#cause its a nightmare with just a touch screen

[rabbittwinrithings]

I've been in a realm of a bad art slump of not liking anything I drew. WELL, WELL, WELL, WHO would have guessed it would be an OLD MAN to get me out????

[jennxxe]

Sequence interrupted.

pairing — death x fem! reader (final destination)

summary — you get a premonition and manage to save your friends from a fatal bus crash. all of them die one by one and when you think its your turn, nothing happens. to you, at least. long story short, you come to realise death has another purpose for you to fulfil.

warnings — THIS IS AN IMMENSELY FUCKED UP FANFICTION. non con going into dub con, gore, blood, passing of loved ones, obsessiveness, possession, sexual themes, masturbation, paranormal activity, cursing, psychological mind fuck in general, death isn’t a physical manifestation, mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of self harm, bus crash, use of sex toys, death has he/him pronouns, spiritual sex¿, depression

a/n — first time writing anything sexual. i fr have no idea why i was watching final destination and my brain went ‘mm, death’. This fanfiction is mostly a psychological one. Death doesn’t speak, nor does he have a physical form.

Part I: The Premonition

The vision was an incision—precise, sterile, and irreversible. It wasn’t a nightmare, you were there. Nightmares are messy and unclear, hot things that come with teeth and sound. This was cold and you felt every moment, every emotion. A vision soaked in static and gravity. No monsters. No voice whispering warnings. Just inevitability. Something mathematical.

You knew before the bus flipped. You knew before you watched the driver’s head tilt ninety degrees too far to the left. You knew the sound the metal would make when it peeled back, the way your friend’s jaw would detach, the way fire would flicker under the hood of the oncoming truck before swallowing all of it.

You saw it before it happened. So you screamed.

They listened, eventually. Twenty-three people standing on the shoulder of a two-lane highway, half of them still holding Red Bulls and cheap headphones, staring at you like you’d grown teeth where your eyes should be. Seven minutes later, the bus became an inferno. The explosion took three street cameras to analyze. It made the news. You were a survivor. A hero.

Part II: The Pattern

The deaths didn’t begin loudly. That would have been easier to forgive. Your best friend, Jess was first. She had the sort of face that always looked surprised to be alive. That stopped being true the day her body was found. No water on the bathroom tiles. No impact bruises on the skull. Just a snap. The kind that doesn’t come from slipping, but from turning. Turning to look at something behind her. It was unnatural. Nothing in that bathroom could have caused her neck to snap so cleanly.

You visited the house. No one had touched anything yet. The room was clean. Sterile, almost. But there was a smell. Not rot. Not bleach. Roses.

The second was Max. Electrocuted. Burned from the inside out. His mother said he’d been playing music too loud again. You couldn’t hear her. You were staring at the song title. “You Are Mine.” It had repeated 147 times. It had looped itself even after the battery should’ve died. There were no roses in the room. But the screen of his phone had fractured. Not shattered—fractured. Hairline cracks, perfect and straight. Shaped like something you couldn’t recognise in your grief.

It kept going.

Part III: Stillness

It has been three weeks since the last death. Everyone else is gone. You’ve stopped opening the blinds. You can’t remember if the sun still moves across the floor. The plants in your kitchen are alive because they have learned to survive without you.

Your name was the last on the list. You checked it twenty-seven times. You scratched it into your wrist with the tip of a safety pin to make sure it stayed. But nothing happens. You wake up. You sleep, barely. You eat cereal without tasting it. No flickering lights. No pattern of footsteps in the hallway. No sound of breath when you hold yours just to check.

At first you tried to search in between the cracks of the vision. Hoped you could remember a part where you didn’t die or a part you remembered wrong or forgot. Then you accepted it and waited. Waited for the inevitable to happen, to take you out of your misery.

Then nothing happened and that was worse than dying.

You tried to kill yourself once. The gun didn’t fire. It clicked twice and the third time, the safety was on, though you remember checking it. You laughed for seventeen minutes. Then you stopped laughing. You haven’t tried again.

Like you are not allowed to die yet.

Part IV: The Romantic

The faucet drips in pairs. Two drops, pause, two more. Like breathing. Inhale, exhale, pause, inhale, exhale, pause. It stops each time you enter the room. Your furniture shifts itself a half-inch overnight. Your door never creaks, but your mirror fogs even when you don’t shower. You checked the pipes. You checked the seals. You unscrewed the bulbs and left them out. They still glow when you blink too long. Nothing moves in front of you. But everything rearranges.

You managed to gather enough will to go take a bath. The tub filled but the water wouldn’t go down the drain. You ripped the seal off with your bare fingers, your blood mixing with the water. Clogged. With rose petals. Not red ones, black ones. Ones that you never even owned. And when you took a single one into your hand, the black liquid started dripping down your hand, down your wrist. Diesel oil, like from the bus that was a curse in disguise of a blessing.

You don’t scream. That reaction burned itself out six deaths ago. What you feel now is quieter. Less human. Not fear. Not even grief. Just… a sharpening. Like the world has become too defined. Every edge now slices if you look too closely.

Part V: The Suitors

Why was it keeping you alive when you so desperately wanted to not be? There was a reason in your head, a passing thought. It was an experiment. You noticed every man that looked at you too long die, even if they’re not on ‘the list’.

His name was Julian. He was not important. He was an answer to a question you were afraid to ask directly: Will just everyone around me die instead of me?

He flirted over the counter at the pharmacy. Asked about your jacket. Said it reminded him of something French. You told him he didn’t look like he could spell "France." He laughed like it was a compliment.

You agreed to meet him. Not because you wanted to. But because you didn’t. That was the variable.

You chose a public place. A café with glass walls. You sat with your back to the room. You didn’t touch his hand. You didn’t even let your knee brush his under the table. You didn’t look at him for more than four seconds at a time. You kept your heart out of it.

It didn’t matter.

You excused yourself to the bathroom. Seven minutes later, when you returned, Julian’s face had been pressed clean through the sugar-glass tabletop. There were no screams. No witnesses saw it happen. His body was mangled from the glass, it was almost beyond recognition. But somehow his heart managed to stay in perfect condition, falling right into the bouquet of roses he gave you.

VI: The Courtship

You are being courted. Not with words. With consequence.

You find a poem carved into your bathroom mirror. It isn’t written in blood. It isn’t even legible at first. It only appears when the mirror fogs. The first stanza reads:

I have followed you through time not to take,
but to become the air between your thoughts.
You mistake silence for mercy. It is not.
It is longing.

You haven’t told anyone because there is no one left to tell. You’ve tried documenting it. Phone, camera, voice memo. Nothing records. The screen shows static. The files erase. Sometimes you play them back and hear your own voice repeating lines you don’t remember saying. One of them is, Please… don’t leave me empty tonight.

You don’t remember saying that.

VII: Repetition

Every man you meet dies.

One had a heart attack mid-sentence. You were at a museum. He said, You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever— and dropped. The statue beside him of the ancient Greek god Eros, god of love, fell on him. Buried him. Flattened his body completely.

Another was crushed by a piano falling through a skylight. You hadn’t touched him. You had only smiled. But you saw the look in his eyes before it happened. That shine. That beginning.

It’s the beginning Death punishes.

He knows the moment it starts. Not the touch. Not the kiss. The shift. The inward lean of your gaze. The way your breath slows when someone holds your attention too long.

You don’t think Death is jealous. Jealousy is petty.

This is ownership.

VIII: Consummation

Then it starts in sleep. Not a dream. You don’t dream anymore. This is something else. You are not lying in your bed; you are not even sure you have a body anymore. There is no weight, no edge to your shape. But there is pressure.

It begins at the back of your throat. A stillness that spreads inward, not outward. You are not breathing, but you are being filled.

Something is inside you. Not physically. There is no intrusion. No penetration. But there is a knowing. A widening. Like every part of your consciousness is being read, and rewritten.

You feel hands that aren’t hands, heat that doesn’t burn, but saturates. Your spine arches without your permission. Your jaw slackens. Your legs go taut. There is no touch, and yet every nerve is singing.

You try to speak. Your mouth moves, but no sound comes. There is no need. He already knows. He has always known.

Your thighs are wet.
You didn’t move.
You never moved.

But you are shaking now.

You feel a weight between your legs that doesn’t belong to gravity. A rhythm that doesn’t come from movement but from inevitability. There’s no thrust. There’s no friction. There’s just presence filling every silence in your body until your skin hums from the inside.

You come like a prayer. Silent. Shaking. No witness but the one who made you this way. When you wake, there are bruises. Not fingerprints. Not shaped by hands. They look more like your skin in those areas went grey, making your veins appear almost black.

Perfect, deep, cold. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to. He was inside you already. You check the sheets. The blood between your thighs is fresh. But you feel no pain.


IX: The Second Time

It happens again two weeks later. Not in sleep. Not in the safety of dreams where reality can be dismissed like fog. You are awake.

It’s 3:38 a.m. You are staring at the ceiling. Counting the cracks in the plaster again because it’s better than counting how many people you’ve buried. The air is still. Heavy. A pressure behind your eyes, like something is watching from inside your skull.

The sheets are stiff with cold. But something changes. You hear a small sound in the corner of the room, like something fell. As you almost jump out of your skin, you look at your AC that’s suddenly blowing chilling air into the room. The temperature drops a few degrees too fast. The air thickens—so dense your breath catches in your throat. And that’s when you feel it.

Not a touch. Not yet.

More like… gravity. Centered at your pelvis.

You don’t move.
You can’t move.

Your fingers twitch once, like they’re trying to say something. But your arms feel pinned, not by weight, but by expectation. Like the moment right before a plane crashes. That dead hush. Everyone waiting for something they can’t see.

Then: heat.

Spreading between your legs like ink in water. Not from outside. From within. Slow at first. Intrusive. Humiliating. You try to close your thighs. They don’t listen. You try to scream. Your lips part, but the air won’t come.

There’s nothing on top of you. But you’re being taken. Not violently. That would be easier. No, this is… intimate. Obsessive. Each wave is patient. Calculated. Like he’s learning you in real-time, mapping your nerves like constellations. Touching places inside you that don’t physically exist. Places your own fingers could never reach.

Your legs begin to shake.
You try to pull away from the feeling.
But it’s already inside you.

And then it escalates.

Your head falls back. Not from pleasure. From shock. You feel a tongue—no, not a tongue, not anything living—drag across the softest part of your throat. Just once. Slowly. But there’s no one there. Your heart stutters, skips a beat, and never picks it back up.

You can feel your own body clenching against something you can’t name. You are crying. But you’re also moaning. You’re unsure where one ends and the other begins. The pleasure grows unbearable. Not because it hurts. But because it doesn’t. It feels perfect. It feels designed. Your hips arch into the nothing above you.

You didn’t even notice it was your own hand in-between your thighs. But when you did, you realise he’s making you do this to yourself. He’s puppeting your desire like a marionette. You’re not being fucked. You’re being performed.

The orgasm tears through you like a collapse, ecstatic and horrifying. You bite your tongue. There’s blood. But you keep going. You can’t stop. Not until he lets you.

And then it ends.

Not gradually. Not with a soft come-down. But with a snap, like a switch flipped in reverse. Suddenly you’re alone. Cold. Wet. Wrung out and empty in a way you’ve never been before. You vomit over the side of the bed. Nothing but bile. You look down. Between your thighs: blood again. This time both on your thighs and your fingers.

X: The Sequence

You moved after that. A new apartment. Less mirrors this time. You thought if you denied him symbols, no roses, no mirrors, no candles, he would lose interest. You should’ve known better. Death doesn’t like it when you mess with his plans.

It starts when your tea spills. You left it at a weird angle without noticing. A single drop beading over the edge like it chooses to fall. It hits the corner of the newspaper, the one that arrived this morning with no name and no headline. Just an address. Your address.

The tea seeps across the table. Capillary action, stretching toward the edge. Where it drips once onto the extension cord below. The outlet sparks. The lights flicker. Your phone vibrates across the counter. It hits the floor with a crack, sliding until it bumps your speaker. The speaker turns on. You didn’t charge it.

It must have damaged it in some way because it starts to rapidly skip songs from their chorus until it stops on one song. “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” by Jeff Buckley. But it’s slow and distorted, echoing through the apartment.

Your laptop turns on next. You didn’t touch it. It opens a browser window. Auto-played video. No image. Just audio. Breathing.

Yours.

Overlaid with another. Deeper. Slower. Syncing to yours until it overtakes it. Your heater clicks. A vent opens. Warm air hits your ankle. Rises slowly. Like fingers. Like breath. You stumble back. But your body’s already responding. Skin flushed. The warmth sharpens. Concentrates. Your pajama shorts stick to your thighs. Not from fear. From sweat.

You hear a drawer open behind you. You didn’t move. Inside, a vibrator. One you didn’t use ever since before that premonition that took over your life. Sleek. Black. The rose emblem etched into the base. A single button. Already blinking.

You step back. Your foot gets tangled in some cables you left out earlier, causing you to fall onto your knees in-front of the couch. You hiss as you hit the ground, trying to untangle your foot and turn off your laptop simultaneously.

The heat from the vent crawls between your thighs. Air becomes pressure. The kind you only feel when someone’s looking at you from across a crowded room and wants you undone. The audio on the laptop moans. It’s your voice. You haven’t made a sound. As the audio keeps going you recognise it to be the one you took with your ex boyfriend, but you don’t hear his moans in it, just yours.

You have tears in your eyes at this point, your skin feels like it’s on fire. Then, you reach for the vibrator. Not to stop it. To beg.

You sit back against the floor, legs open. The hum matches the sound in the room. It isn’t random, it’s calibrated. Designed for you. Frequencies that resonate deep. It touches you—no, you touch yourself, but it feels like him. He is the pattern. He is the sound.

Your back arches. Your lips part. You cry out, finally, but the sound gets eaten by the song that is still playing on the speaker. The video on your laptop skips. You’re watching yourself now. From an angle that doesn’t exist. From inside the room.

You should be terrified. But all you feel is climax pulling you apart with surgical grace.

There’s no voice. No face. But his presence is wrapped around every nerve. No stranger could know your body like this. No living thing could.

You come so hard you forget your name.
The video ends.
The speaker dies.

You lie there, chest heaving, the vibrator still humming against you like it’s trying to coax your soul out through your cunt. You don’t move. Can’t. Your muscles feel like wet thread.

Then—click.

Not from the oven. Not from the walls. From the laptop. The screen flickers. White noise. Then video. Not porn. Not surveillance. Something worse.

Your best friend, Jess’ face appears. The one you took before that trip almost a year ago. She’s laughing, so are you in the video. It was a stupid video, taken in the moment. The camera pans to a white purse stained with red lipstick. “Now which one of us is the culprit?” you say through giggles. Jess laughs, “Im telling it was yours!”

Then it cuts.

You and your ex are on the next video. The one who went through the windshield. You’re singing in the car. He’s tapping the steering wheel. “My whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to God—“

Then cut again.

Your cousin. The one who drowned. She’s brushing her hair in the mirror. Humming. The same melody you heard echoing in your head for weeks after her death. You accidentally drop something in the video and she jumps, “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Cut again.

You sit up, too fast. The room tilts.

The laptop cycles through them. One by one. Not their deaths, just before. Clips of them alive. Intimate, private.

Next video is Max, mad about Jess dropping his guitar. “Jess, you ruined it!”— cut. Then it’s you filming a video of yourself walking through your family home and seeing a snack you really like. You take it in the video while saying, “Oo, mine, thank you very much—“ then the videos start circling. Again and again, shorter and shorter until each clip is overlaid with a single word. No context. Just fragments:

“Yours.”
“Closer.”
“Nearly.”
“Ruined.”
“Mine.”

The final clip loads. It’s you. Sleeping. Mouth parted. One hand between your thighs. But the angle—it’s from the ceiling. You don’t have a camera there. You don’t remember touching yourself that night. But you’re watching it happen. The way your hips twitch. The way you whimper.

It keeps playing.

“What the fuck?” you nearly whimper out. You shouldn’t be surprised after the paranormal shit you have been living through for months, but it feels weird to see it.

Your voice comes through the speaker—soft, like it’s buried under a pillow. “Please… not again.” The video keeps playing. You press pause. It doesn’t stop. You hit the keyboard. The screen flickers—just once—and your own eyes on the video open.

Not like sleepwalking. Not like waking. Like looking right at you. And your voice—through the speaker now, soft, stretched too long, like it’s been slowed down on tape:

“Please… don’t leave me empty tonight.”

You step back, hand over your mouth. That’s not what you said. You remember what you said. Didn’t you? The clip cuts abruptly. Sequence Interrupted. Rerouting.

You freeze. The air behind you doesn’t move, but you feel it, an intelligence that isn’t breathing down your neck, but inside your lungs. Your mind connects the words. Sequence interrupted. The death sequence, the same one you interrupted—the final video;

A spreadsheet.

Names.

Times.

Methods.

Your friends. Their deaths.

Your name at the top.

But instead of a timestamp, it says:

Outcome: Claimed.

Not “survived.” Not “deceased.” Claimed.

And then you understand.

You didn’t cheat Death. You were taken out of the system. You didn’t die but you’re not living either. Your life wasn’t taken physically, it was taken in every other sense.

Not spared. Stolen.

You laugh through your tears, you feel dizzy. Your hand goes to tug on your own hair, but then—

Click. The vibrator turns on again. And you give in, because you know your life isn’t your own anymore.

It’s his.

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2(here) | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |...

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, Paimon, Traveler

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3. Also, I may say that the characters other than the reader may be a bit OOC cause it's been a long time since I played genshin and I'm just finishing all of my works with my knowledge left from playing the game. So sorry about it 🙏🙏.

____________________________________

You stood, motionless, your eyes fixed in disbelief upon the distant scene before you. As the wind cut through the air, a shiver ran down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The purity of the air surrounded you, carrying with it an intoxicating scent that smelled pure. The warm touch of the sun's rays caressing your skin affirmed that this experience couldn't possibly be a figment of your imagination. A fleeting thought of doubt crept in, but you quickly dismissed it; after all, you had never dabbled in any kind of drugs. This moment, as unbelievable as it seems, had to be undeniably real.

With careful fingers, you gently retrieved your fallen shoe/heel/slipper from the bed of plush, emerald-green grass. As you slipped it back onto your foot, your eyes instinctively wandered upward, transfixed by the expansive stretch of blue sky above you. It was quite unlike the very bright pixelated one you see on your screen. Everything that you see within the door was real and not a nightmare.

____________________________________

After composing yourself, you went inside your cafe, close the door, drag a chair nearest to the door, took a seat on the chair you placed infront of the door, and contemplated life. A deep heavy sigh got out your mouth as you continue looking the the strange thing infront of you. "What now? What do I do? Should I just lock it?" you asked yourself and looked at the door. Welp, well, there goes your master plan. Suprise suprise there's no keyhole and having a key would not make any difference. "Ugh."

You sat up and opened the door again, only to be baffled to see a different scenery other than the distant City of Mondstadt. The door was now currently in the Liyue Harbor. You closed the door and opened it again, you were now in Inazuma. Close, open, and now in Sumeru. Once again, you are now in Fontaine.

"Yeah bye." you closed the door again and returned the chair from where it once was. Contemplating what you should do next, your feet carried you around the whole café. You went to the counter and decided to make yourself something to help with calming yourself first in order to think clearly. It was a good thing that you had brought all of the materials and ingredients you needed in the café because you had thought of opening the café tomorrow. But with how things are now, you don't know what to do.

Teyvat is filled with many dangerous beings such as hilichurls, slimes, etc. You are but a normal human being with no experience in fighting and fighting your baby cousins was not enough of an experience to be able to fight toe to toe with monsters you have only seen through a screen. Yes, a gun would probably best to use but you don't have a permit for that and you don't want to be in jail when you have just barely open your dream café. But nobody had to know, right? What if-

A deep sigh fell from your lips once again. The stress is really getting in to you, huh? The bitter/sweet aroma of (coffee/tea/juice) filled your sense of smell. You were making your favorite, (your choice of coffee/tea/juice). After some time of finishing your drink, you took it along with a (pastry of your choice) that you had in your car, in which you had thought of eating to celebrate the opening, and sat in a chair facing the door. Taking your time in eating/drinking, many thoughts come and go in your head to solve the predicament you are in now. You had even thought of postponing the opening of the café until you had thought of a way on what to do with the door.

Of course you read the fanfics circulating all around the genshin fandom and one of the those that you have read was SAGAU where you might be the imposter or the creator of teyvat or you become a villain or anything in between. The most common of them was being an imposter. What if you were to become the said imposter if one day a person will open the door to your café? What if they kill you? What if-

*creak......*

Your rambling came to a stop as you looked at the door horrified. Oh no no no no no no NO NO NO! YOU JINXED YOURSELF DIDN'T YOU?! THIS DAMNED FATE-

'Oh dear God, Buddha, Allah, Deities, whoever higher being there is, pls help me...' you thought as you clasp your hands, praying to higher beings. Before you could even feel it, tears cascaded down you face to the table. "I'm nOt ReAdy tO dIE yeT... Ughhhhhhhh" you sobbed into your hands loudly like a child lost in a mall.

"Hello?" a person peaked from behind the door.

Fuck.

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The Traveler, along with Paimon, was doing their daily quests until they saw something shining in the far distance. Their curiousity made them want to investigate it.

"Hm. Why is a door in the middle of the forest with no support or whatsoever?" Paimon mumbled as the door came into their view. The Traveler also had the same thought.

"Is it perhaps a magic door of some kind? I think w-"

*creak*

The Traveler stopped speaking as the door opened but from where they are right now, they couldn't see who opened the door and couldn't get to ask since the door closed with a loud bang when they were going to get closer.

"Well... that was something..." Paimon looked at the Traveler. "Traveler? What's wrong? BREATHE! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE AT THIS RATE!" Paimon brought tons of fried egg out of the Traveler's bag and smacked it into the Traveler's mouth and forced them to chew the egg.

After confirming the Traveler is back into top condition, Paimon asked them what the hell happened to them.

"I-I don't know. I suddenly felt something when whoever opened that door and the air around me became heavy that it became hard to breathe..." The Traveler shooked their head gently and sighed. "I also felt something strange. The energy of whoever is beyond that door, excluded an aura that is very familiar to me, but I don't know who or what it is."

"Hm. Paimon thinks that we should open that door and see whoever that and see if they truly are familiar to you or maybe perhaps this connection that you feel is related to your sibling!" Paimon twirled around the air, exaggerating her words with her actions.

For once, Traveler thought it was a good idea at first but there is also a flaw in that idea. A flaw that might cause their life if whoever is beyond that door is hostile and will kill them. It is better to be cautious then to be 6ft underground before finding their sibling.

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Taglist:

@udretlnea

[myung-heee]

horror game

pairings: bf!wonwoo x f!reader

genre: fluff, smutt

warnings: they played a scary game (rip wonu cause y/n just won't stop stressing the shit out of him), y/n had a nightmare, brushing, pet names (baby, princess..), oral (fem), face sitting, crying, protected (yazz)!!

wc: 2.5k

summary: you convinced your boyfriend to play a horror game, but instead of the game scaring him, your reactions stressed him out. as you both drifted to sleep, you had a nightmare that inadvertently caused him to wake up, well, you know what happened next..

"come on, it's not a bad idea" you pouted, giving wonwoo your best puppy dog eyes ever. he chuckled, looking up from his game. "but i'm in the middle of this one," he replied, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

you persisted, leaning in closer. hugging him through his shoulders, "but the game i want to play is way more fun.." You playfully rested your head on his neck. he flinched a little, gazing over you before he looked back to his sceen.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "really? and what game are we talking about?" he said, still focused on his screen.

you let out a mischievous grin. you stood up straight and walked towards the closet, carried a small stall, and sat beside him. "it's a scary game but its fun! i promise." you crossed your fingers.

 

wonwoo side-eyed you, fingers glued to his keyboard as he burst out a scoff. "a scary game? you sure you won't end up hiding under the blanket?" he raised a brow. you rolled your eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "of course not, wonwoo. besides, you're the one playing the game, not me," you retorted, your gaze locking with his.

he turned to you, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. "huh? you want me to play a scary game? just me?" there was skepticism in his voice as he asked you. with an eager nod, you confirmed your idea, your smile growing wider. "yes, but im here beside you, so i promise i won't let you feel too scared." you added a touch of faux cheerfulness, your eyes dancing with mischief.

his lips curled into a soft smile. "baby.. i'm more worried about how you'll react than myself."

 

you scoffed.

 

you let out a light laugh, waving away his concern with a casual gesture. "oh, come on. i've watched horror movies before. this can't be that different, right?" he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "alright baby, if you say so, i'll just finish this one."

as he turned his attention back to his game, you seized the opportunity to push further. "i.. i mean, it's just a game. what's the worst that could happen?" he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. "is that a challenge?"

 

you bit your lip, "maybe."

he scoffed.

you rolled your eyes playfully. "please, i'm tougher than i look." he leaned back, considering your proposal. "alright, fine. let's give it a shot. but don't say i didn't warn you."

as wonwoo switched from his game to the one you suggested, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. but things didn't go as planned. you were a bundle of nerves..

shaking his shoulders as you shouted about monsters being close.

he just laughed at you, while you're there beside him, stressed af. he seemed oddly calm, making you even more anxious. when a monster chased his character, you hid your face in his neck and gripped him tightly. suddenly, he flinched, and you let out a squeak before smacking his shoulder and retreating to the safety of the bed.

he laughed at your reaction and his character's death. "guess that didn't go well.." he bit his lip looking at you.

peeking from under the blanket, you glared playfully. "yeah, yeah, say what you want to say." you rolled your eyes. he sat at the edge of the bed, grinning. "scary games aren't your thing."

rolling your eyes, you huffed. "clearly."

he leaned down, giving your forehead a kiss. "don't worry, you did fine being there beside me."

"and stressing the shit out of me," he continued.

you landed a smack on his shoulders, and he laughed. "you literally shook my whole body. i'm even more scared of you being beside me than the actual game," he hugged you.

you rolled your eyes as you felt him rubbing his palm on your back, soothing you in. "is my baby still scared?" he asked. his voice is now different. you shook your head as you clung onto him tighter. he placed another kiss on your forehead before letting you go. "you can sleep now, i'll play a little bit more," he whispered.

"the scary game?" you asked, and he shook his head. "no, i'll continue the game that i left before" you pouted. "okay."

but you just found yourself clung onto him snuggled into the mattress, his arms wrapped around you securely, pulling you in close. he nuzzled your face against his neck, his touch soothing as his fingers traced gentle circles on your back, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

as you drifted off, a dream stirred discomfort within you, causing you to shift your body.

.

sensing your unease, wonwoo responded by pulling you even closer, his arm finding its way around your waist as he spooned you. he pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers tenderly combing through your hair, reassuring you.

you kept on shifting onto the bed, uncomfortable. wonwoo didn't notice it since he also dozed off to sleep. his hand was still on your waist as you moved backward and accidentally rubbed your ass through his front, making him flinch a little. he's still asleep, though.

your eyes opened, gasping for air, as you woke up from a scary dream. you moved a little, but you were stopped as you felt something on your back.

what the fuck..

you felt his hardness against your ass.

poor boy got worked up unnoticed. you bit your lip as you tried to turn around, but were welcomed with a groan from wonwoo as you accidentally brushed it against him again.

his grip tightening on your waist, he leaned closer to you. you could feel his heavy breaths on your neck. you tried to move again, but the hand on your waist was stopping you. "stop moving, princess.." it was almost a whisper. his voice is soft.

"wonwoo.."

"fuck.." he hissed. he lost his control.

he held your hips as he leaned your back against the mattress, roughly. you bit your lip and looked at him.. his breaths were deep. "princess, i told you to stop moving.. how many times should i have to tell you?" you gulped as he landed his arm on both sides of the mattress, locking you in. there was a hint in his face that he's holding on.

you both made love a couple of times before. just 4 or 5? and those sexes are intimate, and the last time he touched you was a month ago. he doesn't want to hurt you; he wants you to feel pleased and heavenly. he could never be rough on his princess.

but this case is different; you've been so stubborn lately. a little punishment wouldn't be a bad idea, right?

your cheeks are burning up at the idea of wonwoo inside you again.

he bit your neck, sucking it. you tried to run your fingers through your hair, but he held your hand in place. not allowing you to move, he hissed as his erection brushed against your thighs.

you clenched around nothing, letting out soft moans as he continued to leave marks on your neck. you could feel the wetness between your thighs.

"woo.." you whispered.

he stopped and looked up at you. "im sorry."

he was about to stand up, but you held onto his arm, shaking your head. "no.. i- i mean, i don't want you to stop" your grip was tight, making him sit on the edge of the bed.

you sat in his lap as you kissed his neck, careful not to leave a mark. he

gripped your waist as your lips collided again, tasting every corner. "can you sit on me?" you stared at him blankly; you didn't register what he just said. you tilt your head, brows furrowed.

he bit his lip as he scoffed, and he lifted his hand to brush the hair out of your face. "my baby is so beautiful.." he looked at your face and said, "you are so beautiful that you need to be worshipped."

he pulled you up, and you took that as a sign to take off your pajamas. you stood up and took them off. you're about to take off your pants, but he held your wrist, kissed you as he laid his back on the bed, and gripped your waist, pulling you onto his face. you resisted at first, not knowing what to do or what his idea was.

"sit on my face." wonwoo said sharply.

you gulped. he wants you to do what?

you slowly crouched onto his face, and he lifted your leg slightly to pull your panties down. he held your thighs as you leveled your between thighs to his face. you slowly lowered your legs as you tried to sit on his face.

before you could even, he held you in place. his grip has tightened.

he lost his patience with you. "when i told you to sit, sit. i don't care if you're worried; just sit. sit on my face." he sharply said.

you bit your lips as he forced you to sit on his face.

you gasped as you felt his tongue on your entrance. "o- oh my god!" you immediately held on to the headboard for support.

you closed your eyes as you felt his tongue lick. you could literally hear the wetness as he continued to fuck his tongue on your core. your body is burning up. you tried to shuffle your moans, but you really couldn't. "a-ah.. wonwoo," you panted as you felt your legs shaking.

you looked down to see his face; his eyes were looking at your reaction. when your gaze met, he immediately fasten his pace at your entrance, making you cry.

you held a handful of his hair when you felt you were already near; before you could even know it, he knew it already. he keeps on lapping your cunt and sucking your clitoral. his hand on your thigh as you began grinding your hips on his face, basically fucking yourself into him more.

your eyes closed as you felt your orgasm hit you. you tried to close your legs, but he held them in place.

as your orgasm washed over you, you immediately removed yourself from him and checked if he was okay—if you didn't strangle him, choke him, or anything else.

he just licked his lips and looked at you.

before you could even ask, he just flashed a smile at you. "you did well, baby," he said, kissing your neck and refusing to meet your lips, he laid your back against the mattress. he took a pack of condom from the drawer before putting it in his mouth and ripping the package.

he lowered his pajama to knee level before he placed the condom on his erection. he slowly leveled himself the same as you.

before he could even get inside you, he pushed a finger to check your wetness. he thrusted his finger for a bit before pulling it out. you hissed as he pushed his shaft inside you.

pain. you bit your lip hard as you felt pain brushing all over your body. pain—thats all you felt. regardless of the number of times you've had sex with this man, he always makes it feel new. he looked at you with a concerned face, licking his lip before giving you a kiss.

"a-are you? i can stop if—"

"no, please.. continue—fuck." you held his waist to pull him closer. he hissed as he moved inside you again.

"you're still... so fucking tight," he whispered as he began to gently thrust into you. "so good for me," he said, kissing your ear. he found his pace—not too fast, not too rough. but he made sure to hit all the spots since he's still worried and concerned about hurting you. he could never hurt his princess.

as the pain all brushed away, he got the hint and started thrusting so fast and deep inside you. you moaned his name.

"a-ah, wo.. wonwoo!" your brows furrowed, mouth open. closing your eyes. "ah," he moaned at the base of your neck. "fuck."

he kneeled in front of you and held your waist in place before pushing himself again inside you. he looked up and closed his eyes while thrusting at you. you moved your hips with him. you felt more pleasure from that angle.

you moaned his name when you felt another release. his thrusts started to get sloppy. "fuck—fuck! angel.. im cumming," he made one deep thrust and looked up again, panting heavily. you could see the veins in his hands. his chest was heaving.

he pulled out and stood up to go to the bathroom. you were left in bed, feeling so tired. wonwoo went back, holding a box of tissues and wipes. he was now wearing his pajamas. you flinched when he started wiping you with wipes.

you narrowed your eyes at him, and he responded with a cute pout, saying, "im sorry." your body still felt a bit sore, and you were sensitive to what happened earlier. "need anything? food, water, or a bath?" he asked, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead.

you shook your head, a soft smile gracing your lips. "just a hug," you murmured. he chuckled affectionately before leaning down to cuddle you, wrapping you in his arms. it felt like a cozy cocoon of love and safety, his embrace melting away any discomfort you felt.

[starrywizz]

STARSCREAM X fighterpilot!READER

Part 1 Part 2

Disclaimer: One really mild swear. My 'Seekers are bigger most bots' agenda. Once again, I am googling all the terms I used so if they are incorrect, I apologise.

You regained consciousness somewhere above an ocean but it was hard to properly see out of the tinted glass. Your heart was pounding and your breaths felt short as you slowly looked around the cockpit you had suddenly found yourself in.

The harness was in a heap on the floor, tangled with the centre stick. Even without it on, you couldn't move due to the rapid speeds the jet was travelling at. One look at the spedometer and you paled. Nearing 1000kn and accelerating. Slowly, you fought the g-forces and reached out a hand for the throttle in an attempt to pull it back. Your hand gripped onto the cool metal. Right before you could pull back the throttle, the radio spit out static. On the screen in front of you, where the MMD should have been, was a purple figure that, if you squinted, might have been a face.

“Enough of that.” A cool voice called out from all around you.

Of course. You were inside a jet. A jet that had once been a robot. Or was it a robot that transformed into a jet? It didn’t really matter. Either way your heart was racing and a cold sweat dripped down you back. This was how you were going to die, wasn’t it. No fanfare, no goodbye, just 400ft above an ocean inside a giant robot jet thing.

It was likely no one would know. Your family and friends couldn't be told, not unless the government wanted to explain the existence of robots that can turn into things. Unless the government didn't know? No. Your superior knew, didn't he. The brief look of horror when he'd seen the jet had been telling. So what would they say?

The jet's sudden incline caused you to yelp and the robot thingy growled. It's voice sounded oddly masculine but that strange thought was quickly overshadowed by sheer terror as the jet accelerated harshly, travelling at well over 1500 knots now. That was over two times the speed of sound, wasn’t it. You were thrown back against the seat, arms limp beside you. Your head felt like it was swelling to 5 times its normal size. Your vision narrowed to one spot, the scowling purple face before it faded completely.

You awoke sometime later, head pounding, surrounded in a cold grip. There was a slow, methodical clanking every second. It wrenched you from the exhaustion that had been pulling at your body and you slowly opened your eyes. The floor was a good 20ft below, a dark metal surface covered in weld lines. With each clank, you were jostled slightly, so you reached out a hand to steady yourself. You touched something smooth and cold, eyes widening as something snarled. The sound was deep and animalistic, touching something primal within that screamed at you to run. The grip tightened and you braved looking up, frightened and dazed.

Crimson eyes stared back at you, joined by a disgusted scowl on the face of the robot who held you within sharp talons. This was the jet that took you. It had the same glowing eyes atop a strong, sharp nose and pretty, full lips. It opened its mouth, as if to speak, before it snapped it’s head upwards as a door opened ahead with a loud thud. The force of it spread from the floor, up through the robot’s hand and into your body causing your teeth to rattle. Loud jet engines whirred to life, an oddly comforting sound amidst the living nightmare you were suffering through. The robot holding you entered the new room and you looked around.

There was another one.

Sitting on a throne was another robot. This one was a dull grey with angry red eyes. On its legs were… tank treads? Well, you thought, If one robot could become a jet then a tank must be possible too. The grey robot had the same squinty purple face on its chest and a cannon like thing on its arm. Once it had risen, you saw that it wasn’t as tall as the robot carrying you but much broader. It spoke but the sounds that came out of its mouth were so harsh it had you shivering as goosebumps rose on your flesh. The plane robot answered with words just as harsh and inhuman.

The robot holding you lifted you up to look into your eyes, “What do you know of the Autobots?”

Fear gripped your throat tight and all you could muster was a petrified squeak.

The robot’s scowl deepened but something else was on its face too, “The Autobots?”

Somehow, you managed to utter one measly word, “What?”

The grey robot roared in frustration, a sound that made you freeze and the other robot tense for just a moment. The grey one shouted out in the mechanical chatter again before a deep purple light was emitted from its cannon. The robot holding you backed away quickly, never facing away from the grey one. Your robot growled in frustration, long legs quickly taking you both away. It turned down several corridors, all of which were made of the same dim metal, as its engines roared louder. It finally entered another room, dimly lit again, and set you down on a desk. It snarled again, sharp fangs showing. It seemed like your body had reached the limit of its fear because you found you weren’t as scared as you should have been.

“What are you?” You called out quietly. You were struggling to hear yourself over the noise of the turbines but the robot turned.

“I am a Cybertronian.” You must have looked confused because the robo—Cybertronian sighed, “I am an alien from the planet Cybertron.” Not a robot then.

“Oh, do you have a name?”

The Cybertronian looked down at you curiously, “Starscream.”

Something inside of you wanted to laugh. That was the furthest thing you expected an alien to be called. Perhaps it sounded nicer in its language but you doubted it.

“Well then, Starscream, why did you bring me here?” The alien scoffed, “Lord Megatron wanted to see if any of the locals would know the location of his dearest enemy Optimus Prime.” Oh dear, the names just keep getting worse. “But you are clearly useless.”

“I’m sorry?” You replied, unsure of what else to do.

“Thanks to your blinding stupidity I am now stuck on this mudball for even longer while this blasted war drags on.”

“Yeah. Life on this planet can be pretty shit, especially if your boss is that scary.”

Something terrible flitted across Starscream’s face before he snatched you in one clawed hand, bringing you close to his face and screaming, “I am not afraid of Megatron!”

A quickly as the fear had disappeared, it returned. The force of it overwhelmed you and you began to shake. Something in Starscream’s red eyes shifted and he placed you back down on the desk, somewhat gently, before storming out of the room, leaving you to the dark.

It took hours for you to unravel, tight muscles screaming when you moved them. You were alone with no idea where you were or how long it had been. You didn’t even know if Starscream would return or if he was leaving you to die. You wiped your tears and began to desperately plead for his return.

[dreamscapesofimagination]

I Can't Stop You From Running

Reminder: Chapter 1 of "The Good, The Bad, The Dirty" is out on Wattpad today! It is a detroit:become human fanfiction with Connor x human reader. You don't really need to know the game to check it out, please just give it a chance, DBH is my FAVORITE game of all time and I adore connor! was listening to Save My Soul by Jonah Kagen while writing this! I've been very busy and have also bren struggling mentally. I'm fine, I've had MDD and panic disorder for years and have a great support system, great meds, and have learned to handle them well. Due to the election results and now the inauguration I spiraled a bit and so all my extra energy went into getting myself back on track. Hoping to post more frequently!

Inspired by: the hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood.

I don't know where the original is from, but it inspired me as I imagine even when displaying softness Alan can't help but think of what he's done.

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

You weren't sure why you had done it.

Your finger had clicked the 'call' button before your brain had slowed down enough to process what you were doing.

The images from your dream- your nightmare- rushed through your head, a kicked dog chasing its own tail again. And again. And again.

The ringing only caused your heart to hammer faster, and you quickly hit the end button.

Stupid, of course he wouldn't answer. It was two am, he was sleeping.

Your eyes focused on the shadows dancing through the window. Sleep was far from your mind, closer to an anxiety attack than sweet dreams.

What would they do when you became a Kyklos? Would they imprison you, study you? You figured Yuri would have few qualms about it, your only comfort being that Jiro seemed to like you enough to care.

And how would they react? Would they mourn? Would they move on, chalk you up as another casualty to be recorded as a statistic, lumped in with all the others studied in Anomalous Epidemiology?

A spike of cold fear stabbed through you as your phone rang.

You scrambled, grabbing it and answering.

"Hello?" Breath rushed from your body at the sound of Alan's voice.

"Hi, um. Sorry if I woke you, I just..." you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, "I had a bad dream and uh. I just... needed to hear someone's voice."

A beat of silence had a whole new type of anxiety clawing up your throat. What the fuck were you doing?

"I was up anyway, couldn't sleep..." Alan's voice trailed off for a moment as if he were searching for something to say.

"I'm doing some paperwork. If you want you could come here?" his voice peaked in uncertaintly.

You found yourself nodding, though he couldn't see you.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that."

And so a routine was set. When you had a nightmare, you would call Alan. You discovered he seemed to sleep very little. He was doing paperwork, working out, working on a car, or watching old movies when you called.

He never pressed. Never asked you to tell him what terrors were haunting your sleep. Just quietly accepted your presence, allowed you the space to feel better. Before you knew it, you started falling asleep curled up on an old chair he had in his room.

He never pressed, never touched you. His presence was quiet, reliable- safe.

This night you were sat beside him as some old american movie played on the screen before you.

Tonight it was harder to shake the dread that had woken you.

You could sense the concern from all around you. You could see the paleness to your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes, the bitten cuticles, limp hair. Anyone who saw you would know you hadn't been sleeping much.

You worried the skin of your lower lip, gaze going through the television and beyond.

Alan could tell you were not there beside him.

"I get them too."

His voice was like a lighthouse, leading you safely from the storm of your thoughts, back to the safe harbour that was the space beside him.

You blinked at him, "what?"

He glanced at you before turning his gaze back to the tv.

"Nightmares. Most nights they wake me up. Hard to sleep when I know that I'll have one."

Your eyes dropped to your hands. Silence lapsed.

And then-

"I think I'm seeing what's going to happen to me."

Alan turned his head to watch you carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel myself change in the dreams. I feel the most unimaginable pain, and before I know it I'm no longer in control of myself. It's like-" your voice cracked, tears falling before you had realized they had gathered in your eyes, "-it's like my soul is paralyzed, like my body was hijacked. I see the people I care about staring, screaming. And then I see their corpses. And I know, I know that I did it. I killed them."

Your chest heaved a sob as Alan stared at you.

And then you felt him shift.

He tentatively pulled you toward himself, wrapping you up in his arms, body stiff against you as if he was unsure what he was doing.

You gripped his shirt. allowing yourself to break apart. Weeks of little sleep and intense fear had made you fragile, and here you were, falling to pieces.

Feeling safe to do so because you knew Alan was there, and Alan was good at fixing things. He would piece you together again.

He held you as you cried. He never said it would be okay. He didn't speak.

After that night, much of your time was spent at Vagastrom. Other students noticed that something was different between you and the captain. Whispers sprang up, and try as you might, it was hard to deny that the air between you was different. Despite the way you both spent much of the night together, and how once quiet comraderie had become quiet talks about anything and everything (though you both avoided bringing up your nightmares again)- you would not admit how you felt, too afraid to lose the fragile friendship you had built, to scare Alan away.

You had gotten pretty good at ignoring the way your heart hammered everytime you saw Alan, as if it were trying to break free from your chest and fly to his hands, knowing it would be safe with him. Knowing it was his.

There wasn't enough time for that, anyway. The way things were going, your curse would not be lifted. Getting all of the ghouls to cooperate was akin to herding cats- though even that would be easier given the intelligence of the campus cats.

It was hard to blame them. They each had their own pasts, and had their own ambitions. You found it odd that your fate had been placed in their hands anyway- were the faculty incapable of figuring this out? More and more you expected that saving you was not the goal of Darkwick, as if they had a vested interest in you becoming a Kyklos.

You turned to your side, trying to force the thought from your mind.

Tonight, Alan had to go on a mission. You had been assigned to assist Yuri in an experiment- which had turned into Yuri ordering you and Jiro to collect some specimen from Jabberwock (much to the dismay of Haru, though he seemed a bit happier when Jiro mentioned that they just needed a blood sample, and had no intention of harming the creature). By the end of the day you were tired, irate, and thinking about how much you would like to wring Yuri's neck. You had looked forward to crawling into bed and sleeping, nightmares be damned.

And yet, sleep would not come.

Your fingers twiddled at a loose string on your blanket as you stared into the room, begging your brain to shut down for the night.

Groaning, you sat up, accepting that you were unlikely to sleep for the forseable future. You padded down the stairs, deciding that maybe a cup of tea would help your mind quiet.

Your eyes stared listlessly at the electric kettle as it boiled.

A knock at the door broke your disassociation, a startled yelp leaving your lips before your heart settled.

With quiet steps you krept to the door, opening it and gasping as you took in the ghoul before you.

Alan was disheveled, and covered in blood. Blood that you assumed was not his due to the lack of any major visible wounds.

He stared at you for a moment, jaw working as if he were trying to say something, eyes wide like a frightened animal.

Your hand grasped his, feeling the blood stain as you pulled him inside.

He put up no resistance, seeming to deflate once he crossed the threshold.

Wordlessly, you led him to the bathroom. You unbuttoned his vest, tossing the stained article into the tub before doing the same with his shirt.

You turned the sink on, wetting a cloth once it was warm and beginning to run it over his bloodied knuckles.

All the while, Alan watched. Your only sign that he was coming back to himself was the slowing of his breaths.

And finally, "I don't deserve you."

It was quiet, as if to himself.

You paused, watching him carefully, holding still as if he would dart at any moment, sink into himself and draw away from you.

His eyes finally rose to you, meeting your gaze with his own, empty devastation behind lifeless amber eyes.

"I'm... I'm not good," he choked out, staring at you, unblinking.

"All I can do is hurt," Alan shifted to move away from you, pull his hands away.

You tightened your grip, and the ghoul froze, as if he didn't have the strength to pull away.

Showing you how little he actually wanted to leave.

It was the first time you had seen Alan look so fragile, as if he would crumble at the slightest brush of wind. Fall apart at your voice.

"Alan," your voice was gentle, carefully drawing him back, back to you, away from the doubts that plagued him.

"You are the one who comforted me every night, who never expected me to be okay or to talk about what's going on," your hands moved to cradle his face, thumbs trailing over his cheekbones.

His eyes fluttered closed, savoring your touch.

"I-" before Alan could speak, you brushed your lips against his, effectively stealing his breath as his eyes flew open, staring at you.

And then he surged forward, pressing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

You felt dampness on your cheeks. unsure if it was from your tears or his.

There you sat, clinging to one another as if you'd drift apart otherwise, lost in the space of infinite loneliness.

[put-me-out-of-my-destiny]

One thing I've said before is that if Lady ever got to be playable again, she should be permitted to use items like those that appeared in the classic games, instead of having a DT gauge, just to sell the fact that she is a human being keeping up with the most powerful devils in the world through guile and perseverance.

I figure these are obtained the way Nero obtains Devil Breakers. Lady has a limited inventory that she can stock with items she either finds in levels or purchases at the skill shop.

Being the stand-in for a Devil Trigger, they would be activated with the L1/LB button by default. Items would be selected with the directional pad. Some of the items would also have functions that mimic those of a standard Devil Trigger.

Here's some items I think Lady could have access to:

Vital Star: Returning from the classic games is a green star-shaped crystal, that restores some health upon consumption. If you think it's not in-character for Lady to use a Vital Star, maybe a more sci-fi-themed healing item would be more appropriate.

High-Caliber Ammo: An item that grants a unique power-up for whichever non-Kalina Ann weapon she has equipped. This replaces her charged shots from Devil May Cry 4: Special Edition, which turned her handgun bullets into incendiary or explosive shots, and her shotgun shells into piercing and shredding shots.

Grenade: Exactly what it sounds like. Throwing can be delayed like in many shooter games.

Landmine: A different kind of explosive that activates when an enemy touches it. Can be used to set up combos.

Body Armor: Equipped to grant Lady increased damage resistance, and makes her less vulnerable to flinching or being knocked down. Can only soak up so much damage before breaking.

Jetpack: Can grant Lady a traditional double jump, or an Air Raid-like state that allows her to use her ground attacks from the safety of the air, until it runs out of fuel. The image of Lady and Trish going on a flight together is very cute to me.

Tripod: Allows her to place any non-Kalina Ann weapon in the form of a turret, which will autonomously fire a set number of shots. Lady's weapon will be automatically returned to her inventory once the turret's shots are depleted, once combat ends, or once she places down another turret.

Unnamed speed-boosting drug: Primarily this would increase Lady's movement speed, melee attack speed, and melee damage for a short duration. This would be a pale purple substance that's consumed either through an inhaler or straight-up snorted as powder. This item should also alter Lady's dialogue while it's active, representing a manic and even more violent attitude. To provoke even more concern, perhaps using this item should cause Lady to take a small amount of damage. It should probably add a red tint to the screen too.

And finally, her most powerful item would be a small vehicle, which can be summoned in similar ways to Nightmare from Devil May Cry 5 (air dropped, burrowing from the ground, bursting through a wall, etc.).

I'm imagining this vehicle was made using mechanisms from a dismantled Kalina Ann II, and the original Kalina Ann can interface with it in the same way, granting access to moves like Cascade and Mega Cascade. This vehicle has a limited pool of health, and will explode when its health is depleted, after ejecting Lady.

I haven't settled on a name for the vehicle, but I'm partial to Maddona. According to the wiki, this was another name for the Virgin Mary who, along with Beatrice and St. Lucia (Trish and Lucia's namesakes), aided Dante Alighieri in his journey through hell. It's speculated that the name Madonna is what inspired Lady's chosen name.

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

25~ Do not perceive my impending doom☔️

Scaramouche X reader smau | word count: 1,632

Anxiously they all huddle around a single lit-up home screen, occasionally murmuring to each other to shove over cause they can't see.

The wait for the ding of the following message took up seconds they couldn't bear to sit still for.

“How can a single message be an excruciating pain to wait for.”

“Maybe they got old fingers to type fast.”

“Okay, zoomer. Have you ever SEEN them??!? They are in their prime!! And still go on dates!!!”

“The ideal parents…”

“Okay but still…what’s taking so long??”

“I bet the other two aren’t even there yet.”

“Expected though. He probably needed a few dozen pep talks.”

“....and how was Ayato the one to do that and go with him??”

“Probably so Scara isn’t forced out….Ayato has a third key just in case…”

An unrelevant message popped up from scara on Kazuha’s phone. He reads it out loud.

“Do not perceive my impending doom. I’m likely to get shut out.”

Layla frowns and she shakes her head. “Her parents will warm her up first.”

“As long as they tell us they got in though…it’s been a while—”

*DING*

The phone lit up and the awaited message popped up. The blue-haired Kamisato grabbed her phone fast and opened it up for all 8 pairs of eyes to see.

“They’re in!!”

☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️

The door creaked open afraid to startle the resident and make a mess of the situation.

That was proved to be unnecessary as the pair peered past the dark and dimly lit studio. She wouldn’t have noticed at all. Only two large white eyes stared up at the intruders, its tail swishing as it sat over the resident like a gargoyle.

The woman’s lips frowned and eyebrows furrowed in apprehension and anguish. She waves her hand and the man gets her message.

The flutter of thick curtains draws open loudly, the room now getting beat with the rays of moonlight and the twinkling of the city underneath the building's height.

The noise couldn’t even wake the slumbering resident. Too drawled out in her vicious unhealthy cycle of mourning from an act of betrayal.

“Honey….” The woman’s voice was laced with worried concern for the view of her daughter sprawled across the carpeted floor.

But now that light is in the large studio did they see what lay beneath her was actually a canvas she scrawled all over in dark purple.

illumi darted away as her mother approached her body. Father looked at the cat and dug through his pocket, bending down he poured the cat treats into a bowl on the ground.

“Courtesy from your owner.” He smiled as he watched the cat eat happily and he scratched her head before joining his wife beside their main concern.

Father picked y/n up and the three of them headed to the bedroom upstairs. The only place that seemed untouched by her crazed despair.

Concern grew as they saw how rigid her body was in his arms. “She’s much lighter than her average weight…”

“...I saw convenience store snacks in the kitchen. Oh, my baby…” He lays his daughter down on the bed as the couple sits beside her next to each other.

Mother touched Y/n’s forehead and sighed in relief. “No fever at least. I’m betting on large migraines instead.”

“How should we wake our little darling artist?” Father grunts out as he watches y/n furrow her face restlessly.

Mother smiles nostalgically, Father gets the memo and they both place their palm on either of y/n’s cheeks stroking her face, she bristles and her face relaxes.

Deep bagged eyes blearily open in a daze. Her night terrors had dissolved from a familiar warmth as she took moments to recover her awakening.

“Our go-to way of waking you up when a nightmare consumes you. Better than getting terrified awake.” Mother giggles as she softens her voice and eyes. Leaning in she kisses her forehead which astonishingly melts the throbbing migraine, somewhat.

“Mom…dad…’m so tired. And numb…” Y/n struggled to sit up as her parents helped her up.

“Darling, you have no energy at all. Drink this, hot rejuvenating soup. 100% mother-made and she had the whole pot put in containers for you to save for later on.”

Father passes a thermos while the three get comfy and close to hold each other. Y/n sat in the middle.

Mother watched her gulp down the warm soup and waited till she was halfway done. Make sure she has enough nutrients for the heavy topic.

“Now…y/n. Why are you destroying yourself… Are you tryingg to have a more rough love story than ours?” She lightly teased to try and pry a smile from your sunken lips.

Having no energy to move a muscle and only lying on their shoulders, her lips mumble.

“I don’t...love him. He’s my enemy. Stole from me…my life’s passion. Didn’t consent to a.i feeding…Falsified his affection and…broke my heart.”

“Darling, have you ever gotten his viewpoint–�� Father got smacked on the head lightly as mother cut him off.

“We’ve chatted with the boy, albeit over text buutt, I can see him trying desperately to get you back. This is no story like ours, but I do think it’s time to return and face him once again.” Her words provided an unfounded warmth.

“You don’t have to accept any apologies, answer him, or force him to conform, just listen to his story. How else would you be able to debate with him?” Mother gives her a secure pat to go forth and face it.

“If I knew from the beginning I would've asked Papa to sue him...making a mess of art’s history…” Y/n whimpers and keeps her head down, he eyes puffy from lack of sleep and the sinking spirals of despair.

Mother quirks an eyebrow, curious and suspecting the real motive of all this. “My little artist…do you think you have to hold up the grandiose history of the art world I had a part in? All alone?”

Father's eyes understood but y/n scrunched up her face and body. She thought about it too much subconsciously that it was her job to parade around history like it was her legacy to maintain.

The berating thought of sheltering the traditional art from the wrongful social norms, she took it on herself. Building herself around a castle she wanted to protect, her walls having a gaping hole from a purple wrecking ball caused a collapse.

The wall feels lacking in her way of protection and slowly rebuilds. Her art castle is her only safe space and requires all her attention. The cracking walls tremble in another collapse, begging to open up the castle.

“And the walls have chipped y/n…I never asked you to uphold my reputation in history, nor will I ever carry such a weight. Sure I was important, but it’s the past now, oh my sweet color child.”

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes. She couldn't let it go. Her mother was her idol, her inspiration. To let others mindlessly trample her past work was horrifying.

“Fear of A.I art covering up traces of the beautiful art I’ve founded, your fear drives hatred, dear. You’ve let it consume you. And you’ve let it destroy you.” Mother pulled your trembling body close and sighed lightly as she latched onto her.

“Do you hate how he tempted you, what he used against you, or the sinking feeling that he’s left the morals you silently pleaded him to follow?” She placed a kiss on her head while holding father’s hand behind her as she bawls.

Father ruffled her hair and followed mother to kiss her head as well.

“Let me tell you my view of our story. When your mother went off the radar, I was restless and worried. I didn’t dare ask one of her friends the whereabouts of her. I cared and soon enough my mind raced so often with missing her. Then I thought of a possibility of me driving her away permanently because of my ignorant bickering and debating. I didn’t want to be her cause of giving up and destroying her foundation.”

Father’s mouth curls bitterly following with a softer voice.

He feared he was the problem, that his stubborn rebuttals caused her to get tired of him. He hated how he was like that. But he couldn't help it. It was in his nature.

Is that what Scara’s feeling…?

“So when I saw her again, all shining in that much deserved spotlight and passion, I knew I loved her creative spark with each time I've ever thought about her in the 3 years she's been gone.”

He didn't want to leave that spotlight where she was the star. She shone to him in a way he knows he’ll never get to experience again if he lets her go.

Y/n listened, just like all the times she’d pay clear attention to their stories.

This time was no different, no matter how the tale was meant to free her, she wanted to be guided by her parents she loved so dearly.

So she opened her heart and head to these experiences; a gateway to guide her own turmoil.

But… How does he feel? Was I like a shining light to him…?

That thought made your heart wrench.

“She came back, with much more vigor than the last time I saw her. And it filled my soul. It meant I didn’t crush her spirit, and she thanked me for pushing her past her limits.”

“I was her revelation.”

“Her reason to start again."

“You are your mother’s daughter Y/n, pursue that soulful feeling again."

Now… did I have a right to go back to him after anguishing him as he did to my unwarranted goal.

Would he still. . . Pursue me with this obstacle i made. . .

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{3}-> Scara decided to stop his a.i art creations when he realized that you are really his fav artist—as long as you were the one to teach him how to paint and draw. Facing multitudes of slip of the tongue from your friends; you figured out that he was your mortal nemesis; hatred brewed and twisted your view on him.

Lmaoo, i write Scaramouche’s name so much it autocorrected

Yayyy done, now to the fun part😚

Male POV🤤🤤

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r-blog @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @ynverse @featuredtofu @reinoodle @angeilix @keizuk @sayokeshii @liuaneee @scarasbaby @peaceindreams @samyayaya

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

I need more Raceway Kingleader in my life…

Could we have a fic where Seth is constantly plagued by nightmares (or hallucinations) where Kinger abstracted or is critically injured by Abel and all Seth could do is watch from above…causing Seth to teleport to Kinger’s fort or room and see that he is okay…the chess piece calms Seth down and starts immediately going into caring partner mode (mostly cause he was used to doing it with Queenie before she abstracted and it’s just an instinct at this point) Seth notices and tries to leave realizing that Kinger is seeing Queenie and not him at the moment…he can’t bring himself to leave though as he fears what will happen if he leaves the only one he has left…

A/N: funny that you bring this up. oh, the sad story between these two...

WHAT ONCE WAS

A RACEWAY AU CANON ONSHOT

WARNING: angst, grief, hurt/some comfort, smoking

~~~

In the quiet still darkness of night, there is one that watches the residence of the garage. From the In-Between, Seth flicks away a used cigarette. Silvery smoke billows from his teeth and brushes over the one-way transparent barrier that separated his shadowy realm from the inbounds of the game.

Seth walked along the barrier, one hand idly dragging his fingers along it. Ripples, like static on an old TV screen, waved along the barrier from his touch.

He could see through the walls upstairs. Everyone was in their room, except one. Kinger laid out on the open floor of the lounge, staring at the ceiling. Seth stopped, gazing down at the tall chess piece. He cocked his head lightly to the side. Kinger seemed more distant than usual. His eyes were wide and unfocused, then were typically shut when trying to listen to the cellar.

Seth turned to keep walking, but stopped. What if...tonight was the night? He couldn't leave. Not after everything. He sighed, "....fucking hell..."

Seth summoned a new cigarette and flipped open a personalized silver lighter. He lit up and took a long drag as he touched the barrier. Silver flames engulfed him, and in the blink of an eye, he was inbounds. He stood over Kinger, flicking away ash at the end of his cigarette.

Kinger continues to stare, not acknowledging Seth for several seconds. Then he blinks, his eyes looking into silver irises concealed in shadow. "...Hello." Kinger waved awkwardly.

Seth let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and rolled his eyes to conceal his relief.

Kinger sat up, looking at Seth curiously. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were abstracting." Seth said flatly.

"Oh...sorry to disappoint." Kinger looked down, picking at his tracksuit.

"That's not- ...nevermind. I should just-" Seth blustered.

"Can I steal?" Kinger pointed at Seth's cigarette.

This caught Seth off guard. It has been a long time since the Kinger had asked for a smoke. "Uh, sure." Seth sat down next to Kinger on the floor and summoned another cigarette. He then flicked open his lighter for Kinger.

The two sat in silence for a moment, both taking deep drags of their cigarettes. Silvery smoke drifted over them like disappearing clouds. Kinger picked at a single loose thread on the bottom of his tracksuit. "I could hear her tonight."

Seth exhaled another puff of smoke and didn't respond.

Kinger let the silence hang again for a long moment before speaking again. "She's been restless lately. They all have. I think they can hear the static in the walls."

Seth blinked, but let it go. Kinger has said a lot of strange things since Queenie abstracted.

"....I'm sorry."

Seth froze. Cigarette loosely hanging from his fingers.

"I don't blame you for not speaking to me, but I've been wanting to tell you that. I shouldn't have....I wish I could've..." Kinger struggled to find his words.

"It's a bit late for that." Seth said coldly. He watched the silver embers burn the paper of his cigarette, leaving black ash in its wake. "I moved on from you a long time ago."

"I know." Kinger snuffed his cigarette against the floor. "But I still owed you the apology."

"A wise woman once told me words don't mean anything when you don't have the actions to back them up."

Kinger put his hand on the floor and sighed lightly. "She...was very wise. Always more than I deserved. ...so were you."

Seth bristled. "I'm an AI, Kinger. I've accepted the fact that you didn't love me. You loved playing with me."

"That's not true, I- there's was a time that we- ....I shouldn't say....should I?"

"No." Seth flicked away his cigarette, it dissolved into the shadows. "Because I met someone that actually did love me. She taught me what that word meant. Not you. Not even Queenie."

"Is that why you've been gone for so long? Because of Mango?"

"Races don't mean much when the best has already come and gone."

"I'm sorry." Kinger looked sympathetically at Seth, even though he didn't look back. "She didn't deserve what happened to her. Have you been able to talk to anyone about it?"

Seth almost laughed. "What the fuck do you think?"

"Right...well, you're here. I've got all night." Kinger said, extending an olive branch.

"That's not why I'm here." Seth stonewalled.

Kinger wasn't surprised by Seth's response. "Then...why are you still here?"

Seth closed his teeth, dragging his hand down his incisors. "I don't know."

"Maybe you're tired of the solitude?"

Seth didn't respond.

"We could just sit for a while. It's still a few hours before the day cycle rolls around." Kinger laid down and closed his eyes.

Seth sat in silence next to Kinger. If he listened well enough, he could hear stirring from the cellar. Ten abstracted compilations of data roamed the endless dark below. The one he missed the most wasn't among them.

He flicked open his lighter. Light blue burned at the center of the silver flame. He tipped the lighter and from the cap dropped a simple silver ring. Engravings of lily flowers circled the outside. He rolled it gently between his fingers. His chest tightened. He considered casting it into the void.

Kinger cracked his eyes, carefully watching Seth silently mourn. There was nothing he could say or do. He wanted Seth to stay. He wanted to tell him he could have friends again. He could be more than what lurks in the shadows. But Kinger said nothing.

Seth put the ring back and closed the lighter. "She...was my Queenie. I... understand better now...why you've acted the way you have..."

Kinger nodded. "Grief is the greatest pain imaginable, but let me tell you something. Don't run from it."

Seth looked at Kinger for the first time.

"To grieve deeply is to have loved greatly. The grief should remind you of how happy she made you. Celebrate what you had. Celebrate her."

"It still hurts."

"And it's going to for the rest of your life, but it gets easier to carry with time. You're allowed to be sad, to miss her, but she wouldn't want you to be sad forever, would she?"

"No." Seth was about to summon another cigarette when Kinger's hand floated up next to his. He hesitated but slowly held Kinger's hand. The first interaction he's had with anyone in years. The small connection made his eyes well up. He closed his teeth, hiding his tears.

Kinger could feel Seth's hand trembling slightly. He didn't acknowledge it, fearing the slightest word out of turn would send Seth fleeing to the In-between. He held tight as he relaxed on the lounge floor.

Seth didn't move until the day cycle started outside. The digital sun rose and gradually lit up the windows. Seth had felt Kinger's grip relax hours prior, but he held on until dawn.

As the sun creeped over the horizon and shone its rays inside the garage, Seth took one last long look at Kinger. "I forgive you." Silver flames flared from Seth's body and he vanished in the sunlight.

[whatdoseitmeantobehuman]

Lens of survival part 3 First steps

The next few days passed in a blur of medical checks and debriefings. You learned to distinguish the soft footsteps of each agent - Sage's gentle glide, Killjoy's energetic bounce, Cypher's measured stride that still made you tense despite your best efforts. It was during one of these quiet moments, a week after your arrival, that Alpha Yoru appeared in your doorway with a covered dish. "This proves nothing," he said gruffly, setting the dish on your bedside table.

The familiar scent of perfectly seasoned rice and pickled plum made your throat tight. "I just had extra." You stared at the onigiri, perfectly triangular just like your Yoru used to make. "Thank you," you whispered. He hovered awkwardly, clearly wrestling with something. Finally, he spoke. "The other me... was he really like a brother to you?" "He saved my life," you said softly, picking up one of the rice balls.

"Not just at the end. Long before that. He..." you swallowed hard, "he used to make me laugh when I forgot how." Yoru's jaw clenched. "Tell me." And so you did. You told him about the time Omega Yoru had found you crying in the break room after a particularly bad "argument" with Cypher. How he'd dragged you to the training room and taught you to throw punches, not to fight back - you both knew that would only make things worse - but to feel strong again. How he'd started leaving onigiri in your locker, a silent reminder that someone saw you, someone cared.

"He wasn't always angry like you," you added, seeing Alpha Yoru's perpetual scowl. "He was... lighter. Before the war changed everything. Before he had to watch his friends become monsters." "I'm not him," Yoru said sharply, but his voice lacked its usual bite. "No," you agreed. "You're not. But you made his recipe exactly right." He left without another word, but the next day, there was fresh onigiri waiting when you woke up. Your physical recovery progressed faster than your emotional one. Sage cleared you to leave the medical bay, though you were still confined to the residential wing of the facility.

They gave you a small room - sparse but clean, with a window overlooking the city. More importantly, it had a lock you controlled. It was during your first night there that the nightmare hit. You were back in his surveillance room, screens everywhere showing your face, your movements, your failed attempts to run. His voice whispering, "I do this because I love you. Because you need protection. Because you're mine." You woke up screaming, tangled in sheets damp with sweat. Your door burst open, and you scrambled back against the headboard before recognizing Alpha Cypher in the doorway, his mask slightly askew as if he'd put it on in a hurry.

"You're safe," he said, staying in the doorway, hands where you could see them. "No one here will hurt you." Behind him, you could see other agents - Sage looking concerned, Killjoy in pajamas covered in tiny robots, Yoru pretending he hadn't rushed over. "I'm sorry," you managed, embarrassed at causing such a commotion. "I didn't mean to-" "Don't apologize," Cypher cut you off, his voice firm but gentle. "May I come in? Just to check the room? I'll leave the door open." You nodded, watching as he methodically inspected every corner, every shadow. You knew what he was doing - showing you there were no cameras, no surveillance devices, nothing hidden in the darkness.

It was such a stark contrast to how his counterpart would have reacted that you felt tears forming. "All clear," he reported, maintaining his distance. "Would you like someone to stay? Sage or Killjoy perhaps?" You shook your head. "I'm okay. I just... I need to remember where I am." "Where you are," he said carefully, "is under my protection. The right kind, this time." He touched his mask, a gesture you'd come to recognize as discomfort. "I've been... struggling with what my counterpart did. I want you to know that I would never-" "I know," you interrupted, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. "You're nothing like him. Not where it counts."

Something shifted in his posture - relief, maybe, or resolution. "Try to rest. Tomorrow, if you're willing, I'd like to start teaching you about our security systems. Not to control you," he added quickly, "but so you can understand how we keep everyone safe. Together." After he left, you lay awake for a long time, thinking about trust and second chances. Outside your door, you could hear quiet movements - someone standing guard. From the rhythm of the footsteps, it was Yoru.

You smiled slightly, remembering another Yoru who used to do the same thing. Different world, different man, same protective heart. Maybe that was the key to all of this - finding the echoes of goodness in these familiar strangers, while accepting that they were their own people. Not replacements for what you'd lost, but something new. Something, potentially, better. You fell asleep to the sound of those pacing footsteps, and this time, no nightmares came.

[n3x0id]

the birth

tw/cw: mentioned voices, abandonment, violent thoughts, swearing, suggestive topics tw/cw are not necessarily in order

error/geno belong to loverofpiggies dream/nightmare belongs to jukoblog reaper belongs to renrink outertale belongs to the community ((?) I couldn't find who made it.) syntosis belongs to me!

@snowdrop-wolf if you wanna read

after his third crash from the voices screaming in his ears, error finally goes to the spot in the anti-void that they keep directing him to. the atmosphere changing as he gets closer. its from the residue of the... fun he had with dream and reaper. the memory is feint and fuzzy but still a fond feeling remains present.

error is snapped out out his thoughts by a voice shouting at him.

he looks around trying to find what they brought him out here for. "ok. . . you assholes brought me out here." he huffs in frustration. "what is it you wanted me to find?"

error hears a feint sound, though he ignores it at first. that is till the voices tell him to look down, so he does. he almost crashes again as he jumps back away from the tiny apple blossom colored light at his feet.

"what the hell is that?!" he shouts as the light... chirps? the light chirped at his voice... like a baby bird does to its mothers presence.

after a moments hesitation he scoots closer. he gets a bit closer to get a better look. he notices a little piece of a soul within the light. though he notices... his glitching has lessened, the voices have quieted down.

he starts to freak out slightly and grabs the little soul... only to stop himself from destroying it at the last moment. he is frozen for a moment as a body starts to form around the little light.

soon he's left holding a tiny glitching baby skeleton. most of their little bones are as black as his. their little arms and legs are a pale grey-ish lavender. their little form covered in gold markings though they stop on their neck. the outer bone of sockets are gold as well. when they open their sockets he see's hollow, violet, sockets that make it hard to tell where they're looking.

he stares at the little creature in his hands as it reaches to him. it touches his face and hes suddenly struck with memories... memories he's long forgotten since being in the anti-void... the save screen, the surface... the fact he was with reaper long before he...

he looks at the baby in his hands as a tear falls on them. they flinch and cry softly. he pulls them close and tries to calm them down.

he stands up with a gentle smile on his face as he coo's softly to his baby. the last time he held a baby was... what was their name? he'll as reaper later.

the baby starts to fall asleep and... the voices are starting to come back. he starts to panic as he realizes, his baby isn't safe with him! he thinks about it, he cant give them to dream cause of the constant fighting with nightmare... he cant give them to reaper... he doesn't want to leave him to raise another child alone... where can he send them?

he looks up at his puppets and pulls one down. he takes off his scarf and swaddles his baby in it with the puppet... he didn't realize it was dream till he finished securing the baby...

he panics as the voices get louder. one stands out though.

"geno? no still error. send them to outertale! you haven't destroyed it before!" the others started to agree, though some are telling him to just kill it.

he thinks on it. the voice is right. outertale was safe... mostly. he opens a portal and hesitates. he looks at the sleeping bundle in his hands.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he gently plants a kiss on their forehead and gently places them on the other side of the portal. he snaps it shut as he crashes.

[faytelumos]

Into the Black With a Matchstick, pt 3

I'm keeping this as the taglist, but feel free to DM/comment/Ask if you want to be added/removed.

Please, if you haven't read the first parts in awhile, check out the recap I have linked for your convenience. :3

@c00kieknight, @jxm-1up, @midnight--architect, @robinparravel, @thepotatoofnopes, @those-damn-snippets; @thelazywitchphotographer, @tildeathiwillwrite

first previous recap

cw: bad math

---

Whatever the fuck the newcomer with Admiral Paxie was, it was not helping Adina's already overtaxed brain.

It had been bad enough seeing that Paxie was so huge they could barely even fit into the ship. It was bad enough that Adina was in charge of probably all that was left of the human race, that she had no way of figuring out if these aliens were truly friendly or just acting like it, bad enough that she was starving and dehydrated and high and had the worst God-damned headache she had ever had in her life.

And now she had to let some six foot tall cave-dwelling-mantis-snake-vampire walk around in the ship. It was like this thing was specifically made to be as creepy as possible, and when it got down on all eights—

She had dropped the ship's remote helm tablet, almost on her foot, and she was still shaking from the heart attack the sudden noise had caused her.

When they got to the bridge, which was thankfully open enough to allow Adina and John to put some space between themselves and the aliens, Paxie pulled the nightmare fuel aside. Adina subtly let out a sigh of relief and busied herself at the control panel.

Frankly, she didn't know what she was looking at. This was John's job. But the drugs in her brain were starting to prove themselves a bad idea as her body's discomfort reared its ugly head, and she couldn't stop thinking. Four times during the walk from the dock she had considered waking up a Marine to protect her and John from these monsters. And that wasn't the mind of a diplomat. That wasn't the thought of a leader she could trust.

Just get through this. Get through this meeting, and then food, water, and real sleep.

The smaller Xoixe stepped up to the LCD screen with most of the interactive display on it. John sidled up, too, probably to make sure Adina didn't hurt anything. Good.

"I heard this ship carries its life-forms cryogenically?" the smaller Xoixe asked. Adina looked up, and as soon as she did, John gently moved her hands and started clicking away at the panel's keyboard.

"Uh, yes," Adina replied. Looking up into the suit made it slightly easier than looking into four eyes and a big, sharp-toothed mouth. Maybe they wouldn't have looked so intimidating if her head wasn't throbbing. "Yes, our crew was specifically picked for the task of determining the viability of another planet for colonization. But the human lifespan isn't long enough to make the trip at our curr — with the technology we had." Adina put a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat on her forehead, seeking the cold relief of her own touch. 26 million years…. "We were only supposed to be space-borne for 150 years…."

"If you don't mind my inquiry," the smaller Xoixe said as John kept typing. Adina looked up. The large alien had sat back on their haunches and was carrying their own tablet, made of a sleek plastic-looking material. "Is it possible for me to acquire standard medical parameters for your species? I'm a xenomedic, but since this is our first encounter, I have nothing to go on."

Adina stared for a moment. A xenomedic. So they'd brought a doctor aboard on their landing party. A group of three, and they'd saved a seat for a doctor. Adina didn't even know what the nightmare's job was, but when she glanced over, she realized there were no weapons on anyone. The nightmare perhaps could have used their claws, but looking again, their limbs didn't seem strong enough to hold Adina or John down if they started throwing punches. Both Xoixes had their claws entirely covered in their suits, and there was no attempt to make the suits sharp on the outside.

So maybe they really were friendly. Or maybe they did a really good job at acting like it. There weren't many ways to tell. Did this species even lie? How inherit was lying for intelligent species? Did Earth animals lie? Yes, Koko the Gorilla had told a lie. Had she learned that from humans?

The Xoixe was staring at her.

"Okay," Adina rasped. "Follow me."

---

"Lieutenant Harrison?" Paxie asked once Captain Ramirez and Ensign Kime were gone. Sergeant Klte shifted behind them, out of view of the little alien. Harrison turned away from the console after a lengthy delay.

These creatures looked more and more like prey the longer Paxie studied them. All except for their forward eyes. It was uncanny. Harrison's eyes were bright and round outside of their black, circular pupil, and it made it all too clear that they were looking directly at Paxie.

"Yes… Admiral?" Harrison said. Paxie shook their head slightly to focus their thoughts.

"Would it be acceptable for Sergeant Klte to take a look around your ship? We're curious as to how your vessel has lasted for so long in open space."

Harrison… laughed again. It was loud and sharp, and they opened their mouth and bared their teeth to do it.

"If you figure that out, I'd like to know, too," Harrison said. Paxie quirked their jaw.

"How do you mean?" Klte moved behind them, too.

"Our ship was meant for a 150 year journey," Harrison explained, still baring their blunt teeth. "Even that was ambitious for our level of engineering." They turned to the console and began hitting buttons. They were small buttons compared to the Xoixe's controls, and they clicked and snapped as they pressed and navigated. "We've made unmanned — that is, autonomous and without organic passengers — bodies before. To go into space. But even those tend to give out after a few decades. A-a group of ten years."

Paxie stepped closer and looked down to the readout. It wasn't intelligible; their suit was only equipped with an audio and radiation translator. Harrison gestured to something with their flat, soft digits.

"The requirements on the system for self maintenance, self regulation, and self repair on top of the requirements for life support and cryogenic maintenance are, to put it lightly, a-fucking-lot." Paxie blinked at the unexpected candor. Klte shifted, too. "Compare that against the life expectancy of our alloys in open radiation, extreme heat and cold shifts, and micro-meteorites, and this thing would have been lucky to land us safely if our trip got extended to 300 years." They looked up again. Paxie tilted their head, mind reeling.

Surely they were misinterpreting what Harrison had said.

Surely there was no way that a species would strike out into the open universe without both FTL drives and shielding dampeners.

"You don't have a significant issue with micro-meteorites…?" Paxie asked, and even as they said it, they were afraid of the answer. "…Do you?"

Harrison was bearing their teeth again.

"Oh, it's one of our biggest engineering challenges."

Paxie stared. They couldn't help it. They didn't know what to say. They weren't even breathing for a moment.

"You must have left in a hurry," they rasped. Harrison laughed again.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" they laughed, turning back to the console.

What did that even mean?!

Paxie was starting to feel light-headed. They wished they could take off their environment suit. Klte must have noticed their distress.

"Allow the Admiral and I a moment to converse," it hissed. Harrison flinched, then nodded, watching Klte. It gently pushed Paxie back towards the shuttle, turning off both of their translation protocols. "I'm concerned at this species' sense of self preservation," it said in the Xoixe language.

Paxie laughed, hissing the air sharply through their scaled lips. "Eme is concerned at how well they'd treat other kinds if they treat themselves so haphazardly."

"Exceptionally poorly."

Both of them laughed as they reached the pod. Paxie stepped inside where they could turn around back towards the ship.

"Take a breather, Admiral," Klte said. "I'll see what I can find out."

---

"Adina?" John called. Adina looked up; she was just coming back to the main control room now. The nightmare was still there, but it was down the hall, examining wiring bundles and the hull. How large was its forebrain? Was there a chance it could be tampering? "Adina."

Adina blinked and looked to John. He waved her over. She left the Xoixe's, Kime's, side to see him. He pointed to the numbers on the LCD screen.

"Can you double check me?" he whispered. She highly doubted it. She was a biologist; she knew how to clear her browser cookies and turn her phone off and on again. Anything technical on the ship was John's job now.

She looked, anyway. He was pointing at the ping count from Earth's homing beacon. It was around 800. She sagged to see that. The ping was supposed to communicate with The Solstice quarterly. So it must have stopped working after 200 years.

He pointed to the Most Recent Ping section.

19,406,771 years, 18 days, 16 hours, 2 minutes ago

Wait… what?

It should have been right around 26 million years ago.

"What?" she uttered, leaning in.

"That's wrong, right?"

"It should be…."

What could have done that? The ping system went off every three months. If it had run for… what, 5 million years? Then there should have been 20 million pings.

Why would Mission Control reduce the ping rate?

They wouldn't. Especially not after The Solstice failed to report a landing. Had something happened on Earth?

But, no, just like this ship couldn't last 26 million years, that pinger couldn't last 5 million. So what was happening?

"Wh…" Adina uttered, blinking. What was going on? What was causing this? Were both times just wrong? Was there a way to check? "Wha-what's the mission runtime?"

John stared at her for a moment before turning and hurriedly clicking away at the keyboard. She watched, and then she felt the nightmare get closer to watch, too. She stiffened her shoulders, but tried not to be too nervous-looking.

Hopefully, they couldn't tell. But she had just given Kime normal human biometric parameters….

"Holy shit, what," John whispered. Adina leaned forward.

Mission Elapsed Time:

60 years, 57 days, 1 hour, 43 minutes

"What?"

"One of these is wrong," John whispered. Adina looked up for Paxie and saw the nightmare watching her from the dark corridor. She flinched and gasped, slapping a hand over her heart, then turned to Kime.

"What are our coordinates?" she asked. "Do you have a star map we can see?"

Adina tried to calm down as Kime typed away on her tablet. One of these time ranges was wrong. But if it was the 26 million years (she desperately hoped 26 million years was wrong) then why had they gotten 200 years worth of pings? Maybe Mission Control was desperately trying to reestablish a connection? But 800 pings? That was a bit much.

Kime offered the tablet. Adina took it, and as soon as she did, the display somehow gave her an even worse headache. She blinked hard and moved the tablet away.

"Woah," she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut. John took it from her and grunted like he was straining to lift something.

"Shit," he swore, squinting at the tablet.

"Oh, no," Kime said, "you only have two eyes."

John huffed and offered the tablet back, then rubbed his eyes. Adina had her hands on her temples, trying not to squeeze her head too hard. The dizziness was back with reinforcements.

"How are we gonna do this?" she grunted.

"Do you have universal file translators?" John groaned. "Like the language? The audio?"

"We might, in a sense," Kime said slowly. "Let me make a call."

Adina nodded delicately so as not to jar her brain too hard. That seemed like a strangely cryptic response, but she couldn't think too hard right now.

As soon as they figured all of this out, she was going to sleep like the dead.

---

next

[nitunio]

reflect studios makes such good games with absolutely abysmal freaking endings NEVERTHELESS THEYVE WORMED INTO MY BRAIN

wttg - ITS fine i see the comedy in spending all these hours and being in danger just to get to the main event and see that its buffering like hell and you can barely watch it live LOL. the other ending thats about going to the date with. i forgor. were we going to the date with adam. its fine too but imagine the breather being there. dead instantly

wttg2 - i hate it so much but at least it cements that adam is a powerful and sick individual And . the breather is there. player from wttg is also there. idk whats up with noir duo. i wish lucas was there but he's out doing polish things.

scrutinized - AMAZING I HATE IT AAAAAAAAAGH. god. i hate the casual/detective mode endings. like. at least two panels of artwork (like in the intro) with "damn my resolve wasn't enough. i'm feeling lost in these cases and i haven't made a dent in the blueblood killer's identity. this sucks" WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER THAN WHAT WE GOT PRESENTED WITH . and salt on the wound is the fact that nightmare mode has the same ending as the normal one. fuck this

i understand that the main point of this game is the futility of your own efforts. the feeling of being stuck, of getting one shot at something risky (common theme in wttg universe actually) to be shot down by a small oversight. how work gets harder the more you do it, the more you drown in it. efficiently yes, but it's the same thing over and over that drives you crazy. so I WOULDNT have that many gripes with the game if it AT LEAST showed these emotions in the detective/casual mode endings. (fyi the casual/detective ending is just a rainbow gradient with 'congratulations - shit ending' in the middle)

normal mode ending is fine. abrupt and small for the gargantuan effort needed BUT. getting this out of the way Yes i do think tanner has a crush on/obsession with luna. do i think He's the blueblood killer? likely not but he could. and i have reasons to believe that which would be funny in the grand scheme of things (common theme in wttg universe). BUT. having this fakeout ending where it looks like you're getting game-ended by him. I WISH IT WAS A LONGER FAKEOUT, like have him hover over luna and doing the jumpscare animation, but after the black screen have him start dialogue. that would've been so frustrating to watch like "FUCK. ON THE LAST DAY?????" and then his voice and you're like "oh you bastard". that would make more sense scene-wise too, cause you see him game-ending you and ohhh no. you've become a statisti- wait. actually let's talk. LIKE IT FLOWS BETTER THAT WAY IDK WHY THEY MADE HIM TALK BEFORE ACTUALLY doing the injecting thing

now to the ending itself. him monologuing about the drug he injected luna with while he's waiting for luna to wake up? amazing. luna looking around and looking back to see that tanner moved closer? GREAT. actually depicts him how he was in the game (seeing how he freely enters the house and only has set spots where he can get you - desk, closet, bed, hallway ; while kidnapper can get you anywhere - he just turns you around or knocks you out)

tanner tapping on the chair + his restless hands in general are a good touch (pun intended) I THINK with the way that everything around is kinda bleak, having a focus point that's subtle but you just pay attention to immediately because it's the only visually stimulating thing IS awesome. tanner doesn't emote much and his arms and mouth move robotically so seeing him have this tremor while his hands are at his sides is. (raises eyebrow). also explains why he has his hands behind his back even when he game-ends you.

i'm saying game-ends because it's vaguely implied that he's injecting you with the same thing regardless if you've won or not. and its not a kill its getting sedated (and the rest is up to whatever imagination authors on wattpad have im genuinely scared to look). either that or he stupidly carries around two syringes which i don't think is the case. he just doesn't need two syringes if one can do the trick - that's where it also comes back to his obsession with her. he's not playing cat and mouse with her just to kill her on the spot esp with his lines. eugh . s-tier creep!

going back to the ending. the interior. whatever the walls of this building are + some cord. one table with two chairs. a cup on his side and a non-empty ash tray on her side. he's been waiting for long but i also imagine that he's moved the ash tray to her side bc he was smoking near her. i need to stop getting sidetracked

he's gotten data on the blueblood killer from adam, who he's now indebted to. all for luna. mindblowing really but also god this gives the creators leeway to put tanner in another game now that he works for adam so im clapping.

but i aaalssoooo cant shake this feeling that tanner IS the blueblood killer because one. as with previous installments that would make everyone feel frustrated at the ending. two. wouldn't it be so funny if tanner spent this much time trying to get luna on his side by proving he's gone lengths all to give her the info, only for her to wake up and see that he lied and actually its tanner. the killer is tanner. and the chase has only just begun. three. luna opens the folder and inside is just one singular selfie he did with her while she was unconscious. id laugh so hard

but tanner isnt the killer he's just there. he's the main focus but also the main frustrating thing about the game. cause kidnapper and him have very opposing AIs ------ kidnapper needs you to stand up and check lights/windows so he won't enter, and you have to constantly move around; while tanner needs you to sit back down and look at the cameras through your computer, and go hide in the other closet if you see him hiding in one. and also he completely wipes the floor with the player if they dare to stand up from the pc and not notice how he walked down to their house (resulting in hallway jumpscare). im getting sidetracked again

i hate that the normal mode and nightmare mode have the same endings. Maybe. Maybe if they made the talk go differently, or made tanner reveal more info? or at least just show her waking up and opening the file and seeing if he made shit up or not. for crying out loud just do something with the amount of stuff you laid out!!!!!!!!!

FRUSTRATING GAME WORMED ITS WAY INTO MY PSYCHE. REFUSES TO COME OUT.

(tanner giggling and having these pauses and weird speech in general is. well. um. wwooouuuuldddddd)

[amoristt]

PART 2 BAYBEEE this has completely revamped my love for marble hornets . anon i literally love u SOOO bad for reminding me of this time to binge the entirety of mh for the 10th time

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - wanna tip me? heres my kofi!

Escape Fate | Tim (Masky) x Reader Pt. 2

prev

"For fuck's sake!"

The engine of your car cries out as you jam the gas down to the floor. Rock spit out from your tires, fishtailing out as you struggled to juggle the steering wheel and hanging up the cell phone in your hand. Every couple of seconds your eyes would flick to the rear view just in case that... person was chasing you.

Tim was never known for his ability to answer on the first call. Sometimes the man wouldn't answer at all- you knew this. It was never an issue until now, your mind scrambling to focus on the road. You'd narrowly escaped with your life and it was all thanks to some masked stranger.

With an angry huff, you toss your phone onto the passenger seat and white knuckle the steering wheel, eyes fixated on the road. Flashes of your meeting with death play on rewind in the back of your mind like a projector. The deranged look on Alex's face down to the moment you'd locked eyes with your savior.

Your mind spins on where your destination lies, but it chooses your home. You drive in total silence, listening to nothing but the sound of your car and the wind howling through your cracked window. It's almost like being on autopilot, your eyes distant and far away as you pulled into the driveway. Somewhere deep in your brain, you knew that you should have gone to the police station, but yet you still pull yourself from your car and numbly unlock your front door before slipping inside without a word.

It only takes a few moments before you let yourself fall into your couch cushions. You'd been so close to death you swore you felt its breath down your neck. The warbled memories you have of the masked man force their way to the forefront of your mind. You had so many questions- who was he? Why had he given a shit to save you?

Why did he follow you out to the street?

The thought of him possibly not saving you, just choosing Alex first strikes you, and it draws a cold sweat from your skin. Perhaps you hadn't been saved at all.

Worry spreads like wildfire through you, and in seconds you're up and locking every single window in the house, double-checking any doorways. You want to put on the deadbolt for the front door, but then Tim couldn't get in. You settle back on the couch, glad that other than the coffee table and recliner chair, you had a perfect view of the front door in case anyone tried to break in. The only window was along the far wall with its blinds drawn. Still, sunlight filtered in through the cracks.

A clatter on the floor beside causes every fiber in your being to jump, but when you glance over the edge, you realize it's just your phone falling from your pocket onto the hardwood floor. The screen lights up.

Low battery.

You pick it up and send Tim an urgent message, demanding he come over as soon as possible. And if he sees Alex, run.

Exhaustion riddles you. It doesn't feel real anymore, the memories flashing through your mind. They seem like the frames of a movie now, warped and far away and quite frankly insane. It felt like a nightmare that you'd woken up from, not reality.

After a good sleep to collect yourself, you would go to the police and tell them everything that had happened. And when you woke up, maybe Tim would be there smiling at you from the chair and asking if you were alright. He would touch your face and kiss your forehead, climb onto the couch beside you, and pull you against him. He would make you feel safe.

The idea comforts you enough to lull you to sleep.

--

You don't dream of anything. In fact, if the sun hadn't sunk down beneath the horizon and cast the world in night, you wouldn't even have known you slept at all.

Groggy-eyed and tired, you crack your eyes open. The first thing you notice is how unbelievably dark it is. From your position on your back, looking straight up, you can't even make out where the ceiling begins. Your eyes struggle to adjust, finding the only light in the room to be the streetlights cascading in through the window. With the blinds open on the far right, the light pours in just enough to fill the room midway in orange.

The second thing you notice makes your blood run cold underneath your skin.

You'd had your blinds completely shut when you fell asleep.

You were sure of it. But now they're open on one side. Your mouth runs dry.

Slowly, as if afraid to alert something, or someone, you roll onto your side and tap at the floor in search of your phone. When you're finally able to find it, you tap the power button. Then, when nothing happens, you feel your stomach churn.

It was fucking dead. You'd forgotten to plug it in before your slumber.

And to make matters worse, a third thing gathers all of your attention at once: movement.

Right across from you, perched up on the reclining chair, you make out a pair of jeans and heavy, dark boots. Fear strikes you like a lance. Your breath completely stops in your throat. In the dead silence, you're horrified to realize you can hear breathing that wasn't your own. Slow, long drawn breaths, like the figure was simply observing you.

Maybe it was Tim. You had messaged him hours ago, maybe he'd come in while you were sleeping and didn't want to disturb you.

"Tim?" Your voice cracks as you whisper, fear gripping you by the neck. Doubled when he doesn't answer. Tripled when those legs shift just barely. The energy seeping from the figure is downright evil.

Dread engulfs you as you realize your fate. It was Alex. It had to be. He'd broken in and waited for you to wake up like it was some sick fucking game to him, and trapped you within the confines of your very own home.

All alone, with your phone dead on the floor.

You hope you're just dreaming still. But then his breathing picks up and you're plummeted back into the awful reality that was your inevitable death. And instead of running, fighting, struggling for your life and doing something to get away, you just sit there. You remain still as a statue- like somehow he hadn't seen you. Like if you just don't move, neither will he. The moment is long and agonizingly silent, the air thick with tension, your lungs unable to bring in oxygen.

Time passes in slow motion and your eyes struggle to adjust to the everlong darkness. If you weren't abhorrently frozen with fear, you'd probably just burst out crying right there, pathetically begging for your life. You didn't want to die- not fucking now, when you knew the one finding your body would end up being Tim. Not by Alex, someone you considered your friend.

You always knew he'd been losing a few screws but for fucks sake this was murder.

"Please," You start, voice barely even above a dying whisper. "Don't hurt me."

That same feeling of death's breath on the nape of your neck returns to you. Goosebumps riddle your skin. The air so palpable you could reach out and grab it in the anticipation of his response.

The chair creaks. You almost gag on your tongue. The figure leans forward and rests his gloved hands on his knees. Light finally catches his features and you make out a white mask, with dark eyes and painted lips. That same mask that was running laps in your mind since you'd seen it.

Fear saps up and down your spine like electricity. The man had followed you home.

You hate that you stay stuck in place as he get's up from his crouched position and slowly saunters towards you. Like an animal, he climbs onto the coffee table and towers over you with shadowed eyes. Frantically, you search for something, anything human in those dark eyes. You find nothing but shadows. The man feels almost feral, tilting his head side to side as he drew closer to you. His gloved hand reaches out, and traces a line down your jaw, just barely touching over your skin.

Something in the way he touches you finally causes you to react. It makes the moment real, you could feel him touching you. You heave yourself up and try to scrabble off the couch, kicking your legs out. But he's faster. He's stronger- and in the blink of an eye, he grabs your shoulders and hauls you onto your back once more, forced to watch up at him with helpless eyes. When you try to shove him away, he catches your hands and pins them beside your head at the wrists. How simple it is for him to restrain you is terrifying. He wasn't even trying and he still managed to trap you in a second's notice.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" You babble, eyes squeezed shut and your legs uselessly kicking out. He straddles you and you sob in vain. "Please, my boyfriend will be here any moment just- just leave! I won't tell!"

But the man just tilts his head again. Does it like he doesn't understand.

You're already in tears when he barely loosens his grip on your wrists. Dreadful reality dawns upon you, and you realize you had been right after all. He hadn't saved you. You escaped him just as much as you'd escaped Alex.

Tears slip down your cheeks. He just inches closer until you can hear the sound of his soft breaths from behind his mask. If God was around, he'd hear your endless prayers begging for the strength to get away or for someone to help you.

But clearly, he isn't, because the man lets your wrists go just long enough to touch the sides of your face. Slowly, carefully, they pet down your skin and wipe away those tears freely falling from your wide eyes. And Christ, you let him. You could be fighting back, snarling and clawing. Instead, you're barely breathing, frozen and feeling your life tick away by the second.

He dips his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers ball into fists beside your head, and you feel him breathing you in.

"What the fuck." You whimper, shaking like a leaf underneath his form. The seconds pass like hours.

After a tense pause, the only audible sound being your combined heavy breaths, he pulls his head away a few inches to look into your eyes. Though you struggle to see his, you can feel them on you like fire. Like those eyes are wrapping around your neck, choking your breath away.

And then you really do think your breath is stolen from you- gone when you feel the unmistakable texture of his gloves move once more. He runs his fingers down your bare neck, to your shoulder. Feather light touches over your collarbones that make you squirm underneath him. Those fingers linger over the line of your cleavage and your stomach flips.

They only stay for a few seconds. Then they're southbound which causes an even heavier pit of dread to settle in your stomach. His head tilts while he explores your clothed body, the fabric of your tank top bunching up around his fingertips. He moves them slowly, languidly, like he's exploring you. Trying to memorize the point where your waist meets your hips.

In the worst way imaginable, it feels... Familiar. You can't put your finger on it but you've been touched like this before, had the curves of your soft skin mapped out by wandering large hands. The same path, the same lingering pauses... The low sounds of his soft breaths reach your ears, and you recognize them.

Your chest heaves, your skin warm.

Only further blossoming in heat when the man leans back and you feel the weight of him rest on your hips. His hands settle on your waist, his burning gaze lingers over your form. The streetlight filtering in paints the outline of him. Glows in the loose strands of brown, messy hair.

Reveals his brown cargo jacket and the broad build of his shoulders. Your lips part in a gasp. His head lowers and you catch a glimpse of that unmistakable facial hair just as his fingers dip underneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Your skin vibrates under his touch. You can't take it anymore.

"Tim...?"

You'd said it so quietly that you almost wonder if he'd heard it at all.

But he did. He freezes and snaps his gaze straight to you. The first real reaction you'd gotten out of him so far- and it only further confirms your question.

Your mind reels, thoughts spinning out of control. It feels like you're dreaming all over again.

The man- Tim, straightens his back as he stares down at you, his gaze heavy and undeniable. Even fully clothed underneath him, you feel naked. So exposed. His hands retract from under your shirt and rest at his sides loosely.

You'd always known Tim struggled with mental illness. Even early on in the relationship, it was a known fact after you'd found his medication. He always refused to elaborate beyond just telling you he was 'managing' it- and though you of course always felt a sense of curiosity to know more, you didn't want to pry. Plus, it was true. He was managing it. You'd never seen a single outburst, episode, or really... Anything other than some paranoia. And even that never got the best of him.

Just as you were his, he was your comfort, your peace.

But this was something else entirely. This wasn't even him anymore- it couldn't be. This man was too animalistic, moved too feral for it to be true.

Yet this appearance rang true.

His thick brown hair, and squared shoulders. His usual attire and those sideburns that only he could pull off.

But you had to be sure.

You had to be sure that they shared the same face. The same soulful, tired eyes.

To your shock, Tim doesn't react when you prop yourself up to your elbows. Nor does he react when you slowly reach up with a tentative hand and graze your fingers along the hard edge of his mask. You touch at the side of his face- the only visible skin. He sighs when you make contact, long and drawn, almost as if he enjoys the feeling. Just barely, he leans into the touch.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Drops when you tug at the elastic band holding the mask to his head, and he finally reacts.

Violently.

Tim rips away from you like you'd burned him and stumbles backward, failing to climb off you properly and instead flipping over the armrest at your feet. You hear his back smack the hard ground with a thud and then absolute silence.

The silence only lasts so long. Because suddenly there's clamoring, his feet kicking out, and by the time you're up and peering over the edge of the armrest he seems to be full-blown seizing there on the floor.

Now this you had seen before.

Like every other time, you rush to his side, mind completely forgetting the entire scenario that'd happened moments ago. As much as you want to grab him, hold him close until it's passed, you know you can't. Instead, you kneel beside him, covering your mouth, silently begging for it to be over with, counting the time in 30 second intervals.

The light outside finally shines over his mask. You see his eyes through the gaps.

Thirty seconds.

His body tense, finger's balling into fists. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

One minute.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

Minute, thirty seconds.

"Tim!"

Finally, like he hears you, he stills. Your heart thrashes in your chest.

In the blink of an eye, you're pulling at the bands of his mask. It peels away with little restrain, and there he is.

Tim. Your Tim. His eyelashes resting heavy over his cheekbones- like he'd simply fallen asleep. Like he'd been here the whole time completely unbothered. His lips are barely parted enough for his soft breaths to creep through. You aren't sure if you should feel relief or fear. All you feel is raw confusion and anxiety eating you alive.

First Alex, now this? What the hell was going on?

Tim makes a soft sound and you look at him with wide eyes, cautious in the waking presence of the man you'd once felt to be your protector. What would you do if he remained the same as before? If when he opened his eyes, you were assaulted all over again?

Another quiet chirp escapes him, and you reach out to gently hold his face. When his eyes finally open, you're the first thing they see. A part of you tells yourself to back away just in case. The rest of you demands you stay planted beside him no matter what.

You listen to the ladder.

His gloved hands come up to paw at your wrists and for a moment, you're afraid your worries proved true. But then, in his low voice, he speaks. And you nearly collapse onto him, a puddle of solace.

"Baby...?"

[orchid-mantis-petals]

WHEN HOME BECOMES YOU CHAPTER 6

/ Hi, Hola. I am absolutely covered in cat hair. Both my kiddos are shedding and had decided to literally pile on me while I tried to work out this chapter..Oh..yeah..CHAPTER 6 IS FINALLY HERE..MY EYES NEED A BREAK..

/ As always a HUGE thank you to my two besties @maximumkillshot and @taeminsung for providing love and inspiration to me throughout this fic. Your support and love are what keeps this going.

/ Genre: Angst, Fluff, comfort, a touch of crack.

/ Warnings: Anxiety, nightmares, yelling, screaming, food, oh and as always cursing..

/ Summary:

Hyunjin had seen anxiety, he’d seen it through Han. Even through Felix. But those were people who were familiar to him. His family, one he helped cultivate and create through the years. Over time he prided himself on having known the ins and outs of what may trigger the sunshine twins anxiety. You, however, were a complete mystery to him. Aside from your fierce need to protect them, which was your job. He didn’t know much about you.

“Y/N, my darling, oh little dove there is no reason to cry. You belong to me. Now come here, come to me,” his hand a vice in your hair as he dragged your face close to his. The soft tone of his voice was a lie, his other hand came to clasp over your jaw as he forced you to look him in the eye. “Don’t you see dovey, you belong to me,” you whimpered as you moved your hands to wrap around his wrist. Both of your hands worked to envelop his hand that held your jaw. With a tug you found his pressure point he let go with a yelp. You scrambled to your feet, the hard wood slipped against your socks as you tried to get away. You didn’t get far, in the inches you gained he snagged you by your ankle the force of his grip was sure to bruise you as you collided with the floor. His hands over you once more. He laughed as you cried in agony. “Beg for me Dovey!! Beg for my fucking mercy!!” He spat in your face fist wrapped in your hair.

Your heart ricocheted in your chest as you sat up out of bed. Ever since Japan your nightmares have had more frequent appearances. In between schedules you managed to get your number changed in hopes further contact with him would cease. Though it didn’t help the anxiety that seemed to rise. Tears pricked your waterline at the frustration. In your desperation you screamed at the top of your lungs. You were sure your neighbors would send in a complaint about you but you didn’t care. The sheer pressure of it all seeped out of you as your scream turned into a sob. No matter how hard you willed all of the pain surfaced through your cries. Your hands began to claw at your throat as you willed yourself to calm the fuck down. In your bed you rocked forward and back as tears spotted the sheets below your body. The world around you blurred as the salt water invaded your vision. Beside you your phone buzzed. But you didn’t hear it. Not while your chest tightened with the effort to try and bring in air. Finally with a choked gasp your body relented its torment against you. You began to breathe again, your sobs grew louder with the effort to breathe. This time when your phone buzzed you heard it. A sweet picture of you and Lix from Japan flashed over your screen. You willed your voice to calm before you slid your finger over the accept button.

“Hello??” Your voice wasn’t as even as you hoped, and the sniffle you let out didn’t add to your cause.

“Starlight?? Are you crying??” He’d done it now, with a shaky inhale you squeaked and affirmation. “Oh sweet thing, what's wrong??” Korea was your new start. There was no way you would drag them into your mess that had tried to follow you here.

“It’s nothing Lix. Just a bad dream,” you didn’t lie, evaded the overall question maybe. But you didn’t lie.

“Well, then I guess my call is well timed. Jinnie and I want to take you out and spoil you a little!!” Ever since Japan Hyunjin had become a friend to you. During breaks he would play with your hair or like Felix, he chose to stick close to your side. With the two of them Han also wasn’t far behind. Shyer and more reserved but he was always keen to speak to you. Changbin too, though it seemed Japan had changed his overall shy demeanor near you. Like Hyunjin, if he could, he'd stick close to you. Talk to you, Felix and Hyunjin made that hard sometimes the pair enjoyed your company so much they tended to monopolize your time between schedules or during breaks.

“Lixie..” the Australian insisted you used that nickname like the rest of his friends.

“Please, don’t say no. We’re already kinda here,” fuck..you weren’t ready for them. Let alone company at all. With a heavy sigh you slid from your bed. The sheets tangled around your legs in your fight for freedom from him in your sleep.

“I’ll buzz you up,” you relented as you walked to the intercom system at your front door. You hit the combo to open the front door and let them up into the building. Part of you regretted letting them have the address to your studio but it was too late now you supposed. When you opened the front door for them their shock was evident. Felix cocked his head at you, your face still red, a little blotchy from your tears. He scooped you up in one of his usual sunshine hugs easing the last of the tension that resided in your muscles. Hyunjin on the other hand, had this awkward look of disgust at the overall barrenness of your apartment. You had one small crappy couch, a bed and a night table. But really that was it. His eyes darted around casting the obvious side eye toward the unknowns of your apartment.

“You’d think no one lives here,” he covered his mouth the moment he said it not having meant to. His filter was all but nonexistent sometimes. “Sorry,” he relaxed at your chuckle.

“It’s alright Hyunjin, I don't own much. Those three boxes are all I really have,” you pointed to the tiny stack of boxes tucked away in a corner. Much like they were at Axel’s when they were in America. Hyunjin cast a look to Felix, the smaller of the two lifted his brows at the other. “Right while the two of you have your strange telepathic conversation I’m going to get dressed,” you slipped upstairs holding the hem of your sleep shirt down, having realized you didn’t really have pants on. You hadn’t thought to put any on your company was unexpected.

**** **** **** ****

Felix watched you disappear into the loft section of your apartment out of their sight. “Jinnie I’m worried,” when he turned around he found the taller had already begun to rummage through the small boxes you had pointed at earlier.

“About what Lix??” Felix stood at the taller blonde's side as he poked around at the contents within. His worries were disregarded for a moment. When the older looked up, the things in his hands were all but forgotten. “What’s got you upset??”

“Y/N she was crying earlier,” ever the empath when another was in pain Felix felt it too. When he heard your soft sniffle over the phone the slight wobble in your voice he knew something was wrong. Your time with them hadn’t been long. A month at most. But in that time you fit into their lives with ease. The day at the airport was proof enough to Felix that you were an asset to his beloved family. He’d hoped to get to know you, but you had been such a mystery to them. Even Changbin seemed to struggle to find out about who you were. You let them know the little nuances, hobbies, and foods you desired. But your family, friends, and life back in America they knew nothing of. Sure, most of them were the nosy type, case and point Hyunjin. Yet there was something that nagged at Felix when he heard you cry on the phone.

“Let her come to us Bokkie,” it was simple as that, unlike he was, you were closed off. Your pages were yet open for him to see. Hyunjin was right. You needed time to trust them. Whatever happened in America left a big scar over your heart, a mar in your trust. Felix vowed he would find a way to open you up to them. Prove to you that whatever happened in America was not here in Korea. Like a stray cat he needed to be gentle as he approached. “Today is a good start,”

“You’re right Jinnie,” he sighed as he leaned over the taller blonde to see what he had in his hands. Photos, most of which weren’t framed. Faces he didn’t know, parts of you he had yet to learn. Deep amongst the untouched carelessness that was the first box they found a framed photo. In it was you they recognized, your hair shorter than it was now, done up in some pretty way. Beside you a man, unfamiliar. It had been the only photo of him in the box. Seeing this man, the way he stood so close to you made Felix uneasy. He didn’t know why, but truly he wasn’t at all entranced with the idea of you being close to him. He wasn’t remarkable, eyes green, brows thick and full. Untamed hair in thick spirals, an auburn color easy to see in the sunlight that cast behind you both. The photo was well kept, the frame had seen better days. The top corner chipped, a thick piece of if missing from where it held together. In it the glass had cracked. It was the way it shattered that Felix could tell something hadn’t been right. He saw it in the spider’s web that crept across the photo. Its cracks creeped along severing the odd perfection of the photo that lay behind it.

“Why do you have that,” your voice a mere whisper, your steps so quiet Felix hadn’t even heard you come down from the loft. It wasn’t a question you asked. He knew it in the way you looked at them. Your eyes wide, lips set tight in a line. They had gone too far. And he knew it. “WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THAT?!?!” You screamed, he would have called it a yell. Would have, had he not heard the desperation behind your words, the shift in octave. Hyunjin was shocked, Felix could tell he was ready to shout back until he saw you.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to pry,” the taller male settled the photo back into its box with the rest of your belongings. But it was too late, Felix could see the damage they had caused right in front of his eyes. He watched it all unfold in seconds. The moment your eyes caught the framed photo in Hyunjin’s hand your shoulders quirked up tension set within them. At your side Felix watched your hands wrap into small fists as the trembling began to overtake them, your knuckles white with the efforts you took to keep them closed. He could see fear mixed with anxiety overtook you in seconds. Your eyes wide rimmed red as tears filled your lash line. You worked hard to try and blink them back. But he saw, he knew. It was all too familiar to him. The unsettled feeling of suffering that threatened to eclipse whatever else in the world mattered. The light in your eyes dimmed, you weren’t with them, he could tell. Trapped in the hellscape of your head he watched as a choked sob silently wracked through your chest. Your small hands made fists of your hair as you rocked in place.

“Oh starlight,” he hushed as he stepped into your space. He didn’t touch, not until you told him it was okay. “Hey there Starlight can you hear me??” The whimper that left your throat all but broke his heart. “I’m here. Lixie is here,” he called to you. His voice was low and sweet as he guided you back to earth, back to him. One look at your teary eyes had him surging forward to hug you. When you didn’t protest he held tighter. Soon your hands wrapped around him he moved to rub your back until he felt your shoulders ease some. “There we go sweet Starlight,”

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you said, your face still tucked into his chest.

“It’s okay love, no judgment here. Han and I both struggle with anxiety,” At his admittance he felt you relaxed more to his touch until finally your body sagged against him.

“I’m sorry Cindy, I shouldn’t have looked through your things,”

“It’s okay Hyunjin, just please don’t do it again,” Felix let you go, though he was reluctant to. He watched as you carefully wandered to the open box your eyes scanned the photo that had set it all in motion. He watched with careful eyes how you flinched the moment you touched it. As though the glass had snagged your skin. But it hadn’t, it was the entire photo, broken frame and all that seemed to draw unease within you. Felix didn’t let you out of his sight, worried you’d fall back into the darkness of your mind. Quickly you covered the photo, he wondered what you would do with it when they left you alone. He worried, scared to think of you having to experience those emotions, the pain that the photo seemed to bring you all on your own. He hoped you’d reach out to him. Ask for help, but it was clear from earlier you were used to being alone. It was evident in the way you slipped away from them so easily. It caused Felix to feel his heart shatter for you. With you. He wished with all his might that you would come to him. He was snapped from his thoughts when you tucked your pinky into his, your smile small, but there nonetheless.

“Thank you Lixie, for calming me,” now was his chance

“You never have to thank me Starlight. I am always here to help. No matter what,” he’d hoped you would listen. Truly listen to him. That if you ever needed him he’d be there for you. No questions asked. Your smile seemed to prove that some part of his words made it to you. He saw the light return to you, return to his starlight.

“I say we go get breakfast, then we spoil you rotten Miss Cindy. As an apology for snooping,”

“I thought the goal was a shopping spree anyway,” Felix squealed with delight when you relented to letting them spoil you. “Oh!! Lix your clothes I need to give them back,” he tightened his pinky around yours as he shook his head. He wasn’t about to let you go. Not when you came to him.

“Those are for you. Keep them. You looked prettier in them anyway,”

**** **** **** ****

Hyunjin had seen anxiety, he’d seen it through Han. Even through Felix. But those were people who were familiar to him. His family, one he helped cultivate and create through the years. Over time he prided himself on having known the ins and outs of what may trigger the sunshine twins anxiety. You, however, were a complete mystery to him. Aside from your fierce need to protect them, which was your job. He didn’t know much about you. He along with Felix had hoped a peek into your apartment would be a look into your life. A chance to better know you. To his surprise your home was a barren expanse of even further mystery. A blank canvas over a blank canvas. That is how he found himself as he rummaged through what little you owned piled away for later concerns. When you screamed at him he was ready to fight back. Give you his all, but the look in your eyes he recognized.

Your fear was written out for him and Felix to see, eyes wide brimmed with tears. In that instant he froze. Your anxiety was foreign to Hyunjin. Unlike his boys he didn’t know how to help as your shaky hands gripped the hair around your temples. He was thankful for Felix. The younger guided you through the anguish that settled over your body. He saw it, a clouded haze surrounded you like a cloak. It enveloped your entire being, and for a moment he feared it would take you away from them.

His attachment, his curiosity over you was odd, even to himself. Hyunjin didn’t often bother staff. It was their job to take care of them. He was friendly, professional, and kind to everyone. But you, when he saw your face that day in the practice room, his heart nearly stopped. Yeah, maybe it had something to do with the fact that you kicked one of his members in the chest. But maybe there was more to it. Japan was proof of that. Even if it was your job, the way in which you protected his family, the way you put yourself in harm's way to make sure they were safe..It did something to Hyunjin. He wanted to get close to you, at first under the guise of making sure that his boys were truly safe with you. Then, you showed them part of you. He saw it in his hotel room.

The way you marveled at their attention, shy under his brush strokes. It was cute, he could see you blossom under their gazes. That was when he placed his emotions. The unknowns of who you were to him, the further away you seemed to keep them, the more he wanted to know. You would become his family too. You protected them so seamlessly he began to wonder was there anyone who protected you?? It seemed the answer to his question was no. Over breakfast you don't speak much. Barely ate even, remnants of your anxiety painted your actions thoroughly. Felix urged you to take a couple bites, just a few. With his guidance you managed. For that he was proud. Then finally he piped up, his heart couldn’t handle seeing you, his strong brave Cindy so lost in your head. His approach was odd, similar to how he would approach I.N, but he had to try.

“Knock, knock,” he reached over the breakfast table, his fist slowly came to rest against your head twice in time with his words.

“Hyunjin!!” Felix cried, his small hand wrapped around his wrist to pull him back. He stared at Felix, his eyes narrowed to look at the Aussie, eyebrows furrowed as his shoulders shrugged. The entirety of him read as ‘What the fuck was I supposed to do??’

‘Not that!!’ the tiny shake of the smaller blonde's head indicative of maybe he had made the wrong choice. But soon, the table filled with your laughter, light and soft. Hyunjin felt as though he was in spring, under the cherry blossom trees as their delicate petals fell to the earth below. His heart swelled at the sound of you. His own lips quirked upward as his hand fell to his side.

“Do it again,” he rested his hand under his chin as he met your eyes. “You’re so pretty when you laugh,” so you did, you indulge them with another soft chuckle before you stood.

“Well come on silly gooses, we don’t have all day,” your delicate hand wrapped around each of their wrists as you pulled them free. Hyunjin went along willingly. He’d go wherever you took him, so long as you looked his way. So long as you regarded his presence, he would find reason to be by your side. The mall was crowded, for an odd Tuesday in the middle of winter. Too far from the holidays for shopping, too early in the day for so many people. In his humble opinion. He and Felix pulled face masks up over their noses as they wandered the various departments around the store. Hyunjin was quick to note absolutely anything that caught your eye. Sure his wallet wasn’t infinitely deep, but he wouldn’t hesitate to spend it on you. They both of course had plans to take you to the Louis Vittion and Versace outlets. But those would be the last places they’d stop at. For now the three of you wandered around no particular goal in mind. It was Felix who cracked first, in the window display of the Build-A-Bear was a stuffy from one of the original Pokemon games he played as a kid. It took him mere seconds to drag you and Hyunjin inside. He insisted you pick a stuffy to go along with him. Hyunjin watched you hesitate over your selection, your eyes ambled the price, lip caught between your teeth as you looked at one of the more expensive bears.

“Get it,”

“But, it's kind of expensive, no??” Hyunjin shrugged at you as he reached into the plastic bin.

“We’re spoiling you. Don’t worry about that,” he then dropped the empty sack of fabric into your hands before he himself made a selection. The Van-Gogh Iris bear had his heart. Once the bear was settled into his hand he joined the small line behind you to get the bear stuffed. Your choice gave way to bits of who you are. Like his own choice your bear was printed with a classic painting. The soft bear was covered in the pale blues, whites, and dark blues of the Hokusai The Great Wave painting. When your bear was stuffed you and Felix stood beside him. The two of you watched as he asked the bear to be stuffed with medium hard filling. His cheeks went rosy under his mask as he completed the heart ritual that was a staple of the shop. At the naming station you refused to let them see what you named the bear. Hyunjin laughed when you claimed it was embarrassing.

“Fine, Fine,” he gave one last try only to be shoved aside by you. In the meantime Felix paid for the adventure. Outside the shop he watched you hold the bear in your hands. Your small fingers skimmed the seams of the bears back. The smile over your face was all worth it. It was slow, but every given moment he watched the light return to your eyes as you went further on this adventure with them. “Lix, keep her distracted,” he stated before he dashed off in a different direction. He didn't give the younger time to respond or ask why. His mission was clear at that point.

Operation: Keep Cindy Smiling is what he called it. Though he still didn’t know much about you, he felt he knew enough. Small nuances from his time with you told him you loved to cook, bake, a fan of the classic arts, and that you liked colors. Particularly dark greens, and purples. When he snooped he saw the faded pictures of nights out on the streets with neon lights, blurry for effect. On top of it all he spied a photo of you on what he assumed was a longboard. It was still hard to decide what to do, he only had so much time before you would begin to question his absence. Time he didn’t have to waste.

“Excuse me. Would you be able to help me??” When he stepped into the outlet he was immediately overwhelmed. The colors, lights, and choices had him doubt what he knew about you. He had begun to worry that no matter what choice he made you would inevitably hate it.

“Of course!!” The staff of the store was kind, she listened with rapt attention as Hyunjin explained his predicament. She guided him through different choices, all the different selections of colors. In the end he had made a choice, to the best of his ability. The clerk even gave him a few other stores as recommendation to visit before he would link back up with you and Felix. Hyunjin thanked her, his eyes gleamed with the choices he had made. The other stores were perfect just as the clerk said, he even managed to loop back to the first store and give the clerk a tip for all her kindness. To top it off he slipped her an autograph. He wasn’t sure she’d like it but it was all he could do for the kindness she offered him today. When he stepped back out of the store he managed to grab a few other things just to make it look as though he had run a quick errand before he found you and Felix. He laughed at the sight, from afar he could see Felix, his arms piled full of bags and boxes he was sure were all for you. The way he maneuvered was clear you had tried to take some of the load off him, but the australian wouldn't let you.

“Lixie!! It's too much,” he heard you say as he stepped over. “You’ve done enough please,” Hyunjin could see you were a little overwhelmed. Your shoulders hunched slightly up as your teeth worried at your lip. No, no he couldn’t have that.

“Thank you Lix,” he stepped in and scooped some of the bags off the younger and onto his own arms. He watched you relax, your shoulders sagged at the sight of him, a small huff escaped you. “Princess, Cindy. This is about you. No work for you. Let us take care of it,” he smiled as you relented a pout over your lips. He laughed as you turned on your heels and walked away from them arms crossed over your chest. He laughed harder as your steps caused your teddy bear to bounce a little from its bag on your back.

“Wait up!!” Lix called as they moved to catch up to you. There was more protest when they pulled you into their brand stores. You argued that they had spent more than enough on you, they only chuckled back.

“We’d give you the world if that was an option Cindy,” after a few minutes they compromised with a hand bag and sunglasses from each store, though he and Felix snuck in jewelry items. Your insistence that they could spoil you more later was enough to let you win. After they piled everything into the car Hyunjin watched you doze off in the passenger seat beside him as he drove back to your complex. It was nice to see you felt comfortable enough around them to rest.

“Thanks for coming along Hyunjin,”

“No need for that Lix. She protects us. The least I can do is provide her comfort as a thank you,”

“It’s more than that, Jinnie. You know it,” he did, he did know. It was so easy to see, so easy to hear. You had become their family. It was slow, some weren’t sold on you yet. But it was clear to him, and to Felix. You belonged with them. They wanted you by their side as long as you wanted it too. When he parked beside your motorcycle he was sad to wake you, the entire ride you hadn’t stirred. Not a peep, your body relaxed in a slight recline.

“Cindy,” he called softly, his hand moved to brush against your cheek. With a flutter and a small hum your eyes opened to greet him. “You’re home,” when your gaze slid away from him he felt his heart go with the deep pools of brown.

“Oh,” he watched you stretch out your body before you slid out of the car with a soft groan. He smiled as you drowsily rubbed your eyes, confused slightly by the change in surroundings.

“That good huh??” Felix asked as he gathered what he could from the shopping trip into his arms. Hyunjin grabbed the rest, he laughed as you nodded to them keys in hand as you guided them to the door of your building. Once inside he felt his body grow with anticipation, he had one last surprise for you. When they reached your front door Hyunjin took your hand in his, he smiled ear to ear as he turned you to face him.

“There is one more surprise, just please don’t be mad at me,” your eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed as you moved to open your apartment. When the door swung open your gasp was all they heard for a second followed by Felix’s confused voice, he couldn't see over the piles of bags stacked in his face.

“What!! What?!?! I can’t see!!” Hyunjn watched as your hand moved to grasp his wrist. Your small fingers landed over the pulse point tucked neatly under his bony joints. He knew in that moment you could feel his heart race under his skin, his hands were clammy with suspense. When you turned around to look at him he dropped all the bags he had in his hands. Tears rimmed your eyes, the delicate brown hues clouded with watery waves.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You hate it don’t you?? It’s returnable, all of it. We can take it all back,” he rambled, his lips moved faster than his brain could even fathom. In seconds he put the rap geniuses of his band to shame with how fast he spoke to you. With a gentle tug his body came to rest against yours. Your arms wrapped around his torso as you pulled him close. YOU hugged HIM. In the short time he had known you they had always been the first to offer hugs, never you. Slow, as to not frighten you he wrapped his long limbs over your shoulders. “You don’t hate it??”

“No, I love it. Thank you,” your voice soft in the fabric that lay on his abdomen. Your breath tickled his stomach, a shiver ran down his spine.

“What is happening?!?!” Hyunjin laughed at Felix’s struggle, when you parted from him the two of you helped the younger with his bags so he could see inside the apartment. From the doorway Hyunjin could see the fruits of his labor. The once empty space you called ‘home’ was now filled with furniture and art. Not all were hung. But the furniture was assembled, settled into the space. Felix gasped, reached around and smacked his bestie on the shoulder. “Nice work!!” The taller smiled, cheeks pink as he helped carry bags inside your home. They stayed for a little while longer, helped you arrange the furnishings, and decorate how you liked before they had to scamper off to an evening dance practice. You hugged Felix, then himself.

“Hyunjin, thank you again. This place feels like home now,” he smiled at you, his arms tightened around your body as you admitted to him his efforts had done more for you than he had hoped they would.

“Welcome to Korea, Y/N. My little Cinderella,” he kissed the top of your head, a reminder that this place was home, that he and the boys were there for you. If you needed them, they’d come.

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@taeminsung @maximumkillshot @feybin @alex--awesome--22 @liknws @palindrome969 @newbbystay @highlydestiny

[poe-dameron-fandom]

Chapter 5

This is a bit different. It takes place inbetween The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. I really enjoyed writing the angst on this one. You see more of Y/N Solo and Poe Dameron dynamic. Will they make it through?

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of taking advantage. Mentions of injuries, self destuction.

Word Count: 4.8k

Its been 8 weeks since everything happened, since your dad died, since you watched your brother kill him, since you and Ben fought, since you almost died. You got released out of Medbay 3 weeks ago, but your injuries still overwhelm you with pain. The nightmares are worst, reliving that moment in your dreams every night. Rey is still in search for Luke and the resistance continues to regroup and gain as much intel as they can against the first order before Kylo Ren arises again.

You, however are grounded from missions, Leia and Poe both agreed due to your injuries and the risk of you getting to involved they said its ‘to let you heal’ but right now it doesn’t feel like it. Everyday you are sitting around the base feeling useless you can feel yourself breaking more, you can feel yourself tearing apart and you have no idea how to stop it.

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The Resistance base was quieter than usual, apart from the occasional hum of starfighters in the hangars and the constant, distant chatter on the comms. You are sat cross-legged on a crate just outside the war room, your commlink buzzing in your hand, eyes narrowed at the screen showing the outline of Poe’s current mission — unauthorized modifications, again.

“Poe, I swear if you fly any closer to that destroyer’s wake, I will personally space your engines.” You snap through the comms.

A beat of static. Then his voice — far too calm for someone seconds from being blasted into star dust.

“Relax, Princess. I know what I’m doing.”

Your jaw tightened. He always called you that. Sometimes it was affectionate. Now, it felt like mockery. “Don’t call me that when you’re being a kriffing idiot. You’ve got two rookie pilots on your wing and a freighter that looks like it’s held together with duct tape and wishful thinking.”

“You worry too much. Trust me.” He chuckles which causes more anger from you.

“I did trust you. Until you started flying like you had a death wish.” You snap back sharply.

There was silence on the other end. You regretted it the second you said it — but you didn’t take it back.

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

The Resistance base was bathed in the cold blue of dusk. Ships lined the hangar, bruised from battle but alive — unlike the people inside them.

You stood with your arms crossed, your healing wounds burning beneath your jacket. Your posture was stiff, your eyes hard, fixed on the descending X-Wing like a storm waiting to strike.

The ship touched down. The hatch hissed open. Poe jumped down, running a hand through his damp curls, grinning — until he saw you. Your face was unreadable and that scared him a little.

“I’m back in one piece!” he tries to joke but he picks up the vibe from you. “Are you waiting to scold me or kiss me?”

You look coldly at Poe, “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m still deciding if I’m punching you or grounding you but I’m waiting here to ask you what the hell you were thinking Dameron?!”

Poe dropped his grin completely. Here we go, his eyes seemed to say.

“Come on, Y/N/N. The mission was a success. I got the data core. No casualties. That’s a pretty good day in the Resistance, yeah?”

You can feel the anger building up inside you, “That’s not what I asked…You nearly got Snap killed. You took rookie pilots on a suicide run without clearance. You risked three lives for what? A data spike from a half empty Star Destroyer? You could’ve died, Poe! You disobeyed orders- Once Again!”  You can feel Poe pulling away from this conversation, he hates when people tell him off and he hates it even worse when its you.

Poe’s eyes squint as you can see the rage arising in them. “You don’t get to talk about obeying orders. You nearly got yourself killed trying to take on Kylo Ren by yourself.”

The words were a blaster bolt to the chest. You flinched. “You don’t bring him into this.” You muttered quietly still realising that you are on the landing base so others can probably hear me.

Poe steps closer “Why not? That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You’re still bleeding from that fight — not just the wounds on your back, Y/N/N. You haven’t let anyone in since.”

You can feal the tears building up in your eyes but you are fighting with everything you have to not let them fall. “I can’t. I don’t know how. I’m trying to hold it together and you — you make it impossible! You're reckless, Poe. You don’t listen. You dive into danger like it’s some kind of game—”.

Poe’s voice now becomes raised as he takes a step back “I knew what I was doing.”

This time it was your turn to walk closer, your voice is low and dangerous. “You always say that. ‘I knew what I was doing.’ Like that excuses everything. Like that means I’m not allowed to worry about you. Like that means I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you play hero until the day you don’t come back.”

“You’re acting like I’m some loose cannon. I’m a pilot. This is what I do.” Poe shouts frustration consuming him.

“No! You’re not just a pilot, Poe. You’re the best we’ve got. But lately you’ve been flying like you don’t care if you make it back. Like you’re trying to outrun something. And I should know because I’ve been doing the same damn thing!” You raise your voice at the end, you begin to shove Poe away.

“Maybe that’s the problem, Y/N. You and I — we’re both trying to carry this war on our backs like it’s some kind of penance. But you can’t even see how you’ve shut everyone out!” Poe shouts louder, he tries to grab your wrist to hold but you are quick to get out of grasp and shove him hard in return “don’t turn this on me!” you scold.

“Why not? You haven’t been the same since Han—”

Your hand clenched into a fist. That name — the sound of it from Poe’s mouth — cut deeper than any lightsaber. “D-Don’t. Finish. That sentence.” You stutter and you can feel yourself breaking.

Poe wasn’t done. Anger had overtaken both of them now, loud, raw and hurting. “You want me to stop pretending everything’s fine? Fine. Let’s be real. Your father’s dead. Your brother killed him. And you went after him alone like some martyr and nearly died. You think that makes you strong? It makes you reckless.”

You can feel the sting of tears running down your cheek, all Poe wants to do is wrap you in arms and tell you everything is going to be okay, but in this moment he is as stubborn as you. “You think I don’t know that?! Every day I wake up and remember I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. That I couldn’t save my father. That I couldn’t save Ben. That I almost died and now all I do is sit here — useless, while Rey’s out there doing what I should have done!”

“You’re not useless, Y/N.” Poe’s demeanour begins to soften.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Then why does everyone treat me like I’m broken? Mum, Rey, Finn, you… You look at me like I’m glass. Like I’ll shatter if you touch me too hard.”

Poe grabs your hand, not caring if you retaliate. “I look at you like you’re everything.” Silence fell between you, heavy and unbearable.

“Then why does it feel like we’re falling apart?” Poe hesitates at your question, his jaw clenched.

“Because maybe we are… Y/N/N  I love you. I’m just trying to—”

“You can’t fix me, Poe. I’m not something you fly in and save. I’m broken. And you… you deserve someone who isn’t pulling the pin on their own thermal detonator every day.”

“No. Don’t do this.” Poe begs, his tears now visible. You wipe his tear that he rolling down his cheek. He is rubbing your ring on your finger, the one he put on there promising he would marry you.

“It’s already done.” You stepped past him, each movement slow and deliberate, the weight of your decision anchoring your steps.

You turn and look over your shoulder at Poe, both of you a reflection of eachother, both with tears running down your face. “This isn’t about love. It’s about survival. For both of us. You will end up hating me and I would rather you miss me then hate me.”

You turned, walking off into the depths of the hangar, leaving behind silence — and a man who loved you more than he knew how to fight for. And Poe, for once, didn’t chase after.

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It started with one drink. Then two. Then… you stopped counting.

The ache in your chest never faded, so you drowned it in Corellian whiskey — the same brand your father used to sneak into the Falcon's storage hold when mum wasn’t looking. That memory should’ve hurt less. It didn’t.

Y/N Solo, daughter of legends, Jedi-in-training, hero of the Resistance — now slurring her way through half-empty bottles, eyes hollow, breath heavy. The medics whispered. Your squadmates avoided eye contact. And when you stumbled out of the mess hall late at night, even BB-8 looked worried. You didn’t care because caring meant feeling. And feeling meant remembering and remembering meant pain.

You was halfway through another drink when your feet — or maybe your heart — led you toward Poe’s quarters.

The hallways blurred around her. Lights too bright. The base too quiet. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I just want to feel something. You thought.

The door chime buzzed once. Then again. Then a thud. Poe sighed from inside his quarters. He already knew who it was.

“Flyboy… open up. I missed you.”

The door slid open to reveal Poe — jaw tight, eyes heavy with concern, and pain behind them. He didn't move to let her in. “Kriff Y/N...You shouldn’t be here like this” he says sternly.  Your shoulders hunched, face flushed, hair a mess, swaying slightly in the corridor light. You reek of alcohol and heartbreak.

“I should be wherever the hell I want to be. You gonna stop me?” You slightly slur. “I needed you. Missed you. Thought maybe…”  You reach your fingers out and brush them seductively down his chest. “You missed me too.”

He gently caught your wrist, steadying you. Not pulling you in but not letting you fall.

“Your drunk” Poe states.

You gasp and dramatically put your hand over your mouth to exaggerate the gasp. “Wow. Sharp as ever. What gave it away?”.

Poe sighs loudly “Y/N go back to your quarters and sleep it off. You don’t want to do this. Not like this.”.

You were bored of talking and pushed Poe out the way strongly to allow yourself access to the room. He tried to stop you, but you was quicker than expected for someone who could barely stand straight. That was the moment everything shattered. There — sitting comfortably on the edge of his bed — was a young woman. Tech uniform, perfectly styled hair, a datapad in her lap. She looked up as Y/N stumbled in, blinking with wide, too-pretty eyes.

“Y-You moved on?” you turn to Poe, you can feel your heart shattering.

“Well, can you blame him? Maybe Poe just likes women who aren’t a complete mess. At least he could fuck me without the extra baggage” she smirks, your attention turns from her back to Poe, you can feel your heart beating through your chest.

Time froze. Poe’s head snapped toward the girl, shock and anger flaring in his eyes. “Oh I see” you say flatly. You lifted the bottle and without breaking eye contact, downed the rest in one long, burning pull. Then you staggered forward, voice venomous.

“How long’s this been going on? Since I walked out? Before? Did you wait until I was broken enough for you to slide inside another girl?”

Poe rushes to you “Y/N, no. That’s not—nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen. She came to drop off crew assignments, that’s it—”

You cut him off, laughing bitterly “Sure. Just like I came here to say hi.” You then threw the bottle to the floor. It shattered, glass spraying in all directions, echoing like a thermal detonator in the confined room. You took your ring- your engagement ring that Poe gave you all that time ago- off the necklace you were still wearing it on and dropped it to the floor, surrounded by the glass.

Poe lunged forward. “Y/N, stop! Nothing happened!” He begged

You turn your attention to the girl, still sitting on his bed smirking “Don’t worry. He’s all yours now.” You turned, eyes glassy with rage and betrayal, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you so hard it nearly bounced back open.

Silence is all that is left. Poe stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, heart pounding. “Get out!” he snaps with a dangerously quiet tone.

“What?! I didn’t do anything-“ she asked confused and defensive.

Poe shoots her a look, “Why did you say that? What the hell was that? Nothing was going to happen, and now you’ve made it ten thousand times worse.” His tone is sharper.

“She’s a mess, Poe. I was just trying to—”

“Get out.” He snaps

“Excuse me?”

“Get out! Right now.” He is now yelling at her.

She stared at him, stunned, then huffed and walked out, boots crunching on broken glass.

Poe stood there alone, breathing hard. Then he grabbed his comm and keyed it to Leia’s frequency. “General… we need to talk about Y/N.”

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The bottle hadn’t done its job. Not fully. Your hands still trembled as you pushed open the doors to the mess hall, the harsh lights stabbing at your already-blurred vision. It was late, quiet, just a few night-shift soldiers, a couple of mechanics, and one too-eager bartender droid still functioning behind the long metal counter. You slid onto a stool and slapped your empty flask on the bar.

“Something stronger. Don’t stop pouring.” The droid gave a hesitant beep, then filled a new glass with something amber and cruel. You drank and drank again. You wasn’t crying, not anymore. The pain was somewhere behind your eyes now, dull and endless, like the vacuum of space. That’s when he showed up. A voice beside you, warm and laced with that certain kind of charm she'd seen Poe use far too many times.

“You look like someone who’s either had a really bad day… or a really good one she’s trying to forget.”. You turned your head slowly. He was tall, well-built, dark-eyed. A hotshot pilot from Black Squadron — younger than Poe, cockier. The pilot's name was Rix Varo, you had seen him around base a couple of times. He was charming, a little too confident. The kind of man who lived for war stories and dying young. The kind of man you never would’ve looked at twice if you weren’t drowning in grief, rage, and three drinks too many. However he was the kind who never asked too many questions. He was Perfect.

“What if it’s both?” You give him a half crocked smile. He laughed. You hated that it didn’t sound like Poe’s laugh.

“Well, either way… I’m guessing you don’t want to drink alone.” You shrugged and waved the droid for another two.

“You know who I am?” You lean in towards him, breathing on his neck.

“I’d have to be blind not to. Princess of the Resistance, war hero, Solo's daughter…”  He tilts his head “You’re kind of a legend.”

“Well what can I say?! I guess I am” You shoot him a warm smile, you can feel yourself flirting. You hate it but right now you need something to dull the pain you are feeling. He raised his glass to yours. They clinked. You drank more and more until you could barely stand straight.

The conversation blurred and time slipped sideways. You knew exactly what you was doing. Every glance, every joke, every touch of your hand to his arm — it was calculated. You knew Poe would lose his mind if he found out. And some part of you — the twisted, broken part — wanted him to hurt like you was hurting.

As the alcohol kept coming, your control faded and the lines blurred. The pain got louder again and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in close. You didn’t stop him when his hand slid to your thigh. You didn’t stop yourself when you stumbled out of the mess hall, laughing too loudly.

They stumbled through the corridor toward his quarters, your laughter brittle, breath thick with liquor and something more dangerous. The moment the door closed behind you, he turned to face you.

“You sure you want this?”

A beat. You looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp — desperate.

“I don’t want to think.” You muttered. That was all the permission he needed. Your mouths met, fast and clumsy. It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t even lust. It was escape. Your fingers tugged at his shirt. He backed you into the wall, hands skating over your arms and sides. You kissed harder, messier, as if intensity could overwrite memory.

“Don’t stop.” You panted. He didn’t. He kissed your neck, your jaw, hands pulling at layers of fabric like you was something to be unwrapped, not someone unravelling. You let him. You wanted to disappear. Just for one night. One hour. One second.

He pulled you toward the bed, and you collapsed in a tangle of sheets, clothes, half-removed and forgotten. But even as he touched you, you wasn’t there. Your mind flickered — not to pleasure, not to the moment — but to Poe.

The way he used to kiss you like you mattered. The way he never made you feel like you had to beg to be held. Rix wasn’t Poe. That was the whole point.

You closed her eyes tighter and bit your lip to stay silent. Tried to pretend your heart wasn’t screaming. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered. You couldn’t answer because the last person who told you that meant it and this time, it felt like a lie.

When it was over, Rix dozed off easily, like this was just another night. Another girl. Another story to boast about tomorrow in the hangar but you lay still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it might collapse and finally bury you. Your skin felt cold and your chest felt hollow. You didn’t feel powerful or desired, you felt worse than before. You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest, staring at the man beside you — not with regret, but with numbness. All you could think was: I traded the only man who ever truly saw me… for this?

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The hallway was dim and quiet at this hour — save for the hiss of vent systems and the low hum of ships parked on the outer deck. You emerged from Rix Varo’s quarters barefoot, hair tangled, boots in one hand. Your face was pale, dark circles under her eyes, lips pressed tight like you was trying not to feel anything. Your head is pounding as the alcohol has started to wear off. You didn’t expect anyone to be out here. Certainly not your mum.

Your mum/The General stood at the end of the corridor, arms folded, dressed in simple command fatigues, but somehow still regal, still commanding. Her eyes met yours. Her expression wasn’t anger, it was disappointment which in your mind was so much worse.

“What the hell have you done?” she asks coldly. You froze.

“I… It’s none of your—” you begin but she cuts you off.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She buts in sharply. Leia took a step forward, not yelling — but her voice carried the kind of power that could stop wars, or start them. “You think I don’t know pain? That I haven’t felt what you’re feeling? I lost my son. I lost your father. I might lose the Resistance. But I didn’t throw myself into the arms of the first man who made me forget for five minutes.” You looked away, ashamed. Her voice becomes quieter now “You’re better than this, Y/N. You are your father’s daughter… but he would be heartbroken if he saw you like this.”

You can feel the tears rolling down your face that you have been holding back “I didn’t know where else to put it… All the pain. All the love. I couldn’t— I couldn’t carry it anymore.”

“Then let me carry some of it with you. But not like this. Not like this.” She didn’t say more she just turned and walked away, cloak fluttering behind her. You are left standing alone in the corridor, wearing nothing but the weight of your choices.

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Its only been an hour, the news travelled fast. Rix Varo was bragging in the hangar, unaware that what to him was a notch on the bedpost was, to others, a slow-motion implosion. Poe heard it from Jessika Pava. He was halfway across the base before Jess could finish saying your name.

When Poe arrived at the hangar, Rix was laughing with two other pilots, polishing his gloves, still blissfully unaware of the storm heading toward him. “I mean, yeah — she came to me. Y/N Solo. Not exactly the quiet type either. Pretty sure the whole hallway heard my name.” he grinned bragging about your night together.

Poe hears it. He’s behind Rix before the second recruit can even process it — jaw tight, breath shallow, rage barely restrained. “VARO!!” he growls.

Rix turns, eyebrows lifting — still cocky. “Dameron. Relax, man. We all need a little relief once in a while, right?”

Poe doesn’t hesitate. His fist crashes into Rix’s face. Blood sprays. Rix stumbles back against the X-Wing, stunned. Poe is now shouting “You touched her?!”

Rix wipes his mouth, laughing through blood “Touched her? Mate, she was into it. Practically screamed my name.”

Poe snaps and tackles Rix to the ground. The hangar explodes in movement — shouts from techs, boots scuffing on metal, but no one moves fast enough to stop the storm.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that!” “She was hurting!” “You used her!” Poe screamed in between punches.

Rix now spits out the blood in his mouth “She used me. Looked me dead in the eye and begged me not to stop. She was gagging for it mate.”

Poe lifts him by the collar, slams him against a stack of cargo crates. “She was broken. You saw that. And you took what you could get.”

Rix is smiling through the blood “You mean what you lost.” Poe slams him back again, fury blinding now — until two security officers finally grab his arms and pull him away.

“POE! That’s enough!” Jessika yells across the hangar.

Rix collapses to the floor, coughing, blood dripping from his mouth. He smirks up at Poe through split lips. “Guess she’s not yours anymore, huh?”

Poe’s voice breaks, eyes still locked on Rix “She was never yours. She never will be yours.”

He wrenches out of the officers’ grips, storming toward the exit. He’s shaking, bruised, bleeding, but none of the injuries will compare to his broken heart.

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Leia stands near a small comm table, arms folded, calm but stern. Poe stands in front of her, his cracked knuckles and still bleeding, cheek bruised. BB-8 waits outside the room silently, sensing this is not his place.

“You know why I have called you in don’t you?” Poe nods timidly “You know I have to officially reprimand you for that fight.”

Poe doesn’t look at her — just stares at the floor, breathing hard, ashamed. Leia takes a harsher tone “You’re a squadron leader, Poe. You’re Rix’s commanding officer. You should know better.”

Poe finally looks up — eyes raw, shaking and hurt “She was hurting. And he used her.”

“She used him, Poe. As much as he used her.” Leia states with authority. That one hits Poe. He opens his mouth, then closes it and runs a hand down his face, frustrated.

“I know. I know that. But I can’t— I can’t hurt her. Even if I want to scream. Even if it’s tearing me apart… I could never lay that on her.”

“So you beat someone else to a pulp instead? That’s not love, Poe. That’s self-destruction.” Leia speaks coldly. He doesn’t reply. The silence is thick between them. Poe steps forward, voice rising as emotion overtakes him.

“Just… why him, Leia? Of all the people. It had to be Rix bloody Varo. The most arrogant pilot on this base. He was bragging. Like it was a mission he won. Like she was some kind of prize.” His voice breaks. “He said she screamed his name.” Poe spits out bitterly.

Leia winces. Not at the vulgarity — at the pain behind it. Poe’s fists clench. “She’s not like that. She’s not. And he made her sound like some notch on a locker door. I lost it. I didn’t care about the rules. I just— I saw red.”

Leia’s demeanour softens “She wanted someone easy, Poe.” Poe’s head jerks up, eyes flashing with protest. “Someone who didn’t come with memories. Who wouldn’t look at her with history or heartbreak. Come on — you know the truth. No one on this base would dare look at her like that. She’s my daughter. And your girl. Or… she was.” Poe’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t interrupt. “She knew Rix wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t see her as broken. He wouldn’t ask questions. He wouldn’t see her at all. That’s what she wanted.”

Poe lets out a hollow laugh. It sounds like it hurts to breathe. “I would’ve taken her broken.”

“You did.” They both stand in silence, Leia continues “But now it’s up to her to decide if she wants to be whole again.”

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Poe’s knuckles were bruised, swollen, and streaked with dried blood by the time he returned to his quarters. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since the fight, he doesn’t want to talk. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. Silent. Seething. Hurting. He heard the door hissed open behind him. He didn’t have to turn around, he knew it was you.

“I heard.” You say quietly trying to gauge the atmosphere. Poe stayed silent. “You broke Rix’s nose.” Still nothing. She stepped inside, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her voice held that edge — the one Poe recognized too well. The one she used when her walls were high and her heart was breaking underneath. Your vibe now turns cold “You got with someone… so what if I did?”

That got his attention. He turned, jaw tight, eyes burning. “I didn’t get with anyone.” He growled, defeated.

“Could’ve fooled me. She looked real comfortable on your bed.” You laughed sarcastically.

“Nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen.” He defends

“Well… it did with me.” You snap bitterly. Silence is retuned. He stared at her, as if those words were a punch to the gut. “And just so you know… he was pretty good actually.” You lied.

It was meant to hurt, you knew it the second you said it. Poe’s eyes dropped, and you saw something flicker in him. Pain. Disgust. Not just at you — at what they’d both become. You instantly regretted it. “Poe… I didn’t— I just wanted…”

“Wanted me to hurt like you did. Congratulations.” He snaps cutting you off.

They stood in silence for a long beat. Her anger cracked first. “I didn’t do it because I wanted him. I did it because I didn’t want to feel anything. Because I couldn’t look at myself anymore… and I definitely couldn’t look at you.”

You looked down at his hand, saw how he winced when he flexed it. “Let me see that.” He hesitated then extended his cut and bloody hand. You crossed to him, pulled a medkit from the wall, and knelt in front of him. As you cleaned the dried blood from his knuckles, your touch was gentle — a contradiction to all the hurt swirling between them.

“You shouldn’t have hit him.”

“I wanted to hit you.” Poe murmured. You didn’t flinch but nodded in return. “Yeah. I probably deserve it.” You wrapped the gauze around his hand slowly, carefully. Your eyes met — raw, stripped bare.

“You don’t need to destroy yourself just to prove you’re in pain.” Poe’s tone is quiet.

“Neither do you.” When you finished patching his hand, you let it rest in yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“Poe… I’m not okay.” You barely whispered

“I know. Neither am I.” He stood slowly, his hand still in yours. He didn’t pull you into an embrace and you didn’t step closer. There was still too much distance between you — but now, finally, you were facing it together.