead of his belt. he flicks the closing strap open and pulls his handgun, his favourite, free.

“you told me you can’t fuck,” he murmurs, popping out the clip. he taps it against the side and loads it back in with a practiced hit with the butt of his palm. “but fucking isn’t all there is.”

“johnny, what…” ghost starts just to cut himself off as johnny thumbs off the safety and loads a round into the chamber.

“you trust me?” johnny asks and it’s as loaded as the gun in his hand.

good then, that ghost knows the answer. “always have.”

johnny’s smile blooms with warmth, with pride, and it chases away any reluctance he could possibly feel. he lets him take his hands in his, wrapping them around the gun with his finger on the trigger guard. he brings the barrel up beside his temple, holding it steady before his hands fall away.

until it’s only ghost between him and a bullet.

johnny’s hands go to his belt, his movements slow enough for ghost to stop him long before he reaches his cock, forever hanging limp in his pants. but he just rubs the muzzle along his temple, almost nuzzling him with the gun as he pulls down his jeans and boxers.

he waits for johnny to take him in hand, maybe try and pantomime a handy, and his hips almost recoil at the thought.

but he doesn’t try to touch him.

instead, he takes his wrist and guides the gun to sit in front of his cock; angling it to follow the same slight curve he has then holds his hands behind his back like he’s standing at attention. he splays his knees wide, sinking deeper and ghost sucks in a harsh breath as johnny ducks under the gun; his eyes locked on his as he curls his tongue under the barrel and brings it into his mouth.

it takes every ounce of will he has to not let his hand shake around the gun as johnny gives it the slowest, messiest blowjob he’s ever seen; slowly rising higher on his knees, guiding the gun up with him as if it’s his cock hardening. his cheeks hollow as he sucks, tongue laving up the barrel and flicking out to play with the muzzle like a cockhead, moaning with every bob of his head until saliva drips off the metal and makes a mess of his chin.

ghost’s never felt so powerful as he does watching johnny hang off the end of his gun; watching his cock harden and drool between his legs without a single touch, knowing he could pull the trigger at any time and johnny would not only let him but he’d thank him.

the thought breaks him from his paralysis, drawing the gun from his lips and johnny immediately stills; rolling his wide eyes up like he’s trying to check on him. ghost pushes every ounce of heat into his gaze and cocks the gun to the side, slowly pushing it back in until johnny’s lips meet the trigger guard.

johnny whines as he fucks his mouth, thrusting his hips along with each long drag like the gun is an extension of his body; almost too rough as tears prick his eyes and his lips redden and bruise but he never asks him to stop; his cock leaking a puddle on the floor beneath him.

“you gonna cum for me, johnny?” ghost croons, holding back a groan when just his voice is enough to make him shiver. “gonna cum with my fucking gun down your throat?”

he gives a broken whimper, as close to an agreement as he can make, and ghost crowds in close. he grips the base of his mohawk, wrenching his head back until his throat is flush to the front of his thigh. johnny lets out a choked cry, eyes rolling back and he doesn’t hold back as he brutally fucks his face; feeling the bulge of his gun in his throat against his leg.

“come on, johnny; you wanna be my good little holster?” he growls and makes sure he’s watching as his finger moves from the guard to the trigger. “then take my fucking load.”

he forces the gun as deep as he can and johnny gags, his shaking body locking up as he cums untouched; painting the floor and ghost’s boot, cock twitching and pulsing hard enough to bump against his belly and leave a string of cum threading from it to his cock.

ghost watches him spasm and moan, his throat convulsing around the gun and a heated knot of satisfaction tightens in his gut; so close to the memory of an orgasm, he’s almost dizzy with it.

johnny slumps forward, his hands slipping from behind his back, and ghost quickly flicks the safety back on and drops to his knees. he slides the gun away and pulls johnny forward to collapse into his chest, taking his weight off his knees; his whole body trembling with aftershocks.

“you’re crazy, johnny,” ghost whispers, awed, and feels him smile against his chest.

“aye,” he agrees, voice raspy from his gun scraping up his throat. “how else am i supposed to prove that i mean it?”

ghost tries not to tense up; tries not to let hope sink its cruel roots into his chest. “mean it?”

johnny pulls back, his cheeks still flushed and sticky with spilled tears. “i’m yours, ghost; in any and every way you’ll have me,” he promises. “sex or no sex. this can never happen again and i’ll still never stop wanting you. it doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. you’re everythin’ to me, ghost. not your body; not what you can give me. just you.”

a knot crowds in his throat. “and you needed to deep throat my pistol to prove that?” he deflects.

and just like always, johnny lets him. “worked, didn’t it?” he winks. “you fucked my brains out.”

ghost rolls his eyes to hide the softness he knows is flooding them and helps johnny up and gets him into his shower; cleaning him of the sweat and cum and spit covering his body.

that ghost covered his body in.

his chest hitches at the reminder as he strips himself down to a single layer and all but falls into bed, tugging johnny in after him when he hesitates just slightly at the edge of the bed; splaying his still naked body over him, sated and loose.

“i really do mean it,” johnny whispers into the crook of his neck sometime later; when their breaths have settled and synced.

ghost sweeps his fingers up and down the length of his spine, skin he’s never seen. skin he now knows every inch of. “i know you do,” he whispers back.

and for once, he thinks it might be enough.

[lotus-pear]

finally started p5 royal ‼️‼️‼️‼️

expect some royal trio art soon they are my dearly beloveds (minus akechi i hope he dies in this reality too)

[azaracyy]

a lesson on good karma digimon survive week 2024 day 4: supporting characters

[deoidesign]

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[mlobsters]

thought you know, i should maybe try to start up the spn rewatch because it's been a hot minute. but i have 1x18 (the shtriga) up next and you know this would lead to a rant about john winchester and i don't know i have the mental or emotional energy for that -_-

[strwbrryfire]

i just have to take the first step . just need to get started . get going . all i gotta do is start .

[reikunrei]

feeling a little weird about this holiday season and i’m not really sure why

[bleue-flora]

i dont think tommy said the nuke wasnt canon, he seemed to be talking about how he canonically didnt lose a life to the nuke because in the 2022 ending, no nuke killed anyone

I guess?... I don't know. It doesn't really make sense since basically Jack is pretty insistent that he did blow everything up, and yet all the buildings remain, so... and the reasoning he gives for not dying in the nuke is that he can't die, which is part of his lore. Tommy doesn't really answer how he and Tubbo are alive, except to say that the nuke wasn't canon (presumably as in canon death is what he means) and he was left with 1 life when everyone left. In response to Jack's comment about not being able to actually die, Tommy responds "Not that either of us would know anything about that" but since he fought a monster in between his Tubbo comment and Jack's, he may have meant that as a response to his above statement about logistics... so if Jack blew everything up, but everything is still standing, then the most reasonable explanation is that the Incident did happen and eventually he gained his memories back and visits Techno's house from time to time... (which people said including anons in my inbox)

So people are wrong, it is not a retcon but an extension, the end of season 2, whatever that was... even so what's funny is that innitors are more happy with this ending versus a restart even when it's down right depressing. Tommy is alone. He hasn't seen anyone besides Tubbo in a long time and lives very far away from the main dsmp area. But take it from me, the quiet is nice, living alone is nice, but being utterly alone is miserable. To live alone with no outside interaction besides one person is really sad to me, and the fact that the area is still so triggering for him is also a testament that he hasn't healed, and living alone won't heal him. Especially not when part of his trauma revolves around him feeling alone in Exile. So really, it's a very depressing ending. Tommy just wanted to have fun with his friends and in the end, he has no one but Tubbo and his sheep and a cabin in the arctic he stares at for hours. He didn't mend his relationships with people, even still bringing up Jack exploding his hotel after it's been years since then. He did literally move but he didn't heal, he didn't grow, he wasn't able to form better relationships or claim what he yearned for. And that to me is a sadder ending.

As as aside, I've talked about before how all the ghosts have sheep, so an interesting theory would be that he is actually a ghost haunting the land... have another au free of charge I guess lol... do we think the sheep is colored? maybe it's red...